1\ 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 SMI7H3 
 >RRS Oh ROOK* 
 *ACIF1C 
 BACM. C


 
 Alice
 
 EDWARD 
 REYNOLDS 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM L. LILLIBRIDGE 
 
 THE GRAFTON PRESS 
 NEW YORK
 
 Copyright 1902 by 
 THE GRAFTON PRESS 
 
 First Impression, September, 1902
 
 f ?s 
 
 To 
 JAMES KERR 
 
 1512281
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 As the girl spoke, she glanced with flashing 
 eyes into the face of her companion. 
 
 "Please, Alice, don't annihilate me. In what 
 have I offended you?" 
 
 When a woman is angry with a man, she is sel- 
 dom mollified by being informed that her wrath is 
 without foundation in reason. It is unpardon- 
 able to imply, much less to assert, that the gentler 
 sex displays temper without sufficient provocation. 
 
 "I just don't care that, Mr. Reynolds," empha- 
 sizing "that" by a vehement snap of the thumb 
 and forefinger. 
 
 The "Mr. Reynolds" affected not to notice the 
 small regard in which his opinions were held, and 
 walked on in silence by the side of the excited girl. 
 It was the first exhibition of temper since the days 
 of their childish misunderstandings. It was the 
 day of all days when peace and good-will should 
 
 1
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 prevail among men Christmas Day, 1848, and 
 the parties to the quarrel belonged to the patri- 
 cian class of quaint, old Philadelphia society. 
 
 Alice Richards had scarcely passed the thresh- 
 old of woman's domain, her tiny feet all-reluctant 
 to cross the borderland of womanhood. She was 
 but fifteen years of age. Yesterday, in fact an 
 hour ago, she had been a girl in fancy, thought, 
 being; now, she was a woman. Shocks produce 
 these changes. 
 
 What would we not give we, who have been 
 tossed and tumbled by the angry to and fro of 
 life's struggles to creep back and rest, ever so 
 brief a time, in those arms once more childhood's 
 arms, that are rent asunder with such pitiless 
 force, while the trustfulness of all the happy, holy 
 peace of youth and innocence is pushed bodily out 
 into the full glare of sinister, relentless sham and 
 deception! Out of what wide eyes one looks for 
 the first time upon the meanness and littleness of 
 just common, every-day life. 
 
 Alice had started from home to purchase a 
 present for a young friend, that had been forgot- 
 ten the day before, and was debating earnestly as 
 she walked, or rather ran, upon the gift that 
 would delight its future possessor most. Girl 
 fashion, she finally paused in front of an attrac- 
 tive display window and began studying the exhi- 
 bition intently, with a view of settling the ques-
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 tion of purchase by the suggestions prompted 
 by the thoughtfulness of enterprising shop- 
 keepers. 
 
 Others were evidently doing likewise. Among 
 the number were a detective and a small boy. The 
 detective was standing close to the lad, and had 
 succeeded in engaging him in conversation. 
 
 "What did Santa Claus do for you?" inquired 
 the detective, patronizingly. 
 
 "There hain't no Santa Claus," replied the boy. 
 
 "Oh! Isn't there?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Yes, there is, too." 
 
 "Our mamma and papa is Santa Claus." 
 
 "Come off, you're wrong. Anyway, what did 
 your 'papa' and 'mamma' Santa Claus put in your 
 stocking?" 
 
 The boy made no answer. 
 
 "I'll bet you didn't get a thing," continued the 
 questioner. 
 
 "My mamma and papa are dead," said the boy, 
 at last, in a husky, choked voice. 
 
 Alice had stopped so close to the two that she 
 overheard the latter part of the conversation. In- 
 voluntarily she glanced at the youth, and, despite 
 his rags, her heart was touched by his sadness. 
 
 "Look here now, how does that read?" inquired 
 the detective, pointing at a placard to which was 
 secured a jack-knife. 
 
 3
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "This knife offered by Santa Claus for twenty- 
 five cents," promptly read the boy aloud. 
 
 "You read well. Can you write?" 
 
 "Why, of course," assented the boy. 
 
 "Yes, you can," replied the man, skeptically. 
 
 "Well, I can." 
 
 "Let me see," continued the detective, producing 
 a pencil and tablet, "write twenty-five cents." 
 
 The boy took the pencil and book extended to- 
 ward him and unsuspectingly wrote, "25 cents." 
 
 "Write well, for instance, write chicken." 
 
 The boy wrote "chikin." 
 
 The man watched closely the exercise upon 
 which the lad was employed. Finally, the boy 
 glanced up into the man's face. As he did so, a 
 piece of paper was shoved before his eyes. 
 
 "Did you write that?" demanded the detect- 
 ive. 
 
 The look of pleasure in the lad's eyes in parad- 
 ing his attainments suddenly changed to one of 
 horror and dismay. 
 
 "You are my prisoner," said 'the officer, seizing 
 the boy by the shoulder. 
 
 "Please, sir, what has he done?" 
 
 The detective turned abruptly and met the 
 questioning eyes of the girl, and replied respect- 
 fully: "He has been stealing chickens." 
 
 "Chickens!" The detective smiled at the sudden 
 revulsion in the girl's face. "He looks so young 
 
 4
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 and innocent," commented the girl turning once 
 more to the boy, "it seems impossible. Don't ar- 
 rest him to-day. Maybe he will do better in the 
 future," she pleaded, "maybe," she continued, 
 glancing again at the up-turned face of the boy 
 into eyes that shrank not from her steady gaze, 
 "maybe he did not take them." 
 
 "He won't deny it, miss. Didn't you take a 
 chicken from Farmer Jones' coop last Saturday 
 night?" questioned the man of the boy. 
 
 The boy made no answer. 
 
 "Why don't you tell him? Answer," whispered 
 the girl, stepping nearer. 
 
 Still there was no response. 
 
 "See ! He admits it ; or, at least, does not deny 
 the charge," justified the officer. "Come with me," 
 and he gave the boy a push. 
 
 The girl glided forward, drawn by some irre- 
 sistible impulse. 
 
 "Did you did you " she could not speak the 
 word steal. "Did you take the chickens?" she 
 asked, obstructing their progress. 
 
 "I took one chicken, yes." 
 
 The officer smiled, cynically. The girl, who had 
 for the first time come in contact with crime, turned 
 in a dazed manner and walked away. She heard 
 the lad pleading with the officer, the tones growing 
 angry and loud. She walked rapidly to pass be- 
 yond the contending voices. Suddenly a small 
 
 5
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 object darted before her. It was the boy and, 
 yes the detective, also. 
 
 "Show her the letter," cried the lad, his face 
 aflame, and eyes dilating, "and I will go." It was 
 with no gentle hand that the man grabbed the boy 
 and drew him aside. "I never stole in all my life," 
 protested the boy, looking straight into the eyes 
 of the unknown girl. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Alice. 
 
 "Show her the letter," reiterated the lad. "Let 
 someone in all the world think me honest." 
 
 "Have you a letter, sir?" asked the girl, ad- 
 dressing the lad's captor. 
 
 "Yes, you may read it," placing in her hands a 
 piece of ordinary wrapping paper with lead pen- 
 cil writing upon it. 
 
 "Farmer Jones," she read with difficulty, "you 
 will find in this here leter 25 cents to pay for a 
 chikin we took last saterday nite from your koop. 
 it was for a sick woman, we sed we would pay 
 you with the first money we erned. we tried hard 
 to get a chikin at the market but no one would 
 let us have any and there was nothin else to do. 
 the chikin wade 3 pounds dresed. we asked and 
 found out the price what chikins is worth, we 
 didn't eat any ourselves and the woman is gettin 
 better, its tuff to pay this money bout crismus 
 time but maybe God would cause a relapes if we 
 
 6
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 didn't do as we greed to. we hope we won't have 
 to take any more of your poltry but if we do we'll 
 settle cause it can't be helped. 
 
 "yours trulie, 
 
 "2 boys." 
 
 Alice handed the paper back to the officer, and 
 stepping to the side of the small boy, took his 
 little grimy hand in hers. 
 
 "I believe you," then turning to the officer, she 
 asked, "What are you going to do with him?" 
 
 "Take him to the magistrate." 
 
 "What will the magistrate do with him?" 
 
 "Send him to jail or the reformatory." 
 
 "Oh, no, not to-day. Let him go home with 
 me." 
 
 "If you were older and more experienced, I 
 should be angry; but I am simply amused. What 
 you ask is impossible." 
 
 "But I will pay for the chicken," producing her 
 portemonnaie. 
 
 "There were eight chickens stolen in all," de- 
 clared the detective. "He admits of taking but 
 one." 
 
 "I didn't take but one either," cried the boy. 
 
 "Well, I will pay for the eight, only release 
 him." 
 
 "Who are you?" inquired the officer, respect- 
 fully. 
 
 7
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Before she could reply, a young man stepped 
 forward. 
 
 "Jack," he said, familiarly, addressing the of- 
 ficer, "yield to this young lady. Whatever sum is 
 required, I undertake its discharge." 
 
 "Very well, Mr. Reynolds," replied the officer, 
 obligingly. 
 
 The face and throat of the girl were crimson, 
 then became white as snow. There was no ap- 
 proval in the newcomer's eyes. Her conduct was 
 the source of displeasure. His face was stern, al- 
 most forbidding. She felt that he had been a si- 
 lent spectator to all that had taken place, and came 
 forward only to prevent the disclosure of her 
 identity. The man, whose bride she was to be- 
 come some day, had revealed his presence to 
 spare the woman he was to wed publicity. There 
 was a strange glittering light in the girl's eyes, 
 and the lips were tightly compressed. Let conse- 
 quences be as they might, her resolution was 
 taken. 
 
 "I thank Mr. Reynolds for his proffered assist- 
 ance," she said, deliberately, "but I cannot accept 
 the obligation. You, sir," addressing the officer, 
 "will either call at the residence of Banker Rich- 
 ards, whose daughter offers herself this boy's 
 bondsman, for your money, or you shall have to 
 keep the boy in custody, until he can be legally 
 released." 
 
 8
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 " Come on, here !" exclaimed the boy, pulling at 
 the detective's coat, "I'm ready." 
 
 "Very well, Miss Richards," replied the officer, 
 ignoring the efforts of the lad, "I will do as you 
 desire," and politely touching his hat, the detective 
 started to walk away, when he was arrested by the 
 young lady with the remark that, perhaps, she had 
 sufficient money with her to satisfy all claims. Up- 
 on being informed that three dollars would be re- 
 quired, she carefully told out the amount and the 
 officer departed. 
 
 Edward Reynolds regarded the incident as 
 ninety-nine men out of every hundred would have 
 done. There are persons whose special business it 
 is to do what the best interests of society demand 
 for this unfortunate class. Interference of out- 
 side influences seldom, if ever, proves an advantage. 
 Societies innumerable are formed with enlightened 
 views concerning the reformation of young male- 
 factors. There are humane judges and houses of 
 correction; no end of money is raised and dis- 
 bursed annually in all large cities to amend this 
 increasing nuisance. True, the result of all these 
 experiments is not as yet entirely satisfactory. 
 
 Here was an unsophisticated, tender-hearted girl 
 the dupe and victim of one of this designing class. 
 He had witnessed the entire transaction, thinking 
 best not to let her know that he had been an ob- 
 server of the weak defenses of her nature until it 
 
 9
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 became necessary in his judgment to shield her 
 name from the inquisitive columns of the press. 
 He was prompted by the best of motives in the 
 matter, and had his trouble for his pains; not an 
 unusual reward for volunteers. 
 
 Alice had not failed to interpret the manifest 
 displeasure, unquestionably produced by her con- 
 duct. She had considered Edward kind and sym- 
 pathetic and now felt the resentment of the de- 
 ceived. He was cold and cruel by nature ; he would 
 increase the burdens of the poor. Hero worship 
 had ended. She had trusted and loved this tyrant. 
 An analysis of her present feelings was very dif- 
 ferent. Thus they walked, with the boy a short 
 distance in the rear, too occupied with their own 
 thoughts to be communicative. Alice was con- 
 ducting the lad home, by no means over-confident 
 of his reception. She broke the silence finally 
 with the opening word of this chapter. 
 
 "Come, Alice, let's make up. We must not 
 break the peace to-day." The overture of recon- 
 ciliation came from him. 
 
 "I'm not angry now." 
 
 "I'm greatly relieved," he replied, sincerely. 
 
 "Only," she commenced, "I've caught a glimpse 
 of the other world the one in which we do not 
 live. Is it not strange there should be two worlds 
 so near each other and yet so inaccessible, so \\ide 
 apart?" she inquired. 
 
 10
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "By no means strange, Alice. Society is in a 
 mixed and conglomerate state. Your sweet young 
 life has been secluded and sheltered from contact 
 with all but the best. These worlds, as you style 
 them, are indeed so very remote from each other 
 that the inhabitants of one are denied entrance to 
 the other." 
 
 "But the boundaries, what fixes them?" 
 
 "Man." 
 
 "But God is God the same in both these 
 worlds ?" 
 
 "Well, yes," he replied, "God is the refuge of 
 all alike." 
 
 "Why, then, the social exclusion?" 
 
 "Because experience has demonstrated the wis- 
 dom of the system," he answered. 
 
 "I don't understand what you mean by the 'wis- 
 dom of the system,' " she admitted. 
 
 "Well," he proceeded, didactically, "you see 
 every attempt that has been made to equalize so- 
 ciety has utterly failed. Man is fitted for differ- 
 ent spheres. Wealth, ability, refinement seek a 
 social plane, while, on the other hand, poverty, de- 
 pravity and ignorance occupy positions by them- 
 selves on a much inferior level. To undertake to 
 destroy the lines between the two would demoralize 
 society. The law of social economics is clearly un- 
 derstood and must not be undervalued. It often 
 happens that men of most upright motives have 
 11
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 used up the energies of lifetimes in trying to unite 
 your two worlds together, with the sole result of 
 endangering the security of each. To-day it has 
 come to be regarded as unsafe to interfere except 
 by the rigid enforcement of police regulations, 
 which protects one of your worlds by repressing, 
 through fear of severe penalties, the lawless en- 
 croachment of the other." 
 
 "How many men of prominence have been known 
 to work for the advancement of the poorer classes ?" 
 inquired Alice, evidently startled by the arguments 
 of her companion. 
 
 "Well," began Edward, hesitatingly, "the in- 
 stances are not so numerous as you may think the 
 case demands ; but well the acknowledged failure 
 of the efforts made is sufficient discouragement to 
 prevent all but enthusiasts engaging in the labor." 
 
 "But suppose everyone," persisted Alice, "should 
 do a little. Suppose you and I, and thousands 
 similarly situated, just starting in life, should re- 
 solve to labor in behalf of the more unfortunate, 
 surely some good would be accomplished." 
 
 "You and /," repeated the young man, aghast, 
 "why, Alice, you should not permit the circum- 
 stance you have inadvertently witnessed to make 
 such a deep impression upon your mind. Your 
 young life is already unhappy. Promise not to let 
 the mischief cloud more of this bright Christmas 
 Da."
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 They had arrived at the home of the girl, and 
 Alice paused to permit the boj to enter the gate. 
 
 "Where in the name of the Seven Wonders have 
 you been what have you there?" It was a girlish 
 voice, issuing from within the grounds. 
 
 "Mr. Reynolds is with me, Eleanore, and this 
 boy." Alice's voice betrayed irritation, and El- 
 eanore became suddenly discreet. 
 
 "Aren't you coming in?" inquired Eleanore of 
 the young gentleman, as Alice marched away with 
 the lad in the direction of the house, without 
 further notice of the others present. 
 
 "She's in a dreadful huff," whispered Edward. 
 
 Here followed, much to Eleanore's amusement, a 
 full description of what had preceded their ar- 
 rival. 
 
 "Just like the dear child," exclaimed the girl> 
 enthusiastically, "she is tender hearted, noble and 
 just as good as she can be." 
 
 "She is only a child at best," declared Edward, 
 "an impulsive child." 
 
 "At this point the conversation was interrupted 
 by the re-appearance of Alice and the boy. The 
 lad carried a large basket in his hand, and h? 
 marched past the gossipers, disdaining to glance 
 in their direction. 
 
 "Come back to-morrow," cried Alice to the de- 
 parting figure. 
 
 "Thank you," replied a voice near the basket. 
 13
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Then Alice discovered her friends, but did not 
 approach them. Eleanore fled into the house, and 
 Edward leisurely strolled to the side of the girl. 
 Neither of them spoke at first, Alice watching 
 the boy as he grew less and less in the distance, 
 an unaccustomed look in her deep blue eyes. 
 
 "A penny for your thought," bargained Ed- 
 ward. 
 
 "What became of Eleanore?" she asked, trying 
 heroically to throw off her depression. 
 
 "She went into the house." 
 
 "Come, I wish you to see my presents," said 
 Alice, brightening. 
 
 "But tell me first, Alice dear, of what you were 
 thinking," he persisted, taking her hands in his, 
 firmly. 
 
 "Oh ! It is gone now and forgotten," trying to 
 disengage her hands. 
 
 "Not until you have told me," tightening his 
 grasp, "it is a sad thought and I want to dis- 
 pel it." 
 
 "I was wondering," said Alice, her eyes turning 
 once more up the street the boy with the basket had 
 taken, "to which of those worlds I belong to 
 yours, or to that boy's." 
 
 "I shall keep you, please God, in mine," he said 
 fervently. 
 
 14
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Two years at a seminary had passed Alice Rich- 
 ards into womanhood. In stature, just a trifle 
 above medium height, supple, graceful, willowy. 
 Whatever may be claimed for the contrary, 
 girls at the age of sixteen are never handsome. 
 There is something about that period that dis- 
 guises, or, at least, masquerades. Two years ago, 
 to have claimed for Alice that she was good looking 
 might even have savored of exaggeration. She had 
 given promise of no greater pretensions to the fair 
 goddess's favors than the average girl. 
 
 Is she really, in the common vernacular, beauti- 
 ful ? Well, that depends. Hers was an intellectual 
 face, but not the kind of intellectuality that sways 
 and dominates the affections. The heart, the mind, 
 the soul were reflected quickly into those sensitive, 
 luminous features. 
 
 Fortunately, there is no iron-clad rule by which 
 woman is adjudged beautiful or otherwise. What 
 pleases one person may excite ridicule in another. 
 The opinion of man differs as widely upon this most 
 interesting subject as upon other matters. Con- 
 sequently, there is seldom either man or woman but 
 has some honest admirer. We have all seen faces 
 15
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 faultlessly regular, endowed with complexions rival- 
 ing the transparent tint of sea-shell, crowned with 
 masses of waving hair, and have greatly marveled 
 that such pains should have been taken in display- 
 ing wares so cheap. Again, one is irresistibly 
 drawn by an indescribable something in very com- 
 mon faces, the charm of which is as difficult of 
 estimating as the faculties are of comprehending. 
 There was a rich color in Alice's face, enhanced 
 by the white filmy dress which she wore. Edward 
 Reynolds was coming to call upon her. It was the 
 third time they had met since their return from 
 college. In fact, within the last two years they 
 had seen but little of each other. These two, who, 
 since their first recollection had been betrothed, 
 were in a way becoming comparative strangers. 
 Alice at a finishing school, Edward at Yale, 
 with a desultory correspondence, had not been the 
 best calculated to retain, much less awaken, affec- 
 tion. Just when these two had become engaged, 
 if there had ever been a formal engagement, 
 neither could have told. When Alice was born, the 
 disappointment at Banker Richards' was ill-con- 
 cealed. The banker had desired a son and so far 
 from consulting his wishes, he had been presented 
 a daughter. He was confiding his parental trouble 
 to his business associate and most intimate friend, 
 John Reynolds, when the latter gentleman re- 
 minded him that he had a son, and that it should be 
 16
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 no fault of his, if the two families were not more 
 closely united by the advent of the little girl. From 
 that hour there was a compact between the two 
 houses. The children at an early age made the 
 discovery of their future matrimonial disposi- 
 tion, and grew up well content to carry the 
 arrangement into effect. Alice was fond of 
 the big boy lover, and the big boy, five years 
 her senior, even considered the matter far 
 more seriously, and permitted his boyish regards 
 to go out freely to his future bride. With a loy- 
 alty lacking in much older men, no other woman 
 had been allowed to enter his mind. He contem- 
 plated marriage between Alice and himself as both 
 a filial duty and a personal privilege. Coming 
 home from college he was not prepared for the 
 change in Alice. Instead of a wilful slip of a girl, 
 he was confronting an incomparable creature, of 
 whose loveliness he had never remotely conjectured. 
 Upon beholding her, Edward was conscious of an 
 inexperienced sensation, a new strange intoxica- 
 tion a revelation that struck every chord into vi- 
 bration. He had supposed that he already felt for 
 Alice all the high regard and love that man is 
 capable of feeling for woman. 
 
 The second day had passed at home, before he 
 
 thought of calling to pay his respects to Alice. 
 
 There had been so many things to talk over with 
 
 father and mother; so many friends dropped in 
 
 17
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 during the time, that the propriety of calling had 
 not occurred. True, he was glad to go; it was 
 so long since they had seen each other. There was, 
 besides, an important subject that had better, per- 
 haps, be discussed concerning their future happi- 
 ness. It is not meet for man to live alone, and so 
 far as he could see, there was no reason why an 
 early date should not be fixed for the marriage. 
 Before speaking to his parents upon the subject, 
 he would mention the matter to her. It would 
 be more delicate and considerate. Betty, the 
 old colored servant ushered him into the fa- 
 miliar drawing room and hastened away, bearing 
 his card to Miss Alice. This young lady had ex- 
 pected his visit the preceding day and was not 
 in the most amiable mood, being half minded to 
 send word that she was indisposed. She thought 
 better of it, however, and her visitor was informed 
 that "Miss Richards would be down directly." 
 Edward was not at all nervous about the 
 interview. The affair, in every way advantageous, 
 had been settled by their parents and ratified in a 
 way by themselves. The sound of rustling gar- 
 ments sent a thrill through him. With a smile 
 upon his lips, he rose and turned to greet Alice 
 with perfect ease even sang-froid, then the smile 
 vanished, and Edward was staring, actually star- 
 ing at the woman before him, and a sudden fear 
 the fear born of love rendered him speechless. 
 18
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 He had held Alice loyally in his heart. He had 
 always been chivalrous and deferential, as in duty 
 bound he honored, but until this present moment 
 he had never loved her. Now, with this sudden 
 enthrallment his heart passing irrevocably, he 
 read in those eyes looking calmly into his o.wn no 
 answering sentiment. 
 
 "How beautiful!" he exclaimed, involuntarily, 
 standing as though spellbound where he had 
 risen. 
 
 "Unless you wish me to think the contrary," she 
 replied, smiling, "you had better shake hands." 
 
 He took the proffered hand and held it, still 
 feasting his eyes upon her face, resolving, as it 
 were, all doubts in her mind as to his impression. 
 
 "Why, Alice, I hardly knew you," he declared. 
 
 "Not greatly to be wondered at," she replied, 
 "it has been two years since we parted." 
 
 "What a hope the future contains," evidently 
 relieved by the thought that there should be no 
 more separation. 
 
 "Did you arrive home to-day?" she inquired, 
 innocently. 
 
 "No, I came yesterday, or the day before," he 
 confessed. "Mother was arbitrary, friends called, 
 time passed " 
 
 "Oh, indeed, how delightful," serenely. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Richards entered the room and the 
 evening was spent in general conversation. Some- 
 19
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 how, Alice felt disappointed in Edward. He 
 seemed pre-occupied. She was aware of a certain 
 reserve in his manner. His reticence troubled her. 
 He, too, had come to feel the force of her words 
 spoken at their parting two years ago. They did 
 not belong to the same world. 
 
 Alice resolved to ask for her freedom; that 
 the engagement be broken ; that the fetters placed 
 upon her life by parents, however much they loved 
 her, be removed ; that the privilege prized so highly 
 by all women of choosing for themselves be per- 
 mitted her. She felt that she had never relin- 
 quished the right. 
 
 A Christmas Day two years ago was in no small 
 degree responsible for this decision. How many 
 times since that eventful day had she questioned 
 their happiness as husband and wife. Romance 
 romance is a part of every girl's life had been de- 
 stroyed, as she firmly believed. Alice was not 
 visionary, but the thought of being engaged by 
 others was not in entire agreement with her sub- 
 sequently acquired notions of propriety. She was 
 fully persuaded that had her parents been less 
 officious in matrimonial affairs in which Edward 
 and herself were principally concerned, it would 
 have been better. Edward and she were the suf- 
 ferers in that their losses included the attractions 
 of courtship. Early betrothals may be convenient 
 in Monarchial institutions, but in Republics, the 
 20
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 opposite rule obtains. The reasons for preserving 
 estates in the one are considered secondary to se- 
 curing happiness in the other. Two years ago, 
 she would have been distressed by the thought of 
 giving up her "big boy" lover, but now, in the 
 light of lately acquired wisdom, together with the 
 fact that they had been so very little in each 
 other's society, it would be accompanied with no 
 sacrifice to either. Fate had been kind to them in 
 opening their eyes to realities. Delusions of child- 
 hood and the reflections of years are experiences 
 incidental to life, but always to be discriminated 
 in favor of advanced enlightenment. Marriage is 
 more than a civil contract, it is a sacrament. Mar- 
 riage without love is sacrilege. Sentiment is one 
 thing; love quite another. They had dabbled in 
 the former. They were well they were yes, 
 she was sure, as positive as one may well be of any- 
 thing in this mundane sphere, within the saving 
 grace of sentiment. 
 
 Edward had disappointed her. He was vastly 
 different. The bonds were alike burdensome to 
 him. His evident embarrassment at their meetings ; 
 his coldness because she waltzed with Frank Craw- 
 ford, only the night before, whose dancing was 
 perfection, convinced her of his changed feelings 
 toward herself. Besides, he paid Florence Herbert 
 such marked attention the same evening that others 
 commented upon it, to say nothing about rumors 
 21
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 she had heard of them while Florence was living 
 with her uncle at New Haven. 
 
 Well, if he preferred Florence, the matter was 
 simple enough; he could have her and welcome. 
 She emphatically objected to any plan of division 
 whereby she received the thunder of his counte- 
 nance and Florence the sunshine. These reflections 
 were interrupted by the sound of approaching 
 footsteps, and glancing from the window, she dis- 
 covered Edward and her adopted brother, as she 
 had come to call the little boy, whom she had 
 rescued from the officer of the law, two years ago, 
 walking familiarly side by side toward the house. 
 
 "Dress and circumstance are potent factors in 
 his estimation," she admitted, sotto voce, by no 
 means arguing well for the stylishly dressed gentle- 
 man. She even felt resentment against her 
 adopted brother for encouraging the intimacy. 
 
 Well, for old times' sake she would be civil. 
 
 "Good evening, Edward," advancing to meet him. 
 
 "Good evening, Miss Richards." 
 
 Miss Richards! 
 
 "Will you come in and be seated?" with bor- 
 rowed sweetness. 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 "How did you enjoy the party?" she inquired. 
 
 "It was a hideous nightmare." 
 
 "Your appearances were anything but sleepy 
 whenever I saw you." she remarked, innocently.
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Rare occasions. I wish I were more fortu- 
 nate." 
 
 "Quite the contrary. Perhaps I saw too much. 
 Miss Herbert is charming. I heard several making 
 complimentary speeches about yourself -&nd Miss 
 Herbert." 
 
 "I was not aware of the kindness. Pray, was 
 Mr. Crawford among the number of those sound- 
 ing our praises?" 
 
 "Oh, indeed! He is very clever." 
 
 "He dances well." 
 
 "Superbly!" 
 
 "Say, Alice, let's banish these two years from 
 our lives." 
 
 "Years, like words spoken, never can be re- 
 called," oracularly. 
 
 "Well, forget them, then." 
 
 "Really, do you think it possible? Come, you 
 hesitate." 
 
 "I was thinking of a suitable reply." 
 
 "Then I regret the interruption." 
 
 "I can never go back fully we have both 
 changed V 
 
 "Yes,, apparently." 
 
 "In the last four days, I have lived four hun- 
 dred years." 
 
 "What a pity ! How much peace of mind de- 
 pends upon a poor memory." 
 
 "May I refresh yours?"
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "With the burden of four hundred years? 
 Mercy, no." 
 
 "With the hopes of time and eternity." 
 
 "Contradictions! First it is burdens, then, 
 hopes. Still we are asked to put faith in man," 
 resignedly. 
 
 "I am come to keep faith." 
 
 "And find it the burden of four hundred years. 
 It must be the pricks of heavy conscience. What 
 a pity the sale of indulgences has gone out of 
 use." 
 
 "My conscience is the least of my troubles." 
 
 "A man's conscience is his privilege." 
 
 "Yes! In what respect?" 
 
 "Rather ask me to generalize. Let me see 
 but, first, will you confess " 
 
 "I come to confess " 
 
 "To the point, will you admit, if I give the 
 right analysis?" 
 
 "You are so much in the wrong, a promise is 
 safe. Proceed." 
 
 "Do you promise?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "A man's conscience," she proceeded, with great 
 deliberation, "is a license a law unto itself, that 
 authorizes any and every means to the gratifica- 
 tion of his pleasure and amusement." 
 
 "Women give us our code of morals." 
 
 "From Adam's time to the present, woman is
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 the faH of man," she laughed. "According to 
 tradition you must acknowledge, she is greatly 
 traduced." 
 
 "And greatly loved," he said, resolutely. 
 
 "There! You deserve an apple," passing one 
 to him. "See, I will eat of the fruit first." 
 
 "I trust we shall never be driven from the Gar- 
 den for the transgression." 
 
 "I warrant, tho', as the avenging angel ap- 
 proached, you would exclaim, after the manner of 
 the illustrious Adam, 'She tempted me to eat !' r 
 
 "No, I would shield her! She should remain, 
 even though the judgment pronounced were ban- 
 ishment in solitary exile." 
 
 SOLITARY EXILE. Alice glanced at the speaker 
 swiftly. 
 
 "Man must be getting better and woman worse," 
 there was the least trace of irony in the voice. 
 "There! I shall talk no more." 
 
 "Then I may urge you to sing, perhaps, the 
 old song our song it will carry us back to the 
 past." 
 
 Without replying, she rose and walked to the 
 piano. For a moment her white, slender fingers 
 wandered over the keys, then her rich contralto 
 voice filled the room. Songs of the great masters 
 followed one upon another, Edward silently turn- 
 ing the leaves as she sang. Alice was a surprise 
 to him. She was a Jennie Lind. The power 
 25
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 her voice thrilled him, while the splendor of her 
 face fascinated him. In the midst of a popular 
 song, the hands rested and the voice ceased. Some 
 sudden impulse, fancy, caprice took possession of 
 the singer. Once more the hands glided over the 
 keys. It was Felix Mendelssohn's air to those 
 words of Burns that immortalized Jessie Lewars. 
 Once more the lips parted, and Alice as well as 
 Edward was carried into those realms of self -for- 
 getting song. It was the "old song" the "our 
 song" sung from memory. 
 
 Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, 
 
 On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 
 My plaidie to the angry airt, 
 
 I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee ; 
 Or did misfortune's bitter storms 
 
 Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
 Thy shield should be my bosom, 
 
 To share it a', to share it a'. 
 
 Or were I in the wildest waste, 
 
 Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, 
 The desert were a paradise 
 
 If thou wert there, if thou wert there ; 
 Or were I monarch of the globe, 
 
 Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
 The brightest jewel in my crown 
 
 Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 
 26
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Edward leaned against the piano, breathing 
 with difficulty, his white face getting still whiter 
 as she sang, while his eyes burned with suppressed 
 emotion eyes out of which flashed the new light 
 of an impassioned, soul. He was cold, yet his 
 blood was on fire. The cruel lasting rapture of a 
 deathless passion had seized and possessed him. 
 
 With the last word of the song, Alice glanced 
 upward and met the gaze unsteadily. She always 
 felt as she sang; she could not sing without in- 
 spiration, but the awakenings had been different. 
 There was a light in his face that burned her. For 
 a brief moment she gazed, with the rapture of 
 the song lingering upon her senses, mingling with 
 some unknown sensation. She started to her feet 
 with a shudder, while the hand dallying softly with 
 the keys fell upon her bosom and rested there. 
 
 "I thank you for the music," Edward said, re- 
 covering his composure. "Your voice was always 
 sweet, but I did not imagine ;t held such marvelous 
 power and volume." 
 
 "Flattery is not good form." 
 
 "I was speaking of one of the changes that have 
 taken place in you." 
 
 "Only one ! Is it safe to inquire of the others ?" 
 coquettishly. 
 
 "You have grown prodigiously beautiful." 
 
 "I see what you have been doing at college," she 
 replied, serenely. 
 
 27
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Horace and Homer," he declared. 
 
 "Indeed, no! Paraphrasing soft speeches. I 
 have heard that Yale and ale both go to the 
 tongue and head." 
 
 "It is a monstrous slander; each warms the af- 
 fections. College life expands the heart, and the 
 beverage is famed for its amiability." 
 
 "Say, Edward," dexterously toying with the 
 tips of her handkerchief. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" he asked. 
 
 "Did you flirt and make love to the girls while 
 at college?" 
 
 "Did I flirt and make love to the girls at col- 
 lege !" he repeated, deliberately, "Why, Alice, what 
 a question ! Could I have in honor done that " 
 
 "Miss Herbert is lovely," she laughed. 
 
 "Alice, my engagement rather our engagement 
 was always sacred." 
 
 "But you must no longer be bound by it. Our 
 parents had no right to encumber our lives with 
 obligations distasteful, perhaps repulsive." 
 
 Edward had come and stood so near her that 
 she heard his heavy breathing. 
 
 "Surely," she continued, without looking up, 
 "neither you nor I can consider their arrangement 
 binding upon ourselves. I give you back your 
 freedom. Our happiness " 
 
 "Our happiness," he interrupted, huskily. 
 
 "Mine, then, requires it." 
 28
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 At last the words were spoken. Alice had 
 dreaded their utterance; she was surprised at her 
 own calmness. 
 
 "Your happiness requires the end of our 
 engagement?" he asked, slowly, in such a 
 changed voice that she hardly recognized it. "Are 
 you sure, Alice, quite quite sure that what you 
 say is true? Alice," he repeated again, "you are 
 sure your heart and happiness ask this sacrifice of 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You are free!" 
 
 She should never forget the words, nor the 
 voice, nor the look. Her hands shook when she 
 passed the ring back to its giver. 
 
 "Shall I tell them our parents?" he asked 
 steadily. 
 
 "Must they know?" 
 
 "Certainly," he answered. 
 
 "And you will tell them you?" She had ex- 
 pected reproaches. 
 
 "Yes, it is better; they would feel they would 
 know " he paused, abruptly. 
 
 "Know what?" she inquired. 
 
 "The secret I must guard." 
 
 "What secret to guard?" 
 
 "The secret of my love. I love you." 
 
 The next moment she was alone. She went to 
 the window and watched him walking down the 
 29
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 marble steps. The boy darted up among the 
 shrubbery and joined him, but there was no greet- 
 ing. Abashed, the boy peered into his face, and 
 glanced uneasily toward the house. For a mo- 
 ment he was irresolute, then stepping boldly for- 
 ward, he took the cold hand in his little chubby 
 ones, and walked on by the side of the wretched 
 man. 
 
 30
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "Good morning, Edward." The salutation was 
 spoken by Mr. Richards, who had stopped, at the 
 entrance of the bank, upon noticing the approach 
 of the young man. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Richards," returned Ed- 
 ward, "I was on my way to the bank." 
 
 "As you were passing by, you must have for- 
 gotten its location," laughed the man of finance. 
 
 "I must plead guilty to absent-mindedness," 
 admitted the young man, retracing his steps. "In 
 fact, I am greatly alarmed; both father and 
 mother are ill." 
 
 "What appears to be the trouble? Nothing 
 serious, I trust." 
 
 "I wish I might think so. The physician 
 seems confident of breaking up the fever; but 
 there are so many cases of typhoid in the city." 
 
 "You do not mean to tell me," exclaimed the 
 banker, "that your parents are ill of fever?" 
 
 "I fear as much," replied the son, in an un- 
 steady voice. 
 
 "Let us hope," replied the banker, "that your 
 words are the result of present anxiety. By the 
 way," continued the speaker, "I will go home with 
 31
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 you directly, if you can wait until I step inside a 
 few seconds." 
 
 "I come to have a private interview with you," 
 answered the young man. "Afterwards, if you 
 are able to get away, we will return together. I 
 do not wish to be absent from home long." 
 
 The banker invited Edward into the office, and 
 they entered the building together, the door of the 
 president's office opening and closing upon them. 
 
 "Now, what is it, my boy?" inquired the banker, 
 kindly, facing about. 
 
 "Miss Richards wishes to be released from her 
 engagement," said Edward, terribly calm. 
 
 "Come, my boy, this is neither the time nor 
 the subject for jesting," remarked the banker se- 
 verely. 
 
 "Mr. Richards," repeated Edward, "your 
 daughter has asked me for her freedom and I 
 have granted it." 
 
 The banker was dumbfounded. 
 
 "May I inquire, sir, if her action is due to con- 
 duct or behavior unbecoming a gentleman?" 
 There was suppressed anger, verging near the 
 danger line in the tone of the inquiry. 
 
 "Miss Richards," replied Edward, "assigns no 
 other reason for the request than that of her hap- 
 piness. No consideration of my own sentiments 
 should be permitted to stand in the way of that 
 attainment. I trust you will retract any refer- 
 32
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ence to conduct and behavior that has been made." 
 "I beg your pardon what sudden madness is 
 this? My daughter shall be brought to her 
 senses. Why, we have always, from the time you 
 were little tots, treated the alliance as settled. 
 This is a whim in which you ought not to have 
 humored her unless perhaps the desire to be 
 free is mutual," the speaker became cautious and 
 
 guarded. "In such case, of course " 
 
 "Please let us discuss the subject no further," 
 said Edward. "I know Miss Richards would wish 
 me to inform you of the changed relationship. 
 Still, in my judgment, it is best that my father 
 and mother remain in ignorance of the broken 
 engagement. They are wrapt up in Alice, and I 
 dread the consequences of the discovery in their 
 present condition." 
 
 "My boy," declared the banker, "if you want 
 Alice you shall have her." 
 
 "Want her want her!" breathed Edward, 
 drunk with temptation. He pressed his hand 
 against his throbbing temples, the cool perspira- 
 tion moistening his palm. 
 
 "Yes, she is yours ! No child of mine shall " 
 
 "Stop! We are meditating a crime against 
 your daughter. Once for all I would counsel her 
 against parental authority yea, more, I would 
 rescue her from herself sooner than see her going 
 to the altar without the consent of her heart. 
 33
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Unless Alice Richards marries the man she loves," 
 continued Edward solemnly, "her life is ruined 
 ruin that should drive me mad, if I were the un- 
 happy man." 
 
 "Edward, my boy, I never half appreciated 
 your character. Alice is a sensible girl, and, per- 
 haps, it will come out all right yet." 
 
 The father and mother of Edward Reynolds 
 died believing that the marriage was to be solem- 
 nized between their son and the daughter of the 
 life-time friends. During the weeks of protracted 
 illness either Mr. Richards or his wife was con- 
 stantly at the home of the afflicted ones, render- 
 ing the last mortal moments of the sufferers as 
 comfortable and peaceful as love and affection are 
 ever able to do. 
 
 Mrs. Reynolds survived her husband but one 
 week, the knowledge of his death being withheld 
 from her until the day that the two souls were 
 reunited in the great Unknown. For hours pre- 
 vious to her death she had been unconscious. The 
 physician had told the watchers at the bedside that 
 the dying woman would probably rally just be- 
 fore dissolution. Gathered about that death-bed 
 were the son, Mrs. Richards, Alice and tke house- 
 keeper, waiting for the end. 
 
 At last the eyes opened, and upon recognizing 
 those present a wan smile hovered about the blood- 
 less lips. 
 
 34
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "How is your father, Edward?" 
 
 Edward knelt by the bed and taking the wasted 
 hand lying upon the coverlet in his, kissed the thin 
 lips before answering: "Father is at rest, 
 Mother." Mrs. Reynolds closed her eyes wearily. 
 After several moments she looked up again. 
 
 "I am dying, Edward, my darling boy." 
 
 "Yes, Mother, you are leaving me." The 
 words choked him. 
 
 "You will be brave, and noble, and good, all 
 your life, Edward?" 
 
 "Yes, Mother." 
 
 "And true?" 
 
 "And true." 
 
 "And a Christian?" 
 
 "Yes, with God's help, a Christian." She 
 reached up and drew his head down upon her 
 bosom, her hand moving caressingly over the 
 heavy hair. 
 
 "Good-bye, Anna," sobbed Mrs. Richards, 
 pressing a kiss upon the marble brow. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mary," responded the sick woman, 
 feebly. And two women that had loved each other 
 nearly a quarter of a century looked into each 
 other's eyes for the last time. 
 
 "Where is Alice?" asked the dying mother. 
 
 "I am here," coming forward from a place near 
 the window, where she had taken refuge, her eyes 
 red with weeping. 
 
 35
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Mrs. Richards took the hand that Alice had 
 placed gently upon her hair and held it. 
 
 "Children," the lips fluttered, "you must be 
 good to each other. *At rest,' " she repeated, her 
 mind wandering. "How bright the room is get- 
 ting! Where is my boy? let me see your face, 
 Edward bend nearer the light blinds me You 
 will always love and cherish Alice?" 
 
 "Mother! Mother!" moaned Edward in agony. 
 
 "Speak louder. I do not hear always love 
 her?" 
 
 Edward Reynolds pressed his lips to his moth- 
 er's ear and whispered: "I shall always love 
 Alice." 
 
 "And you A-1-i-c-e ? " 
 
 The lips ceased moving, the head sank deeper 
 in the pillows ; the spirit had fled. 
 
 Upon those cold lips was still lingering an un- 
 finished question unfinished and unanswered. 
 
 Silently they moved from the room, leaving the 
 broken-hearted son alone with his dead. 
 
 An hour later Alice went to the door and, open- 
 ing it slightly, glanced into the chamber of death. 
 Edward was still kneeling by the bedside, his arms 
 thrown across the body and his face resting upon 
 the heart that should beat no more. 
 
 What should she do? What ought she to do? 
 She recalled with a shudder the last words of the 
 dead and silently closed the door, remaining in the 
 36
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 hallway with a white hand lying upon the silver 
 knob. 
 
 In there the friend, companion, playmate, lover 
 of her childhood was bowed under the crushing be- 
 reavement of a mother's death. In all the wide 
 world he was utterly alone. What had he whis- 
 pered in his dying mother's ear? Something 
 like a guilty fear was stealing into the girl's heart. 
 An overmastering impulse was gaining upon her 
 resolution. What if he were proud and cold to 
 the world's unfortunates, he had loved and had 
 worshipped his mother! He loved the blood 
 was tingling in her veins. There in the room be- 
 yond the playmate, companion and lover was 
 stunned and bruised by the blow of a mother's 
 loss, while she was standing with a hand trembling 
 upon the knob of the door without the door that 
 would yield to her slightest motion. Suddenly 
 she remembered. Memory! flashing through her 
 mind like a bolt from heaven! Within the last 
 six weeks she had renounced forever the privilege 
 that was treasured now. Ay, more ; she had prom- 
 ised to give her life into the keeping of another. 
 She felt that safety lay in flight, when she became 
 conscious of another's presence. 
 
 "We must bring him away," said the house- 
 keeper. "He must not remain in the room 
 longer." Then the servant turned and confront- 
 ed the girl, inquiring: 
 
 37
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "You are Alice, are you not Alice Richards?" 
 
 "Yes," responded Alice, "but I would be any- 
 body anybody else." Scarcely had Alice spo- 
 ken, when the old woman caught the hands of the 
 girl and covered them with caresses. 
 
 "Accept my love and blessing," she said bro- 
 kenly. "I have never known a want since that 
 Christmas night when he came and found me and 
 my boy perishing, and through you " 
 
 "Through me me? I know not the meaning 
 of your words." 
 
 "Did Edward never tell you?" 
 
 Alice tottered backward, as though defending 
 herself against a threatened blow. 
 
 "It was my son and the boy at your home that 
 took the chicken to give me life; and Edward, the 
 noblest, truest, tenderest, came late that Christmas 
 
 night and delivered us. O Miss Richards " 
 
 But Alice had pushed past the speaker and was 
 fleeing down the hall away away from the 
 memory and the horror of it all. At last, she 
 understood the reason of the boy's affection for 
 Edward. At last ! at last but, too late ! 
 
 38
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Llewellyn Eldridge was forty-five years of age 
 when he met Alice Richards and fell desperately 
 in love with her; a thing which a much younger 
 man, or, for that matter, a much older one might 
 have done without exciting any great wonderment. 
 
 Banker Richards had known Eldridge during 
 a period of ten years in a business way. It 
 chanced, upon one of these visits of the latter at 
 the bank, that the meeting took place between 
 Alice and Llewellyn. Miss Richards had called, 
 as was her wont, at the well-known banking estab- 
 lishment to see her indulgent parent a moment 
 upon some charitable mission, interrupting a mo- 
 mentous business interview between her father and 
 a fine-looking, well-dressed stranger. Mr. Rich- 
 ards found himself in that uncomfortable dilemma 
 of either being rude to a valuable patron or, 
 waiving conventionality, of presenting his daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 Alice Richards did not fail to notice the strong, 
 resolute face and stalwart figure of her father's 
 client; yet, she would have been the most aston- 
 ished lady in the City of Brotherly Love had she 
 been told, then and there, that within the next 
 39
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 three months she was to be led to the altar by the 
 gentleman bowing in acknowledgment of the in- 
 troduction. 
 
 Llewellyn Eldridge had been left a couple of 
 thousand dollars as his portion of his father's es- 
 tate. This money came to him just as he was 
 entering his twenty-second year. Young Llewel- 
 lyn had never taken to agriculture in a way to 
 rejoice his bucolic sire. In fact, the young man 
 had shown so little promise of fulfilling his indus- 
 trious parent's expectations on the farm "that he 
 had been sent to college, in order, as it was re- 
 garded, to do the next best thing for the lad. 
 
 However, arriving at majority, and finding him- 
 self counting his share of an estate which he had 
 contributed so little to create, he had some idea of 
 the world in general, and a valuable knowledge of 
 many things in particular. 
 
 Before one month had elapsed after coming into 
 possession of his $2,000 legacy, he had pur- 
 chased a small tract of timber land, some miles 
 above Lock Haven, on the banks of Sinnemahon- 
 ing River, and had a saw-mill in course of erec- 
 tion; within two years he was worth $10,000; 
 twenty years later he was a millionaire. 
 
 He was at Philadelphia to consummate a deal 
 prodigious as compared with any previous project 
 undertaken by this rising financier. He was com- 
 pelled to admit someone into his confidence; it 
 40
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 was Banker Richards. They looked the matter 
 over together; consultations followed at the bank, 
 and at the residence. He met Miss Alice fre- 
 quently. Sometimes there were conferences which 
 the banker did not attend. These latter became 
 more frequent and of longer duration. In short, 
 it is a debatable question whether or no that "deal" 
 at the banker's office was not suffering somewhat in 
 consequence. 
 
 Tho' Llewellyn Eldridge had been a successful 
 business man, and had rubbed elbows with the 
 shrewdest speculative talent of the lumbering cen- 
 ters, without getting the worst of the encounter, 
 he had never had much experience with the fair 
 sex; but, if one were to judge by appearances at 
 the residence of Banker Richards, a most favor- 
 able opinion should have been passed upon his 
 ability in the new field of adventure. 
 
 "A box of gloves, of Parisian make, just from 
 France !" True enough, a woman of less indif- 
 ference to such feminine, but useful, ornaments 
 than Alice Richards would have exclaimed in more 
 extravagant rhapsodies over the perfect and ex- 
 quisite package of the very latest cuts, just ar- 
 rived from that maternal source of fashionable 
 novelties Paris and now placed in her hands by 
 Llewellyn Eldridge, returning from a day's run 
 to New York. Llewellyn had three sisters, and he 
 blessed them a thousand times for each and every 
 41
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 pair of gloves he had lavished upon them, sever- 
 ally and collectively, upon seeing the grateful look 
 in Alice's deep and lustrous eyes. 
 
 "I wanted to bring you some memento of my 
 visit to the city, Alice," a little dubious over the 
 lack of formality in omitting the conventional 
 "Miss Richards," at the same time forgetting to 
 mention that he had worked a full half day with 
 Una, his youngest and most frivolous sister, in a 
 roundabout way, to find out what present a gentle- 
 man could make a lady, that would be, in all like- 
 lihood, the most acceptable. 
 
 "I fear you will think me vain," injecting the 
 tips of her fingers into the left one. Did you 
 ever notice that a woman invariably puts a glove 
 on the left hand first, and a shoe on the left foot? 
 
 "And my size, too," coloring profusely at a 
 not unwelcome familiarity, associated as the 
 thought was with previous close observation, with 
 which he must have scrutinized those same fragile 
 digits that were to be protected by his thoughtful- 
 ness. 
 
 Bold resolves were executed with dispatch by 
 this man. It was the habit of his life. 
 
 "What beautiful hands !" appropriating them 
 in his, firmly, in a manner that would have done 
 credit to an habitue of a fashionable summer 
 resort. 
 
 "No, Alice, do not remove them." There was a 
 42
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 strange quaver in his voice. "I love you, Alice; 
 be my wife." The usually white face was even 
 gray in its colorlessness. 
 
 "Darling, I shall make up for the discrepancy 
 in our years with the deepest and truest love. Oh, 
 how men stumble! To be reputed rich, to have 
 the world acknowledge in me the genius of the 
 financier has been the absorbing motive of my ex- 
 istence. A home and thy sweet companionship 
 will go far towards compensating for years squan- 
 dered in the pursuit of wealth." 
 
 The hands still remained in his, and a moment 
 later he drew an unresisting head to his breast, 
 while the face, peeping from masses of golden 
 hair, was very suggestive of unalloyed happiness. 
 
 That afternoon two gentlemen were closeted in 
 the most private of all private compartments of 
 the great banking institution of Philadelphia. 
 The elder gentleman had just shaken the younger 
 one by the hand most cordially. 
 
 "A fine day, Mr. Richards." 
 
 "Indeed it is," assented the banker, affably. 
 
 "I have something very near my heart about 
 which I wish to consult you." 
 
 "Yes, I understand; here are the reports of the 
 surveyors and timber experts," indicating a stack 
 of memorized sheets lying upon the table, which 
 had but at that moment been receiving the earnest 
 inspection of the speaker. 
 43
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "But, Mr. Richards, you do not quite compre- 
 hend me." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "I am about to ask a great personal sacri- 
 fice " 
 
 "I have every confidence in the gentlemen fur- 
 nishing the reports, and shall be only too glad to 
 accommodate " 
 
 "But, Mr. Richards " 
 
 "I never felt so satisfied with a project, and 
 should like nothing better than sharing in the en- 
 terprise ; you will clear a cool million ; you'll " 
 
 "Mr. Richards." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "If I should ask a great favor " 
 
 "$1,000, or a hundred of them " 
 
 'It is not a matter of money," helplessly. 
 
 "NOT A MATTER OF MONEY?" The banker 
 shifted in his chair, preparatory to sizing his visi- 
 tor up in a new light. 
 
 "It is much nearer than dollars and cents," con- 
 tinued the younger man in a conciliatory, yet nerv- 
 ous, tone, noticing the look of alarm, or rather 
 suspicion, in the other's eyes. 
 
 "I shall respect your confidence," commenced 
 the banker, clearing his throat, feeling that he 
 was being surprised out of his domain of finance, 
 "and trust you will do me the honor of making 
 your wishes known with perfect frankness, assur- 
 44
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ing you by our many years of BUSINESS as- 
 sociation, that, if it lies within my power to aid or 
 advise, you may rely upon my assistance and coun- 
 sel." The banker was not a man of sentiment at 
 the bank, and it was next to impossible to disas- 
 sociate "business" from any transaction. 
 
 "Thank you. In fact, you are the only person 
 in position to help me in this affair; that is " 
 
 "Not dollars and cents," ruminated the banker, 
 respectfully waiting for the other to proceed. 
 
 "I want a wife." 
 
 The banker felt relieved. 
 
 "A wife ! Why, bless your soul, a man of your 
 age and in your position," deliberately pursued 
 the noted financier, "can marry easily enough. 
 There is not a lady in the city, of any sense, who 
 would reject such a proposal." He felt well upon 
 delivering the compliment. 
 
 "I love your daughter." 
 
 "The devil!" 
 
 "I trust his majesty has not been consulted in 
 the matter," thought Eldridge, nettled at the vehe- 
 mence of the banker. 
 
 "And she Alice " 
 
 "Loves me." 
 
 "THE DEVIL !" 
 
 The man of finance collapsed, colored apoplec- 
 tically, rose from his chair, walked to the side of 
 the table, where the younger man was standing, 
 45
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 and, laying his hand on his arm, led him to the 
 door. "Go tell Alice she has pleased her father." 
 
 Eldridge's heart was too full for utterance, but, 
 in parting, he wrenched the banker's hand in a 
 way that threatened the safety of that member. 
 
 The door was scarcely closed before the clerk 
 projected his head in the room. 
 
 "Sam Jones wants $1,000 for thirty days." 
 
 "Let him have it." 
 
 "What?" said the messenger, personally know- 
 ing the insolvency of Jones. 
 
 "Let him have it." The boy disappeared, but 
 was back in a moment. 
 
 "Jasper Clark's note of $3,000 is offered for 
 discount." 
 
 "Discount it." The boy departed. 
 
 "That man Eldridge is a man of proper and 
 superior judgment."
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "Mother," quizzed Banker Richards, the morn- 
 ing paper lying unnoticed on the table at his 
 finger-tips, "what is the matter with Alice?" 
 
 "Really, I do not know. I am troubled about 
 the child," she admitted after a brief pause. 
 
 "The world is coming to a pretty pass," de- 
 clared Mr. Richards, "if we send our daughters 
 away to female seminaries that they may be in- 
 structed in the arts and accomplishments of sham- 
 ming." 
 
 "Alice is not deceitful," the motherly instinct 
 aroused in defense of her child. 
 
 "The proper name is shamming, that's what it 
 is. If she thinks she can pull the wool over my 
 eyes, she's mistaken most mightily. This bub- 
 bling over with joy before our faces and white 
 and scared when our backs are turned is conceal- 
 ment shamming. I don't see any sense in being 
 happy and laughing unless one feels happy and 
 like laughing," he concluded, sententiously. 
 
 "Are you sure it is not our imagination?" in- 
 quired his wife, giving the culprit the benefit of 
 the doubt. 
 
 "Well, I tell you imagination is one thing, see- 
 47
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ing a thing, another. Last evening, for instance, 
 Alice and I were sitting on the veranda, when our 
 youngster and that boy over at Reynolds' bobbed 
 up mysteriously from somewhere and flung them- 
 selves upon the grass under the edge of the porch. 
 
 " 'Yep, he is going, for a sure thing,' said the 
 boy belonging over yonder, unaware of our pres- 
 ence, 'and he is taking a sight of stuff with him, 
 trunk after trunk ; just as if he was going to stay 
 the balance of his natural life.' 
 
 " 'Where is he migrating to ?' put in our young- 
 ster. 
 
 " 'Ingea.' 
 
 " 'What makes him go?' 
 
 " 'Because, probable, it's lonesome since his fa- 
 ther and mother died.' 
 
 " 'I bet it hain't that,' hazarded our young imp, 
 with the gusto of a born skeptic. 
 
 " 'I guess I know,' replied the visiting boy, 
 bristling up. 
 
 " 'Didn't you never hear anything?' says our 
 hopeful, confidentially. 
 
 " 'Well, I guess ! Mother is always telling me, 
 "little pitchers has big ears." Why, they say, he 
 is rich as Crokus, or Crowecus, or something like 
 that. The estate is all settled, and he has worked 
 day and night, and we are going to stay there 
 right along just the same.' 
 
 " 'Is that all?' asked our lad, with a post-grad- 
 48
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 uate air of disdain for the ABC knowledge of 
 his companion. Then, quick as flash, he contin- 
 ued: 'I don't suppose you ever heard that Ed- 
 ward and Alice used to be sweethearts and down- 
 right spoony, too?' 
 
 " 'Watch them scatter,' whispered Alice to me, 
 and, tiptoeing to the railing, she doused the water 
 of a half -filled vase upon their gossiping heads. 
 As by magic they disappeared around the corner 
 of the house. Then Alice came back to my side, 
 her eyes shining like two stars, and pressing her 
 cold, laughing lips to my cheek, said: 'I never 
 was spoony, was I, papa, dear?' 
 
 " 'Spoony is capital,' I agreed. 'Spooniest of 
 the spoony.' 
 
 " 'Do good for evil,' she smiled. 'I shall bring 
 you a bouquet,' and she tripped away, humming 
 some love-tune." 
 
 "Surely," remarked Mrs. Richards, who had 
 paid the closest attention to her husband's recital, 
 "our fears are without foundation." 
 
 "I thought so, too," added the banker. "But, 
 as Alice did not return, I went to the conserva- 
 tory to see what had become of her. I found her 
 crouched upon the ground in a corner, half-buried 
 beneath palm leaves, her arms thrown over a 
 bench and her white face resting upon those bare 
 arms. I watched her as long as I could bear be- 
 fore speaking. At the sound of my voice she 
 49
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 sprang to her feet, and in an instant was at my 
 side trembling and laughing." 
 
 "What did she say," interrupted Mrs. Richards. 
 "Did she offer no explanation?" 
 
 "Explain nothing !" declared the banker. " 'Did 
 you "find me snoozing ?' she asked, pulling me away 
 to a rose bush flush with bloom. 'Are they not 
 lovely? See, this one I shall give you,' breaking off 
 the rose and securing it to the lapel of my coat." 
 
 "Does Alice feel that she is making a mistake, 
 do you think?" inquired Mrs. Richards, anxiously. 
 
 "She is making a mistake," declared the banker. 
 "I do not approve the way she has broken off 
 her engagement with Edward. Why, I never 
 broke a promise in my entire life." 
 
 "Like father, like daughter," sighed Mrs. Rich- 
 ards. 
 
 "Not in the way of fulfilling engagements," de- 
 clared the banker. 
 
 "Yes, even so," asserted Mrs. Richards. "The 
 engagement between Alice and Edward, was a bar- 
 gain made by the parents of the children; the one 
 made between Alice and Mr. Eldridge is made by 
 them, and the father of our darling child never, 
 in all his life, kept a promise more sacredly, more 
 religiously, than that child will keep hers." 
 
 "If she does not love Eldridge," said the bank- 
 er resolutely, "much as I like the fellow, I would 
 send him back to the pine woods." 
 50
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Hush ! I hear Alice coming," and the next mo- 
 ment the subject of the parents' uneasiness danced 
 into the room, the very embodiment of youth, con- 
 tentment, happiness. 
 
 "I have a surprise, papa." 
 
 "A discovery of a new beggar, I will wager." 
 
 "Guess again." 
 
 "Well, Llewellyn has been writing silly let- 
 ters." 
 
 "Oh, papa, you say that because you want me 
 to run away." 
 
 "I shall win medals sometime for cleverness in 
 guessing answers to conundrums." 
 
 "Not unless you improve prodigiously. Come, 
 sir, you have another chance." 
 
 "Hasn't Eldridge been writing nonsense?" 
 watching her closely. 
 
 "Please, papa, don't be horrid. What do you 
 think I am going to show you? Something glo- 
 rious! I have it here," revealing a hand holding 
 a letter, which was passed rapidly before her fa- 
 ther's eyes and returning in temporary hiding be- 
 hind her. 
 
 "Give me time." 
 
 "How long? One, two, three, four, five, six," 
 and she went on counting up to twenty. 
 
 "Will it keep?" 
 
 "What keep?" 
 
 "The surprise." 
 
 51
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "I know what I shall do, and there is a dear old 
 papa that won't be the wiser." 
 
 "Will you tell Eldr " Here the hand at 
 
 liberty was placed over the offending lips, only to 
 be released upon the head of the gentleman nod- 
 ding assent to the interrogation, "Will you be 
 good?" 
 
 "There, I have mussed your hair to pay for 
 your impertinence. Besides," she added, "I am 
 going to make you sorry because of your 
 bad behavior," whereupon the dainty and per- 
 fumed pages of a letter were spread before her 
 father's eyes, which he read eagerly, Alice watch- 
 ing his face closely as he proceeded: 
 
 "PARIS, FRANCE. 
 "May 19, 1850. 
 
 "Dearest Alice: Your ever welcome letter 
 received, and contents well, for want of a better 
 word devoured. Your engagement takes my 
 breath away. Just as I had abandoned hope of 
 such a happy contingency, that is, putting on 
 'The chains that bind,' I receive the glad tidings 
 I had given up anticipating. I know he must be 
 nice, or you would never love and marry him. 
 
 "You know that I shall come. It is three long 
 
 years since I have seen you. Alice, wilful but 
 
 steadfast, did two girls ever love each other more? 
 
 The Count, bless his heart, says you are the only 
 
 52
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 one of whom he is really ever jealous. The Count 
 is coming, too, and Leonard. Leo, that is Leon- 
 ard, is two in August. Oh, what a boy he is! 
 Robust and mischievous! Both nurse and myself 
 are tired out when night comes, he is such a happy 
 care. How we love our children! But dear me, 
 I am writing of my affairs, when I am thinking of 
 yours. I know I shall like your affianced husband, 
 from your description, however modest. When a 
 man of his years no offense falls in love, it is 
 'for keeps,' as my brothers used to say when play- 
 ing marbles. You must visit France on your 
 honeymoon. There is no lovelier spot under the 
 sun. Dear old France, with her romance and her 
 history. There is a warm place in my heart for 
 my native America, but I am so happy, darling, 
 here with my husband and Leo, I could never think 
 of going back to stay. Sometimes I get the least 
 tiny bit lonesome, and then I think, if you could 
 come and live here, too, how nice it would be. You 
 always said I was selfish; but, I suppose, it is out 
 of the question that is, your living here. Any- 
 way, the Count says he is going to hold a certain 
 husband and wife prisoners when they visit France 
 until two beautiful women quarrel, and then he 
 can have me all to himself. 
 
 "Your marriage is so near we are making prep- 
 arations to start at once. I cannot tell you, dear- 
 est friend, of the joy with which I am looking for-
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ward, after so many years of separation, to our 
 reunion. We were all in all to each other during 
 those years of intimacy. Dear me ! Do you re- 
 member what silly and sensible girls we were, too? 
 But we will go over those reminiscences together. 
 "Give my love to your father and mother. The 
 Count sends regards to all. Oh, I hope you will be 
 so happy, happy, dear Alice, in the life before you. 
 "Your loving Eleanore, 
 
 "Countess Ratcliff." 
 
 "Isn't it splendid of them to come?" queried 
 Alice. 
 
 "I am glad for my little girl's sake. Just think, 
 Nobility at my daughter's wedding!" 
 
 "Papa, you know I don't care for titles any 
 more than you do." 
 
 "Kiss me and we'll make up. There, Eleanore 
 is a sweet, brimming-full-of-sense little woman, 
 and her presence at my Alice's wedding is a source 
 of gratification, inasmuch, alone, as she is my 
 daughter's intimate friend, and for many years 
 her companion. I will go even farther, I shall 
 bury all resentment for those many sleepless 
 nights, of which I still cherish painful recollec- 
 tions, because of two tittering girls in a distant 
 section of the house, talking confidences loud 
 enough to be heard four blocks away, when they 
 should have been hours asleep." 
 54.
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Mercy, papa, you are most ungracious." 
 
 "So you are glad to leave me, eh?" 
 
 "No, no, not that; but " 
 
 "Yes, I know those 'buts.' This is what a man 
 gets for walking the floor of nights, of rousing 
 up at two in the morning with the mercury twenty 
 below zero and going a mile for a doctor, be- 
 cause 'baby' has the colic. This is our reward!" 
 concluding in mock resignation. 
 
 "We are going to live here except summers, 
 when you and mamma are to stay with us, and 
 Llewellyn says it is the delight of sportsmen to 
 fish in those streams; besides, you have worked 
 enough, and Llewellyn says we shall all pull 
 stakes and travel." 
 
 " 'And Llewellyn says,' " groaned the father, 
 while any further remark was interrupted by the 
 entrance of a middle-aged lady. Mrs. Richards 
 was essentially a home body, still retaining her 
 youthful buoyancy of spirits and comeliness. 
 Years ago she had brought her young husband 
 the nucleus of his present fortune. She had 
 watched his success with all the pride of an affec- 
 tionate, if not ambitious, woman. Once she had 
 checked the impulse to gratify the passion for 
 beautiful and costly things. They could not af- 
 ford them. The time came, however, when she 
 could and did indulge inclinations to the utmost. 
 It was for Alice's sake. God had given them but 
 55
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 one child, and she had had a home surrounded with 
 every refinement that lies at the command of 
 wealth. 
 
 "What do you think, mother, Alice is bound we 
 shall pull stakes and vamoose." 
 
 "That is, travel, mamma," interrupted the 
 daughter. 
 
 "It would be pleasant to go abroad for a year 
 or two," assented the elder lady in a calm, matter- 
 of-fact way. 
 
 "Get my hat and coat, you young siren, while 
 I beat a retreat from these arch conspirators. 
 Mind, another word about this proposed hegira 
 and I'll tell Eldridge all about Reynolds," he ad- 
 monished, fixing his eyes once more searchingly 
 upon her face. 
 
 "Ha, ha! forestalled again!" cried Alice at the 
 disappearing husband and father. 
 
 This man had a dual life: one clear, incisive, 
 frigid, at the bank; the other lovable, paternal, 
 domestic, at home. Both institutions were sacred; 
 hence, perhaps, the double existence. 
 
 "How jolly papa is!" exclaimed Alice. 
 
 "He is very fond of Mr. Eldridge. He believes 
 in his business ability. Mr. Eldridge is a person 
 of excellent character and business integrity, be- 
 sides possessing great personal attraction. Your 
 father does not doubt his daughter's future hap- 
 piness. Among the men of the world, my child," 
 56
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 continued the mother, "your parents could not 
 have found a son-in-law in whom they will take 
 greater pleasure." As the woman spoke, the arm 
 of the girl stole around the speaker's waist, while 
 with the disengaged hand, she pushed the heavy 
 tresses of hair back from the mother's forehead, 
 affectionately. How perfectly they understood 
 each other. 
 
 "Mamma, I am happy; sometimes when I lie 
 awake in bed, it seems almost wicked that God 
 should be so good to me, when so many 
 others " 
 
 "Hush, child! In the abstract of happiness, 
 we attach too much importance to conditions 
 of wealth and position. A woman's kingdom is 
 the kingdom of love. Sometimes I have thought 
 I would have been happier if we had been less fa- 
 vored with this world's goods; a man is more de- 
 pendent upon his wife's love in humble circum- 
 stances. There are so many ways she can lift him 
 from despondency that he learns to rest upon her 
 love for confidence and strength. She misses the 
 sweet privilege as one of the penalties of great 
 prosperity. A woman's heart is a strange anom- 
 aly; it must be tasked in order to expand. 
 Woman is the smaller vessel but the stronger. 
 She survives when man perishes ; she will build a 
 temple of sunshine of the broken fragments of 
 man's crushed hopes tut, tut, what am I talking? 
 57
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Run away to the piano, while I read Eleanore's 
 letter." 
 
 The girl moved towards a rosewood piano. In 
 passing she paused a moment at the window, which 
 looked out upon the wealthy section of the city, 
 and drew back the heavy lace curtains to admit 
 more light. As she did so she noticed an open 
 carriage passing the house. The sole occupant 
 glanced up in the direction of the window; their 
 eyes met. The man lowered his head and urged 
 the horse to greater speed. 
 
 "Mamma, come here, quick!" 
 
 "What is it, Alice?" 
 
 "That is Edward Mr. Reynolds," pointing at 
 the disappearing carriage. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Richards. 
 
 "He looked this way, and I thought " she 
 
 paused. 
 
 "You thought," repeated Mrs. Reynolds. 
 
 "Oh, I thought his face was white and and 
 full of pain." 
 
 The face haunted her. That time had come in 
 her life when she fully realized that an impass- 
 able gulf had been dug by the silent workmen that 
 shape the destinies of human lives ; and on the far- 
 ther shore she saw the man, whom she had re- 
 garded many years as her future husband, whom 
 she had liked if not loved in those olden days, 
 vivid and real, reaching his strong arms toward 
 58
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 her. And then a fog, so dense and thick no eye 
 could penetrate, arose in smothering vapors from 
 the unseen depths of that gulf, enveloping the 
 entreating form in mist. 
 
 The pain in the face troubled her, and a fear, 
 chilling her, numbing her, crept stealthily over her 
 heart, like unto the sound of cold clods dropping 
 upon the lid in a new-made grave, where some 
 loved one has been given back to Earth. 
 
 Alice Richards, thou art renouncing, unawares, 
 those priceless treasures, whose value in after years 
 shall seem unto thee greater than the gems of the 
 Orient. 
 
 One false step has placed thy tender feet upon 
 the edge of a mighty precipice. Thou knowest 
 not thine own heart. 
 
 59
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The reader will follow the sole occupant of the 
 carriage that was seen passing the residence of 
 Banker Richards. We shall go with him to the 
 house occupied by a Presbyterian minister, who 
 had some two years before cast his fortune in the 
 City of Brotherly Love. This young divine had 
 risen rapidly into popularity and in the affection 
 of his flock. In his ministerial capacity it had been 
 his duty to officiate at the funerals of both parents 
 of Edward Reynolds. Throwing the reins over the 
 post, the young man sprang to the walk and as- 
 cended the steps in a way disclosing superfluity of 
 strength and vitality. Though, perhaps, hurt as 
 deeply as it is the lot of man to be in being denied 
 what the heart covets most, his face reveals none 
 of the anguish to the clerical gentleman answer- 
 ing the ring of the door-bell in person. As yet, 
 this young co-worker in the vineyard of his Mas- 
 ter keeps no servants. 
 
 "Come right in, Mr. Reynolds." The minister 
 was affability itself. "Let me take your hat," se- 
 curing the article mentioned in a way that implied 
 with or without the consent of the owner. "Oh! 
 60
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 the horse is all right; still, maybe I had better 
 throw a blanket over him back in a moment." 
 
 Out in the street went the clerical gentleman, 
 bare-headed, looking after the comfort of the ani- 
 mal, his ministerial robes by no means soiled by 
 this action. Young Reynolds had protested at 
 the proceedings, which had all been done so sud- 
 denly and unexpectedly that the reverend gentle- 
 man was running up the steps before his purpose 
 had been fully comprehended by the visitor. 
 
 "Always have to take care of my guests, don't 
 you know? You came around the corner under 
 considerable speed horse sweating take cold 
 spoiled." 
 
 "Mr. St. Clair, I regret to have caused you this 
 inconvenience. To tell the truth, I feel repri- 
 manded. I am not usually so thoughtless." 
 
 "No occasion for self-recrimination. I love the 
 horse. Next to man, the horse enjoys intelligence, 
 but horridly misunderstood. Yes, sir, the horse is 
 gifted, and cultivating his acquaintance is a hobby 
 I mean to indulge." 
 
 The by no means lucrative income of the clergy- 
 man had barely sufficed for the more pressing 
 needs of the household. Still, the cheerful dispo- 
 sition of the minister was able to see in the future 
 a generous supply of such powerful auxiliaries to 
 our happiness, and, upon the theory that there 
 is more pleasure in anticipation than participation, 
 61
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 the man of gospel was receiving his full share of 
 enjoyment. 
 
 "You keep no horse, I believe?" inquired the 
 visitor. 
 
 "No, sir, not just at present. Fact is, my ac- 
 commodations are so cramped I have to forego 
 the pleasure." No one would have suspected that 
 the minister deprived himself of equine enjoyment 
 for other reason than the one indicated. 
 
 "Will you allow me to present to you the horse 
 which you tethered to the horse-block?" 
 
 "Will I allow you? What a question!" The 
 minister was nervous. Already he saw the few 
 elusive dimes he possessed scampering away on er- 
 rands of purchasing oats, whereas it was only by 
 practising the utmost frugality that the wants of 
 the material man were supplied. He began to 
 feel uncomfortable in that his zeal had betrayed 
 him into a pit, from which he must extricate him- 
 self at whatever jeopardy to pride. 
 
 "You jest you could not think seriously of 
 parting with such a superb creature." 
 
 "I assure you, my kind friend, I was never more 
 in earnest. Not only do I desire you to accept 
 the horse, but I am about to urge you to occupy 
 my home." The gentleman in cloth collapsed. 
 "I am going away," taking advantage of the help- 
 lessness of his auditor, "to be gone several years. 
 You already are aware that I have no kindred, ex- 
 62
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 cept from the common parentage of the 'Gar- 
 den.' " 
 
 Rev. St. Clair was a poor man; more, he had 
 always been poor. He had worked his way 
 through college, and was a capital manager. The 
 remains of a dollar would linger longer in his 
 pockets than in those of any other person the 
 writer has ever known. This was not so much a 
 matter of choice as of necessity. Still he never, 
 in later years, made his previous privations and 
 self-denial points of virtuous excellence. While he 
 had never been at home on "Easy Street," as the 
 saying goes, he preferred his acquaintances to 
 reckon him an inhabitant of that favored locality, 
 providing they would be gracious enough to con- 
 sider him thus fortunate without the practice of 
 duplicity on his part. Here was an instance in 
 which the very agreeable delusion had to be shat- 
 tered. He was too much of a worldly student to 
 be ignorant of the fact that being "broke" is sel- 
 dom troublesome, unless the secret is exposed to 
 public inspection. He was in a dilemma, and, 
 anxious to extricate himself as creditably as pos- 
 sible, without extra violence to his notions of the 
 worldly fitness of things. 
 
 "Mrs. St. Clair and myself have become deeply 
 attached to our modest home," commenced the 
 dominie, to be stopped by the interruption 
 
 "Now, Mr. St. Clair, I am not going to accept 
 63
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 'no' for an answer. I have driven over to take 
 yourself and worthy lady to examine the estab- 
 lishment, and, if you will acquaint Mrs. St. Clair 
 with the object of my visit, in order that she may 
 get ready to accompany us at the earliest possible 
 moment, you will greatly oblige me." 
 
 "Thinks I am a millionaire, with a couple of 
 thousand rent a bagatelle, five hundred, in keep- 
 ing up the premises a song !" ruminated the min- 
 ister to himself. There is a sort of perversity in 
 man's make-up that is very indulgent to being 
 considered well-to-do by associates. Upon sitting 
 down, nine times out of ten, a man's hand will in- 
 stinctively cover, with unerring precision, the 
 patch on the knee of his trousers, and holy orders, 
 appearances to the contrary, are no exception to 
 the rule. Rev. St. Clair cherished a genuine re- 
 gard for his visitor. He evinced deep pleasure in 
 the young man's preference for his society. To 
 be sure, the minister had known the parents of 
 Edward Reynolds. He had feelingly preached the 
 funeral sermons of father and mother, members of 
 his church, following each other to the grave one 
 week apart, and had offered such consolation to 
 the sorrowing son as his professional privileges 
 permitted. He had heard of the boy and girl at- 
 tachment, of the broken engagement, and readily 
 divined the cause of the resolve to go away. But 
 his part in the present business transaction should 
 64
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 be free from mercenary motives. So far as ha 
 was concerned, he would break the bubble., 
 
 "Mr. Reynolds, do you know I am a poor man?" 
 It was said without reservation. 
 
 "Why, of course I do." 
 
 "Oh, you do! How refreshingly ingenuous," 
 commented the clergyman to himself. 
 
 "I should not otherwise make the request," con- 
 tinued the young man. 
 
 "No?" arching the eyebrows a notch higher. 
 
 "You see, I am contemplating an absence of 
 many years. I shall never dispose of the home of 
 my parents. I want tenants to my taste, and the 
 knowledge that the friends who have shown me so 
 much kindness are living in my home, and that the 
 old lady domestic and her son will be treated affec- 
 tionately, that, perhaps, one room will be kept 
 apart for my distant return, that the premises will 
 be kept in repair and the grounds tended, as my 
 parents delighted in them, will be to me, wherever 
 I chance to go, a sweet reflection." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, but I repeat, I am a poor 
 man." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "I cannot pay rent." 
 
 "Rent! I have demanded no rent." 
 
 Rev. St. Clair began to wriggle uneasily in his* 
 chair. He seemed oppressed with a sense of the 
 other's unfairness. The younger nian, who was 
 65
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 watching him intently, did not fail to observe the 
 thoughts running in the clergyman's mind, and 
 going to his side, took his hand kindly. 
 
 "You are my friend, you were my father's, my 
 mother's friend ; I am vacating my home, and must 
 leave it in somebody's possession; whom so natur- 
 ally to be chosen ? You shall keep the old garden- 
 er, if you like, who knows every nook and crook of 
 the grounds." 
 
 Mr. Reynolds could be very irresistible when he 
 preferred, but a poor man's pride is no small ob- 
 stacle to be removed. Mrs. St. Clair appeared in 
 the room. 
 
 "I thought I recognized your voice," she said, 
 extending her hand in welcome to the visitor. "By 
 the way," she continued, "you must stay and dine 
 with us." 
 
 Edward Reynolds was no stranger at the table 
 of Rev. St. Clair. For some months a friendship 
 had existed between these two men, who were in 
 many respects of habit and disposition similar. 
 Had Edward Reynolds been poor, he would have 
 been a St. Clair; had St. Clair been born rich, he 
 would have been an Edward Reynolds. The inti- 
 macy was profitable to both. 
 
 "On one condition," replied Reynolds, glancing 
 from Mrs. St. Clair to her husband. 
 
 "Granted, if I may decide. Impose the terms." 
 
 "I have found an ally. Together, sir," ad- 
 66
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 dressing the intrepid spiritual advisor, "we shall 
 overcome your scruples." 
 
 Here Mrs. St. Clair was made acquainted with 
 the nature of the visit, and joined so heartily in 
 the plan that her devoted better-half capitulated 
 at discretion. Possession was to be taken at once. 
 Everything was to remain in the great house to 
 be enjoyed by the new occupants until the owner's 
 return. Mrs. St. Clair fluttered about, bubbling 
 over with happiness at the prospects of the tem- 
 poral advantages so unexpectedly fallen to their 
 lot. She was an ambitious woman, proud of her 
 husband, earnest in his work, anxious for his ad- 
 vancement. Her woman's intuition told her that 
 a residence in the palatial home of the Reynolds 
 would be attended with benefits of no mean order. 
 Society imposes terms which may be artificial and 
 unreasonable, but for all that, not to be despised; 
 and this sensible little woman saw as through a 
 horoscope the improvement of her husband's cir- 
 cumstances. The following years showed her a 
 true prophetess. 
 
 67
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A small boy, perhaps fourteen years of age, had 
 turned from the beaten highway and penetrated 
 the dense wood growing upon either side of the 
 road at this point. 
 
 About ten or fifteen rods farther, had he gone 
 that distance, he would have come to a wooden 
 bridge, which spanned the Sinnemahoning River, 
 now turbulent with recent storms ; and he might 
 have seen, situated on the opposite shore, some 
 eight or ten rods distant from the bank, a large, 
 imposing house, surrounded by stately trees; and 
 he could have heard the merry laughter of many 
 children, for the daughter, who queened it in this 
 magnificent residence, was celebrating, with appro- 
 priate festivities, her fifth birthday. 
 
 It was as well he turned into the forest where 
 he did, else the sound of the glad voices, and the 
 sight of the gay apparel, might have added more 
 bitterness to the cup already overflowing. 
 
 Notwithstanding the early November day was 
 severe, there was scarcely sufficient clothing worn 
 by this youth to cover his nakedness. His little 
 brown legs and arms were exposed below the knees 
 and elbows ; yet, he did not seem to mind his condi- 
 68
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 tion, having been inured to all kinds of weather 
 and privation. Such instances of endurance sug- 
 gest to the mind an epiphytic being able to exist 
 in not withdrawing from the substance of others. 
 
 As the boy advanced into the wood, he surveyed 
 the ground carefully, now and then his vigilance 
 being rewarded in the discovery of a nut, which 
 was immediately transferred to a basket suspend- 
 ed by a stout cord from his shoulders. The boy, 
 during these operations among the leaves, kept up 
 a nondescript whistling tune, being a sort of com- 
 bination between content and resignation. 
 
 It was evident the squirrels, which watched the 
 encroachment of the stranger with manifest suspi- 
 cion, had preceded him and garnered the larger 
 part of these kernels for their winter supply. 
 
 Having the advantage of experience, the lad 
 searched the tops of the tall hickories and, locating 
 such trees as had many burrs, would examine 
 the ground beneath them with varying success. 
 
 Standing among the trees with his head thrown 
 well back, gazing upwards, he presented a strange 
 picture. His was a face singularly handsome, 
 though emaciated and browned by exposure ; every 
 feature was strong and reliant. One seeing him 
 thus might not well have avoided wondering by 
 what combination of circumstances the lad was re- 
 duced to his present extremity ; surely that boy's 
 lineage was good. The quick intelligence of that 
 69
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 face, and that massive head, about which clustered 
 thick curls of hair, dark as a raven's wing, indi- 
 cated a misunderstanding somewhere. 
 
 While in this attitude, his attention was at- 
 tracted by the sound of children's voices, and, 
 peering among the trees, he saw a number of boys 
 and girls collecting their arms full of pieces of 
 bark and driftwood, and approaching perilously 
 near the angry river, they would throw this mis- 
 cellaneous debris into the water, making the woods 
 echo with the Babel of merriment. 
 
 "It is queer," he commented to himself, half 
 aloud, "they are permitted to play in that manner ; 
 someone should warn them of their danger." But 
 as he looked at their fine clothes and then at his 
 own half-clad figure, he acknowledged to himself 
 that, should he perform his office, it would only 
 have the opposite effect, if for no other object 
 than giving him to understand that advice was 
 disdained coming from such a source. 
 
 Somehow the reflection afforded him anything 
 but pleasure, and it is no wonder, there stole into 
 his heart bitterness and rebellion against a fate, 
 which held him, as in a vice, within these confines 
 of social ostracism. It is a cruel lesson, this 
 and he was young to have learned it that a serv- 
 ice, however meritorious and opportune, is nearly 
 always regarded as effrontery when volunteered by 
 a social inferior; and it is just possible he was 
 70
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 watching their diversion with less concern, when 
 there rang out, shrill and distinct, from a frantic 
 mother's lips, "My child, my child!" 
 
 All thoughts of indifference vanished, and with 
 the fleetness of a deer he bounded forward to the 
 group of silent, awe-stricken children. He seized 
 the woman, who had arrived before him at the 
 bank, and who was in the act of throwing herself 
 into the swiftly gliding water, and forced her 
 backward. 
 
 "Hold her," he said, and the next moment he 
 had leaped far out into the torrent that lashed it- 
 self in its fury into foam. After a few regular 
 strokes, he reached the yet conscious child, whose 
 light woolen garments had buoyed her up. 
 
 "Do not clutch hold of me," he commanded, 
 "and I will save you." 
 
 The mother and children followed along the 
 shore, watching the struggles of the boy with in- 
 tense anxiety. The peril of one of their favorites 
 had broken down all barriers of social caste; and, 
 yet, did they think of him save as an instrument 
 by which one of their number was to be restored? 
 
 Wave after wave would beat them back from 
 any temporary advantage; still, undaunted, the 
 little fellow would renew his efforts with additional 
 vigor. Slowly but surely he was nearing the 
 bank with his helpless burden. Suddenly the 
 watchers saw him bending to his task with every 
 71
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 energy strained to its utmost, but the murmur of 
 praise died upon their lips, and there issued from 
 twenty small throats in chorus, "A rock ! A rock ! 
 Look out for the rock !" They saw the boy clutch 
 the girl close in his arms, then she shot out of those 
 arms, past the ragged edges of the rock, into the 
 stiller waters beyond. The boy recoiled, was 
 swept onward like a plaything against the obstruc- 
 tion, was caught in the swirl, lifted nearly from 
 the water, whirled around like a top, and disap- 
 peared beneath the waves. 
 
 Oh! would he never rise to the surface? Mo- 
 ments seemed ages to those anxious watchers. The 
 grief-stricken mother, faint and despairing, fell 
 upon her knees and implored heaven's aid in behalf 
 of those perishing ones. And, as though in an- 
 swer to her prayer, the boy arose to the surface 
 and made his way with difficulty to the unconscious 
 girl. Placing the collar of her dress between his 
 teeth, supporting her head above the water, he 
 swam slowly towards the shore. One arm was 
 bruised and numbed by the collision. He caught 
 and clung to the bough of a tree, which overhung 
 the river, until a couple of men arrived, one of 
 whom, taking in the situation at a glance, plunged 
 into the river and brought the girl ashore. As 
 might have been expected, all attention, quite 
 naturally, centered upon her. 
 
 "There is life," said the man, undertaking with- 
 72
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 out delay the work of resuscitation. As the girl 
 gave signs of returning animation, he heard some- 
 one ask, "Where is the boy? He was clinging 
 there a moment ago." The man bounded to his 
 feet, muttering something like an oath between 
 his clenched teeth. He ran along the bank of the 
 river, peering into its depths, stopped, dived into 
 the water, and, when he reappeared, held within 
 his arms the still and passive form of the waif. In 
 a moment he had regained the shore, and, laying 
 his charge face downward, placed his hands im- 
 mediately back and under the boy's chest, and 
 lifted gently upwards, a stream of water gurgled 
 from the lad's mouth. Then, fixing his hands 
 on either side of the small chest, he produced arti- 
 ficial respiration, and continued so to do until a 
 low moan issued from the thin lips. During the 
 entire time occupied in these ministrations to the 
 boy not so much as a sound escaped the man's lips, 
 but at the first moan the child made he turned 
 upon the man reaching the shore with him. 
 
 "You cur, I swear I would have murdered you 
 if this young hero had drowned !" 
 
 The individual thus addressed, being of the 
 opinion that he deserved rebuke, but not in the 
 summary manner indicated, remained perfectly si- 
 lent for fear the rude, blunt fellow might proceed, 
 under any circumstances, to place his implied 
 threat into execution. 
 
 73
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Mrs. Eldridge no sooner assured herself that 
 her daughter was out of immediate danger than 
 she hurried to the assistance of the brave boy and 
 shrank not from chafing his hands and feet, until 
 informed that it was no longer necessary, al- 
 though her own soft hands were blistered by the 
 friction ; and, if ever a fervent and heartfelt 
 "Thank God" was breathed from human lips, hers 
 gave it utterance upon the little rescuer showing 
 signs of life. 
 
 A messenger was despatched to summon a physi- 
 cian, and the children no sooner had been placed 
 in bed than he arrived. He pronounced Madge, 
 the little girl, doing nicely; but, as he looked at 
 the bright spots burning upon the boy's cheeks, 
 and felt the leaping pulse, a graver expression vis- 
 ited his face. Had a brother Esculapius seen the 
 prescription he proceeded to write, it would have 
 been understood that the patient was threatened 
 with fever. 
 
 For weeks the unclaimed boy lay struggling 
 with as fierce and dread an enemy as the surging 
 river had been. Many times during his long ill- 
 ness, in the delirium of fever, he would bound from 
 his bed and grapple the attendants with the 
 strength of a dozen boys, hissing between his 
 clenched teeth, "A rock! A rock!"
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Three weeks have passed since relating the inci- 
 dents recorded in the previous chapter. Mrs. El- 
 dridge is reclining in a large, easy chair, upon her 
 face being evident traces of long vigils. The 
 transparent lids are closing irresistibly and eclip- 
 sing those tired eyes. There is perfect quiet in 
 the room, except for an occasional sound coming 
 from the adjoining apartment. The rooms com- 
 municated with each other by a double door, while 
 some heavy tapestry is drawn back, affording a 
 complete view of the interior of the one whence the 
 occasional sound proceeds. A glance into the bed- 
 room reveals a heavy mahogany bedstead, with 
 rich and gorgeous material, while, lying upon 
 this bed with a sheet and cover of down 
 spread over him, is seen the figure of a mere child. 
 Ever and anon the fingers of the boy close and re- 
 lax, marked occasionally by convulsive twitchings, 
 at which latter times the thin lips emit faint moans. 
 At such times the silent watcher rises softly, and, 
 stealing to the bedside, gazes wistfully at the little 
 sufferer. 
 
 During these long weeks Mrs. Eldridge had 
 shared in the nursing of this homeless wanderer. 
 75
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Nothing had been able to swerve her from her reso- 
 lution. The silent watcher has but just re- 
 turned from the side of the little patient, and 
 sinking into a chair, partly closes her eyes. There 
 seems less moaning from the adjacent apartment, 
 and those poor tired eyes are closing despite her 
 brave resistance, while the bosom, rising and fall- 
 ing with more regular respiration, shows the pres- 
 ence of approaching slumber. There is a slight 
 noise at the door in another location of the room. 
 The watcher starts, wideawake at the trifling dis- 
 turbance, and glances in the direction indicated by 
 the sound. It is little Madge. She tiptoes to the 
 side of her mother and receives the caress a mother 
 alone knows how to bestow. There is no word 
 spoken. There seems to be a tacit understanding 
 that conversation has been prohibited in this part 
 of the house. After a few minutes, the child with- 
 draws from her mother's clinging embrace, and 
 treads cautiously to the heavy curtains where, 
 pausing a bit irresolute, she advances nearer and 
 is watching the fitful breathing of the boy. Her 
 face is a mixture of infantile sadness and sym- 
 pathy. The faces of the two children are sepa- 
 rated only by the space of a couple of feet. Slow- 
 ly the dark eyes of the slumberer open, and the 
 first gaze of awakening intelligence falls upon the 
 childish features bending above his own. A blank 
 stare at first, then a seeming transformation, as 
 76
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 there passes into those eyes the long-sleeping con- 
 sciousness of a soul. In an instant the girl was 
 at her mother's side. 
 
 "He saw me, mamma." 
 
 "Hush, child, you will disturb him." 
 
 "No, no, mamma, he saw me the other way 
 as you see me now." 
 
 The mother soothed the strange excitement as 
 best she could, until the child, pained at the want 
 of her mother's faith, escaped and returned to the 
 bed, the eyes of the boy following her as she ap- 
 proached, as though by sight, alone, understand- 
 ing could be conveyed to the weakened powers of 
 the intellect. He was making efforts at recollec- 
 tion. A part of the past was before him, and the 
 threads of that past were so hard to take up and 
 place together. He was afraid if he spoke, or 
 rose, the vision before him would vanish. The 
 covering had become disarranged, and somebody's 
 leg it was not his leg, so white and thin that a 
 man's hand could girth it was exposed. He 
 thought to place the spread over it, but his 
 arm refused to move. He attempted to rise and 
 fell back exhausted. Mrs. Eldridge was bending 
 over him, and, smoothing the pillow under his 
 head, said reassuringly, "You have been ill and 
 must remain quiet and rest." 
 
 "Then she did not drown? Oh, what dreadful 
 dreams I have had !" 
 
 77
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Madge leaned against the bed and took the 
 wasted fingers in her own plump hand. 
 
 "No, my brave boy; you saved her life, as you 
 said you should, but" and the woman shuddered, 
 "you came near losing your own. Now you must 
 keep quiet and you will soon be well again." 
 
 "Mamma, he is going to sleep," whispered the 
 little girl, still resting against the bed and holding 
 his hand. True enough, the boy had fallen into a 
 deep and natural slumber. The doctor came in 
 and looked at his patient, remained at the bedside 
 fully an hour, and, upon rising to depart, Mrs. 
 Eldridge followed him into another room. 
 
 "Yes, he will live ; thanks to good nursing more 
 than to my medicines," said the physician in an- 
 swer to the questioning eyes. 
 
 "Oh, I am so thankful !" 
 
 This woman had stood at the bedside night and 
 day for weeks. There had been no sign of weak- 
 ness or exhaustion, yet now she was hysterical. 
 The overwrought nervous faculties, upon the first 
 confirmation of hope, seemed to collapse, and she 
 shivered as with ague. 
 
 "You must seek repose, madam, or you will cer- 
 tainly be sick; in fact, you are ill. Here, take 
 this," administering a cordial, "and get some 
 rest." 
 
 The nurse joined them, and, hearing the physi- 
 cian's injunction, and alarmed at the apparent 
 78
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 agitation of the lady, hastened to add her au- 
 thority. 
 
 "You must be governed by Dr. Bradley, Mrs. 
 Eldridge, or we shall have another patient upon 
 our hands." 
 
 "One who has been so strong when we feared 
 the worst," interposed the physician, "must not 
 fail us now, when the moment of danger is past." 
 
 "I know it is weak, but I cannot help it," at the 
 same time controlling herself despite her admission 
 to the contrary. 
 
 "The majority is against you, Mrs. Eldridge," 
 said the physician, with the tact of his profession, 
 
 "How dependent upon these despots we are!" 
 said the lady, as she permitted herself to be as- 
 sisted to her room, after having first exacted a 
 promise from Dr. Bradley that he would remain 
 until perfectly satisfied that the boy was out of 
 danger. 
 
 79
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Clarence Clark, who is strong again, and Madge 
 are examining picture-books, which are scattered 
 about the room in great confusion. They gaze 
 upon old castles, animals and poultry, produced 
 and colored so faithfully in the books, each ex- 
 plaining in his or her way the impressions repre- 
 sented by the peculiar array, as page follows page 
 of the joint inspection. What pleasant days they 
 are passing together, these two! The last trace 
 of diffidence has long since passed, and they romp 
 in fields, climb hillocks and play games with the 
 energy habitual to children of their age. The 
 boy is belabored with tasks of all sorts as the wil- 
 ful girl glides from one fancy to another in whim- 
 sical caprice. He draws her, all bundled up, on 
 the sled; steers as they descend the hillside on 
 the coaster, and, in fact, has already recognized 
 the supremacy of the little tyrant in all those 
 prerogatives which children so eagerly usurp, es- 
 pecially those that wear dresses. 
 
 "Hain't it awful wicked to swear?" asked the 
 girl of the superior judgment of the boy, glancing 
 up into his face with eyes full of innocent inquiry, 
 80
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 and closing the covers of the book with such force 
 that they whacked together with a loud report. 
 
 "I s'pects," said the boy, looking at his inter- 
 locutor more or less disconcerted, "it is." 
 
 "What makes you swear then?" asked the girl, 
 tentatively. 
 
 "Perhaps I does, and perhaps I doesn't," as- 
 serted the boy, evading a direct reply. "Anyway 
 you never heard me swear." 
 
 "Well, nurse told mamma once you swore just 
 dreadful when you was sick. Mamma said, 'Poor 
 soul, he didn't know better.' You does know bet- 
 ter, doesn't you?" 
 
 "If I do know better, don't you want me to use 
 cuss words?" queried the boy. 
 
 "No, 'cause it's wicked, and wicked folks don't 
 go to heaven when they die," explained the young 
 evangelist. 
 
 "Well, I'll never swear again," he said deliber- 
 ately. 
 
 "Honest bright, cross your heart," which exer- 
 cise the boy went through to the entire satisfac- 
 tion of the girl's notions of propriety. 
 
 "Say," said the girl, dismissing the previous 
 subject as settled, "why didn't Leo save me from 
 drowning?" 
 
 "Leo! Who is Leo?" inquired the boy. 
 
 "Why, Leo is a bigger boy as you," explained 
 the girl. 
 
 81
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Maybe he can't swim," said the boy, reflec- 
 tively. 
 
 "Yes, he can, 'cause he told me one day, when 
 We was down by the river, that he w'd bet he could 
 swim across to the other side, if the water was 
 warm in July. He said so, yes he did. He said 
 he wasn't afraid of fishes and crabs. Say, does 
 crabs' eyes have stones in 'em? How can they sec 
 with stones in their eyes?" she rambled on garru- 
 lously. 
 
 "Where does Leo live?" asked the boy, who 
 somehow was not pleased at the introduction of the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Oh! he lives away over the big ocean, and he 
 went home in a great big ship ; he and his mamma 
 and little sister. I don't like Leo, 'cept when he's 
 good. He put me under a box one day and would 
 not let me out, and I told him I wished the big ship 
 would catch fire, and that he would have to swim 
 home among the whales and crocodiles. Your 
 necktie is undone. I can tie ties just beautiful, 
 Leo says." And she applied herself to the task 
 of arranging his neckwear. "Honest and true, Leo 
 told me I was first-rate at tying bows and ribbons 
 and neckties and shoestrings and everything like 
 that," as she put the finishing touches to the work 
 in charge. "What did you say was the reason he 
 didn't pull me out of the river?" 
 
 "I didn't say." 
 
 82
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Well, don't you know?" 
 
 "Maybe he thought he would drown." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" shuddered the girl, "I wouldn't 
 want him to do that, even if he was mean in put- 
 ting me under a box. Did you think you would 
 drown?" 
 
 "I didn't think anything," answered the boy. 
 
 "Well, you told me not to clutch hold of you 
 and you would save me?" she said interrogatively. 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 "And you did, too, didn't you?" 
 
 "Leo lives over the ocean is he a cousin of 
 yours?" queried the boy, who seemed unable to 
 banish the intruder from his mind. 
 
 "Dear me, no. My mamma and his mamma are 
 great friends, and sometime, mamma says, we shall 
 go there, when I am grown up to a great big girl. 
 Maybe you will go with us." 
 
 "I?" said he, surreptitiously winding up the 
 chatterbox. 
 
 "Yes, don't you know, you are going to live 
 with us and be my big brother, and keep me out of 
 danger when we go there, 'cause you hain't got no 
 home," with visions of big oceans and ships in her 
 mind. "I want you to put Leo under a box, and 
 we will keep him there till it's dark, and he's afraid 
 and begs just awful to get out." 
 
 This proposition the boy omitted to affirm or 
 disaffirm, unless a shrug of the shoulders implied 
 83
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 that he was willing to engage in the diversion, 
 should the young lady remain of the same mind at 
 the appointed time. The little girl began picking 
 up the books, thrown about miscellaneously, and 
 was debating what next should be the program of 
 the morning. The boy silently joined her in the 
 work of arranging the picture-books in order. 
 
 "Mamma and us are going to Philadelphia next 
 week," said the little girl. "Mamma told me so 
 when putting me to bed last night, after I had 
 said my prayers. We are going down to grand- 
 pap's. Grandpap buys me lots of candy, and 
 nuts, and oranges, and everything, only he won't 
 let me eat the candy as I want to. He makes me 
 put whole lots of it on the shelf. You just ought 
 to see the playthings I have packed away in the 
 nursery; they're just girl playthings, though, and 
 we'll make grandpap buy you engines and ships 
 and other things what boys like. He's coming up 
 to get mamma, so mamma said, and take her home. 
 We live with grandpap now, except when we come 
 up here. And grandma lets me have all the gems 
 I want, and fried cakes and raspberry jam. She 
 says she was a little girl once and hadn't forgot." 
 
 While the girl was talking, the boy was thinking 
 industriously on his own account. This life was 
 all strange to him; yet, he seemed to habituate 
 himself to the new surroundings readily. His 
 clothing was of the best material and fitted his 
 84
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 trim figure perfectly, whereas his recollection re- 
 called nothing but rags and nakedness, save the 
 indistinct memory that floated before his vision, 
 away off, so far in the background that it rose as 
 a myth out of the privations of more familiar 
 hardships of his life. He was wondering if it were 
 true that the darkness into which he had been 
 plunged and had groped about so blindly had 
 vanished for all time to come, and that the future 
 years were to find him in his present happy sur- 
 roundings. The past seemed like some dreadful 
 nightmare, and he felt that to be turned adrift to 
 wander back to his old exile would kill him. What 
 the little girl had said about his living with them 
 had filled his breast with exaltation. He resolved 
 to be helpful to his benefactress, to watch over the 
 little child and keep her from harm's way ; besides, 
 he could do innumerable errands, and lighten the 
 burdens of the household. It never occurred to 
 him that the life he had spared at such imminent 
 peril to his own entitled him to reward. His st&y 
 at the home of Mrs. Eldridge was a vivid page 
 fresh from fairyland. He had dreaded the time 
 when he should have to set his face resolutely 
 against these halcyon days to take up the old life 
 at the point where it had been interrupted. Mrs. 
 Eldridge, herself, had never talked with him upon 
 the subject. The babbling child had brought and 
 delivered the message which ended all his doubts 
 85
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 and fears. It seemed too good to be true, and yet' 
 he placed a blind confidence in the statement which 
 Madge had communicated to him. The dismal 
 past seemed to be receding, and a gilded future, 
 full, complete, grand, rose hopefully before him. 
 None can realize the picture except him that turns 
 to such good fortune from the shivering penury 
 of want and exposure. 
 
 "Mamma says we can go to the theater with her 
 sometime in the big playhouse, and see Uncle 
 Tom's Cabin, Rip Van Winkle and Little Lord 
 Fauntleroy. Does you believe," she asked, "that 
 Van Winkle sleeped twenty years, and his little 
 dog Snyder grew up in a tree?" She waited for 
 the boy to reply, but he was in too much of a 
 dream himself to give valuable information on the 
 subject. 
 
 Thus the children busied themselves from day 
 to day. Ever in each other's company, sharing 
 each other's amusements, and dividing the tasks, 
 for Mrs. Eldridge believed that children should 
 have employment, which fixes habit and develops 
 character. 
 
 The following week Banker Richards came and 
 took his daughter and children home. 
 
 86
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Upon the first day of January, annually, a re- 
 mittance of five hundred dollars was received by 
 
 Rev. St. Clair from the banking firm of to 
 
 defray expenses of keeping the grounds in order. 
 These were the only tidings of the absent one. St. 
 Clair rose rapidly to fame, fortune lavishing upon 
 him her choicest smiles and favors. His parish- 
 ioners included Philadelphia's most distinguished 
 church-going population. He had lived in the 
 great house seven years. There was no part of the 
 premises but had become dear to him and his wife. 
 His children were born under the spreading roofs 
 of this mansion. His happiest associations clus- 
 tered and centered here. 
 
 One year after marriage Alice Eldridge had lost 
 her husband. Rev. St. Clair had delivered the 
 funeral address. The following years he admin- 
 istered spiritually to the widow and the fatherless 
 girl. Mrs. St. Clair and Mrs. Eldridge are firm 
 friends, much in each other's society, walking arm 
 in arm within the extent of the enclosure surround- 
 ing the Richards mansion. These ladies planned 
 and discussed many substantial philanthropies in 
 this sylvan retreat. They were thus sauntering 
 87
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 among the grateful shade of the spreading trees, 
 when Rev. St. Clair joined them, holding a letter 
 and some documents of a legal-looking charac- 
 ter. 
 
 "Please be seated by me," dropping upon a rus- 
 tic bench, "and tell me what this means," handing 
 the letter to his wife. "No, remain with us, Mrs. 
 Eldridge," he added to the lady, who was moving 
 away; "you are interested in the contents of this 
 strange communication. Perhaps you can make it 
 out. I can't." 
 
 "Why, a letter from Mr. Reynolds!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. St. Clair, rapturously. 
 
 Were the eyes of the minister mistaken, or did 
 Mrs. Eldridge start and turn pale? Why steady 
 herself against the tree? 
 
 "Really, what does it mean?" continued the 
 lady, who had already gone through its brief con- 
 tents in pure womanly fashion, getting that ex- 
 clusively feminine pleasure in perusing it by her- 
 self first. 
 
 "Please read it aloud," said her husband. 
 "Won't you be seated, Mrs. Eldridge?" addressing 
 the lady, who was still standing. 
 
 "No, thank you," replied Alice. 
 
 "Well, it is just like him," vouchsafed the 
 reader, approvingly. 
 
 "Read it aloud, dear," directed Rev. St. Clair. 
 "Mrs. Eldridge is interested." 
 88
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "LONDON, August 6, 1857. 
 
 "Rev. Arthur St. Clair, 
 
 "Philadelphia, Pa. 
 
 "My Dear Sir and Friend: You will find en- 
 closed two deeds of the premises which you oc- 
 cupy ; one in favor of Madge Eldridge, to be pre- 
 sented the young lady upon her eighteenth birth- 
 day. I trust you will use your best endeavors to 
 remove any opposition on the part of Mrs. El- 
 dridge, providing she interposes any objection, to 
 the arrangement. I hope you will remain in pos- 
 session until the time designated by the deed. In 
 event of failure to obtain consent of Mrs. Eldridge 
 to the transfer, or, upon the death of Madge, as 
 you will observe by the terms of the deed, the 
 property reverts to yourself and estimable wife, in 
 which case you will destroy such deed, and accept 
 and record the second one. I shall never visit 
 America again. My life-work and interests are 
 inseparably woven with London. I shall feel bet- 
 ter knowing that the home where my boyhood days 
 were passed, and where my parents lived and died, 
 is not in the hands of absolute strangers. When 
 convenient, I shall expect to hear the decision of 
 Mrs. Eldridge. Please remember me kindly to 
 Mrs. St. Clair. 
 
 "Yours truly, 
 
 "EDWARD REYNOLDS." 
 89
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Poor Reynolds!" A more jealous man would 
 have taken umbrage at the tone in which "Poor 
 Reynolds" was more sighed thar whispered. Mrs. 
 Eldridge walked abruptly away after hearing the 
 letter read. 
 
 "Well, you have done it," said the reverend 
 gentleman reprovingly. 
 
 "What do you mean?" faltered his wife. 
 
 "Offended one of our dearest friends," forget- 
 ting that he had directed the missile, and, man 
 fashion, ready to visit upon his better-half the 
 blunder he had caused her to commit. 
 
 Mrs. Eldridge sought the banks of a miniature 
 lake, whence she heard the voices of children. She 
 was weak this beautiful autumnal day, and the 
 presence of her child would strengthen her, would 
 drive away the indefinable something that filled her 
 breast the vague something, half fear, half long- 
 ing. Somehow the pain in the face she had seen 
 long ago had fastened like a blight upon her 
 heart, and, perhaps, but she had never been dis- 
 loyal to her husband in thought or deed. Still, 
 despite it all, there were moments during her mar- 
 ried life when hidden thoughts at which her virtu- 
 ous soul shuddered as at sin would burst like a 
 flashlight upon her privacy. Her husband loved 
 and was devoted to her. If the early frost of his 
 winters fell upon the springtime of her life, it had 
 made no ravages. She honored, revered, loved 
 90
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 her husband ; but, in her heart of hearts, concealed 
 in its darkest recesses, was a secret grave. It wor- 
 ried, vexed her. It was faithlessness a sort of 
 infidelity of the soul, at which her wifely instinct 
 revolted. She felt some culprit thing, and yet, 
 she loved her husband. Madge was born, and the 
 lone mound in her heart became more obscure. 
 Maternity smooths and softens the rugged places 
 in a woman's life. The little spark of life brings 
 an incense of peace to the altar of our homes. 
 Then followed the sudden death of Mr. Eldridge. 
 Killed in a railroad accident, mangled, crushed be- 
 yond recognition, they had not allowed her to 
 see her dead husband. She sincerely mourned his 
 death and cherished his memory. 
 
 Mrs. St. Clair found her friend standing by the 
 edge of the water, with an arm thrown over her 
 daughter's shoulder. A few feet distant in the 
 rear the boy stood silently watching them. Mother 
 and child had long ago become a necessity to each 
 other. By that keen intuition which children pos- 
 sess, Madge knew her mother was suffering, and 
 clung closer to her parent's side, pressing her 
 mother's hand in infantile sympathy. It was a 
 pretty picture. Mrs. Eldridge was still a girl in 
 freshness. Her sorrow had left, if anything, an 
 exquisite sensitiveness upon her face, rarely beauti- 
 ful. 
 
 "Mamma, why does you stand here so still and 
 91
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 so long? You frighten me." The child was al- 
 most sobbing. She dipped her little hands into her 
 mother's dress and tried to draw her away. For 
 answer, the woman caught her daughter to her 
 bosom, covering her little cherub face with passion- 
 ate kisses. 
 
 "Oh! here you are. I have been looking every- 
 where for you. Rev. St. Clair fancies he affronted 
 you by his clumsiness. You are not angry with 
 us, are you, Alice? We are innocent, we did not 
 know you would be displeased," pleaded the little 
 mediator. 
 
 "I come to seek the children. Your husband 
 did nothing but why should he dare do this?" 
 she exclaimed, vehemently. 
 
 "Why should he dare?" repeated Mrs. St. Clair, 
 looking her interrogator searchingly in the eyes, 
 "do you not know?" 
 
 "No, I can assign no reason for this insult," 
 turning her face from the other's questioning 
 gaze. 
 
 "Shall I teU you?" 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 "Shall I teU you?" repeated Mrs. St. Clair, reso- 
 lutely. The words were deliberate, insinuating. 
 
 "No, it matters nothing to me." 
 
 "Alice, it does it does. You ruined his life. 
 He loved you ; loves you still. . Make this amend ; 
 let your child accept the home of his ancestors.
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Never !" 
 
 "Never? Have a care, Alice. You love Edward 
 Reynolds. I saw it as we stood together in his 
 room the room, waiting all these years for his 
 home coming. Oh, Alice, when my husband's step 
 on the stairs startled you, I saw a fear in your 
 eyes which said, 'What if he come and find me 
 here.' Oh, if he could see you now, so much more 
 beautiful, lovelier than ever! Darling, for the 
 peace and happiness of you both, let's try bring 
 him home." 
 
 Mrs. St. Clair had stuck to her text as tena- 
 ciously as her worthy husband clung to his of a 
 Sunday morning, heedless of consequences. 
 
 "Come, Madge, and Clarence, we shall be late 
 home." Alice took no notice of the woman plead- 
 ing before her. Her chance for happiness was 
 flitting from her. She and the children had gone 
 some paces, when a light footstep was heard by her 
 side. 
 
 "Alice." There was no response. 
 
 "Alice," whispered the minister's wife close to 
 the other woman's ear, "God pity you God pity 
 him!"
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "I wonder what Lord Howe wants," mused a 
 man of some twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of 
 age, still holding a card with armorial decorations 
 that had a moment before been brought him by 
 his servant. Men who see but little of their 
 kind in a social way, drop, as it were, for 
 company's sake, into the habit of soliloquizing. 
 The suite of rooms occupied by the individual 
 about to be reintroduced was not of a striking 
 character. The apartments, save for being large 
 and commodious, and, aside from having thou- 
 sands of volumes of books distributed systematical- 
 ly along the undecorated walls, had nothing to 
 recommend a passing notice. The furniture, rugs, 
 carpets, and such few pieces of statuary and paint- 
 ings as the proprietor possessed were of a modest 
 and unassuming variety. Still, there was an air 
 of tidiness and refinement pervading the entire 
 establishment seldom witnessed where these qual- 
 ities depend wholly, or in a large part, upon the 
 masculine sex. 
 
 The occupant of these quarters was fully six 
 feet in height, straight as an arrow, one hundred 
 and seventy pounds of bones, thews and sinews, 
 94
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 distributed as we see in athletes ; firm hands, white 
 and flexible, showed that, when once an object was 
 within their grasp, it was never released, until it 
 served the pleasure of their owner. A palmist 
 would have dropped those hands, fearing that they 
 might close, to have picked them up again. No 
 department of science throws away a chance, be- 
 cause of peril, to explore the unusual and extraor- 
 dinary. How many men have penetrated jun- 
 gles, inhabited by wild beasts and infested with 
 reptiles, to secure a knowledge of some trifling 
 plant to add to their botanical tree. Prudence 
 dictates flight; curiosity lingers. The progress of 
 the human race has given more scars and death 
 than all else combined. Take me to a place where 
 man has taken one step in advance, and, by lifting 
 the foot, we shall extract a thorn. All the fruit, 
 ripening on the tree of knowledge, was not gath- 
 ered by Eve. 
 
 "I wonder what Lord Howe wants." 
 We have seen the athletic frame and vigorous 
 hands, let us pause a moment with the face; his 
 was neither handsome nor homely. A massive, rug- 
 ged head, well poised upon a neck, white and sym- 
 metrical. Different men would have looked at it 
 differently. To some it was passive, emotionless, 
 commonplace to others, a revelation; but, to all, 
 alike, it possessed intelligence character. A cas- 
 ual glance, the extreme ordinary; a studied view, 
 95
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 true nobility. Such mastery of self, as we some- 
 times see in those who have taken vows of renun- 
 ciation. Has it ever been your privilege to observe 
 two sets of lips, exactly alike in repose, separating 
 in appearance, as the smile plays and flashes upon 
 them? Has it ever been your privilege to see eyes, 
 the same in size, in color, ornamented by the same 
 brows, become strangers, as thoughts of coarseness 
 fire the one, and the refined, lofty soul beams in 
 the other? All resemblance vanishes, as by magic. 
 The expression of a face is its own mystery. And, 
 while this man's eyes and lips, passingly observed, 
 had much in common with the great mass of hu- 
 manity, a closer view invested them with new at- 
 tributes. The man was powerful, and sanguine of 
 his power. There was courage, strength, resolu- 
 tion in the eyes and lips, fortified by a chin, a 
 trifle too large, perhaps, measured by the criterion 
 of sestheticism. We see faces with stories in them; 
 tragedies, some; comedies, some. The story of 
 this face was its own secret, hidden well from the 
 prying eyes of the world. It was more attractive, 
 fascinating, for the very reason of the guarded 
 seclusion of its own past. As you confronted the 
 clear gaze of those eyes, you saw in them truth, 
 fidelity of purpose, steadfastness the dross of life 
 well extinguished ; and, yet, their fathomless depths 
 revealed a pathos, a sadness that seemed to com- 
 municate to every feature so full of sympathy, 
 96
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 encouragement and tenderness. Such a face to a 
 man in need of a friend is at a premium. There 
 are moments in our lives when we search among our 
 acquaintances, too often in vain, for a face like 
 his. This man, though young, knew human nature 
 well, and reliant upon his own strength, he en- 
 countered life's problems fearlessly. If he suf- 
 fered, he made no complaint. If he had failed in 
 some great purpose of life lost a battle, the fact 
 that it was closely locked in his own bosom was a 
 victory. If he now stood like a granite boulder 
 before some inflexible resolve, that should dominate 
 his future, there was no ostentation, no boast. He 
 was alike indifferent to the praise and to the con- 
 demnation of man. It is easier to imagine a faith- 
 ful picture of Edward Reynolds after looking at 
 the brow, high and noble, covered with a skin white 
 and delicate as a woman's, which years of travel 
 amid the arid sands and blinding heat of India had 
 not spoiled. Thick hair of a dark brown color, 
 among which threads of silver were beginning to 
 mingle, clung in close waves at the temples. 
 The most striking feature were those eyes, large 
 and expressive, penetrating yet inscrutable. You 
 could have told as much of them by seeing a photo- 
 graph. One would have said gray predominated; 
 another, blue; while a third would have declared 
 that they were neither gray nor blue, but a shade 
 of the night time with a flash of the storm in them. 
 97
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Yet, all that had seen him at the beginning of his 
 work, ridiculed, burlesqued, opposed, but never 
 thwarted by opposition, admitted those eyes would 
 light with the fire of a passionate soul and burn 
 into the memory in the same degree that the 
 embers back of them consumed their possessor. 
 Still, Edward Reynolds was not a fanatic. That 
 which he did was done because it yielded the great- 
 est measure of happiness. Nor was he a theorist, 
 but practical to the extreme. Whatever his life 
 contained, to whatever fields he had brought his 
 burdens, and struggled to cast them from him; 
 however little or however much the future held, 
 cast no shadow upon that brow, but the quiet pur- 
 pose of his life, self-imposed tasks, reflected there 
 the image of some god. 
 
 His must have been a tremendous correspond- 
 ence, in a sense, conglomerate correspondence. 
 Letters from the nobility, from the middle classes, 
 from the wretched pauper element, daintily per- 
 fumed letters from aristocratic ladies, full of the 
 insinuating suggestiveness of love; letters reeking 
 from the miasma of dens of infamy. One by one 
 he read them, betraying not the slightest emotion 
 at whatever shape the contents assumed. This cor- 
 respondence, these variegated letters, formed a part 
 of his life, a life voluntarily chosen, and surprise 
 at weakness or astonishment at degradation, had 
 long since ceased to produce stupefaction. Mis- 
 98
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 anthropists at the age of fifty had his knowledge 
 of human nature. At eight and twenty this man 
 was a philanthropist. 
 
 Lord Howe was announced and Edward Reyn- 
 olds rose from his desk, advancing to meet him. 
 
 "I trust that I am not intruding upon one 
 of your busy days," remarked his lordship. 
 
 "One day with another," replied the younger 
 man, "there is little difference in the routine 
 of my work. Your Lordship is always welcome. 
 What, particularly, can I do for you?" 
 
 "Well," replied the nobleman, "I am going to 
 ask a great deal. I come to go through the in- 
 stitution. If young men take an interest in these 
 reforms, what prevents older ones? I don't rely 
 much on paper talk and I always make a 
 practice, when I want to get at the bottom of a 
 thing, to dig down to the roots." The fact that 
 Lord Howe had taken interest in the affairs of 
 Edward Reynolds, or, in projects in which the 
 latter was concerned, was by no means agreeable 
 information to the younger man. Still, the in- 
 quiry of the nobleman seemed to be made in good 
 faith, and as the young man conducted his visitor 
 through one of the most unique colleges that had 
 ever been founded in England, a pardonable pride 
 diffused itself in glowing colors upon the cheeks 
 of the promoter. The old nobleman was a keen ob- 
 server and gave close attention to details, as they 
 99
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 were pointed out to him. Room after room was 
 reviewed, and the hundreds of boys and girls, 
 who were being cared for and educated at the ex- 
 pense of Edward Reynolds, feasted their eyes rev- 
 erently upon him as long as he remained in their 
 presence. Lord Howe had inspected a great num- 
 ber of public institutions of learning, in short, had 
 always manifested genuine interest in everything 
 connected with the subject. But he was forced to 
 admit that he had never before seen such close ap- 
 plication to study as given by these unfortunate 
 children, that had been picked up off the street 
 and placed in a free school. There were several 
 grades, besides a night school for the larger ones, 
 whose employment prevented attendance during 
 the day. 
 
 "How many children are there in the school?" 
 "About four hundred in the three departments." 
 "I understand that you have been very success- 
 ful in finding situations for those who have com- 
 pleted their studies." 
 
 "It is true, we have been very fortunate in this 
 respect. We aim to prepare our young people 
 with practical knowledge. Such branches as we 
 teach are taught thoroughly." 
 
 "May I inquire in how many cases your scholars 
 have proved unworthy of their employer's con- 
 fidence?" 
 
 "There were four instances last year that came 
 100
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 to my notice. But the percentage is smaller than 
 one might have reason to expect." 
 
 "What became of the young people to whom 
 you refer, as having betrayed their trust?" 
 
 Edward Reynolds remained silent for a moment 
 and then answered slowly, "I brought them back 
 here and finally found other employment. I gave 
 my individual bond for their fidelity." 
 
 "Do you anticipate any trouble with them in the 
 future?" 
 
 "None, whatever." 
 
 "My dear sir, don't you expect to incur liability 
 upon your bonds?" 
 
 "Not in the least." 
 
 "Do I understand you to say," continued Lord 
 Howe, scanning the young man's features critical- 
 ly, "that you apprehend no trouble in the future 
 upon those bonds, given for the performance of 
 faithful service on behalf of young people 
 previously detected in the betrayal of confi- 
 dence?" 
 
 "I do not." 
 
 "It is very remarkable." 
 
 "Lord Howe," said Reynolds, "one of those 
 young men to-day holds a very responsible posi- 
 tion, and there is not one of the number, but would 
 be roasted alive, before committing an act unbe- 
 coming a gentleman, or touching one penny with 
 thoughts of converting it to his own use." 
 101
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "It is remarkable," repeated Lord Howe. "It is 
 incredible," he continued, "that you pick up the 
 scum, the refuse, the dregs of London, and make 
 reputable men and women of them." 
 
 "I mean nothing of the kind." It was said 
 rapidly as one who delivers himself from a false 
 imputation. "What I mean to say is this, that 
 these boys and girls come to me as their friend. 
 I have won a reputation among them for fairness ; 
 they trust me and I trust them. The distinction 
 of birth, my Lord, is given far greater significance 
 than it deserves. The boy, that ventures upon 
 the great thoroughfares of London barefooted and 
 in rags searching the length of the street in either 
 direction in terror of the police, is not such a 
 bad boy at heart as the people generally believe. 
 He is like all other boys. Once placed among in- 
 viting and pleasant surroundings and given a 
 chance for his life, is all he needs. In this I have 
 been somewhat instrumental; God does the rest. 
 My Lord, permit me to ask candidly, would it be 
 progression or retrogression, if the pauper urchins 
 of London were placed in the pampered homes of 
 aristocracy, and the favored children of the nobil- 
 ity cast adrift upon the streets of the city? 
 Should you expect any appreciable improvement 
 by the innovation? Are you not prepared to 
 accept nearly the same condition as exists to- 
 day?" 
 
 102
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "The substitution might be disappointing," ad- 
 mitted his lordship. 
 
 "The trouble of the present system, not only of 
 London, but of all large cities, is that every man's 
 time is so entirely filled with his own affairs that 
 there is no leisure to bestow a passing thought upon 
 the needs of the wretched objects, universally ac- 
 cepted to be bad and incorrigible. Vigilant police 
 regulation by the authorities is demanded by all 
 as the only requisite. The church has long ceased 
 to meditate upon these victims of misfortune ; while 
 charitable organizations are engrossed with mat- 
 ters of larger moment. Consequently among all 
 the various means employed for the improvement 
 of wretched humanity, the street gamin continues 
 half famished, less than half clothed, and in an 
 unhealthy moral and physical atmosphere, ne- 
 glected and abandoned by all alike." 
 
 His lordship scratched his head dubiously. He 
 knew men of all conditions well, but, boys and 
 girls and there were boys and girls galore 
 really, the subject never occurred to him before 
 that he remembered. Still, he must have supposed 
 that there were places, proper and commodious 
 places, for this miserable element of society. 
 
 Lord Howe was no exception. Men of all de- 
 gree, professors, ministers of the gospel, business 
 men, churchmen, and laymen tumble over this 
 nondescript atom of humanity, without casting one 
 103 *
 
 glance backward to ascertain the extent of injuries 
 inflicted. 
 
 Men of all degree? This is a mistake. There is 
 one class of men that has found both the boy and 
 the girl, that goes among them, fraternizes with 
 them unmolested, selecting the brightest and the 
 best to be privately instructed by old malefactors 
 and criminals in schools of infamy and vice. 
 
 "How many are four times four?" inquired 
 Lord Howe, running his fingers through the bushy 
 hair of a little shaver sitting on a bench by which 
 the nobleman was standing. 
 
 The boy thus addressed grinned superciliously 
 and looked at the master inquiringly. 
 
 "You may answer the gentleman," remarked the 
 teacher. 
 
 "Sixteen, sir." 
 
 "And eight times eight?" 
 
 "Sixty-four." 
 
 "That's right," said his lordship. "What do 
 you do, sir?" asked the nobleman of another boy, 
 "when you are not in school?" 
 
 Before replying, the boy glanced at the master 
 who nodded assent. 
 
 "Sell papers and shine boots, sir," said he 
 proudly. 
 
 As a result of the afternoon's investigation, 
 Lord Howe took his departure with a better under- 
 standing of the character of little folk than he 
 104
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 haa ever possessed, and with an exalted opinion 
 of the young man, who had taken up for his life 
 work, labors, which, if the world fails to ap- 
 preciate, it, at least, removes all difficulties in the 
 way of competition. 
 
 Edward Reynolds, without coveting it, was 
 stepping boldly into public gaze. His work was 
 becoming felt and appreciated, not only in London 
 and England, but over the civilized world. There 
 was nothing original, nothing brilliant, in what 
 he had done, no bid for fame or popularity. The 
 field was unoccupied, he filled it. Statistics dur- 
 ing the last three years showed an appreciable de- 
 crease in crime. Youthful offenders were becom- 
 ing a thing of the past. The authorities placed 
 the credit where it belonged; people discussed the 
 young American, who had come, uninvited, among 
 them, in most flattering and complimentary terms. 
 Parliament went so far as to ask for a large ap- 
 propriation, which was promptly declined by the 
 one for whom it was intended. The committee of 
 that august body, waiting upon Edward Reynolds, 
 were dumbfounded. It was the first instance of 
 the kind on record. It was a strange acknowl- 
 edgment of the favors of that great body of 
 legislators. Lord Howe, who had been prominent 
 in securing the measure, was, at first, piqued, then 
 mystified by the obstinacy of this individual. The 
 committee reported that Edward Reynolds had sub- 
 105
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 mitted the statement to them, in effect, that the ex- 
 penses in every instance, where his graduates had 
 secured employment, were refunded by setting 
 aside a small portion of their salaries ; that he con- 
 sidered it better for his proteges that the present 
 arrangement continue; that, if it should become 
 expedient or necessary to adopt a different course, 
 his individual means were adequate for such ex- 
 ceptions; that, while he thanked them for their 
 proffered assistance, he felt obliged to dispense 
 with it. Lord Howe made a personal visit to urge 
 upon the young man a reconsideration of his de- 
 cision without the desired result. 
 
 The intimacy between these two men, regardless 
 of the discrepancy of years, ripened into mutual 
 friendship. The old gentleman experienced a gen- 
 uine regard and admiration for Edward and made 
 no secret of his preference. The latter received 
 much profit from the views of the old nobleman, 
 picking up a clearer insight into the questions of 
 the day, which, while not of political advantage 
 on account of his being an alien, became valuable 
 as a constant source of agreeable thought and in- 
 vestigation. 
 
 106
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 At the close of one of these evening visits, near 
 the end of November, 1859, the young man rose 
 from his desk, stretched his limbs, and, going 
 to the window, stood in the current of frosty air 
 driving against and past him into the room. The 
 wind caught the dark heavy curls and lifted them 
 from his forehead, to be dashed back again in 
 greater dishevelment. Notwithstanding the ex- 
 cess of vitality in the movements of the man upon 
 approaching the window, as he stands gazing 
 without, neither looking at the brilliant lights flash- 
 ing from shop windows, nor at the vaulted sky, an 
 air of dejection, despondency, weariness of soul 
 and body seemed to invest his person, even with the 
 shivering vapor that puffed through the window 
 upon his mobile face. The pendulum of a large 
 chronometer ticked off the minutes. Still, he stood 
 staring out into the brightness of the windows 
 into the darkness of the sky, heedless of the one 
 as of the other. The great pendulum continued to 
 swing to and fro, counting out its measures of time 
 in deep monotone. The hour hand, slowly revolv- 
 ing upon the dial, seemed to point toward the silent 
 figure, as it points unerringly at the world for the 
 107
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ruthless waste of precious hours. Upon the stone 
 pavement below a ceaseless stream of humanity 
 surged and swayed, while, throwing off their robes 
 in a darker sky, the stars leaped forth, rivaling 
 each other in brilliancy. But the man was oblivi- 
 ous of all. He neither saw nor heard. 
 
 A small object turned around the corner some 
 three hundred feet away and dashed among the 
 crowd. The object was a boy. The rags upon his 
 person did not deserve the name of clothes. 
 
 "Stop thief!" yelled a stentorian voice at no 
 great distance behind the little culprit. Hither 
 and thither the boy glided, holding tightly to some 
 small brown substance, elusively darting beyond 
 the reach of outstretched hands. 
 
 "Stop thief!" bayed the human bloodhound, 
 close in his rear. The boy fell over someone's foot, 
 suddenly thrust out to trip him; but in a moment 
 he had crawled under the feet of the pedestrians 
 to the edge of the street, still clutching the brown 
 object securely, and, springing forward with 
 a bound, he started away. The chase became ex- 
 citing. Men and even women rushed upon the 
 pavement to block escape of the little fugitive at 
 great personal risk of being injured or killed by 
 the heavy vehicles constantly passing and repass- 
 ing. 
 
 "Stop thief!" the whole throng of congested 
 humanity became a solid mass of eager palpitating 
 108
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 flesh. Merchants ran to doors, while zealous 
 clerks joined in the hunt. Second and third story 
 windows flew open and mothers and sisters looked 
 eagerly upon the commotion below. 
 
 "It is a catamount ! The flesh has been torn off 
 my hands with claws !" a voice cried in agony. 
 Then there fled from the place whence the alarm 
 proceeded the little half clad figure, still holding to 
 the brown object it was a loaf of bread. There 
 was a column of men before, at the right, at the 
 left and, in the rear, coming nearer and nearer 
 the ceaseless clamor of police. The boy was 
 at bay; his firmly closed lips emitted no 
 sound. Instinct told him that every man's hand 
 was lifted against him. His flesh was quivering; 
 sparks of fire scintillated from his eyes. A team- 
 ster, more reckless than his comrades, divided the 
 crowd by forcing his horses among the people. 
 Men lifted their hands, gesticulating angrily in 
 remonstrance. Women hurled imprecations upon 
 the man reining the horses. The hunted animal, 
 in the middle of that group, plunged between the 
 legs of the horses, crept rapidly upon his hands 
 and knees to the rear of the heavy truck, and be- 
 fore the motley crowd fully recovered from the 
 amazement produced by the daring feat, the boy 
 shot from among the wheels as from a catapult. 
 But the giant Hercules mounted on top of the load 
 of garbage, swung the heavy lash above his head, 
 109
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 whistling in its evolutions through the air, and, as 
 the boy darted away, the buckskin descended with 
 a sharp report upon his back, the knot at the end 
 of the thong sinking deep into his flesh. Another 
 chance for liberty ! The infuriated crowd yelled 
 itself hoarse with excitement. 
 
 "Stop thief !" Thus the gathering numbers had 
 been cheated, outwitted at the finish. 
 
 The vast concourse jostled one another as the ill- 
 natured, hilarious assemblage moved off in the di- 
 rection taken by the youth, full of anticipation 
 expectancy, while the baffled policeman, joined by 
 other officers attracted to the vicinity by the un- 
 common disturbance, renewed pursuit with un- 
 abated zeal. The momentary advantage gained by 
 the difficult and perilous exploit of the lad was not 
 to avail. An inpenetrable wall of humanity sur- 
 rounded the terrified child, completely barring 
 further progress. Some brute struck out his foot 
 against the pit of the boy's stomach viciously, with 
 such perfect aim that the little fellow collapsed in 
 a heap upon the pavement. The next moment the 
 perspiring and exasperated minion of law and 
 order pounced upon the doubled up object sav- 
 agely. 
 
 "Steal, will you !" exclaimed the officer in hoarse 
 gutterals. 
 
 The boy, having something of the feline instinct, 
 and able to fight to as good advantage beneath as 
 110
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 on top, raked the officer's hands with his finger 
 nails. 
 
 "Oh ! you will, will you !" Hereupon the pomp- 
 ous dignitary of the law reversed the end of the 
 club he carried and began to rain a torrent of 
 blows upon the head of the malefactor, puncturing 
 the scalp with every descent of the baton. The 
 boy kicked and squirmed beneath the ponderous 
 weight of the officer, inflicting no little damage 
 upon that sacred person. 
 
 "D n him! he has cat's claws!" hissed the offi- 
 cer, applying the cudgel upon the boy's head with 
 increased energy. The lad crossed his arms above 
 his head, seeking to shelter it from the swift as- 
 sault of blows. The policeman caught his right 
 hand and dexteriously placing the wire twisters 
 upon the wrist, gave such a wrench that the fine 
 wire cut to the bone, the blood spurting from the 
 wound. The pain was excruciating, but there was 
 no sound from the boys lips, save deep and rapid 
 respiration. If he were vanquished, he did not 
 seem to realize it. It was useless to make further 
 resistence. It was the daze and pain, perhaps, but, 
 at any rate, as the muscular arm of the officer 
 passed the face of the lad, the latter, with a sudden 
 movement, buried his teeth in the muscles. The 
 crowd yelled with delight. Each spectator of that 
 demoralizing scene felt rewarded for his time and 
 pains in remaining until the end. The deep in- 
 Ill
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 cision made by those small teeth drove the officer 
 frantic. He was not used to brook such fierceness 
 from young offenders. His violent temper ob- 
 tained the mastery and catching the handle of the 
 club, he dealt the boy a sledge-hammer blow upon 
 the head with the large end that would have felled 
 an ox. The jaws relaxed, the face dipped for- 
 ward, the body of the boy swung around, defining 
 a half circle suspended in the air by the wire 
 fastened to the wrist. Then the officer lowered the 
 hand which held the grippers and the insensible 
 form stretched out upon the pavement. The crowd 
 yelled louder than ever at this climacteric and con- 
 cluding act of the very exciting arrest. The first 
 victim of the boy's finger-nails, he that had cried 
 out, "It is a catamount," leaned over the prostrate 
 form and spat upon it. 
 
 Edward Reynolds, standing at the window 
 above, was aroused from his deep abstraction by 
 the unusual commotion upon the street. His eyes 
 seemed to follow mechanically the movements of 
 the lad from the time the latter turned the corner 
 until the arrest. The conduct of the crowd an- 
 gered him, still he gazed upon the tumult too deep- 
 ly preoccupied in revery to realize the full force 
 of the scene enacted before him. He gave a con- 
 vulsive shudder upon hearing the policeman's club 
 strike the boy's head and saw the inanimate form 
 sink to the stone pavement. In an instant, he was 
 113
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 thoroughly alert. With a bound he reached the 
 door and descending the flight of steps, forced the 
 spectators apart and confronted the pompous 
 custodian of the club. 
 
 "How dare you strike a child in that manner, 
 you brute!" He drew his clenched fist back, the 
 veins bulging out upon his forehead like whip 
 cords. 
 
 "He's a thief, sir," expostulated the disciple of 
 the law, eager to vindicate himself, not knowing 
 how serious the injuries were. "See, he stole this," 
 taking from the fingers of the boy, as he spoke, 
 the loaf of bread. 
 
 "A thief a loaf of bread !" Oh, the unutter- 
 able agony of that voice! 
 
 The bystanders pricked up their ears. 
 "How much must I pay for the release of this 
 unconscious boy?" 
 
 "Talk with the baker," said the officer, turning 
 to a short, heavily built man, who, all out of 
 breath, that moment arrived upon the scene. 
 
 "What am I to pay to settle all charges against 
 this child?" asked Edward Reynolds, addressing 
 the vender of pastry. 
 
 "What business is it of your'n?" demanded 
 the officer gruffly, recovering some of his assur- 
 ance. 
 
 "My dear sir," said Reynolds to the baker, with- 
 out noticing the previous inquiry, "this boy has, I 
 113
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 understand, stolen this loaf of bread from your 
 shop." 
 
 "He did, sir; helped himself, sir, without the 
 formality of a sale," answered the baker, scenting 
 a compromise. 
 
 "And may I ask," continued Reynolds, "what 
 the damage is?" 
 
 "The bread was a penny, sir; but society has 
 been outraged," which was true in more senses than 
 one. 
 
 "Will you accept this?" tendering the trades- 
 man several pieces of silver, "and settle with the 
 officer, releasing all charges against the boy?" 
 
 "Do you mean it or is it a guy?" said the mixer 
 of dough, eying the coins furtively. 
 
 "I am in earnest," replied Edward Reynolds, 
 contemptuously. 
 
 "Plank down the collateral. Eh! What say 
 you?" directing the inquiry to the officer. 
 
 "Clinch the bargain," said that dignitary, "and 
 cheap riddance." 
 
 The tradesman proffered his huge fist and the 
 coin rattled as it dropped into the broad palm. 
 
 Then Edward Reynolds bent over the boy and 
 tenderly lifted him. 
 
 "Hold on, sir, a moment," said the policeman, 
 "until I take off the nippers." 
 
 Edward Reynolds bore the boy through the 
 parting crowd, up the flight of steps which he had 
 114
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 recently descended, and placed his burden upon a 
 couch. He felt of the boy's pulse, fetched a 
 basin of tepid water and a sponge, and proceeded 
 to wash the blood from the face and head, band- 
 aging the lacerated parts; then he pried open the 
 mouth and poured some spirits between the teeth 
 and sat down by the side of the cot. He had not 
 long to wait. The boy's eyes opened; they rested 
 upon the man, passed to the windows, the door, 
 and back again to the face of the man. Then he 
 looked at the basin of bloody water and the bloody 
 sponge, examined the clean white bandage upon 
 his wrist, felt the soft cloth upon his head, gazed 
 at the man again, then at the unbarred windows 
 and the unguarded door. It was beyond him 
 incomprehensible. 
 
 "Well, my boy, how are you feeling?" the voice 
 was kind, fatherly. 
 
 The boy rose bolt upright. "Oh, my mother!" 
 The incidents of the past hour rushed through 
 the boy's mind. He recalled the bread, the strug- 
 gle and the arrest. He imagined himself a 
 prisoner in the hospital, where his wounds had 
 been dressed. The kindly faced man before him 
 was the surgeon of the prison. 
 
 "You stole that bread for someone; who is it?" 
 The boy surveyed the man, the room, the furni- 
 ture, the windows, the door. 
 
 "You are not in custody," continued Edward 
 115
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Reynolds, divining the thoughts in the youth's 
 mind. 
 
 The lad placed his fingers upon his sore head, 
 looked upon the bandaged wound about his wrist 
 he was trying to satisfy himself whether he were 
 dreaming or in possession of his faculties. 
 
 "For whom did you steal that bread? not for 
 yourself?" pointing at what remained of the loaf. 
 
 "My mother." 
 
 "Is she in the city?" 
 
 "Yes, sick and starving." 
 
 "Let us go to her." 
 
 "Are you a detective?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "A police surgeon?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I am not under arrest?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I am free to go?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "Your friend. I am going home with you as 
 soon as you feel able to walk." 
 
 Half an hour later a man, bundled to his chin, 
 carrying a basket packed with bread, wine and 
 meat, accompanied by a small boy, entered a 
 squalid habitation in an obscure part of the city. 
 
 The following morning a boy was admitted to 
 the office of Edward Reynolds. The youth ran 
 116
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 and fell at the feet of his benefactor crying inco- 
 herently between sobs, "You have saved my moth- 
 er's life my mother's life !" 
 
 An hour afterwards Edward Reynolds was 
 standing in the same window at which he stood the 
 evening before; but the far-away look had faded 
 from his eyes; and, if not happiness in that face, 
 peace, content. 
 
 117
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The following forenoon the usual amount of let- 
 ters, periodicals, and papers were dumped upon the 
 desk of Edward Reynolds by the postman, whose 
 habits of punctuality and noiselessness earned him 
 many a shilling in excess of his monthly stipend. 
 
 Edward turned to these when there was a 
 gentle rap at the door. It was a subdued rap 
 one of those inoffensive raps that announces to the 
 inmate a saintly desire not to disturb any one 
 within sort of an apologizing-in-advance an- 
 nouncement, sometimes heard at the door you 
 have all heard it and hurriedly prepared yourself 
 for an encounter of some sort, much as the naval 
 officer clears the deck for action when he sees the 
 broad sides of armored vessels swinging leisurely 
 around to get better command of his frigate. 
 
 "Come in," said the proprietor of the establish- 
 ment. At the summons in walked five clerical 
 gentlemen, attired in ministerial robes. Five 
 meeker-looking men could not have been found in 
 the Kingdom of Great Britain. It is truly a pa- 
 thetic sight to behold such serene submissiveness 
 depicted upon the facial lineaments of any one 
 man, say nothing of the present number. There 
 118
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 was an air of pious resignation pervading the 
 group, singly and collectively, that would have ter- 
 rorized the most hardened criminal. 
 
 "To what, gentlemen, am I indebted for the 
 honor of this visit?" This was asked after an in- 
 terval of several moments' silence. At which di- 
 rect reference to the nature of the meeting the lu- 
 gubrious expression of melancholy deepened upon 
 their faces, while one or two, evidently the spokes- 
 men of the number, cleared the throat to explain 
 the object of their presence. 
 
 "We are members of a a " 
 
 "Committee," said the second spokesman. 
 
 "Yes, sir, 'committee' regularly appointed to 
 to " 
 
 "Consult," prompted the brother. 
 
 "To to confer," continued the speaker with a 
 strong accent on the second syllable, glancing at 
 the interrupting offender forgivingly, "to confer 
 together upon a matter of gravest consequence to 
 the established Church of England." 
 
 "I have received no notice of any conference," 
 said Reynolds, "and am at an utter loss to account 
 for such an informality," the word he had in 
 mind, but refrained from speaking, being "rude- 
 ness." "I am not in excellent favor with the 
 church at present, it seems, if one may judge by 
 appearances." 
 
 "We regret to confirm your suspicions," re- 
 119
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 marked one of the visitors dolefully, "but we hope 
 the present meeting may be fruitful of results 
 which shall be the humble means of your submis- 
 sion and restoration to favor." 
 
 The speaker was sincere. Reynolds never in- 
 dulged levity with honest, sincere men. Differ- 
 ences of opinion extend beyond secular affairs, and, 
 vy-hile he heartily wished the reverend gentlemen 
 might have seen their duty leading past his door, 
 he resolved to get out of his present dilemma as 
 gracefully as circumstances would permit. 
 
 "Well, my friends, I suppose you are come to 
 prefer charges against me. I am confident we 
 shall arrive at a better understanding." He spoke 
 cheerfully. 
 
 "We are greatly encouraged by our reception," 
 said Mr. Hardsides, the chairman of the commit- 
 tee; "some of our brothers feared indigni- 
 ties." 
 
 "Indeed!" an arching of the eyebrows. "Oh, 
 no, hardly that. I always take it this way, if 
 there are misunderstandings, the first thing to do is 
 exactly as we are about doing see if there is not 
 some prospect of arranging a compromise satis- 
 factory to all parties concerned, and, failing to 
 reconcile the dispute, secondly to adopt measures 
 looking toward the nearest possible agreement. 
 Therefore, gentlemen, if you will proceed directly 
 with your grievance, we shall soon know if our 
 120
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 troubles are beyond a speedy settlement." His 
 voice was resonant with conciliation. 
 
 The good nature of Reynolds, which, even those 
 reverend gentlemen tacitly admitted to themselves, 
 was somewhat taxed by the preliminary inform- 
 ality of the visitation, disarmed all resentment; 
 and the clergymen commenced business without 
 further beating of the bush, a trifle more predis- 
 posed in favor of the apostate. 
 
 "The report is circulated among churchmen," 
 began Hardsides in a more natural tone of voice, 
 "that the religious exercises of your college are 
 extremely irregular ; that, while a number of ency- 
 clicals have been addressed to you by the heads of 
 the church, directing that the uncanonical prac- 
 tices be discontinued, you persist in committing, 
 not only the old offences, but fresh ones." There 
 was an ecclesiastical ring in his voice. 
 
 "I am afraid there has been some slight misrep- 
 resentation," said Reynolds. 
 
 "Our information is received from most reliable 
 sources, from gentlemen of unquestioned veracity 
 and Christian sentiment." 
 
 "Possibly; but, gentlemen, I neither doubt the 
 honesty nor motive of your action. In fact, I am 
 convinced you, and those whom you represent, are 
 actuated by most laudable incentives." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," more than one voice being 
 heard. They spoke rapidly. Some of the com-
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 mittee were already beginning to think that the re- 
 ports derogatory of Edward Reynolds were great- 
 ly exaggerated. He was such an agreeable man. 
 
 "And therefore," continued Reynolds, "I am 
 grateful, inasmuch as we are met together, for this 
 opportunity of setting myself right once more in 
 your good opinions." 
 
 "It is only human to err," said one of the com- 
 mittee, who had not volunteered to speak before. 
 
 "Yes," said Reynolds, " 'to err is human, to 
 forgive, divine.' I have always considered it un- 
 fortunate for man or woman to be so nearly per- 
 fect that his or her life never knew the pleasure of 
 being forgiven ; and, my friends, if we get through 
 this world without needing this divine gift of for- 
 giveness, there is little to our credit or discredit. 
 If I cannot obtain your entire approbation," he 
 continued, "as I trust to do, you will, at least, be 
 as lenient as your charitable vocation permits." 
 
 "Indeed we shall," replied Mr. Hardsides, the 
 most sanctified individual of the party, taking it 
 for granted that there was much of omission and 
 commission to be pardoned. 
 
 Feigning not to notice the implied pardoning 
 powers to be brought into direct requisition, Reyn- 
 olds continued: "First on the program, my good 
 friends, let me offer you such cheer as the estab- 
 lishment affords, after which we will inspect the 
 premises, when I shall be only too delighted to
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 avail myself of any valuable suggestions you may 
 be pleased to offer." 
 
 Notwithstanding the favorable opinion many of 
 the committee had formed of Reynolds, since com- 
 ing in personal contact with him, their prejudices 
 were not prepared to make surrender to the extent 
 of breaking bread with the reputed heretic, how- 
 ever pleasantly mannered he might be. There are 
 amenities to be accepted, and amenities to be re- 
 j ected. 
 
 "We must not trespass," commenced Mr. Hard- 
 sides. 
 
 "We must not trespass," echoed from one to the 
 other, until it resembled the veritable refrain of 
 reverberation. 
 
 "We must not trespass upon your hospitality," 
 repeated Mr. Hardsides, "indeed we must not. Be- 
 sides, sir, I fear we we are already forgetting 
 the the " he disliked to recall the unpleas- 
 antness of this visitation. 
 
 "Well, as you like, my friends; only, when my 
 visitors are to my liking it always seems more 
 homelike if grace is said before parting. Still, 
 perhaps," contemplating them benignly, "as I see 
 in some of your kind faces 'business first pleas- 
 ure afterwards !" 
 
 "Duty is our mistress," said Hardsides. 
 
 "We must not be circumvented," whispered one 
 brother to another. 
 
 123
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "His manner is pleasant even fascinating," 
 answered the brother addressed, soto voce. The 
 last speaker was younger by several years than the 
 other. 
 
 "Be not deceived ; Satan has a fine exterior," re- 
 plied the man of God admonishingly. 
 
 "Oh, one favor, gentlemen how stupid of me, 
 I had quite forgotten ! Before considering my 
 heterodoxy further, let me inquire if there are any 
 among you unfamiliar with the methods of educa- 
 tional and religious training of the college?" No 
 one knew better than the questioner that not a 
 single one of the five men before him had ever con- 
 descended to investigate the school which he had 
 founded, nor to have been present at any of his 
 Sabbath discourses. 
 
 The silence following this innocent inquiry was 
 finally broken by the somewhat feeble admission 
 that the visitors had not had the pleasure, but 
 hoped, at no distant day, to avail themselves of 
 the privilege of inspecting the institution. 
 
 "Oh!" replied the young diplomat, his face 
 seeming to brighten, "I know how busy the life of 
 a clergyman is this to do, that to look after. 
 And still, my friends, you are aware, of course, 
 that there are so-called critics of the minister who 
 profess to see in his duties and labors only the most 
 indolent and agreeable occupation. Nor is this 
 class of critics confined to the rabble exclusively. 
 124
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 There are men whose judgment upon most sub- 
 jects is entitled to respect, that are claiming the 
 clergyman's life as one of ease and luxury. I 
 never thought so much about it as I have since 
 giving my Sunday talks to the boys and girls. 
 You see, these little people are not the best-dressed, 
 and feel a shyness in going to church, such as pre- 
 sided over by yourselves, for instance, contenting 
 themselves with the talks I give them. I try hard 
 to inculcate morality and Christian spirit. I felt 
 unworthy for the work at first; but I was 
 resolved these little shavers should cultivate habits 
 of attending divine service Sundays. If the habit 
 is formed in childhood, it becomes a life-long prac- 
 tice. Dear me, such times as I had! I tried to 
 engage a regularly ordained minister to preach. 
 You hardly thought this, did you, gentlemen? 
 Well, I did, and many applicants, attracted by the 
 salary I offered, paid me their respects. But after 
 examining the situation, somehow or other negoti- 
 ations never materialized. Well, candidly, I can 
 hardly blame them very much. There is a good 
 deal uncanny and uninviting in the prospect. 
 Still, as I told you, I had set my heart on the mat- 
 ter, and, not being able to do the best thing, was 
 by no means discouraged from doing the next best. 
 It was sheer force of circumstances that drove me 
 into the pulpit, and I should cheerfully add two 
 hundred pounds per annum to either of your pres- 
 125
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ent salaries as an inducement to relieve me of evan- 
 gelical responsibilities. I heartily wish I could 
 transfer this charge to clergymen of such acknowl- 
 edged accomplishments," bowing significantly to 
 his visitors. The proposition remains to this hour 
 unaccepted. 
 
 To relieve the manifest embarrassment of his 
 callers, the obliging host remarked, as though cor- 
 recting an oversight of his own: 
 
 "Oh, what folly in me to commit myself to such 
 a proposition without first having shown you the 
 advantages and disadvantages, so to speak, of the 
 appointment." 
 
 Those two hundred pounds extra might have ac- 
 centuated the desire to accompany Edward Reyn- 
 olds ; but, be that as it may, the visitors rose with 
 alacrity and followed close upon the heels of the 
 individual whom they had come to threaten with 
 excommunication unless his unregenerate heart re- 
 pented. In a large, cheerful hall, some hundred 
 small children were gathered. Perhaps the chil- 
 dren were not so well dressed as it had been 
 their privilege to notice upon other occasions ; yet, 
 the appearance of the young assemblage was far 
 from being repellent. Each little face was clean 
 and hair well combed. Perfect order and decorum 
 prevailed in the apartment. The teacher having 
 the children in charge came forward to welcome 
 his visitors, and took such excellent pains to fix 
 126
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 their attention upon all the principal features of 
 the school during the brief absence of Reynolds, 
 who had excused himself for a few moments, that 
 the members of the committee were delighted with 
 their entertainment. 
 
 Edward Reynolds was no exception. He knew 
 the weakness of the clergy as well as another. He 
 gave directions to his servant to repair to Franklin 
 Bros., then the most popular caterers of the city, 
 and engage a spread for six persons, and that no 
 expense was to be spared. The consternation of 
 the good lady was depicted in every feature at this 
 extraordinary extravagance of her master. How- 
 ever, she departed on her errand in haste, while 
 Reynolds returned to his visitors. 
 
 "Well," said he, "what do you think of the Pri- 
 mary Grade?" 
 
 The gentlemen gathered about him. They had 
 forgotten, in no small measure, their sour grapes. 
 
 "We are more than pleased. What perfect or- 
 der!" confessed one of the number. 
 
 "I never saw children giving such close atten- 
 tion to study," said another. 
 
 "Professor Smith has been very obliging to us." 
 said the third, bowing gratefully to the person 
 indicated, who, in return, acknowledged the com- 
 pliment. 
 
 "I notice the light and ventilation are arranged 
 in accordance with the most scientific methods," 
 127
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 said number four, who was of a family of archi- 
 tects. 
 
 Hardsides was somewhat propitiated, but said 
 nothing in favor of, or derogatory to, anything he 
 had seen or heard. He was suspending judgment 
 until the finish. He did not propose to be chloro- 
 formed. 
 
 The instructors in each of the departments had 
 proceeded with recitations during the presence of 
 the visitors, and the gentlemen were compelled to 
 acknowledge that the scholars were a credit to the 
 school, as the school to the founder. Among the 
 three hundred pupils in the several departments 
 visited, not one instance had been detected where a 
 reprimand was deserved. The boys and girls were 
 taught in separate rooms, the studies being the 
 same for both, with the exception that the young 
 ladies were given instruction in the culinary art. 
 
 Mr. Hardsides had taught school when a young 
 man, the proceeds from which labor were used in 
 his college career; and, as he moved about, his 
 practical eye analyzed everything coming under 
 its observation. He admitted the rectitude of the 
 school; approved the recitations, liked this, liked 
 that ; but he rarely canonized. It was not the first 
 good school he had seen in his day; discipline was 
 no stranger. The founder of that school might be 
 eccentric, good, even ; but he had seen eccentric and 
 good men before who were great blasphemers. 
 128
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Please step this way," said Reynolds, who was 
 standing by the window, looking out upon the 
 street. 
 
 The gentlemen obeyed. A number of men were 
 unloading bundles of something from covered ve- 
 hicles to the pavement. Several hundred boys 
 were standing orderly about the heaps. A dozen 
 men were busy distributing the bundles. 
 
 "Edward Ford," called one of these men. 
 
 "Here," answered a youth, stepping forward 
 with alacrity. 
 
 A handful of papers was passed, and the heels 
 of the little fellow were seen disappearing around 
 the corner. 
 
 "Jimmie Smith." 
 
 "Here," and the papers, the heels and the corner 
 were much in evidence again. 
 
 These papers were delivered from the publishers 
 and turned over to the boys, the same being charged 
 to Reynolds; the lads brought back the money, 
 paid it over to the agents of Reynolds, and, after 
 deducting expense, the residue was returned to the 
 children. Cheating was unknown. The ministers 
 took in the situation at a glance, and laughed until 
 the tears rolled down their cheeks at the precipi- 
 tate flight of the boys upon receiving their com- 
 plement of papers. 
 
 "That's business rivalry," said one. 
 
 "Well, did you ever?" said another, pointing at 
 129
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 a boy vanishing around the corner at break-neck 
 velocity, his equilibrium being recovered at several 
 points by clever convolutions of the body. 
 
 "I never shall forget the picture which we have 
 just witnessed. News-boys are pretty much alike," 
 continued the speaker, "but heigho, there's a dis- 
 aster," pointing forward, where a chubby lad had 
 outrun his ability and was rotating like a ball, 
 which he somewhat resembled, upon the pavement. 
 As the youth came to a rest, his eyes caught sight 
 of the grinning faces of the clergymen, and an in- 
 voluntary grimace flashed over his features, which 
 was no sooner seen than he sprang to his feet, bow- 
 ing toward the window apologetically, and pursued 
 his itinerary with more caution. 
 
 It was discovered that one of the visitors was 
 missing. And, sure enough, Hardsides was lo- 
 cated in a remote corner, engaged in earnest con- 
 versation with one of the faculty, who chanced to 
 be a member of his congregation. Mr. Hardsides 
 had seen him enter, and immediately recognizing 
 his parishioner, buttonholed, and took him to a 
 secluded place and began to ply him with ques- 
 tions. Some quarter-hour was consumed in this 
 ordeal. When he returned to the side of his 
 friends, many of the wrinkles in his face were miss- 
 ing. Whatever may have been the nature of the 
 conference over there in the corner, it was appar- 
 ent that "Doubting Thomas" was considerably 
 130
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 mollified. Whereas before he had been taciturn, if 
 not sullen, he was now talkative, even inquisitorial. 
 He questioned everything, and listened to explana- 
 tions with evident appreciation. His associates 
 were no little surprised at the late turn of affairs. 
 
 In due course of time, these gentlemen found 
 themselves returning to the private office of Ed- 
 ward Reynolds. They were in splendid humor, 
 having passed a couple of hours as pleasantly as 
 profitably. 
 
 Ministers are not a bad sort. They are the best 
 people in the world, the salt of the earth, as it 
 were. Sometimes, it is true, without just reason, 
 sadly misunderstood; but, for all that, they 
 are genuine, big-hearted men, loyal to themselves 
 and to the cause of their Master's service. They 
 are sponsors for the weaknesses and infirmities of 
 the flesh coming within the zone of their benedic- 
 tion. If their scrutiny into the promptings of the 
 heart is penetrating, it is to find bleeding wounds 
 to bathe the bruised parts with holy balm. Oh ! 
 how sad indeed, yea, cheerless, wretched, would 
 be this great world of ours without their kind 
 ministrations. 
 
 As Christ said to the waters, "Peace, be still," 
 and the elements obeyed, these holy men, resting 
 their hands upon bowed heads, whisper to the 
 troubles of the soul, "Peace, be still." 
 
 "Refreshments are ready," a voice announced. 
 131
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 The visitors glanced at each other, then, with- 
 out further protest, they followed their host to the 
 dining room. There are three very important, if 
 not indispensable, essentials to human happiness, a 
 good appetite, a good dinner, and a good diges- 
 tion. Those reverend gentlemen were especially 
 favored in reference to all three cardinal features. 
 When these functions unite without strife and be- 
 trayal, as it were, the comfort of the inner man is 
 sure to be reflected on the circumference. A hap- 
 pier, more contented and satisfied contingent of the 
 Church of England could not have been found 
 in the realm than those five devout representatives, 
 our worthy Mr. Hardsides, if anything, taking 
 precedence. 
 
 "We are under obligations for your most de- 
 lightful hospitality," said that gentleman felici- 
 tously. 
 
 "Please do not mention it, sir," said Reynolds. 
 
 "But your time, sir, in showing us the school 
 this sumptuous repast," proceeded Hardsides. 
 
 "I trust you feel repaid for your visit," Reyn- 
 olds replied courteously. 
 
 "We do," emphasized the chairman. 
 
 "Indeed we do," chorused the others. 
 
 "Then the pleasure of this meeting is mutual." 
 
 Edward Reynolds spoke truthfully. If he had 
 
 felt resentment earlier in the day, it had long since 
 
 vanished. "Now, gentlemen, there is one matter 
 
 132
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 that has quite escaped attention which must not be 
 overlooked." 
 
 The guests exchanged anxious glances. 
 
 "I refer to instructions from the powers dele- 
 gating you to favor me with this visit," continued 
 Reynolds; "how about your report?" 
 
 "Our report!" they exclaimed in unison, pro- 
 longing the gaze at one another, their eyes finally 
 settling upon the somewhat discomfited Hardsides. 
 
 "Well, well, I must admit we are quite forgetful 
 in having neglected the purpose of this interview. 
 Truly, sir, I must thank you for refreshing our 
 memory." 
 
 "I judge it was a trouble," Reynolds stated. 
 
 "I confess it something of one," said Hardsides, 
 with embarrassment. 
 
 "Then, if I have caused you to forget your 
 trouble, the day has not been spent in vain." 
 
 "Mr. Reynolds," said Hardsides, approaching 
 and extending his hand, "will you tell us what 
 there is about this report this rumor irregular- 
 ity or what you please? Tell us, in fact, the re- 
 ligion you preach?" 
 
 After a moment's deep silence, the two hands 
 still clasped, the lips parted and a voice sweet, 
 sonorous, musical, replied: "'To do good, is my 
 religion.' ' 
 
 In the center of the group stood the two men, 
 their hands still locked ; men the very antithesis of 
 133
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 each other ; one a stickler for ceremony, ritualistic, 
 the other an extreme eclectric, liberal, unsectarian. 
 
 "I believe you," said the chairman of that dele- 
 gation. "I came here your avowed adversary, I 
 depart your ally, your friend." 
 
 "Thank you," said Reynolds, releasing the hand 
 of the celebrated churchman. A moment after- 
 wards, Edward Reynolds watched the procession 
 moving down the street like a cavalcade. 
 
 "Who was the young man with whom you were 
 conversing?" asked one of the number of Hard- 
 sides. 
 
 "He's a teacher in one of the schools run by 
 that man." 
 
 "Know him?" 
 
 "Yes ; he is a member of my church." 
 
 "Question him?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He said we should go home and pray for 
 strength to do half the good that man does whom 
 we came to persecute," replied the minister sol- 
 emnly. 
 
 The pedestrians again relapsed into silence, but 
 a silence more eloquent than words. Each one, in 
 his own way, had stumbled, as it were, upon the 
 same conclusion. 
 
 Edward Reynolds returned and flung himself 
 dejectedly into a chair at his desk. Some dozens 
 134
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 of unopened letters lay before him, as many papers 
 and periodicals. But for the singular intrusion 
 of his recent visitors, these letters would have long 
 since been read and many of them answered. As 
 he sat gazing at the voluminous heap, speculating 
 vaguely as to their contents, a sense of rebellion 
 came into his life; prejudged and misconstrued; 
 the very church to which he rendered such valuable 
 service turning like a viper to sting him. He felt 
 sore distraught, an irritation such as he had 
 never experienced was griping his heart. Was 
 his life a failure? Were the sacrifices which he 
 had made not to be counted except against him? 
 The hand of a woman had shaped his destiny, and 
 that hand seemed ever pointing athwart the path 
 of pleasure and the path of peace. He felt his 
 life cheated, first and last, by a woman faithless, 
 frivolous. He had been temporarily victorious 
 over those minions of the church, but they or others 
 would return. Their advent was the summons to 
 the inquisition. The religious publications of 
 London had long since lampooned unmercifully the 
 founder of the college for poor boys and girls and 
 the "exhorter" that addressed that pauper audi- 
 ence. He felt failure and defeat and heart-ache 
 crowding thick and fast upon him. Yet, who 
 more than he had dedicated his life to these three 
 failure, defeat, heartache? There were restless 
 times when he wished to throw them off; to fly 
 135
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 escape. He arose and began to pace the floor. 
 There was a sort of savage gesture in the long 
 strides. The elasticity of those limbs had been 
 formed in the jungles of India. There was com- 
 fort in the rapidity of his movements, if the strug- 
 gle raging within could be comforted. The hours 
 came and went and still the forces of the man's 
 nature were exhausting themselves. Late in the 
 night the old servant shuddered in her room below. 
 She loved her master and she knew the tramp of 
 those tireless feet kept pace with the tireless despair 
 of some cruel past. 
 
 To love where he should hate ; to be held captive 
 to a thraldom that ever disdains the victim; to 
 know that the flash of an eye, a golden head shall 
 stand at the threshold of his happiness as long 
 as the heart beats out its complement of time, 
 never to glance except in scorn at the enslaved 
 supplicant. Such were the thoughts that put 
 spurs to the walker's swift revolutions. Ever and 
 anon as he passed the desk upon which lay the un- 
 opened letters that were to monopolize him upon 
 the morrow letters that had broken violently into 
 his life, controlling his conduct, governing his ac- 
 tions a shadow flitted across his countenance. He 
 knew he was not like other men. He felt his soul 
 beating out its wings against the unyielding bars 
 that held it prisoner. Farther and farther he 
 walked away from those letters. If some one else 
 136
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 would only receive, read and answer them! Yet, 
 in obedience to some resistless fascination, or the 
 result of long habit, he came and paused over 
 them. A cynical smile, the first of a lifetime, was 
 distorting those lips, when, turning deadly pale, 
 the man put out his hand suddenly. His eyes 
 were transfixed upon the glaring head-lines of a 
 Philadelphia paper. 
 
 MADGE ELDRIDGE ! MADGE ELDRIDGE ! 
 They were letters of fire, burning and blistering 
 his brain. He shook so violently the table against 
 which he leaned for support swayed beneath his 
 vibrating weight. 
 
 MADGE ELDRIDGE! Then the hand that 
 had started forward went farther and lifted the 
 message from over the sea. He read: 
 " Little Madge Eldridge Rescued from the Waters 
 
 of Sinnemahoning River by Clarence Clark, 
 
 Who Was Gathering Nuts in the Adjacent 
 
 Forest. 
 
 "It was the girl's birthday, and a company of 
 children were playing upon the bank of the river, 
 when the heiress of the Eldridge millions fell into 
 the water, and but for the timely arrival of this 
 youth, who was attracted to the spot by the agon- 
 ized shrieks of the widowed mother, would have 
 perished. It was the greatest marvel in the world 
 that both children were not drowned. The boy 
 has been stricken with fever, and absolutely noth- 
 137
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ing can be learned of his antecedents, farther than 
 that his name is Clarence Clark, and that his par- 
 ents died in New York City during the prevalence 
 of cholera some eight years ago. His brave deed, 
 however, has earned him a home, should he recover, 
 as the mother of the little girl has assured our cor- 
 respondent of her intention to provide abundantly 
 for his future. The little lady feels no serious 
 effects from her adventure." 
 
 The storm had passed. Edward Reynolds 
 kneeled, and, bowing his head, breathed fervently : 
 "Poor Alice! Oh, God, I thank Thee for this 
 mercy." 
 
 138
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 In due course of time, Edward Reynolds alight- 
 ed at the gates of one of the oldest estates in Eng- 
 land, and was directly admitted to the presence of 
 Lord Howe. The greeting between these two men 
 was cordial. The old nobleman, something of an 
 invalid for the past two years, had seldom left his 
 room during the last few months. He had writ- 
 ten Edward Reynolds an urgent letter asking an 
 interview at his earliest convenience, and had re- 
 ceived a reply that the young man would call at 
 the present date. The old nobleman had looked 
 forward to this meeting, so to be fraught with big 
 results, with considerable anticipation. 
 
 "I received a note desiring an interview from 
 your lordship last week," said the young man, with 
 his characteristic address to matters in hand, "and 
 am come to learn your pleasure." 
 
 "Not now; after refreshments are served. You 
 are my guest to-day. Here," addressing a 
 waiter, and noticing the look of impatience in his 
 visitor's face, "tell the servants to hurry up some- 
 thing to eat. You will have compassion upon the 
 loneliness of an old man, and revive him with a few 
 hours of your society." 
 
 139
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "But, my lord, I have little time for idleness, 
 much as my inclinations may feel like accepting 
 your hospitality; yet," dropping wearily into a 
 chair, "I will remain a few hours." 
 
 "Thank you," said Lord Howe, recovering 
 quickly, by no means disconcerted because of in- 
 difference of his invited guest to the blandishments 
 of power and influence of a noble house. "I live 
 here," pointing at the walls, "with my ancestry." 
 There was a world of pathos in the old nobleman's 
 voice and gesture. 
 
 "I see so little of my fellow men of late that I 
 feel like imposing upon any and all terms of re- 
 lieving my perforced seclusion. Still, I have mat- 
 ters of moment to discuss with you, which will take 
 some time, and I am sure your long ride has given 
 you- an appetite for dinner. After refreshments 
 we shall proceed with my affairs." 
 
 Reynolds was silent ; he had hardly followed the 
 remarks of the nobleman. 
 
 The escutcheon of the Howes hung upon those 
 walls. There were swords, lances and shields with 
 deep indentations, bruised in the service of Eng- 
 land's sovereigns. 
 
 "Yes, I pass my life here in the solitude of great 
 deeds and a mighty name," the old man continued, 
 noticing the awakened interest of his guest. 
 
 "Indeed, I am deeply interested. I could listen 
 a week while each separate history of those spears, 
 140
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 shields and swords was being narrated," rising and 
 passing from one to another, examining carefully. 
 "The chivalry of those olden days will never be 
 revived. I always fancy a story of King Ar- 
 thur's Round Table in each relic of ancient war- 
 fare upon which I gaze." 
 
 "That," said the old man, touching a deep dent 
 in a helmet, "that was made by the side of William 
 the Conqueror; this," passing to another, "at 
 Hastings. Here," looking higher on the wall, "an 
 ugly thrust of the French, as my remote ancestors 
 dashed against the victorious Gauls and turned the 
 tide of battle." 
 
 The old nobleman moved quicker as memories of 
 a noble family inmates and companions of a gild- 
 ed past were revived and reviewed. Was the 
 man in his dotage? No. Why, then, this out- 
 ward perturbation? What potent forces at work 
 to quicken this strange exhilaration in the bosom 
 of this septuagenarian? 
 
 "And this ?" asked the young man, pointing to a 
 haggled sword, neglected by the narrator. 
 
 "That," and the blood seemed to glow in the old 
 man's face as his eye rested upon those symbols of 
 struggle and carnage, while memory swept over 
 the past. "Those," he reiterated, "were the last 
 honors gained in the service of England's crowned 
 heads by the house of Howe." 
 
 "They were yours?" asked the young man. 
 141
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Mine," and the old nobleman sank into a chair. 
 
 "Dinner," announced the servant. 
 
 The two men proceeded to the dining-room, the 
 younger one supporting the nobleman upon his 
 arm. The meal was eaten in silence, the elder man 
 having relapsed within himself, while the visitor 
 was completely engrossed with the words and 
 scenes just listened to and witnessed. 
 
 After returning to the drawing-room, the noble- 
 man plunged into the business in view with a mani- 
 fest desire to settle a matter that had given him 
 much uneasiness and anxiety. 
 
 "You are a very much talked-about individual," 
 he said, as soon as they were seated. 
 
 "It seems I am so far unfortunate," acknowl- 
 edged the younger person. 
 
 "I have noticed some severe strictures and some 
 most complimentary paragraphs," remarked the 
 lord. 
 
 "Approval and disapproval are much the same 
 to me." 
 
 "You are an American; why locate in London? 
 Does America furnish no paupers? Is there no 
 wretchedness in the States that appeals to your 
 sympathies ?" 
 
 "I am an American by birth, an Englishman by 
 adoption." 
 
 "I never could quite understand your presence 
 among us. The amount of money which you 
 142
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 spend Is enormous. Last year, if the press notices 
 are correct, you turned out between two and three 
 hundred graduates from your unique college; and 
 I saw a statement recently that over two hundred 
 of these are filling responsible positions in nearly 
 every walk of life," commented his lordship. 
 
 "Such are the facts," asserted the man of less 
 than thirty years of age, without either feeling or 
 evincing the least vanity. 
 
 "I can understand in a measure how this has 
 been accomplished. The church, without realiz- 
 ing the fact, seeks to reach the head, rather than 
 both the head and the heart. It may not be too 
 much to say that it aims to be attractive and pleas- 
 ing to the eye, even at the risk of forgetting 
 Christ. In other words, may one not ask if mod- 
 ern theology does not reveal our Redeemer seeking 
 the church, instead of the church seeking Him? 
 This state of spiritual affairs may be engaging to 
 the vanities of a congregation professing to rejoice 
 in God's approbation, and praying after the Phar- 
 isee manner of a Sabbath day, to prey upon the 
 poor the remaining six days of the week. The 
 sum is expressed in these words: We cheerfully 
 donate one hundred pounds sterling to purchase a 
 candelabrum, from which effulgent rays are 
 thrown into the faces of faultlessly dressed and 
 aromatically perfumed audiences, but not a far- 
 thing, except in grumbling taxation, to buy bread
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 to feed the starving unfortunates reduced by sick- 
 ness and disease to abject penury; and, when a 
 stranger comes among us, asking nothing, preach- 
 ing another religion, picking up the fallen, placing 
 a cup filled with hope to the lips of the famishing, 
 perishing souls which are spurned alike by laymen 
 and church, the advent is greeted with jeers and 
 ridicule. Unaided, sir, and alone, you have res- 
 cued hundreds of your fellow-men from fates a 
 thousand times worse than death. But it has 
 borne results. The last Sabbath day I passed in 
 London, I was one of two thousand people who 
 heard you deliver one of the grandest addresses it 
 has ever been my privilege to hear; and, sitting 
 upon those cushionless benches, I saw, at least, one 
 hundred men and women, belonging to England's 
 most aristocratic and exclusive families, who, two 
 years before, were calling you names, such as the 
 'American Madman,' 'Pauper Farmer,' 'College 
 Ragamuffin,' and kindred epithets. But why 
 leave America to come to England?" It was an 
 abrupt interruption of the nobleman's thought. 
 He could not reconcile the man with his loca- 
 tion. 
 
 "My lord," said the visitor, "this is a singular 
 conversation." Then, after a moment's reflection, 
 he proceeded, "I will state, as long as you have the 
 kindness to ask, why I quitted America, or, as 
 much as you will be interested in knowing. But 
 144
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 first I wish to correct some animadversions to which 
 I have just listened. The church was never more 
 vigorous never more potent for good than at the 
 present moment. It is emerging more into the 
 light every day, and moving forward in resistless 
 effort for the salvation of man. The church can- 
 not do everything. Some people expect it to per- 
 form miracles. I am not so sure but your lord- 
 ship is of the number. I come constantly in 
 contact with such grand and unselfish lives in the 
 church that my reverence for Christian men and 
 women is boundless. Pulpit orators have the most 
 arduous labors to perform. Ministers are not 
 given the credit due them. To appreciate the stu- 
 pendous labor of the ministry, it must be taken 
 into consideration that there is no class of men in 
 any other walk of life that has as manifold re- 
 sponsibilities thrust upon it. The magnitude 
 of Christian work is so diversified that no 
 single man can compass it. In religion, as in any 
 science, the most difficult work is performed, as it 
 were, by specialists. My lord, show me a true 
 Christian and I will point to an intellect devoting 
 its best energies to the welfare of the human race. 
 Again, I can see no objection in making the house 
 of God beautiful. Religion is beautiful. We 
 should make ourselves presentable in offering our- 
 selves to God. In entering the presence of maj- 
 esty we invariably give attention to our personal 
 145
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 appearance. How much more reason have we to 
 make ourselves attractive when we approach the 
 Designer of all that's beautiful! In answering 
 your question, 'Why I am in London,' I have mere- 
 ly this to say: I quitted America March 10, 
 1849, forever. I traveled in India and Africa 
 many years, encountering dangers and perils 
 constantly. I wanted to die. I have knelt 
 by the dying victim of cholera, and, lifting 
 the head, inhaled the fetid breath with sui- 
 cide in my heart. Night and day, without sleep, 
 I have ministered, as best I might, to the awful 
 suffering of a plague-stricken people. It was not 
 to be. I had to live. At last, in despair, I asked 
 for light. 'O, God, what wilt Thou me to do?' 
 A voice answered, 'Work, work work !' I could 
 not return to America. Germany? No. France? 
 No. There was only one place in all the universe 
 England. England is the great barometer of 
 public opinion and of public thought. She fixes 
 the mental weights and measures, as it were, of the 
 civilized world. France, while tenaciously holding 
 to her national volatility, and boasts of her iden- 
 tity, secretly accepts England. The phlegmatic 
 philosophers of Germany sing 'Wacht am Rhein' 
 to please English audiences, and of all the Powers, 
 Germany is least Anglicized. The Atlantic Ocean 
 is no bigger than the hyphen between Anglo- 
 Saxon. If I could do good in England, by a sort 
 146
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 of social process of evolution, the good would 
 spread over both hemispheres. Good and evil are 
 contagious. Clear the sky of England, and the 
 atmosphere of the civilized globe bears a richer 
 ozone of moral purity. I gravitated to London 
 for the reasons mentioned, and, in a measure, I 
 have found that which I sought." 
 
 "You are a credit to the land of your adop- 
 tion," said the nobleman, slowly. 
 
 "I am grateful for your good opinion," replied 
 Reynolds. 
 
 "To convince you of my regard and confidence," 
 continued Lord Howe, "I have a favor to ask of 
 you. I wish you to accept all the property I pos- 
 sess, that does not escheat to the Crown, to be used 
 as you see fit in your college. I make no condi- 
 tion, except that it shall be used in behalf of the 
 unfortunate children of London." 
 
 "My lord!" 
 
 "I am an old man, without children, without 
 grandchildren, and it will be easier to die knowing 
 that this fortune with which I have been favored is 
 being placed to the credit of these friendless bits of 
 humanity. Besides, it is an atonement," lowering 
 his voice so as to be scarcely audible. 
 
 "My generous friend and acquaintance, do you 
 wish to increase my burdens ? I have an independ- 
 ent fortune. With all my philanthropies, the in- 
 come of the principal is not consumed. But there 
 147
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 are plenty of places where your munificent gift 
 will be accepted." 
 
 "Before you decline," remonstrated the old gen- 
 tleman, "hear what I have to say: Two children 
 were born to me, a son and a daughter. My life 
 was filled with contentment. I doted on my chil- 
 dren. An honored name was to pass to future 
 ages, as I had every reason for believing. But, 
 'Man proposes, God disposes.' My boy was killed 
 in India will you hand me that cordial, please? 
 thank you. Years rust asunder the iron bars of 
 nature. I was wild with grief. All the proud 
 plans cherished in my bosom had failed. The 
 months, years rolled by. I forgot my daughter. 
 One day she came and, kneeling at my feet, con- 
 fessed her love for a poor curate who had been 
 preferred to the sinecure by my patronage. My 
 passion knew no bounds. I must have been mad, 
 for I raved and cursed. I was the last male of a 
 noble ancestry, a daughter alone remaining to 
 transmit to posterity an illustrious name, and she 
 loving an unknown and worthless scion of the 
 church ! My daughter would not yield to my au- 
 thority ; in fact, she could not, for there had been a 
 secret marriage. Reginald Clark was her hus- 
 band, and when she told me of the unrepentant act 
 and begged forgiveness, I oh, it was awful for a 
 father to do ! I drove her from the door with hor- 
 rible imprecations, never to call me father, as I 
 148
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 should never acknowledge her my child. But my 
 heart was not entirely bad. I longed for my 
 daughter. I had been both fond and proud of 
 her. One day when I was making arrangements 
 to follow them to America and bring them back, I 
 received intelligence of the death of my daughter 
 and of her husband. The letter stated that a child 
 was left a boy, Clarence. A pestilence in New 
 York City had carried them off. I never found 
 that boy." The old nobleman was overcome and 
 paused a moment. 
 
 "A boy Clark Clarence," mused the younger 
 man, aloud. 
 
 "What were you saying?" asked the old lord, 
 bending forward eagerly. 
 
 "Oh, I remember! Strange coincidence a waif 
 Clarence Clark antecedents unknown it may 
 be the same " 
 
 "For God's sake tell me what you mean !" inter- 
 rupted the nobleman, standing over the younger 
 man, his aged frame trembling with excitement. 
 
 "Be seated, please, and compose yourself." Lord 
 Howe obeyed. 
 
 The speaker drew from an inner pocket a mo- 
 rocco case and extracted from one of its compart- 
 ments the paragraph from the North American, 
 containing an account of the rescue of Madge 
 Eldridge by Clarence Clark, and handed it to the 
 nobleman with the remark, "I believe it probable 
 149
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 that this boy is your daughter's child, and that 
 your lost grandson is in a fair way to be restored 
 to you." 
 
 The old nobleman seized the paper and stared 
 at it like a man in a trance, his bloodless lips en- 
 deavoring in vain to articulate the words. Oh, the 
 broken, melancholy voice ! Thrice he read the article, 
 the wizened face getting more pinched and drawn. 
 
 "The cordial quick! I believe I am dy 
 Oh my daughter her boy at last." Lord 
 Howe fell forward unconscious into the arms of 
 Edward Reynolds. Reynolds bore the inanimate 
 form and placed it upon a couch. Help was sum- 
 moned and restoratives administered. Finally the 
 old nobleman opened his eyes and glanced incom- 
 prehensively at the faces about him. 
 
 "What is wrong?" addressing his confidential 
 secretary. "Have I been ill? Or " he saw Ed- 
 ward Reynolds, "I remember now. Walter, come 
 here near me. Is it true my boy has been found 
 say, is it true, Walter, or was I dreaming and 
 mad again? Oh, how my head throbs and beats! 
 Place your hand upon my forehead and hold it to 
 the pillow so. Yes, I will drink it, Walter. 
 Thank you. How good you have been all these 
 years, and I have been ugly and irritable, but 
 
 " He saw the guest again; recollection 
 
 cleared the mists upon the memory. Lord Howe 
 
 started in upright position on the couch. The 
 
 150
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 old form seemed to be galvanized. "Pardon me 
 for causing you this uneasiness; but I am young 
 again. Yes, I shall outlive the century, if this 
 good news proves true." 
 
 Hope, entering into the old nobleman's life, had 
 reinvigorated the aged frame. The transforma- 
 tion was complete. Lord Howe approached his 
 guest with a step light and elastic. This singular 
 phenomena, as witnessed at remote periods, acting 
 upon the vitality of human organs, is inexplicable. 
 Such sporadic instances are even more mysterious 
 than temporary youth conferred by hypnotic 
 agencies upon the aged and decrepit. 
 
 "My young friend, I summoned you to bestow 
 a vast fortune upon an enterprise in which you are 
 interested, and, in return, have received a new lease 
 of life. Something tells me that the child referred 
 to in this scrap of paper is my grandson, and the 
 successor to the Howe estates. You have robbed 
 yourself, or rather the cause you serve, of a large 
 amount of money, but have gained an old man's 
 blessing." 
 
 "I prefer the latter. I have wealth enough 
 with which to be bothered. Besides, no man is 
 ever deprived of what he never possessed," said the 
 young man, betraying no trace of disappointment. 
 
 "I still have power and influence. A member 
 of the House of Lords wields a magical mace, and, 
 we shall see !" 
 
 151
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "My lord," said the guest, still retaining the 
 hand proffered him, "I seek no power, no noto- 
 riety. Your influence, if directed in my favor, 
 would only embarrass and oppress me. My work 
 is a vineyard unknown to the multitudes, and I 
 beg to be left in seclusion. I shall treasure your 
 friendship, as I am grateful for your esteem, but 
 the great potentates of England and I have noth- 
 ing in common. Leave me unmolested in the work 
 to which I have dedicated my life." 
 
 "In other words," said the old man, "I would 
 only cumber your triumph with a needless 
 weight. You are a noble man. God bless you." 
 Edward Reynolds bowed his head as the blessing 
 was invoked. "Walter and I sail to America. 
 Will it be quite impossible for you to accompany 
 us to your native land?" 
 
 "Impossible, not 'quite impossible.' I shall 
 never again step upon American soil," said Ed- 
 ward Reynolds, decisively. 
 
 "Will you come with me to the conservatory?" 
 asked the nobleman. Scarcely had they entered 
 the spacious garden of flowers, when the old man 
 confronted his companion. 
 
 "What is the reason? Why this expatriation? 
 I should die to abdicate English soil." 
 
 The question was asked so suddenly Reynolds 
 was confused, and stood silently gazing at his in- 
 terrogator in astonishment. 
 152
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Tell me frankly and I will make it right. I 
 have power, the House of Lords has power, and I 
 will move heaven and earth to restore your citizen- 
 ship." 
 
 "My lord, your intentions you are laboring 
 under false impressions " 
 
 "It was only some indiscretion, some boyish 
 prank ; but, if it be crime, I tell you, if it costs half 
 my fortune " 
 
 "My lord!" The blood rushed in crimson tor- 
 rents to the haughty brow. There was a glitter 
 of steel in those eyes. The form towered above 
 the old nobleman. Edward Reynolds was sublime. 
 
 "Forgive me; I meant no offense. I am all at 
 sea. You here in England; there, America! 
 Still, I should have known better. My suspicions 
 are unworthy of me. They shall wrong you no 
 more. I entreat your pardon." The abject con- 
 trition of the old nobleman was painful to behold. 
 
 "I freely pardon you, my lord. Your offense 
 was an error of the head, not of the heart." After 
 a moment's pause, the speaker continued: "No, 
 Lord Howe, I am not in need of your kind offices 
 in the way of your suggestion; so let us dismiss 
 the subject, painful alike to us both." 
 
 The following morning an English nobleman 
 and his trustworthy factotum sailed to the United 
 States. 
 
 153
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 "I have the blood of an Isaac Walton in my 
 veins for a week," declared Banker Richards, let- 
 ting the newspaper which he had been reading slip 
 through his fingers to the floor with a rustling 
 sound not unlike the splash of a cascade where 
 speckled beauties disport. 
 
 "Alice," he continued, addressing his daughter, 
 "get your mother in shape for a rough-and -tumble 
 in the woods, and we shall start for your summer 
 cottage among the hemlock 'Spines' of the Sinne- 
 mahoning. Better invite the St. Clairs." 
 
 "Please, papa, let us go by ourselves." It was 
 spoken rapidly. Banker Richards looked at his 
 daughter in surprise. 
 
 "Well, as you and mother decide." Mother set- 
 tles all questions at variance. 
 
 "We see so much company," commented the ar- 
 bitratrix, consulting the wishes of both, "perhaps 
 we had better invite them a couple of weeks later. 
 By that time, maybe, we will have tired of our- 
 selves." 
 
 "I'm agreed," assented the banker. "When 
 shall we start?" 
 
 "Let's see! To-day is Wednesday. How 
 154
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 would brook trout do for breakfast Saturday 
 morning?" quizzed Mrs. Eldridge, who was very 
 partial to these annual visits to "The Spines." 
 
 The mansion erected on the headwaters of the 
 Susquehanna by Llewellyn Eldridge the last year 
 of his life had been christened "The Spines." 
 
 "Capital!" cried the banker. "I'll telegraph 
 the steward we are coming." 
 
 And sure enough, a great platter of brook trout, 
 served in the old delicious way, steamed from the 
 center of the breakfast table at "The Spines" Sat- 
 urday morning, about which were seated five 
 happy individuals, being Mr. Richards and wife, 
 his daughter, grandchild and Clarence Clark. 
 
 "Give me squabs and trout," declared Banker 
 Richards, "as the choicest game; don't you say so, 
 sir?" addressing the boy, who had hung at the 
 heels of the speaker along the streams the day pre- 
 vious with the fidelity of a greyhound. 
 
 "I don't know what are squabs," admitted the 
 boy. 
 
 "Squabs are young wild pigeons. Say, Madge, 
 you will be an early victim of dyspepsia," heaping 
 another generous supply of fish upon the plate ex- 
 tended in his direction by little chubby hands. 
 "What voracious appetites young people possess !" 
 
 "And some older ones, too," smiled Mrs. Rich- 
 ards, glancing at the china, well decorated with 
 trout, in front of her husband. 
 155
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "I plead guilty to the charge," said the banker, 
 placing a fine brown trout upon the plate of his 
 wife, which was the third or fourth visit that piece 
 of table service had made for replenishment. 
 
 "Somehow, I declare, I do have the appetite of a 
 wolf whenever I come here." 
 
 "Only the appetite, papa?" said Alice, de- 
 murely. 
 
 "I'll find a slippery stone in the middle of the 
 stream for you to step upon, Monday, to pay for 
 that," said the banker. "That is casus belli." 
 
 Monday was set for all parties to camp out for 
 the day. The foreman, who had been in the em- 
 ploy of Llewellyn Eldridge, and the foreman's 
 wife had been invited to join in the day's sport, as 
 well as the local minister and his estimable 
 lady. 
 
 These visits of the Richardses were looked for- 
 ward to by the scattered inhabitants with much 
 expectancy. There was scarcely a settler for miles 
 that had not been employed in some capacity by 
 Llewellyn Eldridge, and the munificence of the old 
 banker and of Mrs. Eldridge was of such sub- 
 stantial proportions as to cause general rejoicing. 
 Every morning the inquiry was made at "The 
 Spines": "Does Mr. Richards fish to-day? If 
 so, what stream?" There was not a man or boy 
 for miles that could have been tempted to cast a 
 hook in the brook indicated, it being the exclusive 
 156
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 privilege of the banker to fish along those banks 
 that day. 
 
 Of all the persons sharing in the day's sport that 
 Monday, none were more enthusiastic than little 
 Madge and Clarence. They were all bluster and 
 excitement from the time the canvas tent was load- 
 ed upon the heavy democrat wagon early in the 
 morning until the homeward return at nightfall. 
 It was they that clapped hands when the squirrels 
 jumped from limb to limb above their heads, as the 
 horses trotted over the old road through the forest. 
 No woodbine nor flower escaped their bright eyes 
 eyes which, ever and anon, cast covetous glances 
 at the large earthen jars wherein were packed the 
 choicest morsels for refreshments. Arriving at 
 their destination, they watched the workmen drive 
 posts in the ground about which to fasten cords 
 of the tent, volunteering many suggestions of no 
 great value to the laborers. They helped pull the 
 rope over the pulley when the canopy was lifted 
 in position, the importance of the little lady in- 
 creasing in her own estimation, at least, even if 
 the progress of affairs was not hastened by her 
 officiousness. Clarence was commanded to do this 
 to do that, as her vigilant eyes constantly de- 
 tected work, needful and otherwise, to be done. 
 
 "Ain't it cosey!" she exclaimed rapturously, 
 pirouetting gayly upon the rugs covering the 
 ground within the inclosure. Then, too happy to 
 157
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 contain herself in any one occupation, she cried, 
 "Let's go get mamma and grandpa," darting off 
 in the direction of some ladies, with the boy in 
 close pursuit. But "grandpa" and the male 
 members of the party had long since been landing 
 the fin tribe in a manner to their entire satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 "Everything is up," cried the little girl, "and 
 Clarence and me is awful hungry." Her dismay, 
 when told it would be hours before lunch, was some- 
 what dispelled by a handful of cookies from one of 
 the cadaverous jars, which had already been con- 
 veyed from the wagon to a snug corner of the tent. 
 These were no sooner devoured than the young 
 lady was seized with a fit to do some of the fishing 
 herself. Her dignity was considerably affronted 
 when informed that no special bamboo rod "in 
 joints," with reel and line, had been provided for 
 her ladyship. She was consoled, however, when 
 Clarence told her she could use "his'n," and he 
 would cut a rod from a bush. Miss Madge was 
 very bold over putting worms on the hook while 
 walking to the stream; but, upon seeing the wig- 
 gling denizens of the soil sprawling in the bait- 
 box, her courage failed, and she renounced the job 
 in Clarence's favor, while, during the ceremony, she 
 watched nothing in particular fixedly upon the 
 opposite shore of the small creek, which laughing- 
 ly babbled over its pebbly bottom. 
 158
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Got 'm on?" she inquired a little squeamishly. 
 
 "Purty near," he replied, applying himself as- 
 siduously to the task. 
 
 "I'll go down to the bank and watch for the 
 fishes," she suggested, seeking an excuse to get 
 farther away from the execution of the worm. 
 
 "I've got him now," said the boy, eying the 
 hook satisfactorily. "Hold on," he cried, "you'll 
 scare the trout. Now look here," he directed, 
 "you sly up to the roots of that maple, where the 
 water turns and crosses the other way, and drop 
 over in the deep hole. I'll cut a fish pole and be 
 fishing along with you quicker than you can say 
 ' Jack Robinson.' ' 
 
 Madge gave close attention to instructions, but 
 hesitated, shrugging her little shoulders at the 
 thought of taking the proffered rod. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked the boy. 
 
 "Nothing, only I'll just watch you fish," cir- 
 cling about the boy in such a manner that she and 
 the worm were fenced apart by her escort. 
 
 "Fiddlesticks !" said the boy in disgust. "Here, 
 now, you just do as I say," putting the rod in her 
 reluctant hands and repeating previous directions. 
 "Bravo !" he shouted as he followed her admiringly 
 with his eyes. "I'll be back in a jiffy," darting 
 toward a clump of underbrush. He was trimming 
 a small ironwood, when he heard Madge screaming 
 at the top of her voice. 
 
 159
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Clarence! Come quick! Somethin's biting 
 the worm all to pieces." She was pulling with all 
 her strength on the big end of the bamboo rod, 
 which was arched like a rainbow above her head. 
 
 "Hold on, hard," yelled the boy encouragingly, 
 running toward her as fast as his legs would 
 carry him, dragging the ironwood by his side. 
 "You've got 'm hooked; pull 'm out. Now, 
 he-o-he!" 
 
 "Oh, dear, I can't! There, he's going down 
 the stream with the poor worm in his mouth." The 
 girl gave an involuntary shudder. 
 
 "Let me take the pole; I'll learn him a trick." 
 And suiting the action to the word, he darted 
 around the maple, waded through the shallow 
 water of the riffle, and dexterously leading the 
 trout to the gravelly bar and gradually putting 
 more muscle on the rod, he saw the big fellow go- 
 ing faster and faster through the water, when, 
 with all his strength, the boy tugged upon the 
 pole, and the fish floundered on the shore. 
 
 "Ain't he a bute?" hilariously shouted the boy, 
 bearing the trophy to the side of the girl. "There 
 is your catch," eying her proudly ; "ain't he an old 
 gee-wholliper ?" 
 
 "Get the worm out of his mouth, quick!" 
 screamed the girl, compassionately, "he'll kill it." 
 
 "The worm is killed already ; it's the hook in the 
 trout's nose," said the boy in a superior way. 
 160
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "I don't want to fish any more," said Madge 
 decidedly. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "'Cause it's cruel." 
 
 "Oh, it's fun !" laughed the boy. 
 
 "Maybe it is for boys," said the girl reflectively, 
 "but girls has some feelin's." 
 
 The trout had torn the bait into shreds, one of 
 which protruded from its gaping mouth. The 
 sight was too much for the young lady, and seiz- 
 ing the bait-box with its vermicular contents, she 
 industriously bored a hole in the soft mulch with 
 the tiny heel of her shoe, and dumped Messrs. 
 Worms in the miniature excavation, covering them 
 with the displaced earth. 
 
 "There now," she said, turning to the surprised 
 youth, "don't you touch one of them." 
 
 While the boy was perfectly incapable of shar- 
 ing the sentiments of the little defender of the 
 genus vermes, he had no intention of disobeying 
 royal orders delivered with such vehemence. 
 
 "How would you like to be strung on a hook and 
 be torn in bits like that?" she said, pointing at the 
 unfortunate worm in the mouth of the fish. 
 
 The boy was a little doubtful of his ground, and 
 silently proceeded to extricate the steel wire from 
 the nose of the fish, which had ceased its strug- 
 glings, when, cutting a crotched twig, he strung 
 one of the tines through the gills. 
 161
 
 "He's a two-pounder all right," disdaining to 
 notice the remarks of his more conscientious com- 
 panion, mentally weighing the fish with his hand. 
 
 "Hello!" said he, glancing at the lowering 
 clouds, "thunder and lightning! Maybe we had 
 better git for cover." 
 
 But scarcely had they gone a dozen rods, when 
 the rain in great drops began to descend upon the 
 leaves above their heads. The sky was dark and 
 forbidding, while the wind whistled and soughed 
 among the branches of the primeval forest. 
 
 "Guess we are 'lected for a ducking, surer'n 
 blixen," said Clarence, glancing about in search of 
 some shelter for the girl, who was timidly clinging 
 to his hand. "Don't be afraid, Madge"; then, 
 after a moment's pause, "See, maybe the storm has 
 passed round," gazing at the scudding clouds, 
 sweeping from mountain to mountain across the 
 valley. Suddenly the drops renewed their tattoo 
 upon the canopy of dense foliage above them. 
 
 Crash! Bang! The artillery of heaven broke 
 loose from fortifications of the dark clouds, and 
 the rain began to pour in torrents from flood-gates 
 above. 
 
 "Here, quick! put this on!" pulling his coat 
 over the trembling girl, which quite enveloped her 
 diminutive form. "There, now, that's better," 
 drawing his felt hat over her sunny curls. "We'll 
 get behind this big hemlock, and let her thunder 
 162
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 and lighten to her heart's content." He placed 
 his arm about Madge, and interposed his body be- 
 tween her and the raging elements. 
 
 "Don't shiver so, Madge ; this is is fun," wip- 
 ing away as best he might with his disengaged 
 hand the water beating against his face. 
 
 Miss Madge failed to share his enthusiasm. The 
 boy was drenching wet. Adding to the terror of 
 the storm, the mammoth trees creaked and groaned 
 as though in mortal agony, ever and anon the less 
 firmly rooted giving way, and striking a neighbor 
 tree with its momentum, they would crash to the 
 ground, making the earth tremble with the fall of 
 their combined weight. The atmosphere became 
 suddenly cool, and hail, the size of hickory nuts, 
 tumbled out of the clouds, increasing their peril. 
 
 "Kick your toes against the tree, Madge, if 
 they're cold," said the boy, struggling with all his 
 might to keep his teeth from chattering. "Don't 
 shake so. Say, Madge, say 'I ain't afraid' three 
 times. Now, 'I ain't afraid,' once." 
 
 "I ain't afraid," dubiously piped a voice next 
 the tree. 
 
 " 'I ain't afraid,' twice," dictated the lad. 
 
 "I ain't afraid." 
 
 " 'I ain't afraid,' three times," prompted the 
 boy. 
 
 "I ain't afraid three times," shivered the girl. 
 
 "Yonder they are," cried the banker, hurrying 
 163
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 forward, accompanied by the steward, well pro- 
 vided with mackintoshes. 
 
 "You're the genuine stuff," said Mr. Richards, 
 patting the boy's head; "you've kept her dry 
 as a powder-horn." 
 
 The girl was crushed in a rubber coat, lifted 
 by the steward and borne away toward the tent, 
 while the boy placed his recovered hat over his head 
 and slid into one of the mackintoshes. 
 
 "What's this?" asked the banker, detecting the 
 trout. 
 
 "Oh! Madge caught him, sir," replied the boy. 
 
 "It's the largest trout I ever saw," examining 
 the fellow admiringly, his passion for fishing by 
 no means abated by the raging storm. "I'll carry 
 him. Now, then, let us get out of this," and suit- 
 ing the action to the word, the old gentleman 
 started for the tent, with the boy trudging close 
 in his wake. 
 
 Upon their arrival at camp, they found dinner 
 in course of preparation over a crackling fire. 
 Despite the inclemency without, all was warm 
 and dry within. The incidents of such a day 
 thaw out the rigors of life's exclusive caste, re- 
 storing conditions of equality, and going far to- 
 ward reducing the artificial distance between the 
 poor and the rich, the weak and the powerful. 
 The children's appetites were none the worse for 
 exposure, the aversion of the little girl for trout 
 164
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 on the hook entirely disappearing before those 
 on the platter. It was quite dusk when the pleas- 
 ure-seekers reached "The Spines." 
 
 "There are two gentlemen in the library waiting 
 to see you, sir," said the housekeeper to Banker 
 Richards as the party approached the porch, where 
 she had stationed herself. From this position she 
 not only commanded a long stretch of the high- 
 way with those vigilant eyes, but the interior of 
 the library as well. There was an expression of 
 displeasure upon the man's face. "I told them, 
 sir, that you saw no one here, unless a few intimate 
 friends dropped in occasionally. Indeed I did, sir, 
 but they said their business was urgent, and more 
 with Mrs. Eldridge than you, sir; and so, not 
 knowing exactly what to do, I invited the stran- 
 gers to be seated in the library until your return; 
 besides, sir, the gentleman gave me this (exhibiting 
 a gold coin). It is English money. They are 
 foreigners." 
 
 "Well, you did quite right under the circum- 
 stances," said the banker, anxious to check the gar- 
 rulity of the old domestic. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," balancing the coin on the 
 tips of her fingers. 
 
 Mr. Richards went directly to the library. 
 Both gentlemen rose upon his entrance. 
 
 "This is Mr. Richards, I believe, whom I have 
 the pleasure of addressing?" The banker replied 
 165
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 in the affirmative. "I have been favored," con- 
 tinued the stranger, "with a letter of introduc- 
 tion," bowing and extending an official envel- 
 ope, which the banker opened by removing the seal 
 and perused thoughtfully. As he finished the 
 brief letter, he stepped forward. 
 
 "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Lord 
 Howe," shaking hands cordially with the old noble- 
 man. 
 
 "This is Walter Haskell, my private secretary," 
 said Lord Howe, presenting his faithful old serv- 
 ant to the banker. 
 
 "My dear sir," continued the nobleman, "the 
 importance of this visit is its own apology. I can 
 assure you that no mere business matter could have 
 induced me to invade your privacy. I am well 
 aware how gentlemen of affairs value the few privi- 
 leged days when the cares of business are cast off; 
 but, sir, my visit affects me very deeply, and I may 
 hope, if my information proves true, that, owing 
 to services rendered your daughter and grandchild, 
 your joy upon being made acquainted with the 
 connections of the boy to whom you owe so much 
 will secure me ample pardon for this intrusion." 
 
 "Whatever, my lord, may be the object to which 
 I am indebted for the honor of this visit is already 
 acknowledged; but let me beg you to yield the 
 question until refreshments are served. You come 
 from Philadelphia, and must be both tired and 
 166
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 hungry. Our accommodations are somewhat lim- 
 ited, but you " 
 
 "Believe me, sir, we do not wish to inconvenience 
 you in any way." 
 
 "But you will in fact you are at a disadvan- 
 tage you are compelled to share such hospitality 
 as we afford. There is really no hostelry here 
 where you can find lodgings, and the passenger 
 train does not return to Philadelphia until 10 
 A. M. to-morrow. Consequently, my lord," said 
 the banker affably, "I am going to order your 
 luggage brought." And despite the protestations 
 of his visitor, the banker directed his steward to 
 drive to the station and bring any baggage be- 
 longing to the nobleman and his servant. 
 
 "Now, sir, if you will kindly excuse me for 
 a few moments I shall change these damp 
 clothes." 
 
 "How inconsiderate of me to have detained you ! 
 It seems there is no alternative but to accept the 
 offer of your hospitality, but I trust I may not 
 always remain your debtor. I shall catch you 
 in England yet. I am extremely anxious, how- 
 ever," he said, his voice becoming more serious, "to 
 meet your daughter, Mrs. Eldridge, and the boy, 
 Clarence Clark." 
 
 "What's in the wind?" mused the banker as he 
 hastened to his room; "this is mystifying." 
 
 "Where are you going?" asked a boyish voice. 
 167
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "In here," replied the little girl. 
 
 "May I come?" 
 
 "'Course," and the children, who had changed 
 their garments, pushed open the library door and 
 stepped into the room. 
 
 The eyes of Lord Howe became riveted upon the 
 face of the boy, his aged features working convul- 
 sively, while a pallor like that of death spread 
 over his countenance. He made one or two ef- 
 forts to rise, but his trembling limbs refused to 
 support their weight. The tension was devouring 
 him. Hope one minute, fear the next ; he had been 
 living three weeks in alternate transports of joy 
 and depths of despair. 
 
 "My lord, you are alarming the children; con- 
 trol yourself," whispered the secretary, bending 
 over the recumbent form. 
 
 "My God, my dead boy come back to me!" 
 gasped the nobleman. 
 
 The girl dimly comprehending the scene, re- 
 treated timidly to the side of Clarence. Already 
 she had learned to place a blind faith of security 
 in her protector. 
 
 Lord Howe recovered himself by a superhuman 
 effort. He smiled at the confiding trustfulness of 
 the little girl; but the clear gaze of the boy 
 those eyes were so keen and intelligent no one 
 knew better than himself that it would be difficult 
 in hiding a purpose from them. 
 168
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Will you not come and shake hands with me?" 
 asked the nobleman reassuringly. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the boy leading the somewhat 
 reluctant girl. 
 
 The nobleman took a tiny fist in each of his 
 hands. It did him good. Their young blood 
 seemed to infuse vitality in his old stagnant veins. 
 Walter looked upon the proceedings with satis- 
 faction. 
 
 "Well, sir, my little boy, what is your 
 name ?" 
 
 "Clarence," replied the boy, promptly. 
 
 "Clarence ?" 
 
 "Clarence Clark," added the boy, coloring to 
 the roots of his hair. 
 
 "How old are you, Clarence?" 
 
 "Twelve years, sir." 
 
 "What month and day were you born, Clar- 
 ence ?" 
 
 "April 9, 1848," said the boy, not knowing- 
 whether to be pleased or not at the catechism. 
 
 "I knew it," said the old man eagerly. "And 
 your father and mother?" 
 
 "I hain't got no papa and mamma," said the 
 boy sadly, "I ain't like other boys." 
 
 "Yes you is too," said the little girl, "your 
 papa and mamma is in heaven. Mamma said so 
 when I asked her." 
 
 The boy, whose religious culture had been some- 
 169
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 what neglected, bowed acquiescence to the correc- 
 tion. 
 
 "Was your father's name Reginald and your 
 mother's Mary?" asked the old man, turning his 
 face partly away to hide his emotion. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 It was some moments before the old gentleman 
 spoke again. He seemed to be breathing with 
 difficulty. Still he clung to the little hands con- 
 fided to his. Finally he said: 
 
 "And this is the little Madge, whom you saved 
 from drowning?" resting his eyes upon the sweet 
 face of the girl. 
 
 "Yes, sir,' said the boy, shrugging his shoulders, 
 and casting a swift glance at his questioner. 
 Those eyes seemed to ask, "How do you know so 
 much?" 
 
 "Oh, I saw the published report," interpreting 
 the look, "you are a brave boy," pinching the 
 small hand he still held clasped in his. 
 
 "You are not afraid of me now, are you?" he 
 said to the little girl. 
 
 "No, sir, not a mite. At first I was, you looked 
 so queer." 
 
 "Shall I tell you a story a real fairy story?" 
 asked the old gentleman. 
 
 The heads of the children nodded vigorously. 
 When was there ever a child that did not love 
 stories? 
 
 170
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Well, climb upon my knee then." 
 
 There was a general scrambling for position, 
 any remaining shyness vanishing at the prospect 
 of the promised entertainment. 
 
 "Well," commenced the narrator, "years ago, 
 there lived a nobleman in a great big castle, built 
 of solid stone hundreds of years before he was 
 born. Finally, after many years, this big house 
 descended to one son. This boy was strong of 
 limb and possessed much beauty and grace of 
 person. He thought well of his birth and loved 
 to hear of the brave deeds and adventure of his an- 
 cestors. This son was educated at home until he 
 became twenty years of age, when he traveled 
 pretty much all over the world during the next 
 five years. He was a proud and headstrong young 
 man and did, no doubt, a great many foolish 
 things not entirely to his credit. He had, how- 
 ever, many good traits of character. If impulsive, 
 he was generous ; if he had limbs of iron, he never 
 crushed the weak. He studied the countries he 
 visited and gained much valuable knowledge. At 
 last he returned home. Couriers, that is, men had 
 been sent in advance to tell of his coming. For 
 miles and miles multitudes of people gathered to 
 welcome his home coming. You should have heard 
 the bell ringing. If it was not the prodigal's 
 return, and, my little friends, you have heard 
 tell of that in the Bible, it was the return of an 
 171
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 only son, who had long been absent from home 
 in strange lands. There came a day when this 
 young man fell in love, as sometime, my young 
 friends, you will do when you grow older." The 
 children looked at each other across the chasm of 
 the old man's knees. "He took his bride to live 
 in the great house of stone and thousands came 
 to welcome the blushing bride and the happy 
 husband. It was a happy day." The old 
 man closed his eyes and was lost in reflection. 
 "After a while a little boy came, and then a little 
 girl to bless that home. They were beautiful 
 children, and the prattle of their babbling voices 
 is still heard by the old and cheerless man, when 
 the wind blows and the storm rages. The father 
 of those sweet children was a proud and am- 
 bitious man. What his ancestors had done with 
 lance and sword, he sought to do in Parliament 
 with the force of argument and eloquence. He 
 made a great many foes, who coveted his ruin, who 
 feared and hated him; but he always triumphed 
 and his fame spread until his name became a house- 
 hold word in all Europe. But as he prospered he 
 forgot God. 
 
 "Then one day there came a time when the little 
 boy grew up and had to go away as his father had 
 done before him. He was a fearless boy, brave 
 and bold as a lion." The old man's speech was 
 choked and trembling. "He was killed in India 
 172
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 by wild beasts." The recital affected the story- 
 teller strangely. 
 
 "Then," continued the narrator, "the old noble- 
 man's heart grew harder harder than the stones 
 his fathers had quarried and built into the walls 
 of the great house. The blow killed the boy's 
 mother. The proud man buried her, his heart get- 
 ting colder and more flint like. He never smiled 
 any more. Pity was dead in his bosom. His 
 house of dreams had been broken into and the 
 treasures stolen. He forgot his daughter. One 
 day she came and told of her marriage to a poor 
 curate. Then this wicked man lifted his hand 
 against his little girl and drove her from the cas- 
 tle. He became mad after that. Some days he 
 would people the big courts and battlements with 
 knights wearing armor and steel mail, their huge 
 plumes and battle axes waving and flashing in the 
 gleaming sunlight, while the demented nobleman 
 shouted orders against imaginary foes. Again, 
 he would walk the silent halls, calling into the 
 empty chambers for his wife and children. God 
 had punished him terribly for his pride and in- 
 solence. After years of darkness a letter came 
 across the sea, telling of the deaths of his daugh- 
 ter and her husband in the City of New York. 
 That cruel letter also told of a son, Clarence, who 
 was left an orphan and without any money or 
 friends. Then the old nobleman, whose mind and 
 173
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 body had recovered, sailed on a big ship to get. 
 his grandson and bring him home. Upon his 
 arrival he found where his daughter had lived and 
 where his little grandson was born. There was no 
 trace of the child. All that could be learned of 
 the boy was that an elderly lady had, through 
 pity or some other motive, taken charge of him. 
 The old nobleman offered rewards almost princely 
 for information that would lead to the restoration 
 of his grandchild. There is no city in the United 
 States of any importance that has not been can- 
 vassed by able police, looking for the little heir, 
 who belongs way over the ocean, and, who, some- 
 time when he grows up, should live in the home of 
 his fathers. Yes, the sorrows of the old man had 
 softened his heart, and he sent messengers every- 
 where to find and bring to him the lost boy; but 
 the messengers returned with no tidings. At last 
 the broken down and humbled old man asked Gccl 
 to spare his life until the child of his daughter 
 was restored to his birthright. Remorse and 
 trouble had broken the stubborn will. He was 
 reconciled to God, and able to say, 'Thy will, and 
 not mine, be done.' ' 
 
 Again the story-teller paused so long the silence 
 became oppressive. 
 
 "Didn't he find the boy ever?" asked the girl, 
 her breathless suspense and curiosity no longer able 
 to bear the silence. 
 
 174
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Yes," it was a monosyllable. 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad !" cried the girl, clapping her 
 dimpled hands at imminent risk of losing her 
 equilibrium, and toppling from her perch. 
 
 Tears were streaming from the old man's eyes. 
 He drew the boy convulsively to his breast. 
 
 "Forgive me ! My child, forgive me !" 
 
 "Grandfather!" breathed the boy in aspi- 
 rates. 
 
 Oh, mysterious law ! force ! nature ! sublime phe- 
 nomenon, that baffles science, that flashes recog- 
 nition along magnetic wires concealed in fibres of a 
 common origin, until there bursts upon the sentient 
 being spontaneity of knowledge! Oh, occult pas- 
 sages winding labyrinths of the soul, where in- 
 finite vision beholds the purple bonds of consan- 
 guinity ! 
 
 Mr. Richards, accompanied by his wife and 
 daughter entered the room at this critical junc- 
 ture. They paused abruptly at the strange scene. 
 The banker concealed his surprise, and conducting 
 the ladies to Lord Howe who had risen and dashed 
 away the tears from his still moist eyes, said: 
 
 "Lord Howe, let me introduce my wife, Mrs. 
 Richards, and my daughter, Mrs. Eldridge." 
 
 The old gentleman bowed chivalrously, then, ac- 
 cording to some sudden impulse, he caught the 
 hand of the boy, "Mr. and Mrs. Richards and Mrs. 
 Eldridge, it gives me great pleasure in presenting 
 175
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 to you my grandson, Clarence Clark, a future peer 
 of England." 
 
 Their surprise changed to astonishment; and s 
 seated together after the evening meal, they 
 listened late into the night to the same story, re- 
 peated differently, that had been told to the child- 
 ren, now slumbering in their beds. 
 
 176
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Lord Howe continued at The Spines. The pos- 
 session of his grandson had produced a wonderful 
 rejuvenation. He was delighted with the char- 
 acter of the boy, developed, to be sure, but imper- 
 fectly under the crude environments of his young 
 life. The lad's nature was open, frank and af- 
 fectionate. The new found relatives were united 
 by the strongest ties of devotion. The old gentle- 5 
 man could not suffer the boy out of sight, while 
 the little fellow, on his part, conceived for his 
 grandparent the warmest attachment. 
 
 Banker Richards and the Englishman soon es- 
 tablished themselves upon the rarely privileged 
 terms of familiarity. The regard for each other 
 was mutual. Their tastes, in many respects, were 
 not dissimilar. Both had been close students, each 
 in his special sphere. What Banker Richards did 
 not understand about finances was hardly worth 
 knowing, his opinion being usually accepted as 
 final upon the subject among his intimate ac- 
 quiantances, while men in public position frequent- 
 ly consulted him, availing themselves of his valu- 
 able knowledge. 
 
 Lord Howe had been actively engaged in 
 177
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 [English politics the greater part of his life, and 
 was especially informed upon international law. 
 He was a veritable encyclopedia upon treaty rights 
 and obligations. Thus, the conversation of the 
 two men embraced subjects possessing a charm for 
 both. They would sit on the veranda in the cool 
 of the summer days, smoking choice brands of Ha- 
 vanas, enjoying each other's society. 
 
 Lord Howe had been at The Spines a fortnight. 
 It had been settled that he should remain the guest 
 of Mrs. Eldridge and her parents a few weeks, 
 when they should sail for England together. Alice 
 had long contemplated a visit to her dear friend, 
 Countess Ratcliff, but her father had postponed 
 his going, upon one pretext or another. It was 
 largely due to the persuasion of Lord Howe, that 
 the banker had eventually promised to accompany 
 his wife and daughter at the early date appointed ; 
 a circumstance for which both ladies were very 
 grateful. 
 
 In the meantime the whereabouts of the old 
 lady, who had cared for Clarence, when a child, 
 had been discovered, and certain articles, belong- 
 ing to his mother, restored, which removed all 
 doubts, if any existed, of his parentage. 
 
 "Papa," said Alice one evening, interrupting 
 their discourse, "mamma and I have stood this 
 sort of thing as long as we propose to do. I de- 
 clare when two very wise and old men get to be 
 178
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 cronies, there is no telling where it will end. Don'ti 
 you think so?" sitting down by the side 
 of the nobleman and beaming up into his 
 face. 
 
 "I do believe wisdom vanishes at the approach! 
 of such loveliness," said Lord Howe, with a twinkle 
 in his eye, "my heart hasn't fluttered so in sixty 
 years." 
 
 "There, that is different. Don't you think this 
 is nicer than talking outlandish disquisitions 
 about treaties and treasuries?" 
 
 "How vain are regrets !" discharging a volumin- 
 ous sigh at the fair divinity at his side. 
 
 "I treasure the compliments of aged gentle- 
 men." 
 
 "The cause of preference, please?" 
 
 "Antiquities are of historical value ; besides sun- 
 sets are always beautiful." 
 
 "A meeting of the grim past and the dimmer 
 present, eh? Still, truly now, don't you think 
 the old man is less apt to cast his pearls where 
 they are not merited?" 
 
 "Why think at all, if one is happy?" com- 
 placently. 
 
 "Well, you come to be amused, and, for want of 
 a better, an old man's adulation is acceptable di- 
 version." 
 
 "Mother, do come here. Our English friend 
 and our troublesome daughter are playing shuttle- 
 179
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 cock with the 'grand passion,' " called the banker, 
 as his wife appeared upon the scene. 
 
 "Mamma, stocks are taken a fall and treaties 
 are abandoned." 
 
 "Well," said the prudent lady, "let the spindles 
 fly, the end justifies the means." 
 
 "Mamma, I have made a discovery. Lord Howe 
 was a great gallant in his day." 
 
 "Nor has he outlived his gallantry," said that 
 gentleman, trying to harpoon the tiny toe of a 
 little boot, peeping from beneath somebody's 
 skirts, with the point of his ebony walking stick. 
 
 "Sit here mother," said the banker, placing an 
 India shawl about her shoulders, as the lady ac- 
 cepted the invitation, "we can better watch 
 maneuvers from this vantage ground." 
 
 "Now, seeing you are both amiable once more," 
 said Alice, rising and entering the library, return- 
 ing quickly, "I wish to see you enjoying fresh 
 cigars. There is a sociability in the weed," offer- 
 ing one to the nobleman, and shaking the extin- 
 guished stub from her father's fingers. "Mamma 
 and I are not so sure of our victory over the 
 'change' and what do you call it the 'Treaty 
 of Ghent,' so you may smoke as one of the con- 
 ditions of the armistice." 
 
 Lord Howe did not light his cigar. 
 
 "Here, sir, is a lucifer," said Alice, extending a 
 match to the nobleman. "Now, aren't you glad 
 180
 
 'Curdling and Vengeful "
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 you did not pierce my toe, else I would not have 
 brought this 'pipe of peace?' ' 
 
 "I say, Friend Richards, we are vanquished." 
 
 "Glad to hear it," said the banker, "I capit- 
 ulated nigh thirty years ago." 
 
 There was something so homelike and attractive 
 in the picture, that the happiness of the charmed 
 circle was contagious. 
 
 "Mr. Richards," said the nobleman earnestly, 
 "you should be the happiest man in Christen- 
 dom." 
 
 "I am," said that gentleman, laconically. The 
 light in Mrs. Richards' eyes was heavenly. 
 
 "When I don't torment him," said Alice, fasten- 
 ing a rose in the lapel of his coat. 
 
 "You do drop pebbles into my pool of bliss." 
 
 "But the ripples, papa, are always catching the 
 rays of the sunbeams." 
 
 "Pretty much," concealing her face in a wreath 
 of smoke. 
 
 "I shall never doubt again that Nero fiddled 
 while Rome burned," said Alice, pensively, emerg- 
 ing from the cloud. 
 
 "Come and sit by me," said Lord Howe, "and 
 we shall plot a conspiracy." 
 
 "Curdling and vengeful?" 
 
 "Vengeful and curdling." 
 
 "Hint it to me. Now, mind, a real cabal." 
 
 "Lean forward." The nobleman whispered 
 181
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 something in her ear, and, despite the farce, the 
 face and throat of Alice colored profusely. 
 Laughing lightly she asked: 
 
 "A widower?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Young and good looking?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Rich and a baronet?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The combination is good. Character and 
 habits average?" 
 
 "Unexceptionable." 
 
 "Papa," pointing her finger at him menac- 
 ingly, "you must abdicate." 
 
 "Mother, see!" said the banker, "she blushes. 
 Brutus was pale when he stabbed Caesar." 
 
 "But Cassius was flushed," smiled the noble- 
 man. 
 
 At this somewhat critical moment for Alice, who 
 should appear but the children. The future peer 
 of England in derogation of his budding titles, 
 was leading a Shetland pony, upon which was de- 
 murely seated a very young and vivacious lady, 
 enjoying the homage of boy and beast with ill- 
 disguised satisfaction. Upon seeing themselves 
 observed, the youngsters made an unsuccessful at- 
 tempt to escape, but were intercepted by the chal- 
 lenge : 
 
 "Come up to the veranda, where the accomplish- 
 182
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ments of the young equestrienne may be ad- 
 mired." 
 
 The young gentleman did not fail to notice the 
 displeasure of his partner, but, after a second's re- 
 flection, he submitted to "the powers that be" and 
 led the pony forward. Madge pursed her pretty 
 lips at this wholesale abandonment of dignity and 
 remained silent as a sphinx during the inspection 
 of her recently acquired attainments. 
 
 "Well," said the banker, "you are riding fa- 
 mously." 
 
 "She has only had the pony a week," said Ker 
 mother, proudly. 
 
 "Come, my lady, don't be sullen, you'll be a 
 great horsewoman some day," said the nobleman. 
 
 "That's what I tell her, too," put in the boy, 
 delighted at the favorable mention. 
 
 "One can't learn to ride when the pony wants 
 to nibble at every rosebud in the yard," said the 
 object of conversation, far from being mollified 
 by her flatterers. 
 
 "You must use your riding whip," said her 
 grandfather. 
 
 Unconcerned at this allusion to the formidable 
 riding whip, which the young lady flourished over 
 the pony's neck, that bit of barnyard furniture 
 began picking at the tender lawn grass daintily, 
 adding greatly to the chagrin of its rider by this 
 fresh evidence of disrespect." 
 183
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "May we go now ?" asked the boy, seeking to re- 
 lieve his companion's embarrassment. 
 
 "Yes, trudge along," said the banker, mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 But the pony was too much attached to tlie sav- 
 ory grass to respond promptly to the somewhat 
 peremptory jerk of the leather thong held in the 
 boy's hand, expressing its disapproval of the pro- 
 posed departure by a swish of the bushy tail that 
 was an uncompromising foe to the swarms off 
 pestiferous flies. 
 
 Madge began resolutely to administer a succes- 
 sion of staccato taps with her whip, at which the 
 pony protested by more decided movements of the 
 appendage in question. 
 
 Clarence was disgusted with such gluttony, and, 
 taking the strap firmly in his hand, he delivered 
 such a stinging rebuke on the nose of the pony, 
 that the Shetland quadruped was brought to a 
 proper realization of its obligations to society, and, 
 still munching the last greedy mouthful, the di- 
 minutive bit of horse flesh followed submissively at 
 the heels of the youth. 
 
 "He is both docile and obstinate, like some 
 women I know," glancing at his daughter, sig- 
 nificantly. 
 
 "I am glad the tyrant's reign of tantalizing is 
 nearly over good looking, character and habits 
 average, and a baronet. My Lord, do you wonder 
 184
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 at my decision to consider your proposition of the 
 baronetcy?" Alice replied to her father in this 
 manner. 
 
 "I feel called upon," replied the nobleman, "to 
 follow the worthy example of an illustrious general, 
 who, finding himself unexpectedly between two 
 fires, lay down until the firing ceased. It is a clear 
 case of live coward dead hero." 
 
 "Very well, if my confederate abandons me, I 
 shall seek safety in flight. Say, that general must 
 have been the one of whom it is said, 'He was in- 
 visible in war, invincible in peace.' ' 
 
 The next moment her clear voice, mingled with 
 the deepening shadows of approaching night, 
 flooded the veranda. Song followed song out 
 through the open doors and windows to greet the 
 moonbeams, and to gladden the hearts of her hear- 
 ers. The Englishman arose and earner to the win- 
 dow, where he stood silently watching and listen- 
 ing, moved as he had seldom been by a voice. Alice 
 was oblivious of the admiration she was exciting. 
 Her soul lingered in the silvery cadences issuing 
 from her birdlike throat. 
 
 "She sings as though possessed," mused the 
 Englishman, "she has a wonderful voice." 
 
 Clarence and Madge tip-toed into the room and 
 sat down quietly. 
 
 "I love to hear mamma sing." 
 
 The boy's eyes were sparkling. 
 185
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Finally the fingers rested; the lips closed. The 
 woman's eyes were moist. 
 
 Fate had been generous to Alice Eldridge in 
 the world's sense of indulgence. Birth, fortune, 
 beauty, even to idealism, are gifts rarely vouch- 
 safed to one person. 
 
 Above the piano was a replica of Max Schmidt's 
 famous painting "Solitude." The soul lit eyes of 
 the singer rested dreamily upon the landscape. 
 Years ago a boyish lover had given it. Where was 
 he? Was it true that he loved her still? The 
 shadows of nightfall flitted over the painting, in- 
 vesting its quiet shades with still deeper gloom. 
 The past rushes upon us unawares. Instinctively 
 her fingers swept over the ivory keys, and, with 
 eyes glowing with some strange light, still fixed 
 upon the landscape, she sang the song the "old 
 song," the "our song" of long ago. 
 
 Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, 
 
 On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 
 My plaidie to the angry airt, 
 
 I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee; 
 Or did misfortune's bitter storms 
 
 Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
 Thy shield should be my bosom, 
 
 To share it a% to share it a'. 
 
 186
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Or were I in the wildest waste, 
 
 Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, 
 The desert were a paradise 
 
 If thou wert there, if thou wert there ; 
 Or were I monarch of the globe, 
 
 Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
 The brightest jewel in my crown 
 
 Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 
 
 "My little song bird," said her father, placing 
 an arm around the waist of his daughter, tenderly, 
 "are you trying to make us weep ?" 
 
 Alice laughed gayly or hysterically ; it was diffi- 
 cult to decide which. 
 
 "A woman should never laugh immediately af- 
 ter singing," mused the nobleman. 
 
 "Oh, papa," exclaimed Alice, breaking in upon 
 the reflections her song had aroused, "I had nearly 
 forgotten ! We are likely to have a new enterprise 
 in our summer retreat. Mr. Jones^ a would-be 
 Dana, asked me to consult your opinion upon the 
 advisability of the project; and, should you think 
 favorably of the plan, he modestly requested me 
 by most delicate intimation to solicit a contribu- 
 tion. He wishes to found a local paper and is in 
 sore need of funds. I told him, papa, that you 
 were public spirited and would not be outdone by 
 your daughter. I could do no less. You have 
 187
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 always encouraged me to be generous for you. I 
 gave him my check for two hundred dollars." 
 
 "Well, how much ought I to give? Now look 
 here, none of your putting on airs. You just make 
 the figures decent and respectable." 
 
 "Don't fear, I'll make them respectable, and I 
 never, never, never will cross you again." Then 
 quickly she reached the solution that gave her 
 infinite satisfaction. "Suppose you advance two 
 hundred and fifty dollars on subscription." 
 
 "You are dreadfully considerate this paying 
 for literature two centuries in advance; but I'm 
 agreed. 
 
 "We may have to come to his assistance, now 
 and then, you know, until the paper is on a paying 
 basis," explained Alice, preparing a way for future 
 subsidies. 
 
 "You manage it and draw on me for my share," 
 said the banker, who, having some village prop- 
 erty, was quite taken with the idea. 
 
 "Put this down for me," said the Englishman, 
 placing a bill of the two hundred dollar denomi- 
 nation in the hands of the surprised newspaper 
 advocate. 
 
 "You!" exclaimed Alice, greatly astonished. 
 
 "Certainly, if it had not been for the enterprise 
 
 of American publishers, in all likelihood I should 
 
 never have found that boy yonder. By the way, 
 
 have I ever told you that the account of your 
 
 188
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 daughter's adventure in the Sinnemahoning, as 
 published in the North American, was the means of 
 my finding him. I have the clipping here," taking 
 the paper indicated from his pocketbook and hand- 
 ing it to her. Alice reached for it eagerly. She 
 had not seen the article. 
 
 "Don't for pity sake tear it," said the noble- 
 man as a caution to her haste. "If anything 
 should befall that paper, Edward Reynolds would 
 have a paralytic stroke." 
 
 As the name was pronounced the clipping from 
 the North American fell from the woman's fingers, 
 encircling her lithe figure in its fluttering, clinging 
 descent to the floor. Lord Howe stooped, and 
 picking up the piece of paper, returned it to her. 
 
 "Edward Reynolds, did you say?" inquired the 
 banker. 
 
 "Yes," replied the Englishman. "Do you know 
 him? He is an American by birth, and a nobler 
 man never breathed the breath of life." The 
 Englishman spoke warmly. Alice moved away to 
 the window, ostensibly to get more light, her heart 
 beating wildly. 
 
 "We know, or rather knew an Edward Reyn- 
 olds," said the banker. In fact, an Edward 
 Reynolds came near being my son-in-law once upon 
 a time. What say you, Alice, eh?" But Alice 
 glided from the room without answering. 
 
 "Please, papa, why do you torment the child 
 189
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 any more to-night?" put in Mrs. Richards. 
 
 "Was there a love affair between Edward 
 Reynolds and your daughter?" questioned the no- 
 bleman, deliberately. 
 
 "A boy and girl engagement was all. Edward 
 was nineteen and Alice was in short dresses. They 
 were very devoted," said the banker, lightly. 
 
 "So Reynolds loved your daughter. I under- 
 stand at last." He measured his words as men 
 do when pronouncing judgment. 
 
 "Yes, and Alice loved him," interposed Mrs. 
 Richards. 
 
 "No!" exclaimed Lord Howe, solemnly, "no 
 woman ever loved Edward Reynolds to afterward 
 love another man." 
 
 Alice in the adjoining room had listened to 
 every word. There was condemnation bitterness, 
 even, in the voice of the nobleman, and something 
 cried out in vindication within her "I never have 
 I never have!" 
 
 "Will you tell us about him?" asked Mrs. Rich- 
 ards. "This is the first we have heard of him for 
 many years, and we were very fond of the young 
 man." 
 
 Lord Howe related all he knew of Edward 
 Reynolds' life, while Alice, creeping to the door, 
 drank in the words as they fell from the old man's 
 lips. How her pulse quickened as the narrator 
 told of Reynolds' interview with the Queen. The 
 190
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Sovereign had summoned him to her side, and 
 praised his work, and even asked permission to ac- 
 knowledge her gratitude by royal favor, which he 
 had declined. Parliament had voted funds, which 
 were returned. It was her Edward the Edward 
 of olden times, that had stood in her presence but 
 yesterday no, seven long years ago inquiring 
 calmly proudly: "Alice, you are sure your heart 
 and happiness ask this sacrifice of me?" and she 
 had answered "yes." Oh, how cold his fingers, 
 when he raised her hand in parting to his lips 
 how cold his lips her Edward! Those cold 
 fingers were tearing her heart to-night. 
 
 Finally the Englishman ceased speaking. Long 
 afterwards Alice heard her parents leaving the 
 room. Then she pressed the paper to her bosom 
 for one swift moment, and, entering the room, ap- 
 proached the nobleman. She felt his great resent- 
 ful eyes fixed searchingly upon her face. She held 
 the paper out to him with her hand trembling 
 visibly. He took it coldly. 
 
 "Good night, Lord Howe." She was moving to- 
 ward the door. 
 
 "Good ni , Stay!" He came to her. 
 
 "When a little girl, did you once pay the fine of 
 a small boy, who had been convicted of some 
 trifling offense, rather than see the lad cast in 
 prison?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 191
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "And was that boy afterwards employed in your 
 father's bank?" 
 
 "Yes, he's there now, assistant cashier." 
 
 "And did Edward Reynolds see you do it, was 
 he with you at the time?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Lord Howe stood contemplating the woman be- 
 fore him intently. 
 
 "Why do you ask?" 
 
 "He told me the story. He gave the circum- 
 stance as the foundation upon which his life's work 
 rests. In England's name, madam, I .am to thank 
 you for dedicating to her glory the life of one of 
 the noblest, grandest men God ever created." The 
 eyes of the woman were downcast, studying the 
 fantastic figures woven in the Persian carpet. 
 
 "My lord speaks in parables," she replied with- 
 out raising her eyes. 
 
 "But your heart interprets," he said, bitterly. 
 She made no response. "I beg your pardon, 
 madam. I have no right to criticise. There was 
 a mystery about Edward Reynolds that I failed 
 to fathom. I attributed it to all causes but the 
 right one." After a brief pause, he continued, 
 "Who should have thought that any woman could 
 help loving a man like him. He is so rich in all 
 that manliness and grace women admire. It 
 seems, however, I was mistaken. Mrs. Eldridge," 
 he added, slowly, "if you value your peace of 
 192
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 mind, never look again upon the face of Edward 
 Reynolds." 
 
 Alice had bitten her lip. The blood had a pun- 
 gent taste. As the old man ceased speaking, she 
 lifted a pair of gleaming eyes to his serious face, 
 while ripples of light laughter broke from her 
 coral lips. Lord Howe raised his hand the hand 
 still clasping the clipping of the North American 
 in involuntary protest, and, as he did so, a 
 garnet drop was blown with peals of merriment 
 from those smiling lips, falling upon the piece 
 of paper, dividing into a hundred crimson specks. 
 
 "Where did that blood come from?" he de- 
 manded, examining the stains. 
 
 "Is it blood?" asked Alice, "please give it me," 
 extending her hand for the paper, which the 
 Englishman still retained. "Please, Lord Howe!" 
 There was passionate entreaty in those pleading 
 eyes. "I will get you another a new one if it 
 costs " 
 
 "Your lip is bleeding, madam, have you hurt 
 it?" He was studying her impenetrable face 
 closely. 
 
 "No ! no ! Why do you not give me the paper?" 
 
 "My pledge has been given to return it." 
 
 "But HE will not care, if I if you find another 
 in its stead." 
 
 "You still wish to sit in judgment upon him," 
 said Lord Howe, steadily. "Answer me, please, 
 193
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 first, why do you plead for this particular paper?" 
 
 "Because," she hesitated. 
 
 " 'Because' is a woman's reason." 
 
 "All the more reason why you should respect 
 it." 
 
 "I am awaiting your answer." 
 
 "I cannot tell you." 
 
 "I know." 
 
 "Very well, if you know I have nothing to 
 answer." 
 
 "I am not superstitious," said Lord Howe. "I 
 never had patience for the supernatural; but I 
 believe heaven wills that globule of blood upon this 
 paper for a purpose, and I am not satisfied to let 
 a woman's caprice aid, in the smallest measure, to 
 defeat God's plan. You want this," glancing at 
 the paper, "to destroy it. I have every confidence, 
 if I give it to you that you would either secure 
 another or return this to me. Listen ! Mr. Reyn- 
 olds came to my home a few weeks ago at my 
 earnest invitation. At that interview I begged him 
 to take what amounts to a vast fortune and use it, 
 as he saw fit, in his college. It was to be in the 
 nature of an endowment. He emphatically re- 
 fused to oblige me. This, of course, was at a 
 time when I believed my grandchild dead. In 
 urging upon him the acceptance of the bequest it 
 became necessary to acquaint him with a portion 
 of the sad history of my life. When, during the 
 194
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 narrative, I mentioned my daughter's marriage 
 and death, and the birth of a child, Clarence, my 
 guest produced this clipping from his wallet. I 
 supposed he treasured the keepsake because it 
 strengthened his theory in relating to a great 
 and heroic deed by a boy belonging to a class in 
 which he is interested. True, I was mistaken. 
 He preserved that talisman for other reasons. 
 Well, at any rate, when I asked the loan of the 
 clipping, he exacted the promise that I would re- 
 turn it to him. Upon my arrival home, when he 
 demands an account of my stewardship, madam, 
 is it your pleasure, as he points to the blackened 
 spots, that I tell him it is a drop of blood, shiv- 
 ered into tiny atoms from the bleeding lips of a 
 lady, convulsed in scornful ridicule over the sa- 
 cred memory in which a certain man continues to 
 regard a boy and girl attachment?" 
 
 "Who says the English never joke?" cried 
 Alice ecstatically. 
 
 "Do you credit me with jesting?" 
 "Are you ever serious, my lord?" 
 "You make me regret that I am so." 
 Alice Eldridge burst out laughing. The next 
 moment she was singing in imitation of vaudeville: 
 
 How vain are regrets that vex and torment us, 
 And leave the heart heavy with anguish in- 
 stead ; 
 
 195
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 So chase them away with gay song and 
 
 laughter, 
 
 Remembering the pleasing, forgetting the 
 dread. 
 
 'Oh, regrets that are vain, regrets that are vain, 
 Bring pain to the heart, bring pain, forever 
 pain.' 
 
 As Alice sang, Lord Howe regarded her in 
 amazement, her superb voice thrilling him as it 
 rose and wavered above the peaks of pathos. Then 
 the woman was laughing in his face, the very in- 
 carnation of Hebe. 
 
 "Give it me." 
 
 "No!" His face was saturnine. 
 
 "Good-night, my lord. You'll be sorry some- 
 time," she trilled back, vanishing. 
 
 "Is she a woman, a devil, or just an enigma?" 
 muttered the Englishman. 
 
 196
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "PHILADELPHIA, June 10, 1859. 
 "Countess De Ratcliff , 
 
 "Paris. 
 
 "Dear Eleanore: Only one more week, and we 
 board the great Trans- Atlantic steamer for Eu- 
 rope. I shall count the hours as days until I see 
 you, darling Eleanore. A rest in your arms will 
 do me a world of good. Mind! I want a real 
 old-fashioned, schoolgirl hug. I am famishing 
 for one. We all get tired sometimes, don't you 
 think? And the weariness of satiety is the greatest 
 weariness of all. I was wondering just a moment 
 ago what we would do if we possessed the option 
 to go back to some remote period in our lives to 
 live the years over again. Would we venture to 
 do so, to cross the river Lethe, back to childhood? 
 No. Would we welcome again the school days? 
 I should be tempted sorely here; but, after all, I 
 should reach the same negative decision. If 
 to-day is happy, mortals would eternize it, the 
 sun should never set; if it be sad, they would in- 
 vert the hour-glass. So we come to acknowledge 
 the wisdom of God's plan as the best. 
 
 "What a crazy-quilt of a letter I am commenc- 
 197
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ing on the eve of our departure to your sunny 
 France ! 
 
 "You remember Clarence Clark, the boy who 
 rescued Madge from drowning? You did not 
 dream I was entertaining nobility in him, did you? 
 He is the grandson and heir of Lord Howe, a 
 peer of England. The old nobleman is here with 
 us. He saw the account of the adventure in the 
 Philadelphia papers, and came to take his grand- 
 son home. He had supposed the boy was dead, 
 until he saw the paragraph. He had canvassed 
 all the large cities in this country to locate the 
 boy, and had finally come to accept the report of 
 the secret service agencies, that there was no such 
 youth. What little things, mere accidents in 
 themselves, sometimes give forecasts of the future ! 
 They embark with us, as we voyage to Europe. 
 Papa and the Englishman are inseparable. In 
 fact, we are all fond of the noble. He is a de- 
 cided improvement upon the dukes and lords and 
 English butterflies fluttering around us poor 
 women the past season. It may be because he is 
 older. He is a trifle miffed toward me of late, 
 however. His coolness is due to an imaginary 
 injury I once did a friend of his. And the old 
 Fidus Achetes is disposed to resent his friend's 
 grievance. Have you ever considered whether or 
 no we wrong others as often as others wrong us? 
 Despite ourselves we constitute a tribunal and sit 
 198
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 in daily judgment upon our acquaintances; both 
 those we love, as well as those we don't love, being 
 oft-times damaged by the verdict. Still, if we 
 err, our prejudices, more than the rectitude of our 
 intention, is at fault. Anyway, I like the old 
 nobleman for his loyalty to his friend. I am not 
 etiolating, however, by reason of his neglect, and 
 before we part company I shall take pains that 
 his opinion of me improves. 
 
 "I am sorry to lose Clarence, after learning to 
 love the boy dearly. He is a brave, splendid little 
 fellow, and so good to Madge. The children will 
 be disconsolate after their separation. Let me 
 write you what Lord Howe said the other evening 
 when we were walking among the colonnades of 
 maples in the rear of the house, as the children 
 came home, swinging their locked hands joyously: 
 
 " 'Will they be walking like that in the evening 
 of their lives?' 
 
 " 'What do you mean, my lord?' I inquired. 
 
 "If he heard me, he did not answer. He was 
 intently watching the boy and girl as they ap- 
 proached. Children soon forget. It is one of the 
 privileges of childhood, which I find myself some- 
 times wishing older ones possessed. Life reminds 
 one of a book. We seldom read a history, travel, 
 or fiction, but an indictment is preferred against 
 some page the symmetry is marred, we think, by 
 an offending leaf. And it is just a little hard to 
 199
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 tell which remains more fixed in the memory, the 
 page or the book. 
 
 "Really, you will think I am infected with mel- 
 ancholy microbes. I wish Lord Howe had stayed 
 in England, where he belongs, with his great, hor- 
 rid eyes that are always probing for some defect. 
 Our aversion for each other is becoming lament- 
 ably chronic. 
 
 "Mamma is all excitement; so many things to 
 pack for our stay abroad. We shall be absent a 
 year or more. The dear soul is impatient to shake 
 American dust from her feet, building even more 
 than I upon the trip, aside from my visit to you. 
 
 "Dear me! Another interruption! The serv- 
 ant announces Rev. St. Clair. He comes to see 
 me. I shall finish, by and by. Can you hear my 
 kiss across the Atlantic? Au revoir" 
 
 Mrs. Eldridge arose and received her visitor 
 gracefully. 
 
 "I regret to have disturbed the pleasure one 
 enjoys in letter- writing," said the minister, glanc- 
 ing in direction of the escritoire, upon which the 
 pen was resting, still moist with ink. 
 
 "Please be seated, Mr. St. Clair," she said, mo- 
 tioning him to a chair. "My frame of mind is 
 anything but in the mood of sharing your enthu- 
 siasm." 
 
 "I once fancied myself possessing an Emerso- 
 200
 
 nian style of letter-writing, but of late years I 
 am skeptical. In fact, I am woefully retrograded. 
 Still, I am as fond as ever of receiving letters," 
 he insisted, bound not to get away from the sub- 
 ject without claiming some excellence. 
 
 "As we grow older we become more remiss in 
 correspondence," Alice said with a half sigh. 
 "The unanswered letter gathers dampness, chill- 
 ing the ardor of friendships which we truly value. 
 Sincere friends are always being alienated for want 
 of punctuality more than intentional neglect." 
 
 "Is it not probable," asked Rev. St. Clair, 
 "that the increasing cares of life, by sheer force, 
 crowd out the more agreeable recreations? We 
 have not the leisure, even if we have the disposi- 
 tion, to continue the promiscuous correspondence 
 of our younger days. Why, I verily believe I 
 squandered half my salary in postage stamps." 
 It was the only direct reference the reverend gen- 
 tleman had ever made in her presence to the lim- 
 ited resources of his early career. 
 
 Rev. St. Clair was grateful for the circumstance 
 of the writing material. It furnished a theme for 
 conversation. We seldom commit ourselves direct- 
 ly to the principal object of an interview. In- 
 stead of the conventional persiflage nothingism 
 they had profited by a bit of philosophy upon a 
 topic deserving more extended comment than the 
 purpose of this story will permit. 
 201
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Mrs. Eldridge half suspected what brought the 
 minister to her home. She secretly admitted in 
 the confessional of her own heart that she had 
 wronged the wife of the man sitting beside her. 
 More than once she had been at the point of suing 
 for pardon before the fearless little woman, whose 
 offence was prompted by love of her. It was the 
 admission which the act might proclaim that with- 
 held her. She should guard that secret at the sac- 
 rifice of all friendships. She was piqued at her- 
 self in her haste to quarrel with her friend. Her 
 woman's quick intuition told her, all too well, that 
 the truth had been surprised from her, and, woman 
 like, she had hardened with the knowledge. She 
 forgot that there is no degradation in love. While 
 in her secret soul she treasured the words Mrs. St. 
 Clair had spoken, she persevered in her display of 
 resentment. 
 
 The silence became oppressive. The minister 
 coughed diplomatically. 
 
 "I see a press announcement that you are going 
 abroad," he said. 
 
 "We expect to start Monday," she replied, as a 
 matter of fact. 
 
 "So soon?" After a pause, "I hope you will 
 enjoy your tour abroad." It troubled him to tell 
 her why he was there. 
 
 "Thank you," she said very sweetly. 
 
 Her amiability further disconcerted him. Com- 
 202
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ing to the house, he had planned and digested a 
 dozen ways of introducing the subject. They 
 were all plausible; but now, when the lady sat op- 
 posite him, every prop appeared to slip out of 
 position. 
 
 A man never should be commissioned to under- 
 take a matter of delicacy. In case an accomplish- 
 ment requires strength, violent exertion or physi- 
 cal address and endurance, he may be employed 
 to advantage. His vis inertia is a guarantee of 
 success, but beware of him in complications of the 
 finer sensibilities. He is sure to spoil it. If he is 
 not coarser than woman, he is heavier in composi- 
 tion. Woman has tact; man has force. Woman 
 will tip a crown of thorns with ingenious ferrules ; 
 man finds the length of the barbs by dashing 
 against them. 
 
 "How shall I answer this?" he blurted out, 
 placing Edward Reynolds' letter before her. 
 
 It was done no more savagely than another 
 would have risked. A professor of Yale once 
 sounded a woman's reason, who was suspected of 
 dementia, by jamming one of Euclid's problems at 
 her. Really, men are stupid. Still, St. Clair 
 could overwhelm you with sermons. 
 
 Mrs. Eldridge became white as she recognized 
 the fatal missile. 
 
 "Just as Mr. St. Clair sees fit to notice such 
 impertinence," she answered, without flinching. 
 203
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 St. Clair was irritated. "Very well," he said 
 stoically, "I shall toss both deeds into the Schuyl- 
 kill." 
 
 "Have you the deeds with you?" she inquired 
 serenely. 
 
 "I have," he replied. 
 
 "I will accompany you in a moment," she said, 
 ringing the bell for her maid to bring her wraps. 
 
 "I am not clever, Mrs. Eldridge. What do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 "I intend to go with you and witness the bap- 
 tism." 
 
 "Then there is nothing I can do or say to alter 
 your decision concerning the deed to Madge?" 
 
 "It is quite irrevocable, Mr. St. Clair." 
 
 "Very well, let us go," he said frigidly. 
 
 The distance was several blocks to the Schuyl- 
 kill. They walked in silence, finally entering upon 
 one of the superstructures spanning the river. 
 They halted over the centre of the stream, lean- 
 ing against the railing. 
 
 "I am waiting," she said simply. 
 
 He took the deeds from his pocket irresolutely, 
 and, turning to her, said: "Mrs. Eldridge, by no 
 fault of mine I am estranged from two persons 
 whose friendship I prize most highly; but I can, 
 at least, retain my self-respect by this act of dese- 
 cra*ion. The man has been more than father 
 brother to me; the woman has been a companion 
 204
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 a member of my family almost, for years. But 
 she shall be a party to this vandalism." He 
 placed in her hand the deed in favor of Madge. 
 "Now, when you are ready, we will proceed with 
 the ceremony." 
 
 She picked the deed into small bits and dropped 
 the tiny pieces over the guard-rail, which, in their 
 descent to the dark, turbid river below, resembled 
 huge snowflakes. Handful after handful of the 
 mutilated paper followed each other over the iron 
 rail to rest on the bosom of the water. The man 
 watched the evident pleasure of her occupation a 
 moment, and then proceeded to join in the sacri- 
 lege. As the last torn fragments disappeared, 
 without speaking they turned and retraced their 
 steps homeward. Arriving at the entrance of her 
 residence, he bade the woman good-morning, 
 neither expressing regret at what had been done. 
 
 Entering the house, Mrs. Eldridge removed her 
 wraps. As she did so an irregular scroll fell to 
 the floor, a gust of wind having carried it to 
 the folds of her cloak, where it lodged until the 
 garment was removed. She stooped, picked up 
 the fragment, and turning it in her hand, read 
 the name "Edward Reynolds." It was the signa- 
 ture and seal he had affixed to the conveyance. It 
 seemed to sting her like the bite of a serpent, and 
 she flung it from her with all her might, watching 
 where it fell and lay. Then she staggered to the 
 205
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 place, and, falling upon her knees, reached for the 
 white object, and, clutching it to her bosom, the 
 hot tears scalded the trembling hands in which 
 were clasped the name of the man who, in the dim 
 and buried past, had been dear to her. 
 
 "June 11, 9 A. M. 
 
 "I do not feel at all epistolary. June is a 
 month of languor. The scent of flowers, hum of 
 bees and song of birds steep the faculties in stupor 
 a heart's-ease and poppy variety, so to speak. 
 As proof of my devotion, however, I mention the 
 difficulties of letter-writing. Truly, there is some 
 perverse element in our formation that lulls to sleep, 
 while Nature revels in the gorgeousness of June. 
 
 "Prince, my canary, makes such a commotion 
 I carried him off to a rear porch. He took um- 
 brage at the treatment, but soon was the center 
 of attraction among the feathery tribes of the 
 dense foliage, because of his ceaseless song. 
 Mamma has repeated the question a dozen times 
 already, 'Have you finished your letter to Countess 
 Ratcliff? 5 The faintest fumes of aromatic to- 
 bacco smoke drift into my room from a near-by 
 veranda, where papa and Lord Howe are in the 
 midst of an argumentative discussion upon a no 
 less absorbing and intricate topic than Cupid's 
 pranks between foreign titles and American heir- 
 esses. You will not expect much of a letter from 
 206
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 one laboring under these disadvantages. It 
 needs an inspiration to compose letters, as well as 
 to write poetry, and my muse refuses to emerge 
 from concealment at all my blandishments. 
 
 "By the way, the mayor of the city gave a re- 
 ception last Thursday night, in honor of Lord 
 Howe. It was a brilliant affair, very chic and 
 swell. The costumes of many ladies were bewil- 
 dering dreams of loveliness. I vied with the others 
 to dazzle his lordship and inspire him with a be- 
 coming appreciation of American women. There 
 were a number of foreigners present, and your old 
 school friend flirted outrageously with them all, 
 but more especially with his worshipful highness, 
 the Duke of Berwick. Lord Howe abominates the 
 Duke. He can neither abide him in his sight nor 
 out of it. The old lord has been so good as to 
 acknowledge his indebtedness to me for many 
 pleasant encounters with the man he so thoroughly 
 detests. The Duke has called twice since the re- 
 ception. Each time, by stratagem, I have suc- 
 ceeded in bringing the countrymen together. The 
 Duke is hopelessly involved in debt, and Lord 
 Howe half fancies I shall liquidate the former's 
 obligations. The simpleton himself has a notion 
 or two that I have similar charitable intentions. 
 He is not the first one cherished illusions of my 
 benevolence. I would like to see a real man once 
 more; one above sordidness; one that does not 
 207
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 cringe and prostrate himself before every woman 
 of wealth. Some one has facetiously remarked, 
 'All good men are married.' Perhaps the exag- 
 geration is within bounds. 
 
 "Well, my dear Eleanore, I intend that you and 
 the Count shall see enough of me in this year of 
 grace, 1859. My love goes in advance. I know 
 you will keep it in good custody until I arrive in 
 person. Mamma and papa send regards to your- 
 self and Count Ratcliff, and I, your old, old 
 friend, send floods of affection. 
 
 "Lovingly, 
 
 "ALICE." 
 
 Alice finished the letter at last, written while so 
 many conflicting emotions were vibrating upon 
 her heart-strings. She had addressed the daintily 
 perfumed envelope and directed her maid to post 
 it. The letter was unsatisfactory. She had been 
 on the point of tearing it up several times and in- 
 diting another, but her ideas were confused and 
 distracted. She watched it carried to the letter- 
 box with wretched misgivings. As the door closed 
 upon the servant's return, Alice, dressed in a light 
 walking habit, entered the street. The residences 
 of her father and of St. Clair were not dis- 
 tant, and she preferred to walk. Reaching her 
 destination, the servant bore her card to Mrs. St. 
 Clair, who did not seem the least bit surprised. 
 208
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 She knew Alice Eldridge better than Alice 
 Eldridge knew herself. 
 
 Mr. St. Clair had informed his wife of the pro- 
 ceedings of the previous day, and, while the 
 woman was a trifle too venal to consider the fate 
 of the deeds without some mental reservation of an 
 equivocal character, she outwardly approved of 
 her husband's action. "It was the only thing you 
 could do," she had told her husband, kissing him. 
 That settled the matter with Mr. St. Clair. The 
 coincidence of his wife's opinion was of first con- 
 sequence in the estimation of this reverend gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "I could not go away without seeing you," said 
 Alice contritely, with a suspicion of tears in her 
 voice. 
 
 "And I am glad you could not do so," said Mrs. 
 St. Clair, throwing a white, plump arm around 
 Alice's waist and kissing her affectionately. 
 
 The faces of both ladies cleared at the recon- 
 ciliation. They were happy again in each other's 
 possession. Both women were sedulously careful 
 to avoid any reference to the cause of their recent 
 misunderstanding. 
 
 "I have heard very flattering reports of you 
 the last few days," said Mrs. St. Clair casually, 
 "and was anxious to offer congratulations." 
 
 "Indeed ! Pray proceed with particulars," said 
 Alice. 
 
 209
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Well, in the first place," continued Mrs. St. 
 Clair, "Mrs. Jerome stated you were the most 
 beautiful and the best gowned lady at the Gov- 
 ernor's reception." 
 
 "How nice of her ! I'll remember Mrs. Jerome 
 with a present a real exotic gem upon my re- 
 turn." 
 
 "Secondly, that a galaxy of admirers were con- 
 stantly in attendance at your side, 'conspicuously 
 so,' as Mrs. Jerome stated." 
 
 "Mrs. Jerome doesn't know what nice things are 
 in store for her," interjected Alice. 
 
 "Thirdly, that a certain Duke is infatuated 
 with somebody's charms, and " 
 
 "Dear me ! Did you ask Mrs. Jerome if, in be- 
 stowing a compliment upon one, it becomes neces- 
 sary to scandalize another?" 
 
 "Fourthly " 
 
 "I protest. Mrs. Jerome is a gossip. When 
 did the lady furnish this summary?" 
 
 "Yesterday." 
 
 "I thought so." 
 
 "Why 'thought so'?" 
 
 "Because my ears tingled furiously all yester- 
 day," laughed Alice. 
 
 But, despite the frequent interruptions, Mrs. 
 St. Clair succeeded in unfolding to her friend all 
 the favorable rumors that had floated to her will- 
 ing ears by Mesdames Grundy. Every lady, 
 210
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 however proper and precise, be she as wise and 
 logical as Portia and as good as a Madonna, listens 
 with pleasure to a recital of her own excellence. 
 
 After tea, Alice exacted a promise from Mrs. 
 St. Clair that the latter would visit her on the 
 morrow, and took her departure, feeling more free 
 and lighter of heart than she had felt since their 
 estrangement. 
 
 The next day, Alice procured two golden lock- 
 ets, and taking them to an artist, had the chil- 
 dren's pictures placed in them. These she gave 
 to the little people, who exchanged the souvenirs, 
 proud of the ornaments, with the mutual promise 
 always to keep and to wear them. Oh! the sweet 
 sincerity of childhood! How often the simple 
 constancy with which those days are linked to- 
 gether stand like silent groups of memory among 
 the ruins of broken vows and blighted faith of 
 after years!
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 Mr. Richards, with his wife and daughter, the 
 two children and Lord Howe leaned against the 
 deck-rail of a Trans-Atlantic steamer, making a 
 pretty picture as they watched the bustle and ex- 
 citement of departure. 
 
 In a few moments the hoarse whistle will scream 
 out its signal to weigh anchor. Already there is 
 a lull in the tread of passengers across the gang 
 plank. Hundreds of people are gathered upon 
 the docks eagerly watching the faces of friends, 
 smiling back from the deck of the Mistress of the 
 Deep. Many eyes are red with weeping. There 
 is something inexpressibly sad in the lifting of 
 a gang plank. Until then some faltering loved 
 one may hesitate and turn back; afterwards re- 
 treat is cut off. There is always a hush as the 
 ocean liner veers away a holding of the breath, 
 a blanching of the cheek. To some, at least, that 
 exchange of glances is the last. The limits of 
 eternity are defined in the steady, unflinching 
 gaze. Tears may follow later; an hour hence 
 convulsions may shake the bosom, but now the pu- 
 pils of those dry eyes are dilated twice their nat- 
 ural size, and stare dimly back into other eyes, out
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 of which hope, in turn, has fled. Where the sepa- 
 ration is of short duration, grief is demonstrative; 
 where the parting is a final, a last farewell, there 
 is no outward sign. This is the tragic side; 
 there is also, as well, a comic side. 
 
 At the last moment, for instance, a commotion 
 is observed. The functionaries who look after 
 baggage are moving with unusual celerity, while 
 a gentleman of some thirty years is noticed ap- 
 proaching the gangway. He wears a suit of light 
 tweed, fitting his person in the most approved 
 fashion. His derby is drawn down well fore 
 and aft, which of itself announces the newcomer's 
 nationality. But, if anything were wanting to 
 complete the evidence, the eyeglass and walking- 
 stick supply the deficit. He is English. 
 
 "Is that the Duke of Berwick?" gasped his 
 lordship, pointing in the direction of the late ac- 
 quisition. 
 
 "The resemblance is noticeable," remarked Mrs. 
 Richards dryly. 
 
 "Guess it is," said the banker irritably; "it is 
 either he or his double." The Duke was not one 
 of his favorites. 
 
 "Really, it is an unexpected pleasure," said 
 Alice sweetly. "How nice it will be to have two 
 titled gentlemen in our party!" 
 
 "The last, but not least," said Lord Howe, ex- 
 changing a swift glance with Alice. 
 213
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Who in thunderation knew he was coming?" 
 demanded the banker vindictively. 
 
 "Going, you mean, papa dear," chimed in Alice, 
 correcting her father's diction. 
 
 "Well, 'going,' then," growled the banker 
 fiercely, "the impecunious puppy !" 
 
 "Papa, don't lose your temper, please. You 
 will offend Lord Howe in referring to his country- 
 man disrespectfully." 
 
 "Very considerate of my feelings," acknowl- 
 edged the nobleman graciously. "By the way," 
 he continued, "Mrs. Eldridge seems less surprised 
 than the rest of us. She must have been partly 
 prepared for the apparition." 
 
 "The noble-minded are never suspicious," re- 
 torted Alice. "No, I was not fortified. Fore- 
 warned does not mean forearmed as applying to 
 the English nobility." 
 
 "No one would have credited my daughter with 
 such secretiveness," ventured Mr. Richards. 
 
 "Nor that anything, stinging like a bee, makes 
 honey," dropped in the nobleman acrimoni- 
 ously. 
 
 "There are insects, not making sweets, that 
 sting," volunteered Alice, waving a handkerchief 
 to draw the Duke's attention. 
 
 "What are you up to? Inciting an insurrec- 
 tion?" asked the banker. 
 
 "A mutiny?" demanded the nobleman.
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Flying the colors of truce," replied Alice se- 
 renely. 
 
 The subject of the preceding dialogue saw the 
 waving signal and came forward radiantly, beam- 
 ing blandly upon Mrs. Eldridge. 
 
 "How kind to take such pains to bid us good- 
 bye," purred Alice, extending her hand. 
 
 The Duke squeezed the tips of her fingers in a 
 transport of delight. 
 
 "By Jove!" muttered the old nobleman, wedg- 
 ing his way forward, "maybe that's it." 
 
 "Au revoir," said Alice. 
 
 "Farewell," said Lord Howe. 
 
 "Good-bye," exclaimed Mrs. Richards. 
 
 "You'll have to hurry," said the banker. 
 
 Such an effusion of energy could only be 
 prompted by most friendly considerations, and the 
 Duke hastened to set his zealous acquaintances at 
 ease. 
 
 "I am a passenger, my friends, don't you know, 
 as yourselves." 
 
 "Oh!" " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 spontaneously. 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "Really and truly !" cried Alice, mixing the bit- 
 ter herbs together deliciously. "How happy you 
 make us!" 
 
 "Us?" cried the nobleman. 
 
 "Us?" repeated the banker. 
 215
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Alice should have greatly preferred that the 
 duke prolong his visit of conquest in America. 
 She felt some qualms of conscience. Perhaps, 
 in her whim of vexing the old nobleman, or, 
 more correctly speaking, in her efforts to con- 
 ceal a secret from him, she had given the 
 least bit of encouragement to the late passen- 
 ger. This introspection gave her no great un- 
 easiness, however, except in that it may have been 
 responsible for the present annoying incumbrance. 
 The duke was more "A thing of beauty, than a 
 joy forever." He was not bad looking, possessed 
 faultless manners courtliness and rather a fine 
 figure. In short, he was decidedly attractive in 
 those outward appearances or embellishments so 
 charming to the fair sex. But it was veneer, 
 largely due, it is true, to those misfortunes which 
 beset the feet of English aristocracy. A young 
 peer of England must needs be well balanced or 
 he is invariably sure of toppling over into the 
 maelstrom of pleasure. The Duke of Berwick 
 was not essentially well balanced, and had plunged 
 headlong into the vortex. He lavished money 
 right and left. A score of satellites constantly 
 gyrated about him, existing upon his bounty ; 
 creatures who encouraged him in his extravagance 
 as it correspondingly increased their opportunities. 
 Five years of this indulgence and the duke sud- 
 denly awoke to a realization that his patrimony 
 216
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 had been swept away. When a man has been 
 traveling at break-neck gait it is no ordinary ob- 
 struction that stops his career. He may be slack- 
 ened in speed by the collision, he may be slowed 
 up some, but there is no such thing as a "stand- 
 still." A thorough racer does not quit the track 
 at the first defeat. "Outclassed" is the hardest 
 word in the vocabulary for a man to apply to him- 
 self. As the Duke of Berwick had lived luxu- 
 riously upon his principal, he now lived luxu- 
 riously upon his credit. Obtaining unlimited 
 credit is merely a matter or affair of living sump- 
 tuously. Of course, a day of reckoning is bound 
 to come sooner or later. Postponement is not dif- 
 ficult until after the creditor's suspicions are 
 aroused of the inability to pay, then he becomes 
 imperious. The artisan who charges us four 
 prices for his ware is gracious to obsequiousness 
 as long as he is secure. But the instant his secur- 
 ity is reduced he is twenty times meaner and more 
 obstreperous in obtaining payment than the cred- 
 itor who made, or rather was to have made, a de- 
 cent or fair profit. The duke's creditors, and 
 especially the first-mentioned class, became so pro- 
 vokingly ill-mannered as to demand satisfaction 
 instead of promises; and intimated that, unless 
 liquidation was forthcoming immediately, the 
 Duke should be accommodated with apartments in 
 the vicinity of the Tower. The duke's intentions 
 217
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 to pay were greatly superior to his ability to dis- 
 charge. A rumor or two of his financial embar- 
 rassment, after once being started, circulated free- 
 ly, making it extremely mortifying for the fallen 
 nobleman to solicit temporary assistance from any 
 of his "well-able-to-loan" associates, especially so, 
 having been shaken an indefinite number of times 
 already by companions, who had assisted him free- 
 ly, at an earlier day, in spending his substance. 
 
 The duke did not advertise his departure to 
 America in advance. It was disagreeable busi- 
 ness enough at best; but, like a sensible fellow, 
 whose wits had been partly recovered by reverses, 
 he kept his own counsel, taking his leave abroad 
 so privately that none of his creditors was the 
 wiser until his being a fugitive became a matter 
 of publicity. 
 
 The duke was more than half smitten with 
 Alice, aside from pecuniary considerations, for 
 which he claimed great credit, as the latter of 
 themselves are known before now to have been the 
 sole equivalent of many matrimonial alliances. He 
 was a man of magnificent nerve. Upon occasions 
 too numerous to mention he had banked heavily 
 upon this capital without risk of having his paper 
 dishonored. Nerve is a collateral upon which 
 many a loan has been advanced. It is the only 
 stock in trade of many people one knows. 
 
 The monosyllable "us" had been emphasized 
 218
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 with so much energy as to disabuse his under- 
 standing of any false estimation he may have pre- 
 viously enjoyed of his status in the opinions of 
 the two gentlemen. His abasement was of but 
 momentary duration. 
 
 "I am assured of a pleasant voyage by the 
 warmth of your gracious reception," he said, look- 
 ing the two men steadily in the eyes as he spoke. 
 "The time may come when it shall be my happi- 
 ness to return the compliment." 
 
 Alice gave him an admiring glance, which suffi- 
 ciently compensated for any and all unexpected 
 antipathy from the two bellicose old gentlemen. 
 Further rupture was averted by a shiver which 
 seemed to vibrate every steel rib and timber of the 
 monstrous steamer. The first revolution of the 
 iron propeller had cleaved the water on a voyage 
 of three thousand miles. 
 
 During the commotion the duke had the good 
 manners to withdraw from his painful position 
 unobserved, retreating to his cabin, where he com- 
 muned with himself something after the following 
 order : 
 
 "Mrs. Eldridge is beautiful and rich. Her ra- 
 diant beauty should make me envied; her riches 
 should pay my debts; on the whole I'd be a lucky 
 dog. She has the form of a Lucretia Borgia, and 
 the face of a Madonna. Wedlock with such per- 
 fection is 'a consummation devoutly to be wished.' 
 219
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 I should be under perpetual obligations to her. 
 I might love her. She would deserve my adora- 
 tion. I have two weeks to pay court to her no 
 rivals. I must succeed; 'cause why? well, I 
 must win, that's all. I fled from the embrace of 
 my creditors twenty thousand pounds! Zounds! 
 Now I fly back to their arms, reserving at all times 
 the privilege of jumping overboard. It is pre- 
 posterous. 
 
 "My uncle, the old curmudgeon, is so unoblig- 
 ing as to live. Really, he has forfeited all claims 
 to my regard. He is eighty-two in July. The 
 last ten birthdays were great reliefs to me; too 
 bad they are three hundred and sixty-five days 
 apart. He is a hale and hearty old man, and bids 
 fair to reach the century mark. I'm sadly in dis- 
 grace with the old my venerable uncle. He 
 would not advance me one hundred pounds to save 
 my neck. I can't afford to wait, even if I do get 
 it all in the end. I will not tolerate banishment. 
 America! 'Angels and ministers of grace defend 
 us.' Anything but America! The aborigines of 
 Cabot's time are preferable to its present inhabi- 
 tants. I am no dweller with the Yankee. I 
 should as soon fraternize with a Hungarian. A 
 wife is the sole remaining alternative. I never 
 believed that I should be reduced to such extrem- 
 ity. Then I'll brace up, reform, enter politics, 
 and be somebody. 
 
 220
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "I honestly believe I love the woman, anyway. 
 Her father fudge! I can circumvent him. 
 Lord Howe has had too gentle nurture to tattle. 
 He'll give me a piece of his mind free gratis, but 
 he'll not meddle with my affairs. Mrs. Eldridge has 
 some grudge against him; I wonder what it is? 
 For the next two weeks I am between a wife and 
 Newgate prison. Was ever a mortal so uncom- 
 fortably situated? I am perspiring. My reflec- 
 tions are hotter than tophet. One is a complete 
 checkmate to the other. There is this difference, 
 however: if I win a wife, I escape Newgate; if I 
 win Newgate, the wife escapes me. It is well to 
 keep details in mind. This is what comes of a 
 man living a Bohemian life. He becomes deplor- 
 ably compromised. Marriage is an institution for 
 which I have little relish. My uncle! How I 
 should bless his memory at his crisis !" 
 
 These gloomy meditations were interrupted by 
 the gong sounding its summons to the mid-day 
 meal. The duke was too intent on the business in 
 hand to waste valuable time in profitless specula- 
 tions. His valet dressed him with the utmost re- 
 gard to detail. Among the limited virtues in the 
 possession of the duke that of scrupulous neatness 
 was conspicuous. This of itself is ample to cover 
 a multitude of sins. The duke never dressed elab- 
 orately showily. If he attracted notice it was 
 because of a punctilious observance of the utmost 
 221
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 simplicity combined with artistic effect, a union 
 that produces an agreeable impression without of- 
 fending any rule of propriety. He simply har- 
 monized. Some men are born imbued with the at- 
 tribute of tidiness; some are born slovenly, live 
 that way and die the same. Tidiness and tawdri- 
 ness are distinct. The former is a great blessing, 
 though often made a subject of disparagement. 
 There is a difference between this quality and 
 primping. May the good angels deliver us from 
 the nincompoop that primps ! He is an irritant 
 that aggravates every malady of which flesh is 
 heir. On the contrary, the mere presence of men 
 of the duke's measure concerning matters of at- 
 tire, acts as a sedative to the entire nervous sys- 
 tem. Negligence in the matter of dress is a sin 
 of both commission and omission. One knows 
 many people whose intellectual endowments espe- 
 cially fit them to be leaders of society, but who, 
 by their general indifference to personal appear- 
 ance, are excluded from the sphere they are in- 
 tended so eminently to adorn. Should we not pre- 
 fer seeing Diogenes among the brightest constel- 
 lation of Athenian society than inhabiting his 
 celebrated tub? 
 
 The duke was good for two weeks; but that was 
 
 about his limit. He could amuse for a fortnight; 
 
 in a month he was a bore, two months an incubus. 
 
 Still, he differentiated from the class of nuisances 
 
 222
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 of which he formed a part he knew it, thereby 
 deserving the credit of sagacity. He visited 
 people for whom he entertained regard at long 
 intervals, thus maintaining a respectable reputa- 
 tion for cleverness. 
 
 He was fortunate in arriving at the opportune 
 moment to assist Mrs. Eldridge to the dining- 
 room. 
 
 After refreshments, while leisurely passing 
 Lord Howe and the banker with the ladies, he 
 overheard the former exchanging maledictions 
 over the villainous cigars with which the salon 
 was stocked. He proceeded to his quarters and 
 brought the gentlemen a box, which he ventured 
 to remark would prove to their liking. This deli- 
 cate consideration, under all circumstances, mer- 
 ited a kinder fate than reserved for the occasion. 
 Neither of the gentlemen recovered from surprise 
 in time to decline the favor before the unruffled 
 duke retired and rejoined the ladies, leaving the 
 two men vigorously puffing away at the foul pur- 
 chases of the steamer's sample-room, now and then 
 gazing at the box dubiously. 
 
 "I recommend a voyage to all persons making 
 New Year's resolutions of swearing off the tobacco 
 habit," said the banker, tossing the half-consumed 
 cigar into the cuspidor. 
 
 "I'd like to be a judge long enough to pass 
 sentence upon the manufacturer of that cabbage
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 blossom," said the nobleman, imitating the action 
 of his companion. "These cigars are infamous, 
 atrocious." 
 
 They were inveterate smokers. They sat a 
 long while glowering upon the inviting cover se- 
 ductively placed before them. 
 
 "He's a deep one, eh?" admitted the banker 
 after a prolonged silence. 
 
 "A a Pitt," responded the Englishman. 
 
 "If we accept, he'll levy tribute at pleasure," 
 allowed the financier thoughtfully. 
 
 "I decline to be obligated," said the nobleman 
 resolutely, rising and walking a few steps away. 
 
 "Here, too," added the banker, stationing him- 
 self resolutely by the side of his associate. 
 
 For ten minutes they surveyed the shimmering 
 surface of the ocean complacently. 
 
 "Wonder what brand they are?" speculated the 
 banker. 
 
 "Haven't an idea," acknowledged the English- 
 man. Then, after a painful silence, he continued, 
 visibly relenting: 
 
 "Let's go see." 
 
 "Be careful, they are watching us," said the 
 Philadelphian, noticing the exultant pleasure in 
 his daughter's face at the turning of the tables. 
 
 "Let's light one and pronounce it more abom- 
 inable than the salon commodity," suggested the 
 Englishman. 
 
 224
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Agreed 'commodity' is good." 
 
 They returned to the stand, Lord Howe pick- 
 ing up the box. 
 
 ""Keith's Pride'!" he exclaimed; "he has 
 winged us." 
 
 "Best cigar on the market," declared the bank- 
 er in despair. "What are we to do?" 
 
 "Smoke," replied the Englishman. 
 
 "How about obligations?" 
 
 "We have to do one of two things." 
 
 "What's in your mind?" asked the banker, reck- 
 less of consequences. 
 
 "Paying his debts or presenting him a cigar 
 factory upon our arrival." 
 
 "What is the extent of his liabilities?" 
 
 "Twenty thousand pounds." 
 
 "Expensive! But I believe we shall enjoy a 
 cigar at that price." 
 
 "So do I." 
 
 The cover was demolished and they proceeded 
 to burn two cigars apiece uninterrupted by fur- 
 ther conversation. 
 
 "How do you find them?" asked the duke, ap- 
 proaching from the rear with the ladies. 
 
 "Delicious," acknowledged the banker. 
 
 "A relaxation," said the nobleman. 
 
 "What confirmed and contented victims of the 
 nicotine habit," ventured Alice facetiously, rub- 
 bing her hand caressingly over her father's head. 
 225
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "I have thanked the duke, papa, for both of you," 
 she finished sweetly. 
 
 "If filial devotion is rewarded in heaven," com- 
 mented the Englishman, "you'll be envied of the 
 angels." 
 
 "It is too bad I shall not be able to use your 
 testimonials," she retorted irreverently. 
 
 "Communication is shut off," dabbed in the 
 duke. 
 
 After this episode the ordinary civilities were 
 observed between the three gentlemen. 
 
 The duke was perplexed and mystified as to 
 Alice's regards toward him. Despite his unmis- 
 takable preference for her society, she treated him 
 with the utmost sang-froid. Upon two or three 
 occasions already she had dexterously rescued him 
 on the verge of a declaration. The consummate 
 skill with which she had baffled him had the effect 
 of increasing his admiration as well as his appre- 
 hensions. In sheer desperation, he resolved that 
 he would know his fate, however, at the first op- 
 portunity that presented itself. 
 
 In two more days they would be in sight of his 
 native land. His waking and sleeping hours were 
 filled with visions of creditors, magistrates, and 
 bailiffs. Freedom never seemed so precious, nor 
 so elusive, as it had during the hours of this voy- 
 age. That same evening the much-coveted chance 
 unexpectedly arrived. 
 
 226
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 They were alone. It was twilight. The hour, 
 the glorious evening, the smooth surface of the 
 phosphorescent water, the slight careening of the 
 steamer as it plunged through the waves, were 
 confederates, as the duke imagined, to aid him in 
 the amatorian effort of his life. 
 
 "The captain says we shall see land day after 
 to-morrow," said Alice. 
 
 "Shall you be so happy in renouncing the wa- 
 ter?" asked the duke, with a quaver in his voice 
 not entirely simulated. 
 
 "Why, of course," she replied, preferring not 
 to notice his agitation. 
 
 "And I," he said histrionically, "dread the sight 
 of land. It separates me from the one woman I 
 love. Mrs. Eldridge Alice I love you. Will 
 you be my wife? My future happiness depends 
 upon your answer." He was terribly in earnest. 
 Alice remained silent some moments, while he stood 
 before her with arms crossed upon his breast, 
 watching her intently. "Do not answer now 
 wait to-morrow a week hence. Only lighten 
 my despair with a ray of hope." 
 
 However unworthy the motives governing his 
 action at the outset in reference to Alice Eldridge, 
 as he stood before her, pleading for her affection, 
 he loved her as he had never loved and never 
 should love another woman. 
 
 "No, Duke of Berwick, this must be the last in- 
 227
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 terview between us when this subject is mentioned. 
 I can never be your wife." She paused again, so 
 long that the silence became cruel. "I was think- 
 ing," she said finally, "whether or no it were best 
 to be perfectly frank with you." 
 
 "Proceed," he said; "I am listening." He had 
 not moved so much as a muscle since she began 
 speaking. The full force of his loss seemed to 
 stun and stupefy him. 
 
 "I admire certain traits of your character, but 
 I could never love you. I know your circum- 
 stances; you are in debt. My fortune would re- 
 lieve your pressing obligations " 
 
 "Has Lord Howe dared " commenced the 
 
 duke. 
 
 "Lord Howe has never discussed your affairs," 
 she interrupted. 
 
 "Is my love, then, a subject of insult?" he 
 asked, his face darkening. 
 
 "Wait! I am rich. You will admit you are 
 involved hopelessly in debt. You braved your 
 creditors and ventured upon a return to your na- 
 tive land in hopes of winning my fortune." She 
 hesitated again. 
 
 "You have dismissed me," he stammered, 
 "but I wish you to finish you have my atten- 
 tion." 
 
 "I saw this the day we sailed from New York," 
 she continued without noticing his interruption. 
 228
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "I resolved, then and there, to help you. I had 
 compromised myself. I had shown you some 
 preference. I am aware that you fall into a val- 
 uable estate upon the death of your uncle. I wish 
 you to accept a loan of thirty thousand pounds, 
 payable six months after your relative's death. 
 Upon the whole you are an honorable man. You 
 will repay the principal and interest. You can 
 laugh your creditors in the face. You will neither 
 return to the old associates, nor to the old habits of 
 life. You will always be my friend. Your prop- 
 er position in the world is one of honor and promi- 
 nence; and I exact a promise from you that you 
 will attain both." 
 
 "Mrs. Eldridge, you make me feel insignificant. 
 What you have said your accusations are in 
 part true. Let me believe, at least, that my man- 
 hood has suffered by reputation. I trust you do 
 not consider me capable of accepting the propo- 
 sition of a loan from a woman rejecting my love 
 with insult. I shall cherish your advice, you may 
 depend. Farewell." 
 
 "Duke," but he had moved swiftly beyond the 
 sound of her voice. 
 
 "He is not such a bad sort after all," she said 
 aloud. 
 
 "I am beginning to think so myself," said a 
 voice at her elbow. 
 
 "Lord Howe!" she exclaimed indignantly.
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "At your service, madam," he replied, with a 
 Chesterfieldian courtesy. 
 
 "Did you overhear the conversation between the 
 duke and myself?" she demanded, exasperated al- 
 most beyond self-control. 
 
 "If people wish to discuss love affairs in public 
 places and in the presence of old men, it would 
 be preposterous to frustrate such delightful occu- 
 pation," he ventured indolently, without pretend- 
 ing to propitiate her displeasure. 
 
 "I shall forgive you upon one condition." 
 
 "Please don't that is, don't do anything rash 
 that you may repent," he drawled. "I merely dis- 
 turbed you to say that I have decided to satisfy 
 our mutual friend, the duke's, debts myself, and 
 you need have no farther uneasiness on that ac- 
 count. You see, your father and I owe him a 
 debt of gratitude that box of cigars. I believe 
 you have aroused the poor cuss, however, for which 
 please accept my thanks." He was bowing himself 
 away, when recalled peremptorily. 
 
 "Lord Howe!" 
 
 "Your slightest wish is a command, madam." 
 
 "I am going to ask the last and only favor of 
 you I shall ever request." 
 
 "It is the first as well as the last," corrected the 
 nobleman. "I trust I can oblige you." 
 
 "Well, 'first and last,' as you will. Remain 
 here; I shall return directly." He bowed assent 
 230
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 and she left him quickly. She was absent prob- 
 ably five minutes, when he heard her footstep ap- 
 proaching. He continued to gaze at the ocean. 
 
 "I have fifty numbers of the Philadelphia 
 North American, containing the account of my 
 daughter's adventure. Take the entire lot and 
 give me the clipping from your pocket." She 
 held the papers toward him. 
 
 "Oh, haven't you forgotten that circumstance? 
 What a retentive memory you possess !" He gave 
 her a searching look, seized one of the papers, 
 spread it open and sure enough, there was the 
 article, word for word. 
 
 "It is singular; I went to the office of the 
 North American the day I reached Philadelphia 
 and asked for a copy of the paper containing the 
 account, for fear of losing the paragraph en- 
 trusted to me by Edward Reynolds ; and it was re- 
 ported to me that the last one had been sold. 
 Some speech, as I remember, caused the extras to 
 go like wildfire. I offered them five dollars for a 
 single number. A thorough search was made, but 
 not a copy was to be found on the premises. And 
 you say you have fifty?" 
 
 "Yes, my lord; are the odds sufficient?" 
 
 He made a motion towards his pocket; the 
 woman was breathing heavily. Some recollection 
 arrested his arm. Alice stepped forward, her ra- 
 diant face upturned and beaming. 
 
 231
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "It is good of you so kind and noble. I shall 
 love you dearly," her warm breath swept over his 
 temples. "Let me assist, my lord." She touched 
 his stationary arm. "Fifty to one," she repeated 
 feverishly. She did not tell him that the entire 
 paper had been reset and printed at an enormous 
 cost to get that fifty edition. 
 
 "I must not." If he had dealt her a blow she 
 would not have recoiled more. Then she crept to 
 his side again. 
 
 "Lord Howe," she pleaded, "you honor and re- 
 spect my father and mother. Give their only 
 child the thing she begs of you. She would ask 
 it on her knees, if need be." 
 
 "Upon one condition," he replied inexorably. 
 
 She caught at the hope held out by his words 
 as a drowning man clutches at some solitary splin- 
 ter slivered in shipwreck floating upon the 
 waves. 
 
 "I grant it I grant it if a worn ' 
 
 "It is this: that you promise to love him Ed- 
 ward Reynolds." His voice was hoarse and thick. 
 She sprang backward and stood confronting him, 
 white and livid as a corpse, her eyes burning him 
 with their brilliancy. Then she picked up the pa- 
 pers and, walking to the rail, cast them overboard. 
 Without noticing her companion, she glided from 
 his presence. 
 
 "I love her more than I hate her, in spite of 
 232
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 myself, and and Reynolds. She is a conun- 
 drum, a riddle, a well, she won't marry the duke, 
 at any rate." 
 
 The next day Lord Howe informed the Duke of 
 Berwick that the former would arrange a compro- 
 mise with all creditors, that upon that score the 
 latter might be at rest. In addition, the old no- 
 bleman promised to make an advance for him to 
 live upon until the duke's admission to his estate. 
 The duke was grateful. 
 
 That same evening the Duke of Berwick was 
 preparing to leave the steamer. It had swung 
 into position at the pier. He expected a recep- 
 tion by creditors and bailiffs galore. In this he 
 was disappointed. Instead, lined up in respectful 
 defile, was the whole set of former sycophants in 
 force. They were smiling and bowing and scrap- 
 ing; one slightly removed to the rear, in his at- 
 tachment and devotion blew a kiss at the returning 
 prodigal, pressing the tips of his fingers to his 
 heart after the sickening blandishment. What 
 did this demonstration, or rather this want of dem- 
 onstration, mean? There were neither creditors, 
 bailiffs nor constables in sight. 
 
 "Your lamented uncle is dead," chirped a 
 chorus of voices. 
 
 "And buried, too," supplemented another. 
 
 "Oh!" The duke comprehended. The man 
 lately bereaved by the loss of an uncle faced 
 233
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 squarely about and retreated to the deck of the 
 steamer, met Mrs. Eldridge and motioned her 
 aside. 
 
 "Madam," he said, "my uncle is dead. I am 
 one of the richest men in England. Instead of a 
 penniless, debt-ridden man, the Duke of Berwick 
 now asks nay begs you to become his wife, be- 
 cause he sincerely loves you." 
 
 "Stop, please ; it can never be. You are acting 
 honorably. I respect you ; but my decision is irre- 
 vocable. Your honorable conduct is a refutation 
 of my suspicions. Duke of Berwick, as a proof 
 of my confidence and esteem, I tell you this : My 
 heart is not mine to give. I know you will be 
 an honor to your name and title, and as we part," 
 holding out her hand, "let me ask for your friend- 
 ship." 
 
 "I shall be all you ask. Farewell," raising 
 her hand to his lips. 
 
 "Farewell," said Alice sadly. 
 
 "So your heart is not yours to give," repeated 
 Lord Howe. "I hope you will be fortunate in all 
 those tender affairs of the " he touched the re- 
 gion of his vest-buttons on the left side, making a 
 profound courtesy. 
 
 "It is no matter," said the woman, looking the 
 intruder squarely in the eyes. 
 
 "What is 'no matter'?" asked his lordship. 
 
 "Nothing," she replied. "I had thought Lord 
 234
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Howe too much of an English gentleman to conde- 
 scend to such rudeness." 
 
 Lord Howe no sooner made the remark than he 
 felt ashamed of his conduct. He had persuaded 
 himself that Edward and Alice would yet meet at 
 the altar. He had schemed and planned how it 
 might be brought about. He was going to be in- 
 strumental in bringing around this result, and, as 
 he was passing but a moment since and overheard 
 the admission from her lips, it condemned the 
 hopes he had been building upon. He felt a sense 
 of injury and disappointment that found expres- 
 sion in his uncivil language. Alice Eldridge, he 
 believed, had decoyed her regal beauty to ensnare 
 the affections of one whom his lordship greatly 
 esteemed. It had blighted the life of the victim. 
 In his noble mind he accused her of coquetry, of 
 employing her divine beauty the gifts of her 
 matchless mind, to blast and destroy the future 
 happiness of a man whose every thought was pure 
 and good whose veneration for woman was 
 Christ-like. If he had had it in his power, as they 
 stood confronting each other, he would have in- 
 flicted upon her in return a suffering as great in 
 its sorrow as the one she had ruthlessly caused 
 Edward Reynolds. 
 
 235
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Jacob Ikestine and his brother Solomon, pro- 
 prietors of a well-patronized art gallery of Lon- 
 don, are closeted together in their private office. 
 The younger brother had been invited summarily 
 to the interview. 
 
 "Ve be equel bardners, be ve not?" inquired Ja- 
 cob of his younger brother dictatorily. 
 
 "Fader of Abraham! So ve be, und splendid 
 brofets, mine broder und splendid brofets !" as- 
 sented the junior member of the firm, who saw a 
 philippic about to be delivered, and wished to 
 avert the impending storm by allusion to unprece- 
 dented prosperity. 
 
 "You sleep avay your life." Solomon's hands 
 were lifted in remonstrance. "You sleep," con- 
 tinued Jacob, unaffected by the touching physical 
 and mental prostration of his kinsman, "vhile I 
 bring the ewers of vater und the tables of stone." 
 Here the speaker focussed his flashing eyes fully 
 upon the culprit's face, and continued in a voice 
 more severe even than previously used, "Vhat is 
 that Gentile artist doing, und how stands the 
 rent?" 
 
 Solomon turned with alacrity to the ledger, 
 236
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 , while the speaker refrained from interruption dur- 
 ing the investigation. 
 
 " 'Hope,' vive bounds on rent sold for vifty 
 bounds rent paid to Aprel 1, 1860," Solomon 
 read from the tomes. It was desired by this en- 
 terprising firm of Israelites to secure such tenants 
 for the various properties under the firm owner- 
 ship who exchanged their products, be it of what- 
 ever character, for rent, for which trifling sums 
 were allowed the tenants and exorbitant prices 
 charged the public. 
 
 "Two months overdue," commented the object 
 of the elder brother's displeasure, having com- 
 puted by mental process the time for which the 
 tenant was in default. 
 
 "Two months overdue! Mine God of Israel! 
 Two months overdue! Our house shall fail." 
 Jacob wrung his hands in hopeless dejection. 
 
 "I vill go to the delinquent the rascally bank- 
 rupt. Abraham forgive me." In his impetuos- 
 ity he had nearly eluded his elder relative. 
 
 "Nein! Nein!" exclaimed Jacob. "God of Is- 
 rael, stop the ravisher of thy chosen people." 
 Solomon came to an abrupt and precipitous halt. 
 "He paints sublime ! Sublime ! The genius of 
 Michael Angelo dwells in the brush. God of 
 Abraham! ve vill be rich as Isaac of York. Our 
 children shall inherit; our grandchildren Solo- 
 mon, you sleep." 
 
 237
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 These pleasant reflections of present and pros- 
 pective expectations for the generations of Ike- 
 stines, so far as Abraham's favors were suppli- 
 cated and invoked, terminated in the perpetual re- 
 minder of his kinsman's business torpor or coma. 
 
 Solomon's face reflected, as a mirror, the an- 
 ticipation of wealth as his brother proceeded, to 
 be cast in deepest dejection upon reference to the 
 proverbial sleepiness. Already in his mind he was 
 meditating the usury he would extort from the 
 offending artist for subjecting him to the just 
 and well-merited rebuke of his kinsman for inat- 
 tention to their mutual interests, and for want of 
 the customary vigilance of their people. 
 
 "I vill die of modification, but I vill make him 
 pay the wagrant," declared Solomon, preparing 
 to depart. 
 
 "He paints." Jacob spoke slowly, suggestively. 
 
 Here a new intelligence began to shine in Solo- 
 mon's cunning eyes. 
 
 "I vill go, look, see." 
 
 "Be circumspect. Father of Abraham ! Curse 
 not thy chosen people." 
 
 Thirty minutes later a gentle rap was tattooed 
 upon a door leading into the rear part of a third- 
 story building, where indigent artists and poor 
 tenants found it easy to make arrangement for 
 quarterly rents. The room the Jew was about to 
 enter was used by Michael Lieb as an atelier. 
 238
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Ah, it is you! Good afternoon, Mr. Ike- 
 stine," said the painter, welcoming his visitor. 
 
 But Ikestine's eyes had been arrested, as were 
 all his faculties, upon the canvas, some six feet by 
 eight, before him. He had not heard the salu- 
 tation. This Jew was one of the best critics and 
 connoisseurs of art in London. He was amazed 
 at the scope of imagination and at the artist's 
 skill. It was as though he heard his brother's fa- 
 vorite expression, "Solomon, you sleeb," that he 
 returned to the habitual cringing, money-making 
 habit of his race. 
 
 "Ah, I vas glad to zee you in such delightvul, 
 and, I may hope, provitable occupation.** 
 
 A little color rushed to the pale cheeks of the 
 artist. He saw the Jew was surprised. He fan- 
 cied he had detected in the face of the Israelite an 
 admission of power in the canvas, and an ambi- 
 tion thirsting for recognition and fame was grat- 
 ified in the momentary surrender of the Jew's 
 aggressive and ever alert instinct of gain. 
 
 "My broder and I wisit our tenants. Ve vor- 
 bear!" Here the speaker's eyes irresistibly re- 
 turned to the canvas. "Ve vorbear!" 
 
 "I hope I shall not require your indulgence be- 
 yond a couple of weeks," said the artist. 
 
 "The auction sales are next veek and veek 
 after," muttered the Jew. "But why oxpose 
 your vorks to the wulgar? Vait till fame comes 
 239
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 to you! Ve vill aid, ve vill find you batrons. 
 Vhen baintings sell at these zales, and the brice 
 is low, the artist zeldom escapes the injury done 
 his reputation. Ve vill throw the prestige of our 
 name about the hand that colored the conception 
 of a great thought into the reality of berfection. 
 Ve zold that landscape 'Hope' for vive bounds" 
 without a sign of hesitation at the deception (he 
 had received fifty pounds for the painting) 
 "and this Fader of Abraham!" turning once 
 more to the canvas, "is even better and a greater 
 picture than that." 
 
 "I thank you for your favorable opinion of its 
 merits." 
 
 "My broder and I, ve encourage our tenants. 
 Ve give you ten bounds for this; ve don't mind ve 
 be sheated. Ve encourage our tenants. Fader of 
 Abraham! Ten bounds! I have said it." 
 
 "Not this afternoon; it is not finished." 
 
 "Ten bounds and a quarter rent," the Jew came 
 at him again. 
 
 "Not to-day, Mr. Ikestine." 
 
 "I vill call to-morrow wid a receipt. Money is 
 close, bisiness is dull. Mine God! Dose auction 
 sales vill ruin the firm of Ikestine." The Jew shot 
 a lingering glance at the canvas, bowed and with- 
 drew. 
 
 As he quitted the room the artist leaned against 
 a wooden shelf. The words of his recent visitor 
 240
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 sunk deep. "I had thought to receive a hundred 
 pounds for this. I need so many things. My 
 clothes are threadbare; I am destitute. No 
 money, perhaps, no friends. 'Ten pounds and a 
 quarter's rent.' Well, maybe it is all it's worth." 
 He raised a paper beneath which he had con- 
 cealed a meager lunch, picked up a biscuit and be- 
 gan to partake of the meal interrupted by the ad- 
 vent of the Jew, mastication being aided by an 
 occasional swallow of water from an earthen ves- 
 sel standing upon the table. After these frugal 
 refreshments, the young artist made preparations 
 to resume work, when a voice accosted him. 
 
 "Hard at it, as usual, eh?" 
 
 "You you here, Mr. Reynolds !" 
 
 "Why, of course, my young friend. You don't 
 suppose I am utterly indifferent to your existence, 
 I trust. I come to ask a great favor." 
 
 "I shall only be too happy to oblige, if it lies 
 in my power." 
 
 "Well, come and dine with me this evening; I 
 have a friend I want to introduce," said Reynolds. 
 
 "I must I am compelled do not think me un- 
 grateful; but I am forced to decline your kind 
 invitation. I shall be none the less happy, how- 
 ever, in affording you any service lying in my 
 power." The best garments owned by this young 
 artist were long since threadbare, and shone like 
 the sides of a glass bottle. 
 241
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Oh, pshaw! You must come. Say, can you 
 give me a sitting in a few weeks?" 
 
 "Yes, any time." 
 
 "This is a business transaction." 
 
 "Why, of course." 
 
 "Oh, by the way, next week is sales week, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "When do you get 'Renaissance' in the gal- 
 lery?" 
 
 "Possibly not until the latter part of the week." 
 
 "Sometimes I do things without considering 
 consequences. I have one in mind now. I am 
 going to ask you, however, beforehand not to 
 think me officious or impertinent." 
 
 "I am sure I could not think of you as either; 
 yet all London says you are a strange man, a pow- 
 erful man, a great man." 
 
 "Have a care, sir, you will make me vain. Pay 
 this back to me after next week. Hush ! I would 
 not cause you humiliation for principalities. I 
 know you are in need of it, and what's the use of 
 having friends if we don't use them? Be sure and 
 come at seven o'clock sharp. As my friendship 
 has been of some service to you in the past, I shall 
 demand your friendship when you become famous, 
 a sort of reciprocity, as it were." Without wait- 
 ing for the surprised artist to reply, the visitor 
 departed.
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Lieb, at first blush, was inclined to be indig- 
 nant; but that impulse passed away, and he se- 
 cretly blessed the friend advancing the loan of 
 which he stood in such sore need. 
 
 There were five ten-pound Bank of England 
 notes lying upon the table. As yet he had not 
 touched the new, crisp bills. "I ought not, 
 should not accept this favor; and still, it would 
 offend him, and he has shown me so many proofs 
 of his kindness; besides, I have a dozen uses for 
 money," approaching nearer the table. "My 
 painting will bring twenty pounds at least. 
 Week after next I can return it. The Jew will be 
 after his rent to-morrow ; and if I go to Reynolds 
 this evening I must have a pair of shoes and a 
 necktie. My wardrobe belongs to the Adam and 
 Eve period. I wonder who it is will be present 
 at Reynolds' to-night?" He folded the five notes 
 and stored them away carefully in his pocket. 
 
 That evening the young artist was admitted to 
 the unpretentious suite of rooms occupied by Ed- 
 ward Reynolds. 
 
 "I should have been greatly disappointed had 
 you not come," said the host, rising and extending 
 his hand cordially. 
 
 "I owe you such a debt of gratitude," asserted 
 the artist, "that your wishes are my commands." 
 
 "I fail to see where the gratitude comes in; if 
 anything, I am your debtor. You have been a 
 243
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 source of pleasure to me these many years as I 
 have watched you progressing so rapidly in your 
 accepted calling. This has been a diversion, occu- 
 pying my mind, but for which, along with various 
 other duties, I should have fallen a victim of de- 
 pression. It has been, by no means, one-sided; so 
 there now, ease your mind on that score." 
 
 "Mr. Reynolds, I should have despaired so 
 many times during the past years, except for your 
 sympathy and encouragement. I learned to look 
 forward to your visits with eager anticipation; I 
 labored to win your approbation. Many, many 
 times, when I have felt like turning back and flee- 
 ing from the narrow and perilous paths leading to 
 those inaccessible heights so few attain, to rest in 
 the cool of sylvan shade, and to bathe my dust- 
 stained limbs in crystal streams whose murmurs 
 are always heard but never seen by the few soli- 
 tary wayfarers seeking fame, I have been held in 
 the rugged course by the thought: 'What would 
 Reynolds say?' There have been moments when, 
 even against my better judgment, I have fancied 
 you an implacable enemy, binding me closer to a 
 destiny from which I could not, yet felt I must, 
 escape. I clung to the brush unconsciously be- 
 cause you willed me to the canvas without the ex- 
 ercise of volition on my part ; and yet and yet 
 Mr. Reynolds," continued the artist, looking away 
 from the face of his friend, "I am completely
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 fagged and jaded. I never felt so weak as at the 
 present moment. The future is so uncertain. I 
 have exhausted my substance, and as the purse has 
 become lighter confidence has proportionately dis- 
 appeared. Fame is illusory ; it mocks and maddens 
 and beckons onward; it laughs cruelly, pitilessly 
 at the expiring victims perishing in its pursuit, 
 while, with fingers cold as Iceland snow, it fits 
 laurel wreathes of immortality to the lone survi- 
 vor's brow. Oh, the ego," exclaimed the speaker 
 passionately, "so strong in every man that makes 
 sacrifice for excellence, becomes impatient and ac- 
 cuses the world of stupidity and inapprecia- 
 tion !" 
 
 "Ah! never get morbid. Go plunge and drown 
 in that 'Crystal Stream' if you wish, but don't 
 get morbid. Perhaps I can see in your complaint 
 a tinge of envy. Merit is a meed, my young 
 friend, claimed by every man according to his just 
 deserts. The world may be slow to accept and 
 recognize the true and intrinsic value of many la- 
 bors ; but, sooner or later, the latch-string is lifted 
 and the tardy guest for whom so many wait is 
 sure to enter. You will learn to despise the causes 
 that now incite to crowning efforts. That time 
 will come when you shall look back upon this ex- 
 perience as the crucial test that an all-wise Provi- 
 dence saw fit to impdse in your behalf. If I have 
 found you disheartened sometimes on the point 
 245
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 of vacillating and have stimulated the flagging 
 courage to tasks, it was because I knew triumph 
 awaited you. My young friend, you have genius, 
 and the God that gave you that genius exacts a 
 service in the interests of mankind. He makes 
 you an instrument a means to an end. Art 
 to-day is mediocre. Painters are using oils and 
 pigments in the representation of characters and 
 objects already stamped with the shadows of ap- 
 proaching night. To-morrow conditions change, 
 and the artist so popular to-day is unprepared for 
 the change of public opinion, and is fated to look 
 upon his labor as little better than wasted. The 
 scenes of life are ever shifting and the dawn of a 
 new era is peeping from behind colossal blunders 
 of the past and present. The number is limited 
 that shall survive the heat and glare of the coming 
 day. Nature is the dame that gives birth to un- 
 dying events. Among the records which alone are 
 the handiwork of God is found the abiding prin- 
 ciples of truth. He that seeks here shall not seek 
 in vain. When one builds elsewhere, however he 
 builds and well, defects appear when exposed to 
 the test of time and the inevitable penalty for vio- 
 lation of the law which none may disregard 
 oblivion begins to date from the period of the 
 transgression. What little things, insignificant in 
 themselves, mar the works of beauty! Error is 
 perpetuated as well as truth; but they never mix. 
 246
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ' Each has her votaries; but the purpose each ful- 
 fills is as wide apart as the antipodes." 
 
 "True, but the semblance between truth and 
 error is so real, oft-times, that the detection of the 
 deception is impossible," said the artist. 
 
 "Not so. The similitude may be close, still the 
 relation is never that intimate that discovery of 
 the genuine is prevented. It is in this, as in all 
 else, a person must perfect himself in order to 
 guard against imposition. It does not avail a 
 man that he is deceived by the guile and practices 
 of another. What resistance was made? What 
 precaution taken? What agencies employed? He 
 that keeps his lamps burning brightly, by con- 
 stant trimming and attention, is the one that en- 
 tertains no forbidden guests. Fallacies are prev- 
 alent because they are popular; they are popular 
 because they are pleasant; and they are pleasant 
 because of the piquancy which attaches to them in 
 the minds of the multitude, without reflecting suf- 
 ficiently upon the quality of the pleasure, or the 
 emotion produced by it. Growth and develop- 
 ment are conditions that admit of no compromise 
 with error, however firmly seated in public favor 
 the latter may be. He, contented to sleep in the 
 shallow affection of a thoughtless age, is the 
 courtier basking in the smiles of an inconstant 
 prince. Whatever man does is not lost, either for 
 good or for evil. The age in which he lives may 
 247
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 be unprepared to receive the truths which he scat- 
 ters at its feet, but every advance step is noted 
 and imperceptibly the imprint is stamped indel- 
 ibly. The trouble is we expect to realize too soon. 
 One rushes from the beaten path and, seeking the 
 highest eminence, holds aloft the beacon blazing 
 with the choicest fagots of the mind to wonder in 
 amazement at the apathy of the world. Many 
 become soured by what they choose to term neg- 
 lect, and their usefulness is destroyed. Nothing 
 seems realized from the investment of every fac- 
 ulty, where so much was anticipated. The great 
 pity of it is that he who, like the priests of old, 
 never suffered the fire to become extinguished upon 
 the temple altars of Delphi and Vesta, by tireless 
 vigils of guarding the sacred flame, falls at last 
 exhausted, and is consumed by the conflagration 
 of his own kindling. But the reflections of those 
 charred embers have been photographed upon the 
 ages to come, and are destined to illumine the 
 pathway of future progress." 
 
 "But," asked the artist, "has a man a right to 
 seek the isolation of which you speak? To prac- 
 tice self-abnegation to such extent? The social 
 obligations of life are demands not to be easily 
 cast aside. A man isolating himself from his fel- 
 lows, although he may solve a portion of the prob- 
 lems of true economics, loses the valued privileges 
 himself, and fails in existence. Whoever sur- 
 248
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 renders his life absolutely and toils ceaselessly for 
 the advancement of his fellowmen suffers, as it 
 seems to me, the throes of martyrdom." 
 
 "Yours is the doctrine of the school that holds, 
 'Eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow ye may 
 die.' No, my young friend, on the contrary, the 
 true benefactor does not withdraw from his kind; 
 rather he mingles with men. It is only by inti- 
 macy and a knowledge of human nature that he 
 comes to know the requirements of his race, and in 
 supplying the essential needs of the physical and 
 mental man is unfolded the divine purpose of the 
 life, which the Creator gives in trust to be used, 
 not selfishly in obtaining private ends and the 
 gratification of personal pleasures and pursuits, as 
 so many mistake, but for the advancement, ele- 
 vation and ennobling of the composite members of 
 a great family." 
 
 "You are right, perhaps ; yet, in the warmth of 
 youth, it is cheerless to contemplate sitting by this 
 frozen image of your description until the blood 
 is congealed. The imagination of the artist re- 
 linquishes under protest the pleasures of youth to 
 bathe in the icy fountains of your philosophy. 
 You would have one give, not only a part, but all, 
 to a mistress exacting but never giving in return. 
 Mr. Reynolds, the ties of a happy home have been 
 the dream of my life. To lay down the labors of 
 the day, to find relaxation in the love of a true 
 249
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 woman and the charm of a holy fireside, is a pic- 
 ture excelling human art, because God has painted 
 it upon the soul of every man," said Lieb. 
 
 "Others have dreamed that dream. The white 
 wings of love, my boy, are seen best in the morn- 
 ing of life. Why, there are millions of both men 
 and women in this great world of ours from whose 
 cheerless lives the happiness of home ties is forever 
 lost. There is neither chart nor compass for 
 them. What you say is true. God paints a pic- 
 ture upon the soul of every man and every woman. 
 I have wondered if the colors of that picture are 
 indelible? If they do not fade with years? If 
 the hues never dim? If the canvas never rots? 
 If the gorgeous prism never becomes obscure and 
 subdued in the flashlights of the soul? Many of 
 us are disposed to become pessimists in matters of 
 the heart. We accept blindly the religion of love 
 that teaches that some woman is created for every 
 man, and, vice versa, some man for every woman. 
 Each is incomplete without the other. If they 
 never meet, there is rest and peace for neither. 
 Man without a home, without a wife and children, 
 is a stranger to earth's greatest joys. But the 
 condition of this is that the woman must be the 
 one, of all others, his counterpart. Either sex 
 is happier single than mismated. Cherish this 
 picture of yours as much as you wish. A cheer- 
 ful fireside and the love of a good woman are not 
 250
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 obstacles in the way of any man's advancement. 
 They are inspirations to the professions, to art, to 
 science, and to every employment upon which 
 hands toil and the brain labors. No life so 
 humble, none so powerful and great, that the 
 charm of love fails to brighten and glorify. Let 
 me give you this bit of advice: if it shall ever be 
 your lot to love some woman that cannot return 
 your affection, never descend to the misogynist. 
 Find some woman you can honor and respect, with 
 similar tastes, good impulses, generous, frank, 
 congenial, and entrust your future happiness to 
 her keeping. Yes, sir, there is nothing in the 
 world will help a man forget a woman as well as 
 woman." The, speaker felt what he was speak- 
 ing. 
 
 The artist had all he could do to keep his face 
 straight at this sage advice from one whose life 
 was a refutation of the doctrine so eloquently ad- 
 vocated. 
 
 "Consistency," said Lieb, "is a jewel. It is a 
 trifle singular that, entertaining such views upon 
 the subject, you remain a bachelor." 
 
 "I! Oh, well, my young professor of polem- 
 ics," laughed Reynolds, "your objection is well 
 taken. 'Practice what you preach' is a sequence 
 from which it is difficult to get away. Still, be- 
 cause the shoemaker wears the worst possible foot- 
 gear, and the tailor the most dilapidated gar-
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ments, are no reasons why others should reject the 
 comforts they produce." 
 
 "But the shoemaker and the tailor," rejoined 
 the artist, following up his advantage like a diplo- 
 mat, "say, one: that he is miserably shod, and, the 
 other: that he wears his worn raiment because of 
 the babies." 
 
 "Well," said Reynolds, "do as I say, and not as 
 I do. Besides, we separate the wheat from the 
 tare. There is seldom any life but a part thereof 
 can be used as an exemplar; the good is to be 
 emulated, the bad rejected. And, remember, the 
 man that achieves is the happiest." 
 
 "Mr. Reynolds," said the artist, "you assign 
 me tasks I am powerless to perform. Somehow 
 you take for granted that no impediments are laid 
 in the way of my progress. You clothe me with 
 qualities of mind and heart which I do not pos- 
 sess. Since I began studying in a free school, en- 
 dowed by your bounty, I have felt that you 
 shaped my destiny. You have never dictated, it 
 is true, but your clearer reason has blazed a way, 
 and I have plunged upon the path, misgiving of 
 my strength and endurance, but feeling that I 
 should prefer to perish in the undertaking than to 
 be seen abandoning the pursuit. I must tell you 
 frankly that I never felt so weak and discouraged, 
 so distant from the goal, as at this moment when 
 your assurances are ringing in my ears." 
 252
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Michael," said Reynolds, "there is an old prov- 
 erb that 'It is always darkest before dawn.' If I 
 have succeeded in imprinting upon your mind and 
 character lessons that shall be of service to you, 
 that shall avail to your honor and that shall work 
 to the glory of God in that you shall be a bene- 
 factor of mankind, then I shall feel that any in- 
 strumentality which you are pleased to credit to 
 me has borne fruit acceptably to Him. My art- 
 ist friend, we are to see less of each other in the 
 future. Your life is beginning, the future 
 spreads out before you; mine has reached its me- 
 ridian. The road we have traveled in part together 
 is separating. The influences of which you com- 
 plain are becoming relaxed. The world is prepar- 
 ing to fall at your feet. In parting I have this 
 favor to ask, never forget that you are a man and 
 that the ties of a common fellowship unite man- 
 kind in one great brotherhood." 
 
 "Whatever betides me," exclaimed the artist, 
 fervently, "I shall remember and keep your wish 
 most religiously; and in whatever fields my for- 
 tunes may be cast, it shall be my constant endeavor 
 to imitate the example of my noble benefactor." 
 
 Mr. Wilstach of Philadelphia was announced at 
 this moment. The new comer was a merchant 
 prince of America, and one of the best known pat- 
 rons of art of the United States. Edward Rey- 
 nlds introduced his two visitors and the young
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 artist forgot his shabby clothes in the pleasant 
 companionship of his host and of the founder of 
 the Art Gallery of Memorial Hall, Philadelphia. 
 
 It was 11 o'clock p. M. when Edward Reynolds 
 accompanied the artist to the street in parting. 
 While they stood facing each other a moment be- 
 fore passing the good night, the artist inquired to 
 what it was the other had referred earlier in the 
 day at the studio. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do not want you to sell 'Renais- 
 sance' to the Israelite." 
 
 The younger man blushed. 
 
 "Then you heard what took place during the 
 Jew's presence at the studio?" 
 
 "Yes, I confess to seeing him entering your 
 rooms and followed," said Reynolds. "Jews are 
 natural leeches and I did not care to have him 
 pinch your neck. Promise me you won't sell to the 
 Jew without my consent, or without at first giving 
 me an option to buy your painting." 
 
 "Certainly, if you desire it so." 
 
 The two men exchanged parting salutations. 
 
 254
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The following morning Edward Reynolds slept 
 later than usual. Troublesome dreams had dis- 
 turbed his slumbers. The conversation he had 
 had with the artist seemed to have been running 
 ceaselessly in his sleep. 
 
 "Dreams do not always go contrarily," he 
 mused, "Alice Richards is forever separated from 
 me by another's shadow. If every impediment 
 were removed from our union, I should fancy a 
 ghost between us. Feeling as I do, what right has 
 she to stand as a sentinel at the altar to prevent 
 the marriage ordinance with another? 
 
 "Is it true, I wonder, that nothing helps man 
 forget woman, as well as woman; or is it some 
 conceit of the brain? It sounds plausibly. My 
 life is unsatisfactory. The picture that God 
 paints upon every soul, as Lieb describes, is cov- 
 ered with a dark veil. I cannot see it for the 
 heavy drapery. The fireside, wife and children is 
 the central instinct of our nature, and because the 
 hand of a fair iconoclast has mined the temple and 
 broken the idols, is it reason why another fair hand 
 should not restore order out of the chaos? I won- 
 der if Lord Howe heard, while in America, of the 
 broken engagement between Alice and myself. 
 255
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Miss Rivers, who came with him when he called to 
 return the clipping, and to thank me for my part 
 in the restoration of his grandson, is very beauti- 
 ful. She is greatly interested in the school. Why 
 should Alice have wanted that paper? Lord 
 Howe might have given it to her. I wish I 
 had found out what those stains were before 
 sending it to her. Sometimes I fancied they 
 were blood; but how in the name of the Seven 
 Wonders could blood have gotten there? Alice 
 is over in Paris with Countess Ratcliff. I trust 
 she feels better after that last act of demolition. 
 She and St. Clair must have made a picture feed- 
 ing the hungry Schuylkill with my humble offer- 
 ings. Still, I should like her child to have the 
 property regardless of her pretty scruples to 
 the contrary. I wonder if she, too, has grown 
 old and gray. Woman shows less than man 
 the ravages of time. Well, be she old and 
 ugly, or young and beautiful as a houri, I shall 
 never see her again. After Wilstach and his wife 
 return to America, I shall take a vacation lose 
 myself. I may as well go upon the long promised 
 trip to Switzerland one time as another. The 
 doctor tells me I am overworked and require rest. 
 What necessary and convenient members of so- 
 ciety physicians are. I, overworked! The phy- 
 sician diagnoses a case something after this 
 formula: 'Tongue coated; pulse lacks elasticity; 
 256
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 head dull and heavy ; more or less insomnia ; bad 
 dreams ; occasional pain in back,' and concludes by 
 recommending idleness. There is scarcely a mal- 
 ady known to the profession, but indicates one or 
 more of these phases. However, I have no leisure 
 for his tonic. Matters here are active and not pas- 
 sive, to say nothing about the half finished book. 
 Still, I might take the manuscript with me 
 and complete it in Switzerland. That's what 
 I will do. I'll find a batch of natives, in 
 some secluded Canton, who can neither speak 
 nor write a word of English, and among them I 
 will rusticate, finish the book and rest. Alice will 
 come to London, by and by, and, Merciful God, 
 if I should meet her face to face! My heart 
 would give one great bound and stop beating. I 
 have fancied that in a strange place, far away 
 I shall meet her some day face to face and fall at 
 her feet, with only strength enough to tell her 
 that I love her still. It would be euthanasia. 
 I half hope it may be so. Some clever writer 
 says: 'Love is a species of insanity.' There must 
 be several varieties. I have known specious na- 
 tures with capacity to adore every woman they 
 meet enviable creatures. Others again contract 
 the disease and are forever immune. Why should 
 I not marry Miss Rivers? The charm and grace 
 of her person and mind are infinitely sweet and 
 lovable. She talks, to be sure, but it is sense and
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 music every syllable. Lord Howe wants me to 
 run down a day or two next week. Mr. Rivers is to 
 be there. Nothing shall please me better than to 
 go. I more than half suspect he wants the influence 
 of my boys at the approaching election. I have 
 kept hands off politics. Once having lived in Phila- 
 delphia, I naturally prefer to show slight ac- 
 quaintance with statescraft. Political corruption 
 of Pennsylvania reconciles one to residence abroad. 
 A man displaying political acumen in Pennsyl- 
 vania could not retain character if it were ce- 
 mented in the corner stone of a church. I 
 know the boys would do as I say; but I shall 
 place no fetters upon their political opinions, even 
 though Rivers yes, and daughter, too should 
 ask me to do so. My head does thump. Guess 
 I'd better dress and spin off a couple of miles. 
 Walking is constitutional. Then I'll eat and get 
 into the harness again. Wilstach says that Lieb 
 is a genius; that he'll shake the Art world yet 
 from center to circumference. I had him go up 
 and inspect 'Renaissance.' He tells me the 
 painting is worth a cool $30,000. The walls of my 
 rooms are destitute. I believe that I want that 
 painting myself. To-morrow is opening day of 
 the sales. That infernal Jew has convinced Lieb 
 that twenty pounds is a liberal offer for the paint- 
 ing. Lieb would have sold it to him but for 
 his promise. The boy does not dream of his com- 
 258
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ing fame and popularity. To-morrow, perhaps 
 the day after, that young prodigy of mine will set 
 the Art world agog. I'll set that hook-nosed Ike- 
 stine a pace he'll remember to his dying day. 
 He'll not quit bidding as long as there's a penny 
 in the business. I'll make the unbeliever groan. 
 Well, this will never do." Edward Reynolds sprang 
 from the bed, shortly afterwards emerging into 
 the street for the appetizing exercise of an hour's 
 walk. 
 
 That afternoon three ladies were examining the 
 paintings artistically arranged about the walls of 
 an immense hall, situated upon one of the main 
 thoroughfares of London. Mrs. Wilstach of 
 Philadelphia was fully as enthusiastic as her hus- 
 band over art. They had resolved to establish one 
 of the finest collections in the United States, with 
 the object in view of eventually bestowing the 
 same on the City of Philadelphia. Mrs. Wilstach 
 had requested her friends, Countess Ratcliff and 
 Alice Eldridge, to accompany her to Exhibition 
 Hall. She desired to visit the place before the 
 sales commenced, in order to examine the paint- 
 ings at leisure and to fix a value upon such as she 
 intended purchasing. 
 
 "Mr. Wilstach," remarked his wife, "desires 
 me to look closely at Renaissance, the initial pro- 
 duction of one Michael Lieb, but I have not come 
 across it yet." 
 
 259
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "This must be it," said Alice, who was a few 
 paces in advance of her companions, pointing at a 
 painting before her. 
 
 "Indeed, it is," replied Mrs. Wilstach, her eyes 
 resting upon the large canvas in admiration. "It 
 is a treasure. What sublime power of conception 
 and execution ! The technique is perfect," she de- 
 clared, after a critical survey. 
 
 "Is it not singular we find such genius here?" 
 inquired Alice, visibly affected by the paint- 
 ing. 
 
 "You see, the artist is unknown without a 
 reputation," explained Mrs. Wilstach, "and, 
 doubtless, finds himself compelled to realize on his 
 work. Again, he takes this opportunity of meet- 
 ing the public. By the way, we have seen a num- 
 ber of high-grade paintings from amateur artists 
 already, whose future will be made by reason of 
 these sales. Their names will be advertised and 
 blazoned before the public. The creations of their 
 brush hereafter will come high. This picture is 
 worth $25,000 or $30,000 in the judgment of 
 Mr. Wilstach. My husband met the artist re- 
 cently and is tireless in sounding his praise." 
 
 "Michael Lieb," read the Countess aloud from 
 the lower corner of the canvas. "Surely one would 
 not look for great imagination in the name," she 
 volunteered, smiling. 
 
 "With German ladies," ventured the wife of the 
 260
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 art collector, "his cognomen would be at a prem- 
 ium." 
 
 "What's in a name?" laughed Alice. "The art- 
 ist is clearly of German origin. But Germany is 
 the mother of many of the great masters. 1 am so 
 much of a dilettante in art questions that I hardly 
 venture an opinion beyond the nationality of the 
 artist." 
 
 "He is one of Edward Reynolds' proteges," 
 continued Mrs. Wilstach. "I don't remember my 
 husband's mentioning how Mr. Reynolds discov- 
 ered the talent of the artist. I recollect, however, 
 his saying that Lieb is prouder than Lucifer, 
 and has a right to be, because he is poorer than 
 Lazarus. It appears that after making some 
 progress at the easel, he refused to accept further 
 assistance from his benefactor, and engaged as a 
 clerk in a mercantile establishment of London, in 
 order that he might be independent. Mr. Reyn- 
 olds had to hunt up an uncle of the lad, who, of 
 course, died conveniently, or pretended to do so, 
 bequeathing the boy three thousand pounds. 
 Young Lieb no sooner received his legacy, than he 
 resigned his position and began mixing pigments, 
 with the result of the painting before us. He still 
 remains ignorant of the deception practiced upon 
 him." 
 
 After the ladies had resumed their round of 
 inspection, Alice returned and took her position 
 261
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 before Renaissance. It seemed to talk back to 
 her to tell her of the unselfish life of the man 
 with whom she had broken faith long years ago. 
 The painting possessed a charm, a fascination for 
 her. In the presence of that picture, she fancied 
 she was standing nearer the great soul she had 
 wounded so mortally. She reached out her hand 
 and touched softly even caressingly the trans- 
 parent diaphanous glass guarding the painting 
 from too curious observers. It was an appeal for 
 forgiveness. The touch chilled like the touch of 
 a cold hand that had clasped hers years before, 
 while the face in the background of the painting 
 seemed looking at her reproachfully. 
 
 At the left of the picture a stack of fagots was 
 piled about a fair form. A fanatic, representing 
 ignorance and superstition, was seen kneeling and 
 blowing a few embers to ignite the combustible 
 material. The beautiful victim was pinioned to 
 the stake, clasping a crucifix, her uplifted face 
 containing the fortitude of a great faith. Stu- 
 pendous heaps of ruins were scattered in the path- 
 way of the vandalism of the Dark Ages, while a 
 form in the background, bearing aloft in her right 
 hand the torch of reason, was slowly advancing. 
 Hideous monsters screened their eyes with long 
 bony fingers from the effulgent rays of that 
 beacon. The ages to come were to yield to that 
 approaching vision. Light was to take the place 
 262
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 of darkness; order, to come out of chaos; reason, 
 to resume her sway ; progress, with ceaseless march, 
 was to traverse the universe. It was the dawn of 
 resplendent morning breaking upon midnight. 
 The atrocities of superstition, the violence of ig- 
 norance were seeking refuge from the rays of 
 that quenchless torch behind ruins of their own 
 desolation. 
 
 The thought was so vivid and realistic, Alice 
 fancied she detected hope springing to the face 
 of the form in bondage as the distant rays of il- 
 lumination fell upon the promised holocaust. The 
 figure at the stake represented the human race, 
 the one in the background the resurrection of 
 reason that had lain five centuries dead, while the 
 hideous visages of ignorance and superstition were 
 appalled before the blinding rays of that calcium 
 light. 
 
 "This is to be sold to-morrow," muttered the 
 solitary woman standing before Renaissance. It 
 was to her excited imagination, sacrilegious. She 
 incorporated that work of excellence a part of 
 Edward Reynolds. He, in a way, had created, 
 fashioned it, and it was to be vulgarly offered at 
 public auction to the highest bidder. A strange 
 light gleamed in the depths of those blue eyes. 
 Alice Eldridge had formed a purpose. That 
 painting should be hers, whoever entered the list 
 of bidders. 
 
 263
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Oh, that someone, among the hundreds that 
 will be present beside myself, shall bid ! bid ! bid !" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 Mrs. Wilstach and the Countess at last found 
 Alice. There was a suspicion of moisture upon 
 those large, dark eyelashes. 
 
 "We have been playing the game of hide and 
 seek. Answer, did we lose you, or, did you lose 
 us?" demanded the Countess. 
 
 "I returned a moment," replied Alice, "the 
 painting haunted me. I shall bid to-morrow for 
 Renaissance." 
 
 " *A moment !' " repeated Mrs. Wilstach, "why, 
 we have been searching for you the past hour; 
 and I warrant you have been crouching like a fair 
 devotee doing penance before the monstrosities of 
 the Sixteenth Century priestcraft, as conjured in 
 the creative brain of Painter Lieb." 
 
 Alice and the Countess accompanied Mrs. Wil- 
 stach to the latter's apartments upon leaving the 
 gallery. 
 
 The Duke of Berwick had seen the announce- 
 ment of Mrs. Eldridge's arrival in the society 
 columns of the London press, and had already con- 
 ventionally called to pay his respects to Alice, 
 meeting for the first time her friends. 
 
 "I hear favorable reports of the duke since com- 
 ing into possession of the Berwick estates," de- 
 clared Mrs. Wilstach. "He has dropped his former 
 264
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 associates. Sycophants are not easily shaken. To 
 illustrate, one of the number called, as soon as he 
 had ascertained the location of the duke after his 
 return to London, to pay addresses to the new 
 titles and to congratulate his former companion. 
 The adventurer was given such a reception that 
 the others, awaiting results outside, have not fully 
 recovered from surprise, nor have they had the 
 temerity to invite a similar experience. The 
 story of the interview is reported as follows: 
 
 " 'Why, how do you do, Duke of Berwick?' ex- 
 claimed the caller, gushingly. 'I have been dying 
 to see you. Your new honors fit you charmingly,' 
 extending a welcoming hand. The duke pretend- 
 ed not to see the proffered fingers. 
 
 " 'You appear in tolerably good health,' said 
 the duke; 'I hope appearances are not deceitful.' 
 The visitor was unabashed. His type of men are 
 not easily crushed. 'I believe I have had the 
 pleasure of meeting you before,' continued the 
 duke decisively. "And it strikes me that I once 
 requested the loan of a trifling sum before my de- 
 parture. If you will be so kind as to advise me 
 of the extent of my obligations, I shall reimburse 
 you promptly,' extracting from his pocket a well- 
 filled wallet. 
 
 " 'Oh, no,' corrected the visitor uneasily, 'I am 
 on no such miserable errand. I in fact, some of 
 
 the boys are giving a banquet at Club. 
 
 265
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 We felt, don't you know, that it would be more 
 natural-like to recognize your familiar face at the 
 boards. We have reserved your old seat for your 
 pleasure. Besides, as you remember, I did not 
 happen to have my purse with me at the time you 
 mentioned the subject of a loan.' 
 
 " 'Well, I regret to disappoint you in club 
 circles, but my engagements demand much of 
 my time.' Whereupon, going to a cabinet, he se- 
 cured a late photograph of himself, which he 
 brought and placed in the hands of his visitor. 
 
 " 'I am more than delighted !' exclaimed that 
 gentleman, well pleased with the token of esteem. 
 
 " 'Hereafter,' remarked the duke deliberately, 
 'when you have those sinking spells to see me you 
 may gaze upon that,' indicating the profile, 'and 
 economize cab hire. I trust we have no further 
 use for each other.' And calling a servant, he di- 
 rected that his visitor be conducted to the door." 
 
 Alice was glad to learn of the alterations in the 
 manner of the duke's life. 
 
 "Perhaps his visit to America improved his 
 habits," suggested the countess, glancing at Alice 
 inquisitively. 
 
 "More likely it was the company he kept," re- 
 torted that lady. 
 
 "Probably," smiled Mrs. Wilstach; "it occurs 
 to me that it was intimated he was quite devoted." 
 
 "Oh, yes, and a voyage, too!" chimed in the 
 266
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 countess. "I shall yet have my friend for a 
 neighbor." 
 
 "Well, give him a sufficient period of proba- 
 tion," protested Alice. 
 
 "Capital idea," remarked the countess ; "we will 
 leave fate and the future to solve the problem." 
 
 "Suppose both are anticipated?" queried Alice. 
 
 "How so?" inquired the countess. 
 
 "Explain," demanded Mrs. Wilstach. 
 
 Whereupon, under a solemn promise of secrecy, 
 Alice related the proposal and its somewhat equiv- 
 ocal motives, concluding with the subsequent re- 
 deeming feature of the duke's conduct in making 
 a second declaration after a knowledge of his good 
 fortune. There is no better proof that women 
 can keep secrets than that they are confided in by 
 others of the sex. 
 
 "It was honorable of him," said the countess. 
 
 "Unimpeachable," declared Mrs. Wilstach. 
 
 "Really, all that could be asked, and more than 
 might be expected," criticised the countess, shak- 
 ing her finger deprecatingly at her friend. 
 
 "After a voyage across the water in Mrs. El- 
 dridge's company, who, in his right mind, would 
 twice make a declaration to my prochein-ami?" 
 devouring Alice with a look of affection. 
 
 "What is his limit?" suavely asked Mrs. Wil- 
 stach. 
 
 "Never you mind," declared Alice, "if each 
 267
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 offer is actuated by better motives than its prede- 
 cessor, he can make as many as he chooses ; I shall 
 entertain them kindly." 
 
 The afternoon of the following day the works 
 of the struggling and indigent artists were to be 
 offered to the highest bidders. This course had 
 been found of advantage upon several similar 
 annual occasions, as vast assemblages were attract- 
 ed, either by curiosity or with intentions to make 
 purchases. Many paintings were purchased by 
 philanthropic persons at fancy prices in order to 
 encourage and relieve the pressing wants of tyros. 
 
 In many instances bids had been marked upon 
 the paintings by individuals who had seen them, 
 but who were not to be present at the sales. These 
 figures, as a rule, were far greater than the intrin- 
 sic value of the pieces, being offered because of 
 personal interest in the artists. Nearly all the 
 paintings, and there were hundreds of them, were 
 the works of comparative beginners, who had 
 either formed influential acquaintances among pa- 
 trons of art or had ingratiated themselves with 
 families of wealth. 
 
 It was amusing to hear the comments as the hun- 
 dreds of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen passed 
 in review before the paintings. 
 
 "I wonder what that fellow sees here," indicat- 
 ing a daub of a landscape, "that warrants the ex- 
 travagant figure of fifty pounds?" 
 268
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Fifty pounds is the equivalent of two hundred 
 and fifty dollars, is it not?" inquired an American 
 of the speaker. 
 
 "Nearly so," was the reply. 
 
 "Well, then," replied the practical Yankee, "on 
 our side of the pond a commission of lunacy would 
 be awarded at the instigation of the relatives of 
 the fellow that offered two hundred and fifty dol- 
 lars for such painting." 
 
 "Here is a case of 'Fool and his money soon 
 part company,' pure and simple," said an- 
 other, pointing at a worse bargain than the 
 former. 
 
 One of these merry spectators stumbled over an 
 object and turned angrily, "A d n Jew! What 
 are you doing here?" he demanded of the Israel- 
 ite, "tripping up your betters? Every infernal 
 Jew should be colonized. The whole race is a 
 stench in the nose of decent people." 
 
 The Jew made no reply, but from those baleful 
 eyes a look full of hatred and malice shot forth at 
 his tormentor. If a glance could kill, someone 
 has said, the Jews would be great assassins. 
 
 "Hush," said the companion of the speaker, 
 giving his comrade's arm a pinch ; "let up on your 
 diatribe. That is Ikestine immensely rich. 
 There is a saying that he has a mortgage on every 
 principality in England." 
 
 "Satan has a greater one on him," declared the 
 269
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 man who had nearly fallen over the feet of the 
 Hebrew. 
 
 Further altercation between the tongue of one 
 man and the eyes of another was interrupted by 
 the announcement of the auctioneer that the sales 
 were about to commence. Before offering any 
 pictures, however, he briefly outlined the object 
 and purpose of the annual gatherings. The auc- 
 tioneer highly eulogized the collection and confi- 
 dently hoped the talented artists would be repaid 
 for their skill and labor in a manner commensurate 
 with their many merits and deserts. 
 
 As the sales proceeded the bidding was oft- 
 times spirited as the several bidders took a fancy 
 for the same painting. Great lords and ladies 
 were discernible among the miscellaneous crowd. 
 And these same ladies and lords were indirect 
 means of hundreds of people being present who 
 otherwise would have wished the struggling and 
 indigent artists in perdition. 
 
 In many cases the artists themselves were pres- 
 ent. Seats had been provided in the more cen- 
 tral part of the gallery, and resting in one of 
 the chairs was a fair-haired man of equivocal age. 
 He might have been nineteen or thirty years of 
 age, as far as anything in his appearance indi- 
 cated. His face showed the marks of hard study 
 and close confinement. He was lounging in a 
 half-reclining attitude, evidently in deep abstrac- 
 270
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 tion. Twice only his reverie was broken; once 
 upon hearing the Jew speak to someone in charge, 
 whereupon that functionary marked "TWENTY 
 POUNDS OFFERED," in chalk on the corner of a 
 painting. It was "Renaissance." Thereupon the 
 Israelite turned and smiled seductively upon the 
 man of equivocal age. 
 
 "I thought it would bring forty pounds," mused 
 the dreamer, "by the way the others are selling." 
 
 The Jew shook his head and the artist relapsed 
 again into abstraction. And again ke was 
 aroused from that reverie. A well-dressed woman 
 was standing before the painting that had taken 
 months of labor to produce. Her lithe, supple 
 figure was motionless. Her graceful, sinuous 
 form appealed to his artist sight and imagination. 
 Her deep interest in "Renaissance," as evidenced 
 by the prolonged observation, was the first femi- 
 nine compliment that the work of Michael Lieb 
 had ever received. In a few moments more the 
 auctioneer would reach the place where she was 
 standing. As the intervening pictures were rap- 
 idly offered and sold, the heart of the artist beat 
 so loudly he imagined it to be audible to the thou- 
 sands of people gathered in the vast hall. He 
 half-imagined the woman a fixture some creation 
 in Wax that had been silently placed in position 
 before "Renaissance," when she was joined by two 
 other women. Whereupon she turned a face, the 
 271
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 most beautiful, spirituelle, that his eyes had ever 
 beheld. 
 
 "How much am I offered for this? Here is a 
 work of real art" the Jew frowned "the artist 
 has christened it 'Renaissance.' " The good- 
 natured crowd jostled each other to get nearer. 
 
 "Here, who is the artist? What is that name 
 in the corner?" asked one. 
 
 "Lieb," said the auctioneer. 
 
 "Ah, yes; thank you." 
 
 "Lieb Lieb!" exclaimed a half-dozen in 
 chorus. 
 
 "Who ever heard of an artist by the name of 
 Lieb?" A burst of laughter greeted this merry 
 speech. 
 
 The man in the chair shuddered. It was the 
 
 torture of vivisection to his sensitive soul. 
 
 "There is some merit in the painting; it is not 
 altogether amateurish," volunteered one, noticing 
 for the first time the offer of twenty pounds in the 
 corner. 
 
 "Great imagination." 
 
 "Fairly executed." 
 
 "It's all right." 
 
 "Deucedly clever." 
 
 The woman who had been standing before the 
 painting retreated a few paces and leaned against 
 a column. The man in the chair was in a state of 
 semi-consciousness; the coarse comment, coming
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 with the rapidity of the report of firearms, had 
 'dazed, bewildered him. 
 
 "Twenty pounds is offered," cried the auc- 
 tioneer. 
 
 "Twenty-five," bid the Duke of Berwick, gran- 
 diloquently. 
 
 "Six und dwenty," piped the Jew. 
 
 Someone in the assemblage bid thirty pounds. 
 
 "Thirty-one." 
 
 "Thirty-two." 
 
 "Three." 
 
 "Four." 
 
 "Five." The bids were rapid, and were made 
 by persons standing promiscuously among the 
 crowd. 
 
 "Who said it was a daub?" laughed a by- 
 stander. 
 
 "Where is the fellow that offered twenty pounds 
 in chalk?" 
 
 "Left," some wit replied. 
 
 "One and thirty-five," in the Hebrew lan- 
 guage. 
 
 "Here we go again," shouted the auctioneer. 
 
 "Seven." 
 
 "Eight." 
 
 "Nine." 
 
 "Fifty pounds," said the Duke of Berwick. 
 The artist began to indulge in visions of a tailor- 
 made suit. 
 
 273
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Five thousand pounds." It was a man's voice, 
 well on the outskirts of that vast concourse. 
 
 That voice galvanized the man in the chair. 
 The previous noise subsided. Even the craning 
 of necks to catch a glimpse of the bidder caused 
 no sound. 
 
 "Ten thousand." The bid proceeded from the 
 great column supporting the dome of the amphi- 
 theater. The silence became more intense; the 
 dropping of a pin would have sounded like a Vul- 
 can stroke. 
 
 "Eleven thousand," said the man on the mar- 
 gin of the crowd. 
 
 The artist in the chair became livid, rose, reeled 
 to the side of the male bidder. 
 
 "Don't!" 
 
 "Stand aside," said the person addressed, impe- 
 riously. 
 
 "Twelve thousand," quietly from the vicinity 
 of the column. 
 
 The command was unnecessary; the artist fell 
 at full length upon the floor. 
 
 "Thirteen " The bidder stopped suddenly, 
 
 bent over the prostrate man and unbuttoned his 
 collar. 
 
 "Stand back, please; the painter has fainted 
 stand back." 
 
 "Won und thirteen thousand! Fader of Abra- 
 ham! Won und thirteen thousand pounds." 
 274
 
 The Woman Fanned the Face of the Artist
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 A woman had spread her handkerchief under 
 the head of the man lying on the floor. 
 
 "Thirteen thousand and one, once," cried the 
 auctioneer. 
 
 The eyes of the Jew began to emit flashes of 
 light like a scintillating coal. 
 
 "Thirteen thousand and one, twice," shouted the 
 seller. 
 
 Once or twice the hands of the man and woman 
 touched in attentions to the artist. 
 
 "Thirteen thousand and one, the third and last 
 time." 
 
 The woman knelt and fanned the face of the 
 insensible man. 
 
 "Fair warning," cried the auctioneer. 
 
 "Take my flask," said Lord Howe, who had 
 finally succeeded in reaching his friends. 
 
 The woman raised the head of the painter, while 
 the man forced a swallow of spirits between the 
 set teeth. 
 
 "And sold," cried the auctioneer. 
 
 The Jew rubbed his hands, after the fashion of 
 his race when satisfied of a bargain. 
 
 The heads of the man and woman were so close 
 some golden filament brushed against the former's 
 cheek. 
 
 The artist opened his eyes. 
 
 "Have I been dreaming? What does it all 
 mean?" said Lieb in a dazed way. 
 275
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "It means," said Edward Reynolds, raising the 
 artist to his feet, "it means that you are one of 
 the foremost living painters of the world." 
 
 Reynolds turned to thank the woman staring 
 at him with great wide-open eyes. Her face and 
 throat were crimson; the man's turned livid, then 
 gray as the face of a corpse. He tried to speak 
 God help him! but could not. The man, who 
 had charmed vast audiences, whose eloquence 
 had electrified the scholars of England, whose 
 philanthropy had touched the very centers, 
 fumbled at speech staggered to a chair and sank 
 upon it. Alice Eldridge took a step forward 
 someone glided past her. 
 
 "Oh, are you ill, Mr. Reynolds?" It was a 
 girlish voice, the face infinitely sweet and beauti- 
 ful. Lena Rivers stood looking into the white 
 face of the friend of all humanity. 
 
 "Are you satisfied?" hissed a voice in Alice's 
 ear, while the fire flashing in the eyes of the basil- 
 isk is not more venomous than that burning in 
 those of Lord Howe as she encountered his gaze. 
 Alice made no response. She looked at his dis- 
 torted face, then her glance went to the chair, her 
 eyes once more became riveted upon the bloodless 
 countenance of Edward Reynolds, when they 
 sought the face of the girl. It was a picture that 
 was photographed upon her brain. Silently she 
 took her place by the side of the column, anc^ 
 276
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 speaking to the auctioneer, her white lips faltered, 
 
 "Proceed with the sale of 'Renaissance'." 
 "Why, madam, 'Renaissance' is sold." 
 "Sold!" she exclaimed. Then a white wraith 
 
 glided from Exhibition Hall. 
 
 After seven years Edward Reynolds and Alice 
 
 Eldridge had met, had gazed into each other's 
 
 eyes, had parted without speaking. 
 
 277
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 "My carriage is at the door," said Lord Howe 
 to Edward Reynolds. "If you and Mr. Lieb will 
 accompany Miss Rivers and myself, we will drive 
 on the boulevard. Afterwards I will drop you at 
 your apartments." 
 
 "It is close here," replied Reynolds; "a little 
 fresh oxygen will be as good as a tonic. What 
 say you, Lieb?" the speaker's eyes wandering to 
 the spot where a moment before Alice had been 
 standing- 
 
 "Well," said Lieb, "I have no desire to remain. 
 I am not used to being ogled." 
 
 A few moments later, as the party were driving 
 along at a lively gait, Lieb suddenly leaned for- 
 ward, his gaze fixed intently upon a couple of pe- 
 destrians; then he touched the arm of Reynolds. 
 "Look, quick ! That is the woman that bid 12,000 
 pounds for 'Renaissance,' " exclaimed the artist. 
 
 "She?" cried Miss Rivers. "Why, then, she is 
 your competitor, Mr. Reynolds," turning to that 
 gentleman. 
 
 Lord Howe raised his hat. 
 
 "You know her?" asked Lieb. 
 
 st Yes," said the nobleman, angered at the un- 
 I 278
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 1 usual pallor of his friend's face ; "she is the widow 
 of an American lumberman." 
 
 "She is the only child of Banker Richards, of 
 Philadelphia, a multi-millionaire," corrected Ed- 
 ward Reynolds, hurt at the sneering tone of the 
 nobleman. 
 
 "You! acquainted with her, also?" inquired Miss 
 Rivers, looking steadily at the man by her side. 
 
 "Who is the gentleman?" asked the artist. 
 
 "The Duke of Berwick," answered the noble- 
 man. "English hawks are fond of American 
 sparrows," he continued cynically. 
 
 It is needless to state that the hour passed on 
 the boulevard was a quiet one, so far as conversa- 
 tion was concerned. Each passenger in the car- 
 riage was intent upon thoughts of his own. 
 
 "I believe," said Reynolds finally to the noble- 
 man, "I will be driven to my rooms. I have much 
 to do yet to-day." 
 
 "Why don't you take more rest?" asked Miss 
 Rivers. "You positively look ill and worn out." 
 
 "I shall," replied Reynolds, alighting from the 
 vehicle. 
 
 "I wish I looked haggard and miserable," 
 thought the artist, "if it would elicit such anxious 
 expressions from the young lady." The two gen- 
 tlemen touched their hats and the carriage passed 
 on its return to the gallery, Reynolds and the 
 artist soon finding themselves alone in the library. 
 279
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Mr. Reynolds," said Lieb, "I expect to wake 
 and find I have been dreaming." 
 
 "Ah, well, my bo}', it will be a pleasant awak- 
 ening. You had no' idea of your genius. No 
 wonder the extent of your discovery deprived you 
 momentarily of your senses." 
 
 "Ihis day has been one of revelation. Why," 
 he exclaimed, brightening up, "it is the anniver- 
 sary of our meeting four years ago." 
 
 "And the day of our parting," said Reynolds 
 sadly. 
 
 "What do you mean?" cried the artist, looking 
 keenly at the speaker. 
 
 "Ah, Lieb," said Reynolds, "how little you 
 know the world! With the change in your for- 
 tunes, don't you realize that London will be fawn- 
 ing at your feet? Yesterday you were obscure, 
 to-morrow you will be a celebrity. In less than an 
 hour a dozen reporters will have located you, and 
 you will be quizzed about every incident of your 
 life. To-morrow the press will picture you most 
 flatteringly. You will be called upon and feted. 
 You have won an entree into the homes of the 
 most exclusive families of London." The young 
 artist was watching the speaker without elation 
 at the inviting prospects. 
 
 "Do you mean to say, Mr. Reynolds, that if all 
 is true you have said, if fortune is within my 
 grasp, if the gates to fame are thrown wide open, 
 280
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 if society should dazzle; more, if the rarest and 
 best gifts of life, those that are prized most, 
 should come to me, do you mean to say that I am 
 to forget the friend whose steadfastness, whose 
 encouragement, whose strong arm has supported 
 me? If it is because of this you say that to-day 
 is the day of our parting, as true as there is a 
 God in heaven, you make me regret that my efforts 
 have been crowned with success." The young 
 man's eyes were moist. 
 
 "No, not that, Lieb; you mistake my meaning. 
 One who knows you as intimately as I do never 
 could question the loyalty of your friendship. 
 But a new life has opened before you. Your re- 
 sponsibilities are increased. It would be selfish- 
 ness on my part, imbecility on yours, to decline 
 the welcoming hands extended to you. I have 
 trained you for the race. I have walked by your 
 side to the starting point. I have held the signal 
 of the start. I have whispered words of cheer, 
 but the handkerchief has dropped, the race is on, 
 the trial at hand. Do not think that I shall not 
 see you as you struggle on, that I shall not mix 
 in the crowd at the finish and greet your victory 
 with a heart overflowing at your triumph." 
 
 "You make me feel," said Lieb, "that my gains 
 are as nothing compared with my loss." 
 
 "Lieb," said Reynolds, "we each Tiave our work 
 to do. We must face those duties fearlessly. 
 281
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Someone has said, 'To live content with small 
 means, to seek elegance rather than luxury, and 
 refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not 
 respectable, and wealthy not rich; to study hard, 
 think quietly, talk gently, act frankly; to listen 
 to stars and birds, to babes and sages with an open 
 heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, avail 
 occasions, hurry never. In a word, to let the 
 spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up 
 through the common.' This is the manual I place 
 in your hands. No safer guide ever directed the 
 course of human conduct. Man is controlled by 
 circumstances. He is plastic as wax under the 
 manipulation of fate. A few years ago I sought 
 occupation for distraction. I believed I could re- 
 main at the front as long as it served the purpose 
 and then quietly abandon the self-imposed labors. 
 Therein I erred. The happiness and usefulness 
 of thousands of lives depend upon me at this mo- 
 ment; one departs, two arrive. Instead of being 
 young shoots engrafted to my life, I am the soil 
 in which the roots have taken start. The small 
 people under my charge are in a chrysalis state, 
 and I must stay, however severe the strain, until 
 they are grown sufficiently strong to stand alone. 
 My mode of life has become a fixed part of me, 
 more than habit; yet, to say nothing has been 
 yielded in return, to say that I am not rewarded 
 would be untrue. There is nothing in the wide 
 282
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 1 world that I can do, giving such rich returns, as 
 that which I am doing. In future the burdens 
 must be heavier. Every moment of every day 
 of the weeks, months and years must find me occu- 
 pied or my thoughts will wander, and wandering 
 thoughts are hell. Oh! Lieb, for the forlorn, 
 damned, wretched souls for which idleness, aye, 
 be the door ever so little ajar, admit a pack a 
 horde of demons that rend and tear the vitals, 
 work is the panacea. Work, in fields the most re- 
 mote from those other fields, where the feet strayed 
 and dallied in the blissful ignorance of happi- 
 ness." The speaker had risen and was walking, 
 talking as much to himself as to his companion. 
 
 Lieb regarded Reynolds in amazement. He 
 had never beheld the American while similar emo- 
 tions were surging in the latter's breast. He was 
 in awe, and awe inspiring pity more than fear, of 
 the man who had befriended him, and who, like 
 the mother bird, now that his feet were steady and 
 the wings strong and firm to bear his weight, was 
 turning him adrift to face the battles of life 
 alone. In his love for his benefactor he was jeal- 
 ous of each little ragamuffin entitled to a place in 
 the man's affections and benevolence. There were 
 repeated pulls at the door-bell. 
 
 "They are come," said Reynolds. 
 
 "Who?" inquired Lieb. 
 
 "The reporters and representatives of the press. 
 283
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 They are anxious to begin the work where mine 
 ends." The voice was unnatural. "See, they are 
 impatient! Hear them ring. Ah, that was a 
 pull! It is a summons, my boy, to fame. Thank 
 God, you can answer it." Lieb moved in the di- 
 rection of the door. "Wait, Lieb; don't bring 
 them in here. Take them to an inn. Another 
 time you should be welcome; but I shall be busy 
 packing the balance of the afternoon and evening, 
 and wish to be as much by myself as possible." 
 
 "Some gentlemen at the door want to know if 
 Mr. Lieb is present," said the bell boy, projecting 
 his head into the room. 
 
 "Tell them that he is," said Lieb, "and will see 
 them directly.'* After the boy had disappeared, 
 the artist turned to Reynolds and inquired, "You 
 say you are to be busy packing?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Going away?" 
 
 "A few weeks. I haven't had a vacation in 
 four years. Am I not fairly entitled to one?" 
 
 "I believe so," said Lieb. "I wish I were going 
 with you." 
 
 "Oh, no. You must not run away. Wait and 
 meet your new acquaintances. But, by the way, 
 Lieb, if you hear any one inquiring for me say 
 that I have just dropped out of sight for a month 
 or two. I am tired to death and am going to vege- 
 tate somewhere." 
 
 284
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Shall I state where you have gone?" 
 
 "No. I don't know myself," said Reynolds. 
 "But I shall find a Mecca where woods, fields and 
 rivers are on the map." Here another reminder 
 at the door-bell suggested to the two men that the 
 hour of parting had arrived, and taking the art- 
 ist's hands in his firmly, Reynolds said, "Well, be 
 a good boy, Lieb, during my absence. Don't 
 let your newly found honors turn your head com- 
 pletely. Keep your heart in the right place." 
 
 "Have no fears," replied Lieb seriously. He 
 was loath to part with his benefactor. 
 
 "Well, good-bye," said Reynolds. 
 
 "Good-bye," said Lieb, with a lump in his 
 throat. "I hope you will find the rest you seek." 
 
 The next moment Lieb, surrounded by a half- 
 score of reporters, was walking in the direction of 
 a nearby hostelry, Reynolds following the party 
 with his eyes until the last one had passed from 
 view. 
 
 "A bright future awaits the dear boy," said the 
 watcher, closing the blinds. 
 
 The next morning a carriage drove up before 
 the apartments of Edward Reynolds, and Lord 
 Howe, accompanied by his colleague Rivers and 
 the latter's daughter, alighted. In another mo- 
 ment the door was opened by Lieb, who had ar- 
 rived earlier. 
 
 "I am afraid," said he, "that you are disap- 
 285
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 pointed. Reynolds lias flown, bag and baggage. 
 No one about the establishment seems to know 
 where he has gone." 
 
 Michael Lieb half fancied he detected a look of 
 dismay and pain in the face of Miss Rivers. 
 
 "I have coaxed papa to let me sit for a pic- 
 ture," she said absently, "and intended seeing you 
 during the day to arrange for the sittings. 'First 
 come, first served.' You will be overwhelmed 
 with engagements directly." 
 
 "Do you think so really and truly? You say 
 this to make me happy," said Lieb, studying her 
 face closely, his eyes revealing pleasure at the ref- 
 erence to future professional success. 
 
 "Well, sir, if you doubt what I say," grievous- 
 ly, "you just remember that no less a personage 
 than Miss Lena Rivers is the first to tell you that 
 your talents will be in present demand; and also, 
 sir, bear in mind, please," she continued solemnly, 
 pointing her finger sibyllinely at him, "that in 
 consideration of this meritorious service all rights 
 are reserved to the very first sitting." 
 
 "I am not apt to forget," said Lieb, bestowing 
 an unconscious glance so full oF admiration upon 
 his first fair patroness that the profusion of blood 
 in the lady's cheeks warned him of his indiscre- 
 tion. 
 
 "When am I to come?" she inquired. 
 
 "I intended taking a month to get my bear- 
 286
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ings," replied Lieb. "All one's calculations are 
 spoiled by success. I was quite happy and con- 
 tent in Ikestine's attic. But the material altera- 
 tions in my circumstances and prospective appli- 
 cations from the beau monde necessitate the 
 selection of a different studio." 
 
 "Oh, no; let me come where 'Renaissance' was 
 painted. I shall like to be painted there. Hon- 
 est and true," she continued, upon beholding the 
 consternation in the artist's face, "I shall en- 
 joy it." 
 
 "You would not say so if you were aware how 
 cramped and destitute the atelier is. Your enthu- 
 siasm would turn to dismay." 
 
 "All the merrier!" cried Lena. "Your words 
 are added incense." 
 
 "Well, as you like, if you don't mind desolation 
 and rats." 
 
 "Oh !" shuddered Lena, her ecstasy of imagina- 
 tion making hasty descent to those realms of fem- 
 inine aversion for rodents. A woman will face an 
 uncaged lion with more courageous heroism of 
 mind than she displays upon the unexpected ap- 
 proach of a little inoffensive and sinister-eyed 
 mouse with a body no bigger than could be com- 
 fortably accommodated in her thimble. 
 
 "I thought rats lived in cellars," said Lena, 
 "and dark tunnels, and " 
 
 "Rats," corrected Lieb, "live everywhere. They 
 287
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 are ubiquitous. In China they are esteemed a 
 great delicacy. Rats are a study. They are 
 profound philosophers. Did you ever notice the 
 similarity between the eye of a rat and the eye of 
 a Jew?" 
 
 "The eyes of a rat and the eyes of a Jew," 
 laughed Lena, "what a comparison ! Who ever 
 heard the like before?" 
 
 "Well, Miss Rivers, if you had seen Ikestine 
 offering twenty pounds for the picture, looking 
 longingly at 'Renaissance' and lovingly at me, on 
 the one hand, and the rat waching me at the fru- 
 gal meal and waiting for the stray crumbs, on the 
 other, you would admit the likeness." 
 
 The old nobleman failing to learn any tidings 
 of Edward Reynolds, after making diligent in- 
 quiries of the aged housekeeper and the several 
 professors, returned with his colleague and joined 
 the young people. 
 
 "Hear anything?" asked Lieb of his lord- 
 ship. 
 
 "Not a word. All they can tell me is that 
 Hardsides has consented to preach during the ab- 
 sence of Reynolds." 
 
 "Papa," said Lena, "Mr. Lieb has promised 
 to paint my portrait." 
 
 "Let him paint the moles and warts and crow's- 
 feet," replied her parent. 
 
 "He'll not flatter her," said Lord Howe. 
 288
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "I could not if I would," whispered Lieb in- 
 audibly. 
 
 "If there are crow's feet," declared Lena, "it is 
 because you have been so cross and cruel to me." 
 
 "Children are never spoiled by crossings," in- 
 sisted Rivers. 
 
 "When will you be ready to commence?" asked 
 Lena of the artist. "You can charge papa any 
 price you want." 
 
 "When will you be ready to come?" answering 
 her question by asking one. 
 
 "Any time, if it is to-morrow," she replied. 
 
 Hereupon Lieb stated that as soon as he could 
 get established in suitable quarters he would no- 
 tify her, renewing any previous promise that hers 
 should be the first portrait painting he would un- 
 dertake when permanently located, whereupon the 
 two old gentlemen and Miss Rivers took their de- 
 parture. 
 
 "What a beautiful girl she is," mused Lieb to 
 himself, as he watched the party driving away. 
 "I shall advertise for a studio this afternoon." 
 
 289
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 "Mrs. Eldridge," said the Duke of Berwick, 
 overtaking Alice as she was leaving the gallery, 
 "I cannot see you venturing alone upon the streets 
 without offering to accompany you. Will you 
 permit me to walk with you?" 
 
 "Indeed I am grateful," replied Alice. 
 
 They proceeded in silence. Alice was preoccu- 
 pied, so was the duke. He had seen and under- 
 stood. How those two beings had met, when and 
 where, he knew not. But he felt as certain as that 
 he was walking by the side of the woman that 
 there was a past between them; that that past 
 brought them face to face in the present; while 
 the past, present and future were shrouded in mys- 
 tery. It was all confused and nebulous. Her 
 face was pale with mental suffering. His heart 
 was filled with a great pity. He longed to take 
 her in his arms and comfort her. The Duke of 
 Berwick loved and reverenced Alice Eldridge. 
 A carriage drawn by a spirited span of blacks 
 dashed by. Armorial bearings flashed in the sun- 
 light on the gilded woodwork. It was Lord Howe 
 and his party leaving the auction sale. By chance 
 the two pedestrians encountered the gaze of the 
 290
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 occupants of the vehicle. The Duke of Berwick 
 felt the woman give an involuntary shudder. She 
 seemed to drag her feet over the pavement, totter- 
 ing like a person intoxicated. 
 
 "Are you ill?" he inquired. 
 
 "No," she replied ; but her face was colorless. 
 
 "Mrs. Eldridge," he said, summoning a cab, "it 
 is some distance yet. I believe it will be pleas- 
 anter riding." She suffered him to assist her to 
 mount the step. The duke gave directions to the 
 driver and sprang in after her, closing the door. 
 Alice was shivering as with a chill. The duke 
 spread a robe over her lap and sat down in the 
 opposite corner of the seat. He did not speak to 
 her. Alice was grateful for the consideration. 
 Finally the cab stopped at its destination. The 
 Duke of Berwick helped the Iady)lto4alight, opened 
 the wicker gate for her to pass, lifting his hat as 
 she did so. Alice had taken several steps when, 
 with a sudden impulse, she paused. The 
 duke was standing in the same position at the 
 gate as when she entered it. She came back to 
 him. 
 
 "Duke of Berwick," she said, "you have been 
 good to me. I thank you very, very much. I 
 should invite you in, but I am not well." 
 
 The duke bowed without speaking, turned sud- 
 denly and walked away. 
 
 "I wish the Duke of Berwick were my brother," 
 291
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 said Alice to herself as she entered the house, while 
 the duke muttered as he retraced his steps, "I 
 
 wonder what power that man has over her, if 
 
 he stopped, "if " and the thought in his mind, 
 
 whatever it was, was checked again. "Fudge! I 
 would kill him with as little compunction as I 
 would take the life of a rat." 
 
 Alice Eldridge, it is true, was the first to tell 
 the Duke of Berwick his faults, stripped of all 
 artificial embellishment; yet it was also true she 
 was the first woman whom he had ever met that 
 treated him as a man, as an equal. She had dis- 
 covered to him a knowledge of himself. 
 
 Many natures require rough usage to bring the 
 nobler parts to the surface. Diamonds are mined 
 with picks and shovels. 
 
 Upon entering the house, Alice sat down upon a 
 settee listlessly, without removing her wraps. She 
 was dazed and bewildered and cold. She held 
 out her arms toward the fireless grate, rubbing her 
 hands. There was not a piece of furniture in 
 the room she recognized. She arose and began 
 to pace the floor aimlessly. 
 
 "Lord Howe warned me if I valued my peace of 
 mind never to look upon the face of Edward 
 Reynolds again. It was base deception! Ed- 
 ward loves me!" she exclaimed passionately, the 
 rich blood coursing through her veins like ichor. 
 "He loves me I know it I feel it. Those eyes 
 292
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 looked it; those mute lips proclaimed it; and I 
 Oh, God, I love him! After all these years I 
 confess it. I love him love him a million, bil- 
 lion times better than in those olden days. Then 
 human beings and gods were all alike. I have 
 learned wisdom with years. I should have gone 
 to him, but ah, who is that woman? She loves 
 him also. It was revealed in her face as she dart- 
 ed past me such impudence! to his side. She 
 is trying to snatch him from me now that I have 
 found him. What right has she to hasten to his 
 side to inquire his health? I loved him first. 
 Shall she have precedence over me? She was sit- 
 ting by his side in the carriage, too. Mine is the 
 prior claim. Why, if he is ill, I will nurse him, 
 not she ; if he is well, I will love him so much that 
 he shall be ill, in order that I may make him well 
 again. Good God, how my heart is beating! 
 Stop this clamor," she exclaimed, clasping her 
 hands over her bosom, "while I think. No, no, I 
 must not think. Thought shrivels up my brain, 
 while something rises in my throat and chokes me. 
 Mad men think even in their sleep, 'tis said, and 
 
 chatter, chatter, chat " 
 
 Alice Eldridge was standing in front of a large 
 mirror. With the first glance at the picture re- 
 flected back, she ceased speaking. Once a painter 
 went mad. His friends did everything to remove 
 the blight from the unfortunate man's mind, but 
 293
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 to no purpose. One day the artist escaped his 
 guard and took shelter in an adjacent wood, where 
 suffering with thirst, he knelt by a pool to drink, 
 and his reason was restored upon seeing his image 
 reflected. Alice Eldridge no sooner recognized 
 the face in the mirror than she was Alice Eldridge 
 again. No one knew better than she the utter 
 hopelessness of her love. She knew that Edward 
 Reynolds was a proud man; that his pride would 
 never consent that he should ask any woman 
 to be his wife that had once broken an engage- 
 ment with him to marry another. She knew all 
 too well that if she could go to him, and if she 
 could lay her heart bare at his feet, he would draw 
 the robes of offended pride about him and say to 
 her, "You told me once that your happiness de- 
 manded this sacrifice of me. I have made it. I 
 have suffered. I love you as I did then, but I 
 will never take to my breast a woman and fancy 
 the arms of another around her." 
 
 The white face in the mirror fascinated the 
 gazer. It was the reflex of the immensity of the 
 devastation within. Never before had her life 
 been deluged by the same remorseless floods that 
 were sweeping over it. She had contented herself 
 with the sweet, intoxicating possibility of the dis- 
 tant but certain fruition of her secret love. She 
 had taken it for granted that her affections were 
 placed at compound interest, and that, by and by, 
 294
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 she should enjoy the principal increased by usury; 
 but as she stared at the white face in the glass 
 Alice Eldridge saw the woman whose investment 
 of the affections had been swept away instead of 
 augmented, leaving a white, pitiful bankrupt. 
 Hers was the leprosy of the heart. But a little 
 while ago she had felt his breath upon her cheek; 
 the escaping tresses of her hair had touched his 
 face as he and she, unknown to each other, were 
 bending over the artist. Even at the remem- 
 brance her white face grew whiter. The sum of 
 her loss was total, crushing, absolute, irreparable. 
 Love! The divine mystery of the heart! Love! 
 before whose vestal robes peasant and prince, sub- 
 ject and sovereign, tremble and turn pale. Love! 
 of all the passions, hate, avarice, and ambition, 
 the most terrible omnipotent, supreme! the at- 
 tribute of God in the human breast. The man 
 or woman whose nature has not been subdued by 
 the noblest coronation of the heart lacks proof of 
 divine origin. Alice neither heard the countess 
 as the latter entered the room nor as she came 
 toward her. She was absorbed, intent upon 
 watching that other self in the glass. 
 
 "Alice, are you ill?" said Countess Ratcliff. 
 
 The great wide eyes traveled from the mirror 
 to the face of the speaker. 
 
 "What is the matter with you?" continued the 
 countess, throwing an arm around the waist of 
 295
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 her friend. She was frightened by the vacant 
 stare, by the colorless face. 
 
 "I don't know nothing," murmured Alice. 
 She was trembling in every limb. It was the 
 tremor of the soul at the last sad obsequies of the 
 heart. 
 
 296
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Some ten miles from the city of Sion, on the 
 banks of the Rhone, stands a solitary house, erect- 
 ed on a slight promontory that affords to the eye 
 in any direction a pleasing panorama. Broad 
 acres of arable land were in a state of excellent 
 cultivation, while herds of the best blooded cattle 
 grazed in the distance. The majestic sweep of 
 the river winding sinuously away resembles a mon- 
 strous serpent stretched in the valley below, while 
 still farther off the spires and steeples of the dis- 
 tant city look like the tombs of a place of sep- 
 ulture. The vegetation resembles a vast bank 
 of green, restful alike to both eye and mind, 
 while the eternal snow-clad peaks of the distant 
 glaciers reflect a million prismatic rays as the sun 
 of a perfect day shines upon them. 
 
 Switzerland, the Land of Contradictions ! The 
 warmth of the valleys, the frigid blasts of the 
 mountains, the majestic rivers, all in a sense con- 
 tiguous; the natural defense of France, Germany, 
 Austria, and Italy. It is not strange the spirit of 
 freedom displayed by its inhabitants should par- 
 take of the bold nature of the rugged environ- 
 ments. 
 
 297
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Edward Reynolds had found his Arcadia, the 
 place where he should rest the spot of all spots 
 where he should forget. To him it was the most 
 delightful retreat on earth. The salubrious at- 
 mosphere, the mild and equable temperature, the 
 wonderful development of vegetation, the excel- 
 lent condition of mountainous roads, the smaller 
 streams splashing into the Rhone in turbulent cas- 
 cades, the sky-tipped mountains, bordered half- 
 way up their perpendicular sides by virent fringe, 
 crowned with Alpine snow, suited and soothed the 
 fancy. In his imagination the warm breeze of 
 the valley, so pregnant with life, health and 
 enjoyment, was a foundling sheltered in the 
 immaculate arms of those eternal uplifting 
 peaks. 
 
 He was in search of just such a hiding-place, 
 and, dismounting his horse, approached the half- 
 hidden house to secure accommodations. The 
 people did not speak English, and, upon making 
 his wishes known to them by pantomime, were op- 
 posed to the idea of entertaining strangers, as evi- 
 dent from the earnest consultation engaged in 
 among themselves. There were vigorous shakes 
 of the head, which were only overcome by the per- 
 sistent wayfarer by inducements of a financial 
 character not to be despised by well-to-do farmers, 
 even in Switzerland. At the conclusion of negoti- 
 ations he was assigned a large, pleasant room 
 298
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 to be kept in order during such period as his lib- 
 eral payment continued. 
 
 Alone at last, without fear of discovery; hid- 
 den, as it were, from the great teeming, throb- 
 bing centers of population, he could finish his book 
 and forget, and the horrible pain in his head 
 
 should cease. 
 
 *#***-#*- 
 
 "Papa," cried Alice, as her father entered the 
 room, "mamma, Eleanore and myself have been 
 discussing ways and means for an overland trip 
 into Italy by the Great St. Bernard Pass." They 
 had been a week at Sion. 
 
 "The fact is, everything has been arranged sat- 
 isfactorily but obtaining Mr. Richards' consent," 
 declared Eleanore. "You, it seems, were smoking 
 at the time of the conference." 
 
 "Oh! What contented wretches! Verily, you 
 have designs upon our lives. We shall be jolted 
 to death," exclaimed the banker deprecatingly. 
 
 "The roads were never finer. We have made 
 inquiries. What a pity to pass such perfect 
 weather cooped up in detestable railway coaches," 
 said Alice. 
 
 "It might be pleasant driving by easy stages 
 over mountain roads," admitted Mrs. Richards. 
 
 "Now, candid, what is the opinion of Mr. Rich- 
 ards?" queried the countess, turning to that gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 299
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Outnumbered, as usual. I may as well sub- 
 mit patiently," said he, by no means averse to the 
 arrangement. 
 
 *'The trip will have the advantage of novelty," 
 interposed Alice. 
 
 "I say, grandpa, do be coaxed," essayed 
 Madge, joining her grandfather's adversaries, in 
 the meantime dove-tailing the fingers of his hands 
 together. 
 
 "Persuasion and subjugation are identical. Of 
 course I acquiesce." 
 
 "Papa, you are perfectly charming," cried 
 Alice. 
 
 "When yielding to your sway," assented the 
 banker. 
 
 "Well, I most always have my way, don't I, 
 dear papa? that is, when you are willing." 
 
 "Conceded," admitted the banker, "if you allow 
 by implication that I am always charming." 
 
 "I would be an undutiful child otherwise," 
 laughed Alice graciously. 
 
 "Insist upon a direct answer," suggested the 
 countess. 
 
 "I have burned my fingers too often in her red 
 hair," replied the banker sapiently, "not to have 
 learned discretion." 
 
 "Mamma, what was the color of papa's hair 
 originally? Since I have been old enough to be 
 interested in such matters I have never been able 
 300
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 'to tell, by the remainder, the shade of tne de- 
 parted." 
 
 A bare spot the size of a silver dollar on the 
 banker's crown was a subject upon which he was 
 known to be sensitive. 
 
 "Nearly the same as yours, irreverent child," 
 replied that lady. 
 
 "Much as I abominate baldness, I have never 
 used hair tonics to restore the growth," implying 
 that he was reconciled to the loss by the objection- 
 able color. 
 
 "When shall we start?" asked Mrs. Richards, 
 interrupting the tilt. 
 
 "Order up the carriage, papa," directed Alice 
 serenely. 
 
 "Everybody be in readiness in the morning," 
 said the banker. "I shall have to express the lug- 
 gage, except such as we need for our journey. 
 It is a fine pack of gypsies we'll be. Eleanore, 
 you must be the fortune-teller, and Alice collect 
 the bills. She is a capital hand in worming money 
 out of people." 
 
 Traveling by private conveyance in Switzerland 
 is a luxury. Travelers find no monotony of 
 scenery. Driving in any direction, one enjoys a 
 grand panorama from start to finish, especially in 
 the watersheds of the noble rivers, the Rhone, Po, 
 and Rhine. Tourists, artists, poets, and scholars 
 imbibe the beautiful and picturesque of Nature's 
 301
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 handicraft here as nowhere else. Switzerland is 
 the poet laureate of the universe. 
 
 As the tourists, upon the following day, were 
 being driven over the splendid roads, enjoying to 
 the full the glories of the ever-changing land- 
 scape, Alice remarked: "We are indebted to 
 Eleanore for this pleasure," joining the gaze of 
 the others upon the distant glaciers. 
 
 "To appreciate this sublime scenery, one needs 
 see it," said Mrs. Richards. 
 
 "Nature's kaleidoscope," asserted the banker. 
 
 "Does one tire of such picturesqueness, or is it 
 always vivid and fresh?" queried the countess. 
 
 "Mamma, why is there no floods from the melt- 
 ing ice and snow?" asked Madge, to whose young 
 mind those elevated peaks were a constant and 
 perpetual menace to the valleys below. 
 
 "The snow and ice, my child, at that height, 
 do not thaw." 
 
 "But it looks so warm and pleasant up there," 
 insisted the child. 
 
 "People that go up in balloons have their hands 
 and feet frozen," explained the banker. 
 
 "Is the sky so cold?" quizzed the girl incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 "Look at that cloud !" exclaimed Mrs. Richards. 
 But the eyes of all were resting upon the perpen- 
 dicular pyramids of feathery vapor, parallel col- 
 umns of undulating, downy whiteness, rising from 
 302
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 l 
 
 beyond the crest of mountains in the azure sky. 
 
 "We are to be waylaid by a storm," predicted 
 the banker. "Perhaps the curtains had better be 
 drawn." 
 
 "Not yet, papa," pleaded Alice, who was lost in 
 enraptured contemplation. 
 
 "In times of peace prepare for war," continued 
 her father. 
 
 "What rivalry between the snow-clad peaks and 
 the billowy banks of mist," remarked the countess. 
 
 "Not so," said Alice. "One is obedient to the 
 slightest variation of the wind," pointing out the 
 inaccuracy of the comparison. "I am partial to 
 the ponderous immobility of the perpetual snow 
 and ice." 
 
 "That young artist Lieb would make his for- 
 tune here," declared the banker. 
 
 "Where are the white wings now?" asked Mrs. 
 Richards. The banks of snowy clouds had been 
 succeeded by a sable slate-colored base. 
 
 "They have enveloped the glaciers also," re- 
 torted the countess. 
 
 "Not so," said Alice, "merely separated us from 
 the banks of snow. The sun still shines upon 
 those immutable, obdurate crests." 
 
 "Touch up the horses a bit," the driver was di- 
 rected by Mr. Richards, "and if you find a stop- 
 ping-place, we had better take refuge until the 
 storm passes." 
 
 303
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Near the point where the road breaks over the 
 hill," the driver informed his passengers, "there is 
 a place where we can stop." 
 
 "How far may it be?" inquired the banker. 
 
 "A mile or such matter," explained that func- 
 tionary. 
 
 The carriage rolled up to the door none too 
 soon. In response to an inquiry whether or no 
 the party could remain until after the storm had 
 spent its fury, the old lady to whom the question 
 had been put hastened away, to return a moment 
 later, accompanied by a middle-aged woman who 
 spoke English. 
 
 "What do you desire?" she asked kindly. 
 
 "To remain until after the storm passes, as well 
 as to have the horses and carriage taken under 
 cover." 
 
 The nature of the visit was communicated to 
 the proprietor, who at that moment arrived. The 
 rugged features of the old husbandman denoted 
 German origin. He looked at the threatening 
 sky, and nodded affirmatively, whereupon the in- 
 terpreter informed the tourists that they were 
 indebted to one Mr. Bonner, an extensive land- 
 owner, for hospitality. 
 
 "Mr. Bonner," the woman explained, "is a man 
 
 of influence in the Canton. Besides holding a 
 
 number of petty offices, he represents the Canton 
 
 in the legislative department of the Swiss govern- 
 
 304
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 'ment. My position," she added, "in the house- 
 hold is that of nurse to a sick gentleman." 
 
 The new guests were conducted into a commo- 
 dious reception-room, modern in its appointments, 
 where they were invited to make themselves as 
 comfortable as possible. Outside the storm still 
 raged, and the prospects of renewing the journey 
 that day greatly diminished. As the noon hour 
 approached, the tourists were asked to partake of 
 the mid-day meal. And such a dinner! It was a 
 typical farmer's repast. Fried chicken and duck, 
 scalloped eggs and innumerable vegetables, placed 
 upon the table in large platters, were all that an 
 epicure could desire, while the dessert of raspberry 
 pie, cake, coffee and cream caused the smallest 
 member of the refugees to look with complaisance 
 upon the storm that drove them to an establish- 
 ment so well provisioned. 
 
 "Let's hang up a week with the legislator," 
 said the banker. 
 
 "We shall seek in vain for a more ideal spot," 
 said Eleanore. 
 
 "This is paradisaical," declared Mrs. Richards, 
 with emphasis. 
 
 "I was on the verge of making the same propo- 
 sition," said Alice, "when papa anticipated me." 
 
 " 'Great minds run in the same channels,' ' 
 he laughed. 
 
 "But we have to reckon with the host," inti- 
 305
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 mated the practical Mrs. Richards, "and, if I mis- 
 take not, he is obstinate." 
 
 "I offer the following: Resolved, that the 
 Hon. Horatio S. Richards, of Philadelphia, of the 
 United States of America, be appointed Ambassa- 
 dor Plenipotentiary to negotiate with his royal 
 highness, Landowner Bonner, in arranging and 
 concluding terms and stipulations in securing ac- 
 commodations for a stay of one week at the latter's 
 mountain home in Switzerland. All in favor of 
 the motion make it manifest by the usual sign," 
 cried Alice. 
 
 "Aye, aye," ejaculated the ladies in chorus. 
 
 "Contrary, the same." 
 
 "There being no dissenting vote you are unan- 
 imously accredited with plenary powers of the 
 commission," said Alice, saluting her father re- 
 spectfully. 
 
 "Well, I didn't know that you were such an 
 accomplished parliamentarian," said the banker. 
 "But I now notify you," he continued, "that I will 
 arrange for the balance of the warm season, pro- 
 viding the provision holds out." 
 
 "Where is the woman that speaks English?" 
 inquired Mrs. Richards. We may as well learn 
 our fate first as last." 
 
 "Grandpa," exclaimed Madge, bursting into 
 the assembly, "come and see the chickens and gos- 
 lings and baby ducks." 
 
 306
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Here, stay in out of the wet. You are no 
 waterfowl. Do you want influenza?" 
 
 "Oh! the nice old gentleman carries me, and I 
 hold the umbrella, and he talks just like the geese 
 and the ducks," explained the girl. 
 
 "Guess I'll go outside and get acquainted," 
 commented the banker. 
 
 "Remember, papa, what depends upon first im- 
 pressions." 
 
 "You watch from the window and see how I can 
 rise diplomatically when occasion demands," sug- 
 gested her father; "women, alone, stoop to con- 
 quer." 
 
 "Wait a moment and I'll go with you," and 
 Alice dived down into a grip, fishing out a gossa- 
 mer. 
 
 Mr. Bonner was joined by his late companion, 
 reinforced by the child's grandparent and mother, 
 the proprietor being by no means displeased be- 
 cause of the increased number. He was proud of 
 his ancient and imposing home; his immense, well- 
 watered lands and finely bred herds grazing there- 
 on. No one, showing keen appreciation of these 
 material evidences of his prosperity, failed to in- 
 state himself in the good opinion of the law-maker. 
 He entertained annually a number of legislative 
 colleagues, a love of good-fellowship being one of 
 his strong points, or one of his weak ones, as the 
 reader prefers. 
 
 307
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Scarcely had the trio reached the side of the old 
 landowner, when the nurse made her appearance. 
 These two exchanged a few words in a strange 
 dialect, whereupon the lady was moving away, 
 when Mr. Richards addressed her. 
 
 "Madam," he said, "will you kindly act as in- 
 terpreter a moment between this gentleman and 
 myself?" 
 
 "Why, certainly," she replied cheerfully. 
 
 "We desire to remain here a few days, and, pro- 
 viding you will intercede in our behalf, you shall 
 lose nothing by the transaction," promised the 
 banker. "Tell the proprietor that we are very 
 favorably impressed with his pleasant home, and 
 the delightful scenery hereabouts, and desire noth- 
 ing better than permission to remain his guests 
 a week or ten days at the outside. We are will- 
 ing to pay any price he may be pleased to impose 
 for accommodations, in advance or otherwise." 
 
 The lady repeated the wishes to Mr. Bonner, 
 who was somewhat perplexed by the proposition. 
 He favored his would-be guests with a swift 
 but comprehensive inspection. Evidently he was 
 satisfied with the observation, but it was going 
 to be troublesome to have foreigners about a 
 week or longer. Again, there was one sick man 
 in the house already, by reason of his willing- 
 ness to oblige. He told the interpreter that he 
 would leave the matter with Mrs. Bonner and 
 308
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 advise them later. So the matter was hung up 
 on the decision of the mistress of the establish- 
 ment. The nurse, excusing herself, returned 
 indoors, not omitting, however, to mention the 
 nature of the application to Mrs. Bonner, seeing 
 fit to volunteer on her own behalf that "they were 
 nice refined people." 
 
 A moment after the mediator entered the build- 
 ing, a lad was seen galloping off in direction of 
 Sion. The banker produced his cigar case and 
 handed it in-a-hope-to-be-better-acquainted man- 
 ner to the legislator. The latter took one, lighted 
 it enjoyed it. That cigar went a great way in 
 making the chances of the petitioners "preferred 
 stock." After considerable hesitation, it was decid- 
 ed by the good man and his estimable lady that the 
 refugees might remain ; and the tourists, after the 
 trying suspense, were acquainted with the result 
 of deliberations and shown their respective rooms, 
 which the happy travelers proceeded to set in 
 order, or rather disorder, by unpacking such 
 limited dressing apparel as they had provided for 
 the journey. 
 
 "Alice," called Eleanore to Mrs. Eldridge, who 
 had reached the foot of the stairs on some errand 
 to the sitting room, "tell Madge to come up." 
 
 "Yes," Alice answered back. 
 
 "Did you hear? Tell Madge to come up; I 
 have something for her." 
 309
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "I hear," replied Alice up the stairway. As 
 Alice faced about, she confronted the nurse. The 
 eyes of that lady were fastened intently upon 
 her. 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Alice, "you startled me." 
 
 "Alice," repeated the nurse, slowly, "is your 
 name Alice?" 
 
 "What did you say?" called Eleanore, who was 
 busy in her room at the head of the stairs, sup- 
 posing herself addressed. 
 
 "Nothing," called Alice. "What do you wish?" 
 she inquired, turning to the nurse. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. I heard the lady above 
 address you as 'Alice,' forgetting that there are 
 hundreds and thousands of Alices, and spoke with- 
 out thinking. The sick man," she continued 
 apologetically, "talks of Alice and Lieb and 
 good God! Are you dying?" cried the nurse in- 
 stinctively supporting the woman, who had 
 clutched the banister. 
 
 "Hush!" whispered Alice. "Conduct me to 
 him. Take me where I can see myself unseen. 
 See !" she continued impatiently, "I am well," sud- 
 denly throwing the nurse's arm from her, and 
 standing firm and erect. 
 
 "Follow me. You may go to his bed with me," 
 explained the nurse, "he knows no one." 
 
 Alice followed her guide through the long cor- 
 ridor, the sound of their steps muffled in the heavy 
 310
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 carpet, finally entering a large bed-chamber. The 
 invalid's face was turned toward the wall. 
 
 "I say, Lieb, there is nothing helps a man for- 
 get women as well as woman," muttered the in- 
 valid. 
 
 "That is the way he talks all the time," whis- 
 pered the nurse. 
 
 "Heavens! What's got into the boys? They'll 
 tear the building down over my very head, unless 
 they are stopped. Here, you young pande- 
 monium, let up on that I'm coming, can't you 
 wait a moment I'm coming, I say. They are all 
 deaf; or the boys make such noise no one can 
 hear. Well, I'll have less confusion," trying to 
 rise. 
 
 "Edward, lie back so upon the pillow." 
 The voice was sweet, rhythmical, steady. Its ac- 
 tion upon the sick man was magical. He obeyed 
 submissively, watching her curiously with febri- 
 lustrous eyes. 
 
 "Well and good, you stop the noise then and 
 stay here. What right have you to go away," 
 he continued complainingly, "and remain for 
 hours and days?" 
 
 "You must be quiet now, if you wish me to 
 stay," whispered Alice, tears welling up in her 
 eyes at the haggard face of Edward Reynolds. 
 
 "Quiet? No one is quiet here. The longer 
 one stays the louder the shrieks. There, she is 
 311
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 gone again. You see, she will not stay. Poor 
 girl, she died ever so many years ago, and they 
 buried her in my heart. It's a shame, they 
 should bury the dead in the heart." 
 
 "Do you know him?" inquired the nurse of the 
 unhappy woman. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is he your husband?" 
 
 "No," shivered Alice, placing her cold fingers 
 upon the feverish temples of Reynolds. 
 
 "Where is the ring?" demanded the man in 
 his delirium, catching and examining the white 
 hand. "Oh, I remember, it is in the trunk, there 
 in the golden casket. Bring it me, and I will 
 place it again upon your finger. Do you hear?" 
 he demanded of the nurse, an angry flush mount- 
 ing to his temples. "Lift the top of the trunk 
 and fetch me the ring." The nurse started to 
 obey. 
 
 "No, no," cried Alice, endeavoring to release 
 her hand. 
 
 "The doctor says he must be humored," said 
 the nurse, moving in direction of the trunk, and 
 raising the cover in order to obey the whim of 
 the invalid, not for an instant believing she should 
 find a casket at the place indicated. But, true 
 enough, there was the golden casket. She brought 
 and placed it upon the cover of the bed. He let 
 the fingers drop, lifted the case affectionately and 
 312
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 unhasped the cover, revealing a diamond ring. 
 It was their engagement ring. 
 
 "It has been in the casket so long. Diamonds 
 require light. Alice, give me your hand. Do 
 you hear, Darling? Your hand! Fair and white 
 and beautiful my hand! Why don't you place 
 it in mine?" But Alice's hands were otherwise 
 engaged. They were pressing against some- 
 thing that was rising in her throat, that was sti- 
 fling, strangling her. 
 
 "Ah, I say," shrieked Reynolds, "hold out your 
 hand." 
 
 "You must humor him or he becomes violent." 
 
 "I cannot oh, God, the mockery of it!" 
 
 Reynolds had risen on one elbow, his face con- 
 vulsed in passion. The nurse caught Alice's hand 
 and pushed it within reach of Reynolds. 
 
 "You shall answer for his life otherwise," 
 murmured the nurse. 
 
 Reynolds took the cold fingers, which were pas- 
 sively permitted to remain in his. "See," he ex- 
 claimed, his manner changed, placing the ring up- 
 on her finger, "when I come back from college, we 
 will be married, won't we, Darling? You'll be 
 true to me, Alice, faithful and true as steel, won't 
 you? Ah! I love you so, my golden crowned 
 idol! Flashing flashing, my beloved one, see it 
 sparkle!" He drew the white marble hand and 
 pressed it against his cheek. "Mine, forever 
 313
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 mine." Slowly the eyes closed, and he passed 
 into a fitful slumber. Alice attempted to 
 remove her hand, whereupon the sick man 
 clasped it with both hands. "Mine, forever 
 mine." 
 
 "Will you stay with him, while I eat my din- 
 ner?" inquired the nurse. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 As the nurse disappeared, Alice fell upon her 
 knees by the bedside, disturbing the slumberer. 
 "Mine, mine, mine," he murmured. 
 
 "Stop, stop," she breathed, "or you will kill 
 me." Involuntarily she caught the white hands 
 and kissed them. "I love you," she whispered, 
 "I can tell you now. I have loved you always. 
 Edward," she begged piteously, stooping 
 forward till her face almost touched, "try 
 hard listen repeat after me I forgive 
 you." 
 
 "NOTHING HELPS A MAN FORGET WOMAN AS 
 WELL AS WOMAN!" a voice replied vacantly from 
 the pillow. 
 
 At some noise Alice sprang to her feet and 
 turned. Lord Howe and a stranger stood in the 
 doorway. The hand of the old nobleman had 
 been laid upon the arm of the stranger to arrest 
 further progress. Lord Howe went forward and 
 taking Alice's unresisting hands in his, said 
 brokenly, "My poor child, you have taught me
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 how to beg forgiveness. Repeat after me 'I 
 forgive you.' ' 
 
 "I forgive, as I hope to be forgiven," she said 
 solemnly. 
 
 The stranger was the physician from the city. 
 
 CIS
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Alice went to her room complaining of a severe 
 headache and remained until supper was an- 
 nounced. She was aware that Lord Howe was in 
 possession of her secret; but, she also knew that 
 the old nobleman was too honorable to divulge it. 
 
 As Lord Howe and the physician quit the pa- 
 tient's room, they encountered Mr. and Mrs. 
 Richards. The old gentlemen stared at each 
 other a moment and grasped hands heartily. 
 
 "What in the world brings you here?" inquired 
 the banker. 
 
 "Edward Reynolds' illness," replied the noble- 
 man. "Why, what brings you?" he continued. 
 
 "Mr. Reynolds sick and in this house?" inter- 
 rogated Mrs. Richards. 
 
 "Are you not aware of the fact?" he asked, 
 looking at them in turn. "Indeed, he is, and the 
 physicianinforms me that he is intractable to his 
 treatment. Dr. Croft is considerably discouraged 
 and advises a consultation. The chief trouble 
 seems to be the brain, superinduced by some shock. 
 I wired a celebrated brain specialist of London to 
 come at once before starting here from Sion with 
 Dr. Croft." 
 
 316
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Is he so dangerously ill?" asked the banker, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Dr. Croft tells me the odds are very much 
 against his recovery," brushing away a tear. 
 
 "It is fortunate we came this way," declared 
 Mrs. Richards, "we shall remain until he is out 
 of danger. Our traveling with carriage and the 
 storm seem much like the hand of Providence." 
 
 "Yes, 'The hand of Providence,' " repeated the 
 nobleman, thoughtfully. 
 
 When Edward Reynolds had been notified that 
 he was likely to have a severe illness, he indited a 
 letter to Lord Howe, giving Mrs. Bonner direc- 
 tions that it should be posted only in event of his 
 dangerous sickness. As he grew worse the phy- 
 sicians finally advised that the letter be forwarded. 
 The letter was symbolical of its writer. It read: 
 
 "To the Right Hon. Lord Howe, 
 
 "London, England. 
 
 "My dear Sir and Friend : I am ill, and instead 
 of improving, constantly becoming worse. The 
 physician tells me I am elected for a long siege 
 of illness, and that the outcome is problematical. 
 While he was so kind as to allow that he did not 
 want to alarm me, he suggested that if I had any- 
 thing of special importance to attend to it should 
 be looked after without delay. Naturally, such 
 frankness brings terror, but not so in my case. 
 317
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Packing up my earthly belongings for a long 
 journey consists in making a will, which I have 
 done, naming you my executor with power of 
 substitution, providing you find the duties too 
 troublesome. The instrument is enclosed here- 
 with. I have reminded the good people, to whom 
 I am indebted for accommodations that this letter 
 is to be posted only in case of recovery being ex- 
 tremely doubtful. May God bless you. 
 "Yours in farewell, 
 
 "EDWARD REYNOLDS." 
 
 The prompt response in person of the old noble- 
 man showed in what regard he held his young 
 friend. 
 
 The banker in turn related to his friend how 
 they had been driven to take shelter from the 
 storm, with which the reader is already familiar. 
 
 "What has come over Lord Howe of a sudden?" 
 abruptly asked the banker, addressing his wife, 
 as they were retiring a few nights later. 
 
 "In what respect?" inquired that astute lady, 
 who had noticed a change in the nobleman's con- 
 duct toward Alice, and naturally curious to learn 
 if her husband had been attracted by the recent 
 graciousness of manner. 
 
 "Why, in regard to Alice. I did think, 
 for some cause or other, he fairly hated her, and 
 here he is dancing attendance at her heels con- 
 .318
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 stanfly. A slave could be no more subservient or 
 devoted," answered the banker. 
 
 "It is undoubtedly due to the fact," suggested 
 Mrs. Richards, "that he is much interested in Rey- 
 nolds, and Alice is indispensable to the recovery 
 of the invalid. He refuses to take medicine or 
 nourishment, unless administered by her." 
 
 "Well, it's no difference," emphasized the bank- 
 er, "she's not going to make herself ill, because 
 of this unaccountable whim of a sick man. We 
 want to do all in our power, to be sure," he con- 
 tinued reflectively, "but the health of our daugh- 
 ter is of far greater consequence than the irra- 
 tional obstinacy of delirium." 
 
 "I have remonstrated with Alice," said her 
 mother, showing her maternal solicitude. "It does 
 no good. Three days and three nights he has 
 taken no medicine except from her hands. 
 
 "I shall do something beside remonstrating," 
 declared the banker, resolutely. "If she has no 
 consideration for herself, we have." 
 
 "What do you propose doing?" inquired his 
 wife, hopefully. She had great respect for her 
 husband's resources in an emergency. 
 
 "We will hitch up the horses and point toward 
 Italy," he replied sagely, believing that he had 
 cut the Gordian knot. 
 
 "Oh!" said Mrs. Richards, shaking her head 
 disappointedly. "Alice would not budge a step. 
 319
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 The specialist from London was very particular 
 in directing that Mr. Reynolds must be kept per- 
 fectly quiet, inasmuch as the least excitement is 
 liable to prove fatal to the patient; that the in- 
 valid must be humored and cajoled, if necessary, 
 and that the medicine must be given according to 
 directions. It's a very critical case, and Alice 
 seems the only one that can do anything with 
 him. He minds her like a child." 
 
 "Do you suppose she loves him?" asked the 
 banker, who was able in no other way to account 
 for the conduct of his daughter. 
 
 "I am afraid so," admitted Mrs. Richards, after 
 a prolonged silence. 
 
 "Why 'afraid so'?" interrogated the banker. 
 
 "Mr. Reynolds is proud, and, even if he has 
 not forgotten her, his pride and sense of injury 
 would not allow of advancement on his part. It 
 would be lifelong suffering for both." 
 
 "I don't see why," philosophized the banker. 
 His courtship and marriage had been unattended 
 by mishap. 
 
 "I do," said Mrs. Richards, quietly. "Alice 
 broke her engagement with him to marry Mr. 
 Eldridge." Then after a moment's silence, she 
 continued, "Reynolds makes her wear her old en- 
 gagement ring, and talks just as he may have 
 done before the troth was broken. Alice tells me 
 she does not mind it in the least. 'Why should 
 320
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 I?' sne asks, 'so long as he is out of his head, and 
 can possibly know no better.' But a mother's eyes 
 are keener than a daughter's power of conceal- 
 ment." 
 
 Alice was beginning to show the effects of long 
 vigils, the dark lines under her expressive eyes 
 giving the deep transparency of her complexion 
 a marble-like color. 
 
 If she had yielded to woman's weakness and 
 given way during the first hour, there was no 
 subsequent sign. She was a woman upon whose 
 strength the life of a human being rested. She 
 had intuitive knowledge it was so; and that being 
 was the man she loved. There had been excuse 
 for her failing. Alice had believed herself gazing 
 upon the face of Edward Reynolds for the last 
 time, when he was in Lord Howe's carriage on 
 the streets of London, and to find him dying ah, 
 well, Alice Eldridge was not the only woman in 
 this big world, who has cried out in bitterness, 
 who has drawn aside the cold robes of pride to 
 admit to the portals of the soul the warm rich 
 streams of the human heart.
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Yes, thank God, he would live. The dark 
 anxious hour of uncertainty had passed. 
 
 "My brave little woman," said the London 
 specialist, "I have met, during the course of my 
 practice, many noble types of women; but you 
 have given me a new ideal of womanhood." The 
 physician had run up to Alice's room to satisfy 
 himself how she was bearing up under the opera- 
 tion of the day previous. 
 
 A stranger had been brought from the city 
 for the purpose of having blood from his body 
 transmitted to that of the sick man. At the very 
 last moment, his courage had failed, absolutely 
 refusing to submit to the operation of venesec- 
 tion. 
 
 "The delay before we can procure someone 
 else," had expostulated the surgeon, "will prove 
 fatal to the patient." 
 
 But regardless of all argument, the big fellow 
 feigned some excuse to absent himself from the 
 room, and taking advantage of his liberty fled 
 stealthily in direction of the city. 
 
 "Doctor," said Alice, with a mysterious light 
 in her eyes, "I am thankful he has gone. I do
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 not want his plebeian blood mingling in the veins 
 of Edward Reynolds." 
 
 "What nonsense!" replied the practitioner, 
 "this is no time for sentiment. The life of that 
 man," indicating the slumberer, whose feeble 
 breath was fluttering in the grasp of death, "is 
 weighed in the balance, and that villainous scamp 
 has disappeared. I am nonplussed!" exclaimed 
 the surgeon, dejectedly. 
 
 "But suppose there should be a volunteer?" in- 
 quired Alice, calmly. 
 
 "There are no volunteers for work like this," 
 he replied, out of sorts, then looking at the re- 
 cumbent form upon the bed, he seemed commun- 
 ing with the intricacies of his profession, "It 
 means delay ; and hours, nay, moments are pre- 
 cious. I shall have to dispatch for a medical 
 student from Sion. I believed I could save that 
 man's life." 
 
 "Doctor," said Alice, "there must be no de- 
 lay." 
 
 The physician regarded the speaker angrily 
 without daring to reply. To be told by a woman, 
 at the moment of his discomfiture, "Doctor, there 
 must be no delay," was provocation for language 
 more vigorous than elegant. 
 
 The surgical instruments had been arranged 
 conveniently on a table by the bedside, while Ed- 
 ward Reynolds' arm, wasted and emaciated by 
 323
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 disease, bared to the shoulder, was resting upon 
 the cover. 
 
 "Proceed with the operation." Alice Eldridge 
 rolled the sleeve of her dress to the shoulder, re- 
 vealing an arm of snowy whiteness. "I am the 
 volunteer. You must accept my arm as a substi- 
 tute. There is no cowardice in my blood." 
 
 The surgeon looked at the resolute woman in 
 blank amazement, in stupefied incredulity. 
 
 "I heard you tell that horrid man, that there is 
 no danger and comparatively little pain. Why 
 do you hesitate?" 
 
 "We must not think of this," declared the phy- 
 sician, vacillating between the sacrilege of that 
 perfect arm and his duty to the dying patient, 
 "without first consulting your parents." 
 
 "My parents should interpose no objection to 
 my resolution," stated Alice, calmly, "still," she 
 continued, "this shall remain a secret between you, 
 the nurse and myself." And then to taunt him 
 with dereliction of his duty, she continued, "there 
 are your instruments, here are the two arms, plac- 
 ing them side by side, "and according to your 
 own words, the man's life is in the balance." 
 
 "Are you equal to the pain?" he inquired 
 gently, looking at the slight delicate woman 
 before him, forgetting for the moment his pro- 
 fession. 
 
 "Am I equal to the pain?" she repeated me-
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 chanically, her beautiful angelic face reflecting 
 a look that might have been seen upon the faces 
 of witnessing angels when the suffering of the 
 crucifixion ceased. 
 
 "Transfusion, as I understand the operation," 
 said Banker Richards, addressing his wife and 
 Lord Howe, who were seated beside him upon the 
 veranda while the operation was performed, con- 
 sists of the transmission of blood from one per- 
 son to another, an incision being made in the 
 veins of the individuals operated upon for the 
 insertion of a tube to admit the passage of blood. 
 The fluid is forced from the healthy system into 
 the debilitated one, by the stronger action of the 
 normal person's heart." 
 
 "I believe so," replied the Englishman, "It is 
 becoming quite common in surgery, especially 
 when there has been excessive hemorrhage. Rey- 
 nolds has bled copiously. Still, he may be in- 
 debted to this very fact for the preservation of 
 his life. The congested brain has been relieved 
 of the pressure of blood; but on the other hand, 
 he is left in such a weakened state that there is no 
 vitality remaining to build upon." 
 
 "It would seem that something could be dis- 
 covered to be injected into the veins that should 
 answer the same purpose; or that would be even 
 yet more efficacious," remarked the banker. 
 
 "Doubtless there will be. Surgery to-day is 
 325
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 the most progressive of any of the sciences," re- 
 plied the nobleman. 
 
 "Who is this man that consents to the opera- 
 tion?" inquired Mrs. Richards, "we should re- 
 ward him as he richly deserves." 
 
 "Someone the doctor picked up," replied Lord 
 Howe, "I didn't learn his name." 
 
 "Depletion will do him good. He is as red as 
 a lobster," commented Mr. Richards. 
 
 "I cannot bear to be present at a surgical opera- 
 tion, unless it is necessary," remarked Lord Howe. 
 
 "My case, exactly," said the banker. 
 
 "I could never reconcile the theory of alleviat- 
 ing suffering by inflicting it," admitted Mrs. 
 Richards. 
 
 "They are a good while about the operation," 
 said Lord Howe, nervously, "perhaps, I had bet- 
 ter glance into the room. It may be I am needed. 
 Whereupon the nobleman rose and started in 
 doors. 
 
 "Do you feel exhaustion?" inquired the sur- 
 geon of Alice, alert with the details of the opera- 
 tion. 
 
 "No, I am not minding it," she replied. 
 
 "His pulse is much stronger. The color is be- 
 gining to show faintly in his cheeks," continued 
 the surgeon, beguiling the woman from whose 
 body that very blood had escaped, at the same 
 time delighted with the success of the operation. 
 326
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 The physician was grasping a wrist of each in 
 either hand noting the pulse. 
 
 A tint like the first delicate blush of a ripening 
 peach was diffusing itself over the invalid's cheek. 
 Lord Howe peeked in at the door, and, not see- 
 ing the stranger, quite naturally supposed the 
 operation had been performed. He tiptoed to- 
 ward the bed, and was standing over the couch, 
 drawn to the bedside, upon which Alice was re- 
 clining, before he realized what was taking place. 
 A nameless, speechless horror was uttered by those 
 eyes, quivered in the face, shook the old form 
 as the truth dawned upon him. 
 
 "It was a matter of life and death," explained 
 the surgeon, feeling that an apology was in order, 
 not failing to observe the indignation, anger and 
 amazement in the old man's face. "The scoundrel 
 fled," continued the physician, and " 
 
 "I was out there," hissed the old nobleman dan- 
 gerously, "are all men dead that a delicate woman 
 must be cut and gashed ? good God !" 
 
 "Old blood would not answer. This brave 
 woman volunteered, in fact, commanded me to 
 proceed." 
 
 "Go," whispered Alice, "and keep mamma and 
 papa from entering the room." 
 
 Lord Howe was at the point of ebullition. He 
 knew he should commit some unpardonable folly 
 if he remained, and fled from the room, in fact,
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 from the house. As he was passing Mr. and Mrs. 
 Richards, he shouted to them not to go in, as it 
 would disturb, if not endanger, the life of the 
 patient. The old nobleman walked, or rather 
 trotted, down the road at a pace he had not set 
 his feet during the past twenty years. He was 
 finally concealed from view of the inmates of the 
 house by a hedge of thorns. 
 
 "You infernal old idiot!" he exclaimed, strik- 
 ing the unoffending foliage furiously with his 
 walking stick. "Yes, you blooming idiot!" he 
 howled, pointing his finger at himself, subjective- 
 ly, in the meantime suspending the vigorous as- 
 sault upon the hedge. "I tell you that that wom- 
 an she isn't a woman, she's an angel. I feel 
 like thrashing somebody. That booby is not de- 
 serving of her little finger. If he don't marry 
 her, d n me ! if he don't marry her," renewing 
 his onslaught upon the hedge, I'll I'll horsehide 
 him. Good God, what an atonement! Why, we 
 tortured that woman, I with the rest body and 
 soul. Even her fair, tender flesh is mutilated! 
 She gives her very heart's blood to that simple- 
 ton. I don't care a continental if he is sick. Such 
 men ought to die! On the seamy side of seventy- 
 two," he continued disgustedly, "and just getting 
 to know woman." The vindictive and vituperative 
 old gentleman was pretty well exhausted by the 
 violent expressions, and returned to the house an 
 328
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 hour afterward in a more settled frame of mind. 
 
 The next day he was jubilant. Reynolds was 
 conscious and pronounced on the high road to re- 
 covery. The wandering mind had come back to 
 an enfeebled and wasted body. The countess 
 slipped a message in the nobleman's hand from 
 Alice. The lines had been written by unsteady 
 fingers. 
 
 "Say nothing to Mr. Reynolds of our presence, 
 until I see you," it read. Lord Howe was always 
 suspicious of a brief letter in feminine chirog- 
 raphy. 
 
 Mr. Richards was evidently oppressed in more 
 ways than one. The mutterings of enraged men 
 were heard in his beloved country. Conciliation 
 and reason had been found unavailing. Blinded, 
 passionate, infatuated men were dividing a nation. 
 Already the lurid flash of internecine war was seen 
 around the world. War, fratricidal war, bursting 
 forth in the incipiency of what was to prove the 
 most deadly and sanguinary struggle of history. 
 In addition to deploring the awful catastrophe 
 that seemed unavoidable, the financial interests of 
 the banker were numerous. Every post brought 
 him urgent summons to come home without delay. 
 His affairs in America required his personal super- 
 vision. Yielding to the pressure of his and his 
 daughter's interests, he decided to return, leaving 
 his wife, daughter, and the Countess to continue 
 329
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 their tour. It was thought best that they should 
 return to Sion upon the following day, where he 
 was to bid them farewell. The doctor had assured 
 him that it would be safe for Alice to travel. In- 
 asmuch as no one was allowed in Reynolds' room, 
 except the nurse, Alice's secret wish that they 
 might get away without his knowledge of their 
 presence, was being assisted by a force of cir- 
 cumstances over which they had had no control. 
 She had bribed the nurse, and Lord Howe, she 
 felt confident, would not refuse her that one re- 
 quest. Alice dispatched the Countess to ask the 
 old nobleman to favor her with a visit. He ac- 
 cepted the invitation with alacrity. 
 
 "I am glad to find you so far convalescent as 
 to be sitting up," he said coming forward and 
 taking her hands in his broad palms. 
 
 "And I am glad your lordship is so far inter- 
 ested in me," she admitted archly. 
 
 "You are just simply magnanimous to pardon 
 the savage I have been to you," he declared with 
 a mixture of joy and contrition. 
 
 "Indeed, I have nothing to pardon. Your con- 
 duct was quite natural. I never failed to under- 
 stand your motive." 
 
 "Impulsive men are blunderers. Your father 
 is to be envied the possession of such a daughter." 
 
 "You know not the troubles such envying ones 
 escape," she laughed. "By the way," she con-
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 tinued, changing the subject, "I suppose papa 
 has told you of our intended departure on the 
 morrow." 
 
 "Yes, he mentioned it. For sometime I have 
 shared his confidence in respect to the unsettled 
 condition in America. He was in hopes of spar- 
 ing you and your mother any needless anxiety. I 
 regret the prospects of peace between the North 
 and the South are so discouraging." 
 
 "Oh, that strife and bloodshed may be averted !" 
 she breathed, the voice and words an invocation. 
 
 "I hope so with all my heart," he said. 
 
 "Lord Howe," said Alice, scarcely above a whis- 
 per, "we are on the eve of departure. In all proba- 
 bility we shall never meet again. I have asked 
 this interview that I might crave one boon in 
 parting," she paused to note the effect her words 
 were producing. 
 
 "You know in advance," he replied, "I shall 
 deny you nothing. So tell me what it is you wish, 
 my child." 
 
 "That you never disclose the knowledge to Ed- 
 ward Reynolds of my, or my parents' presence at 
 this house." 
 
 Lord Howe dropped the hands he had been 
 holding. 
 
 "Who is to tell him?" he asked. 
 
 "No one, if I can prevent it," she continued. 
 
 "Is it your wish that he remain in ignorance of 
 331
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 the presence of the brave and noble woman to 
 whom he is indebted for his very life?" 
 
 "Yes, even so, as long as he lives. But you 
 greatly exaggerate " 
 
 "No, I exaggerate nothing. This is a sin you 
 are committing, and you are asking me to be- 
 come an accomplice," he said, reprovingly. 
 
 "I should neither commit, nor ask another to 
 commit crime," replied Alice, proudly. 
 
 "But your parents, are they content?" he re- 
 monstrated, hopelessly. 
 
 "My parents have confidence in their child." 
 
 "O! so have I," he cried, "but don't do this; 
 tell me first, is it an absolute, unavoidable ne- 
 cessity ?" 
 
 "His future happiness, in a large measure, de- 
 pends upon it," she said, solemnly. 
 
 "And yours?" he asked. 
 
 "Mine mine," she stammered, "yes, even 
 mine." 
 
 Lord Howe bowed to the will of Alice El- 
 dridge. 
 
 "I am so grateful," Alice exclaimed, attempting 
 to seize the hands of the old nobleman. 
 
 "Please don't touch me," he said with some- 
 thing of savagery in his voice. 
 
 "There are things of which a woman may not 
 speak," said Alice, letting her hands drop to her 
 side. 
 
 332
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "And if I refuse?" questioned his lordship re- 
 servedly. 
 
 "I shall be wretched and unhappy." 
 
 "Mrs. Eldridge," said he, slowly and impres- 
 sively, "before I promise, confess to me candidly, 
 frankly, as you shall answer sometime before your 
 God, is this silence for the best?" 
 
 "It is," her eyes did not falter before the fixed, 
 steady gaze of the questioner. 
 
 "Then I engage my solemn word that your pres- 
 ence here shall never be betrayed to Edward Rey- 
 nolds as long as I live." 
 
 "Oh, thank you!" Her earnestness showed the 
 relief that his commitment to secrecy gave her. 
 Without sharing her enthusiasm, the old noble- 
 man walked from the room more mystified and be- 
 wildered than ever. 
 
 Later in the day Alice and the Countess were in 
 the flower garden pruning roses for the sick room. 
 The former was responding promptly to the 
 strong constitutional vitality of her nature. Ed- 
 ward Reynolds was out of danger. That was the 
 touchstone of the rapid restoration of her health 
 and spirits. It was a faultless day, with just 
 enough breeze from those snow-belted peaks to 
 make outdoor employment inviting, and the two 
 women loitered a large part of the afternoon in 
 the parterre, the Countess chattering away of her 
 husband, children, and home in sunny France., 
 333
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Countess Ratcliff was beginning to show symptoms 
 of nostalgia. 
 
 During the evening the nurse opened the door 
 of Alice's room and entering unannounced, whis- 
 pered to her trusted confederate of the sick cham- 
 ber: 
 
 "Mr. Reynolds is sleeping, if you will sit with 
 him, I shall take a walk in the cool twilight. I 
 should greatly enjoy a few moments' stroll." 
 
 Alice arose, and, approaching the stand upon 
 which her portemonnaie was lying, removed a 
 number of crisp bills, which she placed in the 
 hands of the nurse. 
 
 "Remember your promise," she admonished. 
 
 "Indeed, I will; but I dislike taking your 
 money." 
 
 "I have plenty, and it will enable you to live 
 without such hard work. At least a nest egg for 
 a rainy day." 
 
 The lamp, burning dimly upon the center- 
 table, scarcely lighted the room sufficiently to 
 enable the women to discern the form of the 
 invalid. 
 
 "I shall return in the course of twenty minutes," 
 whispered the nurse, retiring softly. 
 
 After the nurse had gone out, Alice crept silent- 
 ly to the bed and gazed upon the slumberer. Her 
 hands were locked before her. Five, ten, fifteen 
 minutes and Alice Eldridge had not stirred. It 
 334
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 was the parting hour. She should never see that 
 face again. It was the farewell between body and 
 soul; the finality of life and love. She moved to 
 the trunk softly, and raising the cover, took the 
 ring and caressed it; kissed it; pressed it to her 
 bosom; held it so the subdued rays of the lamp 
 were reproduced in a hundred miniature flashes. 
 With tearless eyes she restored the trinket to its 
 place and lowered the cover of the trunk, return- 
 ing to the bedside. Twice she stepped to the stand 
 upon which the lamp was burning twice she re- 
 traced her steps to the bedside. The room was 
 so gloomy and dark! There was an irresistible 
 impulse to let the light shine upon his face, and 
 reapproaching the stand, she took the lamp and 
 cautiously walked to the bed. She felt that she 
 must see; that in that parting, she should not be 
 robbed of one single feature of the beloved face. 
 In the cryptic photographic processes wrought in 
 the laboratory of the soul, her memory should 
 treasure every feature and lineament. The bright- 
 ness of the light disturbed the sleeper, and he 
 moved uneasily. Alice raised her hand swiftly, 
 hesitated lowered the light, turned it out; but 
 Edward Reynolds' eyes had opened and rested 
 for one brief instant upon a white spectral face 
 before the room was plunged into darkness. 
 
 "Alice!" murmured the sick man, putting his 
 hand out involuntarily toward her. 
 335
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "What do you wish?" inquired the nurse, who at 
 that moment arrived. 
 
 "Light the lamp," gasped Reynolds. 
 
 Alice groped her way into the hall more dead 
 than alive. When the nurse had relighted the 
 lamp, Reynolds stared about the room in a dazed 
 way in search of the vision. 
 
 "You have had a refreshing rest," said the 
 nurse, placing a cordial to his lips. 
 
 "Did any one stand there a moment ago?" he 
 demanded before drinking, pointing at the vacant 
 place. 
 
 "I was here a moment ago," she replied truth- 
 fully. 
 
 "Oh, well," he murmured, swallowing the con- 
 tents of the glass and closing his eyes wearily, "I 
 wonder if I shall always have strange dreams and 
 see strange faces." 
 
 The following morning, bright and early, 
 Landowner Bonner and his good wife stood at the 
 gate, watching their recent guests disappearing 
 in the distance, while several additional pieces of 
 gold resting in the good matron's hand, caused 
 that woman to repeat the language of the nurse, 
 "They are nice refined people."
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Michael Lieb had shown feverish anxiety in en- 
 gaging a studio. Something like a thousand 
 pounds sterling from the proceeds of the sale of 
 "Renaissance" had been expended for furniture 
 and rugs. Notwithstanding the squalid poverty of 
 his previously cramped quarters in the Jew's attic, 
 Lieb evinced the extreme sesthetic taste of his art 
 for the beautiful and elegant. Again, he was sud- 
 denly possessed of radical and revolutionary ideas 
 regarding his personal appearance. The most 
 fashionable tailors were employed and kept busy 
 in cutting and fitting, until a number of stylish 
 suits were finished for his use. He was known to 
 have been very indifferent in these matters. 
 Scarcely a week elapsed, during which time Lieb 
 had been the busiest man in London, before Miss 
 Rivers received a note that he was waiting her 
 convenience. 
 
 "Lieb's greatest luck, after all, is the perfect 
 sang frold of a born aristocrat. There is not a 
 man in the universe so unkind as to connect him 
 with that Jew's attic." The satire was not with- 
 out a suspicion of envy, the less fortunate speaker 
 was more handier with words than with the brush. 
 337
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 But there was more to it. Lieb was in love. 
 This always new and engrossing sentiment, more 
 than likely, had had its share in the artist's meta- 
 morphosis. Love is a great renovator. Lena, 
 Rivers had replied to his note on dainty paper, a 
 fugitive scent of rose and heliotrope clinging to 
 the delicate stationery. This young lady ex- 
 plained that she would come the third day follow- 
 ing to have the first sitting. He treasured that 
 note as a miser prizes his gold. Michael Lieb made 
 the acquaintance of time during the next three 
 days. 
 
 He thought the probation would never come to 
 an end. The nearer the all eventful hour ap- 
 proached, the more perversely time dragged. Lieb 
 accomplished nothing during the period. He was 
 monopolized by the one absorbing sense of the 
 slothfulness of the movement of the hour hand. 
 When a man is the victim of that grand passion, 
 he considers everything a personal affront that 
 separates him from the object of his adoration. 
 A man's first experience in love is something after 
 the order of a freshman at college. He is hazed, 
 dazed, and crazed, as some one has been clever 
 enough to observe. 
 
 Lena Rivers was punctual to the hour. She 
 ran up the steps with the elasticity of youth, 
 health and a redundancy of spirits that seemed to 
 find relief in violent exertion. 
 338
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Why, how cozy you are!" she exclaimed with 
 the freedom and insouciance of a girl that had 
 been petted and indulged all her bright young 
 life, examining rapturously the arrangement of 
 the studio. The artist was in a tremor of ecstatic 
 delight. He feared to look the bewildering vis- 
 ion of feminine loveliness in the face, and darted 
 into an interior room to recover his mental equi- 
 librium. A maiden aunt of Miss Rivers came with 
 the young lady and took occasion, during the 
 painter's absence, to reprimand her effervescing 
 charge for making numerous minor changes in the 
 bric-a-brac of the room, which gratuitous labor 
 considerably imperiled its identity. 
 
 "Please step this way," called Lieb, in full con- 
 trol of his faculties, "while we decide upon a 
 background. I suppose you have already settled 
 the more difficult question of pose and toilet," he 
 continued, venturing to join the inquiry with 
 a glance into Lena's bright eyes for the first 
 time. 
 
 "Aunty and I," replied Lena, somewhat to the 
 annoyance of her elderly relative, "have exhausted 
 all imaginable costumes, full and decolette, with 
 the sole result of demonstrating incompatibility 
 of tastes. W T e compromised by agreeing to let you 
 determine the momentous question for us," she 
 concluded, sitting down composedly in a large 
 easy chair, and looking at the artist confidently 
 339
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 as though she expected him to dissipate all exist- 
 ing troubles at a moment's notice. 
 
 "I shall find my responsibilities sufficiently 
 heavy," he laughed, "in doing justice to the sub- 
 ject, without increasing them at the risk of her 
 displeasure," giving the lady a very suggestive 
 look of admiration, that brought a slight flush to 
 the cheeks of the young candidate. 
 
 "Oh, no; we are wholly dependent. My vener- 
 able aunty and I have agreed to disagree to the 
 end. So there is no help for it. You must de- 
 liver us from the Avilderness," declared Lena, with 
 the austerity of a judicial decision. 
 
 "Her head is full of caprice. I warn you," 
 asserted her aunt, irritably, "more than your pro- 
 fession is at stake," she proceeded, "if you under- 
 take to confine her to any one position, or reconcile 
 her contradictions." 
 
 These two women never did get along together. 
 One was soda and the other acid, and whenever 
 they mixed there was chemical action. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Lieb, believe me! My good aunty 
 is a great traducer," protested Lena, going so 
 near to the painter that the light fabric of her 
 skirts frisked against his feet. Just think, I 
 offered to make every concession for the sake of 
 peace and harmony. I even was so gracious as 
 to consent to be placed on canvas with the same 
 background, identical pose and dress that my 
 
 340
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 charming aunty chose for herself in a painting 
 by Muller, and would you believe, my aunt de- 
 clared it preposterous for one so frivolous and 
 tempestuous to be classified in such quiet surround- 
 ings, whereupon dear aunty nearly fainted as I 
 assured her I would be so obliging as to be painted 
 in a storm, a real cyclone, with the wind blowing 
 hurricanes." 
 
 "Oh, you incorrigible child!" exclaimed the 
 elderly lady with a painful vision of Lena's storm 
 pose and startling attitudes fresh in mind. 
 
 "I just wish you would paint me in 'Renais- 
 sance,' holding the torch," declared Lena, sweetly. 
 
 "Mercy! The torch of reason!" ejaculated the 
 aunt, horrified. "What a travesty !" 
 
 "Will you permit me to paint your portrait as 
 I choose?" inquired the artist, looking at Lena, 
 evidently having reconsidered the subject and will- 
 ing to assume all responsibilities. 
 
 "What say you, aunty dear, yes or no?" 
 
 "I do not doubt " commenced that lady 
 
 diplomatically. 
 
 "Yes or no?" demanded Lena. 
 
 Balzac it is, who says, "A woman will say 'no* 
 in just two letters, and 'yes' in nine hundred and 
 ninety-nine different ways." At any rate it was 
 beyond the question to get an affirmative to the 
 proposition from the lady indicated, until she had 
 been carefully informed of every detail and cere- 
 341
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 mony. This took time, but when fully related, 
 she, as well as Lena, was perfectly delighted with 
 the plans and specifications, as it were. 
 
 Artist Lieb worked with soul and brain intent 
 upon the execution of the commission, with which 
 he was intrusted. Lena came daily, chaperoned 
 by her elderly aunt, and sat for an hour. Every 
 day the artist drank deeper of that intoxicating 
 vintage. 
 
 Gradually she began to see herself stepping 
 from concealed labyrinths of chrome into life size 
 upon the canvas. The artist worked as though 
 possessed. The painting was as faithful as the 
 reflection of a mirror. The work progressed for 
 three short happy weeks. One hour each day, 
 Michael Lieb was in Paradise; the remaining 
 twenty-three hours were purgatory. He was hope- 
 lessly and irretrievably enamoured of his fair pa- 
 tron. The expression "Seventh Heaven" is not 
 always an extravagant and figurative one as ap- 
 plied to mortals. The phrase is far from being a 
 hyperbole. 
 
 How many times during these weeks the two 
 had talked of Edward Reynolds. Lieb, with re- 
 freshing candor, had kept nothing in reserve. 
 Lena had listened to his benefactor's praise with 
 undisguised appreciation. With womanly tact, 
 when the subject was changed, she would lead the 
 conversation back. Reynolds seemed to him a way 
 342
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 to her favor, and he accepted the convenience as a 
 means to the end of winning her preference. The 
 "charming aunty" was a model chaperon. With 
 her crocheting, for which she entertained a mania, 
 sitting decorously in an adjoining room, she was 
 as eblivious as a sphinx of the progress the artist 
 and Lena were making on either of the roads of 
 love or art. 
 
 Lena was late one day. The artist was tor- 
 mented with a hundred and one disquieting 
 thoughts. Was she ill? he asked himself. Per- 
 haps displeased with something he had said; no, 
 that could not be, because he had at all times been 
 discreet and guarded. Maybe the painting was 
 at fault. Again, yesterday he had held her arm, 
 studying its graceful rotundity. Had he offended 
 her? 
 
 Ah. That was her step. His heart gave a 
 bound of joy no yes. He ran to the reception 
 room, but stopped abruptly as the door opened 
 and Lena Rivers entered. 
 
 "Good God! What is it, Lena?" he cried, look- 
 ing at the woman whose portrait he was painting. 
 "Lena," springing to her side and forgetting his 
 habitual reserve, "why are you so white and your 
 great eyes staring at me so? Speak, Lena, you 
 are torturing me !" 
 
 "He is dying," she cried. "In mercy's name, 
 save him. Oh!" she exclaimed, wringing her 
 343
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 hands, hysterically, "why do you stand there? I 
 tell you he is dying; your benefactor is dying. 
 Oh! I shall go mad! Why do you tremble and 
 turn to marble? I thought men act, when they 
 love," she moaned, "dying dying! My love! 
 my love!" 
 
 Like a bolt from heaven, the truth had crushed 
 into the brain of the artist. Michael Lieb swayed 
 backward and forward, his long slender fingers 
 clutching his throat, and with an expression of 
 agony depicted in every feature, he gave a shriek 
 such as mortal ear never heard and fell at full 
 length upon the floor at her feet. Michael Lieb 
 was conveyed to his mother's home a raving 
 maniac. 
 
 344
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Queen Victoria's life is entwined in a thousand 
 gracious acts that will never be recorded in the 
 annals of history. An evening in June, 1861, 
 England's fair Sovereign was seated in her car- 
 riage near the railway station of the London, 
 Chatham and Dover line. 
 
 Thronging the central depot were some two 
 thousand young men and boys, young women and 
 girls. It was evident that the unusual numbers 
 were not met by chance or accident. To the evi- 
 dent delight of all, the whistle of the engine was 
 heard at no great distance. The look of happy 
 expectation upon the faces of the hundreds of 
 young people changed to one of animation, as the 
 long line of coaches finally rolled up and stopped. 
 A stream of passengers began to alight. The 
 young people, of whom mention is made, remained 
 together, while looks and even murmurs of dis- 
 appointment were beginning to be seen and heard 
 among them. At this time someone shouted, 
 "There he is!" The next moment a loud accla- 
 mation burst forth. Edward Reynolds, the cause 
 of this commotion, did not look upon the scene 
 unmoved. There were young men and women 
 345
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 mixed in that great crowd of welcomers, who had 
 traveled hundreds of miles upon brief leaves of 
 absence, in order to be present at the homecoming 
 of their saviour. Reynolds had received no intima- 
 tion of the demonstration. His feet had no sooner 
 touched the platform, than he was surrounded by 
 the eager, enthusiastic, frantic legion of young 
 people, each envious of the other in the first 
 handshaking and greeting. 
 
 "Make way there!" cried a member of the 
 Queen's bodyguard, stepping forward as the 
 crowd separated, to deliver her Majesty's mes- 
 sage. 
 
 "The Queen wishes a moment's interview. She 
 waits yonder in her carriage. I will conduct you 
 to her presence." 
 
 Reynolds followed the messenger and bowed 
 low before the august but womanly Sovereign. 
 
 "I come with these young people to welcome 
 your arrival, and offer my carriage to convey you 
 home," said the Queen, extending her hand. 
 
 "England's illustrious Queen," replied Rey- 
 nolds, bowing lowly over the royal hand, "has 
 shown me an honor, the memory of which shall be 
 cherished. But I am to these young people what 
 your most gracious Majesty is to her millions of 
 loyal subjects. Your gracious Majesty will suffer 
 me to return to my boys and girls." 
 
 "A man of a million," remarked England's 
 346
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Queen, as she was driven away after having seen 
 the American conducted back to the hilarious 
 young folk, who gave their idol another cheer 
 upon seeing him part with the Queen to rejoin 
 them. 
 
 Their king had come back. The king of hu- 
 manity had returned from Death's door! It was 
 an hour of enthusiasm and rejoicing. Even the 
 rugged face of old Hardsides was seen moving 
 among the motley crowd, tears moistening his 
 eyes. It was more than a conqueror's triumphant 
 return. Gratitude, aifection, veneration, love 
 prompted those grateful hearts to crowd about 
 their hero. 
 
 "My boys and girls," said Reynolds, good 
 naturedly, exhausted by an hour of hand shaking, 
 "we are forgetting I am not strong, and, per- 
 haps, if I am excused to get a little rest, you will 
 not be angry." 
 
 "Reynolds is not strong, we will bother him 
 no more to-day make way! Where is Lord 
 Howe and his carriage? 
 
 The carriage of Lord Howe was in attendance. 
 Within were seated the old nobleman, who had 
 been an interested spectator of the novel scene, 
 accompanied by his friend Rivers and the latter's 
 daughter. 
 
 There was another spectator to that scene. A 
 fair, beautiful woman was crouching against the 
 347
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 column supporting the roof of the depot. She 
 was in the very outskirts of the multitude, still 
 nothing had escaped her bright vigilant eyes. 
 From first to last, she had stood as motionless as 
 a statue. She comprehended the action of the 
 Queen, the infinite and excessive joy of the youth, 
 the pleased surprise of the wanderer. Oh, if she 
 could only rush forward, too, and feel the mes- 
 meric touch of those gentle hands, and hear the 
 benediction of that voice. At last she saw Ed- 
 ward Reynolds lifted into the carriage. She had 
 not noticed the conveyance before, and she looked 
 blankly into the faces of the occupants. Lord 
 Howe, grand old man, his face beaming with hap- 
 piness, and a stranger? Yes no she had seen 
 that face before. Ah ! Yes, she remembered now. 
 She was walking the streets of London, the Duke 
 of Berwick at her side. But there was a fourth 
 then. A fair, fresh face, even to girlishness. Ah, 
 God, a sharp stinging pain, like the point of a 
 poniard, pricked through her heart Alice 
 Eldridge recognized the woman that had darted 
 past her to the side of Edward Reynolds in the 
 Art Gallery of London. 
 
 The carriage rolled away. Then the figure at 
 the pillar moved and looked about in a dazed way, 
 as though to find her bearings. 
 
 "America ! Dear old America !" she whispered, 
 her gaze fixed upon the western sky. "Thank 
 348
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 God! To-morrow I shall feel the waves of the 
 ocean rolling beneath me. The ocean that sepa- 
 rates us forever and forever! He in England I 
 in America ! Oh, I am tired and homesick." 
 
 849
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 While yet in Switzerland, Edward Reynolds 
 had notified his legal advisors to realize money 
 upon all American securities which he possessed. 
 All pacific measures having failed, war was inevit- 
 able between the North and South. 
 
 It was a singular coincidence that these securi- 
 ties should have been converted into cash upon the 
 day of his arrival in London. He had been repre- 
 sented in the matter by a young barrister, who 
 had formerly had an acquaintance with the night 
 school. The lawyer had received the money after 
 banking hours, and, unwilling to assume the re- 
 sponsibility of guarding the treasure, had sought 
 the owner for instructions. "Bring it ' here," 
 Reynolds had advised him. 
 
 It was during the afternoon of the first day 
 of Reynolds' return to London that he listened 
 to the particulars of poor Lieb's great affliction. 
 Edward had been informed that Lieb was ill, but 
 did not know of the serious character of his illness. 
 But, to be told that overwork and the unprecedent- 
 ed success had undermined the reason of the 
 young genius, was a blow that nearly prostrated 
 him. Reynolds' grief was inconsolable. He 
 350
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 could not accept the decree as final. It was even- 
 ing before he managed to visit the artist. He 
 could not rest for a sense of guilty neglect, if he 
 did not call to see his unfortunate friend. Of 
 the hundreds he had helped, Leib was his favorite. 
 The old mother of the artist met Reynolds at the 
 door, and, upon recognizing her visitor, gave way 
 to a torrent of tears. 
 
 "Do not weep, my good woman," said Reynolds, 
 reassuringly, putting an arm kindly around the 
 trembling mother, "I am here and we will have 
 him all right again directly." 
 
 "Oh, my poor boy," she sobbed, "there is no 
 help. They are going to take him to the asylum 
 to-morrow, where his father is confined," she 
 moaned piteously. 
 
 "Calm yourself, and trust to me," said Reyn- 
 olds. 
 
 As he entered the room where the artist was con- 
 fined, Lieb raised himself on one elbow and stared 
 at Reynolds. There is an unwritten language in 
 men's eyes at times that reads as plainly as printed 
 words, "Stand back." For the life of Edward 
 Reynolds he could not have explained why he 
 stopped at the center of the room, midway be- 
 tween the door and the bed, fascinated by the de- 
 testation, hate, horror, the burning, loathing, and 
 abhorrence gleaming in those dilated orbs. Reyn- 
 olds was no sooner aware of the feeling than he 
 351
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 was ashamed of the weakness, and approaching 
 the bedside, took the damp clammy hand of the 
 artist, saying kindly, "Lieb, don't you know me? 
 I have come back to you." 
 
 "Yes," the compressed lips faltered, while great 
 beads of perspiration collected upon the forehead, 
 under the eyes and about the mouth, all the 
 more noticeable because of the bloodless face. 
 "Yes, yes, I know you, I never shall forget 
 YOU !" 
 
 There was no responsive pressure ef the fingers 
 which Reynolds clasped, while the other hand of 
 the artist was moving furtively over the counter- 
 pane, the fingers clutching spasmodically the folds 
 of the spread. 
 
 The drops of perspiration united and trickled 
 down the painter's face. 
 
 "You must hurry and get well," said Reynolds, 
 trying bravely to conceal his emotion. "Miss 
 Rivers tells me that she is impatient for her por- 
 trait, and is anxious for your early recovery. She 
 misses the visits to the studio." 
 
 "You have seen her and talked with her?" in- 
 quired Lieb, his voice shaking and husky. The 
 lips of the artist moved as he spoke, but the sound 
 seemed to proceed from another direction, while 
 the fingers stole to the wrist of Reynolds and 
 were closing and opening fitfully. 
 
 "I believe," said the burly attendant, "I'll step 
 352
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 across the way and get a mug of beer while you 
 are sitting here, if you have no objections." 
 
 As the door closed upon the retreating form, 
 the artist turned upon his side, freeing his limbs 
 of all impediments save the edge of the coverlets. 
 There was nothing in the action to excite suspicion. 
 It was the natural desire to shift position, con- 
 sequent to illness; but, despite it all, Reynolds was 
 oppressed by a sense of dread, a premonition of 
 evil. He attributed his anxiety to the nervous- 
 ness of a weakened physical state. He was not 
 strong yet, and found himself regretting that the 
 attendant had been permitted to withdraw, and 
 was speculating upon the probable duration of his 
 absence. 
 
 There is something so weird and supernatural in 
 the fixed and changeless stare of a person, to say 
 nothing of that of a madman, that the object of 
 espionage invariably shows disquiet and irritation. 
 Reynolds felt that a voice would be some com- 
 pany, even if it were his own, and spoke as much 
 to exorcise the dark foreboding from his spirit as 
 anything else. 
 
 "I shall bring Miss Rivers to see you, if you 
 like." The words sounded remote, recoiling upon 
 themselves, or off at a distance like ventrilo- 
 quism. 
 
 "Parade the love you have stolen from me!!' 
 hissed the artist, springing from the bed and 
 353
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 grappling with Reynolds, who was dazed by the 
 rapidity and impetuosity of the attack. 
 
 "Never! Never!" shrieked the artist, forcing 
 his unwilling antagonist backward. 
 
 Reynolds realized that he was in the embrace of 
 a madman, possessed of the strength of a dozen 
 men, and braced himself for the encounter. He 
 had not the heart, if it were in his power, to in- 
 flict corporal injury upon the demented artist; but 
 at the same time he was resolved upon suffering as 
 little personal damage as possible. With a sud- 
 den movement, he shook the madman from him 
 and springing with the agility of a cat, placed a 
 large center table between them. 
 
 "Ha! Ha! You think to escape my venge- 
 ance," shouted the artist, surveying the feeble im- 
 pediment that gave momentary resistance to his 
 murderous rage. 
 
 "Lieb," panted Reynolds, looking steadily into 
 the blazing eyes, "I command you to stop." 
 
 A wild animal may be vanquished by fixed and 
 constant gaze, not so a wild man. 
 
 " 'Command' !" the artist repeated, his features 
 working convulsively. "Perjurer! Thief! Your 
 dominion has ceased! Oh, fair dark fiend, you 
 have robbed me of Lena's love. Her words are 
 ever ringing in my ears, like sleepless cathedral 
 bells. Why did you not die? Live to cheat me, 
 eh? Ha! Ha! Will she love you when I have 
 354
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 torn that false sallow face; rended that white 
 throat and gouged out those treacherous eyes?" 
 
 With a demoniacal yell, he scaled the barrier 
 between them, as easily as a panther might have 
 leaped, and clutched his benefactor. With un- 
 erring precision, the maniac had griped the 
 throat of Reynolds and clung with the tenacity 
 of a vise. This way and that way they surged, 
 overturning the center table and furniture. Reyn- 
 olds was at a disadvantage, clutching at the bare 
 skin of the madman, whose muscles were as com- 
 pact as steel bars. He tried to release the talons 
 sinking deeper into his neck. He ran about the 
 room, the bloodhound clinging to his throat. He 
 beat the demon in the face. 
 
 "Ha! Ha! Who's master now?" laughed Lieb. 
 
 Reynolds was suffocating. He hurled his as- 
 sailant upon the bed, dragged him to the floor, 
 rolled upon him, over him, but the madman was 
 ever dangling at his throat. He tried to pry away 
 the forceps of steel. His strength was failing 
 him; his eyes were bloodshot; his brain splitting. 
 Good God! It was strangulation death! With 
 superhuman strength, born of love of life, he tore 
 at the fingers of iron, twisting deeper and deeper 
 into his neck, throwing himself backward, forward, 
 sideways, bearing the palpitating, clinging, sinis- 
 ter human cobra depending from his neck. There 
 is surplus energy in the last despairing cast for 
 355
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 life. For one instant, with the surcharged blood 
 bursting from his nostrils and spattering over 
 the naked figure of his would-be assassin, he gazed 
 into the merciless, murderous eyes. The face of 
 the madman was dancing everywhere. He was 
 hydra-headed, argus-eyed. Reynolds staggered 
 and reeled unsteadily upon his feet, when, draw- 
 ing back his clenched fist, he shot it outward into 
 the faces that were legion, falling forward un- 
 conscious. Side by side Reynolds and Leib 
 lay upon the floor, the awful illumination of in- 
 sanity blazing in the eyes of the artist, who was 
 watching with fiendish exultation, the purple face 
 so close to his own, with those fingers still clinging 
 remorselessly at the other's throat. At this critical 
 juncture the door opened, and the attendant 
 stepped into the room. The next moment he 
 crossed the floor and was dragging the artist from 
 the inanimate victim of the latter's fury. With 
 all his prodigious strength, he pushed his big 
 fingers between those of the artist and Reynolds' 
 neck. 
 
 "Stop!" howled the madman, as he became 
 aware of the purpose of the attendant. "Desist ! 
 Hell !" he hissed, his bare legs twisting and writh- 
 ing like those of a contortionist around the body 
 of Reynolds. "Damnation! I'll murder you!" 
 He shrieked, doubling up like a cat, resisting with 
 the strength inspired by homicidal mania the 
 356
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 fingers wedging under his own. "Perdition! Re- 
 lease my hands! Oh! Oh! O " he yelled in im- 
 potent rage, as the attendant Hercules pried open 
 his fingers, and the neck of the victim slipped from 
 the deadly grasp. 
 
 The attendant bore the crazed artist and hurled 
 him upon the bed. Exhaustion, often prostration, 
 follows excessive exertion. The artist lay still, 
 breathing with difficulty. An ambulance was sum- 
 moned, and Reynolds was carried to a hospital, 
 where his swollen, bleeding neck received proper 
 attention, afterward being conveyed, at his re- 
 quest, to his own home. The horrors of that night 
 were to cling like a hideous nightmare to the mem- 
 ory of Edward Reynolds. The words of the mad 
 artist in reference to Miss Rivers were sounding 
 in his ears. He understood it all. Reason had 
 revolted, and the rich mind of the artist had per- 
 ished upon the fires kindled at the altar of love. 
 Love ! The destroyer of his life's peace and hap- 
 piness. Love ! That had dethroned the reason 
 of the friend whom he cherished most of all. 
 Love! And he, unwittingly, as God was his judge, 
 had brought another fair young life under the 
 shadow of that curse. No ! One life should be 
 made happy. He would repair to his utmost by 
 gentleness and kindness the injury he had done 
 her, at least. 
 
 Lena was good and beautiful. There were 
 357
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 harder fates for better men. It is so easy to re- 
 solve. 
 
 Despite the administration of powerful narco- 
 tics, Reynolds could not sleep. He would no soon- 
 er close his eyes than the awful scene, like a hide- 
 ous phantasmagoria, was conjured up in his brain 
 and re-enacted. He had a horror of falling into 
 a doze and persuaded the young advocate, who 
 had insisted upon remaining during the night, to 
 lie down, while he got up and dressed. Seating 
 himself in a large rocking-chair near a partly 
 open window, Reynolds found the change prefer- 
 able to the visions of the bed; besides, the pain 
 in his swollen neck was greatly relieved by a sit- 
 ting posture. Hour after hour, he sat rocking, 
 to and fro, with thoughts like unto firebrands 
 singeing and torturing him. He even envied Lieb 
 the loss of his faculties. He felt it must be a re- 
 lief to go mad. He heard the clock strike one 
 two three. At last a sense of drowsiness stole 
 upon him. He pinched himself in order to keep 
 awake. He feared the nightmare of sleep even 
 more than the breedings of wakefulness. But, 
 despite it all, the head nodded, the eyes finally 
 closed, and he fell asleep. How long he slept 
 he never knew. He dreamed he was suffocat- 
 ing again; that he could not breathe. It seemed 
 to the slumberer that there was great confusion; 
 bells were ringing and people shouting on the 
 358
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 streets. Something was pounding the pavement 
 like the roar and vibration of chariot racing. 
 
 It was the fire engines thundering over the flinty 
 streets. 
 
 "Fire! fire!" 
 
 No man could sleep with such a din in the 
 neighborhood. Reynolds opened his eyes to peer 
 into a chamber dense with smoke, while the crack- 
 ling of a vast conflagration was deafening. He 
 tried to move, but the numbness of his limbs filled 
 him with terror. He realized that the stupor was 
 produced by inhaling the dense smoke. With 
 heroic effort, he rose from the chair, and going to 
 the bed upon which his companion was lying, tried 
 to awaken him, the heavy respiration of the bar- 
 rister, showing advanced stages of asphyxiation. 
 Reynolds was himself again. He rushed to the 
 door, which he had taken the precaution to lock, 
 owing to the treasure in the room and opening it, 
 a sheet of flame darted at him. He swung it to 
 with a bang and crossed to a door leading into an- 
 other chamber from which he thought to escape. 
 Here, also, communication was shut off. He ran 
 to the window and raised the sash. Below and 
 above fire was bursting from every opening. The 
 intrepid firemen upon the street caught sight of 
 Reynolds at the window. A ladder was hastily 
 raised to the third story; but the fiery elements 
 burned these avenues of escape to charred crisps, 
 359
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 before the top rung was in reach of the imprisoned 
 man. Away at the left, some forty feet, at an 
 angle of the building, the ravage caused by the 
 flame was not so great, and, consequently, the 
 heat less intense. It he could reach that point, 
 ladders might be raised and he should escape. Di- 
 rectly under the window, easy of access, ran a cor- 
 nice a foot wide with a steep slope. He might step 
 upon it and walk cautiously to the haven of 
 safety. The feat was full of peril, but it was the 
 last lingering chance of life. He ran back to the 
 bed. 
 
 "Wake up," he shouted in the ears of the 
 sleeper, "the building is in flames we shall per- 
 ish." He shook the man violently, meeting with 
 no response. Whatever was done had to be done 
 quickly. He stooped and tugged at an iron chest 
 beneath the bed. A million and a half dollars 
 in securities and gold were locked in that iron 
 vault. He thought to hurl it from the window, 
 but it would have taken the combined strength of 
 four men to carry it; then he turned suddenly to 
 the bed again and, lifting the limp form of the 
 barrister in his arms, glided to the window. It 
 was suicide to venture out upon that slender path. 
 Those on the pavement sixty feet below, divining 
 his purpose, shouted that he save himself. Ed- 
 ward Reynolds was not the man to abandon a 
 comrade in peril. Slowly he lowered himself 
 360
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 upon the cornice with the man lying across the 
 sill. This done, he raised the still object in his 
 arms, with their bodies inclining slightly in the 
 window, then, with every muscle rigid and tense, 
 he swung his burden carefully out and pushed 
 it past the projection of the window frame. This 
 accomplished, he balanced himself like a rope- 
 walker and moved cautiously forward, while those 
 upon the ground held their breath. The scene 
 to those breathless spectators was that of a 
 man walking in space bearing a burden in his 
 arms. The trained firemen understood. To them 
 one glance was sufficient. The odds were against 
 that brave fellow, but if he reached his destina- 
 tion he should be saved. Up went a ladder, and 
 a second one, while fearless firemen mounted to an 
 elevation horizontal to that of the battler for life. 
 Reynolds realized what had been done and crept 
 along slowly, hugging the building. His hands 
 and face were blistered by the appalling heat, still 
 he moved steadily forward. One misstep was in- 
 stant destruction. Cn the other hand, there was 
 menace in the forced deliberation of his move- 
 ments. The unconscious man was liable to revive 
 at any moment, and that meant certain death. The 
 false lifting of an arm's weight over that yawning 
 chasm would lose their balance and precipitate 
 them to the pavement below. Ten feet more to 
 traverse; but, within that distance, the flames 
 361
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 were freshly bursting from a window. A grapple 
 had been fastened to a window jamb with a rope 
 secured to an iron hook, while the fireman next the 
 creeping man had snapped the other end of the 
 rope to his belt and stepping upon the cornice ad- 
 vanced cautiously to the window, from which the 
 tongues of flame were darting forth, to offer any 
 aid in his power to the apparently doomed man. 
 Edward Reynolds had made the perilous passage, 
 to be confronted at the very moment of safety 
 with a new and insurmountable danger. He 
 and the firemen were separated by a fiery fur- 
 nace. 
 
 "Push the man ahead. Don't lose your bal- 
 ance. If I can catch his arm I'll save him. Stay 
 where you are," directed the fireman, "and you 
 can be saved in the same way." 
 
 "Move back!" came the answer from the other 
 side of the blazing window; "I am coming 
 through." 
 
 Below, thousands of people saw the man enter- 
 ing the awful caldron of flame, and held their 
 breath in suspense. Great God! Where was he? 
 The smoke and flame enveloped him. Had he fal- 
 len within the window and perished? Some 
 women screamed; others fainted; the cheeks of 
 strong men blanched; the watchers lowered their 
 eyes or turned away their gaze from the human 
 holocaust. No one spoke; no one seemed to 
 362
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 breathe. The very atmosphere was charged with 
 apprehension. 
 
 "Look!" cried a voice. "He lives! He has 
 passed !" 
 
 The diverted eyes again sought the place. 
 Emerging from the smoke and flame, groping his 
 way forward like a blind man, inch by inch, their 
 garments in flames, was the man and his burden. 
 
 "I have him," exclaimed the fireman. "Let 
 go," he continued, and the next moment the fear- 
 less fireman shot to the pavement, according to a 
 secret process of ladder descent firemen alone pos- 
 sess, grasping the barrister. 
 
 Reynolds had been relieved of his unconscious 
 weight. He was faint and dazed. The pain 
 caused by his burning garments, and the fright- 
 ful blisters upon his face, neck, and hands were 
 excruciating, intolerable. The tall spires and 
 steeples were revolving and whirling before his 
 vision, while the rush and roar in his head was the 
 collision of worlds. He fought against the illu- 
 sion. To yield to the new foe, he realized, was 
 certain death. A few feet more; a half-dozen 
 careful steps, and he should live. With a super- 
 human effort he shook the weakness from him. 
 Salvation was at his finger-tips. 
 
 Life! How mighty and infinite the unnum- 
 bered thousands of invisible chains binding us to 
 life! Men are known to be calm and intrepid at 
 363
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 moments of supreme peril. At such times they 
 will reckon with the nicety of a mathematician, 
 calculate with the accuracy of a civil engineer, 
 comprehend, by some governing law of their na- 
 ture instinct self-preservation whatever it is, 
 that which at moments of personal safety and se- 
 curity is absolutely unintelligible. There are 
 lofty minds, cool, imperturbable natures, that rise 
 like an emanation of kinship with God at times 
 of trial and affliction. 
 
 Reynolds' nerves of iron had stood him in good 
 stead. Fumes of the burning flesh of his own 
 body were drawn into his dilated nostrils. 
 
 Suddenly above the roar and confusion of con- 
 flagration rang forth the hideous, mirthless, in- 
 human laughter of the insane. 
 
 "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ashes! Ashes! Black, 
 smoldering ashes ! An ash heap ! Ha ! Ha ! 
 of the magician's infernal college ! He, the devil 
 that feeds our bodies to starve our souls!" 
 
 That demoniacal voice, between a shriek and a 
 whisper, paralyzed the limbs of Edward Reyn- 
 olds. Whence proceeded the sound? Where was 
 the madman? 
 
 "Lieb!" shouted Reynolds, turning his face up- 
 ward and gazing upon the awful apparition, with 
 the life currents congealing in his veins. There, 
 far above, beyond human help or reach, on the 
 very topmost tower, was the demented painter, 
 364
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 still clinging to the fatal torch with which he had 
 rushed from room to room, from story to story, 
 igniting all combustible and inflammable material 
 with the fiendish mania of incendiarism. 
 
 "The torch of reason lighting the world!" 
 shrieked the artist, waving the blazing fagots 
 above his head in long, spectral, sweeping flour- 
 ishes. "Even as the blackness of night, this dark 
 mask of gloom resting upon the world," he 
 howled, brandishing the beacon high above his 
 head, "is penetrated by the glare of the 
 devil's burning rookery. Ha ! Ha ! See the 
 lurid 
 
 "Lieb!" shouted Reynolds, raising a hand as 
 though to save him. "Oh, God, is it an hallucina- 
 tion a spectre?" 
 
 "Hark! Who calls Lieb?" demanded the ma- 
 niac, peering over the walls of the tower, his gaze 
 resting upon the upturned face. "Not dead?" he 
 yelled, his features working convulsively at recog- 
 nition. "Not dead? Who'll save thee now?" he 
 hissed, swinging his form upon the edge of the 
 tower and preparing to spring. As Reynolds be- 
 came aware of the deadly purpose, he closed his 
 eyes. The next instant a dark object, clutching 
 at everything within reach, shot downward, crash- 
 ing into one of the ladders, which also crumbled 
 and fell. Darkness was swimming in Reynolds' 
 eyes. He believed he was dying sinking fall- 
 365
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ing. There was numbness anaesthesia freedom 
 a sense of bliss joy rapture oblivion. 
 
 In less than thirty seconds the second fireman 
 had reached the pavement, with an unconscious 
 object in his arms, while a hoarse, tumultuous 
 shout and acclamation from a thousand throats 
 greeted the brave exploit. 
 
 Two months later, passing the doors of the 
 hospital, and entering the streets of London, no- 
 one would have recognized in the scarred and dis- 
 figured face the classic countenance of Edward 
 Reynolds. 
 
 366
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 "No, my lord, it is of no use. I should hardly 
 know how to preside over an institution depend- 
 ent upon an endowment of state," said Edward 
 Reynolds. 
 
 "But you are left perfectly free to act as you 
 see fit," insisted his lordship; "confidence in you 
 is unbounded." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Reynolds; "still, I simply 
 cannot accept the position. The work is con- 
 genial, the salary all that can be asked; but, my 
 lord, I should be found wanting. I have done 
 things in my own way so long, you see, that habit 
 is formed. A board of directors would hardly 
 suspend criticism upon some of my expenditures, 
 if what I have done in the past with my own means 
 were to be repeated." 
 
 "We will suppress adverse comment," continued 
 Lord Howe, in his impulsive way. " *A tree is 
 known by its fruits'." 
 
 "But a tree needs constant watching and prun- 
 ing," insisted Edward. 
 
 "May I inquire what you propose doing?" 
 asked the nobleman. 
 
 "Certainly," replied the younger man, "if there 
 367
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 is one in the wide world entitled to make that in- 
 quiry it is your lordship. First, let me review a 
 moment. The state has already provided for my 
 boys and girls, with competent instructors at the 
 head of the proposed institution. Hardsides is a 
 noble old soul, and thoroughly interested in the 
 work. He is more tractable than I should be to 
 outside interference. In addition, the church will 
 be reconciled to his supremacy. There are cer- 
 tain ministers who think that the destruction of 
 the home of my children was because of Divine 
 displeasure. I have heard it intimated that the 
 fire and my painful injuries are the visitation of 
 God's wrath, incurred because I preached to those 
 children without ordination. Thus, there have 
 been conflict and friction." 
 
 "The vaporings of mediocrity," burst in his 
 lordship. 
 
 "Be that as it may, there have been, neverthe- 
 less, constant impediments placed in my way. I 
 could tell you of innumerable instances where con- 
 tracts for employment have been cancelled be- 
 cause of this influence. True, I have borne widi 
 it in silence. My fortune alone was involved. I 
 sought other situations, always triumphing in the 
 end. Oh, the intolerance of the church! But 
 the spirit of charity and love shall eventually re- 
 ceive and dedicate each and every act done in the 
 service of Christian fellowship, however humble
 
 and unworthy the instrumentality. It is so hard 
 for the church to acknowledge that good can be 
 done other than by the church itself. In the 
 worst person living there is some good; enough, 
 perhaps, to be shaped into a cross, where the mul- 
 titude of his sins are expiated. How can man, 
 confined within bounds and limitations, presume 
 to place interpretation on the conscience of the in- 
 finite God? I am not better in that I have been 
 condemned; nor am I worse. I would and do ex- 
 cuse the persecution; but it seems incredible that 
 men should construe the loss of my fortune and 
 the very scars upon my face as an argument that 
 nothing can prosper in the glorification of God 
 without the sanction of the church." 
 
 "They are confounded," declared his lordship. 
 "It is acknowledged upon all hands that had it not 
 been for the wholesome lessons you have taught, 
 the splendid efforts being made at this very mo- 
 ment would never have been put forth." 
 
 "Well, at any rate, I can retire from a field, 
 where my services can be dispensed with so easily, 
 without regret. All is being done possible to do. 
 The aegis of kindness and protection will hover 
 over the tender years of unfortunate children. 
 There will be greater unity between government 
 protection and the church. My work in England 
 has terminated. In my own beloved country the 
 fangs of discord and strife are rending the fair 
 369
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Columbia. Separation and disunion threaten the 
 preservation of the Republic. Both North and 
 South believe themselves right. At this distance, 
 I am able to see much to justify the South. But 
 no principle, however ably advocated, can avail 
 against the life of the Republic. There will be 
 carnage, devastation, ruin of the wealth of na- 
 tions; but at the end, after millions of lives shall 
 have been sacrificed, after untold treasure shall be 
 spent, 'ONE AND INSEPARABLE' shall be written in 
 letters of fire before the gaze of the world. Pres- 
 ident Lincoln has called for 200,000 volun- 
 teers " 
 
 "Stop!" exclaimed his lordship. "You cannot 
 think of the life of a private soldier !" 
 
 "I do not 'think'," replied Reynolds, "I am re- 
 solved. Without a moment's delay I shall enter 
 the rolls of my countrymen in the cause of free- 
 dom, in the struggle for the preservation and per- 
 petuity of the Republic." 
 
 "You have so many in America to do all you 
 can do in the ranks, and we so few to continue the 
 work you alone began," argued Lord Howe. 
 
 "You have a treasure in Hardsides. I should 
 have kept him with me had matters remained as 
 they were. He will not disappoint you." 
 
 "Well, a man is happier in doing that which 
 he believes to be his duty. I would not dissuade 
 you, if I could. However, I regret you are not 
 370
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 able to see your obligations here. Halloo ! I be- 
 lieve there is Rivers and his daughter. I was not 
 expecting them, but they are none the less wel- 
 come," declared his lordship, excusing himself and 
 going to greet his guests. 
 
 As he withdrew from the room, Edward Reyn- 
 olds rose and walked before a large mirror, stand- 
 ing some moments in front of the glass. 
 
 "Well, fate has decided this matter for us," he 
 muttered. "Under no circumstances will I permit 
 that lovely creature, even if she should now so de- 
 sire, to be encumbered with my life and poverty. 
 There is a brighter fate in store for her." 
 
 The approach of footsteps warned him from his 
 attitude. Scarcely had he stepped aside, when 
 the door opened and the nobleman, accompanied 
 by his guests, entered. It was the first meeting 
 between Lena and Edward since the fire and his in- 
 juries. Despite himself, Edward felt a measure 
 of embarrassment. 
 
 "I am glad to see you so far convalescent as to 
 be about again," said Mr. Rivers, heartily shaking 
 hands. 
 
 "Thank you," said Reynolds. Lena was a step 
 behind her father. "And Miss Rivers, I trust, 
 shares the sentiment of her father," said Edward, 
 taking the extended hand. 
 
 "Indeed she does," replied Lena, fervently, 
 meeting the steady gaze. She had darted one 
 371
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 swift glance at the neck and left cheek, then, with 
 a strange light in her eyes, they rested upon those 
 of the man. To her that face was never so beau- 
 tiful, so noble. 
 
 "We come down to bid farewell," said her fa- 
 ther; "we go to pass a couple of months with rela- 
 tives in Lancashire." Had he seen, also, the light 
 shining in his child's soul? Reynolds guessed 
 the reason of his departure. 
 
 "My friends are all deserting me," said his lord- 
 ship; "Mr. Reynolds starts for America directly." 
 
 "For America !" repeated Lena, her hand press- 
 ing against her neck where throat and bosom meet. 
 Then she stooped, and, lifting a cluster of house 
 flowers, pretended to admire them. 
 
 "Come, go with us," said Rivers, addressing 
 his lordship ; "I promise you a capital time." 
 
 "There are people who forget that I am no 
 longer a boy," laughed his lordship. 
 
 "Well, if Mr. Reynolds goes to America, you 
 will find time dragging heavily," admonished Mr. 
 Rivers. 
 
 "I have been gallivanting around of late more 
 than one of my years is supposed to do. But," 
 he added, "was ever a man so rewarded?" patting 
 his grandson on the shoulder with one hand and 
 motioning toward Reynolds with the other. 
 
 "By the way," inquired Rivers, "have you seen 
 the article in the Times this morning?" The ar- 
 372
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ticle mentioned was an acrimonious attack upon 
 the political opinions favored by the two gentle- 
 men. 
 
 "No. Does it do us justice?" 
 
 "Ample, it seems, from the standpoint of the 
 opposition," replied Rivers. The two old gentle- 
 men walked to a distant window in order to read 
 and discuss the strictures published upon them, 
 leaving Lena and Edward, who had recovered 
 somewhat from the awkwardness of their position, 
 by themselves. 
 
 "You must feel quite lonesome without your 
 young people to look after," said Lena, dropping 
 the rose foliage she had been holding. 
 
 "Yes, I miss the youngsters. Children are tor- 
 ments, always will be, for that matter; but they 
 grow in our affections, especially if the relation of 
 dependency exists." 
 
 "Papa tells me that Parliament has taken de- 
 cisive measures in behalf of the children you have 
 protected." 
 
 "Indeed, poor Lieb did me a greater service 
 than he knew, upon severing my connection in the 
 care of the little ones." 
 
 "I should think you would regret to leave them 
 in order to go to America," said Lena, stooping 
 to pick a withered petal from a flower. 
 
 "I regret more the necessity that compels my 
 return." 
 
 373
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "I do not quite catch jour meaning," replied 
 Lena. 
 
 "The war between the States," he replied. 
 
 "What a horrible thing war is!" shuddered 
 Lena. 
 
 "Indeed it is, at best. But civil war! Father 
 arrayed against son; brother pitted against 
 brother. The South hopeful of dismembering the 
 Union; the North determined to preserve the sis- 
 terhood. I had thought never to go back to 
 America." 
 
 "Will you return to England when hostilities 
 cease?" asked Lena. 
 
 "Yes, if I live." 
 
 " 'If you live' ?" repeated Lena, her voice 
 trembling. "Do you intend joining the army? 
 Have you had military training?" 
 
 "Soldiers are drilled before being placed under 
 the fire of active service," explained Reynolds. 
 
 "But the life of a private soldier the exposure 
 and privation," pointed out Lena. 
 
 "But generals, alone, do not fight battles. Sol- 
 diers are needed to win victories. Already the 
 call for help has gone forth. TTTO hundred thou- 
 sand of my countrymen are asked to volunteer, 
 and, as I see my duty, it lies there." 
 
 "But the war will not last long. Surely the 
 South will yield submission," insisted Lena. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Rivers, there's where the trouble lies. 
 374
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 The South does not know what the word 'submis- 
 sion 5 means. There are no more brave and chiv- 
 alrous people than the Southerners. It will be a 
 war of extermination. They believe their rights 
 have been invaded. From infancy they have been 
 taught to regard the institution of slavery as Mo- 
 saic law, and they know, as well as the people of 
 the North, that either slavery or the Republic 
 must end. Both cannot dwell in the same house- 
 hold. The South has been educated to believe 
 that sovereign allegiance is due the state; the 
 North that sovereign allegiance is due the 
 Union." 
 
 "But papa thinks the war will not last longer 
 than a year." 
 
 "A year?" replied Reynolds. "Please God, 
 your father may be right. But years shall come 
 and go before the end of this unholy strife. Mill- 
 ions of lives shall be offered, a country shall be 
 laid waste, the North or the South shall be 
 crushed, before a cessation of hostilities. I know 
 the spirit of my countrymen. They surrender 
 their lives without a murmur in a cause considered 
 just. But laying down and surrendering arms, 
 abandoning the struggle never! The last thou- 
 sand men of the South, able to bear arms, will be 
 found stubbornly dying at their post, gaunt with 
 hunger, burning with thirst, barefoot and in 
 rags." 
 
 375
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Don't go to the States," said Lena, in a low, 
 pleading voice. 
 
 "What is left me here? My fortune has been 
 swept away. Out of a million and a half, less 
 than $30,000 in gold were found melted in a 
 corner of the iron chest; and maimed and 
 scarred " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, ashamed to be heard com- 
 plaining; or, arrested by the light flashing in the 
 woman's eyes. 
 
 "Make another fortune. You can do it. You 
 can do anything. The West Indies, Brazil, South 
 America, lie before you; but, fortune or no for- 
 tune, never speak of those scars in that way again. 
 Remember how you received them." 
 
 Lena Rivers was a woman of the world, with few 
 rivals more beautiful of face or graceful of form. 
 Her life had been one long round of pleasure. 
 Wealth, riches, the life of ease and elegance, were 
 indispensable to her happiness. To have resigned 
 her envied position would have taken from 
 her life its chief adornment. She could cheer- 
 fully have waited a quarter of a century in order 
 for the man she loved to make a fortune. But 
 she would as soon have thought of renouncing life 
 as to marry unless that marriage meant a continu- 
 ation of the life she had lived. Luxury, splen- 
 dor, and display were as essential to her being 
 as the glittering jewel of a crown to a sovereign. 
 376
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 The poverty of a few paltry thousands was prof- 
 anation. By education and environment the 
 education and environment, alas, of many an 
 Anglo-Saxon aristocratic daughter the heart had 
 been taught, as deeply as the heart can receive 
 instruction, that the great desideratum, the grand 
 achievement of life, is the parade of boundless 
 wealth. Lena, all over this great world, if thou 
 couldst but look into the lusterless, void lives of 
 thy fated prototypes, thou wouldst not be gather- 
 ing these priceless pearls of the soul to cast them 
 with those beautiful hands beneath trampling 
 feet. 
 
 Follow those wretched creatures to their majes- 
 tic, loveless homes. Go with them to their cham- 
 bers, smothered in costliest tapestry, embossed in 
 silver and gold, and read the pity of it all the 
 cost of it all in the whitening faces and trem- 
 bling hands, as jewels without price are torn from 
 snow-white, swan-fashioned throats and cast upon 
 the floor, when the master's footstep falls at the 
 threshold of that door. Oh, it were well, if the 
 hearts of slaves were purchased with their fair 
 bodies at the millionaire auction blocks! 
 
 "Make another fortune. You can do it. You 
 can do anything. The West Indies, Brazil, South 
 America !" 
 
 How many a cry has gone out to man from 
 woman's bleeding heart! "Make a fortune. 
 377
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Save me from myself. There is Brazil, South 
 America, the West Indies! Go, but return to me 
 rich!" 
 
 Alas ! how many a man has dashed into those 
 paths, blazoned with skulls and skeletons, in quest 
 of that mythical Eldorado, without other chart 
 and compass than a woman's command : "Go, but 
 return to me rich!" 
 
 Lena Rivers' heart was both true and false: 
 true to the lap of luxury in which she was reclin- 
 ing; false to the fair priestess of the soul, ever 
 pleading for the larger life the sweeter, dearer 
 life of truest womanhood. 
 
 Edward Reynolds was contemplating in his 
 mind's eye two women : Alice and Lena, one, faith- 
 less, and the other well, it made no difference 
 particularly. Still, he had felt for these women 
 sentiments of love and respect. Between those 
 two women, he should have chosen his companion 
 for life. They were both beautiful, both gifted. 
 
 Yet one was faithless, and the other . Well, 
 
 how does woman love? She seems sincere. A 
 woman will blush and tremble and blush in ac- 
 knowledging captivity. The loves of woman are 
 as so many intoxications. Men, to women, are as 
 the various vintages of wine: port, sherry, cham- 
 pagne, Bordeaux, the kind producing the least 
 headache and annoyance having final preference. 
 The more beautiful woman may be, the better ex- 
 378
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 pert she becomes in choice beverages. In the 
 main, women are pretty much alike. A woman's 
 beauty is her weapon. She instinctively under- 
 stands its several uses and employments. Man, in 
 the clumsiness of his strength, is no match for 
 woman in the security and charm of her weakness. 
 A man's knowledge of woman equals his under- 
 standing of electricity, gravitation, and a few 
 other recondite mysteries. A woman's knowledge 
 of man is secretive, intuitive, infinite. By a flash 
 of an eye she can translate man to the transports 
 of heaven, and pierce every secret of his inmost 
 thoughts. The more we study and know of 
 woman, the greater our admiration of her power; 
 and, despite it all, the more indispensable she be- 
 comes to our happiness. 
 
 Oh! The possibilities of Brazil, West Indies, 
 South America! Alice and Lena! He would 
 close the portals of his heart against womankind. 
 Brazil, West Indies, South America! Recover 
 the fortune he had lost! Replace the thousands 
 wiped out by conflagration. 
 
 "If I survive the war," he at last replied, slowly 
 measuring his words, "I will make another fortune 
 somehow somewhere." 
 
 "Will you come to England then?" The words 
 had rushed to her lips, fresh from the glow and 
 warmth of the heart. Her voice, the warm per- 
 fume of her breath upon his cheek, and all the 
 379
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 glory of womanhood fascinating him as by a spell. 
 
 "Yes, if I succeed. And you " 
 
 "Oh," replied Lena, once more bending over 
 the rose-bush and picking a bud, "I shall be here." 
 
 "Is the rambler dying," asked Mr. Rivers, com- 
 ing forward, "that you two give it so much at- 
 tention?" 
 
 "No, papa," laughed Lena, fully recovered; 
 "see, it is in bud and blossoming," holding up to 
 her father's view the pink bit of rose anatomy she 
 had just plucked. 
 
 "In bud and blossoming," laughed Lord Howe, 
 suggestively, rescuing the fragrant blossom from 
 the fate of immediate destruction. 
 
 "Come, Lena, we have been beguiled already, 
 and must make haste to answer for delay," look- 
 ing steadily, if not inquisitively, at the happy 
 face of his daughter, while giving orders that the 
 carriage be brought to the door. 
 
 "By the way," explained Lord Howe, "I re- 
 ceived a letter yesterday from the Duke of Ber- 
 wick. He announces that he intends sailing di- 
 rectly for America, as special correspondent for 
 the London Times." 
 
 "The Duke of Berwick!" exclaimed Lena. 
 "There is a rumor that he is engaged to marry an 
 American heiress. It is she with whom we saw the 
 Duke walking the day of the sales, while driving 
 from the Gallery upon the boulevard. Ah, yes, I 
 380
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 remember, your competitor," she continued, turn- 
 ing to Edward. "I have seen her twice; once, on 
 the streets, and again, under the roof at the rail- 
 way station. It was the day of your return. She 
 was an interested spectator of that singular scene. 
 My! She is worth millions in her own right, so 
 they say, besides being an only daughter of a rich 
 banker. They are to be married in America." 
 
 "There is our carriage," interrupted her father. 
 "Come, Miss Tardiness, get ready." 
 
 "In a moment, papa. Would you deprive me 
 of the pleasure of gossip? Yes," she continued, 
 "the Duke is much in love. He has abandoned 
 all his bad habits and old associates, and has taken 
 up a course of study with the view of entering 
 politics. Every one predicts that we shall hear 
 from him some day. Anyway, he is to be con- 
 gratulated in winning such a beautiful and 
 wealthy lady for the mistress of the Berwick es- 
 tates." 
 
 "Come," repeated her father. 
 
 "Humph!" ejaculated Lord Howe. "You are 
 more likely to be the Duchess of Berwick, than 
 that American lady." 
 
 "I!" she exclaimed. "Good-bye, Lord Howe, 
 papa is out of patience; and you," she said, ex- 
 tending her hand to Edward, "you why, your 
 hand is as cold as ice! Are you ill?" 
 
 "No, certainly not. What a fancy !" 
 381
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Well, I am not going to say good-bye to you ; 
 it is only an au revoir." She was looking into a 
 white face white, she thought, because of that 
 parting. "Years are as days, and days are as 
 years, until we meet again," she whispered. "Au 
 revoir." 
 
 "Good-bye," said Edward. "I will return to 
 England." He was thinking, " 'They are to be 
 married in America!' I will come back rich as 
 the richest. I have a sudden mania for money." 
 
 "Thank you." Her small, white, transparent 
 fingers gave a pressure that thrilled the object of 
 their touch. "I will be the first to welcome you." 
 They walked to the side of her father, who was 
 standing at the carriage. Edward took her hand 
 and assisted her to the seat. Lena Rivers' heart 
 was a battle-ground, where a fierce and bitter war 
 was being waged between pride and love. She 
 was seized with an irresistible impulse. She 
 would not let him go! She would keep him for- 
 ever beside her! Lena clung to his hand. She 
 would exchange her reign of fashion for the king- 
 dom of love ! Some fiend whispered in her ear, 
 "Thirty thousand! Thirty thousand!" Lena 
 withdrew the fingers and turned her white face to 
 the window. The horses plunged forward. 
 
 "Good-bye!" shouted Rivers. 
 
 "Good-bye," spoke Lord Howe and Edward 
 simultaneously. 
 
 382
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 There were tears upon a white face pressed 
 against the window of the carriage. 
 
 Edward Reynolds watched the carriage until it 
 was lost in the distance, while the names of two 
 women were being repeated o'er and o'er: Alice 
 and Lena! Alice and Lena! Despite himself, 
 despite Lena's loveliness, he felt like some recidi- 
 vist guilty of twice permitting woman to enter 
 his thoughts. 
 
 But life is cheerless without a fireside; and a 
 fireside is cold and dreary without woman. 
 
 383
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 The Duke of Berwick was considered one of the 
 most authentic correspondents of the Civil War. 
 The representative of several foreign papers, next 
 to Longdeville, he was the most popular among 
 officers and army. Heedless of risk and danger, 
 he invariably made his way to those vantage- 
 grounds where observation of the movements of 
 the contending armies might be made with great- 
 est accuracy of detail. He had been bronzed to 
 the color of a nut during his four years of camp 
 life, the last vestige of English airs having long 
 since been lost to sight under army discipline. 
 Englishmen are brave, and bravery is one of the 
 strongest ties joining men in the inseparable 
 bonds of a common brotherhood. The Duke of 
 Berwick's previous visit to the States had been im- 
 providently arranged for him, upon terms and 
 conditions not entirely to his liking, and, conse- 
 quently, was not as pleasant as it might have been 
 under more agreeable circumstances. Whatever 
 may have been the reason for his second visit, it 
 was, at least, voluntary. 
 
 Deep in his heart he admitted he came to be 
 near Alice Eldridge; ostensibly, it was as the cor- 
 384
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 respondent of a number of European papers. 
 Scarcely a month had elapsed, from the time he 
 began his duties, that he had not seen and talked 
 with Alice. She had been one of the first to vol- 
 unteer her services in the capacity of nurse to the 
 Federal Army. Intensely Union, she had laid 
 aside pleasure and pursuits of vast wealth to aid 
 a cause in which she so devoutly believed. The 
 interviews between these two had been frank and 
 unconventional. In fact, many a pleasant hour 
 had been whiled away in strolls and conversation, 
 when her presence at the hospital was in less ur- 
 gent demand. He knew it was a brother's place 
 he occupied in her affections, and despaired of 
 ever awakening a deeper feeling. Still, she 
 was his dream, and he was quite content to be 
 near her. During these four years he had left 
 her many a time to go and look silently at a sol- 
 dier, the soldier known among his regiment as 
 Achilles Achilles, always at the forefront in 
 battle, and always unscathed. The regiment had 
 given him this name; but they came to like him, 
 one and all. At first he did not mingle with them. 
 His life was quiet and retiring. The rough-and- 
 ready soldiers, thinking him proud, were at first 
 prejudiced against him. But after the battles 
 were fought, the man, with a scar upon his neck 
 and cheek, denied himself the respite, earned by 
 the toil of battle, and lingered among the wound- 
 385
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ed, saving many a poor fellow's life by his tireless 
 efforts. He was tender as a woman, unselfish and 
 brave, and the prejudice gave way imperceptibly 
 to a feeling of reverence and respect. 
 
 The colonel of the regiment was killed, and the 
 soldiers were permitted to choose his successor. 
 With one accord, Achilles was chosen. He 
 thanked the boys for the compliment, and assured 
 them that he should endeavor to deserve their con- 
 fidence. It was all simply done. There was no 
 elation, no change of conduct. As private sol- 
 dier, or as officer, he was still the same. Cool and 
 fearless, the soldiers placed unlimited faith in him. 
 In less than six months his regiment became known 
 as one of the best-drilled and among the bravest 
 in the service. 
 
 The Duke of Berwick gazed upon this man 
 with feelings of love and hate; this man who held 
 the heart he prized; this man, whose life he could 
 not comprehend, was loved by the woman, also, 
 whom he loved, but could not comprehend. In 
 obedience to some inexplicable impulse, he followed 
 in the wake of Edward Reynolds. He was on the 
 James River, in the Army of the Potomac. Wher- 
 ever Reynolds went, he went. It was fascination, 
 or fate ; perhaps both. 
 
 "If he should die, would she come to me?" 
 Night after night he would ask himself this ques- 
 tion in his sleep. "If he should fall, how would 
 386
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 it affect her?" In his waking hours he would cast 
 such questions from him. In self-reproach against 
 such guilty thoughts, he increased his labors. At 
 last, the war was drawing to a close. The man, 
 whose footsteps he had seemed to haunt, had es- 
 caped without a scratch. 
 
 The battle of the Wilderness was in progress. 
 A heavy rain the night before delayed the dispo- 
 sition of the Federal Army, and active hostilities 
 were not commenced until late in the day. The 
 Duke of Berwick, note book in hand, stood on a 
 slight elevation overlooking the field, his pencil 
 moving rapidly over a paper tablet in the prepara- 
 tion of despatches. 
 
 "In the valley a square is forming," writes the 
 correspondent, glancing from the plains below to 
 the white blotter, "protected, by the slight pro- 
 jection of a small hill, from the enemy's artillery. 
 Lee rests upon his impregnable position, confident 
 of ability to retain his ground against any assault 
 that may be hurled against him. The strategic 
 importance of the hill commanding the valley, and 
 especially the plains, which the Union troops are 
 to cross in order to attack the main lines, had not 
 been realized by the Federal generals until after 
 the enemy was fully entrenched in the command- 
 ing position. Two futile attempts have already 
 been made to recover the hill, each effort being re- 
 pulsed with heavy loss. The guns from the moun- 
 387
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 tain peak will enfilade the Union Army as it 
 crosses below; hence, at whatever hazard and sac- 
 rifice to life, they must be silenced. Colonel 
 Reynolds has been intrusted with the perilous 
 commission of expelling the enemy, and turning 
 the guns upon their present possessors. At any 
 rate, he is to engage them so warmly as to concen- 
 trate the fire upon himself, while the main army 
 is passing over the plains below. 
 
 "The generals of the two armies may be seen 
 riding hither and thither, quietly giving com- 
 mands. Soon the storm will burst in all the splen- 
 did fury of battle. The square, commanded by 
 Reynolds, moves carefully near the point of the 
 mountain and swings abruptly to the left, while 
 the eyes of the soldiers follow the direction indi- 
 cated by the sword of their intrepid leader. These 
 brave men must cross eighty rods of meadow land, 
 subjected to the fire of the enemy, without offer- 
 ing one opposing shot. There is nothing that 
 tries the mettle of soldiers like being subjected to 
 the fire of the enemy's guns without permission 
 to return the compliment. This is especially true 
 when the field is covered with the dead and dying 
 of previous assaults. A momentary shelter is given 
 the soldiers, when the base of the mountain is 
 reached. Reynolds behaves nicely in crossing the 
 meadow. He pauses at the foot of the hill to give 
 the men a few moment's rest. Again the assault- 
 388
 
 ing column begin the ascent. Half-way up the 
 mountain is a plateau commanded by the rebel 
 guns. The Blues break into the clearing, and 
 dash across, their ranks decimated by grapnel and 
 shot. Here a steep declivity offers them another 
 shelter from the deadly fire. 
 
 "The men are showing fatigue. Each under- 
 stands for himself that the trying ordeal is yet in 
 store; that yonder, where the last four hundred 
 feet must be traversed, is open and that the as- 
 sault must be attended with fearful carnage. 
 Reynolds is as calm as though on dress parade. 
 While crossing this last few hundred feet the main 
 army will emerge and engage the enemy gener- 
 ally. One solitary gun is fired. It is the signal 
 to advance. 
 
 " 'Charge, and fire as you charge,' commands 
 Reynolds, leading the way. The soldiers dash 
 into the clearing, their appearance being welcomed 
 by a fusilade of shot and shell. The boom of 
 cannon reverberates among the hills. Men drop, 
 but there is no seeming check. Again and again 
 those guns ring forth their peal of death; again 
 and again the gaps close up ; but one-third of the 
 men are back there on the plain and the plateau. 
 Reynolds moves among his followers inspiring 
 them by words and actions. 
 
 "The standard-bearer drops; another seizes the 
 banner, bears it a few feet forward, and falls. 
 389
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 Five hundred infantry rise and pour a murderous 
 hail of lead into the advancing soldiers. That 
 awful fire sways and staggers the lines. No valor 
 can face such a storm of death. They waver. 
 
 " 'Charge bayonets !' rings the clarion voice of 
 Reynolds, and, seizing the standard, he springs 
 forward in full view of his followers, mounts the 
 embankment, waving the Stars and Stripes. In a 
 moment, the soldiers crowd around him, and the 
 clangor of swords and bayonets rises above the 
 groans of the dying. 
 
 "Twice hurled back, thrice on top the ramparts 
 with a wall of dead between the combatants. A 
 cry splits the heavens. It is the shout of victory! 
 The enemy has broken! At this moment Reyn- 
 olds, still holding the banner, staggers, slips from 
 the earth embankment, and falls to the ground, 
 the folds of the Flag winding about him. His 
 trusty aids are bending over him. 
 
 " 'It is Achilles Reynolds !" 
 
 The tablet dropped from the writer's fingers. 
 What he had secretly hoped, or secretly feared, 
 had come to pass. The Duke of Berwick leaned 
 against an oak, oblivious of his surroundings. 
 Thousands of cavalry dashed past him, but he 
 heeded them not. Upon the plains below a de- 
 moralized army was in full retreat, but the tablet 
 still lay upon the ground at his feet. He took 
 heed neither of time nor of battle. 
 390
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 At last, Alice is his. Omnipotence has taken 
 the matter in charge, and decreed in his favor. 
 
 "Dead!" he repeated, with cold, white lips. 
 "Dead! She loves him, but he is dead. I saw 
 him fall back there." 
 
 He turned and mechanically advanced some 
 paces down the hill. 
 
 "She loves him. He dies; she is free. My 
 hands are innocent of his blood." He continued 
 down the hillside, picking his way among the rock 
 and the stubble. "She loves him." 
 
 "MURDERER !" 
 
 The lips of the dying men seem to breathe the 
 accusation against him. The words greet him in 
 the shouts, the confusion, the chaos from the 
 plains below. 
 
 "MURDERER !" 
 
 The sparks, flying from the hoofs of galloping 
 horses, were formed in the awful word. He 
 pressed his hands against his temples. 
 
 "She loves him. Murderer, in the greatness of 
 her heart, read the baseness of thine." With the 
 swiftness of thought, he rushed back. 
 
 "Reynolds!" he shouted, "Reynolds!" 
 
 He ran, peering into the faces of the dead and 
 dying. Nearer came the sound of horses' feet, 
 that would trample upon the dead and crush the 
 wounded. 
 
 He turned over the faces of the dead and looked! 
 391
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 at them in the uncertain light. Someone moaned. 
 The searcher hastened toward the sound, and tore 
 the flag from the form peered into the face 
 shuddered. Without a word, he raised the wound- 
 ed man in his arms and fled. 
 
 He was ever moving. On, on! "She loves 
 him!" 
 
 His arms were numb, and he staggered under 
 the weight of the burden. Once, in the night, 
 Reynolds rallied and begged for water. A can- 
 teen had been placed to his lips, and the last drop 
 drained. The first gray streaks of morning 
 were lifting the pall of darkness from the earth, 
 when a man, bearing a dead or wounded comrade, 
 reeled against the door of the Union hospital. 
 
 "What is wanted?" asked a sweet voice from 
 within. 
 
 The man's lips and throat were parched, and he 
 spoke, or gasped in gutterals, resembling no 
 known language. The door opened, and Alice, 
 raising a lighted candle above her head, gazed in 
 horror at the faces of the two men. 
 
 "It is he ! Water wa ter !" 
 
 The Duke of Berwick had borne Edward Reyn- 
 olds five miles over rocks, across gullies and ra- 
 vines, through tangles of vines and underbrush 
 to lay him at the feet of the woman they both 
 loved. 
 
 392
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 "Well, sir," exclaimed the surgeon, dropping 
 the arm he had just been examining, "I call that 
 a good job. Do you know, I wouldn't have given 
 you a shin-plaster for that arm," indicating the 
 member referred to, "upon the morning that news- 
 paper chap deposited you on the hospital floor." 
 
 "Opinions differ as to values. It is far better 
 than no arm," replied Reynolds, swinging it care- 
 fully. 
 
 " 'Better than no arm' ! Guess it is. It will fill 
 a coat-sleeve yet," commented the surgeon. "It 
 was a close shave, though. We had the tools 
 ready to do some amputating, when that nurse ap- 
 peared. Jingo! But she is a woman, I tell you! 
 You see, you had bled pretty nearly to death, be- 
 sides being hauled about all night on the back of 
 that press fellow, before we made your acquaint- 
 ance. We weren't in the best of humor, not hav- 
 ing been asleep over an hour when dragged out, 
 and were not standing much on ceremony. In less 
 than a trice, we saw what there was to be seen, and 
 were putting the shirt back, when she walked in 
 and interfered with the plans. Of course, she 
 knew what we were up to. 
 393
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 " 'Gentlemen,' says she resolutely, 'that arm can 
 be saved.' 
 
 " 'I beg your pardon, madam,' says the operat- 
 ing surgeon, dipping the knife into the antiseptic 
 bath. 
 
 " 'Gentlemen,' she repeats, 'that arm must be 
 saved.' 
 
 "Well, the old surgeon looked at her, and I be- 
 gan to fumble around in the bullet-hole among 
 the broken bones, awaiting developments. 
 
 " 'Let me see,' says she. And she took a long 
 look at the horrible wound, turning paler than a 
 ghost. 'I wish a word with you in private,' says 
 she to my superior, leading him aside. 
 
 "After a bit they came back, and we went at 
 our work. But your arm is there, thanks to that 
 nurse, and a more skilful job was never done in 
 the service. A month later my superior shoved a 
 purse, containing a thousand gold dollars into 
 my fist. 
 
 "'Eh?' says I. 
 
 " 'It's all right,' says ne ; *we earned it.' And 
 "we did, too. One or the other of us stood over 
 you for the next ten days." 
 
 "Do you know what amount the nurse paid?" 
 inquired Reynolds, looking dreamily out of the 
 window at the distant hills. 
 
 "He never reported. He's close as an oyster, 
 that sly fellow! Loves money to beat the cars, 
 394
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 but clever with the instruments mighty clever. 
 His like isn't in the service." 
 
 "Can you learn what he received? Work upon 
 his cupidity. Tell him I'll double it," suggested 
 Reynolds. 
 
 "Perhaps, I'll see. Good-bye. Move the arm 
 a little, off and on ; it will do it good. May hurt 
 a trifle at first, but keep it up several times a day." 
 
 "Never mind, I'll follow instructions. Say, 
 you'll find out, won't you?" 
 
 "It depends. Good-bye," and the assistant 
 darted away on the round of his visits. 
 
 "So I am to thank Alice for this, such as it is," 
 mused Edward. "I must refund the money to 
 her." 
 
 He remembered how she had come to sit by him, 
 during those critical days when he was too weak to 
 speak. He remembered how, as she sat by his 
 couch, he had tried to find the face of the happy 
 girl in the sweet, sad one of the woman that 
 watched o'er him those days when the surgeon 
 came so often to his bedside. Even the voice was 
 changed. It was lower and more musical. But 
 the happy laugh, the light-hearted, merry laugh, 
 that fell in the olden days in ripples from those 
 lips, had departed, leaving only the trace of a 
 smile that went with every word or whisper. Yet, 
 he had thought the brow clearer and whiter, the 
 eyes deeper and purer, and the golden hair, of 
 395
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 which he had been so proud, still waved, as it was 
 wont to do, about the temples of that regal head. 
 He had remembered of wondering, too, if it ever 
 occurred to her that it was she who had robbed him 
 of life's greatest happiness, and if in her heart 
 she had no regret, no remorse for what she had 
 done. Then came the long, wretched days when 
 she did not come. And, finally, he had asked for 
 the nurse, for Alice, and they had answered him 
 that she had gone away; that she had asked to be 
 transferred. He remembered how tired he was of 
 life, and how he had wished, as he lay there day 
 after day, gazing at the chair where she had sat, 
 that the piece of shell had found his heart instead 
 of his arm. It was doubly hard to bear the 
 thought that the Duke of Berwick had saved his 
 life, and Alice had saved his arm. If they only 
 knew how little he prized the salvage they had 
 rescued! Of all the men in the world, that the 
 Duke of Berwick should have carried him about 
 that hideous night ! He was in honor bound ! It 
 was best she had gone. Still, he must return the 
 money. So the days and weeks went by, and he 
 was strong upon his feet again. A furlough was 
 placed in his hands, and the surgeon told him to 
 go to Boston or New York until he recuperated. 
 They would not take him back into the service, 
 where he begged to go, and at last he was on his 
 way to the Metropolis. Time dragged heavily 
 396
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 upon his hands. He moped about objectless, 
 hopeless. One day he met a brother officer, who, 
 like himself, was laid up for repairs. 
 
 "What do you do to amuse yourself?" asked his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 "Nothing," replied Reynolds. 
 
 "Take in the theater, of course?" 
 
 "Once or twice." 
 
 "Booth is billed to-night. Let's go." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 The following day they were walking along 
 Wall Street. A crowd of men were standing be- 
 fore the Stock Exchange. 
 
 "Ever speculate?" asked the friend. 
 
 "Never have." 
 
 "Let's go in and look around." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 Two hours after, Edward Reynolds had lost 
 five hundred dollars. Twenty minutes later, he 
 had forgotten the circumstance entirely. A week 
 afterwards, he was passing, alone, and recognized 
 the place. He stopped, went in and made five 
 hundred. He was even and would quit gambling. 
 He wrote asking to be taken back into the ser- 
 vice and received a reply to report six weeks 
 hence. That message was received the 27th day 
 of February, 1865. He had met no one he knew, 
 save the brother officer, who was only in the city 
 a day or two. He had no appetite. Instead of 
 397
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 improving, he was in a steady decline. Ah, well, 
 he would visit Wall Street again. He, at least, 
 had forgotten while there. He cleared five hun- 
 dred on the stocks of one road, lost five hundred 
 on another. As he walked away the confusion 
 and excitement clung to him tenaciously. For 
 the first time, that night he began to think it over. 
 It was a diversion. It was forgetfulness, and he 
 would purchase that forgetfulness for the one 
 Jionth, until he joined his regiment, let it cost him 
 what it may. Afterwards, he went regularly to 
 the 'Change, his rather tall, athletic figure becom- 
 ing familiar to the habitues. He developed into 
 a genius, winning day after day. Hundreds at 
 first, thousands, and then tens of thousands. For- 
 tunatus seemed to stand at his elbow. His opera- 
 tions became prodigious. He was in the Stock 
 Exchange, where fortunes are made and lost in a 
 single day, when the door suddenly burst open, 
 and a shout rang out, electrifying the inmates, 
 
 "LEE HAS SURRENDERED !" 
 
 That night he was a multi-millionaire. He felt 
 no remorse, no regret. He had found the key ad- 
 mitting of retreat from his own gloomy thoughts. 
 When he closed that door, the shadows were locked 
 without. He had no plans for the future. His 
 life was without object. It had never occurred to 
 him that he was gambling; never entered his mind 
 that other men were ruined by his success. 
 398
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 One morning he heard the members talking 
 upon entering the building. 
 
 "Sad about Charley," said one. 
 
 "He was as clever and whole-souled a fellow as 
 ever lived," replied another. 
 
 "Poor Charley! He passed me upon leaving 
 the Exchange, talking to someone gayly. I knew 
 he had lost heavily, and wondered at his cheerful- 
 ness." 
 
 "They say his mother and sister are nearly 
 frantic with grief. They were dependent upon 
 him. Sad affair! The bullet went straight 
 through his heart. I was in a moment to look at 
 him. You could almost expect him to smile and 
 speak to you. Poor Charley!" 
 
 "He was ruined by the South Western? We 
 were all pinched and squeezed more or less. It 
 was another of the schemes of " 
 
 The speaker, glancing up, saw Reynolds listen- 
 ing to the conversation, and stopped suddenly. 
 The other looked about to learn the cause of in- 
 terruption, when the two men walked away. 
 
 A man had committed suicide. There was 
 nothing uncommon or startling about that cir- 
 cumstance in itself. The papers are picked up 
 scarcely a morning without reading, in glaring 
 headlines, one or more suicides. In some cities 
 there are felo de se clubs. Self-destruction is 
 quite a fad. Reynolds watched the two men mov- 
 399
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ing awaj'. He had done nothing underhanded; 
 abused no one's confidence; betrayed no trust. 
 Why should they blame him for Charley's death? 
 He remembered Charley well, and had liked his 
 frank, open face. But, then, everybody liked 
 Charley. He had such a super-abundance of vi- 
 tality and magnetism. Others walked past him, 
 talking of Charley, one repeating the words to 
 which he had listened before, "The bullet went 
 straight through his heart." 
 
 Reynolds changed his mind. He would return 
 to his rooms. As he leisurely wheeled about, 
 someone staggered against him. 
 
 "Beg pardon," said the man mechanically, 
 making a wider detour. 
 
 "Why, halloo, Freeman," exclaimed Reynolds, 
 his face brightening. 
 
 The man addressed was the subordinate sur- 
 geon, who had assisted in the operation upon his 
 arm. 
 
 "Beg pardon," repeated the man vacantly, star- 
 ing at Reynolds in a blank and dazed way, renew- 
 ing his efforts to pass. 
 
 "Don't you remember me?" inquired Reynolds. 
 
 The physician looked fixedly at the questioner, 
 without either intelligence or recognition. 
 
 "I am Reynolds, the one whose arm you saved." 
 
 There was something in the word Reynolds that 
 seemed to rouse the surgeon from his apathy, and 
 400
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 he began to look at the possessor of that name 
 with a new light shining in his eyes. 
 
 "So you are the man who ruined me? Well, 
 it's all in the game. I cherish no resentment. 
 We are all here for that purpose. It's hell this 
 place! You picked me clean off my feet. I 
 haven't a dollar in the world Maggie's money 
 and all. If I had taken the poor girl's advice!" 
 
 Edward Reynolds began to see himself in a new 
 light. 
 
 "How great are your losses?" asked Reyn- 
 olds. 
 
 "Ten thousand, Maggie's three thousand thir- 
 teen thousand. Men like you, sir, only increase 
 the distemper among the less fortunate. You 
 make money we learn of it, and bring our mite 
 to the board and speculate. We see it disappear, 
 and hope to retrench, and plunge deeper into the 
 vortex. Someone arouses us with the sorcerer's 
 word, 'ruined.' Then a new light begins to shine 
 upon the situation. We see some master hand 
 laying the lines and standing over the net, where 
 we little fish are struggling. But, I repeat, sir, I 
 hold no grudge," once more trying to pass. 
 
 "Swear to me that you will never again visit 
 this place, and I will put you in a way to recover." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Go back, buy Pennsylvania and Erie up to 
 ninety-six. Buy everything in sight. Wire your 
 401
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 brokers in Washington and Boston to do likewise. 
 Draw on me." 
 
 Freeman was wondering. "Why, sir," said he, 
 "the Pennsylvania is short. No one is looking 
 that way." 
 
 "Do as I say," repeated Reynolds; "but first, 
 swear this day is the last." 
 
 "I give you my word of honor that I will never 
 place my foot within the pit after to-day." 
 
 "Very well, go. I am at my room." 
 
 Reynolds walked away slowly. Later in the 
 day he ordered a carriage and drove out in the 
 country. He could not dispel the thought of 
 his responsibility in the sad death of the 
 suicide. Some laborers were gathering roots on 
 a truck farm. He stopped and watched them at 
 their labor. Then he got out of the buggy and, 
 tying his horse, joined the workmen. 
 
 "Your vegetables are looking nicely." He 
 spoke cheerfully. 
 
 "It's a bountiful harvest, but prices are dull; 
 that is, it's a slow way of making money." 
 
 "Well, you look happy." 
 
 "Oh, yes, if it is a slow way of making money, 
 sir," repeated the owner, "it is honest. We rob 
 and ruin no one. No deaths at our door. See the 
 crape yonder?" pointing at a house some twenty 
 rods distant. "Charley Kline killed himself last 
 night. That was his father's farm on the other 
 402
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 side of the road, and his mother and sister live 
 there, where we see the crape. They say a fellow 
 by the name of Reynolds did the job. A fellow 
 with a scarred ah ! beg your pardon, sir," for the 
 first time noticing the neck and cheek of the stran- 
 ger; "meant no offense." But the apology was 
 lost on the man for whom it was intended. 
 
 "He's a funny duck," commented the truck- 
 grower to his companions. "Guess he has forgot- 
 ten something, by the way he is going back." 
 "Looks that way," admitted one of them. 
 "I pretty nearly got my foot in it about the 
 scar." 
 
 "Well, he did turn color." 
 "Did you notice his cheek and neck?" 
 "Yes; he must be dreadful sensitive." 
 "I was sorry, but they do say that 'Reynolds' 
 is a devil." 
 
 Reynolds hastened back to his rooms. There 
 was one burden upon his mind to make restitu- 
 tion to undo the wrong he had done. He would 
 have parted with every dollar he possessed if he 
 could have restored life to that dead man. It was 
 monstrous, the life he had been living. And yet, 
 he was innocent. He had simply purchased for- 
 getfulness. He had not dreamed, much less 
 thought, that his actions meant ruin, misery, and 
 death to others; that he had left victims, not only 
 with smoking revolvers in their hands, but broken 
 403
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 homes, and broken hearts in rural districts, with 
 crape clinging to the doors. His life for the last 
 few months stood before him in bold relief. And, 
 as he analyzed his feelings, as he searched for the 
 cause of his conduct, he half fancied that he heard 
 a woman's words, "Make another fortune, you can 
 do it." 
 
 404
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Edward Reynolds, after an absence of fifteen 
 years, was once more in the city of his birth. He 
 half expected to meet, running to welcome him, 
 the boys with whom he had parted many years 
 ago. Boys long since grown to be busy, active 
 members of the professions and commercial world. 
 Even the city had changed. He walked the 
 length of Market Street, peering into the faces of 
 pedestrians, trying to recognize some friend of his 
 boyhood. Once or twice he fancied he saw famil- 
 iar features, to be disappointed by closer scrutiny, 
 while the name of some boy was held back from 
 the half -opened lips. 
 
 It is sad to come home and no one to welcome 
 us. Sad to hold in sacred memory the home of 
 our childhood, to return and find none but stran- 
 gers. No one is entirely cosmopolitan. Edward 
 went to the cemetery and stood with uncovered 
 head at the graves of his father and mother. 
 Fresh flowers had been placed in the marble urn 
 by someone, while two rose-bushes, growing upon 
 either side of the mounds, were in white blossom. 
 They had been placed there by loving hands 
 whose? Someone remembered, even though the 
 405
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 son had forgotten. It was, undoubtedly, the St. 
 Clairs, and he would not forget to thank them. 
 After passing some hours by these silent resting- 
 places, he thoughtfully returned to the city. Then 
 he went out upon the street again and walked 
 among the crowd, until he reached Ninth Street, 
 when, turning to the right, he continued to Ridge 
 Avenue, which he followed to Broad. The long 
 walk did him good. He was nearing his father's 
 house; across the street, in fact, was the residence 
 of the Richardses. How natural it looked in the 
 gathering twilight! He stood on the opposite 
 side of the street, making mental note of the doors 
 and windows, of the polished columns, the trees, 
 the lawn, and the vines. All were the same he 
 held in memory. That house was, in a sense, the 
 first familiar face he had met. And the doors, 
 and the windows, and the polished columns, the 
 trees, the lawn and vines, seemed to be greeting 
 him through the departed years. Even the 
 marble steps were the same the steps his feet had 
 mounted hundreds of times to meet Alice, when his 
 heart was young and hopeful. 
 
 At last he stood before the home of his child- 
 hood. He was born in that big house. The hap- 
 piest days of his life were passed under that roof. 
 The laughter of children was welcoming him. Al- 
 ready the building was illuminated with blazing 
 lights. He half expected to see his father and 
 406
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 mother moving about in the brilliantly lighted 
 rooms. A happy, girlish voice called the chil- 
 dren, and then, swinging into view, came the 
 merry group with clasped hands, rollicking across 
 the piazza. 
 
 "Be careful, children, and not fall," some one 
 admonished from within, sounding much as 
 a voice he remembered long ago. It was some- 
 one's else home. His approach would blight the 
 mirth and the gladness issuing from the laughing 
 throats. He was seized with a sudden desire to 
 escape. He should break down upon crossing the 
 threshold. The wanderer turned and walked 
 away swiftly, with a mist dimming his sight. 
 Another burst of merriment from the little folk 
 added speed to his steps. Oh! there is something 
 so unspeakably sad and cruel in being chased from 
 one's own home by the laughter of unknown chil- 
 dren; something so unspeakably pitiful in having 
 neither kith nor kin in the whole wide world. 
 
 He returned to his hotel and sought his room, 
 assuring himself that on the morrow he would have 
 more courage, and should go back and meet the 
 St. Clairs, visit the old familiar rooms once more, 
 linger among the grounds, and then well, then, 
 away towards England. 
 
 It was late the following morning when Ed- 
 ward awoke, after a restless night. There were 
 three things he had planned to do: First, to visit 
 407
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 the St. Clairs; second, to make provision for the 
 mother and sister of Charley Kline ; and third, and 
 last, to return to Alice the sum she had paid the 
 army surgeons. He would execute the plan in 
 the order named. True, there was no great haste ; 
 any time during the day would answer. It was 
 three o'clock in the afternoon before he found 
 himself preparing to set forth. 
 
 The hotel clerk entered the room with a couple 
 of letters, and withdrew. Each bore a foreign 
 postmark. He opened the smaller one and 
 glanced at the superscription. It was from Miss 
 Rivers. 
 
 "Five long years," he read, "since I have heard 
 from you. I more than half begin to think I 
 never may have heard but for the return of the 
 Duke of Berwick. He called last evening, great- 
 ly improved in appearance. He tells me you have 
 cleared millions in the Stock Exchange, whatever 
 that may be. I cannot forego the pleasure of 
 sending congratulations. 
 
 "When shall you come to England? The duke 
 says you are the hero of many a battlefield, quite 
 equal to the fables of King Arthur's Round Table. 
 I always knew you were brave, and may I not feel 
 proud of deeds that have endeared you to your 
 countrymen ? 
 
 "Papa was delighted to learn of your rapid 
 408
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 fame and prosperity. Perhaps papa and I shall 
 visit America in a few months. Write me. 
 "As ever, 
 
 "LENA RIVERS." 
 
 "P. S. The duke hints of a marriage to take 
 place soon in America. He would not tell me the 
 particulars. It is his own, of course." 
 
 The reader held the letter a long time in his 
 hand, pondering its contents. Then, picking up 
 the large envelope and seeing the armorial crest 
 of the Howes, he broke the seal, finding another 
 envelope and a note. On the enclosed envelope 
 was written, in the well-remembered handwriting 
 of his departed friend: "To be delivered to Ed- 
 ward Reynolds after my death." 
 
 The contents of the note were as follows : 
 
 "To Edward Reynolds. 
 
 "Esteemed Sir: In making some disposition 
 of my private papers this A. M., preparatory to 
 an extended absence from England, I found the 
 accompanying envelope accidentally. I cannot 
 explain how it has escaped previous discovery. I 
 deeply regret that the package has been misplaced 
 and overlooked, and hope that no inconvenience 
 shall have resulted to you in consequence of the 
 delay. If there is anything I am directed to do 
 in the letter, you can write Mudge & Co., Barris- 
 409
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 ters, London, and they will communicate with me. 
 when I shall endeavor to act with such prompt- 
 ness as to repair in a measure the unfortunate and 
 greatly regretted delay of my grandfather's re- 
 quest. "Your obedient servant, 
 
 "LORD ROYAL HOWE." 
 
 Then opening the other letter he read : 
 
 "My Dear Son Edward: An old man may; 
 thus be indulged to address one in whom he en- 
 joys the affections of such a relation, without fear 
 of giving affront. You will think this post-mor- 
 tem communication a strange one, undoubtedly. 
 Still, as you proceed, you will find ample reasons 
 for its delivery. 
 
 "I learned your sentiments toward Alice El- 
 dridge while in America. Much in your life, for 
 which I had not been able to account, was cleared 
 up by that discovery. I sympathized with you 
 very deeply, without intruding upon your pri- 
 vacy. I even brought about your meeting with 
 Miss Rivers, hoping that her beauty and goodness 
 would lure your heart from its unhappiness. But 
 I had my labor for my pains. 
 
 "My dear Edward, you love the most incompar- 
 able woman of the world. There are none like 
 her none; and she loves you. She has always 
 loved you. I was blind, too, and twitted her of 
 ruining your lif e. You remember the clipping 
 410
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 with dark spots. Those stains were made by blood 
 from wounds I mercilessly inflicted in her true, 
 noble heart. When you were sick in Switzerland, 
 Alice, her father, mother, and Countess Ratcliff 
 took shelter in the house of Landowner Bonner, 
 where you were confined. She learned of your 
 presence there, and that the doctors had given you 
 up to die. I saw her kneeling by your bed, pour- 
 ing out her heart to your deaf ears, and begging 
 forgiveness. Then the London doctor came. 
 Your life depended upon the operation of vene- 
 section. The man, brought from the city for the 
 purpose, failed at the last moment; but I did not 
 know it, until, entering your room, I saw the blood 
 flowing from her body into yours your right 
 arm and her left one lying side by side, connected 
 with a tube through which the life-blood was pass- 
 ing. You began to improve at once, and the fol- 
 lowing day but one they went away. But she 
 bribed the nurse and made me swear that I would 
 never tell you while I lived. Death relieves me of 
 my promise, and I am resolved you shall know. She 
 thinks that your happiness depends upon silence. 
 "She broke faith with you once, but I tell you 
 she loves you, has always loved you! I heard 
 her confess it, as she knelt by your side, when she 
 believed you were dying. As you were delirious, 
 you made her wear the old engagement-ring, and 
 would take no medicine or nourishment for three 
 411
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 long weeks except from her hand. You lavished 
 upon her the incoherent wealth of your heart, and 
 she, so white and faint under the lash and stripes 
 of the torture. If you are married upon receiv- 
 ing this, burn the letter; if you are free and love 
 her still, I shall sleep more peacefully in the grave, 
 if the dead are permitted to have knowledge of the 
 living, in knowing that the truest woman of the 
 world, whose heart is imbued with the gifts of 
 angels, is united with the one man whom she has 
 ever honored with her love. 
 
 "LORD ALFRED HOWE." 
 
 Great drops of perspiration formed upon his 
 forehead as he continued to read. Slowly he 
 picked up the other one, his white lips reading 
 aloud the postscript: "The duke hints of a mar- 
 riage soon to take place in America. He would not 
 tell me the particulars. It is his own, of course." 
 
 Edward rose and pushed the hair back from his 
 brow. There was a look in those eyes that must have 
 been a triumph for the fiends of hell to behold. 
 He cast off his coat and cuffs, and pulled back his 
 shirt-sleeve, and stared at the scar below the elbow. 
 
 "It was she I saw that night with the lamp. It 
 was Alice, my life! my love!" 
 
 Then he raised the other sleeve to the shoulder 
 and looked hard at the fresher scars made by the 
 fragment of shell and the surgeon's knives. 
 412
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Great God!" he breathed, "I need them both: 
 one, to remind me of Alice, and the other, of the 
 man that bore my insensible weight about that 
 awful night. By God ! the Duke of Berwick shall 
 never have cause to regret that noble act, little as 
 I have to thank him for it. There is strength in 
 those two scars to reconcile me to my future 
 life." 
 
 He would go and pass one single hour in 
 the shade of the trees of the old home. That 
 would be enough. He could enter from the rear 
 unobserved. No one would see him. He would 
 sit in the seat where his father and mother had sat 
 hand in hand and watched him play in his boy- 
 hood ; then he would go, once more a fugitive from 
 himself. It was nearly four o'clock when he 
 passed through the doors of the hotel upon the 
 street. Half an hour later he had succeeded in 
 gaining access to the secluded grounds in the rear 
 of his home. He needed the solitude. The quiet 
 and stillness soothed his excitement. Once or 
 twice he heard children playing near the house, 
 but they had gone elsewhere. How well he re- 
 membered every tree and path! St. Clair had 
 been faithful to his trust in having taken splendid 
 care of the premises. He wondered if Alice ever 
 came and walked under the trees, and rested upon 
 the rustic benches, out of the heat and glare of 
 the sun. Involuntarily he placed his hand in his 
 413
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 pocket for the letter, with an impulse to read it 
 over once more; he pulled it from his pocket to 
 destroy it. That letter should be no Nemesis to 
 pursue him. He took the envelope by the extreme 
 corners was that a footstep? He listened no. 
 He looked, saw no one, and tore the envelope and 
 contents lengthwise 'twas the step again, soft, 
 like the step of the dead. He shivered. The su- 
 perstition was gaining that he had conjured up 
 the spirit of the dead. Ah, no. It was someone. 
 He saw a woman's skirt. It was so close he could 
 almost touch it. Then he rose and stood looking 
 into eyes that were looking back at him. 
 
 "Edward you here!" her hands locking and 
 unlocking convulsively. 
 
 "Alice! Alice!" 
 
 There are impromptus of the heart. 
 
 "You frightened me." 
 
 "You surprised me." Both laughed. 
 
 "Welcome home," extending her hand, self-pos- 
 sessed again. 
 
 He took her small white hand within his own a 
 trifle unsteadily. 
 
 "Thank you. I shall ever remember that after 
 a banishment of sixteen years you are the only one 
 to welcome me." She withdrew her hand. 
 
 "Haven't you seen the St. Clairs?" 
 
 "No, I came in the back way." She was watch- 
 ing him again. 
 
 414
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "Did I disturb you?" 
 
 "Oh, no." 
 
 "I pass much of my time with the St. Clairs. 
 I supposed them in the park. They will be glad 
 to see you." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 "They and the children are always talking of 
 your home-coming." 
 
 "The children!" 
 
 "Two boys and two girls. Alice, the eldest, is 
 nearly fourteen." 
 
 "Time has dealt kindly by you," taking an in7 
 ventory of her features. 
 
 "I am glad you think so." 
 
 "What a jumbled up thing life is, isn't it?" 
 
 "Sometimes." 
 
 "Do you remember the conversation we once 
 had about the 'two worlds ?' " Alice made no reply. 
 "I want you to know," he continued, "that all the 
 happiness my life has known comes from the world 
 I then despised." 
 
 "I misjudged you," she faltered. 
 
 "And the thought that I have lived, trying to 
 bring those 'two worlds' nearer together must be 
 some comfort to the little girl that gave me my 
 first object lesson." 
 
 "And that girl," cried Alice, passionately, go- 
 ing to the side of the man and catching his hands, 
 her eyes shining, her face illumined, "long since 
 415
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 grown to womanhood, honors and reveres that 
 noble man." She did not heed the pain of fingers 
 crushed in those strong hands, her gaze did not 
 waver before the face across which tides, dashed 
 by lightning and storm, were swaying. 
 
 There is a limit to endurance. Edward Reyn- 
 olds held her hands, ah! and he would drag her 
 to his breast, resist if she would, struggle if she 
 would, and hold her there one brief moment of 
 time and then a tinge of pain darted through 
 the wounded shoulder. 
 
 HONOR ! 
 
 Edward flung the hands from him and stag- 
 gered backward. 
 
 Alice turned and walked away. She had drawn 
 aside the mask of womanly reserve and he had 
 cast her off. 
 
 "Mrs. Eldridge," Edward said overtaking her. 
 "You will not mention my presence to the St. 
 Clairs." 
 
 "Certainly not, if you wish it so." She was 
 moving on again, then she paused to ask : 
 
 "Will you not come into the house? It will 
 soon be dark." 
 
 "Yes, it will soon be dark," he answered, "but 
 my life has had a glorious sunrise a golden sun- 
 set." He stood in the path with outstretched 
 hand. 
 
 "Good-bye, Alice ; I leave to-night." 
 416
 
 " No " ! He Had Tortured Her Enough
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 "To be gone " suddenly pausing. What 
 
 did it matter to her? 
 
 "I return to England." 
 
 " 'England' good-bye." 
 
 A ray of sunlight burst through the leaves and 
 rested upon the hands. Together they glanced 
 through the break, made in the foliage by a gust 
 of wind, at the western sky. The cross of a 
 church divided the sun. As suddenly the sky was 
 obscured, the breeze passed, the leaves fell back 
 in repose. 
 
 "Alice, we made a mistake." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "We are parting, Alice, forever." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "You saved my life in Switzerland " 
 
 "Ah!" She shrank from his words. 
 
 "May I see your arm?" 
 
 "No !" he had tortured her enough. 
 
 "Not so fast, Alice. Once you told me your 
 happiness required a great sacrifice of me, and I 
 gave you your freedom. We shall never meet 
 again. If you come to England to live with your 
 husband " 
 
 ' 'My husband' " 
 
 " I will go elsewhere. England and Egypt 
 
 are the same to me. The Duke of Berwick and I 
 
 could not breathe in the same Hemisphere. But 
 
 the future wife of an English nobleman would 
 
 417
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 give her husband no right to question the last 
 parting grace of suffering lips to touch that 
 sacred scar that record of the supplicant's life. 
 Still, if you believe your engagement denies the 
 bestowal of such privilege, we can part and " 
 
 "My husband ' 
 
 "know that memories of an unavailing past 
 are buried deeper among the ruins of the heart, 
 over which sleepless vigils forever guard. Alice, 
 no man ever missed the highest consummation of 
 life, if that man loves the truest and best of wom- 
 en. There is peace in the very unrest; strength 
 in the shattered joys; happiness in the ethereal 
 presence. Love is the Deity that reigns omni- 
 potent, supreme. We met without design; we 
 part conscious of no wrong. If the Duke of 
 Berwick stood by our sides, we could do no more 
 farewell." 
 
 "Edward! no no " 
 
 "Alice !" It was the cry of the heart. 
 
 Then two trembling hands took her face and 
 held it so their eyes met, and the light of two 
 souls passed into understanding, even as the gath- 
 ering shades of night stole upon and enveloped 
 them that inextinguishable light burning eter- 
 nal upon the altars of the throne of God. 
 
 ******** 
 
 The Duke of Berwick owns an unfinished paint- 
 ing of his wife. "Painted seven years before our 
 418
 
 EDWARD REYNOLDS 
 
 marriage," he explains to his friends, "by 
 Michael Lieb, the painter of 'Renaissance.' The 
 Duchess and myself never discuss the tragic death 
 of the artist." 
 
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