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23 WIST MAIN STRHT

WIBSTIt.N.Y. M5M

(716)t79<4S03

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1 2 3

Hk turnkd suddenly, and kkft thk Room,

i M n H

OVERRULED

"PANSY"

(MRS. G. R. ALDEN)

ADTHOK OF "ESTER RIED," "HER ASSOCIATE MEMBERS," "WANTED,"

"MAKIKU FATE," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

TORONTO:
WILLIAM BRIGGS,

WESLEY BUILDINGS.
WONTREAL : C W. COATES. | HALIFAX : S. F. HUESTIS,

2039

""Iir?. T'^fj *"*/'' °' *"* Parliament of Canada, In the year one thousand
Agriculture * "*"«t.v-8even. by William Brioos, at the Department of

CONTENTS.

ni.vrTEn paok

I. A STOIIMY EVKNINii 1

II. The J)ay'8 Stouy 14

III. "PooK Hannah" 26

IV. "Mak.jokik Edmonds" 39

V. Temptations 50

VI. Pooh Jack! 62

VII. A Chance to choose 75

VIII. Pivots 87

IX. "What IF I should— ?" 90

X. An Anniversakv Ill

, XI. A Sekies of Bllndehs 122

XII. A Confidential Talk 133

XIII. " Theke ouout to be " — 144

XIV. June Visitoks 156

XV. Schemes 168

XVI. The Teacher taught 180

XVII. A Crisis 192

XVIII. Revelations 204

XIX. " I DON'T like It " . . 215

XX. Enteb Dk. Maxwell 227

IV CONTENTS.

(IIAPTKIl PAOK

XXI. Brotiieus Ixdeed 240

XXII. A IlAitVEST 262

XXIII. "It miuiit have been" 263

XXIV. The Unexpected 275

XXV. June Again 288

XXVI. Half the Stoky 300

XXVII. Oppohtunity 313

XXVIII. A CitiHis 325

XXIX. "FOK Me — iZ-ff^K-fcW" 336

OVERRULED

CIIAPTIOll I.

A STUUMV KVKNING.

ESTELLE IJHAMLETT was in an unenviable
frame ol mind. The flusii on her face was
caused hy something more than the glow nf the
firelight in her jjretty sitting-room, and there was
a nervous tremor about her lips when they ceased
speaking that betokened keen feeling of some sort
and a vain effort at self-control. Life had not
shown for her the rose-colored tints tl:at she had
meant it should. There had been several months
in which she had accustomed hei-self to looking
forward to the time when she should become Mi's.
Ralph Bramlett, as the beginning of a future
which should be velvet-lined. She had borne that
name for more than a year; and the unmistakable
lines about her mouth, which had evidently Ikj-
come habitual, showed only too plainly that more
or less disappointment had fallen on her.

Mr. Ralph liramlett was stretched at full length
upon a comfortable couch, with down pillows at

(A'KKUULKD.

luH lietul unci back, and tlinist under one cIIk^w.
He was listening in gloomy silence to his wife's
remarks, making as little response as the claims
of deeencv would allow. Mis work at the otlice
that day had been nerve trying to a degree that
his wife did not and could not undei'stand, and
her topics for convei'sation were not inspiriting.
She had been tried by his silence, and did not
improve in her selection.

*' Nainiah was here this afternoon," she began
again, after an irritating silence. "She spent half
the afternoon going on about her attairs. 1 think
it is simi)ly disgraceful, the way she is managing.
She is the town talk already ; and if things con-
tinue much longer as they are now, she will not Ik;
received into respectable society. I don't believe
you have sai<l one word to her about it, notwith-
standing all I have told you. She used to conde-
scend to i)ay a little attention to what you said.
Why do you let her go on in this way ? "

** llainiah is old enough to take care of hei-self."
These words came at last from l)ehind the hand
with which Ralph Brandett shaded his face ; and
the tone was exasperatingly indifferent. His wife
recognized it by an added irritiibility in hers.

" Oh, * old enough ! ' wisdom doesn't always
come with age, as I should think you might know
by this time. I don't deny that she is able to
conduct heixelf with propriety, but the simple
fact is that she doesn't do it. She seems to 1)6

A sToiiMv : \!:\i (\.

entirely iiuliCferent, not oiily to licr own ivpntii-
tion, Init to that of other people. Von are her
brother, and I am yonr wile; and onr social rela-
tions ninst therefore he more or less afTeeted hy
her actions. I assnre yon that the matter is he-
eoniing very serions. Yon do not realize what is
l>eing said. Von are hnried all day in that horrid
oliice, and evenings yon spend on the conch
hrooding over something which yon keep to yonr-
self ; the consecpience is yon do not know what
is going on in the world. If yon came in conta<'t
with peoi)le, us I do, yon wonld nnderstand that
it is time something was done. What do yon
think of having persons like the (Jreens making
yonr sister's lur.'.K^ a snhject for gossij) in thtt
kitchen? Mrs. (Irccn told Lena that the hoys
said Miss ilannali v.ent a-walking every night
with Ja'/k 'raylt)r, and that he took her to con-
certs and lei^tnres and everywhere!"

'* If I wer^.'! von, I wonld not hold conferenees
with my eook in regard to family aflaii-s (»r those
of the neighhorhood. '

Mr. Hrandett s[)oke in his coldest, loftiest tone ;
and it is perhaps not snrprising that he made the
color deepen on his wife's cheeks, nor that her
eyes glowed angrily.

" That is jnst like yon, Ralph ; yon are as nn-

reasonahle
omit no opj
remark insulting

it is possible for a man to be, and

tnnity to blame me. I consider that

The idea that I spend my time

OVERRULED.

gossiping with the cook ! Lena asked me a civil
question. At least slie intended it to be civil ; as
things are going, I do not think she can be blamed
f"" supposing that she had a right to ask when
iviiss Hannah was to be married. She is a respect-
able girl, and supposed, as a matter of course, that
the outcome of such persistent attention was a
wedding. But I should think you might be suffi-
ciently well acquainted with your wife to have
discovered that I do not gossip with anybody.
Since you have decided that your wife cannot l^e
trusted, perhaps it will comfort you to remember
that Lena has been in my mother's family for a
number of years, and has only what she considers
the interests of the family at heart. I cross-ques-
tioned her carefully, under the impression that I
was doing my duty in trying to learn the extent
to which gossip had made itself familiar with our
name. I made the mistake of supposing that you
would not only approve of my efforts, but woulc'
exert your influence, if you have any, in helping to
close the mouths of gossips before it is too late.
I do not know what you think about all this, you
have never condescended to enlighten me ; but it
does not seem possible that you can approve of the
way in which Hannah is conducting herself. It
is true, as Mrs. Green says, that she is se^^n on the
street with that odious Jack Taylor nearly every
night of her life. Or, if they are not on the
street, he is seated on the dooratep, or hanging ou

A STORMY EVENING.

the gate, talking with her until a late hour. Yes-
terday she actually went out riding with him, and
was gone for hours. Mrs. Green, you may be
sure, knows exactly how many horn's ; and, if she
failed to overhear any of their remarks, can draw
on her imagination, and make hei-self and others
bfilieve that she did. I hope you enjoy putting
your name at the mercy of a woman like her!
Now, what I should like to know, is whether you
approve of Hannah's conduct,, and mean to uphold
her in it, as you seem to be doing."

" I tell you I neither approve nor disapprove,"
growled her husband. '^ What I said was, that
Hannah was old enough to attend to her own
affaii-s, and ought to be allowed to do so. If she
chooses to be a fool she has a perfect right to be
one, so far as I am concerned, and I do not pro-
pose to bother myself about it. I have otlier mat-
ters to think of."

" Oh ! it is all very well, Mr. Bramlett, for you
to wrap youreelf in a mantle of dignity, and de-
clare that you have other things to think about.
Undoubtedly you have ; mattei*s of vast impor-
tance, apparently, which al)sorb all 3-our time. I
can tell you one thing about Avhich you larely
think, and that is your wife's comfort. I spend
my days alone, and might as well spend my even-
ings in the same manner, for all the pleasure that
I have in your society. If I had for a moment
imagined what a difference in my life the marriage

OVEIinULEDv

ceremony would make " — She stopped abruptly,
her voice being choked with feeling, whether of
grief or anger it might have been difficult to dete"-
mine. Her husband remained persistently silent
under this attack ; and after two or three minutes
she began again, —

"• Vou can neglect 3(mr wife, of course ; that is
nobody's business but your own. I shall not i^o
out on the streets and comi)lain of you, so your
dignity is entirely safe there ; but I warn you tiiat
Hannah is not being so thoughtful. Whether it
is your business or not, the public will link your
name with it, and you will find youreelf associated
with an unsavory scandal l)efore you are a\\arc.
You cannot separate youi-self fi-om your entire
family. You are by no means so indifferent to
what people say as j'ou occasionall}' like to pre-
tend. I do not know another person who is so
sensitive to public oi)inion as you, and when you
open your eyes to the state of thing's about which
I have warned you, do not blame me ; that is all
I ask."

^^ Nonsense I" Mr. IJramlett arose to a sitting
posture as he gave vent to this explosive word,
flinging away the afghan which his wife had
thrown over him when he lay down, and glaring
at her out of angry eyes.

"I wish you would not undertake this sort of
scene, Estelle ; it was never to my taste, — besides,
you d(jn't do it well. And 1 wish, moreover, that

A STOtlMV EVE>fINO.

you did not consider it your duty to retail to me
the gossip of the cook and the washerwoman. I
must honor your motives, of course, but I tell
you once for all I consider it entirely uuneees-
sary. IMy sister llainiah has conducted hei'self
with entire i)r()priety for nearly thirty yeai-s, with-
out the breatli of suspicion having attached itself
to her name, and I have no fear but that she will
continue to manage her affaii-s with wisdom if
she is let alone. If you talked to iier this after-
noon as you have Ijcen talking to me, there may
be cause for anxiety ; there is no telling what a
liramlett might l)e goaded to do. Why don't
you learn, Kstelle, that you cannot help people by
sticking thorns into them? Were there no letters
f(>r me bv the late mail?"

It was an unfortunate question in view of all
that hivd passed. Mi's. Brandett controlled her
inclination to bui-st into a passion of tears, and
LTave vent to her feelingrs in words instead.

"Oh, yes; there are letters of the usual sort.
The bill for coal, for instauv^e ; I supposed that
was settled last month. Your tailor's bill was
presented for the third time, and that account
.from Sewell's. He takes the trouble to state that
it will not be convenient for him to wait longer
for settlement. Since there is no danger of dis-
grace to the family through Hannah, it at least
looks as though there might be a possibility of
it from another source. It is certainly anything

OVKinilTLKD.

but agreeable to me to have the house flooded
with tailors' bills, and matters of that kind ; if
it were my dressmaker's bill, I should never hear
the last of it. I cannot understand why it isn't
important to be business-like about such matters,
as well as with the affairs of Snyder, Snyder, and
Co. Yet you are always pressing their claims
upon me when I need any of your time. May I
be allowed to ask why you do not attend to your
own business occasionally?"

She could not know how every word she ut-
tered pierced the very soul of her husband like a
keen knife cutting into living flesh : it would not
have been possible for her to understand what tre-
mendous self-control he was exercising, to main-
tain the outward calm Avhicli in itself irritated
her. He waited a moment before he replied.

''I am sorry my business-like habits have proved
a cause of offenco to you. As to my own affairs,
nothing would give me greater pleasure than to
be strictly metliodical. There is a serious ditti-
cultv in the way. I have not vet learned how
to pay bills without tangible aid. The simple
fact is, that my last quarter's salary was entirely
spent some weeks before it was due. Some of
it, you may remember, went to pay that dress-
mjiker's bill of which you boast. Mr. Sewell will
find that he will be compelled to wait until I get
ready to pay him ; and I shall take care that
there shall be no bill hereafter t(j settle with him.

A STORMY EVENING.

Ta truth, I am tempted to refuse to pay any of
these feHows, because they sent the hills to the
house instead of to my office. I had no intention
of troubling you with matters of this kind." He
seemed to realize, l)efore the sentence was com-
pleted, that he had put some bitter stings into it,
and to feel some sense of re<^ret. He tried to
make his voice sound less cold and sarcastic. But
mattei-s had gone (piite too far for him to thus
easily atone. Estelle's eyes were flashing dan-
gerously, and her voice was like steel.

" Pray, do not take the trouble to try to put it
courteously ; say, rather, the plain truth, that }'t)U
had no intention of letting me know that you are
unable to pay your honest debts. Tt is certainly a
new experience to me. My father is poor, and has
always been ; but I do not believe he ever owed a
pei>5on for twenty-four horn's beyond the date of
payment. It is prol)ably very unbusiness-like for
me to wonder wluit you do with your money, but
I confess I am curious. Your salarv is larger than
my father ever had to depend upon ; yet he man-
aged to feed and clothe and care for three daugh-
tei-s, as well as himself and wife. If I might be
allowed to suggest to such a business-like pereon,
I should say it was quite time you began to keep
your own books, instead of those of other people.
I supposed it was Hannah who was threatening
our respectability, but it seems I was mistaken."

Mr. Bramlett sprang up, and began to pace back

OVKKUULED.

and forth ; it was a way lio liad wlicii iimler strong
excitement.

*»Ilave a care, Estellc," lie said, and liis voice
was low and constrained; "you may g() too far
in your sarcasms even with me, who am bound in
honor to endure them. It oujj;lit to he heneath
you to make the insinuations that you have with
regard to money, when you remend)er that I fur-
nished this house in accordance with your judg-
ment, not mine; and, ijideed, rented it in the fii'st
place because your preference for it was so great,
althouyh J told you at the time that I felt
we could hardly aff(>rd it. If you Avill take the
trouble to recall the circumstances, you will re-
mendjer tliat there was no other house within our
reach which in the least satisfied you."

"That clause, 'within our reach,' is well added,
Mr. Brandeti, and most important. Of coui'se I
supposed that you knew Avhat you vere about ;
and when you referred the decision as to choice of
house to me, naturally I believed that those put
at ni}^ disposal were' within our reach. Why should
I not, in such a case, choose the best? As to fur-
niture, when my tastes were consulted, I told the
truth, of coui-se ; what else would you have had ?
I suppose I an) not to be blamed because my tastes
are so unfortunate as to prefer a fifty-dollar couch,
for instance, to a twentv-doUar one.

"The truth is," she continued, — and, having
grown more angry with every word she had spoken,

A STOIIMY EVENING.

Hhe now laid aside all effort at self-control, and
faced her hnsband with a look which said more
than her words, — **• the trnth is, yon tind ^oni'self
hi an embarrassing position. Von have chosen to
keep yonr hnsiness mattei's an entire secret from
me, and have spent all your money, in Avhat way
you alone know ; but now that it is gone, and you
awaken to the fact that you have nothing with
which to pay honest debts, you choose to turn
upon me, and lay the blame on my good taste in
selecting h(mse-fnrnishings. Vou have taken pains
to inform me what you considered beneath me ;
pray, what do you think of such conduct as
that?"

He had taken time to think, during that long
sentence ; in truth, he had given her words little
attention, but was engaged in wondering why he
had allowed himself to be betrayed into saying
some things that he had.

"• Do let us get done with this distasteful talk."
he said, with a wave of his hand, as though he
would throw off all that was disagreeable. *' I
wonder whv it is that I cannot be allowed to
have peace in my own house? I have business
cares and perplexities that you know nothing
a])out ; and when I lock the ottice-door upon them,
and come away for the ])urpose of getting a little
rest, it seems hard that I must be placed in the
witness-box, not only, but must have torture a})-
plied to me. I meant no insinuations in what I

UVEUItL'LKD.

I If

said. I merely referred to tlis faet that the house
had been furnished in accordance with your tastes,
and took more money than we had supposed it
would when we began. The strictest economy
is necessary now, — has been necessary for some
time ; and we are neither of us fond of economizing.
If I have been close-mouthed about my affaii-s, it
was simply because I did not consider it necessary
to trouble you with them. But the plain, unvar-
nished truth is that I am heavil}'' in debt, and have
not a cent of money with which to meet my liabil-
ities. As to where the money has gone, thus far,
if you are fond of business to that extent, you
will find the large drawer of the secretary emmmed
full of accounts ; you are at liberty to study and
figure on them to your heart's content. If I have
made a mistake in trying to shield you, I will
rectify it at once. I fancy you will have no diffi-
culty in discovering where even such an enor-
mous sum as fifteen hundred dollars a year has
fled to, and I hope you will find peace and happi-
ness in the occupation."

He had not intended to close his sentence thus ;
he had meant it to be conciliating. Feeling
suddenly how impossible it was for him to control
himself further, or endure more that evening,
he turned suddenly and left the room, slamming
the door after him ; not intentionally, but because
his nerves had been so wrought upon as to leave
him incapable of making gentle movements. He

A STORMY EVENING.

crossed the hall, and passed into a small room
which had been fitted up in a business-like manner
for his exclusive use. Here he closed and locked
the door, and even drew the small bolt just below
the lock; then threw himself into the leather-
covered armchair i! front of his desk, with the
unpaid bills still in his hand.

OVEKKULED.

CHAPTEK II.

THE DAY S STOllY

1'^HUS uiicereinoniously left to hei-self, Estelle
Hranilett bowed her head on the little read-
ing-table near her, and cried some of the most liit-
ter teai-s it had ever fallen to her lot to shed.

Do her the justice to undei'stand that nothing
about this miserable evening had been in the least
iis she had planned.

When the teal's had had tlieir way, she tried
to go over the events of the last few houra, and
make hei-self undei'stand how it had all happened.
Why had she allowed hei'self to speak such words
as she had to her husband? Sarcasm was one of
her besetting sins ; she knew it well, — she had,
indeed, been told it from childhood, — and no
friend, not even the dearest, escaped her tongue
when she was excited ; but to Ralph she had never
before spoken as she had that evening. How came
she to do so ? It had been a trying day from fii-st
to last. Her husband had been more than usually
preoccupied and silent all through the breakfast-
hour, and had finally gone away without even re-
membering to bid her good-by. This in itself had

THE DAYS STOUY.

tried her more than he could have undei-stood ;
l)ecause, being a woman, she lived on many of tlie
small happenings which men like Ralph Hmmlett
call trifles. Neither had her domestic machinery
moved satisfactorily. Lena, the stout German
girl who reigned in her kitchen, had been brought
up by Mi's. Bramlett's mother, and was considered
a treasure, that tlie mother had relinquished to
her on her marriage, after tlie manner of mothera.
Hut even a kitchen treasure may have its faults ;
and a disposition to have her own way, especially
when she knew it to lie the best way, was one of
Lena's faults. She and her mistress had disagreed
about an important matter connected with cook-
ery, and Lena had quoted her mistress's mother
in a way which could only be exasperating to the
young housekeeper. So Estelle had insisted upon
her way, to the detriment of the dinner ; and
Ralph had found a little fault, and assured his
wife that his mother could teach her many things.
This experience is never soothing, and by dinner-
time young Mi-s. Bramlett was in need of being
soothed. The fii-st to disturb her afternoon peace
had been her young sister Glyde. Now, Glyde
was a favorite with almost everybody, and as a
rule there was no one whom Mi-s. Bramlett liked
better to see tripping up her side steps. But on
this particular afternoon she innocently brought
an element of discord.

" I've had such a delicious present ! " she began,

OVERRULED.

ius soon as she was comfortably seated. Cilyde's
adjectives could, on o(!casion, be as startling as
those of the average young lady. '"• I had to rush
right over and tell you about it. I wanted to
bring it with nie, but mother decided th;,t that
would be silly."

''A present ! " echoed her sister. '- Why should
you be having presents just now? It isn't your
birthday; and it is too near the holidays for extras,
and not near enough to count."

" This one will * count,' I fancy. It is probably
intended for my Christmas ; only, being the dear,
thoughtful creature that he is. Uncle Anthony sent
it on after the tii-st frost, so as to be ready for the
cold. Can you guess what it is, Estelle ? "

"I wjvs never skilful at guessing," Mi"s. Hram-
lett said, a trifle coldly. 'J'he truth is, she found
it impossible to speak other than coldly when Uncle
Anthony was the subject of converssition. She
could never forget that there had been a time
when his chief interest in their family centred
in her, and his special gifts were showered upon
her. Although she knew perfectly well that her
aljsence from home two years before had been the
sole reason why Glyde was chosen as his compan-
ion for a trip to New York, and that Glyde was in
no wise to blame for the extravagant fondness
which her nncle had shown for her ever since,
Estelle could not help feeling aggrieved whenever
she thought of it, and had sometimes spoken in

THE DAY S STOUY

a way to make a more suspicious person than
Glyde feel that she was supposed in some dis-
reputable way to have undermined her sister's
place. But Clyde's busy, happy nature had no
room in it for suspicion. She could not even l)e
made to underatand that her sister was not pre-
pared to rejoice with her over the especially ap-
propriate gift that had come to her. Had not
Uncle Anthony distinguished himself when Estelle
was married? Was there a better piano in town
than the one that he sent with his love and good
wishes? Had any one been more delighted with
the rich gift than (Hyde hei-self? What more
reasonable than to suppose that Kstelle would
siijire the pleasure that liad now come to her?
This, if she had reasoned about it, would have
been something like what she \vould have felt.
Hut Glyde was too entirely aliove seltishness to
have done any reasoning about it; and the voice
was only gleeful in which she said : —

" H you won't even try, I shall have to tell you.
It is a fur cape. Isn't that particularly fortunate
just at this time ? For you know my winter coat
is growing too small, and poor father has had so
many expenses lately that I could not endure the
thought of hinting about a new one."

" A fur cape I What kind of fur ? " .

"'Seal," said Glyde, a trifle timidly. She had
an instinctive feeling that possibly the quality of
the gift might not seem sensible to her sister.

til

OVER RU LED.

' r'i

111: 111

II i

" Seal ! Do you mean real seal-skin ? "

" Why, yes, of coui-se, Estelie ; Uncle Anthony
never approves of imitations of any sort, you
know."

" I think you are too young to wear seal-skin,"
said Mi's. Bramlett, her voice as cold and unsym-
pathetic as ice.

But this had tempted Glyde to laugh.

" Why, Fstelle I " she said, " you cannot mean
that. Don't you rememher that they trim even
little children's garments with seal ; and children
wear seal caps and hoods. It must he mink fur
of which you are thinking."

" I am thinking of precisely what I said. It is
to he presumed that I know quite as well as you
what fui-s are worn. What I mean, of couree,
is that I think rich fure of any sort are not in
keeping with the position of a young girl like
youi'self, who has nothing to match them. How-
ever, if irnele Anthony chooses to load you down
Avith inappropriate finciy, it is nothing to me."

She would not have spoken quite so disagree-
ably if the rich gift had been anything hut a seal
cape. It chanced that the words represented
her heart's desire for the winter. Only two days
before, she had told her husband of scine new
capes that were displayed at Harter and Beek-
man's, real marvels of cheapness, considering their
quality ; and he had assured her in an annoyed
tone that even one-third the price she mentioned

THT^. DAY S STORY.

waa entirely beyond his means, and that she must
not think of new fura for this season at least.
It struck her as hard that a young married woman
should not have the sort of cape she chose. A
husband who had never before l)een called upon
to buy a wrap of any sort for her, ought to have
lu'en ready to get the fii-st one without a murmur.
However, she had struggled with this feeling and
conquered it, and resolved to tell Ralph in the
evening that he was not to worry about her
wanting a fur cape ; her sack was almost as good
as new, and quite nice enough for the winter.
But it was certainly hard that l)efore she had had
time to carry out this good intention, her young
sister should come and flaunt an elegant neal cape
l)ef()re her mind's eyes. Of coui-se it was elegant;
Tucle Anthony never did half-way things.

(Jlyde had regarded her sister with a puzzled
ail-, and resolved to change the subject. Estelle
was evidently not in the mood that afternoon for
rejoicing with her over her fui-s. , .

"Oh, I forgot; I have something of more im-
portance to tell you ; Marjorie has ccilne. Vou do
not seem a bit surprised ; I am afraid you have
heard of it before, and I wanted to Iw, the first to
give the news."

" I have heard nothing about her, and thought
nothing about her for weeks. What a child you
are, Glyde ! Do you never mean to grow up ? "

" It seems so delightful to have her back," said

i!|l'!

OVERRULED.

«M

J I I

ll I I

Glyde, ignoring the reproof ; " I have been happy
all the morning over the thought of their house
being open again. They c^nie last night; I
haven't seen her yet, but I am on my way there
this afternoon. Don't you want to get on your
wraps and go with me ? It is real pleasant out of
doors."

*' Certainly not. I think I shall have sense
enough to ctill with my husband when the proper
time comes. I am not a school-girl to pounce
down upon people as soon as they get in the
house. Has Marjorie brought Mr. Maxwell with
her?"

" No," said Glyde wonderingly ; " at least I
suppose not ; I hadn't thought of him. Why no,
Estelle ; he could not be here at this time of year.
He is a college professor, you know, and all the
colleges are in session now."

"I do not know what he is," said Mrs. Bram-
lett ; " a gentleman of elegant leisure apparently.
I am sure he spent one winter here, and then
went abroad for I do not know how long; and
Marjorie has spent the intervening time with him.
I did not know but now that she had decided to
come home, she was going to let him accom-
pany her ; she seems to have him well under her
control."

Glyde's fair face was flushed, and her eyes had
a reproachful look; she was sensitive to sarcasm
when it was applied to her friends.

THE day's story.

"I do not know what you mean, Estelle," she
said gravely. " Because Marjorie and her mother
chose to spend some of their time in the same
town where Mr. Maxwell is teaching, that does
not seem to me a reason for speaking almost
slightingly of her. They have been travelling all
summer, you know, and were absent a large part
of the winter ; I suppose it was merely an accident
that they made the same place their headquarters."

" Some accidents are designed, my dear little
innocent. But you need not flush as though I
had insulted your idol. Marjorie having hope-
lessly lost your respected brother-in-law, has set
herself earnestly to the task of securing Mr. Max-
well. Nothing is plainer than that; but I am sure
I do not blame her. I suppose he is quite interest-
ing to those who like his style. What surprises
me is the length of time that it takes to accom-
plish her designs. I expected an invitation to
her wedding before this. You can give her my re-
gards, and, if you feel disposed, ask if there is any-
thing I can do to help her with her trousseau ;
that may aid in bringing mattei's to a focus."
She had laughed maliciously as she spoke, and
realized that she was savinii: what would bi'iuff a
still deeper flush to Glyde's face. In the mood
she then was, she could not help rather liking to
make people feel uncomfortable.

The young sister cut sliort her call, and went
away sorrowful. She could not understand why

l'^■A\

OVEnilULED.

she so often found liev married sister in these
moods. Perhaps it wouhl have ])een hard for
Mrs. IJramlett herself to exphun them. Yet, as
lias been hinted, life was in many respects a dis-
appointment to her. After (ilyde's departure she
sat and brooded for a while over some of her
grievances. I*rominent among them loomed uj)
the evening before. She had planned that Jlalph
would come home in time to take her to a certain
concert which she was sure they wouhl both enjoy.
She had ordered dinner early with this scheme in
view, and dressed hei-self with care ; and the hus-
band had returned in time, but would have none
of her planning. It was a chilly, disagi'eeable
night, and slie ought to knoAv better than to think
of ex})osing herself to H. Moreover, he was nnich
too tired to dress and go out again ; he would not
do it if Patti hen;elf were to sing. It had l)een
more of a disappointment to Ids wife than he real-
ized, but she had done her best to acconnnodate
hei-self to his moods. Coming in from the dinner-
table, she had drawn the curtains, and arranged
the drop-light, and brou!o:ht her little reading-chair
close to the couch on which her husband had
thrown himself, and prepared to entertain him.
Would he like to l)e read to ? She had a charm-
ing new book that (Uyde had brought her; she
had been saving it to enjoy with him. He replied
with utmost coldness. Glyde's taste in books, he
said, was not as a rule in accordance with his ;

THK DAY S STOnV.

besides, it nearly always wearied him to hear
other people read. He had been accustomed fi'om
his babyhood, almost, to reading aloud himself.
Well, then, would he read to her? No indeed
he wouldn't; not to-night: couldn't she see that
he was already hoai-se? He had been })awling
telephone messages all day, all over creation.
She might read to hei-self if she chose, and wel-
come; he desired simply to be let alone. He had
business matters to think about which would re-
quire all the brain-power he possessed.

It was not a pleasant prospect certainly. The
wife had* been alone all day, and was not disposed
to continue the loneliness through the long No-
vember evening. Still, she had struggled with
hei'self and been silent. Slie had opened tlie
choice book, and read a few pages. Several times
she had tried to beguile her husband into a show
of interest. " Listen to this, lialph," she had
said; "isn't it a quaint way of expressing the
thought?" lint Ralph was in a hopeless frame of
mind. He saw nothing either quaint or interest-
ing in the quotations. What slie called pathetic
he said was silly ; and a passage which she pro-
nounced particularly fine, he said was common-
place.

When at last she closed the l)ook, and tried to
interest him in what she called conversation, she
fared no better. He answered her questions only
in the briefest phrases, a single monosyllable

■n

OVEUUULED.

whenever possible, and finally distinctly intimated
that he thought she was going to read her book,
and leave him in peace.

This had been the drop too much for her ; and
she had risen in indignation, waiting only to in-
form him that she might as well have been im-
mured in a convent as to have married, and that
if he was so fond of his own company, she would
not longer intrude hers upon him. Then she had
gone to her own room, and cried over the lost even-
ing. He had not followed her, as earlier in their
married life he would have done ; instead, he was
even later than usual in coming to his room. Once
there, he moved about on tiptoe, careful not to dis-
turb his wife's supposed rest; and when at last
stretched beside her, he gave vent to a sigh so
heavy that it smote upon her wakeful ear, and
made her almost ready to throw her arms about
him and ask what troubled him. In truth, she
often asked hei'self this anxious question. Kalpii
Bramlett had been fitful enough in his unmarried
days, but never quite like this. There were times
when this wife of a year assured hei'self that had
she imagined he could become the silent, preoccu-
pied, indifferent husband that he was, she would
not have married him. But this thought was in-
variably followed by one of penitence and gem ine
anxiety for hie welfare. Something very serious
must be troubling him ; matters about which she
knew notliing, as he had more than once hinted

THE day's story.

! i.

Perhaps he was really ill ; overworked he cer-
tainly was. He complained constantly, sometimes
bitterly, of being overtired. What if he were on
the eve of an attack of brain-fever or of nervous
prostration ? Thoughts somewhat after this man-
ner had followed the bitter ones of the evening in
question.^ and kept her awake and anxious until a
late hour. It seemed almost an insult to find her
husband as well as usual next morning; and she
had begun the day by indignantly assuring herself
that he was well enough, and was mei-ely indul-
ging in some of his tempers. Nevertheless, sev-
eral times through her day of solitude, the anxie-
ties of the night had recurred to her ; sometimes
with such force that she was tempted to take the
next train out, and make her way through the
great building to his office, in order to assure her-
self that her husband was not seriously ill. It
was the thought of the look of unmistakable annoy-
ance with which he would greet any such attempt
that held her in check, and she would proceed to
reason hei'self back to common-sense again.

Following Glyde's departure had come Hannah
Bramlett, the woman who since the day of her
marriage had been one of Estelle's thorns in the
flesh.

r, '■•1

OVKURULED.

CHAPTER III.

I!l!|iii

liiiiiiiiii;

i!i;ii;i;;l

"POOR HANNAH.

IX all the wide range of topics for convereation,
there seemed to be no two upon whicli Mre.
Kalph Bramlett and her sister-in-law Hannah could
agree. Poor Hannah had begun by making the
mistake which is often made under similar circum-
stances ; that of trying to advise, in some senses
even to control, her new sister. Failing utterly in
that, she had been unsparing of her censures.

But within the last few weeks the two had in a
certain sense changed places, Mi's. Bramlett having
turned mentor. There was at firet a degree of
comfort, or at least a lurking sense of satisfaction,
in the thought of something tangible to complain
of. A curious state of things existed. Hannah
l^ramlett had passed her twenty-eighth birthday,
and through all the years as far back as her sister-
in-law could remember her, had been a pattern of
dignity and propriety. She had been a reserved
woman always with her own sex, and almost if not
quite prudish in her intercourse with gentlemen.

Now, when she had quite passed the age in
which one might naturally look for imprudences,

"POOU HANNAH.

she luul become one of the most-talked-ubout young
AvonuMi in the neighborhood. And of all jjeivons
witli whom to associate her name, that of Jack
Tavlor seemed to her sister-in-law the woi-st.
"Who is Jack Taylor, anyway?" she had asked
once or twice of her husband, or of Hannah her-
self; and her lip had curled in a way which in-
dicated that she, at least, knew who he was, and
that her knowledge was not to his advantage.

Poor Jack certainly had an unenviable record
'hehind him. "A worthless, drunken fellow," "A
ne'er-do-weel in any direction," "An unprinci-
pled creature," "A man who killed his wife l)y
dissipation and neglect," — this was the verdict,
variously phrased according to the style of the
speaker, that one was sure to receive when one
(piestioned concerning him. It is true that Jack
had not drank any liqucr for several months, and
was keeping himself as steadily at work as pre-
vious habits of superficiality and his general repu-
tation would admit. But when every good thing
which could be said of him was freelv admitted,
tlie question was, why should Hannah Bramlett
permit his almost daily visits ? Not only this, but
that estimable young woman walked the streets
with him, allowed him to attend her home from
the v/eekly prayer-meetings and from other public
J places. She allowed him to linger at the gate, not
merely for a few minutes, but sometimes for a full
half -hour; indeed, there were watchei-s wdio af-

OVEIIRULED.

illiill

; II

firmed that on certain occasions it had been an
hour and ten minutes by the clock before the vigil
closed. Mrs. Bramlett, when in her- indignation
she had told off his sister's sins to her husband,
had not exaggerated the stories. The truth is, as
they had come to her, through the medium of her
washerwoman, reported by the aforesaid Lena,
they had been sufficiently offensive, and she had
not been tempted to add even a shade of meaning.
The tongues of a certain class of people were un-
doubtedly busying themselves Avith Hannah Bram-
lett's affaii-s. Mrs. Brandett was loyal enough to
her husband's family to be genuinely alarmed at
this. It was one thing to find fault with Hannah,
hei-self ; it was quite another to have the neighbor-
hood gossips making free with her name. That
lurking sense of satisfaction which the matron had
felt when she first realized the opportunity for
criticism had entirely passed. She realized the
importance of urging her husband to the rescue.
All things considered, it will be undei-stood, I
think, that she came to the evening in question
unfitted to be helpful to the nerves of a weary,
debt-haunted husband. She had made a braver
effort than l^alph Bramlett would perhaps ever
understand, to rise above the disturbances of the
day. She would have been able, perhaps, to have
met him half-way, but, as has been noted, he did
not meet her half-way ; and when she introduced
his sister as a topic for conversation, he did not

"POOU HANNAH.

give her credit for genuine anxiety, but believed
that she had selected simply another theme for his
annoyance. With such a series of discomforts and
misunderstandings acting upon two such natures
as Ralph Bramlett and his wife, how could the
evening have ended other than it did ?

While Estelle Ih'amlett in her pretty sitting-
room was indulging her disappointed and bitter
thoughts, and Ralph Bramlett in his library was
staring at unpaid bills, and inwardly groaning at
the sight, All's. Edmonds and her daughter Mar-
jorie sat together in their cheerful back jiarlor,
which, although they had been at home so short a
time, had already taken on that mysterious resem-
blance to themselves which is a peculiarity of cer-
tain rooms. Mrs. Edmonds had sewing materials
about her; and the latest magazine, with freshly
cut leaves, w^as waiting for Marjorie, to entertain
her so soon as the letter she was writing should
be finished. But Marjorie's pen had stopped, and
was being balanced on one finger, in an absent-
minded way, wdiile its owner sat lost in thought.
Mi's. Edmonds had watched her silently for several
minutes ; at last she spoke, —

" Well, Marjorie ? Is that letter unusually
hard to write ? "

" The leiter ? Oh, no, mother, that is finished ;
at least 1 have only a sentence or two to add. I
had forgotten it."

"I noticed that your thoughts seemed to be

OVERRULED.

iiiillilliilllli

llll'li'!

r I

very closely occupied. If I am to jiulgo from
your face, the revery is not altoj^ether a pleasant
one."

Marjorie smiled. ^^ Did 1 l(»()k cross, niollier?
1 must have a very tell-tale face." Tlicn, after a
numient, "To tell the truth, I have not Ikjcu
ahle to j^et away from some of the things that
(ilyde told me this afternoon. She is trouhled
about Estelle and Halph."

Mi's. Kdnnrnds sewed steadily for several sec-
onds. She could not decide whether to question
or be silent. At last she said, —

" What about them ? Anything new? I'hat is,
I mean, anything different from what you ex-
pected ? "

" Yes," said Marjorie in a low voice ; " I think
my faith had other expectations. We have been
praying for a long time."

There seemed to be no reply to make to this.
After another silence, the mother questioned
again.

"What does Glyde say?"

" Oh, nothing pronounced, of course ; that is,
nothing which she meant to have definite. But
she is such a guileless little creature that she
tells more than she imagines. They have both,
it seems, quite given up the habit of attend-
ing prayer-meeting, and they do not even have
family worship. In fact, I gather from Glyde's
talk that their attendance at churcli on Sundays

liiiiiii

Hill i

"POOH HANNAH.

»»

is so extremely irregular that it is almost begin-
ning to be marked when they are present, instead
of when they are absent. Of coui-se Glyde did
not say this ; but from her troubled face when she
talked about the hindmnces in their religious life,
I gathered it. Half-way living is not like Ralph ;
with him it must be all, or nothing. What is
there, mother, that we can do to help them?"

It was hard for Mrs. Edmonds to reply. If she
had spoken the hope of her inmost soul, it would
have been that her Marjorie would let Ralph
Bramlett and his wife entirely alone ; forget their
existence Jis much as posaible, and live her own
sweet, strong life without regard to their petty
one. But neither policy nor conscience would
agree to such speaking, so she hesitated. Pres-
ently Marjorie answered her silence, —

" I know, mother, that j'^ou sometimes find it
difficult to undei-stand my persistent interest in
these two ; but — we were children together, you
remember, and — I realize now that I influenced
them both much more than I was aware at the
time. I sometimes think that they are living out
the life which I fostered in them ; and if my in-
fluence had been different, why " —

She spoke in half-sentences, with distinct pauses
between, as though it was difficult to formulate
her thought. But her mother made haste to
answer, —

"Really, Marjorie, I must say I think that is

■tV

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I !

OVERRULED.

I !i

I llil:

if ll

liii'i^
I

Hill il

mere sentimentalism. People must live their own
lives. Ralph and Estelle have reached the age of
maturitj'-, and are responsible for their own doings
and their own failures ; to foster in them a no-
tion that other people are to blame, is merely to
help them in a line of self-excuse to which both
are only too prone already, if I am not mistaken
in them. It was Ralph's besetment from his
babyhood."

" I know," said Marjorie quickly ; " I remember
you used always to say so. Of course I do not
mean to say anything of this sort to them ; I was
merely thinking aloud. But you do not mean
that we are not responsible for the influence which
we exert?"

" To a degree we are, of course ; and I do not
deiiy that if you had been a Christian from your
childhood, you might have influenced for good not
only those two, but your other companions. But
all that is past. It is a sorrowful fact that we
cannot undo the past. The thought ought cer-
tiiinly to make us more careful of our present ;
but unavailing regrets, an attempt to accomplish
in the present what belongs to the past, weaken
our influence over othei*s, and savor of sentiment
rather than religion."

Marjorie laughed pleasantly. ''Mother dear,"
she said, " it is the firet time I ever knew vou to
accuse me of sentimentality. Have I not gener-
ally been almost too matter-of-fact to suit your

"POOR HAXXAH.

poetic temperament? I assure you I mean the
merest commonplace now. I have shed my teai-s
over past follies, and put them away ; it is the
present that interests me. If I can l)ut do my
duty now. I shall leave the past mistakes with-
Ilim who has promised to hide them. l>ut I
frankly admit that I am more interested in
Kalph and Estelle than in any other friends of
nine ; and I daily ask God to show me ways of
helping them. It was the predominant thought
in our home-coming. I liad a feeling that they
were in need of help. Aside from this, mother,
you and I can do no less than try. We have
covenanted to do so, yo\i remember."

" I promised to pray for them," said Mi's.
Edmonds in a low, troubled toi^e.

" Yes ; but what is prayer worth unless we sup-
plement it so far as possible by effort?"

Poor Mrs. Edmonds ! She was willing to pray
during the period of her natural life for these two
friends of her daughter's girlhood ; but to come
into daily social contact with them, to feel that
her daughter was interesting hereelf in them in
a special manner, planning for them, giving her-
self as it Avere to efforts in their behalf, was an
experience from which she shrank with an inten-
sity that she vainly told herself wac utter folly.
To understand her feeling, one would need to
realize what it was for a mother to look forward
for a year or two to the probable marriage of her

m
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iiiilllliil

ii III'

OVKTIRITLED.

daughter with a young man of whom she did not
approve, and then to feel herself suddenly lifted
above the danger by the marriage of the young
man to another woman ; and yet to feel that her
daughter's life had been scarred, at least, by the
experience. More than tliat, this mother knew
that the scar had been deep. If her daughter had
come back to meet Ralph Bramlett Avitli utter
indifference, the mother would hav; been satis-
fied, would have felt that all was as it should be ;
but to own to more than common interest in and
anxiety for this man who had done Avhat he could
to make her life a wreck ; not only this, but to
proceed on this fii'st quiet evening at home to
plan ways of reaching and influencing him, was
more than the poor mother's faith was equal to.
Once more Marjorie answered the look on her
face.

"Mother dear, don't be anxious. I ua not
going to do anything erratic, nor in the k u^i out
of the line of the conventional. I am thinking r*' ly
of an afternoon call upon Estelle, — an informal
running-in, such as she is not willing to give me,
it seems. Glyde said she asked her to come this
afternoon, and she declined because it would be
more proper to call first with her husband. Think
of such formalities between Estelle Douglass and
myself I " and Marjorie laughed lightly. " I shall
forestall all such proprieties by going to-mori'ow,
I think, to have a little old-time chat with her,

\ :■

"1>

I'OOIl HANNAH.

and establish her, if possible, upon a friendly foot-
ing. Then, in time, I shall hope to he ahle to in-
fluence her ill the direction of her highest good,
and, through her, to reach Ralph. I am afraid
the poor fellow is troul)led in more ways than
one. Glyde thinks he is unhappy in his Imsiness
relations. I never believed that his conscience
would permit him to continue in peace as l>ook-
keeper in a distillerv.''

Mi's. Edmottds opened her lips to say that she
did not believe he had any conscience; then she
closed them again with the words unspoken. Of
what use ?

"If I could, through Estelle," Marjorie went
on, " help him to see that to connect himself with
such a business, however remotely, was his fii'st
mistake, and pereuade him to get right with his
conscience in that direction, I should have hope
for the rest. Do you not think, mother, that it
may have been the starting-point with him ? "

" No, dear ; I think the starting-point, as you
call it, was away back in his childhood or early
youth. His moral nature was never strong ; and
his obstinacy, that strong point in a weak nature,
was always at the front. The trouble is that you
invested Ralph from his childhood with qualities
that he did not possess, and l)ecause as a man he
did not exhibit them, he keeps you in a constant
state of disappointment. My opinion is that Ralph
Bramlett will have to be entirely made over before

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OVERRTTLED.

;i;:ii!

he will be other than a disappointment to those
of his friends who have his highest interests at
heart."

Marjorie made no effort to argue the question.
In her heart she believed that her mother was
hopelessly prejudiced against this old friend of
hers.

. " Very well, mamma," she said quietly. " You
and I must remember that the grace of God can
do exactly that for people." Then, after a mo-
ment's silence, she changed the subject, or rather
brought forward another form of what was to her
the same subject.

"The gossips of this locality are still alive,
mother; I think it will astonish you to hear
whose name they are making free with now. Of
all women in the world I should have expected
Hannah Bramlett to escape such ordeals." •

" Hannah Bramlett ! " exclaimed Mrs. Ed-
monds, surprised out of the instinctive reserve in
which she encased herself whenever the Bramlett
name was under discussion. " What can they pos-
sibly find to gossip about in her ? "

" That is the most extraordinary part of it. Do
you remember that Jack Taylor whose wife I*
stayed with while Mr. Maxwell went for a doctor,
and who died while I was in the house ? Hannah,
you know, interested herself in the poor wretch,
tried to help him to get work, and to keep away
from the saloons. She succeeded too ; I heard,

POOR HA NX AH.

])efore we left home, that she was having a really
remarkable iiifluenee over him. It seems that her
efforts have contiimed, and have been crowned
with such success that poor Jack hius not taken
a drop I'or months, and he works steadily every
day. He has earned himself some decent clothes,
and goes to church quite regularly ; but now
the gossips, who let him travel toward destruc-
tion without a word, are interesting themselves in
him and in Hannah, to a degree that is start-
ling."

" But in what way ? " asked Mi*s. Edmonds, l)e-
wildered. " Surely no one disapproves of helping
a poor wretch to reform I "

" No ; but having reformed he becomes a legiti-
mate subject, it seems, for idle tongues. Glyde
thinks poor Hannah has been thoughtless, perhaps.
She has allowed him to come often to see her, and
has walked with him on the streets quite often,
and has stood talking with him at her own gate
once or twice, possibly until a later hour than cus-
tom approves ; and the gossips, who seem to be
delighted with the whole subject, have taken hold
of it, and added what they pleased to make it in-
teresting, until now, Glyde says, the street-corner
loungera speak of Hannah as ' Jack Taylor's best
girl,' and ask him when he is going to get his
house ready for her I "

" Is it possible ! " said Mrs. Edmonds. " What
an absurdly imprudent condition of things for a

fi r

DV^KKIMH.ED.

woman of her age to be beguiled into! It must
be that that liramlett family are all devoid of
connnon-sense ."

And then Marjorie resolved that she would talk
no more with her mother al)out tiie liramletts.

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" MARJORTE EDMONDS.

CHAPTER IV.

^■11

" MARJORIE EDMONDS.

9»

TRUE to her decision, the following; afternoon
fourd Marjorie awaiting admittance at Ralpli
Bmmlett's home. A cvirions half-smile was on her
face, and a far-away look in her eyes, as she read
the name " Bramlett " on the doorplate. The
time had been when this young woman had thought
of that name even in connection with such trivial-
ities as doorplates. She remembered a certain
June evening when she had waited with Ralph
to hd admitted to Judge Bartlett's house, and he,
calling attention to the name on the door, had
said : " It isn't quite Bramlett, but it takes about
the same space, doesn't it? However, we shall
not have that style of lettering on our door ; I de-
test it. Do you arrange even such matters about
our house that is to be, Marjorie? I think no
small detail of our establishment escapes me."

She had laughed in response, and said gayly,
" Our castle in the air." Yet with the laugh had
come a blush, and she had admitted to herself that
no smallest detail of that dear castle could be un-
important to her; so entirely a matter of course

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OVER RULED.

did it seem to lier that, sometime in the lovely
future, the name Bramlett would cover her own.
Yet here she stood at Kalph Bramlett's door, await-
ing admission, and the p/esiding genius of liis homo
was Estelle Douglass Bramlett !

Was it not well for her that slie could smile ?
Not simply a brave smile, but a quiet, natural one.
That time was all in the past, as she had told lier
mother; and her heart, as well as lier conscience,
said, '* It is well." She knew now that she had
never been intended to become the wife of Ralph
Bramlett ; that a wise and kind overruling Provi-
dence had held her from it, and she could look up
thankfully because of the ruling. Yet it was, to
say tlie least, interesting to be standing here at
Ralph Bramlett's door. She had speculated a lit-
tle over their first meeting. How was it possible
to do otherwise when she remembered with such
vividness their last interview? Probably Ralph,
too, remembered it. If they could both forget it,
everything would be comparatively easy.

She went swiftly over that last interview while
she waited, recalling, almost in spite of herself,
some of Ralph Bramlett's wild words.

" Estelle Douglass be hanged ! "he had said sav-
agely, when she had haughtily reminded him of
his engagement with her. And then he had poured
out that alarming appeal to her not to cast him
off, to remember how long they had been tacitly
pledged to each other, to overlook all the past, and

i ,■-,.

"MARJORIE EDMONDS.

»»

''5*

permit nothing to separate them again. " Let us
be married right away ! " had been one of his pas-
sionate outcries. Oh ! she remembered it vividly.
The remembrance called the blood to her face even
now. But the blush was because she realized that
the man who had spoken such words to her was at
that moment, of his own will and desire, engaged
to be married to another. Long ago she had set-
tled it that some experience of which she knew
nothing had caused a temporary insanity, during
which he had forgotten his position, and gone back
into their past. What a humiliation it must have
l)een to him when he came to himself, and realized
what he had said ! It was possible — nay, sl'e had
settled it with hereelf that it was entirely probable
— that he had brooded over this interview until it
had had much to do with the retrograde life at
which Glyde Douglass had mournfully hinted. In
the old days she had been well acquainted with
him, and none knew better than she what a de-
moralizing effect a sense of self-abasement had on
him. It was entirely within the range of his
imagination to believe that she, Marjorie, despised
him. If she could but meet him in a friendly way,
quite as though they were, and always had been,
and always would be, real friends, it might accom-
plish much. It was this train of thought that had
brought her to the decision which she had an-
nounced to her mother, and brought her finally
to Kalph Hramlett's door.

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OVERRULED.

It was Lena who admitted her, and she waited
in state in the handsome parlor lilie any formal
caller. When Mrs. Hramlett came, it was evident
that she felt formal and dignified. In vain did
Marjorie strnggle to take lier old friendly place.

" What a pretty home yon have, Estelle ! I have
often thought of you in it, and fancied myself
running in to see you. It is even prettier than I
imagined it. Have you grown used to housekeep-
ing? or does it still seem queer to he regarded as
mistross, with no mother in the hackground ready
for a[)peal ? "

'* Oh, yes," the matron said, with a cold smile,
she was quite used to it. Almost anything he-
came an old story after a few months.

"And have you heen well all these months?
Aren't you thinner than you used to he? How
is Ralph? Does he look just as he did? The
truth is, it seems to me years since I went away.
I am not used to heing so long from home, you
know. I may call your hushand Ralph, may I
not? I cannot seem to bring my tongue into the
habit of saying * Mr. Bramlett ; ' I think of him
very much as I fancy others do of their brothers.'"

Nothing could Ikj more sincere than this sen-
tence. The time had been when it flushed her
cheek, and brought a look of indignation to her
eyes, to have Estelle Douglass talk to her about
Ralph Bramlett being the same as her brother.
But all that seemed very long ago, like a piece of

" MATUORIE EDMONDS.

•»

hor childhood tliat liad been foolish iind l)een \mt
iuvay. What she had desired exeeedingly was to
establish herself on snch a footing with this yonng
('()Ui)le that they would hont'stly look ui)on her as
a sister; one who was interested in everything
that pertained to their life, and ready to l)e as
sympathetic and helpful as possible. If (ilyde was
not mistiiken, Kalpli, especially, stood in dire need
of a sister's influence. Hut her heart misgave her
as slie looked at Esteile's luiresponsive face. She
liad been mistaken, she told hei-self, in thinking
her paler than of old ; there was a rich glow on
her cheeks. These thoughts floated through her
mind as she listened to Mi's. Bramlett's rei)ly.

Kalph was quite well, she believed, though she
hardly saw enough of him to be certain. He was
like all men, so absorbed in business as to have
neither time nor heart for other ideas. As to what
name her guest should use toward him, the wife
utterly ignored this question. And then, suddenly,
it seemed the time for her to ask questions.

"' What of yourself, Marjorie ? What have you
found to occupy you all tJiis while? I was sur-
prised to learn that you had returned just as
you went away. How is Mr. Maxwell ? "

*' He is quite well, or was when we last heard.
He is coming to spend the midwinter vacation
with us. I hope you will see a good deal of him
then. I feel sure that both you and llalj)!! would
enjoy him."

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And when is the marriage to take place ? "

Mrs. Bramlett had not forgotten her old art of
asking direct questions when she chose, undeterred
by any feeling of delicacy. It may be that she
thought Marjorie's frank kindliness justified her in
asking so peraonal a question. But was ever stu-
pider guest? For the moment Marjorie was bewil-
dered. Could she mean Glyde? Hut that was
absurd ; she would not question an outsider about
her own sister's affairs. Then suddenly tlie per-
sonality of the question dawned upon her, and she
laughed.

"You must mean my marriagt, . think. My
friend, I haven't any idea. Nothing is farther from
my thoughts at present. My own opinion is that
I shall stay close beside my mother, and be a good,
useful old-maid sister to all my friends. I have
always thought that a more useful life than that
could hardly be imagined, and at present it cer-
tainly* seems a pleasant one."

There was no mistaking the earnestness in Mrs.
Bramlett's tone when her next direct question was
put.

"Do you mean me to underetand that you are
not engaged to Mr. Maxwell ? "

The rich color flowed into Marjorie's face, but
her laugh was free and unembarrased.

"My dear Estelle," she said, "how could you
have imagined such a state of things? I assure
you that nothing can be farther from the thouglits

!!!■.'!»!!

" MAIMOIIIK KDMONDS.

of either of us. Mr. Maxwell is ji true and valued
friend; speaking of brothers, 1 am sure no girl
could have a better one than he is to me; hut tluit
is quite the limit of our relationship. We have
never for a moment thought of any other."

*^ Well I " said Kstelle, drawing her hieath hard,
and speaking quiekly, as one impelled to si)eak,
whether she would or not, — "then all I have to
say is, you are even a worse flirt than I took you
to be."

"Estelle ! Have I (^ver said or dime anything
that justifies you in using sueh language to me ? "
There was the pathos of wounded feeling in her
voice, as well as a strong undertone of indignation.
Estelle was instantly ashamed of heivelf.

" I beg your pardon," she said, trying to laugh,
" I should not have said that ; it is really none of
my business, of coui-se ; but you took me so utterly
by surprise. Why, Marjorie, everybody thinks you
are engaged to Mr. Maxwell ; and ever since we
heard you were coming home, people have been
wondering whether you woidd be married l)efore
your return, or Avait to have the wedding at home.
I am sure I was never more amazed in my life."

Just what reply Marjorie would have made will
not be known. An unexpected interru})tion oc-
curred. It had been months since Ralph liramlett
had come out from his business by an early train.
Indeed, his wife counted hei"self fortunate if he
arrived in time for their late dinner, so uU-engn .-.-

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I

ing liiul liis ofTice business become. Iler cjiller
hud taken eare to assure heixelf of this fact before
she chose the hour for her visit, her }>lan being to
re-establish tlie most friendly rehilio.is with the
wife before coming in contact with the husband.
Indeed, one must do her judgment the justice to
explain that her i)lan involved influencing her old
friend Ralph almost entirely through the medium
of his wife. She reasoned that, having so little
time outside of business houi-s, he would naturally
want to spend it chiefly with his wife, and of
coui-se she would not often see him. In short, she
desired and planned to act the guardian angel to
this friend of her youth, without coming often
enough in contact with him to disturb the angelic
influence. That is not the way in which she put
it to hei-self, yet it is perhaps a fair explanation of
her inward meaning. However, on this particular
day the unexpected happened. Mr. Hramlett came
home by the early tmin ; and hearing his wife's
voice as he entered the hall, and believing one of
her sistei-s to }ye Avith her, he pushed open the door
without eel'emony, and stood framed ir the door-
way, and ejaculated the one word, —

" Marjorie I "

Then Marjorie's self-possession returned to her.
Not even positive nuleness on Estelle's part should
keep 'ler from trying to be helpful in this home.
If Ralph supposed that she cherished indignation
against him because, for a single moment, under

•• MA 11.) OKIE EDMONDS.

tlie power of some excitement, he had lost his head
entirely, and spoken words which must have been
a humiliation to him ever since, it should be her
duty at the first opportunity to assure him of liis
mistake. Accordingly she arose, and advanced to
meet him with outstretched hand.

They were to be friends, then. She must have
l)een gratified, not only at the instant look of re-
lief, but of unqualified pleasure, which overspread
Ralph Bramlett's face. He grasped the offered
hand with an eagerness which did not escape his
wife's eyes, and drawing a chair beside Marjorie,
plunged at once into the most earnest convei-sation,
which was so worded, probably by accident, that
Estelle was of necessity left outside. Neither did
he appear to notice it when she murmured an ex-
cuse, and abruptly left the lom. Marjorie did,
liowever, and was disturbed ; not at being left
alone for a few minutes with her old friend, — she
desired to establish their relations on such a broth-
erly and sisterly basis as to make this the most
ordinary of happenings, — but because she felt
afraid that Estelle would not realize how hearty
and entire was her interest in herself, nor how
anxious she was to be her friend.

"It is really Estelle that 1 want," said this
unworldly schemer. "What a juty that Kalpli
came so soon ! I wish he would go to his dress-
ing-room, or somewhere else, and give me a
chance to visit with his wife."

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OVERRULED.

Yet although this uncomfortable feeling floated
through her mind, she had not, after all, the remo-
test conception of the state of turmoil into which
she had thrown Estelle Bramlett. Be it under-
stood that she had never realized in the past what
was patent to some persons ; namely, that Estelle
was jealous of her influence over Ralph. Why
should there be any such feeling ? Marjorie would
have reasoned, if she had thought about it at all.
Did he not choose hei, and give himself to her?
and had he not made her his wife ? Of course she
was to him above all othere. That last interview
with him, in which he had spoken words which
would imply the contrary, was left out of the
matter altogether as soon as it was definitely set-
tled that those words were but the ravings of a
temporarily unbalanced brain. Her surprise and
consternation would have been great could she
have followed the wife, and watched her as, having
locked her door against all possible intrusion, she
walked up and down the room, eyes dry and bright,
and seeming to flash venom, and hands clasped
in so tight a grip that had she not been under
the influence of violent excitement it would have
hurt her, muttering from time to time such words
as these, —

" A wicked, wicked woman! Worse, a hundred
times, than an ordinary flirt ! What does she
mean? Haven't I trouble enough without having
her steal into my house like the serpent that she

" MAUJOIUE KDMONDS.

-10

..9

IS ; I hate lier ! I wish I hud tohl her so, and
ootteu rid of her in some way — in any way — be-
fore Kalph came. O Ralph ! Kalph ! "

The name was uttered as a sort of moan, hut
still there were no teai-s. Estelle Bramlett was a
woman who had no teai-s with w'hich to relieve lier
deepest feelings. In her pocket there Imrned at
that moment a hit of paper which she had found
on the floor of her husband's study. It was cov-
ered all over with a name, written in different
styles of his fine hand. That name was Marjorie
Edmonds, — " Marjorie Edmonds," repeated in
(jrerman text, in fine flowing hand, in bold busi-
ness hand, in curves and shades and flourishes,
and twice carefully written *' Marjorie Edmonds
IJramlett ! " What did he mean? Why should
lie employ his idle moments in writing that girl's
name in every imaginable style? Why had he
actually added to it his own name, — her name ?
Did he wish all the time that it were Marjorie
Edmonds Bramlett, instead of Estelle Douglass
Bramlett ? How w as she to bear any of it ?

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I || III

Plinnll; i b

CHAPTER V.

TEMPTATIONS.

IN the glow of the moonlight two figures were
distinctly outlined at the gate of the Bramlett
homestead. The hour was late, and, especially in
that quiet part of the world, most people were
sleeping ; 3'et still they lingered, Hannah ] 'ramlett
inside the gate, with her anxious face upturned
toward Jack Taylor, who lounged against the gate-
post, and listened with what he meant for an air
of respect.

Hannah's voice as well as face was anxious.

'*> Von know, Jack, you own that it is a constant
temptation to 30U, and you have half pi'omised me
a dozen times that you would give it up. Why
don't vou? "

'' That is the question," said Jack. " Why don't
T ? It isn't so easy as you women-folks think."

" I know it isn't easy. Jack ; at least, I have
heard others besides yourself say the same thing.
But you are not a child, to yield to a temptation
because it is hard to resist it. You have been
brave in struggling against a much greater tempta-
tion than this."

li Ii! ! "■'

TEMPTATIONS.

" There is where you are wrong," said Jack
<liiiekly. "In some ways it is harder to stop
smoking than it is to stop drinking. You see, it
is like this : if a feUow drinks, — drinks hard, you
know, as I have to if I d,; it at all, — and stag-
gel's through the streets, running against folks,
and talking to lamp[)osts and things, why, every-
l)ody knows ahout it; and if he is poor, and wears
ragged clothes, and all that sort of thing, why,
lie is a worthless, good-for-nothing fellow at once,
— nohody trusts him, nobody wants to have any-
tliing to do with him. But with smoking it is as
different as daylight is from darkness. The nicest
men in the world smoke, and are respected just
the same. Dr. Ford smokes, and 3'ou think he is
all right. He came into our shop the other day tt)
speak to a fellow, and he had a cigar in his hand
that minute ; it was li good one too. I liked the
smell of it ; in fact, you may say I hankered after
one like it. I went out as soon as I could and
bought one. Not like his, — I can't indulge ex-
pensive tastes, you see, though I have them, — Imt
one of my kind. I think maybe I would have
got through the afternoon without smoking if it
had not been for Dr. Ford ; so you see what I
mean by being tempted all the time."

Hannah made a movement of impatience.

'• Of coui*se I know what you mean. Jack ; but
cannot you see the difference between you and
Dr. Ford ? I don't say I am glad that lie smokes ;

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OVKlinULKt).

#T am not. I wisli he and everybody else would
stop it ; but what I want you to think about is,
wliat has liis smoking to do with you? Por-
hai)s it isn't a temptation to him ; certainly it
isn't in the same way tluit it is to you. Why
cannot y(m live your life, and let liim live his?
— do tlie best that you can for youi-self, without
regai'd to the Doctor Fords or any other people?
You know. Jack, you have told me that after smok-
ing two or three cigai-s you felt sometimes such
a hankering for liquor that it seemed to you you
must have it ; and you know if you once taste it
again you are ruined, yet you constantly keep
this great temj^tation before you. How can you
hope to become anybody when you refuse to help
youi'self even by so much?"

Jack Taylor gave a long -drawn sigh, and shifted
his position from one post to the other.

'" I don't hope it much," he said dolefully ;
" that's the living truth. I'm not worth the trou-
ble 3'ou are taking for me, ]\Iiss Hannah ; I know
it as well as the next one. If it hadn't been for
you, and your kind of hanging on to me, and ex-
pecting better things of me than I expected of
myself, I should have gone to the dogs long ago ;
and perhaps that would have been the best way,
because that is how it will end. There isn't
enough of me to have it end in any other way.
You see, being a woman, you don't undei-stand
anything about it, and you can't understand. It

r'm

TEMPTATIONS.

isn't that I don't keep up u constant fight about
these things. Take smoking, now, which it seems
to you is just as easy to give up as to say I won't
go down street to-day ; wliy, I've fought enough
over that to make a decent felloNv of me if there
was anything to make it on. I began the smoking
when I was a little chap not a dozen yeai-s old.
I did it to be like my Sunday-school teacher too.
I knew he was a big, splendid man, and spent
his days in a bank, and went riding in his car-
riage whenever he liked, and the cigars seemed a
part of him, somehow. I don't know as I thought
that if I got the cigare, the bank and the carriage
and fine clothes would come ; but anyhow I copied
him where I could, and took to smoking. I've
been at it ever since. Folks talk about second
nature ; this has got to be first nature with me.
I seem to need it too. Why, one time since I
have been trying to live up to your notions, I
went without cigars for pretty near three days ;
and a crosser, uglier, more cantankerous beast
than I was couldn't be found in the country. I
wonder I wasn't discharged any hour in the day ;
if they hadn't been short of men, and uncom-
monly hurried, I should have been. At last it got
so bad I couldn't stand myself. I made up my
mind it was no use. I threw down my hammer,
and went out and got a cigar, and in an hour I
was all right."
" ' All right,' Jack ! when you own to me that

^11

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after smokinj? two or ihwa cioai-s you feel as
though you iitKHt have a drink of l»eer?"

"■That's true, Miss Hannah, and I won't deny
it. Everybody may not be so: but witli nie the
two liave go)ie together for a h)ng time, and tliey
seem to behini>' toyetlier. When I o-et the fumes
of a good cigar, it isn't tlie eigar I think so mueli
al)out, after all, as the ])randy ; I seem to see it
somehow skulking behind the other smell, and
I hive to fly out and get tlie eigar tliat I know I
can have, to keep me from rushing into the thing
that 1 know I mustn't touch. Hut I shall touch
it some day ; I feel dead sure of it. Things are
getting worse with me instead of better. That is
tbe way it has Ik^cu all my life ; I couhl kee^)
sober up to a certain i)oint, tlien I was off, and
notliing in this life or the next one could prevent
it. Vou know what 1 have been through? If
anything could have kept me sober, it was that
little girl of mine, — my wife, you know, — and
yet I killed her with the drink."

Poor Hannah lirandett ! how utterly helpless
she felt before this vision of a tempted soul. It
was as if for the fii-st time she had been given a
glimpse into darker depths than she liad before
imagined. .Fack Taylor, looking at her, could
distinctly see a tear rolling slowly down her
cheeks. A tear of sympathy, it may be, but also
of disappointment. This shocked and dismayed
him, as tears on the face of an habitually self-

TKMPTATIONS.

controlled woman alwiays must dismay those who
are not utterly hardened.

It roused him to instant endeavor.

"I'll tell you what. Miss Hannah, I'm not worth
all the trouhle you are taking for me, and that's a
fact. You just let go of me, and let me slide.
There are fellows in this town who are not so far
gone as I, and young chai)s who are just hegin-
ning, and some who haven't hegun yet, but they
will. If you will just turn your mind to some of
them, and save them, ycm will he doing something
worth while. Hut I'm not of any particular ac-
count, anyway. My wife is dead, and mother is
dead, and there isn't a living soul who cai'es what
l»ecomes of me."

The effect wjis utterly different from what Han-
nah would have hoped for, had her tears l)een
planned for effect. They were instantly dried ;
and Hannah, leaning over the gate-post, laid her
hand on Jack's arm. He was watching her in-
tently, a curious, eager look in his eyes. If this
girl who had been so kind, — kinder than her soi't
of folks had ever been to him before, — would
only consent to drop her hold upon him, and let
him slide, he could then go back to the tastes for
wiiich his whole diseased l)ody and brain longed
with something like an eiusy conscience, according
to his distorted ideas of conscience. A strange
tigiit was at that moment going on in Jack Tay-
lor's mind. He was makingr Hannah IJramlett

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tlie pivot oh Avhich his next action was to turn.
If slie would only say, "Jack, I am disappointed
in you ; I liave ludped you all I can. I must give
you up," tlien would he go as straij^iit as im[)a-
tient feet could carry him to tlie nearest saloon,
and drink until this awful thii'st of his was
quenched. Jt was heavier upon liim to-night
than it had been for weeks before. What she
said, witii her hand resting on his arm, was, —

"Jack, I will never give you up; ncrcr^ as long
as I live, so help me (iod ! I have asked him on
my knees to make of you a good, true man, and to
let me be a help Li) you in some way. Don't ask
me to turn away from that hope and expectation.
Jack, you are the first one I ever tried to help in
my life, and if you fail me it will spoil my life as
well as youi-s."'

It was a strange appeal, and it had a strange
effect. Jack ctMitinued to look at her steadfastly,
but the light died out of his eyes, leaving instead
almost a sullen look ; and he gave presently that
long-drawn sigh and said, —

" Well, then I suppose I must try it some
more. I thought I wouldn't; but if you won't
let go of a fellow, what can he do ? "

An upper window of the Brandett homestead
opened at that moment, — a head appeared, ana
a voice was heard, —

" Hannah, you ought not to stand out there any
longer in the cold ; I wish you would come in."

liKi

TEMPTATIONS.

It was her mother's voice, and there wtis more
tlian maternal solicitude for Hannah's health ex-
pressed in it. ilannah knew what the admonition
meant. So, in a degree, did Jack. He laughed
a little bitterly.

♦*They are watching out for you, Miss Han-
nah," he said; "you are getting yourself into lots
of trouble by trying to helj) such a worthless fel-
low as I am. It would be a great deal better for
you just to give me up.*'

" Hush ! " said Hannah. " I don't want you
ever to say anything of that kind to me again.
Remember what I have told you, that I will
never give you up. We must not talk any longer
now, it is late; but I shall expect to see you at
the hall to-morrow as usual. Good-night."

By the time she had locked the door, and
toiled up the long flight of stairs, the door of her
mother's room opened, and that good lady, in
night attire, old-fashioned candlestick in hand,
appeared to light her daughter through the hall,
and speak her mind, —

'*I wonder at you, Hannah! standing at the
gate in the cold at this time of night, to talk with
that fellow, after what Ralph said to you. I can't
think what has got into you ; you never used to
go on in this way before."

" Oh, Ralph ! " said Hannah in a high-pitched,
indignant voice ; " don't quote him to me, mother,
to-night. If he would help me a little in what

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I iiiii tryin.i; to do, instead of sinokiiij^ around tlic
streets, settin'j;' l)ad examples for othei-s to follow,
I migiit he nion; willinj^ to listen to what he has
to say. I haven't hnrt anyhody hy standing at
the gate a few minutes with a poor tempted hoy.
Our voices couldn't have disturhed you to-night,
1 am sure ; we spoke low enough."

*•" It isn't the disturhunce," said the mother in
an injured tone; ^'vou know well enough, Han-
nah, that I'm not one to l)e disturhed hv folks
tiying to help othei-s. Hut there is common-sense
in all things; and it isn't connnon-sense for you
to stand out at the front gate at this time of
night, talking with a good-for-nothing hoy. It
does seem as though you were possessed. What
do y(Ui sui)pose people think of you? At your
age too ! "

"I don't care what they think," said Hannah.
She disappeared within her own room without
so much as saying good-night to her mother, and
slammed the door a little as she did so. By
which token it will l)e seen that an angelic spirit
had hy no means gotten complete possession of
Hannah Bramlett.

As to what people said of her, they were husy
saying it that very night. She liad heen so
earnest in her last words to Jack, that slie had
not so nuich as noticed a ptissing carriage mov-
ing very slowly along the road, while one pair
of keen eyes watched with eagerness the scene

TKMITATIONS.

at tlio gate. Perhaps IFaniiah would liave l)een
more eareful Jiatl she iiotieed tlie carriage, and
known that it contained Mr. and Mrs. Jonas
Smith; and perliai)s not. Ilannaii had her own
sliare of tlie IJrandett ohstinacy. Hut Mi-s. Sniitii
loolved and lookc^i^ and spoke her mind, —

"Just see that IJramlett girl — I s'i)()se she
calls herself a girl, though she is thirty if she is a
(lay — standing at the gate with Jaek 'laylor,
with her hand on his arm, and leaning over to
gaze into his faee I I dare say he is drunk this
very minute. What eaii her folks he thinking
about? Haven't they any influence over her, do
you suppose? Or don't they know how she is
going on with that fellow? I declare, somebody
ought to tell them what people are saying. If a
woman of her age hasn't learned connnon-sense,
it is high time she was looked after, for the sake
of the girls, and the boys too, for that matter.
To be sure, she can't hurt Jack Taylor! lUit
who would have expected such goings on in a
Hramlett! "

Certainly life was bringing to Ihmnah IJrandett
some hard experiences. As she had told Jack
Taylor, she had lived her life until very recently
without even an effort to help along the work of
the world in any way. She had not told him how
intense her desire had been to ttike her place with
the great army of those who thought of others in-
stead of themselves ; whose days were tilled with

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important work : — service, instead of with petty
routine. But slie had been trammelled on every
side, chiefly by the feeling which seemed to pos-
sess all who knew her, that Haniiah Bramlett could
not be counted upon in any way.

She was, in a singular se?ise of the phrase, a
girl who had had no place in life. Other girls in
their teens had been full of this sweet, fascinating
world, charmed with its pui-suits, intoxicated, al-
most, with its pleasures. It had had no oppor-
tunity to charm Hannah. She had been a shy,
backward girl, living much within hereelf, always
when at home busy with the daily burdens of life
on an Uiiproductive farm where hired labor was
scarce and work heavy.

The long winter evenings, that might have been
made to do so much for the girl, had very largely
been spent with her father and mother in the
large farmhouse kitchen, gathered around a single
kerosene lamp of not modern style, her father
carefully reading the daily paper, her mother busy
with the interminable mending-basket. Hannah
had been expected from almost her babyhood to
do her full share of the mending, and had faith-
fully attacked this duty which her soul hated.
Wlien her brother Ralph was a little boy he liad
escaped the kitchen by going early to bed. As
he grew older, and indeed blossomed suddenly
into young manhood, he had gone out into the
world, and taken his place among the young people

va"i''

TEMPTATIONS.

as Hannah never had. In fact, he had speedily
become a leader among a certain class of young
people, and had his intimate friends, who included
him as a matter of couree in all their plans. Oh,
yes, Hannah had heen a school-girl, and a faith-
ful, painstaking scholar. She had made fairly
good use of such opportunities as had teen hei-s,
and would have liked nothing better, had the
books been at her command, than to fill the long
winter evenings with reading and study. Hut
as life on the farm grew harder she was more
and more needed at home ; and as no one recog-
nized for her the importance of her continuing at
school, — her teachers, as a rule, being busy with
more brilliant pupils, — she early and quietly
dropped out of line. She had had but few ac-
quaintances in school and no intimates.

In short, a greater contrast could hardly be im-
agined than that which her own young life and
her brother's presented.

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OVERRULED.

CHAPTER VI.

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POUR JACK!

THERE is sonietliiiig very sad about this rt-
view of the lehition between brother and
sister. One eannot lielp thinking how much they
might have been to each other had either or both
been different. Had there been less disparity in
their ages, matters might not have been so bad.
I)Ut there was a period in Ralph Brandett's life
during whicli liis sister distinctly ruled over him,
not always with a gentle hand. 81ie loved him
after a manner which he did not, and perhai)s
never would, understand: but she made him con-
stantly remember that he was snl)ject to her. Shy
and timid with other jjcople, her native energy
to(>k the form of aggressiveness with him, and her
authority kept that of his gentler mother's in the
background. Then, suddenly as it seemed to
Ihuniah. there had -come a great change. lialph
escaped her. and went out into the school-boy
world, and grew tall and strong, and threw off
utterly the yoke of subjection. Had he been the
sort of boy he might have been, — the sort of
which there are a verv few in the world, — and

POOH JACK!

allowed his dawning manhood to assume a protec-
tive form, and clung to his sister, taking her with
liiiu on occasion into his new world, tellin.g her
about it in a confidential way, he might have done
with her almost as he would. Her nature and her
love were such that they could have changed re-
lations, and he Avould have been accepted as the
f,niide and mentor. Hannah hei'self, when she be-
gan to realize the change in him, had for a time a
dim sense of this possibility. She began timidly
to question him concerning matte i-s in which he
had evidently outstripped her. What did people
say about thus and so? AVhat was the accepted
idea concerning this or that matter? But he had
failed to recognize liis ()[)portunity ; he had laughed
at her questions, scoft'ed at her scruples, sneered
into worthlessness all plans of hers, and counted
her out of his engagements as a matter of course.
Not because he meant to l)e uubrotherly, but be-
cause the fo'ir years of <lifference in their ages
seemed to him a great gulf. When he was eleven
aiK' Hannah was fifteen he had looked upon her
as a n'oman ; when he became of age and she was
twemy-live she seemei to him to have grown into
an old woman, or at least a middle-aged one, who
nuist of necessity be separated from his life out-
side the home.

Hannah had accepted the repulsion, and re-
turned promptly to her character of elder sister
and fault-tinder. A certain sense of soreness eon-

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nected with this experience caused her to find
fault so sharply and continually that at last he
told her in frank, not to say rough language,
that she was hereafter to attend to her own busi-
ness, and allow him to attend to his. So they
lived their different lives, even when of the same
household. Probably Ralph would at any time
Ijave been astonished had he known how strong
almost to fierceness was the current of love which
flowed through his sister's heart for him ; but he
would have been equally astonished had one told
him that his conduct to his sister was at any
ti?ne unbrotherly.

Meantime, Hannah, having quietly given up
certain ambitions which she had had for herself,
and of which no one dreamed, had centred all
her hopes and expectations on her brother, and
in a hundred ways he had disappointed her. He
was to have been a scholar, a lawyer, a great
man, one to whom hundreds should look for
counsel, for helj), for guidance. Instead, he had
become booiv-keeper in a distillery ! This in itself
was bitter enough. Thero had been a few months
of prospective comfort for her, because she had
rested her soul on the belief that Ralph would
eventually marry Marjorie Edmonds ; and once
married to her, all that was wrong about him
would in some mysterious manner fall away, and
he would be all that he could and should be.
For Hannah IJramlett, although she had no in-

W^m

pnoir JACK!

timate Jriends, had one idol. Ever since she
could reniend)er, she had looked up to, and felt
a sort of reverent admiration for, Marjorie Ed-
monds. In her secret heart she called her " sis-
ter," and revelled in the thought of what it
would be to he able to call her that before all
the world. '• My sister Marjorie says," she would
sometimes begin in clear tones, when quite alone,
and a happy glow would spread over her face at
the thought of the strong, wise words which that
sister Marjorie would speak, and of how sure they
would be to win respect. Hannah herself, with
her curious mixture of timidity and positiveness
which are sometimes found together in suppressed
natures, had never been able, outside of her own
very small world, to express herself with firm-
ness, yet gloried in the freedom of speech and
gracious leadership which characterized Marjorie,
and clung to her with a daily increasing intensity
of love and a gloating sense of possession in
prospect.

And then suddenly had come that crushing dis-
appointment. Instead of Marjorie, the sister was
to he Estelle Douglass ! As intense in its way as
her admiration for Marjorie had been her dislike
for Estelle. Perhaps this feeling had deepened
instead of decreased since the marriage. Yet, after
all, she had borne the disappointment better than
at one time she had supposed she could, because
she had become absorbed in other interests. Ever

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since a well-remembered day wbon she had sought
Marjorie, and poured out before her some of her
ambitions, Hannah might almost have been said
to live for Jack Taylor's sake. It was Marjorie
who told her of him, and actually asked her to try
to help him. Following very soon upon her fii-st
timid efforts came the discovery which has power
to thrill ; namely, that she really had influence
over a human being, that there was somebody
who looked up to her, who was willing, to a de-
gree at least, to be led by her, and who responded
gratefully to her efforts to help him. This opened
to the hungry-hearted young woman a new world.
She put hei-self between Jack Taylor and the hun-
dred temptations which beset his path. She gave
up most of her evenings to work that had to do
with him. She begged and pleaded with him to re-
sist the evil spirit that seemed always at his elbow.
She went with him, more than once, to places
that in themselves had no interest for her; but
because they interested him, and because by being
with him she could shield him from temptation,
she had unhesitatingly sacrificed hei-self. She had,
in fact, done everything for him that a guurdian
angel in human fonn could do.

On the evening in question, as the poor giil
closed her door and dropped in weariness and bit-
terness into the one comfortable chair which the
dreary little room contained, and clasped her
hands in almost an agony of disappointment, thut

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l»()()i: ,IACK!

bitterest of all (juestioiis canie and stood beside
her seeking answer, —

*' Of what use was all lier effort? Wliat bad
she aecomplislied ? " Sbe bad never before so fully
realized tbe force for evil wbicb was })ressin<^
upon Jack Taylor, — temptations coining daily to
him from tbe very class (►f people that ought
to have been bis strenoth. From men Uke her
brother Ralph, for instance ; because this matter
of smoking was, without (piestion, a temptation
to Jack Taylor, whatever it might be to others.
Yet he could not meet even her Christian brother
on the street without coming in contact with this
temptation! Nay, it was woi-se than that; her
very pastor, htn i)astor as she had tried to have
Jack consider him, brought the same power for
evil to bear upon him. How could a man like
Jack be expected to make anything but a failure,
with such fearful odds against him ? "* ]\Ian,"
indeed! It \»as folly to call him that; be was a
mere boy, with not so nnu*h strength of will as
had many a boy of seventeen. But the bitterest
drop in Hannah Brandett's cup w^as undoubtedly
the discovery that she was the subject of gossij)-
ing tongues. It was all very well for her to tell
her mother that she did not can^ what peo[)le
thought ; the simple truth was, that no one cared
more about it than did she. The Bramletts had
been poor all their lives, for generations bacdc,
indeed, but they hivd been eminently respectable,

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none of them more entirely so than Hannah, l^i-
eonseiously slie luid prided h^reelf upon this fact.
Slie was not haiid«on!«:, she could not lay claim to
o-enius, or even talent in any special direction, hut
she hore with honor mid dignity an honored name.
No breath from the outside world had ever blown
ujK)n her in disapi)roval, or ever could, so it had
seemed to her, intrenched as she was behind gen-
erations of propriety. And yet, behold ! gossiping
tongiies had dared to play with her name. To
what extent she was not quite sure. If the truth
be told, she believed that a very large portion of
the tale that had been indignantly told to her had
had its birth in the imagination of her brother's
wife ; but some foundation she must have had, of
coui'se, and this thought rankled, struck deep, in-
deed, in Hannah Bramlett's heart. Was it possible
that it was such a mean, wicked world that a
woman like herself, who had lived so hiany years
of blameless life, could not show kindness to, and
patience with, a misguided boy like Jack Taylor,
in order to try to save him, without becoming the
victim of cruel tongues ? It was characteristic of
Hannah Bramlett's character that, although she
had cried bitterly in secret over the story when it
first came to her through the channel of Estelle's
indignation, she had not for a single moment
thought of throwing off Jack Taylor, or of chan-
ging in any way her efforts to save him. People
must talk if they would, — it was only the low

llli iilil

POO II JACK!

r^9

and I'oai'se who did so, — aiul lier brother s wife
must lower hei'self to listen to such talk if she
would ; but she, Hannah, would move steadily for-
ward in the work that she had undertaken. Jack
Taylor was to be saved to the world and to (iod ;
and she was to Ije, in a degree at least, the instru-
ment used to this end. Should any gossiping
tongues deprive her of such a joy as that ? Not
for a second did she hesitate, but the sacrifice was
no less bitter. She had told Jack Taylor that
night that she would never give him up, and she
meant it. Yet as she presently slipped down on
her knees to pour out her disappointment and
pain to the One who alone seemed able to under-
stand her, there came at first only d buret of
passionate tears. But it is blessed to remember
that the Maker of hearts understands the lan-
guage of tears.

Jack Taylor, left to himself, went with long
strides toward the uninviting quarters- that he
called home. There was in his heart a curious
sense of defeat. He actually felt almost indignant
at Hannah Bramlett. Why couldn't she let him
alone? What was the use in tugging with him
any longer ? She was injuring herself by it, as he
had told her, though the poor fellow had not the
least idea to what extent. He only knew that a
certain class of people nudged elbows as he passed
with her, and sometimes indulged in chuckles that
were loud enough for his eare to catch. Occasion-

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ally they iisked him, with sly winks, how his hest
<^iil was. It all seenitHl supremely silly to him ;
hut he had au instinctive feeling that Hannah
would dislike it very nuieh, and felt a chivalrous
desire to keep her from knowing anything ahoul
it. When he heai'd Mix. lirandett's voice that
night calling to i»er daughtei-, it I'epresented Lo
him a certain other class of people, who were sa\-
ing that Hannah was demeaning herself hy having
anything to do with him.

"•I s'pose she i "' said the poor fellow to him-
self dolefully. '"•I'm not worth doing anything
with, and I told her so. I wish with all my soul
that she would let me alone ; but she won't, she
ain't of that kind. She is going to luive me a
'good, true man,' she says. My land ! she don't
know what kind of a job she has undertaken.
Jack Taylor get to be a 'good, true man ' I "

Ten minutes' walk brought him to Main Street;
as he turned the corner he came upon a former
comrade t>f his, Joe l^erry by name.

'' Halloo, Jack I " said that worthy good-na-
turedly ; ''been seeing yoiw best girl home? It
nuist be an awful bore to have to travel so far
out with her every night. You will be glad
when you get settled in a livelier place, won't
you ?

" Vou hold up on that, will you ? " said Jack
a trifle fiercely ; " I'm not in the notion for any-
thing of the kind to-night."

I'ODW ,IA('K!

'^C)h, now, old fellow, don't be cross. What if
you have got up in the world, so jiijrh that you
can claim the IJiandetts .is your particular
friends? That's no reason why you should lo(»k
down on old acquaintances ; I thought better of
you than that. I didn't mean any disiespect, you
know; why, man. Tin ready to dance at your
wedding whenever you say the word."

Jack Taylor was, as Hannah had called hlni,
nothing but a boy. The idea of there being sup-
posed to be a wedding in prospect for him, and
of his being allied witli the lirandett family,
struck him as irresistibly ludii n)us, and he
laughed outright.

*' That's you," said Joe; '•'■treat a fellow half-
way, though you have got up in tlu^ world. I'm
looking forward to that wedding, I tell you, with
a good deal of interest. I used to train in the
higher circles myself, and it will seem nice to get
counted in once more. You won't slight an old
friend like me, of coui-se. Why, I'm ready to
drink to your prospects any minute; though I
don't know as she will allow that. She keeps
you jjretty straight, don't she?"

But Jack's fun had already subsided.

'■' Look here," he said, in his gravest tone, ^* T
don't want any more such talk as that; you don't
mean a word y-ou say, of couixe ; but some things
wci't bear making fun of. Because Miss Bram-
lett has tal^en a notion to try to help a worthless

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OVKIIIIULKI).

oliap like me, is no reason why sl»e should Ix;
insulted."

"•Never thoup^ht of such a. thinjy, I tell you,"
said Joe, still in utmost good-ujiture. *' It is a
streak of tip-toj) luck on your part, and I'm ^hn\
it has come to you. The Brandetts are no givat
things as far as money goes, hut they are awful
on respectahility. There's my Lord Hramlett in
the distillery, you know; if you take his notion of
it, he is the biggest toad there is in any of the
puddles around. Hang me if I'd like him for a
brother-in-law, though."

" Shut up I " said Jack fiercely ; " T told you
T didn't want any more chaffing of that kind.
If there wasn't anything else in the way, you
might remember that you are talking about a
woman who is almost old enough to be my mother.
But the thing is ridiculous in every way ; and
there never was any such notion about it, of
course."

"Honor bright? Well, now, really, I didn't
know. Old girls like that are queer sometimes.
They've lost most of their chances, you know,
and there's never any telling. What does she
hang around you so for, if there isn't anything
in it?"

" She wants to make a man of me," said Jack,
"a 'good true man!'" Then he laughed. There
was bitterness in the laugh ; he had no heart
for laughter. In truth, no human being knew

POOR JACK!

how near Jack Taylor was to tlio verge, that
iiiglit.

Joe Uerrv laiiglied uproariously. "That's the
.IjhI^v, is it?" he said. "Next thing she'll he
<,^('tting you converted ; that's the way they do
it. The very next thing I expect to hear of
you, Jack, is that you have l)een down on your
knees somewhere, making all kinds of prom-
ises. I hope you'll keep 'em ! I've made a
good many myself, in my day, and kept some
of 'em, — for a week or two. I say, Jack! let's
go into old Tawney's here, and take a drink to
treat what may be."

"Xo," said Jack; "I won't go into old Tawney's.
What is the use of making it harder for me by
iiskmg :

'• The old girl won't let you, eh ? AVell, that is
hard. Suppose we go in and have a smoke, then?
That isn't wicked, you know. My Lord Bramlett
puffs cigars all the time."

lie was only good-natured and rollicking. He
liiul no conception of the harm that he' might do.
He had not even an idea of the awful burning
tliirst which seemed to be consuming Jack that
night; much less did he know of the drawing
power for evil that the mere smell of tobacco had
over the poor fellow. Jack, listening to the evil
spirit that had been at his elbow all day, said
within himself, "What's the use? I told her it
would come some time. I gave her fair warning.

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If I ^-o into old Tawney's to-night, I shall driiil\ :
1 know I shall. Why not to-nijrht as well as aiiv

time

Poor tempted Jaek

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A CHANCE TO CHOOSE.

«0

CIIAPTEU VII.

A CHAl-fCE TO CHOOSE.

I.''

f>> sjl, lift

HE stood irresolute, almost within the jaws of
the tempter. The door of '•• ( )ld Tawney's "
saloon kept opening, and letting out odors that
were as ambrosia to the poor diseased a[)petite.
Voices that sounded eheery to him, and laugh-
ter, floated out with the odors; it was l)riglit in
there, and warm, and the night was cold; and
Jack in his insufficient clotiiing siiiv cd, and
longed for the comfort and companionship to l)e
found just inside. He argued the ([uestion with
himself. He was tired, he had worked harder tlian
usual that day, and been held to it later; perliaps
the smell of the li(pior would not tempt him as
nnu'h as he thought, and a pleasant smoke in there
would rest him. What if it did tempt him? He
had been tem[)ted before, and had resisted; why
shouldn't he do it again? He placed his foot on
the lower step.

'* That's right,'' said Joe IJerry encouragingly,
"("ome on, it will be nice and warm inside; it is
uui'onunoidy cold to-night for this time of vear."

(,k

() Jack Taylor! Vm so glad it is yo

on't

OVEIlliULKD.

you take me home? Tve been down on Carnell
Street at the mission to help them with the sing-
ing. My brothei-in-hiw was to eome for me at
nine o'chxik ; but tliere nuist have been some mis-
understanding, for he hasn't come. I've been wait-
ing at the rooms for more than an hour. I'm
afraid to be on the street alone at this time of
night."

It was a pretty girl, in the neatest of street cos-
tumes, who thus addressed Jack. He, as well as
his friend Joe, knew Glyde Douglass by sight.
Jack, indeed, could boast of more knowledge than
that — he had met her several times at the mission.
She had spoken to him in a friendly way, and
bowed afterwards when he met her on the street.
By so much was he ahead of Joe Berry in respec-
tability. Joe would not have thought of such a
thing as bowing to Glyde Douglass, although he
had knoAii her by sight from childhood.

"■ Of course I'll take you home," Jack said, wutli
cheerful alacrity ; and he took his foot down from
the lower step of ^* Old Tawney's " saloon, and
walked away briskly with the young lady by his
side. Joe looked after them interestedly, giving
a low chuckle the while.

'"I wonder if they'll git him?'' he asked him-
self. "They are trying for him for all they're
worth ; if that little Douglass critter is going in
too, maybe it will amount to something. She ^
pretty enough for 'most any fellow to do as slic

A CHANCK TO CHOOSE

( (

says. Well, it would be funny if Jack Taylor
would out and out reform, that's a fact. I'd 'most
think / could, after that. And he ain't got no
mother, either."

Joe, poor fellow, had a mother who would have
cried tears of joy if somebody had only 'Mnade
something" out of him.

As they walked down the moonlighted street,
(tlyde explained more fully the perplexity in
which she had been because of her brother's non-
appearance, then suddenly returned to a matter
tliat had troubled her before the question of get-
ting home came up.

"' Jack, do you know a young man by the name
of Seber? William Seber?"

"I reckon I do," said Jack promptly; "and I
don't know any good of liim either."

" I was afraid so," spoken sorrowfully. *' Is
he very bad. Jack ? "

'' Well," said Jack reflectively, " I don't know
as he is any worse than dozens of othei's ; but he's
a bad lot now, that's a fact. lie's good-natured,
though, when he hasn't too much whiskey aboard ;
a real jolly kind of a fellow, Init he does some
[tretty mean things — things that some of the fel-
h»ws won't do, bad as they are in some other
ways."

"And do you know a girl named Su«ie Mil-
ler?"

" Oh, yes, after a fashion I do : her brotlj^r an^

OVEllKULEU

mW^I

me used to be clniins wlion we were little cliaps :
and I've drawed Susie to seliool on n sled many a
time. J ain't known iier mneh of late yeai^s ; licr
brother died, yon know : seems as if all the decent
folks I used to know, died : but J see her at the
mission when I go there, of eoni-se. I've seen ber
with Bill Seber a good many times lately."

''I suppose so. fJaek, what do you think of it?
If Susie were your sister, would you be willing to
have lier on friendly terms with IJill, taking walks
with him, and letting him see her home from
places, and all that sort of thing?"'

"No," said Jack, scowling fiercely. " Slie
shouldn't do it if I could help it, you may be
sure of that. It isn't the thing, perhaps, for one
like me to be finding fau^ : but there's a differ-
ence in fellows, just as sur«. s you live, even when
they don't any of them amount to much. If I)i]l
Seber tried to make u}) to a sister of mine, 1\\
knock him down for it."

" I think I understand your feeling. Jack, and I
am very much worried about Susie. She is in my
class, and of course I am especially intei'ested in
her. I have talked with her about this njattci.
but so far it hasn't done any good. She is with
liim to-night, and I tliink he liad been drinking.
I did not like the way he looked or acted. It is
not that Susie is especially atta^hfd to him ; but
she thinks she can help hi'..' by gOi)ig .ith hini.
and ought to do so. I have *rfd t-^ explain to

A PftANCE TO CHOOSK.

i til hi

licr that the way to help liini wouhl l)e to show
liiin thiit he ciiiiiiot have the society of a respee-
tiihle girl unless lie is willing to be a respectahle
young man ; but she has her heart set on reform-
ing him. I am sure I wish she might ; but I ean-
iiot think that that is the wise way to Jittem[)t it."

.laek gave a series of low, annised ehuekles be-
fore he attempted any reply.

"Reform liill Seber ! " he said at last. '-That
is a job I tell you I — a l)igger one than ever Susie
Miller will a'jcomplish, or my name isn't Jack
Taylor. I should as soon think of setting a little
gray mouse to reforming a great green-eyed eat,
iiiid a tiger cat at tluit. I tell you, Miss Douglass,
reforming ain't such easy w^ork as some women
folks, that never had any tem[)tations, think it is."

The tone had changed from its half-amused note
to an almost despairing gravity. Something in it
suggested to (Hyde a pei-sonal (juestion. ' How is
it with you. Jack? Are you getting along well ? "

"No; I can't say that I nm. Fact is, I guess I
am getting along about as It'.id as I can."

"Oh. I am sorry co hear that! Why, the last
time I heard Miss Ifainah speidx of it, she was
very much encouraged about your prospects. She
is a good friend to you, Jack; yon ought to try to
}»l('use her."

"That's so," said Jack; '"a fellow m^ver liad a
l)etter friend. Hut it is hard Avork pleasing her.
She wantw folks to be angels, you know ; and that

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OVER RULED.

isn't in my line." He laughed a little, and tried
to speak in an utterly careless tone; but (ilyde
detected the heartache underneath it.

"What do you find so hard?" she asked en-
couragingly.

"Everything," said Jack in gloom; "a fellow
can't turn a corner without coming across some-
thing that he used to do, and would like to do.
and mustn't do. It's just pull and haul yourself
all the time, and nothing much to keep you back
from it either. I haven't any folks, you know, to
care ; if I had, it might make a big difference.
There's Joe Berry, now, — that fellow I was talk-
ing with to-night when you came along, — he's
got a mother, as nice an old lady as ever was :
she would give her two eyes to see him a "good.
true man.' If I had a mother, it kind of appears
to me as though I could do it ; though maybe not.
When I had folks of my own, it didn't make a
mite of difference ; but I'm a little different now
from what I was then. Still, when there isn't
anybody to care, what's the use ? "

It occurred to Glyde to remind him of what lie
owed to his citizenshij), and the respect that In'
might win from his fellow-men, and the love that
might l)e his in the future, if he made himself
worthy of it ; this seemed the natural thing to say
to liim. He had heard it often. Hannah Brain-
lett liad earnestly tried to rnnse his manhood
along all the»e lines. But something made the

A CHANCE TO CHOOSE.

young girl feel like passing them, and going at
once to the fountain-head.

" Jack," she said, " do you remember the Lord
Jesus Clirist, and what lie did in order that you
might become a '•good, true man'? Do you re-
lueniber that he is more interested in you than
father or mother or any earthly friend could be ?
How is it that you are willing to disappoint
inni .

For a moment Jack 'J'aylor was dumfounded ;
he knew tlie Lord Jesus Christ by name certaiidy.
Ill his cliildiiood he liad had some teaching con-
cerning the central truths of tlie Christian reli-
gion, and in later yeai"s in the Cha[)el he had, of
coui-se, heard tlie sacred name in hymn and
prayci' ; liut certainly he had never heard any one
s})eak of Jesus Christ quite as (ilyde Doughiss
(H(i. He looked around liim lialf in superstition.
He was conscious of a curious sensation, as if a
tiiinl person had come (piietly up in tlie moonlight,
and it was lu^ whom (Jlyde was introducing.

"• I don't know as I understand,"' he said after
a moment, in a tone that had a touch of awe.
'• He doesn't expect anything of me, of course,
nor care. Why should lie?"

" () Jack I Why shouldn't he ? Isn't he inter-

ested in manhood to a degree that no one else can

lie"' Di^su't he understand as none of us. if we

' ' our utmost, can understand, the possibilities of

leivl manhood? Doesn't he know what we could

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accomplish in the woHd if we wouhl? It is all
out before him as a map might be to us ; he sees
the roads that uuiy be taken, as well as those that
have been. Moreover, he sees beyond this world,
and knows tlie possibilities that there are for ns
in that other world where none of the obstacles
now in the way of what men call success come in
to interrupt. Don't you believe that he is deeply,
awfuUy interested in what you will decide to do?"

"• U'hat's a queer way to i)ut it ! " said Jack.
'• I never heard anything- like it before in mv
life, lint now, Miss Dimglass, I just want t(t
ask you one (question. If he is so awfully inter-
ested, wliy divesn't he do things foi- a fellow'.' I
don't mean anything disrespectful ; I s'pose I
don't understand how to talk about such things,
but I couldii'l liclj) getting tliai off. Of coinse
I understand that (iod can do anything he is a
mind to; and if he carcrl foj- a fellow like me,
in the way yon say, why, I should think he'd
make tilings easy foi- me. Kind of niakc me get
into the right road, you know, and stay theic
whetlici' I wanted to or not. Id do it in a min-
ute for any chap that I was interested in, if I
could."

"No," said (ilyde positively: "he will never
do that for yon. Wlien he made you, lie put a
man's soul within you, and arrangetl that yon
slionld hiive n man's possibilities. lie has given
\()U a chance to clif)ose for yourself."

' ^1

' Ft

A CHANCE TO CHOOSK.

" Now, .see lieie," interrupted Jack, speaking
almost fiercely, '' folks talk about (iod iKMUg a
fiither to tliein. Down there at the hall the other
iiii^dit that man talked about the vei-se : ' Like as
a lather pitieth his children;' and he said (iod
was the ])est and wisest father, and all that.
Now, I'm not very wise nor very good, the land
knows I but suppose 1 had a little boy, — I had a
little chap once, Miss Douglass; lie didn't live but
three weeks. I have sometimes thought if he
had, everything might have been different ; but he
tlidn't. Suppose he had. If I had the power to
take that little fellow, and put him on the right
road, and keep him there, <lon't you suppose I
would do it quicker than a wink?"

•• Xo," said (ilyde Hrmly; "I don't. Look
here. .Jack, suppose you had a very pleasant house
into which you could put your little boy, and keep
)ii//> tlicre with locked doors and ^vindows grated,
so that it would not be possible for him to escape.
\'itU /'Oiihi keep him from a good many wrong
foiids ))y tjjat means, couldn't )'ou ? lie would
not Ik- ii-miyU'd by gaml>ling-saloons nor drinking-
saloons ; he woul^l not staiid around on street cor-
nel's, nor mingle with men who used evil words,
— oh, there are a hundred wrong rr>fids from
uliit'h you could surely shield him ! Would y<m
<lo it? Keep him there all his life, surrounded
with pleasant things, books and flowei-s and birds,
iual everything that love could furnish, but still

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OVERRtlLED.

a prisoner? Would you do this, instead of let-
ting him go out in the world to choose his own
way r

Jack laughed. '' I reckon I wouldn't, Miss
Douglass."

" Indeed you wouldn't. You would be too
wise. You would he sure that your boy, in order
to amount to anything as a man, must go out and
see the different roads, and choose for himself, or
liis goodness would be mere weakness. I think it
is a little bit of an illustration of the way in which
our heavenly Father treats us. Not a good one,
Jack, because there are so many things about our
future that we do not understand. There are so
many possibilities that are not known to us. I
suppose that God, knowing all about us, took the
best way, did the very l^est that he could in order
that we might get ready for that highest good.
You can easily see that love for your little boy
would lead you to give him a certain degree of
freedom. Vou would show him as well as you
could the right way, and teach him what he
ought to do ; you would guard him while he was
a little fellow, but as he grew older, you would
know that he nuist choose for himself. Isn't that
in a sense the way that God has treated us ? Oli,
he has done infinitely more than that, of coui-se I
It is only a very faint illustration. But after you
had done your best for j'our boy, if he should per-
sist in choosing the wrong road, you wouldn't feel

\ ■»-

A CHANCR TO CHOOSE.

as though he hud treated you very well, would

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you .'

'* Xo more I wouldn't," said Jack frankly.
" But, after all, Miss Dougliss, it ain't ])i' sible for
f(tlks to think,— for nie jh least,— to think of
(iod caring for nie like that. If I could once feel
as though he did, why — it seems to me " —

lie stoppi'd abrupily ; his voice had begun to
tremble, and he did not choose to show his iieart
even to this simple-hearted girl.

"If you could believe that (iod loved you as a
father, you think yon would try to please him ; is
that it. Jack? I vvill tell you what I wish you
would do. You have never read the Bible much, I
suppose, — you have a Bible of your own, haven't
vou? I wish you would read in it the story
of Jesus Christ on earth. Head what a lonely,
friendless life he lived here, and how his followers
treated him, — the very best of them. In the hour
of his greatest human need they all forsook him
and fled. Worse than that, one disowned him, de-
clured with oaths that he never knew him I Read
how his enemies mocked and struck him, and spit
on him, and pierced him with thorns, and how in
iigony unimaginable he died at last on that awful
cross ; then ask yourself why he bore it all, why
(iod permitted it. If the reason lie has himself
given should prove to be the true one, because he
'so loved' (ilyde Douglass and Jack Taylor that
he 'gave his only Son ' that they might have eter-

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nal life, oiiglit yon and I to need any other proof
of love? O Jack! 1 don't want you to be one of
the men who are going to disapi)oint such a
Saviour as tliat. One veise in the liible conies
often to nie. }\i you know it says, 'He sliall
see of the travail of iiis soul and he satisfied ' ? I
cannot tell you what a joy it is to me to think
that I am actually going to help satisfy the Lord
Jesus Christ I I Avant y(m to rememl)er tliat you
must either satisfy or disappoint him, and that
you have it in your power to choose which you
will do."

PIV(^)TS.

CUAVTVAi VIII.

I'lVOTS.

JACK drew one of those lieavy siglis tliat seemed
to come from the deptlis of his soul as he
siiid, —

" Well, Miss Douglass, maybe you are right.
It looks more reast)nable to me than it ever did
before; but I'll tell you Avbat it is, I'm afraid I've
got to disappoint him. You see, the trouble is
I've got on to the \vrong road someh()\v. and I've
l)een on it so long that I ean't seem to help it.
Miss Hannah, she's done lier best for me, and I've
tried the best I knew how. For months now I've
been at it, trying to satisfy hei', but I can't do it.
I feel to-night as though it was all up with me,
and there was no use in trying any longer. I've
felt so for two or three days. Perhaps a fellow
does have a chanee to choose. I guess it's so, as
you say; but I had my chance, and chose the wrong
road, and there I am. I know folks say that you
can get back if you want to, but it isn't true. I
want to, l)ad enough, and there needn't anybody
say I haven't tried ; but I've just about made up
my mind to-night that there's no use in it."

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Nothing more utterly cast down and discour-
aged than Jack's tone can he imagined. It put
energy into Glyde's.

'^ Jack, I know what you need r you have yot
to have the help of the Lord Jesus Christ, or the
iight will he too much for you. I know somethinjj
of how you have felt all these months, just as
though you were on slippery ground, and might
fall any minute. Don't you see that you need to
get on solid ground ? Why don't you tr}- that way,
if you are in earnest? and I helieve you are. Give
youi-self up to tlie Lord Jesus Christ, and foilow
his lead. Tliere is entire manliness in thai coui-se.
Do you undei"stand what I mean ? That hoy of
yours ahout whom we liave heen talking, suppose
lie were a young man, and you were his good, wise
father. You would not order him what to do and
where to go ; you would recognize his manhood and
his rights. lUit suppose he came to you saj'ing,
' Father, I want you to direct me ; I realize that
you are wiser than I, and I desire ahove all things
to he guided i)y 3'ou." Wouldn't you do the hest
you could for him? The illustration isn't a good
one ; it is too weak. Ikit don't you know. Jack,
that Jesus has undertaken to meet us more than
half-way? He offers to make a contract with us;
our part is to give oui-selves to him."

Jack listened in silence. When the earnest
voice ceased, he still kept silence, feeling that he
had no words for such a suhject. After a minute

1 1 lit '

PIVOTS.

Glyfle began again anxiously, '' Don't you under-
stand, Jack? 1 am afraid I haven't made it clear.
I don't know how to talk about these things very
well. I wish you knew Marjorie Edmonds; she
could tell you just how it is ; or Mr. Maxwell, if
he were only here." It struck the young Chris-
tian worker suddenly as a strange thing that in
all her circle of acquaintances, many of whom
were membei-s of the church, she could think of
only these two who would be likely to be able to
direct Jack clearly. Oh, there was Dr. Ford, of
course ; but young men like Jack were afraid
(»f clergymen. She had tried t<> pei-suade some
of the bovs at the mission to talk with Dr. Ford,
but had not succeeded.

" I don't know enough to undei-stand such
things," Jack said humbly.

" But, Jack, it is all very simple. Listen :
suppose you had a friend, — a strong, wise friend,
one who never had done, so far as you could see,
other than just right, and sup^iose it were possible
for him to go with you wherever you went, and
stay with you day and night, directing you just
what to do, and what not to do; su[)pose he
would promise to do this for you, provided you
would put yourself under his care, would you
do it?"

" I reckon I'd try it," said Jack promptly, " if
I could find any such fellow on this cre9,ted earth ;
but I couldn't, Miss Douglass."

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''Never mind that. Vou would know just liow
to do sueh a thing, wouhln'fc you ? You would
say — r wonder what you would say ? "

" Why," said Jack, growing interested in the
supposition, '* maybe J should say something like
this : ' If you are willing and able to do all that
for me, I'm your chap ; lead on.' "

"Very well. Don't you see what I mean?
Jesus Christ is both able and willing to do all
that for you ; he has promised to do it. You can
say, ' I'm your chap,' to him as well as to a man
walking by your side. Tiie question is, will you
do it ?

" I have given you only the human side of the
story. There is a divine side. That good, wise
friend whom we have been imagining, might do a
great deal for you, but he could not change a
thought of your heart, no matter how much you
might wish him to do so ; but the Lord Jesus can
take from you all desire after the wrong road.
More than, that, he can blot out all your past sins,
— blot them oiit^ Jack ; it is his own word, — and
give you peace and victory all along the road."

l$y this time they had reached her fathers
door; and there was no opportunity for Jack to
reply, even had he felt inclined. He received her
hearty thanks for his protection in awkward si-
lence, then, turning, walked swiftly homeward
with eyes bent on the ground. He passed sever.d
saloons without so much as noticing that he did

I'lVOTS.

SO. Strange, new words liiul l)een sjKjken to liini
that night.

Hannah Branilett was ji Christian woman, and
iier daily life was a constant strnggle '\ot to dis-
honor the religion she professed. She i)raye(l daily
for Jack Taylor, sometimes with strong crying and
teal's ; and she believed that if he were ever to he
a saved man, the power of (iod nuist save him.
Vet she had not known how to talk with him
ahout these things. An almost overpowering
timidity had taken possession of her whenever
sK ' attempted to speak to him of the way of
salvation. She had struggled with the timidity,
and had tried more than once to point him to
Christ. That is, she had told him that his heart
was '* un regenerate," and that he needed to be
" converted," and that nothing but a "• real down-
right converaion " would ever make him sure of
himself, even for this life. Poor Jack had been
willing to believe that he needed everything ; he
had even reached the point where he was willing
to "get religion," and "stand" the mockery of
the " fellows." To this end he had gone several
times to the week-night services at the mission,
and listened patiently to talk that was as Sanskrit
to him, because the speakers either did not realize
liis depths of ignorance on such topics, or did not
understand how to reach his level. For the most
part they used the accepted terms, the "shibbo-
leths" if one may so speak, of religion — more

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wisely, it is true, than Hannah Hran.lett in licr
inexperience and timklity liad been able to, and
they reached and helped many. But Jack in liis
early life had learned only words and names, and
in later years had not come in contact even with
these ; he did not understand. It had been given
to Glyde Douglass to reveal to his astonished ears
the simplicity on the human side of that wondrous
plan of salvation. And then wps Jack Taylor, if
he had but underatood it, at the most perilous
point in his life's history. There had been made
plain to him the fact of two distinct and ever sepa-
mting roads, either of which he could choose if he
would. Nay, having admitted that, and hidden be-
bind the apparently humble statement that he had
chosen wrong, and must abide by his decision, sud-
denly had been revealed a Friend so infinite that
He could not only guide and guard for the future,
but could blot out the past. In short, Jack
Taylor understood that he might begin again.
He had helped to make plain the revelation by
his own admissions. Had he not distinctly said
that if such a human friend could be found lie
reckoned he would follow him ? He knew, as well
as the best-taught regular attendant at church and
Sabbath-school could know it, that here was a
chancG for him, an offer as it were for his soul.
What would Jack Taylor say in reply?

Meantime, what had become of lb; it brother-in-
law whose absence had occasioned Glyde Douglass

r!VOTS.

so much anxiety and embarrassment? He had
given a somewhat reluctant consent to her peti-
tion to b^ called for on his way home from the
meeting of the Library Association. It is true, it
would be but two blocks out of his way, o^* at least
would have been had he gone to the Association
meeting. He had not chosen to explain to Glyde
that he did not intend to be present at the meet-
ing, having dropped his connection with it, .as he
had with most things of like character. To do
him justice, it was not the walk or the trouble
to which he objected, but the fear of meeting some
of the mission-workera, who had urged him ear-
nestly and frequently to help them in their efforts
to save men. The harassed man had pleaded all
the excuses he could think of except the true one,
and felt that he wanted to hear no more about it.
Still, Glyde had been very urgent ; and being not
willing to give the real reasons for refusing, he
could think of no others, and had yielded.

But at the appointed time he had been so en-
grossed with thought and care, that all memory
of his young sister-in-law waiting alone in a part
of the town that ladies did not like to frequent
unattended, escaped him. What was the occupa-
tion that so engrossed him ? It did not appear on
the surface. He was locked and bolted into his
own home study, bat not so much as a scrap of
paper was l)efore him. He sat at his desk, elbows
leaning on it, his face held between his two hands.

* - hi

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t 1"

III

ovehhulf:d.

his eyes fixed on space, and so sat for hours. If
any one could have tohl him that he was reviewinjr
his life, he would probahly have contradicted tho
statement. Yet in a certain sense this was true.
At least a limited panorama of what he fancied lu;
had been, moved solemnly before him, strangely
intermixed with i)icture8 of what he might have
been, and would have been, if —

Perhaps it is true to the experience of human
nature that not many sadder pictures confront the
lives of men than the one suggested by the hack-
neyed (juotation, ''It might have been." Yet
whether or not such a retrospection shall be profit-
able is often determined by the clause connected
with that potent word, " if." " If I had taken
that turn to the right instead of to the left," says
the dreamer, *" all might have been well." Per-
haps he is correct in his statement, and perhaps it
is the weakest sentimentiility to allow himself to
brood over it ; or it may be the truest wisdom to
hold his mind steadily to that view. How shall
he determine which ? Hut that is a very easy
question. Think, my friend. Is that turn to the
right possible now, after the lapse of years ? Put-
ting aside the failures, the heartaches, the blotches
that can never be ertised because of the mistake
made then, will the future be improved by your
making the turn now, though it may be hard and
involve much sacrifice ? Thei? hold your heart
and your conscience steadily to that point until

PIVOTS.

your manhood rises to the height of the sacrifice
involved, and says, "I will do it now.'" If, on
the contrary, the turn once made, however foolish
it may have been, is one that ought to remain set-
tled, if the decision cannot l)e reversed without sin,
close the eyes of your soul to the alluring " might
have been," ask God to forgive you, and move
steadily forward in the path that is.

What, think you, was Ralph Bramlett's most
seriims "if" in the review that he was taking? —
" If I had been true to the voice of my conscience
away back there in my childhood when I decided
for what I ivanted to do, instead of what I knew
I ought?" "If I had been true to the vows that
I took upon me publicly in the church of God ? "
There were S3 many such "ifs" that might have
been wisely considered, and that would have sug-
gested the wisdom of making haste to cover the
mistakes as much as might be by the decision of
the present. None of them presented themselves.
Pity the miserable weakness, even while you de-
spise the wickedness of the man who could hold
his haggard face in his hands, and say, " The mis-
take of my life was in marrying that girl ! If I
liad married Marjorie, all would have been well
with me." And the woman whom, unurged by
anything but his pride and his passing fancy
he had asked to be his wife, was locked outside,
and sat brushing away the dreary teal's over the
thought that she was locked out and alone !

v'lSi

OVERKULED.

!M''' ■!

By this it is not meant that Ralph Bramlett
spent the hours in staring at that one regret ;
there were questions having to do with tiie imnie-
(liate present that inigiit well hold his thoughts.
Those unpaid hills were haunting him day and
night, were accumulating with every passing day.
Some of them he did not know how to ward off
longer; and they were bills that he did not keep
in the secretary to which he had proudly pointed
his wife. He owed many hundreds of dollars;
but none of the debts gave him that sense of over-
powering shame that he felt when he looked at a
page of his private memoranda, and read there cer-
tain figures and initials and dates that only he
could undei-stand. The fii-st one was dated nearly
a year before. How vividly he remembered the
day. He had stood in the hall waiting for his
chief, and, being in excellent humor, had chatted
pleasantly with the bell-boy, who had just been
paid his month's wages, and who confided to the
handsome bookkeeper, who seemed to him like a
great man, that he did not know how to keep his
money safely. He wanted to save it until he had
enough to buy his mother a house, so she need not
pay rent any more. His mother did not need it
now, and she wanted him to put it in the bank,
and keep it until he got enough to buy a suit of
clothes ; but he meant to do without clothes, and
surprise her some day ; only he did not know how
to invest his money in a way to make it earn a lot

MVOTS.

more. Ualpli luul Irtu'ii uiuiistMl with tlit; Ijoy's
mixture of igiiomnce aiul l)riglitness, and pleased
with his deference to himself, and had offered in
i((K»d faith to iKJconie his banker, since there was
iKjt a savini^s-hank within convenient reach, and
pay him eijifht per cent interest until such time as
lie ciMild do better.

The hoy had l»een delighted with the offer, and
felt himself in some way immediately connected
with the great Hrm of Snyder, Snyder, and C-o.
He had regularly brought his savings each month
to his new friend, until there had accumulated
something over fifty dollai's. And now a dark
(lay had come in the boy's life. His mother had
fallen sick, and the money that was to have
bought her a home was needed to pay the doctor's
bill and furnish nourishing food. Five times had
the l)ell-boy waylaid his banker with anxious face
and great troubled eyes, only to be put off witli
very small sums and promises. In a fit of indig-
nation with his wife, the young man had, at her
complaining, emptied his pocket-book on her dress-
ing-table, and had actually but a two-dollar bill
to depend upon until his next quarter's salary fell
due. It was horrible to remember that when it
came, not a penny of it was honestly his. The
bell-boy's need, and his inability to meet it, accen-
tuated the young man's misery to a surprising de-
gree. Curiously enough, he, who was not as a
rule attracted to young people, had taken an un-

II ^-^

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OVERUITLED.

accountable fancy to the boy, and had given him
from time to time much wholesome advice, as well
as shown ^-m many kindnesses. The result was
that the mctuly little fellow had given his whole
heart to tiie bookkeeper, and believed that all
goodness as well as all wisdom w'as embodied in
him. It was maddening to Kalph Bramlett's pi-ide
to have to l)e lowered in the esteem of this wise-
eyc'l boy ; yet he had not a friend of whom he
was walling to try to borrow fifty dollars.

-i

"WHAT IF I SHOULD —

»»

::im

"WHAT IF 1 SHOULD

>»

CITAPTKR IX.

' m

BUT it was more than the past with its " might
have been " that was torturiiig Ralph Bram-
lett : the immediate future must be met. Out of
the chaos of embarrassment and bewiklerment that
the future showed, stared one definite proposition ;
but it wjis of so strange a character, that, if it re-
(juired any studying at all, it is no wonder it
required long studying.

There had been a time when Ralph Bramlett
would have turned scornfully from such a propo-
sition, and felt that it needed no consideration.
It had come to him from one of the junior mem-
bers of the firm of Snyder, Snyder, & Co. It
appeared that that gentleman owned a valuable
corner-lot in the town where Ralph lived. The
building had been occupied for yeai-s as a drug-
stf)re ; but the prosperous druggist had lately died,
and his business had been closed up by his heii-s.
The building had now been unoccupied for eevei-al
months. It had been the opinion of the owner,
even before the drug-g'^ore closed its doors, that
tliat corner afforded special advantages for tlie

'•11

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i.' 9^ni

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Um^^K

100

ftVEtlilttLEt).

Mf'

ill

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llli

setting-up of a first-class retail liquor-store. He
did not use the word "saloon;" the phrase "re-
tail liquor-store " had a better sound to him.

He proceeded to explain that there was decided
need for a business of the sort in that end of the
town. Several estimable families, some of his own
acquaintances indeed, lived in that vicinity, and
doubtless often found it inconvenient to go so far
as they were now compelled to for supplies. He
had been spoken to more than once concerning
the excellent site that corner would be for a retail
store. " In short," the philanthropic gentleman had
said, " I am really growing anxious about that part
of the town ; my early home was there, Mr. Brani-
lett, and of course I feel a special interest in the
place. I liave been approached several times by
pereons who, to speak frankly, I am not willing to
see established in such a business in that vicinity.
I have been offered very fine rentals for the build-
ing ; but thus far I have held off, making all sorts
of excuses. Of coui-se I cannot continue such a
policy very long. You know, without my men-
tioning it, that it makes all the difference in tlie
world what sort of men take hold of this business.
The men who have come to me are well enough in
their way, and would undoubtedly have paid the
rent, — though I mentioned a very large figure to
them to help me in getting rid of them, — but they
wei-e not the class of persons to establish on that
corner: pei^sons who lacked judgment, you under-

" What tF t sHoUld — ?

lol

stand, and forethought; men who wouki be in
danger of consulting their pocket-books instead
of principle. I'm afraid they would have been as
willing to sell to minoi-s, for instance, or to hal)it-
ual drunkards, as to responsible pei^sons. I felt
that they would be almost sure to get themselves
and me into trouble. There are people living all
al)out that region, who, if the business were con-
ducted in accordance with not only the letter but
the spirit of the law, would be glad to countenance
it, even though they do not themselves u'se the
goods ; whereas, if another sort of person should
take hold of it, those very men would make trouble.
" I am sure you undei-stand the peculiarities of
the situation ; and to come to the point at once,
Mr. Bramlett, as we are both busy men, it has oc-
curred to me to definitely propose that you occupy
the said corner youreelf. Not in pei-son, of course,
in a way to take any considerable amount of your
time — we consider your services here much too
valuable to be willing to give them up. What we
thought was, that we could supply you with a man
here to do a good deal of the office drudgery that
now occupies you, and let you have leisure enough
to look after this other business. You could se-
cure good, reliable men to do your bidding, you
being merely the brains of the establishment. Men
of that kind can easily be found, who are capable,
and entirely willing to do as they are told, who
are yet not exactly the ones to shoulder responsi-

102

ovRnnrT.ED.

bility and do as they please, yon nndei^stand. T
liave been talking it over with the other nienilKMs
of the lirm, and they are willing to make the ar-
rangement that I have suggested. I may say that
they are more than willing. The fact is, ]Mr.
Bramlett, we are all interested in you as a rising
young man, and would like to do you a good turn.
— put you in a way to make more money than you
can on a mere salary. You know, of coui-se, what
terms we could offer you for goods — at least, you
know the usual wholesale rates. I do not hesitate
to say, that, if it should come to an actual business
transaction, we should be ready to make even l)et-
ter terms, on the score of personal friendship.

"I suppose I hardly need say that I know of
at least a score of fine young men who stand
ready to accept such an offer as I am ruaking,
but I haven't felt inclined to make it to them. 1
don't know but I am something of a cr-ank, — my
friends tell me that 1 am, — but I am really very
particular indeed as to who I put in my buildings.
I want not only reliable men in the ordinary ac-
ceptation of those words, but men of thoroughly
conscientious views. Men, in short, who will not
only undei-stand the law, but abide by it in every
particular. I am a law-abiding citizen myself, and
want no underhanded proceedings. There is ii
sense in which you might look upon it, — and
I confess I have thought of it more in that light
perhaps than any other, — as your opportunity for

** WHAT IP I SHOULD — ?

♦♦

103

doing a good thing for tlie conimunity in which
you live. A good citizen is always glad of such
oi)[)ortunities of coui'se. I am sure you can see
what danger might result from putting an innnoral
man, for instance, in such a place, — a man who
would sell to anybody who would bring him the
money, without regard to whether rv not he ougiit
to he trusted with the goods. I think myself that
you could not serve that part of the town better,
perhaps, than by controlling the business carefully.
" Such a Imsiness as oura is of coui-se capable of
doing great harm ; in the hands of unprincipled
men, whose only object in life is to make money,
it does do harm. I have never shut my eyes to
that fact, and trust I never shall. It is because
I judge you to be entirely capable of managing
the business, not only in a way to be entirely sat-
isfactory to 3'ourself, but to your townspeople,
that I have made the proposition I have. I do not
want an answer to-day; take time, hy all means,
to consider it, Mr. Bramlett. There, by the way,
is our private price-list ; the second line of figures
represents the ruling prices at retail. If you need
to refresh your memory, and wish to make any es-
timates of probable income, that will save you time
perhaps. I ought to say before this interview is
closed, that, as the building in question is not fitted
up for the purpose proposed, I had thought, if you
took hold of it, to suggest that I advance you, say
a thousand dollars; you to spend as much or as

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104

oVEimuLEn.

little of it as seemed to yon well, and fit up tlic
place to suit your own ideas. I want the whole
thing to be attractive, and entirely in keeping with
the surroundings. The whole sum might or miglit
not be required, you could hardly tell for several
months perhaps; but, of course, whatever was
placed in the building as a fixture would beloiio-
to me, to be paid for out of the fund. The balance,
if there were any, could \)e handed back to me at
any time, or included in the rent. You see how
entirely I trust you ; that sort of proposition would
not be made to many men, I assure you."

Then the philanthropist had sat back in his chair,
and beamed a benevolent smile upon the young
man whom he was willing, even anxious, to set
up in business.

Ralph Bi-amlett had by no means listened in
silence to this long-drawn-out proposition, but had
from time to time interjected words expressive of
surprise or bewilderment, of which the junior part-
ner had taken no notice, except to repeat and try
to make clearer some of his points. While he
talked, Ralph had had, as in a vision, a view of
himself standing there, say three years before,
listening to such a proposition. A faint smile
hovered over his face as he thought of the in-
dignant way in which he would have declined
an offer that connected him in any way with the
business of rumselling. But the smile was one of
contempt for the fanatical notions of a boy; he

'*WHAT IF I SHOULD

»»

106

was a man now, and such narrow-minded, whole-
sale condemnations as those in which he used to
indulge did not become him.

He sat down to his work, after being cour-
teously dismissed by his chief — at least, he sat
before his desk, but his thoughts were on what
lie had just heard ; especially were they concerned
with what he admitted was a new idea; namely,
that a man could serve his townspeople by con-
ducting a liquor-store I However, why not ? Of
course a thoroughly well-managed liquor-store,
that not only never infringed upon the law, but
was in a sense a law unto itself, having a care
bow it dispensed dangerous beverages even to
those whom the law recognized as fitted to buy
them, would be infinitely better for the neighbor-
hood than one of the ordinary kind. The idea
was not only new, but interesting.

All day long, though occupied with even an
unusual amount of business, he had kept going
this second train of thought. For the first two or
three houre he had assured himself, that although
there certainly was good sense in some of the ar-
guments advanced by the junior partner, still he,
Ralph Bramlett, could never have anything to do
with the retail liquor business. The Bramletts
for generations back had been too pronounced on
the tempemnce question, and his father had suf-
fered too keenly because of his i)resent position,
for him to entertain any idea of going farther.

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106

OVERRULED.

Moreover, he admitted that he liimself shrank
from it; that is, he told himself that he was not
equal to the Scacrifice, although good could un-
doid)tedly he done hy preventing evil. But he, a
meml)er of the church, a memher of a well-known
family, could not place himself in such a question-
able position.

He might talk until he was gray, and yet not
make clear to certain people the arguments that
had been brought to bear upon him that morning.
There, for instance, was his sister Hannah, who
had no head for argument, and was as set in her
Avay as self-opinionated old maids generally were ;
she would be sure to give him no peace of his
life if she imagined he thought of such a business.
Yet he had immediately curled his lip over that
objection, and reminded himself that Hannah had
enough to do at present to take care of her own
reputation, without concerning hei'self about other
people's. But there were othei-s. What would
Dr. Ford, for instance, think of the junior part-
ner's arguments, he wondered.

And what, above all others — oh! it wouldn't
do, of coui-se ; he wasn't considering it for a mo-
ment. Then he took pencil and paper, and fell to
calculating what the profits would really be, and
exclaimed over their enormity. He had l)een con-
vereant with wholesale prices for several yeai-s,
but had never before given his attention to the
retail trade. Then there was that hint about

" WHAT IF I SHOULD

»»

107

special reductions on the score of fiien(lshi[). It
certainly was a way to make money; and money
would undoubtedly be made on that corner. Why
not by him ? Did it make such a tremendous dif-
ference, after all, — except to the i)ei'son who re-
ceived it, — into whose ^;ocket the money went ?
Yes, of couree it made a difference, — here was a
chance for that new and most alluring argument
to present itself again, — if the money went
into the pockets of an honorable man, one who
would under no circumstances allow his goods
to be sold to pei-sons incapable of judging for
themselves what was good for them, it certainly
ought to make a great difference in the morality
of the community. The argument looked clearer
than it had before. Why did not those fanatical
people who were always prating about the evils of
the saloon study up this phase of the subject, and,
until they could do something better, try to get
respectable moral men put in charge of saloons?
Yes, he was actually so befogged that he used the
phrase " respectable moral men " in such connec-
tion, and failed tQ see its absurdity ! Y^et why
not? Had not the junior partner who represented
millions, and undei-stood business and respectabil-
ity, used the same ?

When Ralph Bramlett walked toward his train
that evening, he was saying to himself, '' 'J'here
woidd be no occasion for my name to appear. All
'he wants of me is to be responsible for the rent,

■PM

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108

OVERRULED.

and look after the men whom I put in charge. It
is no more, in a sense, than I am doing now."

He had by no means tokl himself that he would
undertake the work; but he took his seat in the
car still studying the profits that might be made,
and the feasibility of entirely suppressing his name,
thus silencing foolish tongues.

There came and sat beside him one of the work-
ers at the Carnell-street Mission, who began to tell
of the wonders that were taking place there. Did
he remember Harvey Barnes who used to be a
schoolmate of his? He knew of coui-se how low
the poor fellow had gone ? a regular gutter drunk-
ard. But he was making an honest effort to reform.
He signed the pledge nearly two weeks ago ; and
last night stayed to the after-meeting, and not
only talked with one of the workers, but actually
went down on his knees and prayed. " Think of
Harvey Barnes irraying^ Bramlett ! The age of
miracles is not past, you see."

The Christian worker had a more definite aim
than merely to tell good news. He proceeded to
say that they had been plannii^ how best to lu'l}*
tide the young man over the dangerous weeks
which were now before him ; and somebody had re-
membered that he was an old schoolmate of Kalpli
Bramlett's, and used to be much under his influ-
ence. And somebody else had wondered if Kiili)li
would not be willing to take hold with them, inid
try to help his old friend.

■1 ■

Hk KOf MJ a I'Al'KK THAT STAJJUKU HiM.

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*' WHAT IK I SHOULD — ?

100

Ralph was interested and tonclied. He remem-
bered Harvey Barnes when he was tlie best scholar
in their class. He had gone down rapidly, an in-
herited taint, people said. Ralph had lost sight of
iiim for years ; hadn't he lieen out of town ? Yes,
he used to have a good deal of influence over him.
lie recollected that he once told Harvey he was
too easily influenced, and would never amount to
anything, because he had no mind of his own ; and
he had replied with his genial laugh, " I'll let you
be mind for me, Ralph ; you may go ahead, and
ril follow in your footsteps. You are such a proper
fellow that the road will be sure to end right."

Certainly he would like to help Harvey Barnes.
It must be interesting to help people ; it was what
he had meant to do when he united with the church.
He parted with the mission-worker thoughtfully,
having promised that he would do what he could
for Harvey, and added a sort of half promise to
come to the mission some evening. He was silent
about his engagement to meet his sister-in-law
there that evening and take her home, because, as
a matter of fact, he did not mean to be there until
the meeting was safely over. His half promise to
attend the meeting had not meant so much that he
cared to emphasize it by appearing at once. Yet
as he walked from the station with his mind full
of the tender thoughts that the news of his old
schoolmate had awakened, he wondered how it
would seem to start afresh, and carry out some

' k

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OVKRKULKD.

of the plans tluit had oiifc heen I118. Estelle, he
reminded himself, had not been interested in that
sort of thing, or it wonld have made a difference.
Hut perhaps she would he willing to go even t(»
the mission now, if he were with her. And then
he admitted that he had not spent nuicli of his
time with her, and that he had been out of sorts
that morning, and si)oke)i somewhat roughly ; hut
she had certainly been very aggravating.

As he let himself in at his own door, he said,
still to that interesting pei"Son, himself, '* What if
I should suri)rise everybody with an entirely new
departure ? "

AN ANNIVERSARY.

Ill

CHAPTER X.

AN ANNIVERSARY.

OX the hall table had lain three lettei's for him.
Every one of them contained bills, — two
for much larger amounts than he had expected ; one
was presented for the third time with a peremptory
demand for immediate attention. He threw them
down with a sense of iiaving been injured. Wliy
should bills be allowed to force their ugly faces
upon him just as he was meditating radical changes
for the better? He went on to the dining-room.
He was later than usual ; those private calcula-
tions had consumed time. Mre. Bramlett sat alone
at the head of her table. She looked up at his
entrance with an injured air.

'' Here I am eating my solitary dinner ; it is the
third time this week. It is very pleasant to be
married, and have a house of one's own where one
can enjoy solitude ! Your friend ^Nlarjorie wanted
to know if I had become used to it. I told her I
was becoming used to most things, and so I am.
Although I will confess that, since this is my birth-
day, I did think perhaps you would make an effort
to reach home at least at your usual early hour I "

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OVERRULED.

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Sucli had been his greeting. He had given a
slight start at the mention of the birthday ; he liad
forgotten it. Bnt he told himself drearily that it
was just as well, since he had no money for birth-
day offerings.

He looked at his wife critically as he took his
seat opposite her, and wondered if it would l)e
worth while to tell her some of the thoughts awa-
kened in him by tiie news from the Mission. She
had changed a good deal since their marriage ;
she was by no means so pretty as she used to he.
He was not sure but there had come to be a look
of habitual gloom on her face. No, that was not
quite fair; only a few evenings before she had
met him with smiles and winning words, and had
tried to rest and comfort him when he complained
of weariness. His conscience reminded him that
he would have none of her comfort. But that, he
hastened to tell himself, was because he had been
so tried by business cares. Any woman of sense
ought to expect such times. If she were in a
like gentle mood this evening, she would find lie
could meet her half way. But nothing was more
evident than that no such mood possessed her.
What if he should himself take the initiative?
Suppose he should remark that he was sorry to
have been late, especially on her birthday. One
wonders that it did not occur to him to be amazed
over the fact that such a commonplace courtt'sy
as that would have been unusual. Furthermore,

AN ANNIVEUSAIIV.

113

what if he should ask her to walk down with him
hy and by to the Mission to meet Glyde? He
might tell her about Harvey Barnes ; she used to
know Harvey, and would no doubt be interested
in hearing of his new departure. These thoughts
passed rapidly through his mind ; and he opened
his lips to put some of them into words, just as
his wife broke forth, —

" If you have nothing whatever to say, Mr. Bram-
lett, now" that you have come, I may as well begin
at once upon tlie interesting items that have been
dinged into my eai-s this afternoon. Your immac-
ulate sister Hannah has been here again, giving
me a benefit. I do not know wh}" she does not
choose an hour when you are present ; she talks
about you continually. She is terribly exercised,
let me tell you, about your reputation. She has
heard, from I don't know how many sources, that
you are hopelessly in debt. According to her
ideas the business men meet on the street cornel's
and discuss the alarming nature of your affairs.
If you have any reason to give why you do not
pay that odious Dunlap, for instance, I wish you
would rush right down there and tell Hannali ;
slie will proclaim it from the housetop befoi'e to-
morrow night. At least, she will mention it to
tliat confidential friend of hers. Jack Taylor, and
lie will see that it is spread abroad."

Was it wonderful that Ralph Bramlett, >jeing
the man he was, lost every vestige of a desire to

1?"

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114

ovKimrLED.

s})eak kind and conciliating words to liis Avife?
His reply was icy in its dignity, —

'*I wonder, Mrs. Bramlett, if you could explain
why you consider it necessary whenever you men-
tion my sister to insult her ? "

'*• Insult your sister ! That is an exquisite sug-
gestion. It is not I, let me tell you, who have
lielped to place your sister's name in the mouth
of every street loafer. Instead, I have done my
utmost, not only to warn her, but to rouse her
brother, in time to save her reputation. Is not
this true? Don't talk to me about insults. It is
your wife who has been insulted, I can assure
you. If you had heard Hannah's words to me
this afternoon, even you might have been roused
to at least a show of interest."

But why soil these pages by recounting the
words that followed from both husband and wife ?
They were not many. Almost immediately fol-
lowing the last sentence recorded, Mi's. Bramlett
remembered the possibility of the girl, Lena, being
within hearing. Therefore, while she said a num-
ber of stinging things, she lowered her voice so
that had Lena's ear been even at the keyhole, she
would not have been much enlightened.

As for the liusband, he was never loud-voiced ;
strong excitement had the effect, with him, of
quieting any outward manifestation, so that his
tones were even lower than ordinary when he had
anything particularly trying to say.

AN ANN [ VERS AUY.

11 •)

He arose from the table before the second eonrse
had heeu completed, and, withont a word of excnse
or apology, retired to his i)rivate room, leaving his
wife to control face and voice as well as she could,
and exi^lain to Lena that they did not care for any
dessert that night. Mr. lirandett had been too
tired to wait for it ; and as for hei-self, having been
in the house all day, she had not much appetite
for anything. Then she, too, made a precipitate
retreat to the darkness of her own room. It was
after this home scene had been concluded, that
Ralph Bramlett allowed himself to bow his head
on his hands, and groan out to his heart that mis-
eral)le '' It might have been I " Not in any sense
did he consider himself to blame. Had he not
(oi.ie home with the intention of turning over an
entire new leaf? He called it now a <lelil)erate in-
tention, though the reader will remend)er how far
from decision he had been. No, he corrected that
last phrase, and put it that he had come home in-
tending to carry out the plans which he had long
ago formed, and would undoubtedly have followed
out, had it not been for the millstone hung about
liis neck. In his bitter anger and pain he allowe<l
liimself to so designate in his thoughts the wife of
liis choice.

lUit, as has ])een said, he had not given himself
long to that train of thought. Truth to tell, like
experiences were becoming too common in his home
to hold his attention long. I le did not change his

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ii i til

i
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ii6

OVERRULED.

attitude, but his thoughts turned quickly to the
proposition which had been made him that day.
With the unpaid bills lying bf^side him on the
table, he thought again, as he had a hundred times
before, of the thousand dollars that woulJ be given
him in advance, with which to furnish that store ;
and remembered that it would be left to his judg-
ment as to whether much or little of it should be
so spent — and the remainder could be paid back
at " any time " during the winter. It is Avonderful
what a delightful sound that indefinite " any time "
had to the debt-burdened man.

Long he sat, going over all the arguments in fa-
vor of his acceptance of the business offer, all the
phases of relief that would come to him in such
a case, as well as the network of perplexities and
embarrassments that would continue to entangle
him should he decline. Was public opinion worth
such a sacrifice as would be involved? For that
matter, what reputation had he now? Suppose a
tithe of what Hannah's narrow mind and his wife's
ill humor had flung at him was being said ? Could
there be a greater humiliation for a Bramlett thun
that ? Would it not be infinitely better for a man
to pay his honest debts than to squirm over a ques-
tion of taste? Moreover, his name need not ap-
pear. That thought seemed to have charms for
him ; he repeated it in various forms. The Bram-
lett name was undoubtedly being sullied now, or
at least would be as soon as the true state of affaii's

AN ANNIVERSARV.

117

should become known. He had it in his power to
prevent the stain, and no one need know by what
means he prevented it. So far as that was con-
cerned, — and he drew himself up slightly, preserv-
ing his dignity by the thought, — suppose every
one knew ; there was nothing to be ashamed of ;
it was a legitimate business, sanctioned by the gov-
ernment under which he lived, and capable of being
carried on in a way to protect the community from
evil. Why should he hesitate longer ? Then, for
a few minutes, he allowed himself to stand face to
face with a question that had all day been pushing
to the front, and been resolutely held in abeyance.
It was not. What will the Lord Jesus Christ,
whose name I bear and whose honor I am bound
to consider, think of this business ? but what would
Marjorie Edmonds say if she knew that I was
planning such a way out of trouble as this ? He
arose at last, and kicking away angrily the slippers
that had been his wife's latest Christmas gift, made
ready for the street again. All thought of the
Mission and his engagement with his sister-in-law
had passed from his mind ; but an overpowering
desire to talk with Marjorie had taken possession
of him. Not that he by any means meant to tell
lier definitely what he was considering, not that he
had the slightest doubt of what her opinion would
be should he do so, but simply because he could
not rid himself of the desire to ask her certain
questions, and hear her replies. He did not own,

UlMPlilP

118

OVEHRTTLEn.

even to liimself, tluit he knew a way to put ques-
tions wliicli she would not undei-stand, and to draw
from her such sympathetic replies as he could shai)e
to his own needs, even to liis defence if need be.

Mi's. Hramlett, still sitting in her darkened room,
saw through the closed blinds the tall form of her
husband as he strode down the street. What could
have taken him away again ? He was not fond of
going out in the evening after a hard day's work ;
it required a special effort to get him to do so.
Never before, since their marriage, had he stalked
away without word or sign to her. Was he too
angry ever to forgive her ?

The poor wife's heart ached after him so that
she was tempted to push up the window and call.
What if she shoidd shout out into the night and
the darkness, " Ralph ! O Italph ! forgive me. I
did not mean to hurt you. 1 did not mean any of
the cruel things 1 said. I love you, and am mis-
erable day and night because we cannot be happy
together, as 1 thought we should be. Come back,
deal', and let me put my head on your shoulder,
and my arms about your neck, and tell you how
sorry I am." What wild words those would be to
fling out after him ! If she should try it, would
he come back ? She puslied open the window a
few inches ; not with the slightest idea of speak-
ing any of those eager words, but wondering if she
should call him. Suppose she should say, " Ralph,
wait a moment ; I want to speak to you." That

AX ANXIVM'IUSAKY.

Ill)

would sound well enough for any passer-l)y to hear;
and Lena, if she were listening, could make nothing
of it ; then, when he was onee i)eside her, with the
door closed after him, she could — She pushed
the window down ; she couhlnt <lo it. She had a
vision of his cold eyes, and could hear his icy voice
as he came bjick promptly enough at her bidding,
— he was always in these outward forms a gentle-
man, — and stood before her asking, " VV^hat is it
you wish ? "

She couldn't do it. All she wished was to put
her head on his shoulder and cry, and ask him
to forjjive her. No : the trouble was she wanted
more than that ; she wanted him to ask her to for-
give him ; she knew that he would not ; and she
knew that he was to blame, as well as hei-self, for
the cruel state of things that now existed between
them. Oh, more than herself! What liad she
done but speak irritably to him a few times under
strong provocation, and what had he not done to
repel her, especially of late? No ; it would be not
only humiliating, but a species of falsehood, to ask
his forgiveness, as though she alone had been to
blame. It was well that slie had not called him
hack. Let him go his way,, wherever it was. lie
should see that he had married a woman who had
self-respect, at least.

She had struggled hard with her anniversary, —
this poor, unhappy wife. Evidently her husband
had not so much as noticed it, but she had pre-

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[ .'?»

I .1

"•■31

I i^}<W

ii: > 1

120

OVKIlUULKD.

pared certain dishes that sjje l^new he enjoyed ;
she had arraved herself in tlie dress that he used
to like, and before his plate had placed a tiny bou-
quet of the flowera that were his favorites. And
there was the birthday cake, over which she had
hovered even while it was baking, to see that it
was done to just the right shade of perfection, that
he had not even waited to see. Oh, why had
everything gone as it had, when she had worked
so hard and tired herself out just to please him I
Why had Plannah Bramlett come that afternoon
of all othere, to thrust those wretched pin-points
of criticism into her very flesh ?

The idea of Hannah daring to hint that she
was afraid his wife's expensive tastes had brought
trouble upon Ralph ! and pointing, in proof of her
charge, to certain expensive articles with which
she had had nothing whatever to do, — articles
that had been Ralph's gifts to her in those early
days of their married life, that now sometimes
seemed centuries away !

The idea of Hannah Bramlett finding fault with
he7' because they paid such an enormous rent, and
lived in so large a house — an "absurdly large
house for two people ! " What lousiness was it of
hei-s how many rooms they had ? And why should
she suppose that Ralph had had nothing to do with
the choice? Why should Ralph allow his sister,
who was disgracing hereelf, whose name was tossed
about carelessly by the street gossips as ''Jack

"1i!?"™

AN ANNIVERSARY.

121

Taylor's girl," to come and force her critieisms on
her? To come, too, in the name of affection for
Ralph ! To look distressed while she repeated
the vile slander, — brought to her, probably, by-
Jack Taylor, — that he not only did not pay liis
debts, but did not mean to pay them ; and was
borrowing money of poor people who trusted him,
and deceiving them with the story that he had in-
vested it for them ! She, the wife, would have
thrown anything she could reach at the head of
any pereon who had dared to come to her with
such tales ; but Hannah had only wiped her eyes,
and looked the picture of misery, and l)egged her,
Estelle, to change her manner of living, ar.d re-
duce their expenses, and help poor Ralph out of
tills terrible embarrassment.

Mi's. Bramlett, as she thought it all over, har-
dened her heart, not only against Hannah, but
against her husband.

100

J. t^ad

OVEKUrLKD.

CHAPTKR XI.

A SKKIKS OF MLUNDKRS.

FLVNTIMK \{d\])h Hramlctt, unmindful of
I'JL tlie distressed wateher at tlie window,
strode off down the street, ])ent on die desire of
liis lieart. VViien was Halpli Hrandett bent on
anytliing else save liis own desires?

It was now some months sinee Mrs. Edmonds
and her daughter had reached home ; and Marjorie,
if slie had not made much headway in the work
that she wanted to aceomj)lish, had at least seen
lUore or less of Ralph. This, however, liad been
the result ai)[)arently of accident, certainly with-
out design on her part. To all appearance, Ralph
was a more regular church-goer than his sister-in-
law had led her to suppose ; and invariably he and
his wife joined her mother and herself for the home-
ward walk, keeping directly behind them, Ralph,
at least, eager to enlist them in conversation. Sev-
eral times it had occurred that hi crossing the
streets the couples would of necessity become
separated ; and again, without apparent design, it
would be found that when they came together
Ralph was beside Marjorie, leaving his wife to

A SERIES OF BLUNDEUS.

i2n

walk witli Ikm* motlier. Tliis urmii^niuMit tried
Mi-s. Kdiuoiids more tliaii slic woidd luivo cared to
oxju'ess, hut it was ap[)an'ntly so purely an aeei-
(lent that nothiuj^ couhl he said.

Then, too, the nuniher of times in which Mar-
jorie had met Ualpli liramlett on tlie train, and
travelled homeward in his company, were surpris-
ing when she recalled them. She had carefully
avoided what was snpj)osed to he his regular train,
lest he should get the idea that she was trying to
stand guard over him in any way; hut take wliat-
ever train from town she Avould, he was nearly
certain to have chosen the same one. In her inno-
cence it did not occur to her that he had skilful
ways of possessing himself of lier intentions. A
like experience had heen hers a luunher of times
when she had arranged to spend an hour or two
with his wife. It was sure to he the dav in which
he surprised his wife hy coming home early. In
these, and various other wavs, she had certainlv
seen much of Ualph Brandett; yet she could not
feel tliat any good results had followed. Unc^ues-
tionahly Ralph was glad to talk with her, and
upon any subject that she chose to bring forwai'd.
Moreover, ho took high ground on all these sul)-
jects ; either his sister-in-huv had been deceived in
regard to him, or else he talked in this strain from
force of habit. ^larjorie sadly feared that the
latter was the case, because from her standpoint a
man could not be growing, spiritually, and main-

I*,

„

■» I,

^i''
%

f f:

'*'«M

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124

OVERRULED.

tain a position in a distillery. The original plan
that she had formed of rccaching and helping hiin
through his wife seemed a failure. Although she
had made extraordinary efforts to establish herself
on the familiar footing with Mrs. Bramlett that
the intimacy of their girlhood warranted, she found
herself constantly held at a distance.

She puzzled over the reasons for this. With
the single exception of a few months before her
marriage, during which time Marjorie had decided
that she was so absorbed in her new relations and
future prospects as to be indifferent to all former
interests, Estelle Douglass had always shown, not
only a willingness, but an eagerness, to be on inti-
mate terms with Marjorie. Why had she changed
so utterly? Studying the question with utmost
care, Marjorie's only conclusion was, that i\Irs.
Bramlett so felt her dignity as matron and mis-
tress of a home of her own, that she was prepared
to resent anything vdiich foreshadowed possible
advice or suggestion of any sort. So, although
there were some points on which she would have
liked to advise her, Marjorie carefully held her-
self from all such temptations. She realized from
hints that Estelle had dropped, that the young
wife had to endure more or less advice from her
sister-in-law ; perhaps this made her suspicious of
others. At least, it was the only solution that
this young woman, who could be very stupid on
occasion, could furnish,

A SERIES OF BLUNDERS.

125

On the evening in question, Marjorie chanced
to be seated quite alone in their cheery parlor, her
mother being closeted in the dining-room with a
poor woman who had a tale of woe to pour out in-
tended for no ears but hex's. When, therefore, the
little maid, whose duty it was, announced " Mr.
Bramlett," it was Marjorie who advanced to meet
him.

" Alone ? " she said inquiringly ; " where is Es-
telle ? I recognized your voice in the hall, and
hoped you had both come to spend the evening."

" I am alone," he said.

" How is Estelle ? Not ill I hope ? But of course
she is not, else you would not be here. Why did
not this pleasant winter evening coax her out ? "

" I did not bring her," was his brief reply.
Then, " Is it a pleasant evening ? I did not know.
I am too weary in body and soul to take note
of weather, though it is pleasant liere. What a
charming home you have, Marjorie ! I remember it,
of coui-se. I remember every detail of the rooms ;
sometimes I think of it as ' Paradise Lost.' "

Marjorie gave him a swift, anxious glance. Cer-
tain rumors had come to her from time to time as
to his being much embarrassed about money-mat-
ters, but she had given slight heed to them — there
was always gossip afloat that had little or no foun-
dation ; but on this evening, as she saw his troubled
tace and listened to his dreary words, she wondered
whether it could be that he was in such trouble

I '

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III

i-^K:,.

I im

>(in

r ,1 1!

126

OVERRULED.

financially as to make the care-free days of his
younger life seem almost like a paradise lost.

" 1 want to talk with you," he said, drawing for-
ward a chair for her, and sinking into one near
it. '* I am glad to find you alone ; it seemed to
me that I must talk to somebody, or go wild."

** O Ralph I " she said in tones of earnest syin-
jjathy ; " what is the matter ? " Here was evi-
dently some trouble from which lie meant to shield
his wife, and from sheer force of habit ]^^' liad come
to his old friend. She would not fail him. lie
hesitated. Just what was the matter? Or latlier.
what did he mean to say to her? It was not ex-
actly sympathy of which he had come in searcli.
but directly he stepped into that sympathetic at-
mosphere the desire for it overpowered him.

''Everything is the matter," he said tragically;
" nothing is as it should be in this world. Did you
know it ? " Then he laughed cynicalh', and added,
"You live a safe, sheltered life, do you not. Mar-
jorie? Shut away from tlie disagreeable oi ■ ' rv
sort. Well, I am glad ; that is as it should be."

The sentence closed with a heavy sigh, and in
a tone which hinted that a great deal more miglit
be said were he at liberty to say it.

Of course he was referring to business embar-
rassments. Marjorie had not supposed that, to a
salaried man, these could be very serious. After a
moment's silence, during which she reflected what
it was l)est to say, she resolved upon a bold stroke.

A seiiie:s of blunders.

127

"Ralph, at the risk of seemmg to be unsym-
pathetic, 1 will confess that I do not feel so sorry
for your business troubles as perhaps you think one
ought. If I were to speak quite the truth, I would
confess that my strongest wish for you is that they
should become so great as to cause you to break
at once and forever from all association, however
remote, with the liquor traffic. I am sure it is a
business that must be distasteful to you in every
way. I know you will forgive my plain speaking.
I have never been able to look with any degree of
endurance upon the position which you now occupy.
The only thought I have had in connection with
it has been one of pain and disappointment. It is
not because you did not study for a i^rofession,"
she added hurriedly ; " I do not mean in the least
that I consider a clerkship beneath you, or that
it was other than the honorable coui*se, if it seemed
necessary to you at the time to earn money innue-
diately ; but some other clerkship than the one you
hold is surely possible. There are so many honor-
able places waiting for men like you. I shall have
to confess that if your present position were so
distasteful to you as to cause you to leave it to-
morrow, I could only be glad."

She stopped abruptly. The young man's face
looked so hopelessly dark, as to oppress her with
the fear that this was, after all, no time to broach
this subject.

" Vou ought to be satisfied with it," he said

128

OVERRULED.

ir :>:

gloomily ; "you are to blame for my occupying
it."

She gave a little inward start. This was the
fii"st attempt that he had made to refer to the pe-
culiar relations which they used to sustain toward
each other. In their reference to the past, both
had gone away back to the time when they were
schoolmates. The sentence pained her more deeply
than he could imagine. Must she add yet this to
the number of ways in which she had influenced
others to their injury? Perhaps if she had not
allowed lier girlish sense of dignity to take such
full possession of her, and had remained his friend
during those early beginnings of their misunder-
standing, she might have saved him from this mis-
take. But of what use to mention it now? It
would be better for him not to talk about it. She
was silent and distressed. He also realized that
he had struck ii wrong note.

" You surely undei-stand," he said at last, deter-
mined to ignore his blunder, "how a man wlio lias
made a false step in life, and who yet has a family
of his own to care for, to say nothing of his father
and mother, finds it ditttcult, in fact, finds it impos-
sible, to retrace his steps. I may not approve of
my work; I may hate it, indeed; yet it is all I have
to depend upon, and I must abide by the position
in which my folly has placed me."

His listener's face brightened visibly. He did
hate it then. His conscience was not at rest, and

A SERlKSi OF IJLUNDERS.

12^

tills accounted for much of tlie gloom his face was
wearing. She spoke with intense earnestness, —

" No, Ralph, no ! What would become of any
of us if we could never take back false steps ? I
can undei'stand how hard it was for you at the
time, feeling perhaps that j'our father needed
help; and 1 can imagine some of the specious
reasons that may have been brought to bear upon
you. I have heard them advanced since ; but I
am sure that your conscience has long ago told
you how false they were. Throw up the position,
Ralph. Do it at once. Your friends will rally
around you. Why, no one will be more rejoiced
over it than your father. I heard him* but a few
weeks ago expressing the strength of his feeling
on the liquor question. And Estelle, I am sure,
will rejoice in it. She will feel that your truest
manhood has reasserted itself. As for any tem-
porary embarrassment that there may be while
you are getting established in a new business, we,
your friends, will be " — She stopped abruptly,
distressed over his rapidly darkening face. Ralph
Hramlett was a proud man; it was a bitter trial
to have Marjorie Edmonds offer him pecuniary
assistance.

"Excuse me," he said coldly, "there are some
things that even I cannot bear. And while we
are upon the subject, I may as well say to you that
you are utterly mistaken in some of your premises.
My wife is the last person who would counsel me

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136

OVERRTTt.Kn.

to give up a certainty, meagre as she consiclei's it,
for a fanatical idea, as she wouhl he sure to call it.
She is tlie last pei-son who would help me in any
wa}'. I tell you, Marjorie, that you do not know
what I have to endure. I have made an awful,
an irrtparal)le, blunder in my life, and I am mis-
erable."

There was no sympathy now in Marjorie's face,
only cold indignation. Ifer voice expressed it
promptly, *' You are making a very serious blunder
now ; you are criticising your wife, and allowing
yourself to speak words concerning her that the
vows you have taken ought to make you ashamed
to utter."

He saw his mistake, and made haste to try to
co\ . r it.

" I beg your jDardon, Marjorie ; of course I
ought not to have spoken. It is the last thing
I meant to say ; but, indeed, I am so nearly beside
m3\self at times, that I wonder I do not go wild.
I want you to forget it. Believe me, I did not
come here to say anything of this kind. I mean
to live my life as best I can, and keep my misery
to myself. I came to talk with you about other
matters; and I do not know how I could so far
forget myself."

It was almost the first word of self-rebuke that
Ralph Bramlett had ever been known to utter.
Miserable uS was the occasion, was there not a
shadow of encouragement in it?

A SEltlES Ol'' BLUNt>EtlS.

131

Marjorie was silent from \ery doubt of what
ought to be said. The next moment the sliding
dooi's were rolled back, and jMi>5. Edmonds entered
the room. '

" (Jood-evening," she sa^d, '•' Mi-s. liramlett is
well, I hope? " AVas her voice colder than usual?
How much of that last outburst had she heard?

Ralph Bramlett arose on the instiint. lie could
not talk platitudes with Marjorie's mother. He
stammered some incoherent reply as to his wife's
health, and got himself out, he hardly knew how,
into the night.

Perhaps a wilder storm of pain and disappoint-
ment and rage never burned in human heart than
that to which he gave free rein for a few minutes.
The only redeeming feature in it was that for once
hi his life he criticised his own actions. He asked
himself why he had been such a consummate idiot
as to go to that house at all, if he could not exer-
cise common-sense? What insane spirit had pos-
sessed him to drag in his wife, and say spiteful things
about her to INIarjorie ! He might have known, if
he knew anything, that no better way could be
devised for making her withdraw her sympathy.
What had been his object in going to her in the
first place? In the confusion of l)rain which then
possessed him, he could not satisfactorily answer
even that question. He had felt impelled to seek
her, therefore he had done so. It was a ridiculous
idea, and deserved to fail as ignominiously as it

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132

bVEtlRtJtEt)*

had. Marjorie Edmonds was a fanatic of the fa-
natics on that entire question, and he had always
known it. What was he about ? Why should he,
Ralph Bramlett, moon along after this sentimental
fashion ? Why allow himself to be persuaded and
cajoled by any woman living !

He would do exactly as he pleased, of course, as
any man of sense would. What was Marjorie Ed-
monds to him? She had chosen to toss him aside
as of no consequence. What right had she to try
to tutor him now ? The fact was, she had insulted
him. Offering to take care of him until he could
get a situation that suited her ! His face burned
at the thought. Where would Marjorie Edmonds
get her money with which to be so generous, save
of that insufferable Maxwell who had spoiled his
life ? Didn't she know that he would go to State
prison rather than accept help of him ?

By this time his mood of self-criticism had passed,
and it was once mere other people who were to
blame for all his misfortunes. He tramped long
that night, passing once his sister-in-law whom he
was to have taken home ; but he was on the op-
posite side of the street, and she was in such ear-
nest conversation with Jack Taylor that she did
not notice him.

When at last he reached his private room once
more, the first thing he did was to sit down at his
desk, and write a formal acceptance of the junior
partner's business proposition.

A COJJFIbfiNf lAL I'ALk.

CHAPTER XII.

A CONFIDENTIAL TALK.

133

-U:i

THERE was silence in Mi's. Edmonds's parlor
for some minutes after tlieir caller's depar-
ture. Marjorie had dropped back into her seat
near the open grate, and, with hands chisped in
her lap, was staring at the coals. Mi's. Edmonds
had taken up a book, and was supposed to be
residing. In reality she was occupied in thinking
of her daughter, and trying to decide whether it
would be wise for her to speak what was in her
heart, or keep silence.

At last she decided that longer silence was
neither being honest to herself, nor just to her
daughter; and, after the manner of people who
have planned for some time just how to commence
a conversation, she said the very words that she
would have chosen not to, springing, as it were,
to the centre of her subject, instead of approach-
ing it by degrees.

" Marjorie, do jom think you are doing just
right?"

Marjorie started like one roused froui a painful

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re very, raised troubled eyes to lier motlier's face,
and asked, —

" VVMiat do you mean, mother? "

"I mean, dear, is it just right to receive and
hokl a long and apparently confidential conversa-
tion with ii married man, who has left his wife at
home alone while he comes to visit with you ? "'

Certainly this was not what Mi's. Edmonds had
l^lanned would better be said. Pier sentence had
gathered force as she talked; force boin of an in-
dignation that she had meant to suppress.

" Mamma, I do not understand you in the least.
Why should I not receive and converse with any
gentleman of our .acquaintance? You speak al-
most as if it were a premeditated arrangement.
Certainly I did not plan that you should be engaged
elsewhere this evening, nor that Ralph should come.
I do not know what to think of such strange words
from you."

Mrs. Edmonds struggled for self-control, and
spoke gently, —

"I know, daughter; of course I did not mean
what my words may have suggested. I am en-
tirely sure that there was no premeditation, on your
part at least. But, dear, think what you are doing.
I have felt for some time that I ought to speak ;
to-night I feel that I must wait no longer. Only
to-day you were telling me a painful story of gos-
siping tongues that are making free with the acts
of people who you know are above suspicion.

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A CONFIDKNTFAL TAMv.

iar>

Why <1() yon not tliink of youi'self in sucli connec-
tion ? Vou cannot liave tort»()tten tluit Ralph Hrani-
lett used to be very intiniati in this lionse, ami
that people who had no right to know anythino'
about your alt'aii's, freely reported you as engaged
to him. Can you imagine that he can single you
out for attention in the way that he has l>een do-
ing ever since we came home, and, above all, call
upon you without his wife, and not furnish food
for gaping eyes and censorious tongues ? "

" Mother," said Marjorie, distressed almost be-
yond speech, ''how can you think — how is it pos-
sible for you to think — that there are any people
so low as to talk about me in connection witli a
married man ! " '

'• My daughter, you talk lus though you did not
live in the world. Probably you have never real-
ized how easy it is for a certiiin class of people
to talk, nor out of wliat small material they can
build their theories, l^ut I want to ask you
frankly if, as a looker-on, you are sure you would
call this small material. Is it customary for a
young married man to call frequently without his
wife at houses where there are no gentlemen? I
am sure you do not realize the nundjer of times
that Ralph Bramlett has rung our door-bell in the
last few weeks. I remember that he has nearly
always had an ostensible errand, — you nuist forgive
me for saying ostensible, for some of them were
flimsy enough, — and I know that he has made

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short calls, at least until this evoninj^ ; Init I must
frankly own that I have no confidence in him.
At the same time I will try to he just, and admit
that I do not suspect him of any other motive
than a sellisli desire to enjoy his own i)leasure for
the time being, without regard to ap[)earan('es or
the comfort of others. 1 have never known that
young man to consult any one's comfort but his
own ; and I think it is only too apparent that he is
trying to draw you into a very confidential friend-
ship with himself, — a friendship that shall exclude
his wife. This does not surprise me in him ; hut
I confess, that, to see m^- daughter pe litting sudi
a state of things, has given me mo vin than I
ever expected her to cause me."

Marjorie sat in dumb distress. Only an hour
before, she could have made indignant answei*;
but that hour had brought her revelations. She
was not benefiting Kali)h Bramlett. A man wIkj
felt toward her in such a manner that he could
arraign his own wife before her, and expect her
sympathy, was not one whom she could benefit by
friendship. Perhaps her mother was right, and
she had been makiniy a mistake. But not surely
in the way her mother feared. It could not he
possible that any of those gossiping tongues would
dare to touch her name ! No, she was sure sucli
an idea was but the creature of an over-anxious
imagination. Mothers were always over-careful ;
and such wretched stories had come to here lately,

A CONFIDKNTIAL TALK.

137

it was no wonder they had preyed upon her nerves.
She si)oke at hist, gently, soothingly.

" Ahinnna, you remember 1 told you not long
ajjo that I believed you were always right, and I
wrong, Avhen we differed ? 1 will say it again. I
have perhaps been — not wise, in my anxiety to
ht'lp poor Ilali)h. lie is in great trouljle, and needs
help almost more than any one I know ; but he is
a hoy still, not a man at all ; and I " — a moment's
iiL'sitation, then a disappointed sigh — '-am not the
one to help him. I did not mean to try directly ;
I meant to reach him through Estelle ; but she
holds aloof, and will not see what 1 could do for
her."

" And her very holding aloof, Marjorie, ought
to show you how impossible it is for you to help
her. Do you not see, is it possible you have not
undei-stood all this time, that the poor creature is
jealous of you? "

Ahirjorie's face Avas aflame. " Mother ! " she
said, controlling her voice, and choosing her words
with care, '' if that sentence were spoken by any
one but you would it not be almost insulting?
How is it possible for any woman to think of me
in such a connection as that ? Do you mean that
I have given lier cause ? "

Mi's. Edmonds made a movement of impatience.

'' I used to think, Marjorie, that you had splen-
did common-sense. Indeed, I have leaned upon you
for yeai*s ; but I confess that your knowledge of the

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world and of human nature seems to me to be not
nuicli more than a hahy miglit have. Given sucli
a character as you know Estelle Doughiss to pos-
sess, married to sucli a man as Ralph Bramlett is,
what is she to l)e hut jealous of the woman for
whose society her husband leaves hers on every
pretext? .\nd tlien, too, child, you seem to ignore
his past intimacy with you, — a thing which you
may be sure his wife never does. Unwittingly you
have given her cause for discomfort. You could
hardly ^elp it, unless you were willing to tell her
husband frankly that you did not want to see or
talk with him. I do not say you are to blame,
dear, because you are strangely blind in some direc-
tions; but I have no doubt that he sees her pain,
and is indifferent to it."

Here was food for thought for the already per-
turbed girl. If she accepted hej* mothers theory,
mucii that had ])een mysterious in Estelle's be-
havior was explained ; but what a humiliatiii<»;
theory I .Tealous of her — when Ralph had deliln
erately deserted her, and chosen his wife before
her eyes! She studied over it so long, tliat Mrs.
Edmonds had time to determine upon anothci
question tliat she had long desired to ask.

"■ Marjorie, has it not occurred to you that
Mr. Maxwell might tliink tliis renewal of friend-
ship ,vith Ralph Jirandett rather strange ? " Slie
studied the girl's face carefully, but could see in
it only [»erplexity.

A CONFIDENTIAL TALK.

139

•• I don't think I get your idea. 1 tliink Mr.
Maxwell would be among the first to understand
that 1 would like to helj) poor Kali)h if 1 eouKl.
But whether he approved it or not would, in j«,
sense, make no difference to me. I mean, I should
have to do what I thought was wise and right ;
not what he thought."

" But such a friend as he ought surely to have
influence."

, . " ' Influence,' ves ; I should like to please him ;
hut not more, of coui-se, than I want to j)lease 3-011,
mother ; and I have not undei-stood that you divl
not want me to try to influence Ralph and Estelle
in right directions if 1 could. Why should you
introduce Mr. Maxwell's luinie?"

Poor mother I To most mothei-s it is a pleasure
to be put first ; to her it was a jKjsitive pain. Was,
then, her precious air-castle, ou which she had been
at work for so many months, to come tumbling
about her ears ? It was dreadful to think that
she Avas precipitating its fall ! I Jut she must go
on now. She would go on ; it was folly to be mov-
ing aindessly around in the dark. She made a
bold plunge.

'' I don't want to force your confidence, Mar-
joric ; I have been willing to wait until you were
ready to give it ; but you ask me a direct ([uestion.
I will confess that 1 thought Mr. Maxwell's name
ought to have greater weight with you than any
other — than mine even. There are some for

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OVERRULED.

whom even mothers are willing to yield their
place." But Marjorie only gazed at her in open-
eyed anxiety.

" Do you mean, mother, — I wonder if you can
possibly mean, — that you think Mr. Maxwell :incl
I will, sometime, marry? If you do, I cannot ima-
gine what has given you that idea. Nothing was
ever farther from our thoughts. From the first
hour of our intimate acquaintance he has seemed
to me like the dear older brother that I always
longed for, and never expected to find. I am sure
he has been like a brother to me all through the
months — years they are getting to be now ; and
I liave rested in his friendship, and trusted him
as I could no one else save you ; but I have never
thought, and could never for a moment think, of
him in any other relation."

For a little. Mi's. Edmonds was dumb with dis-
appointment and pain. I'hat which she had hoped,
at fii-st with trembling, and dunng these later
months with something like assurance, had fallen
to the ground. She was growing older every day,
and some dreary morning Marjorie would waken
to fnid hei-self alone. She, the mother, who would
at any time have laid down her life for her, must
leave her alone. Oh, it was a bitter world I
Should she hazard one more question? It was
foolish. Imt slie could not help it.

" While you have been rejoicing in the thought
of having a brotlier, has it never occurred to yoii

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A CONFIDENTIAL TALK.

141

that you might be doing infinite harm to one who
could not look upon you simply as a sister ? "

"No, mamma, it hasn't; not in this connection.
With some persons I might, of course; and, in-
deed, as a rule, I should not approve of brotherly
and sisterly friendships among young men and
women : but there are exceptions to all rules ; and
Mr. Maxwell has, from the first of our acquaintance,
shown such patient and persistent brotherliness,
that I should have been simply foolish to think
of him in any other way."

" Yet there is a bare possibility that you have
been mistaken. Suppose you were?"

" Then, I should be very sorry indeed — dis-
tressed beyond measure ; for I should feel that the
result could be only pain. But there is no such
mistake, mamma ; I am glad to be sure of it. If
Mr. Maxwell were indeed your son he could not be
more truly my brother than he sometimes seems to
me, and I am sure there is nothing that a brother
could do that he has not been ready to do for me.
I have done a good deal of harm in the world,
mother; but it is a comfort to me to feel sure
that in this case I need not blame myself: I can
enjoy Leonard Maxwell with a free conscience."

It would be difficult to describe the tumult of
pain in Mrs. Edmonds's heart as she listened to
these assured words. It was not alone her own
disappointment, which was bitter, that she felt
she had to bear. Mingled with the pain was an

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undertone not only of resentment, but self-acciL'^a-
tion. This state of things she believed to be the
direct outcome of her daughter's early intimacy
with Ralph Bramlett ; and who had been to blame
for permitting that intimacy? She could not re-
sist the temptation to test her belief.

"Since we are on this topic, may your mother
ask why you suppose it is that a man, so worthy
of winning a true woman's heart, has not reached
youi-s? I think I have not been a mother anxious
to dispose of her child ; but mothei"s who remember
that they have only one to leave cannot help look-
ing forward anxiously sometimes. Do you never
mean to marry, dear? And if not, why not?"

Marjoric's nerves were highly wrought that
night. She resisted the temptation to laugh, and
regarded her mother tenderly. ''J)o not let us
borrow troiddc, mother dear; surely that would
not be a grave calamity! Vou and I have each
other; is not that all that either of us wants?"'

Hut the shade of disappointment, almost of re-
proach, did not lift from her mother's face. After
a nioinent, Marjorie added gravely, —

"'• I mean to be very frank with you, mother. I
think you sometimes have a feeling that I do not
show you my whole heart ; but, indeed, T wish to.
I do not think T can lie quite like other girls.
Most of them seem to think of marriage as a mat-
ter of course, but T feel quite the contrar}'. I do
not expect ever to marry. When I was young

A COXFrDEXTIAL TALK.

143

and foolish, I thought to intiny Ralph Hranilett,
{111(1 hiiilt niv o'irlish air-castles with that idea Un'
II centre. Xow 1 hless the Providence which held
me from that ; don't you remember, I told you
so when we firet came Lome? At the same time
1 realize how entirely my ideas as Avell as feelings
luive changed. I have neither intention nor de-
sire ever to leave you. Let us be everything in
the world to each other, motherie, and admit no
one else." '

That night, after ]Marjorie had been kissed with
even more than usual tenderness, and gone away
assured that her mother did not intend to blame
her, Mrs. Edmonds wrote this letter: —

^f|/ dear Friend : I fear I have a bitter disappointment
for you. I have just liad a plain and exceedingly confiden-
tial talk with my daughter, and I find that you are quite
mistaken in your thought of her. Jt is a trial to have to
write it, for you know how dear you have become to me,
and how much T sliould like to leave my darling in your
care ; but honor demands that T should tell you that Marjorie
regards you only as a })rother, and T believe will never have
any other feeling. She is also so suretliat you think of her
simply as a sister, that she has, not a qualm of conscience
concerning you — of course T have not enlightened her.
Dear friend, there is no one else, and T fear me there will
never be. Tt is that old mistake of mine bearing its fruit.
I must leave my darling alone in the world, because I did
not early shield her from the mistakes that the world con-
stantly makes.

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OVERKULED.

CHAPTER XIII.

" THERE OUGHT TO BE *' —

C^ LYDE DOUGLASS stood at the door of the
T tenement house which was Susie Millers
home, awaiting admission. She had called hefore,
several times, but had failed to meet any of the
family. During the day Susie was at the fac-
tory, so indeed Avas her mother much of the time ;
and as Glyde's calls had to be made in the day-
time, she knew nothing as yet of Susie's home-life.
But on this day she expected to gain admittance.
A guest was in the home that even the factory
respected. Mrs. Miller had not been at work for
several days; and on this morning Susie's loom
was silent, and word went quietly among the
workers near it that "Susie Miller's little sister
was dying."

" It will be an awful blow to Susie," the homely
red-haired girl who worked next her said, her
usually harsh voice soft with sympathy. "It is
that little curly-haired young one that she is so
proud of. A cute little thing. I'm awful sorry
for her."

"It's hard on Susie," volunteered an older girl;

" THKUK OUGHT TO liK " —

145

" but after all, it's the best thing that could happen
to the young one probably. That house is just
running over full of children, and the Millers are
as i)Oor as poverty. What chance is there for any
of "em? Why isn't it better lor them to die and
be out of it all before they undei-stand what a
mean place this world is ? "

This phase of the suljject was freely discussed ;
the ^>eight of testimony being on the side of
''sticking it out," and seeing what would "come
of it.'' Something might "happen."

Meantime (Jlyde heard by accident of the child's
illness, and was waiting at the door. Somewhat
frightened it is true ? serious illness in any form
was new to her, and of death she knew nothing;
but of coui-se she ought to call.

Susie opened the door to her; the girl's eyes
were red with weeping, and she burst into teai-s
again at sight of her teacher.

She said it was true, she supposed. Nannie was
going to die. The doctor hadn't been there since
yesterday; but he said then he couldn't do any-
thing, and " ma " said she knew that the baby
was worse.

A strange revelation was that home to Glyde
Douglass. The way to the little bedroom where
the child lay, led through the main living-room of
the family. Some time during the morning, there
had been an attempt at breakfast ; the odor of *
fried pork was distinctly in the air, and the soiled

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dishes and pork rinds still lay about on the ])aro
table that had been pushed into one corner. The
coal in the cook-stove had burned itself to a \v<\
glow, and the room wiis stifling. Huddled into
cornel's in various stages of dishevelment, curiosity,
and terror, were gathered tin little Miller's of all
ages. There was very little furniture in the room,
and the carpet that covered part of the floor was
so worn tliat unwary feet must constantly have
been tripped by it. Within the bedroom, which
to (Clyde's horror was absolutely dark save for the
light that filtered in from the large room, tokens
of poverty were still more marked. The bed on
which the child lay gasping for breath seemed to
the eyes of the horror-stricken girl but a bundle
of rags ; but the mother had as intense a look of
agony on her haggard face as ever mother wore ;
and her voice, as she bent over her dying baby,
was tenderness itself. Clearly here was love,
struggling with ignorance and poverty.

" Clothe r," said Susie, ''here is Miss Douglass
come to see if there is anything she can do. My
teacher, you know, at the Mission."

Mrs. Miller gave her one quick glance and nod,
then turned her eyes back to the child as she saiti,
" It's too late, Susie, to do anything. Oh, my baby,
my baby! What shall I do?'' The old cry
wrung from a mother's heart in the midst of the
awfully incongruous surroundings. Poor Glyde
had never in her life felt so utterly powerless.

"TIIKKK <)l'(i;;T TO iti:" —

147

She iimde an effort in sciucli of wliat seemed to
her the tii'st necessity.

"Ought she not to liave air?" she said. "She
breathes so hard ; it is dreadfully warm and elase
here."

The mother turned heavy eyes on her inquir-
ingly. "Where would 1 get it? "she asked. I
couldn't have the outside door open ; the young
ones would get their deaths, and it would be bad
for her. The doctor said we mustn't let no wind
blow on her. And we can't get the windows up ;
they are nailed in, and pasted up. We had to,
to keep from freezing."

The child died, of course. How could it do
otherwise ? Then l)egan another phase of Glyde's
education, in watching the preparations for the
funeral. They chose, at much inconvenience to
themselves, and against the judgment of the phy-
sician, to wait until Sunday for the service.

" Seems as if I nuist ! " the mother said ; " Sun-
day is the only day that poor folks have time even
to cry."

Her neighbors from the other tenement houses
gathered, after factory houi-s, and cleaned, and made
that living-room habitable. Thei' they spared
each a chair or two from their meagre stores, until
there were seats for all. ^Meanwhile the wardrobe,
not only of the mother and Susie, but of all the
little ones, was a source of no small anxiety. ^

" 'Tain't decent not to have a bit of black about

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lit:' '

'em jomewheres," so the mother argued, "poor
little wretches; they all loved her dearly, and
they was ds quiet as mice that day she was so bad.
Get a black ribbon for 'em, do ! I'll make it up
somehow, and a few bits of black ribbon can't cost
much.'*

It was then Glyde learned that while the very
wealthy and aristocratic will sometimes ignore al-
together the custom of wearing black, and the
moderately poor and respectable can often be easily
persuaded to follow such example, those in abject
poverty, who have not yet discovered the latest
fashions, cling to their black dresses and ribbons
and veils as tokens of love for their dead. T1h»
same thought appeared in other ways. Glyde was
indefatigable during those two intervening days.
She secured warm flannels for the living children,
and, in several cases, the much-needed shoes;
she discovered in somebody's store-room a half-
worn overcoat for the little boy; she brought a
warm flannel sack for the mother; she furnished
from Mrs. Edmonds's kitchen nourishing food for
the half-starved family; but it was when, on the
morning of the funeral, she had brought a wreath
of choice flowers tied with white satin ribbon, that
the young ladies of the church Bible-class had sent
to lay on the little coffin, that the poor moth^.
broke into tears and exclamations of gratitude.
Flowers in March on her baby's coffin, and tied
with soft white satin ribbon in unstinted quanti-

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149

ties, seemed to mean more to her than clothing
and food. She cried again when Mrs. McPliei-son,
in whose attic the little overcoat had been found,
sent her carriage for the mother, and the half-
drunken father, and all tlie little Millet's to crowd
into, and ride to the grave. Here, too, was wluit
she seemed to consider a love-token to the waxen-
faced baby who was riding in state in front of
them.

Other discoveries Glyde made. During those
three days, when the Millers by reason of tlieir
bereavement came into prominence among their
neighbors, it was Bill Seber, the worse than worth-
less fellow against whom she had exhausted her
ingenuity in warning Susie, who was on the alert
day and night to serve them all. It was he who
looked after certain homely details for the heavy-
eyed mother; it was he who watched over the ir-
responsible father to see that he did not drink
enough to disgrace his dead child ; it was he who
superintended the arrangement of the chairs on
the day of the funeral, and who moved the heavier
pieces of furniture out of the way, and received
and seated the neighbors as they filed in, and
placed Susie beside her mother in the carriage, and
tucked all the little Millers swiftly and quietly
into place. Alert, thoughtful, eager to serve, cer-
tainly a mine of strength was Bill Seber during
those trying days. Glyde could see how, in a sense,
Susie was not only grateful to him, but proud of

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hiiu. Perhaps his virtues showed in stronger li^lii
heciiuse of the utter iilweiice of young men of ii
higher grade. In vain did (ilyde, when she awa-
kened to the importance of such influences, try to
secure some of tiie young men from the Mission to
attend tlie Miller haby's funeral. A few of them
were engaged in Christian work elsewhere at that
hour; hut the majority needed it for rest, for din-
nei', for whatever they chose to do, and could not
be made to see the imixntaniie of sacriHcing their
own ease and inclination for even a single Sunday.
So impressed did (Jlyde become with the power of
these minor matters, that, failing in othei-s, she
liinted her desire to her brother-in-law, and was
sorry afterwards that she did so ; for he came, and
walked dect)rously beside Marjorie Edmonds to and
from the little "Factory cemetery" where these
people buried their dead, (ilyde was beginning
to feel, ratiier than see, reasons why this should
not have been.

All things considered, the trouble that came to
the Miller family was an education in several ways
to this young Christian worker. An education
that troubled her. She told over some of her
thoughts to Marjorie as they sat together in the
latter's parlor one afternoon.

"There are so many puzzling things about it all,
Marjorie. One doesn't know what to try to do.
Take those Millers, for instance ; they are repre-
sentative of quite a large class. Poor, — nuuli

'•THKKK orcJUT To \\v/' —

ir>t

poorer than they need Ik.', on account of whiskey;
it is dreadful to think liow many of tliose factory
[U'ople drink up tlieirearniiij>;s, — yet see Ijow tliey
liiive managed. They had no bread in the liouse
yesterday, and no credit witli which to ^vt it ; Imt
tliey had to liave l>hu*k divsses and a hit of ci-apt?
oil their honnets, and all that sort of thino-. Isn't
it sad, Marjorie, to tliink of tlieir poor hard-eai-ned
money Ix'ing spent in that way? If tliey c(>nld
iiave taken it l)eforeliand, and houjilit flannels for
tlie l)ahy, and good milk for her to drink, and a de-
cent I)ed for her to sleep on, it would have saved
her life perhai)s. Hut saved it to wliat? I am so
distressed when I think of it all, tliat it seems as
though it wouhl lu'eak my lieart. See how they
ii^o on for generations — no iniprovenu'ut. I pre-
sume Mi's. Miller's mother was such another as
she, and I am afraid Susie Avill l)e nuich tiie same.
Why, Mrs. ^Miller simply does not know how to
make her room clean I while as for bread, she woidd
have to buy the misei'able stuff the}' get at the
bakery in any case, l)ecause she has not the least
idea how to make it. She doesn't know what to
do with the meat she l)uys, in order to get any nour-
ishment from it; why, she doesn't even know how
to manage her coal fire I And as for making a
home for those children — o//, dear ! What chance
is there that she will ever know any of these
things? How is she to learn ? No homes worthy
of the name are open to her. She represents at

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least a dozen other families right around her who
are not one whit better off than she."

"• Yet they manage to dress themselves in a way
to look very bright and stylish, " interrupted Mur-
jorie ; " the younger ones, I mean. Your Susie,
for instance, I could but notice her when she
came out in her new winter hat; it was quite
in the style as to shape, and had fully as jiuiiiy
flowers as the fashionable people wear."

"I know it, and tliat illustrates what I am talk-
ing about ; they have no sense of the relative vahie
of things, or rather, values have changed places.
They must have new bonnets, and dresses made
in the prevailing style, even though the children
go shoeless, and all of them without proper under-
wear. Susie spends her wages largely on herself,
and thinks that she must do so ; and her mother
sympathizes with her. ^here's another thing about
Susie that perplexes me. Y'ou remember I told
you how distressed I was at her being so much on
the street evenings? But there is excuse even
for that. Think of theii* one room, jNIarjorie, with
not a decent chair in it, with the father forever
pufiing away at an old pipe when he is at home,
with children of all ages forever under foot not
only, but quarrelling and crying and shouting,
with one stuffy little lamp that smokes as con-
stantly as the master of the house does. Add to
all this the perpetual smell of the last poik and
onions that were fried, mingling with bad whiskey,

"THERE OUGHT TO BE " —

153

and what sort of a place is it for a girl like Susie
to invite a friend into? She cannot ask even Bill
Seber to come in and take a seat ; for the chances
are that there will not be a whole chair to give
him. What is she to do? How shall she be
taught that she must not put on her pretty bon-
net and her stylish-looking coat, and parade up
and down the nice gayly lighted streets where the
well-dressed people walk ? I confess to you, Mar-
jorie, that the whole problem is such a hopeless
tangle to me that I am lost in it. There ought to
be a room, a home, where girls like Susie could
come with their work and their books and their
friends, and have comfortable sittings, and pleasant
surroundings, and learn how people live. I do
not mean Young Women's Christian Associations,
nor clubs, nor guilds, nor anj'thing of that sort;
those are blessed, of course, but they are on a large
scale. Who is it that says they are Homes spelled
with a capital H ? That expresses it. There
ought to be little homes scattered about where
those young people could drop in and feel that
they belonged, and could make cups of tea or
l)lain little stews occasionally for their friends.
They ought to be shown how to do all these

'asses, not in larue numbei's, l)ut

^lng^

'>y

by the half-dozen, or somcthnes by only two.

'■'• r can invite them to my mother's parlor, you
think, and so I can, and do ; and you invite them
here, I have by no means forgotten all the de-

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OVERRULED.

lightfiil things you and your mother have done
tind are doing for my girls; hut I am talking ahout
something else now. I don't want them always
to have to come ever so far away from their homes
and the streets where they live, for their hai)py
times ; the home ought to go down to them, and
make a centre for them to gather in and get
ideas."

'* A college settlement, for instance," suggested
Marjorie.

" Yes ; or no, not quite that, either. That is
too hirge ; it has a secretary, and a Board, and is
managed. Don't you know what I mean? If I
had a home of my very own," — here a soft fush
suffused itself over her earnest face, — "and coidd
put it where I liked, I should like to go rii,dit
down among them, and have a large, cheery,
homely sitting-room that, on certain evenings, for
instance, should belong to Susie Miller, to manage
as she would. And between times I should like
to show her how to manage." She laughed a little
over this, and added, "You think me an idiot,
and perhaps I am; but there are certain experi-
ments that I should like to try."

"Whether or not Susie Miller is being educated.
Glyde Douglass certainly is." This was Mi-s. Ed-
monds's remark after (xlyde had left them. She
had sat apart, a silent, amused listener to the girl's
eager outbui'st.

Marjorie gave a detailed account of the conver-

"• THERK OUGHT ^fO BE —

loo

satioii in her letter to Mi\ Maxwell, and closed
with the following: —

" III sliort, when a certain Paul Hurwell gets ready to .set
up his home, may I be near enough to observe its workings ;
for little i\Irs. Paul — that is to be — is certainly getting
ready to undertake some astonishing experiments. Oh, but
sli(! is delicious ! such a rest from all the other girls ! And
it is such a comfort to me to think that the young man is
evidently ready to meet her more than half way. She <loe8
not suspect that I know it ; but the mouse gets some of her
most startling ideas from him, just as I have no doubt that
he gets some of liis sweetest ones from her. Indeed, Leon-
ard, I believe they will be a couple after my own heart."

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156

OVEllUULED.

CHAPTER XIV.

JUNE VISITORS.

JUNE came early that year, or at least it seemed
so to the husy ones. And with June, history
prepared, apparently, to " repeat itself." That is,
Mr. Leonard Maxwell was coming, as he had one
June before, to take possession of Mrs. Edmonds's
second floor front room and spend the summer.
He had been disappointed in his plan for enjoying
the holida3^s Avith them, imperative duty having
called him elsewhere ; but now he was arran-
ging for a quiet vacation to be spent in preparing
his writings for the press ; and where could a bet-
ter abiding-place be found than Mrs. Edmonds's
home ?

Mother and daughter seemed to be looking for-
ward to the close of the college year with equal
satisfaction. The mother, it is true, would not
have liked to confess what hope she had hidden
in that coming summer. She was not, as she
had said, a scheming mother, nor had she, in the
vulgar sense of the phrase, the slightest desire to
"marry off" her daughter Marjorie. Yet perhaps
the strongest wish of her heart for this beloved

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JUNE VISITORS.

157

daL.j,*iter was to see her, before she died, the
happy wife of Mr. Maxwell.

On ihe surface, all the people connected with
this history were moving on in the even tenor of
their ways ; yet there had been changes. Notably
in Jack Taylor, for instance. No class of peo-
ple who had ever thought of him before iiad diffi-
culty in discovering this change. Jack slouched
and shambled along the streets no more. Instead
of the uncertain, vacillating gait that had been his
for years, his step was alert, and his whole manner
suggested energy. He whistled in these days as
he passed saloons, and rejoiced in every fibre of his
being because he had not the slightest inclination
to enter one of them. He had steady employment
now, at good wages, and worked hard every day,
and was piling up quite a little sum at the savings-
bank. He attended the evening school that had
been started in connection with the Carnell-street
Mission, and was-niaking fair progress in the art of
reading, writing, and kindred elementary studies.
He wore respectable clothing and clean linen, and
conducted himself everywhere in a manly way.
These were the observable changes. Great as th^y
were, Jack knew of another far more astonishing
to liim. Locked into his room at night after the
(lay's work was done, and every morning before the
(lay's \/ork commenced, Jack bent his knees and
held communion with God. Is there anything
more wonderful than that in human history ? Not

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158

0\rERRULED.

only men of giant intellect, but men with such
minds and opportunities and wasted energies as
Jack Taylor represents, may at will hold audi-
ence with the infinite (iod, commune with him as
long as they will, and live in the daily increasing
strength which such communion bestows I

Yet Jack knew of something more wonderful
still ! Not alone when locked into his room did
he hold communion with the infinite One ; but that
One actually walked beside him, shielding, guid-
ing, foreseeing, and planning for him ! Jack liad
a simply unanswerable argument with which to
prove the tnith of this. That argument was liis
life, — what he had been without (xod, what lie
was, having permitted him to take control. Jack
felt that only those who wished and intended to
doubt could get away from this argument. From
the night when Glyde Douglass had made her
earnest appeal to him not to disap[)oint the Lord
Jesus Christ, a new life had begun in him. Not
only new ambitions and hopes, but new strength
Avith which to reach after them. Jack did not
undei-stand it fully, — who pretends to? — but lie
understood at last the human side, and the infinite
Lord attended to the rest. " If any man will do his
will, he shall know of the doctrine." Jack Taylor
was doing his will as well and as fast as he under-
stood it; and no talkative infidel, however ingen-
ious, could have moved his feet from the firm
foundation whereon he knew they had been placed.

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JUNE VISITORS.

loO

Jack took part nowadays in the mission prayer-
meeting, being always in his seat even before the
hour for opening. No, not in his seat either, but
at the door, "• watching out," darting down, on oc-
casion, to the sidewalk, or around tlie corner to the
alley hard by, to put an eager hand on some poor
fellow's shoulder, and speak his word of invitation.
Oh, the best of them could not work down in that
vicinity equal to Jack.

'-Jack Taylor lijis been converted," said his old-
time friend Joe Berry; but tlnnigh, not long before,
he had chuckled at the idea, he spoke the words
now with an entirely grave face and respectful
manner. " It is a dead sure thing," he said ;
"'tain't like mine. It's queer, too, what a differ-
ence it makes ! ]\Iother ought to have had Jack
for her son instead of me.'' The curious regret
closed with a grave sigh. But be sure Jack Taylor
had not forgotten his old friend ; he was " watch-
ing out" for him.

Following that long, confidential talk between
Mrs. Edmonds and her daughter had been some
anxious days, during which Marjorie went over
and over again the details of that interview, her
face burning afresh every time' she thought of the
possibility of her name having been on the tongues
of the gossips. It will be remembered, however,
that she had felt sure at the moment that her
mother's words were born of motherly" anxiety
and over-solicitude. This idea gained in' strength.

'rim

100

OVERHULKI).

It seemed quite natural when she remembered her
mother s recently acquired knowledge of the world's
wickediicss, through putting forth her strength to
help some of its victims ; but despite its natural-
ness in the mother's thoughts, of course it was
preposterous. They had no enemies, and it would
require an enemy to couple her name even with an
impropriety. As for Ralph Bramlett's own words,
that had startled her so much, due consideration
must be made for them also, 'i'hey were utterly
unpremeditated, and he had failed in his excitement
and pain to realize how they would sound to her ;
evidently for the moment he had forgotten her
presence, and simply thought aloud. It was only
too apparent that he did not love the wife of his
choice as he ought. This was terrible, certainly ;
yet by so much more did he need help. The hasty
conclusion she had reached that she was not the
one to help him was next taken up, and studied
carefully. She was by no means sure that this
was true. Had not Ralph sought her almost by
instinct, one might say, when he was in bitter
trouble? What her mother felt concarning him
must really be taken with allowance,, because poor
mamma had never been able to think of Ralph in
an entirely unprejudiced way, and had never uii-
derstood him. Still, of course, she must be care-
ful not to worry her in any way.

The final conclusion she reached wasi that she
would be entirely frank with Ralph. She would

Jti^K Visitors.

say to him at the first oppoi'tuiiity, that they shoukl
always be glad to see him at their liome, but that
for the sake of idle, gossiping tongues he must not
come to them without his wife. Also, she would
so order her trips to and from the city as to leave
no possible chance for him to join her, and she
would make her visits to Estelle in the mornings.
All these resolutions she had carefully acted
upon. Ralph, being duly warned, had taken of-
fence, as might have been foreseen, and for a time
did not come at all. But that mood had not
lasted. Perhaps he could have told better than
any one else what influence he brought to bear
upon his wife, but certain it is that they together
spent many evenings with Mrs. Edmonds and Mar-
jorie. No reasonable fault could be found with
this ; although Mrs. Edmonds realized, what Mar-
jorie did not, that it required much diplomacy on
her part to keep the conversation general. Neither
had the morning visits been entirely as were in-
tended. To the equal surprise of the guest and
the wife, Ralph adopted the fashion of appearing
suddenly at any hour of the morning. It was al-
ways " busmess connected with the firm " that had
either detained him in town or brought him back
unexpectedly ; but evidently Mrs. Bramlett knew
no better than Marjorie what the distillery could
have to do with their end of the town. On the
whole, imperceptibly upon Maijorie's part, June
found Ralph Bramlett and herself upon nearly the

II!''

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r>vftnnt*LT;n.

same footing tliat luid been interrupted l>y tluit
confidential talk. Not quite, for Halph atteinpled
no more private interviewR in which to talk Avildly
of hiH troubles, and draw out her sympathy; on tin-
contrary, he carefully avoided any pei-sonal retcr-
ences, and was entirely silent as to his business.

Marjorie, much as she hated it, could not but
hope that some arrangement had l>eeii made wliicli
was more satisfactory in a money point of \ iew.
Certainly the Bramletts seemed to have tided ovei-
their anxieties in that line. Estelle exhiluted
proudly some costly gift from Ralph at almost every
visit of Marjorii s. The time for the seal furs upon
which she had set her heart early in the winter had
of coui-se gone by, but a costly lace-trimmed gar-
ment had taken their place ; and the anniversary
of their engagement was remembered by a hajul-
some pin with a diamond centre.

Marjorie was genuinely glad over these. They
not only implied prosperity, but, she believed,
something better, — that Ralph was ashamed and
amazed because he had allowed himself to grow-
cold toward his wife, to blai>ie her too severely
perhaps for trifling faults ; he was trying to atone
for the injustice that his thoughts had done her.
and took this graceful and expressive way. Slie
could not but hope, as she studied the signs, that
Ralph was gaining ground in many ways ; his
silence to her, even when he had occasional oppor-
tunity to speak a word in private, augured well.

.tUNK VISITOKS.

168

She even, us the (hiys passed, conceived the idea
that he was planning a happy surprise for his
friends. He had spol<en gloomily once of some
Imsiness ventures which had not proved a success;
perhaps he had ])een happily disiippointed in them,
and now saw and was arranging a way to escape
from the position that he had admitted he liated.
If only that escape could Imb hrought ahout, she
felt that her hopes for his assured future would he
great. It seemed to lier a perfectly evident thing
that his association with the liquor trade was
what was holding him hack from church-work
and from Christian usefulness generally.

The hopeful calm into which she had fallen
while she waited was hroken in upon in an unex-
pected manner. The surprise hegan with a call
from Mi's. Hramlett; not P^stelle, hut Ralph's
mother. Marjorie, as she sat opposite the little
old woman with her worn fa(;e and anxious eyes,
found herself wondering, while she kept up the
commonplaces of convei"sation, what could possihly
he the ol)ject of the call. Years hefore, in the
days when she was so young and ignorant that to
run in to see Ralph ahout some matter was as
natural to her as to call upon a girl-friend, she
had known his mother fairly Avell ; hut after she
attained to young ladyhood and propriety, and
dropped entirely her visits to Ralph, her acquain-
tance with his mother had also dropped. Mi's.
Bramlett was a woman wlio went to church as

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OVBRRtJMUtt.

often as she conld, and who went almost nowhere
else. 'J'o make a formal, or even uu informal, cull
was an act entirely outside of her life.

" Old Mrs. Bramlett, did you say, Jennie ? "
Marjorie had questioned the little maid. " Do you
mean Mr. Ralph Bramlett's mother? Then she
cannot want to see me. Are you sure she did not
say * Mrs. Edmonds ' ? " Jennie was very sure she
did not. She hadn't said either " Mrs. " or " Miss,"
she said she wanted Marjorie Edmonds. So Mar-
jorie commented on the lovely spring they had had,
and the warm summer that was prophesied, and
waited for some errand to develop itself. Sud-
denly, without responding to a suggestion as to
the beauty of the day, Mrs. Bramlett began, "I
suppose you are rather surprised to see me, Mar-
jorie ; perhaps I ought to say Miss Marjorie, but
I knew you so well when you were a young thing,
that it doesn't come natural. I may as well tell
you right away what I've come for ; I'm not good
at going around a thing. I've sat at home and
thought about it just as long as I could, and it
came over me this afternoon that I would come
up here and see if you wouldn't be willing to help
me. I want you to talk to our Hannah. I know
she is a good bit older than you, but that doesn't
make any difference. If there is a living mortal
who has any influence over Hannah, it is you ; she
has always set more store by you than she has by
anybody else, and I don't know another person

JtTNK VISITORS.

165

to go to. Ralph is so out with her that he won't
s|)eak to lier at all, and I don't know as I hlanie
him altogether, either. A hrother, yon know, al-
ways wants to see his sister do just right ; and if
she doesn't, why " — liere Marjorie interrn})ted
in amazed anxiety, "• Bnt, dear Mrs. Hrandett,
what is the matter? I thought Hannah always
did just right."

" Oh, dear, no ! Hannah is hnman like the rest
of us. Not hut that she is a good girl ; she has
heen as faithful to her father and nie as any girl
could he, and a good sister to llalph too. She has
helped him lots of times in his younger days, in
ways that he don't know anything about, besides
a good many that he does know. But you know
how the talk is going, Marjorie ; you must have
heard, — about Hannah and that Jack Taylor?
They say he has been conveited, and is behaving
first-rate ; and sometimes I can't help wishing he
had died after that, and gone to heaven, instead
of staying here to make all this trouble. Why,
they've been telling around that she was going to
marry him ; and that wasn't bad enough, but they
have been saying real downright low things, Mar-
jorie, about my Hannah ! Think of it! a Bramlett
getting mixed up with such talk as that! Not
that there's a word of truth in what they say, of
course. All that honest people can say of Hannah
is that she has been dreadful silly in letting him
tag after her as she has. She had good motives,

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166

OVEKRtJLED.

and I always knew she had ; still, it isn't the way
to do in this wicked world, and I told her so ; hut
Hannah is that set in her way, sometimes, for all
she seems so quiet, that it didn't do r.ny good.
Now she is the victim of sinful tongues. J didn't
know we had an enemy in the world ; but it docs
seem as thovigh some enemy must have got up
these last stories anyhow. Haven't you heard any-
thing, Marjorie?"

No, Marjorie had not. At least nothing that she
had heeded. A long time ago, when she first Ciune
home, she liaJI heard of some silly rumoi-s that
wei'e afloat ; hut she had not given them a second
thought, beyond a feeling of indignation that a
Christian girl could not try to help one in need,
without being the victim of idle tongues. IJut
she had heard nothing of late, and had forgotten
all about it. " Does Hannah know what is being-
said of her?" she asked.

" Oh, 3'es," the mother said with a sigh ; " she
knows well enough. I've talked to her by the
hour; bat it didn't do any good. It made licr
kind of mail ; and when a Bramlett gets his spunk
up there is no end to the things he will do, just to
show his independence. Hannah won't give nj)
teaching Jack Taylor, — she's got him in her arith-
metic-class down at the Mission; and she wont
stop his walking home with hei-, and standing at
the gate a while to talk. He tells her all about
his affaii-s ; acts as though she was his grand-

nil

JUNE VISITORS.

167

iiiodier, and slio seems to have some such notion
liorself.

"Ralph's wife heare all the stories; it does heat
all what that woman hears ! Seems as if folks must
run to her with the news as quick as they happen,
or sometimes hefore they hapi)en. But it doesn't
seem as though people would tell her about her
husband's own sister, does it?"

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OVERRULED.

CHAPTER XV.

SCHEMES.

AT this point Marjorie was called from tlie
I. room for a moment, giving Mrs. Jiranilt'tt
time to reflect on what she had been saying. She
looked up at Marjorie on her return with a timid,
half-questioning glance as she said, —

" It seems kind of queer to you, T suppose, to
hear me going on as I have about my own flesli
and blood; but Tve sat there ahme and thought
about it so long that it seemed to me I should go
crazy unless I talked it over with somebod}-. A\u\
I haven't anybody to go to. Mr. Bramlett is so
poorly now that I can't say a word to hiui. i
wouldn't have him know for anything that Ihiii-
nah is being talked about ; it would break his heart.
She is the only daughter, you know, and he has
always set such store by her. That is one of my
troubles, — for fear some one will think it his (hity
to get off a long story to liim. llannali doesn't
have any kind of a notion wliat it would he to her
father to go through such a thing about her. It's
queer that children never seem to know w^ . they
are to their parents. To hear her talk sometimes.

SCHEMES.

169

you would tliiuk she believetl there was no one in
the world cared for her ; and there's her father
just bound up in her. She's having a real hard
time. Ralph is so out with her that he won't
speak to her at all. I tell him that is a dreadful
way for brothers and sisters to be — but there,
he's a Hramlett too. You see, Estelle has said so
much, and in suc^h a way, that Hannah got all
wrought tip, and 1 suppose she said some pretty
sharp things back ; and Estelle ran right to Ralph
with them, and he says Hannah has insulted his
wife. You can't blame a man for standing up for
his wife, can you? I wouldn't give nuicli for one
who didn't stick to her through thick and thin ;
though of course Hannah didn't mean anything
hke an insult."

Poor ^Irs. Hramlett, in her earnest desire to be
true to all the menibei"S of her family, was being
continuall}' switched off ou side tracks. '-'■ And so,
Marjorie, I just made up my uiind this afternoon
that I would come up and tell yoti the whole story,
and ask you if you wouldn't send for Hannah, or
come over and see her, and have a talk with her.
1 am sure you can influence her if anybody can.
If she would just give up going with Jack Taylor,
or letting him run after her ^ — if she wouldn't have
tmy thing to do with him at all for a spell, why the
stories would die out, and nobody be hurt. They
haven't got anything to grow on, you know, —
nothing but made-up stories; but she keeps then\

170

OVERRULED.

! i

afloat all the time by the way she does. She's nrot
a notion, you see, that people feel above Jack Tay-
lor, and won't have anything to do with him, and
that if she drops him, he will be discouraged, and
go back into bad ways. I tell her even if he docs.
she isn't l)ound to ruin hereelf, and liim too, in
order to try to help him ! But you can't convince
her; at least I can't. She thinks that Estrlle
has turned Ralph and everyl)ody else against her,
and that she must do her duty in spite of tlirin.
It's all ilut)/^ Marjorie ; anyway she thinks it is.
She believes she is a kind of martyr, you know.
It's my belief that some folks like to be martyrs,
if it isn't too hard work : it gives dignity and ini-
I)ortance to what they are doing to feel that they
are suffering because of it in some way or other;
still, Hannah was ne\ one to turn l)ack. I don't
believe she would if the old days were back again,
and she was on her way to the stake ; and I })elievo
in her, and have no kind of doubt but that she
helps the fellow in a hundred ways. liut yon
dout think it is right for her to go on like tliis :
now, do you? "

"No," said Marjorie, distressed into an enij-jiatip
answer. '» It isn't right for a girl to peril her dwii
name, of course, and bring troul)le upon others, ly
her good works ; but this is all so new and stnui^'t'
to me. Mi's. Rramlett. I cannot imagine the gos-
sips saying anything b'i*" the ivu.'vea twaddle alxiiit
Hannah,"

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SCHKMKS.

171

" That's a])ont what she tliinl\H," said All's. Rram-
lett. iKxhliii,!]^ lier liead sagely. "She says Estelle
iiiiaj^nnes two-thirds of it ; hut I told her that Ral[)h
had spoken plainly enough for her to know hetter
tliaii that : still, she helieves that Kstelle has prej-
udiced Ral[)h. Will you eonie over and talk with
litT. Marjorie, and tell her what she ought to do,
aiul get her to promise to do it? It does seem
as though I couldn't stand much more of this, —
lialph and his wife not speaking to her, and sta}'-
iiig away from our house for fear they will meet
luM', and saying she has tlisgraeed them, and nil
that kind of thing; and Hannah feeling like death
a good deal of the time, hut going straight on
doing her '•duty'; iind her father hreaking down
right hefore our eyes. Wv have trouhle enough
coming to us without making any of it ourselves."
Here the poor mother hid her faee in her hand-
kerchief, and let the tears that had hcen forcing
themselves upon her have free course for a min-
ute or two; while Marjorie, with all her heart on
tilt' alert, hastened to iiss'ire her that she would
(crtainly have a ^ilk with llnnmdi at the tirst op-
ixtrtunity, and that sh.' would menntime take pains
to inform herself a^. to tlu; exact nature of the
ivp(Mts. Then she made hitste tr) pre[)are for her
guest a cup of tea, talking clu'crily the whih; ahont
('onim(»nplace matter, and making every effort to
(hvvW hrr thoucchts for a time from her hurdens,
•lust ,(■; h«'i- last drop o( tea was drained. Mrs,

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overkul?:d.

Edmonds ai)peared at the gate in the little pony-
phaeton that she used on her errands of mercy;
and Marjorie, mindful of the long, warm walk to
the farm, pro[)Osed driving her guest home. But
she woidd have none of it.

''Oh, no!" she said, shaking her gray head,
and rising. '' 1 mustn't do that ; it would never
do for me to go back in state. Hannah would
know right away where I had been, and then slie
would suspect something. I wouldn't have lier
know for the farm that I had been here talking
with you about her. It would just upset the whole
thing. She is so wrought up that she can't listen
to anything I say any more, and she would be sure
to think I had prejudiced you. I want y^ou to talk
to her just as though you had heard the story from
the gossips themselves ; and don't mention Estelle
nor Ralph if you can help it. Oh, I can walk
home. I had an errand at the store that I liad to
see to myself; they didn't know I was coming any
farther, and I don't mean they shall know 1 did.
I feel quite chirked up ; it does beat all how you
manage to comfort a body! I always knew you
were to be depended upon, Marjorie, and I nsetl
to think in the old times — Oh well, dear nie I
never mind."

I'here was a heightened color on Marjorie s
face as she turii<:'<l back from the gate with lur
moUir'r, Ijaving Hai<i gnod-Kv to their guest. They
t^oth knew what Mrs, Hrandett used to tliink

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SCHEMES.

173

Perhaps Marjorie had never had a duty to per-
form more disagreeable to her than this which
had been thrust upon lier. She had always an in-
stinctive aversion to interfering with other people's
affairs, especially the affairs of one whom she
knew so little as she felt that she did Hannah
Bramlett.

"But it was I who set her to work, mother,"
she said with a little self-conscious laugh ; " I sup-
pose there is a sort of poetic justice in my having
to inte cfere with it now. Poor Hannah ! it seems
such a pity that she need be disturbed, when her
protSge is doing so well, and when, I presume, she
can help him in many ways as no other person

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"It is a pity that she isn't sixty years old, or
else that she hasn't common-sense," said Mrs. Ed-
monds dryly. For Mrs. Edmonds, estimable and
sweet-spirited woman as she generally was, could
not be depended upon for a perfectly unbiased
judgment where any of the Bramlett name were
concerned.

Nevertheless, she discussed witli Marjorie ways
of managing the proposed interview. The fii-st
suggestion was that Hannah should be called upim
informally, and that, as opportunity offered, the
delicate subject should be broached and frankly
discussed. But Marjorie was opposed to this.
She wanted Hannah to come to her. ♦

" I can manage the details so much better,

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174

OVERRrLKD.

motlior," slm said, "without fear of interruption
at the most inopportune moment; besides, if I
Bhould heeome really unendurable, Hannah eonld
leave me at any moment and go home, wheieas
if I were her guest I should have to be endured
to the end."

Half a dozen ways of securing a visit from
Hannah Jiramlett that would look sufficiently un-
premeditated and friendly were discussed and
abandoned. It was wonderful to see what a ditti-
cult thing even so simple a matter as that became,
when one had a special end in view. One propo-
sition from Marjorie was, to give the boys of Han-
nah's Mission-class, including .lack Taylor himself,
a treat ; have icc-crcam and cake in the evening,
accompanied with nmsic and games, and ask Han-
nah to come ill tlic aflcuKM n and help lo jMcpare
for them.

" Would she be so distressed by our talk, do you
think, as lo spoil tlic evening tor her'/ It is jict
as if it were something new. Her mother says
she understands it fully : that she has talked to
licr bv the lioui". Poor creature I I do not wiaidcr
that she is obstinate, aftet' being talked to by tlie
hour ab')ut anything. What I am to do is simply
to use my iulluence to jie)]/ j.ier to see things in
the right ligjit."

*' And by way of doing so." interruj)ted Mai-
jorie\s mothei', "Mnvite licr to spend the evening' iit»
your house with Jack Taylor, and walk borne witU

SCHEMES.

17.5

him two miles, afterwards ! I am afraid, daiitiflitcr,
that Mrs. liramk'tt wduhl not commend your jiidi;-
ment. How wonll it do to asic Hannah to come
and liel;) prepare the work for tiie sewing-chisses?
'Hiere is an enormons quantity of it to he made
I'cady lu'fore 'l'luirs(hiy, and she is prol)ahly an ex-
pert in that kind of work."

" The very thing ! " said Marjorie gleefully.
" Why did you not mention that sewing-hasket
heforc? 1*11 have her stay to tea, and we'll get
up the nicest little supper, and smooth over all the
trying things I shall have to say to her with it.
I helieve we can make it a pleasant afternoon for
the poor girl. She must be desperately lonely.
I have been thinking of her all the morning, and I
do not know of any persons of her age who would
he 'in the least congenial to her. Perhaps she has
been willing to give Jack Taylor so much of her
time because she did not know v/hat to do with
|j<'j'He]f. () mother! there are so many things to
l;« done in this world. Somebody ought to be
interest<^d foi" the people who haven't resources
within themHelv«s, I wonder if it is I?"

'J'lie HvAu'jm' of the sewi)ig-basket worked well.
Hannah Branilett, wiio would perhaps have felt
suspicious of almost any (yther form of invitation,
was more gratified than she cared to own, over be-
ing the one chosen to assist Maijorie. And Mi-s,
Brandett not only made no objection to the plan,
liiit assisted her daughter to make ready for the

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afternoon's outing with an alacrity which in itself
would have heen suspicious had Hannah not l)een
too husy to notice it. Mrs. Edmonds, liaving as-
sisted in assorting the various kinds of work, and
offered what advice was needed, when everything
was arranged, left the two young women to them-
selves. Marjorie saw her depart with a great
shrinking of heart ; she dreaded the ordeal hefore
her more even than she had at first. True to hei
promise to Mrs. Bramlett, she had instituted care-
ful inquiries, to learn the extent of the gossip,
with the result that she stood appalled before its
magnitude.

It was not that any respectable person seemed
to credit the stories, unless one excepts those vi-
cious creatures who lay claim to respectability, yet
who shake their ugly heads, and affirm that tliey
" do not know; there nuist be some fire where there
is so much smoke ; " and one added that those
" old girls who had lived such circumspect lives
up to a certain date were often queer." jMarjorie
blazed with indignation over it all, and spoke keen,
cutting words in Hannah's vindication ; but she
came home sore-hearted, with the conviction upon
her that even good work, such work as angels
luight rejoice over, must be done carefully in this
einful world. She shrank from beginning the con-
versation with Hannah, and talked commonplaee.s
until she was ashamed of herself. At last she
jaade the effort.

II ill I

SCHKMKS.

177

" I want to ask you about your proteye^ Jack
Taylor. Is the progress that he is making in
every way satisfactory ^ "'

'•' Vou need not call him my proten'T said Han-
nah with Ji gond-natuivd laugh. ** It would he
more appropriate to sua liat he is (Hyde Doug-
lass's; she ac('omj)lished more for liini in a half-
hour's talk than I succeeded hi doing in all winter.
I (hm't know how to talk religion to people, Mar-
jorie ; I wish I did. There ought t(» be a school
for teaching folks what to say about such things ;
though I don't know but Glyde would have to be
appointed a tinu'her, — the youngest one among
us.*' This last with an annised little laugh.

But to get into a discussion up(m methods of
teaching theology was not \\hat Marjorie desired.
She repeated in another form her question about
Jack.

"Yes," said Hannah unsuspiciously; "Jack is
doing very well. He is dull in arithmetic, poor
fellow ; but who would expect him to be anything
else? I was dull enough, T remember. Perhaps
that is why I seem to succeed pretty well in teach-
ing him. I remember perfectly how out of pa-
tience my teachers used to get with me ; and so I
try to have patience at least. There has been
a great change in Jack. I often wish that some
boasting infidel could have been well acquainted
with his life up to a few months ago, and Avatched
the change. Among Ualpli'iS books there is on^

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called ' Kvidences of Christianity ; ' Jack would
make a good volume of that kind, 1 think."

" Ves," said Marjorie with ready sympathy ; '• no
one can doubt the change in Jack. I like to hear
him pray in the prayer-meeting; he is so simple
and quaint in his language, and so manifestly asks
for what he wants and notliing else. But, Hannah,
will you forgive me if I say something now that
ma}' hurt your feelings? Do you not think that
he is far enough advanced for you to safely dr(>p
him, in a sense? I do not of coui-se mean that
you would lose your interest in him, but could ho
not do without so much of your time and atten-
tion ? "

She felt that she was bungling wretchedly.
There was an instantaneous change in Hannah's
manner, and her face suggeste(i the Bramlett ob-
stinacy of which Marjorie had heard all her life.

" Why should not I give my time as well us
to leave the work for othei"S?" was the cold re-
sponse, "He needs a great deal of somebody's
time, in order to make up for the yeai*s that be
has lost."

Clearly circumlocution was not going to serve
here. There must be plain speaking.

"I know," Marjorie said gently; "and you nat-
urally feel that you can be more helpful to him
than others could. But, Hannah, there are reasons
why it should be some other's time than youis.
Don't you know there are, dear friend? I sup-

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179

pose you have lieanl sonu; of the foolish gossip
that is afloat. It is uUerly without foundation,
of course, as all your friends know. Still, isn't
it wise to silence wicked tongues when we can as
well as not? Wouldn't it Ik? l)etter for you, and
for Jack himself, — to say nothing of all your
family, — if you should transfer him to some other
class, and give up any special attention to him, for
a time iit least ? "

" No," said Hannah passionately, " it wouldn't
be any such thing; not as I look at it. It would
be simply a confession that I had heen doing some-
thing of which I was ashamed, and it is the only
work I ever did in my life that I am proud of.
I have neither said nor done anything for Jack
Taylor that might not have l)een said and done
before all the world, if that was the common-sense
way of trying to help people. I know tahout the
stories, you may be sure. My precious sister-in-law
takes care that I shall miss nothing from them.
I know more, I think, than has heen said. Esteile
has a way of hearing more than was said, when she
feels like it. But the stories haven't influenced
me one bit, Marjorie; and I am disappointed to
find that you considered it necessaiy to send for
me to come up Iiere, in order to tell me that I
ought to give up the only hit of real work that
I ever did in my life. I've got used to hearing
other people talk like fools, but I must say I
didn't expect it of you."

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OVERRtJLED.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE TEACHER TAUGHT.

"ATOW, Hannah," said Marjorie in a kind, quiet
1 1 voice, "that isn't the way to talk, deur
friend; you shouldn't receive a word of friendly
warning from a Christian sister aii any such spirit.
Do you think you should ? "

Hannah basted fiercely for a few minutes with-
out speaking; then she laid down her work, and
looked her mentor squarely in the face.

"Marjorie Edmonds," she said with a kind of
suppressed fierceness, "do you mean to tell me
that you, you of all persons in the world, counsel
me to give up my work for Jack Taylor because
of the lies that some malicious tongues have chosen
to tell?"

"Yes," said Marjorie firmly, "I do. Not be-
cause I do not believe with all my heart both
in you and in Jack Taylor, but because I know it
to be a very wicked world, more wicked I have
discovered of late than I had imagined it could
be, and because you and I must take care of
our influence. In our working-orders we find no
plainer directions than that. Think how many

THE TEACHER TAUGHT.

181

girls in the Mission you lose your influence over,
if you allow acts of yours that could be avoided
to furnish food for gossiping tongues."

"■ Then, why don't you follow your own advice ? "
The words seemed to force themselves from Han-
nah's lips almost without her consent.

Marjorie regarded her with grave surprise. " I
do not understand you," she said, a tinge of cold-
ness in her tone ; " in what way does it seem to
you that I am not doing so ? "

" Why, of course 3'ou know — I wonder if it is
possible that you don't know — what the gossips
are saying about you?"

The blood mounted in rich waves to Marjorie's
temples, but she kept her voice quiet.

" What do you mean, Hannah ? Speak plainly,
please.''

"I wish I hadn't spoken at all," said Hannah,
conscience-smitten over the look on the girl's face.
"Perhaps you don't know a thing about it, and
I thought you did, and gloried in the way you
were taking it, — going straight on doing what wiis
right, and letting folks talk."

"Hannah, I shall have to ask you, if you are
my friend, to tell me just what you mean. This
is all new to me."

" I wish I had been dumb before I began to say
anything about it," said poor Hannah. "Why,
it is just this, — it is pretty near as hard for me as
it is for you, — it is about Ralph, you know ; they

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OVERRtTLED.

say, the gossips do, tliat you aiul he are too inti-
mate. Part of what tliey say lias some trutli in
it, — that he used to think the world of you hefore
he was married, and never got over it ; but they
say you never did either, and that you two are
keeping company as well as you can, since there
is a wife in the way. And because the woiiuiu
always gets the most blamed when people gossij),
they say tliat the way you treat Estelle is shame-
ful, and they wonder she doesn't go insane ; and,
well — a lot of stuff that it is a disgrace to repeat,
and that I don't think deserves a second thought."

She had turned her face away from Ahirjoiie,
and was Uasting rapidly. Had she been watchiiijr
her, she would have seen the blood recede, and the
girl's face grow very pale. With a great effort
Ahirjorie held her voice to something like natu-
ralness while she questioned further.

" Hannah, nothing but the story in its complete-
ness can satisfy me now. Who says these things ?
AVhere have you heard them ? To what extent
are they talked ? "

" That I am sure T don't know," said Hannali,
nervously basting a sleeve to its lining upside
down. "The first I heard of it, to pay any at-
tention to it, was one evening when Jack Taylor
came to me feeling dreadfully because he had
got into a quarrel with a worthless fellow on the
wharf, and knocked him down. That was after
he was converted, and had given up such doings.

THE TEACHKIl TAUGHT.

183

I insisted upon knowing what was the cause of
the quarrel, so that I couhl decide how much prov-
ocation Jack had had, and I discovered that tlie
fellow liad insulted you and Halj)h ; and l)ecause
you were my friend, and Ralph my ])rother. Jack
thought he ought to take up cudgels in ytmr de-
fence. At least, he was roused to such a pitch of
anger hy what was said, that he went to fighting
before he knew what lie was about. I questioned
Jack so closely that it began to open my eyes to
the kind of talk that was going on, and I followed
it up a little. I made Susie Miller tell me what
some of the factory girls were saying, and I found
out that Bill Seber had had a pitch battle witli
another lotafer for the same reason. That was
to please Susie, because she did not like (^ilyde
Douglass's brother-in-law to ])e insulted. They
are faithful to their friends, those factory people,
in tlie ways that they understand best. That is
about all there is of it, Marjorie. I've heard
enough since to let me undei-stand that it was
general talk among the class of peoi)le who depend
on such talk for their daily food ; and I supposed
that of course you and Ralph knew wliat was be-
ing said, and treated it with the disdain which it
deserved. Ralph generally knows what is going
on. As I said when I l)egan, I just gloried in the
way you took it. It seemed to me the only sen-
sible way ; but of course I was a good deal hurt
to think that he should pitch into me as he did.

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ovKiiiaTr.HD.

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The only thing I coukl tliink of was that it was
Estiille's influence, l>ecause she didn't like any-
thing about me, and never did; but when you
began to criticise too, that seemed almost too nnicli
to bear. I wonder if it can be possible that Kalpli
doesn't know either what is being said? "

"You may be sure," said Marjorie, "that your
brother has not a thought of such a thing. Re-
gard for his wife, to say nothing of justice to nic,
would have compelled him to take notice of it
if he had. I confess that I am overwhelmed. I
knew it was a wicked world, but I certainly did
not know that there was any one who would daiv
to couple my name with that of a married man."

From that point on tlie two young women
seemed to change places. From being on the
defensive, Hannah turned exhorter and would-be
comforter, reitemting her earnest belief that dii^n li-
fted silence and a steady continuance of the same
line of conduct was the best way to meet such
attacks. She affirmed that any other way was
equivalent to a confession of wrong-doing. Slie
declared more than once, that she wished she liad
been deaf and dumb for a year, rather than to liave
brought such a look of misery to the face of her
friend. Certainly she exerted herself to her ut-
most to make Marjorie's pain less bitter; hut
viewed from that young woman's standpoint, the
afternoon was a wretched failure. It seemed to
stretch its length along interminably. She put

THK TEACHER TAUGHT.

185

til

away with dignity after a little, all pei-sonal ques-
tions, and essayed to hold the interest to the aprons
and dresses and sacks that were heing prepared
for the sewing-class ; but she felt all the time an
almost overpowering desire to get away to her own
room, and look this intolerable humiliation in the
face, and decide what she should do with it. Jack
Taylor, and even Bill Seber, resorting to hand to
hand fights in her defence !

Mrs. Edmonds performed her part of the after-
noon's progranune to perfection. Nothing could
have l)een daintier or more homelike in appearance
than that tea-table, and more toothsome viands had
probably never been spread before Hannah Bram-
lett — who was a stranger to the finer details of
the culinary art; yet even this was a failure.
Hannah, who wns grieved for Marjorie and angry
with herself, tried in vain to talk commonplaces
vt'ith Mi's. Edmonds. She was at all times tempted
to be silent before a third person, and inclined to
1)6 half afraid of Mi's. Edmonds. As for Marjorie,
she seemed to have to struggle with herself in
order to utter even the few sentences that she did ;
and her mother, much l)ewildered, tugged at her
cud of the burden as l)est she could, and found her-
self wishing once more, as she had a hundred times
l)efore, that Marjorie had never met a person who
bore the name of Bramlett. The faulil}'^ seemed
destined to bring trouble of some sort upon her.

" What is it, dear ? " she asked, as soon as the

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OVRRRrLED.

I III

door had closcfl ujnm IlMiiiudrs departinpf fnot-
Ktt'ps ; 'Mvjis it all so iimcli of a failure that you
cannot rally fioni the disa|)i)oiiitnient? It is too
much to expect of a Braiulett, I suppose, tliat she
should have sense enough to accept advei"se criti-
cisni kiiuUy."'

" Do not he hard on poor Hannah," Marjoiie
said, trying to smile; "shehore the criticism quite
as well as could have been expected under the cir-
cumstances. I do not tliink any good results will
follow, however. Hannah has what I suppose is
a false idea of tlie way in which gossip that has
no foundation in truth should be treated ; but one
can res{)ect her for being willing to move bravely
forward in the line of what she thinks is duty,
despite wicked t(mgues."

And then, to Marjorie's intense relief, a woman
belonging to her mother's Hible-class came to cliiiin
her confi<lentirJ attention ; and the girl was able to
escape to her ov»ii room, where she locked and
bolted liei-self in, and began to walk up ;ind down
her room like a caged creat\ire, doing what Mar-
j( ric Edmonds had not done three times in her
life, — wringing her hands in a kind of passion of
despairing indignation. I am sure there are pure-
hearted girls by the score who can underetand just
how terrible it was to her to think of her name
being bandied about the streets, not only by the
tlioughtless and ca'eless, but by the coai'se and
low. Perhaps the deepest sting in this experience

i.-, ,i,i,

THE TEACHER TATCiHT.

18:

rame to licr tlirongh tlie thought that sho was,
in part at h'ast, to blame. Had not her mother
warned her? And had she not found again and
again that her motlier's intuitions were to l)e
trusted? that her uiotlier's estimate of tlie worhl
was truer than her own? Yet she iuid been so
wise in her own eonceit^ so sure that in this par-
ticular case it was not wisdom but anxiety which
had dictated the warning, tliat she had allowed it
to slip from her almost unheeded, and gone on in
iiuich the same wav as l)efore. Now, how was she
to live through the humiliation of it all? Han-
nah's straightforward coui-se, mistaken though it
might be considered, was worthy of all pmise as
compared with hei-s. Hannah had had an o})ject
in view, and had accomplished it. Jack had stead-
ily improved under her tutelage, and she was able
to see each day some definite result of her efforts.
But — so Marjorie sternly told herself — her
own plans from the first had been ill-formed and
vague. She wanted to influence Ralph and Ks-
telle for good, true ; but could anything l)e more
vague than that word " good " ? What had she
hoped to do, after all ? What had she aimed at ?
And even in the most general sense what had
she accomplished? Woi-se than nothing. Estelle
harely tolerated her; perhaps because she was
compelled to — here this self-accusing spirit felt
her cheeks burn with shame, there came to her
such a feeling of certtiinty that Ralph had known

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188

OVKRUULED.

all jilonjT of the infsiinona talk, and instead of
niakin^^ an oflfort to shield her had gone loftily on
doing as he pleased. It was like him, indeed, —
this imagining himself ''superior to public opinion"
whenever it suited his passing fancy not to notice
it. For the first time since his marriage, she let a
feeling of burning indignation against this sellish
man take possession of her heart. Before that it
had been so full of pity for him, in view of the mis-
takes he was making, that there had been room for
no other feeling. Now she let it have full sway.

Indignation and a sense of self-injury may,
under some circumstances, be a good teacher. At
this time it enabled Marjorie to get her mother's
view of Ralph Bramlett, and to realize as she cer-
tainl}^ had never done before what an embodiment
of selfishness he was. It enabled her also to real-
ize what is perhaps one of the most important les-
sons that the young people of to-day have to learn ;
namel}-, that the views of good mothers are at all
times worthy of careful consideration, and perhaps
nine times out of ten are correct.

Among other questions claiming consideration
was that trying one as to whether her mother must
be told of the extent to which gossip was now
meddling with them. If not, how was her anx-
iety to be satisfied as to the outcome of the after-
noon's effort?

Fortunately other interests came in to help her
in this. The late train brought Mr. Maxwell

THE TEACHER TAUGHT.

189

three days earlier than he could reasonably have
l)een expected. He was with them at breakfast
the next morning ; and Mrs. Edmonds, in the relief
at seeing him, forgot Hannah Bramlett.

It will be remembered that this good woman
was indulging in certain strong hopes as to the
outcome of this summer's companionship. It is
true she had felt it her duty to write a very dis-
couraging letter about them, but she, too, had done
some reconsidering. The reply to that very letter
had helped her.

" Do not be troubled as to myself," Mr. Max-
well wrote. "I am entering into this effort with
eyes very wide open, and if I fail, I have certainly
been duly warned. Above all, do not disturb
Marjorie's peace by any confession of my feeling
toward her. If I may have no other place, I cer-
tainly waat to be to her as a brother, and I would
not by any means have her startled into fear of
me. Let the summer take care of itself. I con-
fess I look toward it with eagerness."

A reasonable person might have been satisfied
with the greeting that Marjorie gave their guest.
She was openly and heartily glad to see him, and
within twenty-four hours of his arrival their com-
panionship was established on the old basis. Per-
haps it might be said that the intimacy was greater
than ever before. Marjorie, who had found it im-
possible to put away from her mind Hannah and
Hannah's information, found herself on that first

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OVERRULED.

, iH * ;

evening making a confidant of Mr. Maxwell, so
far at least as to let him see how sorely she was
being tried. He entered with even more hearti-
ness into her feeling than she had expected ; indeed,
she will probably never know how he longed to
visit some swift and condign punishment on the
creaturto who had dared to toss her name care-
lessly among them. For her sake he controlled
himself, and tried, after the fii*st outburat of indig-
nation, to treat the matter lightly.

*' People nmst talk, you know," he said ; " I re-
member I used to think that they were especially
given to talk in this part of the world, and they
naiiurally like to choose the choicest possible vic-
tims. Suppase we turn their thoughts into a new
channel ? Compel them, as it were, to talk about
our two selves ? I propose, with your permission,
to be so constantly your companion for the sum-
mer, that it will not be possible for even their in-
genious tongues to separate our names."

jNIarjorie laughed, though lier eyes shone suspi-
ciously ; she thought she recognized the delicate
chivalry that was ready to sacrifice its own con-
venience to her welfare.

"But that would l)e only exchanging one of
the victims," she said, mindful for a single instant
of another warning of her mother's. " It would
relieve poor Uali)h, it is true, but what of the sulh
stitute ? "

" The substitute cntei'S into the snare with wide

THjO TKACHKU TAITGHT.

191

■dUC of

nstiiHt
le suit-

open eyes," he said cheerily. " In fact, that is a
wrong figure ; it is we who are preparing the snare
for the unwary tongues of gossip'3, don't you see ?
I think I shall rather enjoy the situation."

It was such a hearty and apparently heart-free
response that Marjorie was immediately relieved,
and reflected gleefully that in this one thing her
mother was undouhtedly mistaken. Leonard Max-
well, who had loved and petted a sister once, and
lost her, had adopted her in the vacant place, and
juhilantly did she receive him. No hrother, she
believed, could have l^en more appreciated. Cer-
tainly none could be more unselfish.

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192

OVERRULED.

CHAPTER XVII.

A CRISIS.

*i:

^/|'RS. ESTELLE BRAMLETT was moving
^ with an air of uncontrollable restlessness
about her pretty parlor.

Although it was not the time of day for such
employment, and she had no duster in hand, yet
there was an apparent attempt to put things in
order. She took up and laid down again various
books and papera on the reading-tal)le, bruslicd
away with her hand an imaginary fleck of dust,
then suddenly turning, began to walk up and down
the room, with those restless hands tightly grasped
as if in an effort to control them.

Occasionally, although quite alone, she broke
into snatches of talk, as though arguing with some
one, and being responded to in such manner as to
increase her indignation. Then she would reeol-
lect herself, and breaking off in the middle of a
word, move swiftly over to her mantel, and le-
arrange the elegant trifles thereon, as thougli all
her thought was ceritred upon them, only to replace
them in a very few seconds as they were before.
Clearly the poor lady had been terribly moved.

A CRISIS.

I9g

Perhaps In reviewing all the days of her not
very hapi3y existence she could not have found
a harder one than this. It was all the harder to
endure because, in some respects at least, her life
had been pleasanter of late. For several months
her husband had seemed less moody and dis-
turbed ; certainly his monetary troubles, wliatever
had caused them, appeared to be over. He had
proved this in numberless extremely pleasant ways.
Elegant and expensive trifles that she had ad-
mired but never expected to possess had been
lavished upon her to such an extent that — and
this constituted a large share of her enjoyment in
them — she had had something new to show Mar-
jorie Edmonds nearly every time she called.

That young woman continued to be the wife's
special " thorn," although there had been improve-
ment here also. Her husband did not now spend
houi-s alone with Marjorie, as she had been sure
that he did on two or three occasions, and as her
intense jealousy had caused her to imagine that
he did many times when such was not the case.
He was punctilious now in his determination to
have his wife with him whenever he called at the
Edmonds home ; but he was willing, nay, anxious,
to call there whenever the slightest pretext for do-
ing so could be invented, and he was not ready to
call anywhere else. It was rarely indeed that she
could prevail upon him to spend an evening with
her at her old home ; he frankly admitted that he

',»

1^4

ovEnnm.TCO.

considered such evenings hopelessly stupid. Her
sister Fannie was always entertaining some special
guest in the front parlor, and (ilyde could talk of
nothing hut her Mission scholars, or some such
invigorating topic. When in a fit of indignation
she had one day accused him of caring to see no-
hody hut Marjorie Edmonds, he had lieen equally
fmnk, assuring her that Marjorie was the only lady
of his acquaintance worth talking to. So that
these were all old grievances, and could not ac-
count for Estelle's miserahle day.

It had begun, as she angrily told herself that
most of her misery did begin, with either Hannali
Bramlett or Marjorie Edmonds — this time it was
Hannah. Mrs. Swansen, her Swede washerwoman,
had called upon her that morning on what slie
believed to be an errand of justice. Mi-s. Swansen
was no gossip, as she took pains to explain. She
heard a great deal as she went from house to
house, which as a rule *'went in at one ear and
out at the other." Bi^t on the day previous she
had heard so cruel a story connecting itself witli
the name of Hannah Bramlett, and had heard it
from so many different tongues, that she had made
up her mind to come with it to Mrs. Bramlett, to
see if "the master," as she called the husband,
could not do something with the talkei-s.

The stoiy had been cruel indeed, woi"se than
Estelle had before imagined. Being compelled to
wait until her husband should return at night

A ORTSIS.

195

l)efore she could do anything definite, directly the
door had closed upon Mi-s. Swansen she had re-
lieved her nerves hy seizing her hat, and walking
with much more rnpid steps than usual out to the
liramlett farm ; arriving there warm and almost
i)reathles8, to find the elder Mrs. Bramlett sitting
drearily in a kitchen chair, with one corner of her
apron doing duty every few minutes to wipe away
a tear that would steal down her cheek, and Han-
nah dashing about among the dishes in a way that
betokened strong excitement.

"What is the matter?" tisked Mrs. Estelle, ar-
rested by the teal's — her mother-in-law rarely made
such exhibition. " Where is father Bramlett? He
isn't worse, is he ? "

" He is in bed," said his wife, shaking her head
drearily. " He is clear tuckered out this morning,
and no wonder; he has had a stroke that I just
expect he will never get up from."

" A stroke ! " said Mrs. Estelle, startled. " You
don't mean of paralysis ? "

" No," said Hannah, " of tongues ! That is
worse."

" I wish I had had a stroke of something," mur-
mured the mother, "before I let that meddling,
gossiping Mr. Sharp up to see him ; I might have
known something would come of it."

" Oh ! " said Mi-s. Estelle ; she thought she com-
prehended. "I don't think I would worry about
that. For my part, I believe it is just as well.

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<v-

196

OVfeRHtTLHit).

Somebody would have told him sooner or later*,
you can't keep a father in ignorance of his daugh-
ter's doings, even if it were wise to do so."

"It doesn't happen to be his daughter that is
troubling him," said Hannah, with a sort of grim
triumph ; " it is something of vastly more impor-
tance. But I suppose you know all about it, and
have this long time. It is only his father and
mother and sister who must be kept in ignorance
until they hear things from strangers."

Estelle's face was paling under the possibilities
that this language suggested.

"What are you talking about?" she asked
sharply. "Can't you speak plain English when
you have anything to say ? "

" Hannah," said her mother, putting down her
apron and speaking in a tone of grave rebuke,
"why do you talk as though you believed it?
There isn't a word of truth in l\ not a word. I
never thought so for a moment. What I am wor-
ried over is that your father, being weak and feeble,
cannot rise above it, and had a sleepless night
over it ; and sleepless nights are dangerous things
for a man in his condition."

Estelle in her excitement, and in her fear of
she knew not what, fairly stamped her foot as she
said, —

^' What are you talking about ! It seems strange
that you must wait to have an argument before you
tell me what has happened."

A ciiisis.

I9t

" Nothing has happened except some more talk,"
said the mother with dignity ; under her daughter-
in-law's disrespect she was overcoming her teara.
"I let Mr. Sharp in last niglit to see father. He
was so anxious to have a talk with him, and father
had heen so kind of quiet and lonesome all day, \
thought it would do him good. Ualph hasn't been
to see him for three days, and I knew he was griev-
ing over it and needed heartening up ; but I made
a dreadful mistake. What did he do but go to
work and tell him a lot of stuff that I suppose you
have heard, — though not a breath of it has come
to us, but you seem to hear all the stories that are
going, — about Ralph running the liquor-store at
Marsdon Place that all that fuss has been made
about. People have got it around, it seems, that
Ralph is at the head of the business, and Clark and
the other man who run it are only hired by him.
They say he is there every day, and two or three
times a day, and that the lease for the building is
signed by him, and that the men have to report to
him every month and get their wages, and he pock-
ets the earnings. All stuff, the whole of it ! Be-
tween eight o'clock last night and this morning I
suppose I told father a hundred times that I won-
dered at him for having the patience to listen to
such out and out folly. But you see he is feeble, a
great deal feebler than anybody, except me, senses,
and he couldn't get away from it. I don't believe
he slept an hour all night. He would just lie there

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198

^VRUIlttLRf).

I'll

and think ; and evory omie in a while he wouhl pfivo
u groan, softly like, as thongh he was afraid of dis-
turbing nie, and say, " My son a runiseller ! my one
boy, that I thouglit I Inought up to hate it, and
fight against it, and vote against it I O (lod I for-
give me ; I must have failed in my duty awfully, or
such a eui-se would not have fallen upon me. How
can I go and meet my Maker, and tell him that the
boy he gave me to take care of for him is getting
his living by ruining lives? ' It would have made
a stone cry just to hear him."

Mrs. Bramlett's apron was needed again before
her sentence was completed. With the last word
she retired entirely behind it, and cried softly ; the
poor little woman never did anything in a loud,
fierce way. But Mi's. Estelle was angry.

"I should not have cried," she buret forth
fiercely. "I should have been indignant. I
should have ordered a man from the house who
talked about my son in that way. I never heard
anything like it — coming into his own home
and slandering him vilely before his father and
mother, and they merely crying over it I Tlie
man shall be arrested for slander, and tried and
punished. I don't care if he is seventy yeiu-s
old ; if he were seven hundred, it should not save
him. Hannah, I should think you at least might
have had spirit enough to stand up for your
brother, and tell that creature what you thouglit
of him."

A cnrsra.

199

It was Hannah's opportnnity. Could she he ex-
pected to do other than nse it?

" Oh, no," she said ; "• I helieved every word he
uttered, of coui'se ! And just as soon as I get the
work done, I'm going to rush down to Ralph's
office and teU him he is a disgrace to the family,
and he ought to he ashamed of himself. That is
the way to manage gossip, don't you know it ? "

" I understand your insinuations," said Mre.
Estelle with great dignity, "and consider them
beneath my notice. Of course this is a very dif-
ferent matter. In your case, you provokd the
stories by your daily doings, while as regards your
brother there is not the shadow of a foundation
for them to work upon. Well, mother, I might as
well go home if there is nothing I can do. I am
sorry father Rmmlett allowed himself to be dis-
turbed by a false and foolish story; one would
suppose him to l)e too old a man to be so easily
deceived ; " and not deigning to take further notice
of Hannah, she turned and swept from the room.

She deceived them both by her sudden calm-
ness ; she did not deceive hei*self. Never in her
life had her passionate nature been in such a whirl
of excitement. Was it anger, or pain, or fear ? or
a mixture of all three ? Was she angiy with the
repeaters of the story, or with the foundation on
which it rested? What did she fear in regard to
her husband? Not certainly that he was, in so
many words, a rumseller ; but — she did not allow

i ■Xi\

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W! til fall

200

ovEnntLKt).

her swiftly flying thonglits to foniuilate themselves
in distinct piirases, yet despite her trying to push
them aside there eame to lier reminders of facts
which she had not iindei-stood. Her hushand's
sudden apparent prosperity where l)efore he had
l)een on the eve of disgrace. He had hrought her
one evening with a triumphant smile receipts for
every one of those bills about which she had
haunted him, saying that he presumed she would
like to keep them among her treasures. He had
responded promptly and freely to her calls for
money for household or personal expenses. He
had been lavish of his gifts to a degree that she
had never noticed before. She had believed biiii
to have speculated with some of his salary and to
have apparently failed, and then to have met witli
sudden success ; but — was this the explanation ?
More strange than this experience had been the
lately acquired habit of coming home to luncheon,
or of darting in perhaps at ten or eleven o'clock
for something forgotten, and explaining that busi-
ness had detained him in town until that hour.
What business ? When she had questioned, it had
always been " matters connected with the firm, in
which she could have no interest." Was it cer-
tain that she had no interest in them? Oh, she
had no fear, of coui-se, of anything like what those
Bramletts had allowed that odious old man to pour
into their ears ; but was it possible that he might
have permitted himself, for a large increase of sal-

A CRISIS.

201

arj% to take the geneml supervision of the retail
liciuor-stoie wliieli was so hated in that part of the
town? Perha[)s some meniher of the firm was
conducting the business, and paying her husband
to ovei'see it for liim ? Couhl tliis be possible ?

She did not, as has been said, put the thought
into definite form before her; she siinjjly pushed
its shadow from her and hated it, and grew more
angry every moment over its bare possibility.
Wtis Estelle Hramlett, then, such a fierce and con-
sistent temperance advocate that she shrank thus
from the smell of its contact? One must move
carefully here, and try to do her justice. She
liated the liquor-traffic certainly — all respectable
people belonging to her world did. Like her hus-
band, she had been brought up among the " temper-
ance fanatics." Then did she hate the distillery ?
Well, that was different ; it was wholesale ; and
anyway, Ralph was but its bookkeeper — books had
to be kept. She would have preferred, certainly
she would much have preferred, that he should be
a lawyer, for instance. But would she have pre-
ferred him to keep books at the shoe-factory for
eight hundred dollare a year, rather than for the
distillery for fifteen hundred a year ? No, distinctly
she would not. They could not live on eight
hundred a year. What was the use of considering
it? But a retail liquor-store set down in their
midst! a store that her friend Mrs. Hemminway
hated with all her righteous soul — a store that

202

OVRR RULED.

Mi's. Gordon l*otter iinlicsitatingly called a rum-
saloon ! Mrs. Kdson deelined to call upon the
wife of the man employed there, l)eeau8e she would
not have the wife of a rumseller on her calling-list.
Ah I all this was distinctly another matter. Mi-s.
J{alph Hramlett knew that in the circle in which
she chiefly moved, to be the wife of a rumsellor
meant social ostracism. To Ik; coimected, however
remotely, with the retail licpior-trade meant a dis-
tinct drop from unquestioned respectability to tlic
ranks of those who were talked about. Mrs. Hram-
lett could not endure it. Hannah Hramlett had
been a sufficiently bitter cup for her to drain. If
Ralph had been inveigled into a closer connection
with this business, had dared to enter into it with-
out consulting her, without even allowing her to
know it, she simply would not tolerate it. Noth-
ing should tempt her to do so. Ralph Hramlett
should see that even a wife would not endure
everything.

In this mood she went home, and in this mood
she remained during the long hours of that trsiiifj
day. Nay, her indignation increased, as Gly<le
came, in the course of the afternoon, frightened
and anxious. Glyde had heard the story, heard
other forms of it, some of them moie trying than
the first. What did Estelle think could have
started such reports ? Did she think Ralph could
have said anything to lead people to suppose such
an absurdity ? Did she not think he ought at onco

A CRISIS.

203

to \ye told, in order to take ineasnres to liave tlie
people understand that there was aljsolntely no
foundation for the stories?

Kstelle did not ehoose to say what sIh^ thoupfht,
hoyoiid the fact that she "* evidently had occasion
to l)e ashamed of all her relatives, since thev were
so ready to listen to lies." She hurried CJlyde
away more disturhed than when she came in, told
her to rush over to her dear friend Marjorie, and
puhlish all the gossip she had heard against her
hrothei-in-law, and 1)6 sure to let that inunaculate
^Ir. Maxwell hear every word.

In this mood, growing stronger with its nui-sing,
she met her husband when he came home late, and
tired and harassed by a burden that he was carry-
ing quite alone.

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204

OVERRULED.

CHAPTER XVIII.

REVELATIONS.

1^, . I

DOES any one need to be told how Ralph
Bramlett was received? There had been
stormy periods in his married life before ; cer-
tainly none stormier than this. Estelle waited not
even for her husband to make ready for dinner.
She followed him to his dressing-room, and while
he tried to wash from his hands the soil which
had accumulated that day, — some of it soil that
no soap could cleanse away, — she burst out upon
him ; not with questions, not even with a hint that
she had no faith in the stories, but with as com-
plete a tirade against his acts as though every syl-
lable of the gossip had been proved. Had she
not been too much occupied with hei'self, she
would have noted that he grew deathly pale ; but
he did not in any other way make known that he
heard her. He went on washing those hands, that
were well shaped and had always been a comfort
to him, with punctilious care. That, and his
silence, exasperated his wife still more.

" It is like you," she said, "to insult me by this
silence and unconcern. Do not pretend that you

Twwm

REVELATIONS.

205

have no regard for what people say about you ; I
know better. You would give all you are worth to
stand well in the eyes of Marjorie Edmonds, even
if you care for no one else." Then he spoke, —

" It is not necessary to drag her name into this
remarkable scene, I should think."

Perhaps he could not have said anything that
would have added greater fuel to the flame.

" Oh, no," his wife said, " of course not ; her
name even must be shielded from everything dis-
agreeable, while I, your wife, must endure every-
thing. You would better think of your own
name, since you care nothing for mine. Have
you not a word to say for yourself ? What foun-
dation is there for these infamous stories ? You
have been doing something to set tongues afloat.
I have felt that for some time, but the hour has
come when I demand to know what. I will not
be kept on surmises any longer."

" You seem to me to be well posted," he said
very qu'etly. " I am sure you have been pouring
out information ever since I entered the house.
What other particulars are there that you desire
to know ? '•

" I desire to know the truth, and not to be in-
sulted with sarcasms. What have you been doing
in an underhanded way to start these reports con-
cerning you? Have you condescended to be the
tool of those rummakers to the extent that you
fire looking after their retail trade ? If I had sup-

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206

OVERRULED.

posed tliat my recent gifts, of which I have been
so proud, came from such a source, I would have
thrown them in their fa<;e8 rather than ever worn
or shown them."

Ralph Brandett straightened himself up at last,
and gave over trying to cleanse his hands ; there
were ink-stains on them still. But he turned and
gave his wife his full attention, and spoke in the
low tone that meant with him suppressed wrath.

" You shall have every possible pai'ticular, Mrs.
Brandett; had I known that you weie suffering in
that direction I would have relieved your anxiety
before. The gossips have been unusually success-
ful this time ; they have verged very near tl»e
truth. A few points only need correction. In-
stead of iKMiig an agent for the firm which 1 repre-
sent, I have the honor to l)e a principal in tliis
matter. 1 have I'ented the corner store that has
roused your wrath, and tlie men in charge are my
clerks. I have found the business nuich more
lucrative than that of bookkeeping, and the lux-
uries in which I have freely indulged you for tiie
last few montlis are excellent i)roofs of the same.
Is that sufficiently full information, or would you
like to know something more ? If so, do not hesi-
tate to (piestion me. I shall have pleasure in giv-
ing you every possible advantage over others in
the amount of knowledge which you possess."

He could not surely have understood how cruel
was the information he was pouring out, else he

I'll

REVELATIONS.

207

would, have chosen a less dangerous time and a
less insulting manner for his communication

In truth, he was himself so much imder excite-
ment, that it is questionable if he realized the force
of his words ; but it is also true that he did not
undei'stand the extent to which his wife was prej-
udiced against the retail liquor-traffic. It is to be
feared that he did not give her credit for strong
principles in any direction ; and the social degra-
dation of such a business as it would affect her
was something that he had not as yet thought of.
She had borne the salary paid by the distillery, not
only with equanimity, but to his certain knowl-
edge had indignantly repelled Marjorie Edmonds's
hints of available openings where the salary was
not so large. Perhaps he could not be expected
to realize what a difference the management of a
liquor-saloon would make in her estimation.

He was not left long in doubt. Estelle, whose
every vestige of self-control had departed from her
long before his studiedly i)olite sentences were con-
cluded, burst upon him with a fury that for the
moment half frightened him. She poured the vials
of her wrath and contempt upon him in language
such as he could not have imagined from her lips.
She called him by every name suggesting hypoc-
risy that her imagination could frame ; and her
anger, instead of expending itself in this ()ut})urst,
seemed to rise as she talked. Her words were
checked at last, only by a realizacion of the fact

til

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208

OVERRULED.

n*A ■«•!

that her husband had turned from her and hurried
out of the room ; nor was she greatly astonished
when, a few minutes later, she heard the front
door close with a bang.

Lena came to the door soon afterwards to sav
that dinner was waiting on the table, and Mr.
Bramlett had gone out again without eating a
mouthful. Some impulse had prompted Estellc
to rush to the door and lock it the moment sh(?
found herself alone, therefore she was safe from
Lena's intrusion. . She had just presence of mind
enough and sufficient command over her voice to
call out to Lena that Mr. Bramlett had been un-
expectedly summoned down town, and that they
would wait dinner until his return, then slie gave
herself up utterly to her misery. The patient Lena
carefully removed and set to keep warm the dishes
prepared for dinner, and settled herself to await
further orders. An hour passed, and the master
of the house did not return. Mi-s. Bramlett came
down-stairs in the coui-se of time, and explained to
Lena that she was afraid Mr. Bramlett would 1)6
detained beyond any reasonable hour for diinier.
It was not worth while to keep the hot dishes wait-
ing much longer ; probably he would take only a
glass of milk and some biscuits when he returned.
For herself, she did not care to eat dinner alone;
she would wait for him. But if lie did not come in
another half-hour, Lena might clear away the din-
ner, and consider herself dismissed for the night.

REVELATIONS.

200

Then she came back to the parlor, and began her
aimless fidget i»bout the table and mantel that has
l)een already described. With every passing mo-
ment her anxiety and indignation grew apace —
anxiety to know how it would all end, indignation
against her husband for adding yet this strain to
her horrible day.

" It was no wonder that he ran away ! " she told
herself with a bitterly curling lip. If he should
want to hide himself so completely that he could
never be found, it would not be in the least
strange, after having brought such insufferable dis-
grace upon them all, and been all but the murderer
of his own father. She had not spared him this
thrust also, in her ungovernable excitement; per-
haps she had even dwelt upon it, because she
could see that he winced under the words as noth-
ing that she had said before had made him. She
was by no means through, she assured heraelf. If
Ralph thought to treat her as though shie were a
naughty child, and stay away until slie had recov-
ered from her first excitement in the expectation
of l)eing received afterwards as though nothing
had happened, he would find himself utterly mis-
taken. She had not the slightest idea of enduring
sncli a humiliation as he had planned for her. He
must get out of that disgraceful business to-mor-
row, so utterly that it could at once be said, and
with truth, that he had nothing whatever to do
with it ; nothing less than that would satisfy her.

i i
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210

ovKnutrLRn.

! till

If he did not — she did not finish her thought.
At the moment she heard voices, familiar voices,
chatting and hiughing. They were on the piaz/a
now ; she heard a merry sentence of Mr. ^hixwell's
as they waited for the hell to be answered. Of all
horrible times for a call iiom Marjorie Edmonds
this seemed to the half-distracted wife the worst.
She would not see them ; she would send word
that she was not at home ; no, that would not do,
the parlor was brightly lighted, and could be dis-
tinctly seen from the piazza. Well, then, she was
engaged, very especially engaged, and could see no
one. But she must have been observed from the
windows, standing in the middle of the room do-
ing nothing. Besides, it was too late ; Lena was
already at the door ; she must see them. •

They came in gayly, with cheerful greetings.
Evidently they had heard nothing. *l'hey ran in
quite often, these two, by way of helping to carry
out their compact. It was all important for watch-
ing eyes and gossiping tongues to knovr that they
were on extremely friendly terms with the dwell-
ers in this house. As often as possible they chose
an hour when the master of the house would not
be at home ; but on this evening, Marjorie had an
errand with Estelle. They had come late so as to
l)e able to make their stay short, but friendly.

The errand act^omplished, Marjorit 'lingered, she
hardly knew why. What could have happened to
Estelle? She had never seen her in quite such

ti.

IIKVKI.ATIONS.

211

a 11100(1. She talked and lauglied nervously, giv-
ing slight, apparently frightened, starts at every
sound outside ; she seemed not to know, some of
the time, uliat she was saying, (^ould slie be
on the eve of a serious illness? If she was (juite
alone, ought they to leave her?

Suddenly her anxiety was broken in upon in the
most startling manner. 'J'here wiis a curious fum-
bling at the night-lateh, as tliougli oiie not ac-
quainted with it wjis trying to enter; then the
master of the house shambled into the liall, into
the parlor, his face red, liis eyes bleared, liis whole
appearance as unlike Ralph IJramlett as could be
conceived.

" Halloo, Madge I you liere ! " he sliouted, "and
lie's with you, of course. Say, why don't you two
get married ? You might as well ; you've been
long enough about it. There's nothing like mar-
ried happiness, I tell you ! What you doing here
anyhow, you old smooth-faced hypocrite ? You're
a hypocrite I Do you know that? If it hadn't
been for you, Alarj'rie and I would have been all
right. I want you to get out of my house ; do
you hear? "

Up to this moment the three listeners had stood
tmnslixed with liorror, the two women with al-
most equally blanched faces and strained eyes.
Alarjorie was the first to speak.

"He is insane ! " she whispered. "Estelle dear,
do not go near him ! O Mr. Maxwell ! "

i"^,

^ij

. l-j^f

,' i!l

m¥>

'^jlfe' I

j'h.

' HI

212

OVEURtJLED.

! = r

'i1

**Do not be frightened," said Mr. Maxwell, re-
covering speech ; " it is not insanity. Mrs. Bram-
lett, let me manage this. Come, sir, you are not in
a condition to appear before ladies. Let me help
yon to your room."

There was a moment's struggle, a half-insane
yell from the master of the house, a determined
grip from the hand of his guest, and the other
yielded, and allowed himself to be led muttering
away.

" Your master has been taken ill," Marjorie heard
Mr. Maxwell explaining to the frightened Lena.
" Show me the way to his room, and then get me
a pitcher of ice-water. No ; we shall not need a
physician at present, my good girl. I know just
what to do for him; it is a sudden attack that
will soon pass."

" He is intoxicated ! " said his wife, her lips as
white as snow. Marjorie gave a low wail, as
though it was she who had been stricken, and
dropped back among the cushions, powerless for
a moment to move or speak. Had the playmate
of her childhood come to this? To one of her
belief and environment death itself was as noth-
ing compared with such sorrow as this. She sat
up after a moment, and looked pitifully at Estelle.
She knew not a single word to say to her ; it was
no time for pity, for sympathy even. She could
not wonder that the wife stood as she had when
her husband had been taken from the room, with

HEVELATIONS.

213

her eyes fixed as if fascinated with it, on that
closed door. To intrude a word upon her would
have been to Marjorie horrible. After what seemed
to her hours, but was in reality only a few min-
utes, Mr. Maxwell came down-staii"s.

"I have got him to bed," he said to Estelle.
" He is entirely quiet now ; sleei)ing, indeed, and
you need be under no apprehension in regard to
him. At the same time, if you would like ^le to
remain part of the night I will" —

She interrupted him, " I would not. I have not
tlie least desire for your presence. I know quite
well what I shall do. The remainder of the night
will be just long enough for me to make what
l)reparations I must, and with the firet streak of
dawn I will go to my father's house, that I was a
fool ever to leave. Thank Heaven I have friends
who can take care of me ; I do not need you."

Marjorie started up and came to her side. " O
Estelle dear," she said tenderly, " don't speak sucli
words ! you do not know what you are saying."

Estelle turned upon her fiercely. " Do I not,
indeed ! You would counsel me, I suppose, to stay
beside a drunken husband. You would do it
perhaps ? It is a pity you have not the chance !
For myself, no power on earth would make me
so disgrace myself ; I have borne enough."

" Mrs. Bramlett," said Mr. Maxwell, answering
the mute appeal in Marjorie's eyes, "we cannot
wonder at your excitement and — and pain ; but

.:''^!f|p

214

OVEUnULED.

let me remind yon tluit vonr Imsband is not a
drunkard. lie is proljably not in the habit of
using stinudants, and has l)een overcome in an
unexpected way ; it may he. by some accident."

" Oh, yes," interrupted Marjorie eagerly ; '» lie
must be the victim of some plot ; I have read of
such things."

•■' / tell you,,'''' said I'^stelle, stamping her foot, '• I
want nothing from you — neither sympathy nor
exjilanation. I want you to go, and. let me alone.
Do you think I do not know that if it had not
been for you my husband would never have so
disgraced himself, woidd never have made my
life miserable? You have intended from the very
first to ruin my home ; I wish jou joy of having
ac(;omplished it."

'• Mix. Jiramlett I " interposed Mr. Maxwell in
his sternest tones, " we are certainly willing to
hope now that you do not know what you are
saying. T will take Miss Edmonds away at once,
because I do not choose to hear her further in-
sulted. In your saner moinent.s, you will doul)t-
less wish to apologize for words that you of coui-se
know to be false."

.:'H

"I DON*T LIKE IT.'

210

CHAPTER XIX.

**i don't likk it."

MR. LEONARD MAXWELF. sat, witli an
open letter ])efore liini, staring tliouglitfully
into space. He liad been so sitting for perliaps
three qnartei-s of an lionr. 'J'here seemed, as he
ironi time to time referred to it, to he some con-
nection ])etween tlie letter and his thought ; yet
it was a ver}- short letter to have roused such
i>;rave and apparently unsatisfactory study. Less
tlian a dozen lines comprised the whole ; it ran
thus : — •

My dkau Lkoxard, — At last the impossible lias been
accomplished, and I am to have a vacation. To he entirely
iionest, I've done what you said I would, overworked. We
luive had a good deal of sickness this spring, and I've heen
nui to death. When I got where I could not sleep nights,
even though T had a chance, I determined to call a halt.
I've arranged with Weston and Barnes to divide my calls
l»et\veen them, and I'm planning for a whole month of
play. The question is, do you want me to come an<l ])lay
with you? I know you are at work ; perhaps I can play for
you when I can't with you. If there is room where you are
staying, wire me, and I'll come on at once.

As ever, Frank.

IM :1

210

OVKUnrLED.

When the three quarters luid lengthened into
an liour, Mr. Maxwell spniiig up, letter in hand,
and hurried down-staii-s as though an idea had
just occurred to him.

Mi's. Edmonds was in her sitting-room alone.

"May I come in?" he asked; "1 have a wvy
large favor to ask. I hardly know Ijow to coni-
mence it, hecause I am aware that you do not
k';ep a boarding-house; but — do you suppose you
could be induced to take pity on another man if
I will agree to share my room with him?" lie
laughed at Mi's. Edmondj-'s look of bewilderment.
" Voii think my sudden attack of benevolence
needs exi)lanation ? Why, it is just this way ;
there are only two of us, my brother Frank and
I. Frank is a hard-worked physician, who hasn't
taken a vacation since he graduated, and now
is to have a month of enforced rest. Mother is
abroad, as you know, so he cannot be with her;
and he naturally thought of me. Is it asking'
too much ? "

Mi's. Edmonds, greatly surprised, considered llic
pros and cons, expressed courteous interest in his
brother, and polite regret that she had not more
room to spare in her house, then asked tentatively
what seemed to be an embarrassing question.
" Am I to underetand that you very much desire
to make this arrangement, Mr. Maxwell ? "

That gentleman hesitated, a flush rising on his
usually pale face, and slowly spreading until it

" I don't like it."

217

reached his temples, lie laughed in response to
her questioning look.

*' Mrs. Edmonds, do not make me too much
ashamed of myself." he said hurriedly ; " I have
been lighting a battle with selfishness for the last
hour. jNIy brother Frank is the best fellow in the
world, and there is not a man living that I so
much desire to see ; yet — can you understand a
little how hard it is for me to deliberately put
away from myself a portion of this summer?"

She felt that he must know she understood, and
smiled gravely as she said, " Yet it nnist be a
pleasure to you to think of having an entire month
with the brother from whom you have been so
much separated."

" Of course it must," he said quickly ; " and if
you can arrange for it without too much incon-
venience I shall be grateful ; otherwise, I ought
to plan to meet him at some other point."

The evident distress in his tone as he added
that last thought touched the mother's heart.

" Oh ! we shall be able to arrange for it," she
said ; " it is only you who will be inconvenienced,
on account of the limited number of rooms."

He thanked her hurriedly, and went away to
send his telegram, while JNIi-s. Edmonds sought
her daughter, and began to plan for the addition
to their family.

"I don't like it," Marjorie said with a shadow
on her face. "We are so cosey now, and have

I ^!

,'■ '!

I i

218

OVERRULED.

such good times together, we three ; a fourth will
be almost sure to spoil it all ; it isn't within
reason to expect the other brother to be so nice
as this one. Mamma, I am even afraid we shall
dislike him."

" That would certainly be sad," said Mrs. Ed-
monds, breaking into a laugh ; " but since he is
this one's brother, and want3 to visit him, we
could do no less than receive him; could we,
dear?"

" Oh ! of course not ; but it will be disagree-
able ; you see if it isn't. He will not be in the
least like Leonard ; brothera never are."

With which most ambiguous sentence she
turned away \yithout catching her mother's slight,
quickly suppressed sigh ; her daughter's prefer-
ence for the present Mr. Maxwell was too out-
spoken for her to build any castles upon.

In truth, Mrs. Edmonds's castles troubled her
not a little during these days. Absolutely cer-
tain of }\i\ Maxwell's desires, — and he made it
apparent to her that they grew stronger with each
passing day, — she could not see that her daughter
thought of him as other than a very exceptioiudly
choice brother. Sometimes her impatience with
the obtuseness of a girl who was so quick to
observe in all other lines brought her to the
verge of speech; it was only Mr. Maxwell's re-
iterated assurance that he would not for the
world have Marjorie's peace disturbed that held

"I DON T LIKE IT

•219

the mother to silence. iSIeantime, the policy of
the two to be always seen toi^ether was hein<^
literally carried out. I'lie mornings, on Mr. Max-
well's part, were given to uninterrupted work ;
hut every afternoon found him at leisure to walk,
or ride, or read, according as Marjorie's mood
dictated. Quite often now she yielded to her
mother's wish to he left undisturbed at liome, and
took long walks or drives with Mr. Ahixwell.

Occasionally — and us the days passed this grew
to be of frequent occurrence — they would call
for Hannah Ihandett to accompany them. These
excui-sions were more often than otherwise errands
of mercy to the factory portion of the town. Tlie
gaping world nmst have looked on with exceeding
interest during those long bright summer days, as
Mr. Maxwell drove gayly by, or saiuitered leis-
urely along, with Marjorie Edmonds and Hannah
Bramlett for liis comi)anions. It was Mr. Max-
well who had first suggested Hannah as a com-
panion. At least, when Marjorie was expressing
her indignation concerning the gossip, and her
sorrow that a good, well-meaning girl like Hannah
Uramlett should have been its victim, he asked
to what extent it had victimized her; and when
Ahirjorie explained that she seemed to have almost
no intimate friends, and that s(mie foolisli i)eople
apparently stood aloof from her on account of the
stories, though no respectable pei-son believed
them, he had said, " There is a remedy for such

■.M-',:

220

OVERRULED.

], ■]

a state of things. Why don't we cultivate her
acquaintance? If we were to call in friendly
fashion, and invite her to drive with us, for
instance, occasionally, wouldn't it be helpful?"

Marjorie had clasped her hands in an ecstasy of
satisfaction.

" It is the very thing ! " she exclaimed. " Why
do you always think of things to be done, and
why do they never come to me ? "

It is doubtful if Mr. Maxwell meant to inau-
gurate such a state of allairs as immediately fol-
lowed. He might even have kept silence had
he known that he would be so literally and con-
stantly interpreted. Marjorie planned a walk for
that very afternoon, with Hannah Bramlett for an
accompaniment, and two days afterwards proposed
that she drive with them to the Schuyler farm
where they were going to call. It was certainly
hard to have a tliird person so frequently inter-
posed ; but Mr. Maxwell couM not, despite this,
help enjoying Hannah's evident comfort in these
excursions, and her mother's no I' iS evident sat-
isfaction over them. For the Bramletts were in
sore trouble during these days, and whatever
contributed to their sense of self-respect was so
much balm to their wounded sensibilities.

It was now nearly a month since the painful
episode in Ralph Bramlett's parlor. All the peo-
ple who suffered tliat night had a chance to grow
accustomed to the pain, and to try to acconuno-

Mki

((

I DON T LIKE IT.

221

date themselves to the mevitable. So far as Mr.
Maxwell and Marjorie's share in the scene, they
had kept it quite to themselves ; ^larjorie could
not be sure whether or not any other person knew
of the manner of Ralph's home-coming and its
disgraceful cause. How much the girl Lena sur-
mised, or how far she was to be trusted, were
matters of which Marjorie could not be certain;
she deemed it safer to remain in ignorance than to
ask questions. With regard to the insulting words
spoken to herself, she had received from Estelle
Bramlett a cold little note offering a semi-apology
for any " thoughtless words " that she might have
spoken in her distraction. Mr. Bramlett, she ex-
plained, had been overcome by fatigue, and had
hastily swallowed a tonic by a physician's advice ;
it proved to contain alcohol, and his system being
entirely unaccustomed to the drug had responded
promptly, hence the disgraceful scene which she was
sorry to say Marjorie and her friend had witnessed.
She supposed it was not necessary to remind her
of the importance of its not being made known.

It is doubtful if Marjorie was not even more
hurt by this note of supposed apology. She
showed it to Mr. Maxwell, her lip quivering a
little as she said, —

"That last fling is hard to bear; she was half
insane with fear and grief the other night, and
it did not matter what she said ; but this is
premeditated."

■■'''*!

f^ll

222

OVERRULED.

! I I

" Mr. Maxwell had returned the note with a grave
face, and had answered, " Still, Marjorie, you can
afford to feel only sorrow for her. She is mis-
Uiken if she supposes that a few swallows of
prescril)ed medicine put her husband into the
condition that he was last night. J have the very
gravest feat's for his future. His is a tempera-
ment with which alcohol makes short work."

^larjorie had paled Ixjfore the surrgestion that
his words implied ; she said passionately that she
could not have this friend of her childliooel sink
into a drunkard's grave. Why did he have fears?
Did he not believe in prayer? and had not he cov-
enanted with her to pray for Ralph until he was
converted ?

"No," he said in grave earnestness; "forgive
me, rdarjorie, if I pain you, but I did not make
any such promise. Grace is free ; there is no
forcing process in th^» plan of salvation. What
Mr. Brandett tvills must be ; if he will not he
saved, be sure that (iod will respect even that.'

" Then what is the promise worth, ' Whatso-
ever ye ask in my name, ])elieving, ye shall re-
ceive'?"

" My friend, it is worth everything. If, in an-
swer to my prayer, I receive (iod's assurance that
that for which I plead 8/iall />f, then indeed I can
continue to *ask, believing;' it is like the solid
rock to my feet, and I know I can claim its fulfil-
ment though I may have to wait a lifetime, nay,

" I U(JN T LIKE IT.

223

long after my life here is over. Have j-ou such
an assurance in regard to Ralph Bramlett ? "

" Yes," she said steadily ; " I know Ralph will
yet receive what I most desire for him."

" Then thank God for the assurance, and hold
to it. He never fails."

Yet Marjorie, even at the moment, could not
help wondering whether the feeling that she had
was assurance, or a determination on her part that
what she desired should be. The thought made
her say almost complainingly, —

" Sometimes, Leonard, I cannot help wondering
why the way of life was made so hard, in a sense.
Hard for obstinate natures, I mean. Why mvist
one's diseased will be held in such honor ? Why
not save men in spite of themselves ? "

" When you give entrance to such thoughts, do
you remember what salvation rea,lly is ? Would
heaven be heaven to me if I did not want to be
there, hated the Power that reigns there, desired
to be free from his presence ? "

" Of course not. I meant, why did not God
compel people to love him whether they would or
not?"

" Can you make yourself love a peraon, Mar-
jorie ? "

" No," she said, blushing under his earnest gaze ;
" but God could make me."

" Could he ? What would such love be worth ?
How much CQuld it be depended on ? "

I i

I' i ^

224

OVERRULED.

" Oh I" she said, turning away half impatiently,
" I know I am talking nonsense ; but it does not
seem to me sometimes as though I could have
people managing their lives in the way they tlo.
I cannot help thinking that if I had the power I
would make them do differently."

" I understand you ; God himself uses that
power continually, I suppose. ' The remainder of
wrath he restrains,' you remember ; but when
it comes to forcing love and confidence, I can
imagine what utterly disappointing machines we
should make. I would not care for the allegiance
of the very dearest being on earth, if it were a
forced allegiance. Sometimes I think that this
world of punishment about which we talk so much
and understand so little is simply the gathering

•

together of beings who will not accept the destiny
for which they were intended, in a place by them-
selves, away from those whose bliss would only
make their self-ruin the more complete. In other
words, that God does for them the best that he
can, since they refuse his best."

Poor Marjorie was obliged to confess to herself
that she had very little outward appearance on
which to build her assurance for Ralph Bramlett's
future. It is true that he might have been taken
unawares on that fateful evening, and such an ex-
perience might not happen to him again : but lie
was undeniably, and indeed openly, engaged in tlie
liquor traffic. From the evening that he hiitl

■V' (flfl

"1 t)ON*T LIKE it/*

225

boldly proclaimed it to his wife, he had not made
the slightest attempt at further concealment. In-
deed, before the next df^y was over he went to his
father, and in a long argument labored to con-
vince him that the step he had taken was in the
interest of good citizenship. He liad protected
the imperilled corner from unprincipled persons,
and established a law-abiding business about which
not a whisper of reasonable complaint could be
made. His sister Hannah repeated these and kin-
dred statements to Marjorie, her lip curling over
them the while. Once she interrupted herself to
ask, " Did you suppose that Ralph could ever be-
come such a fool ? "

What his wife thought, Marjorie could not posi-
tively discover. Evidently she had reconsidered
her determination made on that dreadful evening,
and had not claimed the shelter of her father's
house. She was to all appearances living her life
in her husband's house as before. But Marjorie
knew from Glyde Douglass, who was not only
deeply distressed, but frightened as to what might
come next, that the apparent calm was only on
the surface. The distressed sister owned with
tears that Ralph and Estelle did not even speak
to each other. They sat together at meals as
before, and observed all the outward proprieties;
but Estelle had told her that she had not spoken
one word to her husband since the morning after
she had discovered the disgraceful business with

•H

m I

6 ifl

H ^ri

f>'2(?

OVEtinttLKD.

which he had identified liimself, nor did she intend
to, until he should rid himself entirely of all con-
nection with it, and ask her pardon for the offence.
What conversation passed hetween them hefore
this period of ominous silence was reached, iSIur-
jorie could surmise l)etter than Glyde.

Meantime, the tongues of the gossips ran freely.
Those who were able to say, "I told you so!"
rejoiced over those who had not believed the re-
ports. Moreover, if rumor was to be credited,
already the boasted quietness of the corner store
was being interrupted, and scenes more or less
directly connected with it were being enacted, not
• quite in accordance with good citizenship.

Such was the condition of affairs at the time
that Mr. Maxwell was expecting his brother.

ENTEU Dll. MAXWELL.

227

CHAPTER XX.

ENTER DR. MAXWELL.

"T'lT'ITH your permission," said Mr. Maxwell,

Vt "I will drive to the station; the iive-
twenty train is just due, and we can take my
hrother home with us."

They were just returning from a trip to what was
known as Factoryville, meaning that part of the
town in which the factories and tenement houses
for the operatives were located. Mrs. Edmonds
and her daughter occupied the back seat of the
carriage ; and the vacant seat beside Mr. Maxwell
had been filled by Hannah Bramlett, whom they
had just left at home. They had been on an
errand of mercy, every available space of the car-
riage having been filled with comforts for the
homes where there was illness.

Reining in his hoi*ses at the station, Mr. Max-
well secured them carefully, shaking his head with
a smile in response to Marjorie's offer to hold them.

" I always have an extra attack of prudence
when I am near a railway station," he said; "I
prefer the chain and ring to your hands, in case of
any excitement."

!:ili

!'!f;'

:3>S

^2d

6\^EntitrL«itt.

■'! t

Mrs. Edmonds proposed while they waited that
she step across to tlie office of the laundry, and
make some business arrangements; and as Mr.
Maxwell entered the station to consult a time-table,
Marjorie was left to herself. Her thoughts were
not enlivening. She dreaded the advent of the
stranger more than she cared to have any one un-
derstand. In her judgment their party was now
quite perfect; Hannah Bramlett was having the
good times that had heretofore been denied her;
and on occasion, whenever it was good for her, the
dear mother could be depended upon to join them.
What space was there for another ?

*' He will be out of sympathy with our ways and
plans," murmured this malcontent, "and will de-
mand the constant attention of Leonard when we
want him ourselves. I wish he had stayed well
and at work."

Then suddenly there was an excitement. She
could never afterwards recall just how it was ;
everything happened so quickly and so unex-
pectedly. Just as she became aware that the five-
twenty express had shrieked itself into the station,
a«d that Mr. Maxwell and a stranger were issuing
from the front door, she knew also that her mother
was crossing the street in front of an electric car,
and that another was gliding swiftly along in the
other direction. Space enough for one who under-
stood wfcat should be done to make a safe transit ;
but Mrs, Edmonds became suddenly bewildered ;

ItStltn DR. MAXWELL.

•ilMt/

\ that
fT, and
8 Mr.
-table,
} were
of the
ne un-
18 now
ig the
d her;
ler, the
I them.

lys and
yill de-
hen we
d well

She

was ;

unex-
le five-
station,
issuing

lother
pic car,

in the
1 under-

msit ;

lered :

tlie moving cur that she had not at first seen, star-
tled her; and instead of liastening forward she
jumped back, fairly into the jaws of the treacherous
monster on the other track. At least so it seemed
to Marjorie ; and that the danger for an instant
was imminent was evidenced by the immediate
crowd that surrounded them. There was a sud-
den exclamation from the stranger, a bound for-
ward, and before Mr. Maxwell, who was busy witli
the horses, knew, save for Marjorie's scream, that
anything had happened, his brother was literally
carrying Mrs. Edmonds toward the carriage.

" Ha ! that was quick work, and brave work
too ! " exclaimed a looker-on in strong excite-
ment ; " who is that man ? "

" Don't know," said a policeman ; "a stranger,
and a plucky fellow. He saved the old lady's life,
I guess."

" Allow me to sit with her," said the newcomer
to Marjorie. " No, Leonard, take the young lady
in front, and let me get in here ; I know better how
to care for her. Does she belong to your party
do you say ? That is fortunate ; we shall get her
home quicker. Do not be alarmed, madam," to
Marjorie ; " she is not injured, and has only fainted.
It is simply a nervous shock."

**I believe you two have not been introduced
yet."

This was Mr. Maxwell's remark some two hours

ffi *'

fi ' I I *

230

OVER Ur LED.

later, wlion the exeiteinciit liad somewhat calniod.
Tlie newly arrived doctor, instead of l)eing wel-
comed to their home as they had i)lanned, had him-
self taken the initiative. He issned his ordeix right
and left, and saw to it that they were oheyed.
He had just come down from Mi-s. Edmonds's
room with the announcement that slie was now
quietly sleeping, and was on no account to be dis-
turbed, when liis brother made the above remark,
looking from the doctor to Marjorie with a grave
smile on his face. Only he himself had any idea
how often, during the last few days, he had ima-
gined the meeting of tho two, and wondered how
they would impress eac her. Certainly no such
meeting as had taken place had been imagined!
Marjorie held out her hand impulsively, —

"We need no introduction," she said, "or
rather we have had one that will make us friends
forever — he saved my mother's life ! "

Naturally an acquaintance so begun progressed
rapidly. Within a week Marjorie and Dr. Max-
well were the l)est of friends. It was a friend-
ship, however, that from the firat was as unlike as
possible to that which she had given his brother.
She never asked the doctor's opinion on any per-
sonal subject, nor deferred to him in any way,
save where her mother's physical condition was
concerned ; apparently they differed upon eveiy
subject under the sun, and sparred continually
in the merriest ways.

KNTini ntj. MAx\VKr-r,.

2nt

On one point hIu; Imd been mistukon : so far
from having no interest in tlieir daily jjlans and ,
occupations. Dr. Maxwell entered with zest into
them all. Fie even seemed to be In'tter ac-
quainted with Hannah IJrandett before the fii-st
week had passed than his In-other had become.
He questioned intelligently with regard to their
prof^U^'S at Factoryville, and suggested e(;rtain
sanitary improvements of which they had not
thought. He went with (Hyde Douglass to see
her little crippled l)oy, Robbie, and before he had
been there fifteen minutes improvised a rest for
his back that was so simple it seemed strange
that no one had thought to try it, and withal
so restful that it brought the grateful teal's to
Robbie's eyes.

In short, by the time his vacation was half
gone, Mrs. Edmonds was entirely willing to vote
with her daughter that Dr. Maxwell was a de-
cided acquisition, and to mourn over the thought
that he had but two weeks more.

"However, you didn't need those, so far as I
can see," Marjorie told him gayly. "I believe
he is a fraud; don't you think so, Leonard?
Pretending that he needed rest, when all he
wanted was a chance to come down here and play
with his brother a little while ! "

"That was it exactly," the doctor said, enter-
ing into her merry mood ; " Leonard and I haven't
had a regular dew-down, as they say in the East,

i !

"'■'■A

•I

I ' ;.i:

'■ S-; 'if"!

v- ■(- f&l.-IS!

■• '1

#*j

'2^-1

OVKllUtJLEb.

■1 1

!!■ !

dm.

for nearly a dozen years. I l)egan to fancy my-
self an old man, but I feel like a boy again. I
don't know how it will be when I get back to my
work." His face grew suddenly grave as lie
added, " What do you think it would be, Miss
Marjorie, to spend your days and a great part of
your nights among the sick and the suffering,
listening to their woful tales of sleepless niglits.
and racking pains, and wearing coughs ; how
long do you suppose your nerves would enduie
it?"

"I should think it would be a blessed life,"
she said, with a gravity as sudden as his own,
and as sweet as it v/as sudden; "to be able to
relieve pain, and quiet racking coughs, and bring
hope and cheer where the shadows of awful feai-s
had gathered — it makes one think of the Christ
on earth again. ' The Great Physician ; ' I al-
ways liked that name for him."

"Ah, but sometimes one cannot relieve the
pain ; and in spite of every effort the poor human
imitator of his Master may make, the shadows
gather and deepen; what then? Even then," lie
added quickly before she could speak, "one can
always point them to that Great Physician who
waits to care for them ; that is true. But," witli
a sudden change of tone, " there are so many who
grumble, you see, and groan; and those who
have the least to suffer are the loudest groaners ;
young ladies they are, always, you underetand."

ENTER DR. MAXWELL.

233

Then the merry sparring would commence again,
and be carried on as vigorously as though they
had not just had a spnsm of common-sense.

It was difficult for Marjorie to realize that this
merry-eyed man was his brothers senior by two
years. He looked and acted nearly always like
the younger man. The spirit of boyish fun seemed
ready to bubble over at the slightest provocation.
Mr. Maxwell referred to this one evening, as his
brother, having lingered on the piazza indulging
in a merry war of words with them all, finally
took himself off to post a letter. *' Frank acts
like a schoolboy released," he said, laughing ; " I
can almost make myself think that old father
Time has travelled backward, and that Frank is
home for his college vacation, instead of being an
overworked physician. You should see him at
his work, Mrs. Edmonds ; he is grave enough
then ; too grji e. The fact is, responsibility rested
too early and too heavily on his shoulders. He
almost stepped into my father's large practice, and
became a burdened man at the time when most
young physicians are looking for their first pa-
tients. He needs some one to keep his home-life
bright and strong."

Marjorie had glimpses occasionally of the physi-
cian. One day in particular she realized that her
companion was a man, not a boy. They were
driving together, she and Leonard, and Hannah
Bramlett and Dr. Max^^eUt The four drove often

'■■'\

284

OVERRULED.

together, and had such cheery times as almost
made Hannah's face, that had aged too early, look
young and pretty. Indeed, but for the sense of
disgrace that Ralph's conduct had brought to her,
and the fact that her father was steadily losing
strength, Hannah could have been almost hapi)y
during this time. She had by no means dropped
her interest in Jack Taylor; but because these new
friends of hers claimed so much of her time, there
had been little food of late for the gossips, and,
their attention being engaged elsewhere, they had
temporarily dropped her. Dr. Maxwell, who un
derstood perfectly why his brother and Marjorie
desired to shield Hannah by their attentions, en-
tered into the scheme with great heartiness. Tliey
had been driving that afternoon to a celebrated
falls, and on their return trip were to call for a
moment at Susie Miller's, that Hannah might
learn why she had not been at school for the past
three evenings. As they neared the house, to
their surprise Glyde Douglass opened the door
and came out hurriedly.

" O Dr. Maxwell ! " she said, relief in her voice
as she caught sight of the doctor and ignored
the others, "would you be willing to come in
here a few minutes? A little child is very ill;
the doctor has not been here since morning, and
sends word that there is no need for him to come,
that there is nothing he can do; and the poor
mother is almost distracted,"

r voice
Tiiored
ome in
ry ill;
ig, and
come,
le poor

ENTER DR. MAXWELL.

235

Before these explanations were concluded, the
doctor had sprung from the carriage, and was has-
tening toward the house, leaving the ladies to fol-
low him, while Mr. Maxwell gave attention to his
horses. It was the same little desolate inner room
in which Glyde had watched the life go out from
the poor little Miller baby a few months before.
Only the disheartening features were enhanced
this time, if possible, by the fact, that although the
day was not especially warm outside, }et in this
little room, with its one small window coming
within eight feet of a blank wall, the air was
simply oppressive. The victim was a little girl
of five or six, burning with fever, and groaning
with every breath that came from her swollen and
purple lips. The mother, bending over her in al)-
ject, speechless misery, had evidently lost all hoj)©,
and was only waiting the inevitable end. ]More
children huddled in cornei-s ; and Susie, whose eyes
Avere red with weeping, had to push them aside
before she could make room for the guests.

Dr. Maxwell gave one glance at the bed, and
another comprehensive one about the room. Then
he stepi)ed to the door, and surveyed the room
through which they had made their way. Deso-
lation reigned there ; in the cook-stove a small
tire was burning, apparently for the purpoh-e of
heating water for the sick child.

"This room is l)etter," said the doctor; "bring
the child out here."

•M

M. -t.'S

■J '"; ,i i"--^

236

OVKU;ti:LED.

1 : i.

1 I

11 I

Then the mother spoke, —

"The doctor said I 'wiistn't move her, not
change her in any way, or slie wonhl die."

"I am a do(;tor, madam ; lake the child in your
arms, and bring her out here. Miss Hramlett, open
both those windows wi(h3, and i)our some water on
that fire. Miss Marjori<!, let me have your fan,
and wet this handkerchi(?f dripping wet, and bring
it to me. Leonard, see if you can raise some ice
anywhere. Then I wish you wouhl drive back
and get my medicine-case ; you will find it in the
top till of my trunk. I think if we work fast, we
may save a life."

It was w^onderful hov • promptly they all fell
into obedience under the power of this master's
voice. In less time than it has taken to tell it,
his rapidly given instructions were obeyed, and
Mr. Maxwell had headed his horses towards home,
and was driving at full speed.

" See if the mother will let one of you hold the
child," was the next peremptory direction.

" Here, let me," said Hannah Bramlett, pushing
forward, and receiving the burden from the almost
fainting mother.

"See to her," was the doctor's order to Mar-
jorie with a nod toward the mother.

"She ain't eat anytliing to-day," volunteered
Susie, coming to try to help her mother to the
open door; "she was so awful anxious about
Mysie, and that dreadful doctor wouldn't come !

Instantly Mah.ioimk kxclaimkd, " Estkllk Bkamlktt!"

(See jKi;/e 314.)

f<i

ENTER DR. MAXWELL.

237

He said doctors were to help the living, and that
Mysie couldn't live. Oh, dear ! Mamma, do you
hear what he says ? He is a great doctor f i om the
city, and he thinks maybe he can cure Mysie."

Nearly two hours afterwards the doctor came
out to the little stoop where his brother and Mar-
jorie were waiting for further orders. " I shall
stay here to-night," he said; "the child is very
ill, but there is a ray of hope for her. She will
need the most intelligent nursing, and I can give
it."

" But, Frank, do you think you are equal to an
all-night strain ? "

" Certainly I am, when it is such evident duty ;
the little one has been neglected. I suppose it is
a case of an overworked doctor discouraged by the
surroundings."

Hannah had come to the door to hear his opin-
ion just as Marjorie asked, " Is there nothing that
any of us can do to help ? "

" Miss Bramlett has been helping," he said, smil-
ing on her; "she is a born nurse. If one of you
could stay to-night, it might enable that worn-out
mother to get a little rest ; she is nearly ill with
anxiety and watching, and the daughter is too
frightened to be of much service."

"I wish I could stay," said Hannah mourn-
fully; "but mother cannot spare me at night while
father is so feeble." Before her sentence was con-
cluded, Marjorie had eagerly interposed, —

I,-:

238

OVEIUIULED.

'•'• Let me stay ; there is nothing to hinder me.
I do not know a great deal ahoul caring for the
sick, but I can do as I am told.''

" A rare qualification," said Dr. Maxwell ; *' I
know of no higher one. Why not, Leonard? " in
response to Mr. Maxwell's disapproving shake of
the head; "she is young and strong, and it is an
opportunity for service."

After that no shake of the head could have de-
terred Marjorie. She despatched a note to lier
mother for needed articles, among them a comfort-
able little supper, and saw the othei-s depart with
satisfaction.

In all her after years that night stood out vividly
as the iirst one in which she had accepted and
fully sustained her share of care and responsibility.
Through all the night Dr. Maxwell was alert,
watchful, patient, peremptory. He gave her di-
rections in the same business-like tone that he
would have used to a medical student; he did not
spare her in the least when there was need for her
help ; he even allowed her to sit for a full hour on
ffuard while the cliild and the overtaxed mother
slept, and himself took a nap seated in the wooden-
backed chair, — the best acconunodations that tlic
room afforded, — with his head (m the window-seat.
Yet he watched carefully that the newly histalled
nurse did not needlessly exert her strength, and
sent her away to rest with as much decision as he
did everything else.

ENTER DR. MAXWELL.

239

In the gray dawn of the early morning, she pre-
pared for him a little breakfast that her mother's
forethought had made possible, and as he drank
his coffee he said with a rare smile, —

"I think you and 1, with God's gracious l)less-
ing, have conquered. I wonder for what sort of a
Ufe we have saved that child."

' "h

' '^ i

1 -'

^■iW

i i

I i

I \\

ill

240

OVERRULED.

CHAPTER XXI.

BROTHERS INDEED.

" npHE very next thing to be done," said Dr.

X Maxwell to the people who appeared next
morning to get their orders, "is to get that child
and her mother into cooler and more comfortaldc
quarters. No child could reasonably be expected
to rally with such surroundings ; and the mother
is utterly worn out with care and anxiety and the
want of suitable food. Unless she is rested in
some way, a six weeks' siege, and then probably a
coffin, are just before her. Is there no provision
save the poor-house made in this town for tlie
poor whom sickness disables ? A hospital isn't
exactly the place for the mother at pi'csent, tliough
she will be a candidate for it if we wait long
enough ; but I am told that your little hospital is
over-crowded now."

" What sort of provision ought there to be.
Doctor?"

It was the practical Hannah who asked the
question.

The doctor laughed. "Such provision as has
not been made, I believe, this side of heaven, save

BROTHERS INDEED.

241

for our very own. There should be a home^ Miss
liramlett, worthy of the name ; and half-time and
cut wages and rum have made this father unable
to furnish one. What is that large building on
the first hill beyond the factories ? "

" It is an empty house," said Hannah Bramlett
eagerly; "it belongs to an old family who used to
live here ; there is some trouble with the title, and
they can't sell it, and no one wants to rent so
large a place, though the rent is very low."

" How low ? "

Hannah named a sum at which the doctor smiled
incredulously. " Vou can't mean those figures.
Miss Bramlett I"

Yes ; she was quite certain of them. She had
wished so much that one of the girls in her class
could be moved there for a while. She had even
tried to raise the necessary money, but the girl
had died before she accomplished it.

" AVho will be a Conunittee to secure a suitable
bed and an easy-chair or two, and, in short, the
necessary articles of furniture for the removal of
this mother and child to that house to-morrow? "

This question almost took Hannah Bramlett's
breath away. '

"But the money!" she said eagerly; and the
brothers Maxwell responded almost in the same
breath, " The money will be forthcoming."

" Send the bills to my brother," added the doc-
tor with the merry look in his eyes. "Suppose

ill

242

OVERRULED.

you drive to the agent's at once, Leonard, and see
what terms you can make for a montli, say — or
two months ; no contagious disease. If he suc-
ceeds, the cleaning and furnishing part we will
delegate to the ladies. Miss Bramlett, I think I
will make you chairman."

"•That Miss Brandett," said the doctor as he
drove home the next afternoon, having settled his
family, as he called them, in a great clean room
in the breezy house on the hill, "is thigling to her
fingers' ends with suppressed energy ; it ought to
be utilized. You should have gone in, Leonard,
to see the room she arranged, with such a trifle of
money too. I was astonished at the sum she re-
turned to me. She showed splendid sense ; not
an unnecessary expenditure, and yet real comfort.
Poor Mi's. Miller looked as though she thought it
was heaven, as she dropped into the big armclmir.
It is my belief that that woman hasn't been really
rested since her married life began. I told that
husl)and of hers that one glass of rum would
keep him from crossing that door-sill, so if he
wanted to call upon his wife and child he nuist
let it alone. I think the poor wretch would do so
if he thought he could. The world has made it
too easy for him to ruin himself and his family.
What do you think Miss Bramlett said, as she
surveyed the kitchen and closet where she had
arranged all the little conveniences for cooking
nourishing food? 'I'd like to live here!' she

nuoTiiKi!s iNin:i:i).

248

exclaimed, 'and make good wholesome things for
people to eat ; and keep that room in there always
ready for somebody who needed heartening up.'
She looked positively handsome as she said it.
Siie ought to have some such chance too. Her
life expresses power run to waste."

" How would you like such a life as that?" he
hud suddenly lowered his voice, and bent toward
Marjorie who occupied the seat with him, (Jlyde
Douglass being in front with Mr. Maxwell.

''I would like to help," she said earnestly. "T
feel as though to help other lives was the only
thing that made this life worth living; but I don't
know in just what way I could do it best."

'• I do," he said. " I know just what you could
accomplish ; I should like to plan your life for

you."

There was a heightened color on Marjorie's
cheeks, and she began eagerly to talk to (Jlyde
about some additional comfort for the new house ;
evidently she did not feel ready to have her life
planned for her.

The next day a long-delayed storm held pleas-
ure-seekers closely at home, — the first day that
luul been of necessity passed at home since Dr.
Maxwell came among them. He, it is true, bnived
the weather, and went to look after " his family,"
telling, with great glee on his return, that he had
called for Miss Bramlett, and taken her with him.
''She is not one of your fair-weather philanthro-

'li

•I .'

244

OVERRULED.

II I i

pists," he added, with a merry look for Marjorie.
" I found her simply delighted with an excuse for
ministering again. I'll tell you how it is with Miss
Bramlett ; she missed her play-time altogether. I
know as well as I want to that she was a woman
grown when she ought to have been a child, and
that big room up there that she has helped to make
into a home is her plaything. I'm charmed with
the whole affair. I'd like to keep her playing there
for a lifetime."

The evening closed in upon them, still stormy.
The curtains were drawn early, and the great read-
ing-lamp lighted. It was not an unpleasant ex-
perience, this quiet, cosey evening. They had a
dozen plans for making it one of the most enjoyable
that had come to them; but the door-bell ring-
ing spoiled it all.

" Who can be coming to call on such a night ? "
asked Marjorie with a touch of impatience ; then,
as a voluble voice from the hall reached them, she
turned to her mother in dismay.

"Mamma, it is Mrs. Kenyon! Must we have
her come in here ? She will stay the entire even-
ing, and she is quite the worst gossip of all."

This last offered in explanation to the doctor.

" Have her in, by all means," he said gayly ;
" I delight in gossip. No character, on the whole,
affords a more racy study than a woman who talks
because she cannot help it, and when she has
nothing to say invents something."

!* *ri

BROTHERS INDEED.

245

Just as Mrs. Edmonds had murmured, " I think
we must receive her here, daughter ; she is accus-
tomed to it, you know," the caller pushed open
the door and announced herself voluhly, as usual.

" O Mrs. Edmonds ! how do yoi? 'io ;' And
Miss Marjorie. Good-evening, M: . Mi'.xwell.
Happy to know Dr. Maxwell, I am suie. Dear
me ! how cosey you look here ! as though there
wasn't any trouble in the world. DreaJful storm,
isn't it ? almost like March outside ; but I felt as
though I must brave it to hear what you thought
of the news. Perfectly dreadful ! isn't it? I de-
clare I never was so shocked, though I may say
I have been expecting it this good while ; at least,
expecting something of the kind. I said to Mr.
Kenyon only last night, ' You mark my words,' I
said, 'if there doesn't come a crash of some sort
before long, then my name isn't Matilda Kenyon.
Even the liquor business,' I said, 'can't stand
everything.' Such extravagance, you know ; new
lace curtains only last week, and she almost a
bride yet one may say. It is the wife that has
ruined him ; I shall always stick to that. You
see, I've been in a position to know a good deal
about her goings on. Weren't you awfully as-
tonished, Mrs. Edmonds ? And Miss Marjorie, I
expected to find her quite cut up about it ; so in-
timate as they have been ! though to be sure she
has other things to think about now, if rejx)rt
is to be believed."

]

! . !

t. !

■ i

'^M'i'

■ i-

: 1
^ i'

■',' i;

■ 1

24G

OVERUtJLED.

You are taking us entirely by surprise, Mrs.
Kenyon" — it was really Mrs. Edmonds's first
chance for a word ; " we have not heard any
very distressing news of late."

She tried not to look at her daughter's glowing
cheeks, and to speak in her usual gentle tone.
But her words were like an electric shot to the
newsmonger.

" You don't say you haven't heard of it ! ^Vhy,
where have you kept youi-selves all da}'^ ? I know
it's been stormy, but I saw him go out," with an
emphatic inclination of her head toward the doc-
tor, " and I made sure he would bring you back
the news. Somehow I expected you to hear of it
the fii'st thing ; you've been so intimate. And you
really don't know that he has l)eea took up for
forgery ? Yes, indeed ! a plain case ; and he's in
jail this minute. Mr. Kenyon says he doesn't be-
lieve anybody can be found to go bail for him ; it
wouldn't be safe, you see ; such a fellow as he has
proved to be would take to leg-bail, as they say,
in a hurry. Just think of it ! l)eliind prison ])ais
to-night, while we all sit here so comforta])le. I'm
sorry for his poor father especially, being he's so
feeble ; but I must say I haven't any great synipatliy
for liis wife ; she has brought it all on hei-self " —

Marjorie moved across the room, and laid her
hand on the talker's arm.

"Mi's. Kenyon, wont you tell us about whom
you are talking?"

■MMP

"TH

i'"'1

BROTHERS INDEED.

247

" My patience, child ! how you frightened me !
Haven't I told who it was ? I thought I had ; and
anyway I supposed you'd know without any tell-
ing. Why, it's Ralph Bramlett, of eoui'se. There
is no other townsman of ours, I should hope, that
could disgrace us so. Child, you look like a

ghost

t "

Visions of tales that she would tell to eager lis-
tenere must have begun at once to float through
Mrs, Kenyon's brain ; for she became somewhat
distraught, although Mr. Maxwell held her stead-
ily to talk, in order to shield Marjorie as much as
possible from her further observation. He fancied
he could hear her saying, "Now, you mark my
words, that girl is just as fond of him as she ever
was, for all he is a married man, and she has two
or three othei-s dancing after her. She turned as
white as a sheet when I told her the news, and T
thought she was going to faint." This was so
much Mi's. Kenyon's style of talk that it required
no very great stretch of imagination to set her at
it. Marjorie had dropped back into the shadow
of the cosey corner. Dr. Maxwell bent over her,
speaking low, " It is undoubtedly exaggerated ;
such stories always are. He has perhaps fallen
into some financial difficulties from which we can
help to rescue him. It is too late to-night to see
the proper persons ; but the very lii*st thing in the
morning, l^eonard and I will see what can be
•lone."

'.,::

248

OVERIIULKD.

((

Thank you," she said, her lips still very white.
" He was the playmate of my childhood, and I
have known his wife ever since we both were
babies. It is awful ! Is there nothing that we
can do in the meantime, Dr. Maxwell ? "

"•Yes," he said; "as Christian people I think
there is. Are you willing that I should suggest
it, here and now, before that woman retires ? "

Only half understanding, yet trusting him fully,
she said simply, " If you think so."

Dr. Maxwell at once turned to the others.

" Mrs. Edmonds," he said, " if I understand the
situation, an old acquaintance of yours has fallen
into deep trouble ; not only that, but he is a mem-
ber of the church of Christ, and in that sense
our brother; can we do better for him to-night
than ask God to lead into the best ways for lielp-
ing him and his ? "

In a very few minutes thereafter, one astonished
woman's mouth was effectually closed, and she was
on her knees listening to as earnest a prayer for
Ralph Bramlett as ever fell from human lips.
Whatever else those prayers may have accom-
plished, they silenced Mrs. Kenyon, and sent her
home early and thoughtful. Perhaps there was
given to her a new idea, — that there was some-
thing better to do for people in trouble, even
though that trouble was caused by sin, than to sit
tearing open the wounds that sin had made, merely
to gape at them.

■ 1

BROTHERS INDEED.

249

After the brothers had gone to their room that
evening, Dr. Maxwell was strangely silent for
him. He stood staring out of the window into
the blackness for some minutes without speaking.
Suddenly he turned with a question, —

"Can it be possible that such a glorious crea-
ture as she threw away her heart's wealth on that
fellow?"

" If you mean Ralph Bramlett," said Mr. Max-
well, "no; she threw it away years ago on an
ideal, and lost that when she lost her respect for
him. They were not engaged, but — pledged ; she
would have been loyal, but he deserted her, and
so opened her eyes. But she is true, true as steel ;
lie was her childhood friend, and she must always
suffer for his sins. She believes that he will yet
turn to God, but her faith is having hard blows."

Dr. Maxwell drew a long breath like one re-
lieved.

" Thank you," he said. " How well you under-
stand her I Have you any encouragement for me ?
She is capable of the holiest love, but am I the
one to awaken it? You know how it is with me,
brother? When I first came here, I thought you
nuist certainly have found your ideal ; I do not yet
understand how you, and she for that matter, could
have helped becoming all in all to each other ; but
I thank God that neither of you see it in that light.
Tell me, Leonard, could I not in time make her
willing to become your sister?"

■■■■rM

!^ i.:i

\m:

250

OVERRULED.

Mr. Maxwell was bending over his writing-caso.
seemingly searching for some important paper. He
continued the search for a full minute ; then he
turned and looked at his brother, and his smile
was sweet to see.

" That is a sort of joy with which not even a
brother must * intermeddle,' is it not?" he said.
"I can only say as I have said of every effort of
your life thus far, God bless you."

On his face was the look, strongly marked, that
made othei-s think he must certainly be the older
brother.

The doctor came forward quickly and grasped
his hand. "That is true," he said impulsively;
"never was better brother born than I possess.
It would go hard with me, old fellow, to run
against your wishes in any way. I held my breath
for the first day or two, until I understood. It
might seem strange to some pei*sons that I should
have known my own mind so suddenly ; but that
is my way, you know. I wrote to mother the
night before I came here, in response to some of
her motherly anxieties, that I never had seen the
woman whom for five consecutive seconds I had
desired to make my wife ; and I told her in good
faith that since there was a popular prejudice against
a man marrying his mother, I thought I should
have to remain single, — and twenty-four houre
afterwards I should have had to write her a differ-
ent story ! We are strange beings, aren't we ?

Q »>

BllOTHEUS INDEED.

251

Five minutes afterwards the two were consult-
ing earnestly as to the best ways of managing the
effort that they meant to make for Ralph Bram-
lett at the earliest possible hour. An outsider
would not have known that either of them had
been strongly moved.

! 1

■ill

I , ::i

! I

!'n

! I|

252

OVERRULED.

CHAPTER XXII.

A HARVEST.

OF all the people who were plunged into the
depths of distress by Ralph Bramlett's fall,
no one was more surprised and dismayed than the
young man himself. That night, during which he
sat bolt upright in his chair, with the conscious-
ness upon him that his door was locked, and that
for the first time in his life he could not turn the
lock at will, was one that aged him visibly. He
was not so much surprised that the deed had been
done as that he had been discovered.

The deed had been simple enough, merely the
signing of the firm name as he had done, under
orders, hundreds of times. To do it without
orders had seemed so easy and so reasonable. It
was not stealing ; why should one have such an
ugly thought in connection with it? above all,
that other uglier word forgery should not be ap-
plied to it ! Of course he meanl; to replace the
money ; he had used only small sums for conven-
ience, and meant at the earliest opportunity to
make all right. Was he to blame that the oppor-
tunity had never come ? Was he to blame because

M'tj

■ . t ■■ i I . ;

A HARVEST.

253

■ <t'.

the liquor business had not been so lucrative z,^ he
had supposed? In truth, the business had been
misrepresented to him. Had he not been allowed
to count on the support of certain men who, in-
stead of appreciating their privileges, had been
angry because a saloon had been opened in their
neighborhood, and given all their custom else-
where? Moreover, there had been an appalling
number of bad debts, and a few ugly accidents,
that took money; then there had been those mis-
erable debts with which he started, and others
that he had been foolish enough to contract on
the strength of his prospects. It had all been
a wretched business from beginning to end. His
days and nights for weeks past had been haunted
with the troubles that were thickening about him ;
yet in his gloomiest hours he had not for a moment
thought of locks and keys, and a convict's dress.

He shuddered at the last idea, and buried his
face deeper in his hands, as if to shut out the pic-
ture. It had all come upon him so suddenly !
That hypocrite of a junior partner, with his be-
nevolent desires to start the younger man in a
lucrative business ! pretending that he did not care
anything about the thousand dollars, advanced —
and he kept so close an eye on the expenditures as
to trammel matters from the first, and wanted the
surplus paid back to him before the new year had
fairly opened. Then what business had he to
come mousing among the books, and examining

U III

It,

:'i'^i||
i'!:! i

1 1 i

! i

> i

I !

254

OVERIIULEI).

papers in the bookkeeper's private desk ? He was
a contemptible hypocrite and nothing else I And
the young man, who was at that moment under
arrest as a forger of the firm name, a forger not
once, nor twice, but at least lialf a dozen times,
felt a certain sense of relief in applying the name
"hypocrite" to one of the membei-s of the firm I
At the time it did not even occur to him that the
same word was already in hundreds of mouths aj)-
plied to himself.

But there came a harder night to Kalph Rraiii-
lott than that. It was aftor the heavy bail, wliieli
Mi-s. Kenyon had been sure he could not secure,
had been promptly guaranteed by the brothers
Maxwell, and he was allowed to walk the streets
again.

Following hard upon these firet moments of re-
lief came a summons to the home of his childhood.
His father, from whom it had l)een found impos-
sible to keep the dread news, had fallen under it as
thougli it had l)een a blow.

Ralph remend)ered for years afterwards, ^^■itll a
vividness that made every breath a pain, the hdi-
ror of those houi-s during which he knelt, an abjci i.
shrinking tiling, beside his father's dying hvr..
Shrinking from the curious eyes of physician ar.d
nurse ; turning even from the pitying gaze of his
sister Hannah, to whom he had not spoken fm-
months, not since lie had angrily accused her of
disgracing the family ; shrinking most of all per-

il , : !•

A HARVEST.

25o

haps from the stricken face of his mother, yet wait-
ing liungrily for some word from his father.

They had heeii afraid that he had come too late
for that. The painful restlessness of the day, dur-
ing which every effort was being made to hasten
the tardy hands of justice, and release the prisoner,
had been followed by a night of stupor, from which
the attending physician believed the patient would
not rally. Yet Dr. Maxwell, who had been called
in council, moved around to the wretched young
man's side just after the doctor had expressed
this belief, and murmured low, " Do not leave
the bedside for a moment; I am confident that
lie will rally and ask for you, as they tell me he
did at intervals during the entire day."

They waited, in that most miserable of all wait-
ings, while a life slowly ebbed away, feeling that
there was nothing to be done. For nearly an
hour no one spoke. Mrs. Bramlett sat close to her
husband, holding his work-worn and wrinkled liand
in hers. From time to time she caressed it ten-
derly, as she might have done a little child's.
Then bending low she would murmur fond, mean-
ingless words in the dulled ears. Mrs. Bramlett
had been in feeble health for years ; and the hus-
band had been the one to watch her comings and
goings, and save her steps where he could. She
had thought that she would be the one to lie some
day, breathing her life away, attended lovingly by
the husband of licr youth ; but it had come to pass,

266

OVERRULED.

"<h

Li.'i r

as it so often does, that the stronger one had failed
suddenly and heijonie the invalid. She knew, poor
mother, that the man who lay dying beside her
had made his only son his idol, and when the idol
disappointed him the old man's strength gave way.
During all this waiting time the mother did not
80 much as glance toward that kneeling figure at
the foot of the bed; but it was because the
mother-heart was strong within her, and she knew
instinctively that he could not bear to meet her
eyes. As for Hannah, she kept her post immo-
vably just at the bed's head, within sight of her
father's face, yet within the shadow of the head-
board. Her time had not come for tears ; she had
not shed one since she heard of Ralph's disgrace.
She had hovered about her father, watchful of
each murmured word or sign of need, ministered
to him ceaselessly, and sought not so much as a
word or glance of recognition in return. All dur-
ing that wretched day, while the doctor came and
went, and shook his head more gravely at each
coming, and the neighboi'S whispered in the
kitchen, and one or two privileged ones tip-toed
about the house doing needful' things. Jack Taylor
had appeared from time to time with messages for
" Miss Hannah." " Mr. Maxwell had sent him to
say that there had been unexpected delay in find-
ing just the right man, but they were still hope-
ful." Or " Mr. Maxwell sent word that all was in
shape now, and they hoped for a speedy hearing."

!; 1:^

liih

A HA 11 VEST.

257

Or later, "Mr. Miixwell feared it could not be ac-
complished before evening." And then, later still,
breathless with the liaste he had made, stumbling
past the curious neighboi's who would have asked
questions, eager, silent, he made his way to Han-
nah, and whispered that " Dr. Maxwell and Mr.
Bramlett were coming ; would be there in ten min-
utes." And then, before she had had time to think
what she should say to lier brother, or whether she
would ask her mother to go out and meet him,
he had slipped past her, and knelt at the foot
of the bed, and covered his ghastly face with the
bedclothes ; and then they had waited.

Suddenly there was a movement on the part of
the dying man. He flung his disengaged arm out
one side, and passed his hand along the bedclothes
as if in search of some one.

" Where is he ? " he asked distinctly ; " where
is my boy ? Why doesn't he come ? "

It was Hannah who bent over him, her voice
clear and steady, " He has come, father ; he is
here."

At the same moment Ralph arose, and aided by
Dr. Maxwell staggered forward, dropping on his
knees again close to his father's side ; his mother
pushed back her chair to make room for him, and
Hannah guided the groping hand to his head.

It rested there tenderly, as it had in the boy's
childhood; and the father's voice was quite dis-
tinct as he said, —

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■if'

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1 li

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(^vsinntTLEt).

" I cannot sec yon, my boy ; my sight is gone :
bnt I know it is yon. My hand wonhl recognize
your head among a thousand — my little boy's. ()
Ralph ! I remember all al)out it now ; I haven't
been the father to yon that T ought, or it could
never have happened. I take blame to myself ;
I will tell God so. But oh, my boy ! my boy I
speak to him yourself, and ask him to forgive
you. Don't you know how merciful he is ? ' f^ike
as a father pitieth his children ' - - that gives me
such comfort ; for I have only j^ity for you in my
lieart. Begin again, my l)oy, begin again ; it isn't
too late. God will forgive you, and bless you. 1
must see you again, Ilalph ; my earthly sight is
gone ; but your father mustn't miss seeing you
in heaven. Promise me, Ilalph, that you will be
there."

The silence that fell while that answer was
waited for was terrible.

" Speak to him ! " It was Hannah's voice th.it
broke in upon it, stern, commanding, yet with an
undertone of such beseeching agony that it seemed
as though a stone must have responded. 'J'lu*
wretched young man raised his iice for a single
moment from his trembling hands, i. face so utterly
charged with woe that his worst enemy must have
pitied him, and said two words, —

'^ O God ! "

"Yes," said the dying man with solemn em-
phasis ; " that is it, Ralph, never mind me ; speak

A HARVEST.

■ er WHS

to God. O God, hear my boy ! he cries to thee ;
for the sake of thy Son who died for him, hear my
boy. Pray, Ralph, jt?ray / "

He pray! never before had the awful mockery
of his prayers stuck on this man's soul. He could
not have uttered a sentence had his life been at
stake. But he clutched at the hand of the man
who stood beside him, and groaned out one word :
"Pray.'" And Dr. Maxwell, dropping on his
knees beside the wretched son, said, " Into thy
hands, our Father, we commend his spirit, asking
thee for Jesus Christ's sake to hear his last
prayer."

And then a great wailing cry arose from the
poor daughter ; for she knew that her father's
voice would be heard no more, and there came to
her such a homesick longing to liave only one
word from him for her very self, as she had not
known her heart could feel.

Somebody thought of her, and led her tenderly
away; and somebody else put a pitiful arm about
that poor old widow, and supported her wliile she
tottered out. As for the son, Dr. Maxwell ke[)t a
firm hand upon his arm, and did not release liim
until the doors of his old room closed after him.
Then he said, with, a long-drawn sigh, " T will
stand guard, but I think tlmt such misery as his
must be better borne alone."

And, in truth, he almost needed guarding; for
it seemed to him at times that he must lose his

260

bVEkRttLEb.

reason. Such an abyss of hopeless despair yawned
before him as only sin can make. He had loved
his father more even than he had himself realized.
A Hellish love it had been, without doubt. All
the emotions of his life thus far had been painfully
mixed with self ; but always there had been in the
mind of the young man a lingering desire to do
something great for his father and mother, to
make their lives easier. The burdens incident to
straitened means had pressed heavily upon him
because of them. There had been times when he
had hated the farm, old family homestead though
it was, because it seemed to him the synonym for
poverty and worry. In his boyish days his dreams
of being a great lawyer had been always intermin-
gled with dreams of the state of luxury in which
he would establish his parents. In later years,
his decision to take the position of bookkeeper
in a distillery, though hurriedly made, and with
motives uppermost that made him blush to remem-
ber, had yet this undertone of comfort, that the
large salary would enable him to help his father.
It is true he had done nothing of the kind. In-
stead, he had almost immediately plunged into
debt. He had always assured himself that this
was his wife's fault ; yet with that singular sense
of double consciousness that had gone about with
him despite his attempts at stifling it, he had
known all the while that the 1? .^h expenditure
connected with his marriage and his estaHishing

A HAIIVKST.

:2G1

a li()in(3 had bee^ I'.A'n and fostered by his desire
to show people that he was a prosperous man, de-
spite the fact that Marjorie Edmonds had pre-
ferred some one else.

When months before he had awakened to the
discovery that he was steadily running behind
in his accounts, that his style of living was set
on a scale that it would not be possible for him
to continue unless his income was materially in-
creased, and the rose-colored future pictured by
the junior partner in the distillery had been pointed
out to him, it was made especially attractive by
the thought of what it would enable him to do for
his father and mother. His father would no doubt
feel bitterly prejudiced against the business ; that
was to be expected in so old a man ; but his prej-
udices would grow less bitter from the day that
the mortgage on the old farm was paid, and the
land, eyery foot of which was dear to his father's
heart, secured beyond question to the family name
forever. Then, the debt once disposed of, he
dreamed of the improvements he would make,
still for the family benefit. Pipes should be laid
from the grand old spring, and the water brought
not only to the house, but to his mother's room.
The new stable, on which his father's heart was
set so long ago, should be built, with the longed-
for modern improvements for the comfort of horses.
And his mother should have a summer kitchen
with wire-gauze windows and ventilating flues and

«» (I iT-l ,^r-

ffl'l.

pi.
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I '. . {' ',

I 11

262

oVRiinrr.KD.

the most modern of ranges, and a kitchen cabinet,
and every other device tliat couhl l)e found for
making the daily routine of Ud)()r easy. Moither
had had to do without sucli things all lier life, ])ut
she should have them at last.

These were only dreams ; jdas for the realities I
Not a penny had he been abic! to pay towards can-
celling that mortgage; not a cent of the money
advanced to him after tlie time when he pretended
to l)e supporting himself had l)een returned. In-
stead of making the lives of fatlier and mother
easier, he had deepened their anxieties in a hun-
dred ways. He had come to tliem with complaints
of his sister, and criticisms concerning her, which,
however much deserved, had accomplished nothing
save to make their lives harder. Very plain words
had been spoken to him hy his wife. She had not
hesitated • tell him that his last business venture,
which he assured himself had really been made
for their sakes, was killing his father ; that if he
died, as he would before very long, his son would
be as surely his murderer as though he had taken
a knife and stabbed him. The words had pierced
the son's heart when they were spoken, and had
sent him out, as he bitterly tob' himself, to his
ruin. If it had not been for his wife's words !
T"^p to the very moment of the exposure that hiid
shut him for a single horrible night within prison
walls, Ralph Bmmlett had steadily shielded him-
self and accnsta otuciiri.

■iTT'Wf

" IT MUniT IfAVK ISKKN.

203

CIIAPTKll XXITT.

"IT MKmT HAVI-: WEE'S.

WILL there ever be a longer night than the
one which that poor self-ruined man spent
alone in the room peopled with memories of his
childhood? He could not help looking about him
occasionally and recalling memories. It was a
long time since he had 1)een in that room. Over
there was the bed into which his mother had so
often tucked him on cold winter nights; and when
the })lankets were just to his mind, she had bent
and kissed him, and said cheerily, " Pleasant
dreams." How long ago that was ! He nnist ])e at
least a Innidred years old now! Yonder was the
table where he had sat wlum he wrote the essays
of which they had been so proud. He remendjered
the one that iv.ik the prize. He could tee, as if it
were but yesterday, his father bending over it
with him, asking his opinion about a certain word,
offering a bit of shrewd advice about a sentence,
which advice his son never took — he had been
sufficient to himself and wiser than his father even
in those early days. He could hear his own voice
again,—

^(U

oVKiintiLEi).

I ;!

"Every word of it is mine, fatlier," — spoken
with swelling pride. And then, with an aecession
of superiority, "Some of the fellows in school
copy awfully." Then his father's voice, "That
is right, my boy ; whatever else my son becomes
in the world, I hope he will always be strictly holi-
est in word and deed."

At that very table he had practised his lately
acquired art of shading lettei-s, making what his
father considered beautiful writing ; they had been
proud of his penmanship. He drew out the old
drawer that creaked a good deal, and came out
crooked, and, half way, refused to go farther; it
had been an old table even so long ago as when
this man, who felt so old, was a boy. Within were
the ver^^ papers he had left when he went out from
home. They were a family not given to change,
and both mother and daughter had had a fancy for
preserving this room of Ralph's just as it was. He
turned over the papers — scraps of all sorts of
youthful effort. He found a paper that stabbed
him ; it was simply names, written all over in dif-
ferent styles of writing, — his father's name, his
uncle's, his teacher's, the minister's. He could
hear his own voice distinctly now, —

" Look, father, see how I can imitate Mr. Burr's
handwriting. I don't believe you could tell that
from his." And the father had shaken his head
and said, "A dangerous talent, my boy; I should
not care to cultivate it ; I have known of its get-

"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

i»

265

ting more than one man into mischief." That liad
been long ago, when he was the merest boy. Had
the words been prophetic ? They brought back
suddenly to Ralph Rrandett his awful present. He
shut the drawer with a groan, and turned away.
Yet where should he turn ? The room was peo-
pled with images. Let his eyes fall where they
would, they brought him instantly stories of his
youthful, comparatively innocent, past. And be-
tween that past and this awful night lay a great
gulf.

Given to dreaming from his childhood, there
had scarcely been a phase of possible experience
that this young man had not at some time lived
mentally. When he was a lad of fifteen, there had
been a death in the neighborhood that had left a
young man fatherless, with a mother and two little
brothers dependent upon him. The scenes con-
nected with tliat time had impressed the boy viv-
idly. In imagination he had put himself forward
into manhood, and arranged a similar experience.
His father's sick-bod, that presently became a dy-
ing-bed, and himself the stay and comfort of all
concerned. It had been he to whom his father
had looked for strong and tender helpfulness ; he
alone had V)een able to change his position, admin-
ister medicine or food. It had been his form that
his father's failing eyes followed; his name had
been tiie last word spoken l)y the [laling lips,
spoken in gratitude and trustfulness, eonnuending

iiSfn

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266

OVERRULED.

liis motlier and sister to his care. Afterwards ho
liad been his mother's refuge. He had supported
her with his arm during the last trying moments ;
he had carried lier fainting from the room ; ho
had hung over her in self-forgetful tenderness all
thrf)Ugh the hours that followed, ministering to
her every want. He had upheld his sister with
kind, brave words, and had been told by her and
by his motlier again and again that they could not
live but for him. He had thought of everything;
been ready with directions to the outsiders who
waited for his orders, been wise and thoughtful
above any youi.g man ever known before, and his
praise had been on all lips. Such was the dream.
Here was the reality, and how awful the contrast I
Some facts had repeated his dream ; only across
the hall his father lay at that moment dead. His
mother had been carried half-faijiting from tho
room; but he, the son and brother who was to
have heen all in all to her at that liour, had i;M
dared to so nuieh as raise his eyes to her face.
Nobody couHidted him, nobody thought of hiin.
Ah ! not that last. He knew that everybody
thought of him — with contempt, with indignation,
with shame. For a man like Kalph Bramlett to
be able to conceive of (he world as thinking of him
with scorn and aversion was almost enough to do-
throne his reason. As the hcmi'S wore away, and
Ills haunting memories became more and more keen
Uiid piercing, he sprang up f^jfuost in terror, Ho

t* r'l

IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

•> »

2fi7

began to walk tlio floor with rapid strides. How
was it all to end? How eould he get out of this
room, this house, awny from everyhody \Aho had
ever seen or heard of him before? Was there not
some refuge? lie ((►uld not faee thos(5 [U'ople,
and rt-ad their opinion of him as he glaneed. lie
would rather have been left in prison, loeked
in from these awful ri'tribntions. It was a (;ruel
kindness that had opened those prison dooix, and
let him come forth. No, no I he did not mean
that! lie could not have borne it not to have
heard his father's voice again. And his name had
indeed been the last upon those dying lips. I Jut
oh, could he ever, even when death mercifully re-
leased him from this horror of living, forget the
reason? Even the wife of tifty yeai's had l)een
apjjarently forgotten for the son's sake. But the
reason I oh, the aivful reason ! it would drive him
wild I Vet he had been forgiven. '^ Like as a
father pitieth "— he could seem to hear the fa-
miliar voice (mce again repeating the words. And
tiiHt last word — that very last. What had it been?
•" Pray, Ralph, jyray ! "

*»(> (iod ! " li€ said again in agony, "• I cannot I
I don't know how to pray. I have never prayed
m my life. I have l)een a hypocrite always and
only. When I joined the church I was a hypo-
crite ; when I married my wife I was a hypocrite ;
when I went into what I called business I was a
hypocrite. I have deceived everybody, most of all

268

OVERFIULED.

!'!■

|i;-

I !

myself. I have ruined my life ! I am a felon,
a convict, or soon will be. I am a murderer I I
have killed my father; I shall kill my mother.
If I could only kill myself ! Yet I dare not do
this. Could I risk the chartce even of meeting
my own father again?"

It was an awful experience. Yet one who had
a real heart-knowledge of human experience, and
of the Refuge established for the sin-haunted, might
have had a more hopeful feeling for that young
man's future than ever before. At last he had
beeu entirely frank with himself. For a single
moment he had laid aside all subterfuges, all con-
fessions of the sins of others, stripped himself of
excuses, and stood with his naked soul before him,
taking in not only its "might have been," but
its awful poverty. If only such gaze can last long
enough, an honest soul must be driven from itself
in search of refuge ; and it is then, if ever, that
the claims of the Lord Jesus Christ may be urged.

^leantime, outside, there were anxious confer-
ences.

"I don't know what to do," said Marjorie Ed-
monds in great distress. " It seems cruel to leave
him to himself for so long ; he may be almost in-
sane with grief. This is no common sorrow ; he
ought to have some refreshment, at least. Think
what a night the last one must have been to him,
and the day that followed it ! Now it is almost
morning again. Somebody ought to go to him,"

"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

«»

269

They were standing toj^ether for a moiient, Dr.
Maxwell and herself, near one of tlie eastern win-
dows, consulting as to the various questions that
had come ip for decisioi Dr. Maxwell, compara-
tive stranj^'-'T though he was, by reason of his pro-
fession, had )een very closely allied to the tragedy
that was being enacted. Hannah Bramlett, hav-
ing seen evidences of his skill in tne restoration
of the little child at Factory ville, had insisted on
his seeing her father. 8he had been equally de-
termined to have Marjorie with her, begging her
so earnestly to stay when she called the evening
before, that it seemed cruel to deny her. So
Marjorie had, of necessity, assumed a degree of
management; the neighbors generally seeming to
recognize in her an intimate friend. Mr. Maxwell
had but a short time before driven home with
Mrs. Edmonds, Marjorie agreeing to wait until
she should see Hannah again. As she spoke, they
both noted that the gray light of another morning
was struggling into the sky.

" Who is there that can go to him ? " Dr. Max-
Avell asked. " I thought that at first it would be
better to leave him quite alone; but we may be
overdoing that part of it, as you say. By the
way, where is his wife? I do not remember to
have seen a glimpse of her. Is not she the one
to help him now?"

Marjorie shook her head mournfully.

"She has not been here at all. She went to

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270

OVERRULED.

her father's as soon as she heard the news, — that
other news, I mean, — and refused to come out
here, or to see her husband again. I saw Gljde
for a few minutes hist evening. She and Mr, Bur-
well were here. Mr. Burwell came last night; and
Glyde told me that he exerted all his influence to
induce Mi's. Bramlett to come with them, and be
here when her husband arrived, and failed."

Dr. Maxwell's face darkened. "Is that your
idea of the meaning of marriage vows. Miss Mar-
jorie i

" No ; but there is something to be said for poor
Estelle. She has suffered a great deal, I think ;
sometimes I fancy she is hardly in her right mind.
There has been an estrangement between them for
some time — indeed, I believe they have not even
si)oken together for weeks. Oh, I do not uphold
hei', of coui-se ; but — don't you think it is very
hard to determine what one would do under such
terrible circumstances as hei-s ? "

" Perhaps so. Do you think it hard to deter-
mine what one should do ? '*

" Oh, no, indeed I I feel very sure that she
ought to come ; but I am afmid she is in such
a condition mentally just now, that tliat word
"ought" hiis no power over her."

"Did it ever have? I beg your pardon if I
seem to be luiduly criticising your friends; but
I have wondered if most of the trials of the un-
happy husband, and possibly of the wife also, had

ll! >': li'

"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

i»

271

iiffi

hat

she

in such

[it word

ion if I

ids;

but

the

un-

ilso,

had

not grown out of their inability to grasp the force
of that word ought, and make it a power in their
lives. He seems to me peculiarly a man who has,
perhaps from his early boyhood, allow(;d himself
to do that which for the time being he chanced
to feel like doing, without weighing results, until
he has educated himself into an overmastering
desire to carry out his passing will, let the results
be what they may/'

"It is precisely his diameter; at least, I sup-
pose it is," she added humbly. " My mother has
had that feeling concerning him ever since his
boyhood. I used not to think so; and there was
a time, when we were girl and boy together, that
I think I might have helped him and did not; it
is that thought which makes it so hard for me
to " — she did not complete her sentence.

Dr. Maxwell looked down at her with a grave
smile. " Are you, too, haunted by that torturing
* it might have been ' ? " he asked. '' I tL -^ii half
the misery of wrecked lives must be comprehended
in that phrase. I cannot believe that you can
have made very grave mistakes, so young as you
are ; and yet I can well understand that to a sen-
sitive conscience a memory of what one might
have accomplished for another, and did not, has
power to sting. I know all about it by bitter ex-
perience. I stood side by side on^ evening with a
young man, a l)oy, my friend and classmate ; and
felt impelled — I doubt not now by the })ower

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272

OVERRULED.

I •

p..

, I

of the Holy Spirit — to say to him, 'Come with
me into the room yonder, where people are being
shown the way to Christ;' and I did not say it.
I told myself that it would be of no use, that he
was not in the mood for serious things ; that he
would possibly turn the whole matter into ridi-
cule ; that I might much better wait until some
quiet time when we were alone tojjether. And
I never saw him again. Miss Marjorie; he never
reached his home. An accident overtook him on
the way, and proved fatal. Do not you think I
should be well able to understand the ' might have
been ' of life ? "

Marjorie had never seen him so moved. Yet,
after a moment, he turned promptly, as his fashion
was, from thoughts of self to the needs of the
hour. "What about the sister? Could not she
be depended on in this emergency ? "

" Hannah ? Oh, no ! not to go to Ralph ; at
least, I think it would do no good. He is angry
with her, has refused this long time even to speak
to her. Indeed, Dr. Maxwell, you must think we
have strange friends ! I never realized the small-
ness of all these exhibitions so much as I do now.
What a strange, terrible death-bed scene it was!
But I do not think poor Hannah is to blame — I
mean, that she does not feel bitterly towards Ralph ;
she keeps away from him only because she fears to
do more harm than good. It is dithcult to know
what to do, '

"tt MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

*♦

At that moment the door near which they stood
opened, and Mrs. Brandett came slowly oat. She
had been a brisk little woman all her life, not-
witlistanding her feeble health; but she tottered
now, and put her hand out in a pitiful way, in
search of the wall for support. Her face had a
drawn, haggard look ; and altogether the weight of
many added years seemed to have fallen upon her
in a few houre.

Marjorie moved swiftly toward her, speaking
tenderly.

" Dear Mrs. Bramlett, we hoped you were get-
ting a little sleep. Will you come into the front
room, and let me bring you up a cup of tea and
something to eat? "

Mrs. Bramlett shook her head. " No, dear," she
said ; " I don't feel the need of it. Do you know
where my boy is ? I want to go to him."

" He is over there in his old room. Dear Mrs.
Bramlett, are you strong enough to see him now ?
Won't you take just a little nourishment first?
The teakettle is boiling, and I could make you a
bit of toast in a very few minutes."

" I couldn't eat now, child ; the first mouthful
would choke me. I ought not to have left Ralph
so long, it was selfish in me ; poor boy."

As she spoke, she tottered toward Ralph's door,
tapped gently, received no answer, tapped again,
then, turning the knob, entered, and closed the
door behind her.

B'^

! I

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! J 11 M

1 i

OVERlim.ftb.

" These inothei-s ! " said Dr. Maxwell, Ibnislnng
a mist from before liis eyes ; " we miglit luive
known that she would come to the rescue ; there
is nothing that they cannot endure when tlieir
children are at stake. How one's sympathies are
drawn two ways at once under such circumstances
as these ! I find myself feeling so glad that she is
moved to go to him, and that his door was not
locked against her; yet at the same time I feel
how despicable it is that the strong arm on which
she ought to be able to lean in this time of her
greatest human need has so utterly failed her.
One does not know whether most to despise or
pity that young man. If he has any heart at all,
how it must goad him now to realize that in this
hour of his opportunity he is a broken staff I"

If':

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THR UNEXPECTED.

27;-

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE UNEXPECTED.

IN many ways the days that followed were hard
ones, even to those not immediately connected
with the Bramlett family.

Poor Ralph gave very little trouble to those
who could forget the rare glimpses they had of
his lace. He kept to his room closely, not even
coming to the family table, which, thanks to Mi-s.
Edmonds's thoughtfulness, was kept supplied with
comforts, and served with care. Glyde Douglass
came as though she, instead of her sister, were a
daughter of the house ; and her friend Mr. Bur-
well might have passed for a son-in-law, so un-
tiring was he in his efforts to serve the stricken
household. It was he who carried choice portions
from the table to Ralph's door; never entering,
however, for Mr. Burwell had been distinctly
shown more than once that his very presence was
distasteful to that young man. It was always the
old mother who received the tray at his hands,
and made an effort to force the appetite that had
almost entirely failed.

As for Estelle, she steadily resisted all attempts

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216

bVttRRtJLfitoi

to bring her to a show of propriety. The people
wliose influence she apparently feared, she dis-
posed of by declining altogether to see them. As
she kept her room, and was guarded and cared for
by her elder sister, this was not a difficult thing
to accomplish.

Among those to whom she had utterly refused
admittance was her sister Glyde ; so that Marjorie,
who had depended on Glyde for information, could
not be sure 3 to the poor woman's state of mind,
save as it was shown by her determination not to
do what was desired of her. Even her mother,
who in general sided with Estelle, was of the
opinion that she should attend the funeral. As
for Marjorie, she was intensely anxious that this
should be done ; so much shame, it seemed to
her, Ralph might be shielded from. Since he
must appear before the public to be gazed at,
surely his wife might bear the ordeal with him,
and thus close the eager mouths of the gossips in
this direction. Moreover, his mother's heart was
set upon it; so they all labored in various ways
to bring it to pass, and failed.

"I do not know a person who has influence
over Estelle," said Marjorie mournfully, " except
Ralph himself ; since he. has failed, it seems use-
less for any one to tiy."

" Has he made the effort ? " Dr. Maxwell asked.

"Oh. yes I didn't you know? Glyde says he
sent a note to her last night, asking if she^^ would

'■ :!r •'

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277

do that one thing' for hi.s mother's sake ; and the
sister who stays with her said she read it, and
turned her face to the wall, only shaking her
head when asked if an answer was to l)e returned."

" Then she is utterly hardened," said Dr. Max-
well, with the stern look on his face which made
one realize that he was a man, instead of what he
sometimes appeared, a merry-hearted boy.

"No," said Marjorie ; "she is only a naughty
child, who cannot get the consent of herself to
give up the role she had resolved upon ; so many
people seem to me never to have grown up. Poor
Ralph is one of them. See how he treats Mr.
Burwell ! yet he came from New York at this
time on purpose to try to be of assistance to Ralph
himself."

"WhoisMr. Burwell?"

"Don't you know? He is engaged to Glyde
Douglass ; but that doesn't tell you who he is,
does it? He belongs to the firm of Peel & Mc-
Masters of New York. He was admitted to the
bar only a few weeks ago, and retains his position
in their office; not exactly a partner, I suppose,
but still associated with them in such a way that
it is said his buainess success is secured."

"If that is so," said Dr. Maxwell eagerly,
"young Bramlett would do well to retain his
influence. Such names as Peel & Mc Masters to
back one are not secured easily."

"I suppose not; but it seems as though poor

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278

OVKlliUTLKD.

Rulpli wjis always bent <m working against liis
own interests, lie has a pi'ejndice against Mr.
JUirwell, an entirely unreasonable one, I think.
Veare ago he had an oi>i)ortnnity to enter the
office of Peel & McMasters himself, as a student.
lie had been eagerly waiting for some time in the
hope of seijuring tiie next vacancy; but owhig to
an absence from home he missed the telegram
sunnnoning him, and, by some misunderstanding,
Mr. Burwell secured the vacant place. I could
not learn that there was anything in the least
underhanded about it, but Ralph peraisted in think-
ing that there was. He has brooded over it all
this while; and now, although Mr. Burwell is
his sister's promised husband, refuses to have any-
thing to say to him."

" The more I hear about that personage," said
Dr. Maxwell, " the more surprised I am that he
has not ruined himself even earlier in life. He is
in all respects so completely the spoiled boy."

" Is it ruin ? " Marjorie asked in a low voice, her
face paling at the thought.

" No ; not ruin, but salvation I liope, and to a
degree believe. It seems to me that that last
prayer of his father's will surely be answered.
But as the average man looks at these things, I
am afraid it is ruin. That is, I fear that there
is no escape from the punishment that the law de-
mands. I need hardly tell you that Leonard and
I will do our utmost for him ; and this young man

THE CNE)iPIiiCtKl).

279

Burwell is a powerful ally if lie has the position
you think he holds ; but there is a powerful enemy
to meet. The tirm of Snyder, Snyder, «& Co.,
.never noted for exeessive kindness of heart, seems
to l)e especially vindictive in this ctise ; more par-
ticularly that junior partner, who, 1 am told, Mr.
Brandett looked upon almost as a pei-sonal friend.

** There is another side to the matter. Miss Mar-
jorie," — this last added after a pause of some sec-
onds, — "I am to do, as I told you, my utmost to
save him from the penalty of the law ; but I con-
fess that I do it under protest, and out of regard
for his friends, rather than for himself. On gene-
ral principles, I am inclined to think that the best
thing that can happen to a transgressor is to suffer
the penalty. I am not sure but this is especially
the case in the present instance. To make wrong-
doing easy to a man like Mr. Bramlett is, if I
understand his character, to help him to self -ruin.
Yet I am being overruled by my interest in his
friends, and shall do my utmost, without any pros-
pect of success.'*

The dreaded day was lived through, and the
worn-out body of Ralph's father was consigned to
its last rest. The expected crowd gathered, many
of them sympathetic, some of them curious to the
last degree. There was not a great deal on which
to feed their curiosity. None of the family were
to be seen, save in their tmnsit from the upper
hall to the carriage ; then the curious had oppor-

4 '

f f

OVERKllLEt).

tunity to observe tliiit tlie widow leaned licavily
on the arm of her daughter, and that Ikt sou
walked behind her hi solitude, though tlie three
entered the same carriage.

"Shouldn't you have thought that she might
have had the decency to come to the funerall "
the voluble voice of Mrs. Kenyon was ohserving
just as Dr. Maxwell returned from assisting tlu'
last departures into their carriages. Mr. Maxwell,
with Mrs. Edmonds and Marjorie, had followed in
the procession to the cemetery, after the fashion of
the locality; but Dr. Maxwell had tarried behind
to be of use as occasion offered. He gave his tii-st
attention to Mrs. Kenyon.

" It just shows what a miserable hussy she is !
I am sure father Bramlett never did her any harm,
whatever may be said of the son ; even if he had,
she might come and see him laid away in the
ground. Anybody that will cany spite to such
a length as that I've no patience with. I just
as good as know there was some horrible trouble
between her and him that drove him to the for-
ging business; her actions now show it."

"If you are speaking of Mrs. Ralph Bramlett,
she is not out to-day because, as a physician sum-
moned to give his opinion, I positively forbade her
leaving her room." It was Dr. Maxwell's clear-
cut voice just behind her that made the gossip
start and turn hastily.

"I want to know!" she said humbly. "Is the

Uiii

THE UNKXPKCTED.

281

poor thing sick ? It is tlic wry fii-st I have heard
of it. Well, well I troubles never come singly,
they say ; how true it is. I'm sure slie is excusa-
ble if slie is sick. I will take pains to let folks
know it. She isn't dangerous, I hope ? "

"She is suffering a good deal," said the doctor
ambiguously, as he hastened away from further
questioning.

But, the evening before, he had taken Glyde
Douglass home ; and while waiting for a package
that he was to take to Marjorie, had been hastily
summoned to Mrs. Bramlett. She had been ill all
day, but had utterly refused to see a physician ;
now she had fainted, and frightened her mother
and sister into action. It was a relief to those
especially concerned, to be assured the next day
by Dr. Maxwell that Mrs. Ralph Bramlett was
much too ill to think of leaving her room.

" It is eminently more respectable to be able to
speak of her as ill," said Mrs. Edmonds with a
grave smile, " than to be obliged to admit, at lejist
by silence, that she is sulking, at such a time as
this."

Mindful of those words. Dr. Maxwell had taken
pains, by informing Mrs. Kenyon, to give the fact
of illness as wide a circulation as possible.

All things considered, it seemed to the Edmonds
household as though months must have intervened
since they gathered in the family sitting-room.
Now they had come to the last evening of Dr,

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282

OVERRULED.

iMaxwell's stay with them. Already he had ex-
tended his leave of absence two weeks beyond the
original period, and knew that he must not under
any pretext tarry longer. Yet apparently he was
as loath to leave his resting-place as the others
were to see him depart.

" I really don't know what we are going to do
without your brother," Mrs. Edmonds had said
that afternoon. " He came to us so short a time
ago a stranger, and now it seems like parting from
one of my own children, to say good-by to him."

Rut she spoke cheerily, dear innocent lady.
She liked and admired Dr. Maxwell; next to his
brother she felt that she liked him better than any
of her friends, and of coui-se it would be hard to
part with him ; but after all, she told herself, it
was not as if Leonard were going. She could see
reasons why, for a time, it would actually be bet-
ter to have the brother away. Next summer, per-
haps, he could come to them for the ' *^^ire season,
and because of circumstances feel even more at
home with them than he did at present ; but just
now " — and so the dear little mother dreamed her
dream and smiled, and planned to make that last
evening as social as possible. It is simply incredi-
ble how blind even very astute people can be at
times, when their minds and hearts are filled witli
preconceived ideas.

Her social evening did not develop as she had
planned,

THE UNEXPECTED.

283

" It is almost too pleasant for the house/' she
had said at the tea-table; "yet I think we shall all
want to stay at home to-night, and in the house ;
we have l)een through so much of late. Besides,
we want to make the most of the doctor's last
evening, and be where we can all look at him at

once.

A l)ui'st of laughter had followed this sugges-
tion, and Dr. Maxwell had made much of it in the
merriest way during the remainder of the meal.
But no sooner was the late tea disposed of than
Mrs. Edmonds's household disappeared, — melted
away, one might say, before her eyes, or at least
during an absence of a very few minutes. She
went to the kitchen to give some directions to her
maid, and on her return no one was to be seen.
Within the pretty parlor everything was in order
for a family gathering. Mrs. Edmonds, rejoicing
that the evening was cool enough to admit of
lights, made the room bright, wheeled the easy-
chaire into positions suggesting rest and comfort,
and waited for her family. Ten minutes, fifteen,
a half-hour. It was very strange what had be-
come of them. Marjorie was not in the habit of
disappearing without a word to her mother. An
occasional movement overheavl suggested that one
of the gentlemen was in his room; perhaps both
were there; but in that case where was Marjorie?
Another half-hour passed ; and this mother, who
hiyl been so tenderly cared for heretofore, Ijegan

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284

OVERRFLED.

to have a curious sense of desertion and general
ill-treatment. Then there came slow, measured
steps down the stairs, and Mr. Maxwell entered
quietly.

" Alone ? " he asked, but in the tone that people
use when they feel that something must be said,
rather than that they care for an answer.

" Why, yes, I seem to be. Have you any idea
where Marjorie is ? She said nothing to me about
going out."

" I think they went for a walk, Mrs. Edmonds ;
she and Frank."

" That is very strange ! I mean, it is very un-
usual. Marjorie is so accustomed to mentioning
all her goings to me that I have fallen into the
habit of expecting it as a matter of course. Be-
sides, I thought we were all to have a sort of 'at
home ' evening together? "

Mr. Maxwell seemed to have no reply ready for
this interrogative remark. He went over to the
piano, and struck a few notes apparently at ran-
dom ; then, still standing, played through the mel-
ody of a hymn that was a favorite with him.
Mrs. Edmonds, who was also very familiar with
it, said over mentally the words, as the melody
proceeded.

"If through unruffled seas

Toward heaven we calmly sail,
With grateful hearts, O God, to thee
We'll own the favoring gale,"

THE UNEXPECTED.

285

The strains continued, being repeated and re-
peated, as though the player were also giving the
words with his inner consciousness. Mrs. Ed-
monds could not think of the next verse; she
strained her memory as people will after the unim-
portant ; but the only other words she could recall

were, —

"Teach us in every state

To irake thy will our own ;
And when the joys of sense depart,
To live hy" —

The melody came to a sudden pause, and the mu-
sician came over to where she sat.

" Do you know what is going on out there in
the moonlight, my friend ? "

She lifted startled eyes to his face. "How
should I ? What do you mean ? "

" I hope you like my brother Frank very much ;
I assure you he is in every way worthy of respect
and love."

It was impossible not to understand his mean-
ing. Look and tone added what was lacking in
the words. The mother gave a little involuntary
start, a murmured word of exclamation, then sat
quite still for several minutes. Mr. Maxwell
began a slow walk up and down the quiet room.

Presently she broke the stillness. "It may
seem a strange question for a mother to ask, but
do you know what the outcome will be ? I mean,
do you think that Marjorie " —

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286

OVERRULED.

She stopped, unable to ask another whether her
daughter's heart had been given away.

" I have no knowledge on the subject, Mi-s.
Edmonds, other than that which m}'^ inner con-
sciousness gives me ; but my belief is that it will
presently be my duty to congratulate you."

Then, with a sudden start, she realized the
effort that it must cost him to say these words to
her.

" O Leonard I " she said, a mother's tenderness
in her voice ; " what can I say to you ? "

He paused before her with a grave smile on his
face. " Mrs. Edmonds, do you know the words
of the tune I was playing?

• * Teach us in every state

To make thy will our own.'

Can these things be mere accident? Must we not
trust our Father through whatever path he leads
us ? "

Footsteps were heard on the lawn, and a murmur
of voices.

"Clood-night," added Mr. Maxwell abruptly;
and taking his hat from its station in the hall, he
passed out at the side door, as Marjorie and her
comi)anion entered the front one.

Dr. Maxwell went directly up-stairs; but Mar-
jorie came to her mother, and put loving arms
about her.

THE UNEXPF.CTED.

28'

'^ O niotherie I " she said, " I am afraid we have
si)oiled your quiet, social evening; but Fnmk hud
something to tell me. Can you guess, mamma,
what it is ? "

mMI

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M;'-n

288

OVERRULED.

CHAPTER XXV.

JUNE AGAIN.

"ATAMMA," said Marjorie, pausing at her

IVX mother's door, " there has been a change
of programme. Frank will drive you to Park
Place and wait for you, if you don't object. I
want to go with Leonard to make that promised
call at Hill House. It is just the morning for a
walk as long as that, and I want to have a quiet
talk with Leonard."

" Very well," said Mi-s. Edmonds in a satisfied
tone of voice, " arrange it to suit yourselves ; I
certainly shall not object to Frank's company, if
he doesn't to mine. There will have to be consid-
erable waiting for me I am afraid, this morning;
and Frank is more patient than you are, daughter."

" I know it," with a happy little laugh. " Frank
is more everything than I am, mamma. You can't
make me jealous of him if you try." She ran
g'.iyly down the stall's as she spoke, and joined Mr.
Maxwell in the hall.

Mrs. Edmonds had had ample time to grow
accustomed to and satisfied with Dr. Frank Max-
well. For more than a year he had been her sou-

JUNE AGAIN.

289

ler sou-

in-law. It was quite two years since that evening
that they had planned to spend socially together,
and liad in reality spent much apart. On the fol-
lowing morning they had separated, Dr. Maxwell
returning to his work, and the othei-s trying hard
to take up life where they had left it on the day
of his arrival; every one of them realizing that
the old life could never be taken up again — six
weeks had made such radical changes as would
tell for all time. Only happy changes to Marjorie.
Her face was radiant during those days with her
new found joy in life ; and thanks to the watchful
guardianship of mother and friend, she was not
allowed to know, either then or afterward, that
she had shadowed a life.

Within a week of his brother's departure, Mr.
Maxwell also took leave of his summer home. lie
had not expected to go so soon, at least Marjorie
had no idea tluit he was to go until October ; but
a letter from his mother, announcing her arrival
in this country several weeks earlier than she had
at first intended, had changed his supposed plans ;
so Mrs. Edmonds and her daughter were left to
themselves. Marjorie grumbled about it a little.

" It is ever so lonesome, mamma, without Leon-
ard, isn't it? One expected to have to get on
without Frank, but I thought we were sure of
Leonard until October. I wonder if his mother
thinks any more of him than we do? Dear me ! I
wonder what the mother is like ? I believe I feel

m
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290

OVEnnULED.

half afraid of her. My own little motherie has
spoiled me for any other, and she is the only one
in the world of that sort."

The sentence was frequently interrupted by gay
little kisses, which Marjorie placed on her mother's
eyes, her nose, her chin, on any improbable place.
She had gone back in those few days to the light-
heartedness of her early girlhood. Mi*s. Edmonds,
watching her, and noting how entirely the shad-
ows had lifted from her fair face, could not but be
happy in her daughter's happiness, and hide away
her own sore disappointment. Sometimes she
feared it was not entirely hidden. For instance,
at that moment Marjorie, with her mother's face
between lier two hands, drew back and scanned it
closely, as she said, "I believe you are the only
one who is not entirely satisfied and happy. You
had such an absurd little day-dream to be carried
out, and we all disappointed you so. Poor moth-
erie ! to have failed in your only attempt at match-
making ! You wanted Leonard nnd me to be
lovei-s, and we would pereist in being only the
best of friends. Mammy, I warn you, if you give
the least little speck more of your heart to Leonard
than you do to Fmnk, I shall he jealous of him."
Then, with a sudden change of tone, " Mother
dear, doesn't it seem almost too bad that Leonard
does not find some strong, sweet woman who is in
eveiy way worthy of his heart, and give it to her?
There must be such a woman in the world. Or

JTTNE AT. A IX.

291

1 V !<

has she, possibly, gone to heaven? Perhaps it is
the memory of some sweet early friend that has
given his face such a different look from other
faces. Only, if it were so, I almost think he
wonld have told me, so intimate as we have l)een.
I was tempted to ask Frank confidentially ahont
hir ; but the brothers have been so separated of
late yeare that I think perhaps we know Leon-
ard better than does his own family. Isn't it
blessed, mamma, to have such a brother — and to
have found the brother first I that is unusual,
isn't it?"

Mrs. Edmonds kissed the bright face close to
hers, and suppressed her sigh, and said, " I would
not ask Frank about him, daughter, if I were you.
Since he has not chosen to give you his confidence,
would it not l)e better to respect his reserve ? "

"Of cimree, mother; you are right, as usual.
But I cannot help wishing there were some angel
good enough for Leonard. It seems hard that he
should have to be content with only a very faulty
sister."

" Why are not your sympathies drawn out
toward Frank, my dear, since you see your faults
so plainly?" Mi's. Edmonds could not help in-
dulging herself in this little study, to discover,
if she might, why the one brother had been so
entirely successful where the other had signally
failed.

" Oh, Frank I ' Marjorie said with a rich blush,

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OVERRULED.

and the happiest of little laughs ; ** he is not per-
fect, like his brother; I assure you, mamma, I
shall be much better for him than any angel that
was ever created."

And the mother could not doubt it.

Very swiftly had the fall and winter sped.
Broken at the holidays by a hurried visit from Dr.
Maxwell, who brought his brother's regrets, that
gentleman having deemed it advisable to spend
Christmas and New Year's Day with his mother
in a distant part of the State. v

In the following June, within two days after
Dr. Maxwell was freed from college life, there
was a quiet wedding in Mrs. Edmonds's front
parlor, no guests not immediately connected with
the two families being present save Glyde Douglass
Burwell and her husband, and Hannah Bramlett.

Nothing more unlike the dreams and fancies of
Mar jorie's early girlhood could have been imagined
than this very simple, very private wedding.

"I used to think," she said to her mother, as
they stood together in the bridal chamber a few
minutes before the hour for the ceremony, " I used
to think, mamma, that if ever I married, I would
have a magnificent church wedding, with flowers
and ribbons, and carriages and poiat-lace, and
bridesmaids and maid of honor, and all the finer-
ies and follies that such an occasion could possibly
offer an excuse for. I planned regardless of ex-
pense, precisely as though you were a rich woman,

JUNE AGAIN.

2dd

you understand ; I think girls often do, and grow
into the idea that such accompaniments are neces-
sities. Positively, I have come to believe that
even such trivial matters as these have a great
deal to do with the mistaken marriages of which
there seem to be so many. Girls, young and
thoughtless, become fascinated by the display that
surrounds the marriage ceremony, the mere out-
side show I mean, and accept tlie husband.? as
necessary adjuncts to that hour of splendor, with
almost no serious thought about their future.
Mother," with a sudden little tremble in her
voice, " I came so near, so very near, at one time,
to making one of those awful mistakes ! Can you
think how it makes me feel to remember where he
is to-day ? "

And Mrs. Edmonds krew that her daughter
had gone back to her early girlhood, to the time
when she had expected to be Ralph Bramlett's
bride. Even the mother shivered at the thought ;
for Ralph Bramlett that day wore a convict's dress.
Every effort that had been faithfully and pei-sis-
tently put forth in his behalf had failed, and three
months before Marjorie's marriage-day he had re-
ceived his sentence. What if he head been her
darling's husband !

" Daughter," she said, a sudden trembling seiz-
ing her as she clung to the beautiful white-robed
girl, " it frightens me to think of what might have
been." Then, after a few moments, during which

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294

OVEUllULED.

hIjo was caressed and soothed as tliough she liad
been the (hingliter, she said, —

"Dear child, forgive the question I am going to
U.SK ; it seems to me that I must. You liave so
often told me since that early time that you l)e-
lieved that you were not like other girls, that you
should never marry; will you tell me — are you
sure, quite, quite sure, that you were mistaken iu
youi-self, and that your highest and holiest needs
are met in this marriage ? "

"Mother!" the girl lient over her, and wound
the silken rol)es about her in a tender embrace that
was almost maternal, "my little mother I do you
think I can have you worrying your heart witli
such questions? I was very much in earnest in
what I said, very sincere ; and I should have kept
my word, I am confident, if I had not met Frank
Maxwell. But that, you see, overturned all my
intentions. I am very, very sure that no other
man on earth could have done it." And then
that all-conquering man had knocked at the door,
and they had gone down to the parlor, and in five
minutes more the mother's one darling had be-
come Mrs. Frank Maxwell.

One bit of gossip that floated afterwards to the
eai's of the bride had set her into heartiest laugh-
ter.

" I want to know if she is really married ! "
Mrs. Kenyon was reported to have said. " Well,
now, which one was it? I never could be sure

JUNE AGAIN.

29o

myself, and I don't see how she could be. The
professor certainly had the most chance, and she
seemed to divide hei-self equally between them
when they were here together; and I didn't know
but at the last minute she would change her mind
and take him.'*

The doctor had carried liis bride away with him
tliat evening; an<l Mr. Maxwell had lingered, tak-
ing possession of his old room, and giving the
K)nely mother nuich of his time and care, until in
Septend)er she was ready to join her daughter in
her new home. The following June had brought
him to the old home again with Mix. ICdmonds,
and now for two happy weeks Dr. and Mi's. Frank
Maxwell had been there also. It was Dr. Max-
well's fii'st vacation of any extent since tliat six
weeks' one in which he had accomplished so much;
and he was enjoying it with all the abandon tliat
had characterized his earlier days. Many were
the rides and walks and visits the four had already
enjoyed together.

" Quite like old times," Dr. Frank was fond of
saying; though at least one of the party felt dis-
tinctly the sharp contrast between the present and
the past.

On the particular morning with which this chap-
ter opens, Marjorie Maxwell had elected, for rea-
sons best known to heraelf, to divide the company,
and keep her brother-in-law to herself.

There was certainly a strong flavor of t

past

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in this leisurely walk together through the familiar
streets. They could scarcely help talking of old
times, or at least of old friends, as they passed
houses and corners that recalled them vividly.
Especially was this the case when they passed
the house where Ralph Bramlett's brief and
stormy married life had been spent, and noted
that windows and doors were thrown open to the
morning, and the voices of happy children at play
floated to them from the little side yard.

" You see him occasionally still ? " inquired Mr.
Maxwell, as they both looked earnestly at the
house where they had been so often guests ; he
had no need to use names.

" Occasionally, yes ; Frank tries to see him reg-
ularly every two weeks ; and (Hyde, I think, never
misses a visiting-day, though she is crowded with
work and care. Hasn't she been a faithful sister-
in-law ? "

" And is Frank as well pleased with the change
in him as ever? There has beeii so much to talk
about since we met that I haven't asked particu-
larly concerning him."

" Oh, Frank is more than pleased. He says that
people who have not seen him since that time
would not recognize him; there is such a radical
change in looks as well os manner. And I, who
see him less often, probably notice it even more ;
besides, his record there shows for itself. Mr.
Adams told Frank that every one in the house

JUNE AGAIN.

297

respected him. Isn't it strange that he should
have had to go through such an ordeal before
finding the right road, or at least before being
willing to walk in it?"

" Yet the change came before the legal punish-
ment began."

" I know — did Frank tell you about it ? That
second night beside his father's coffin. I hope the
father knew it right away ! Frank says it is very
touching to hear him tell it. Has he told you the
particulars ? "

" Ralph wrote to me," said Mr. Maxwell, speak-
ing with evident effort after a moment's hesitation.
" It seems he had an old grudge or prejudice
against me, — I am sure I did not know it, — and
felt that he wanted to apologize ; there was no
need, but he wrote an earnest, manly letter ; such
a one, I confess, as I had not thought he could
write ; and among other things he told me the
story of that night. In his extremity, he said,
the Lord Jesus Christ came and held out his liand.
How many witnesses He has to a like experience
with like results I Does it not seem strange some-
times that there should be any doubtei*s ? There
is no better attested fact in all history than that
pereonal contact with Jesus Christ transforms lives.

*' Does Mi-s. Burwell ever hear from her sister
in the West?"

"Not at all. Doesn't it seem too sad? She
htus alienated hei-self from them all. Now that

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her mother is gone, there is apparently no link
between them. The eldest sister is with Glyde,
you know ; but she never heai-s, either. The uncle
with whom Estelle is, writes occasionally to Glyde ;
but he was never given to letter-writing, Glyde
says, and if they do not hear from him once in six
months, they are iiot surprised. He mentions Es-
telle only in the most casual and fragmentary way.
I am afraid that such mention tells too much ; for
the uncle is very fond of Glyde, — why, he is the
Uncle Anthony about whom she used to talk so
much, — and if there were anything cheering to
say, he would be sure to say it. However, he is
evidently very good to Estelle ; if she had not
had such a refuge, I do not know what would
have become of her — father and mother both gone.
Nothing any sadder than those two wrecked lives
has come to my knowledge. There are times
when it seems as though I could not have it so.
Now that Ralph is a changed man, I feel as though
something ought to be done to bring them together.
Only think of it ! he has never seen his little boy ;
and, if this continues, is not likely to."

" Yet, if she is not a changed woman, could
their coming together work out anything but mis-
ery? That she is utterly silent towards her hus-
band augurs very ill for her. I have old-fashioned
notions about marriage-vows, Marjorie."

Thus they talked of old acquaintances and new
experiences, and moralized after a fashion that be-

? "

JUNE AGAIN.

200

longed to them, moving slowly the while toward
" Hill House," as the building on the hill above
the factories had come to be known. The Maxwell
brothers had continued its rental since that month
when Mrs. Miller and her sick child had been
removed there. Many others had since enjoyed a
week or a month, or, on occasion, three months'
respite from their hard lives by a sojourn there.
Among the initiated in Factoryville they called the
place not Hill House, but " Heaven," speaking
the word reverently. A few other rooms had been
furnished in simple and sanitary fashion, and it
was well underetood that Hannah Bramlett and
her mother had the ^enei-al supervision of the
entire house. No great expenditures in any direc-
tion had been necessary ; there was nowhere any
lavish display of funds, and yet the necessary
money for doing what manifestly ought to be done
seemed always to be forthcoming. Altogether
Hill House was a very unique and interesting
mystery to many curious people.

Mrs. Marjorie, though undoubtedly enjoying her
talk, had all the while, to those who knew her
well, the manner of one who has something more
importiint in reserve that he means to reach when
the set time shall arrive. At last she reached it
by the question, —

" How is Hannah prospering ? '*

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CHAPTER XXVI.

HALF THE STORY.

HANNAH," said Mr. Maxwell, " is a comfort
in many ways, and a success. She is in
her element in managing Hill House. I think
you would be surprised to see how wisely she ad-
ministei-s affairs there. Her talents ought to be
utilized in a much larger way. At present, how-
ever, she owes her first duty, of course, to her
mother. But the dear little old lady grows feeble ;
Hannah will wait alone for Ralph's home-coming,
I fear."

. " It was so good of you to plan to let her stay
at the old farm," said Marjorie gratefully. " I
heard the story of the mortgage all over again
from Hannah's eager lips ; she could not tell me
enough about it."

" Hannah is very generous to her friends."
" Do the gossips let her alone nowadays ? " was
the next question, asked a little timidly. The
reply was prompt and free.

" Ah, that reminds me ; I have great news for
you. I hope you remember Bill Seber, and the
trouble he used to give Miss Hannah by paying

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HALF THE STORY.

301

too much attention to her pretty pupil, Susie
Miller? She was so tried about it that she en-
listed Jack Taylor in Susie's behalf. Jack, you
know, always enters into things with a vim; and
he prosecuted his duties as protector of Susie with
such vigor and success that the girl forgot Bill
Seber entirely, and gave her allegiance to Jack.
Result, a charming little wedding that is in pros-
pect. I fancy it is to be held at Hill House ; and
if I am not greatly mistaken, you and Dr. Frank
will be honored with invitations. Great excite-
ment prevails in regard to the minutest details.
You will be glad to know, as an instance of what
may perhaps be called poetic justice, that Bill
Seber seems to be chief man. Does that story an-
swer your question ? Even the 'gossips have dis-
covered that Jack Taylor is otherwise engaged ;
and as for Miss Hannah, I believe she has learned
the lesson that diffusive helpfulness is the best
and truest kind. She has not selected any substi-
tute for Jack, but has any number of special pro-
teges now, and is certainly one of the most helpful
workers they have at the Mission or the evening
school. Don't you remember Frank used to say
when he first met her that slie was an illustration
of energy run to waste ? " And then Mrs. Marjorie
resolved to make her opportunity without waiting
for a more favorable time.

"Leonard," she began, a touch of timidity in
her voice, "I am just the same as your Hruly'

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sister am I not, and may speak to you quite as
plainly as a real sister might?"

" Assuredly I cannot conceive of ary words
from you that I should consider too plain. I
think you must know how I appreciate my place
on your list of relatives."

She laughed lightly. " Do not take me too
seriously, liconard, or I shall be afraid to proceed.
I'm going to criticise you if you do not frighten
me out of it ; and it is a line of criticism to which
I am certain you are not used. Do you remember
speaking very plain words to me once about poor
Ralph, and the mistakes I made in trying to help
him ? Has it never occurred to you that possibly
you might be making a mistake in the same direc-
tion?"

That it had not, was evidenced at once by his
look of utter bewilderment. »

"This is woi-se than a conundrum," he said
cheerily; "and I was never known to guess one of
those creations. Speak plainly, my dear sister; I
assure you I am quite prepared for the woi-st I "

It was impossible not to laugh, and several more
minutes were wasted in fun ; then Marjorie grew
suddenly grave.

"Seriously, Ijcanard, there is something that I
very much want to say to you, and to say it with
delicacy and dignity ; but the subject-matter is so
foreign to you that I do not know how to set about
it. Let me put it in plain language, I do not like

HALF THE STOUY.

803

circumlocution. T am afraid that because of your
kindness and thoughtfulness and perfect courtesy
toward one woman, you are awakening, not ex-
pectations, perhaps, but feelings that you would
not like to arouse, and making wounds that will
be hard to heal. Remember, I am sure before you
tell me so, that you have not had such an idea.
Perhaps you will even find it 'lard to believe that
I am right ; but I know I ans ."

Her listener's face expressed only amazement.

" I was never at a more utter loss to understand
one's meaning," he said, speaking gravely enough,
but yet with that cheerful air, which said, "You
are evidently laboring under some sort of mistake
that I can set right in two minutes, if you will be
so kind as to enlighten me with regard to it."

Marjorie hesitated, and almost wished that she
had not begun. It was so at war with all her
ideas of friendship, this laying bare the sacred
secrets of othei's.

"Has it never occurred to you," she said slowly,
choosing her words with great care, "that Han-
nah, being a woman, and having a warm, true heart,
might be giving it unawares in a direction that
could cause her only pain ? "

And then she felt a sudden irritation against
this brother who had heretofore seemed all but
perfect. His face expressed only sincere perplex-
ity. Why need he be so absurdly obtuse? He-
cause he was superior, apparently, to the weakness

304

OVEltRULED.

of an absorbing human affecti» n, need he therefore
forget that he was surrounded by people who were
very human indeed ?

"My dear Marjorie," he said gently, "I must be
very stupid ; no such thought has for a moment
occurred to me. I cannot think, indeed, I am sure,
that you do not refer to Jack Taylor. I assure
you, she is simply delighted with this approaching
marriage ; her whole heart is in it."

" Tack Taylor, indeed ! " Marjorie could not ,
help an outburst of laughter, though feeling much
inclined to cry instead, with something akin to
vexation.

" O Leonard ! Of all absurd creatures, a man
under certain circumstances can be the most so.
I am talking, or trying to talk, about you. Don't
you know that you have been very especially kind
to Hannah of late, and that she has not had many
friends, and tliat she has a great, true, appreciative
heart ? Can you not step down from your heights
of superiority long enough to conceive of the mis-
chief you might do ? "

He was silent for so long that she began to fear
she had offended him, and glanced timidly at his
face. It expressed only distress.

" I hope and believe that you are mistaken," he
said at last. " It would give me deeper pain than
I could express in words, to cause Miss Hannah,
or for that matter any other lady, a moment's suf-
fering, 01- to be the means of any misunderetand-

HALF THE STOUY.

305

ing. I cannot think it possible that a woman who
has shown herself to be so sensible could — how-
ever, I need not pursue the subject further ; it
were discourtesy to her to do so. I need hardly
tell you, Marjorie, that I appreciate your motive,
and have to thank you, as usual. It may be that
in my preoccupation I have been sufficiently care-
less to set those gossiping tongues, of which you
used to stand in such fear, at work again ; if so, I
am truly mortified. Part of my ^reed has been
that no gentleman should so conduct himself with
a lady as to make her the subject of unpleasant
remark."

He began immediately to talk of other mattei*s,
and held Marjorie so closely after that to interests
connected with Hill House, that neither then, nor
on their return trip, was there opportunity to add
another word. She felt a trifle sore over it. The
interview had not been what she had planned,
kihe had believed that this man, who had shown
her a brother's kindness always, would be frank
and communicative with her, instead of closing
her mouth almost as he might have done Mi's.
Kenyon's. She said something of the kind to her
husband at the first moment of privacy; and he
had soothed her with the reminder that Leonard
was not like any other man living, and must not
be judged by the same rules.

" He lives in the clouds," said that wise brother,
"and always did; just the warmest human love

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that he knows anything about lie gives to mother
and you. and it simply bewildere him to suppose
that any one could imagine him as having more
to give. Hut he will do the wise thing by your
friend Hannah in some way ; see if he doesn't."

Feeling that at least she had done her best, and
vaguely fearing lest in some way it should prove
to be, nevertheless, her worst, Marjorie tried to dis-
miss the matter from her thoughts with ill success.
Mr. Maxwell she saw little of during the after-
noon. He remained in his room, " at work on his
everlasting book," her husband reported ; and the
evening gathering was therefore looked forward to
with something like solicitude on Marjorie's part.
But directly after tea Mr. Maxwell went out with-
out explanation to anybody ; Avhen he returned it
was late, and Marjorie and her husband had been
long in their own room. After that, life went on
much as usual. Not even Marjorie could detect
the slightest shade of difference in her brother-in-
law's manner toward her ; and it was not until
yeai's afterward that she learned how he 'spent that
eveninar.

As a matter of fact, the text-book that he was
preparing received very little of Mr. Maxwell's
attention that summer afternoon ; instead, he gave
himself to thought and prayer as to his present
duty, in view of the revelation that Marjorie had
made to him. The more carefully he considered
it, the more sure he was that she was right, and

HAU<^ fllK hifnnV.

307

that he had l)een culi)al)ly blind and careless. IJy
evening his way seemed clear; and he took him-
self, as early as propriety wonld admit, out to the
Branilett farm, and sat down in the Iar<»:e old-
fashioned parlor near Hannah, whose <»rave face
had brightened visibly at the sound of his voice.

There were mattei*s of interest to talk abuit, as
there always were, connected with liill House;
especially so in view of the approaching marriage
ceremony to take place there. After duly con-
sidering various questions of exi)edience that had
arisen since their last talk, Mr. Maxwell delilnM*-
ately made the convei'sation personal by saying, —

"This planning marriage festivities and house-
keeping details is queer work i)erhaps for Ji con-
lirmed bachelor like myself, is it not? Hut I assure
you I enjoy it. I do not think that even you can
take a stronger interest in this young couple than
I do. I fancy that some of the pleasure of my
life will be found in watching othei-s set sail on
the stream that I shall never by experience know
anything about. I like to give a little pull now
and then with the oai's, as by your kindness I am
permitted to do in this case."

The hand visibly trend)led that was turning
over the papers on which the names of guests to
be invited to Hill House had been written ; and
Hannah's voice was constrained as she tried to say
lightly, —

" I should think you were young to talk about

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being a confirmed bachelor. You'll be setting sail
yourself some day."

He shook his head, and spoke with exceeding
gravity, —

"No, Miss Hannah; possibly I am peculiar; I
do not profess to know other men very well, but
I believe I know myself. It is possible, no doubt,
for a man to meet two women who, at different
stages of his matured life, he might desire to
marry. For me there was only one. Her I have
lost, and I am as sure as though the grave had
already closed ovi^r me that no woman will ever
share my name and work."

" Did she die ? " It was after some minutes of
ominous silence that Hannah trusted her voice to
ask, speaking very low, that simple question.

" No ; she lived and married, and is a happy
and honored wife, and never knew, and will
never know, what she was to me. You, my friend,
are the only person to whom I have ever delibe-
rately told the story. You know, of course, that 1
have a reason for thus laying bare my heart; let
me tell you briefly what it is. I have plans con-
nected with this scheme of ours that will involve
a much greater money outlay than we have had
thus far. You have managed admirably with
what there was i but of course you know that Hill
House has been trammelled in many ways for
want of an assured financial basis. My salary as
a teacher is more than sufficient for my personal

HALF THE STORY.

309

wishes, and entirely separate from that there is
a small fortune that I inherited with unlimited
rights. My mother and brother are both so situ-
ated as to money that there is not a reasonable
fear of their ever needing any of mine. Such being
the case, I have determined to make Hill House a
permanent place where we can at leisure experi-
ment on some of our ideas. I say ' we ' in con-
nection with it all, because I fully realize that,
while some of us have furnished the money, it is
really your patient and persistent thought and
care that have made it tlie success that it is. I
know your heart must be fully committed to the
enterprise. I have intruded my personal affaii-s
upon you, because I foresaw that you would have
criticisms to answer with regard to what some
people will consider a lavish use of means ; and I
feared that your own thoughtful heart might be
troubled about a possible future. So I determined
to make very plain to you that no future ties of
mine would ever call in question my right to thus
dispose of my stewardship.

"Am I not right. Miss Hannah, in committing
you unreservedly to this enterprise, and believing
that you will give it all the time and strength that
you can spare from higher duties ? "

He did not make a very long tarry after that,
believing that neither Hannah nor himself were in
the mood for commonplaces. Neither was he ready
for his room and bed. Instead, he walked away

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beyond the Bramlett farm, out into the quiet coun-
try. The night was warm and still, and the moon-
light brilliant. It all brought vividly back to Mr.
Maxwell's mind a walk that he had taken with
Marjorie years before. She had been frightened
at finding herself alone on the lonely street, and
his coming had relieved her fears. She had clung
to his arm all in a tr*»mble for a minute, and he
had felt then and there the mysterious thrill of
soul that comes sometimes to link another soul to
one's own. He put the thought quietly from him.
]\Iarjorie Avas his sister, God bless her ; all the
past had been lived through, and put away. He
thought of Hannah, and walked back past the
Bramlett farm. A light still burned in the room
that he chanced to have discovered was Hannah's
own. Poor Hannah I he had done the best that
he knew to cover over a mistake that Marjorie
believed he had made ; there was a dull pain at
his heart as the belief thrust itself upon him that
^Tarjorie was right. How could he have been so
careless and cruel? There was but one thing
left for him to do for Hannah ; he walked slowly
back along the country road, praying.

Hannah Bramlett sat in her little low-backed
rocker, bolt upright, hands clasped in her lap, no
teal's on her face nor in her eyes. This was not
the time for tears. She had her own heart's secret
to struggle with and bury. How glad she was
that it was all her own. It seemed to her that

HALF THIC STORY.

311

she must have died had anybody known. She
had not realized what had happened to her until
Mr. Maxwell's own words had revealed herself to
hei*self. How good he had been! and unselfish
and true, just as he always was. To think of —
any one preferring — anybody — to him ! Hannah
tried to be true to her friends, even in her
thoughts.

Well for her that she was not, and knew that
she was not, at the mercy of a hopeless love, so
that her life must be ruined and the lives of otheis
marred in consequence. She must rise a})ove this
thing as a matter of coui-se ; she nuist remember
first of all that she had given her heart to the
Lord Jesus Christ, and was his, body and soul, for
time and for eternity.

Even beiore she went to her knees she had
settled it. She would live her life, the busy,
helpful life that Mr. Maxwell's generosity made
possible, and prove to liei-self as well as to others
tliat "grace was sufficient."

When Mr. Maxwell found that the small light
in the eastern window of tlie IJramlett farmliouse
had disappeared, he went liome.

'" I was so astonished the other niglit over wliat
you planned to do that I did not answer you very
clearly, I think. I'll help at Hill House in any
way that you think I can, and be glad of the
chance. I will give my life to it." This was
what Hannah Briamlett said to Mr. Maxwell the

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OVEUKULKD.

next time she met him. After a moment, during
which she had flushed and paled, and cleared her
voice, as though she had more to say when she
could trust herself to say it, she had interrupted
the kindly commonplaces with which Mr. Max-
well was answering her, to add, —

" And, Mr. Maxwell, I thank you for telling
me what you did the other night ; it was kind of
you ; I won't ever forget it."

This was the only reference that either of the
two persons cone* '< ed ever made to that impor-
tant evening in their lives.

*»;

(l7

OPPORTUNITY.

313

CHAPTER XXVII.

OPPORTUNITY.

RS. FRANK MAXWELL was in her nur-
sery, where small !Marjorie was being pre-
pared to abdicate her throne for a few hours, and
give herself to sleep. This was holiday time for
both father and mother. No trivial thing was
allowed to interfere with that half-hour alone with
their little girl. Dr. Maxwell had just departed
in response to a call from his office, — not wit!iout
a few grumbling words to the effect that a doctor
never had time to even kiss his baby, — when the
mother, too, was sununoned.

A lady was waiting in the parlor who would
not give her name, but said tliat she must see Mi*s.
Max well innnediately.

That lady arose with a sigli; this looked sus-
piciously like one of the numerous calls tliat came
to her in the name of a need that had been reached
through devious windings along the paths of sin.
Mi's. Maxwell had found that the Christian wife
of a Christian pliysii;ian in large practice in a
large city had need for the grace of patience not
only, but must become, in the most important

. -h

314

ovKinai.Ei).

!!.

sense of that phrase, a careful student of luinian
nature.

She Ihigered to give a few more good-niglit
kisses to little ^Marjorie, with a thought of prayer
in her heart, not only for the baby, but for what
might await her down-staii-s ; then she went. The
parlor was dimly lighted ; and her caller stood in
shadow, — a tall woman dressed in black, with a
veil that partly ol)Scured her face.

"Will you not be seated? " said the hostess, ad-
vancing. " What can I do for you ? "

The lady turned and threw back her veil, step-
ping forward toward the light as she did so. In-
stantly Marjorie exclaimed, " Estelle Bramlett ! "

" You know me, then ? I did not feel sure that
you would. The years have made such changes.
Yes, I am Estelle IJrandett. I have not been half
an hour in your city, and have come to you at the
very fii-st. Yor. can do — everything for me, per-
haps. ]\Iarjorie, I want to see my husband. I feel
that I must see him. I do not know whether I
ought or not ; but I think I have borne this life
just as long as I can. Will you help me ? "

She had changed very greatly ; it was not
strange that she should have been in doubt as to
wliether her old acquaintance would know her.
The abundajit hair, of so dark a brown that it
would almost have been called black, was now so
abundantly streaked with white that, in connection
with the deathly pallor of her face and the dark

OITOIITUNITV.

Ol.l

rings under lier eyes, it made lier look almost like
an old woman. Yet ^larjorie, though she strug-
gled to speak quietly, had only aversion for the
woman that she felt had been heartless and cruel.

" I do not know of any reason why you should
not have seeu your husband at any time during
these long yeans," she said ; "your sister has con-
stantly done so, and other and newer friends than
she have been faithful."

" I know it ; oh, I know it all ! Marjorie, do
not look at me so coldly. You who are a happy
wife and mother, have a little pity on me. Do
you think I have not suffered ? Don't you know
why I have kept away from him all these yeai-s,
kept myself from writing to him, or hearing from
him, save now and then through others? May I
sit down near you, Marjorie, and tell you the whole
story?"

Of coui-se she nuist be heard. Mrs. Maxwell
carried her to her own room, gave peremptory orders
that she was engaged and could see no one, then
closed and locked the door, and sat down opposite
the hollow-eyed woman, who had dropped into the
nearest chair.

It was a long, sad story. During the days imme-
diately following the knowledge of her husband's
disgrace and ruin, Estelle admitted that she had
lK?en hard and cruel. She believed she was insane.
She did not know what spirit possessed her. She
tried at times, and could not make herself do other

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316

OVERRULED.

than as she did. For a while she beHeved that she
hated her husband, hated her sister, hated even her
poor mother, who bore with her and tried in pitiful
ways to help her. If it were not insanity, what
could it be called ? For certainly she had always
loved her mother. More than that, she hated, it
seemed to her, every one who bore the name Chris-
tian, everything that had to do with Christianity.
In her wildness she dated the beginning of Ralph's
downfall to that time when he joined the church
and professed to be interested in such matters, and
did so many things that she did not understand,
and that were not like him. When he was con-
victed, and sentenced to State's prison, she had felc
for. a time that she must take her life, to get nd of
the horror of it all. Then suddenly she had re-
membered her Uncle Anthony, whose favorite she
once had been. She knew that he lived alone,
with only a housekeeper to care for him ; and she
knew that he had repudiated all interest in reli-
gious things long before. If he would but take her
in, and shield her from the hateful world, from
everybody who had ever known or seen her, —
above all, from church-members and ministers and
all the dreadful people who had awakened at tlie
eleventh hour to try to "do her good," — she be-
lieved that she might possibly keep, for a time at
least, from that last awful crime of suicide. So
she went away in the night, unknown even to her
mother, and made her way to Uncle Anthony's

OPPORTUNITY.

317

Western home. He had received her, and cai«d
for her, like a father ; but she had not been in his
home for twenty-four hours, before she made a
discovery that filled her insane soul with a kind
of terror. Uncle Anthony had become a man of
prayer, a church-goer, a church-member, identi-
fied with all the interests from which she had run
away!

She told her story well and briefly. How, by de-
grees. Uncle Anthony gained an influence over her,
calmed her strange fears, and made her see that
that from which she had shrunk as from an enemy
contained the only hope or help for her in this
world ; until there came a time when she would
have gone home, only then it was too late, — mother
and father were gone, and she had no home. Up
to that point she had talked on steadily, with a
kind of suppressed intensity, controlling with firm
will any expression of emotion ; but when she spoke
of her father and mother and the broken home,
there came a burst of tears, and she buried her
face in her hands. Only for a moment ; then she
brushed the tears away and continued her storj\

By degrees, what she had supposed to be the
faith of her childhood, or, rather, such faith as her
childhood had never known, came to her; such a
sense of the power, not only, but of the goodness
of God, and such a realization of the fact that he
called upon her to be liis child, and trust him fully,
as she had not known was possible, filled her soul.

t-t

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■- ;,

318

OVERRULED.

From that hour she began to order her life, to the
best of her ability, as she believed God would have
her.

At this point Marjorie interrupted her for tlie
first time, " I Jut, Estelle, under those circum-
stances, how was it possible for you to maintain
such utter silence toward all your old friends,
toward your hus))and especially, when you must
have known something of what it would add to his
misery ? "

A sudden change came over her guest's face ;
the hands clasped on her black dress trembled visi-
bly, and her entire attitude was that of one trying
to hold some intense feeling in check.

" You do not know what you are talking about,"
she said at last, not passionately, l)ut with an air of
hopeless conviction. "I knew only too well tliat
for my husbaml to hear from me, or even to hear of
me, with the feeling that I was holding him in any
way, would but add another drop to his cup of
misery, — a very large drop. 1 came to know, long
before I took that last step, which I meant should
separate me from my home and all my old associa-
tions, that my husband had made a fatal mistake ;
that he did not love me, and never had ; and that
for me to go away from him so far that he need
never hear from me again, nor have to do with
me in any way, would be the best effort I could
make toward fulfilling the spirit of my marriage
vows."

OPPORTUNITY.

819

A soft light broke over Mrs. Maxwell's face.
This confession, made in abject sorrowfulness, was
a revelation to her; it explained much that had
been terrible in the conduct of this friend of her
girlhood. She even began to understand the pro-
cesses of reasoning by which this half-insane wo-
man had reached her strange conclusions. She
asked another question, her tone much more sym-
pathetic than it had been.

" Have your ideas or feelings changed in any
degree of late, Estelle ? "

The look of abject misery on Mrs. Bramlett's
face lifted, and she turned eager eyes on her
hostess.

" Yes, they have ; that is, my ideas of what is
right have changed veiy greatly. I have come
to feel that in isolating myself from my past, or
trying to do so, I was wrong, as I have been in
almost every act of my life. I have come to real-
ize that when I made that resolve, I took counsel
of wounded feeling, instead of looking to my
Father in heaven for direction. I have come to
understand better what marriage vows mean, and
to feel that, bitter as the mistake may have been,
and hard as the result may be, there is nothing for
me, nothing for him, but to abide by those vows.
You see, Marjorie, he is the father of my child, and
has duties toward him which he cannot lay aside
at will ; and for the sake of him, as well as for the
sake of truth and honor, we must tor/ether do tlie

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111

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320

OVERRTJI.ED.

utmost that we can with what Hfe we have left. Is
not that so ? Am I not right this time ? I have
not arrived at such a conclusion hastily ; indeed,
there is a sense in which I may say that I did not
reach it at all. The feeling came to me. I have
thought over it, and prayed over it, until at last it
seems to me a conviction ; but I have as yet taken
no step to disturb Ralph. I came directly to you.
It seemed to me that you would be sure to know
what was right, better than any other person to
whom I could appeal."

"What do you want to do, Estelle, aside from
this conviction of what is right? I mean, if you
could have your choice, and feel that either
course would have God's approval, which would
be yours ? " •

For the first time the pallor on the worn face
before her disappeared, and a deep crimson took
its place.

" You are afraid I am taking counsel of feeling,
instead of duty ! " she exclaimed. " I have been
afraid of it myself, — so afraid that it has made me
hesitate long, yet it seems to me now that I am
going in the direction pointed out ; but I will be
very frank with you, and leave you to decide. I
want, above all things else in this world, to make
what atonement I can to my husband for his
wrecked life. He ought not to have married me,
Marjorie, knowing that he did not love me, — I
cannot close my eyes to the facts ; but after that,

Ot»t»ORTUNlT\^.

821

almost everything that lias liappened since has
l)een, I think, my own fault. I was so exacting,
so hard, so cruel ! Oh, you have no conception of
the life I led him ! It is no wonder that it ended
as it did ; I goaded him to it. I think there is no
other word that would descrihe the condition of
things. And I have a consuming desire to tell
him that, and to beg him on my knees to forgive
me, and let me try again. I have forgiven him
utterly; but what I had to forgive, the real sin
against me, was when he asked me away back there
to be his wife. So far as my own marriage vows
were concerned, I have nothing to confess ; I meant
them fully. That I have failed ignominiously in
keeping them, I do confess in shame and bitterness
of soul ; but when I took them upon me, my whole
heart went with them. I loved him, Marjorie,
and I love him now. I love him so much that if
it is the right thing to do, I am willing to keep
away from him forever, and live my life alone ;
yes, I am even willing " — but then there came
a look of inexpressible agony into the dark, sad
eyes — " to give up my little boy — his little boy
— to his care and love,» if God directs me to do so.
But, oh, I do not see it so now I I cannot but feel
that together we might cover over some of the
mistakes, and bring up our child for God; and
I cannot but feel that he means we shall try to
keep the solemn vows which we called him to wit-
ness were made until death parted us. O Mar-

^■.

^22

OVftRttttl.fit).

HI I

jorie I can you help me? How does it seem to
yon? Am I riglit, or wrcmg?"

She nuist have noticed the change in Marjorie's
face; for lier eyes shone with a tender liglit, and
lier voice was tenderness itself.

" My dear friend," she said, " my sympathies and
hopes are with you. I l)elieve you are heing led
l)y the Spirit of God, and that you are to be given
such an opportunity as perhaps does not come to
many for redeeming the past. Have you heard
anything about Ralph of late ? "

"Nothing," said Mrs. Bramlett eagerly. "I
would not allow nyself to question Glyde. I
thought it was n ^ing true to my resolve to let
liim be entirely freed from me. I thought it was
due to him, after the way in which I had treated
him, that I should not even mention his name. I
lived up to my resolve literally ; I might have been
trying to do so still, if I had not been taught by
my boy. When he began to ask questions, to
say, 'Where is my papa? Has my papa gone
to heaven like Robbie Stuart's ? ' then I felt that
there was another life to Ije considered. There
was an innocent boy who ought not to l)e deprived
of his father's love and care because of his mother's
sins ; and I resolved to come tind ask Ralph if we
could not begin again. But in order to be utterly
sure that I was doing what was right, and not sim-
ply what I wanted to do, I resolved, as I told you,
to come first to you. We did not even go to

Ol't^OIlttTKlTY.

323

Glyde^s; we stopped at a liotel, Uncle Anthony
anil my little llalph and I. Tnt-le Anthony has
Ijeen good to me through it all. Ilt^ took me home
to his heart at once, and bore with all my miseries
and follies almost as an angel might. I believe
he thinks I am doing right at last, although he has
said not one word to influence mQ in any direction.
He said he was afraid to interfei-e, that he had in-
terfered in lives before, and done mischief, and he
wanted God to lead me. Hut he himself proposed
to come East with me ; and when I told him I
wanted to see you at once, he ordered a carriage
as soon as my little boy was asleep, and promised
to watch beside him until I returned, and let me
come away quite alone, as I wanted to. Why did
you ask me if I had heard from Ralph lately ? "
she broke off abruptly to inquire, her face paling
over a sudden fear, " O Marjorie ! he is not ill ? "
" No," said Marjorie with quiet promptnej .5 ;
" he is quite well ; my husband saw him only yes-
terday. I will help you, Estelle ; te sure of that.
I am glad that I can. i\[y husband goes so fre-
quently to see Ralph, and understands so fully
what is necessary, that he will be able to make all
arrangements for you to meet him. Can you come

— wait, let me think — T shall talk with Dr. Max-
well to-night, of coui*se, as soon as he comes in, and

— can you wait one day more, Estelle, until five
o'clock to-morrow? I am afraid it cannot be
managed before that hour,"

OVURftttttlft.

tr-. '

" I will do whatever you tell me," said this curi-
ous shadow of Estelle Douglass, who was so like
and yet so utterly unlike, her former self, that there
were moments when Marjorie almost asked herself
if she were not dreaming.

She went herself to the door to see her guest to
her carriage, then awaited with feverish impatience
her husband's return.

.1-3

i'li

A CRISIS.

325

CHAPTEll XXVIII.

A CRISIS.

A WONDERFUL bit of news she could have
given her caller, had she l)een sure as to the
vi^isdom of doing so. From the wife's point of
view, Ralph Bramlett had still another full year
of servitude before he could go out into the world
again ; and he must go always thereafter, she be-
lieved, with the prison stain upon him. But, as a
matter of fact, in less than twenty-four hours from
that time, Marjorie expected to receive Ralph
Bramlett as her guest, with the assurance that
those terrible iron doors had opened to him for the
last time. Very earnest efforts had been made
during these years, both by Mr. Burwell and the
Maxwells, to secure the young man's pardon ; and
each time they had been unsuccessful. The gov-
ernor, owing to certain recent experiences, was
more than usually difficult to move ; and though
almost everything possible was in the prisoner's fa-
vor, most of his friends had finally despaired. It
was almost against the judgment of his brother that
Mr. Leonard Maxwell made another effort ; so that
all were prepared to be not only joyful, but aston-

326

OVt^.RRtJtiKt).

i If

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islied, over his success. It had been arranged
that Dr. Maxwell should go the next day at the
appointed hour, in his carriage, to bring Ralph
Bmmlett, citizen^ home with him as his guest.

Glyde and her husband were to come for the
day ; and Hannah Bramlett had been telegraphed
for, and was expected to arrive l)y the late train
that evening.

" lie sure to bring the baby," Marjorie had
admonished Glyde, " and I will keep little Mar-
jorie awake for the occasion ; we must have every-
thing as cheerful and unembarrassing as possible,
and the children will help toward that end."

Estelle's unexpected advent had disarranged the
programme. Mra. Maxwell's quick brain saw a
certain tableau that could be arranged, the viewing
of which, she believed, would do more to welcome
Ralph Bramlett back to the world than most of
them realized. She knew certain facts that the
others did not. More than one earnest talk had
she held with the friend of her youth during the
intervening years. They had not talked very
much about the past: it had not seemed to her
wise ; instead, she had striven to help the repent-
ant man to think of the duties and responsibilities
of his future. But one day he had begun to speak
to her quite as though they had been talking about
Estelle, —

" I do not want you to blame my poor wife over-
much, Mrs. Maxwell," he had said ; " I made her

A CRISIS.

Bf>7

life anything but a happy one, even from the first.
It is probably the very best tliat she can do for
her future happiness to fi-ee liers.elf entirely from
me, as she has. She has a legal riglit to do this,
you remember, and I certainly should be the last
to blame her for taking advantage of it ; yet if I
had my chance again, I think I could make her life
at least a peaceful one. Sometimes in my dreams
I go througli some of the scenes that might have
been: I have my boy in my arms, and can feel
his kisses on my face, and hear him call me *papa.'
Can you imagine what it is to me to waken from
such dreams to the reality ? '*

Marjorie had gone away from that talk with
her heart swelling with indignation .against Es-
telle, feeling that slie had done a monstrous
thing in thus utterly repudiating her marriage
vows. Now her heart throbl)ed with sympathy
as she thought of the surprise in store for both.
Surely the desire of her life in being instrumen-
tal in bringing those two together again, under
changed relations, seemed Jibout to be realized.

" Hurry ! " she said to Dr. Maxwell two hours
later, as she waited at the head of the stairs for
him to ascend. " How very late you are ! Yes,
Hannah has come, and gone to lied hours ago. Do
Imrry, Frank ! Never mind the mail ; I have
something wonderful to tell you, — something that
will not wait. Who do you think has been with
me this evening ? "

^28

ovEnntJLEb.

I,! ■•

"The President of tlie United States and all
his Cabinet, at the very least, to judge from your
excitement," he said, smiling, as he bent to greet
her.

" It is a much more important event than that.
Frank, Estelle was with me for aii hour or more."

"Mrs. Bramlett!" he said, with lifted eyebrows.
" I did not know that it would give you very spe-
cial delight to have a visit from her."

" You are not to talk in that horrid way, nor
put on your superior look. I have a wonderful
story to tell you. Estelle is so changed that you
would hardly think she could be the same pei'son."

"I am glad to hear it; the greatest good that
Mrs. Bramlett's old acquaintances could wish for
her, would be that she would become utterly un-
like herself."

" Hush ! " said Marjorie with pretty imperious-
ness. " Save your sarcasms ; wait until you hear
what I have to tell."

The talk that followed lasted away into the
night, — into the early morning, rather ; and before
all the details of the coming day were arranged to
their satisfaction the doctor was called to a patient.
However, he left his wife quite satisfied with the
interest he had shown, and the enthusiasm with
which he had entered into her altered plans.

It is probably useless to try to picture, even to
ourselves, the tumult of feeling that surged through
the soul of Ralph Bramlett as he sat alone in Dr.

A CRISIS.

329

Maxwell's library on that afternoon which marked
another solemn crisis in his life. One may be
deeply sympathetic with certain experiences, and
yet be unable to imagine their depth and power
on thj heart of another. Such ordinarily trivial
things help at times to swell the tide of feeling.
Take the mere matter of dress, for instance ; con-
sider what it was for this man to find himself at-
tired in citizen's dress once more, the hated garb
of prison life put away from him ! How strange
and new, and yet how old and familiar, must have
been the sensation, as he sank into the depths of
that richly upholstered chair, and felt, rather than
realized, that his feet gave back no sound as he
made his way to it. Once more he was in a
home ! once more he was surrounded, enveloped
as it were, in an atmosphere of refinement and
quiet. It was such a spot as he had planned once
to call his own — it might have been his own !

The years that had wrought such changes upon
others had by no means passed him by. His pale
face was paler and thinner than it used to be ; and
his hair, that had been intensely black, was now so
plentifully streaked with gray as to give one an
impression of many more years belonging to him
than he needed to claim. This idea was intensified
by the heavy lines on his face, made generally by
years. Of course it was not strange that under
such experiences as his, he should have aged
rapidly ; but there was another change, subtle, in-

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OVERRULED.

iii-i^

definable in words, yet unmistakable. He had
been in a strange school, certainly, to acquire the
look ; yet, for the first time in his life, a student of
human nature would probably have said of him,
" Thai is a man to be trusted." Such is the tribute
which men of the world often unconsciously make
to the power of the Holy Spirit ; for with Ralph
Bramlett it was simply the old story, — his was the
face of one Avho had sinned and suffered, and yev
had come off conqueror " through Him that loved
him." "O the depth of the riches both of the
wisdom and tlie knowledge of God!"

Nevertheless, it was of necessity a sad face, and
there was abundant reason for the shadows. Only
a few weeks before this, Ralph Bramlett had shed
perhaps the bitterest tears that will ever fall from
his eyes, over a few pencilled words written by
his mother's wom-out hand, — a hand that was at
rest now. Very simple the message had been ;
there was not the slightest reference to the heart-
sick longing that she had had to see his face and
hear his voice on earth once more. She had reached
the place where she could sink her own desires
and fully undei-stand his.

Oh, the longing that there had been in his heart
to hear his mother's voice say, *' I forgive you ! "

"Dear boy," she had written, "how could you
ask your mother if she had truly forgiven you ?
There is a vei*se in the Bible for you : ' As one
whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you,'

'i;;

A CRISIS.

331

God could not have told me anything lietter about
himself than that. Dear Ralph, I hr-^g so to com-
fort you ! I am going, in a few more hours, to see
your father. Think what blessed news I have to
tell him! Oh, I make no doubt that he knows
it already, but still he will like to hear me say,
' Ralph is coming, too ; he will be here in a little
while ; ' then together Ave will watch for you."

There had been not the shadow of a doubt ex-
pressed as to what his future would be. The little
mother who had feared and trembled and worn an
anxious face all her days, at that hour spoke ex-
ultantly of the strong, brave life her boy would
henceforth live, — even a happy life. She assured
him that that was what his mother and father de-
sired for him, — a happy life. She even rose to the
heights of human self-abnegation, and spoke a ten-
der word for the wife who, she believed in iier
heart, had led him astray, and then utterly repudi-
ated him. She, the mother, had forgiven her, and
hoped that he could forgive her, and pity and pray
for her. The poor young man, still young, though
looking middle-aged, thought of this letter as he
Awaited in the library for what was to come next.
A blessed letter, a comforting one. He l)elieved
that in the years to come he could read it over and
get comfort from it, as she had meant he should.
But just then he felt only a longing for a touch
of the vanished hand. She had breathed out her
life without him ; and he might have been at her

882

OVERRULED.

bedside and held her hand, and gone with her ten-
derly to the very verge of death's river. He had
thought to do so if, in the natuxal order of events,
he should outlive her. Oh, that awful "it might
have been"! Was he never to get away from
its horror ? He sat here waiting for what was to
come next; and, whatever it was, he dreaded it.
How, for instance, was he to meet his sister Han-
nah, fresh from her solitary following of their
mother to the grave ? He shrank from the thought
of Hannah ; he shrank from everything, — from
life itself. Oh, if a merciful God had only heard
his cry, and permitted him to get away out of the
flesh to that other world, where his mother was,
where God was I For just then, at that frightened
moment when the flesh shrank away and said, " I
cannot, O God ! I cannot meet the reward of my
own doings," there came to his soul, like the under-
tone of a wondrous oratorio, the memory of some
words he had learned in his childhood, and thought
not of them : " I, even I, am he that blotteth out
thy transgressions for mine own sake ; and I will
not remember thy sins." For the first time he noted
that potent phrase, "for mine own sake." Why
should He want to? Strange and almost terrible
as the thought was, it must l)e that God loved
him, loved him ! There was no one left on earth
who did ; but in the strength of such a love as
that which God in Christ offered him, could he
not live, after all?

A CRISIS.

883

Then the door opened softly; and slippered,
noiseless feet came in hesitatingly, and advanced
with slow, shy steps. Midway in the room they
paused, and their owner gazed earnestly at the man
sitting with bowed head and covered eyes. Evi-
dently he had heard no sound. The steps ad-
vanced again, a small hand rested with velvet
touch upon his arm, and a soft voice said, " P.?p.i, !
Are you my papa ? "

Ralph Bramlett started as though an angel's
tones had arrested him, and looked at the expec-
tant 'little face before him.

" Are you my papa ? " said the soft voice again,
whose strains stirred some tender yet undefined
memory in the listener's heart. This could not
be Marjorie's child ! He leaned forward, and gath-
ered the vision to his arms, while he answered the
earnest question, —

" Oh, no, my darling ! What put such a strange
thought into your mind ? What is your name ? "

" Why, yes, you are ! My name is Ralph Doug-
lass Bramlett; and she said my papa would be
here."

" Who did ? " The man was trembling so that
be could hardly nold the little form in his arms.
The child looked at him with great wondering
eyes, as he replied, —

" Mamma did ; she told me that my papa was
in here, and that I might come in and climb into
your arms, and say, ' Papa, i love you.' You are

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my papa, aren't you ? I knew you would come,
because I asked Jesus to let you. He is the one
to ask when you want things very much ; and I
wanted you to come. I missed ytm. Harry Wil-
liams has a [)apa, and he kisses him. Don't you
want to kiss me ? "

A less courageous child might have been fright-
ened over the convulsive clasp in which he felt
himself drawn to that hungry father's breast, and
the rain of passionate kisses thiat covered his face.
But he laughed gleefully, kissing back with energy,
and saying, between the breaths, " I guess you love
me as much as Harry's papa loves him. Mamma
said you would. Papa, have you come home to
stay, and take care of mamma and me, like Harry's
papa does ? "

Poor Ralph ! what waking dreams he had had
al)out that boy of his who was away off somewhere
in the West, and who would never be taught to
call him father ! He had tried to school his heart
to bear that, as a part of the cross that he had made
for himself. This sudden surprise almost bewil-
dered him ; for a moment it seemed as though God
must have heard some of his despairing cries, and
this was heaven.

" Here's mamma ! " exclaimed the child, giving
a sudden spring forward. " O mamma ! I found
him, and he loves me ! He has kissed and kissed
me, more than twenty-'leven times."

" Ralph," said a voice at his elbow in tones that

A CRISIS. .

836

trembled with (eeUnir i. ..j^„v. i

lui leeiing, non t you forgive me, and
let me come, too, and try again? "

" Keep away, all of you, for a while." said I)r
Maxwell in the hall outeide, speaking i„ Jhll
Ma^jone called his .voice of authority!" "tWe

have hu, wife and boy entirely to himself for a

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CHAPTER XXIX.

"FOR UE — HEAVEN."

JUNE again ; and, as so often before, the Ed-
monds family and their friends were gathered
at the old home. Each summer since Marjorie's
new home had been established, they had managed
to come together to this old resting-place, away
from the weight of work and care that lay upon
each. Marjorie Maxwell in her new home had
found work for others that taxed her energy and
strength to their utmost. Sheltered as her life
had been, she had not known before the awful
need for work as it is revealed to the city physi-
cian who toils with a constant acceptance of Christ
as his Master. Mrs. Edmonds, too, had thrown her
whole heart into the new service that this changed
life opened before her ; so that their few weeks of
rest had come to be looked upon as a necessity.
Great was the joy of the young people of various
connections, who had fallen into the habit of com-
ing to the country with them, when Dr. Maxwell
was able to announce the date of his vacation.

At this particular time the house was fuller than
usual, as some who had not been in the habit of

"fOR UE-HEAV£N."

887

fathering with them were among their guests.
Tlie Bramlett liomestead was closed, and Hannah
was staying at Hill House until other arrange-
ments could l)e made. Thither went also Mr. and
Mi's. Burwell as her guests ; but Kalph lirandett
and his wife and boy were staying with Mra. Ed-
monds.

The house was thrown open as usual to all the
influences of the summer day, and the merry voices
of children could be heard on the lawn ; but within,
unusual quiet reigned. Although it was nearing
the hour when, according to custom, various mem-
bers of the family would be gathering in the pretty
back parlor that Dr. Maxwell's young cousins
called " the home room," it was still quite deserted.
The chamber doors were all closed, and only a low
murmur of voices could be heard within. In short,
the whole house was pervaded by that indefinable
atmosphere which marks a special day, — a day set
apart by some great joy or sorrow, from the com-
monalities of e very-day life. The story, as is so
frequently the case, could be compressed into a
single sentence ; and it is so often the same sen-
tence I They had but just returned, the occupants
of this house and their friends, from a newly made
grave. They had left sleeping therein one of their
number. Perhaps Ralph Bramlett was the only
one who could be said to have been prepared
for the news; to the rest of them it had come
as a shock from which even now they seemed

tfVknuxjtW.

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unable to rally enough to fully realize that it had
come.

Immediately following the reunion of Ralph
Bramlett's wrecked family, before he had had time
to consider what was best to be done next, and
while they were still Dr. Maxwell's guests, there
had come a summons from Professor Maxwell.
Since he was unable to leave, at present, would
Mr. Bramlett run down to him for a day or two?
He had some very special mattera of business to
talk over with him.

Dr. Maxwell heard this bit of news with hearty
satisfaction.

"I knew Leonard would have some scheme,"
he said to Marjorie, "and it is sure to be the best
that could be devised ; I have been holding on to
hear from him. The wife and boy would better
stay with us, would they not, until Bramlett re-
turns ? "

It was finally arranged in that way, and they
watched Ralph depart Avitli a sense of great com-
fort. Leonard would know just what to say to
him ; and it was actually better to have him away
for a few days, to give them time to get used to
the nev;- order of things.

" I grumbled over the idea that Leonard could
not get away from college to be wfth us when
Ralph should come," Marjorie said to her mother ;
"but see how nicely it has all been overruled. It
is much better to have Ralph go to him; and

'• FOR ME - UK A VKX.'

880

Leonard is sure to know what ought to ])e done
next."

There had heen some fear lest Ralph Bramlett
would not be willing to obey thr i mmons; but
he was found to l)e not only wiring, hut eager, to
do whatever Leonard Maxwell nxlglii suggest.

On his arrival at the college town, he found, to
his surprise, that Professor Afaxwell had not been
out of his room for several days.

" Laid aside for a little while," that gentleman
said, smiling, in answer to Ralph's earnest inqui-
ries ; " nothing new, only a more marked visitittion
from an old friend of mine. Never mind me ; let
us talk now about more important matters while
there is time. I am glad you came to me so
promptly, my friend." ,

There had followed a great deal of talk, some
of it of a character to almost overpower Ralph
Bramlett. During these last hard years of his life
he thought he had come to know this man of God
very intimately; but there were revelations made
in connection with those talks that sent him to his
knees in almost pitiable self-humiliation and gr *i-
tude. In the light of the unselfish greatness of
that other life, perhaps he saw his own smallness
as never before.

Between times he had many anxious thoughts
about Mr. Maxwell's state. He made light of his
illness as something that was so slight as not to be
worthy of note ; yet Ralph Bmndett believed that

'IM

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840

bVEkutJLiftbi

he recognized increasing weakness, and ijesouglit
him to send for Dr. Maxwell.

There came a morning when, the moment he
entered Professor Maxwell's room, he recognized
that there had been a change.

" Yes," said the professor, smiling quietly in re-
sponse to Ralph's look of consternation, ''you are
right; I have had a night of suffering, but I am
much better now, quite free from pain, indeed. I
believe now that the time has come for me to tell
you something. I thought I should rally from
this attack as I have from others, and that there
would be no occasion for causing my friends anxi-
ety. I believe I was mistaken. My promotion is
coming earlier than I had any "eason to expect or
hope. Why should you be so distressed ? Surely,
my friend, you can rejoice with me ! I thought I
was perfectly willing to stay here and serve ; but
I will confess that the thought of soon serving in
His visible presence has set all my pulses to throb-
bing with a new, strange joy. It is different with
me from what it is with most men. I have st mg
family ties, but no duties or responsibilities. A nd
my mother, for whom I meant to live, is waiting
for me to come to her on the other side. Why
should I not be glad ? "

There had been much talk after that. Ralph,
at his own request, being installed beside the sick
man, with permission to stay until the end. Mr.
Maxwell agreed at last to having his brother and

*'Foti }iE-nEAVEy:'

841

Marjorie sent for, but had believed that there was
no occasion for startling them with a telegram ; a
letter would reach them in tv/enty-four hours, and
there was really no immediate haste. Indeed, the
doctor had said that he might linger for several
weeks. But it came to pass that within twenty-
four hours of the time that Ralph had written at
Mr, Maxwell's dictation a letter that taxed all the
writer's power of self-control, he had followed it
with a swifter messenger, and an hour afterwards
had sent another with the astounding news that
Mr. Maxwell had gone to the other country !

In accordance with his distinctly expressed de-
sire, they had brought his body to the town where
so many of his rest houre had been spent, and
where his brother had a family lot. Their mother
had died abroad the year before, and been buried
there, beside her father and mother and the friends
of her youth.

Litiiig
Iwhy

|alph,
sick
Mr.
and

The first violence of the shock was over; and
as they lingered in their several rooms that June
afternoon, they talked together tenderly of their
friend who was gone, and of the effect that his
going would have upon the living.

"Poor mamma! " said Marjorie. "I think, Frank,
it is almost harder for her than for v<s; because,
you know, we have each other. You cannot think
how deeply attached mamma has been to J^eonard,
from the very first of their acquaintance. I liave

U'2

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I? <!' >:■

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always fancied that .she saw in him some niys
I'ious soul-likeness to the little hoy who went to
lieaven before I was horn. At least, the tie l)e-
tween them has been jieculiar and strong.

" What a strange influence he had over people !
I could hut think of it to-day, when I saw the
crowds from the factory and from the Mission, and
noticed that there were tears on almost every face ;
and yet this was not his home, only the place
where he spent his resting-time ! Such ' rests ' as
he took must make very bright crowns, must they
not?"

In Estelle Bramlett's room, Ralph sat by an
open window which overlooked the lawn where
his boy played ; and Estelle, with her head on his
shoulder and her hand firmly clasped in his, talked
ramblingly and tenderly of that part of the past on
which it would do to touch, —

" Do you know, Ralph I used to fear and
almost hate Mr. jNIaxweli ? ' He is altogether too
good for this world,' I used to say contemptu-
ously to (jlyde, when she would try to tell me
something he had said. I told her that T did not
believe in such perfect men, that they were nearly
always hypocrites ! But O Ralph ! I came to
know him in a way that I have not been able as
yet to tell you about. I have some letters to show
you, written during that dreadful time ! I can-
not tell you what they were to me ; they seemed
almost like the voice of God."

"FOR ME— ///Tjr^A

" ♦'

A4^

"I can imagine!" he stiid tremulonsly. "T
had letters too, and talks. And deejh^"' he added
with a pecnliar emphasis after a moment's silence ;
" something that I have not yet told yon, Estelle.
We will go over it hy and by, after the hoy is
asleep ; we mnst go down to him soon. Wlien
you know all, you Avill understand, even more than
you now do, what we owe to him. We nuist see
to it, my wife, that our lives are, after this, what
he planned they should l)e ; else I can almost con-
ceive of his being disappointed, even in heaven."

" I am sorry for so many people ! " Estelle be-
gan again, breaking the tender silence. "Did you
notice the crowds from the factory? Poor Jack
Taylor ! the tears just rolled down his face ; and
that Bill Seber was almost as much affected. Then
there is poor Hannah. O Ralph ! do you suppose
Hill House will have to be given up, or did he
make some provision for it? I almost feel as
though it would break Hannah's heart if her
work there could not go on."

" I do not certainly know," said her husband,
" but I do not believe Mr. Maxwell forgot Hill
House ; I think he thought of everything and
everybody."

Poor Hannah ! At that moment she was shut
and bolted into the utmost privacy of the neat lit-
tle room chat she occupied at Hill House, and was
on her knees, trying to get strength to look her
future in the face, and take in the probabilities of

844

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the life that stretched before her. The ohl home
gone, Hill House gone ; for Mr. Maxwell had died
suddenly, and probably did not even remember
that the lease would expire in another month.
Ralph had liis wife and boy; everybody had ties
and plans and hopes, save hei-self . This one friend
of hers, with whom God had let her work for a
few precious years, gone, like the rest ! What
should she do to earn her living? What would
the poor girls do, Avhose faithful friend and helper
she had been during these years? Prosaic thoughts?
Yes, some of them. Hannah had reached the
years when she knew she must meet and face the
common realities of life. She did not touch, even
with her thoughts, that other, deeper wound. She
had given that part of her life entirely to God.

Meantime, locked also into the privacy of her
own room, sat Mrs. Edmonds, an open letter in
her hand, the teai-s quietly following each other
down her face. Ralph Bramlett had handed the
letter to her as soon as he arrived. It was sealed,
and bore, beside her name, this direction : " To be
read in some quiet hour, after my body has been
laid to rest."

Thus it read : —

My vera dear Friend : —

A precious bit of knowledge has come to me within the
last few hours ; it is that I am quite soon to be permitted
to go home — to the home toward which I have been so
long turning my thoughts. I had planned for a vacation

" FOR ME - UEA VEX.'

345

with you all, as usual ; but instead, I am to need no vacation,
and am to enter upon my work for eternity. Isn't that a
wonderful thought ?

I think I need hardly attempt to tell you how glad I am.
I have been at peace in my work here, and interested in
it all ; but — well, how can J be expected to tell you what it
feels like to think of being there !

Meantime, there are some matters to set in order before
I go. At least, I think I have them arranged, and would
like to tell you about tnem in detail, that you may be able
to advise intelligently, without waiting for the regular pro-
cesses of law. It is known to you, I believe, that 1 have
been intrusted with an important stewardship; and it is
perhaps a peculiar fact that I have not a relative in the
world who seems likely to need a penny of it for himself.
There are not many of our family left on this side, you
know. Well, I have told Ralph Bramlett that I think he
ought to carry out the desires and hopes of his early years,
and become a law student ; and I told him that I had ar-
ranged matters so that he could care for his family, and do
so. I hope, my friend, you will think I have done right ?
I have left him twenty thousand dollars; not, as I once
heard a censorious person say in a similar case, as a "pre-
mium on dishonesty," but because I believe him to be the
Lord's freed man. And when the Lord puts a man's past
behind his back, what are we ? " Who shall lay anything
to the charge of God's elect ? " T have one deep regret :
had I tried to help him earlier, much that is past might
not have been. Yet God in his mercy has overruled all
our mistakes.

About Hill House ; my heart is very much in that enter-
prise. I believe that our friend Hannah has a work before
her there, whereat the angels rejoice now, and over which we
may have joy together through the ages. Therefore, after
a few gifts have been made to kind friends and a few tokens

346

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offered as memorials to some who have been more than
friends to me, I have left the remainder of my property,
amounting, I believe, to something more than seventy-five
thousand dollars, in trust to Hannah Hramlett, to be used
according to the plan of which she and I have often talked.
There are trustees, of course, and advisers. 1 have taken
♦ he liberty of naming you as one, and my brother Frank
and his wife, and others whom you can trust. I think it
has all been arranged in correct business form. It is by
no means a hasty step; for although my summons has
come earlier than 1 had exi>ected, it is proper that you
should know that 1 have for a year or two been aware that
my life was strung on a very uncertain thread. I have
been able to do with my means just what I desired to do.

To you, my dear friend, 1 may say one thing more, a
word that will not be spoken elsewhere. My joy in doing
this is, 1 hope and believe, first, because it is the Master's
thought; what he would have me do in his name. But
secondly stands the conviction that 1 am doing what my
sister ISIarjorie would do if she could, and what she will be
grateful to me for doing. It is too late for me to hide, if
1 would, that she has been the human mainspring of my
life. My one love ! How strange it all seemed to us years
ago, — to you and me, — that our plans should miscarry as
they did ! And yet, cannot you see to-day the overruling
Hand ? For her, not early widowhood, but a strong, true
heart to lean upon through the long happy years, I trust ;
and for me, — heaven.

One more favor T ask of you, my dear friend ; I do not
suppose it is in the least necessary, yet T will mention it.

Let my carefully guarded secret be buried with me. Do
not, for any possible reason, shadow Marjorie's life by the
knowledge of what she has been to me. T know her so
well that T am sure it would cast a shadow for a time. She
would immediately begin to accuse herself, to mouni over

FOR UE-HEAVEX."

347

some things thjit she might or might not hp.e done ; and
J love her so well that I would have no shadow touch her
life, save those of the Master's sending.

'J'here is much more that I would like to say, l)ut my
strength is failing. 1 can only wait to add an earnest good-
by for your own dear self. When you lead this I shall
have been for some days — as we count time — at home I

I remember with pleasure, while I write, that the years
are falling fast upon you, and that it may soon be my priv-
ilege to welcome you. Until then, dear trusted friend,
Goodby.

Leonard Maxwell.

" Are we to sec the letter, mamma ? " Marjorie
asked, a few clays afterwards, when they had been
tiilking over that and other matters connected
with their loss.

"No, dear," said INIi-s. Edmonds, bnishing away
a quiet tear ; " there is a bit of privacy connected
with it, for my eyes alone. You know I had to be
his mother after she went away."

" Poor Leonard," said Marjorie with a gentle
little sigh; "I always knew there was a lost chord
in his life. I hope he has found it now."