LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Wove I 
 
 FRANCIS DANA 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 
 1897 
 
Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All nynti reserved. 
 

 TO 
 
 A. F. S. 
 
 THE ONE CRITIC OP WHOM THE AUTHOR STANDS 
 DREADFULLY IN AWE, AND FOR WHOSE PLEASURE 
 THIS CHAIN OF FANCIES IS WOVEN, THE STORY IS 
 
 Hobfnjjli? Uetncatett 
 
 M604G92 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 FAR in the Northwest stands a forest whose heavy 
 shade broods over many thousand square miles of 
 plain and hill, whose rough arches and massive roofs 
 are pillared 011 trunks that are towers and monu 
 ments of dead ages. Only a few years ago its recesses 
 were unknown to men sacred places where Nature 
 slept in her strength and beauty, unharassed by civ 
 ilization, unpolluted by the touch of traffic, alone in 
 solemn peace and grandeur. 
 
 Now here and there among the broken, desecrated 
 solitudes may be heard the sound of axe and saw, the 
 harsh blasphemy of striving men, the plunging of 
 goaded oxen in the brush ; while every day some 
 hundreds of the moss-bearded giants bow their grand 
 heads, groan, and yield up the life of centuries with 
 a roar and a thunderous sound of crashing limbs. 
 
 Except in the mountain fastnesses (where the 
 hunter finds enough to do to avoid the misfortune 
 of tumbling downhill), the deer may no longer lie 
 secure ; and the jolly black friar of the woods, the 
 comfortable bear, no longer takes his simple, inex- 
 
Vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 pensive meal of berries in peace and quiet, but must 
 keep ear and eye and restless muzzle alert for the 
 coming of unbidden guests, who may invite them 
 selves and bring their knives and forks with them. 
 
 The older trout of the mountain-streams and for 
 est-girt lakes have reason to complain of the times, 
 and to wonder why insects, of late years, have such 
 tough hides, sharp stings, and long tails that reach 
 upward into space, and what becomes of the good 
 fellows who disappear so suddenly at breakfast. 
 
 The sanctuary is broken, and the voice of the for 
 est is sweet and sad, as fir and cedar lean one to 
 another, sighing with fragrant breath, and whisper 
 softly of their coming fall. 
 
 The fairest spots of the wilderness are parcelled 
 out into " sections " and " quarter - sections " with 
 geometrical precision, and claimed with legal formal 
 ity in the land-offices ; the " timber-cruisers " (scouts 
 of the devastating army of "loggers") have calcu 
 lated to a nicety how much lumber the pillars of 
 Nature s temple, wherever they are accessible, will 
 yield to the saw. 
 
 Where the streams widen and deepen as they near 
 the salt-water, floating logs jostle and push each other 
 between the banks, as a drove of cattle in a narrow 
 lane, on their way to the towns and cities that have 
 sprung up within a few years past along the rainy 
 shores of the sound. But there are places where, for 
 all that man can do, the woods may stand forever 
 and add to their time future ages when humanity 
 
INTRODUCTION Vil 
 
 may be as dead as it was perhaps unborn when the sun 
 shone full upon their mother-soil and the first tiny 
 shoots peeped out to see the light. 
 
 For in the middle of the forest, between the 
 ocean, the sound, and the strait, Nature has her 
 fortress and refuge a circle of frowning mountain 
 walls, moated by canons that roar from the depth to 
 the height, and topped with battlements of sheer 
 rock or gleaming ice and snow, where she may laugh 
 with the voice of the upland stream at the march of 
 artificial life, and where man, if he come at all, shall 
 come as a guest, not as a master. 
 
 The passes are few and difficult, and, at the time 
 of which I write, no one knew what lay within the 
 forbidding circle. Although among the white set 
 tlers, who were fast becoming more and more numer 
 ous in the forest, there were plenty eager enough to 
 explore, both from the restless curiosity and love of 
 adventure that belong to our race and from the inva 
 riable assumption that gold may be found in any given 
 wilderness until the contrary is proven, yet, as the 
 passes were then unknown, and as the mountain-sides 
 between the rocky perils of base and summit presented 
 mile on mile of precipitous ascent, shaggy with stiff, 
 thick-set brush and tangling vine-maple, and strewn 
 here and there with loose rock or the locked branches 
 and piled -up trunks of fallen trees that storm and 
 avalanche had hurled down upon the slope, and were 
 so rendered quite impassable even to the most sure 
 footed beasts of burden, every adventurer who had 
 
Viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 yet attempted the expedition had failed ; finding that 
 he could travel but slowly, that the mountains were 
 higher than they looked, that three miles was a fair 
 day s march, and that it was impossible to carry pro 
 visions enough to last the journey through. 
 
 For such climbing, with a heavy pack on one s 
 back, greatly stimulates the appetite, and the temp 
 tation to lighten the burden and assuage the cravings 
 of the inner explorer by the one simple and agreeable 
 process of eating is hardly to be resisted. Game is 
 scarce upon the outer slopes and among the foot-hills, 
 so that one cannot depend on his rifle, and must hus 
 band his supplies. 
 
 Those who had tried, however, solaced themselves 
 for their defeat and endeavored to mend their repu 
 tations as woodsmen and mountaineers by telling 
 the most wonderful tales of what they had seen and 
 encountered; of the marvellous country doubtless 
 hidden by the mountains ; of the things they might 
 have accomplished there (but for the stupidity of their 
 comrades, if they had had any, or, if none, the lack of 
 them); of rich, open plains where the deer grazed in 
 vast herds ; of bison, too ; and of obliging game that 
 sat and smiled, and might have been shot but for the 
 pity of it; of great lakes with remarkable fish; of 
 masses of precious metal just out of reach : and some 
 went so far as to hint darkly at discoveries that cor 
 roborated certain Siwash legends, telling of wild 
 voices heard laughing and singing in the night in the 
 woods and on the heights ; of smoke-wreaths seen 
 
INTRODUCTION IX 
 
 rising from the valleys, or tall forms gliding among 
 the trees. 
 
 While the people of the region gave no great credit 
 to these stories, particularly as none of those who told 
 them seemed in any hurry to revisit the delightful 
 scenes they so heartily recommended to others, still 
 they did not hesitate to repeat them freely, with such 
 improvements as might suggest themselves, so that 
 the mountains began to acquire an immense reputa 
 tion, and the unsophisticated son of the East who 
 visited those parts might well wonder as he listened 
 to the tales of the "mossbacks,"* and grow curious 
 to find out more for himself. 
 
 The aborigines did not know what was there, for 
 they were content to stay by the coast with their 
 canoes and nets, or farm the fertile reservation-lands 
 after their own shiftless and primitive fashion, or work 
 for the whites in the season when the old war-canoes 
 are brought out and tribe after tribe goes up the 
 Dwamish and along the coast to the hop-picking. 
 
 It has always been enough for them that there are 
 clams to be dug on the tide-flats and salmon to be 
 caught in bay and stream, and that the elk come down 
 in winter to huddle together in herds on the chilly 
 lowlands and be slain and salted at pleasure. 
 
 Superstition, moreover, kept them out of the moun 
 tain region, for they had a legend, invented per 
 haps by some chief of former days as an excuse for 
 being lazy when he ought to have been adventurous 
 * A " mossback " is an old settler. 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 a story of a mysterious and dreadful race, of great 
 stature, fair to look upon but terrible to meet or speak 
 with, abounding in wiles and mystic lore and wizard s 
 tricks cruel, dangerous, unprincipled, and altogether 
 the worst company imaginable, who dwelt in the un 
 known country behind the heights, and would let no 
 man trespass on their domains. 
 
 If the modest disinclination to intrude where they 
 were not wanted had not been enough to keep the 
 coast Indians from meddling with the unknown coun 
 try, it is likely their own sluggish, indolent nature 
 would have held them back ; for the Siwash is entirely 
 without the spirit of attack that is so strong in the 
 Indian of the plains, and his peculiar kind of heroism 
 consists in passive endurance of rain, mud, pestilence, 
 and a diet of clams. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 "We are no other than a moving row 
 Of magic shadow-shapes, that come and go 
 Round in this sun-illumined lantern, held 
 In midnight by the master of the show." 
 
 OMAR KHAYYAM. 
 
 THOMAS N. MOORHEAD was living in enforced idleness, on 
 hope and a strong constitution, in a little out-of-the-way office 
 in a busy city. 
 
 C. NORMAN MOORHEAD was hard at work trying to amuse 
 himself here and there, and found the task irksome. 
 
 OLD MR. WILLOUGHBY went a-fishing most of the time, and 
 passed the other available hours in reading all kinds of books. 
 
 MOLOCH went cheerfully about his work day by day, and 
 sang and whistled a great deal, after the manner of his race. 
 
 MRS. NELLY MEKIVALE was making ducks and drakes of the 
 late lamented Abner Merivale s hard - earned dollars, pounds, 
 francs, and marks abroad, and wondering a little, now and then, 
 what should be done when these were gone ; but the matter 
 did not trouble her much, because she had plans, and there was 
 just enough uncertainty to please her. 
 
 MRS. BRADLEE was very comfortable at home, minding her 
 own business, which was that of finding out about other peo 
 ple s affairs and arranging them for their good and to her own 
 satisfaction. Sometimes the other people were grateful some 
 times not. In either case she felt that she had done her duty 
 by them, and was glad. 
 
Xii DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 And LEONORA Leonora reigned in her own realm supreme. 
 When it was invaded, the invader became her captive. When 
 she in turn was Ic-d into captivity, it was only to extend her 
 empire. 
 
 These seven played a play together upon the Great Stage, 
 and none knew whether it was Comedy or Tragedy till the end. 
 
 There were others also, but theirs were minor parts, and only 
 incidental, 
 
LEONOEA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 IN the heart of the Northwestern forest, where a 
 river runs between the foot-hills of the Olympics and 
 a bold outstanding spur of the outer range, on an 
 evening in early June, when the eternal twilight of 
 the woodland was de eperiirig into night and the 
 shade that lurks all day in the sombre foliage seemed 
 to be stealing down, fold on fold, to the earth below 
 and veiling every object in blackness, a cougar, much 
 at a loss for guiding precedent, lay crouching on the 
 trunk of a fallen treb, watching two figures that 
 moved to and fro in the dusk, some fifty yards away, 
 and trying to decide whether they, or either of them, 
 would be of any use to him personally, and whether, 
 in any case, he had better experiment upon them or 
 let them alone. 
 
 He had begun to incline to the former opinion, 
 and his lithe body was already swaying to and fro as 
 he felt his strength and shortened his muscles for a 
 spring, when suddenly there was a slight crackling 
 sound, and he waited. 
 
 The noise grew, and a red glare arose from the 
 i 
 
2 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 earth and blazed upward in a way that made the 
 shadows of the night draw back and sway and waver 
 round it and the waters of the stream beyond it 
 gleam darkly and flash as they sped by. 
 
 The wary beast, who had never in his life seen 
 anything of the kind before, felt that the matter was 
 by no means in his way that the two creatures 
 were strange food unwholesome inadmissible. 
 He withdrew very softly and sought a more conven 
 tional supper of the mountain-beaver * that dwell in 
 their villages on the slopes. 
 
 The two men busied themselves in making camp, 
 cutting the tops from young hemlocks with their 
 hunting-knives, strewing the tender, fragrant twigs 
 thick on the ground for bedding, and gathering fire 
 wood to last out the night, which in that deep river- 
 bottom between the hills was cool and fresh with the 
 breeze that came sighing down from a range whose 
 late snows still defied the summer sun. 
 
 They unrolled their blankets and spread them over 
 the twigs, and from the stores that had been rolled 
 up in them made supper one gigantic biscuit, big 
 enough to do justice to the wants of two hungry men, 
 a delicious fry of bacon, some sauce of dried apples, and 
 a can of strong coffee and, reclining on their blankets, 
 fell to and ate each from a tin plate : the one with his 
 fingers, the other with a knife and fork which he took 
 from a Russia-leather case ; the one in zealous gulps, 
 the other with disdainful nose but hearty appetite. 
 
 *Not a beaver at all, but a kind of marmot, larger than a 
 woodchuck, and not unlike the prairie-dog in habits. One of 
 their villages sometimes riddles a whole mountain side with 
 holes. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 3 
 
 The nicTii who ate with his fingers was a short, ban 
 dy-legged fellow, with a heavy, impassive face of rare 
 ugliness. 
 
 When he had eaten he squatted immovable by the 
 fire, so silent, so stolid, and so still that he looked 
 for all the world like some quaint idol carved in dull 
 brown wood and clad by some irreverent hand in a 
 queer array of ill-fitting old clothes. 
 
 He was a "Siwash"* of ordinary type. 
 
 The other man gathered up the dishes and went to 
 the stream. He did not care to intrust the respon 
 sibility of washing to the Indian, to whom that science 
 seemed an utter mystery. 
 
 When he had returned and laid the dishes in a row 
 along a mossy log, he flung himself on his blanket, 
 and, taking a brier-wood pipe from his pocket, began 
 to smoke, lying with his head pillowed on one arm 
 and his legs stretched out towards the blaze. 
 
 He was a tall fellow, of graceful proportions, clad 
 in a rough gray suit of fashionable cut, and encased 
 at one extremity in a gray cap with a visor, at the 
 other in tall boots of russet leather, laced at the ankle 
 and the side of the knee. 
 
 His name was Moorhead. He was a man of leisure. 
 He had come into the forest for his own amusement, 
 which had been a great mistake on his part, and had 
 employed the Siwash as a guide, which soon proved 
 to be another. 
 
 For a long time the two were silent. The firelight 
 seemed to have hollowed out a room in the mass of 
 darkness. 
 
 * "Siwash" is the Indian attempt at "savage," and is ap 
 plied to all the Pacific coast Indians. 
 
4 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 One tree made a central pillar those nearest about 
 it and the black shade around them were the walls,, 
 beautiful with tracery of fern, graceful sprays of 
 evergreen, festoons of creeping plants, tapestry of 
 hanging moss. 
 
 Neither of the two men noticed the loveliness of 
 the place. The Si wash gazed blankly at the fire ; 
 the other lay smoking arid contemplating his russet 
 boots, lifting his eyes now and then with an uneasy 
 glance at his guide, who seemed to occupy his thoughts 
 not altogether agreeably. 
 
 He had reason to be troubled, for the guide, as 
 such, was a failure. The fitness of things had seemed, 
 to Moorhead, to demand an Indian guide. He liked 
 the idea, and the Siwash are harmless and have a repu 
 tation for docility. 
 
 He had been so far governed by prudence as to 
 select one that could understand a reasonable amount 
 of English, and for the first few days had found him 
 intelligent and willing. But from the time when 
 they had left the Sound and entered the great forest 
 the linguistic powers of the guide had been gradually 
 on the wane, and now, at the foot-hills of the Olympics, 
 he positively refused to understand any English at all. 
 
 "To-morrow," Moorhead had said, "we ought to 
 come to the mountains." 
 
 "Halo kurntux Boston wawa,"* had been the calm 
 reply. 
 
 This was the more irritating as Moorhead knew 
 that the sudden ignorance of tongues proceeded from 
 unwillingness to carry out his own plans. He had 
 
 * " No know American talk." 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 told the Siwash, at starting, what he meant to do, 
 and that worthy had assented cheerfully. Now he 
 obstinately refused, and Moorhead did not know why. 
 Any inhabitant of the Puget Sound region could have 
 told him, if he had asked, and then he would have 
 hired some one who was not an Indian. But he was 
 one of those gifted persons who take it for granted 
 that they know what to do better than any one can 
 tell them and who do not talk freely with comparative 
 strangers, so he had not asked advice. 
 
 His object was to go over into the unexplored 
 country behind the outer range of the Olympics, a 
 thing which, be it from laziness or from superstition, 
 or both, no Indian will do. 
 
 Now, by mischance, Moorhead could have found 
 few Indians lazier and none more superstitious than 
 this guide of his, and this was why, when the foot 
 hills were before them, the unhappy creature refused 
 to go farther. 
 
 Moorhead s heart was set upon the expedition. 
 When he found English of no avail, he drew from 
 his pocket a little blue book and began to study it 
 intently. 
 
 The Siwash smiled. 
 
 Presently Moorhead looked up and spoke in a 
 strange tongue in which bad English, bad French, 
 and bad Indian are blended in awful discord.* 
 
 The words, though spoken haltingly, were in the 
 young man s most persuasive tone ; but the Siwash 
 only shook his head and lapsed into his usual stolidity. 
 
 * Chinook, the common language by which the many Coast 
 tribes, whose proper tongues are Babel, converse with each other 
 and with the whites. 
 
6 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 The argument went on. Before each fervent ap 
 peal Moorhead was obliged to have recourse to his 
 blue book, a glossary of the Chinook jargon compiled 
 by a missionary, and largely used by the whites in their 
 dealings with the Siwash. The guide answered only 
 by negative gesture and grunts of disapproval. 
 
 Having exhausted in vain all the persuasive phrases 
 he could find in his glossary, Moorhead took from his 
 pocket a flask, and poured some of its contents into 
 a tin cup. 
 
 The dark eyes of his companion glittered with a 
 wistful light. Moorhead, smiling, passed him the 
 cup, in the hope that the mellowing influence of the 
 mixture might bring him to a more compliant state 
 of mind. 
 
 The Siwash are poor bottle-men,* and cannot sit 
 decorously over their wine or spirits, but are prone 
 to give way suddenly, under the spell, to extravagant 
 behavior. This one swallowed the liquor in one great 
 gulp, and held out the cup for more, after which he 
 soon became talkative and garrulous, gabbling so fast 
 that all effort to stem the torrent of his words was 
 unavailing; nor was it possible by the most energetic 
 use of the little blue book to find out what he meant. 
 
 Moorhead turned away in disgust, and took no more 
 heed of the poor fellow s ravings till a sudden silence 
 called his attention. The fire, neglected during the 
 
 * The Coast Indian is singularly susceptible to alcoholic in 
 fluence. The effect is sudden. From a stolid, placid creature 
 of amiable temper he becomes a jabbering idiot or howling ma 
 niac, as the case may be. Even then, however, he seldom at 
 tacks a white man, but employs his newly acquired energy in 
 quarrelling with his brethren or in mere vocal atrocities. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 altercation, was burning low, and darkness hung close 
 about the embers. 
 
 Moorhead could just make out the form of the 
 Indian, dim against the black background,, and see 
 the glint of his eyes. He saw that he was trembling 
 all over and pointing across the fire towards the 
 water. As he leaned closer to the embers, his face 
 showed like a vision in a nightmare ; the dark-brown 
 skin had a dingy pallor, and the staring eyes showed 
 white above and below. He muttered to himself in 
 his native tongue, and held out his shaking palms 
 with the half imploring, half -forbidding gesture with 
 which actors greet ghosts upon the stage. " What s 
 the matter ?" said Moorhead, in a hurried whisper, 
 and trembling in turn, for he was not a particularly 
 brave man himself, and had caught some of the hor 
 ror from his companion s face. 
 
 The Siwash had forgotten not to understand. 
 " Hiyu kanim hiyu skookum tamahnawis !"* said he, 
 whispering too. 
 
 Moorhead knew these words, and was instantly re 
 lieved. He had thought it might be a bear at the 
 very least, and it was nothing but ghosts. 
 
 He looked towards the river, and, seeing only the 
 occasional gleam of the water as it caught the reflec 
 tion of the dying fire, laughed angrily. The stream 
 was too small for canoes. " You infernal fool," said 
 he, " shut up and stop your nonsense. There s noth 
 ing there." 
 
 The Indian gabbled. 
 
 "I shall let him know my opinion of him," said 
 
 * " Plenty canoe plenty mighty spirit !" 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Moorliead. He threw a log on the fire, stirred up the 
 embers, and, as the blaze sprang up, took his glossary 
 and proceeded to copy out a not inconsiderable part 
 of its contents. 
 
 The Hudson s Bay Company, who first compiled the 
 Chinook jargon for the purpose of holding such com 
 munication with the Indians as was needful for the 
 uses of trade, doubtless perceived that occasion might 
 arise when it would be convenient to bestow terms of 
 reproach and obloquy upon their dusky acquaintances. 
 At all events, Chinook is not lacking in choice invec 
 tives culled from its several sources. 
 
 Moorliead collected as many of these as he could 
 find, and, when the Siwash had regained his com 
 posure, read fluently from his note -book a sound 
 philippic. The Indian made no reply, and showed 
 no sign of interest, but presently rolled himself in his 
 blanket. Moorliead followed his example, and, wearied 
 with a long day on the trail and the unwonted exer 
 cise of carrying a pack, was soon asleep. 
 
 Late in the night as the fire flickered and died 
 away, the Indian rose and sat brooding in the dim 
 light, watching the young man s slumbers with hate 
 ful eyes like some ugly demon come out of the night 
 to do him harm in the hour of helplessness. 
 
 But the Coast Indian is not sanguinary he fears 
 strife and white men, even asleep, so that Moorliead 
 was safe enough from all peril of life and limb. 
 
 Only that when he awoke, next morning, he found 
 himself bereft of his rifle, provisions, every portable 
 thing that he had had, except what was on his person 
 alone, without food or arms, utterly deserted in a 
 pathless wilderness unknown to him. 
 
II 
 
 MOORHEAD awoke and was afraid. There was 
 nothing frightful in the scene about him, where the 
 gracious loveliness of the woodland summer greeted 
 every sense with pleasure. 
 
 The night -breeze had flown away on its chilly 
 wings, and now the air was warm and still, rich with 
 the drowsy fragrance of cedar and balsam. 
 
 The soft forest twilight was broken here and there 
 by gleams of sunshine that found their way in be 
 tween the leaves and shone on the flashing water, on 
 the thick warm masses of the moss that clothed the 
 trees and on the ferns that grew in it and hung in 
 feathery grace from the branches a hundred feet over 
 head. 
 
 The stream by which they had camped came down 
 the mountain with a tinkling sound, and its rapids 
 far below gave back a pleasant murmur. The morning- 
 song of a wood -robin or two fell faintly from the 
 tops. 
 
 But the ugly scene of the night before the horrid 
 face of the frightened, crazed Indian, with his grue 
 some fancies, the desolation, and the darkness still 
 lingered in his mind, and he had a feeling that some 
 thing was wrong. 
 
 He sat up and found that he was alone. " That 
 miserable imp has been playing me a trick, perhaps," 
 
10 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 he said, and called out, " John !" "John !" came the 
 echo, short and sharp, from the near distance, and 
 "John \" from the mountain-side not far away. All 
 along the range of foot-hills the word "John!" was 
 passed along from top to top ; and when for a moment 
 silence had come a belated echo fell back from the 
 upper rocks far overhead, like a voice from the sky. 
 
 But "John," if he heard, did not answer, and 
 Moorhead, seeing that the camping outfit had van 
 ished with him, did not trouble the echoes again. 
 For more than two hours he hunted in every direc 
 tion for some trace of the deserter, but there was 
 none that his unpractised eye could see. As well 
 track a fish in the ocean as a Siwash in those dim 
 leagues of verdure. 
 
 He looked carefully about the ground to see what 
 the Indian had left behind in the way of personal 
 property. Only the blankets on which he himself 
 had lain, the clothes in which he had slept, and the 
 contents of their pockets. 
 
 The discovery that there was nothing to eat made 
 him hungry at once. 
 
 Happily he had in his pocket a fishing-line with 
 a single hook attached to it, and in searching about 
 the banks of the stream had seen fish darting in the 
 water. 
 
 He cut a vine -maple shoot for a rod and went 
 a-fishing. When he reached the pool where he had 
 seen the fish it occurred to him that he had no bait. 
 He sharpened a stick and dug in the ground there 
 were no worms. He scraped the moss from dead 
 wood there were no grubs. 
 
 Apparently fishing was out of the question. He 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 11 
 
 threw himself down on the ground, after a long search, 
 tired and hopeless. Presently a yellow-jacket came 
 buzzing about him. He drove it away, and then 
 remembered with sorrow that it might have done for 
 bait. Perhaps it would return. At last, after many 
 attempts, he struck it with his cap, was stung in the 
 thumb while putting it on his hook, and cast it into 
 the stream. 
 
 He was no fisherman, but, luckily for him, the trout 
 of those parts, being rustic, unsophisticated trout, 
 did not perceive his mistakes in the gentle craft and 
 came to his lure. A great patriarch of the stream 
 came with a swirl, took the hook bravely, felt the prick, 
 and with an angry rush darted close to the opposite 
 bank, swung round a projecting root, and, having 
 twisted the line tight about it, wrenched himself away 
 and sped into the darkness under a shelving rock. 
 
 The smaller fish scattered in the struggle, the pool 
 was calm again, and in the clear green water Moor- 
 head could see the hook, his only "lawful and visible 
 means of support," hanging to the snag. He could 
 not afford to lose it ; so in he went, and, after no lit 
 tle splashing and disturbance, recovered it, and came 
 shivering out of the icy water. 
 
 No more trout would bite in that pool, and after 
 another hunt for bait and a great deal of fishing in 
 unfavorable places he sat down, lighted a fire for, 
 happily, he had a few matches left and cooked two 
 of the three fish he had caught, thinking meanwhile 
 what course to adopt. 
 
 It certainly was not wise to spend any more time 
 in so unprofitable a place, and he determined to set 
 out at once. The only question was, whither ? 
 
12 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 He had no idea from what direction he had come, 
 nor how to find his way. When he had finished his 
 meal he strapped his blanket on his back, put his 
 one trout in his pocket, crossed the stream, and 
 started right up the mountain-side, in hopes of seeing 
 from the top some familiar landmark in the distance 
 from which he might take his bearings. This done, 
 he meant to come down to the same place, fish in the 
 pool with better success, and take the nearest way 
 out of the forest. 
 
 This plan, though wholly impracticable because he 
 had no compass, seemed feasible enough to him, and 
 served to cheer him and keep his mind from the 
 dangers popularly supposed to surround a lonely man 
 in a wilderness, particularly that of being starved and 
 that of going to keep some other creature from starv 
 ing. 
 
 The very act of climbing gave him enough to think 
 about for the time being. He had the right to con 
 sider himself a tried mountaineer, having been up the 
 proper mountains abroad in the regular way, and had 
 the names of his victims branded on an alpenstock 
 which held a conspicuous place in his comfortable 
 rooms at home. For a while he wished he had 
 brought his alpenstock, for at first he travelled eas 
 ily enough except for the thick growth of salal, 
 with slippery leaves and tough twigs, that stood knee- 
 high on the slope. But soon he was glad that he had 
 left that useful implement behind, for it would have 
 been only too much of an encumbrance. 
 
 The ascent became gradually and almost imper 
 ceptibly steeper, till, stopping for breath, lie began to 
 notice that he was holding on hard by the bushes 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 13 
 
 with both hands and digging his heels into the ground 
 at every step, with the sides of his feet turned towards 
 the earth. 
 
 He took a realizing sense of his position and for the 
 first time looked behind him. He was no longer 
 walking up a steep slope, but climbing a nearly ver 
 tical wall. 
 
 Below, as far as the timber would allow him to see, 
 was an almost sheer descent falling between the state 
 ly, solemn rows of trees, whose mighty roots, grasp 
 ing the earth, held them upright even there falling 
 away into dim obscurity of still foliage. Above, for 
 several hundred yards, a still more upright mass 
 covered with the same growth ; beyond, a cessation 
 of objects and a glimpse of sky through the gap left 
 by a fallen tree that now hung head downward, with 
 its roots entangled among the tops of its brethren. 
 
 "There," said Moorhead, beholding the sky-line 
 and falling a victim to the usual delusion of those 
 who climb in the woods, "must be the top !" 
 
 He scrambled up and arrived, panting, at the gap, 
 only to see that the ascent took a little turn inward 
 there, and then rose in another towering mass of rocks 
 and timber to another sky-line, " where," he said to 
 himself, "there may be still another confounded 
 mountain piled on this one, and so on ad infinitum" 
 
 By this time the heights were black against the 
 western sky, and the sun had long been out of sight 
 on the other side of the mountain. 
 
 " If that next shelf above me should be the top," 
 said he, "I may reach it to-night : I ve an hour yet 
 before dark." 
 
 But though he made the best of his hour that 
 
14 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 young limbs and desperate energy could, the end of 
 it found him still below the timber-line, in the 
 shadowy forest on the mountain-side, weary, hungry,, 
 and more sadly lost and bewildered than ever. 
 
 Not wishing to be caught in the utter darkness 
 that was fast coming on, he gathered enough dry 
 wood for his fire, spread his blanket on the ground 
 for he could not afford to waste energy in getting 
 soft foliage for a couch cooked his trout, which was 
 by this time a little the worse for wear, and devoured 
 it ravenously, unsalted as it was. 
 
 He had meant to keep a little of it to help uphold 
 his strength in the toil and faintness which, he knew, 
 must be his portion on the morrow ; but the piece he 
 saved was so very small that he thought better to use 
 it as a complement to a moderate repast than as an 
 appetizer for none at all, so it followed the rest of 
 the fish at once. 
 
 He had picked a few salal-berries on the way up. 
 They were juicy and mellow, but they had an unpleas 
 ant sticky sweetness that made him very thirsty. 
 
 He could hear the sound of water, and tried to 
 find it by the light of a resinous stick, but his torch 
 seemed only to burn a little hollow in the blackness 
 and to make all the rest more impenetrably thick 
 than ever by contrast. The waters mocked him in 
 the echoing woodland, sounding now on this side, 
 now on that ; now near, now far away. 
 
 Bruised by rocks and scratched by brambles, he 
 went back to the fire and blanket that were his home 
 for the time. 
 
 Until then, hard exertion and the concentration of 
 will on an end to be achieved had kept him from 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 15 
 
 realizing his helplessness to the full. Now fancy had 
 free play, and he not only saw and felt his real dan 
 ger, but began to multiply the sense of it by needless 
 imaginary fears. 
 
 The evening pipe had not its usual soothing eifect 
 on his weary, unfed system. He grew nervous and 
 restless, hating the awful stillness, yet not daring to 
 break it ; starting at the rustle of a leaf or the drop 
 of a cone from overhead. 
 
 The horror of solitude came upon him as he lay 
 among the grim trees and rocks under the black dis 
 torted branches, with their rustling, waving drapery, 
 in the red glow of the fire. 
 
 The immensity of the objects about him oppressed 
 and overawed him the feeling of distance from 
 mankind, the idea of height and depth above and 
 below. 
 
 His former experiences had been bounded by the 
 club, the drawing-room, the hotel, and the conven 
 tional routes of travel. Accustomed to no more fear 
 ful solitude than that of some pleasant grove in the 
 country, he felt an unreasoning fear, like that of a 
 little child whose mother has gone away it knows not 
 whither and left it in a strange place, in the mystery 
 of darkness to wait and shiver and call for her and 
 listen, winning no answer from the silence. 
 
 At such a time one begins to think of places in his 
 life when he might have done better by others. 
 
 Moorhead, generally self-congratulatory, now found 
 himself thinking very sadly over certain events that 
 presented themselves to him in a guise more vivid 
 than complimentary. 
 
 " Poor old Tom !" said he. "Well, he ll get it all 
 
16 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 now, and I hope not too late to do him any good I 
 hope not too late !" 
 
 Then it suddenly occurred to him that this hope, 
 which he felt truly and deeply at the moment,, was a 
 hope for the consequences of his own death, which 
 he had begun, in his fright, to deem very probable, 
 since it was evident that he could neither live in the 
 woods nor find his way out of them ; and he added, 
 "If I die, that is." 
 
 Now a question formed itself in his mind not, as 
 it seemed, his own question, but one asked with 
 authority, which he must answer. 
 
 "Do you not mean to do him justice if you live ?" 
 And Moorhead answered, very solemnly, "I do, and I 
 will." 
 
 The promise comforted him awhile, and gave him 
 the fresh hope that comes with the consciousness of 
 something worth living for, if it be only the righting 
 of a wrong. He felt a claim on life. But gradually 
 his nervous fears came back. He began to grow 
 sleepy. The firs whispered, and sighed, and mur 
 mured over him ; the mocking water among the rocks 
 the water that had played such a game of hide-and- 
 seek with his thirst laughed with an unearthly me 
 tallic voice, with a strange harmony of its own that 
 rose and fell in rhythmic cadence, suggesting a choral 
 bund of woodland beings that danced with mirth and 
 wild music in the darkness on the mountain-side. 
 
 Sleep only brought him strange dreams. He could 
 reason down his nervous fancies, but whenever he 
 withdrew his will from the effort they took new 
 strength and came back in innumerable shapes to 
 trouble him afresh. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 17 
 
 Unused to so hard a couch, chilly and hungry, he 
 shifted his tired form from one uneasy position to 
 another, or crouched, half - suffocated with smoke, 
 close over the fire, till it seemed that he had been 
 there the greater part of his life ; and still there was 
 no sign of day. 
 
Ill 
 
 As soon as dawn enabled him to see about him, 
 fantastic troubles began to disappear and real ones 
 to take their places. 
 
 His faintness made him dread bestirring himself 
 and cooking breakfast, yet (so prone is the human 
 mind to discontent) he was even less pleased when 
 he realized that he need not trouble himself with that 
 function, which entire lack of material would have 
 rendered an empty formality. 
 
 The morning air was delightfully refreshing. The 
 whisper of the boughs seemed less mysterious and 
 more soothing; the water laughed no longer as in 
 mockery, but cheerily. Now he might drink, and 
 delight at the prospect made him forget his despair 
 a moment and brought him to his feet. 
 
 He found the stream, revenged himself upon it for 
 its trickery of the past night, and, greatly refreshed 
 for the time being, strapped up his blanket, ate the 
 rest of his salal-berries, comforted his soul with the 
 thought of the promise he had made concerning Tom 
 (whoever Tom may have been) and of his own en 
 hanced value in the eye of Fate as the promoter of 
 a good object, and took counsel with himself as to 
 what was next to be done. 
 
 This, he decided, was to follow the nearest water 
 course. So he might avoid the thirst that had tor- 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 19 
 
 mented him, become in due time the glad possessor 
 of fish, and finally reach Puget Sound, where he might 
 easily find a settlement or hail some passing boat. 
 
 The brook that had been his enemy became his ( 
 guide and source of supply. He followed it with some 
 trouble where it plunged down the southerly slope he 
 had climbed the day before, and was much relieved 
 when it stayed its abrupt descent, and, bending along 
 a nearly level " shelf" to the eastward, kept on in that 
 direction over a place where an immense landslide 
 had piled up earth upon the mountain-side in ages 
 past, and had built a gentle, rolling slope with mounds 
 and hollows a pleasant kind of country, full of wood 
 land grace and loveliness, and very different from the 
 steep he had just traversed. 
 
 A deer started from cover and stood a few seconds 
 with ears erect, wide eyes, and moving nostrils, then 
 dashed away. Moorhead hated the man who had 
 stolen his rifle, on the groundless assumption that 
 he would have been able to hit the animal. 
 
 The water led him more and more to his left, till 
 it nearly reached the base of the mountain, having 
 made about one-third of its circuit. As he went 011 
 he could hear, faintly at first, then louder and louder, 
 the mellow thunder of a river. Encouraged by the 
 sound, which promised food and suggested the possi 
 bility that so large a stream would have tempted men 
 to settle far in the woods, he pressed on faster, and 
 in doing so used up too much of his small reserve of 
 strength. 
 
 Whether through the absence of that famous al 
 penstock of his, or for lack of guides, ropes, and the 
 other conveniences to which, as a practised moun- 
 
20 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 taineer, he was accustomed, or because of his anx 
 iety about his precious welfare and valuable health, 
 or because of the unfair advantage of gigantic size 
 with which the things of the mineral and vegetable 
 world about him seemed endued, or for whatever 
 reason, he was exhausted head and arms and legs 
 and lungs were growing faint. 
 
 The stream, with its deep channel, capricious course, 
 and experience in dodging obstacles, was no easy guide 
 to follow. As nervous force sustained him, he kept 
 on, without knowing how heavily the effort to increase 
 his speed told upon his failing powers, till the roar of 
 the river sounded very near. 
 
 Having brought him to this pass (which proved 
 to be no thoroughfare), the stream played him a fare 
 well trick, and, like a laughing girl who suddenly 
 springs away from her bewildered escort with a flash 
 ing backward glance and a glimpse of bewitching 
 white drapery as she runs, leaped, tossing its foam 
 and rainbow spray upon the air with mirthful ripple 
 down a rough ledge of granite and over a sheer prec 
 ipice, leaving the poor waif sadly at a loss how to 
 follow farther. 
 
 He, standing at the edge of the forest on the ledge, 
 saw a towering range of mountains opposite, and at 
 their base, not far before him, a fair valley, with green 
 meadows, tree -crowned knolls, bright pools of still 
 water gleaming in the light, or lying dark and cool 
 in shadow, and here and there a glimpse of the river 
 through the soft fringe of cottonwood, alder, and 
 willow that marked its course. 
 
 At the head of the valley the two ranges nearly met, 
 and the river roared through the deep canon that 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 21 
 
 parted them, while looking upward through the 
 chasm he could see the eternal snows of a higher 
 range. No traveller could look upon a fairer land 
 in which to rest ; but long as he would, and look 
 as he might, he could see no way of reaching it alive. 
 
 The ledge on which he stood projected a little from 
 the forest and was bare of vegetation, so that he could 
 see far along on either side. He saw that he had 
 crossed a range by a gap between two heights. Close 
 on his left rose that on whose southerly slope he had 
 spent the night, and down and round which he had 
 been journeying since dawn. To the right and east 
 ward stood another peak, and between and along the 
 northern bases of both extended the precipice on 
 which he stood. 
 
 Just before him, where the stream fell over, the 
 ledge jutted down and out at a perilous slant. Wish 
 ing to scan the face of the steep and see if it afforded 
 any hope of a descent, he cautiously crept down on 
 the slope of the projection and lay prone, with his 
 feet almost at the verge, one of them resting against 
 a slight angle in the rough surface ; his arms out 
 stretched and his hands clinging to the rock as best 
 they might. 
 
 Having seen all he could of the front of the cliff 
 and found that, although most of it was quite im 
 passable, a jutting out of green foliage near the foot, 
 at some distance, seemed to betoken a gorge or water- 
 bed to the eastward, he determined to explore in that 
 direction. But his obliging destiny, beholding his 
 need of a means of reaching the valley, supplied one 
 then and there. 
 
 His strength, already taxed to its limit, would not 
 
22 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 bear him up the rock ; he slipped a little, caught a 
 cramp in his thigh, lost his nerve, struggled wildly 
 in a long moment of agony, put too much faith in a 
 little tuft of grass that grew in a crevice, lost his hold 
 as it gave way, and fell. 
 
IV 
 
 THE waters of the river Yawmish are born of sun 
 and snow on one of the inner and loftier heights of 
 the Olympics. In brightness and cold purity they 
 flash into being and come springing down their na 
 tive crags into a green glen that nestles on the huge 
 shoulder of the mountain a safe and pleasant past 
 ure for the deer unapproached by feet that are 
 shod. They race over the green in the freshness of 
 new life, tumble tinkling into a rocky basin, and 
 thence with a merry noise come coursing down the 
 steep, gathering strength as they go down across the 
 timber-line, through the echoing woodlands to the 
 canon and in and out along the pediments of the 
 mountains, where, grown to a torrent multitude, they 
 fling a peal of thunder to the heights. They pass the 
 outer circle by a chasm in the wall and roll away 
 through a lovely valley, where they spread abroad and 
 linger here and there in little lakes beneath the shade, 
 then gather their forces into a strong, swift river, 
 and, rounding in foam and tumult the end of an out 
 standing range, go roaring through the forest to join 
 the waters that have gone before them in the Sound. 
 They are of a bright clear green, and Avith the foam 
 upon their tossing heads look like masses of fair beryl 
 flecked with snowy quartz. 
 
 It was that same outstanding range from which 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Moorhead had fallen, and ho lay in the valley, un 
 conscious of the loveliness around him. 
 
 He had fallen far, but a tall cedar had caught him 
 on its spreading arms, and the boughs had tossed him 
 upward and let him fall, still from a dreadful height. 
 The young trees below caught him again, and would 
 have held him but his clothing tore, and he fell from 
 bough to bough, down to the springy undergrowth, 
 and thence rolled over upon a clear space covered 
 with deep rich moss that grew on the wood-mould 
 like a fleece, without stick or stone to mar its lux 
 ury. 
 
 So he lay, senseless more through exhaustion than 
 hurt, and breathed, and lived. When he awoke he 
 had lain there a long time, so that the moss was warm 
 beneath him. With faint, uncertain senses, as in a 
 dream, he heard the drowsy music of the river, and 
 knew the sweet aroma of the cedar blended with the 
 honey-odor of balsam. 
 
 A sunbeam slanting down through the foliage rested 
 warm on his face. 
 
 He lay still with closed eyes, half unconscious in 
 the luxury of rest and warmth, sweet sounds and 
 fragrant air, not stirring, hardly thinking. 
 
 Then he seemed to hear words gently murmured in 
 a tone of awe and pity. 
 
 " Oh he is dead I" 
 
 He was hardly awake yet, and the words were to 
 him such as one hears in a dream without wonderino- 
 at their strangeness, whatever they may say. " He is 
 dead !" He understood that he himself was meant ; 
 but he felt no surprise, for he was in a state of pas 
 sive submission of mind and body, making no eifort 
 
LEONORA OP THE TAWMISII 25 
 
 to know, but faintly receiving such impressions as 
 reached his half -awakened senses. So he was dead ? 
 Yes ; well, he was willing. It was pleasant and rest 
 ful gentle warmth was about him, sweet odors and 
 delightful sounds. 
 
 "Death is good," he murmured,, drowsily. Some 
 thing cool and light touched his hand : his eyes 
 opened a little ; he saw dimly, still as in a dream, a 
 face looking down upon his. A pale, fair face, with 
 glorious brown eyes, dark with pity and alarm, gazing 
 kindly and anxiously into his own. A sweet, whole 
 some, womanly face he saw it more distinctly now 
 as the mist of faintness began to clear away from be 
 fore his eyes full, tender, sensitive lips, cheeks sweet 
 ly rounded, and those lovely eyes full of good will, 
 under strong dark brows, a fair broad forehead shaded 
 by waves of gleaming gold-brown hair. 
 
 A gentle lady s face, bright with sense and under 
 standing, formed by delicate thoughts, rich in the 
 finer feelings. 
 
 He lay and looked, with no wish to move or think, 
 without care, without wonder ; languidly, passively, 
 dreamily happy. 
 
 The soft voice spoke again in a low, soothing tone : 
 "Speak to me tell me are you in pain ?" 
 
 "I don t know," said he, sleepily, "or care." 
 
 "Ah! but you look sadly," said she. "Will you 
 try and sit up ? Shall I help you ?" 
 
 "I don t think I care to much," he answered. 
 
 " But you must. Yes, you must try." 
 
 He felt a firm, light touch on his shoulder and on 
 his arm. " Come now !" 
 
 He tried to move, and groaned, for the effort was 
 
2G LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 agony ; his muscles were stiff, and lie was bruised and 
 helplessly weak. 
 
 " Oh ! I have hurt you," said she, " I am so sorry ! 
 There lie and rest a little longer and I will bring 
 you help never fear." 
 
 So saying, she rose from his side, a graceful figure, 
 smiling down at him ; turned and passed swiftly away 
 among the surrounding bushes. He tried to rise and 
 follow her, but fell back racked with pains, which 
 brought him quite to himself and left him fully con 
 scious, but not certain in his mind as to whether his 
 visitant had been a living human being who had 
 really promised him help, or only one of those visions 
 that come to a failing mind in its weakness, seen 
 when the eyes are closed and invisible when they are 
 open. 
 
 He tried to think how she looked and what she had 
 said, but could only remember vaguely a lovely face 
 close to his ; a sweet, low voice that gave comfort and 
 hope ; a slender form that vanished in the bushes ere 
 it was fairly seen, leaving an impression of grace and 
 beauty and strange but rich attire. 
 
 Yes, it must be real ; doubtless she would come 
 again. And yet his mind had been so wrought upon 
 during the night past ; he remembered that as he lay 
 fevered with thirst, listening to the water, he had im 
 agined nymphs dancing on the mountain, and old 
 legends had come back vividly to his mind. 
 
 So he lay, arguing with himself, now inclining to 
 this opinion, now to that ; now feeling hope of present 
 aid, now despairing in utter helplessness and loneli 
 ness. 
 
 He was yielding more and more to the latter state 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 27 
 
 of mind when he heard the voice again, clear and 
 cheery : 
 
 " We re coming. Can yon hear us ?" 
 
 The bushes rustled., and there stood his nymph with 
 her attendant satyr a negro of powerful frame and 
 surpassing blackness. He was rather of the gorilla 
 type of beauty, with long arms and huge hands, im 
 mense chest and shoulders ; his hair was grizzled, and 
 the crown of his head bald, and glorious when the 
 sunbeams touched it. 
 
 "A long tumble, sab," said he, with deferential 
 manner and very little of the accent of his race. "Am 
 you broke at all, sah ?" 
 
 "Everywhere, I think," said Moorhead. 
 
 "May I take the liberty of feeling for shattered 
 bones, sah ?" asked the black man, kneeling beside 
 him, and passing a great hand deftly over his person. 
 
 Having ascertained that the bones were all in place, 
 the sable personage turned and drew from the bushes a 
 large arm-chair, covered with soft furs, and set it down 
 beside his patient, lifted his body while the girl took 
 his feet from the ground, and seated him in it ; then, 
 kneeling behind it, thrust his own arms through two 
 broad thongs that were fastened on either side of the 
 back, and, slipping them over his big shoulders, rose 
 and strode steadily away with the chair on his back, 
 and Moorhead sitting in it as comfortably as his con 
 dition would allow, while the girl held aside the under 
 growth to let them pass the more easily. 
 
 Moorhead saw that they were going along a beaten 
 path beside the river, but nothing more ; for when he 
 had begun to recover from the intense pain caused by 
 his being lifted, and to become used to the slight 
 
28 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 swaying and jogging motion of the chair, he fell into 
 a dead faint. 
 
 When he came to he was in a room with log walls, 
 on a comfortable bed, and the negro was bending 
 over him. 
 
 "You ll be better now, sah. It Avas an awful fall 
 a stupendious fall sah !" 
 
 " An awful fall/ said Moorhead. " Yes, I suppose 
 so." 
 
 " Low me to help you to bed, sah," said the negro ; 
 and having raised him, sat beside him on the bed, 
 supporting him in one big arm while he gently un 
 dressed him, turned down the bedclothes, and placed 
 him safe between a snowy pair of sheets. 
 
 " There, sah, am you quite comfable ?" he asked. 
 
 " Thank you," said Moorhead. " Fm very hungry, 
 could you bring me some food ? I m well able to 
 pay- 
 
 "No question of payment, sah," said the negro, 
 hastily. 
 
 " But I d rather pay," said Moorhead. 
 
 " Sorry, sah ; but it s beyond the bounds of possi 
 bility," said the other, with suave dignity and a great 
 deal of manner. 
 
 " Is this your house ?" 
 
 " This is Mr. Willoughby s house, sah. I am Mr. 
 Willoughby s butlah, sir. Now, sah, if you please, 
 I will bring you some broff." 
 
 He bowed himself out, and soon returned with a 
 bowl from which a delicious savor of venison arose. 
 
 Moorhead ate ravenously, wondering the while who 
 Mr. Willoughby could be that had a butler in such a 
 place. 
 
LEONOEA OP THE YAWMISII 29 
 
 "May I see Mr. Willoughby ?" he asked, when he 
 had finished ; "I should like to thank him." 
 
 " I think not. Mr. Willoughby seldom receives 
 guests, sah. If you please, sah, sleep am the most 
 important agent for the renovation of your faculties, 
 sah." He placed on a chair by the bed a large tin- 
 pan and a hatchet. 
 
 " What are those ?" Moorhead asked, rather appre 
 hensively, with sudden recollections of those stories 
 told to gladden our childhood s dreams, wherein trav 
 ellers are slain and salted during their sleep in out- 
 of-the-way places in the woods. 
 
 " Those are an improvidential gong, sah. If you 
 should want anything, and will be pleased to beat on 
 the pan with the hatchet, I will come. Low rue to 
 stinguish the light, sah. Good-night, sah ;" and the 
 lamp and the butler went out and left Moorhead to 
 the enjoyment of undisturbed rest. 
 
 He, though used to the greatest luxury, had never 
 known any such as he felt now. 
 
 After weary days of wandering and nights spent 
 on the ground, the first cool touch of linen, the first 
 soft pressure of a comfortable bed, are more delight 
 ful than anything that can be bought for money. 
 
 The balmy air came gently from the open window ; 
 the woods and waters made soft music in the valley. 
 He enjoyed it a few moments and slept. 
 
THE wanderer was too much shaken by his fall, 
 too much excited by unusual adventure, to sleep a 
 natural, wholesome sleep too much exhausted to 
 awake when his bruises gave him pain. 
 
 So he dreamed, and in his dreams the events of the 
 last few days were blended in a tangled chain of 
 frightful fancies. 
 
 He seemed to be still toiling alone in dark, track 
 less, precipitous places ; groping by night in the brush, 
 and pursued among the rocks by creatures of the 
 woods with Siwash faces beings who peeped from 
 behind trees and leered and made wry mouths at 
 him, or sang and danced as they circled round him 
 or eluded his wrath ; and if ever he came out of the 
 darkness, or escaped, or was about to lay hands on a 
 foe, suddenly he seemed to fall into infinite depths, 
 while mocking laughter sounded round him and hands 
 seemed to clutch at him from the empty air as he fell. 
 
 But now and then throughout his dreams a lovely 
 form drew near, a lovely face looked into his with 
 kindly deep-brown eyes, a gentle cool hand touched 
 his own, and a soft voice spoke soothing words. 
 
 When lie awoke a light was burning in the corner 
 of the room, and beside it sat an old man reading and 
 smoking a big pipe. 
 
 His head was large, with a noble, rugged forehead, 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 31 
 
 deep-set eyes and shaggy eyebrows, drawn into the 
 habitual frown of one who reads much by night. 
 
 His hair hung to his shoulders in fine gray locks, 
 and a huge silvery beard lay on his chest ; altogether, 
 in spite of his careless pose for he lounged in a chair 
 tipped back against the wall, while his stockinged feet 
 reposed in another he was a venerable figure. 
 
 Moorhead lay and watched him, trying meanwhile 
 to remember where he was and how he had come 
 there, and to sort out the real memories from the 
 dreams. Soon the sight of the pan and the hatchet 
 reminded him of his last conversation, and it occurred 
 to him that this must be the owner of the house and 
 of the butler. 
 
 " I think, sir," said he, and stopped, for his voice 
 was strange to him, so hollow and faint that he would 
 never have recognized it as his own " I think, sir, 
 you are my host ?" 
 
 The old man took the pipe out of his mouth, laid 
 his book on the table, and looked annoyed ; then rose, 
 took up the lamp, and came over to the bedside. He 
 was a man of great stature and proportionate breadth, 
 lean, sinewy, and deep-chested, but stooping a little 
 as one who spends much time in study ; and wore an 
 old dark-blue smoking -jacket, a gray flannel shirt 
 with white necktie, very loose blue trousers, and black 
 stockings. He leaned over Moorhead, looked into his 
 eyes, and felt his hand and forehead. "How do you 
 feel ?" said he. 
 
 "Bather weak, thanks/ said Moorhead, after a 
 short self -investigation, "and very thirsty." 
 
 The old man went out, and brought back a tin cup 
 of water from one of the cold eddies of the mountain- 
 
32 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 stream. Moorhead drank eagerly and fell back, much 
 refreshed, on the pillow. "Now," said the old man, 
 "try and sleep," arid sat down again to read. 
 
 Moorhead watched him and wondered why he was 
 there. He was anxious to talk and hear all about 
 himself first, and then the people of the place, but 
 hardly knew how to begin. The old gentleman had 
 an air of not wishing to be disturbed. 
 
 Presently he asked, " Have you the time, sir ?" 
 
 "Yes," said the old gentleman, petulantly, taking 
 his pipe out of his mouth with an impatient manner 
 and consulting his watch a large gold timepiece of 
 old fashion "Half -past nine, more or less." 
 
 " No later than that ? Why, it must have been 
 about eight when I went to sleep ; and surely surely 
 I ve slept longer than that. Why, it seems ages since 
 I came to bed !" 
 
 " It isn t," said the other. " It s only four days and 
 a fraction. " 
 
 "Four ! Oh ! Fve been ill then !" said Moorhead. 
 
 " Damnably," said the old gentleman, "and if you 
 talk any more you ll be worse." 
 
 The patient was still awhile, but, having considered 
 his condition and inwardly expressed his concern for 
 himself, began to be annoyed at the silent presence 
 with the book and pipe. He had nothing with which 
 to amuse himself except unsatisfactory conjectures, 
 and that picture of quiet enjoyment irritated him. 
 He began to wish the old gentleman away. 
 
 "I must not trouble you to sit up with me," he 
 said. "I m causing you great inconvenience, I fear. 
 It is very kind of you to take care of a stranger, 
 and" 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 "Not in the least/ said the old gentleman. "I 
 didn t care to have you die about the place. I don t 
 keep a public cemetery for wayfarers. The alter 
 native was to nurse you and have you able to travel as 
 soon as possible. Do you mind the light ?" 
 
 "Not at all," said Moorhead, "but allow me to 
 
 "Then try and keep still." 
 
 Moorhead said no more, but began to think over 
 the memories of the few days past. They were rather 
 vague, and blent with dreams that had come to him 
 in his feverish illness. He remembered the night on 
 the mountain, but the dream-pictures were woven in 
 upon its darkness. He remembered his fall, and the 
 awakening the journey on the butler s back. 
 
 What kind of place was this this house in the back 
 woods, with log- walls and a butler ? 
 
 This man who sat and read looked quite capable of 
 such a possession. His features showed refinement ; 
 his voice was that of a gentleman ; his words, curt and 
 eccentric as they were, had not been rudely spoken. 
 
 Then that face that lovely face and form that had 
 come in his dreams and driven away the ugly fancies 
 was that a memory, or a fancy also ? He could not 
 tell. 
 
 Pondering on this, he slept a cool, delicious, whole 
 some sleep, from which voices on the porch by his 
 door awakened him. 
 
 " No," said that of the old man, " I shall go and try 
 the trout. Moloch has supplied me well with wrig 
 glers, and I hope 
 
 "But," said another voice, very gentle, clear, and 
 sweet, "you have been up all night, and surely you 
 need rest." 
 
 8 
 
34 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 " I often am,, and I do not need rest ; besides, it is 
 a perfect day for fishing." 
 
 " Was our invalid " 
 
 "Whose invalid ?" 
 
 " Our invalid." 
 
 " Why ours ?" 
 
 " Who is our neighbor ? A certain man went 
 down from Jerusalem to Jericho " 
 
 " Yes, yes I know," said the old man, in a low 
 voice. " So your mother would have said, Leo 
 nora." 
 
 There was silence, broken by the sweet young voice. 
 
 " Well, how is he ? Was he in his right mind when 
 he woke ?" 
 
 " Y-es yes; quite, I should say. He seems to be 
 doing very well." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said the other ; "he has lost all his 
 good looks." 
 
 " Such as they were," said the old man. " Good 
 looks, like everything else, are a matter of compari 
 son. The human race is not beautiful, and he does 
 not excel the average. You see you have no standard 
 of comparison." 
 
 " Oh ! / think good looks are real positive 
 
 "Not his," said the old gentleman, with an ugly 
 chuckle. " Less still now. Where s my rod ? Oh, 
 thank you. Good-bye ; I must be off to catch my 
 speckled friends at their sunrise breakfast." 
 
 Moorhead thought him as disagreeable an old man 
 as he ever had mot. 
 
 The voices had stopped, and footsteps had succeed 
 ed them, going away in two directions. The door 
 stood wide, and the curtains were drawn from the 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 35 
 
 open window. From his pillow he could see, framed 
 by the vines that hung about the window, a glowing 
 object cleaving the sky like a tongue of rosy flame 
 a sharp snow-peak that, looking far over the horizon 
 line, saw the approach of the morning, while the lesser 
 heights still slept in the gray dawn, and flushed at 
 the sight with glory. 
 
 The door framed a different picture a garden- 
 path leading to a dim grove, and a glimpse of water 
 through dusky foliage. 
 
 The peak began to brighten, and turned from rose 
 to gold, and then to clear white as the full light 
 settled on it ; the flowers by the path began to show 
 their colors and the waters to sparkle. 
 
 All this did not appeal to Moorhead, who was think 
 ing of what he had overheard. He lay uneasily im 
 patient till he heard the voice of the old butler sing 
 ing at his morning work. Then he seized the hatchet 
 and beat upon the tin pan. 
 
 " You re awake, sah, an bettah much bettah," 
 said the butler. " You rang, sah ?" 
 
 " Yes/ said Moorhead. " Is there such a thing as 
 a mirror a looking-glass to be had ? Then bring 
 me one." 
 
 The mirror showed him a highly indignant face, 
 quite thin and pale and by no means attractive, but 
 unmistakably his own. His "good looks" were not 
 permanently injured he could see that and on re 
 flection he forgave the unknown speaker for saying 
 they were gone, because it implied her consciousness 
 of their having existed ; and he took some pleasure 
 in the inference that, when they should return, she 
 would recognize them again. Not that he cared es- 
 
36 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 pecially for her, but he wished his good looks to meet 
 with general recognition from her sex. 
 
 He knew her voice as that which had spoken to him 
 after his fall and in his dreams, and was glad to feel 
 that she was real. 
 
 The good bntler helped him to a chair, made his 
 bed, patted out the pillows, and, having propped him 
 up and settled him comfortably, went out to get his 
 breakfast. 
 
 Afterwards, while his convalescent appetite was 
 doing justice to a bowl of strong venison broth, sev 
 eral new-laid eggs, and delicious toast crisp without 
 hardness, a new picture stood in the frame of the 
 door. 
 
 A tall, slender girl of queenly bearing, lovely in 
 feature and expression. 
 
 She wore a dark-green skirt of some strong, pliant 
 material that draped her person gracefully to the 
 ankles, and a loose hunting-shirt of soft doe-skin made 
 after the Indian fashion, with heavy fringes on arm 
 and breast and shoulder and richly embroidered in 
 green and gold. 
 
 Her belt was of the same material, stiff with em 
 broidery, and held, in loops, a row of Winchester car 
 tridges on the left side, and on the right a hunting- 
 knife with a hilt of ivory and gold, in a sheath of 
 black fur, and a light holster with a revolver of no 
 small calibre, beautifully mounted to match the knife. 
 
 A heavy gold chain hung round her neck and was 
 knotted on her breast, whence it fell beneath the belt. 
 
 Her feet were clad in dainty moccasins, likewise 
 embroidered ; a little golden snake with emerald eyes 
 twined her left wrist in spiral coils. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 37 
 
 Moorhead sat and looked and wondered. "Who 
 and what is she ?" 
 
 Surely she could be no ordinary woodland maiden 
 no settler s daughter. Her look and bearing were not 
 those of a rustic, gentle or simple ; her attire, peculiar 
 and almost barbaric as it was, had a certain chic, a 
 dash of style, that can generally be attained only by a 
 diligent study of the fashions. She was nobly formed ; 
 her neck, beautifully round and white, rose straight 
 and comely from a splendid pair of shoulders, well 
 knit and athletic, yet neither too broad nor too square 
 for womanly grace. She was slender, yet beautifully 
 and not weakly moulded, and health shone in her 
 deep-brown eyes and glowing sun-browned cheeks. 
 She held a bunch of yellow violets in her hand. 
 
 Moorhead thought as every young man thinks 
 when suddenly confronted with new feminine love 
 liness that she was the most beautiful woman he 
 had ever seen, and perhaps on this occasion he was 
 right. 
 
 "I am glad to see you getting well again/ she said 
 (and her voice was the one Moorhead knew). " For 
 a while we were afraid for you." 
 
 " So I have heard," said Moorhead. " In fact, Mr. 
 Mr." 
 
 "Mr. Willoughby?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you; Mr. Willoughby told me he did 
 not keep a public cemetery, and was nursing me to 
 avoid burying me." 
 
 "You mustn t mind my father s jokes," she said. 
 "He says strange things sometimes." 
 
 " You are Miss Willoughby, then ?" 
 
 "Yes, so I am ; though no one ever called me so 
 
38 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 before. You would, of course/ she said, thoughtfully. 
 "Yes, I am Miss Willoughby." 
 
 "Queer seems to be in some doubt about it," 
 Moorhead thought. " But this is all queer." 
 
 " My name is Moorhead Norman Moorhead/ said 
 he, "and I owe you an apology for descending so ab 
 ruptly on your premises." 
 
 "It was a little precipitate," she answered. "But 
 since you had to fall, I hope you will find that you 
 have fallen among friends." 
 
 " Indeed, you have been friends to me," he an 
 swered, "and now I beg that I may have the privilege 
 of being one of yours." 
 
 "A most exclusive privilege," said she, "for you 
 will be the only one, except my father and Moloch ; 
 but you are not to talk, I forgot. I have read that 
 the temptation to talk is irresistible to a woman. I 
 must prove the contrary. You must be very quiet 
 and get well soon, for I have many questions to ask 
 you, all about the world outside. When I begin you 
 will have no peace, so make the most of the present. 
 Have you everything you need ?" 
 
 "Yes, but Miss Willoughby, one more question, 
 who is Moloch ?" 
 
 "Moloch is the butler." 
 
 Moorhead let his curiosity get the better of him. 
 "And may I ask why you live here ?" 
 
 " Because it s my home." 
 
 "But" he began. 
 
 She put her finger on her smiling lips, shook her 
 head, then made him a grand, stately courtesy, and 
 was gone. 
 
 "Am I dreaming again ?" said he. But the yellow 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 39 
 
 violets on the threshold, where she had dropped them, 
 answered him that he was awake. 
 
 He took up the hatchet and pan, hesitated a min 
 ute, laid them down, crept feebly to the door, and 
 took the flowers. 
 
VI 
 
 THE mountains and woods breathed strength into 
 the atmosphere ; the Pacific sent inland a wholesome 
 flavor of salt spray, tempered with the warmth of the 
 Japan current ; the air was rich in health. 
 
 Moorhead sat on the veranda by the door of his 
 room ; as yet he had been unable to go farther. He 
 had had a dangerous illness, but was not likely now 
 to die of anything but curiosity. That noisome mal 
 ady had taken full possession of his mind, and he 
 spent his time in forming theories about the old gen 
 tleman and his daughter, Leonora, in whom he was 
 beginning to take a lively interest. 
 
 His room opened only outward, and he had not yet 
 seen the inside of the house. He had not been al 
 lowed to talk much, and any attempt on his part at 
 continued conversation was sure to result in his being 
 left alone, with an admonition that he needed rest. 
 
 What puzzled him was the question how such peo 
 ple as the Willoughbys could possibly be at home in 
 such a place. He had one of those peculiarly conven 
 tional minds that resent anything unusual in the ways 
 of others he was strongly attracted towards the Wil 
 loughbys. They were evidently people of high breed 
 ing and thorough refinement ; there was even a cer 
 tain stateliness about them and a charm of manner 
 that tempered the eccentricities of the old gentleman 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 41 
 
 and made his daughter s loveliness irresistible ; yet 
 it seemed to Moorhead that there must be something 
 wrong about them, because, from his point of view, 
 they were out of place. 
 
 They must, of course, have a reason for living in a 
 wilderness where there were no neighbors apparent 
 ly some cause for avoiding their fellow-men. As for 
 their unwillingness to talk to him, it might be owing 
 to his weak condition and need of rest and it might 
 not. Mr. Willoughby evidently wished him away. 
 He had visited Moorhead once or twice, for a few 
 minutes at a time ; and while he had been, as far as 
 manner goes, the pink of courtesy, since the night 
 when the patient had waked and found him sitting 
 in the room, he had hinted very plainly that he wished 
 him to get well in order that he might continue his 
 travels. Behind all this there must be something 
 very wrong. Moorhead could not doubt it, and it 
 made him uneasy. What was it ? 
 
 He was sitting and pondering, for lack of better 
 employment, on this question, and his reverie was pro 
 fusely illustrated with mental portraits of Leonora. 
 (He had begun to take the liberty of thinking of her 
 as Leonora, a practice he would have condemned, if he 
 had caught himself at it, as not the thing, for he was, 
 superficially, a devout worshipper of the Thing.) 
 
 A rustle in the bushes startled him, and he saw her 
 coming out of the woods, erect and alert, stepping 
 lightly, with a rifle in her hand. She waved her hand 
 to him with a gracious gesture, smiling, and called 
 the butler, who came from some covert where he had 
 been sawing wood. 
 
 " You ll find a mule-deer on the upper trail, Moloch. 
 
42 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Better take a cayuse with you to bring him home. 
 He lies right by the big laurel, under the ledge." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Leonora," said Moloch, touching his 
 grizzled tuft of wool. 
 
 Moorhead was wounded again in his sense of the 
 fitness of things. A goddess of the chase is all very 
 well in fable or marble, but a girl with a Winchester 
 is different, and he thought such lips would be better 
 employed .in discussing light opera, dress, and the 
 character of a neighbor than in announcing a success 
 ful "kill "and disposing of the quarry, and that a fan 
 would become the little hand better than that splendid 
 instrument of death, with its curiously carved stock 
 and heavy gleaming barrel of dark-blue steel. (The 
 girls of Moorhead s set had not yet gone in for out 
 door sports as they did a few years later, or he might 
 not have cared.) However, poor thing, she was not 
 in the way of seeing opera, and bad no neighbors to 
 discuss, and dress, as a subject of conversation, would 
 be thrown away in such a wilderness. As for the rifle, 
 it was her means of marketing, the purse that fur 
 nished her change when she went shopping. Poor 
 girl! 
 
 Having dismissed Moloch upon his errand, she came 
 to the porch, leaned upon the objectionable rifle, and 
 looked critically at her patient. "You are much bet 
 ter," she said, approvingly. "You feel so, I hope ?" 
 
 " Thanks to your care and hospitality, Miss Wil- 
 loughby." 
 
 "Your voice is strong," she said, gleefully. "I 
 really believe you are well enough to talk." 
 
 " I am sure of it," he said. " May I ?" 
 
 "Yes, you may. Please do." 
 
LEONOKA OF THE YAWMISH 43 
 
 They were both silent awhile. To wish to be al 
 lowed to talk is one tiling, to be asked to talk is 
 another. 
 
 " Then/ said he, " I shall ask questions." 
 
 " Oh ! But it is I that must ask questions/ 7 she 
 said, "and you will be able to answer them for me. 
 I have so much to ask ! Tell me tell me all about 
 the world beyond the woods." 
 
 " That is a great deal to tell all at once/ said Moor- 
 head, somewhat startled by this wholesale demand 
 upon his stock of information. " And the world is 
 not very interesting. To me your life here in the 
 forest seems infinitely more worth talking about. 
 
 "You are good enough to say so," she said, "but 
 if you had lived here always, as I have, it might not 
 seem so. Besides, you can see what there is here, and 
 I have seen nothing of the world outside. 
 
 " Do you mean you have really lived here all your 
 life, Miss Willoughby?" 
 
 " All my life and I so long to hear about people 
 and places, and my father will never speak of them, 
 and Moloch is almost as bad. If I ask him ques 
 tions, he says, I dunno. Ask Mr. Willoughby, Miss 
 Leonora. Now I have you to tell me everything." 
 
 Moorhead looked vexed. It was more clear than 
 ever that something was wrong with these people. 
 However, there was something attractive in instruct 
 ing the quite unenlightened mind of so fair a listener. 
 What is more delightful than a good audience ? 
 
 " Everything is a good deal," said he "more 
 than you will care to hear ; but I ll do my best. Where 
 shall I begin ? At the creation ?" 
 
 She looked gravely at him, and her eyes darkened a 
 
44 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 little. "The creation is a solemn thing/ said she, 
 "and not to be spoken of lightly." 
 
 "I beg your pardon/ said Moorhead. 
 
 " Yon have done me no wrong/ said she. 
 
 " I mean/ said he, " for speaking, in your presence, 
 in a way that you do not approve." 
 
 "My presence and approval have nothing to do 
 with it/ she said. "Well, begin with the cities 
 tell me about cities." Her face had lost its grave look, 
 and wore the expression of an eager child waiting for 
 a promised story. 
 
 " The cities," he said, after a long pause, finding 
 that his supply of information on the subject did not 
 flow as freely as might have been expected. " Really, 
 I I don t know that there s much to tell about the 
 cities. They are why, cities are much alike, you 
 know !" 
 
 Leonora looked disappointed. "You don t seem to 
 understand," said she. "/ have never seen a city. In 
 the first place, what do they look like ?" 
 
 He tried his best to describe a city, but, not know 
 ing very well where to begin, where to end, or what 
 to say between, failed dismally. Try to describe a 
 city yourself to some one who has never seen any, 
 and see how you like it. 
 
 " That sounds dreary," said she. " But then the 
 houses are very beautiful, many of them ? There are 
 the churches, the theatres, the courts of justice, the 
 palaces are they not very grand ?" 
 
 " Why, yes, some of them ; I hardly know how to 
 describe them. Of course, houses are of every kind, 
 from little shanties that are just enough to keep the 
 wind and rain off a man s head as he sleeps, to great 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 45 
 
 buildings with hundreds of rooms; and some are 
 bare and ugly, and some are adorned with all that 
 art can do to make them beautiful pictures and 
 statues and splendid architecure." 
 
 Leonora was now more and more disappointed. 
 " You don t tell me so very much/ she said. "I think 
 I can imagine a city for myself, as far as the build 
 ings go. But about the people where there is so 
 much to do 
 
 " Really/ said Moorhead, in despair, " I believe 
 you were right. I am weak still, and find that con 
 versation is more of a strain than I had expected. By 
 to-morrow I shall be better able to go on with the 
 subject ; and meanwhile I will think things over and 
 be prepared to tell you what will interest you." 
 
 "Oh, thank you," she said. "That will give me 
 great pleasure. I am sorry for having tired you so 
 with my questions. Here comes Moloch, and I must 
 go and help him with the deer." 
 
 Moloch was just coming from the woods leading a 
 little dappled pony, across whose back lay an antlered 
 buck of nearly twice its size, and came at her bid 
 ding to show the quarry to Moorhead. 
 
 " You killed that great creature all yourself ?" said 
 he. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 After he had duly admired the antlers and paid 
 her a compliment or two on her aim, she went with 
 Moloch to the back of the house, where he heard the 
 two busily engaged in cutting up the deer. 
 
 " I never expected," said he, " to have to begin 
 at the beginning and tell her everything. How piti 
 fully ignorant she is ! And how am I to do it ?" 
 
46 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 However, he felt that the opportunity of addressing 
 such an audience was too good to be wasted, and for 
 the rest of the afternoon he amused himself preparing 
 the morrow s lecture, so that when the time came, 
 and Leonora presented herself, with the same child 
 like eagerness she had shown on the day before, she 
 should find him ready. 
 
 He knew his Baedeker pretty well, and if where 
 the facts seem too insipid he did not hesitate to fla 
 vor them with an occasional touch of romance, it 
 was only to please his listener an object which it 
 did not fail to accomplish, for he had the satisfaction 
 of seeing her smile every now and then with evident 
 pleasure as she sat drinking in his words. After the 
 first shock was over he rather enjoyed her ignorance, 
 as it gave him a chance to be patronizing, and he 
 dearly loved to patronize. It seemed to him that 
 the w r onders of modern invention would be a fertile 
 topic, and susceptible of artistic coloring. 
 
 "The magic we read about and don t believe in- 
 all superstition, you know of course " he began. 
 
 "What is superstition?" the simple maiden in 
 quired. 
 
 "Why er superstition is well, believing in what 
 isn t true, you know." 
 
 " Oh, then, if you happened to be telling me what 
 was not exactly true, I should be superstitious in be 
 lieving it ?" 
 
 "N no not exactly superstitious. It s hard to 
 explain precisely what superstition means." 
 
 " You were saying," said she, after a pause, " some 
 thing about magic. I have heard of magic. Moloch 
 tells me stories in the winter evenings stories of en- 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 47 
 
 chantments of witches and strange things that hap 
 pen" 
 
 "Yet there are stranger things than enchant 
 ments/ said he. " There is the locomotive the iron 
 horse that draws a train of houses on wheels a sort 
 of rolling village for thousands of miles at such a 
 pace that if a man jumps off while it is going he is 
 likely to be killed the creature whose life is fire and 
 whose breath is steam who may be inspired to life 
 and gigantic strength at the will of a man or put to 
 sleep indefinitely merely by kindling or putting out 
 the fire 
 
 "I had heard of railways/ said she. "Have you 
 seen them, and are such things really possible ?" 
 
 "There are engines more wonderful still," said he. 
 " They carve and weave and work in metal, doing 
 the labor of thousands without weariness, and with 
 such swiftness and accuracy that no quantity of 
 human hands could equal the results. Yet they 
 obey the touch of a man s hand. And what should 
 you say of an enchanter who could chain the light 
 ning and make it do his bidding ? Light the cities 
 at night, so that one can read in the streets ? Send 
 the thoughts of one person to another hundreds of 
 miles away in a few minutes ? Drive great cars full 
 of people about the streets, on regular lines, open to 
 all, so that even the poorest may ride to their work 
 faster than horses could carry them ?" 
 
 Here he stopped, delighted with his flight of fancy 
 in describing the prosaic electric cars, to watch the 
 effect. 
 
 "Oh !" said Leonora, "tell me more !" 
 
 " Have you ever seen a photograph ?" said he. 
 
48 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 "What is a photograph ?" 
 
 " A sort of picture. There is a kind of little box 
 called a camera,, with a sort of eye in one end. The 
 man who knows how to use it turns its eye upon 
 some person or object, touches a spring, and there is 
 a perfect picture of the person or object, line for line, 
 which by chemical process may be printed on paper, 
 and reproduced again and again." 
 
 Leonora looked up with eyes that sparkled with de 
 light. " Are you telling me the very truth ?" she 
 asked. "Do they really have such wonders in the 
 great cities ?" 
 
 "The very truth." 
 
 "You are not taking advantage of my ignorance ?" 
 she said, with evident anxiety. 
 
 " Indeed, I am not," said he. 
 
 "Then I must believe you. How sad it is," she 
 said, thoughtfully, and regarding Moorhead with deep, 
 pensive eyes, "that sometimes the boiler bursts, or 
 the safety-valve refuses to work, or the wire breaks, or 
 the fuse burns out, or the trolley comes off, or the 
 slide of the camera gets out of order ! Isn t it, Mr. 
 Moorhead ?" 
 
 It is one thing to instruct a fresh, ingenuous mind 
 in the wonders of the world ; another to be led into 
 holding forth for hours in minute detail on trite and 
 familiar subjects. 
 
 The change from the pleasure of the former posi 
 tion to the awkwardness of the latter was too much 
 for Moorhead, who felt as if he had been invited to 
 sit in a chair of state, and had had it pulled away 
 and sat on the floor instead. If Leonora had suddenly 
 drawn a revolver on him he could have forgiven it, as 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 49 
 
 in keeping with her environment ; but that she should 
 make fun of him was more than he could bear. 
 Leonora was smiling, and presently spoke : 
 
 " These things to hear 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 She d come again, and with a greedy ear 
 Devour up my discourse. 
 
 My story being done, 
 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
 She swore In faith, twas strange, twas passing strange ; 
 Twas pitiful, twas wondrous pitiful ; 
 She wish d she had not heard it : 
 
 Moorhead drew himself up in wrath. Had he been 
 a lady it might be said that he "bridled." 
 
 "I owe you a humble apology/ he said, stiffly and 
 testily. "Of course, I was not aware of the extent 
 of your information. I tried, at your request, to 
 interest yon; but I fear I have bored you extremely. 
 You might have spared me the quotation,, however, 
 and I see no reason why I should have been allowed 
 to go on all this time under the impression that what 
 I was saying was new to you." 
 
 " Oh, I assure you it has all been very interesting 
 and amusing," said she. 
 
 " Very likely," said he. 
 
 "Why, I believe," said she, wide-eyed and sur 
 prised "I believe you are really angry !" 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 " It was a pity to tease you," she said. " I am 
 
 , 4 
 
50 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 sorry ; I had no idea you would mind. You didn t 
 quite understand me when I asked you about the 
 world outside ; I didn t mean the kind of things you 
 have been telling me. Of course, I know all that ; 
 but how shall I make you see what I mean ? Things 
 that one would not learn without seeing them and 
 living there. So, when you began to tell me just the 
 things that I can get out of books I was disappoint 
 ed ; and when you took it for granted that I was so 
 utterly ignorant I thought I d just listen and let you 
 keep on thinking so awhile and hear what you d say. 
 I am sorry, very sorry, if you are vexed." 
 
 " Oh, don t mention it !" said he, snapping out his 
 words so crossly that after one steady look of surprise, 
 with parted lips and lifted brows, she turned away 
 and left him alone with his broken temper. 
 
 Moorhead was full of small conceit, and could not 
 bear being made ridiculous in his own eyes, to which 
 her explanation, gracious and humble as it was, did 
 not make him look any better. He passed a wretched 
 afternoon. 
 
 The saddest worm that crawls upon the earth is 
 the man that cannot take a joke. 
 
VII 
 
 THE next morning Moorhead woke up with a feel 
 ing that he ought to be ashamed of himself. He rose 
 and dressed, and Moloch brought him his breakfast as 
 usual. While he was eating it Mr. Willoughby made 
 him a short visit, pipe in hand. 
 
 " You must find it very dull here, Mr. Moorhead," 
 said he. 
 
 " On the contrary, sir, I think it the most delight 
 ful place I have ever seen." 
 
 " So do I," said Mr. Willoughby. " Its charm for 
 me lies in its seclusion. The absence of the human 
 race is enough to make the most desolate desert at 
 tractive. Here we have solitude in its perfection- 
 unutterable grandeur and beauty about us the gifts 
 of nature bestowed with a lavish hand. But the soli 
 tude is the sweetest gift of all." 
 
 "Yet you must find it dreary sometimes without 
 neighbors." 
 
 <e Neighbors," said the old gentleman, "are of three 
 kinds : friends, enemies, and strangers. Which do 
 you prefer ?" 
 
 " Friends, by all means," said Moorhead. 
 
 " I cannot agree with you. Strangers, while they 
 remain so, go about their business and do not meddle. 
 They expect nothing of you, and you nothing of them 
 in return. They are independent of you, and allow 
 
52 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 yon to be independent of them. The only question 
 is,, how long will a stranger remain so ? For every 
 stranger may become a friend or enemy at any time. 
 Meanwhile, it is hard to find their raison d etre, and to 
 see them about is rather a nuisance than otherwise." 
 
 " I agree with you in regard to strangers, Mr. Wil- 
 loughby," said Moorhead. " They are not useful, 
 and are, as a rule, unpleasant people one doesn t 
 know. But why prefer them to friends ?" 
 
 " Friends ? People who force upon you attentions, 
 of which they have no means of knowing whether 
 they will be acceptable or not, even if they took the 
 pains to try to find out, and who expect, in return, 
 that you shall know and do and say exactly what will 
 be agreeable to them ; who advise you about your 
 affairs ; who amuse themselves by talking about and 
 interfering with your private concerns and call it 
 sympathy ; who watch your actions and pass judg 
 ment upon them and call it f friendly interest ; who 
 say behind your back what they dare not say to your 
 face and call it politeness, or who take upon them 
 selves to find fault with you and call it kindness ; 
 who exact a return for all they force upon you, and 
 if it be not forthcoming, or if it be unsatisfactory, 
 revile you to others as ungrateful, unfriendly, or stu 
 pid ; who profess a liking for you, and as its price 
 assume a familiarity with you and a right to your 
 services ? These are friends ! They have one nega 
 tive sort of virtue." 
 
 What is that ?" Moorhead asked. 
 
 " That is, that as soon as you are unable through 
 any cause, such as poverty or other misfortune, to re 
 turn in kind the obligations they have forced upon 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 53 
 
 yon, they consider themselves at liberty to drop your 
 acquaintance and become either strangers or enemies. 
 I speak of the majority ; I do not deny that there are 
 exceptions. But they are too few and far between to 
 make it worth a man s while to spend his life in seek 
 ing them ; and if he does so, he will meet with disap 
 pointments enough to outweigh a hundredfold the 
 few cases of true faith between man and man that he 
 may find. If that is not so, the world has changed 
 since I knew it. How many men do you suppose have 
 been betrayed by enemies in comparison with those 
 who have been betrayed by their friends ?" 
 
 " Then, on the whole, you prefer enemies ?" 
 
 "Ah! But a real enemy is a rare thing. So few 
 dare be enemies outright ! Yes ! an enemy is one s 
 acknowledged opponent in the game of life ; he has 
 the merit of being interesting at least. And, let him 
 do his worst, he cannot injure a man as his friend 
 can. Pardon me, I have said enough to tire you. 
 You are gaining strength ?" 
 
 "Very fast, thanks to your kindness/ said Moor- 
 head. 
 
 " Good. You will be able to travel soon. Good- 
 morning." 
 
 He went away, leaving his guest to wonder what 
 was his grudge against the human race, and whether 
 he himself was regarded as a stranger, an enemy,, or, 
 that objectionable thing, a friend. From the father 
 his thoughts soon turned to the daughter. He hoped 
 Leonora would come, but soon he saw her walking 
 fully armed into the woods, and he found himself in 
 penitence, condemned to expiate yesterday s ill-temper 
 by a lonely morning. 
 
54 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 He sat some hours smoking, and reading a book he 
 had found in his room. It was not a very interesting 
 book, and his thoughts kept wandering away after 
 Leonora. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby had gone fishing; Moloch s axe 
 could be heard in the woods beyond the river. 
 
 Moorhead became restless, and the spell of languor 
 that had held him since his illness the sleepy influ 
 ence of the forest was broken. 
 
 He walked out into the sunlight. The house stood on 
 a small plateau, carefully cleared of all undergrowth, 
 and shaded by several immense cedars and a cotton- 
 wood, whose boughs, nearly meeting across it, made a 
 changing network of light and shade on the ground. 
 
 There was a broad level space of well-kept grass, 
 and garden-beds in which grew native flowers and 
 others not indigenous to the valley. The harebells, 
 primroses, and blossoming shrubs of the mountains, 
 the lilies, and blue and yellow violets from wood and 
 marsh, sweetbrier, and wild geranium mingled their 
 sweetness with that of red and white garden - roses, 
 carnation, tulip, poppy, cardinal, and columbine. 
 
 The house, built of cedar logs split smooth and 
 square, overlapping at the corners, the interstices 
 filled in with moss and clay, consisted of three long, 
 low cabins, the two smaller ones projecting backward 
 from the larger and higher, so as to form a quadrangle. 
 All about it was a broad covered veranda, roofed, like 
 the house, with cedar shakes and curtained with wood 
 bine and ivy, which parted in the form of a Norman 
 arch at the front. 
 
 Moorhead walked about it. At the back were vari 
 ous small out-buildings a hay-shed, a tiny stable (with 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 55 
 
 five stalls for the winter use of the pack-ponies, which 
 were allowed in summer to roam the valley at will), a 
 hen-house, and a cow-shed. 
 
 A kitchen-garden grew in a corner of the clearing 
 with a rank luxuriance of vegetables. 
 
 Moorhead walked round to the front and looked up 
 through the arch of vines. The door stood open. He 
 hesitated a moment, then, overcome by his desire to 
 know more of these people and their life, went up 
 the steps, knocked (as a matter of form, for he knew 
 there was no one there), and went in. 
 
 Coming from the very edge of the wild woods, he 
 found himself in a long, low hall, among pictures, 
 beautifully embroidered fabrics, rich furs, stately 
 antlers, furniture whose woodwork was a series of 
 grotesque carvings that showed the mark of rare 
 genius, pretty things of every shape and kind here 
 and there, and books. 
 
 The wall, for the height of seven feet from the 
 floor, was lined with books, on cedar shelves whose 
 edges were carved in a delicate pattern of running 
 ivy, broken here and there by queer little faces that 
 looked out between the leaves. 
 
 Moorhead was no judge of books, but even he could 
 tell that many of the volumes were rare and costly, 
 that the editions were such as the heart of the book 
 man yearns over, that the library was that of a reader 
 who loved books for themselves and for what was in 
 them. Many lay 011 the tables and chairs not as if 
 carelessly left there, but in a way that denoted recent 
 and scholarly use, and nearly all had book-marks be 
 tween the leaves in several places. 
 
 Above the shelves the wall was devoted to orna- 
 
56 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 ment. It was covered with buckskin,, embroidered 
 on the upper border with a broad stripe, of a pattern 
 similar to that of the carving on the edges of the 
 shelves ivy, with odd faces peering out. Below 
 this border it was thickly adorned with pictures 
 water-colors and crayons made with more than skill 
 and all of scenes chosen from the most perfect spots 
 of that wonderful region ; little nooks where the 
 water lay among the trees and reflected the delicate 
 ferns about its margin and the boughs above ; tower 
 ing rocks; a startled deer just rising from his mossy 
 covert ; an eagle sitting on the blasted top of a dead 
 fir. And there were portraits, in which Moorhead 
 saw the face of Mr. Willoughby in the strength and 
 beauty of early manhood, the budding promise of 
 Leonora s grace and loveliness, the shiny-black counte 
 nance of Moloch grinning with pleasure. The other 
 portrait, by a somewhat less skilful hand, was the 
 face of a lady he had never seen a delicate, sweet, 
 piquant face of singular beauty, and bearing a strong 
 though hardly definable resemblance to Leonora. 
 Between these pictures the furs of small animals and 
 the wings of birds were spread flat on the yellow 
 surface of the buckskin mink and young beaver, 
 wildcat, marten, black squirrel, jay, blue grouse and 
 ruffed grouse, white ptarmigan from the peaks, and 
 water-fowl of many kinds and colors. A noble pair 
 of elk-antlers graced either end of the hall, and one 
 grander still lifted its graceful strength above the 
 immense fireplace opposite the front door. 
 
 There were two other doorways, one at each end of 
 the back of the room, leading respectively into the 
 two wings, and curtained with heavy dark - green 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 57 
 
 portieres embroidered in dull gold and crimson. 
 Along the upper shelf of the bookcases were in 
 numerable pretty knickknacks, evidence of wealth, 
 travel, and exquisite taste ; and rifles of various work 
 manship, revolvers, knives, and a great array of large- 
 bowled, long-stemmed pipes hung from the prongs of 
 the antlers. 
 
 The ceiling was of polished cedar, supported on 
 mighty beams of the same. From the central rafter 
 hung three lamps a large one in the middle of the 
 room, a lesser one at either end. 
 
 The floor also was of polished cedar, but of a lighter 
 tint and harder grain than that of the ceiling, and 
 was almost covered with the skins of beasts. One 
 immense black bear-skin with head and claws lay in 
 the centre with two smaller ones at each side, form 
 ing a line from end to end. Before each door lay a 
 skin of the gray timber -wolf, silvery in its winter 
 prime. 
 
 The chairs and tables were made of the gnarled and 
 twisted limbs of trees, deftly joined; and the feet 
 and every knob and projection were carveii into the 
 semblance of claws or faces or leaves, each without 
 regard to the rest, but according to the fancy its 
 original shape had suggested to the workman s quaint 
 imagination. 
 
 There were lounges and great arm-chairs, covered 
 with padded skins, and several long, yellow cougar- 
 skins finely cured, lying loose on the backs. There 
 were lighter chairs whose backs and seats were made 
 of the broad white, thick feathered breasts of loon 
 and wild-goose, and whose upper knobs were carved 
 with birds heads, whose feet ended in birds claws. 
 
58 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Under the central lamp was an oblong table, of 
 yellow cedar smooth as a mirror,, littered with many 
 things. 
 
 The small and portable articles in the room were of 
 many lands and varied workmanship of bronze and 
 wood and silver. The larger were all of such material 
 as the forest and its wild things supplied, and evidently 
 home-made, though with skill and taste little short of 
 genius. 
 
 A rough stone six feet square evidently a rock 
 that had stood there with its foundations in the earth, 
 and about which the house had been built, for 110 
 power these people could have had at command would 
 have stirred it formed the hearth, and the fireplace 
 upon it was a very cavern for size and depth, of big, 
 rough stones cemented with clay that had baked into 
 brick. 
 
 There was no need of fires there through the long 
 summer, so the rock within was covered with living 
 moss and clumps of fern such as love the shade, and 
 purple violets were planted there, transforming the 
 rugged hollow into a grotto fit for a fairy hermit. 
 
 Moorhead stood awhile gazing about him, lost at 
 first in admiration of the effect of the whole, and 
 then began to examine singly with a curious eye the 
 various things that went to make it up, quite for 
 getting that he was a trespasser, and staring like a 
 child in a museum. 
 
 He wondered more than ever who and what these 
 people were. 
 
 " Surely," he thought, "no ordinary circumstances 
 compel them to stay here beyond the reach of civili 
 zation. It cannot be poverty, for these books those 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 59 
 
 ornaments are a fortune in themselves and have 
 been brought from all lands. It is not ignorance, 
 certainly. And yet they have lived here long 
 everything shows long occupancy; that carving of 
 native wood is the work of years. This is no mere 
 summer camp, but a home such a home as only 
 long living can make, but not the home of people 
 who belong to such a place. I don t understand it." 
 
 He had thought it all over and had concluded that 
 the old man must have committed some crime and 
 hidden himself here to avoid its consequences, when 
 he was suddenly aware of a presence near at hand. 
 
 There stood Mr. Willoughby, his great frame nearly 
 filling the doorway, saying nothing and watching him 
 with a very unpleasant expression. 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Willoughby!" said Moorhead. 
 
 The old gentleman stood silent, waiting for him to 
 finish whatever he might have to say, and, when he 
 could think of nothing apt and had grown as uncom 
 fortable as a man may be, remarked, dryly, "Do you 
 find what you look for ?" 
 
 " I I wasn t looking for anything, Mr. Willough 
 by," said Moorhead. " I knocked, and there was 
 nobody at home ; so I er 
 
 " So you accepted my daughter s invitation and 
 made yourself at home ?" 
 
 " I er Miss Willoughby didn t invite me," said 
 Moorhead, wondering why he said it, for he was not 
 of a frank nature and would usually have thought a 
 confession quite needless. But he was afraid of the 
 old gentleman in a way and told the truth without 
 thinking. 
 
 " Pardon," said Mr. Willoughby. " You forget, of 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 course,, my daughter asked you in, or you would not 
 have come. Will you sit down ?" 
 
 Moorhead sat down, and Mr. Willoughby remained 
 standing in the doorway. 
 
 "You have a great many books," said Moorhead. 
 
 " I have not counted them/ 7 said Mr. Willoughby. 
 
 " And some very valuable ones," said Moorhead. 
 
 " Indeed ?" said Mr. Willonghby. " I hadn t ap 
 praised them." 
 
 The old gentleman s manner and tone were pain 
 fully polite and by no means cordial. Moorhead tried 
 again. 
 
 " What a beautiful home you have, and what a pity 
 so few people can see it I" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because, when one is surrounded with delight 
 ful possessions there is a pleasure in showing them 
 to one s neighbors , I think ; that is, sympathy in en 
 joyment is as necessary as sympathy in pain." 
 
 "As to neighbors, I fear I cannot agree with you," 
 said Mr. Willoughby. "As to sympathy, I don t know 
 that it is necessary in any case. At all events, I should 
 have no pleasure in playing the showman in my own 
 home, of all places. If your chair is uncomfortable, 
 pray take another." Moorhead, by dint of repeated 
 snubs, was beginning to show signs of uneasiness. 
 
 " Thank you. I believe I will go to the room you 
 have kindly put at my disposal," said he, and was 
 glad to be out of his unpleasant position. 
 
 That evening Leonora came to him and asked him 
 to join them at dinner. He would have excused him 
 self, fearing the old gentleman s inhospitable de 
 meanor, but remembered that he had no choice and 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 61 
 
 could not very well refuse. His fears, to his great 
 relief, were ill-founded. Mr. Willoughby said nothing 
 unpleasant, and Leonora was a charming hostess. 
 
 Dinner was served on the veranda. Moloch had 
 abandoned his usual blue overalls and flannel shirt 
 for a suit of decent black and white collar and tie, 
 and waited on the table with the air of a promoter of 
 state banquets. 
 
 The dinner was delicious, and after it Leonora asked 
 him to stay ; and, finding he could sing, accompanied 
 him sweetly with voice and guitar under the summer 
 moon. 
 
 When they parted for the night Mr. Willoughby 
 said, "Now that you are well enough, pray be the 
 guest of our house and table, Mr. Moorhead, while you 
 stay." And so it was until he went away from the 
 valley. 
 
 When he had gone Leonora said, " Thank you, 
 father mine ; that was right. I know how you hate 
 any invasion of our home ; but since a guest has been 
 thrown helpless at our door it would be a shame not 
 to treat him like a guest/ 
 
 "That shall be as you will, my girl ; you are mis 
 tress of my house. But I wish you could have seen 
 him when I found him prying about our hearth. It 
 was very amusing to me." 
 
 (t I m sorry you treated him coldly," said she. "He 
 has been made dependent on us for the present by his 
 misfortune " 
 
 " Our misfortune," said the old man. 
 
 "And to make him feel that we do not want him 
 here, and that he is a nuisance, seems to be unworthy 
 of you." 
 
62 LBONOKA OF THE YAWMISI1 
 
 "Really, I don t think I treated him ill," said Mr. 
 Willoughby. " I found him in the house, and he had 
 not been asked to come there. That was an awkward 
 predicament, for which he had only himself to blame. 
 I not only abstained from any embarrassing questions 
 such as asking what he meant by it but I invented 
 an excuse for him. I told him you had invited him, 
 and when he said you had not, I insisted that you 
 must have done so, and that he must have forgotten 
 since he had passed the door." 
 
 "Father!" said Leonora, reproachfully, "why did 
 you say such a thing as that ?" 
 
 "To put him at his ease, dear," said Mr. "\Vil- 
 loughby. "That s what they call it in the civilized 
 world you admire so much from a distance." 
 
 "Please, after this be pleasant to him," said she, 
 rather crossly. " Remember he s our guest." 
 
 "Very well, dear," said Mr. Willoughby, meekly. 
 "Fll try," and betook himself to his books. 
 
VIII 
 
 THE days passed sweetly in the valley. 
 
 Moorhead began to grow strong and enjoy himself, 
 not the less perhaps that he saw but little of Mr. 
 Willoughby, before whom he was never quite at ease. 
 
 The old gentleman had a quiet way of looking down 
 from a superior height., both of mind and body, that 
 greatly irritated a young fellow who liked to be im 
 portant and was used to being made much of in his 
 own world. 
 
 Moorhead knew that he was tall, as men go the 
 old gentleman towered above him ; he was considered 
 well informed his host was a man of deep learning ; 
 he liked to hold himself a wit but his sayings always 
 seemed to him flat and trivial in Mr. Willoughby s 
 presence ; he was proud of his manner but Mr. 
 Willoughby, with all his bluntness and eccentricity, 
 had a certain "grand air" in all he said and did that 
 made mere manner seem cheap and poor. 
 
 Moorhead, who could not bear feeling small, 
 dreaded him extremely, and was thankful that his 
 habit of seclusion and study kept him away by the 
 riverside or held him to his books. 
 
 One day, nearly meeting him on the river-trail, 
 Moorhead took to cover to avoid him, and was uneasy 
 at the approach of meal-times, because he must meet 
 him at the table. 
 
64 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 With Leonora he got on well. They were much 
 together, and the better he knew her the more he felt 
 the charm of her sweetness. He soon discovered that 
 he spent most of his time in thinking of Leonora. 
 Nor could his mind have had a more delightful guest. 
 Soon he found that he was constantly seeking her 
 presence that he was more unhappy in her absence 
 than mere ennui would have made him. 
 
 One day he was reading. His book did not inter 
 est him. He kept losing his place. He realized that 
 he was very uncomfortable, and, being given to self- 
 analysis, less with a view to improvement than to 
 pleasure, he put down the book and set to work to 
 find what ailed him. Such diagnosis usually result 
 ed in the discovery that he was bored, and by Avay of 
 cure he would prescribe himself change of scene. 
 
 This time his favorite remedy was loathsome to 
 his taste ; he hated the very thought of going away. 
 He soon found that he had only one wish, and its 
 name was Leonora. 
 
 When a young man discovers that he is in love 
 he generally hails the fact with rapture, but Moor- 
 head was peculiar ; so, instead of offering himself 
 hearty congratulations, he admonished himself, as a 
 father might a froward son who had become enam 
 oured of some undesirable person. 
 
 "The deuce!" said he. "This is very awkward. 
 Who is she ? What is she ? What is that mysterious 
 old father of hers, and why does he hide himself out 
 here ?" "And yet," he said, in reply, "I cannot be 
 happy without her." " Then wait, and find out her 
 antecedents." He would not make an unconventional 
 marriage. At last he went so far as to allow himself 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 65 
 
 to hope that Leonora might prove a suitable match, 
 and then set himself to find out. 
 
 "Why/" said he to Moloch one day, overcoming 
 his scruples so far as to ask questions of an avowed 
 butler "why does Mr. Willoughby live out here, 
 Moloch, away from humanity and civilization ?" 
 
 "I ain t sure, sah, that I ought to answer personal 
 questions bout my steemed employah, sah ; an he 
 ain t took me into his confidence. But I will say, 
 sah, that I have my own ideas on the subjec ." 
 
 " And what are they, Moloch ? Has he any special 
 reason ?" 
 
 "Well, sah," said the butler, with the air of one 
 who weighs his words, "the result of my observations 
 on the mattah am that Mr. Willoughby have a reason, 
 but I don t know that I am at liberty to divulge it, 
 sah." 
 
 "I am a friend the friend of the family, Moloch. 
 You surely do not think I ask out of mere curiosity 
 or that I should betray your confidence ?" 
 
 "Well, sah, I m inclined to think Mr. Willoughby 
 stays here because he wants to." 
 
 " But what makes him want to ?" 
 
 " That," said the Ethiop, blandly, " am a thing that 
 am proVly unknown to Mr. Willoughby himself." 
 
 So Moorhead gave up Moloch, and t summoning up 
 all his courage, put the question directly to the old 
 gentleman, in person. 
 
 " May I ask," said he, " why a man of your attain 
 ments shuts himself up from the world, to the mutual 
 disadvantage of the world and himself, and spends 
 his life in this secluded place ?" 
 
 Mr. Willoughby looked benevolently at the young 
 
66 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 man for a moment. "Yon may ask," said he, and 
 resumed his book. 
 
 Although leave to ask was so freely and kindly 
 given, Moorhead felt shy of taking advantage of it. 
 
 He looked at the old gentleman, who, reading hard, 
 did not wear a responsive expression. 
 
 Then he plucked up courage. "Then, sir, with 
 your permission, I will," said he. 
 
 "Will what ?" said Mr. Willoughby. 
 
 "Will ask." 
 
 The old gentleman looked up inquiringly. 
 
 "Why you live here," said Moorhead, by way of 
 reply. 
 
 "I like the fishing," said the old gentleman in a 
 matter-of-fact way ; and as he seemed to think this a 
 sufficient reason, and as the affair was quite his own, 
 Moorhead did not feel at liberty to press the matter 
 further ; so, with the remark that the day was fine, he 
 wandered out in the valley and met Leonora, who 
 came singing down a trail that led from the mountains. 
 He walked back by her side. 
 
 "Miss Willoughby," said he, "how is it that you, 
 who have no home but these woods, and have seen 
 nothing of your equals, are so er " 
 
 " So what ?" 
 
 "So very er 
 
 " Well ?" she said, encouragingly. 
 
 "So entirely au fait so well versed in all things 
 one likes to know so ah unlike what one would, 
 naturally expect of a ah um child of the forest, 
 you know." 
 
 "I cannot tell," said she. "What would one nat 
 urally expect of a child of the forest ?" 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 67 
 
 " Not much/ said he. " And you, Miss Willoughby, 
 seem blessed with every grace that women covet and 
 men adore !" 
 
 "That," said the maiden, thoughtfully, "is a com 
 pliment. I have always wondered what it would be 
 like to have a compliment paid me like a girl in a 
 book ; now it has happened, and it hardly seems worth 
 while." 
 
 Nevertheless, she was not displeased, and added, 
 gravely, after a pause, "You would like to know 
 something about my life here ?" 
 
 "I should be very grateful," said Moorhead, "not 
 out of curiosity; but how can I help feeling an in 
 terest in you and yours and whatever concerns you, 
 when you have been so kind to me ?" 
 
 "Well," said she, after looking away at the moun 
 tain-tops awhile, "I am a child of the forest if 
 ever there was one ; but I suppose I don t fill your 
 ideal of one because of my bringing up." 
 
 " But who has taught you ?" he asked. 
 
 The girl s face grew very grave and tender as she 
 rose and said, " Come with me." 
 
 He followed her to the edge of the woods. She 
 drew aside a spray of moss-grown maple that hung 
 like a curtain over a path he had never seen before a 
 narrow gallery walled closely and low-arched with the 
 interlaced undergrowth, and winding some hundred 
 yards into the wood. 
 
 There was a quiet chamber among the trees where 
 no glare of the sun ever shone, and all sounds were 
 hushed by the dense mass of foliage ; where the roar 
 of the river was a drowsy murmur, and the whisper of 
 the cedars was faint and soft a solitude and a place 
 
C8 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 of sacred stillness and shadow. No bushes grew 
 within it, only tender ferns and moss and creeping 
 vines. 
 
 In the middle of the space stood a green pile of 
 stones such as hands of no ordinary strength must 
 have lifted, surmounted by a cross covered with cling 
 ing, drooping woodbine. 
 
 She stood there a moment, then, with a slight gest 
 ure, bade him go before and followed him out into 
 the light. 
 
 She answered the question in his eyes. "My 
 mother." 
 
 After the visit to the grave under the cedars they 
 began to know each other better and better. 
 
 During their pleasant comradeship by hill and 
 stream he learned her story, by chance words and by 
 little confidences graciously imparted. 
 
 It was a simple tale enough, no mystery, no skele 
 tons whose uncomfortable bones must be covered up, 
 just this : 
 
 Mr. Willoughby, when a young man, had quarrelled 
 with his neighbors. He had been the offender pov 
 erty the offence. 
 
 The friends of his family were well-to-do, and so 
 were the Willoughbys themselves for many genera 
 tions. 
 
 At the age of twenty-one, by a series of misfort 
 unes he found himself alone in the world and very 
 poor. 
 
 This did not trouble him much. To live in an in 
 expensive style and do something for his living was a 
 novelty that interested him,, and he saw no difference 
 between himself as the heir of a large estate and him- 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 69 
 
 self as a clerk with no definite prospects except a 
 raise of salary to look forward to. 
 
 He was the same man tall, strong, and stately in 
 person, gentle and modest of speech, honorable in 
 mind, kindly in spirit, plain in dress. 
 
 If there was any change in him personally it was 
 only that while he had had luxury at his command he 
 had been disposed to indulge in it a little too freely, 
 and when he lost his means he put a strong curb on 
 every tendency to folly and extravagance. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was changed for the worse in the 
 eyes of his neighbors. 
 
 In the beginning of his distress they made all 
 proper conventional protestations of friendship, and 
 then set about getting rid of the intimacy with him 
 of which not a few of them had been proud. 
 
 Friends became acquaintances. Some were coldly 
 courteous, some patronizing, but within a year from 
 the time of his final misfortune none were cordial. 
 
 His people had been given a little to pride of place, 
 and the reward was his. It might have been other 
 wise but for his splendid person and attractive manner; 
 but there were many pretty girls in town, and their 
 mammas bristled and ruffled and glared at the danger 
 ous young man like hens in defence of their chickens. 
 
 Now, there was one maiden richly favored of nature 
 and fortune both, above all others, and Willoughby 
 had been fond of her since they were boy and girl. 
 
 She had a will of her own too, and maternal chiding 
 did not prevail against her. She had been shy of 
 Willoughby while he and his had prospered; but when 
 his troubles came she made no secret of her liking for 
 him invited him, without consulting her mother, to 
 
70 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 her parties ; said publicly that she was sorry that he 
 had not come ; was heard to declare that he was the 
 manliest man she knew ; refused two highly ad 
 vantageous offers, on his account,, it was said ; and 
 altogether behaved in the most forward and repre 
 hensible manner. 
 
 This turned popular indifference to indignation. 
 Parents of marriageable daughters would not have 
 such an example set before their own darlings. 
 Parents of marriageable sons could not bear to see 
 the prize kept from their own dear ones for the sake 
 of an ineligible. 
 
 The young men were jealous ; the young women 
 though I dare not say that any such sentiment moved 
 their gentle hearts, particularly as Willoughby had 
 never annoyed them with any attention the young 
 women, dear girls, shared very properly the feeling of 
 their mammas. 
 
 As for his fellow-workers, they never liked him, be 
 cause his ways were not their ways. In short, it was 
 a small, nasty, gossiping, jealous community where 
 the Golden Calf held full sway over the hearts of the 
 people. 
 
 No one could afford to cut Bessy Patterson, but 
 every one cut Willoughby. 
 
 As for Bessy, she was in deep disgrace with her 
 mother, on whom her present welfare and her prospects 
 as an heiress depended, and who told her that if she 
 married that objectionable young man she should only 
 add to his difficulties the burden of a penniless wife; 
 that she, Mrs. Patterson, would neither give, lend, nor 
 leave her a cent to fall into his wasteful hands. 
 
 This lasted about a year. Then strange things be- 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 71 
 
 gan to happen. A certain man had an enemy whom 
 he wished to injure. He had waited an opportunity 
 for years and his chance had come,, for the enemy 
 a good, easy-going gentleman with no idea of business 
 and a cheerful doctrine that all would go well in time 
 had fallen deep in debt, and his notes of hand were 
 abroad in many directions. 
 
 The other bought them all in, and was heard to 
 boast that he would "squeeze him"; but when he 
 was on the point of carrying out his threat a stranger 
 appeared and redeemed them to the last cent. 
 
 That night the debtor, awake at last to a sense of 
 his position and trying to screw up courage to explain 
 it to his family, received a package. It contained 
 every note, indorsed as paid and torn across the mid 
 dle. He told a friend or two, and the friends spread 
 the news. 
 
 Another man, who prided himself upon having the 
 best of everything in town, was in treaty for a certain 
 piece of land where he proposed to build a great 
 house. It was part of the Willoughby estate a low 
 round hill with a rich lawn under noble elms the 
 fairest site in the neighborhood. 
 
 Here he would have his stable, he said; there his 
 tennis-courts, here his garden. So he would build 
 his house and show people how to live. 
 
 His bargain was not quite concluded ; there had 
 been some little disagreement about the exact quan 
 tity of land. But he had consulted an architect and 
 a landscape-gardener. 
 
 He was walking over the ground with them when 
 he was politely requested by a stranger to take him 
 self off the premises. Why ? Those were the owner s 
 
2 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISn 
 
 orders. Who was the owner ? The gentleman who 
 had just bought the whole Willoughby estate. 
 
 A splendid pair of horses was brought out by a 
 dealer and exhibited on the drives. Yes, they were 
 for sale. There were many offers, but the dealer 
 knew how to make the most out of his customers and 
 put the horses up at auction. None of the prominent 
 citizens could bear to be outbid ; but one by one they 
 dropped out. At last they were nearly going, at the 
 highest figure any one could afford to pay, when a 
 stranger stepped in and bought them at a heart 
 breaking price. 
 
 A poor old man, who had worked hard and suffered 
 much, was anonymously presented with a sum that 
 made him comfortable for the short remnant of his life. 
 
 There was money afloat in the town, and no one 
 knew whence it came. 
 
 Then people stopped talking about it to talk about 
 something else ; for it was noised abroad that Wil- 
 loughby, in a shabby suit of black, much polished at 
 the elbows, a dreadful pair of boots, and a shocking 
 bad hat, had deliberately walked up to the Pattersons, 
 sent in his card, insisted on seeing Miss Patterson, 
 offered her the privilege of sharing his poverty, and 
 that she had made no bones of the matter, but coolly 
 walked off with him, taken a train for the city, married 
 him, and returned to his humble lodging as his wife. 
 
 It was too true. Mrs. Patterson was prostrated 
 and would see no one for a day. Then she told her 
 most intimate friend, who spread the news. 
 
 Bessy and her husband lived for a week in perfect 
 content. 
 
 Then the gray span came swinging down their hum- 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 73 
 
 ble street, stopped at the door of the lodging,, and 
 took them through the town to the Willoughby place, 
 whose gates closed behind them. 
 
 "I had this little surprise for you, Bess," said Wil- 
 loughby. 
 
 " What does it mean, dear ?" said Bess, a bit fright 
 ened. 
 
 " Why, I came in for a lot of dross two months ago 
 distant cousin no near relatives Why, Bess ! 
 Did you really think I d ask you to marry me hard- 
 up as I seemed to be ?" 
 
 "Why, yes, Joe. And you let me think we had 
 nothing to live on, and preached economy to me all 
 this time, and let me take all the pains Fve done to 
 train myself to be a poor man s wife for nothing ?" 
 
 " Just for fun, Bessy/ 
 
 "I m glad," said she, "Joe dear. Fm glad you 
 gave me a chance to show that I didn t care. I was 
 glad to make your life happier when it seemed a sad 
 one, and I thought I could manage to be more of a 
 comfort than a burden to you even then, Joe. And 
 now I m glad that I shaVt be such a burden, after 
 all only it would have been fun fitting up that 
 tiny little house we meant to have sometime when we 
 had saved enough out of your salary the little house 
 with low eaves, and ivy about the porch, and the little 
 garden, and the cow that I meant to milk myself, and 
 the four hens, and the cheap furniture ; and I was to 
 do all the pictures for the walls and cook all your 
 dinners, and I would have had it pleasant for you, Joe ; 
 and now it isn t to be, and my poor little plans are 
 lost. But I m afraid I shouldn t have carried them 
 out very well, Joe." 
 
74 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 "Now, let s invite all these dear old friends that 
 have cut us, and see if they don t all come." 
 
 Again the news got abroad. The people were in 
 vited,, and came. 
 
 They showed a most forgiving spirit and were pre 
 pared to forget Willoughby s temporary lapse from 
 place and Bessy s undutif ul marriage. 
 
 Girls got new gowns for the occasion. Men looked 
 their best. 
 
 They were received at the door and shown to the 
 dressing-room ; they were announced at the drawing- 
 room door, but no hostess was there to receive them, 
 no host to bid them welcome. 
 
 All preparations had been made for a grand recep 
 tion. The rooms were brightly lighted, and there 
 were flowers in profusion and music behind the 
 palms. 
 
 The guests were uncertain what they should do. 
 Some one asked a lackey that stood in the hall where 
 were Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby. 
 
 The man had learned his lesson, and repeated it 
 word for word without a fault, solemnly, with a wood 
 en face: 
 
 "Please, madam, Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby said 
 that none of the gentlemen and ladies to-night would 
 come to see them but only for the use of the good 
 things they could give them ; and so Mr. and Mrs. 
 Willoughby beg to be excused and to leave everything 
 at the gentlemen and ladies 7 disposal. Supper will 
 be served at eleven o clock." 
 
 So the guests went away with a sense of having 
 been kicked and slapped in tender places, for every 
 one of them had dropped the acquaintance of Mr. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 75 
 
 Willoughby while he was unfortunate, and every one 
 was obliged to acknowledge to himself the justice of 
 the inference. 
 
 The feeling that prompted this extraordinary be 
 havior on Mr. Willoughby s part was so real and 
 permanent that it resulted in his shutting up the 
 house and going away, no one knew whither. 
 
 The young bride went gladly with her husband, 
 half pitying, half sharing his state of mind. 
 
 Her mother had never forgiven her marriage, even 
 when it had turned out a prosperous one. 
 
 He heartily disliked and mistrusted people ; she 
 could get on without them ; they held the fellow-creat 
 ure a bore and fled him. 
 
 A certain good black servant of the bride s family, 
 devotedly attached to his young mistress, came to 
 them and begged to be employed. 
 
 "But," said Mrs. Willoughby, "we are going away 
 and shall take no one with us. I should like to take 
 you but " 
 
 "Then/ said her husband, interrupting, "let him 
 come." 
 
 "No, no," said the lady, "he has a far better home 
 with my mother, and is happier in his old place in her 
 household than he would be following our wanderings. 
 We must not take him from all the little comforts he 
 has, to share our adventures. Fm sure he doesn t 
 care for adventures. No : your present place is too 
 good to throw away," she said. "But for that I 
 would gladly take you." 
 
 The darky bowed (he was the pink of courtesy) and 
 departed. On the next day he came back. "Lost 
 my place," said he. " Nothin to do for a livin ." 
 
<G LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 Lost your place ! Why, what do you mean ?" 
 
 " Yas yas, m. All s discharged, without a charac 
 ter too." 
 
 "Why, how? Why?" 
 
 "Dismissed foh impudence and toxication, Miss 
 Bessy." 
 
 " Impudence and m-tox-i-ction ! You ?" said the 
 Willoughbys. 
 
 " Yas, Miss Bessy ; yas, Mr. Willoughby, sah." 
 
 The Ethiop s morals and manners were well known 
 to be unimpeachable. 
 
 " How cruelly unjust !" said the lady. 
 
 "What nonsense \" said her husband. 
 
 "No, Miss Bessy; no, Mr. Willoughby, sah. Own 
 fault," said the culprit. 
 
 It appeared that after being told that he was not to 
 be dragged from certain comfort into uncomfortable 
 uncertainty from his snug service and old home to 
 the shifting scenes and eccentric fortunes of the 
 Willoughbys he had made up his mind to remove 
 the obstacle to the engagement he wished for. 
 
 He had therefore appeared before the astonished 
 mother-in-law, his mistress, holding in one hand a 
 tumbler, in the other a bottle of port, and declared re 
 spectfully but with decision that he meant to swallow 
 its contents. 
 
 This, in Mrs. Patterson s indignant presence, with 
 many a wry face and inward qualm, he had done ; nor 
 need we follow him through the few hours next en 
 suing. 
 
 When he came before the Willoughbys he was, as 
 usual, the picture of neat black respectability, and his 
 bearing after the manner of Sir Charles Grandison. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 77 
 
 The Willoughbys looked at him and at each other, 
 then burst out laughing, while he stood solemnly roll 
 ing his eyes from one to the other. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said Mr. "Willoughby. " It is sad 
 to see a hitherto blameless and happy being so cast 
 upon the world without a home, without a character. 
 What do you think, Bess ?" 
 
 "lie shall come with us," said Mrs. Willoughby, 
 "and be, wherever we are, be it in court or camp, by 
 land or by sea, in seed-time or harvest, in summer or 
 winter, in cot or in palace, on foot or in saddle, now 
 and forever, our butler." 
 
 So the Willoughbys went away and travelled in 
 many lands, and Moloch went with them, and saw 
 strange sights and learned many things. 
 
 They formed no ties, and revelled in their freedom. 
 
 Willoughby never lost his disgust of mankind, but 
 grew more and more weary of men and cities, and 
 went into the wild waste places of the earth. 
 
 At last he travelled in the Northwest, and, wander 
 ing north along the Sound, encamped with his young 
 bride by glade and stream, till one day, following a 
 wounded bear far up the Yawmish, he found the 
 valley and loved it for a home. . 
 
 There they lived, a happy life enough ; he develop 
 ing a grand manliness and strength in the struggle 
 with surrounding hardships, from which he kept his 
 wife as well guarded as if she had been still in her 
 first luxurious home ; and their good butler lived with 
 them and served them well. None came near them 
 from the outer world. 
 
 Willoughby still nursed his grudge against people at 
 large, and it grew stronger in his solitude. 
 
78 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 She, if she ever missed the life she had left, never 
 let her husband know it. 
 
 But Moloch, when he went on his occasional pil 
 grimages to the Sound for supplies, brought her all the 
 current literature of the time, a vast parcel of news 
 papers and magazines, and she was well informed of all 
 the doings of the outer world. 
 
 Never was woman more free from petty vanities, 
 more self-forgetful, more absolutely wrapped up in 
 home and husband ; yet she read the fashions, and the 
 gowns she made with her own pretty hands were never 
 very far behind the times. 
 
 She read the latest books too, as soon as they could 
 be got, and could follow her husband through the 
 deeper studies in which he had begun to delight since 
 his retirement. 
 
 And all the harvest of her studies, all her knowl 
 edge of what is good and pleasant and without blame 
 in the world, she showered on her little daughter 
 Leonora, who had inherited her father s sturdy inde 
 pendence of mind and health of body, and her mother s 
 beauty and grace, taste, and instinct of high refine 
 ment. 
 
 It may be that Mrs. Willoughby longed sometimes 
 for a different life, but she never said so. Only when 
 her last illness came she said to her husband," Leonora 
 must not always be here. She must have her chance 
 in the world, and not be wasted in solitude." 
 
 And her husband, with what little voice sorrow had 
 left him, spoke and gave his word. 
 
 But as the years went on, there seemed no immedi 
 ate occasion for keeping his promise. There was time 
 enough yet. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 79 
 
 Meanwhile he studied and fished and dreamed, and 
 his daughter studied too, and wandered and hunted 
 on the hills, and learned to use an axe and saw and 
 rifle. But she did other things that her mother had 
 taught her, and, like her mother, she too read the 
 fashions. 
 
 As for the butler, he served them with all his heart 
 and grew old in their service. 
 
 So Moorhead found them in the valley, and this 
 was the story he learned of Leonora. 
 
IX 
 
 a young man is leading a lazy,, comfortable 
 life, rambling at will in wild and beautiful solitudes, 
 with no cares and few amusements, with no object in 
 the world but his own pleasure, and when the com 
 panion of his happy easy hours is an exceedingly 
 lovely girl, what is he to do but fall in love with her ? 
 
 Moorhead fell in love not headlong, but deliber 
 ately and wilfully, having first made sure that the 
 object honored with his regard was eligible. 
 
 Nor was she sorry to have a lover at her feet ; and 
 once there, assured that her dainty moccasins were 
 worn from choice and not from ignorance nor enforced 
 lack of French heels, he was very much at her feet 
 indeed. 
 
 Love took the conceit out of him for the time. The 
 little woodland girl became the teacher of the young 
 man of the world, and he looked humbly into her eyes 
 and there learned many things that had not occurred 
 to him before of the glory of innocence and down 
 right nature, of the false values of his former life and 
 the dreary worthlessness of much that he had held in 
 high esteem, and of the dulness of the pursuit of 
 pleasure in the beaten paths where men toil and sweat 
 and scheme to "have a good time." 
 
 Now, when he had made up his mind to ask her to 
 marry him, he found himself suddenly bashful as a 
 boy, and afraid to come to the point. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 81 
 
 This was a new experience for him. He had never 
 had any difficulty in offering himself before, and had 
 generally been accepted, though his engagements had 
 died young let us hope because they were beloved 
 of the gods. 
 
 There was something about Leonora, or about his 
 feelings towards her, that made it very hard for the 
 poor young man. 
 
 He had intended himself as a compliment he was 
 surprised to find that he seemed to himself an un 
 worthy offering. 
 
 This was all the worse in that he could have re 
 course to none of the small devices that so greatly 
 assist love-making in civilized places. 
 
 Society provides chaperons to manage these affairs, 
 and all its laws and ways combine to make, opportunity 
 for commonplace young men who are not up to the 
 slaughter of dragons, either real or metaphorical, or to 
 any of the stage or heroic methods of bride-winning, 
 to make themselves acceptable by such small acts of 
 personal service as lie within the scope of the most 
 limited ability. For instance, the fervent touch, in 
 dancing, which permits a thousand small liberties 
 and familiarities which no man dare take without its 
 sanction the prompt calling of the lady s carriage 
 the manner of assistance in putting on her wrap the 
 expenditure of large sums (or the accumulation of 
 debt) in finding out gifts for one s fair the standing 
 about in corners and looking fierce when she talks to 
 one s rival the improvisation of skating or boating 
 expeditions at which she may shine and so be gratified 
 the aid and instruction in the more manlike graces 
 of bowling or target-practice, or whatever she may 
 
82 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 affect the helping her in and out of boats, cars, or 
 carriages the alliance against her enemies the open 
 jealousy, often rebuked and always pleasing, of her 
 friends the taking to evil courses when thrown into 
 despair by her frown, and an infinity of other such 
 matters, show one s devotion and excite admiration 
 or pity or high approval, and these society provides. 
 But Moorhead had no means of showing off either 
 himself or his passion to advantage. 
 
 His practical attentions failed. He would have laid 
 the spoils of the forest at her feet, but he hunted 
 in vain and never killed anything ; and, as she never 
 returned empty-handed from the chase, a present of 
 game would have been in the nature of an invoice of 
 ooals to Newcastle. 
 
 He would have plucked the sweetest wild flowers 
 of the vale and offered them on bended knee, but she 
 knew where they grew and he did not ; besides, she 
 had them always on the table at breakfast, and more 
 had been a superfluity. 
 
 He was quite useless as an escort, for she was more 
 qualified to assist him in the pctits sains of the trail 
 and the cabin than he her. He grew sentimental, 
 heaved sighs, and made eyes, but she took no heed. 
 Being unable to lead gradually and gracefully to the 
 wished-for climax, he grew desperate and determined 
 to come boldly to the point. 
 
 His proposal was not a success. He tried to ask 
 her as she sat beside him, but he could not. Then 
 he made the attempt standing before her, but the 
 words would not come, and he only asked her if she 
 had ever tasted ice-cream. 
 
 Next he came into her presence with the set pur- 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 83 
 
 pose of kneeling before her ; but he felt that he would 
 only seem absurd to her and nothing would be gained, 
 so he gave it up. 
 
 At last he thought he could speak more easily when 
 walking beside her. The act of walking would relieve 
 him of much nervous embarrassment, he thought, and 
 give him a refuge from the steady gaze of those deep- 
 brown eyes. 
 
 One day, as they came side by side down the moun 
 tain, where the trail was broad enough for two slen 
 der people abreast, he made a great effort and an 
 appropriate speech. It was perhaps unfortunate that 
 he had prefaced his proposal by setting forth the ad 
 vantage to a woman of having some one to walk by 
 her side through life, and comfort and support her 
 in all its ups and downs ; for just as he offered his 
 hand he fell headlong over a root. 
 
 She smiled, and, as he was somewhat entangled in 
 the brush and in an awkward position, offered her as 
 sistance ; but she held out a branch towards him in 
 stead of her hand. He refused it ; and, vexed at his 
 own clumsiness, went on silently before her, and did 
 not resume the subject at the time. 
 
 Always thinking of himself, he was tormented with 
 the thought that he had made himself ridiculous be 
 fore Leonora. 
 
 It might be supposed that the mind of a maiden 
 receiving an offer would turn directly to the man who 
 offered, to the exclusion of all other considerations ; 
 but, as it happened, Leonora s had not been taken up 
 with Moorhead or his mishap, but with herself, the 
 fact that she had had her first offer of marriage and 
 all that it meant to her. 
 
84 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 Unable to make his own personality very impressive, 
 he had tried his best to interest her in the life beyond 
 the woods, had kept telling her of all she missed in her 
 forest home, till by degrees she had come to wonder and 
 muse about the world without, to wish for the pleasures 
 that society affords and the delight of going in flocks 
 and herds as is man s nature to do, to travel and see and 
 hear for herself the things she had read of in books. 
 
 So for the first time in her life she had begun to 
 feel a little a very little the chill and fever of dis 
 content. 
 
 Now when Moorhead asked her to marry him it 
 was as if he had opened a door and said, " Come and 
 be free and feast your eyes on wonders here among 
 your kind, and enjoy like other women all the world 
 has to offer." 
 
 So, as she cared far more for this than for Moor- 
 head, whom she liked well, but whom she had not yet 
 come to regard as her heart s all, she naturally thought 
 of him last. 
 
 While they walked home to the cabin it occurred to 
 her that this marriage meant above all things the shar 
 ing her life with him. Well, why not ? She looked at 
 him thoughtfully. She could only see his back it was 
 a well-looking back, with a good pair of shoulders and 
 a firm neck. She knew he had a handsome face. 
 Altogether she liked him very much, and was touched 
 by his being fond of her ; she had seen that weeks 
 ago, and was grateful for it. Then, he was the only 
 marriageable man there; the only one she knew, in 
 fact. That did not occur to her, and so had all the 
 greater weight in the poise of her judgment. So she 
 said to herself, " I do love him I" 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 85 
 
 She had a keen enjoyment of new experience, and 
 was on the whole delighted with her first offer. 
 
 While he went on in silence, hating himself for 
 having appeared so very ill when he wished to be at 
 his best, she was regarding him with higher and higher 
 approval. 
 
 She was very kind to him after that, spoke more 
 softly to him, and treated him with a sweet shyness 
 that he found irresistible. The ice was broken. 
 
 He did better with his next offer, speaking to the 
 point and very humbly. 
 
 1 Yes," was her answer. 
 
 It remained to tell Mr. Willoughby, and Moorhead 
 shrank from the ordeal as from the confession of a 
 crime. 
 
 He was relieved when Leonora strictly forbade him 
 to say a word to Mr. Willoughby about it. 
 
 "He will not consent," she said, "and why trouble 
 him to refuse ? It would only make us all very un 
 happy. You don t understand him as I do." 
 
 " Then you will marry me without his consent ?" 
 said he, with a glad sense of having the better of Mr. 
 Willoughby in a way, and a mad vision of a runaway 
 through the forest. 
 
 "No indeed," said she, coldly. 
 
 "Then how?" 
 
 "I cannot leave him here alone. My mother left 
 us each to the other s care. She bade me never leave 
 him here and I promised. She begged him to take 
 me away from this place, that I might not always lack 
 the companionship of others of my age, or the life 
 that women love among their friends. 
 
 " He also promised, and he will keep his word 
 
86 LEONOHA OP THE YAWMISI1 
 
 sometime, when he is ready, and for my sake will 
 get over his hatred of the ways of men and learn to 
 live among people again. 
 
 " But if I leave him he will never go. He would 
 end his days here, lonely and sad, without me, and 
 that must not be. 
 
 "When he has a new home and will not be left so 
 alone, I will marry you, but not before. If you care 
 for me you can wait for me. I have patience and 
 will not fail you." 
 
 He promised to be patient and wondered how he 
 should keep his word, for it seemed to him that the 
 world had never seen so fair a woman, and he longed 
 to show her to his own people at home, to see her 
 great eyes light with wonder and pleasure at the 
 things that were in store for her in the great cities 
 she had never seen, to have her sitting at his table 
 and ruling his house, to give her all that wealth 
 could buy, to anticipate her wishes, to feel that she 
 was absolutely his own and to be with her always. 
 
MOOKHEAD, happy man though he was, found him 
 self in a very awkward and uncomfortable position. 
 
 In the first place, Leonora had no sooner accepted 
 him than her manner towards him became strangely 
 cool and reserved. 
 
 Their pleasant comradeship was spoiled, and noth 
 ing warmer and nearer came to take its place. 
 
 He would have liked to kiss his betrothed, and 
 was about to take that liberty as a matter of course ; 
 nor would the evident distress in her eyes have pre 
 vented him, but it was followed by such a cold, angry 
 light as made him draw back fairly afraid. Next time 
 he asked permission, and was told to wait. 
 
 It soon became clear to him that his position as an 
 accepted lover, far from giving him any privileges, 
 was to be a bar to the slightest familiarity even of 
 speech or manner. Leonora would have no love- 
 making, and treated him with a distant and respect 
 ful courtesy which she expected him to observe 
 towards her. 
 
 His discontent under these trying circumstances 
 became apparent even to Moloch, who had observed 
 the stages of the courtship, and was both anxious and 
 amused. 
 
 Moloch was a classical scholar in a small way, hav 
 ing devoted himself assiduously during the winter 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 evenings to the perusal of a mythology that took his 
 fancy. 
 
 " Tantalus/ 7 he murmured learnedly to himself, 
 "am not in it with Miss Nora s young gentleman." 
 
 Secondly, Moorhead s welcome with Mr. Willough- 
 by was wearing out. Whether the old gentleman had 
 any suspicion of the true state of things or not, he 
 began to grow very impatient of his guest s presence, 
 arid showed it by a freezing, bitter politeness. 
 
 At last, one morning he said, " I should deeply 
 regret seeming to hasten your departure, my dear sir ; 
 but I fear you can hardly find your way alone out of 
 the woods, and my man Moloch goes to the Sound 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ?" said Moorhead. 
 
 "Exactly," said Mr. Willoughby ; "and after that 
 he will not go again for a long time ; so it seems your 
 only chance to leave a place of which you must 
 have tired long ago. So I fear we must be deprived 
 of your society, unless you will be persuaded to grant 
 us a reprieve and allow us the pleasure of your pres 
 ence for at least a month more ; and that would be, 
 really, too much to ask." 
 
 It was made so clear to Moorhead by dint of man 
 ner that the " too much" was for him to ask and not 
 for Mr. Willoughby, that he had no alternative but to 
 express his thanks, his regrets at leaving, and be ready 
 to go on the morrow. 
 
 Leonora took it very coolly nor even at parting 
 might he kiss her. 
 
 His stay in the valley had done him good. The life 
 had been simple and wholesome, free from the petty 
 cares and irksome trifles that attend the pursuit of 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 pleasure even more than the path of labor. Leonora 
 had not been indulgent., Mr. Willoughby had taken 
 the conceit out of him, and the discipline had been 
 good for him. The grandeur, peace, and solemnity of 
 the place had given him deeper and greater thoughts 
 and higher wishes than he had ever known before. 
 
 The companionship of the girl he loved, the truth 
 and faith and womanly strength of her nature, made 
 him own his faults to himself and wish to be more 
 worthy of her. 
 
 Had he been able to stay longer in the valley it 
 might have been the making of him. As it was, he 
 left it in a way to be a far better man than when he 
 came to it, and, in spite of his disappointment and 
 vexation at parting from Leonora, he set out in the 
 fair morning of what seemed a new and different life, 
 full of high resolve and honest purpose. 
 
 Old Moloch went before him with three ponies 
 jogging easily under empty pack-saddles, and disap 
 peared among the trees. 
 
 Moorhead lingered at the verge of the open and 
 looked back. 
 
 Under the woods it was still night. In the open, 
 the stream, singing its eternal song of the woods and 
 hills, shone like liquid fire in the early light and 
 tossed a rosy spray upon the rocks. 
 
 Far above and beyond the black woods the moun 
 tains held their blushing snows skyward, like great 
 white altars kindling into flame. 
 
 The cabin stood warm and still among its vines ; 
 its smoke hung on the air in little clouds. 
 
 Leonora stood in the arch, all the stately beauty of 
 her form showing clear in white drapery against the 
 
90 LEONORA. OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 darkness of the porcli an image to be remembered 
 of Moorhead long with pride and joy, and perhaps in 
 time with bitter sorrow. She waved her hand, threw 
 him the kiss her lips had refused him, and, when he 
 would have come back to take it, turned away under 
 the arching vines and out of sight. 
 
 He followed his guide out into the shadows of the 
 forest. 
 
XI 
 
 MOLOCH trudged along in silence with long, swing 
 ing steps, brushing the dew from the feathery brake 
 that overhung the narrow trail. 
 
 The Cayuse ponies, who were fond of Moloch and 
 knew what he wanted of them, jogged on behind in an 
 orderly manner, looking up at him now and then as 
 if for permission to nibble the rare tufts of grass by 
 the way, making no trouble. 
 
 Moorhead" came last, dreaming as he walked, going 
 over again the pleasant scenes he was leaving imagin 
 ing new ones to take their places. 
 
 Then his mind became full of those anxieties that 
 torture a lover at parting. " What may happen in my 
 absence ?" he thought, as if his presence had been 
 likely to afford any great hinderance to fate. 
 
 " How long will it be ? 
 
 " Shall I come back soon for my bride ? 
 
 " Or may we be parted until our youth my strength 
 and her loveliness are only memories ? 
 
 " Or what may not come between us to separate us 
 forever ? 
 
 "Where is she at this moment, and what is she 
 doing ? Is she unhappy at my going ? Is she not ? 
 
 " Is her father really kind to her ? 
 
 " Can she be happy under the control of such a 
 man ? 
 
92 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 "Does he care for her ? 
 
 "Does he not neglect her ? 
 
 "Suppose anything should happen to him and 
 this black fellow, what would become of her, alone 
 in the forest ?" 
 
 Just then he was startled by a face staring fixedly 
 up into his from the moss beside the trail a face 
 whose brown dried skin was drawn tight over the 
 bones, whose eyes were black hollows, and whose 
 irregular fangs grinned, sardonically grim, under dry, 
 twisted lips. 
 
 "Look here !" cried Moorhead. 
 
 Moloch came back past the ponies, who stopped 
 with sniffs and snorts and tossing of shapely heads, 
 and took advantage of the halt to find pasture. 
 
 " Siwash, sah," said he. " Repository, sah." 
 
 " What s a repository?" said Moorhead. 
 
 " Place where the dead repose," the butler answered. 
 "Lots of em here." And, stepping into the brush, 
 he produced two thigh-bones, a shoulder-blade, and 
 a jaw. " Siwash aren t very partick ler bout cedin 
 the last comforts to the dead, sah. Haven t took the 
 trouble to bury em as deep as one might have wished, 
 sah. No, sah." 
 
 " They needn t have left em in the trail to stare 
 at passers-by," said Moorhead, in deep disgust. 
 
 " The repository antedates the trail, sah," said 
 Moloch, apologetically. " Prob ly the trail wasn t 
 contemplated when these folks come." 
 
 Towards the end of the afternoon the} T heard voices, 
 and a rough bass struck up a song. 
 
 The air was hardly to be recognized, but was perhaps 
 what passed in those regions for "Rosin the Beau." 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 93 
 
 As they came on they heard the following words : 
 
 "So, free from all care and ambition, 
 
 I laugh at the world and its shams, 
 And rejoice in my happy condition, 
 Surrounded by acres of clams !" 
 
 Then a thundering chorus took it up : 
 
 "Surrounded by acres of cla-a-ams, 
 Surrounded by acres of clams ! 
 Rejoice in my happy condition, 
 Surrounded by acres of clams!"* 
 
 They came to a clearing. There was a long log- 
 house of very rude and temporary fashion, and be 
 fore it, lying on the ground among the chips, or sit 
 ting on logs and stumps, were a score or so of men, 
 sturdy and hardy, and some of great stature, clad in 
 blue-jeans, coarse flannel shirts, and high boots. 
 
 Some dozen double-bitted axes sticking in a huge 
 stump eight feet high and six feet across; some cant- 
 hooks and peeveys standing along the wall ; some 
 cross-cut saws here and there ; a few lean, weary, sad- 
 looking cattle with the goad -marks raw on their 
 haunches ; a multitude of chips that lay everywhere, 
 arid the aspect of the men themselves, showed the 
 place to be a logging-camp. 
 
 The loggers stopped singing and stared at the trav 
 ellers with curious eyes. 
 
 "Good-afternoon," said Moloch, politely. 
 
 " Hulloa, nig ! AVhar be you from ?" This ques- 
 
 * From The Old Settler s Sony, much in vogue on Puget 
 Sound. 
 
94 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 tion, being unanswered, was followed by an invidious 
 personality. 
 
 " Say, you ole black Siwash nig ! You born chick 
 en thief ! Whar in - d you git that thai* dude ?" 
 
 This remark was followed by a volley of expressions 
 equally irreverent and irrelevant. 
 
 Moorhead would have resented this uncalled-for 
 insult to himself and his attendant, but, seeing that 
 the man was of mighty stature, bull-necked and deep- 
 chested, and of a very healthy complexion, he reflected 
 that his dignity might be even further compromised 
 by taking as an effront the rudeness of an untaught 
 creature of the woods who, doubtless, knew no better. 
 
 Moloch seemed of the same mind, for he approached 
 the stranger with his best bow and blandest smile, 
 saying, " Dress yourself to me, sah ?" 
 
 "Yes, you old huckleberry coon ! - - ! -- ! - ! 
 
 The loggers laughed ; the speaker was the life and 
 soul of their company, and his wit on this occasion 
 outshone itself. "He s the boy!" "That s what!" 
 said one to another. 
 
 Moloch, smiling more sweetly still, stood before him 
 and listened to his abuse with all the deference of a 
 well-trained servant. Then he put his arms about him 
 and kissed him. 
 
 The others rose and crowded close about. The 
 logger writhed, struggled, yelled, and swore. It was 
 of no use. Moloch s long arms were round him 
 and held his own close to his sides in a tremendous 
 
 grip- 
 
 Then it might be seen that the negro s back was 
 the broader of the two and his chest the deeper ; 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 95 
 
 the great cords in his black neck swelled and stood 
 out like iron ridges. 
 
 The big arms held the logger s middle in a crushing 
 grip that tightened whenever the breath came out and 
 did not yield to let in more, till it seemed as if the 
 ribs would be crushed in upon the lungs. 
 
 Tenderly, and again and again, Moloch pressed his 
 ample lips upon those of his new acquaintance, till 
 their profanity was hushed and the very breath seemed 
 drawn out of them in one last, long, unutterable kiss. 
 Then he laid him gently, carefully on the ground, 
 and spoke to the lookers-on. 
 
 "When the wicked revile you, treat em with 
 stinguished kindness. This am brotherly love." 
 
 There was a roar of applause, and instantly a dozen 
 flat bottles were drawn, uncorked, and thrust cordial 
 ly towards the emissary of peace. 
 
 " Spare me, gen lemen ; spare me ! My delicate 
 constitution will not allow me to participate in the 
 enjoyment of stimulating beverages," said Moloch. 
 " My young days am over." 
 
 So, with a cheer from the loggers, the procession 
 went its way, and encamped that night, in a pleasant 
 place, between three knolls, whose trees locked their 
 branches across the hollow. There was fresh grass 
 for the ponies and a pleasant shelter for the men. 
 
 As they sat in the firelight, Moloch kept glancing 
 sideways at Moorhead, and seemed on the point of 
 saying something, but shy of speech. 
 
 " Well," said Moorhead, "what is it, Moloch ?" 
 
 " Miss Willoughby am a lovely lady, Mr. Moorhead, 
 sah. Miss Willoughby deserves the best of every 
 thing." 
 
96 LEON 01* A OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 Moorhead did not fancy discussing his lady-love 
 with her butler, however worthy, and was about to 
 say as much, but something in the old negro s face 
 made him hold his tongue. 
 
 " Miss Willoughby/ said Moloch again, " am very, 
 very much alone in the world, sah. Nobody but an 
 old butler who am devoted to her but don t hardly 
 count, and an old pappah who am devoted to hisself, 
 and the time comin on for em to die off, and then, 
 sah, Miss Willoughby would be all sole alone." 
 
 e( Not quite alone," said Moorhead, in spite of him 
 self, and added, on reflection, "I hope." 
 
 " So do I, sah, most earnestly hope and pray," said 
 Moloch. " And if ever a man has her happiness in 
 his keeping, may God bless him as he does well by 
 her!" 
 
 Though the old servant s manner and words were 
 respectful and pleading, the strong earnestness in his 
 clear gray eyes was a command, and his comic old 
 face became for a moment full of the majesty of 
 strong will and deep feeling. 
 
 "Amen," said Moorhead, quite unintentionally. 
 
 Before he went to sleep he said to himself : 
 
 (i I have had strange adventures, and this is the 
 most startling of all. To have been left alone in 
 the woods, to have survived that fall, is something ; 
 to have got engaged in such a place is something 
 more ; but to be lectured by my lady s butler arid 
 general factotum confound him! and that with 
 such delicacy and tact that I find myself saying 
 Amen to his remarks before I know it, is too much." 
 
 They passed a quiet night, and from that time on 
 the journey was uneventful, except for the exchange 
 
LEON OK A OF THE YAWMISH 97 
 
 of greeting with occasional settlers, whose cabins be 
 came more frequent as they neared the Sound ; quiet 
 souls, who lived much at ease waiting for their claims 
 to become town-sites, and very happy meanwhile in 
 anticipation of the cities they meant to found and 
 the wealth they would acquire thereby. 
 
 At evening they looked out upon the green waters 
 of the Sound, and the forest, the valley, and all that 
 had befallen Moorhead therein lay behind him like 
 a dream. 
 
XII 
 
 THERE is a city, old, as American cities go ; re 
 spectable, as cities go in general ; enterprising, in a 
 very conservative way ; beautiful, in rare spots ; and 
 as to other characteristics, sui generis. 
 
 It has a golden dome that stands above one of its 
 hills a glad sight far at sea to vessels homeward 
 bound ; a stone much worshipped of those truly im 
 bued with the spirit of the place, who visit it where 
 it lies embedded in the foundation of a shop, and 
 painted a bright and glorious red ; a few dreadful 
 monuments, and many other like things which are 
 pointed out with pride and reverence to strangers. It 
 had once a tea-party, and is a favorite haunt of per 
 sons, dead and alive, intimately connected with the 
 war of the Ke volution. 
 
 The people are not just like other people, and are 
 very glad. 
 
 Here was Moorhead s home ; hither he came out of 
 the Northwest, and here, being a Bostonian of Bos 
 ton, he was received with open arms. 
 
 The story of his having been deserted by an Indian 
 guide and lost in the woods got abroad. 
 
 He was invited and drawn out on the subject. So 
 cieties for the amelioration of the aboriginal lot asked 
 him to come and tell about the shocking plight of the 
 red man, and to offer suggestions as to the best means 
 of developing his latent virtues. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 He was plied with questions as to what he had seen 
 and done, and was spoken of as Mr. Moorhead, the 
 new explorer. 
 
 Boston dearly loves a little lion ; be it but a lion, she 
 overlooks the occasional fact of its being a cub. 
 
 So it became the thing to be asked to meet Mr. 
 Moorhead, the explorer (one of the Moorheads, but 
 so adventurous, and who had been through so much), 
 and to hear him tell of his experiences. 
 
 This he did with complaisance, and wrote two mag 
 azine articles and a little book. But he said nothing 
 of Leonora. 
 
 The engagement was not announced. He told him 
 self that he kept it a secret in justice to Leonora. 
 
 He liked to be in good form. It was not the Thing 
 to announce it yet, before her own father knew of 
 it ; besides, it would not be giving Leonora a fair 
 chance. 
 
 People would judge her by her surroundings, and 
 the judgment would not be nattering. 
 
 He did not tell himself the real reason, which was 
 that he was afraid of being laughed at and talked of 
 as the victim of a sentimental attachment to a back 
 woods girl. 
 
 As he spoke of her to no one, he thought of her 
 less and less, till her image, without his knowing it, 
 almost faded from his mind. 
 
 At first he had written often to Leonora ardent let 
 ters enough, full of himself, his plans for the future, 
 his interests for her to share, and had sent gifts. 
 
 But as her answers came seldom for she only 
 wrote when Moloch was to go to the Sound, and that 
 was but once a month or so, and in winter hardly at 
 
100 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 all he began to write less often and to say less when 
 he wrote. 
 
 Her letters to him seemed constrained and shy,, and 
 did not amuse or interest him much ; indeed, there 
 was little to write about in the valley. 
 
 So two years passed, and the farther he got from 
 Leonora the worse he drifted into his old faithless, 
 objectless mode of life. 
 
 It is a matter of conjecture how long he might have 
 kept his secret "Jier secret," as he called it had 
 Mrs. Bradlee not taken him in hand and made up 
 her mind that he would do well to marry. 
 
 Not to marry her she was an elderly widow of sin 
 gle tastes, a cousin of his through the Jacksons. So 
 she was motherly to Moorhead, and told him what he 
 ought to do. 
 
 " Now that I have twenty good minutes to bestow 
 upon you," she said one day, when the live-o clock 
 guests were gone and the dinner-guests had not come ; 
 "I have something to say for your good." 
 . Moorhead looked pleased. He liked her little lect 
 ures, because he usually got a good deal of compliment 
 from them at the cost of very little advice. Then, 
 the advice itself was a compliment, for Mrs. Bradlee 
 was a personage. 
 
 She took him from the parlor stately and somewhat 
 dismal, after the manner of the Back Bay ; with a bay- 
 window looking out on a brick sidewalk, a narrow 
 road, and a row of uncompromising brick three-story 
 houses of marked family likeness which stared coldly 
 from the other side ; with old, dark, deeply cushioned 
 furniture that absorbed the light, and a sacrilegious 
 travesty of an open fire built of iron logs that burned 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 101 
 
 with stiff jets of gas artistically grouped, to represent 
 .a blaze into a bright, cozy little den where she wrote 
 her letters, and which she called her - study/ 
 
 "Now," said she, "we have all been delighted with 
 your adventures and experiences, which are all very 
 well for a young man to have, no doubt, and do credit 
 to his manly qualities ; and now, I suppose, you are 
 pining for more ? You have a bold, adventurous 
 disposition and, of course, enjoy such things." 
 
 Moorhead thought, as he sat in comfort, of the 
 dark woods, the dreadful steepness, the cold winds 
 on the mountain, the privation, the treachery of his 
 Siwash, the language of the logger, his own deadly 
 terror for fear Moloch should get the worst of the 
 ensuing struggle and the logger turn upon him; and 
 shuddered, but did not deny, even to himself, that he 
 was pining as alleged. 
 
 He loved to be called bold and adventurous, and 
 had posed in that character so long that he had be 
 gun to believe it of himself. 
 
 "But," said the old lady, "you must stop now and 
 be content and settle yourself. Oh yes, you must, 
 you know. You are not doing your duty to your set, 
 which misses you. Your place is at home. 
 
 "All that was well enough while you were a boy; 
 but now you have your place to take. "You must 
 open your house ; you must be in the swim ; you must 
 take part in what s going on with the rest of .us ; you 
 must entertain as becomes the head of the family ; in 
 short, you must do unto others/ etc?. One expects 
 it of you. 
 
 "And to do this you must marry. It s time you 
 married. Don t allow yourself to fall into the old 
 
102 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 bachelor stage. Old bachelors are utterly useless,, 
 except that they are sometimes amusing at dinner, if 
 one feeds them well, and not too well. 
 
 "You must marry, and you must marry well and 
 suitably /" 
 
 " Oh, I don t think there s any need yet," said 
 Mo or head, uncomfortably. 
 
 "You ll forgive my not agreeing with you," said 
 the lady. " There is need. It is your duty to us. 
 In your position it is not the thing to be a bachelor. 
 
 "The family has always held a certain place in 
 society a place that you are leaving empty. People 
 notice it, and are surprised at you. 
 
 " It s a long time since your father s house and 
 yours has opened its doors to society. 
 
 (( We have duties to perform, just as others do. 
 They are not in the way of trade ; they are not nec 
 essary to our livelihood ; we don t earn our bread and 
 butter by them ; but they are duties none the less, 
 and even more important to us, for we hold our posi 
 tion by them and we set an example and keep up 
 the social tone. 
 
 " To do this, as I said before, you must marry. 
 You must, you know." 
 
 " But," said Moorhead, " whom should I marry ?" 
 
 " Whom ? Why, there are plenty plenty who 
 would do you the greatest credit. 
 
 " There s Elsie Kent, for instance. People said 
 once that you would surely marry Elsie Kent. Why 
 didn t you ? Why don t you ?" 
 
 " Between ourselves, I don t think I was ever very 
 fond of Elsie Kent," said Moorhead. 
 
 "Very fond! Just like your roving, romantic dis- 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 103 
 
 position ! As if that mattered I Please try to re 
 member that you are not a troubadour ; not a rustic 
 swain, not a turtle-dove, but the head of a good old 
 family, with two big houses to keep up, and duties 
 and responsibilities that belong to your position. 
 
 " Men who wait to fall in love/us you call it" (Mrs. 
 Bradlee s marriage had been notably a love-match, 
 but she held it exceptional), "generally end by mar 
 rying some unsuitable person some girl they find in 
 some unheard-of place" (Moorhead was not man enough 
 .not to wince and feel guilty), " or some person of whom 
 nobody knows anything, who doesn t know her proper 
 place and can t learn her new one, or some advent 
 uress, perhaps. 
 
 "I have the greatest faith in your judgment, if you 
 choose to exercise it ; but you are too impulsive and 
 rash and boyish !" 
 
 The two smiled at each other. It pleased Moor- 
 head to be credited with impulse, and Mrs. Bradlee 
 to think she knew people through and through and 
 could not be deceived in character. 
 
 "I suppose you are right," said he ; "but I know 
 no one whom I feel inclined to marry." 
 
 He was thinking of Elsie Kent and the other girls 
 of Mrs. Bradlee s coterie, and had forgotten for a 
 moment ; then, as the thought of Leonora came to 
 him, he turned very red, looked down, and added, 
 indistinctly, "that is 
 
 " What ?" said madam, looking sharply at him with 
 her bright little black eyes; "you said, that is 
 I think ? You don t know any one you feel inclined 
 to marry that is/ What is? or rather, Who is? 
 Who is she?" the lady continued, leaning forward to 
 
104 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 look into liis eyes, and touching his hand with the 
 tip of her fan. 
 
 Moorbead grew more and more confused. 
 
 "Come !" said Mrs. Bradlee, sharply, giving herself 
 up to the pangs of curiosity. "I never knew you 
 bashful and shy before, and Fve known you all your 
 life. You re engaged. And something s the matter, 
 or you d have married, or at least announced your 
 conquest. Perhaps you are married." 
 
 "No I" said Moorhead, eagerly, glad to have some 
 thing to deny. " I m not married." 
 
 " That s to say, you are engaged !" said Mrs. Brad- 
 lee, her eyes sparkling with excitement. " You don t 
 deny that you re engaged ? You can t deny it. You 
 are engaged \" 
 
 Moorhead could not deny it. Had there been time, 
 he probably could have argued himself into the be 
 lief that all that had passed between him and Leonora 
 did not constitute an actual formal engagement, their 
 marriage being to be only on condition of Mr. Wil- 
 loughby s return to civilization ; and then he could 
 have denied without a blush or a downward look. 
 
 But he hadn t time. 
 
 "You have guessed it, Cousin Sarah," said he, 
 meekly. 
 
 She drew back with a little smile of triumph that 
 faded into an anxious expression. "Well ?" said she; 
 and after a moment s silence, during which she sat 
 with her eyebrows raised and the tip of her once very 
 pretty nose on high, added, in a coaxing tone : 
 
 " Tell me all about it. What s her name, for in 
 stance ?" 
 
 "Willoughby." 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 105 
 
 " Well enough as far as it goes. There are Wil- 
 loughbys, and, of course, Willoughbys. And where 
 does she live ?" 
 
 " In the most beautiful spot on earth." 
 
 " Yes, of course. And what is it called ?" 
 
 " The Valley of the Yawmish." 
 
 " The Valley of the what did you say ? How very 
 romantic ! And where is this valley ?" 
 
 " Way out in the woods under the Olympics." 
 
 " The Olympics are mountains, are they not ? In 
 Siberia, isn t it ? no, I mean Alaska ?" 
 
 The footman came in with a card. 
 
 " No, I m very particularly engaged. Sorry, Peters. 
 Mm way out in the woods. How ever did it hap 
 pen ?" 
 
 " I tumbled oif a mountain, and the loveliest girl 
 on earth found me, took me home, nursed me, and 
 
 " Loveliest, of course. Every girl is loveliest to 
 such a man as you are when no other is in sight. 
 
 " Nursed you, did she ?" 
 
 " Yes. Well, as I began to know her better, I found 
 she was all she looked, and, if possible, more." 
 
 " How did she happen to be living there ?" 
 
 " Born there." 
 
 " Full of sweet sylvan graces, I suppose ? G-ood 
 gracious ! Had she any relations ? What kind of 
 people are they ?" 
 
 "A father, a very superior old gentleman, not that 
 I liked him. They they had a butler." 
 
 When Moorhead left Mrs. Bradlee s he was in a 
 very uncomfortable state of mind. He had tried to 
 be loyal to Leonora, but as his first thought had been 
 then, as always, Charles Norman Moorhead, he had 
 
106 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 tried to defend his engagement by excusing and jus 
 tifying himself for entering into it. This had made 
 his tone apologetic, which was not a compliment to 
 Leonora. 
 
 Mrs. Bradlee had taken the position of one who 
 accepts an apology. She had graciously conceded 
 that it was excusable and natural enough in a young 
 man of what she was good enough to call his " ardent 
 temperament/ but had more than hinted that it was 
 a great misfortune. 
 
 He had expatiated on Leonora s beauty and splen 
 did mental endowments ; her scholarship and ex 
 quisite taste. 
 
 She had laughed a little, and acknowledged that 
 his admiration of the only girl then in sight was a 
 thing to be expected, and had implied that the cir 
 cumstances were such as to stimulate imagination to 
 the utmost and magnify each grace a thousand-fold. 
 
 He had grown a little indignant, and become real 
 ly loyal for a while, and had shown more enthusiasm 
 in praise of his choice than he had felt for some time 
 before. 
 
 She had laughed at him good-naturedly, and said 
 that she had not meant to doubt his taste, but only 
 to suggest that where there is no standard of com 
 parison the very best taste may be at fault. 
 
 Then she had sighed and said quite plaintively : 
 " Of course, it s irrevocable. You can t escape it 
 now," and had looked at him with pity. 
 
 " Engagements," she had continued, " are never 
 Irolcen, of course /" and had looked at him sideways. 
 
 He walked home, thinking it over. The more he 
 thought, the more indignant he felt at the worldly 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 107 
 
 old lady s attack ; the more indignant lie felt, the 
 more her arguments repeated themselves to him ; the 
 more they recurred, the more sound they seemed, in 
 spite of all he could say to the contrary. 
 
 From that time there began to grow up in his mind 
 a feeling that perhaps Leonora s loveliness ivas partly 
 due to the glamour of her surroundings, or lack of 
 surroundings ; that perhaps it would have been dif 
 ferent had there been others with whom to compare 
 her ; perhaps it was impossible that one born and 
 bred in the backwoods could possess all he had seen 
 in her ; that perhaps she might be out of her cle 
 ment elsewhere ; that perhaps, in short, he had made 
 a mistake. Then came the reflection that, as Mrs. 
 Bradlee had said, however that might be, it was irrev 
 ocable. 
 
 This preyed upon his mind. Every day he saw a 
 pretty girl or so here and there ; and he was not un 
 susceptible. Mrs. Bradlee told several people. 
 
XIII 
 
 MOOEHEAD went to Mrs. Bradlee s party, and, hav 
 ing been greeted by his hostess and escaped from a 
 debutante in whose victorious path he had been cast, 
 retreated to an alcove, and looked about for some way 
 of passing the time. 
 
 The house had been made gay for the occasion, and 
 wore the air of a solemn old personage decked by his 
 daughters for a feast, and all the more glum by con 
 trast with, and the sense of, his festal attire. 
 
 Among the stately sticks of furniture grew palms 
 and rhododendrons in conspicuous pots, and seemed, 
 as well they might, stiff and ill at ease in each oth 
 er s company ; and there were elaborate devices of 
 flowers painfully like those that are admired of the 
 funeral reporter, and called by him "floral tributes." 
 
 All that could well be lighted was lighted, and the 
 carpets were sombre, the pictures on the walls were 
 sombre ; there was an effect of too much glare in too 
 much gloom. 
 
 There was an abundance of costly, heavy ornament ; 
 articles very beautiful and curious in themselves, but 
 suffering from their environment, having the look 
 of being set on show, giving a shoppy aspect to the 
 rooms. 
 
 The gas-fire blazed in pale merriment among its 
 iron logs, and the air was stuffy Avith the flowers and 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 109 
 
 millinery and upholstery. There was also music be 
 hind the ill-assorted plants. He stood looking over 
 the throng and dividing the people into two classes 
 those he knew, who would bore him, and those he did 
 not know and did not care to take the trouble to 
 meet. 
 
 His glory as an explorer and author was beginning 
 to pall upon him ; he knew he might be expected to 
 talk of his experiences, and hated the thought. 
 
 How many people had Mrs. Bradlee told of his en 
 gagement ? Would people ask him questions about 
 it? 
 
 Something tickled the tip of his ear. 
 
 It proved to be the swan s-down fringe of a fan, 
 whose owner, as he looked up, shrank playfully back 
 from him, clasping her hands, with a look of mock 
 terror in a pair of wide blue eyes. 
 
 " Oh but forgive me !" said the lady. "I had no 
 idea you could seem so fierce and touch-me-not-ty, or 
 I should never have dared indeed I shouldn t. Is 
 that the look with which you were wont to quell the 
 fierce bears and things of the Western wilds- in their 
 native haunts ? The look that frighted the stern 
 savage from your side and made him run away and 
 forget not to take all your things with him ? H-m ? 
 Is it ? Pray take it off and be amiable, Charles or 
 Norman you call yourself now, don t you ? 
 
 "I hoped you would have forgiven my waking you 
 up for old times sake ; but, of course, you have for 
 gotten 
 
 And the large eyes rolling upward, as in despair, 
 were followed by the corners of the wide laughing 
 mouth. 
 
110 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 " Forgotten ? Indeed I have not, Nelly Mrs. Mer- 
 ivale, I mean. A man doesn t easily forget the cause 
 of so many happy and so many painful times !" said 
 he,, rising and seizing her hand and looking eagerly 
 into her face as he spoke. 
 
 She withdrew her hand. 
 
 "I think you have learned many things from your 
 bears and savages. One of them is shaking hands/ 
 said she, with a very becoming frown and pout. "Hap 
 py and painful times,, you said ? I forgive you the 
 happy ones which you had no right to for the sake 
 of the others which you deserved ! Eh ? 
 
 " But now tell me what have you really been doing 
 all this weary while, and why you have not written, 
 sir ? Give an account of yourself I" 
 
 "How could I write ? I had no permission/ said 
 Moorhead, who was lazily submitting to the lively 
 lady s assumption of authority and found himself be 
 ginning to enjoy it immense. 
 
 "How could he write ? Hear him !" said she, ap 
 pealing as it seemed to invisible and attendant Graces 
 of her own to judge him. 
 
 " No permission, indeed ! You should have written 
 to ask permission, then, if for nothing else !" 
 
 "If I had dared write," said he, "it would have 
 been for something else also, I imagine. There are 
 people so blessed with the power to grant favors that 
 one can hardly see them or think of them without 
 asking !" 
 
 " People ! I don t know that I like that/ said 
 she. "Are there many ?" 
 
 " I only assumed that there might be others. I only 
 know one," and he bowed before her. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 111 
 
 "That s better," she said, "and so you d have 
 asked favors, would you ?" 
 
 "Indeed I should. Would it have been of any 
 use ?" 
 
 "Ah ! who knows what might have been ? What 
 leads you to dream that it could have been of any use ? 
 Not I, surely. And yet as you didn t write and 
 didn t ask who knows ?" 
 
 There was a pause, while she looked unutterable 
 possibilities at him out of big dark-blue eyes under a 
 heavy fringe of lashes. 
 
 He had forgotten how beautiful she could be when 
 she tried, and thought he had never seen her forehead 
 so white, her hair so richly clustered, her lips so full 
 and sweet. 
 
 It is probable that he never had. She had meant 
 to look well that evening, and was one of those per 
 sons who carry out their intentions. 
 
 " Besides," he said, as an after-thought, "you were 
 married, you know." 
 
 "Oh," she answered, "how absurd in you ! Why, 
 anybody could see everybody knew it was only tem 
 porary !" 
 
 Then, seeing a shocked expression on his face, she 
 added a mitigating clause or two in a voice of grief : 
 
 " There, you ve misunderstood me !" and she look 
 ed deeply hurt. " Have I got to explain every little 
 thing I say to you ?" (fretfully). "You used to un 
 derstand me" (reproachfully, with a little sigh for 
 bygone days). "Well, I didn t mean, of course, that 
 / meant it to be temporary at the time 
 
 " Oh," he protested, " I never" 
 
 "Yes you did!" said she, sharply. "Your face 
 
112 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 said it, if your tongue didn t. You see I can read 
 you like a bill, or any other disagreeable document 
 just as I always could. 
 
 " "Well, as I said,, I never thought of it at the time, 
 or while it lasted, as only temporary, of course ! What 
 I did, I did to please my friends, and took to myself 
 all the credit of making a lifelong sacrifice. 
 
 "I did not see, as every one else did, that poor 
 Mr. Merivale had but a little while on earth, or, of 
 course, I wouldn t have married him, because I should 
 have seen that it would look as if I did it for money. 
 Some people think that now." 
 
 She looked at him defiantly, as if to dare him to 
 express such an opinion ; but he only said, meekly 
 enough : 
 
 " Of course not. I always knew and said you mar 
 ried him blindly, because your people urged you to 
 and in a way coerced you to it." 
 
 "Oh, you always said that, did you ? How sweet 
 of you !" 
 
 " But," said he, "that s all over now." 
 
 "Yes, all over," she answered. "And it seems 
 like a dream, as if it had never been at all." 
 
 " I m glad of that," said he. 
 
 "But you," said she "to return to our original 
 and more agreeable topic how has it been with 
 you ?" 
 
 0h, I I ve drifted." 
 
 "But why did you not write ? It wasn t for lack 
 of permission, you know. That was the very lamest 
 and flimsiest excuse. Haven t you made a better one 
 by this time ? Come now, tell me : Was it because 
 you were vexed ?" 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 113 
 
 " Yes/ said he,, " if you call it vexed. It s rather 
 a weak term for the feeling of a man who has just 
 seen the girl he has fancied everything to him mar 
 ried all of a sudden to an but we won t say anything 
 about the late lamented Abner Merivale. Yes, I was 
 vexed !" 
 
 " I m glad of that, Charley/ said she. " I m glad 
 you were vexed, because it showed that you cared a 
 little. And now tell me : You have consoled yourself, 
 of course men always console themselves. How have 
 you done it ?" 
 
 Mrs. Merivale was a peculiarly fascinating woman 
 more so than even when he had thought her the only 
 girl on earth. 
 
 He had begun to enjoy himself immensely ; had 
 reached the stage of tender reminiscence, and was by 
 no means prepared to tell her about Leonora. 
 
 "How have you consoled yourself ?" said Mrs. Mer 
 ivale again. 
 
 "I oh, how could I console myself ?" he asked. 
 
 "Ah !" said she, searching his eyes for a confes 
 sion. " Who is she, then ?" 
 
 " There s no one !" said he, lying freely, and was 
 about to say more, but she rose with a short laugh 
 and a mocking glance, turned to one Timmons, who 
 had been waiting at a respectful distance, impatient 
 to speak to her, nibbling such of his downy mus 
 tache as he could get hold of ; took his arm and 
 walked away. 
 
 "So he says there s no one ! she thought; "and 
 what does he mean by that? Does he mean me to 
 think there has really been no one ? As if I didn t 
 know all about this highly romantic engagement of 
 
114 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISU 
 
 his ? Or does he mean it s broken off, like one or 
 two others he s had for fun, and that there s no one 
 noiv? Anyway, I don t like his trying to conceal it. 
 It shows it was in earnest, and that he still cares 
 about it, otherwise he d tell. Well, never mind ; if 
 it s not broken it will be now. He s hooked. But I 
 shaVt feel sure of him till I ve made him confess 
 and do penance ; and then, if he s still engaged to the 
 Wild Lady of the Woods, I ll help him out of his 
 scrape." 
 
 They had begun to dance. Moorhead was fond of 
 dancing ; but to-night he stood the saddest of wall 
 flowers, watching the young widow as she tripped light 
 and lithe and clinging about the room in the arms 
 of various men, whose faces wore each and all a look 
 of unmitigated bliss while they were with her. 
 
 She gave him not a word or look, and he dared not 
 seek her ; he was afraid of himself. Mrs. Bradlee 
 saw him standing and staring, and found time to 
 scold him for his uselessness and boobyism and intro 
 duce him to several new girls, and to renew his ac 
 quaintance with Elsie Kent. But it was true that 
 he had never cared for Elsie Kent, and she and the 
 others, who all liked attention and could get none 
 from him, got rid of him with equal ease and com 
 fort. 
 
 He thought all through a long, wakeful night of 
 Nelly Merivale. 
 
 He struggled feebly against the spell. He remem 
 bered his duty, and tried to compare her with Leo 
 nora. Then he knew for the first time how he had 
 forgotten Leonora. 
 
 He could not remember clearly how she looked. lie 
 
LEONORA OP, THE YAWMISH 115 
 
 knew that she was tall and graceful and very fair to 
 look upon, but thus much he knew of many girls. 
 
 He could not remember the tones of her voice, nor 
 her smile. 
 
 She was only the very shadow of a memory to him ; 
 and Nelly Merivale what a living, glowing reality ! 
 How eagerly his mind turned, in spite of itself, to her 
 charm of look and speech and manner ! 
 
 Perhaps he had really loved her, once at all events, 
 he had thought so. Thought so ? he knew it. He 
 had forgotten it awhile, but he knew it now; and her 
 new charm for him wrought with the old boy-love to 
 make his mind completely subject to her. 
 
 He belonged to her he had always belonged to her ! 
 Leonora was a mistake. 
 
 A strong, well-disciplined mind may pass through 
 such a crisis as Moorhead underwent that night with 
 out harm or change, and spring elastic back to its old 
 faith and honor not a whit the worse for temptation 
 resisted, and stronger than ever in its sterling loyalty. 
 
 But when a mind has always been subservient to 
 the moment s wish, undisciplined, trained by custom 
 to yield and not to withstand, to indulge the fancy 
 and not to rule it how can it be trusted ? 
 
 It may happen to a man to be so long away from 
 the woman to whom he has given his love, be she 
 maid or wife, that her very face and voice are forgot 
 ten ; nor is it likely that he will not see many a face 
 that he admires meanwhile. That is no shame to 
 him in itself. 
 
 But if he be a man, he will look in his heart and 
 find her name graven there as on steel, and he will 
 remember that he is hers and be proud of it. His 
 
116 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 pride will conquer any foolish fancies, his honest love 
 will be the stronger and his honor the brighter for the 
 trial, and he will have the more faith in himself and 
 the more delight in being worthy of her. 
 
 But if he is a poor, self-indulgent weakling, with 
 a heart like mush, that takes every impression and 
 holds none why, then, the sooner she is rid of him 
 the better for her. 
 
 Moorhead meant to do right because it was the 
 thing, but he was as weak as water. 
 
 He persuaded himself that all this sudden turmoil 
 in his thin blood, stirred up by Nelly Merivale, arose 
 from the fact that she was his first love, and that it 
 was his duty to her, to himself, and to Leonora to 
 write at once and tell her he had made a mistake. 
 
 But there again he was weak. He dared not do it. 
 He thought of her as pining for him and lamenting 
 his enforced absence, and he could not bear the idea 
 of breaking her heart. It was horrible dreadful- 
 awful ! He might sacrifice himself and give up Mrs. 
 Merivale but no ; he felt so little inclined to give her 
 up that he told himself it would be wrong to Leonora 
 it would be deceiving her to remain true to his 
 engagement and keep his promise. 
 
 Being in this highly moral and creditable pose of 
 mind, he was rewarded with a luminous idea. Per 
 haps he could persuade Leonora to break off her en 
 gagement to him without letting her know that he 
 was trying to persuade her. So he arose in the morn 
 ing and wrote her a long letter the longest he had 
 written for a year or more. 
 
 He told her how unworthy he was of her; how his 
 conscience troubled him for having taken advantage 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 117 
 
 of her inexperience to win her love ; how she did not 
 love him, but only what she imagined him to be ; 
 how she never would have promised to marry him 
 had she known him for what he was ; how that same 
 conscience would not let him rest till he had told her 
 so. But one thing he dared not tell her, and that was 
 the truth. 
 
 He waited in eager anxiety for her letter. When it 
 came it hurt him sorely, for it was cold as ice and true 
 and faithful as Leonora s self, and all it said was this : 
 
 " MY DEAR NORMAN, 
 
 "You say you are unworthy of me, and that I would not 
 have promised to marry you had I known you well. 
 
 "It may be so. What I would or would not have done can 
 make no difference ; what I did remains, and my word is 
 sacred. 
 
 "So I only tell you for your own sake and mine what 
 ever these faults and shortcomings may be of which you speak 
 so vaguely cure yourself of them, as you are in honor bound 
 to do, even as I am in honor bound to keep my word to you. 
 
 "LEONORA WILLOUGHBY." 
 
 Only a little while before such a letter would have 
 won him back to his allegiance., but he had counted 
 on a diiferent answer. He had been rather proud of 
 his sneaking epistle, regarding it as an act of able and 
 kindly diplomacy, and had expected in return some 
 reproach or complaint, which would have enabled 
 him to write a most magnanimous letter offering to 
 release her from her engagement if she wished it. 
 And even if she did not wish it, he had felt sure that 
 he had taken a step towards estrangement. He had 
 certainly painted himself black enough to encourage 
 such a hope. Meanwhile he had given himself up en- 
 
118 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 tirely to his infatuation for Mrs. Merivale, and Leo 
 nora s influence over him and power to bless had be 
 come lost to him. 
 
 Being but a poor-spirited fellow, especially in his 
 present state of mind, he was unable to appreciate 
 her steadfast truth and downright virtue, which he 
 felt only vaguely and uneasily as a reproach to his 
 own weakness. He was conceited enough to imagine 
 that her words proceeded from a blind love for him 
 self, which could not or would not regard the bad 
 traits which he had so more than frankly confessed 
 mean enough to hate her faithfulness, since it stood 
 in the way of his own inclination. 
 
 He was even so small of spirit as to despise her for 
 not despising him ! 
 
 But he pitied her, too he hated to give pain to 
 her, and, above all, to himself. He dared not confess 
 his breach of faith, and meanwhile sought for some 
 roundabout means by which he might escape with 
 what he considered credit to himself. 
 
XIV 
 
 MOORHEAD could think of nothing to say in reply 
 to Leonora s letter, so he did not write, and found 
 a thirsty solace in much wine and as much as possi 
 ble of Mrs. Merivale s society. 
 
 After the very first she kept him at a distance 
 rather, with a pretty air of offence that teased and 
 piqued him ; till at last, having pursued her to a cozy 
 corner, he made full confession to her. 
 
 " I knew it before/ said she. " But you did not 
 tell me the truth. You said there was no one." 
 
 " No one hut you, I meant/ said he, " and that was 
 true. There is not, never has been, never will be, 
 any one but you for me." 
 
 " Then your engagement is broken ?" she asked, in 
 a careless tone. 
 
 " Don t call it an engagement," said he. " It was 
 a mistake a dreadful mistake." 
 
 " It s not broken, then ?" said she. 
 
 " Well, no not exactly that ; but, of course, it s 
 impossible." 
 
 " So I should have supposed from what little I have 
 heard of it. Pardon for my frankness, please; I m 
 only agreeing with you, you know. Have you told 
 this Miss Yellowby " 
 
 "Willoughby." 
 
 " Ah ! Willoughby I beg her pardon. Have you 
 told Miss Willoughby that it s impossible ?" 
 
120 LEONOKA. OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 " N-no. That is not exactly I she it seems 
 to me it ought to come from her/ 
 
 "Very likely in the first place. But you see it 
 has come already from you not to her, but to oth 
 ers to me. When you tell me your engagement to 
 Miss Willoughby is impossible, you ought to tell her 
 at once. You can t go about telling other people that 
 your engagement to a girl is impossible and not tell 
 her, you know." 
 
 "It isn t the thing for a man to break an engage 
 ment, exactly." 
 
 " Bah !" she snapped her fingers with a pretty up 
 ward gesture " that for the Thing and all its wor 
 shippers ! You good people here make me weary of 
 life with your Thing. You all bow down to it like 
 a lot of darkies round an idol only the idol s better, 
 because it exists. What does it mean to you ? Noth 
 ing in particular. It s useful, perhaps, as an excuse 
 for not doing what you daren t do for fear of un 
 pleasantness for fear of comment from others. 
 
 "What do you mean by the Thing? That which 
 looks best, in general, in the eyes of the set in which 
 you move, perhaps, if you mean anything. 
 
 " You wouldn t like, for example, to have it get 
 about that you a man had done anything so un 
 conventional as to break an engagement with a girl. 
 It wouldn t look well. You haven t the least objec 
 tion to letting people know you don t care for the girl 
 you ve promised to marry, while you are still engaged 
 to her and she still trusts you. Why ? Because that 
 enables you to pose as a man too honorable to tell her 
 the truth, even though your polite fraud is a living 
 lie that may well make her life and yours wretched, 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISn 121 
 
 and give amusement in time to all the gossips and 
 scandal-mongers. 
 
 "To pose, in fact, as a martyr to that same precious 
 Thing and be canonized by its worshippers. 
 
 <e In short, Norman Moorhead broke his engage 
 ment himself fancy a man breaking his engage 
 ment ! doesn t sound well, does it ? So you say, 
 It s not the Thing. 
 
 "But, ( Norman Moorhead, poor fellow, is engaged 
 to a girl he doesn t love, and is too true a gentleman to 
 break the engagement, and she won t break it, and all 
 the time he s in love with some one else. Sad, isn t it ? 
 And so romantic and so good of him. The way he 
 bears it is simply angelic ! sounds well, eh ?" 
 
 Moorhead had nothing to say to all this. 
 
 "You see," she went on, "I know you pretty well. 
 I ve known you since you were a smooth, well-be 
 haved, proper little boy. 
 
 "Do you think I have forgotten the model child 
 who wouldn t do this and that because it wouldn t 
 please mamma, and who had 110 objection whatever 
 to getting his scapegrace brother Tom to do it and 
 be unmercifully thrashed for it ?" 
 
 " You re very hard on me, Nelly," said Moorhead. 
 "I think I ll say good-bye, for the time being." 
 
 "It ll be good-bye for the time to come, as well," 
 said she, "unless you wait until I have done. I ve 
 a little more to say to you." 
 
 "Very well," said he. 
 
 "Just this. Do you remember what you said to 
 me just now ? That / was the only one ? How do 
 you dare to come and make love to me me! when 
 you re still engaged to that girl ? 
 
122 LEONORA OF TIIE YAWMISII 
 
 " Is that the Tiling you re so fond of talking about ? 
 
 "Now you may go. And in future be good enough 
 to let me be. I want nothing more to do with you." 
 
 She knew she was quite safe in saying this, and the 
 answer she had expected came. 
 
 " Oh ! Nelly, forgive me. I" 
 
 "Mrs. Merivale, I am called/ 
 
 "Don t be so unkind. I beg your pardon. What 
 I said to you wasn t the was wrong and imperti 
 nent. Please don t say you won t see me again !" 
 
 She looked at him a minute, and let a softer look 
 come to her eyes by degrees a thing at which she 
 was very good then said : 
 
 "I shall have nothing more to say to you until you 
 have broken your engagement. 
 
 " This is not a case of Thing, but of Right 
 and Wrong / The next time you venture to speak to 
 me I shall ask you if you have written and broken it 
 off. You can tell her it was all a mistake, and that 
 will settle it. When you have done that you may 
 come and see me if you care to." 
 
 "Ifl care to !" 
 
 " That will do. You haven t written yet, you know 
 and you may go now. Charley," she said, suddenly 
 changing her cold manner for one almost tender, "I 
 
 O O 
 
 don t part so easily from an old friend. I won t deny 
 that this has hurt me ; and what I have said, I have 
 said for your own good, as well as in well in self- 
 defence, if you will. Good-night." 
 
 Moorhead had been unable to appreciate the words 
 of Leonora, but all Mrs. Merivale had said to him 
 had seemed the voice of Virtue in the language of 
 Eloquence. 
 
LEONORA. OF THE YAWMISH 123 
 
 Her words had hurt him too, but he submitted 
 gratefully, and felt it a high privilege and luxury to 
 be scolded by her. 
 
 Had he heard what she said a few hours later he 
 might have changed his mind, but even then he 
 would perhaps have found some blissful interpreta 
 tion for her words, for his infatuation was more vio 
 lent than ever. 
 
 He went home and sat down to obey her. 
 
 He thought when he took up his pen that he knew 
 exactly what to say to Leonora ; but was it a lack of 
 ink or a bad pen ? The words would not come. 
 
 " Dear Leonora/ 7 he began. No, "Dear Miss Wil- 
 loughby " under the circumstances No "Dear 
 Leonora." 
 
 He tore these up one after the other. After he 
 had settled that question, not at all to his satisfac 
 tion, he forced himself to write a plain, straight 
 forward letter. 
 
 How cold and blunt and brutal it seemed ! He 
 destroyed it and wrote another, which seemed too 
 mean and sneaking to suit him. 
 
 Then another, which, all things considered, was 
 too tender. The next seemed ridiculous and flip 
 pant. He fortified himself with brandy and soda, 
 and more brandy and soda, till he could hardly read 
 what he had written. 
 
 It was two o clock. He was too tired to write. 
 His eyes and his fingers ached. He would put it ofi 2 
 till morning, when his head was clear. 
 
XV 
 
 WHILE Moorhead was trying to write, Mrs. Meri- 
 vale sat in her own boudoir in her little flat on Com 
 monwealth Avenue. 
 
 She wore a dainty undress whatever that may be 
 and was surrounded by all the extravagant appliances 
 of luxury. 
 
 She looked tired and somewhat older than she had 
 when she was talking with Moorhead that evening. 
 
 Her complexion was not quite so perfect, and the 
 dimples had apparently narrowed and lengthened till 
 they almost might have been mistaken for incipient 
 wrinkles. 
 
 Nevertheless, she had the self-satisfied look of one 
 who has worked hard and done well. 
 
 Another young woman, whose manner was a close, 
 and dress a distant, copy of her own, sat near her. 
 
 Their relation was intimate. They had been school 
 mates awhile, though otherwise very differently placed 
 in life. 
 
 Mrs. Merivale s father, generally known as Joe Trask, 
 had usually been in debt and out of pocket because 
 of his sporting proclivities, and, having no credit at any 
 young ladies boarding-school, could not afford to send 
 his daughter to one until old Abner Merivale, having 
 met her, suddenly became very kind to the Trasks 
 and paid for the expensive part of her education. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 125 
 
 Meanwhile she had established a sort of school in 
 timacy with Alice McNally, a carpenter s daughter. 
 
 Afterwards, when Nelly Trask had been "finished," 
 Alice, having imbibed at the high -school ambitious 
 ideas and a tendency to look down upon her own 
 people and yearn for a more luxurious existence than 
 her home was likely to give her, called upon her old 
 school-mate, and, finding her in the lap of luxury, 
 expressed a bitter discontent with her own lot. 
 
 Miss Trask was about to become Mrs. Merivale and 
 to go abroad. 
 
 She was not enthusiastically fond of Abner Meri 
 vale, and felt that it might be more than useful to 
 have a companion, bound to her by gratitude and 
 entire dependence, for an ally in case of emergencies. 
 She offered to take Alice with her, and the girl had 
 proved a most invaluable lieutenant in all her battles 
 and skirmishes. 
 
 Mrs. Merivale was a schemer and needed some one 
 with whom to discuss her plans, who would sympa 
 thize, co-operate, and say nothing. 
 
 The two had managed Abner Merivale entirely to 
 the bride s taste during what little of his life was 
 left, and since had conducted many a triumphant 
 little campaign against the world. 
 
 "Alice/ 7 said Mrs. Merivale, "give me my pick-up, 
 will you ? there s a good girl !" 
 
 Alice brought from a rosewood cabinet a dainty 
 flask and liqueur-glass and set them by her. 
 
 " Thanks ! Where s yours ?" Alice brought an 
 other glass and filled both. 
 
 " There now we re cozy. Sit you down and let s 
 chat a bit. Do you know, I ve been wondering lately 
 
126 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 what we were to do ? The late Mr. Merivale s fortune 
 would have stood anything short of Monte Carlo ; but 
 that nearly emptied the coffers, you know." 
 
 "I know," said Alice. "Well, is there anything 
 on ?" 
 
 "Yes ; it s all plain sailing now; nothing to do but 
 work the Back Bay a little longer be good avoid 
 slang have a fad or two (mine s Esoteric Buddhism 
 at present, and the Zunis, with a vague, inexpressible 
 connection between the two) take in a lot of dreary 
 teas show a becoming respect for Bostonian institu 
 tions and ancient landmarks talk intelligently about 
 the Norumbega theory, the pictures at Doll & Kich- 
 ards s, and the Symphony Orchestra agitate the sub 
 ject of a new Music Hall and there we are. Not so 
 bad fun, either playing propriety !" 
 
 "Not when one s v\\\y playing it," said Alice. 
 
 "I agree. You ve heard me speak of Charley 
 Moorhead now called C. Norman Moorhead ; used 
 to be Charley, to distinguish him from Tom, who is 
 also Norman Charley Moorhead, who was so blue 
 and glum after my marriage ?" 
 
 " Is it he ?" 
 
 " He is it, as we used to say when we were wee 
 things, and played games where one was chosen for 
 the useful and stupid part of the game. He s chosen 
 elected." 
 
 "Does he accept the office vote for himself, in 
 fact ?" 
 
 "Does he ? He s gone clean daft at the prospect- 
 can hardly keep away. Engaged to a girl, but she s 
 way, way out West a backwoods missy in some im 
 possible place and I ve made him give her up. Sorry 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 127 
 
 hate to interfere with her enjoyment of life ; but 
 we had to have him, didn t we, Alice, dear V 
 
 "Rich?" 
 
 " He ? Beautifully ! Richer than I ever dreamed 
 he d be or he might have been No. 1, instead of poor 
 dear Abner, I m thinking, Alice." 
 
 "Yes, we do need him," said Alice. "How soon 
 will it be, do you think ?" 
 
 "Oh, very soon it s got to be, you know. First, 
 because I can t stand this Back Bay business, and 
 these poky people with their intellectual fads, much 
 longer ; secondly, because stories 11 be floating in 
 from over across, and it s on the cards they may not 
 care for me, though, so far, I m a tearing success ; 
 thirdly, because people are absurd and unkind enough 
 to want their money for value received. 
 
 " I suppose I might get a loan from little Timmons, 
 at a pinch, if it s absolutely necessary ; but I d rather 
 not, Alice." 
 
 "That little boy with the downy upper lip?" 
 
 Mrs. Merivale nodded. 
 
 "No, I should think not. Why, that child, to 
 judge from his looks when he s with you he d be so 
 proud to have lent you money that he wouldn t be able 
 to help going about and bragging of it. Don t do it. 
 I can stand off these people with bills a little longer." 
 
 "You re not bad at that, Alice. How do you do 
 it?" 
 
 " Give em more orders. They re so imbued with 
 the desire to sell things, they forget all the things 
 they ve sold and not been paid for, in the delight of 
 making one new sale and the anticipation of being 
 paid by-and-by." 
 
128 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 " So they do, as a general rule/ said Mrs. Merivale, 
 laughing. "And while I m in with the lot I run with 
 now, they ll keep on selling and anticipating, I think. 
 So much the better for them and for us. It won t be 
 long before everything s right." 
 
 "I shall be glad glad when you re free from all 
 this anxiety and worry, poor dear. It isn t good for 
 you !" said Alice, affectionately. 
 
 "So shall I." 
 
 So Mrs. Merivale, to her confidante ; but after 
 wards, alone, she spoke to herself as follows : 
 
 " It s strange, when I think of it, that I could talk 
 so to Alice of him. Partly force of habit, I s pose ; 
 partly because I can t bear to let her see that I that 
 I really care for him. But I d take him if neither 
 he nor I had a cent to our names. And as for that 
 wild Western girl, she d better not stand between us, 
 I wonder if he s written that letter yet ? Of course 
 he has. Well he ll come to-morrow !" 
 
 Moorhead called next day and found Mrs. Merivale 
 at home. 
 
 "Have you written?" she asked, with an inward 
 flutter of excitement and an indifferent air. 
 
 "Yes," said Moorhead. 
 
 He had been totally unable to write that letter yet, 
 and had meant to say so frankly, submit to her blame, 
 and ask her advice; but when she said. "Have you 
 written ?" it suddenly occurred to him that he could 
 say "Yes," quite truthfully, with reference to the 
 former letter in which he had declared himself un 
 worthy, thinking that Leonora might be led thereby 
 to cut him adrift. 
 
 "You have as I told you ?" 
 
LEONOIIA OP THE YAWMISII 129 
 
 One prevarication follows another easily. 
 
 "Yes," said he, again telling himself that she had 
 told him to write a letter breaking the engagement, 
 and that the one he had formerly sent was written 
 with that end in view. 
 
 " Do you mind letting me see the answer when yon 
 get it ?" 
 
 "No, indeed," said he, " or, at least there may be 
 things in it that I ought not to show even to you." 
 
 "You ll let me know when you get it, will you ?" 
 
 "I will." 
 
 " Very well," said she. " Good boy." 
 
 " That means I may stay and see you awhile ? 
 And you won t send me away altogether ?" 
 
 " Oh yes you may stay if you care to." 
 
 "If I care to ? Nelly, if you had any idea lioiv I 
 care to !" 
 
 "Do you really care so much ?" 
 
 The rest of the conversation, which lasted some 
 two hours, was much in the same strain. It dwelt 
 on the old times before her marriage, on reminis 
 cences of past scenes, on the delight of the present, 
 and grew in passionate eagerness on Moorhead s part 
 and graciousness on Mrs. Merivale s, till at the end 
 of it they found themselves vowed to each other. 
 
 After that Moorhead came every day, and brought 
 flowers and gems and costly gifts, and the useful 
 Alice was able to say incidentally to the tradesmen 
 that Mrs. Merivale was soon to marry Mr. Moorhead, 
 on the strength of which duly authenticated state 
 ment they were willing to wait. 
 
 This blissful state of things lasted a little while, 
 and then came a stormy scene, when Moorhead was 
 
130 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 obliged to confess that lie had not written the letter, 
 and to explain his prevarication. 
 
 Mrs. Merivale sent him out of her presence. 
 
 "What is the matter ?" Alice asked that evening, 
 when she found Mrs. Merivale brooding long with her 
 head on her hands and her elbows on her knees. 
 
 "He has not written," said Mrs. Merivale. 
 
 " Why should he, after all ?" said Alice. 
 
 "It can mean only one thing/ said Mrs. Merivale. 
 "He is still fond of her." 
 
 "Suppose he is ?" said the practical Alice. "He s 
 going to marry you ; then much good may his fond 
 ness do her. You don t want it. It would only bore 
 you after a bit. Better without it. One can t have 
 everything." 
 
 " But I will," said Mrs. Merivale ; and then in a 
 fright she sent for Moorhead back, lest she had gone 
 too far in sending him away. 
 
 He found her in a new mood when he came. She 
 had determined that, come what might, she would not 
 lose him, and, angry as she was, controlled herself, and 
 was grieved, and gentle, and sweetly forgiving. 
 
 "Charley," said she "you see I must call you by 
 the old name you have done me a sore wrong. I 
 trusted and believed you. And you what have you 
 given me in return ? You have dishonored me by 
 making me promise to marry you when you still re 
 mained promised to some one else. Now, to me, be 
 trothal is a sort of marriage a sacred tie. You have 
 nearly broken my heart. And yet poor fool as I am 
 I am willing to trust and believe you still. Tell me 
 again that you love me and no one else." 
 
 "I do," said Moorhead. "You know I do. Else 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 131 
 
 why should I try to make you believe it ? If I cared 
 for her should I not have been content to be as I was 
 hers r 
 
 "As you are hers, you mean," said Mrs. Merivale, 
 very sadly. 
 
 "No !" 
 
 " Then, why will you not break that engagement ?" 
 
 "Nelly, I thought I loved her once. She was 
 the only girl there we were much together." 
 
 " Oh 1 spare me that r 
 
 " When I saw you the memory of the old time and 
 the first love came over me, and I knew it was you I 
 loved. I could not resist I had to tell you. 
 
 " I would tell her so I wish to tell her so, and have 
 it all over between us but when I try to write to her 
 and I have tried I can t do it. She was kind to 
 me she saved my life. I can t bring myself to wound 
 her in return. 
 
 " Yet I must. It would be doing all three of us the 
 greatest wrong if I should marry her. But how can 
 /a man deliberately write to her and tell her, when 
 I have taught her to look forward to the future I have 
 promised ? I simply can t. Sometimes I feel oh, 
 Nelly, it s maddening ! Use your woman s art to help 
 me and tell me some way out of it \" 
 
 For a second the words "Hang yourself and so 
 much the better for her and me !" were on the tip of 
 her tongue, but she restrained herself. " Give me 
 time to think," said she, in a weary tone, "and I ll 
 try to help you. Now go. .That s all I can bear for 
 to-day. I ll send word when I want you." 
 
 After he was gone she said to herself, " Poor fel 
 low! What a weakling he is! He cannot do an tin- 
 
132 LEONOKA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 pleasant tiling. And yet I can t let him go." And 
 then she added, hardening her heart bravely, " I 
 mustn t forget that this is business with me as well as 
 pleasure. As Alice says, we need him/ And, after 
 all, the weaker the better to manage. "Well, I ll try 
 to make it easy for him, poor boy." 
 In two days she sent for him again. 
 
XVI 
 
 MRS. MERIVALE had a plan. 
 
 The discovery that Moorhead had not enough 
 strength of mind to write and break off his engage 
 ment, that he still felt grateful towards Leonora, 
 was ashamed of the part ho was playing towards 
 her, and afraid of giving her pain, threw her into 
 perplexity and deep dismay. 
 
 She had no objection, on principle, to his being en 
 gaged to two people at once, provided she herself was 
 the one to be married and cared for ; but she sorely 
 feared the extent and effect on her own plans of his 
 feeling for Leonora. She had determined to marry 
 him, and to settle down to a peaceful, conventional 
 existence, and she was fond of him. She was anxious 
 that no influence should mar her plans or diminish 
 his affection for her. Leonora was an unknown 
 quantity. 
 
 Mrs. Merivale did not feel quite sure of her own 
 position, even after her marriage should have taken 
 place. She knew that her life abroad had not coin 
 cided with the sacred Thing which was Moorhead s 
 religion, and she constantly feared the arrival of re 
 ports of her conduct, magnified in travelling. 
 
 People would be shocked, Moorhead s pride in her 
 would be hurt ; he would not hesitate to throw her 
 over before marriage and after marriage, if there 
 
134 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 were any other influence to draw him away from her ; 
 he would very likely put her on an allowance and go 
 off to seek sympathy somewhere else. 
 
 Then, naturally enough, she wanted her husband 
 all to herself. 
 
 She need not have been afraid of reports from 
 abroad, for she had never succeeded in attracting the 
 attention which she fondly supposed had been ac 
 corded her. She had been simply a very silly girl, 
 reckless and extravagant in her first freedom, and de 
 lighting to pose as fast. Every one who had noticed 
 the pose had seen through it and smiled, or been 
 momentarily annoyed at its folly. No one remem 
 bered it. Its only effect was its reaction on her own 
 state of mind, for she had come to imagine herself a 
 scheming adventuress with a past, in need of rehabili 
 tation. 
 
 So she had come back to her first love, succeeded 
 in infatuating him and stealing his easy affections a 
 part quite in keeping with her own estimate of her 
 character and now found herself in a situation 
 which, from her point of view, was dramatic to a de 
 gree. She had spent much of her time as perhaps 
 most people do in acting out little comedies under 
 the impression that they were tragedies, and had be 
 come an accomplished amateur schemer under the 
 cherished delusion that she was a wily adventuress, 
 such as infests the mind of the novelist. 
 
 Her plan was worthy of the occasion, and had it 
 not been supremely absurd would have been most ex 
 cellent, in that it involved, at a considerable sacrifice, 
 the ultimate earthly happiness of all concerned. 
 
 Leonora was to be made happy without Moorhead. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 135 
 
 Not for her own sake, but because Moorhead, rightly 
 or wrongly, was full of the idea that she was devoted 
 to him and that he was depriving her of all hope in 
 depriving her of himself. Therefore it was necessary 
 to remove his impression that she was pining for him. 
 
 Moorhead was to be made happy in his Nelly, his 
 first love, and his said Nelly in him. Leonora once 
 off his conscience, Mrs. Merivale had no doubt she 
 could be eliminated from his heart. That sensitive 
 organ once free from external influences, she was 
 sure that she could manage him to her own taste. 
 
 The sacrifice was to be pecuniary and was to come 
 out of the worldly goods of Moorhead. Mrs. Meri 
 vale was averse, as a rule, to the sacrifice of worldly 
 goods, but as the price of a woman s dearest possession 
 her own way she did not mind giving up Moor- 
 head s property even to the half any more than she 
 would have objected to spending it for any other ar 
 ticle that might have pleased her fancy. 
 
 There was also a fourth person to be benefited. All 
 that remained was to convince the necessary persons 
 of the feasibility of her scheme. If they would but 
 see it as she did all would be well. 
 
 She bent all her energies to this task. When Moor 
 head came in obedience to her summons he was de 
 lighted. 
 
 She was arrayed for conquest and welcomed him 
 with a sad forgiving dignity, tempered judiciously by 
 a tender feeling for himself and sympathy with his 
 troubles. 
 
 Here was a glorious creature whose only thought 
 was for him. This flattered his self-esteem, and in 
 ten minutes from the time he entered the room he 
 
136 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 was ready to believe in anything she said, to do any 
 thing she told him, to think anything she wished. 
 
 She knew the signs of the lover s mood : the head a 
 little bent forward the meek, upward glance the 
 pleading set of the lips the soft, lingering clasp in 
 which he held her hand till she took it away the ab 
 ject humility of manner, which was so unlike his usual 
 style. All the signs of victory were plain before her. 
 
 She watched him narrowly while she talked for 
 some twenty minutes of other people s affairs, and of 
 what was doing in town, giving him no chance to 
 speak of what was uppermost in his mind, and saw his 
 increasing impatience with great satisfaction. 
 
 "Now," said she to that iirward confidant who sym 
 pathizes with our mischievous intentions, "he ll do. 
 He s in a mood to throw reason to the winds and do 
 whatever I tell him. As for Tom but never mind 
 him yet ; one thing at a time." 
 
 She stopped in the easy flow of her discourse and 
 looked at Moorhead in a way to delight his heart, by a 
 suggestion of mutual understanding. There was a 
 proprietorship, and authority too, in her look that 
 pleased him beyond measure. 
 
 "Well," said she, "you do not seem altogether in 
 terested in what I am saying ?" 
 
 "You promised to help me," he said. 
 
 "Did I ? Oh ! yes, I said I could help you I can 
 if you ll do as I tell you. 
 
 "But I want obedience. Otherwise I can do noth 
 ing. I m not one of those people who care to give ad 
 vice for the sake of talking and then be laughed at for 
 my pains. 
 
 " So if you ll mind, you can have my help, such as 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 137 
 
 it is ; and if you are not sure that you will why, you 
 may go to some one else whom you can trust. I think 
 you owe it to rne to trust me, Charley, for you ve hurt 
 me sorely." 
 
 "I d trust you with my life and happiness/ 7 he 
 began. 
 
 "Very good," said she, " only you happen to have 
 given all that to some one else to take care of and 
 you must get it back first, it would seem. 
 
 " The simplest way, as I said before, would be to 
 write and ask for it say it was a mistake, and that 
 kind of thing. But you won t do that it is hard for 
 you, and I won t ask it of you." 
 
 "I do not want to be unkind to her," said he. 
 "What I want to do is to get it back without hurt 
 ing her. She ought to break the engagement; I can t. 
 And I m sure, with all your tact and delicacy and in 
 tuitive regard for people s feelings and knowledge of 
 human nature, Helen, you ought to be able to find a 
 way." 
 
 She almost laughed aloud at his compliments, but 
 repaid him in kind. 
 
 "Well," she said, softly, "I honor your unwilling 
 ness to give pain ; it s like you though you have 
 made me unhappy, and I will do what I can. Only, 
 if my plan should seem at first extravagant and ab 
 surd to you" ("It won t," said he) "you must re 
 member that I, a woman myself" ("And such a 
 woman !" said he) "understand women better than 
 you can ; yes, and I know something of men, too, to 
 my sorrow ; and you are not to fly off at a tangent, but 
 give heed to what I say, and believe that I have 
 thought it out carefully for your for ~botli our sakes; 
 
138 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Charles, and am not giving you careless or unreason 
 able advice. In fact, you have put your case in my 
 hands, and you must obey me or I cannot manage it." 
 
 Promise ? Obey her ? He was delighted through 
 and through. Obedience implied ownership, in a way 
 he belonged to her. 
 
 " Suppose," said she, " that your unfortunate en 
 gagement need not be broken off at all, but simply be 
 put in the way of dying a natural death, to the mut 
 ual satisfaction of both parties ? What should you 
 say to that ?" 
 
 "I d give anything 
 
 " Would you ? Remember that, for you ll have to 
 give something. 
 
 "Do you remember the details of Miss Willough- 
 by s personal appearance very well ? so, for instance, 
 that you could draw an accurate picture of her if you 
 were an artist ?" 
 
 "No, I don t. Her face seems to have faded out 
 of my memory. I have a general idea of how she 
 looked, but not an exact one." 
 
 "How long is it since you saw her ?" 
 
 "About three years." 
 
 " Ah ! Now suppose Miss Willoughby had a sister." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Suppose that sister was about her height and com 
 plexion, and very much like her in every way." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Suppose you knew nothing of that sister s exist 
 ence ?" 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " And that sister were to come to you now and say, 
 I am Leonora, and were to remind you of things 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 139 
 
 that happened when you were there, and which no 
 one had known but you and Miss Willoughby : would 
 it ever occur to you to doubt that she was your Miss 
 Willoughby, and might you not have married her be 
 lieving her to be the same ?" 
 
 "Why, yes. I suppose so certainly. Why?" 
 
 i( Wait a minute. Let s suppose again. What shall 
 it be this time ? Suppose a certain young man, who 
 shall be nameless, had a brother who was generally 
 considered the scapegrace and black sheep of the 
 family. 
 
 "Suppose that a report never mind what got 
 about, concerning this brother and reached the fa 
 ther s ears, and made him so angry that he turned 
 the scrapegrace brother out of his house and made a 
 new will. 
 
 " Suppose the model brother was quite able to con 
 tradict this report and prove it false, but did not, 
 and allowed the father to die believing it ?" 
 
 Moorhead had turned very red, and white, and red 
 again. "How ? what makes you say that, Helen ?" 
 
 "How do I know it, you mean ? Oh, never mind ! 
 I m just supposing a case. Attend, please, and not 
 interrupt." 
 
 "Very well/ said Moorhead, looking, however, 
 very ill. 
 
 " Then suppose the model brother to be very well- 
 to-do, and the scapegrace to be on the verge of star 
 vation and running to rags all because of the model 
 brother s silence and the consequent testamentary 
 dispositions." 
 
 "Nell!" he cried, "you are unjust. The reason 
 I said nothing was because well because I felt my- 
 
140 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 self to be the best fitted to represent the family and 
 keep the property together as it had been kept for 
 generations and I didn t want to see Tom make 
 ducks and drakes of his share. I would have seen 
 that he got all he wanted I should have felt that I 
 held it in trust for him. I offered him an allowance 
 at once, and he was angry and unreasonable and quar 
 relled with me, on the very day of the funeral, though 
 he didn t know the reason of the will. Imagine quar 
 relling at such a time ! And I haven t heard from him 
 since. I have always taken it for granted he was get 
 ting on well enough, or I should have heard. You 
 are unjust to me, Helen." 
 
 "Will you kindly remember that I am only sup 
 posing a case, and keep still and give your mind to 
 what I say ? What do / know about you and Tom 
 and your affairs ? 
 
 "Now, suppose that the model brother, having far 
 more than he needs, and being blessed with a pecul 
 iarly tender conscience so that he cannot bear to be 
 the cause of suffering, should see a way whereby he 
 can make amends to his brother with great advantage 
 to himself ? Do you think he d do it, Charley ?" 
 
 "If you told him to, I don fc see how he could dis 
 obey !" said Moorhead. 
 
 " Oh ! Well, suppose the model brother, who, after 
 all, has his faults and weaknesses who hasn t ? to 
 have become engaged, by reason of his affectionate 
 nature, to two ladies at once. 
 
 "Why should he not make up with the scapegrace, 
 who by this time has certainly had enough of starva 
 tion and rags and will listen to reason if properly put 
 to him (there s everything in the method of approach) ? 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 141 
 
 Charley, get him home, give him the best of every 
 thing, except the society of marriageable girls, from 
 whom he must be kept clear ; and when he s had a fair 
 taste of enjoyment offer him, not an allowance, which 
 he won t stand, but independence and comfort for life, 
 and beg a favor of him in return. He ll accept, and 
 he ll grant the favor if he s properly managed." 
 
 " The favor is ?" 
 
 " To marry a girl who, by the account of a well- 
 known connoisseur in girls who has had every oppor 
 tunity to form his opinion, is among the most beau 
 tiful of her sex, highly educated, talented, of sweet 
 disposition, an even temper, and who must be, from 
 her peculiarly lonesome position, somewhat easy to 
 win namely, Miss Willoughby !" 
 
 " Tom marry Miss Willoughby ! But how can he ?" 
 
 "Stupid! By-the-way, were you telling me the 
 truth when you happened to say the other day that 
 you had never mentioned Tom to Miss Willoughby ?" 
 
 " I certainly never said a word to her about him." 
 
 <( Mm. Sore subject, perhaps. Now, why do you 
 think I put all those suppositions about a possible 
 sister of hers ? You admitted that you might marry 
 her, did you not ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, this is a parallel case, isn t it ? Only strong 
 er. Tom goes out as you. Ten to one she doesn t 
 know the difference. Feed him up and he s awfully 
 like you. I know, because I saw him a little after 
 I got home ; and even then I thought for a moment 
 it was you, and wondered what on earth you were 
 looking so seedy for. 
 
 " Time makes great changes ; lapse of memory would 
 
142 LEONORA OP THE YAWMtSEI 
 
 account for others. A beard would account for still 
 more difference in looks. 
 
 " Coach him up on all that passed between you. 
 You weren t there long. You can teach him what 
 you remember. What you don t remember isn t nec 
 essary for him to remember either. 
 
 " It seems absurd at first, perhaps ; but when you 
 come to think it over it s feasible enough eh ?" 
 
 " But Tom will never do it. He d never consent 
 to masquerade under my name " 
 
 " Stupid again. What are you generally called,, 
 Charles or Norman ? It s been C. Norman lately, 
 hasn t it ? You never cared much to be called Charley, 
 and you were called so to distinguish you from Tom ? 
 What did she call you in moments of tender ec 
 stasy ?" 
 
 " Norman," said he, flushing, and looking vexed. 
 
 " Exactly. You re C. Norman Moorhead and Tom s 
 T. Norman Moorhead, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, what s to prevent his going as Norman 
 Moorhead, just as you did ?" 
 
 " It s true ; he can, of course. But he won t " 
 
 "I grant you, that s a difficulty. But it isn t by 
 any means insurmountable. I know his character, 
 and I can lead him by it. I don t mind doing him a 
 good turn either. If you do exactly as / tell you you 
 shall get him home, and have him out there and offer 
 ing himself to her before very long. 
 
 " But it it s such a queer thing to do. It seems 
 such a swindle !" 
 
 " Look here, my friend don t accuse me of plan 
 ning a swindle. I won t have it, Charles. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 143 
 
 e( Listen. When you went out there she would have 
 fallen in love with you just the same if your name 
 had been Thomas instead of Charles ? Now suppose., 
 all other things being as they were, you had been some 
 one else than the person you called yourself would 
 that have made any difference ? No ! Then suppose 
 Tom goes out it s he she sees, not you. She accepts 
 him as he is on his own merits. He makes love to 
 her and she returns it. Does she love him any the 
 less or any the more because she thinks he is some 
 one else ? 
 
 " The idea that he is you simply acts as an intro 
 duction to her good graces. 
 
 "If there s any difference in you two so striking 
 that she objects to him, she won t marry him. 
 
 " In such a case he can absolve her. If there s no 
 diiference that she is able to see, I don t see how she s 
 to suffer by it. Do you ?" 
 
 "But it must all come out some time," said Moor- 
 head, somewhat bewildered, "and then " 
 
 "And then ? She simply finds that the man she 
 loves as her husband is not you but some one else. 
 But he s none the less the man she loves. If a girl 
 loves one brother, thinking he s another brother, it 
 doesn t alter the fact that lie and not the other is the 
 one she loves. Does it ? 
 
 " If she finds she loves Tom well enough to marry 
 him, it doesn t matter what his name is, does it ?" 
 
 "But" said Moorhead. 
 
 " But what ?" 
 
 "It s passing off Tom for me." 
 
 " Oh ! Now I get your idea. You think it s pass 
 ing off inferior goods for superior a worse man for a 
 
144 LEONOKA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 better. That s it. I m not sure that I agree with 
 you. Tom s a sterling right good fellow. Is that 
 it?" 
 
 " No/ said Moorhead. 
 
 "Then how is Miss Willoughby injured ?" 
 
 " Perhaps, then, you d rather marry him yourself ?" 
 said Moorhead, testily, dodging the question. 
 
 "I? No, Charley. Perhaps, if I d only a casual 
 acquaintance with you, the result of a few weeks of 
 mutual isolation in a romantic spot, I would rather 
 marry Tom. But you forget. I loved you long ago, 
 and have, to my sorrow, ever since. It s no passing 
 fancy with me no romantic impression. I know 
 your faults, and I love you in spite of them. You 
 are everything to me as I am to you." 
 
 Moorhead was silent awhile. He was quite deeply 
 touched by her devotion, and all she had said seemed 
 plausible enough. 
 
 Certainly, if Leonora should care for Tom enough 
 to marry him, it would be Tom she married and Tom 
 she loved. Every one would be benefited. His own 
 conscience would be free of Tom and Leonora ; they 
 would be happy, and Nelly would be pleased. Nelly 
 would be Mrs. Moorhead. At that thought he looked 
 up with a smile like that of a child who has been led 
 into obedience by the promise of some coveted indul 
 gence. 
 
 " Do you really think this will work, Nell ?" 
 
 "If you do as I tell you it shall ! I am so sure of 
 it that, to prove to you how sure I am, I ll tell you 
 what I will do. If you will promise to try it now, 
 and be guided by me, I will let you formally an 
 nounce our engagement at once !" 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 145 
 
 He jumped at the bait, and before he had gone 
 had taken her orders and promised to obey them to 
 the letter. 
 
 " What a fool a man is when he s in love !" said 
 she, after he had gone. 
 
 "What do /care whether the plan succeeds or 
 not ? She may possibly marry Tom. But one thing 
 I am sure of to go out there and make love to her is 
 just the hare-brained prank that will appeal to Tom 
 and I can remove all his natural scruples on the point 
 of honor, fraud, and so forth. I see my way clear, and 
 if he goes out there and offers himself as he shall 
 it necessarily puts an end to all intercourse between 
 Charles Moorhead and her forever and a day which 
 is all / want. Good of me to let him announce the 
 engagement. If the worst comes to worst it s a bro 
 ken engagement, and one more or less does no harm. 
 But he ll have to marry me now." 
 
XVII 
 
 A MAN sat in a musty office way up in the top of a 
 big ramshackle building. 
 
 Three chairs of doubtful stability, a green table, a 
 threadbare lounge, a pair of shelves with a few second 
 hand law-books, were the furniture of the room. 
 
 The sound of many quick footsteps coming and go 
 ing on the floor below, the rush of elevators, the roar 
 of the busy street outside, added to the lonesomeness 
 of the place, for no one ever came to this room ex 
 cept the man in the chair. 
 
 He had sat there day after day, year in and year 
 ou t not to attend to his business, for he had none ; 
 not in the hope of getting any, for he had given that 
 up long, ago ; not to study his profession, for he had 
 studied it for years with no return, and knew every 
 thing in those books by heart ; but merely because he 
 had nothing else to do unable to find employment or 
 to afford pleasure glad of a refuge where he could 
 hide his shabby raiment and thin hopeless face from 
 the people. 
 
 At night he slept there. 
 
 The office was his home. He was only a tenant at 
 sufferance, long in debt for rent ; but the owner of 
 the building would not press him, and let him stay. 
 He could not have let that office if he had turned 
 the tenant out ; those about it were empty, and he 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 147 
 
 knew that he could get no more out of him in one 
 way than another, "so," said he, "why disturb him ?" 
 
 This delinquent lived by his pen, or rather kept 
 death off at the pen s point. It was hardly living. 
 
 He went out sometimes at night, and prowled in 
 the streets watching the people, and once in a while 
 a face or an incident would impress itself on his 
 mind. Then he would go and brood over it in his 
 solitude and write a morbid story about it. 
 
 Now and then he could sell one of these stories. 
 Then he would get a loaf of bread, a little dried beef, 
 and a bottle. A five-cent loaf lasted him nearly two 
 days. In fact, he was slowly starving. 
 
 He had not sold any stories for a long time, and his 
 money was all gone. He had been two days without 
 food. He could think of nothing new to write his 
 mind was in that state when it preys upon itself and 
 finds no nourishment, so he sat and waited for the end. 
 
 A quick, sharp tread came along the long corridor 
 from the stairs ; a letter came tumbling through the 
 slit in the door. 
 
 He got up slowly, went with a weak step to pick 
 it up, and started when he saw the address. 
 
 " Strange !" he said. " Why does he write now ?" 
 
 He opened it and took out a letter and a check. 
 
 The letter was as follows : 
 
 " WELLWOOD, MASS. 
 
 "DEAR TOM, 
 
 "You wonder, perhaps, at iny writing to you after so long a 
 neglect. 
 
 "You will attribute some selfish motive to me, and you will 
 be right the motive is selfish enough. 
 
 " The ties of flesh and blood are strong, and do not let one go 
 
148 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 so easity. I am lonely, and own that I have a hearty longing to 
 see my own brother. 
 
 "I have treated you ill, Tom, and I wish most earnestly to 
 make amends. 
 
 "Come and see me. I hope you will not take it amiss, from 
 your brother, that I enclose a clieck for your expenses for I 
 must see you, and it may be you do not feel that a visit to me 
 would be worth the price of the journey. 
 
 " Come, and let us be brothers as we were. 
 "With love, 
 
 " C. NORMAN MOORHEAD." 
 
 Thomas Moorhead read the letter and tore it across. 
 He was about to tear the check also, but stopped and 
 thought a moment. His imagination was conjuring 
 up a feast. He saw himself sitting in a cozy supper- 
 room at a little table spread with snow-white cloth. 
 Before him lay a plate with a great porter-house steak, 
 thick and juicy, and mushrooms about the steak. 
 
 The savor seemed to arise to his nostrils. A pewter 
 mug of stinging musty ale stood beside the platter. 
 
 He looked at the check again, and picked up and 
 pieced together the scraps of the letter, which he re 
 read with a look that softened from wrath to doubt, 
 and from doubt to wistfulness. 
 
 Then he put on a seedy hat and went down to a 
 lower floor. 
 
 There he stopped and looked doubtfully at several 
 office doors. 
 
 People coming and going glared suspiciously at the 
 shabby raiment and sharp, pale, eager face. 
 
 After some delay he entered an office and waited 
 there, while the incumbent a fat, pursy real-estate 
 man, gorgeously apparelled described the glories of 
 certain property to a probable buyer. 
 
LEONOKA OP THE YAWMISH 149 
 
 By-and-by the customer departed. The agent turned 
 to the new-comer, and said, genially : 
 
 "And what can I do for you, Mr. - - ? Land for 
 sale, eh? Money scarce at present sell a lot get 
 some new clothes and a shave and a square meal, eh ? 
 Ha, ha !" 
 
 "I have an office on the upper floor," he said. 
 "Thomas Moorhead my name is, you may remember. 
 I came to ask if you would cash a check for me." 
 
 The agent gave him a sudden, quick, sharp look 
 which meant, "You don t play that on me, young 
 man !" then asked, with his accustomed jollity and 
 effusion of manner, " And how large a check ?" 
 
 "Fifty." 
 
 " My dear sir ! So sorry to disoblige haven t got 
 it with me ! Just enough left to get home with ,90 
 sorry ! Good day !" and bowed him out forthwith. 
 
 Tom went to another office. 
 
 A tall, shrewd-looking, iron-gray man greeted him 
 with a cold stare. He had hoped that the junior 
 partner, a pleasant, easy-going, kindly fellow, would 
 have been there, and would have withdrawn, but a 
 sharp " Well, sir ?" stopped him. 
 
 " I wanted to see Mr. Torrey," said he, in his weak 
 voice, "but 
 
 " Mr. Torrey s out. His business and mine are 
 one. What is it ?" 
 
 "I only wanted to ask him to cash a check." 
 
 "H m! Be identified at the bank it s drawn on 
 and cash it there." 
 
 "It s on a Boston bank." 
 
 " Oh ! Then deposit it in your own bank and draw 
 against it. Good clay !" 
 
150 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 He tried another a bustling, red-whiskered indi 
 vidual. 
 
 " Don t cash checks! Busy!" was all the answer 
 he got. 
 
 He went back to his office, and lay down on the 
 threadbare lounge. 
 
 He was exhausted and discouraged, and had been 
 made to feel like a beggar. He did not care to repeat 
 his experience at other offices, and saw little prospect 
 of doing better that afternoon. 
 
 So he lay all night sleepless and growing weaker, 
 with his check in his pocket and no means of buying 
 food. 
 
 Next morning, with a sip or two from the dregs in the 
 bottle to strengthen him, he set out for the office of a 
 paper to which he had sold a story a slight acquaint 
 ance with an assistant editor had been the result. 
 
 " Hullo ! Another MS. ?" said the editor. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Fiction, I suppose ?" 
 
 "No, though everybody that s seen it seems to 
 think it s fiction of the most improbable kind." 
 
 " M-m-m I fear we shouldn t be able to use it. 
 What we want is fiction in the garb of fact not fact 
 that looks like fiction. Truth is seldom very market 
 able ; highly improbable truth is for the scientific and 
 agricultural periodicals only sometimes also for the 
 newspapers. However, leave it, and we ll have it read 
 in due course and let you know. Why, what s the 
 matter ?" 
 
 The visitor had dropped into a chair, and during 
 the editor s remarks had grown visibly paler. It was 
 evident that he was extremely weak. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 151 
 
 "Oh, nothing much/ said he ; "tired, that s all." 
 
 He took his check out of his pocket and held it out 
 with a shaking hand. 
 
 The editor examined it and smiled. 
 
 "Am I to understand that this is a contribution? 
 said he. 
 
 "The price is stated/ said Tom. 
 
 " In short, you d like this cashed ?" 
 
 "I I wouldn t have bothered you/ said the con 
 tributor,, "but the fact is, I know nobody in this 
 city, long as I ve been here, whom I can ask. I ve 
 sat in my office and made no acquaintances. I knew 
 one or two, but they have fallen off. Now, for two 
 days and more I ve been without food, and this has 
 just been sent me by a relation. Last night I tried 
 to get it cashed and failed ; I ve been all night with 
 this upon me, unable to get a bite. Now if you ll 
 oblige me, I ll gladly wait while you wire to that 
 bank, if you wish, to see that it s all right." 
 
 "My dear fellow," said the editor, "I won t keep 
 you so long. Just endorse it, and sit there a minute." 
 
 He ran down to the cashier s office. " Cash this, 
 please," said he. 
 
 " All right, I suppose ?" said the cashier. 
 
 "I ll endorse it myself, if you prefer," said the ed 
 itor, and did so. 
 
 " There," he said, a minute later, putting the 
 proceeds in his visitor s hand, "your contribution is 
 accepted, and there s the remuneration. And remem 
 ber, in future, that when you find any difficulty in dis 
 posing of that sort of article it always takes here, and 
 brings more a line than any other kind. Bring em to 
 me for personal inspection. Don t mention it. I ve 
 
152 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 been in the same fix myself many a time, in the old 
 days. I know what it is, and all about it." 
 
 The assistant editor s mind was running on the 
 time when he too had been shabby and friendless, and, 
 as he said, he knew. 
 
 "Now look here/ said he, "it s time for lunch. 
 I m going with you, if you don t mind. I nearly 
 killed myself eating too fast once, when I was in the 
 same cheerful predicament, and I m to look after you. 
 We lunch together Dutch treat. These little ex 
 periences hurt ; but they re our stock-in-trade after 
 wards, you know. Write it up and make a yarn of it, 
 eh ? and sell it." 
 
 The feeling of money in a long-empty pocket is a 
 wondrous restorative. It is sad to realize how much 
 one s strength may depend on the mere presence of 
 that talisman which opens the hearts and storehouses 
 of men to the possessor and how little in compari 
 son is the effect of intrinsic worth on one s self 
 and others. One would think that conscience it 
 self spoke to a man according to his means, and 
 upbraided him sorely with the shame of an empty 
 pocket. But that is probably because too many of 
 us insist on carrying what we call our consciences 
 in our pockets. 
 
 At all events, Thomas, who a few minutes before 
 had been almost ashamed to speak to his fellow-beings 
 and had carried himself after a guilty fashion, now 
 freshened in his aspect like a plant in a shower after a 
 long drought. 
 
 He squared his shoulders and held up his head 
 his eye brightened, and he looked the world in the 
 face with an aspect of cheerful self-respect that made 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH Io3 
 
 even his shabby garments seem things of his own 
 choice dignified by his upright presence. 
 
 He accepted the assistant editor s offer with grate 
 ful courtesy. They went to a neighboring quiet lunch 
 room. 
 
 Tom looked ravenously at the bill of fare. 
 
 "Roast turkey " he began. 
 
 " Pardon me/ said his companion, " we begin with 
 soup, and not too rich at that/ 7 and ordered con 
 somme. 
 
 "You mustn t rush headlong at substantial fare/ 
 said he. " Just leave the ordering to me, will you ?" 
 
 After the soup came raw oysters then eggs, soft- 
 boiled. 
 
 "There/ said the editor, "that s all you can have 
 for the present ; in an hour beef and beer. Now I 
 must leave you. Good luck to you. Write it up, eh ? 
 Send you another check and cash it for you, too, if 
 need be. Good-bye." 
 
 "Now for some trousers and a shave," said the 
 nouveau riche, prodigally. "The coat may remain in 
 statu quo not because it can, but because it must. 
 These shoes will last, with new lacings, till I get 
 there. Well, it 11 be good to be at home again. I 
 wonder what Charley is up to, anyway ? Somehow I 
 can t but think he really means it." 
 
 He went back to his office, stopping on the way to 
 buy the necessary articles. Once he stopped doubt 
 fully before a bootblack s stand ; but, ashamed to sub 
 mit such a disreputable chaussure to the critical eyes 
 of the Professor of Calcear Polition, bought some 
 blacking instead and performed the function for him 
 self in privacy, having due regard to rips and worn 
 
154 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISI1 
 
 places, and inserting a piece of law-calf (taken from 
 the one remaining cover of Byles on Bills) in the sole 
 of the right shoe, through which the ball of his foot 
 had gradually made its way to Mother Earth. 
 
 He locked his office door, put upon the outside the 
 businesslike legend 
 
 "Out of town will return hereafter," 
 
 and at three o clock, with a large valise of withered 
 and empty aspect, boarded a train, whereby he arrived 
 that evening at the village of Wellwood. 
 
XVIII 
 
 WELLWOOD was a pleasant little New England vil 
 lage, with its elm - arched street, its bit of common 
 where the hoys played hall, its trim little white houses 
 with green blinds, its railroad station, smithy, post- 
 office, and general store, its rival meeting-houses, and 
 great area of outlying farms. 
 
 Some miles out of it the Moorheads had long had 
 broad lands and a great house, that had been their 
 summer home from generation to generation. 
 
 "Well, Tom, at last !" cried some one, cordially, as 
 the new-comer stepped off the train, and a well-gloved 
 hand rested on his shoulder with possessive good-fel 
 lowship. 
 
 " Hullo, Charley ! I came, you see." 
 " It s good of you, Tom. I ve missed you lately 
 but we ll talk of that at home. Good heavens, old 
 man, how you ve changed !" Charles cried, with a look 
 of dismay which Tom observed and set down to his 
 credit. "That s genuine, apparently," he thought. 
 "Seems really troubled at my looks. Perhaps he 
 means what he says, and did actually want to see me 
 again. 
 
 "Yes," said he, when they were side by side in the 
 carriage that was to take them home; "as you say, 
 I ve changed. The practice of law ages a fellow 
 takes away the blush of youth. Anxiety for the wel- 
 
156 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 fare of countless clients has doubtless sharpened my 
 features ; the constant atmosphere of courts of justice 
 and the conduct of important trials have imparted so 
 lemnity to my visage ; the responsibility of managing 
 large and weighty trusts these things, Charley, crush 
 out youth and make a man elderly before his time." 
 
 " Where s your baggage ?" said Charles. 
 
 " Here," said Tom, holding up the starved hand 
 bag. " Should have brought more, but hadn t it." 
 
 Charles looked at the lean and hungry bag, then at 
 the polished coat, frayed of braid and button. 
 
 " I fear," said he, looking a little pleased, Tom 
 thought, "practice is less profitable than laborious. 
 What is your specialty, old man ?" 
 
 " Don t know yet," said Tom. " General practice, 
 so far. Still waiting for client. When a client turns 
 up I shall find out." 
 
 "Ah, well, you were never cut out for a lawyer, 
 Tom. We ll try and find something for you to do. 
 Dear old boy, it s good to see you again !" 
 
 They rolled along behind a handsome pair of grays 
 over a road that wound in and out between low hills 
 and sunny pastures ; through pleasant, feathery woods, 
 and over brooks fringed with willows ; past bright, 
 level meadows and neat farm-houses that stood white 
 among their elms and maples homely scenes full of 
 present sweetness and old memories for both the 
 brothers. 
 
 Here were pools they had fished or swum in, or 
 chards they had robbed, woods where they had shot, 
 windows they had broken ; even old Joel Bently, 
 whom once, as Indians, they had pelted with the eggs 
 of his own setting-hen from the bushes by the road, 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 157 
 
 and who now glowered at them from his barn door 
 as they passed, for he had never forgotten the loss 
 of his eggs and personal dignity. 
 
 Tom, whose spirits were rising fast, recalled the in 
 cident. "How was it that I got the thrashing for 
 that and you escaped ?" said he, trying to remember. 
 "You planned the whole thing, you know, Charley, 
 and got me into it." 
 
 " You were rash, Tom. You were always that, you 
 know. I had my alibi prepared beforehand." 
 
 "You generally did," said Tom. "Look there! 
 I believe that s the same old turkey we slew and 
 cooked in the woods and ate !" 
 
 "That was twelve years ago." 
 
 " Never mind ; account for it as you will, it s the 
 same good old turkey to me, and I ought to remember, 
 for I was the poor wretch that got caught and identi 
 fied with the crime, as usual. My memory is keen." 
 
 So was that of Charles. He thought, not without 
 a certain self- complaisance, how he had put that 
 turkey s feathers 011 Tom s clothes and adroitly drawn 
 paternal attention to their presence, knowing that 
 Tom would say nothing of his share in the matter, 
 and that justice, satisfied with a victim, would look 
 no further, and would leave himself in peace and 
 safety. But he only said : 
 
 "You were careless, Tom. The feathers gave you 
 away." 
 
 " Yes, the bird is revealed by his feathers, the 
 carpenter by his chips, the man by the company he 
 keeps." 
 
 " Meaning me ?" 
 
 "Not at all. The turkey." 
 
158 LEONOHA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 So they went on, indulging in reminiscences, from 
 some of which the coachman, if he had heard, and 
 had been addicted to the summing up of evidence, 
 might have gathered that Tom had been a merry, 
 mischievous, harum-scarum youth, always in trouble, 
 and Charles singularly successful in escaping his de 
 serts at Tom s expense. Yet it was Tom who dwelt 
 most fondly on the recollections. 
 
 Some six miles from the village they turned be 
 tween two massive gate-posts of granite up an avenue 
 arched with old elms, between broad lawns, set off 
 with well-grown trees and shrubs, to the porte-cochere 
 of a yellow colonial house, whose overhanging front 
 was supported on eight tall pillars. 
 
 A man in livery opened the door to them, and Tom 
 stood in his boyhood s home for the first time in five 
 years. 
 
 When he had removed the dust of travel and had 
 put on some of his brother s clothes, which hung 
 rather loosely on his emaciated frame, the two sat 
 down to a delicious dinner. 
 
 It was the first time in years that Tom had really 
 dined. He had eaten when he could, but dining and 
 mere eating are as widely different as verse and po 
 etry. He did ample justice to the meal, and his 
 brother watched him with pleasure. 
 
 " We re quite alone, as you see," said Charles, as 
 they lit their cigars after dinner. 
 
 "Naturally," said Tom. "Who would think of 
 showing off his disreputable brother ? Not you, 
 Charley." 
 
 "Now, it s not that, as you know, Tom," said 
 Charles, with a proper touch of indignation in his 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 159 
 
 voice. "I have some people coming soon. But I 
 thought I d like to have you to myself a few days 
 first. It s been a long time, and Fve been much to 
 blame for not looking you up before. But Fve been 
 drifting here and there, and somehow Fve always im 
 agined you prosperous and busy at the law. By-the- 
 way, it s lucky those clothes are a bit loose for you 
 now. They ll be tight before we can get new ones 
 made if that appetite of yours holds." 
 
 " Yes/ said Tom, cheerfully, " the law gives a 
 fellow an appetite if nothing else." 
 
 " Tell me more about the law, old chap." 
 
 "Really," said Tom, "I haven t seen much of it. 
 I ve hunted it, and fished for it, and lain in wait for 
 it ; but, up to date, it don t bite. I never wanted to 
 go in for it, you know." 
 
 " Then why did you do it ?" 
 
 " To please the shade of our uncle. It was always 
 a dream of Uncle Tom s, you know, that I should 
 follow in his footsteps. He left me his library on 
 condition that I would. Then father got the idea, 
 by collateral descent, from Uncle Tom. He thought 
 the library a grand start in life. He said it was too 
 good to be lost ; that there had always been a lawyer 
 in the family ; that it was a pity it had been left to 
 me, because you would have made a better one, ex 
 cept, that you were perhaps a shade too scrupulous; 
 but that I must learn to live up to it, otherwise it 
 would lapse into Uncle Tom s estate. 
 
 " I said, Let it lapse ! Then mother, almost 
 ready to cry, said it was a shame to speak so and 
 thwart Uncle Tom s dearest wishes, when he had al 
 ways had his heart set on my being a lawyer because 
 
160 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISU 
 
 I bore his name, and that if Uncle Tom knew of it 
 it would cause him the deepest grief. 
 
 " I had my theological and psychical doubts as to 
 whether Uncle Tom would care, but it was plain that 
 mother really did care ; so I held my peace and sub 
 mitted, and passed the rest of my existence burdened 
 with that library and trying to live up to it." 
 
 You haven t been practising all these years ?" 
 
 ( No, no not quite. I had a little money to begin 
 with, and wandered about in the West seeking prac 
 tice, of course. I didn t find it. If there s a place 
 more overrun, swarming, and infested with legal lu 
 minaries than the East it is the West. Office -rent 
 is higher there, too. I couldn t get a place to store 
 the library in. I was paying storage on it in the East, 
 and didn t care to add the expense of shipping it till 
 I should find some use for it. 
 
 " Meanwhile the funds steadily ran out. One morn 
 ing a big bill came for storage, with a notice that if 
 the bill was not paid within a certain time the books 
 would be sold. 
 
 " I overhauled the exchequer, and found I d enough 
 to pay it and a few dollars over. 
 
 " Out of regard to family feeling, and the shade of 
 Uncle Tom, and a sense that if it must be sold Fd 
 better sell it myself, I paid, and then went with a 
 light heart to look for a job, meaning to earn enough 
 to go East on. 
 
 " I d always had a theory that an able-bodied fel 
 low who was willing to do any kind of work, no mat 
 ter what, could always make his living somehow. I 
 found my mistake and nothing else living mean 
 while on dry bread. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 161 
 
 " Had any experience ? was the invariable answer 
 to my request for employment, and my undeviating 
 reply was No ! Whereupon I wasn t wanted. 
 
 "One man said he d try me if I had good refer 
 ences. I hadn t. But at last I got a job as a roust 
 about on a Columbia Eiver boat. Then I earned 
 enough to come part way East with, thrashed the 
 captain of the boat for value received, and started. 
 
 " Got as far as Wyoming. There I struck a sheep- 
 ranch, where I stopped overnight. It was run by 
 three brothers strapping big collegemen with ath 
 letic records, and about as much knowledge of sheep- 
 raising or any other practical thing as I had of preach 
 ing. 
 
 " They wanted a fourth man to play whist with 
 winter nights and make up a set of tennis in summer, 
 and, incidentally, a herder ; so they employed me. 
 
 s The life was not so bad, but the ranch broke, for 
 they lost sheep right and left, not knowing how to 
 take care of em. 
 
 So they decided to go home, and paid me off, and 
 I came East. I d saved quite a bit wages are high 
 out there, especially when one plays good cards and 
 tennis with his employers. 
 
 " With what was left I hired an office, painted a 
 shingle, and sat down to practise. 
 
 " Couldn t afford much of an office. 
 
 " Mine was high up-stairs ; nobody ever came there 
 except to collect rent, which they didn t, as a rule, 
 get. 
 
 " Lived on proceeds of the library, which I sold, a 
 few volumes at a time. Second-hand books don t 
 
 bring much, and soon the library and proceeds were 
 11 
 
162 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 gone. Wrote a story or two, but didn t make much at 
 that. Can t lie freely ; my mendacity was crippled 
 in early youth. Made enough to buy dry bread, so I 
 lived on that with intervals of nothing. There you 
 have it all up to date." 
 
 "Poor old fellow," said Charles, affectionately. 
 " You have had a time of it. Why didn t you write to 
 me?" 
 
 "Why, you seemed to wish to be regarded as a 
 stranger, Charley. Your offer of an allowance the 
 day we parted well, I suppose now that you meant it 
 all right, but your manner was unbearable ! You 
 see, I was nettled at being so left out in the cold ; 
 and at the same time I was awfully cut up about our 
 mutual loss, and at our father s having been unwill 
 ing to see me at the last ; and in my state of mind it 
 seemed to me that you were so elated at the will that 
 you hadn t a feeling to spare for him or for me. And 
 when you came out with your offer, that seemed to 
 rub it in somehow." 
 
 " Thank Heaven, he doesn t suspect me of having 
 worked against him!" thought Charles. "Well," he 
 said, in a forgiving and conciliatory tone, " no more of 
 that now. We ll just devote ourselves to having a 
 good time and getting into condition, eh ? And 
 please remember that I m your brother, and that all I 
 have is yours at all events, until you are on a good, 
 solid financial basis of your own." 
 
 Every day Tom s natural affection for Charles, great 
 originally, became strengthened by constant kindness 
 and the interchange of pleasant sentiments, and the 
 result was that he was ready to do almost anything 
 for Charley. 
 
XIX 
 
 TIME went on, and Tom was still with his brother, 
 enjoying himself immensely. The hollows in his 
 cheeks were no more. He was clad in the best. He 
 rode, fished, sang, boated, and helped his brother in 
 the ordering of improvements and the management 
 of the estate. He would have been entirely happy but 
 for two things. First, he did not quite like visiting 
 as a profession, and he had no other means of sup 
 port. He occasionally told Charles that he thought 
 it time to look about for work that he felt himself a 
 burden. 
 
 This was just what Charles wanted. It was the 
 effect Mrs. Merivale had desired him to produce. 
 But he would not hear of it from Tom. 
 
 "Who feels the burden/ said Charles, Socratical- 
 ly " the man who bears it or another ?" 
 
 "The man who bears it, to be sure," said Tom. 
 
 " Good. Now you say you feel yourself a burden. 
 Therefore you bear the burden, and are a burden to 
 yourself, for no one else feels the weight you talk 
 about. Don t complain of your own burden. There s 
 logic for you. I could go on, and prove to you in 
 like manner 
 
 " Spare me !" said Tom. 
 
 " That s just what I can t do," said Charles, laying 
 his hand on Tom s shoulder and smiling. " I can t 
 
164 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 spare you yet. You are all I have, you know, and, 
 seriously, if you insist on regarding yourself not as a 
 brother but as a matter of business, I can t get on 
 without you at present. I should have to pay a law 
 yer I beg pardon, any other lawyer untold sums to 
 do what you are doing for me in the way of deeds, 
 leases, advice, and so forth. But we won t put it on 
 that ground, boy. Can t I have the pleasure of my 
 own brother s companionship awhile without his talk 
 ing nonsense about burdens ? In a time of trou 
 ble, too !" And Charles sighed, plaintively. 
 
 This was the other matter that had marred Tom s 
 pleasure. It was clear to him that Charles had some 
 thing on his mind that distressed him. He was often 
 abstracted, moody, and silent rallying with an effort, 
 it seemed when spoken to, and wearing a becoming 
 but unaccountable melancholy. 
 
 Tom was thoroughly affectionate, and very grateful 
 to his brother. He had quite got over the idea that 
 Charles wanted to get something out of him in re 
 turn for this sudden kindness; indeed, what was 
 there to get ? " A time of trouble, old man ?" said he. 
 
 " Yes," said Charles ; "I m not over-happy, to tell 
 the truth." 
 
 "I thought so," said Tom. "Now, my dear boy, 
 tell me all about it." 
 
 "No, no ; I won t bother you with it, Tommy. It s 
 nothing much. None of our earthly troubles are, 
 when you come to think of them. After all, why 
 should a man have happiness, if there be such a 
 thing ? What good would it do ?" 
 
 "The deuce! it is something serious," Tom 
 thought. "Look here, Charley," he said, "don t 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 165 
 
 talk any more of that. You call it philosophy/ I call 
 it rot. Let s have facts and not absurd generalities. 
 Come, tell me ; and let me help you, if I can." 
 
 "Help me! I d tell you in a moment if you 
 could by any human possibility. But you can t, and 
 so I won t bore you with a lot of uninteresting details. 
 Come, let s run out and get some air." 
 
 They went out and walked together up a winding 
 rocky road on to the hills, lazily, in the heat of a 
 sunny summer afternoon. 
 
 A farm-house stood alone on a high barren place, 
 in accordance with the plan steadfastly adhered unto 
 by the early New-Englander of building in as inacces 
 sible a solitude as he could find, and then approach 
 ing it by a devious road, going every now and then 
 over the crest of a hill to take his bearings. 
 
 They stopped here, attracted by a well with mossy 
 stone curb and old-fashioned sweep and bucket, and 
 were greeted by a stout old dame, who sat before her 
 door knitting. 
 
 "Well, if tain t the two young fellers from the 
 big house down below ! What s brought ye away up 
 here afoot, too! such a hot day? Ye must be 
 pretty spry, both on ye ; but I guess the hill took it 
 out n ye some \" 
 
 " It did," said Tom. And he emptied the tin 
 dipper that stood on the curb. 
 
 "Land !" said the old woman, "to think o seein 
 you two ag in ! How you ve growed !" 
 
 " Garrulous old toad !" said Charles, muttering im 
 patiently. 
 
 " An inconsistent metaphor, dear boy," said Tom. 
 "The toad is seldom, if ever, garrulous." 
 
166 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 " Then why can t she keep still like the others, and 
 let us alone ?" 
 
 "You re touchy this morning/ said Tom, and 
 turned courteously to the old woman. " Yes/ he 
 said, " we have grown, but that is not our fault. We 
 would have continued gladly in the form and garb of 
 boyhood, but time has not permitted us." 
 
 "Wai," said the old woman, beaming at him for 
 his kindly manner, "I don t know what you re 
 a-talkin about with all them words, but you ve told 
 me one thing pretty plain I was jest a-goin to ask 
 ye which one of ye was which ; I couldn t hardly tell 
 ye apart first off, but now I know. You re th one 
 they useter call Tom : always real pleasant an affable 
 an social an a-pokin fun ; an the solemn, sour feller, 
 he s Charley. Ain t ye, now ?" 
 
 This incident and speech seemed to have an unac 
 countably cheering effect on Charles. Instead of 
 sneering at what he would have generally called "the 
 impudence of the creature," he looked hard at his 
 brother, and answered, pleasantly, " Yes, we re a great 
 deal alike, aren t we ?" standing beside Tom for com 
 parison. 
 
 "Wai, yer faces ain t so very like, but I d know ye 
 apart when I see ye together," said she, critically. 
 "His n" pointing a fat finger at Tom "hez more 
 life in it than your n, an don t look so kinder dolly, 
 but yer motions an height an build are pretty near 
 the same ; an I guess if I see either one o ye alone 
 I wouldn t hardly know which one it was not till I 
 got to know ye good." 
 
 Charles patted his brother on the back. "It s a 
 compliment to both of us, madam," he said, cheerily. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 167 
 
 " Wouldn t ye like to buy some fresh eggs ?" said 
 the old woman, taking advantage of the mood of her 
 public to find a market ; and Charles bought a dozen 
 then and there, and gave them to Tom to carry home. 
 
 All the way he was unusually merry, and Tom, de 
 lighted with his spirits, did his best to keep them up. 
 The next morning, however, Charles was moody again 
 and so remained. Sometimes Tom, looking up, saw 
 his eyes fixed upon him with a queer, calculating ex 
 pression, and when they met his glance they turned 
 away. 
 
XX 
 
 THOMAS MOOKHEAD came down one morning and 
 found his brother sitting at a table with his face on 
 his arms. He did not move as Tom came in, and the 
 latter stood,, doubtful whether to speak to him or go 
 away. 
 
 When Charles finally raised his head his face was 
 so sad and rueful, and his tone as he said " Good- 
 morning" so woe-begone, that Tom did not answer 
 at all, but held out his hand in sympathy. Charles 
 grasped it, pressed it warmly, and said nothing. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter, old fellow ?" said Tom. 
 
 " Oh, nothing more than usual." 
 
 "Now, my boy," said Tom, almost angrily, "we ve 
 had enough of this. What s the matter ? You must 
 tell me. It s something very serious to affect you as 
 it does, and I can t bear to see you so moping and 
 blue. Out with it !" 
 
 " I ought not to have made such an exhibition of 
 weakness/ said Charles, "but you took me rather by 
 surprise. It is not so very serious, perhaps at least, 
 it might not strike a stranger so but it s life and 
 death to me." 
 
 "I m no stranger," said Tom; "I m the nearest 
 friend you have, and what is serious to you is serious 
 to me." 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 169 
 
 " You d laugh at me if I told you/ said Charles, 
 shaking his head mournfully. 
 
 "You ought to know me better, Charley." 
 
 "All right ; if you will have it, here it is. I didn t 
 mean to bore you with my affairs. I m engaged to 
 two girls at once !" 
 
 "The deuce you are!" said Tom. "I knew, of 
 course, you were engaged to Nelly Mrs. Merivale, 
 nee Trask and thought that was enough. But I 
 didn t know there was another. My poor boy ! Wom 
 en are the very Old Nick incarnate! /know that!" 
 Tom s knowledge of women was culled chiefly from 
 his dealings with one or two landladies and washer 
 women to whom he owed money, and, like most men 
 of such experience, he had very pronounced views on 
 the subject. " They are the very Old Nick! But I 
 never thought you d get trapped. Break with em 
 both and begin over ! You can stand a breach-of- 
 promise suit or two." 
 
 " Thanks for your advice. But they are not that 
 kind," said Charles, with a slight sneer. " Breach- 
 of -promise suits are not in their line. And as for 
 breaking with them both, I won t break with Nelly, 
 and I don t see how to break with the other. If you 
 knew her you would understand." 
 
 " How did you ever come to do it ?" said Tom, sor 
 rowfully. 
 
 "It s a long, dismal story," said his brother. "You 
 know Mrs. Merivale ?" 
 
 "Yes ; used to know her Nelly Trask ; she mar 
 ried old Merivale for his money." 
 
 " "Well, Tom, before she did that she was forced 
 into it, mind, by her scheming old mother and her 
 
170 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 brute of a father, poor thing ! she was practically en 
 gaged to me. Suddenly she went off without a word 
 to me about it." (Charles had never known that Mr. 
 Merivale had been educating Miss Helen while he 
 himself was making love to her. ) 
 
 " Now she has come back ten times lovelier than 
 before sorrow beautifies some faces wonderfully ; 
 and as soon as I saw her I felt as fond of her as ever. 
 I knew I had never got over it. 
 
 " We talked over old times, and I learned how she 
 had been dragged and driven to the altar. 
 
 " When I saw her I was engaged already to another 
 girl, and then I knew that my other engagement was 
 a sheer mistake. Certainly no man has a right to 
 marry any woman when any other woman can make 
 him feel as Nelly Merivale made me. 
 
 " She told me too, Nelly did, in the sweet inno 
 cence of her heart, that she still cared for me, 
 though of course while Mr. Merivale lived she had 
 done her best to get over it ; that she knew it was 
 wrong, but that she had never been able to help being 
 fond of me ; that in her wretchedness, after her cruel 
 marriage, she loved me in spite of herself, and turned 
 to me for comfort. 
 
 " Of course I could only meet that avowal by one 
 of my own, and before I knew it I was engaged again. 
 I wouldn t undo it now, for I feel that Nelly and I 
 belong to each other, and that under the circumstances 
 I have no right to marry any one but her. Have I ?" 
 
 "Why, no, I suppose not ; still, it would seem that 
 the other girl has a sort of lien; but then, according to 
 your account, Nelly Trask s original lien would seem 
 to take precedence of hers, unless, indeed, the mar- 
 
LEONOKA OP THE YAWMISH 171 
 
 riage to Abner Merivale acted as a waiver of her claim 
 on you ; but then, on the other hand, a waiver must be 
 sua sponte of one s own free will and the marriage 
 was not sua sponte, but under a sort of duress coer 
 cion, so to speak, by her father and mother. Yes, 
 I m inclined to think that, according to your state 
 ment of the case, dear Nelly s prior claim holds good 
 as against the other s subsequent one. But how are 
 you to make the other see that ?" said the legal broth 
 er, stroking his chin and raising one eyebrow. 
 
 " Ah, there it is !" cried Charles, in a voice of 
 misery. " How am I to break it to Leonora, who is de 
 voted to me too, and has waited is waiting patient 
 ly for me till our marriage becomes possible. What 
 shall I do ? It s disgraceful ! pitiful ! maddening I" 
 
 Charles was not a bad actor, and indeed he had but 
 little need to act. It was disgraceful and all the rest, 
 and he felt it keenly. His face could be expressive 
 enough when he chose, and now it was such a picture 
 of woe that the tears of sympathy almost came to the 
 younger brother s eyes not at the facts, which were 
 commonplace enough, he thought, and somewhat ab 
 surd, but at the anguish of the man who related them. 
 
 " Tell me about the other girl/ said Tom. 
 
 Charles described Leonora almost as well as she de 
 served to be described as well as he could, in fact 
 and enlarged on her love for himself till Tom began 
 to sympathize strongly with the lonely, lovely girl 
 breaking her heart in the wilderness for this faithless 
 brother of his. 
 
 " Charley," he said, "how could you do it ? I see 
 that you have no right to marry her if you really love 
 Nelly Trask, or even if you only think you do. But 
 
172 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 why liow could you do it ? Are you sure you re fonder 
 of Nelly ?" 
 
 ( My dear Tom, how could I know ? I am fonder 
 of Nelly, yes, but I didn t know it then. It seemed 
 all right at the time. Nelly had seemed irrecoverably 
 lost to me, and I had made up my mind to forget her 
 had forgotten her. It wasn t till I saw her again that 
 I knew what a mistake I had made. I may be a 
 brute, but I can t help it any more than any other 
 brute. It was all wrong, but I didn t know it ; how 
 could I ?" 
 
 There was little said after that. Tom was aston 
 ished. He had had no idea that his brother was a 
 man of so much feeling, and was deeply touched by 
 his sorrow and by the humility with which he owned 
 himself in the wrong a thing he had never known 
 him to do before. 
 
 That night Charles wrote to Mrs. Merivale : 
 
 "DEAR NELLY, 
 
 "I am carrying out your instructions most successfully, and 
 I think you ll acknowledge ably. The results are, so far, all 
 that could be wished. 
 
 "Tom is living on the fat of the land, and blesses me as a 
 most affectionate brother. I think he d almost cut his hand off 
 to do me a service, he is so grateful. 
 
 "He was really in a most wretched condition, starving in 
 fact, a disgrace to the family and my letter, it seems, with its 
 timely enclosure, just saved him. 
 
 "So besides being naturally fond of his dear brother, he al 
 most worships me as the being who Las brought him from 
 misery into luxury and pleasure. 
 
 "He is like me. A woman in the neighborhood, the other 
 day, could hardly tell which of us was which. 
 
 " I have reluctantly, of course told him my sad story, and 
 while he does his best to console his poor erring brother, and 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 173 
 
 would, I think, do anything to help me out of my scrape, it is 
 plain that he has deep sympathy for Miss Willoughby. I have 
 taken pains, as you suggested, to enhance this sympathy with 
 harrowing descriptions of her forlorn plight and glowing ac 
 counts of her beauty, and I m not exaggerating when I tell you 
 that he s actually falling in love with her On hearsay. 
 
 "I will propose the scheme to him at once unless you have 
 something further to suggest. I only wait your reply eagerly, 
 as I do every word from you. 
 
 " Strange as it seems, I think he will go in for it. 
 
 "Now, does not your servant deserve some reward? May I 
 not come down and see you soon ? 
 
 "Ever devotedly yours, 
 
 " C. NORMAN MOORHEAD." 
 
 Mrs. Merivale laughed when she read the letter, and 
 repeated her favorite aphorism: "What fools men 
 are ! Both of them twisted round a woman s little 
 finger, and one of them congratulating himself on the 
 fact as evidence of his sagacity and acuteness. A rare 
 diplomat, this Charley of mine ! Yes, mine he is, ab 
 solutely ; and he ll make a good husband. Come up 
 and see me ? I think not, my friend. I shall see 
 enough of you by-and-by. You are about the most 
 agreeable man I know, to be sure ; but as sure as I 
 let you come you ll wax sentimental. Also, you re in 
 your most self-congratulatory frame of mind." 
 
 Mrs. Merivale was not at her best. She was still 
 recuperating after a long season, and taking great 
 care of her roses, which were not far from fading. So 
 she did not wish Moorhead to see her, and sent him 
 a dainty note : 
 
 "My DEAR CHARLEY (or C. Norman, if you like it better), 
 
 " You certainly deserve, as you say, a reward, and I deeply 
 regret that all I can give you at present is my thanks for tak- 
 
174 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 ing my advice and my congratulations on having done it so ex 
 tremely well. 
 
 " I am almost famished for a sight of you you know that ! 
 but one is not altogether one s own mistress, you know, and I 
 am promised at the Egertons for a couple of weeks. I m so 
 sorry, Charley ! If you had only written sooner! You can t 
 come to the Egertons , but be patient and b} -and-by ! 
 
 "Besides, there s another reason that makes it absolutely im 
 possible for you to come, 
 
 "What are you thinking of? The idea of leaving Tom at 
 this critical juncture is too absurd. He needs all your atten 
 tion, and it s my positive command to you I don t give one 
 often, you know, but when I do I mean it that you stay with 
 him till he starts on his mission westward. It is imperative 
 that you do so. You will, won t you ? When he has gone you 
 may come. Good-bye, from yours, 
 
 "NELLY." 
 
 "P.S. Yes, tell him, by all means, at once, and lose no time 
 in coaching him up, so that lie may start as soon as possible, 
 for I won t marry you while that engagement lasts and, Char 
 ley, I m tired of waiting ! Now do as I tell you. Preserve a 
 deep and unbecoming melancholy before my brother-in-law 
 elect, enlarge on your sorrows, and extract from him, if you 
 can, a wish that he might be able to help you. 
 
 " Say it s impossible Or no ! 
 
 " Did I say I was going to the Egertons ? I won t. You shall 
 see me, but you needn t come; I ll go and see you. Invite some 
 people ; invite me among them. Get Mrs. Bradlee, your cousin, 
 to preside and matronize I know she s dying to, or will be 
 directly she hears of it and have her send your invitations. 
 
 "I ll come, and I ll manage Thomas ; leave him to me, bless 
 him ! 
 
 " Do?i t ask any pretty girls. It is of the greatest importance 
 that he should be unattached and uninterested here. 
 
 " Ask the Wymans he s safe with them and a few staid 
 elderly people friends of your ancestors poor relations 
 anything of that kind. 
 
 "Do it now. "N." 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 175 
 
 Wherewith she called on Mrs. Bradlee, and made 
 herself so agreeable that that lady was filled with 
 pleasant memories of her own charming youth, highly 
 approved of the sweet, modest, young lady a widow, 
 and yet a mere child ! and inly complimented Char 
 ley on his good taste, and rejoiced that he had escaped 
 from that backwoods entanglement. 
 
XXI 
 
 MRS. BEADLEE was delighted, as the astute Nelly 
 had prophesied, to matronize Wellwood. She was 
 well pleased too at the list of Charles s guests. They 
 were all old friends, as Mrs. Merivale had proposed, 
 "of his ancestors," and she felt that the young head 
 of the family was showing a highly proper respect for 
 the last generation. She suggested, indeed, a few 
 young girls and their mammas, but Charles called her 
 attention to the fact of Tom. 
 
 Tom was a dangerous ineligible wild, penniless, 
 attractive. He wished to keep him away from girls 
 for his own sake and theirs till he had succeeded 
 in putting him on a sound and solvent basis. It 
 would not be the Thing to present such an unknown 
 quantity as Tom at Charles s own house to maidens 
 who, it was to be hoped, would do better for them 
 selves. 
 
 "Quite right and very thoughtful of you," said 
 Mrs. Bradlee. "Still, if Tom could make a good 
 marriage " 
 
 "It is not to be thought of at present. He is too 
 flighty," said the affectionate brother. 
 
 Mrs. Bradlee went down to "Wellwood, issued the 
 invitations, and the guests arrived. 
 
 Everybody behaved well. The ancestral friends 
 played whist, took tea, and drove about in state. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 177 
 
 Mrs. Merivale was Mrs. Bradlee s right hand, and 
 went about making everybody comfortable. She treat 
 ed Tom with a shy reserve very becoming to a sister- 
 in-law elect, who felt herself, as it were, on probation. 
 She seemed constantly trying in small ways, wistfully, 
 to win his approval. 
 
 "Well, Tom," said Charles, one day, "what do you 
 think of my choice ?" 
 
 "A lovely woman, sweetened by sorrow/ said Tom. 
 
 " What does he say ?" Mrs. Merivale asked, after 
 wards. 
 
 "He says you re a lovely woman, sweetened by 
 sorrow/ 
 
 " Oh, he says that, does he ? He s right," said Mrs. 
 Merivale. " Then he s ripe for plucking. I ll speak 
 to him to-day, Charley/ 
 
 She found Tom smoking in a secluded spot. He 
 laid aside his pipe and mentioned the beauty of the 
 afternoon. 
 
 "Mr. Moorhead/ said she,. hesitating, "I know you 
 don t want to be bothered, but I wish to ask your ad 
 vice and help." 
 
 "I m all at your service," said he. 
 
 " Charles your brother has of course he has 
 spoken to you of our our engagement," said she, 
 shyly. 
 
 She looked down, and her manner had the effect of 
 a blush. Then, without raising her head, she slowly 
 turned her large eyes upward towards his. 
 
 " Yes," said Tom, " of course he has. He is highly 
 to be congratulated." 
 
 "There !" said she, "you have that same mysteri 
 ous tone that he has" (Tom had not been aware of 
 12 
 
178 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 his "mysterious tone"), "as if something were wrong 
 about it. Something is wrong I know it, I can feel 
 it ; but I m all in the dark, and can t see what it is. 
 Our engagement ought to make him happy, and it 
 seems to have saddened him. He s a different man 
 moody and melancholy. He never used to be that ; 
 and he won t tell me what the matter is. It s that I 
 came to ask you about. I feel sure it s something 
 connected with our engagement that makes it so. Is 
 it ? I m so anxious for his happiness ! I d break it 
 off in a moment if I thought that better for him. 
 Do you know what it is that makes him unhappy ?" 
 
 "I er do I is he unhappy?" Tom faltered, 
 wishing himself back in his extremely quiet and peace 
 ful office, or anywhere rather than here. 
 
 "You know what it is !" said the lady. "Oh ! you 
 can t deceive me. People don t hesitate in that way, 
 unless they are thinking what to say. Is it money 
 troubles ?" 
 
 "He s not troubled .about money," said Tom. 
 "Nelly Mrs. Merivale please don t ask me any 
 more questions. Ask him. I m sure he d tell you 
 everything 
 
 " Then there is something. I knew it. And you 
 say it s not money. I wish it were, for that wouldn t 
 matter. Is it is it any other woman ?" 
 
 " Really my dear Mrs. Merivale," said Tom, turn 
 ing very red, "/ can t be supposed to know what is 
 the matter." 
 
 "There," said she, "it is another woman ! If not 
 you d have answered No, just as you did about 
 money troubles. Who is she ? Tell me what it all 
 means ; I have a right to know. Is he does he be- 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 179 
 
 long to some one else ? Has he promised himself to 
 some one else ? Tell me No, or I shall believe that 
 he has ! Yes or No ? Can you look me in the face 
 and say No ?" 
 
 "I can t talk about it," said Tom. " You must 
 ask him about his own affairs. How should / know 
 anything about them ?" 
 
 " Thank you. You ve told me all I need know, I 
 think/ said she, very sadly. " I won t pry into his 
 aifairs further, for they are mine no longer. Forgive 
 me for intruding upon you with questions ; but I was 
 so anxious for him, and he would tell me nothing. I 
 had a right to ask, and hoped to help him in his 
 trouble, whatever it might be ; but I had not dreamed 
 of such a thing as this ! Good-bye, for I am not like 
 ly to see you again." 
 
 She turned, bowing her head and putting her hand 
 upon her forehead, and hurried away a pretty, touch 
 ing, graceful picture of Beauty in despair. 
 
 "Good heavens !" said Tom. "Now, how the devil 
 did she get that piece of information out of me ? I 
 didn t tell her a word! Women in love have the most 
 wonderful intuition ! Poor old Charley ! He ll catch 
 it now ! Serve him right for not telling her himself. 
 Poor boy ! What will he do ?" 
 
 Mrs. Merivale came laughing to Charles Moorhead 
 in the library. 
 
 " Mr. Moorhead," said she, coolly, " our engage 
 ment is at an end. I find that some one else has a 
 prior claim on your valuable affections." 
 
 "Why, Nelly, you don t mean, really?" said Charles, 
 puzzled. 
 
 "Don t be silly ! Never mind what I mean, which 
 
180 LEONORA. OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 has nothing to do with it ; what I say is the point ! 
 You must tell your brother what I have just said ; also 
 tell him it s Ms fault for letting me know about it. 
 Also, fly into a rage with him and tell him he s ruined 
 your life, and then mope and sulk and look desperate." 
 
 "Did Tom tell you about it ?" 
 
 "No. But he thinks he did. Oh! He s too good. 
 Fve just been with him. I came before him in the 
 grove, meek, shy, sad, all but tearful, and spoke with 
 him of our engagement. He was kind enough to ap 
 prove of me. I asked him what was the matter with 
 you. He wouldn t say, so / told him, and now he 
 thinks he told me. Now it s your turn. 
 
 "Just go and tell him I came to you and said our 
 engagement was at an end. I did, you know. Tell 
 him he had no business to meddle, that he ought not 
 to have told me a word about the other girl. Don t 
 forget to say that your life is ruined ; or, no, you ll 
 make a mess of it. Wait and give him the note I ll 
 send you." 
 
 She ran out, and presently came Alice McNally 
 with the following production : 
 
 MR. C. NORMAN MOORIIEAD : 
 
 " Dear Sir, Your brother has told me of your engagement. 
 
 "Let me congratulate you. You need not let anything you 
 may remember having said to me stand in the way of your 
 marriage to the lady who is, I doubt not, in every way worthy 
 of your devotion. 
 
 "As I go home to-day, and shall not see you before I go, I 
 will say, Good-bye. 
 
 "Sincerely, 
 
 "H. A. MERIVALE." 
 
 Another note was enclosed : 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 181 
 
 DEAR CHARLEY, 
 
 "I m off to-day. Sorry to go, but it will give color to tlie 
 proceedings. Will see you in half an hour and give you further 
 instructions. Yours for keeps, 
 
 "NELLY." 
 
 The next day a gloom had fallen upon the house at 
 Wellwood. 
 
 Mrs. Bradlee was vexed and puzzled by the sudden 
 departure of her fascinating guest, who had taken an 
 early train with one of those explanations that do not 
 explain. 
 
 The host was preoccupied and openly dismal. The 
 guests sat about and gossiped and promulgated the 
 ories, with much lifting of eyebrows. They enjoyed 
 it, themselves. 
 
 Tom was thoroughly wretched, looking rather guilt 
 ily at his brother, who shot angry glances at him now 
 and then, but avoided speaking to him. 
 
 At last Tom, feeling that he ought, plucked up 
 courage to go and find his brother alone. 
 
 "Well, Charley ?" he said, and Charles handed him 
 the letter without a word. 
 
 " I can t tell you how sorry I am, Charley," said Tom. 
 
 "You needn t; I don t see that it makes any differ 
 ence." 
 
 " Of course not," said Tom. " But I didn t think 
 I told her. I don t see how she got it out of me. I 
 tried to avoid talking of the matter. But Mrs. Meri- 
 vale insisted, and put her questions in such a way 
 that they brought out an answer whether I would or 
 no. Even silence was an answer to her. If I had 
 such skill in cross-examination, Charles, I d be one of 
 the best lawyers in " 
 
182 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 "Never mind about that. A man whose life is 
 ruined doesn t care much about other people s pro 
 fessional prestige/ said Charles, bitterly. 
 
 " Why not write, break off with the other girl, and 
 then tell Mrs. Merivale. I m sure " 
 
 " Oh ! Nonsense ! I can t. It s not a man s place 
 to break an engagement. I ve given her every chance, 
 and she won t. I m bound to it, that s all." 
 
 ( Perhaps it s better so. From your description of 
 that Western girl, she must be as much the superior 
 of Nelly Merivale as a 
 
 "That will do," Charles broke in. "I don t care 
 to hear any comparisons between the two, or any com 
 ments 011 Mrs. Merivale ;" and he turned away and 
 hid his face. 
 
 " I wish there were any way in which I could make 
 amends. I d give my life to do it, old fellow !" cried 
 Tom, deeply distressed. "You have taken me out 
 of misery, fed and clothed me, and made me myself 
 again ; and now I have brought only trouble upon you 
 in return. But what can I do ?" 
 
 "I ll tell you what you can do," said Charles, in 
 what seemed a sudden fit of passion. " Go out and 
 marry her yourself ; or else hold your tongue, and 
 don t bother me." 
 
 " Marry her myself !" said Tom, with a bitter laugh 
 at what he thought a bitter jest. " It s likely she d 
 marry me, when she s in love with you /" 
 
 Tom fully believed in the superiority of Charles. 
 The latter suddenly turned to him and laid his hand 
 on his arm, 
 
 " Wait a while, Tom," said he, more kindly. " Some 
 thing has occurred to me I must think it over. You 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 183 
 
 say you wish to help me. I believe you can, if only 
 you will ; I ll tell you later. Now let me think. Would 
 you mind letting me be quite alone awhile ?" 
 
 "Til do anything and all I can to help you you 
 may be sure of that/ said Tom, and went out and 
 walked in the moonlight, waiting his brother s pleas 
 ure, and determined to make any sacrifice for his hap 
 piness. 
 
 "Though how on earth he thinks I can help him 
 out is more than I can see. But Fll do it, whatever 
 it is, if only to show him I m willing," said he to him 
 self. 
 
 All day long Charles seemed brooding over some 
 thing, but rather less dismal. The friends of his an 
 cestors watched him with interest, Mrs. Bradlee with 
 perplexity, Tom with deep anxiety. 
 
 In the evening, when the guests had gone, Mrs. 
 Bradlee said to Charles: "Do you mind my asking 
 what you have done to Nelly Merivale, or what she 
 has done to you ? It doesn t take much perspicacity 
 to see that something is wrong. You ought not to 
 let such things appear." 
 
 " My dear cousin/ said Charles, " I wish I could 
 tell yon all about it, but I can t. And yet I don t 
 know why I shouldn t. It s just this ; she s found 
 out about my other engagement." 
 
 "Well, I really don t see why she should be so par 
 ticular. She s been married once, and why your hav 
 ing been engaged why, you ve been engaged to other 
 girls, too ; and she knows about that, because she 
 spoke of it to me, and didn t care. I don t under 
 stand it. Perhaps she thinks this backwoods maiden 
 just one too many." 
 
184 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Mrs. Bracllee began to wish that she had never told 
 any one of Charles s escapade, as she considered it. 
 
 "Yes, she s been married once/ said Charles, rue 
 fully. "But that s over, and this engagement is 
 not." 
 
 "What!" cried Mrs. Bradlee, almost screaming. 
 " Do you mean to tell me you didn t wait till it was 
 broken off ? that it still exists ?" 
 
 "Yes, that s the trouble, you see." 
 
 " But what are you going to do ? You can t give 
 up Nelly for that doubtless perfect but impossible 
 person out there ?" 
 
 "I don t intend to." 
 
 " Then, what are you going to do ? Write at once 
 and say it s impossible." 
 
 "I can t. I ve tried and can t bring myself to 
 do it." 
 
 " Good heavens ! How did Nelly find out ?" said 
 Mrs. Bradlee. 
 
 "She says she noticed something queer about my 
 manner and got it out of Tom." 
 
 "But now, what can you do about it, if you don t 
 write ? You surely don t mean to go on and marry 
 Mrs. Merivale without telling that girl anything about 
 it, and let her go on thinking she s engaged to you ?" 
 
 " I couldn t if I would. Nelly won t have it." And 
 he divulged to her the Utopian plan with regard to 
 Tom, without, however, mentioning Mrs. Merivale s 
 part in it ; merely stating that he intended to set 
 Tom up for life in worldly possessions, and should 
 make his marriage to Leonora a condition. 
 
 The old lady laughed aloud. " Fiddle ! Stuff and 
 nonsense !" she cried. "Do you really think do you 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 185 
 
 think for a moment that he ll do it ? Or that she 
 will fall into such an absurd trap ?" 
 
 " I shall try it." 
 
 " Oh ! I wash my hands of you ; no,, I ll say noth 
 ing about it ; but I m done with you unless you write 
 to that girl like a man, at once, and tell her the truth. 
 I never heard of such a childish scheme. What will 
 people say when it all comes out ?" 
 
 " You you surely won t tell ?" 
 
 "Tell no, boy, I m too much ashamed of you to 
 speak of it or even think of it." 
 
 Mrs. Bradlee stayed till the guests had gone, and 
 went away leaving Charles to his own devices. 
 
XXII 
 
 CHARLES came late at night to his brother s room, 
 and sat down on the bed. 
 
 " I want to talk to you, old fellow/ said he. " You 
 can help me if you will." 
 
 " If I will !" said Tom. " Just tell me how !" 
 
 " What I am going to propose may not seem ex 
 actly sensible to you at first. But when I tell you 
 that I have looked at it from every possible point of 
 view, examined it in every light, and found it reason 
 able and practicable, I am sure you will try, at least, 
 to do it for me. I think you owe it to me to try, 
 Tom." 
 
 "There s no doubt of that, Charley. And if I 
 didn t I d try anything that offered a chance of mak 
 ing you happier." 
 
 " Then, this is the position : Nelly would marry 
 me, I m sure, if this engagement were broken off. In 
 fact, she as good as told ine so. 
 
 "Now, /can t break it. A man doesn t do that. 
 And if I might, I simply haven t the heart to write to 
 that girl and say I won t marry her. 
 
 " Yet if I do marry her I am doing a great wrong to 
 her and Nelly and myself. You see that, don t you ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And I m also doing wrong now in letting her 
 think I shall marry her when I cannot." 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 187 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then, the only way is to have her break the en 
 gagement of her own accord. 
 
 "Now, Tom, it s three years since I ve seen her, 
 and I hardly remember her face. 
 
 " If another girl, very much like her, came to me 
 and said, Don t you know me ? I am Leonora/ and 
 reminded me of things that had passed between us, 
 I should think it was she. It is reasonable to sup 
 pose that her remembrance of me is even less dis 
 tinct, for she has a very striking face and presence. 
 I have not that is, not so striking as hers. 
 
 "Now, Tom, you know how a beard changes a man. 
 How often you fail to recognize a man who has grown 
 a beard since you have seen him last ! 
 
 "You know that you and I are much alike in height 
 and shape and action ; that we both have the mother s 
 eyes and the old gentleman s nose and voice, eh ?" 
 
 He waited for Tom to answer, but Tom did not un 
 derstand. 
 
 " Well ?" said he. 
 
 " Tom," said his brother, " if you go out there and 
 see her, you ll fall in love with her, as I did." 
 
 " That is not unlikely," said Tom. " I am only too 
 easy a prey, as a rule." 
 
 " I doubt if you could find a better wife in the 
 world, Tom. If Nelly had not become necessary to 
 me long ago but she is 
 
 " But suppose I went out and made love to her 
 that seems to be your idea as nearly as I can make 
 out ? She wouldn t throw you over for me, Charley. 
 And, if she did, I m in no position to marry !" 
 
 Tom had begun to think his brother was crazy to 
 
188 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 make such a suggestion, but did not like to say so. 
 So he reasoned with him instead. 
 
 " Great obstacles, dear boy," said Charles, " but 
 not insurmountable. In the first place, you need 
 have no fear about money matters, if that s what you 
 mean. I ll take care that you are in a position to 
 marry, as far as that goes. The question is : If you 
 should see her and grow fond of her and she were 
 willing to marry you, would you marry her ?" 
 
 Why, yes, of course ; if I grew fond of her, I sup 
 pose I would." 
 
 " Have you any reason to think you wouldn t fall 
 in love with her ?" 
 
 " Why, none in particular. Dare say I should." 
 
 " Well, now, listen ! All you ve to do is this : 
 Grow a beard. Imitate my manner. Go out and see 
 her. See if she doesn t think you are I. If she does, 
 don t contradict her. 
 
 " The beard and lapse of time will account for any 
 change in looks ; time again for change in manner. 
 If she notices a difference still, lay it to the fault of 
 her own memory after all these years. I was only 
 there a little over a month, you know. I can tell you 
 enough of what passed between us to enable you to 
 talk to her of old times. What you don t know she ll 
 think you have forgotten. If you make mistakes, 
 she ll think either you or she has forgotten. But I 
 can prime you on all material points 
 
 " Look here, Charley, do you mean to say that you 
 really, seriously ask me to do this ? Why, man, you re 
 crazy !" 
 
 You won t try it, then, Tom ?" said Charles, very 
 sadly, in a tone of deep disappointment. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 189 
 
 "But my dear boy, yon can t be in earnest." 
 
 " Will yon do it or not, Tom ?" 
 
 " I d do anything I could, Charley, as yon know/ 
 
 "Oh yes, I know. Yon would do anything, and 
 you ivon t do anything." 
 
 "Anything in reason, of course; but 
 
 " Anything in reason, but is the usual answer of 
 a man who doesn t care to be obliging, but wants it 
 understood that he does !" 
 
 Tom looked hurt, and said: "Wait a bit, Charley. 
 I don t say that I won t do it. But I think I see a 
 better way out of it than that." 
 
 "What is it, then ?" said Charles. 
 
 "Never mind yet. Give me a little time to think 
 about it. A man can t undertake a step so important 
 both to himself and others without careful considera 
 tion." 
 
 " I don t see why not. What better prospect have 
 you to offer yourself ? I offer you wealth and ease, a 
 home, and independence ; and the only condition at 
 tached is that you marry a lovely woman. By doing 
 so you still make me your debtor and remove a great 
 trouble for Nelly and me. It s worth trying. Plenty 
 of fellows would go out there gladly enough just for 
 the trip and the chance of meeting such a person as 
 Leonora Willoughby. Once you see her, I ll trust you 
 to make love to her fast enough." 
 
 This latter view of the matter began to appeal to 
 Tom. But he said, "I can t decide at once." 
 
 That night he wrote Mrs. Merivale a most pathetic 
 letter, setting forth the sorrows of Charles in a pite 
 ous manner : telling her of the proposition his broth 
 er had made to him, as proof that Charles was in- 
 
190 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH. 
 
 finitely fonder of her than he could be of the other, 
 and asking her to be kind to Charles and use all her 
 influence with him to make him break off his other 
 engagement. 
 
 By return mail he had her answer : 
 
 "MY DEAR MR. MOORHEAD, 
 
 "I will not conceal from you the fact that I am move de 
 lighted than I can tell to know that your brother s words to me 
 were not idle, and that his professed attachment to me is real. 
 I am fond of him why should I deny it ? though when I think 
 of that poor other girl my heart misgives me, both because I 
 am sorry for her and because her circumstances warn me to 
 beware of my own ; for how can I tell that the love that 
 failed her will not fail me also ? Yet I own that I should be 
 willing foolishly, perhaps to trust it if your brother were 
 free. 
 
 "But from his point of view, which I share, it is impossible 
 for him to ask her to release him from his promise. She must 
 do so voluntarily if at all. And how can she be brought to do 
 that unless she can be made to care for some one else ? 
 
 "Now, if you are fancy-free, why not at least try the ex 
 periment your brother proposes ? She is, from his account, a 
 very beautiful, delightful girl, worth knowing, anyway. Go 
 and see her. You needn t marry her if you don t want to. If 
 you find she mistakes you for your brother, I see no reason 
 why you should not let her think you are he for a while. If 
 she gives you the love she thought was his, why it will be you 
 she lores not him, but you, no matter who she may think you 
 are. Then who is hurt ? Not she, for she will have the man 
 she loves and be spared a mortification ; not you, for you will 
 have a lovely bride and wealth to give her ; not Charles, for 
 he will be free to marry the woman he has chosen. 
 
 "Oh, if I were a man and before me such a quest, with 
 beauty and wealth and the welfare of some one dear to me at 
 the goal, not a scruple nor a difficulty should hold me back a 
 day; and if there were uncertainty about it, it would add to the 
 charm ! 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 191 
 
 "Try it and win, and my blessings go with you in your at 
 tempt to bring us happiness. 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 " HELEN MERIVALE." 
 
 " Holy cake !" said Tom to himself, " I believe I m 
 prejudiced ! I never should have supposed that any 
 one would entertain such an idea for an instant. I 
 almost thought Charley had taken leave of his usually 
 excellent senses when he proposed it. But really he s 
 generally as level-headed a chap as I ever knew, and 
 he recommends it; and now Nelly Merivale, nee Trask, 
 who is also level-headed, and a very nice, sweet girl 
 into the bargain, seems to think still more highly of 
 it ! They re the very best kind of people, both of 
 em, and know what s what better than I do, and nei 
 ther of em sees anything out in my going and passing 
 myself off for Charley on the girl he s engaged to one 
 of the girls, I should say. To be sure, I haven t seen 
 much of people for some years, and perhaps I ve lost 
 track of their little ways. Maybe I ve grown quixotic 
 too, and apt to grind a point of honor too fine. In 
 thinking things out by myself too long, I may have 
 invented new standards that other folk can t see. 
 The thing looks impossible to me, but that don t 
 matter so much. If it s all right, why, gad, I don t 
 want any better fun than to try it. 1 like the way she 
 puts it: Quest, with love and boodle no, beauty 
 and wealth at the end, and wouldn t she try it if 
 she were a man and only had the chance ! If Miss 
 Willoughby don t take me for Charley, and sees right 
 through it why, it won t hurt her any more than to 
 have him write and break off, or marry Nelly without 
 saying a word ; and those seem to be the only alter- 
 
192 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 natives. If it does hurt her, by the Lord Harry, I ll 
 console her ! If she does take me for Charley Well, 
 it s queer, but, as Nelly says, no one s hurt. I m in 
 for it \" 
 
 "I ll do it, Charley," he said. "I believe I was 
 foolish to back out." 
 
 " Tom," said his brother, " on the day you marry 
 her you shall have this house, the Aiken farm, and 
 thirty thousand down." 
 
 "Go slow," said Tom. "I ve not seen her yet; 
 and, mind, if I m not fond of her I don t marry her. 
 Moreover, ten to one it won t work. But I m in for 
 it, and I ll do my best," 
 
 Tom, having once made up his mind, was as eager 
 and full of anticipation as a child with a new game. 
 He was all impatience, and wanted to be oif at once; 
 but there were other things to be done first. 
 
 "The first thing," said Charles, "is to write, and 
 accordingly I have written. Look here : 
 
 " MY DEAR LEONORA, 
 
 " Shall you be glad to see me soon, I wonder ? Is not Mr. 
 Willoughby getting tired of the woods ? Surely he is not the 
 only person to be considered. Don t be surprised if I appear in 
 the charming valley before the summer is over. I hope and 
 beg that you may be persuaded to leave it. It is a pity a 
 shame ! that you should waste your life there. 
 
 " How do you like my new hand ? I have always written 
 with a fine pen before, and have just been trying a stub. How 
 it changes one s writing ! 
 
 " No more at present. I am very busy and very tired. 
 
 "Lovingly, NORMAN. 
 
 Now, Tom, copy that, will you ? The Norman does 
 as well for you as for me, you know. And try to 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 193 
 
 come pretty near my writing. Then write several 
 more letters before you go, gradually working back 
 to your own proper hand. That will make the stub 
 account for any difference she may subsequently no 
 tice between your writing and mine. Now mind, this 
 letter is from you, not from me. There s nothing in 
 it to say it s from me. You are in my place, as re 
 gards Leonora, from this time on." 
 
 " I see," said Tom, and copied and sent the letter. 
 He devoted himself diligently to studying his part 
 and growing a beard. 
 
 Every day Charles spent some time in going over 
 with him the details of his life in the valley from the 
 very first, and being of good memory he soon knew all 
 Charles could tell him. He also learned to imitate 
 his brother s peculiarities of speech and action, till 
 Charles was somewhat annoyed at his proficiency. He 
 dropped a certain swagger he had had, he eschewed 
 slang, and spoke and walked with eminent correct 
 ness. The whole thing had begun to strike him as a 
 colossal joke, and Tom was one of those persons to 
 whom a joke is dear and sacred, and who will take 
 any pains to carry one out successfully. 
 
 One day he ordered a carriage and drove off to a 
 neighboring town, when he stopped before a house at 
 which Charles sometimes called, but where he him 
 self was not known, and sent up one of his brother s 
 cards. 
 
 Mrs. Brand was at home. 
 
 " Dear me, Mr. Moorhead," said she, " how your 
 beard has changed you ! I should have known you, 
 though. No one else bows just like that." 
 
 Tom sat down, and, having carefully conducted his 
 
 13 
 
194 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 brother s manner through a series of conventionali 
 ties, among which was a touch of indignation at the 
 allusion to his beard and bow, took his leave unde 
 tected. 
 
 "Charley," said he, when he got home, "will you 
 do me a favor ? Call on Mrs. Brand to-morrow." 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing ! There s a little surprise for you 
 there, that s all !" 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " I can t well enter into explanations. It s remote 
 ly connected, however, with your prospects in regard 
 to Mrs. Merivale." 
 Charles went. 
 
 "Ah, this is an unexpected pleasure !" said Mrs. 
 Brand, observing her caller s clean-shaven chin with 
 interest. " So you ve parted with it ! I must say I 
 like you better with it than without." 
 " I beg pardon ?" said Charles, mystified. 
 " Oh, you needn t apologize," said Mrs. Brand. 
 "A man may do as he will with his own. All the 
 same, I think you d do well to let it grow again." 
 
 " Really, I er cannot imagine to what you refer, 
 Mrs. Brand !" said Charles, turning quite red. 
 
 " How deliriously funny of you ! But truly I d no 
 idea that an allusion to your beard would hurt your 
 feelings, as it seems to have done," said she. " It s 
 plainly a tender subject, and I m interested in ten 
 der subjects. Now tell me ; why why have you part 
 ed with it ? Forgive a woman s curiosity " 
 A light dawned upon Charles. 
 
 " Oh, my beard ! To be sure yes quite so just 
 a fancy I" said he. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 195 
 
 " Ah ! Now I know ! Of course. How stupid in 
 me ! you wanted a really candid opinion about your 
 appearance with and without before and after so 
 you came yesterday with it and without it to-day. 
 Thanks for your faith in my taste, and you ve had 
 my opinion I" 
 
 Poor Charles could hardly conceal his wrath. He 
 hated personal remarks of any kind, and the imputa 
 tion of having called twice in two days on Mrs. Brand, 
 whom he was inclined to patronize, one day with a 
 beard and one without, for her opinion, was terribly 
 galling. He did not attempt to explain, however, 
 but stayed out his short call, with an awkward stiff 
 ness of manner and evident ill-temper, which, com 
 bined with the foregoing circumstances, made Mrs. 
 Brand think he had turned extremely queer. 
 
 "Did you see Mrs. Brand ?" Tom asked, with much 
 interest, on his return. 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Brand was at home." 
 
 "Did you enjoy your call ?" 
 
 " It seems to me high time for you to go about 
 your undertaking," said Charles. " I am obliged for 
 this signal proof of your ability to succeed in it that 
 you have just given, and feel no need of further dem 
 onstrations." 
 
 "I am fully prepared," said Tom, mocking his 
 testy manner, "to conduct it to a successful issue." 
 
 Two days later he set out, delighted with the nov 
 elty and excitement of his adventure, with plenty of 
 money in his pocket and a sense of having done a 
 good thing; for his brother and the pretty widow 
 were friends again, and let him understand that he 
 had brought about that happy result. 
 
196 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 Now, when Mrs. Bradlee heard that he had gone 
 she was very angry, and rated Charles and Mrs. Meri- 
 vale for a pair of silly children ; told them that if she 
 had ever supposed they seriously contemplated such 
 a ridiculous plan she would have prevented it if she 
 had been obliged to have one or both of them con 
 fined as non compos which she was good enough to 
 say might easily have been done under the circum 
 stances. 
 
XXIII 
 
 ONE day in July a boat was steaming slowly down 
 Puget Sound from Vancouver. It was raining a rare 
 occurrence at that season and the passengers saw 
 only occasional glimpses of the dark shaggy head 
 lands. The wind shifted. The clouds broke and 
 rolled away in masses. The shores began to appear, 
 gleaming in the wet farther and farther inland, and 
 great blue masses showed in the distance above the 
 green ; the clouds rose higher, and one by one the 
 peaks shone out, and all was glorious with light and 
 color. 
 
 Tom, sitting at the bow, saw a splendid white cone 
 of rich outlines rising far into the clear blue, and 
 asked a solemn-looking man in a tall hat and a suit 
 of black what peak it was. The man came close and 
 whispered in his ear, " Sh ! it s Mount Rainier; but 
 you d better not name it till you re safe in Seattle, 
 if that s where you re bound ?" 
 
 " Yes, I m going to Seattle," said Tom ; "but why 
 not ?" 
 
 " There may be Tacoma people aboard," said the 
 other, looking apprehensively about him. " They call 
 it Mount Tacoma, and they won t have it called any 
 thing else. They think it belongs to Tacoma, and want 
 all the credit themselves. Likewise, when in Seattle 
 don t call it Tacoma, or you ll get into trouble." 
 
198 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 " I see," said Tom. " AVhat s the penalty ?" 
 
 " Personal violence among the lower classes, social 
 extinction among the higher. In the tribunal, con 
 tempt of court. Among the old settlers I d be afraid 
 to say what might happen." And the stranger, sol 
 emnly regarding Tom, chuckled internally from the 
 depths of his gravity. 
 
 " I take it you re a Seattle man yourself, sir ?" said 
 Tom. 
 
 "I am proud to say that I am, sir Druby, of Se 
 attle." And he produced two cards, one of which 
 was edged with black and bore the legend : 
 
 SOLOMON DRUBY, 
 
 Undertaker and Florist. 
 
 The other : 
 
 SOLOMON DRUBY, 
 
 Attorney and Counsellor at Law, 
 
 Notary Public. Justice of the Peace. 
 
 Real Estate Agent. 
 
 "An harmonious combination," said Tom. "You 
 can draw a man s will, bury him, settle his estate, and 
 dispose of his realty." 
 
 " Exactly," said the other ; "and since you are com 
 ing to our city I shall be glad to be of use to you in 
 the one capacity, and, should occasion arise, will serve 
 you in the other with becoming regret." 
 
 " Thanks," said Tom ; " I ll remember. Do you 
 conduct both branches of the profession in the same 
 office ?" 
 
 "I find it convenient to do so," said the other, "as 
 a recent case will illustrate : A man died in a board- 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 199 
 
 ing-house,, and, after waiting a more than sufficient 
 length of time for his friends to come and claim him, 
 the landlady, at the request of the other lodgers, 
 handed him over to me. I gave the case all due at 
 tention, and the funeral was on for the afternoon. 
 Meanwhile Darnley a mere scavenger, sir, who calls 
 himself an undertaker had somehow found out where 
 he belonged, and wired his relatives, asking for the 
 job, and offering to do it at a price for which no man 
 with any self-respect would care to be buried. They 
 gave him the job, and while I had gone for my hearse 
 he came with his and took the body away. My assist 
 ant ran straight to me. It took me just one minute 
 and a half to draw a writ in quantum mcruit, suing 
 estate of deceased, two more to put it in the hands of 
 an officer. We gave chase, and, just as they were en 
 tering the cemetery my hearse dashed up. We attached 
 that corpse in transitu for my services. The relatives 
 had to give in and pay up, and I buried that man with 
 as much respect as if I had never put an attachment 
 on him. And there he lies. That s what I call hustle!" 
 
 As the undertaking attorney finished his funereal 
 tale the boat rounded the promontory, called West 
 Seattle, where a great lone tree known as " The Old 
 Si wash" stands, with the semblance of a pack on its 
 back, looking down upon the harbor, and came out 
 of the bright green of the sound into Elliott Bay, 
 blue with the fresh waters of the Dwamish, the port 
 of the Northwest. 
 
 Beyond the bay stood the city, spread over a long, 
 high hill. Along the water-front lighters, laden with 
 brick and lumber, were puffing slowly, steam-wheelers 
 from every part of the sound were coming and going, 
 
200 LEONORA OF TIIE YAWMISII 
 
 and screaming tugs were plying to and fro among the 
 ships that lay at anchor. The sliora presented the 
 appearance of a great encampment on the site of a 
 newly sacked town. All along the lower shore, above 
 a forest of blackened piles, a vast assembly of tents, 
 great and small, stood among ruins that still smoked 
 and skeletons of buildings some charred and broken ; 
 some new and growing ; while on the ridge and upper 
 slope were terraced streets of a variety of houses 
 pleasant cottages among their trees and vines, some 
 clad with ivy, some resplendent with the owners taste 
 in paint, and rough, bare, unpainted shanties, or 
 " shacks," that stood above the chips and shavings 
 of their making. 
 
 Immense pile-drivers were busy all along the water 
 front and far out in the shallows of the bay, and scows 
 laden with lumber lay beside them. There were 
 throngs of people idling about, and other throngs 
 pushing their hasty way among them. A babel of 
 noises, whistles screeching, engines puffing, planks 
 falling, loads dumped out on the sounding wharves, 
 pile - drivers, hammers, creaking derricks, howling 
 dogs, roaring teamsters, the trundling of heavy trucks, 
 and among them all hardly a sound that was not 
 harsh and discordant. 
 
 "What do you think of it ?" Druby asked, proudly, 
 waving a glad hand at the mass of rubbish and con 
 fusion. 
 
 " Think of it ! How can a man think in all this 
 wrack and row ?" said Tom. 
 
 "There," said Drnby, pointing to a tall brick build 
 ing on the edge of the ruins, towering over the low 
 white tents, " is the Boston Block !" 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISU 201 
 
 " Yes ?" 
 
 " That s what. That, sir, is the building that saved 
 the city. That edifice was built and conducted on 
 conservative principles. The fire came tearing up 
 Second Street. The Boston Block greeted it with a 
 cold stare Ever been in Boston ?" said Druby, 
 catching Tom confidentially by the coat. 
 
 " I have/ said Tom. 
 
 " Well, you know the way them houses on Beacon 
 Street, and the folks in em, stare when a feller s a bit 
 lively ?" * 
 
 "I have noticed it." 
 
 "That s what they do. Well, as I was saying, that 
 fire was painting Seattle red cleaning out the town. 
 It came a-roaring up Second Street and met that Bos 
 ton Block, and started in to caress it. The Boston 
 Block greeted it with that same cold stare and turned 
 ti chilly side to its advances. The fire, sir, never got 
 over the snub. It got discouraged, and quit right 
 there. But it got in a sight of work before. That s 
 what it did." 
 
 " So I see," said Tom. " Will Seattle ever recover 
 from the fire ?" 
 
 " Recover !" Druby shouted, indignantly. " Man, 
 it s the biggest boom Seattle could have had. 
 boys ! boys ! what a boom ! Can t you see that 9 
 Why, look here, the burned part was a ramshackle old 
 lot of shacks and tenements that reduced the value 
 of the land they stood on fifty per cent. ! Who would 
 buy land with such buildings ? No one ! Who would 
 pay rent for em worth touching ? No one ! What 
 business could succeed in such shanties ? None but 
 that of the dive-keeper and the Chinese laundryman. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 Yet the owners wouldn t tear em clown ; the prop 
 erty had been so unprofitable they wouldn t lay out a 
 cent on it. The city was perishing, sir, of stagnation- 
 dying of that fungus growth of mould and rot. Here 
 was the most perfect harbor the only harbor, sir, of 
 the great Northwest the one port of the richest cor 
 ner of earth s surface that s what it is you hear me! 
 going to wrack and ruin because of a lot of rusty old 
 shanties in the hands of men who wouldn t pull em 
 down. What happens ? Fire comes as from heaven, 
 sir, and turns those miserable hotbeds of impecunios- 
 ity into smoke. The owners must build or sell to those 
 who will. A new city will spring glorious from the 
 smoking ruins. What do we do ? We take advantage 
 of the general turnout to get in on the ground-floor. 
 First we get the public eye. We press the fire into 
 our service as an advertising medium ; it advertises 
 the name of Seattle in letters of flame all over the 
 nation. People who had never heard of the place be 
 fore, and never would have otherwise, see a full ac 
 count of the glad disaster in the papers, and they ask, 
 What is Seattle, ivhere is Seattle ? Then we rise up 
 and answer. Seattle, sir, is the great, new, model city 
 
 the home of Enterprise the cradle of a young and 
 
 mighty Prosperity ! Seattle is the place where things 
 are to be done as they ought to be done ! Seattle, 
 purged by fire from the mistakes of former time and 
 from all that is undesirable, is now being rebuilt on 
 the newest and best lines of modern improvement ! 
 Seattle is the only place where everything is up to 
 date ! Where is Seattle ? Seattle, sir, is in the richest 
 piece of country in the world the port of the bound 
 less cedar forests of the Northwest, where the nations 
 
LEONORA. OF THE YAWMISFI 203 
 
 come and trade for shingles of the untold mineral 
 wealth of the Olympics and Cascades " 
 
 " I didn t know there had been anything discovered 
 in the Olympics and Cascades," said Tom. 
 
 " I said untold, I think," said the orator. " Untold, 
 sir, was the word I used. That s what I said you 
 heard me. The vast grazing lands of Eastern Wash 
 ington ; the unfailing fisheries of the sound ; the rich 
 agricultural regions of the Skagit and the Dwamish 
 Valley all these pour out their abundance through 
 Seattle, and the ships of the Old World go nobly laden 
 from her harbor, leaving gold behind them. Seattle 
 is, in short, the Queen City of the Northwest. We 
 tell them that, sir, and then we show them our plans 
 broad, busy streets, stately edifices, gorgeous em 
 poriums, big business blocks. Why, sir, within ten 
 days after the fire began the plans were made, and 
 pictures of the buildings exactly as they will stand, 
 ready for the eager public." 
 
 "I see," said Torn. "But where do you get the 
 money for all this ?" 
 
 "Money ! Already thousands of lots are being ex 
 changed for Eastern capital already the contracts 
 for the new buildings are sealed ; and on that spot 
 where the ashes are still smoking whole blocks are al 
 ready let to men of enterprise, who stand in with the 
 Fates and the Future who know a good thing when 
 they see it, and will push it along !" Here Mr. Druby, 
 carried away by his own eloquence, smote his chest, 
 and, taking a dramatic backward step, nearly fell over 
 the rail. 
 
 Tom, not blessed with prophetic eye, could only see, 
 as the boat steamed slowly in towards her wharf, a 
 
201 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 mass of litter and confusion of scorched timbers and 
 new lumber, of white tents and gray smoke, and a 
 SAvarm of people like ants upon a hill. 
 
 "You have the true real-estate agent s gift, Mr. 
 Druby," said Tom, "of describing what you wish and 
 believing what you say." 
 
 They disembarked, and Tom lost sight of his ac-- 
 quaintan.ce in the crowd, though he could still hear 
 him shouting that he knew of a comfortable lodging 
 which he highly recommended. The traveller allowed 
 himself to be hustled for it was growing dusk, and 
 he had no time to look about him into a sort of barge 
 or omnibus, which took him to a hotel far up the hill 
 in the unburned part of the city. 
 
 After a good supper he went to the post-office. He 
 had written to Leonora, telling her when he meant to 
 come to Seattle, and begging that Moloch might meet 
 him there, if possible, and guide him through the for 
 est, and might post him a letter stating where he 
 could be found. 
 
 There was a letter for Norman Moorhead, to be held 
 till called for : 
 
 " DEAR NORMAN, 
 
 "I have your letter. Moloch cannot meet you. Come at 
 once, as best you can. We need you. 
 
 "LEONORA WlLLOUGIIBY." 
 
 Pondering what this might mean, he went back to 
 the hotel, and fell asleep as soon as his excitement 
 would let him. 
 
XXIV 
 
 MOLOCH, to whom his young mistress was every 
 thing in life, thought she had changed a great deal 
 since her lover s departure. He had been accustomed 
 to watch her since her first childhood ; his chief study 
 had been the art of understanding her unspoken 
 thoughts, that he might forestall her wishes. He had 
 thought that he knew her well; and, like all men 
 who presume to flatter themselves with the belief that 
 they know a maiden s mind, he found himself at a 
 loss. 
 
 When Moorhead was gone she became passive, and 
 subject to moods of abstraction and absent-minded 
 ness. She went out and spent long days in the moun 
 tain solitudes. He listened for the sound of her rifle, 
 and seldom heard it ; he saw her return in the even 
 ing slowly ; and then, instead of coming with sparkling 
 eyes to tell of the day s hunting or the new places she 
 had found in the mountains, and give directions about 
 the game, she would put her rifle in a corner and sit 
 listless with her brown hands folded, looking up at 
 the peaks. Sometimes she took to her books, and read 
 hard and diligently awhile; but soon she might be 
 seen sitting with her chin upon her hands and her 
 books lying unheeded, while the pages turned at the 
 will of the wind. Then she would take her rifle and 
 wander aimlessly in the woods again. She grew 
 
206 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 moody, too, and impatient, and for the first time in 
 her life was easily vexed ; frowns came instead of bright 
 smiles, and bitter words sooner than laughter. 
 
 Then, after a time, she seemed more at peace less 
 restless, but no happier. Her face was calm, and the 
 proud set of her lips seldom changed or softened. She 
 was pale, and her eyes deeper and darker, by contrast, 
 than ever; but the eager fires seemed pent in their 
 depths, and no longer came dancing out to meet the 
 light. 
 
 She grew thinner a little, and so seemed taller, and 
 this, with her slower movements, added to the splen 
 dor of her presence, giving her a rare stateliness to be 
 wasted on her father, who thought only of his books 
 and fishing, and on poor Moloch, who would have 
 given half his life to know what was the matter and 
 the other half to help her. 
 
 He thought at first that she was pining for her 
 lover, and ventured to speak of Mr. Moorhead as 
 often and as pleasantly as he could, speaking of his 
 return, and proposing little plans to be carried out 
 "when Mr. Moorhead came back 7 ; and it was then 
 that his mistress, who had never had an unkind word 
 or look for him before, began to show that her temper 
 was not invulnerable, and gave him to understand by 
 tone and manner that she did not care to hear from 
 him of Mr. MoorheacTs return. 
 
 He gave it up, grieved and astonished, thinking 
 she must miss the man sorely indeed if the mere men 
 tion of his name hurt her so keenly. 
 
 He had been one day at Seattle, and had found a 
 letter for Leonora. All the way home he gloated over 
 it, thinking that this at last would bring his little girl 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 207 
 
 some gladness, and looked forward to putting it in 
 her hand and seeing the light of pleasure on her 
 face. 
 
 But when he gave it to her, beaming himself in an 
 ticipation, he was bitterly disappointed. 
 
 She only seemed annoyed, then resigned, and took 
 the letter aAvay. 
 
 Moloch made a pretext for coming near while she 
 read it, and there was no mistaking her look. It was 
 not mere annoyance this time, but sheer sorrow, and 
 that day and the next she seemed more than pas 
 sively unhappy. 
 
 The old servant put his own interpretation on this, 
 and was wroth. He thought the letter had hurt her 
 that Moorhead had written something that grieved 
 her W as faithless or unkind, and he cursed the man 
 who had stolen the joy from his lady s eyes, and swore 
 that he should account for it one day to him. 
 
 She gave herself up to hunting, followed her game 
 far to the wildest places of the mountains, and slew 
 for the sake of slaying. 
 
 Moloch begged her one day, when she came home 
 exhausted, but still excited and eager to be out again, 
 to be more careful, and she laughed at him. 
 
 Even her father began to notice her long absences, 
 her scant words, and sad looks. " Leonora/ said he, 
 "you go too far and hunt too hard. You must re 
 member that you are a girl, after all, and that home 
 is your place not the woods." 
 
 "It s all home to me," said she : "the rocks and 
 caiions and the still heights, the dancing, singing 
 waters and the shadow of the woods they belong 
 to me, these places, and I to them, and the higher 
 
208 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 and deeper and stronger, the more lonesome and des 
 olate they are, the better I love them all !" 
 
 " Then yon wouldn t leave them yet ?" he asked, 
 rather wistfully ; for he loved them too, though his 
 promise to his dying wife that he would take Leonora 
 away was always on his conscience, and he hoped that 
 he need not keep his word yet awhile, and felt guilty 
 of breaking faith. 
 
 "No, no/ said she; "not for all there is in the 
 world besides ! I read of it in these books, and for 
 every good thing they tell of are ten evil." 
 
 " You are a wise woman," said her father, "and I 
 am glad. I thought at one time that that puppy who 
 was here had taught you discontent." 
 
 She laughed without much mirth, and Moloch, who 
 came in just then with a dish of dewy salmon-berries, 
 saw that instead of blushing, as a girl ought when her 
 father, not knowing of her lover, speaks his name to 
 her, she grew pale and looked straight forward with 
 a set face a fact which he set down in his heart s ac 
 count against Moorhead. 
 
 He was sadder for her than ever, for he knew that 
 she could not be always hunting and roving the woods 
 and mountains, and wondered how it would be with 
 her, whether she left them with a husband for the 
 world she had learned from her father and her books 
 to hate, or whether she stayed there in the valley till 
 her friends were gone and age came to her alone in 
 the wilderness. He swore to himself that he would 
 live for her, old as he was, while she had need of him, 
 for he was strong as a young man still, and in her 
 service yet stronger. 
 
 So their life went on without event of mark, save 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 209 
 
 for such small risks to life and limb as Leonora ran 
 when climbing in the mountain fastnesses almost 
 any of which would have lasted an ordinary girl a 
 lifetime, had it left her any ; but these she kept to 
 herself. 
 
 She still wrote to Moorhead whenever Moloch went 
 to the sound, and still received his letters, but with 
 indifference, showing neither pleasure nor sorrow. 
 
 Winter came, and the forest was dark under a 
 thatch of moist snow; the tossing river made fan 
 tastic imagery of ice with its spray that froze upon 
 the rocks ; the mountains were as a marble wall, and 
 the snow lay deep in the valley ; the elk came down 
 and herded together in sheltered places, fearing noth 
 ing but the cold ; and now and then a great black bear 
 went lumbering along the river trail on his journey to 
 the fishing in the open water, or a few timber-wolves 
 howled their prayers to Famine in the long nights. 
 
 The old man, his daughter, and his servant stayed 
 in the cabin beside great open fires Mr. Willoughby 
 smoking, and making rods and flies for the next sum 
 mer s sport ; Moloch quaintly carving in wood ; Leo 
 nora busy at her needlework or painting ; and all three 
 reading a great deal. 
 
 Before, she had made the house glad with mirth 
 and song; now all was very quiet, and seldom any 
 one spoke. The master of the house was wrapped up 
 in himself ; the girl was too full of her own feelings, 
 whatever they may have been ; and the negro, burst 
 ing with questions to ask, sympathy to give, and ad 
 vice to offer, must perforce hold his peace. 
 
 Outside the wind roared in the forest, the branches 
 groaned and cracked and crashed in the storm, and 
 
 14 
 
210 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 masses of snow and rock came roaring down the moun 
 tains,, and the voice of the river was louder than ever 
 in its icy caverns. 
 
 The spring came with soft, warm rains, and the low 
 places in the valley were flooded till the sun dried 
 them again, and the wild beasts betook themselves to 
 the mountains, and summer was come again. 
 
 So the seasons passed, and the years ; and the 
 fourth summer found the three still in the valley, and 
 no other with them. 
 
XXV 
 
 0]S"E day a hot, sweet, languid day when all the 
 air was still, and the innumerable murmurs of the 
 woods were faint ; when the great flies buzzed drow 
 sily about, and the smoke of the distant fires hung 
 lifeless on the dreamy atmosphere, Leonora took up 
 her rifle and went out into the cool of the forest. 
 
 Moloch had strained his arm in handling a slip 
 pery log, and she went to gather an herb of which 
 she knew that grows far up on the heights, when the 
 heat of the unhindered sun. and the freshness of the 
 snow blend and make flowers spring among crisp 
 grasses along the upland pools. She passed lightly 
 up the elk-trail that led over the wall at the head of 
 the valley to the inner range. Another of those high 
 ways of the forest creatures, leading from the wood 
 land between the valley and the sound, joined it far 
 up on the heights. 
 
 Leonora climbed steadily on till she came out of the 
 woods, and reached one of those broad levels that lie 
 beneath the peaks. There lay a little pool bright in 
 the sun ; about it a sweep of grassy open, hemmed 
 in by the curve of bluffs, rocky and cavernous and 
 shaggy with massed bushes wherever there was soil 
 enough to give them life. The pool, which had 
 dwindled much in the summer heat, had a broad edge 
 of moist, oozy soil, and there were a multitude of 
 
212 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 tracks, for it was a favorite drinking-place for the 
 beasts that inhabited the heights. There the great 
 cloven elk s hoof, the dainty tread of mountain deer, 
 the cougar s round, muscular paw, and the bears foot, 
 with its unpleasantly human aspect, had all left their 
 traces ; and one of the latter, unusually large, greatly 
 took the fancy of Leonora, who had become, in the 
 matter of ordinary game, the least bit blase, just as 
 any other girl might of the theatre, sweets, or admi 
 ration. 
 
 Looking carefully, she saw where the grass had 
 been crushed under the broad heel and torn by the 
 savage claws. Apparently the creature had been there 
 for his morning draught that very day, and the chances 
 were that he was even now stripping the salmon-ber 
 ries from the thick brush somewhere very near, for 
 the place was a paradise for a bear, where he would 
 be likely to stay long unless urgent ursine business 
 should have called him elsewhere. 
 
 She wet her finger in the pool and held it up to feel 
 the wind. What little motion the air had came down 
 across the bridge a chance favorable to her approach 
 in case the wary old thief should be in hiding there. 
 
 The keen delight of hunting took possession of her ; 
 her eyes brightened, an eager flush came to her face. 
 
 She threw the cartridge of her Winchester into 
 place, dropping the ejector carefully, to make as little 
 noise as might be, stood a moment bending slightly, 
 with lips parted and shoulders down, the right fore 
 finger on the trigger and the barrel in her left hand, 
 and stepped softly forward, pausing at every step to 
 look and listen, and stooping low to peer under the 
 bushes. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 213 
 
 She had skirted the base of the ridge without suc 
 cess when she came to an opening in the bushes, 
 which she knew well as the foot of a beast s trail., that 
 led up to a broad shelf half-way up the ridge, where 
 there was a bare patch of rock surrounded by berry- 
 bushes. 
 
 "More likely there than anywhere," she thought, 
 and the trail, scarred with the bear s claws, confirmed 
 the idea ; so she went lightly up and crouched in the 
 thick of the brush at the edge of the open hardly 
 breathing, eager and keen, ready with her rifle, with 
 eyes and ears straining for any sight or sound of life. 
 And presently Was it the wind in the brush ? a 
 stone that shifted on the slope ? a bunch of leaves 
 that fell? a trick of imagination? There it was again 
 and, yes ! again just across the clear space a 
 rustling, a snapping twig or two the noise of slow 
 steps. 
 
 Now she could see a bush move ever so little, and 
 raised her rifle, tempted to fire at the place ; then bet 
 ter counsel prevailed, and she waited to see a vital part 
 of her game. 
 
 She crouched, as still as a breathing being may be, 
 with her rifle half-way to her shoulder, and her finger 
 on the trigger. 
 
 For what seemed a long time there was not another 
 sound or movement. 
 
 At last (for there is said to be a limit to almost 
 every woman s patience) Leonora could bear it no 
 longer, rose to one knee, and took aim at the place 
 where she had last heard the sound, when out of the 
 bushes on the other side came a tall man with slouch 
 ing shoulders, rough-bearded and uncouth, stepping 
 
214 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 softly, armed and ready. She rose, and as she did so 
 he also took aim as if at her ! 
 
 The two stood a moment still with their rifles at 
 their shoulders and their fingers on the triggers ; then 
 they lowered their arms. " Lord save us, girl ! I 
 tho t ye was a bar !" cried the man, and burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 The ancient peace and gravity of the place were 
 broken ; the echoes, that never had laughed before, 
 revelled in the sound and tossed it from rock to rock. 
 
 Leonora, however, was not so easily amused. She 
 was disappointed about the bear and frightened, part 
 ly at having so nearly shot at a human being, partly 
 at having so nearly been shot at, and also at the man 
 himself ; for, little as she knew of people, she could 
 see well enough that he was not the sort of man one 
 would choose to meet alone in a lonesome place. 
 
 " Wai, Fm damned I" was his next remark, and he 
 looked it, after a fashion. 
 
 He was huge and bony and dirty ; his garb faded 
 and weather-stained to the color of the brown pine- 
 needles on a storm-beaten slope ; bits of twigs thrust 
 through the cloth took the place of buttons, or held 
 together the edges of rents. His boots also were a 
 dull rusty brown, and all broken ; and from one of 
 them a pair of toes looked out, not modestly and shy 
 ly, as toes are wont, but with an air of bold and un 
 becoming disregard. He was hatless, and his un 
 kempt hair, rusty and ragged as the rest of his 
 person, hung, like long strands of oakum, to his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Good I didn t fire blind inter th brush, pretty 
 girl !" said he. " I was nigh doin it." 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 215 
 
 6 So was I," said she, bravely and coolly, and almost 
 wished she had done so ; for he frightened her terri 
 bly, coming up to her with a long, slouching step, and 
 knees that dipped as he walked, after the manner of a 
 man that is of stealthy habit. 
 
 His face was hard and bold and hollow-jawed, and 
 he stood near and stared at her with sharp, hungry 
 eyes that gloated on her beauty. 
 
 Girls, it is said, enjoy being appreciated, and even 
 at times admired, but not gloated over ; and Leonora, 
 who never, perhaps, had been afraid before since she 
 was a little child, turned and ran through the brush, 
 headlong, scratching her face and tearing her gown, 
 till she tripped in a place where the rocks were many 
 and sharp and the bushes thick between them. She 
 had left the hammer of her rifle up, and as she fell it 
 went off. 
 
 She heard the man crashing after her, and directly 
 he stood by her side and grasped her hand to help her 
 rise. 
 
 " No call to be afeard o me, pretty girl I" said he, 
 with some anger in his voice, swearing (and it may be 
 well to say here that he always swore and cursed, and 
 so save the trouble of reproducing the many varied 
 and hideous expletives of which he was master). 
 Leonora shrank from him in disgust and stood Avith- 
 out his help. 
 
 The men in the wild places of America are, as a 
 rule, more chivalrous and gentle towards woman, 
 child, and weakling than their more civilized breth 
 ren of the cities. Nor is it strange, for the latter 
 have the excuse that they see much of the less divine 
 side of the weaker sex, by whom they are sore let and 
 
216 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 hindered in the streets, the cars, and the elevators 
 places in which the divinity of woman goes veiled and 
 in deep disguise. 
 
 They are men in a hurry ; and women with great 
 umbrellas and long sunshades, women with trains 
 and enormous hats, women with bundles, women with 
 children, and, worse than all, women with questions, 
 are ever in the way, wasting the precious hours and 
 moments that are dollars and cents. 
 
 But the men of the great plains, of the backwoods, 
 of the mountains and the ranges, whose life is spent 
 much in solitude or in the company of their own sex 
 and kind, are much in awe of woman in the abstract, 
 as the type they remember of all that is best, and 
 in which their own lives are sadly lacking. When she 
 dawns upon them in person it is with all the dignity 
 of a revelation. 
 
 But here and there among these men are excep 
 tions among them, and not of them ; not the moun 
 taineers and woodsmen and plainsmen, but outcasts, 
 who know only the worst of life and of the commu 
 nity of human beings. Perhaps they have never had 
 anything good to remember, perhaps they have ut 
 terly forgotten ; but to them the world is a feeding- 
 ground and nought else everything in it either a 
 prey or a thing to be feared, according to its strength 
 or weakness. 
 
 It may be that the man Leonora met on the moun 
 tain was one of these, and, if instinct is to trusted, 
 that may account for the fear and loathing that arose 
 in her at the sight of him and the sound of his voice. 
 
 "Now I m goin ter fergive ye fer stampedin , an 7 
 see ye safe home," said he, and his voice was as evil 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 217 
 
 as his looks. " Ben a time sence I ve walked home 
 with th girls, an never I thought ter find none 
 here I" 
 
 He chuckled and looked sideways at Leonora, who 
 had got out of the brush and went on without look 
 ing back at him, panting from her running and fall 
 and fright ; red and angry-eyed, upright and stately, 
 and beautiful beyond all telling. 
 
 He followed her. 
 
 "Are yer folks livin hereabouts?" he inquired. 
 " Mebbe they could put a man up for a while. I d 
 pay fer lodgin and find my own grub. I hain t ben 
 under a roof fer - - knows how long, an gettin 
 kinder sick er my own coinp ny." 
 
 " I should think you might," said Leonora, turn 
 ing on him. " No, my people won t take you in. Go 
 your way, and I ll go mine !" 
 
 "Wai! That beats !" said the stranger. "But 
 
 I ll see ye home anyways. Yer too pretty ter be let 
 run loose around in these yer woods sposin th bar 
 sh d git ye ?" 
 
 Leonora had passed beyond mere annoyance and 
 fear, and was growing cool and pale now as she got 
 her breath, with a dangerous kind of wrath. 
 
 Her only answer was to pump another cartridge 
 into the chamber of her rifle, and hold it ready with 
 the barrel near the breech in her left hand and her 
 finger on the trigger, and a look in her eyes that 
 stopped him, foot and tongue. 
 
 She turned her back and walked away, upright and 
 alert, past the pool and down the trail, with an easy 
 step, disdaining further notice, but listening to every 
 step he took. 
 
218 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 There was an appearance of readiness about her 
 elbows and shoulders that affected him unpleasantly. 
 The fellow watched her with an ugly expression, 
 but did not follow till she had passed out of sight. 
 There was a place were the elk- trail forked, and one 
 branch went right down into the valley. 
 
 The elk, the only engineers and road-builders of 
 the mountains, not liking the Willoughbys as winter 
 neighbors in their visits to the lowlands, nor caring 
 to go much to the valley since their arrival, had let 
 this path get out of use and repair and had made 
 another, passing in a wide curve along the slope to 
 another good pasture of which they knew, where 
 there were no girls with guns, no blackamoors armed 
 with long knives and frying-pans to cut them up and 
 salt them down, no old white-bearded gentlemen to 
 fright them as they came down by the river and eat 
 them before they could go home again. This branch 
 of the trail was well broken into dust by their sharp 
 hoofs. 
 
 Leonora, at the forks, gave one glance behind her, 
 and followed the newer branch, taking good care to 
 tread firmly at first, so as to leave her dainty tracks in 
 the brown dust, and afterwards stepping more lightly 
 or walking a little off the path when it was possible, 
 that they might appear less often, by degrees, till 
 finally she came to rocky ground, where no tracks 
 could be left. 
 
 Here she turned into the woods, and hid in the un 
 dergrowth till the stranger, who had followed her 
 tracks as she had supposed he would, came by. She 
 could see him from her hiding-place as he passed at 
 a dog-trot, bending forward to see the trail, with his 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 219 
 
 ugly face all in a grin. When he was out of hearing 
 she ran back, taking care to leave no tracks this time, 
 soon reached home by the old path, and threw herself 
 down on a lounge with a faintness she had never 
 known before. As she thought the matter over, it 
 seemed to her that she had been very foolish in run 
 ning away, and was at a loss to account for her fear. 
 The man was repulsive, to be sure ; but he had not 
 done or said anything to alarm her. He had been 
 rude and uncouth that was all. It was surely nat 
 ural enough that a man alone in the forest and find 
 ing he had neighbors, should wish to know them. It 
 could not be thought that he would not make every 
 endeavor to do so. As for his following her, he evi 
 dently knew no better. She told herself that if he 
 had not been such a repulsive - looking fellow she 
 would not have been frightened ; that his appearance 
 was not his fault, perhaps ; and that she had treated 
 him in a very uncharitable manner, and blamed her 
 self. Nevertheless, when the image of him running 
 by, as she had seen him, occurred to her she felt a 
 fear that would not yield to reasoning. She told Mo 
 loch, while she bound up his hand with the fresh 
 leaves. He showed a great deal of white eyeball, and 
 a kind of faint purplish tint came into his usual 
 blackness ; also, she felt the muscles twitch in his 
 great forearms. But he only said, "Wish ma hand 
 was well, Miss Nora." She told Mr. Willoughby. 
 
 "So!" he said, angrily, "no peace from sweet 
 humanity even here ! We must find means to make 
 him go, if he stays about. Solitude is too precious a 
 thing to lose." Then he laughed a little. "So he 
 didn t see you home ?" said he. " A Winchester is no 
 
220 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 bad chaperon for a young maid. None better. But, 
 even so, you must not stray from home again for 
 a while. However, I dare say we shall see no more of 
 him." 
 
XXVI 
 
 FOR the next few days Leonora stayed at home and 
 helped her crippled butler with the housework. Her 
 fears passed easily away. Nothing was seen of the 
 stranger, though once she thought she heard the re 
 port of a rifle far away. 
 
 On the sixth day she was splitting kindling-wood 
 at the back of the house, when her father and Moloch 
 heard her give a faint cry, and came out. 
 
 " There he is now he s gone !" she said. 
 
 " That man ?" said her father, and he and Moloch 
 went towards the place she pointed out a gap in the 
 woods but though they sought a long time they 
 could find no one. 
 
 " I d like to catch that fellow ! I d send him about 
 his business !" said Mr. Willoughby. 
 
 " Yo be n up early, Miss Nora !" was Moloch s greet 
 ing to her next day. "You ought n to done so, ef 
 you ll excuse man sayin it so plain, Miss Nora. / 
 can split kin lin s well enough an it ain t the kind 
 of work for yo pretty han s, Miss Nora." 
 
 "What do you mean, Moloch? / haven t been 
 splitting wood this morning. I m just up !" said 
 Leonora. 
 
 " Then it mus ha been Mr. Willoughby. I wouldn t 
 a thought it of him," said Moloch. "I take it real 
 kind in him but he needn to V done it." 
 
222 LEONOHA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 But Mr. Willoughby denied all knowledge of kind 
 lings and refuted the interpretation of early rising. 
 
 Here was a strange thing : Moloch had found a 
 large pile, newly split, by the kitchen door. 
 
 "It s that man again," said Leonora. "He saw 
 me chopping yesterday. And he must have come and 
 done this to show that he wished us well and meant 
 to be neighborly." 
 
 " Confound him for his pains !" said Mr. Willough 
 by, "and damn all neighbors I" 
 
 " Hush, father !" said the girl. " I dare say he 
 means well. But he is so frightful and hideous. I 
 wish he d stay away." 
 
 "How d ever he do it without wakin anybody ?" 
 said Moloch, and, looking carefully, found a long mark 
 on the ground, like that of a broad wheel. 
 
 Now Moloch kept on hand a supply of sections of 
 fir trunk, cylinders of a foot in thickness and three 
 or four feet across, and the mark was of one of those 
 which had been turned on its side and rolled along 
 the ground. Following the track, he came to a place 
 near the river where the noise of the rushing water 
 would have drowned the sound of the axe, and there 
 were chips and bits of bark on the trampled grass. 
 The stranger had taken the wood there in bulk, car 
 ried it back split to the door, and carefully piled 
 it, 
 
 "He saw Miss Nora chopping an he done it as a 
 kind a hint to her he d like to work for her," said 
 Moloch to himself. " Pears like he darin to think 
 he spire to be in love with Miss Nora." 
 
 Two days later afresh haunch of venison was found 
 in the morning lying at the door. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 223 
 
 e Take it away and throw it into the river," said 
 Leonora. 
 
 " I am not sure/ said Mr. Willoughby. "While the 
 human creature is not to be desired as a companion,, 
 it is sometimes indirectly useful. One does not hold 
 intimate converse with the wolf or seek its friendship, 
 but one need not on that account refuse its hide. 
 When anything, however small, is to be gained from 
 humanity, why, gain it, as a rule. Nevertheless, Mo 
 loch, do as Miss Leonora tells you. Chuck it into the 
 river, but first chop it up and you know the big 
 pool just below the canon ? Bait that pool with the 
 meat." 
 
 That night Moloch watched by the kitchen door, 
 but no one came. 
 
 He watched again the night after, determined to 
 have a word with the persistent benefactor, and just 
 before dawn, when the mountains were dimly seen, a 
 mass of deeper darkness against the dark sky all but 
 the highest peak, that was beginning to glow and a 
 few faint stars hung above them, he heard a step com 
 ing cautiously into the clearing, and the stranger ap 
 peared out of the dusk. When he was very near Mo 
 loch spoke. 
 
 " Mornin , sah. Yo out early this morniii !" 
 
 The man took a step back, startled by the unex 
 pectedness of Moloch. 
 
 "Are yo the gentleman that s been so kind as to 
 come an 7 split some kinlin s an 7 leave a leg o deer ?" 
 
 The butler spoke suavely and with respect. 
 
 " Why, yes ! You re right, friend ! It s me !" said 
 the stranger. 
 
 " It was kind in you, sah. But it was kindness 
 
224 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 frown away. I had ordahs to frow it in the ribbah, 
 an I did. Yo see, sir, my employah isn t in the habit 
 o takin gifts from nobody. What he likes is fo folks 
 to let him alone. I m perfeckly competent to split 
 all the wood an git all the game, without troublin 
 a stranger, sah. An kind as my employah takes it in 
 you, sah, to cut up wood an bring him meat, he ll 
 take it kinder yet if you was to go off an not come 
 roun here any more, sah 
 
 "Look here, nigger, who told you to say all them 
 words ?" the stranger asked. 
 
 "Nobody, sah; but I ve general an permanent au 
 thority to negotiate with trespassahs with a view to 
 havin em stay away," said Moloch, "an my em 
 ployah, he regards all persons comin roun here as 
 trespassahs." 
 
 " Wai, then, blackie, you c n tell yer boss I didn t 
 cut no wood for him nor bring no game for Uim, nor 
 yet don t mean ter. I done it fer th girl as lives 
 y ere ari > shall do as much an more. If I like ter 
 bring game yere I bring it, an if I like ter split wood 
 yere I split it. These woods is jest as much mine as 
 his n, an I don t take my orders from no nigger, I 
 don t keer how black he is not if he s as black as the 
 devil !" 
 
 "Complexion," said Moloch "complexion, sah, am 
 a mattah ob taste, and has no bearin s on the present 
 discussion. All I say is, yo kine intentions am dis- 
 appreciated an yo presence am unnecessary. As a 
 man of sense, yo ain t agoin to bring good game to 
 be frowed in the ribbah, nor yet to come aroun where 
 yo isn wanted. Good-mornin , sah;" and Moloch 
 went into the house and shut the door behind him. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 225 
 
 The stranger stood awhile rubbing his beard and 
 staring at the house, and finally turned and sauntered 
 away. 
 
 Moloch had been right in supposing that the veni 
 son and kindlings had been intended as love-offerings 
 to Leonora the one, perhaps, to kindle, the other 
 to feed, a reciprocal feeling on her part. Doubtless 
 the stranger is open to the charge of being precip 
 itate in manifesting his sentiments, however they may 
 have done credit to his taste and discrimination. But 
 then his excuse was in his circumstances. 
 
 He was one upon whom society may be said to have 
 had a stronger claim than upon most men, yet he had 
 left it for its good and his own. The exigencies of 
 his profession, which was that of obtaining a living 
 by any means whatever except legitimate work, had 
 driven him away, and society was still seeking, by 
 means of her sheriffs and deputies, to bring him back 
 to her maternal arms. 
 
 After a season of lonely wandering he had met Le 
 onora, and, being no less susceptible than another, in 
 his own way, had fallen a ready prey to her beauty. 
 
 He was deeply imbued with the opinion, beloved 
 of the American blackguard and ignoramus, that "all 
 men are born free and equal " ; from which he deduces 
 the idea that he, personally, is as good as any, and 
 better than most. 
 
 Therefore this particular vagabond, knowing of no 
 distinction in breeding, manner, and habit of life, 
 saw no reason, since it appeared that he and Leonora 
 were neighbors, why they should not become friends 
 and more. 
 
 If he saw a difference between her and such a 
 
 15 
 
226 LEONORA OP THE YA.WMISH 
 
 woman as those to whom he had been accustomed, 
 it was only that she was infinitely more attractive, 
 and so infinitely more to be desired. 
 
 So he determined to settle near her home and win 
 ,her, not knowing why he should be unsuccessful, nor 
 why one settler should not be a fair match for the 
 daughter of another. 
 
 He knew that he was ugly, and was proud of it ; 
 also that he was strong and large of stature, and that 
 women care more for strength than beauty in a man. 
 He thought that he was a good shot and an expert 
 trapper what more could a backwoods girl want in 
 a husband ? He reconnoitred the valley, and found 
 that the cabin was the only one there. He watched 
 the place, took stock of Moloch and Mr. Willoughby, 
 began his wooing with the friendly advances to which 
 Moloch had taken exception, and hung about in the 
 cover, hungry for a sight of Leonora. 
 
 Now, Moloch s warning encouraged him greatly, 
 for he said to himself, "If that old feller in there 
 the nigger calls his employer is so shy o strangers 
 he s got a reason for it, and there can t be but one 
 same as mine. 
 
 " If he ll listen to reason, me an him can pull 
 together first-class. 
 
 " He needs a young feller about to help run the 
 ranch an stand by him in case o trouble, an I m the 
 feller ! He ll be glad ter git me when he sees I ain t 
 one to give him away. There ain t no reason but 
 what, ef I work the thing right, I shouldn t be able 
 to make it go. My act is to stand in with the old 
 bird, make his acquaintance, shake his hand, let him 
 know he ain t got no thin ter fear from me, do his odd 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 227 
 
 jobs fer him, give him a hide or a hunk o meat now 
 and then, and be good to him. 
 
 "I ll build me a shack up-stream thar whar they s 
 a nateral clearin whar th fish is swarmin in th 
 water an th deer runnin by, an old bars eatin. 
 huckleberries off n th rocks over th back yard an 
 I ll be his best an only friend. 
 
 "The girl, she ll take ter me quick enough when 
 she gits ter know me bein the only man about, an 
 a hearty one at that. 
 
 "It s a dead easy thing an in a year, or mebbe 
 less, sure as my name s Andy Jimson, I m in clover. 
 That s what ! And the girl s mine." Which, as his 
 name was Andy Jimson, augured ill for the peace of 
 Leonora. 
 
 " I ll lay for the old man an have a talk with him," 
 said Jimson. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby was easily found by the river. He 
 was sitting and thinking his own thoughts, which, as 
 we know, were by no means complimentary to his 
 fellow-men, to begin with, when a large stone fell 
 splashing into his favorite pool and sent his pet trout 
 darting to shelter. The disturbance had been caused 
 by Jimson, who was to be seen, much to the old gentle 
 man s wrath, clumsily descending the opposite bank. 
 
 "Keep away, will you!" said Mr. Willoughby, 
 angrily. But the intruder gave no heed, and, crossing 
 where the stream ran shallow among the stones, soon 
 stood by his side. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby got up, and the two men stared at 
 each other a moment the one with the mien of him 
 who sees a trespasser disporting him se lf upon his 
 lawn ; the other with curiosity. 
 
228 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 " What do you want here ?" said Mr. Willoughby. 
 
 How are ye ?" said the stranger, extending his 
 foul paw, of which the old gentleman took no notice. 
 
 " I have not had a diagnosis lately and cannot give 
 you the information you are so good as to seek. / 
 asked what you wanted here f 
 
 Jimson did not quite understand the words; the 
 manner was clear enough, but he was not to be put out 
 by that, at the beginning of his undertaking. 
 
 He shifted his pose to the other foot, and looked 
 sulky. " Fishin ?" he asked. 
 
 "No. Hunting elk!" said Mr. Willoughby. "Is 
 that all you wanted to know ?" 
 
 "There s a heap sight more Fd like to know/ said 
 the vagabond. " Live about here ?" 
 
 " What business is that of yours ?" said Mr. Wil 
 loughby. 
 
 Now!! the evident wrath of the old gentleman at 
 being addressed, and his unwillingness to answer 
 civil questions, could have but one interpretation in 
 the vagabond s mind, and strengthened his original 
 opinion that Mr. Willoughby was in hiding, like him 
 self, from the just vengeance of the law. This gave 
 him a fellow-feeling. 
 
 " I don t mean you no hurt by askin ," said he. " I 
 lead a kinder quiet life here, and like ter know my 
 neighbors." 
 
 " How the devil should I know about your neigh 
 bors !" cried the old gentleman. " Go and ask them!" 
 
 "I reckon you re about all there be," said Jimson. 
 "You and yer folks. Leastways, I hain t seen no 
 others. I ve settled here for a bit, an my camp is 
 just up the river near the gap." 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 229 
 
 This was more than Mr. Willoughby could bear. A 
 stranger and such a stranger in his valley ! To be 
 sure, it was no more his valley, in fact, than another s. 
 But Mr. Willoughby, during his many years of undis 
 puted possession, had come to regard it as his own, 
 and it never occurred to him to doubt his right to 
 turn out trespassers. In short, he was in the habit of 
 counting himself "monarch, of all he surveyed/ for 
 getting entirely that he had never surveyed it, and 
 that a survey accepted by the State, accompanied by a 
 claim filed in the Land-office, was necessary ere he 
 could call it his own. 
 
 " Look here, my man," said he, " I want no neigh 
 bors. I m not accustomed to argue. Get out of this !" 
 
 "I ve got as good right ter be here ez you," said 
 Jimson. 
 
 "Name your price and clear out," said Mr. Wil 
 loughby. 
 
 Jimson laughed. "Some day maybe I ll make a 
 deal with you," said he. "Jest now I got my rea 
 sons, like you have, fer stayin where money ain t so 
 much good as leaves off the trees. An 7 now look a, 
 here. I come here an talk white an civil ter you, 
 an you up an answer me mean an say, Clear out ! 
 Tha s all right ; I ain t kickin at that, cause I see 
 how yer fixed. When a feller s layin low an keepin 
 out er th way, ez me and you be, he don t like ter hev 
 no one come snoopin round. His fust thought, when 
 he sees a man, is : Is that chap a deputy-sheriff, an 
 is he after me ? That s likely what you re thinkin 
 bout me now. Wai, make yerself easy. I ain t no 
 deputy, an I m keepin out er their way too. I dunno 
 what you done back in th States, or wherever you 
 
230 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 come from, but, judgin from the way ye keep in the 
 woods, I reckon t warn t nothin short o burglary ; 
 an , what s more, I don t keer. I ain t a-goin to put 
 no one on yer track. Now, you re a-livin all alone 
 with a nigger air a gal, an I m all sole alone. I kin 
 mebbe be useful to ye an you ter me. My camp s 
 up th river. Ef yer want anythin done, jest let me 
 know ; an I hope ter see a lot more er you an yer 
 folks, an I shall alwers treat ye white. Now we know 
 each other." 
 
 Mr. AVilloughby by this time was too wroth to speak. 
 He aimed a furious blow at the obliging stranger, but 
 was slow and stiff, and Jimson dodged it and passed 
 on, laughing and saying, " I don t fight with old fellers 
 like you be." 
 
 Now, it was not Mr. Willoughby s age that prevent 
 ed Jimson from returning the blow he had no such 
 scruples. "I m willin ter be friends wi th girl s 
 folks, ef they ll let me, while I m a-makin up ter her. 
 They may come handy. But ef they will quarrel an 
 make me kill em off, th old man an th nigger, what s 
 ter pervent me hevin her an th hull outfit all ter 
 myself ?" 
 
 After that he became persistent in his attentions. 
 He kept 011 bringing offerings to the door, and was 
 often seen near the clearing. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby s wrath increased as he realized his 
 helplessness. He could not invoke the law. Doubt 
 less the man was a criminal ; but even if the authori 
 ties were looking for him, and even if they could be 
 persuaded to send out so far on a wild - goose chase 
 after him, Mr. Willoughby would not have his valley 
 invaded by a posse comitatus. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YA.WMISH 231 
 
 Nor would he resort to unlawful means. But lie 
 and Moloch both devoutly hoped that occasion might 
 arise when it would become necessary and justifiable 
 to shoot the intruder. 
 
 And Leonora though she would on no account 
 have wished any one ill would not have heard the 
 news of his demise with any deep regret. 
 
 It is bad enough (they say) to have an unwelcome 
 and obstinate suitor at all. Under the circumstances 
 it was a nightmare. 
 
 He left her in no doubt of his intentions,, for he 
 had succeeded one day in waylaying her on the trail 
 near the clearing as she went to gather violets, and 
 assured her of his devotion in lurid terms. 
 
 She had then spoken gently with him, and tried to 
 explain the hopelessness of the case to his satisfac 
 tion. 
 
 He had taken her refusal as a matter of course, al 
 leging that he thought none the worse of her for 
 being shy at first a customary and becoming trait in 
 woman but that he did not give up hope and meant 
 to succeed in time. She had argued patiently, and 
 he had grinned. She had tried the effect of bitter 
 words, and he had said that he liked a girl none the 
 less for a sharp tongue, and finally she had gone home 
 to Moloch, who, forgetting his lame arm, had set out 
 straightway in search of Mr. Jimson and had not 
 found him. 
 
 She persuaded Moloch not to quarrel with him, for 
 the butler s hurt placed him at great disadvantage 
 the man seemed a desperado and "if anything 
 should happen to you, Moloch," said she, "what 
 would become of my father and me ?" 
 
232 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Then one day Moloch went to the sound, taking 
 her with him, well armed for he would hardly let 
 her out of his sight and there she received the letter 
 from Moorhead and left the answer that Tom found 
 at Seattle, saying that she needed him and bidding 
 him come at once. 
 
XXVII 
 
 THOMAS MOORHEAD arrived at the month of the 
 Yawmish, and had to find his way thence as best 
 he could. There he dropped his first name, to be 
 Norman Moorhead like his brother, slung his pack, 
 shouldered his rifle, and set out to follow the course 
 of the stream as the only sure way of reaching the 
 valley. 
 
 The banks of the river were pathless and hard of 
 passage, and the traveller made but slow progress. 
 The river was his only guide, and he never allowed 
 himself to go beyond the sound of its voice, even to 
 avoid the obstacles that sometimes rendered its banks 
 almost impassable, but took the country as he found 
 it, toiling on over rough and rocky hills, whose stones 
 bruised his feet even through the thickness of his 
 heavy boots ; through dense brush that seemed al 
 most to stifle him in its damp and heavy foliage, or 
 tore and pricked him with thorns and brambles ; up 
 slopes that were slippery with the dry and smoothly 
 matted needles ; on welcome stretches of clear low 
 land, or along the edge of a precipice up among 
 the laurels, with the river hundreds of feet below ; 
 through places where the trees had fallen and massed 
 their enormous bodies and locked limbs in tangled 
 heaps ; down deep ravines, where tributary streams 
 crossed the way up and down, in and out ; he climbed 
 
234 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 and slid, and walked and ran, waded, swam, and scram 
 bled, and felt his pack grow heavier hour by hour as 
 his unaccustomed shoulders turned sore under the 
 chafing straps. His heavy boots, stiff with frequent 
 wetting and drying, formed thick creases that pressed 
 and galled his ankles. 
 
 At night he made his fire, ate, and threw himself 
 down wherever darkness happened to overtake him, 
 and dreamed strange dreams that ended in a sense of 
 rolling down steep places into the water. He saw no 
 sign of life, except a flock of the meat-birds " that fol 
 low men about the woods for the offal of their game. 
 
 On the morning of the fourth day he came to a 
 well-defined trail beside the river, and by afternoon 
 found himself rounding the base of a high hill, which, 
 he could see by a glimpse here and there, was the end 
 of a long range. Another range stood parallel to this, 
 and between them the river flowed in a fair land of 
 alternate wood and meadow, out of a gap between 
 towering mountains, and he knew that he was in the 
 valley where he was to meet the mistress he had never 
 seen and claim the bride he had never won. Should 
 he meet her ? What was she like ? Beautiful, of 
 course, but how? Would she really mistake him for 
 his brother ? Why not ? How would she receive him ? 
 What had been the need that had made her urge him 
 to come to her at once ? 
 
 As he asked himself these questions, impatience 
 overcame his weariness, and he went on painfully, 
 limping away at a fair pace. 
 
 It was late in the day when he came to the clearing 
 and saw the house in its pleasant garden, and an old 
 man and young girl sitting on the veranda. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 235 
 
 Now, up to this time his strange undertaking had 
 seemed to him a sort of game to be played and en 
 joyed. The moment he saw Leonora he began to feel 
 the reality and seriousness of what he was doing. His 
 heart almost failed him. He yielded to a sudden im 
 pulse and turned back ; then he laughed at the futility 
 of it. " What am I turning round for ?" he thought. 
 "To go home? I would if I could. I only wish I 
 were well out of this. But it s too late now so here 
 goes." 
 
 The people on the veranda did not see him as he 
 came up. Leonora was reading aloud,, and Tom heard 
 with pleasure the sweet cadence of her voice and the 
 delicate accent of her words : 
 
 "With me upon this strip of verdure strewn 
 
 That just divides the desert from the sown, 
 Where name of slave and sultan is forgot 
 And peace to Mahmoud, on his golden throne. 
 
 "A book of verses underneath the bough, 
 
 A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thoti 
 Beside me, singing in the wilderness 
 Ah, wilderness were paradise enow !" 
 
 " So I should think, even without the jug of wine/" 
 said Tom, pleasantly. He had mustered up all his 
 courage, since there was no turning back, and had 
 determined to face the matter out coolly. 
 
 The girl sprang up, and her father rose slowly and 
 looked puzzled- and vexed. 
 
 Mr. Moorhead again, I think, is it not ?" said he, 
 with no warmth of greeting in his manner. "May I 
 ask" 
 
 But here Leonora, feeling that her father was about 
 
236 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 to say something disagreeable, interrupted him and 
 came forward, holding out her hand. 
 
 "Oh! father," said she, "how very good that your 
 friend has come !" 
 
 "I don t see it!" said Mr. Willoughby, in a very 
 audible undertone. " My friend!" 
 
 " Best," said Leonora, giving Tom a chair. " I will 
 come back in a moment. Father I" 
 
 She took the old gentleman by the arm and led him 
 into the house. 
 
 "Father," she said, "what could be better ? Ask your 
 friend to stay ; for surely at such a time as this, with 
 that creature lurking about, I cannot well have a 
 friend too many, and Mr. Moorhead has been your 
 guest and is a gentleman. Ask him to stay, for my 
 sake, father dear ; you don t know how good it is to 
 me, after all that has happened, to see a pleasant face." 
 
 " It may be you are right," said Mr. Willoughby. 
 It s a pity a great pity. But I am old, and Moloch 
 is still lame of his arm, and a young man who knows 
 our ways may be of use, especially if it makes you feel 
 more easy, Leonora." 
 
 So in a minute he came out to Moorhead and greet 
 ed him with courtesy : " Mr. Moorhead, I am glad to 
 see you again, and Miss Willoughby and I hope you 
 can make it convenient to stay with us awhile." 
 
 "Yes," said Leonora, "we are glad to see you, Mr. 
 Moorhead." 
 
 Tom was surprised at first at a certain coolness in 
 Leonora s manner. He had expected and dreaded a 
 lover s warm welcome, had begun already to feel 
 ashamed of his false position, and yet had been afraid 
 not to act the lover, and had nerved himself to play 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 237 
 
 his part. He was much relieved at the lack of affec 
 tion in her greeting, until he remembered that Mr. 
 Willoughby did not know of the engagement, and 
 then he wondered how it would be when he should 
 find himself alone with Leonora. Happily for him 
 he was too bodily weary to be nervous, and that saved 
 him much distress. 
 
 The three sat together awhile, Mr. Willoughby ex 
 changing cool civilities with the guest, and Leonora 
 watching him with a critical expression. 
 
 At first, to his relief, she avoided meeting his eye, 
 and looked bashfully down when he glanced at her 
 a thing he seldom dared ; but when at last their eyes 
 fairly met he had an unpleasant sense of transparen 
 cy, as if she had been looking through into his very 
 mind. 
 
 She spoke little, and he fancied there was distress 
 in her voice. 
 
 "How do you do, Moloch ?" said he, when the wor 
 thy butler made his appearance to announce dinner. 
 
 " Mr. Moorhead, sah. Ah m glad you ve come back 
 at last, sah/ said that functionary, with an air of re 
 serve. 
 
 " Thank you kindly, Moloch/ said Tom. 
 
 Tom now T. Norman Moorhead dreaded above 
 all things the hour when he should meet Leonora 
 alone. 
 
 His brother s plan had seemed to him at first both 
 dishonorable and absurd. He would never have at 
 tempted such an imposition upon any one he knew ; 
 but until he had seen Leonora he had thought of her 
 rather as a character in a play in which he was to 
 take part than as a real being. 
 
238 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Nevertheless, he had thought of her so much that 
 he had become, unconsciously, almost fond of her ; 
 and from the moment he saw her a deep respect and 
 admiration for her began to grow upon him. 
 
 He slept little that night in spite of his tired limbs. 
 How can a man sleep when he finds himself in love 
 and in a most awkward position at the same time ? 
 
 He lay wondering how she would treat him, and 
 how he should conduct himself towards her ; thinking 
 what a fool his brother was to wish to give her up ; 
 half inclined to tell her the whole story ; deeply 
 averse to the thought of carrying out the fraud he 
 had been so weak as to undertake. 
 
 When at last he slept, it was on the determination 
 to disclose himself in the morning and tell her every 
 thing. But when the morning came he saw reasons 
 why he should not. He thought of his brother s 
 accusation of ingratitude, and how just it had seem 
 ed at the time ; of Mrs. Meri vale s convincing argu 
 ments, and the rosy light in which she had shown 
 him the plan ; of his own position when exposed to 
 their anger and the scorn of Leonora herself she 
 looked capable of despising him very thoroughly ; 
 moreover, he could not bear to give up the undertak 
 ing itself, which, in spite of his self-contempt, had a 
 singular charm for him since he had met the object 
 of his quest. 
 
 He could wait he could confess at any time ; but 
 having once confessed, there was no way to undo the 
 effect. He would not be able to go home again to his 
 brother he would have seen the last of Leonora he 
 would have no mercy from either. 
 
 He felt like a man in a nightmare. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 239 
 
 The lady of the valley seemed no more eager than 
 he for the dreaded interview to take place. 
 
 He felt sure now that she had no suspicion that he 
 was not her betrothed, but thought her strangely shy 
 of him. She avoided being left alone with him with 
 such success that the ordeal he dreaded was put off 
 for two days. And yet it seemed to him that she 
 did not regard him altogether with disfavor. Some 
 times, again, he thought she did. There was a cer 
 tain tenderness in her manner towards him, but it 
 seemed of pity rather than of love, and so puzzled 
 him not a little. 
 
 At length Mr. Willoughby, sitting at dinner, espied 
 through the window a blue heron. The old gentle 
 man hated blue herons because they destroy fish 
 a privilege he wished to monopolize ; so he snatched 
 up a rifle and set out after the bird, leaving Leonora 
 to do the honors of the table. 
 
 Tom was seized with an inward panic. He could 
 not for his life lay his tongue to a word, and he sat 
 embarrassed before her in fear of what she might say. 
 It seemed many minutes before she spoke, and then 
 she said, simply and coolly : 
 
 " Norman, you found my letter at Seattle ?" 
 
 " Yes," said he, " and came as soon as I might. I 
 have told you why it was not sooner. Why did you 
 write me so urgently ? I hope I am not too late ?" 
 
 "No, you are not too late. I wished you to come, 
 because I am fairly persecuted by the man of whom 
 my father spoke last night." 
 
 Tom heard her story with rising anger against the 
 vagabond and sympathy for her. 
 
 " Now, at least, you ll not be imprisoned and be- 
 
240 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 sieged as you have been," said he, "for you have an 
 escort/ 
 
 Here Mr. "VVilloughby came back, without the blue 
 heron. 
 
 " Did you get him, father ?" Leonora asked. 
 
 "No, dear, I haven t your aim ; but I frightened 
 him terribly." 
 
 So that dreaded ordeal the first tete-d-tete was 
 over. There had been no tender passages nothing 
 had been said about the engagement. 
 
 There was already a bond of sympathy between 
 them namely, Jimson. She understood Tom s gen 
 uine sympathy and indignation, and was thankful for 
 a friend. 
 
 That afternoon she took down her rifle, and said, 
 "Now, if you care for a walk, I m going out, Nor 
 man." 
 
 Tom began to like his middle name. 
 
 "I ll be very glad," said he, and they went out to 
 gether among the glories of the woods and hills. He 
 looked into her eyes, heard her voice, touched her 
 hand, and saw her grace in every little movement. 
 
 When they were nearly at home again Leonora sud 
 denly laid her hand on his arm. He looked up, and 
 saw the tall figure and ugly face of the vagabond 
 close before them on the narrow trail. 
 
 "Say nothing to him not a word," Leonora whis 
 pered ; and as they walked on the man drew aside to 
 let them pass, but glared out of the bushes with an 
 evil look at Tom, who returned it with a cool stare. 
 
 " So that s your friend ?" said he to Leonora. 
 
 " The man I told you about," said she. 
 
 " Ilin !" said Tom. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 241 
 
 The days went on pleasantly enough. Tom had 
 given up the idea of confession, owning to himself 
 that he had not the courage for it. He had been con 
 sidering how he should bring his brother to his senses 
 and back to his allegiance. But when they met the 
 man in the woods, and Leonora held his arm, he sud 
 denly felt installed as her protector, and liked it 
 hugely. It occurred to him that he liked it too well 
 to give it up. 
 
 So he said to himself, " If Charley s fool enough 
 to throw away his chance, let him. He deserves to 
 lose her. Now the only question is, can /win her? 
 On my own merits ? I want nothing better than that 
 on earth. And Fll do it." 
 
 This resolution made him at once happy and miser 
 able. He was tormented by the two worst tortures 
 devised for man Love and Conscience. 
 
 Conscience said, " If you persist in this fraud, your 
 love shall be a curse." 
 
 Love said, " If you listen to Conscience, I m off/ 
 
 Moloch went to the sound. 
 
 After his return an unaccountable change took place 
 in Leonora. Her father was surprised, Moloch de 
 lighted beyond measure. 
 
 She had never been in such high spirits before. 
 She went about singing as of old. She laughed a 
 great deal, sometimes without apparent reason. She 
 showered small acts of kindness upon Mr. Willoughby 
 and the worthy butler ; and Moloch saw her go out 
 into the clearing and catch and kiss each of the five 
 ponies, then into the shed and kiss the cow. 
 
 Tom had his share of the change, but did not al 
 together profit by it. She was far less shy of him than 
 
 16 
 
242 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 before ; but that touch of sympathy in her manner 
 was gone, and he even felt that he amused her with 
 out intending to a most uncomfortable feeling, as 
 every one knows. 
 
 He was not surprised, when he came to think it 
 over, that she never spoke to him of their engagement. 
 It was natural that she should wait for him to begin. 
 But he was sure that she must wonder very much that 
 he, whom she believed to be her promised husband, 
 should never speak to her of love, especially since she 
 must have got her ideas of that interesting topic from 
 books, wherein love is made at great length and with 
 much embroidery of words. But he could not bring 
 himself to speak of it, nor could he abandon the hope 
 of speaking by-and-by. 
 
 However, there are happily other things to talk 
 about, even for a man and maid, and they got on well 
 together, on the whole. The more they were together 
 the more bitterly ashamed of himself he became. He 
 could hardly look her in the face, and when he ap 
 proached her it was with a sense of meanness that 
 made him very humble indeed. 
 
 He hoped that she saw only the humility and not 
 its cause. He also longed for an opportunity to save 
 her life, or do battle for her in some way, so that he 
 might establish an existence of his own in her eyes, 
 and not be forced to hide in his brother s personality, 
 which, he began to feel, was too small for him and 
 not good enough for her. 
 
 He was in hopes that Jimson the vagabond would 
 turn up and do something outrageous, that he might 
 have at him in honor of his lady ; but Jimson stayed 
 away. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 243 
 
 " Norman/ Leonora said to him one day, " it seems 
 to me that you have changed a greal deal/ He 
 looked at her, and then his eyes dropped before hers. 
 
 " I hope I have," said he. 
 
 " Sometimes/ she went on, " I find it hard almost 
 to believe that you are the same person/ 
 
 They sat silent for a moment, and he felt uncom 
 fortably that she was looking at his face. 
 
 " The years make great changes," said he, " and so 
 does a beard." 
 
 She laughed. "Yes, but a beard does not change 
 a man s whole being does it ? His manner and way 
 of thinking and feeling ? I did not think even the 
 years could do all that, and yet you are so differ 
 ent." 
 
 Moorhead suffered inward panic, but struggled hard 
 to seem all calm without. 
 
 " Improved, I hope ?" said he. 
 
 "I won t say that," she replied; "only changed. 
 You used to seem so fond of yourself when you were 
 here before. That was bad. Now you seem well 
 anything but proud of yourself, almost ashamed." 
 
 Did she know had she begun to suspect? He 
 gave a quick, frightened glance at her face, but it 
 told him nothing. It was just serenely beautiful. 
 
 " Oh ! You needn t be afraid," she said; " / don t 
 care. I don t like it, of course. Still, I think I liked 
 the other less what you were before, I mean. There s 
 hope for a man ashamed of himself. But when he s 
 proud of himself there s not, I think. Yes, on the 
 whole, perhaps you have improved not that it mat 
 ters !" 
 
 He began to believe that she had found him out; 
 
244 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 but though lie was much beside her that day she 
 gave no further sign of knowledge or suspicion. 
 
 Meanwhile the man of the woods was not seen, and 
 Leonora was not so much afraid of him. It was 
 seldom out of Tom s mind, however, and the thought 
 of him, though it brought forth no charming image, 
 was pleasanter to the poor fellow than the thought of 
 himself, whom he had come to regard as no better 
 than a rogue. 
 
 He took long walks alone, and, in secret places, de 
 voted himself to certain gymnastic exercises of his 
 college days. He hung his roll of blankets to a limb, 
 and punched it, right and left, by the half -hour. 
 
 Moloch saw him and told Leonora. 
 
 "Dear me!" said she, "I wonder why he does 
 that ? Did you offer to help Mr. Moorhead, Mo 
 loch ?" 
 
 " JSVm," said Moloch ; "no, Miss Nora/ 
 
 " Then do so at once, please." 
 
 Moorhead declined the offer of aid. "I am just 
 trying to soften them a little," said he, knocking the 
 bundle up among the leaves, "and now" meeting it 
 as it came back with a tremendous right-hander that 
 sent it over the branch from which it sprang, and 
 wheeling to stop it with his left as it fell on the other 
 side of the limb " I m done." 
 
 "Now, what am Mr. Moorhead s purpose ?" Moloch 
 wondered, and Leonora also exercised her imagination 
 in vain. 
 
 They lived to be enlightened. 
 
 One morning, very early, Leonora thought she 
 heard voices. One was Tom s, and he spoke sharply 
 and to the point. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 245 
 
 " Get out of this!" 
 
 The other was gruff and harsh and surly she shud 
 dered as she heard it and what it said was abusive 
 and blasphemous. 
 
 By this time she had 011 a wrapper, had hurried to 
 her window, and was peeping out. 
 
 There was her unwelcome suitor, the vagabond, un 
 couth, lowering, and savage, trying to tower with his 
 slouching bulk above her friend Mr. Moorhead, who 
 for his part refused to be towered over, and stood 
 alert and cool, looking unusually pleased. 
 
 Mr. Jimson was scowling his ugliest ; Mr. Moor- 
 head was smiling gayly, only that there was something 
 peculiar behind the smile. She had never seen that 
 look before, but knew by instinct what it meant fight, 
 and the joy of it. 
 
 She felt afterwards, when it was over and there was 
 time to think, that she ought to have roused her fa 
 ther and Moloch to prevent possible bloodshed ; but 
 she was so absorbed in what was going on that it 
 never entered her head at the time. 
 
 "Then look out for yourself!" Tom was saying, 
 quietly, drawing back a little at the same time, and 
 resting his weight on his left foot. 
 
 Suddenly his laughing eyes flashed lightning out 
 of clear sky and his left arm shot out. 
 
 It was a beautiful blow. Leonora could see that, 
 but she wondered at the effect, for she did not know 
 how much went to make up its perfection : how the 
 left foot was raised an instant to the other knee ; how 
 the head went a little down, the shoulder swung for 
 ward ; the right hand held itself ready, guarding chin 
 and wind at once ; the right foot pushed hard from 
 
246 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 the ground; the muscles tightened from breast to 
 groin ; and the whole weight and force of back and 
 loins, chest, head, and shoulders the whole muscu 
 lar force of foot and calf and thigh, body and arm- 
 concentrated in an instant on that one clinched fist 
 that caught the f ellow s chin and drove his head back 
 on his round shoulders. 
 
 Before he could reel backward came the right hand 
 upon his neck, hurling him dazed against the logs of 
 the wall ; but he had a hard head and staggered for 
 ward, wasting his wind in curses, and swinging his 
 arms like the sails of a windmill, beating the empty 
 air with blows that seemed fit to crush a skull or 
 throw a shoulder out of gear. 
 
 But Tom had sprung lightly back, landing in posi 
 tion to strike : left hand well up ; right just below 
 and behind the left ; weight on the left knee, and 
 right foot poised on its ball. 
 
 A slight movement to one side, while the big fists 
 flapped harmless about the back of his head ; anoth 
 er straight, quick blow, in the body this time, and Tom 
 stepped forward, the right foot coming up behind the 
 left, still ready for another. 
 
 The objectionable suitor gasped and grunted, stag 
 gered backward, and put his hand behind him. 
 
 " Look out/ cried Leonora from the window ; 
 " he s got a knife !" But before the words were well 
 out of her mouth, or the knife from its sheath, came 
 the terrible right again hard on the man s jaw. His 
 head struck the wall, and the knife flew sideways 
 from his hand and stuck in the ground. 
 
 Tom s face was set and stern now, and glorious 
 (Leonora thought) with a right wrath. He moved 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 247 
 
 like the flash of a sword. The sight of the knife had 
 made him mad with a cold wrath. Left right ; left 
 right : the blows told heavily on face and body. 
 
 Leonora wondered that the other man could live 
 through it. Indeed, any ordinary man must have fall 
 en before now ; but this one, calloused by hardship 
 and a brute s life in the forest, had the toughness of 
 a beast, and lacked the quivering, sensitive nerves 
 that are the prey of a clever boxer. 
 
 Again and again Tom struck him at the juncture 
 of neck and jaw, expecting at each blow to see him 
 drop. 
 
 Suddenly he rallied, maddened with pain and the 
 closeness of defeat, and, swinging his great fist with 
 all his might, landed a round blow upon Tom s head 
 close to the temple. 
 
 Tom reeled away, shaken in every muscle, and stood 
 there a moment dazed and quivering ; but none but 
 a practised boxer could have told the state in which 
 the blow left him, for the well-trained feet kept their 
 firm position, the hands took their places, and he 
 stood, to all appearance, as firm as a bronze statue of 
 Self-defence. 
 
 On came the other, mad and exulting, and flung 
 himself upon his foe. 
 
 Again the left foot rose, the left arm straightened 
 with the whole weight of the body behind it a 
 mechanical movement without much force of its own, 
 but accurate. The adversary supplied the force ; his 
 head, rushing forward, met the fist just as the arm 
 stiffened. 
 
 Suppose an upright post, with a crosspiece reach 
 ing out from it horizontally at about the height of your 
 
248 LEONOHA OP THE YAWMISI1 
 
 chin. It is a harmless object. But quarrel with that 
 post, become enraged, try to strike it, hurl yourself 
 bodily at it, and let your chin strike the end of that 
 crosspiece. 
 
 The post has exerted no force, and yet you will find 
 yourself rolling on the ground with a head full of pain 
 and flashes. 
 
 That is the effect of a straight counter, such as Tom 
 gave Mr. Jimson. 
 
 It struck him full on the forehead and down he 
 went. He was up again in an instant, and rushed at 
 Tom, who had recovered strength again, and met him 
 with a right-hand blow in the midriff. 
 
 Then Leonora saw the savage-looking fellow double 
 over, and heard him groan and gasp, trying to catch 
 his breath. 
 
 As he bent forward, Tom stepped a little aside, 
 lifted his chin with a quick upward stroke of the left 
 fist, and put all his force into a tremendous blow with 
 his right, just where the jawbone joins the neck. The 
 man tottered, fell heavily, and lay like a log. 
 
 " Oh, you have killed him !" Leonora cried. 
 
 "Not at all," said Tom. 
 
 "Killed whom? Killed what?" Mr. Willoughby 
 called, from his room ; and Moloch came out bare 
 foot. 
 
 " You done well, Mr. Moorhead, sail. Is he daid ?" 
 
 " No/ said Tom. " He ll get up and go away soon. 
 And he won t come here again." 
 
 When Jimson came to, the three men were stand 
 ing over him, for Mr. Willoughby had arrived hastily 
 clad. 
 
 The fellow rose with a sidelong movement and 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 249 
 
 slouched away, looking back over his shoulder as he 
 went. 
 
 " What did you hit him with ?" Mr. Willoughby 
 asked, smiling at Tom with the first cordiality he had 
 shown him. 
 
 "Nature s weapons." 
 
 "Well done, sir! But you ought to have used a 
 club. No club could have been too hard or too 
 heavy." 
 
 Then the door opened, and Leonora came, pale and 
 anxious, all in a flutter, and held out her hand to 
 Moorhead, saying, " You are hurt !" 
 
 "Not the least, thank you/ said Tom, holding the 
 little hand as long as he might. 
 
 " But he gave you a dreadful blow !" 
 
 " Did he ? One doesn t notice much at the time." 
 
 " But you must have hurt Mm terribly ; he behaved, 
 at last, as if you had shot him." 
 
 " Deceitful and reprehensible of him," said Moor- 
 head. "I didn t." 
 
 "I have read in the papers about fights prize 
 fights but I had no idea they were so frightful to 
 see. I m glad you are safe !" 
 
 "I am sorry you saw it, Miss Willoughby." 
 
 Now this was not true. T. Norman Moorhead had 
 never been so glad of anything in his life. 
 
 " So am I," said Leonora, beaming upon him. " It 
 was dreadful horrible !" she added, smiling with 
 genuine pleasure. " But oh, I m afraid that horrid 
 creature will do you some injury!" 
 
 "Not likely," said Mr. Willoughby. "That kind of 
 animal is generally cowed by a thrashing. Besides, 
 Mr. Moorhead seems able to take care of himself." 
 
250 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 "Why did you do it ?" Leonora asked. 
 
 " You said you didn t want him about. And then 
 he was impudent." 
 
 " Oh ! AVhat did he say ?" 
 
 Moorhead smiled a restrained smile. " I think I 
 won t repeat his remarks, if you please. I haven t 
 his vocabulary ; and if I had, the result might not be 
 edifying." 
 
 " Oh \" said Leonora. 
 
 When they were alone together afterwards she said, 
 " Thank you !" and looked as if she meant it. 
 
 "Not at all. I enjoyed it," said Tom. 
 
XXVIII 
 
 AFTER the fight Tom felt that he had a real claim 
 of his own on the lady s acquaintance, apart from that 
 his brother had made over to him. 
 
 He saw that she still looked curiously at him from 
 time to time, as if he puzzled her ; but when their 
 eyes met there was a far more kindly light in hers 
 than there had been before. It was plain, too, that 
 he had completely won the heart of Moloch, and the 
 sense of having a sound friend by, of whatever com 
 plexion, was a comfort to him. He was recovering 
 his own individuality by degrees, and grew bolder in 
 his own boots. 
 
 One day he was watching her little brown fingers as 
 they moved deftly over her needlework, she sitting 
 on one of her favorite logs and leaning back on a 
 curving arm of vine-maple, he lying on the moss at 
 her feet. 
 
 " Leonora \" said he. 
 
 It was the first time he had called her Leonora. 
 Before the others she had been Miss Willoughby, of 
 course ; and at other times, not quite daring to say 
 Leonora (which had become a very sacred word to 
 him), he had called her "You." 
 
 Her eyes darkened as she looked down at him and 
 she dropped her work. 
 
 " What right" she began, and stopped and turned 
 
252 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 her face away, for his was more earnest than she 
 liked. 
 
 " What right ?" said he, daring to be reproachful. 
 " Why, surely I may call the girl who has promised 
 and he stopped and looked away also. 
 
 He all but forgot, at times, that it was not he but 
 his brother to whom she was engaged ; because he 
 felt engaged to her himself, knowing that he belonged 
 to her, whether she would have him or no. When he 
 remembered, he could not bring himself to say, "who 
 has promised to marry me." He had not told her a 
 lie yet, and did not mean to. He had allowed her 
 to think, if she would, that he was 0. Norman Moor- 
 head, but he had never before come so near claiming 
 actively his brother s identity; so he could not finish 
 what he had begun to say. 
 
 " Well ?" said Leonora, turning sharply upon him. 
 Her face had a grieved and anxious look. 
 
 " Nothing," said he. " Of course, if you don t wish 
 it I won t. But I thought 
 
 " You thought ?" said she, and waited with parted 
 lips and eyes full of question. 
 
 Moorhead was very busy tearing up bits of moss and 
 laying them by. 
 
 " You said something about a promise ?" she sug 
 gested. 
 
 He told the truth, as far as his speech went. "I 
 had no right," said he ; " I beg your pardon." 
 
 Then, if he had only known, the anxiety went out 
 of her face, and there came to it a gleam of inde 
 scribable sweetness and forgiveness. Forgiveness for 
 what ? Time may tell. If not, perhaps Leonora will 
 tell herself. Meanwhile her face was pretty to see, 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 253 
 
 as when, on a spring day, light and shadow chase each 
 other about among the flowers. Pleasure came next, 
 and mischief, and her eyes laughed, but he did not 
 see them. 
 
 " Please explain," she said, very coldly indeed. " I 
 do not understand. You" (with immense dignity) 
 " used my name !" 
 
 He was still busy with moss. 
 
 "You see," he said, "you have called me Norman 
 once or twice." 
 
 " Oh ! Have I ? I beg your pardon most humbly. 
 And you want to be revenged by calling me Leonora. 
 I am very sorry, Mr. Moorhead. I won t call you 
 Norman again. It shall be Mr. Moorhead always 
 Mr. Moorhead, and, if you please, Miss Willoughby" 
 
 "As you will," said he ; "I will not offend you 
 again." 
 
 So they dropped the subject and talked pleasantly 
 of books. 
 
 He wondered what her objection was to his calling 
 her Leonora. Certainly his brother had always done 
 so. Perhaps it was only one of those fancies maidens 
 are said to cherish suddenly. He had not offended 
 in any other way so far as he knew. 
 
 Perhaps it was better so. At all events, she was 
 quite gracious in other respects so gracious and 
 sweet and kind that his conscience hurt him more 
 than ever. 
 
 If he could have heard what she said to herself 
 afterwards lie would have wondered what she meant. 
 
 " A few days ago he proved himself a man. Now he 
 shows himself a gentleman. And he has a conscience. 
 But then how could he ? How will it end ?" 
 
254 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 After this his experience with womankind as exem 
 plified in Leonora was strange and various, and he 
 learned to marvel at the elasticity of her mood. 
 
 Sometimes he felt himself an accepted lover, ad 
 mitted to his brother s rights, and suffered shame ac 
 cordingly ; sometimes a mere acquaintance, and suf 
 fered as with mental cold and hunger ; sometimes a 
 sort of dog or other possession of no great value, to 
 be made careless and thankless use of and generally ill- 
 treated ; and this, by contrast, he enjoyed in a humble 
 way, because it seemed akin to his true position ; he 
 had learned to take a snub from his lady as a favor. 
 
 Leonora seemed happier than she had ever seemed 
 before, and was very good to her father and Moloch. 
 
 One evening, at dinner, she turned suddenly to poor 
 Tom, who was trying to eat soup neatly without look 
 ing at his plate, because he had other use for his 
 eyes, and said : 
 
 11 Mr. Moorhead, do you remember the day you shot 
 at the elk ?" She had rather avoided reminiscences 
 heretofore, for which Tom had been thankful, as he 
 knew that they were the weak point in his position, 
 in spite of his brother s teachings. 
 
 It happened, however, that Charles had told him 
 all about the "elk," so he answered, glibly, being 
 careful to say nothing literally untrue : 
 
 " Happily it was not hurt. It was one of your cows 
 that had strayed into the woods/ 
 
 She looked a little surprised, and then laughed. 
 "Never mind," said she. " It was a bad shot; but 
 it s as well you missed, since it happened to be the 
 cow. But when you saved me from that wounded 
 bear, that made up for it bravely, didn t it ?" 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 255 
 
 Now this was very strange strange and dreadful. 
 Charles had never said a word about the wounded 
 bear, or any other bear in particular, and he certainly 
 would not have concealed through modesty any inci 
 dent redounding to his personal glory. 
 
 Tom felt a pang of jealousy that Charles should 
 have been so privileged as to save Leonora, and of 
 rage that he had left him in ignorance of the fact. 
 What could he say ? He certainly did not remember. 
 
 So he hedged, inanely : 
 
 " It is sometimes easier to shoot a bear than a cow." 
 
 "Is it ?" said Leonora. "I didn t know." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby stared. It seemed to him that 
 Leonora was developing a vein of flippancy quite new 
 to her, and he did not like it. 
 
 " / knew nothing of Mr. Moorhead s shooting at my 
 cow or saving my daughter," he said, crossly. He 
 was thinking what else might have taken place with 
 out his knowledge, and that perhaps Leonora had 
 better see less of the young man in future. 
 
 Before the fight he had looked upon the guest as a 
 mere puppy, and had never considered the possibility 
 of his daughter s taking a fancy to him ; but since that 
 event he had felt more respect for Moorhead, and the 
 change in Leonora s manner troubled him. He feared 
 
 O 
 
 that she was too well pleased with the young man s 
 victory over the uncalled-for Jimson. 
 
 " Never mind, father mine," said she. " The safety 
 of your daughter weighs against the fright occasioned 
 to your cow." 
 
 "But I can recall neither cow nor bear," said Mr. 
 Willoughby. 
 
 "The bear is beyond recall ; the cow is where she 
 
256 LEONOHA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 belongs, and does not need it," said Leonora. " And 
 surely you have not forgotten, father, how you fell 
 into the deep eddy just above the rapids, when you 
 were after that very large trout, and how Mr. Moor- 
 head pulled you out at the risk of his life. Yon re 
 member, don t you, Mr. Moorhead ?" 
 
 Tom began to see now how futile it had been for 
 Charles to try to teach him the events of his stay in 
 the valley. Here three incidents had been mentioned 
 one he knew of and could talk about, guardedly; 
 the other two either his brother had neglected to tell 
 him, or he himself had utterly forgotten. 
 
 "You remember; do you not, Mr. Moorhead?" 
 said Leonora again. 
 
 She was leaning forward waiting his answer, and 
 Mr. Willoughby was staring at him with an expres 
 sion of amazement, which Moorhead attributed to his 
 own delay in answering. 
 
 " He Mr. Willoughby was very wet!" he said, des 
 perately. Then, inspired by the sudden thought that 
 Moloch had told him the river was unusually high, he 
 added, "The water was much lower then." 
 
 " Sir !" said Mr. Willoughby, sharply, unable to 
 retain his wrath any longer, "Leonora ! what do you 
 mean ? Pulled me out ? / was very wet ? What do 
 you mean, sir f 
 
 "I was only trying Mr. Moorhead s memory, father," 
 said Leonora. "It s a very good memory, indeed. / 
 can t recall any such incident with mine !" 
 
 Moorhead turned fiery-red, seeing at last the trap 
 she had set for him. Mr. Willoughby laid down his 
 knife and fork, and stared straight at him as if de 
 manding an explanation. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 257 
 
 Leonora bent her head a little and looked amused, 
 casting furtive glances, now sidelong at her father, 
 now under arched brows across the table at Moorhead, 
 who could not help thinking, in spite of his misery, 
 how pretty the glances were. 
 
 But the need of allaying the old gentleman s wrath 
 was imminent, and it was written upon Leonora s face 
 that she did not care, and meant him to get out of it 
 as best he might. 
 
 Then a luminous, desperate idea flashed into his 
 mind, and he looked up boldly and smiled. For the 
 first time he felt that his legal training had not been 
 wasted he needed it all for this crisis. 
 
 " Pardon me, Mr. Willoughby," said he, pleasantly. 
 < I don t wonder at your indignation, unless you hap 
 pen to be aware of a rather new and distinctly absurd 
 point of etiquette that was probably not the fashion 
 before you withdrew yourself from the world name 
 ly, that when a lady recalls a reminiscence a man 
 must in courtesy seem to remember, and make an 
 evasive answer rather than seem to doubt or forget. 
 You doubtless see the point, which is rather a fine 
 one even for social ethics ? To set up one s own mem 
 ory in opposition to a lady s is analogous to disputing 
 her, and so may be considered a rudeness. Other 
 wise, of course, when the reminiscence is brought up 
 for the sake of actual information, then one may 
 venture to differ; but when it comes up in a merely 
 conversational way when the question is, as it were, 
 only a form of narrative you follow me, sir ? then 
 the idea is that a direct difference of opinion is tanta 
 mount to a contradiction. I, of course, do not re 
 member any such incident as that which Miss Wil- 
 
 17 
 
258 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 lougliby has been pleased playfully to suggest, but 
 how could I say so ? Therefore I avoided contradic 
 tion by saying, Mr. Willoughby was very wet/ which 
 was a truism, assuming (as one must) Miss Willough- 
 by s reminiscence to have been real; and I said, The 
 river was lower then/ which, you will remember, was 
 the fact. I owe you an apology, sir, for the personal 
 nature of the first remark. I was rather surprised at 
 what had just been said, and it was the first thing 
 that entered my head." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby burst out laughing. The absurdity 
 of human fashions was a hobby of his, and Moorhead s 
 explanation tickled him. 
 
 The apology is due from me" he said. " Of course 
 I had no idea, positively none, of this new point of de 
 corum. No doubt there are ten thousand others of 
 which we are ignorant here, just as in my day there 
 were many quite as absurd. Yet I like them, with all 
 their absurdity. They tend to make men careful in 
 their conduct, I suppose, and, apart from their use, 
 are a most amusing study. No more of your mis 
 chievous recollections, miss ! I wonder what a figure 
 you and I should cut to-day at a fashionable table ?" 
 
 Tom was thinking that Leonora would "cut" the 
 most glorious figure he had ever seen, and wishing he 
 had a table of his own where she might preside. What 
 Leonora was thinking of his excuse whether she be 
 lieved it or not he could not tell, but he thought 
 there was something almost congratulatory in the look 
 she gave him. 
 
 Why had she dragged him into the dangerous land 
 of memories ? Did she suspect him ? No, it was im 
 possible, or she must surely have turned him out long 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 259 
 
 ago. She would despise him if she knew, and she 
 certainly did not despise him. What should he do ? 
 Why not let well alone for the present ? But was it 
 well ? To be in an utterly false position towards the 
 woman he loved was all wrong. Why not get out of 
 it, then ? Why not confess ? But to confess would 
 doubtless condemn him to go away in disgrace and 
 never see her again. Would it not be better to be in 
 disgrace with her than with his own conscience ? 
 
 The misguided young man found the idea of the 
 disapproval of conscience much the easier to bear. 
 Yes ; he could bear his own contempt better than 
 hers. So he tried to dispose of the conscience., but 
 it would not let him alone. A conscience may be 
 reasoned about, but not with. 
 
 Leonora would, at least, let him alone after the 
 first, if he confessed. The inward monitor would 
 not, unless he confessed. But then she would let him 
 too well alone. He decided to think it over. The 
 more he thought, the more miserable he grew. 
 
 He wrote an angry letter to his brother, and kept 
 it in his pocket, waiting an opportunity to scad it. 
 
 Meanwhile Leonora put him to much torture. She 
 brought up no more reminiscences in her father s 
 presence, but when no third person was by she rev 
 elled in them. 
 
 " Let us forget that other time," said he. " It was 
 unsatisfactory." 
 
 "Can you forget it ?" said she ; and he wondered, 
 uneasily, what she meant by that. 
 
 Was it the very natural reproach of a girl whose 
 lover speaks of forgetting the days of their first love 
 (which is blasphemy in a lover), or did she mean that 
 
260 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 he ought not to be able to forget what he had never 
 known ? He told himself that he was giving way to 
 absurd fancies that she could not suspect him. 
 
 Would she have teased his brother with those ri 
 diculous reminiscences of hers ? Very likely why, 
 of course if he had betrayed forgetfulness, it would 
 have amused her to do so. 
 
 The rest of her conduct would have puzzled him 
 less if he had not come out of his confinement in that 
 office of his nearly or quite as ignorant of girls and 
 their little ways as she could be of men. It never 
 occurred to him to accuse that stately being of flirt 
 ing ; and yet 
 
 She would treat him for a day with great kindness 
 and geniality ; would exchange little confidences with 
 him, demand his sympathy, laugh at his jokes.^ The 
 next morning she would hold him at a stranger s dis 
 tance, with that extreme of courtesy that is little 
 short of rudeness, and which cut him deeply would 
 take any attempt at frivolous discourse in the most 
 serious manner. Again, she would take entire pos 
 session of him, give no mark of favor in return, and 
 order him about, with no thanks for his services. He 
 took it all very meekly, glad of any chance to do her 
 bidding. 
 
 Once she said : " I don t see why you waste your 
 time out here. I should think a man ought to have 
 some occupation that would keep him busy at home. 
 His time ought to be valuable." 
 
 " Did you not write and say, Come at once ? he 
 asked. He avoided any statement that she had writ 
 ten to Mm. " I came, and perhaps it was fortunate 
 I did. I do not like to leave you while that- 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 261 
 
 creature may still be somewhere about to trouble 
 
 you." 
 
 She gave a little exclamation of disgust. " Poor 
 creature !" said she ; " I think you treated him bru 
 tally. I wouldn t boast of it." 
 
 " I was not boasting." 
 
 " I wouldn t," said she. "Is it so much for a man 
 who is evidently an experienced bruiser, do they 
 call it ? to beat one who is not ? I thought you 
 clever people of the world you of the better class 
 were proud of your excellence over the others in mind 
 and spirit, not in brute force or the skill of a prize 
 fighter. Is it the part of a gentleman to lay hands 
 on a creature like that ? Perhaps it is one of your 
 new points of etiquette, such as you were telling about 
 the other evening at dinner ! I should have thought 
 you could have sent him away without that. It 
 would have been natural and no disgrace for you to 
 have been weaker than he in body and muscle a man 
 may well be poorer than a brute in that ; but surely 
 with your trained mind and soul you could have made 
 him do your bidding without scuffling with him. 
 To strike such a man is to come down to his level. 
 It s what lie would have done to you /" 
 
 "Yes, he would, if I had given him the chance/" 
 said Tom. "There seemed no other way at the 
 time." 
 
 "That," said she, severely, "is what I complain of. 
 There ought to have seemed a better way. I think 
 you have changed. You would never have done that 
 when you were here before. You would have gone 
 out and subdued him by dint of manner, caste, and 
 intellect." 
 
262 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Tom began to think she might be making fun of 
 him. But her voice and face were so grave and so 
 sweetly serious that it seemed impossible. 
 
 Yes; she still thought it was his brother. No won 
 der he seemed changed ! He, had not tried to imitate 
 Charles in any way since he had come to the valley, 
 and certainly his fight would have been but a poor 
 imitation of that careful and dignified personage. 
 
 He had been proud of his fight, and was deeply 
 hurt at her thanklessness. It was one of his fail 
 ings to take the words of woman always in sober 
 earnest. 
 
 When he slept that night he dreamed that he was 
 in a dark place in the woods and a tall man stood be 
 fore him. He could just see the outlines of the great 
 limbs and the flash of a knife. He seemed to fight des 
 perately not for himself, but for Leonora. Then he 
 heard a cry and saw the face of the maiden, pale and 
 white, peeping out from a bush, and he fought the 
 harder, till she cried, " Stop ! You might have fought 
 for me if you had been Tom ; but you have chosen to 
 be Tom s brother, and you cannot fight !" 
 
 He knew in his dream that he had given up his own 
 individuality, and he felt ashamed and slunk away, 
 while laughter seemed to come from the trees all 
 about him. 
 
 He woke with the sense of a great shame upon him. 
 feeling that, in this great crisis of his life his first 
 strong love he was an impostor and a cheat ; not 
 himself, but merely the counterfeit of another ; that 
 as himself he had no right to be there, had no right 
 to Leonora s acquaintance. It was a morbid state of 
 mind perhaps and perhaps not. At all events, it 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 263 
 
 was becoming morbid and gave him no peace. Should 
 he tell her or should he not ? 
 
 Sometimes a very small matter, alien to one s 
 thoughts, ludicrous perhaps in itself, will serve to 
 point a moral and help one to a decision when reason 
 and conscience alike fail. 
 
 Moorhead saw Moloch over at the edge of the clear 
 ing sitting on a log. His face was preternatural- 
 ly gloomy. He was holding a stout piece of twine, 
 running it slowly through his hands. He looked up 
 at the mountains and down at the grass and mut 
 tered to himself, but there was no hearing what he 
 said. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind 
 about something. He frowned terribly and put his 
 hand to his head, and then set busily about making a 
 knot in the cord. When this was done to his satis 
 faction he examined the undergrowth near by, and, 
 after bending down several saplings as if to test their 
 strength and spring, he selected a young cottonwood, 
 and began to climb it till it bent with his weight. 
 As it leaned he swung down and dangled by his 
 hands, shifting his grip till he had grasped the top, 
 which, bending lower, let hini slowly to the ground. 
 He tied the line to the top of the sapling, his counte 
 nance all the while becoming more lugubrious, till his 
 expression was as black as the face that wore it. 
 
 " What is the matter with the man ?" said Tom to 
 himself. " Hullo, Moloch ! what are you doing ? 
 Surely you don t mean to hang yourself with that fish- 
 line I" he cried. " What s up ? Can I help you ?" 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Moorhead, sail," said Moloch, with a 
 short-lived grin that changed suddenly to a look of 
 unutterable misery, " I shall be mos grateful for yoh 
 
264 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Distance, sail ! "Would it be too much to ask yo to 
 hoi down the end of this slaplin a minute ? No, sah ; 
 I ain t goin to hang maself. It s wuss n that physi 
 cally, but bettah morally, Mr. Moorhead, sah I" 
 
 Therewith, while Tom held the end of the cotton- 
 wood, he fumbled at his face, and presently stood 
 with his hands clasped, and the string dangling from 
 his mouth, as from that of a hooked fish. 
 
 " Now, if you please, sah, doan let it slip !" he said, 
 in a beseeching tone, rolling his eyes apprehensively 
 towards the bent cottonwood, and lying down under 
 it with his arms folded across his big chest. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Moorhead, sah, would you kindly sit 
 down on me, sah, an hold my haid back ?" 
 
 "Poor old chap!" said Tom. "Is it a very bad 
 tooth ? Will this work, do you think ?" 
 
 "Yes, sah I hope it will," said Moloch, fervently. 
 "Now bend the slaplin down close to ma haid, sah. 
 N-o-ow when I say Free ! One ! Two ! Free !" 
 Away went the sapling, and Moloch sprang up and 
 sent Tom sprawling on the grass. A little something 
 dangled from the top of the young cottonwood. 
 
 Years later, when that sapling shall have grown a 
 great tree and been cut down, that something will be 
 found, and a learned gentleman with theories and a 
 taste for research will write a paper on the early Ind 
 ian method of pulling teeth. 
 
 " How are you now ?" Tom asked, with sympathy. 
 
 "All right, sah. Hurts, but nothin to what it 
 was," said Moloch, cheerfully. "I beg pardon for 
 gettin up an frowin you off so unceremonious, but 
 at such times a man ain t altogether self-controlled,, 
 sah." 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 265 
 
 "Don t mention it/ said Tom. 
 
 "Tell you, sah," said Moloch, "there s no luxury 
 on earth like havin a big toothache an gettin rid of 
 it. Bettah hab it out than bear it day an night." 
 
 " Better have it out than bear it day and night !" 
 The words kept repeating themselves over and over 
 in Tom s mind, till he said to himself, "He s right/ 
 and straightway he went in search of Leonora. 
 
XXIX 
 
 LEONORA sat in the drooping loop of a hanging 
 vine with the tips of her little moccasins just touch 
 ing the ground. One lovely arm, bare to the elbow, 
 lay upward along the vine and her head rested in its 
 soft curve. The boughs arched above, the ferns grew 
 rich and deep on either side, and behind her was the 
 darkness of the forest. 
 
 So Tom found her. She heard his step on the dry 
 twigs, and her wide eyes seemed to ask what he meant 
 by disturbing her in her retreat. 
 
 "Miss Willoughby," said Tom, "there s something 
 I ought to tell you." 
 
 The change in her face surprised him. It had been 
 calm a little disdainful rather weary ; but now a 
 gleam of some strong feeling came over it a blend 
 ing of eagerness and anxiety, of hope and fear ; but 
 she said nothing for a while. He, not knowing how 
 to go on, waited in deep embarrassment. 
 
 "I don t think you ought to tell me anything un 
 less you wish, Mr. Moorhead," said she, rather coolly. 
 "Why should you? What have I to do with your 
 affairs ?" 
 
 " I m in for it now !" Tom thought, and came right 
 to the point. 
 
 " It is it s it is that I am an impostor a cheat 
 a scoundrel not fit to be in your presence !" 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 2G7 
 
 " Then why do you stay in my presence ?" said the 
 girl. But her voice was kind, and her face had a kind 
 of triumph on it that he could not understand, and a 
 smile that gave him comfort to go on. 
 
 " I ll tell you all about it/ said he, bringing out his 
 words slowly, for each was an effort ; and the impulse 
 to turn round, pack his goods, and disappear was 
 strong upon him. 
 
 "About what ?" said she, looking happy and a lit 
 tle mischievous. 
 
 "About my my unpardonable rascality," said he, 
 with self-accusing ferocity. 
 
 " I don t know that I care to hear of unpardonable 
 rascality," said she. 
 
 " Please hear what I have to say !" he said, brusque 
 ly, almost angrily ; for it is very hard for a man who 
 has determined to confess to be deprived of the right 
 of confession, and he had made up his mind that she 
 should listen. 
 
 " I can t see why you should tell me, when I say that 
 I hate such subjects," she answered, crossly. "Why 
 not go and tell my father ? he s a great believer in 
 unpardonable rascality or Moloch ?" 
 
 "It doesn t concern Moloch," said Tom. 
 
 " I do not understand how it can concern me," said 
 she, "or, if it does, it surely concerns my father." 
 
 " No well, yes in a way it does, for I ve been his 
 guest under false pretences," said Tom, blurting out 
 his words fast and tingling with hot shame. "I ll 
 tell him instead of you, or do anything else you tell 
 me. But if you ll let me, I d much rather speak of it 
 to you." 
 
 "You ll do anything I tell you ?" said she. 
 
268 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Good/ said she. "That s like you. Norman 
 Charles Norman, I mean would have thought a min 
 ute, and said, Anything in reason. You are rash, 
 are you not ? Think what things I might bid you do. 
 And then you must do them or break your word. 
 "Well, then, if you ll really mind me, I tell you to say 
 no more about it, Mr. Thomas Norman Moorhead." 
 
 She rose, dropped him a grand, low courtesy, and 
 swept away to the house, leaving him too much aston 
 ished to speak or follow her. 
 
 " So she knows/ he thought. "How long has she 
 known ? She must have divined it, just as Nelly 
 Merivale got the fact of Charley s engagement out of 
 me and thought I told her, when I had never said a 
 word about it ! Are all women mind-readers ?" And 
 all the sunny morning he wandered about alone, till 
 Moloch waked the echoes with a bugle of his that 
 meant lunch. 
 
 Then he went reluctantly to the house, wondering 
 what was in store for him. He looked apprehensively 
 at Leonora, then at Mr. Willoughby. She was sweet 
 and grave and happy, as it seemed ; her father was as 
 usual. 
 
 Afterwards, when Mr. Willoughby was deep in some 
 book and Leonora had gone out, Moorhead tried to 
 find her ; but all that afternoon she was gone upon 
 the hills. 
 
 In the evening she treated him pleasantly and 
 without constraint, seeming to think nothing of that 
 morning s conversation. 
 
 "What shall I do?" he thought. "It cannot be 
 that she means to be friends with me now. She 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 269 
 
 knows, and takes no notice. It must be that she is 
 too thoroughbred to have a scene, and takes it for 
 granted that I know enough to go go at once with 
 out any further allusion to a painful subject. And 
 yet it did not seem to distress her or even make her 
 angry. She was too proud to show it, that s all. 
 Of course I must go. But first I must tell her tell 
 her the whole story : how carelessly I undertook this 
 thing, how bitterly I repented it \" So he waited, 
 but she gave him no chance to speak. 
 
 He hung about the house when she was there ; 
 when she had gone out he wandered over the moun 
 tain trails, hoping to meet her. It was in the course 
 of these lonely wanderings that he came to a place 
 where the narrow elk-trail ran along a ridge that was 
 rocky and precipitous on one side, and on the other 
 sloping and covered with timber. A curious stone 
 on the ground caught his attention. He stooped to 
 look at it, and stooped just at the right time, for the 
 next moment he was rolling in the brush below the 
 trail with a bullet in his left shoulder. 
 
 " Whoever did that did it on purpose/ he thought. 
 " It was a good aim for my heart if I had stayed as I 
 was." 
 
 He lay still, waiting further developments, master 
 ing his pain as best he could, but making no sound. 
 He never knew how long he lay. A raven came 
 croaking and barking overhead, and watched him with 
 a hungry interest. 
 
 At last he heard a cautious step upon the trail a 
 slow, stealthy footfall, and evidently human. 
 
 He did not move. His position was such that he 
 could see the ridge through the bushes that part- 
 
270 LEONOHA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 ly hid him from any one who might pass along its 
 top. 
 
 The step drew nearer, and he could see, on the 
 ridge, against the sky, a man sneaking along. He 
 could not see the face, but he knew the rags, the long 
 limbs, and slouching shoulders for those of the man 
 he had fought and beaten for Leonora. His grip 
 tightened on his revolver. 
 
 "That seems to explain," he thought. " But I 
 must wait and make no mistakes. Better anything 
 than such an error I" 
 
 The man drew near, crouching and looking often 
 over his shoulder, examining every object about, peer 
 ing into the brush as one hunting and hunted at once. 
 He stood just where Tom had fallen, and caught sight 
 of the wounded man s legs sticking out of the brush. 
 
 He stood still, and watched them and listened. " It 
 may have been an accident, 7 Tom thought. t( Per 
 haps he mistook me for game, though it s not likely. 
 I can * t stand this any longer I ll try him. " 
 
 Tom moved his foot and groaned. Instantly the 
 other s rifle went to his shoulder yet he waited a 
 moment as if calculating, from what he could see of 
 his victim, the position of some vital part. Tom was 
 tired of waiting. The halls of the echoes rang with 
 a revolver-shot, and the objectionable suitor staggered 
 and fell backward. 
 
 Tom crawled up on the ridge, and looked down 
 the other side. Only a steep of rock falling straight 
 away into the blackness of forest shade ; only the 
 sound of roaring water from the depths, and the raven, 
 croaking and hovering lower and lower, a little way 
 down. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 271 
 
 The raven had transferred his allegiance. Tom 
 dropped a bullet through his black back, and watched 
 him falling into the darkness below. Then, spent 
 with pain and loss of blood and the reaction from in 
 tense excitement, he went slowly back to the cabin and 
 sought aid of Moloch. 
 
 "I helped you in a surgical operation the other 
 day," said he, "and now it s your turn to do some 
 thing for me." And he told his story, lamenting what 
 had happened, and charging him to say nothing of the 
 matter to his mistress. 
 
 " You done just right, Mr. Moorhead, sah," said 
 Moloch, "an 7 thank God you ain t no worse. You 
 owed it to Miss Nora to protect yourself, sah. Please 
 to think of that if it troubles you, sah." 
 
 The bullet was not hard to extract, and the old 
 butler tenderly ministered to the wound, and fed him, 
 and left him to sleep. He slept well. It is a dread 
 ful thing to have slain a man in his sins ; but he 
 knew he had done right, and Moloch s words, though 
 the oracle was humble and the statement unlikely, 
 comforted him. 
 
 "You owed it to Miss Nora to protect yourself!" 
 If only that might be so ! 
 
XXX 
 
 IN the morning Moloch helped him to dress, put 
 him in a cool, shady corner of the veranda, where 
 the sweet breeze came through the vines, and set 
 beside him a table with books and a change of pipes, 
 a jar of fragrant tobacco, and a cold jug of lemonade, 
 tempered with good old Jamaica (not the ginger), to 
 gladden his heart. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby came and regarded Tom with new 
 interest. 
 
 "Are you quite comfortable ?" said he. 
 
 "Thanks, yes," said Tom. 
 
 "If you will pardon me a personal remark," said 
 Mr. Willoughby, "I am most happily disappointed 
 in you, Moorhead. It took a cool head and strong 
 nerve to wait for that fellow, as you did, without a 
 sign, with a painful wound galling you. I did not 
 think you had it in you. When you were here be 
 fore, you seemed a totally different being. Well, I 
 never shot any one myself, but I have often wished 
 to, and I rather envy you the privilege of doing it 
 lawfully. I congratulate you." 
 
 The old man held out his hand, to the great dis 
 gust of Tom, whose soul revolted against treating 
 such a matter lightly. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " I am glad, indeed, to shake hands 
 with you as a friend ; but pray understand that I con- 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 273 
 
 sider what I have had to do a matter of pity, not 
 congratulation." 
 
 "Quite right," said Mr. Willoughby, with a slight 
 sneer. "A very proper spirit. All the more credit 
 to you for doing it so well. But when you know men 
 as / do, you ll understand my point of view. Gentle 
 or simple, rich or poor, priest and layman, they are 
 much alike ; much like that poor wretch who has got 
 his deserts at your hand, except that they have more 
 tact to disguise their feelings and control their ac 
 tions, in fear of the law. 
 
 " So they use sneers for blows, lies instead of am 
 bush ; they give heartaches and agony of mind in 
 stead of rifle-shots and festering wounds ; they are 
 much the same fraud or force ; and that is why, 
 when one catches them jumping the limits of 
 their sheltering pen, the law, he is to be thanked 
 for killing them for what they are the most danger 
 ous and treacherous of animals ; the only ones to 
 which the devil can teach his tricks ; the only ones 
 he can break to his yoke I" 
 
 Tom understood fully now the old man s reasons 
 for living apart from his fellows. 
 
 His hatred of man amounted to a monomania, which 
 showed itself less in his words, which savored too sad 
 ly much of reason, than in his flashing, eager eyes and 
 frowning brows, his clinched fist and heaving chest. 
 "I tell you," he began again but Leonora came out 
 and laid her hand on his arm and looked into his 
 eyes, which grew mild at the sight of her sweet face, 
 and caught a tender light from hers. His brow lost 
 its deep lines ; he smiled and kissed her before the 
 young man s envying face ; and, turning to him, said, 
 
 18 
 
274 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 gently : " Yet there may be there are human beings 
 that are God s own creation, and have never lost the 
 glory that He breathed into the nostrils of the first 
 man. You you never knew my wife, sir." 
 
 And Mr. Willoughby pulled his broad hat down over 
 his eyes and went away to his fishing. 
 
 " My father doesn t mean half what he says about 
 people," said Leonora. " He was angry and bitter 
 when he came away. He has hardly seen any since 
 in all these years ; so he has had no chance to change 
 his opinions, but has brooded over them till he thinks 
 he really believes in them." 
 
 " Fm afraid too much of them are true," said Tom. 
 
 "That is nob the point," said Leonora. "What if 
 they are ? I did not say believes them, but believes 
 in them thinks they are right to act upon and live 
 by. If only I could get him to see that, bad as hu 
 manity may be, we are a part of it and not apart from it! 
 Well, sometime, perhaps, I can. But you you have 
 had a narrow escape and a hard experience : Moloch 
 told me, in spite of your injunctions. I can think 
 how you must feel ; but it had to be, did it not ?" 
 
 " I suppose it had ; and yet why should it ? I d as 
 lief, if I had thought of everything, have lain still and 
 let him finish his work." 
 
 "Stop don t speak so! Come you are down 
 hearted and suffering." 
 
 " You are right," he said. " One must not whine." 
 
 Now, Leonora knew that it was not only his advent 
 ure on the ridge that troubled him, and he seemed 
 so unhappy that she relented and took pity. 
 
 " Can I not help you to be happier ?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes," said he. "I am downhearted I am suf- 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 275 
 
 fering. But it s not this it s something else. You 
 can help me no one else can." 
 
 "I will perhaps," said Leonora, smiling beauti 
 fully. 
 
 " It s what I was telling you the other clay," he con 
 tinued. " You knew that before, though I did not 
 think so when I confessed." 
 
 "I am glad you told me when you thought I did 
 not know," she said. " It made a difference." 
 
 " I wonder how much more you know of what I was 
 going to say ? At all events, that is what I need 
 to tell you all about it everything, from the begin 
 ning." 
 
 Her face grew grave with something of that anx 
 ious expression he had seen before. 
 
 " Go on," said she. " You may tell me." 
 
 " It was a shameful, a wicked fraud " 
 
 " What was ?" said she. " Tell me what happened, 
 and let me decide about that." 
 
 "I came here intending to pass myself off for my 
 brother," said he. 
 
 " Why ?" said she. 
 
 He sat silent before her, thinking : "Suppose she 
 does not know the whole ? Suppose she thinks 
 my brother still loves her ? How can I tell her he 
 does not? How can I tell her that / love her, if 
 she does not know about his faithlessness if by any 
 chance she still cares for him ? It s a hard thing that 
 a fellow must either tell the girl he loves that his 
 brother is a rascal, or seem to be making love on his 
 own account to his brother s fiancee, or say nothing. " 
 
 "Why ?" Leonora asked again. 
 
 "I I find I can t tell you that." 
 
276 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 " You must tell me that. I have a right to ask." 
 
 < Then you don t know ?" he said. 
 
 "How should I?" 
 
 " One thing I must tell you," said he. " I meant 
 to take his place and marry you ; and I consented to 
 try to do so for a price, before I ever saw you." 
 
 He looked so miserable that a shade of compassion 
 came over her face, and she said, quickly, " Forgive 
 me. You deserve it ; but I forgot that you were hurt ; 
 and now just because you are ill, and for no other 
 reason HI let you off and not tease you any more. 
 I m coming right back." 
 
 She went into the house, and brought back an open 
 letter which she gave him. 
 
 "There," said she, "you ve made your confession 
 like a man, and tried to shield your brother. Now 
 read that !" 
 
 MY DEAR MlSS WlLLOUGIIBY, 
 
 "As a dear friend of Mr. Moorhead, I write to tell you, for 
 his sake and your own, some bad news. 
 
 "It is best you should know at once that marriage between 
 you is an impossibility. I will not try to give all the reasons, of 
 which there are many, why it would not do most of them you 
 could hardly be expected to understand. You are said to be a 
 great reader. Your books will tell you of the evils of ill-assorted 
 marriages. I say this to prepare you for what is to come. He 
 has seen his mistake, and wishes (forgive me if I hurt you, but 
 it s better you should know, as you ll see when I have done) to 
 be free from his engagement, for your sake as well as his. But 
 he will not cannot, as a man break it off. It is your place 
 to do this. 
 
 " Being unable to bear the idea of this engagement to you, and 
 equally unable to write and tell you so, he has taken this singu 
 lar and unheard-of way of getting out of the difficulty. His 
 younger brother, Thomas Norman Moorhead, who, in appear- 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 277 
 
 ance, is much like him, is going to visit you, and, if you mistake 
 him for y OUT fiance, Charles Norman Moorhead, will carry out the 
 deception and marry you in his brother s stead, if he finds it his 
 pleasure to do so. It is a wretched and foolish plan, and I think 
 it my duty to warn you against it, both to show you how impos 
 sible and wrong a marriage between you and Charles Moorhead 
 would be, and to keep you from marrying Thomas Moorhead, 
 who is a disgrace to his family, and an adventurer, of no char 
 acter or means. 
 
 "Very sincerely, 
 
 "SARAH J. BRADLEE. 
 
 "P. S. Thomas Moorhead is to be paid a large sum by his 
 brother for marrying you." 
 
 " Well ?" said Leonora. " Is it true ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That you are to be paid ?" 
 
 "Not now. It was true. Will you let me tell you 
 about it, or are you too utterly disgusted with me ?" 
 
 Leonora laughed. " Curiosity is stronger than dis 
 gust in a woman," said she. 
 
 Tom told her of his brother s new infatuation for 
 his old love, of all the pressure so ingeniously brought 
 to bear on him, of his obligations to Charles, of the 
 marvellous way in which Mrs. Merivale had extracted 
 information from him, of his brother s anger and grief, 
 of her encouragement, of how he had said he could 
 not support a wife, and of his brothers offer to make 
 him able to marry. 
 
 " I thought you were not exactly a dramatic villain," 
 said Leonora. "You seemed more like a schoolboy, 
 all the time. But I didn t think you were exactly, 
 stupid not so stupid. Why can t you see can t you 
 see ? that those people your brother and Mrs. 
 WhatVher-name had it all arranged between them 
 
278 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 for some reason ? Yon didn t tell her anything ; she 
 knew all abont it beforehand. Well about the money. 
 Are you to have it ?" 
 
 "No!" said he. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Why ? Why, Miss Willoughby, what do you take 
 me for ? Don t you see how different it all is ? I 
 didn t Jcnoio you then. Since I have known you I 
 would no more think of doing such a thing Oh, 
 Leonora, you have changed me ! I m a different 
 fellow now ! If you would only believe me here 
 wait a minute I have something to show you !" 
 
 "Don t get up/ she said. 
 
 "Oh yes!" said he; "I m well enough to walk 
 about." He went to his room and came back with a 
 blank face. " I had a letter too/ said he, " and now 
 I can t find oh ! here it is. It was in my pocket all 
 the time. Eead it. I wrote it some time ago, but 
 there has been no chance yet to post it." 
 
 He tore off the envelope and handed it to her. She 
 
 read, as follows : 
 
 * 
 " CHARLES N. MOORIIEAD, ESQ., 
 
 "I have come to my senses. 
 
 " I ll have nothing more to do with the dishonorable plan by 
 which you have sought to rid yourself of as lovely a woman as 
 the Lord has made. 
 
 " Keep your money, and, if you are not quite devoid of sense 
 and feeling, give up your silly infatuation and ask her to receive 
 you again. 
 
 "Rest assured of one thing, however: you shall not have her 
 if it be in my power fairly to win her from you ! 
 
 " I love her too well. 
 
 "Tnos. N. MOORHEAD." 
 
 "I never meant you to read that last part," said 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 279 
 
 Tom, very red,, and looking away. " I bad forgotten 
 that." 
 
 " Forgotten so soon ?" said Leonora,, looking away 
 also. You are alike in some things, then you broth 
 ers. " 
 
 They both sat without a word for a while. Then 
 Tom said, very gloomily : 
 
 " It s a pity my shoulder s in this fix. I ought to 
 go at once. But I can t carry a pack. I didn t know 
 you Avhen I let myself be hired. Since I have known 
 you I have been bitterly ashamed. I wish I had met 
 you in some other way not that I d have had a 
 chance. I but never mind. It s all over now, and 
 there s no use talking about it. 
 
 " I ll alter that letter before I write to my brother, 
 and leave out those words I ought not to have 
 written." 
 
 "What words ?" Leonora asked, glancing at him 
 and turning away again while she listened to the 
 answer. 
 
 " I had no right to tell him I I loved you." 
 
 " Let that stand," said she. " Send the letter as 
 it is." 
 
 "Thank you," said Tom, gratefully. "I d rather, 
 if I may ; and, as soon as I can, I ll relieve you of my 
 presence." 
 
 " Oh ! I wouldn t do that," said Leonora. " I think " 
 (shyly) "if / had done anything I was ashamed of, 
 and people didn t seem inclined to forgive me for 
 it, I d stay, and take the consequences, and live it 
 down !" 
 
XXXI 
 
 TOM was soon free from all bad effects of his slight 
 wound. To have one s mind diverted from any ail 
 ment greatly helps recovery (if it does not lead to 
 carelessness), and Leonora diverted his mind effect 
 ually. Being a maiden of her word,, she did not seem 
 inclined to forgive him too easily, and took great care 
 that he should not be allowed to forget his offence in 
 a hurry. 
 
 A girl is armed by Nature with as many subtle and 
 ingenious instruments of torture as any mediaeval 
 tyrant ever dreamed of in his happiest visions, and 
 lack of former practice seemed to detract in no way 
 from her skill in using them. 
 
 As a keen reader whose library is limited by ad 
 verse circumstances to three or four books knows 
 them word for word and thought for thought, so 
 she, with her few volumes of human nature to study, 
 was quickly aware of every phase of character. She 
 took pleasure in finding out Tom s tender points and 
 using them to his grief. He was teased, snubbed, 
 puzzled, hurt, disappointed, and made foolish in his 
 own eyes, by turns, every day and all. But he liked 
 it, and was happy, because he was out of his false po 
 sition, himself again, clear of obligation, free, in the 
 eyes of Leonora. One thing only troubled him, and 
 that not nearly as much as it ought. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 281 
 
 He was penniless and without prospects. Most young 
 men in love and good health think but lightly of such 
 small and sordid matters, and go right on making 
 love, sure of their happy destiny and the prosperity 
 that doubtless lies in store for them. "Why not/ 
 they say, "when I have you to work for ? How can 
 I fail ?" But Tom had had too much trial of what 
 it is to be penniless in the world to ask the girl he 
 loved to share a life free from all such mean and mer 
 cenary considerations as dollars and cents. 
 
 Then of course there was also the question, "Would 
 Leonora ever have him at any price ?" He would not 
 ask her till he could give her a home. This plan, at 
 all events, he felt, with reasonable certainty, would 
 give her plenty of time to get over her disappoint 
 ment, if any, in regard to Charles. Had she any re 
 grets about Charles ? When she had thought that he 
 was C. Norman, during the first few days of his stay, 
 before Mrs. Bradlee s letter came, she had shown no 
 great enthusiasm for him ; but then girls were queer. 
 
 He would not ask her any questions yet. He would 
 plan his campaign there in the valley ; then he would 
 go out and do battle with the world, win or lose, and 
 Love must bide the issue. 
 
 The more he thought, the less practicable it all 
 seemed. He could not afford to practise his profes 
 sion, but for what else was he fit ? He was no ac 
 countant no clerk no salesman. He had tried to 
 find work before, and had found only this that every 
 honest and regular means of subsistence known to 
 man demands one or both these things capital and 
 experience. 
 
 For an independent position one must have capital ; 
 
282 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 for a subordinate one, experience and, generally, ref 
 erences. Tom had -nothing. He broached the sub 
 ject once, indirectly, to Leonora. 
 
 You have your profession," said she. 
 
 He laughed. " You might almost as well say, in 
 these days, ( You have your sword/ One is as mar 
 ketable as the other. The profession would be good 
 if I could wait ten years or so while the public was 
 becoming aware of my great value. The sword would 
 be good if I could go through West Point first." 
 
 The sword, in fact, would be better, because one 
 could pawn it in case of great need; but one can t 
 even do that with a profession. 
 
 "A great many people have risen from nothing," 
 she said. " One s always reading of some one." 
 
 " One in thousands ; but of the thousands you don t 
 read; so the one impresses you, and you judge by 
 him. To be reasonably sure of success on nothing, 
 one must be either a genius or a fraud." 
 
 "I can t say that I have seen any sign of your be 
 ing a genius," said she, "and you do not enjoy " 
 
 "Being a fraud? No, I ve had enough of that," 
 said he, with becoming meekness. 
 
 " Enough to satisfy an ordinary person," she add 
 ed, "and I think you seem to be an ordinary person, 
 as well as I can judge. So I really do not see how 
 you are to become a success." 
 
 Tom stayed on in the woods, putting off his depart 
 ure from day to day. The cordiality of Mr. Wil- 
 loughby s manner began to fade as he observed a 
 growing understanding between his daughter and 
 Moorhead. 
 
 "What is your profession, sir?" said he, one clay. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 283 
 
 " Law, Mr. Willoughby," said Tom. 
 
 " Doubtless your clients can ill afford to spare you 
 so long, sir," the old gentleman suggested. 
 
 Both men were watching Leonora s face to see how 
 she would take it. That lovely luminary clouded with 
 a slight shade of dismay. Tom was delighted at this, 
 and the old gentleman s eyes twinkled with a kind of 
 malice. 
 
 "You agree with me, Leonora, that Mr. Moorhead s 
 clients must be at a loss ?" 
 
 " It may be they can find other counsel," said Leo 
 nora, "but that is Mr. Moorhead s affair." 
 
 " I m afraid all Mr. Moorhead s affairs are suffering 
 for lack of attention, are they not, Mr. Moorhead ?" 
 said the father. "It is within the bounds of possi 
 bility that the clients may be able to find other coun 
 sel, for where violence and treachery, failure and death 
 and evil are rife there is never lack of lawyers ; but 
 will it be so easy for Mr. Moorhead to find other 
 clients ?" 
 
 Leonora was on Tom s side in this discussion. 
 " Don t misunderstand my father s speech, Mr. Moor 
 head/ she said, graciously. "He means, of course, 
 that where the enemies of Law are many there are 
 her knights in the press of battle to guard her and 
 aid her subjects." 
 
 "I mean nothing of the kind, my dear daughter," 
 said Mr. Willoughby, coolly. " But, as you have so 
 gracefully put it, Mr. Moorhead s post is where the 
 Law needs him, and her subjects his clients need 
 him; and his post has long been deserted." 
 
 "I think my clients if I had any would forgive 
 the desertion," said Tom. " But I have none." 
 
284 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 The old gentleman smiled, and spoke more kindly : 
 " I do not mean to be rude, my dear sir ; forgive me 
 if I speak frankly : you have been a friend, and nearly 
 lost your life by it. You have adapted yourself to 
 our ways, and, little as I care to see of men, I have 
 had pleasure in your company ; but our life is not for 
 you, nor yours for us. Your place is in the world 
 you have duties there. Doubtless the world can well 
 dispense with your performance of them but you 
 cannot. If you intend to cast off, as I have done, all 
 intercourse with men and civilization well and good 
 do so. But if you mean to hold a place among 
 men, you have assumed responsibilities that you can 
 not discharge here. A young man must choose his 
 way, and, having chosen, must stick to it. You are 
 wasting your time, and it is not well that you should 
 do so." 
 
 "All right, sir/ said Tom. " I m off to-morrow." 
 He had not meant to make love to Leonora yet. But 
 they happened to be together, and somehow the sub 
 ject seemed to occur to them both at once, So, as a 
 ship that has drifted near a lovely island and most de 
 sirable refuge the crew eager to land, but afraid of 
 reefs and shoals and unknown dangers round about 
 stands off and on and tries how near it can come 
 to land without running aground, each shyly ap 
 proached and avoided the topic, and kept drawing a 
 little nearer. 
 
 "Will you forgive me?" said Tom, at last, "if I 
 as k you I have a reason for asking if it was very 
 painful to you to get that letter telling about Charles s 
 faithlessness and folly ?" 
 
 Leonora picked a spray of willow, and put it in her 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 285 
 
 hair, looking demurely dismal and woe-begone. Then 
 she burst out laughing. 
 
 /Oh, so painful!" she cried. " You notice how 
 I ve pined, how faded I am getting, how I mope 
 and mourn ? Why, Tom, nothing in the world ever 
 gave me such pleasure as that letter ! When your 
 brother came here I liked him. Then he began to 
 make love to me, and I liked that. I m afraid I was 
 worldlyhe taught me to be worldly and I began to 
 feel discontented with my dear valley and wish to be 
 long to the world, and go in flocks and herds and 
 droves, like other folk ; and it seemed to me it would 
 be pleasant to be his wife and have the luxuries he 
 offered me. So I persuaded myself deliberately, if 
 unconsciously, persuaded myself I cared for him. 
 But happily I could not leave my father. I stayed 
 by my duty, and that was my safeguard. For after 
 your brother was gone I found I did not care for him; 
 that I had made a horrible mistake; that it was too 
 late to withdraw, for he had set his heart on me, I 
 thought, and I would not disappoint him. Then I 
 was miserable. But I made up my mind to keep my 
 word to him. Then you came after a long, long, 
 miserable time, and at first I thought you were he. 
 But still you seemed so different. I thought, I be 
 lieve I can love him, after all. Oh, what have I said!" 
 she cried. " Of course I don t mean that, Mr. Moor- 
 head," and she reddened with shame at her self- 
 betrayal, and rose to go away. 
 
 "Stay, stop one moment, please ! Don t go away. 
 Think I may never see you again, after to-morrow." 
 " Well," said she, crossly, looking at him with deep 
 disapproval ; " what is it ?" 
 
286 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 " Leonora," he said, standing by her and taking her 
 hand, "my brother told me you would never let him 
 kiss you." 
 
 " I should think not," said Leonora, drawing aloof 
 and eying him coldly. "I could never have done 
 such a thing." 
 
 " Of course not. Leonora ?" 
 
 " Yes?" 
 
 " Couldn t you do you think won t you let me 
 kiss you ?* 
 
 " Oh ! You ? You are different," said Leonora. 
 
 Next morning Tom was off with Moloch and the 
 ponies for the sound. 
 
 " Xow, my dear," said the old gentleman to Leonora, 
 looking hard at her to see how she took it, " you and 
 I can be at peace awhile." 
 
 But Leonora did not answer. She was supremely 
 happy doubtless with the sense of having conferred 
 a benefit for, just to show that she bore no ill-will, 
 she had let Tom kiss her again before he went away, 
 and she thought he had seemed to like it. 
 
XXXII 
 
 TO:M posted his letter to his brother and wrote an 
 other, saying : 
 
 "Mrs. Bradlee was kind enough to write and tell Miss Wil- 
 loughby the circumstances of my coming here. You owe me 
 nothing for my services, but I owe you something for the tem 
 porary loss of my self-respect. I think I shall be able to pay. 
 
 "Marry Mrs. Merivale, and one of these days you shall see 
 Miss Willoughby and your wife side by side ; shall compare 
 what you have won with what you have lost ; and I think that 
 will be enough." 
 
 "And he shall see them together/* Tom vowed to 
 himself, as he posted the letter " my wife and his. 
 And I will win her ; and, what s more, I ll make that 
 old misanthropical patriarch my very good friend and 
 father-in-law elect, the worthy Mr. Willoughby, come 
 out of that valley, so that she can come, too, and 
 marry me, and live like a Christian." 
 
 All of which, being a man of his word, he now set 
 out to accomplish, with a strong constitution, a heart 
 full of hope, and a staff in his hand of the good yel 
 low cedar that grows far up on the heights. 
 
 Xow, to a man who seeks work a strong constitu 
 tion means a vast appetite, a heart full of hope, a ten 
 dency to be unpractical and chase delusions, neither 
 of which is well for him. 
 
288 LEONOKA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 But a staff of good yellow cedar is a right good 
 thing and may work wonders, as we shall see. 
 
 Tom had but a poor hunt after work. 
 
 Leonora had told him to see, first of all, if lie could 
 not manage to find something to do at his own pro 
 fession, saying that she liked lawyers, so far as she 
 had been able to observe them (for she had given him, 
 before he went away, much good, practical advice, 
 such as one s nearest and dearest, of least experience 
 and greatest faith, pour freely into one s ears at the 
 hour of one s setting out for scenes particularly un 
 known to them). 
 
 So, out of respect to his profession, he went about 
 among the lawyers offices. 
 
 Seattle had risen vainglorious from its ashes, and 
 many more thousands had been found to share its 
 comforts. 
 
 He went to many an office and was urbanely re 
 ceived, but found no likelihood of an opening. 
 
 At last he bethought him of Solomon Druby. 
 
 " You couldn t have done better," said that gen 
 tleman, heartily, "than to strike Seattle just at this 
 time." 
 
 " If I may take up your time, I d like to ask a few 
 questions," said Tom. 
 
 Druby looked at his watch. " Time," said he, "is 
 precious. Brother beg pardon, I didn t quite get 
 your name Brother Moorhead but always, as you 
 and I know, at the service of fellow-members of the 
 Bar." 
 
 "Thanks! At what rent could I get an office 
 here ?" 
 
 The legal gentleman brightened, scenting business. 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 289 
 
 " Office - rent, like everything else, is booming here 
 way up ; we could let you have a set of offices in 
 this very building at well, you want the best, no 
 doubt a hundred and fifty a month." 
 
 "My limit is very low," said Tom. "I am just 
 beginning." 
 
 "I see I see " 
 
 " And what I want to know is not the highest but 
 the lowest rent at which I could get a small office 
 single room." 
 
 " I don t know of any at less than fifty dollars a 
 month in advance." 
 
 "That s way beyond me," said Tom. 
 
 " I understand," said Druby, with sympathy. " Bless 
 you, when I came here to practise I piled slabs and did 
 odd jobs about the wharves for a living. Well, why 
 not get desk-room in some office ?" 
 
 " Do you think I could pay for it with my services ?" 
 
 " Possibly possibly." 
 
 Can you on those terms ?" 
 
 " Well no, we can t. I should like to oblige you, 
 Brother Moorhead, but you see there are several young 
 men here already, and we ve not overmuch for them 
 to do. They merely take up room." 
 
 There were several young men there, and they cer 
 tainly were doing nothing, and did take up room. 
 They came out of their fits of abstraction and laughed. 
 
 " Clients !" said one. " Haven t seen such a thing 
 since The others turned upon him and frowned 
 him into silence. 
 
 " Practice is not as brisk, then, as it might be ?" 
 said Tom. 
 
 " Practice," said Druby, confidently, "is booming. 
 
 19 
 
290 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 To be sure, since the fire people have been too busy 
 to go to law much, but they ll have to soon. You ve 
 come to the right place, sir. Sorry we are not in a 
 position to do anything for you. Good-day. But 
 wait. I m still, incidentally, in the undertaking busi 
 ness, though Law and Keal Estate have the prece 
 dence, outwardly, just now. Can you drive a hearse ? 
 If so" 
 
 Tom declined. 
 
 "I think you re silly," said Druby, downright 
 foolish. A man s got to begin at the bottom, you 
 know, and work up. Take my advice, an witch th 
 world with noble hearsemanship till you git well 
 known in town and see an openin . Then f ha:ig up 
 your shingle on the outer wall/* 
 
 Tom found that the town was flooded with lawyers, 
 all trustfully waiting for the coming prosperity. He 
 was inclined to believe that Solomon Druby had been 
 right, and that the way to begin was by piling slabs 
 and doing odd jobs. But, alas ! the slab-piling indus 
 try and the odd-job business alike were crowded. He 
 could not even get employment digging on the streets. 
 He drew the line at driving a hearse. 
 
 Everybody assured him that it was a " great coun 
 try, that was what it was/ and he had " come to the 
 right place, that was what !" But nobody wanted him. 
 
 Day after day he walked the streets with weary feet, 
 up and down, and his little stock of money dwindled, 
 and nothing Avas accomplished, and he found noth- 
 ino- to do till at last he had but two dollars in his 
 
 O 
 
 pocket enough to take him back to the woods, where 
 he could support himself by hunting and fishing. He 
 was discouraged, and did not seem much in the way of 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 291 
 
 making his fortune and doing those several things he 
 had promised himself to get old Mr. AVilloughby 
 out of the valley, marry Leonora, and shame his 
 brother. 
 
 There sat in the street an old Siwash squaw, beg 
 ging. She was a very old woman indeed ; her face 
 was seamed by countless wrinkles, and she was bent 
 and infirm, tottering even as she sat. She crooned to 
 herself, swaying tremulously back and forth, and now 
 and then greeting a passer-by in shrill Chinook. 
 
 A teamster backed his cart up to the sidewalk to 
 deliver a load of furniture. The old woman was in 
 the teamster s way, and he called to her to get up and 
 be off. But she either could not or would not hear, 
 and the man a hulking brute of a fellow gave her a 
 savage cut with his whip, and would have followed it 
 up with another, but Tom, furious at the sight, ran 
 towards him with a shout. The teamster, turning, 
 gave him the blow, and, being a much larger man than 
 he, asked him what he meant to do about it ? 
 
 Tom ran at him. The teamster struck a downright 
 blow with the heavy-wadded butt of his mule whip. 
 Tom raised his good stick of yellow cedar above his 
 head, slanting downward to the left, so that the blow 
 slipped along its smooth length beyond his left shoul 
 der and struck the air, throwing the enemy off his 
 balance ; then, with a quick turn of the wrist, he 
 brought the heavy staff round in a wide swing of three 
 quarters of a circle, straightening his arm just as the 
 circle was complete, and catching the teamster with 
 the full force of the blow on the side of the head. 
 It staggered him, but his head was not his sensitive 
 point, and it would have been a sad day for Tom if a 
 
292 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 tall man had not run across the street to his assist 
 ance. The teamster jumped into his cart. 
 
 " Well done/ said the stranger. " Hurt any ?" 
 
 "No," said Tom. But he was hurt, and not very 
 well ; he had been economizing too much ; he was 
 discouraged, and the excitement had made him al 
 most hysterical. 
 
 The old Siwash was raising her hands towards the 
 sun and calling down blessings on his head in her 
 strange tongue. 
 
 The stranger looked hard at him, and kindly said : 
 
 " Anything I can do for you ? I love sand and grit, 
 and you look, if I may say so, as if you wanted some 
 thing." 
 
 " I want a job," said Tom. 
 
 " That s not such an easy matter. What kind ?" 
 
 "Anything." 
 
 "Had any experience logging? That is my busi 
 ness." 
 
 " No," said Tom. 
 
 " Then I don t see how I can use you. That s 
 what I don t," said the other; "but maybe hello! 
 That s a right good club you hit him with." 
 
 " That s a cedar stick I cut in the mountains," said 
 Tom. 
 
 " Lemme look. Cedar, eh ? So it is. But, boys ! 
 O loys, what cedar ! Heavy an close-grained, and 
 what a polish ! Never saw any like it before. Any 
 more of it up there ?" 
 
 " Yes, hundreds of acres. This yellow cedar grows 
 high up on the Olympics. So far, out of reach for 
 all practical purposes." 
 
 " Grow large ?" 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 293 
 
 "Immense. As big as any trees I ve seen." 
 
 " "Way up where no one can get it except the devil, 
 I reckon ?" 
 
 " I think it might be got at." 
 
 " Might ? "Well, sir, if you ll find the way back 
 and take one of my timber-cruisers along I ll make it 
 worth your while." 
 
 " I can t take a man out there at present," said 
 Tom. " But Til tell you what I ll do. I ll go out and 
 do your cruising myself. I ll look it over and see just 
 what can be done, and let you know." 
 
 "Well, sir, it ll pay you to do it," said the lumber 
 man, earnestly. " That s what ! And here s where 
 to find me." He scribbled an address on an old en 
 velope. " Burns, of Shelton that s me. There s no 
 such wood as that on the market ; and if it s as plenty 
 as you say, the man that brings it down to the sound 
 makes his pile right so !" 
 
 The next week found Tom encamped on the ridge 
 over the valley. 
 
XXXIII 
 
 THE autumn came and brought heavy showers, and 
 also a few clear, sharp days, when the forests gleamed 
 with hoar-frost: then the long, continuous storm, 
 which is snow among the mountains and rain on the 
 low woodlands along the salt-water, set in. The snow 
 lay deep in the valley, and, resting in masses on the 
 broad boughs, shut the light out of the forest. 
 
 The river muttered under its ice, and wild beasts 
 came down from the heights and were seen among 
 the haunts of men. 
 
 Sometimes a Chinook wind, with its warm, sweet 
 breath, came like a touch of spring. The heavy drops 
 dripped tinkling and pattering from the trees ; the 
 forest was splendid with icicles ; the mountains thun 
 dered one to another with the sound of new-born 
 torrents, and the river roared and rose high over its 
 banks, flooding the lowlands, and making an island 
 of the knoll where Leonora lived and waited for the 
 spring. It was a glad winter for her, full of relief 
 from past trouble, and of promise for the days to 
 come. 
 
 Tom had come to the valley late in the summer, 
 and had built himself a hut on a shelf of the ridge. 
 He had had a long talk with Moloch, and Moloch had 
 grinned and promised aid. Between them they had 
 accomplished great ends ere the winter s long storm 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 295 
 
 began, and Leonora had helped them, doing a good 
 man s work with axe and chain upon the slopes. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby had known nothing of all this. He 
 had been revelling in Voltaire all winter. 
 
 So when the rain had grown less chill day by day, 
 and the river had risen nearly to the clearing in its 
 last great spring flood, and had gone down, leaving 
 green grasses and budding shrubs along its banks 
 when the snow was all gone except on the heights and 
 northern slopes, and the forest rang with the song and 
 twitter of mating birds the old gentleman, having 
 gone far down the river to the end of the valley to 
 renew his acquaintance with his speckled friends, and 
 sitting by a favorite pool in immense enjoyment of 
 his solitude, was surprised and infinitely disgusted to 
 see a party of men, with packs and rifles, coming up 
 the trail in single file and examining the country as 
 they came. 
 
 He drew back into the brush to watch them unob 
 served. 
 
 They were led by a lean, wiry, sharp - eyed fellow, 
 with the long, light step and spring of the knee that 
 mark the practised mountaineer. One of the others 
 was a great burly man, whom they called Burns. The 
 rest carried axes and surveyors tools. 
 
 "Here s the place, Mr. Burns," said the leader, 
 stopping and turning to the portly soul, who puffed 
 and blew, and looked at the river and then up to the 
 ridge. 
 
 His eye brightened. " That s the stuff up there," 
 said he; "hundreds and hundreds of acres, just as 
 he said. Now, how does he think to get it down, 
 Sam ?" 
 
296 LEONOKA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 "You see that rock/ said the timber - cruiser,, 
 pointing where the river swerved, foaming and ed 
 dying round a gray mass of stone that had fallen long 
 ago from the ridge, "and you see the gulch below it 
 the old river-bed. You ve seen that old channel 
 all the way up from where it runs into the present 
 course, and how straight an 7 deep an 7 clear it is ?" 
 
 "That s what," said Burns. 
 
 "He was dead right when he said it wa n t goin to 
 take much blastin to coax the stream back where it 
 used to be when that rock come in an slewed it off, 
 wa n t he, Somers ?" 
 
 "Dead right," said a man carrying a note -book. 
 "A gang of hands to clear that loose stuff, a blast 
 here and there, a few trees felled across the stream 
 where she runs now, and away she goes in the old 
 course, fit to carry your logs ten abreast clear to the 
 sound." 
 
 "That s what !" said the chorus. 
 
 " Well, you may make your specifications, and we ll 
 go up and look at the timber." 
 
 "All right ! Here s the blazed tract he spoke on," 
 said the timber - cruiser ; and the party filed up the 
 ridge above the bend of the river. 
 
 Leonora had never seen her father so disturbed as 
 when he came home that night. 
 
 " They ve come at last," said he. " There is a party 
 of men down at the foot of the valley making arrange 
 ments to cut the timber off the ridge and float it down 
 the river." His voice was that of a heart-broken man. 
 
 She said nothing, but came and stroked her father s 
 hand, and felt guilty and ashamed. For was she not a 
 party to this outrage ? Moorhead had persuaded her ; 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 297 
 
 she had allowed herself to listen to his plans, and had 
 helped him, knowing, but not realizing, how it would 
 ruin her father s peace. 
 
 Now the old man sat with head bent down and 
 trembling lip. " In a little while, dear," he said, in 
 a querulous voice, "the valley will be laid waste. 
 Throngs of rough boors will corne and camp at our 
 very door we cannot prevent it ; the peace we love 
 will be driven away with the sound of axes and saws 
 and shouting men by day, of drunken blasphemy by 
 night. Our lovely home will be but a barren, treeless 
 waste, strewn with wreckage and the mutilated limbs 
 of the old giants that have watched over us so long. 
 The place of your mother s grave will be no longer 
 sacred ; these barbarians will overrun everything, and 
 bring ruin and destruction with them. I cannot stay 
 to see it; and I am too old to seek a new home in 
 the mountains. What is there left but to go back to 
 men and cities, to dusty streets and ugly structures, to 
 lies and meanness, jealousy and selfishness, bickering, 
 malice, everything foul, everything I hate ?" 
 
 Leonora could not give him a kiss of comfort, could 
 not even speak ; it would have been hypocrisy. 
 
 By -and -by he said, more quietly: "It may be 
 better so. Perhaps I ought to have gone before : I 
 promised your mother, and year by year I have put 
 it off. It may be I should never have kept my word 
 to her but for this. Yes, she would rather have it 
 so than that I should stay on and let you waste 
 your beauty in the forest, my daughter. I owed it 
 to her, and ought to have kept my promise to her, 
 and now it is well that I must do so." 
 
 Then Leonora was comforted, and kissed him, and 
 
298 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 told him how they would find a home in some quiet 
 place where he could pass a peaceful life. 
 
 "Moloch cannot keep on working for us always, 
 father/ said she. " There will come a time when his 
 strength will leave him, and he must rest ; and then 
 what would become of us if we were here ? We 
 could bear the summers, but if winter found us here 
 alone ? He and you have earned your rest ; and 
 could you rest here, with only a girl to hunt for you 
 and get in wood and strengthen the house against 
 the winter storms ? Yes, it must be sometime. Why 
 not now ?" 
 
 She left him in a happier state of mind, and went 
 out and met Moorhead, who was waiting for her on 
 the mountain trail, by a tree which was their place of 
 meeting, and in whose friendly hollow they put letters 
 for each other. 
 
 "They have come," said Tom, "and everything is 
 in trim." 
 
 "He knows it," she answered. " He saw them and 
 heard them talking." 
 " How does he take it ?" 
 
 "He was miserable at first; he seemed ready to 
 break down. I was afraid for him. But he suddenly 
 remembered that he had promised to go, and ought to 
 have gone before. I almost fancy that he likes the 
 idea, now he s made up his mind to it." 
 
 "Then there s one thing accomplished. Now, 
 Nora, it s all done. This yellow cedar is valuable, 
 you know, and this is the only place that has been 
 found where it is accessible. I have every strip of it 
 under control. Moloch and I filed claims on part of 
 it, you know. There was a lot left, and I got six men 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWAIISII 299 
 
 to come out here and file 011 the rest of it, on condition 
 that I would agree to buy of them at a certain price 
 and time. Burns, as soon as I convinced him what 
 we had here, formed a company to come out and work 
 the cedar ; and the whole thing has only been waiting 
 till the State should accept the survey the survey 
 that you and Moloch and I made so that the claims 
 would hold. The survey was accepted last week. 
 Yesterday I transferred Moloch s claim and mine 
 and my rights in the other six claims to the company 
 part payment cash and part in shares. Why, even 
 Moloch s a capitalist to - day. It s the only yellow 
 cedar in the market. The quality is perfect, the 
 supply enormous. So, as I said, I m rich. But that 
 isn t the point, Leonora." 
 
 " Oh ! what is the point ?" 
 
 " That I shall have you, and you me. So what does 
 it matter about anything else ?" 
 
 Soon a great force of loggers were encamped in the 
 valley. All day the hills echoed with harsh sounds ; the 
 frightened deer fled far into the mountains ; hawk and 
 eagle, scared from their ancient strongholds, hung 
 poised against the blue, watching the strange things 
 that came to pass ; by night the camp-fires lighted the 
 ridges on either side; and rude songs and hoarse 
 laughter frightened away the silence of the doomed 
 forest. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby was furious, and, after a short 
 time, talked of nothing but getting out of this camp 
 of savages into civilization. 
 
 "Mr. Moorhead, I don t know how far you are 
 responsible for this change in our lives, and will not 
 inquire. It had to be made, and for my daughter s 
 
300 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 sake, and for no other reason, I am not altogether 
 sorry. One favor I ask of you, and if you have caused 
 our exodus it is the more your duty., I am leaving 
 behind the spot I hold most sacred on earth the 
 grave of my wife. I cannot bear to think that when 
 I am gone, and there is none to guard that spot, it 
 shall be held sacred no longer trampled and dese 
 crated and forgotten. If you " 
 
 " I will prevent it, sir/ said Moorhead. 
 
 That afternoon he explained the situation to Barns, 
 who put men, cattle, tackle, and derricks at his dis 
 posal. By afternoon the cross and cairn having been 
 tenderly removed by Leonora s and Tom s and Mo 
 loch s own hands, a great fragment of rock came 
 swinging and rolling by lever and derrick down the 
 ridge, and was gently lowered on the grave, so cover 
 ing it that the foot of man might never disturb the 
 
 sacred earth. 
 
XXXIV 
 
 THE west wind brought home the news of Leono 
 ra s marriage and heralded her coming, and the peo 
 ple wondered. They wondered who was this person, 
 and why had one of the Moorheads married her ? 
 
 Then Mrs. Norman Moorhead, late Merivale, nee 
 Trask, was sore at heart with a trouble she had not 
 foreseen. She was far more fond of her husband than 
 she had ever meant to be of any one, and, being of a 
 jealous disposition, began to fear the effect upon him 
 of Leonora s arrival. How much of his defection from 
 that former allegiance was due to her own superior 
 charm? How much to his forgetfulness of Leonora ? 
 These questions troubled her night and day ; she be 
 gan to hate the woman whose happiness she had not 
 scrupled to destroy, and who might well ruin hers in 
 turn. She did a silly thing. She went about (to 
 make Leonora s debut easy for her) hinting what man 
 ner of person was likely to come out of the backwoods, 
 and suggesting that folk ought not to expect too much 
 of her in the way of manners, dress, or conversation, 
 and that it would be well to be lenient towards any little 
 gaucheries that such a woman might be apt to display. 
 Her efforts in behalf of her sister-in-law were so suc 
 cessful that Mrs. Thomas Moorhead became famous. 
 
 It was said that her husband had married her, 
 partly for money, somehow suddenly amassed by her 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISII 
 
 pioneer father in a sober interval, and partly for a 
 kind of coarse beauty bred of an outdpor life. 
 
 That he had married her (for Charles Moorhead s 
 household had caught a significant word or two, and 
 there are people who will listen to the gossip of their 
 friends servants) at the instance of his brother, who 
 had been wise enough to wish to break his own en 
 gagement to her, and had paid a good round sum for 
 the privilege. 
 
 That she would give a rare exhibition of the ways 
 of the wild wood and express her feelings in choice 
 bits of Western slang. 
 
 That she was not altogether a Caucasian, and spoke 
 Chinook when excited. 
 
 It was agreed that Tom didn t care, so long as the 
 pecuniary consideration, whether from his brother or 
 father-in-law, was forthcoming. 
 
 It was felt to be a sad pity that this should have 
 happened to Tom just when his rehabilitation had 
 begun to seem so real and thorough. 
 
 Mrs. Bradlee was sadly put out. " I have been a 
 mother to those boys !" she complained. " I saved 
 Norman from that dreadful entanglement and I did 
 my best for poor Tom when I heard of his infatuation ; 
 I actually wrote to the girl herself, and explained in 
 the kindest way how utterly impossible it was that she 
 should marry either of them. But it was not to be 
 supposed, of course, that any sense of the fitness of 
 things could be brought home to such a person. Well, 
 he has taken his own course, and he must dree his 
 weird !" 
 
 " Then you knew of it beforehand ?" said an in 
 quisitive friend. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 303 
 
 "And the elder brother was engaged to her, too ?" 
 said another. 
 
 " Oh, do tell us, Mrs. Bradlee !" 
 
 The good lady was not quite prepared to answer 
 all these questions, and there was a moment of 
 silence. 
 
 Mr. Timmons, who had come to call, had fallen 
 unawares into a large feminine assemblage, and had 
 waited long, careless of his tea, upon the edge of his 
 chair, biding his chance to speak, seized the oppor 
 tunity. 
 
 " It seems to me," said he, " that Tom Moorhead s 
 weird is none so hard to dree/ " 
 
 The ladies looked at him with cold disapproval. 
 
 " Why ?" said one. 
 
 " Pray let us have the grounds of your opinion," 
 said another. 
 
 " Mr. Timmons s ideas are always so original/ said 
 a third. 
 
 " I ve seen her/ said he, 
 
 Never was man raised more suddenly from utter 
 insignificance to the pedestal of popular favor and 
 importance. 
 
 Metaphorically, the ladies threw themselves at his 
 feet. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Timmons !" 
 
 " When ?" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "What is she like?" 
 
 " Oh, how nice of you to come and tell us !" 
 
 "Why didn t you tell us before ?" 
 
 "I couldn t, without interrupting," said he. 
 
 " Well, we are waiting !" said they. 
 
304 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 Timmons smiled,, close -lipped. He would be re 
 venged for their late indifference. 
 
 "I met them in Montreal," he said. "They will 
 be here in a few days or a week or so." 
 
 Again the chorus : 
 
 " What is she like ? Oh, tell us all about her !" 
 
 " I fear my descriptive powers are hardly up to 
 it," said Timmons, modestly. " Then, my judgment 
 may be at fault. I hardly dare try to describe, much 
 less express an opinion on, a subject of such intense 
 interest." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Timmons!" 
 
 " Til tell you what to do : Call upon her, and in 
 vite her when she comes. Then you can see for 
 yourselves." And Timmons, smiling blandly, made 
 his adieux. 
 
 " Invite her, indeed !" said the ladies. And yet, 
 when Leonora came, she found herself both called 
 upon and invited. 
 
 " How many friends you have, Tom, and how kind 
 they are !" said she. 
 
 " Very !" Tom grinned cheerfully. He knew that 
 all these cards and courtesies were the result of curi 
 osity, for Timmons had given him some hints as to 
 the trend of common talk. He looked forward with 
 keen pleasure to the dawning of his bride s loveliness 
 on an unenlightened community, and was not disap 
 pointed. They went where they were bidden, and, 
 as the snows in her own valley at the coming of 
 spring, the chill of reserve and prejudice melted away 
 before her presence ; as the flowers open in the new 
 warmth, kindly thoughts and good feelings answered 
 her sweet and genial nature everywhere. 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 305 
 
 People turned upon Mrs. C. Norman Moorhead and 
 demanded explanations. The latter saw Leonora 
 once, went home early with a sinking heart, and from 
 that time did all she could to keep the susceptible 
 Charles out of her way. She might have succeeded 
 for he shrank from meeting either his brother or 
 his brother s wife but for the fondness of Mrs. 
 Bradlee for usurping the functions of Destiny. That 
 lady, beholding Leonora, and forgetful of her own 
 recent remarks, had easily persuaded herself that 
 her letter had been intended to warn the maiden 
 against any lingering regard she might have had for 
 the faithless Charles, and to make the way clear for 
 the deserving Thomas. She went here and there, 
 exulting, to claim the whole credit of having con 
 ferred Leonora upon the civilized world. 
 
 Meanwhile the Moorheads never met. Each of the 
 brothers had something to say to the other ; but 
 Charles, for whom the task was likely to be anything 
 but pleasant, put oif the meeting by every means in 
 his power; and Tom, eager as he was, could never 
 find him. 
 
 The elder brother was very unhappy at this time 
 because of his wife, whose conduct towards him had 
 utterly changed. She watched him as if she would 
 not let him out of her sight, yet had hardly a kind 
 word or look for him. Her brightness and charm of 
 manner were gone ; she was sad and dull and cross. 
 He could not understand, nor would she give any ex 
 planation of the change. 
 
 Now people began to talk freely of these things, 
 and Mrs. Bradlee, grieved that any combination of 
 circumstances should exist without her intervention, 
 
 20 
 
306 LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 
 
 undertook the formidable task of peace-making. To 
 this end she determined to assemble the hostile Moor- 
 heads about her own hospitable board, and, seeing 
 no other means, asked them all to dinner, saying to 
 Charles and his wife, "There will be no one but our 
 selves." She appeased her conscience by explaining 
 to it that " ourselves " (whatever her guests might 
 understand by the word) meant "the family." 
 
 When escape was no longer possible Charles found 
 himself taking Leonora in to dinner, while Nelly laid 
 two cold fingers on the arm of Thomas and walked 
 in bitter wrath beside him into the gloom of Mrs. 
 Bradlee s dining-room. 
 
 Regarded strictly as a dinner-party, the feast was 
 not a success. Mrs. Bradlee beamed upon her guests, 
 but beamed in vain, and began to wish, for once in 
 her life, that she had not meddled. Charles sat down 
 cast at her right, afraid to meet the eye of Tom, op 
 posite, or speak to Leonora by his side, and cast now 
 and then a furtive and deploring glance at his wife, 
 who gave him no sympathy. She, at the farther cor 
 ner, saw his miserable face and thought, "He repents 
 his choice already." So her self-possession and easy 
 flow of words deserted her, and she sat with burning 
 eyes and a voice like a low winter wind, and bore 
 it all as best she might. Tom watched his brother 
 sharply with a kind of savage amusement, thinking 
 the same that Nelly thought, and adding, "And 
 before I ve done with him he ll be sorrier still." 
 
 Mrs. Bradlee had intended to put them all in good- 
 humor with a conciliatory speech, and even, if nec 
 essary, to bring up the subject of their differences, 
 smooth it over with a jest, and laugh it off ; but those 
 
LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 307 
 
 three gloomy faces frightened her ; she saw that the 
 trouble was beyond her depth, and her tact was not 
 equal to the task in hand. 
 
 Only Leonora was completely at her ease. She had 
 nothing whereof to be ashamed. She bore no one ill- 
 will, and she had the absolute fearlessness of inexpe 
 rience and the joy of youth in a new state of things. 
 She talked pleasantly to all the rest. Her sister-in- 
 law tried to snub her and did not succeed; Charles 
 answered her with faint civility and wished she would 
 let him alone ; Tom was silent and abstracted. Mrs. 
 Bradlee was heartily grateful to her, and showed it in 
 voice and manner. 
 
 At last the awful function was over, the ladies went 
 up-stairs, and the two brothers were left together in 
 the gloom of Mrs. Bradlee s dining-room. 
 
 No one could have mistaken one for the other 
 now. 
 
 The one had a stalwart, upright frame, a well- 
 browned face, fresh as a boy s, but full of energy and 
 strength of purpose ; trouble, hardship, love, labor, 
 success, and triumph had made a man of him. 
 
 Charles looked much older, pale and thin ; his 
 shoulders drooped ; his face was full of care, ill borne, 
 and something he had on his mind at the time gave 
 him a hang-dog look. 
 
 " Tom," said he, in a pleading tone that irritated 
 his brother. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " My dear brother," he said, fretfully, "I wish you 
 would take the money and other property I offered 
 you. It s only right you should ; it is your share of 
 the estate, you know, and " 
 
308 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISH 
 
 " That will do," said Tom. " I don t care to hear 
 of it." 
 
 "Have patience a minute. You don t know why 
 I made you that offer, or how much your taking it 
 would mean to me !" And, stammering much, Charles 
 made a clean breast of the part he had played in dis 
 inheriting his brother, and of his project for repaying 
 him without the bitterness of confession. " You ll 
 take it now, won t you ?" he asked, piteously. 
 
 Tom was deeply touched at his brother s shame, 
 but would not show it. He had something else to say 
 first a taunt he had treasured up against him, and 
 had waited for too patiently to forego. 
 
 "Give it to some charity, if you like," said he. 
 "From what you say, you would seem to have earned 
 it, after a fashion of your own. I m not surprised. 
 You are very welcome to the whole." 
 
 " But you ll need it !" said Charles, more unhappy 
 than ever in being denied his atonement. 
 
 " I ? Man, I could buy you out you and your offer 
 three times over !" said Tom, brutal in his indepen 
 dence. " No, let that pass. I could easily forgive all 
 that, but you did me a worse wrong when you put me 
 under obligations to you and deprived me of my self- 
 respect, so far as to make me enter into your place to 
 cheat the woman you thought hopelessly in love with 
 you. She never was. I have promised myself my 
 revenge to bring her and your wife together, and let 
 you see them what you have won and what you have 
 lost. What do you think now ? How could you throw 
 away your chance of her for your wife ? What do 
 you think ? Were you not a fool to make the ex 
 change ? Are you not sorry for it now ?" 
 
LEONORA OF THE YAWMISH 309 
 
 He hated himself for the words as soon as they were 
 spoken. It was a mean revenge, he felt, a dastardly 
 thing to do to show a man his wife s inferiority to 
 another woman. 
 
 But, to his surprise and immense relief, his brother 
 smiled and said, looking him straight in the eyes for 
 the first time, so that he knew he spoke the truth : 
 
 " Tom, you don t understand. Leonora is a lovely 
 woman, and I believe that you are worthy of her and 
 that I am not. But so is Nelly, my wife.. I love 
 her, Tom, and you could not disparage her in my eyes 
 if you put her beside a woman ten times lovelier than 
 even your wife. She and I were made for each other." 
 
 " Charley," said Tom, " you re a better fellow than 
 I ever knew you were. I beg your pardon. I was 
 angry ; and thank God my words have not touched 
 you. Come, let us go to our wives." 
 
 Later Tom told Nelly what he had said to Charles. 
 It was hard to tell, but he prefaced it so kindly and 
 spoke so gently that she listened in spite of herself, 
 and when he had repeated what Charles had said to 
 him she went to her husband with a happy face, and 
 he, relieved of his trouble and the burden of his con 
 science, was content, 
 
 Nelly had suffered terribly for fear of Leonora ; but 
 when that was over, Tom s wife soon won her, and 
 found her a stronger friend than she had been an 
 enemy. 
 
 There is a tall, stately old gentleman who frequents 
 the clubs and places of amusement an exceedingly 
 well-read man prosperous, genial, and at peace with 
 the world. 
 
310 LEONORA OP THE YAWMISII 
 
 Everybody likes him, and he, on experiment, finds 
 that he likes everybody, although he is known to have 
 fled for years to the wilderness to shun his kind. He 
 is attended by the blackest and most courteous of 
 beings, who answers cheerfully to the name of Mo 
 loch. His only sorrow is that his daughter has so 
 many friends that he sees less of her than he would. 
 But he finds a fund of consolation in teaching his 
 grandchildren to fish. 
 
 THE END 
 
BY MARY E. WILKINS 
 
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