THE 
 
 FELMEKES 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 S. B. ELLIOTT, 
 
 "Behold we know not anything: 
 
 I can but trust that good shall fall 
 At last far off at last to all, 
 And every winter change to spring." 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 549 AND 551 BROADWAY. 
 1879.
 
 COPYRIGHT BY 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 1879.
 
 " An immense solitary specter waits : 
 It has no shape, it has no sound ; it has 
 No place, it has no time ; it is, and was, 
 And will be ; it is never more nor less, 
 Nor glad nor sad. Its name is Nothingness. 
 Power walketh high ; and misery doth crawl ; 
 And the clepsydron drips ; and the sands 
 Fall down in the hour-glass ; and the shadows sweep 
 Around the dial ; and men wake and sleep, 
 Live, strive, regret, forget, and love and hate, 
 And know it. This specter saith, I wait; 
 And at the last it beckons, and. they pass; 
 And still the red sands fall within the glass, 
 And still the shades around the dial sweep ; 
 And still the water-clock doth drip and weep. 
 And this is all." 
 
 2061723
 
 THE FELMERES 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " About a stone-cast from the wall 
 
 A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, 
 
 And o'er it, many, round, and small, 
 The cluster'd marish mosses crept. 
 
 Hard by a poplar shook alway, 
 
 All silver-green with gnarled bark : 
 For leagues no other tree did mark 
 
 The level waste, the rounding gray." 
 
 A SQUARE church standing at the foot of a low line 
 of hills; farther out, beyond the damp, moss-grown 
 churchyard, a lonely stone house built on the end of the 
 long tongue of land that runs far into the marsh. From 
 this as far as the eye can reach, out even to the line of 
 light on the horizon where lies the sea, there stretches a 
 level waste of marsh an unbroken green monotony, save 
 where in one place the river shows itself moving slow 
 toward the sea. A barren, desolate picture, lying hot 
 and shadowless under the glare of the summer sky. There
 
 6 THE FELMERES. 
 
 is no sound save now and then the sharp quarreling of 
 the marsh hens ; no motion, save the throbbing of the 
 heated air. There is not wind enough to stir the reed 
 tops, or to lift the leaves of the solitary maple keeping 
 guard among the sleepers in the churchyard. 
 
 And the sun glares down upon the still, dead picture, 
 until the day begins to wane ; then the martins come in 
 crowds wheeling about the lonely stone hall cheery little 
 martins, swooping in and out from under the deep eaves, 
 chattering and chirping to each other, and making the 
 air alive with their busy doings. 
 
 Down in the hall garden a little child is watching 
 them so intently that she does not heed the falling of 
 her hat, nor the woebegone picture made by her battered 
 doll, which, held by one arm, droops downward in a deso- 
 late manner. For a long time the child watches the queer 
 little birds, that look so black against the amber sky, and 
 seem so busy about nothing. She has often watched 
 them, but never yet has found out what they were after : 
 she wished her father would take her up to see ; perhaps 
 he would some day. Then she turned away, and, push- 
 ing open a dilapidated gate, made her way down to the 
 marsh. She stopped one moment to gather up her doll, 
 then, with an unchildish, over-thoughtful step, followed 
 a narrow cattle path leading out to the river. Slowly she 
 went, and quietly, until she stood far out on the very 
 bank of the stream a lonely little figure on the wide 
 green waste ! 
 
 There she stood and listened to the gentle song the 
 river sang so sweetly all the while. "Where did it come 
 from, and how far was it down to the sea ? The sea ! 
 "Why was that sad sound she heard called the "sea"?
 
 THE FELMERES. 7 
 
 Had her father named it ? It must be a very big place, 
 this sea ; for the sun and the moon, the fish and the birds, 
 the wind and the darkness all lived in it did they not? 
 And the sound of it fascinated her awed and almost 
 frightened her; yet she loved it, and often came and 
 stood here upon the bank, mystified and wondering. 
 
 There were many things she was afraid of, and but few 
 that she liked, or that were really amusing, and very few 
 of these things could talk. Nevertheless, she often spoke 
 to the gravestones up in the churchyard, although they 
 did not answer. What these gravestones were she hardly 
 knew; and why they should be put up in rows, some 
 straight up, and some half buried in the ground, and 
 should have names cut on them, were so many mysteries 
 to her. They were of no possible use that she could see, 
 and her father said foolish people set them up. An 
 especial one named " Mary Dunn " made her very sorry 
 it looked so tired : she wished it could lie down. The 
 flowers were much more pleasant than the gravestones, 
 for they could nod their heads to her when she talked ; 
 and, better still, the fairies lived in them. The solemn 
 cranes and the marsh hens that rested in the flats were 
 not in the least sociable; and the little martins in the 
 roof heeded only themselves and their own foolish noises. 
 But the bitterns she liked to hear ; she was sure they had 
 something to tell, their tones were so sad. 
 
 This place her father called " the world " was surely 
 a curious place. She would have liked to ask some ques- 
 tions of Peter or Jane, but her father would not allow 
 her to talk to the servants ; and, except them and her 
 father, nothing in all her world could answer questions. 
 
 So she stood by the river and listened to the dull, un-
 
 8 THE FELMERES. 
 
 ceasing roar of the sea. She did not know what it was, 
 but there was a thrill at her heart and a chill over her 
 body as she looked on the wide green waste spread all 
 about her. It was so silent and lonely out in the marsh 
 so far from everywhere ! Should she stay and watch the 
 moon come up ? It came up very early sometimes, and 
 looked so clear and beautiful fresh out from the sea. 
 
 Ah, the sea, the sea ! how it called and called to her 
 all the time ! If it would only hush, she would stay 
 longer looking at the river. Or if she could only go 
 once and see what it wanted, maybe then it would let her 
 alone. As it was, who knew but that the sea would come 
 for her some day when no one was near? It really 
 might ! 
 
 She turned the sun was fast going down behind the 
 far-off hills, and all the flats would soon be gray and the 
 pools black ! Oh, she could not stay ! One more watch- 
 ful, frightened look toward the sea then she turned 
 and began to walk toward home as fast as her little 
 feet could carry her. Closer she hugged her dilapidated 
 doll faster and faster the little steps fell ; for behind 
 her in the gathering gloom an awful something followed 
 her ! Fast and faster she fled, running with all her little 
 strength. A giant hand seemed ever about to grasp 
 her a cry seemed in the passing wind ! Would she 
 never reach the gate ? At last ! 
 
 Panting and exhausted, she leaned against the wall : 
 she must wait and rest here before she went into the 
 house, for she would not let her father see her so fool- 
 ishly terrified. 
 
 She knew it was foolish, now that she stood within 
 the gate, and could hear Jane singing in the kitchen ; out
 
 THE FELMERES. 9 
 
 in the marsh it was different. Once before she had been 
 frightened in the same way ; and, running home, she had 
 met her father at this very gate! It was*then he had 
 told her how foolish it was to be afraid of her own fan- 
 cies ; that there was nothing in the world but what she 
 saw, or could see ; and the darkness had never eaten any 
 one up. Then he had taken her into the churchyard 
 ah, she shivered now to think of it ! and made her stand 
 there while he went off for a little time into the darkness 
 to show her it would not destroy him. How she clung 
 to a gravestone when he left her, and listened in terrified 
 silence and with trembling heart to a cow cropping among 
 the graves ! She wanted to scream, but did not wish to 
 be called foolish again. Ah ! how terror-stricken she had 
 been until she looked up and saw the stars that seemed 
 to smile down kindly on her so kindly that she asked 
 them to take care of her; and they heard her, and 
 brought her father back to her in a moment. 
 
 Even now, with all this experience to aid her, she did 
 not feel at all safe, and she looked up for her star-friends. 
 There they were bright, and peaceful, and kind seem- 
 ingly quite ready to befriend her again. It was strange 
 her father did not believe in the stars, and should say 
 they had never been kind to him. More than this that 
 nothing in all the world had ever been kind to him ! 
 Poor father ! She would be, always and for ever she 
 would stay with him and love him ; and she had told 
 him so. 
 
 "And I will," she said, holding -up her little hand to 
 the stars ; " watch and see if I do not ! " 
 
 A half-comprehended, childish vow, maybe ; but for 
 all that true !
 
 10 THE FELMERES. 
 
 She was rested now, and cool, and was glad enough 
 to turn her steps toward the house, where one long stream 
 of light, falling across the garden and wandering toward 
 the shadows of the graveyard, showed her that tea was 
 waiting in the library. 
 
 This room was the heart of the child's world. It was 
 a high, long room, walled in with somber books and 
 pictures, with here and there a .gleaming white statue, 
 which, catching the scanty light from the high, deep 
 windows, seemed to absorb it all. And the child lived 
 here, with always a feeling of uneasiness about her heart 
 as she felt the painted eyes of her dead ancestors follow- 
 ing her, watching all her play and study. At times she 
 forgot them; but one upward look, and all the time- 
 dimmed faces seemed turned toward her, and all their 
 eyes seemed crowding on her, so that, overcome with 
 fear, she would creep to her father's side and nestle there 
 until she could again forget. 
 
 What had become of all these people, she wondered ; 
 where had they gone, and why had they left their dread- 
 ful shadows behind them to watch and torment her ? She 
 liked all the statues, and made them the confidants of 
 her many wonders and puzzles ; and questions, too, she 
 often asked them, but got no answers poor little maid 
 any more than from the graves and gravestones. 
 
 But her dearest friend was her doll. Ah, the com- 
 fort of that mutilated doll, who can tell ? It helped her 
 to learn her letters ; it comforted her about the pictures ; 
 and the mystery of counting was solved on the fingers of 
 this same valuable companion. Besides this doll, the 
 child had only a few playthings put away on a little shelf 
 near the wide fireplace, with a little pile of lesson books,
 
 THE FELMERES. 11 
 
 a larger one of fairy lore, and a box of special treasures. 
 Two arm-chairs there were, for the doll and for the child, 
 wherein they would sit when tea was over, and pass the 
 evening in pleasant conversation. It is true, Cinderella 
 could not talk, but she was a good listener, which went 
 very far. But Helen was content, and to her Cinderella 
 could only be described as beautiful and. entertaining. 
 Often the father would put down his book to listen to 
 what the child was saying. Sometimes he would enter 
 into the conversation and explain some of the mysteries 
 that worried his little daughter ; but more often he left 
 her to her own surmises, waiting until she should be older 
 before he solved her puzzles. 
 
 So the little girl lived on in a curious, unknown 
 world full of wonders, full of fears, full of things in- 
 effable which gave rise to thoughts and emotions that no 
 words can translate. And the father, watching her, feli- 
 citated himself that her friends were what they were; for 
 they could never harm her never be false to her never 
 turn her against himself. She was his only hope and 
 love, this child, and her education was his dearest task. 
 He had sometimes wavered in the course he was pursu- 
 ing, but not often nor for long. She gave fair promise 
 of common sense, and of strength enough to stand up- 
 right without support from the much-cultivated super- 
 stitions known as " beliefs." 
 
 And so the days, and the months, and the years moved 
 round the child, bringing new wonders and new learning, 
 solving old puzzles, and sweeping away the old mysteries 
 into dim remembrances ; slowly but surely turning the 
 " fairy gold " of childhood wonderings into the dried and 
 withered leaves of positive knowledge ; robbing the sea,
 
 12 THE FELMERES. 
 
 and the wind, and the sky, and the earth of all their 
 mystic charm, and stripping from her heart the " trailing 
 clouds of glory." 
 
 And as she watched them fade and die, she knew not 
 why nor whence the sadness came that clung about her ! 
 She did not know that this change must ever come to us 
 as we travel from the cloudless sunshine of childish faith 
 into the shadow of the " tree of knowledge." She did 
 not know why the nakedness of all things should be so 
 suddenly revealed to her eyes ; nor why such cold bar- 
 renness was creeping over the world and life. She had 
 learned what death meant in the dim half-revealings that 
 had come to her, and why gravestones were used. Con- 
 cerning the church she had asked little, and had got little 
 in return ; but she often listened to the sound of music 
 which reached her faintly when the wind set toward the 
 house. 
 
 Once she had seen a little into the church, but it 
 only seemed to widen the foundation for her wonders, 
 and not satisfy her at all. She was leaning over the gate, 
 when deep-rolling music came floating about her, and 
 with it voices singing. She slipped through the gate and 
 stood listening, while a sense of intense sadness stole over 
 her a feeling of awe crept into her soul. She looked 
 up ; far above her, soft rose-colored clouds were floating 
 across the sky ; and she watched them with a childish 
 feeling of soul-hunger a longing for something to fill 
 this great empty world and her own sad little heart. 
 
 What was it she wanted ? 
 
 She drew nearer the church : perhaps she might find 
 it there among those happy-looking people this some- 
 thing she so much needed and she crept up the steps.
 
 THE FELMERES. 13 
 
 Ah \ and with clasped hands and bated breath she 
 looked, and listened ! 
 
 Happy ? Oh, no ! she was not happy standing there 
 there was a something that seemed to cling about the 
 music a something that came to her when she looked 
 at the beautiful clouds, or watched the great moon rise 
 out of the sea ! a something that seemed to wrench her 
 heart with pain, and bring hot tears to her eyes. The 
 people were all on their knees ; perhaps if she knelt 
 this pain in her heart would go. 
 
 Alas ! a man came out and, motioning her away, 
 closed the wide doors. She stood quite still for a mo- 
 ment in astonished despair and anger. What had she 
 done that he should send her away ? She ran off a little 
 distance and, crouching behind a great tombstone, burst 
 into tears. She was bitterly angry with all the world, it 
 all seemed against her. The people she passed in her 
 walks with her father looked the other way when they 
 met her, or else stared curiously. Even Jane, the ser- 
 vant, seemed to regard her with doubt ; and now, how 
 had she been treated ! 
 
 " I shall hate you for ever ! " she cried, raising her 
 hands as though invoking a curse on the church. Then 
 she ran away ran to the house, then up to her own 
 room, there to sob and cry as though her heart would 
 break. In the dusk of the evening she crept down to 
 where her father sat in the library, and, kneeling beside 
 his chair, told him of her adventure. 
 
 " What were they doing, father, and why do the peo- 
 ple kneel ? " she asked, as he clasped her little hand in his. 
 
 " They were doing what they call ' praying,' my 
 child," he answered.
 
 14 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " Praying ? like subjects to a king 2 " she went on. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But, father, I saw no king, nor any one who was 
 listening to them ; where was he ? " 
 
 " He is only an Idea, child." 
 
 " An Idea ? " she repeated slowly ; " what does 
 4 idea ' mean ? " 
 
 " It means a notion." 
 
 The child pondered a moment, then looked up wist- 
 fully. 
 
 " Say it, father, so that I shall know/ Why do they 
 pray without anything to pray to ? " 
 
 The father put his hands each side the earnest face, 
 and, looking down into her eyes, he kissed her gently. 
 
 " Trust me a few years longer, darling, then I will 
 tell you all." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Eternity, Eternity ! 
 How long art thou, Eternity ? 
 No spring hast thou, no autumn gold, 
 No summer's heat nor winter's cold ; 
 No infant cry begins thy day, 
 Nor age nor anguish brings decay. 
 Ponder, O man Eternity ! " 
 
 AND so the girl waited and trusted, asking no more 
 questions. True, the world was becoming more and 
 more empty every day more and more bare and dreary ! 
 All the fables and entertaining wonders of her childhood
 
 THE FELMERES. 15 
 
 had been educated away, and nothing put in their place. 
 Her battered Cinderella had long been laid aside care- 
 fully, for she still loved her, but completely. Her damp 
 little garden, where every day she had stuck up root- 
 less, pale, unhappy flowers, qulled from among the graves, 
 was now of more lasting growth, but scarcely less dreary 
 than of yore. And now she watched the waterfowl come 
 and go with an undefined longing at her heart for wings 
 and freedom. 
 
 Her life seemed very objectless, and had grown more 
 so every day since she could remember. What was the 
 point of all these days and months and years ? Where 
 would they end, and how? Were languages and poetry, 
 reading and drawing, the only things to live for ? And 
 when one had risen above laboring for one's daily bread, 
 was this all ? 
 
 She looked with envy on the busy housewives and 
 happy children whose homes she sometimes passed in her 
 walks with her father looked, and wondered why her 
 childhood had been so mysteriously lonely, and her home 
 so empty. It was strange, this utter separation of her 
 father and herself from the world ; and surely she was 
 old enough now to know their story ? 
 
 One day, in the closet of an unused room, she found 
 a little baby dress, worn and yellow with age. Curiously 
 she held it up to the light. Had it been hers ? Was it 
 the work of her unknown mother, who she somehow 
 knew was still alive ? A gentle warmth of love stole 
 about her heart, and she handled the little garment ten- 
 derly. 
 
 Love had shaped it, had put all those careful stitches 
 in had folded it away, perhaps, and laid it in that very
 
 16 TEE FELMERES. 
 
 spot where she had found it ! Then two little letters, 
 marking it, met her eyes P. F. "Who was that ? It 
 was neither her nor her father's name whose was it ? 
 Had she ever had a brother or a sister ? "Were they dead 
 shut up in the great Felm,ere vault over there in the 
 church, and she had never known it ? 
 
 She must ask her father. She was almost a woman 
 now. Loving and trusting, she had waited as he had 
 told her to do. Her faith in him was boundless, and she 
 had asked no questions. But now ? So she went down 
 to the library with the little dress crumpled close in her 
 hands, afraid of what she would hear ! 
 
 " Father," she said, standing by his chair, " I have 
 found this ; it is marked P. F. Whose was it \ " 
 
 The old man touched the little dress, then looked up 
 slowly as one in a dream. The day he had so long 
 avoided had come upon him ! 
 
 " I have waited so long," the clear young voice went 
 on " so long, and you have not told me." 
 
 And silence fell again between them. Had the fire 
 no warmth in it? "Was there a window open, or a door, 
 that such coldness crept about him ? "Were there people 
 in the hall did he hear footsteps coming and going, and 
 voices ? lie shook himself as though from hands that 
 held him ! 
 
 Long ago he had ceased to question the wrong or 
 right of the course he was pursuing. Long ago he had 
 determined that she should not be a Christian, but that 
 she should believe as he did ; she should be strong enough 
 to stand alone ; she should follow him step by step be- 
 yond the portal of the grave, wherever that might lead ! 
 Such was his decision, and so he had striven to train her.
 
 THE FELMERES. 17 
 
 And now suppose she should reproach him suppose 
 she should forsake him ! The gray head drooped ; had 
 he been wrong ? 
 
 "I will wait, father" ; and the girl's hand rested on 
 his shoulder, rousing him. 
 
 " No," he said, without a quiver in his voice, either 
 for the ghosts of the past that were crowding about him, 
 or for the fears of the present "no; I will tell you 
 now. But do not stand near me go away ; for in this 
 hour you are to hear my life and judge me you are to 
 choose between me and the world ! " His voice fell, and 
 in its deep intensity almost trembled. " You must listen 
 and decide not by your love, I charge you, but by your 
 reason ! " 
 
 Then he paused, and the girl, watching him with awe- 
 stricken eyes, moved slowly back. Ah, it was a pitiful 
 picture, that, where in the great dim library the old 
 man, time-worn and world-conquered, rich in knowledge 
 and experience, sat with hand-covered eyes making him- 
 self ready for this revelation ! and before him was the girl, 
 tall and beautiful, with a strong, sad beauty that haunted 
 you, fair as any lily, as she stood where the sunlight fell 
 still and waiting ! And all the painted Felmeres, with 
 dead, haunting eyes, brooded over the scene ! At last he 
 spoke. 
 
 " I am old now," he began " old and white-haired. 
 I have had many sorrows and disappointments, much 
 trouble and responsibility, and much experience of many 
 things! Through all I have tried to find and follow 
 truth ; from all I have tried to gather wisdom and pa- 
 tience; under all I have tried to bear myself like a man. 
 How far I have succeeded I can not tell ; for your life
 
 18 THE FELMERES. 
 
 will be the only commentary upon and the only result of 
 mine." 
 
 Then he told the wondering girl his story : how he 
 had loved and reared his only brother, Philip ; and how 
 he had gone from his heart and his home into the wide 
 world, and seemingly had forgotten all. Then he told 
 her of his own marriage, and his short-lived happiness, 
 ending in his wife's desertion of him, and in her carrying 
 away with her their other child, his only son. 
 
 "She never loved me never!" he cried. "She 
 married me at the instigation of her priest, for the benefit 
 of their church ; she left me at the instigation of her 
 priest, because I was an obstinate heretic, and unexpect- 
 edly a poor one ! And she took with her my son my 
 only son ! blasting and desolating my life because she 
 was a Christian ! And in this country side she is almost 
 canonized because she broke her vows to her God, leav- 
 ing home, and husband, and what she thought was a 
 dying child, in obedience to her priest and conscience ! 
 She is sainted : we are condemned, cast out ! " 
 
 " Father ! " It came like a sigh from the girl's white 
 lips. He was murdering all the tenderness in her na- 
 ture did he not know it ? He was trampling down in 
 his bitterness all her youth, tearing away all the tender, 
 clinging, reverential thoughts she had in her loneliness 
 twined about her unknown mother. Could he not see 
 the agony in her white face ? But he did not heed the 
 little cry. 
 
 " Do not come," he said, " until you have heard all. 
 Listen while I tell you of this Christianity ; then choose 
 between it and me ! " 
 
 Then he explained the Christian belief; and even
 
 THE FELMERES. 19 
 
 while lie spoke the bitterness faded from his voice, 
 and he told in glowing terms the beautiful story of the 
 Christ's life and death ; he adored the Man, but denied 
 the Divinity ! 
 
 Then came the history of the Church, beginning with 
 those few devoted men in far-away Judea a humble, in- 
 significant band, growing slowly but surely into a great 
 political power, that, leaving far behind it the simplicity, 
 the beauty, the purity of the Master's teachings, developed 
 in its stead the idolatry and practiced the persecutions 
 of the middle ages. He dwelt upon the corruptions of 
 the three great branches of the Church ; telling how they 
 were torn by factions ; how they crucified and burned ; 
 how they tortured more terribly than the most ignorant 
 savages ; how they demanded that men should put aside 
 their reason, and, falling down in blind faith, adore ! 
 
 Then he paused, and the girl drew a long, tremulous 
 breath ! Hurried on by the burning words that chained 
 her attention, confused amid all the terrible revelations 
 that had come to her, her agony and despair were intense ! 
 What was this dreadful thing she was to decide ? Why 
 not tell her, as he always did, what she must do ? Her 
 mother had been a Christian her weak, wicked mother ! 
 Wrong ? Who could doubt it ? She stood looking out 
 of the window looking at the gilt cross on the church- 
 tower with a pitiful look of pain. 
 
 The wonderful life of the great " God-man " still 
 rung in her ears. This Christ was the grandest hero of 
 whom she had ever heard. She had not realized Him in 
 her casual reading ; but now all her enthusiastic girl- 
 nature went out in mute admiration ! How gladly she 
 would worship so beautiful a God ; and had she but lived
 
 20 THE FELMERES. 
 
 in the days of the Apostles, when the cause of Christ 
 needed champions, how she would have gloried in dying 
 for it ! But now ? Now the Cross was triumphant, and 
 one old man, defrauded for its sake of all his life held 
 dear, stood out against it one poor old man, deserted 
 and alone ! The tears sprung to her eyes. 
 
 Reason ? How could she reason about a thing like 
 this ? Tet her father said she must. She covered her 
 face with her hands, and strove to regulate her thoughts. 
 Then strangely through the chaos of her confused mind 
 there rose up suddenly the awful memory of the Chris- 
 tian's hell ! Did her father not think of that ? Quick 
 her young voice rung through the silence. 
 
 " Father, if these Christians are right, what will come 
 to you after death ? " And the beautiful eyes watched 
 him with a strained, anxious pain in them. 
 
 No one knew the agony this silence had held for the 
 old man ; and now she turned and asked, " What will be 
 your (not our) fate ? " Was she going too ? Had he not 
 suffered enough ? Could he not keep one treasure, one 
 love from this winning Christ ? He trembled. It was 
 hard to answer with this horror in his heart with those 
 eyes so eagerly watching him; but he did it slowly, 
 steadily : 
 
 " Eternal damnation." 
 
 His voice clove the air like a sword, and the waiting 
 heart before him, quivering with the blow, broke into a 
 little cry then there was silence. 
 
 Oh, this awful Eternity this awful Hell ! And this 
 old man could balance these dreadful chances with a 
 steady mind ? She turned and looked at him as though 
 he were some stranger. Already so near the end, he
 
 THE FELMERES. 21 
 
 dared this terrible risk dared to stand and look this 
 fearful alternative in the face dared to choose! Her 
 brain reeled, and she turned away with a sickening terror 
 clinging about her ! 
 
 Her mother had not dared ! Ah ! 
 
 And he told her now to put her heart aside and choose ! 
 to put her heart aside and leave him ! She turned : the 
 gray head was bowed the dear face was covered from 
 the light. With a swift movement she knelt beside 
 him, and drew his hands down ; and the face he looked 
 on was surely glorified ! surely ; for all the self-f orget- 
 fulness and self-abnegation of her woman's soul was 
 shining there ! 
 
 " Father, I have chosen." And the young voice rung 
 very true. "I shall never leave you; always and for 
 ever, here and hereafter, I will follow you. I swear 
 it." 
 
 Ah, old man, so carefully platting a crown of thorns 
 for that young life crowning, yea, and crucifying it ! 
 Taking so gladly the sacrifice from that young, untried 
 soul grasping so eagerly the life-gift from those weak 
 hands that had groped so blindly for some guiding star, 
 and had only found her heart !
 
 22 THE FELMERES. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 " In the wail of the wind, in the cry of the sea, 
 
 In the far-away wash of the river, 
 In the starlight of night, in the sunshine of day, 
 In the wanness of March, in the blooming of May, 
 There lurketh a tear alway alway 
 
 A sadness that haunts me for ever ! " 
 
 THE last September day had ended, dying solemnly 
 and redly down the western sky. The land lay brown 
 and bare, the sedge rustled crisply in the wind, and the 
 one stunted maple in the churchyard had put on, as best 
 it was able, its autumn dress not very gorgeous, but still 
 making a dash of color in the landscape that helped to 
 light it up. 
 
 Walking up from the river, Helen noted it, and 
 paused, as she had done many times before, to look on 
 the dreary picture. Now the one bright maple seemed 
 to cast a deeper gloom over the rest of the scene, mak- 
 ing the house look more gaunt and gray, the graveyard 
 more desolate, and the church more square and cold. 
 She had a pitying love for the old place, for herself, for 
 her father 
 
 "A white-haired shadow, roaming like a dream" 
 
 who seemed to cling to this quiet corner of the world as 
 though it was a secure refuge from all rude shocks a 
 place where Time would forget him, and Death pass by 
 unseeing !
 
 THE FELMERES. 23 
 
 In the two years that had passed since the explana- 
 tion between father and daughter, they seemed almost to 
 have changed places. There being nothing now to keep 
 from her, or to guard her from, the father had very much 
 relaxed his supervision of her life; and she, with her 
 womanly instincts fully alive, glad to find something that 
 would aid in filling out the aimless desolation of her days, 
 quietly altered the old routine, and became the guardian 
 of her father's wahts and comforts. But more than this 
 she had changed. Day by day she had brooded over the 
 weakness of her mother, until the love she had in her 
 ignorance built up about her name was changed to bitter- 
 ness ; while the emptiness of her own life seemed to spread 
 like a desert before her nothing here, and no hereafter ! 
 and she had vowed to stand by it. She would stand 
 and watch the martins as in her childhood, and long for 
 the glamour that used to cover the world for her ; and 
 she would listen to the foolish clack of the marsh hens 
 and to the solemn cry of the bitterns with a weary atten- 
 tion, wondering that so many creatures had been made 
 to live and die for nothing. And so living, she had 
 changed. A deeper thoughtfulness had come into her 
 eyes, a greater strength into the lines of her mouth ; and 
 over all there seemed spread an infinite sadness and 
 shadow of longing ! 
 
 Helen did not stand long at the gate ; for, seeing the 
 lonely stream of light that flickered out from the library 
 window, she knew her father waited for her, and has- 
 tened in. 
 
 Mr. Felmere sat close over the fire, holding in his 
 clasped hands a letter. Helen paused a moment at the 
 door, struck by his position and expression. What had
 
 24 THE FELMERES. 
 
 come to him to make him look more sad? She came 
 softly beside his chair. 
 
 " What news, father ? " - 
 
 He roused himself with a deep sigh. 
 
 " Your uncle Philip is dead," he answered slowly. 
 
 " Dead ! " 
 
 " Dead, a week since." 
 
 Then a silence fell between them ; the girl pondering 
 on this awful thing death so inevitable, so mysterious, 
 so unsparing toward all ! And the father was groping 
 in among the dead years for the little boy he had loved 
 and reared, and who now had died an elderly man. How 
 strange ! 
 
 The servant bringing in the tea roused them, and Mr. 
 Felmere spoke : 
 
 " The letter is from your cousin Philip. He wants 
 to come and see us." 
 
 Helen looked up interestedly. 
 
 " I shall like to meet him," she said. 
 
 " He also sends me a letter from his father, begging 
 me to receive his son as though he were my own." 
 
 " Of course ; how else could we receive him ? " 
 
 Mr. Felmere nodded, and continued : " And you are 
 something of an heiress, my child." 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 "Tour uncle has left you exactly one third of his 
 property ; the rest he has left to his wife and son. It is 
 yours unconditionally." 
 
 " Oh, father ! what shall I do with it ? " 
 
 The voice was almost distressed. 
 
 " When I am dead, child, it will be very welcome 
 almost necessary; for, with my pen gone, you would
 
 THE FELMERES. 25 
 
 have been very poor. It eases my heart of a great bur- 
 den ; for now you will have more than enough, and I 
 the pleasure of feeling grateful to my dear brother. It 
 was a noble thought." 
 
 " You did everything for him, father." 
 
 " My child, he was all I had to love ; it was iny chief 
 pleasure to give and do all for him that was in my power." 
 
 " And through me he has striven to show his grati- 
 tude to you. But a third is very generous." 
 
 "Wonderfully generous for one who has made his 
 fortune by hard blows; for this poor old remnant of a 
 place had ceased yielding an income when he left me, 
 so that I had very little to give him. "Wonderfully gen- 
 erous ; and I thought he had forgotten me." 
 
 " Plow could that be, father ? You were the only rel- 
 ative he had left." 
 
 " Yery true ; but his wife has a large family, and a 
 solitary man is apt to become absorbed in a pleasant con- 
 nection, such as that is." 
 
 " You knew them, then ? " 
 
 " Yes ; they were once my friends." 
 
 " And why not now -? " 
 
 " Ah, well, it was through my non-belief. I fell from 
 the esteem of the world, and without the world's approval 
 you must not expect theirs." 
 
 " How despicable ! " 
 
 " All the world is the same." 
 
 Then there was a few moments' pause, until Helen 
 asked : 
 
 " Are you not allowed to think .for yourself in the 
 world ? Must every one's mind and belief be cut after 
 the same pattern ? " 
 2
 
 26 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " In my youth it was almost so, and to be known as 
 a skeptic was almost social death ; even to be a scientific 
 man was considered dangerous. But now things seem 
 changed. We skeptics are still dreadful, but fashionably 
 and interestingly so allowed in society, and sometimes 
 even lionized. This toleration came too late for me." 
 
 " Then I may have friends," Helen said questioning- 
 ly, " if I should ever go into the world ? " 
 
 Mr. Felmere shook his head. 
 
 " I would not count upon it if I were you. They 
 are at best few and uncertain ; and now that you have 
 money, you will receive all that the fashionable world 
 can give you, and I would not look for more." 
 
 " I hate the world ! " the girl exclaimed vehemently. 
 
 " Hate is a strong word," her father answered. " You 
 should not hate anything, for there is nothing that has 
 not some good in it ; so that you should weigh all things 
 justly, and strive to value them at their due. Strong 
 feelings are apt to lead one astray." 
 
 " From what ? " she asked quietly. 
 
 " From the safe middle path of philosophic calm 
 that high level so hard to reach, because so above 
 the usual walk of every-day life; so quiet, because so 
 high." 
 
 "In what is it above the usual daily life?" she went 
 on. 
 
 " Ah, child ! you do not know yet what the din and 
 whirl of life are, or its unceasing turmoil and excitement 
 an excitement that in time becomes necessary, unless 
 one rises above it." 
 
 " Do many so rise ? " 
 
 The old man shook his head.
 
 THE FELMERES. 27 
 
 " Not many. One has to leave one's friends behind, 
 and this is hard to do just at first. They cry out against 
 you as cold-hearted and lacking in sympathy ; so you 
 are separated from them, and you find yourself alone, 
 but peacefully quiet." 
 
 " Like the worm crawling to the top of the post," the 
 girl said slowly, and looked sadly at her father "it may 
 be to die of starvation ; but it is out of the dust and 
 above its fellow worms ! Still, I think I should like to 
 try the turmoil for a little while. Then, perhaps, being 
 tired of the dust, starvation on the post-top were the 
 lesser evil. But, father, is the all of life a choice be- 
 tween evils ? " 
 
 The question came pathetically, with an undertone of 
 hopelessness in it. 
 
 " So I have found it, my child, until I reached the top 
 of the post. There I found the highest good ; for from 
 thence I could see the heavens and the earth spread out 
 before me, and could live in the beautiful order of the 
 universe. How could I help looking with pity on the 
 poor worms I had left down in the dust, who so foolishly 
 strove against fate, and seemed not to know the joy of 
 perfect calm, nor to realize their own littleness ? " 
 
 " Is it a pleasure to realize one's littleness ? " she 
 asked slowly. 
 
 " Yes, if it comes through the revelation of the gran- 
 deur and perfection of nature ; it is the rising ' on step- 
 ping-stones of our dead selves to higher things ' ! " 
 
 " And that same height is the trouble," she answered 
 sadly "it is so lonely up there. And yet I may some 
 day long for it, though I doubt if I could ever attain to 
 it, for I think I must be naturally a sociable creature."
 
 28 THE FELMERES. 
 
 The father had been watching her closely, and showed 
 her by his next question whither her thoughts were 
 unconsciously tending. 
 
 " Could you be a Christian, Helen, and force your- 
 self to believe all that they do ? Could you reason your- 
 self into a faith such as they profess ? " 
 
 " No, father," she answered, shaking her head ; " I do 
 not see how it would be possible. But I do not think 
 reason has much to do with it ; it seems a combination 
 of faith and instinct." 
 
 " Weakness and folly ! " the father interrupted 
 sharply. 
 
 The girl looked up quickly, but did not answer, only 
 pondered in her own mind if it were weakness and folly 
 to take hold of a religion that helped and sustained one 
 exactly in the ratio of one's faith ! If her father's creed 
 of annihilation were true, it made no difference one way 
 or the other, for after death they were all the same dust ; 
 and if it made them more comfortable, why not hold on 
 to this religion, even to the extent of fighting for it ? 
 What comfort was it that all she believed could be logi- 
 cally proved to rest on a basis of reason, when her beliefs 
 were all negative when her creed could be summed up 
 in the formula, " I do not believe " ? Alas ! in the lone- 
 liness and emptiness of her life she had come almost to 
 think she would rather have been overgrown with the 
 briers and tangles of illogical dogmas and baseless su- 
 perstitions, than stand on this shadowless plain spread 
 smooth with the " how " and the " why." She drew a 
 deep sigh. What was the use in arguing round and round 
 again in this same circle ? She had done it so often, and 
 never but with the one result : that the Christians were
 
 THE FELMERES. 29 
 
 wise, to say the least wise in having provided for them- 
 selves a future and a hope, even though illogical and vain ; 
 but she, having been so educated as to find belief in this 
 delusion impossible, would have to content herself with 
 the present as best she might. Then, breaking from her 
 thoughts, she asked : 
 
 " When does Philip come ? " 
 
 " He does not say probably not until he hears from 
 me. But you will do well to have a room prepared for 
 him ; it is always safest to be ready." 
 
 " I w r onder how he looks," she went on, " and if we 
 shall like each other ? " 
 
 Her father smiled. It always pleased him to see the 
 girl throw off her serious air and interest herself in pass- 
 ing events ; for she had become too grave. 
 
 " If he is like his father," he answered, " he is hand- 
 some. His mother was not so much so, although her 
 face was quite strong enough ; that woman had a power- 
 ful will." 
 
 " What was her name ? " 
 
 " Jourdan Amelia Jourdan." 
 
 " An ugly name ! no wonder she changed it. Fel- 
 mere is better; Philip Felmere is very soft." She paused, 
 then asked slowly, " "What was my brother's name ? " 
 
 " Percival," Mr. Felmere answered lingeringly, as 
 though he loved to pronounce the name of the boy he 
 had lost. 
 
 " Percival ! " the girl repeated. " Shall I ever know 
 him ? " 
 
 " You must take Philip in his place." 
 
 Helen did not say so, but she felt that there was a 
 special place in her heart kept sacred for this lost brother
 
 30 THE FELMERES. 
 
 a place no one else could possibly claim ; a place this 
 rich, handsome Philip had no right to. 
 
 The next day she gave orders for the arrangement of 
 her cousin's room, and they were obeyed ; but after the 
 servants had left it, she went in to make a few last ar- 
 rangements which she had purposely reserved for her own 
 hands. It was a positive pleasure to have some real, 
 necessary thing to do for some one else some little 
 tasteful, feminine work that was not all cold intellect, 
 something which needed but deft fingers and an artistic 
 eye. 
 
 It was a strange thing, she thought, that, grown 
 woman as she was, sewing should still be a mystery to 
 her, and "fancy work" of any kind an untried pas- 
 time. Once, after watching Jane furtively, she had tried 
 to knit, but her thread became so inextricably tangled 
 that she gave up in utter despair. She regretted very 
 much that she was so ignorant ; but she could not help 
 it, for her father had kept her with" him all the time, and 
 thought but little of such feminine occupations. But 
 this day she made a holiday, and during her little prepa- 
 rations became almost excited over the approaching visit. 
 
 It was almost the first time in her life that any per- 
 son except her old drawing-master had come to the house. 
 N\>w and then farmers had come to pay their rent, or to 
 ask for repairs, but not often ; for usually the rent came 
 through the lawyer, and repairs were asked for by letter. 
 Thus Philip's coming was a great event to her. She 
 moved about his room with a little subdued feelino- of 
 
 m O 
 
 joy in her heart a feeling that something was really 
 corning into her life after all ! 
 
 She put the brightest-covered books on the table, the
 
 THE F ELM E RES. 31 
 
 daintiest vases on the mantel, and the most cheerful pic- 
 tures on the wall. All she could think of to brighten 
 things, she did ; then stood in the doorway to enjoy the 
 effect, and, being satisfied, ran down stairs, and brought 
 her father up to pass judgment on her handiwork. It 
 was a dim old room at best; but to them, so used as they 
 were to dimness, it looked quite bright and cheerful. It 
 was brighter than the rest of the old house with its weary 
 look of departed grandeur brighter than the marsh, 
 than the churchyard ; so to them it was bright ! Then, 
 at her father's suggestion, she added the brightest of the 
 rusty maple leaves, and thought with him that she had 
 made quite an effect of color. 
 
 N"ow, however, all was done, and there was nothing 
 for it but to finish her holiday with her usual walk in the 
 flats ; so, kissing her father for good-by, she set forth. 
 She walked along quite briskly, feeling more light-hearted 
 than usual, stopping only now and then to pick a stalk 
 of grass or a drooping flag-leaf, and weaving them into a 
 little sheaf to sketch when she got home. There was not 
 much in her surroundings to make pictures of ; and she 
 seemed to have sketched everything from every possible 
 standpoint. Already her portfolio was running over 
 with views of the church and churchyard, the river, the 
 maple-tree, the priest's house on the hill, the Hall and the 
 garden, stretches of gray marsh, and sections of the 
 crumbling stone walls. Always dreary, her little pic- 
 tures seemed to collect all the desolation and sadness of 
 the place, and give it to you with a sigh. 
 
 This evening, however, she was in a lighter mood, 
 and twisted and pulled her little bunches of grass and 
 sedge until they began to look almost cheerful. This
 
 32 THE FELMERES. 
 
 little success still more raised her spirits, and she quick- 
 ened her stops to keep time to the ballad she was singing 
 a ballad she had picked up from the servants. This 
 little song was the only one she knew ; and so much did 
 she love it, that she would often draw near to where old 
 Jane sat knitting, droning the while in a cracked voice 
 this favored song, wherein each verse ended with the re- 
 frain, " Joy comes to all before the sun goes down " ; 
 and often and vaguely she wondered if it was true, this 
 song ! She surely loved music, and often she would try 
 to catch the notes that came from the church. To her it 
 seemed to take a tone from the wind and the sea from the 
 summer clouds and dreary winter rain from the falling 
 leaves and rustling marsh ; and at times she seemed even 
 to hear all the poor human voices that had wailed them- 
 selves away, and were for ever hushed in the churchyard 
 mold ! All the saddest side of nature dwelt in music ; 
 and as she stood on the river bank, she listened to its 
 murmur and made her little song keep time. There was 
 surely the same soft rhythm running through all nature, 
 all poetry, all music ; for her song kept time to the river, 
 and the river to the far-away beat of the sea ; and withal, 
 there was an undertone from the autumn wind, and the 
 low gray autumn clouds ! 
 
 Why was the world ever made ? she wondered, then 
 sighed. Why was she ever made ? or, if made, why was 
 her life so peculiar? "Natural results from natural 
 laws"; "cause and effect": of course she could under- 
 stand how ; but why ? Why, indeed, was anything as it 
 was? It all seemed very senseless to her. She hated 
 "immutable laws" driving the universe on for ever and 
 for ever ! an unchangeable iron fate ruling all ! What
 
 THE FELMERES. 33 
 
 good to fight against it what good to obey it ? " Ever 
 climbing up the climbing wave" ceaseless, enduring 
 toil and war and for nothing ! Let things go : death 
 ended all ! 
 
 She shook herself to rouse herself from this untimely 
 mood. Her father did not like to see her sad, and now 
 she was always so. If she could only stop thinking, she 
 felt sure she would be more cheerful. Alas ! if she were 
 only not such a weak creature ! And, drawing a long 
 sigh, she turned toward the house. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Yet could not all creation pierce 
 Beyond the bottom of liis eye." 
 
 ON reaching the house Helen felt almost despondent, 
 and entered the library in a listless way, with the bunches 
 of grass drooping down from her hand as though for- 
 gotten. She closed the door after her, and, looking up, 
 saw in the dim firelight a man sitting opposite her father. 
 She paused, and her father, catching sight of her, said : 
 
 " Your cousin has come, Helen." 
 
 The stranger rose and came forward, meeting her 
 half-way, and they shook hands. 
 
 " I am glad you have come," Helen said ; and he, ap- 
 parently much taken up with her appearance, only said 
 some formal words in return, and sat down again. 
 
 There was something wrong in the meeting, but 
 Helen did not know what it was ; and she turned away
 
 34 THE IELMERES. 
 
 to put down her hat with a feeling of disappointment, 
 and almost blankness. But she felt the duties of hostess 
 weighing upon her : something must be done to make 
 him feel happy and glad to be with them ; and as a last 
 resort she strove to make a diversion with her grasses. 
 
 " See, father, I have material for another sketch," she 
 said, kneeling down on the rug to show her trophies by 
 the firelight. 
 
 " They are very graceful," Mr. Felmere answered 
 rather absently, for he was all the while watching Philip, 
 who had not once taken his eyes off his cousin. 
 
 The silence was becoming oppressive to Helen, and 
 she was wondering what had come to her father that he 
 would not talk, and at the same time trying herself to 
 think of something to say, when, to her great relief, 
 Philip broke the silence. 
 
 " Do you draw, Helen ? " he asked. 
 
 She almost started, for it sounded queer to hear her 
 name so familiarly spoken by a stranger ; .then she an- 
 swered quietly, but without looking up : 
 
 " Yes, I draw somewhat." 
 
 At this moment dinner was announced, and they left 
 the dim library for the more cheerful dining-room. 
 
 During dinner, as Helen became accustomed to her 
 cousin, she had to confess to a feeling of disappointment. 
 He talked fluently, seemed well educated, was versed 
 in all the light literature of the day, and seemed to Helen 
 to know a great deal ; yet there was something lacking 
 in him to which she had always been accustomed in her 
 father, the absence of which would not allow her to like 
 him altogether. Suddenly, in the midst of one of his 
 gayest stories, it flashed across her that his father had
 
 THE FELMERES. 35 
 
 only been dead a few days ! If it had been her father, 
 could she have been so light-hearted in so short a time ? 
 True, there was one mitigating circumstance : these Chris- 
 tians all hoped to meet again somewhere ; so, perhaps, 
 they did not mind death so much, it being only a tem- 
 porary separation. She felt guilty after she had reached 
 this conclusion, took herself to task for so judging a guest, 
 and tried to catch the thread of the story Philip was tell- 
 ing. She found it at last, but when she had succeeded 
 did not think it worth the trouble she had taken. But 
 to Mr. Felmere it was interesting, for it brought back to 
 him his youth in the fashionable world. And this little 
 aroma of the world that had come into the old house 
 roused him, touching him like a hand from out the far 
 past a hand not all forgotten. 
 
 It almost startled Helen to see her father so animated, 
 and to hear him laugh so heartily ; for in all her life she 
 never remembered seeing him in such a mood. He 
 seemed a different man ; a color came into his cheeks, 
 his eyes shone, and his laugh rung clear and musical. 
 It was not natural to see him thus, and it worried her ; 
 she liked him best as he was every day, as he had always 
 been to her the bent, the venerable scholar. It better 
 suited his silver hair and the chiseled beauty of his face. 
 At this point in her cogitations her father chanced to 
 raise his head, and, catching her questioning look, blushed 
 like a girl. 
 
 " Your cousin makes me young again, my daughter," 
 he said apologetically. 
 
 Philip glanced from the one to the other in mute sur- 
 prise. What did they mean ? Did they never laugh and 
 talk ? Could they possibly think it wrong ?
 
 36 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Helen looked down and felt miserable. She onglit 
 to be grateful to Philip, and she was not. She had never 
 in all her life been gay, and could almost remember every 
 time she had ever laughed. 
 
 The conversation had nagged for a little while after 
 her father's apology, but it was not long before she had 
 the relief of hearing it renewed, and go on as before. 
 "When once more she found herself in the library, she 
 felt more at her ease, for here she could withdraw herself 
 without seeming rude. She did not think, however, that 
 it would be polite to read ; so she gathered her materials 
 together and began a little pencil sketch of her grasses. 
 So the evening slipped away, and nobody heeded her. 
 Alas ! this was not the pleasure she had expected to de- 
 rive from her cousin's visit ; and she wondered if her life 
 would be always becoming more empty if every change 
 would leave her more alone. 
 
 " That is very well done," said a voice close to her 
 ear. 
 
 She started, and looking up found Philip bending 
 over her. Involuntarily she drew away from him. Philip 
 watched her closely, but did not move from where he 
 was. 
 
 " Where is my father ? " she asked, as for the first 
 time she missed him from the room. 
 
 " He has gone to get the miniatures of his parents to 
 show me." 
 
 Helen drew some crooked lines on her paper ; her 
 father had never told her of these pictures. 
 
 " You draw extremely well," Philip went on. 
 
 "This is wretched," she answered coldly, and tore 
 the paper across the middle.
 
 THE FELMERES. 37 
 
 " It deserved a better fate," he said, and walked to 
 the fire. 
 
 At this moment Mr. Felmere returned with two small 
 morocco cases in his hand. 
 
 u Here they are," he said to Philip ; and they came 
 near the light to look at them. 
 
 " Your grandparents, my daughter. I do not think 
 you have ever seen them"; and he handed one of the 
 pictures to Helen. 
 
 It was a very joyous, lovely face that met her on open- 
 ing the case ; not very thoughtful, but full of life and 
 beauty. 
 
 " How lovely ! " she said half to herself, half to the 
 picture. 
 
 " Let me see ? " Philip asked, offering to change pic- 
 tures. Helen gave hers up reluctantly ; she liked to 
 look at the handsome, happy lady who had died so long 
 ago. 
 
 The picture she now took was still more handsome, 
 and, though in miniature, a grand head. It was some- 
 what like her father, yet very different; it was more 
 gentle and sympathizing, yet had the same thoughtful 
 strength in the brow and eyes that fascinated her ; and 
 over all there lay a shade of sadness that was haunting. 
 There must have been a hope in life that he had lost a 
 key-note that he had missed ! 
 
 " Was my grandfather a Christian ? " she asked sud- 
 denly. 
 
 Both gentlemen started ; her voice had struck so 
 sharply on the silence, and her question was so strange. 
 
 "In his early youth he was, but not afterward," Mr. 
 Felmere answered slowly.
 
 38 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Philip looked from one to the other in an observing 
 way. He wondered how they would talk of religion, or 
 if they would talk of it at all ; he hoped not, for it was 
 not a favorite topic of his, and belonged by rights, he 
 thought, to clergymen and old women. So he made 
 some remark that led the conversation away, and Helen 
 was left to the company of her grandparents. 
 
 She put the two pictures side by side on the table 
 before her, and compared them. How had they ever 
 come together? she wondered ; they did not look in the 
 least congenial. Yet he must have loved her, for he did 
 not marry again until she had been dead for more than 
 twenty years. Poor thing! she had only lived one year 
 after her marriage. Young, beautiful, and happy what 
 an unkind fate that she should die ! And he, sad and 
 lonely, had lived on with only his baby son for company. 
 
 She studied his face. "What had he lost to put that 
 look into his eyes his belief, or the love of his youth ? 
 This religion must be a terrible loss to any one who had 
 ever really held it like a cripple casting away his crutch, 
 or a blind man departing from his guide. How could 
 one do without it, having once lived by it ? No wonder 
 the poor brown eyes looked sad and lost ; and yet, if he 
 could not believe it, he was right to give it up. It was 
 fortunate, she thought, that she had not had to choose 
 and decide. "Weak and miserable as she was, she would 
 never have had the strength to see the right and follow 
 it ; she would have taken the most comfortable course 
 without question. "When they were separating for the 
 night, she asked her father to let her keep the pictures, 
 and he assented.
 
 THE FELMERES. 39 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 " And stay'd and cast his eyes on fair Elaine : 
 Where could be found face daintier ? than her shape 
 From forehead down to foot perfect again 
 From foot to forehead exquisitely turned: 
 ' Well, if I bide, lo! this wild flower for me ! ' " 
 
 DAY after day passed the weeks came and went, 
 filling out October's term ; yet Philip lingered. 
 
 For many reasons this visit had been planned. First, 
 it was his father's last wish, and as such had to be obeyed. 
 Second, a third of the property had come to this girl, 
 and it was just as well to look after her ; for, besides this 
 property left by her uncle, this only child of the eldest 
 branch would inherit the family place, and all the relics 
 of their ancient wealth and long descent. To Mrs. Fel- 
 mere, Philip's mother, this meant a great deal ; for, her 
 own family being hopelessly new even for America, she 
 was possessed of an honest longing for old things and 
 old names. It would be something to say her son had 
 married his cousin ; and a dear privilege it would be for 
 her to be able to add, in a careless, casual way, that this 
 alliance would keep the name and estate together. It 
 did not matter to her that the estate had dwindled down 
 to a neck of marsh land and a few poor farms ; the name 
 of the thing was what she wanted : " Felmere Hall " 
 sounded well. 
 
 This second set of reasons would have been enough 
 alone to decide Mrs. Felmere that a visit from her son to 
 his uncle was a proper thing ; but there was a third set
 
 40 THE FELMERES. 
 
 that wrought immediate action. She had during all her 
 son's life feared his marrying ; for, being her only child 
 and her idol, she had a morbid dread of losing the pre- 
 eminent place she now held in his affections, and with it 
 'much of her influence over him. This girl was doubtless 
 very innocent and childish, for not only had she been 
 reared in the country, but by a man; thus there was 
 every hope and probability that she would be easily awed 
 by the pomp of wealth she would find in her new home, 
 and easily led to take a second place in the management 
 of things. 
 
 It was thus Mrs. Felmere argued, and she sent her son 
 to see his uncle. She had not long to wait to see the 
 successful beginning of her plans ; for almost immediately 
 her son wrote of his cousin's beauty, adding that she was 
 educated far beyond most of the women he knew, and 
 was withal gentle and ladylike. All this fully satisfied 
 Mrs. Felmere, and she heartily encouraged him to remain. 
 She wrote a sisterly letter to Mr. Felmere, and a mother- 
 ly one to Helen, then rested from her labors, feeling she 
 had done her duty by her son, and had partially con- 
 verted his father's foolish legacy into a good to herself 
 and her child. 
 
 And Philip was happy. His mother, who had ever 
 made him feel her power, was pleased that he should love 
 his cousin ; and his uncle seemed to quite approve his 
 suit. About his cousin he did not know exactly what to 
 think. She seemed a simple-hearted girl, and one who 
 might be easily won, and yet he could not say he was 
 altogether satisfied with his progress ; but still he hoped 
 that time and opportunity were all he needed, and so 
 lingered.
 
 THE FELMERES. 41 
 
 Helen, meantime, went on her way in quiet uncon- 
 sciousness of all the plans, of all the hopes and fears, that 
 revolved about her. That Philip could ever be anything 
 more than a cousin never for one moment crossed her 
 mind, for in all her life she had never had any thought 
 of marrying. She felt herself so different from others 
 that she never questioned but that her life would con- 
 tinue to flow in a different channel, and end with a dif- 
 ferent result from theirs. Her one thought was of her- 
 self and her father living alone and satisfied, cut off 
 from all the outer world. As her father had said, she 
 put Philip in the place of a brother ; he was not by any 
 means her ideal brother, but yet, in lack of better, he 
 sufficed. Nor was she altogether happy in his stay ; for, 
 although he was kind and attentive and made her father 
 more cheerful, yet she missed the old oneness of their 
 lives, and the unbroken companionship that had existed 
 between her father and herself before his advent ; and she 
 went so far as to look back with longing and regret to 
 the old monotony, and to wonder if her cousin would 
 never go. 
 
 At last one day, as they stood together on the river 
 bank Philip talking gayly, and Helen listening quietly, 
 and as usual moralizing on him and his ideas he sud- 
 denly stopped his talk and asked : 
 
 " Do you care for me in the least, Helen ? " 
 
 She looked up surprised, and answered simply : 
 
 " Yes, Philip, I am quite fond of you." 
 
 " How fond ? " 
 
 " I do not know, I have never weighed it." 
 
 " Will you * weigh it,' as you say, and tell me before 
 1 go ? " he pleaded almost impatiently.
 
 42 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " I will try ; but when do you go ? " 
 
 " In a very few days," lie answered. Then they 
 turned their steps homeward. Philip was sorely trou- 
 bled, for the perfect calmness of his cousin had blotted 
 out all shadow of hope he had had in his own powers, 
 and left him only his uncle to look to for success. So 
 he pondered the situation as he walked toward home, 
 and Helen, equally silent, wondered why he had asked 
 so many curious questions. 
 
 That night Mr. Felmere and Philip sat up talking 
 until a late hour, and Helen fell asleep wondering what 
 it all meant. She surmised that it must be about that 
 stupid money. She was very, very sorry that her uncle 
 had left it to her ; for, besides the worry of it, she would 
 have much preferred to work for her own living if need 
 be : it would have filled out her life and given her an 
 interest in whatever she undertook. 
 
 The next day Philip walked to the village of Fel- 
 mere, saying he would not be back to lunch. Helen lis- 
 tened gladly, and rejoiced that for one day she would 
 have her father to herself. 
 
 Alas, that day ! 
 
 She knelt by her father's chair as of old when Philip 
 was gone, and leaned her head on his shoulder. 
 
 " My own father once more," she said. 
 
 " How, child what do you mean, Helen ? " he asked 
 gently. 
 
 " Only that I have you all to myself for to-day," she 
 answered. 
 
 " Helen," her father began slowly, " I wish to talk 
 to you very seriously to-day, and it is for this reason that 
 Philip has left us alone."
 
 THE FELMERES. 43 
 
 Helen lifted her head and looked at him in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Has he anything to do with your talk ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, he is the subject of it." 
 
 Slowly the beautiful head returned to its resting- 
 place ; but the girl said nothing : she could say nothing, 
 for an indefinable fear was creeping over her that effec- 
 tually kept her silent. 
 
 " Are you listening ? " her father asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Then he began : 
 
 " Philip is the only son of my only brother, and you 
 and he are the last of the Felmeres." 
 
 " My brother " Helen interrupted jealously. 
 
 " To me he is dead ! " her father answered, more 
 sternly than she had ever heard him speak ; then con- 
 tinued : " I love Philip and trust him ; and he loves 
 you, my child, not as brother or cousin, but as a man 
 loves the woman he hopes to make his wife." Could he 
 not feel the wave of blood rush back upon the heart 
 resting so near his own ? could he not feel how heavily 
 and slowly it beat ? and did he not know what the white 
 lips would have answered him had they the strength ? 
 But he only made a little pause, then went on : "I can 
 not hope to live more than a few years longer, and when 
 I am gone you will have no friend on earth. Give me 
 the comfort, my darling, of leaving you to Philip's care, 
 as Philip's wife. I am old now, and dread to leave you 
 alone. You know that life has held little for me ; will 
 you not give me this pleasure at the last ? " 
 
 The young heart seemed to almost stop, the young 
 voice seemed almost smothered.
 
 44 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " I do not know him, fatlier I do not love him 1 " 
 
 " How could you be expected to love a man who had 
 not asked it at your hands ? " 
 
 There was no answer, and the pleading went on : 
 
 " Love will come with time, my child, and Philip 
 is all I could ask or expect for you. He is young 
 and handsome, he has money and position ; he has a 
 comfortable home, and a mother anxious to welcome 
 you as a daughter : how better could I provide for 
 you ? " 
 
 The bowed head was raised, and the beautiful face 
 and eyes had a gleam of desperation in them. 
 
 " Father, I have my own money, I have this house, 
 and somewhere in this world I have a brother who will 
 come home to me. Let me stay as I am. I do not wish 
 to marry ! " 
 
 " Your brother is less than nothing to you, Helen ; 
 and, if you must hear it, you are too young and too beau- 
 tiful to be left unprotected. Now listen to what I pro- 
 pose. Philip, when he leaves us, is to travel for some 
 time. Enter into an engagement with him, to be ful- 
 filled when he returns. Do this for me, child, and you 
 will put more rest and happiness into my last days than 
 I have in any wise looked for." 
 
 The girl rose ; this last appeal for her father's happi- 
 ness touched the purpose of her life. 
 
 " Give me to-day to think, father." 
 
 " Very well, my daughter ; only remember how much 
 I desire this thing." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Then she left the room. She felt bewildered. How 
 had it all happened ? and why had she not suspected it
 
 THE FELMERES. 45 
 
 before, when she might possibly have put a stop to it ? 
 And now ! 
 
 She walked to the back door, where old Jane was 
 feeding the chickens. 
 
 " Jane ! " she called, and the woman came to her 
 side. 
 
 " Wnat is it, Miss Helen " 
 
 " Jane, if my father should die, would you not stay 
 here and take care of me ? " 
 
 " Yes, I would indeed, Miss Helen, for all of my 
 life " ; and the servant looked at the mistress in much 
 astonishment, and at a loss to account for this breaking 
 through of the barrier that had always separated them. 
 
 " Is the master sick ? " the woman asked after a little 
 pause. 
 
 " Oh, no ! but, Jane, I thank you very much." And, 
 squeezing the old woman's hard hand in both of hers, she 
 went away hurriedly to her own room. 
 
 Jane watched her curiously ; what did it mean ? In 
 all the long years of her service she had learned to love 
 the beautiful, gentle creature, and had long and earnestly 
 mourned her unbelief. She had often wanted to pet the 
 girl in some humble fashion, and if possible convert her 
 to her own simple creed ; but the master's orders had 
 been too strict to be tampered with. 
 
 " Poor child ! " she muttered as she watched her go. 
 " With no mother and no God, trouble will come hard ! " 
 
 And poor Helen, locking her door, sat down to think. 
 How was it possible that she should marry Philip ? yet 
 how was it possible that she should deny her father this 
 request should refuse this one boon that he asked ? His 
 happiness was hers, and with him unhappy, what would
 
 46 THE FELMERES. 
 
 her life be ? And if he should die before she did, the 
 remorse of having refused him would never leave her. 
 What should she do 2 Either way she looked at it, it 
 was hopeless ; in either case she would be miserable ; and 
 why not keep her misery to herself, and so make her 
 father happy ? Philip and his mother would be kind to 
 her ; so why not accept this as her fate, and be patient ? 
 Her little span of unhappiness could be borne if she 
 made up her mind to it ; and why should she not ? 
 What was there that she expected better than this now 
 offered her ? There were no reasons why she should not 
 marry Philip, except that she did not love him ; and this 
 love, her father said, would come with time. He was 
 wise he must know. Life at best was a poor affair : 
 why not put a little happiness into the last days of one 
 whose life had long been so dreary ? She would do it ! 
 
 She would do it if Philip would accept her condi- 
 tions : first, that she should never leave her father ; sec- 
 ond, that she should never become a Christian ; third, 
 that Philip should not stay longer at Felmere, but go 
 away at once, and never come back so long as her father 
 lived. Hard conditions, and she sincerely hoped he would 
 not accept them. 
 
 - She did not again go down to the library, but spent 
 the day in her own room, trying to convince herself that 
 she would be happy in some way, and that in any event 
 it was not probable that she should live long. 
 
 At last the day was spent, and evening and Philip 
 came together. She saw him coming across the grave- 
 yard, walking slowly, with his hands in his pockets, his 
 head down, and a general look of dejection hanging 
 about him ; and she went out slowly to meet him. He
 
 THE FELMERES. 47 
 
 did not hear her coming, and started visibly when her 
 voice sounded at his side. 
 
 " Philip, my father says you wish to marry me." 
 There was not a tremor in the voice, nor a shadow of 
 hesitation. 
 
 " Yes, Helen ! " he answered slowly, too much sur- 
 prised even to take his hands from his pockets. 
 
 " I do not love you," she went on, with painful hon- 
 esty, " but my father says that will come in time." 
 
 " Indeed ! " he began eagerly ; but she motioned him 
 to silence, and continued in the same even tone : 
 
 " All day long I have been thinking of it, and have 
 come to this decision : if you will promise never to take 
 me away from my father and this place until after my 
 father's death, I will marry you." 
 
 She ceased speaking, and for a moment there was 
 utter silence save for the far-away calling of the sea. 
 Was he going to refuse her terms ? And she began to 
 speak again with the desperate hope of making her con- 
 ditions more difficult to accept. 
 
 " I will marry you to-morrow if you wish, but you 
 must never consider me as more than your cousin until 
 after my father's death. You must go away from here, 
 and not come back until that awful day when he shall 
 leave me, never mind if it is for twenty years ! Do you 
 understand me ? " 
 
 " Yes," Philip answered slowly, and still stood look- 
 ing down and thinking. At -best his uncle would not 
 live more than five years ; this was a short time to wait. 
 In fact, it would be wiser to wait under any circum- 
 stances, for they were both young. At last he looked up. 
 
 " I agree, Helen " ; and he held out his hand.
 
 48 THE FELMERES. 
 
 She shivered slightly and drew away from him. 
 
 " Kemember, Philip, I do not love you, and am only 
 doing this because my father desires it." 
 
 " I remember," still holding out his hand ; " but you 
 will learn to love me in time." 
 
 " That is a bare chance. If you, however, are willing 
 to run the risk, I have nothing to say save that I will try 
 honestly to love you. There is now but one more thing 
 to tell you : I shall ever remain an unbeliever." 
 
 " Yes, and still I accept your terms ; they are hard, 
 but I can wait." 
 
 She stood silent a moment, weighing idly in her 
 mind whether she most admired his patience in accept- 
 ing, or despised his weakness in submitting to her terms. 
 It was only a moment, however ; then she roused her- 
 self and put her hand in his, saying : 
 
 " And now it rests with you to say how binding the 
 contract between us shall be. I think it were wiser to 
 have an understanding that will bind me and leave you 
 free ; so that if you tire of waiting, you need wait no 
 longer. I am safe ; I shall never leave my father while 
 he lives." 
 
 Philip shook his head. 
 
 " No, let it be as binding on both as the law can 
 make it. But when I come again, I hope you will not 
 object to my bringing a clergyman with me : I should 
 like to have the public sanction of the church." He hes- 
 itated a minute under her steady look, then went on 
 with almost a shade of apology in his tone : " It is the 
 custom in the world, you know." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," she answered carelessly. What dif- 
 ference could it make to her ?
 
 THE FELMERES. 49 
 
 Then he stooped and kissed her hand that was all ; 
 and they went into the house. 
 
 Alone in the dusky library Mr. Felmere sat waiting. 
 Helen paused near the door, and let Philip tell the deci- 
 sion ; then her father called her. 
 
 " Helen ! " and there was in his voice a gentle ring 
 of happiness she had never heard before. " My darling, 
 I thank you." That was all he said. Then she knelt by 
 his chair and listened to him as he agreed with Philip in 
 his plan, that the next day a magistrate and a license 
 should be procured and the contract between them be 
 made binding. 
 
 And all that night Helen lay awake schooling herself 
 to what she thought her duty. 
 
 Poor child, with no mother and no God, trouble 
 came hard ! 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 " I ana digging my warm heart, 
 Till I find its coldest part : 
 I am digging wide and low, 
 Further than a spade will go : 
 Till that when the pit is deep 
 And large enough, I there may heap 
 All my present pain and past 
 Joy, dead things that look aghast 
 By the daylight. Now 'tis done ! " 
 
 THE second day after Helen's decision drew round at 
 last, although to her it seemed to linger unnaturally in 
 its coming. A gray, wan day, with neither sun nor 
 3
 
 50 THE FELMERES. 
 
 shadow a gray sky drawn over a gray world ! The 
 solitary maple-tree in the churchyard stood gaunt and 
 bare against the sky, looking as though it were made 
 from the bones that lay at its roots. The priest-house 
 on the hill looked cold and bleak, and the far-away cry 
 of the sea wandered sad and strange across the flats. 
 Helen leaned idly from her chamber window, not even 
 thinking ; and if one had asked her what she was doing, 
 she might have answered, " Trying to see the wind" ; for 
 her eyes were endeavoring to follow it as it swept from 
 the maple-tree to the hollyhocks that stood in the Hall 
 garden, then off across the marsh. 
 
 At last she saw the magistrate and the lawyer arrive ; 
 and in a little while her father called her down. She 
 was glad, for she longed for the ceremony to be over 
 that Philip might go. First the settlements were read 
 and assented to ; then the magistrate began a short, sim- 
 ple ceremony, with the lawyer, Peter, and Jane for wit- 
 nesses no one else. 
 
 " Hold up your hand and swear by Almighty God ! " 
 the magistrate said. There was a moment's pause, and 
 the girl said quietly : 
 
 "But I do not believe in your Almighty God." 
 Philip paled down to the lips ; old Jane raised her hands 
 in horror ; Mr. Felmere frowned ; the magistrate paused 
 shocked, and turned to the lawyer. Helen stood quiet, 
 looking from one to the other with a gleam of hope in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " It makes no difference," the lawyer said ; " if she 
 does it willingly it is just as binding under the law." 
 
 "It is the prescribed formula, my daughter," Mr. 
 Felmere said reprovingly, " and you must say it."
 
 THE FELMERES. 51 
 
 " I will," the girl answered ; " I only spoke lest it 
 might make some difference in the legality of the cere- 
 mony." 
 
 Then the magistrate went on, and Helen swore by a 
 God she did not believe in, and took an oath that meant 
 nothing more to her than the simple promise she had 
 given her father. After that they all signed their names, 
 and it was over ! A pitiful, heart-breaking farce it 
 seemed to Helen, and to the lookers-on a mockery. 
 
 A gloom had settled on Philip ; and the shocked look 
 that had come over the magistrate's face at Helen's denial 
 did not wear off during the quiet and decorous serving of 
 the cold lunch that came after the ceremony. Then the 
 lawyer and the magistrate went away, and Philip lingered 
 only a few moments. Poor fellow ! his heart was very 
 heavy ; he wrung his uncle's hand as he thanked him for 
 his kindness and his affection, then turned to Helen. 
 
 " Good-by," she said quietly, holding out her hand. 
 He took it in both of his, and stood looking into the 
 great sad eyes that met his so unflinchingly, so unan- 
 sweringly. 
 
 Mr. Felmere turned away. 
 
 " Helen, you do not love me ? " 
 
 " No, Philip, but I shall try in time to do it." 
 
 " Thank you." Then he kissed her as a brother 
 might have done, and left her. 
 
 " Gone ! what rest ! " she whispered to herself, and, 
 with a feeling of infinite relief, went to change her dress, 
 putting on one that was carefully selected as having no 
 associations with Philip or his visit. 
 
 Yery quietly the household settled again into the 
 usual routine, and Helen more than all tried to step back
 
 52 THE FELMERES. 
 
 into the old life as it had been before Philip came. 
 She took up the old books at the old places ; began again 
 her regular walks ; read to her father as had been their 
 habit every evening since she had learned to read until 
 Philip interrupted them ; and actually longed to go back 
 to the thin dresses she had been wearing in September. 
 Her old thoughts, that had so much worried her, came 
 back to her easily enough, but in a very different light. 
 How foolishly she had hunted up trouble for herself, as 
 though it would not come in due time and ready made ! 
 Worrying herself about decaying creeds and an impos- 
 sible immortality waking to find herself face to face 
 with heartbreaking truths and a miserable present ! 
 Death would be bliss to her now, if it came to her before 
 it took her father, for then she need never be Philip's wife ! 
 
 And Philip carried in his heart a growing terror. A 
 godless woman ! a woman who held no higher law than 
 her own will who could be bound by no fetters but her 
 love ! What a strange and awful thing ! He loved her 
 wildly, madly, deeply ; he loved her beauty, her grace, 
 her intellect. She would shine a brilliant star in the 
 world where he would place her ; but, alas ! unless she 
 loved him, what hold had he over her ? How quietly 
 she had stood up and said, " I do not believe in your 
 God " ! not timidly, not defiantly, but calmly, uncon- 
 cernedly, as though it were some trivial matter that it 
 might be necessary to have known, yet something too 
 settled ever to be questioned. God forgive him ! 
 
 His mother had welcomed him gayly : he was a good 
 son, and had carried out her wishes far beyond all expec- 
 tation. But her triumph was a little dampened by Phil- 
 ip's solemn looks.
 
 THE FELMERES. 53 
 
 " What is it, my son, that worries you ? " 
 
 " Mother, she is such a fearful skeptic ! " he answered 
 almost under his breath, as though it was wrong to men- 
 tion it. 
 
 " Well, you knew that when you first met her ; why 
 is it you are only now affected by it \ " 
 
 He did not answer for a few moments ; then he told 
 her of the scene before the magistrate. 
 
 " And, mother, she said it as coolly as you would say, 
 ' I do not like that book, or that picture ' ; it seemed to 
 be of almost too little consequence to her to be men- 
 tioned. It shocked me terribly ! " 
 
 " Ah, well, she is young yet," the mother said reas- 
 suringly, " and we can easily change and tame her when 
 she comes to us and is from under the influence of her 
 father. He must be a wicked old man." 
 
 Philip shook his head. 
 
 " On the contrary, he is charming ; he is the most 
 finished gentleman and scholar I have ever met thor- 
 oughly moral and high-toned, and with exquisitely refined 
 tastes. This unbelief is the honest conviction of his 
 mind ; else he could not have deliberately trained his 
 only child to it." 
 
 " Put it as you may, Philip," Mrs. Felmere answered 
 severely, " unbelief is wicked. I think, however, that 
 the girl may be easily converted. Is she really so beau- 
 tiful?" 
 
 " Perfectly so," the son answered earnestly, as the 
 memory of his wife came over him. " She is faultless 
 in her appearance, though I think in her ideas she is a 
 little too independent, and a little too much given to 
 reasoning things back to first principles. But these
 
 54 THE FELMERES. 
 
 faults are due to her tram ing, for her father argues with 
 her as he would with a son, and gives her a why and a 
 wherefore for everything under the sun. Yery often I 
 could not answer her. But about her beauty you need 
 have no fears ; it is unquestionable." 
 
 Mrs. Felinere listened attentively, and nodded her 
 head complacently when he finished. 
 
 " All the faults you mention are easily enough cor- 
 rected," she said " much more so than awkwardness or 
 ill-breeding ; and I would not let them worry me. All 
 she needs is a woman's influence, and I can give her 
 that." So Mrs. Felmere in her perfect self-confidence, 
 and without the slightest conception of the character she 
 would have to deal with, planned her daughter-in-law's 
 future training. 
 
 But Philip knew better; for, although he was far 
 from a thorough understanding of Helen, and had not 
 by any means touched the depths of her thoughts or her 
 unbelief, yet he felt sure that, strong-willed as his mother 
 was, she would be powerless to change his wife. He did 
 not say this, however, as he did not care to have a fruit- 
 less argument ; and besides, he thought that it might be 
 wiser to let his mother build her own ideal, and dream 
 her own dreams about the girl, than to give her a bad 
 impression of her. But he realized fully that he had 
 made a mistake, and his remembrances of Felmere de- 
 pressed him. 
 
 It was a new thing to him to have painful thoughts, 
 and he strove to throw them off by change of scene. He 
 had never in his life been able to live under a burden ; 
 whatever annoyed him he cast aside without a glance at 
 the consequences ; and in time it was so with this.
 
 THE FELMERES. 55 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Name and fame ! to fly sublime 
 
 Through the courts, the camps, the schools, 
 Is to be the ball of Time, 
 
 Bandied in the hands of fools. 
 
 All the windy ways of men 
 Are but dust that, rises up 
 And is lightly laid again." 
 
 THE winter settled down grimly over Felmere Hall. 
 The snow-drifts were deepest there, the clouds heaviest, 
 for the wind had a wider sweep in which to gather 
 strength. 
 
 To Helen it seemed that through all that long season 
 the sun never shone ; there was nothing but snow and 
 ice, sleet and fog, the wild cry of the sea, and the long 
 howl of the wind. She never remembered such a win- 
 ter ! At last the outside world became so dreary, that 
 she was driven into an effort to make the home-life more 
 cheerful. Of course, books were the first things she 
 thought of; and the only occasion when she felt in the 
 least obliged to her uncle for his money was when she 
 saw the look of intense satisfaction which came on her 
 father's face as he turned over some long-desired book. 
 
 This was a pleasure to her, but her aunt's letters were 
 not. The monthly letters Mrs. Felmere wrote Helen 
 were truly a burden ; and through them Helen was learn- 
 ing to dislike Philip's mother. She believed her aunt to
 
 56 THE FELMERES. 
 
 i 
 
 be somewhat of a hypocrite, and said so without hesita- 
 tion. Mr. Felmere, driven to the wall, acknowledged 
 that there was truth in her argument, but warned her 
 against the danger of allowing this feeling to gain 
 strength. 
 
 " Accept your aunt's failings as facts, my child, and 
 bear with them as calmly as I hope you will with all the 
 unavoidable ills of life." 
 
 " And I do not doubt that they will be many," the 
 girl answered. 
 
 " Yery probably so ; but be careful that you do not 
 make most of them for yourself." 
 
 " How, father ? " 
 
 " By this spirit of intolerance of which you are pos- 
 sessed. You must not despise the stupid nor those who 
 find interest in trifles. I tell you there is much wisdom 
 in being able to lose one's self in small pleasures. True 
 wisdom and happiness lie in adapting yourself to what- 
 ever state of life you may be driven to fill ; else you will 
 always be tearing yourself against the corners of other 
 people's prejudices, and making your existence a burden. 
 Another good rule is to keep your opinions to yourself 
 until they are asked for, then announce them as mildly 
 as you can. Above all, be polite to fools, for they are 
 the most dangerous enemies." 
 
 Helen laughed. 
 
 " Does the world so abound in fools ? " she asked. 
 
 " It does indeed, and necessarily ; for every man, 
 having an ideal of a fool other than himself, creates 
 many. Therefore you should learn to tolerate, and espe- 
 cially those who think you a fool ; for of course there 
 will always be some who do."
 
 THE FELMERES. 57 
 
 " I am sorry I shall have to go into the world," she 
 said slowly. 
 
 " It is the fate of every one, sooner or later," her 
 father replied ; " and the only plan is to enjoy as much 
 as possible its pleasures, to politely ignore its opinions if 
 you know you are right, and to strive to become wiser 
 through witnessing the folly of the many." 
 
 " If I could only have you for my guide ! " she cried 
 bitterly, laying her head on his knee. He smoothed her 
 hair gently as he answered : 
 
 " That can not be, my child, for now I am too old. 
 But I feel that you will be safe, guided by your own 
 good sense, and Philip's love ; and this feeling makes 
 me willing to die." 
 
 " Oh, father, hush ! Without you the world will be 
 empty ! " 
 
 " There will be Philip." 
 
 " Don't mention Philip ! " she cried sharply ; " for if 
 Philips grew on every tree, still would the world be 
 empty ! " 
 
 " Helen, Helen, how silly ! Where are all my teach- 
 ings where is the philosophic calm that is to raise you 
 above yourself ? " 
 
 " Will this philosophic calm till all my heart and life 
 quiet all my love, and dry up all my tears ? " she asked. 
 
 " Even so it can." 
 
 " Ay, and turn me into stone ! " 
 
 " ]STo. One can be calm without being petrified ; can 
 pity the sorrows of others and his own, yet, accepting 
 them as inevitable, see the folly of grieving over them. 
 Child, I tell you there is a height that, once reached, 
 frees you from all trammels. There you can stand, and,
 
 58 THE FELMERES. 
 
 looking down, see the world beneath you like ant-hills, 
 and its troubles like the black insects that crawl in and 
 out." 
 
 " Would not such a height cause a woman's brain to 
 turn ? " Helen asked ; " for I was almost persuaded by 
 Philip that woman is altogether a lower animal." 
 
 Mr. Felmere answered slowly : 
 
 " So some men think, but I can not see why. Your 
 mind is surely equal to Philip's. But even in this, my 
 daughter and more, perhaps, in this than in other things 
 you should be quiet, not asserting that your mind is as 
 strong, but show it prove it by your very quiet." 
 
 There was a little pause ; then Helen said suddenly : 
 
 " If I should choose to break my oath to Philip, there 
 is nothing to prevent." 
 
 Mr. Felmere looked up quickly. 
 
 " Nothing, save your word." 
 
 " And if I chose to break my word ? " 
 
 " You would shame me for ever ! " 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " Because you would be breaking faith ; and all the 
 world holds this code of truth to your neighbor." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Why ! Why, else how would the world be kept in 
 order? Think of the anarchy that would ensue the 
 lying, stealing, murder, and all disorders that would be 
 rife among us ! How can you ask why ? " 
 
 " But if I cared more for my own comfort than for 
 this principle, what then ? " 
 
 " Why, then the law would hold you to it, for you 
 were willingly bound." 
 
 " And the law could drag me to Philip's house and
 
 THE FELMERES. 59 
 
 make me live there I know that. But, father, how can 
 an unbeliever be kept up to the spirit of his promise ? " 
 
 "In no way," Mr. Felmere answered, "save by a 
 love for the truth and for your fellow creatures a love 
 that should be cultivated, for it is not natural. Culti- 
 vated, else we would be lower than the beasts ; for look 
 throughout nature, and you will find all things, even the 
 smallest insects, working under laws that are for the good 
 of all living creatures. And shall we be lower than they ? 
 Shall we alone look only for our own benefit, and leave 
 our neighbor in the ditch ? " 
 
 " It would be wiser under some circumstances," Helen 
 answered. "If my neighbor were rich in every sense of 
 the word, mentally, physically, and financially a man 
 who would advance civilization and science, and so aid all 
 humanity why, then of course help him out of the ditch. 
 But if he were an indigent cripple, who only consumed, 
 giving no return, must we not leave him there? He 
 could only do harm to his race, and in no way advance 
 civilization." . 
 
 " He could help civilization by showing himself an 
 example of how it strives to raise all, and to ameliorate 
 the woful condition of the poor," Mr. Felmere answered 
 promptly. 
 
 "And is it not," Helen went on, " by bolstering up 
 the weak and diseased, and by prolonging their lives, that 
 the whole human race is degenerated ? For children in- 
 herit the weakness of their parents. Therefore the man 
 must be left in the ditch, and civilization is a wrong to 
 the human race." 
 
 "Even so," Mr. Felmere answered; "and at the 
 present stage civilization may do somewhat of evil in
 
 60 THE FELMERES. 
 
 that way. Bat in ages to come may it not so advance 
 as to raise the whole to a higher level ; when men and 
 women wfll be educated enough and pore enough to gee 
 the virtue and good of 'natural selection'; when the 
 profit of the world win be to a man as his own good I 
 Do yon think this an impossible dream ? " 
 
 "Sot impossible, perhaps, bat improbable; and I 
 mart say that Christianity seems to me a very valuable 
 institution, giving, as it does, to the ignorant masses a 
 system of rewards and punishments which, being to them 
 of divine commandment, they fear to transgress. I think 
 it would be a dangerous thing to free them from this, to 
 {hem, divine law, until education has reached a for higher 
 level than it now occupies." 
 
 " Yery well, and let them keep it ; bnt only acknowl- 
 edge that a noble nature rises above rewards and punish- 
 
 "Perhaps; but only the few are noble, and the laws 
 must be made for the many." 
 
 "And in the future may not the few be base and the 
 many noble 
 
 " It is but a chance." 
 
 "Nay, child, it is more than a chance. Judge the 
 future by the past. We are no farther in advance of 
 primeval man than the future man may stand in advance 
 of us ; and where would that place him ? " 
 
 "On the barren height of passionless expediency," 
 she answered. 
 
 " On the glorious height of perfect philosophy I " Mr. 
 Fehnere retorted quickly ; then more gently: "My child, 
 yon lean to the weaker side." 
 
 And she answered : "My father, I am a woman,"
 
 THE FELMEEES. 61 
 
 CHAPTER Till. 
 
 "So, 
 
 Plodding on through life's dull mist, 
 "We meet oar fate and know it not." 
 
 AT last the fury of the winter was spent, and the tired 
 earth had rest. Day after day the patient sun came and 
 warmed it, until over all the land a pale-green shadow 
 crept, and a fresh sweet smell came borne on the pure 
 warm air. And down at Felmere the one heart young 
 enough to long for the sweet glad spring watched with 
 hopeless eyes to see it come. A mental and physical 
 languidness came with the warm southern air, and, with- 
 out energy either to study or paint, Helen spent whole 
 days out in the sunshine. The garden and churchyard 
 were quite alive with the buzzing and humming of many 
 insects, and she liked to stand and listen to them. At 
 other times she would watch the snails and slugs come 
 out on the old wall and wind their slow way so aimlessly 
 to and fro, leaving long shining tracks to show where 
 they had been. She spent long hours resting under the 
 maple-tree, following with dreamy eyes the white clouds 
 drifting across the sky, and hearing with half-heeding 
 ears the far-away song of some ditcher or cow-boy. She 
 would half envy the laborer and the living creatures about 
 her their careless content; even the stupid slugs and 
 snails were better off than she, in that they did not rea- 
 lize the uselessness of things. They did not know there
 
 62 THE FELMERES. 
 
 was nothing to strive for but the perfection of some far- 
 off generation of the human race ; and that when, after 
 years and ages of pain and longing through oceans of 
 blood and tears, and endless streams of broken hearts 
 and bitter strife this much-desired end should be at- 
 tained, the end would come, and all would go for noth- 
 ing ! Happy slugs, that could not realize the end of all ! 
 Better, far better to grovel in the lowest depths of igno- 
 rance than to rise to this despair of knowledge ! 
 
 One afternoon at the end of May she leaned half 
 dreaming from her window, watching a sudden rain-storm 
 driving across the marsh. How swiftly it came, and in 
 what solid sheets the rain seemed to fall, hiding all the 
 land! Presently it reached her window, and, with a 
 little dash into her sweet fair face, drove her away. She 
 shivered as the cool wind struck her, and closing the 
 window went down to the library, where every evening 
 a fire was made for her father. She had scarcely taken 
 her seat when she heard a sharp knocking at the front 
 door, and. feeling great pity for the hapless creature wait- 
 ing there, ran to open it herself. 
 
 " Can you give me shelter until the rain is over ? " a 
 man's voice asked. 
 
 " Certainly," she answered ; " come in," and, open- 
 ing the library door, led the dripping stranger in. 
 
 " Father, this gentleman has been caught in the rain," 
 she said, " and seeks shelter here." 
 
 Mr. Felmere rose and held out his hand. 
 
 "I am only sorry, sir, that you did not reach us 
 sooner. Helen, call the servant to show the gentleman 
 a room." 
 
 "Do not trouble yourself," the young man began;
 
 THE FELMERES. 63 
 
 but Helen had already gone, and he could only do as he 
 was bidden put aside his knapsack, and take a seat. 
 
 Helen, meanwhile, being in quite a little excitement, 
 went herself with the servant to make preparation for 
 the stranger's comfort ; and it was not very long before 
 she returned to the library followed by Peter. 
 
 There was quite a little cloud of steam about the poor 
 wet -man when she entered, and he, looking thoroughly 
 uncomfortable, seemed as though he would be glad to fol- 
 low Peter anywhere. 
 
 "I wonder who he is, and where he came from," 
 Helen said when she heard the receding footsteps fading 
 in the distance. 
 
 "He introduced himself as Felix Gordon," her father 
 answered, "and said the rain had caught him while 
 sketching in the marsh near the river. He seems to be 
 a gentleman, and will of course have to remain here to- 
 night, as this rain promises to continue." 
 
 "I hope he will be easy to entertain," Helen said, 
 with a remembrance of Philip's first evening. 
 
 " He seems well-bred and at his ease," her father 
 went on ; " and if he is one of a family of Gordons I 
 once knew, he is a gentleman. But the name is a com- 
 mon one, and I doubt if he even knows them." 
 
 " It will be pleasant if he is one of your friends," 
 Helen said almost anxiously; "for then you will have 
 something in common." 
 
 "He seems quite intelligent," her father answered; 
 " I do not think conversation will be hard to make." 
 
 Then he returned to his book ; but Helen in her low 
 arm-chair found it more entertaining to think. 
 
 During Philip's visit she had often and bitterly longed
 
 64 THE FELMERES. 
 
 for the lost monotony of other days, and was for a time 
 honestly glad to get it back again ; but, having once had 
 a taste of a more exciting kind of life, she found the mo- 
 notony she had so longed for rather irksome. She was 
 'consistent in that, if given the choice, she would have 
 instantly chosen the monotony in preference to Philip 
 inconsistent, because this stranger was welcome to her. 
 She argued all this out as she sat looking into the fire, 
 and drew a little sigh as she recognized the fact that, in 
 spite of all her reasoning, all her training, all her indif- 
 ference, Philip was still a disagreeable thought to her. 
 A hopeless look came over her face. Was it worth 
 while to go on training and schooling herself? "Would 
 it ever do any good ? 
 
 The rain still poured in torrents, the evening dark- 
 ened rapidly into night, and the only cheerful thing 
 seemed to be the firelight. It burned cheerily enough, 
 making ghostly flickering shadows in the far corners, 
 touching into brightness the dark pictures and pale stat- 
 ues, throwing its fullest glare over the white chiseled 
 beauty of the old man, and falling in vivid lights and 
 shadows about the girl. 
 
 The picture satisfied the artistic eye of the stranger 
 standing unperceived within the door. The extraordi- 
 nary beauty and sadness of the girl's face and the cold 
 calmness of the old man's expression touched him : the 
 one looking as though he had met his fate, and by sub- 
 mission had conquered it; the other, the younger and 
 fairer, as though her fate was even now touching her, and 
 with a heavy hand ! 
 
 It was only a moment that he stood thus a moment 
 wherein he saw their true souls gleaming on their faces,
 
 THE FELMERES. 65 
 
 unconsciously unveiled ! Then he came forward, and 
 they, rising, greeted him as though he had been some 
 welcome friend. It made him feel almost thankful to 
 the rain for his introduction, and, taking a kindly offered 
 chair, he joined the little circle about the fire. 
 
 The souls had gone out of the faces now, and he only 
 saw before him an old student and his beautiful daugh- 
 ter; but in that glimpse he had discovered enough to 
 make him wonder what their lives had been or rather, 
 how life had ever touched them in this quiet, out-of-the- 
 way place. 
 
 Some talk ensued about the weather and his accident ; 
 then Mr. Felmere asked : 
 
 " What did you find to make a picture of down in the 
 marsh ? " 
 
 " The desolation is in itself a picture," the young man 
 answered. 
 
 Helen looked up : so some one else found poetry in 
 bareness. 
 
 " You are an artist," she said. 
 
 " It is my profession," he answered simply. 
 
 " Then you know all about it ? " 
 
 " Not all, but somewhat," smiling at the eager com- 
 prehensiveness of the question. 
 
 " I mean, of course, in comparison with a beginner." 
 
 "Are you a beginner?" 
 
 He did not particularly desire to see her attempts, but 
 he did wish her not to stop talking, for he liked to see 
 the expression come and go on her face. 
 
 " Yes, and there is something very wrong in my at- 
 tempts." 
 
 " I shall take great pleasure in looking over them,"
 
 66 THE FELMERES. 
 
 he said, with undefined expectations as to perspectives 
 and impossible lights and shadows. 
 
 " My daughter is a very ardent artist," Mr. Felmere 
 said, making excuse for the girl's abrupt introduction of 
 her dearest occupation. " Outside of books, she has no- 
 thing else to do." 
 
 Then dinner was announced, and passed more than 
 pleasantly, as Mr. Felmere really found in the young 
 man a son of an early friend, one of the veritable Gor- 
 dons of his youth. This pleased Mr. Felmere, and he 
 insisted that Felmere Hall must be made the young 
 man's headquarters, from which to make his sketching 
 tours, instead of Felmere village ; and Felix assented 
 gladly. 
 
 Once more settled in the library, Felix asked for 
 Helen's drawings. One after another he looked at them, 
 and laid them down. There was imagination, life, and 
 power in them all, and visible signs of thorough teaching. 
 He scanned them carefully and thoughtfully, forgetting 
 to make any comments in his effort to look into the soul 
 that conceived them. What was it that made them such 
 dreary pictures ? The marsh was not strictly the marsh, 
 but seemed rather the allegorical depicting of some deso- 
 late life ; and the churchyard made death seem a hope- 
 less thing. Then, taking up a pencil, he put in with one 
 or two strokes what Helen felt the picture needed, and 
 yet that which she had not been able to give it that 
 which her master did not seem to comprehend as a want 
 in the picture. 
 
 " How do you know so well what I wanted to express 
 in my picture? " she asked, looking at him with increased 
 respect. " My master did not know."
 
 THE FELMERES. 67 
 
 " Because, perhaps, I think the same thoughts about 
 the scene that you do, and thus know what you mean. 
 Your master does not think with you, but he has taught 
 you well." 
 
 Then he went on criticising all she had done in colors 
 as well as in mere sketches, all the while making in his 
 own mind a picture wherein Helen should stand as 
 "Elaine the Fair." Later on she would make a won- 
 derful Guinevere; for even now her face was far too 
 thoughtful and too strong for the simple maid of As- 
 tolat. 
 
 So the evening passed swiftly, and Helen was sur- 
 prised when her father signified that it was time for them 
 to put up their work. 
 
 " And your luggage shall be brought from the village 
 in the morning," he said to Felix; "and I hope you 
 realize, Mr. Gordon, how much pleasure you are giving 
 us. "We lived our lives contented here until my nephew 
 Philip came ; but since then we have been lonely, and 
 your coming is a gratification." 
 
 And Felix fell asleep that night wondering who Philip 
 was.
 
 68 THE FELMERES. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " What find I in the highest place 
 
 But mine own phantom chanting hymns? 
 And on the depths of death there swims 
 The reflex of a human face." 
 
 So Felix stayed. He sketched, even as Helen had 
 done, the marsh, the church, the churchyard, the Hall, 
 and the river ; then he made a journey inland. 
 
 During his absence Helen worked hard at a task he 
 had set her to do a sketch of her father, which he wanted 
 as a study for a picture of " King Arthur " King Ar- 
 thur as he stands forgiving his fallen queen. She faith- 
 fully copied her father's features, but stole the expression 
 from the miniature of her grandfather. She worked 
 honestly at it, striving to finish it before Felix's return, 
 which might take place any day. She was anxious to do 
 it without advice from him, and have it ready for his 
 criticism. 
 
 One evening, after she Had finished and put her work 
 away, she went to sit under the maple-tree, on a broad 
 flat tombstone that made a very comfortable resting- 
 place. She half expected Felix this afternoon, but did not 
 chance to see him until he clanged the churchyard gate 
 behind him. How his face lighted up when he saw her ; 
 how little he said ; how strong the clasp of his hand ! 
 Then, unstrapping his knapsack, he threw it and his staff 
 down together and took his seat beside her.
 
 THE FELMERES. 69 
 
 " I feel like a pilgrim," lie said, " who after long toil 
 has at last reached his shrine." 
 
 " Two weeks are not very long," she answered, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " Time varies," he said, " being sometimes a short 
 long time, and again a long short time; for, although 
 very old, Time seems still in his unequal youth, and is 
 not to be depended on. He is fortunate to keep his youth 
 so long." 
 
 " I do not know that I count him so fortunate," Helen 
 answered slowly. " I am not sure I look on youth as 
 very desirable." 
 
 u Why ? " Felix questioned quickly. 
 
 " There are various ' whys.' One has so much to learn 
 from youth to age so much to bear." 
 
 " So much to love so much to hope so much happy 
 work to do," he interrupted, shaking his head at her re- 
 provingly. 
 
 " Is there ! " she asked sadly. 
 
 " Is there ? Why, of course there is ! Have you 
 never felt that life lay all before you, to shape it as you 
 pleased ? that there was nothing you could not wrest from 
 Time, from Fortune, from the world ? Have you never 
 felt that you loved all your fellows, and that somewhere 
 in the universe there was one love waiting for you one 
 love that would last through life and far beyond the por- 
 tals of the grave ? Have you never felt this ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 He looked at her thoughtfully. 
 
 " Why is that ? " he asked at last. " You are young." 
 Perhaps he now would touch the secret of her soul.
 
 70 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " I do not know," she answered, shaking her head ; 
 " all of life is a hopeless ' why ' to me." 
 
 " Life can not be all query," he went on slowly ; " for 
 until man defaced it, it was a full, rounded, perfect work 
 from God's own hands ; and even now it has been left 
 with us to round yet again to perfectness ; and if capa- 
 ble of perfection, it must have answers, must it not ? " 
 
 "I should think so" then more hesitatingly "if 
 one can believe the answers." 
 
 He turned on her a startled face. 
 
 She lowered her eyes beneath his gaze, and there was 
 silence between them while he scanned her downcast 
 face, and tried to see how much there was of truth in 
 her words. 
 
 " What is it you mean ? " he asked at length. 
 
 "Only what I said," she answered; and gathering 
 again her self-possession, she went on " only that I do 
 not believe, and therefore life is all a query to me." 
 
 " "What is it you do not believe in ? " 
 
 " Ah, that would be a long list ! Better let me say 
 what I do believe in." 
 
 " Tell me that, then what you do believe in." 
 
 " Matter and Force." 
 
 " No God ! " he said, almost under his breath. 
 
 " Only the Unknowable." 
 
 Involuntarily he made a gesture to draw away from 
 her. She saw it, and, paling visibly, rose from her seat. 
 He started forward and laid a detaining hand on her 
 dress. 
 
 " Do not go," he said earnestly ; " talk with me a lit- 
 tle longer. I am sorry for you." 
 
 She paused, looking down on him from her statelv
 
 THE FELMERES. 71 
 
 height; and he, answering her look from his lowly po- 
 sition, thought he had never seen such a queenly face 
 and bearing. 
 
 " Why sorry for me ? " she asked. 
 
 " Because you have no hope." 
 
 " Nor any fear," she answered. 
 
 " Why need we fear if we live aright ? Our religion 
 is not one of fear, but love." 
 
 She sat down again, saying slowly : 
 
 "It is not so the Church teaches; it is not so the 
 masses are governed. But do not let us discuss it. You 
 believe, and are happy ; so would I be if I could, but 
 I can not, and what matter ? Death ends all ! " 
 
 Felix sat silent, looking with wonder into the hope- 
 less abyss of the life before him. Was it strange that 
 her face showed so much sadness ? Alas, he did not see 
 how life was at all bearable to her ! 
 
 Force and Matter what an awful void ! 
 
 " How is life bearable to you ? " he asked at last. 
 
 "Just as it is bearable to you, I suppose," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 " I have the comfort of Religion," he said. 
 
 " And I of Reason." 
 
 " How can Reason comfort you in sorrow or in death ? " 
 
 " It tells me they are inevitable : why be so foolish as 
 to mourn ? " 
 
 "And when death comes, can you bear to give up 
 those you love, having no hope of a resurrection ? Is 
 death to you simply a returning to dust ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " and a redistribution of force. 
 Perhaps, if the world lasts long enough, the same force 
 and matter may come together again and make another
 
 72 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Helen Felmere poor creature ! " and she smiled a mel- 
 ancholy little smile over the thought. 
 
 Felix looked shocked. 
 
 " Can you laugh at it ? " he asked almost reprovingly. 
 
 " Which do you mean? " she asked " the other Helen 
 Felmere, or death ? Indeed, I need not ask which, for I 
 smile at both ; and neither of them is anything to me. 
 Death is nothing : one pang of dissolution, and I know 
 no more. As has been said, ' Life is like the flame of a 
 candle : what becomes of the flame when blown out ? 
 where was the flame before it was lighted?' Neither 
 the one nor the other concerns me ; I have only to do 
 with the light ; and why not smile ? " 
 
 Felix put his face down in his hands. How terrible 
 this was! How could he answer this blank fatalism? 
 where would the argument begin that would confute it ? 
 He raised his head. 
 
 "How did you become such an utter unbeliever?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " I was educated to it. My father is the same." 
 
 " And your mother ? " thinking of his own mother, 
 who had been all in all to him, and who had trained him 
 so faithfully, so earnestly, that the unconscious careless- 
 ness of the girl bewildered him. 
 
 "I never knew my mother," she answered bitter- 
 ly ; " and at the best she must have been weak, very 
 weak." 
 
 All the blankness of her life seemed due to her moth- 
 er, and she judged her without mercy. Felix looked at 
 her sadly. 
 
 " And you think you are strong ? " 
 
 She shook her head rather hopelessly.
 
 THE FELMERES. . 73 
 
 " No, I am only trying to be ; I am young yet. But 
 do not let us talk of this any longer ; tell me of your 
 journey, and show me your pictures." 
 
 Felix did not answer ; he could not all at once get 
 over the effects of his discovery. He had never until 
 now really conceived what doubt was ; for he had un- 
 questioningly accepted his faith at the hands of his 
 mother, never dreaming that such wholesale infidelity 
 existed outside of certain books and a few misguided 
 people who lived in foreign countries. But to meet it 
 in every-day life and, worse than all, in a young woman 
 was shocking. His life had been spent in the study 
 of his art, and of Nature in her loveliest forms, through 
 whose beauties and perfections he had learned to love 
 God the better. A joyous young life, full of faith and 
 happiness ; and to meet another life seemingly as fair 
 and young as his, and to find that it was only a seem- 
 ing a bright web spread over a hopeless nothingness 
 was fearful \ 
 
 And so he sat silent, gazing out across the wide marsh. 
 
 " Have I shocked you so much that you can not talk ? " 
 his companion asked at last. 
 
 " Yes," he answered slowly ; then, feeling that this 
 was almost rude, he turned to his knapsack, saying, " I 
 have not accomplished much in my journey, only these 
 few sketches " ; and he spread them out before her. 
 
 But Helen scarcely heeded his last honest " Yes," or 
 the eifort it was to him to come back to every-day topics ; 
 for she looked on all that had passed as fair expression of 
 opinion, such as she was accustomed to daily, and turned 
 to the criticising of the sketches without an effort. Pres- 
 ently she said : 
 4
 
 74 THE FELMERES. 
 
 *' I have finished the work you left for me to do, and 
 have put my best efforts on it. Now, if it is bad, it is 
 my misfortune, and not my fault." 
 
 " I am sure it is good," he said, and the happy look 
 came partially back to his face; "and I am glad you 
 have done your best, so that I can see what your best is." 
 
 " And my best by my own acknowledgment," she 
 added. 
 
 " Yes, you have condemned yourself." 
 
 Then Helen rose and led the way into the house. 
 
 The sun had gone, and all the red after-glow had 
 faded from the marsh ; the evening was darkening fast, 
 and the air felt cool and damp. 
 
 " "We have stayed out too long," Felix said, shivering 
 slightly. 
 
 " No ; it is only because we are in the churchyard. 
 It always seems damp and cold the moment the sun leaves 
 it ; I have often noticed or imagined it." 
 
 " And that amounts to the same thing ? " holding the 
 door open for her to pass in. 
 
 " Not always," shaking her head. " And now shall I 
 bring the picture ? " 
 
 " If you will ; and I shall wait here, for here the 
 light is best." 
 
 It was not very long before she came back and handed 
 him her work. She did not feel nor show any hesitation ; 
 for, as she said, she had done her best, and expected jus- 
 tice. 
 
 He took it and scanned it closely for a few moments, 
 making no comments. 
 
 " It is your father," he said at last, " yet not your 
 father. Where did you get the expression from ? "
 
 THE FELMERES. T5 
 
 " I took it from a miniature of my grandfather," she 
 answered. 
 
 He held it off at arm's length. There was a sad 
 strength in the face, and a tired look in the eyes, that ex- 
 actly suited his ideal of King Arthur as, disappointed in 
 his life's work, he stands desolate amid the " ruin of his 
 years." 
 
 " There are many faults in the picture," he said slowly, 
 " but that expression is worth more than I can tell ; in- 
 deed, it is wonderfully well done, and if the picture is a 
 success I shall owe it to you." His voice fell a little at 
 the last words, and took a more gentle tone as, turning to 
 her, he went on : 
 
 " You have far surpassed my expectations, and I shall 
 spare nothing in working it up; indeed, it will be as 
 much your picture as mine." 
 
 And Helen, leaning against the door, listened happily 
 to his praise, finding it very pleasant. Perhaps some day 
 she could paint pictures that would be praised by all the 
 world ; ah, how she would enjoy that ! Then she spoke 
 slowly, looking gravely up into his face : 
 
 " Do you think I could ever paint a picture that would 
 be admitted into a gallery ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you will work ; and I shall take great plea- 
 sure in giving you all the help I can." 
 
 " If you will, I promise to be very obedient, and work 
 very hard." Then in a lower tone : " And you do not 
 know how much you will be doing for my happiness in 
 putting an ambition into my life. "Will you surely help 
 me?" 
 
 The face lifted to his was so pathetic and humble in 
 its pleading, and withal so beautiful, that Felix would
 
 76 THE FELMERES. 
 
 have said yes if she had been entirely devoid of talent ; 
 as it was, she had a great deal. 
 
 " I surely will, and look on it as a pleasure." 
 
 " And must we not have a room to work in ? " she 
 said almost joyously, her young life springing up happily 
 to meet this first little touch of pleasure ; " and will you 
 help me write to-night for fresh materials ? " 
 
 "Of course, and arrange your studio for you with 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Then will you not work at ' our picture,' as you are 
 pleased to call it, while you are here ? It will give me 
 so much happiness to see you do it ; and father, too, will 
 be interested. Please, will you not ? " 
 
 There was a moment's pause; then he answered, 
 " Yes, if you wish." 
 
 Jle would at that moment have done anything for this 
 fair heathen, so beautiful did she look in her animation ; 
 and he wondered if she knew how beautiful she was. 
 
 And she, standing in the doorway, did not see the 
 graveyard spread before her, but a long vista of grand 
 possibilities an ambition that would fill her empty life ! 
 
 That night the important letter was written, and the 
 miniature from which she had caught the expression for 
 the " King Arthur " was brought down. 
 
 " "Was his life very sad ? " 
 
 " I know very little of his life, save that in his early 
 youth he was a Christian, and that afterward he gave up 
 Christianity." 
 
 Their eyes met his questioning, hers observing. 
 
 "No wonder," he said in a low tone. 
 
 " Christianity must be a terrible thing to lose if you 
 have once depended on it," she answered.
 
 THE FELMERES. 77 
 
 " You acknowledge that ? " 
 
 " Yes ; for, having learned to depend on it, one would 
 be lost without it. But not having been trained to it, I 
 can not bring myself to believe in it. It would be very 
 comfortable if I could." 
 
 " Suppose you try," he said quietly. 
 
 She shook her head, half smiling at the strange re- 
 quest, then answered sadly : 
 
 " No, I would rather be as I am since it is my father's 
 wish ; nor can I change the whole habit of my life. But 
 can not we be friends although we differ ? " 
 
 " Indeed, yes ! " he answered quickly ; then, lowering 
 his tone, "I will always be your friend, and will never 
 cease to plead for the peace and safety of your soul ! " 
 
 He was so very good and kind, she thought ray, 
 and noble who could doubt it, looking in his clear gray 
 eyes ? And she answered : 
 
 " You yourself will give me peace if you teach me 
 how to use my one talent, so giving me an ambition, an 
 aim. May your God bless you for giving me this happy 
 work." 
 
 This was surely the most pitiful life he had ever heard 
 of, Felix thought capable of being so rich, and yet so 
 poverty-stricken ! He picked up a sketch of Helen's, and, 
 while he put a few idle strokes in it, said in order to hide 
 his deeper feelings : 
 
 " Painting to me is not a work, it is a pleasure ; and 
 when a thing becomes a pleasure, it ceases to be a work ; 
 is it not so ? " 
 
 " There is energy spent in it," she answered, smiling ; 
 " therefore it is work, though it may not be labor." 
 
 " Yery true. You will teach me meanwhile to weigh
 
 78 THE FELMERES. 
 
 my words, and in this age of superlatives it will be a good 
 lesson to learn. It is a fearful age ! " 
 
 " Fearful ? " half laughing. 
 
 " Yes, I think I may say ' fearful ' ; for things seem 
 rushing ahead at dangerous speed. I have too much 
 love and veneration for old things to admire my age and 
 generation." 
 
 " I admire it," she said. " To me it is an age of 
 progress of liberal thought and fearless investigation ; 
 an age wherein old creeds will die, and the world be 
 liberated from all the old trammels of ignorance and 
 superstition." 
 
 " God help us then ! " he said quickly ; " for it will 
 be an age of fearful sin." 
 
 " Of course there will be confusion ; then order will 
 come again scientific, philosophic order. But do not 
 fear ; we shall not live to see it." 
 
 " Maybe not, but think of those we leave behind us." 
 
 " Let the future alone," she said. " Our own trials 
 and sorrows will be enough for us ; we will bear them 
 and die, and those who come after must also learn to 
 bear and die." 
 
 " That is very selfish," he answered slowly. 
 
 " How ? " looking up in surprise. 
 
 " You think only of yourself." 
 
 " If I do, that is not selfish ; it is but just and natural. 
 Every one must think more for himself than for others ; 
 how else would the world go on ? " She paused a mo- 
 ment, then said, "Out in the world are there many 
 women who do not believe ? " 
 
 " I do not know of one besides yourself," he answered 
 honestly.
 
 THE FELMERES. 79 
 
 Helen sat silent for a moment, then said : 
 
 "I hear of many men who are unbelievers in the 
 world ; why should unbelief be considered more a sin in 
 women ? " 
 
 "As immortal souls there is no difference," he an- 
 swered; "but for women it is more dreadful in that 
 they have the training of the children ; and owing to 
 this, the evil would spread more rapidly, and soon the 
 whole land would be infected." 
 
 Helen looked up. 
 
 " I go into the world, then, a walking pestilence an 
 incurable plague-spot ?" 
 
 The color swept over Felix's face, and he looked at 
 her almost reproachfully. 
 
 " I meant nothing personal," he said slowly. 
 
 Then there was silence between them until Helen, 
 looking up, asked : 
 
 "How can honest men allow their children to be 
 bound by trammels they have broken for themselves ? " 
 
 " Because, I suppose, they find that to believe is hap- 
 pier than not, and so leave their children in peace." 
 
 " How short-sighted ! " she said ; " for if the many 
 were unbelievers, then the weak would not be frightened 
 by the fear of hell into a false religion. If all were 
 emancipated, and the superstitions dead " 
 
 He interrupted her quickly : 
 
 " Then we should have a hell right here among us ! " 
 
 To his surprise she answered : 
 
 " Perhaps it would be so just now, but it is the future 
 I am thinking of ; then things will be different, and we 
 shall be prepared to rise a step, and be moral and right- 
 eous without rewards and punishments."
 
 80 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " How your argument clings to reward and punish- 
 ment! IB that all that you find in our religion?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " That is all I can find to make it live," she answered, 
 "unless it be blind superstition, and a clinging to old 
 things. But this sort of talk is so unavailing, let us go 
 back to art." 
 
 And Felix, sighing sorrowfully, did as she suggested. 
 He was so utterly unlearned in her side of the question, 
 he was so little prepared for the arguments she advanced, 
 that he did not know how they were to be met ; and he 
 took himself bitterly to task that he could not fight a 
 better battle for his cause. 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 " I said, ' I toil beneath the curse ; 
 But knowing not the universe, 
 I fear to slide from bad to worse ; 
 And that in seeking to undo 
 One riddle, and to find the true, 
 I knit a hundred others new.' " 
 
 THE arranging of the studio was a great pleasure to 
 Helen certainly the greatest she had ever enjoyed. A 
 room with a good northern light was selected as the 
 favored apartment, and was quickly divested of all un- 
 necessary and unpictnresque furniture. It was a great 
 regret to Helen that all her new apparatus had not come 
 already ; but Felix contrived to make the room have a 
 very littered and artistic appearance by spreading out
 
 THE FELMEEES. 81 
 
 as far as they would go their joint sketches and his 
 materials. 
 
 " Make it look like a real studio," she pleaded ; and 
 Felix, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at 
 the part of the work already done, answered : 
 
 " If you will let me put everything crooked, fill all 
 the corners with trash, hang all the windows with cob- 
 webs, and suspend dirty paint-rags from every available 
 nail, you will then begin to approach a real studio ; but 
 I must confess that I prefer clear decks." 
 
 Helen laughed. 
 
 " I think I agree with you. If the room chances to 
 grow artistically littered, I will not change it ; but I pre- 
 fer things clean and straight. But will it not be delight- 
 ful when all the things come ? I shall so enjoy unpack- 
 ing and arranging them. Indeed," she went on more 
 thoughtfully, " I have never been so happy in all my life 
 before." 
 
 " Have you ever been away from this place ? " Felix 
 asked, pausing in his work of tacking a sketch on the 
 wall. 
 
 " I have never in all my life been away from it any 
 farther than I could walk ; and as a child I used to think 
 the world began out by the sea and ended on the hilltop. 
 I used to long to go away, but now I begin to love the 
 life I have lived, and to dread leaving it for the world. 
 You, I suppose, are quite amused that I should fear what 
 you have always lived in." 
 
 " Indeed," he answered, " you are mistaken in think- 
 ing I have always lived in the world. My home is al- 
 most as secluded as thife ; it is only a little farm-house, 
 and very poor compared with your home."
 
 82 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " And have you brothers and sisters ? " she asked. 
 
 She was holding the hammer and tacks for him while 
 he arranged the pictures, and with her question there 
 came a wistful look on her upturned face. She would so 
 like to hear of his home ; she felt sure it was a cheerful 
 and happy one. 
 
 " No brother, but two sisters and my mother ; I wish 
 you knew her." And his face lighted up as he spoke of 
 them. 
 
 " Are they beautiful ? " Helen went on. 
 
 Felix smiled a quiet little smile as he stepped back to 
 look at his work. 
 
 " Beautiful ? " he said thoughtfully. " I do not know. 
 To me they are, especially my mother, who is the wisest 
 and most beautiful person to me in the world. I wish 
 very much that you could know her." 
 
 " I wish I could," Helen answered ; then went on : 
 " And you are all Christians, and happy in your faith ? " 
 
 "Yes, thank God!" 
 
 Helen turned away sadly : this pure, good man was 
 glad and thankful his sisters were different from her. She 
 was silent for a few moments, looking out of the win- 
 dow; and Felix, not knowing the pain he had caused, 
 went on hammering busily. 
 
 At iast Helen turned and said : 
 
 " I have never met a Christian woman except Jane ; 
 in fact, she is the only woman I have ever known at all. 
 I should really like to see a Christian home. Will you 
 tell me about yours ? " 
 
 What a pitiful request it seemed to Felix " tell me 
 about your home" ! How lonely the life must have been 
 that had to beg for even the reflection of cheerfulness !
 
 THE FELMERES. 83 
 
 And she had never known a woman had all her life 
 lived alone with her father in this dim old hall standing 
 so desolate between a churchyard and a marsh ! Of 
 course he would tell her. Ah, if he could only take her 
 there and let her have a little taste of gentle, womanly 
 sympathy ! He did not tell her this, but said instead : 
 
 " Yes, I will gladly tell you of it, all there is to tell. 
 My home is only a little red farm-house, built on the 
 southern side of a steep hill, fitted into a crevice as it 
 were, and nestling away from the wind and snow. The 
 fields all lie below it in the valley, and steep paths lead 
 up and down. There are an orchard, a great red barn, 
 and a barnyard that was the delight of my boyhood's soul. 
 In the world my sisters would be called ' old maids,' but 
 they call themselves the ' ladies Singleheart,' from some 
 quaint book they have read." He paused, with a smile 
 of pleasant memories about his lips. 
 
 " How happy you must be ! " Helen said musingly. 
 
 " We are. One of my sisters is an artist, the other a 
 musician ; and they are the happiest, busiest people I 
 know. And my mother ah, you should know her she 
 is so wise, and holy, and beautiful ! Each winter I look 
 forward to the next, and in the next am never disap- 
 pointed. I wish you could see my home." 
 
 The work of tacking up sketches was finished now, 
 and they stood idle, looking out of the window Helen 
 thinking of all she had heard, Felix thinking of her. 
 
 At last Helen spoke : 
 
 " And if I should go there," she said, " I should be 
 to your mother and sisters, as I suppose I must be to you, 
 a lost soul doomed to eternal torments." 
 
 Felix started !
 
 84 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " How can you talk so ? " he said quickly. 
 
 "It is the truth," she answered quietly. "How 
 could you have any hope for my soul \ " 
 
 " As long as you live, there is hope," he said ; "and 
 Christ is patient to save." 
 
 " Ay, your Christ is very beautiful, if I could believe 
 in Him as you do." 
 
 " And you will ? " he pleaded. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " I can not ; there are too many mysteries too many 
 superstitions too many dogmas too many churches. I 
 can not take all this for truth ; my reason revolts. More 
 than this, if I could believe, where should I go for or- 
 thodox views? To the Anglicans the Church of Rome 
 is ' Antichrist,' and the sects a mere fungus-growth of 
 societies. To the Greek Church, all the rest are at the 
 least schismatics. To the Romanists, all the outside 
 world are heretics. So where should I go ? " 
 
 " Go to the Christ ! " Felix answered solemnly. " He 
 is the one great Truth that underlies all the loads of non- 
 essentials that the churches have piled upon it the one 
 glorious Love that blots out all our sins and all our mis- 
 takes. Believe in and follow Him ; this is all you have 
 to do ! " 
 
 Helen looked at him as though suq^rised, then asked 
 slowly : 
 
 " How can I ? How can you believe in such perfect 
 love, and at the same time in eternal punishment ? And 
 what is the use of creating man at all, unless for happi- 
 ness ? Your God is omnipotent ; if he made things at 
 all, he could have made them differently. "We are of no 
 use to him ; he could have been glorified in much higher
 
 THE FELMERES. 85 
 
 ways. And more than this, what need had he for glory ? 
 Was not all his ? Can you call it mercy to create beings 
 ' who are born to trouble as surely as the sparks fly up- 
 ward' ? What use in such an elaborate scheme of salva- 
 tion, when he could save with a word ? Why all this 
 need of trouble, and sorrow, and death ? Tell me." 
 
 " How can I tell you ? " Felix answered. " If we 
 could know and explain all things, ' then were we as gods.' 
 But do you know of any better belief ? " 
 
 " Mine is much more simple," she said. " We are 
 all evolutions of force ; at death this force is redistributed. 
 Order and right are one disorder and wrong are one. 
 Whatever can be logically proved is truth ; all else is 
 theory, hypothesis. I expect no hereafter ; I dread no 
 hereafter. Whatever of good comes to me in this 
 world, I will enjoy ; whatever of evil, I will bear. This 
 is my creed, and it seems to me simple enough, and easy 
 to be understood." 
 
 She spoke slowly and deliberately, and each word 
 sunk into Felix's heart like lead cold, heavy, and hope- 
 less. 
 
 " And this suffices you ? " he said. 
 
 " Why not ? " she answered, brushing back the hair 
 that the wind had blown across her eyes, and turning to 
 look up at him from where she leaned with her arms 
 crossed on the window-sill. " It answers all my questions 
 much more satisfactorily and easily than your belief 
 does ; for it is only necessary for a person to accept one 
 sentence of your creed, and he is involved in endless con- 
 tradictions and hair-splitting doctrines. No; you keep 
 yours, if it pleases you, and let men hold it as a power 
 over the masses until the time is ripe for the throwing
 
 86 THE FELMERES. 
 
 off this yoke of religion and church. As I have read, 
 ' Force and Right are the governors of this world Force 
 until Eight be ready/ To me Eeligion is Force, Science 
 is Eight. You shake your head ? Even so, if you are 
 happier." And she turned again to her former position. 
 
 Felix, leaning against the side of the window, listened 
 and looked down on her sadly. She was so beautiful as 
 she leaned out into the clear morning light, the sea wind 
 blowing the loose waves of golden hair across her face 
 so that it sometimes quite covered the violet eyes, and 
 then only touched an exquisitely tinted cheek beautiful 
 as her namesake, for whom "many drew swords and 
 died " ; and Felix, like the poet, could have said, " My- 
 self for such a face had boldly died." 
 
 " Whenever I listen to the sea, I always wish I knew 
 something of music," she said at last, showing how far 
 her thoughts had wandered from the former topic of con- 
 versation. 
 
 Felix roused himself from his reverie to answer : 
 
 " Do you know nothing of music ? " 
 
 " Xothing in the world except what I hear sometimes 
 from the church over there ; and though that seems very 
 beautiful to me, I can imagine music that would far sur- 
 pass it. Do yon know anything of it ? " 
 
 " Somewhat : my sister teaches me a little every win- 
 ter when I am at home ; she is organist in the little church 
 we attend, and sometimes when the weather is too severe 
 I go in her place. But I can only play very simple things. 
 Can we get into the church ? " 
 
 "I do not know," she answered ; "I think it is kept 
 locked." 
 
 "Would they not lend you the key?" he suggested.
 
 THE FELMERES. 87 
 
 " I do not think so. The priest and people about here 
 look upon me and my father as very wicked. Poor, igno- 
 rant souls ! they do not know any better. I would not 
 ask for the key." Her tone was more hard and bitter 
 than Felix had ever heard it. 
 
 " Have you ever been to church ? " he asked. 
 
 " Kever but once." And then she told him the story 
 of the insults offered her in her childhood. He listened 
 interestedly, with all his sympathies excited for the lonely 
 little child ; and when she finished her recital, he found 
 himself really indignant. 
 
 " How pitiful !" he said, "and how hard to treat a 
 little child in such a way poor little soul ! But were 
 you never lonely as a child ? " 
 
 "I was sometimes," she answered sadly; "but, child- 
 like, I made friends of all living things and many dead 
 ones. I also made many wonders for myself, that kept 
 me very busy and served to entertain many spare moments. 
 Besides this, I had my father, and he was everything to 
 me playmate, friend, mother, nurse ; in short, he is my 
 world ! Is it any wonder that I adore him ? " And her 
 whole face lighted up and softened with the love of which 
 she spoke. 
 
 After that she often talked of her childhood, of her 
 brother, and of her mother's flight." But she never spoke 
 of Philip ; indeed, she seldom thought of him now except 
 to write her weekly letter, and she found that very irk- 
 some. 
 
 One day, after a long discussion about the Romish 
 Church, Helen finished her criticism by saying her mother 
 had been a Romanist. They were at work in the studio 
 unpacking the new materials that had arrived, and their
 
 88 THE FELMERES. 
 
 argument had seriously hindered their work ; but it ended 
 just as Helen got through with her story. 
 
 Felix shook his head sadly. " It was a cruel influence 
 to use," he said, " and your mother must have suffered 
 'bitterly." 
 
 " I do not know how much she suffered," Helen an- 
 swered. " I only know she brought it on herself by run- 
 ning away from her duty ; and in thinking of her, I only 
 remember how cruel she was to my father." Her opinion 
 was given slowly, and with the hard, un sympathizing jus- 
 tice of youth. 
 
 " You are too hard on her," Felix answered. " Think 
 how desperate she must have been to be able to bear the 
 parting from you, and you so ill." 
 
 " Then why did she do it ? " 
 
 " She thought it was right." 
 
 " Then the assurance of having done the right should 
 have comforted her ; and I have no doubt that the priest 
 up there on the hill promised her endless rewards. The 
 truth of it was, she wished my father to consent that my 
 brother should be trained to the church, and he would 
 not. But with even this for a foundation, I do not see 
 how she could have allowed herself to be persuaded into 
 thinking her action right ; for she had sworn at her altar 
 and to her God to live with and love my father through 
 all, and she did not do it ; and such an oath should cer- 
 tainly be binding on a Christian." The girl's voice was 
 so unpitying and cold that Felix was more pained by it 
 than he could tell. 
 
 "And such an oath ** binding," Felix answered; 
 " but the Romish Church claims the authority to annul 
 any oath, or loose any tie, however sacred."
 
 THE FELMERES. 89 
 
 "Her claiming it does not give it to her," Helen 
 answered. " And the promise was made to God, and 
 only, as it were, witnessed by the Church. No ; I tell 
 you my mother's action showed great weakness." 
 
 " Are not the best among us liable to weaknesses and 
 mistakes ? " Felix went on. " Does our being Christians 
 make us more than human ? " 
 
 Helen answered quickly : " If you honestly believe, 
 according to the promises, you ought to be endowed 
 with more than human strength when the day of trial 
 comes." 
 
 "And I have no doubt that your mother believed 
 herself endowed with that very strength ; but she thought 
 it was given her to fly and leave you. Do you not think 
 she loved you ? " 
 
 Helen shook her head. 
 
 " Whether she loved me or not, I do not know ; but 
 you are leaving the point. Does it make a thing right 
 for one to think it so? Is there no absolute right or 
 wrong in your creed, that my mother could so grievously 
 err, all the time thinking herself right ? " 
 
 "We can only act up to the light we have; and 
 though your mother was not right, and her thinking her- 
 self right did not make her so, yet she did think so, and 
 acted on her conclusions ; and, however weak and wrong, 
 she will, I believe, have much mercy at God's hands. 
 Have you no pity for her ? " he pleaded. 
 
 " No," she answered quietly. 
 
 Felix went on : 
 
 " Granted that she was weak, is there any greater 
 suffering than weakness, anything to be more pitied?" 
 
 "Or despised," she added.
 
 90 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " Do not say that ! " Felix cried, horror-stricken ; for 
 to despise a mother, however sinful, was too dreadful ! 
 
 " It is the truth," she answered, looking curiously 
 into his face. 
 
 " It is not the truth ! All humanity calls for pity 
 and charity for weakness ! " 
 
 He paused, and she turned again to her drawing with 
 almost a look of amusement on her face. How absurd to 
 make such an assertion, when it was a well-known fact 
 that in many tribes and nations the weak, either mentally 
 or physically, were so despised as to be put to death that 
 they might be out of the way ! It was not worth an 
 argument. To her, humanity was a mass of lives higher 
 than the brutes, but of no account unless they were able 
 to benefit their kind. To him, humanity was the multi- 
 tude of throbbing, suffering souls, raised, purified, and 
 made holy by the love of Christ ! 
 
 Presently Felix went on : 
 
 " Put yourself in your mother's place : what would 
 not you have done to save your child ! Think of what 
 eternal punishment was to her, and of her brooding over 
 that one thought for years think of her terrible sorrow 
 in having to leave you, and can you not pity her ? " He 
 stopped his work and came to her side as he went on. 
 " And if you should meet her some day meet her, old 
 and worn with poverty and trials you would be sorry 
 for these hard words." 
 
 She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. 
 
 " You pity her, for you judge her by your strong, 
 good, loving mother ; and you blame me ! Do it ; but 
 in doing it, think whose fault it is that I am as I am. 
 Think how different all might have been my home, my
 
 THE VELMERES. 91 
 
 life, myself! I tell you I can not, I will not forgive 
 her ! " She brushed the tears from her eyes, and in a 
 lowered, hardened voice went on : " No, nor pity her ; 
 for if she is right, she left me to eternal damnation ! " 
 
 Her face was white, and her blazing eyes looked 
 steadily into his. What could he say? Ah, if his 
 mother were only here to help him, and to comfort and 
 set right this sad young creature, whose life had been so 
 strange and lonely so deliberately misguided ! 
 
 At last he spoke. 
 
 " If you think this," lie said, " is it well to dare a risk 
 so terrible ? " 
 
 " My father dares it," she answered doggedly ; " he 
 is my all, and I will follow him without the shadow of a 
 turning ! If there is a hereafter, mine shall be the same 
 as his." She stopped abruptly, turning away to her 
 easel; and Felix, watching her silently, felt a horror 
 creeping over him as he thought of her future ! Could 
 God let so fair a soul as this be lost through the fault of 
 another ? would that be just ? God was strong to save, 
 and she, poor child, had never seen the light ! If a just 
 God reigned supreme, how could such a dreadful sacrifice 
 be permitted ? He shivered ! He was doubting ; he 
 was faltering where he had stood firm ; he was almost 
 judging God ! He covered his face with his hands, and 
 tried to think. What was this that had come to him 
 this wild love for this lost soul this love that shook his 
 whole being, his faith, his trust ? God help him !
 
 92 THE FELMERES. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 " What then were God to such as I? 
 
 Tvvere hardly worth my while to choose 
 Of all things mortal, or to use 
 A little patience ere I die." 
 
 THE blackest days of all one's life are the first days 
 of doubt, when all things seem to fall away, and you are 
 left to battle single-handed with spirits of darkness days 
 when all the faith and trust of your life seem based on 
 shifting clouds, that change their shape and color for 
 every breath of argument that touches them. Where is 
 right? "What is truth? Is there any right or truth? 
 Who can tell whether or not they are figments of the 
 imagination ! 
 
 So the bright summer days were shadowed for Felix, 
 shadowed with vague doubts the first questionings of 
 his faith, the first faltering of his trust. He went about 
 his daily tasks of sketching, teaching Helen, and dili- 
 gently working at his picture of " King Arthur " ; but 
 all the while the words rang in his ears and heart, " For 
 all my mind is clouded with a doubt" a doubt that 
 slowly grew into the face of the " great king." 
 
 Yet Helen did not know. 
 
 One afternoon Felix came to her, saying, "I have 
 the key of the church ; will you come over and let me 
 play for you ? " 
 
 She paused a moment. She wanted to hear the music,
 
 THE FELMERES. 93 
 
 but did not like to go into the church, for it seemed to 
 her like enjoying a pleasure at the hands of an enemy. 
 
 " If father will let me," she compromised, and went 
 to ask him. 
 
 " Mr. Gordon has the key of the church, father, and 
 is going to play the organ ; may I go with him ? " 
 
 " Surely, my daughter," he answered, smiling at her 
 eagerness. " I have no objection, only do not stay too 
 long." 
 
 So she kissed him for good-by, and went her way- 
 she and Felix, with the sexton's little son to blow the 
 organ bellows. 
 
 Helen, all eagerness to see the inside of the church, 
 and to revive her childish visions, did not heed the child 
 until, while Felix was unlocking the door, he spoke, pull- 
 ing at her dress to attract notice. 
 
 " Lady, are yer so bad?" 
 
 Helen turned in astonishment. 
 
 "I? Am I so bad?" 
 
 Felix caught the words and stopped to listen, almost 
 glaring at the boy. 
 
 The child quailed. " I didn't mean nothin'," he 
 stammered out. 
 
 Helen, having by this time recovered from her aston- 
 ishment, became curious as to what the child meant, and 
 said reassuringly : 
 
 " Do not be frightened, child ; tell me who said I was 
 bad." 
 
 He hesitated a minute; then, putting her between 
 Felix and himself, said promptly : 
 
 "Daddy; but mammy says she don't much believe 
 it."
 
 94 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Felix listened, silent. Helen went on : 
 
 " What does daddy say about me ? " 
 
 " He says you don't believe there is nothin'." 
 
 Helen laughed. 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " No ; he says yer soul will burn in hell fur it he 
 do." 
 
 Her face flushed slightly, and 'Felix said sharply : 
 
 " Tell your father to be careful that his own soul does 
 not burn for speaking evil against his neighbors." 
 
 Helen looked up surprised. 
 
 " Do not speak so harshly," she said slowly ; " the 
 child means no harm." 
 
 " No, marm, I don't ; but that's what daddy says 
 he do." 
 
 "Well, hush ! " Felix cried. 
 
 Helen watched him curiously. What did it mean, 
 this sudden anger ? It was not his soul that was threat- 
 ened. There was a frown on his brow, and his eyes 
 looked dark with anger as he answered her look ; but he 
 said nothing, and she and the child followed him silently 
 into the church. 
 
 The organ was near the chancel, and the child went 
 with Felix, while Helen stopped half-way. There were 
 no white-robed priests nor boys moving about, but the 
 sunlight shone through the window above the door just 
 as she remembered it, and now as then touched all the 
 gilding and coloring about the chancel with an almost 
 supernatural hue glittering on the candles clustered 
 about the high white altar, and making a great cross that 
 surmounted the whole seem a living light. She stood 
 mute, gazing on what to her were the symbols of a dying
 
 THE FELMERES. 95 
 
 creed, but a grand one this Christian creed, even if old 
 and decaying! A creed that had comforted many in 
 this weary world had lightened life's burdens, and 
 sweetened the bitterness of death ! A creed that had 
 been for generations a dominant power, and whose death- 
 throes would convulse the world ! 
 
 Low and tremulous the tones of the organ stole upon 
 her ; soft and deep, they seemed to pervade her whole 
 being, thrilling through every nerve. She leaned against 
 a pillar and listened. High and higher the music rose 
 a wail, a cry that pierced her soul ! slowly sinking down 
 to one low sob lingering softly through the senses ! 
 
 A voice rose with it a rich mellow voice, almost too 
 piercingly sweet to be a man's, almost too full for a 
 woman's. 
 
 She listened mute, bewildered ! She could not say 
 what she felt ; she did not know that she felt at all ! The 
 world had floated away gone from her like a mist before 
 the sun ! The church and its creed vanished from her 
 view ; a great and terrible knowledge rose up before her, 
 dark and dreadful ! She surely dreamed ? It could not 
 be true, this knowledge that had come home to her like 
 the keen thrust of a sword the knowledge that in all 
 the world this was the only voice to her ! 
 
 She covered her face w r ith her hands, and still the 
 voice rang on, with the words " No light ! so late, and 
 dark and chill the night ! " She wrung her hands ! All 
 her life had been chill darkness and now ? She paused, 
 standing mute under the glare of this terrible light that 
 seemed to have touched the lowest darkness of the abyss 
 that yawned before her an abyss that must swallow up 
 her life ! And she had no God to cry to in her sorrow
 
 96 THE FELMEEES. 
 
 no human soul to fly to in her distress ; she stood alone 
 in her misery ! 
 
 She turned away and stole out into the churchyard, 
 crouching down behind a great vault. She closed her 
 eyes, and covered her face with her hands, rocking back 
 and forth. 
 
 " I love him I love him ! " she whispered to her- 
 self" I love him ! And Philip ! " She hushed ; the 
 horror of it overwhelmed her ! Then, as one in delirious 
 wanderings, she came back to the words, " I love him 
 I love him ! " The rocking back and forth ceased, and a 
 flood of tender little thoughts swept across her heart; 
 pure little thoughts like gentle doves came fluttering 
 round his whispered name " His name, the sweetest in 
 all the world and Philip ! " 
 
 Then the swaying recommenced, back and forth, back 
 and forth, as though to rock her heart and soul to sleep ! 
 And on the air there floated a little moaning sound as 
 of one enduring more than human agony ! 
 
 The evening darkened. Felix would soon be coming, 
 and he must not know this grievous wound. She rose 
 and crept back slowly into the church. Ah, it was so 
 cold and damp, as though the death-dews from the 
 churchyard had collected there, and were striking through 
 her! The last lingering light streamed through the 
 western window, and the cross and the altar were all 
 bathed in a tender flood of light. The girl- looked at 
 them wistfully. If she were a Christian, praying might 
 bring her comfort. If she could only feel that there was 
 one "Supreme Father" who felt her sorrows, and to 
 whom she might appeal for sympathy ! 
 
 She stole up to the altar steps ; she stood there, but
 
 THE FjELMERES. 97 
 
 could not kneel : what good could a prayer do her ? She 
 covered her face with her hands. Those happy women 
 in their far-away home on the hillside they could pray, 
 and praying think their sorrows were sent them, in 
 mercy ; they could rise above this iron fate that crushed 
 her ! Ah, if she had but lived in such a home ! But 
 now where should she turn where could she turn ? 
 Alas, she had no refuge ; this agony must eat for ever 
 into her soul ! Would it help her to pray there before 
 that cross to kneel and rend the air with inarticulate 
 cries ? This was all that she could do, for she did not 
 know how to pray. Should she cast herself down like 
 some poor stricken animal and moan out her pain ! 
 
 She looked up ; the shadows were gathering fast and 
 deep, so that the cross alone retained the light, the great 
 altar growing shadowy and dim, and still the music rolled 
 on, and its softness seemed to soothe her. Perhaps it 
 would help her to put her sorrow into words, and make 
 a little prayer. Poor and meager it would be, but if this 
 God was what they said He was, He would surely hear 
 her ; and if He heard her, would He not comfort her ? 
 Could He not send peace to her soul, driven and tossed ? 
 
 The light still lingered on the cross. She clasped her 
 hands, and her thoughts rushed swiftly back and forth, 
 bewildering her. How could she pray, and leave her 
 father? Had she not sworn to stand by him, and would 
 she fail him in the first hour of trial ? A coldness seemed 
 to gather about her heart, and her hands fell apart. 
 
 What good could it do her to kneel before a gilt 
 cross ! 
 
 She looked up : the cross was blotted out the light 
 had gone ! 
 5
 
 98 THE FELMEEES. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Like one that on a lonesome road 
 
 Doth walk in fear and dread, 
 And having once turned round walks on, 
 
 And turns no more his head ; 
 Because he knows a frightful fiend 
 
 Doth close behind him tread." 
 
 THE first rush of sorrow that shows us the underside 
 of life the first blinding pain which to inexperienced 
 youth seems unexampled and endless how can it be en- 
 dured? How is life possible with this dull emptiness 
 staining all the world dimming all the sunshine, and 
 lending darkness to the night ? Will it not kill us ? Alas 
 that it does not ! that, recovering from this first blow, 
 we live on and learn the great depths to which suffering 
 can go learn to know that every pleasure has an under- 
 side of pain, and that every hope comes lined with fear 
 of disappointment, until at last we learn to work out our 
 lives with calm patience, uii tinged with any glow of ex- 
 pectation save of that which cometh after death. 
 
 So in the vigor of their youth these two suffered 
 suffered in proportion to their strength and freshness. 
 
 Felix was almost in despair. Whichever way he 
 turned, there was no outlet from this sorrow, or from the 
 gathering doubts that were crowding thick about him. 
 Were these doubts well founded ? He could not sav. 
 
 / 
 
 He could not let go the faith and hope of all his life ; for 
 what were existence without them ? Could he go back
 
 THE FELMERES. 99 
 
 and tell his mother that he was tainted with unbelief that 
 he, her pride, her hope, her darling, had gone from her, 
 leaving her desolate in her old age ? He could not an- 
 swer himself, but he felt and knew there was one prac- 
 tical question which rose up for solution, and which could 
 not long be pushed aside : what should he do with the 
 love in his heart for this fair infidel ? 
 
 There was not much use in questioning himself as 
 to the right and wrong, as to the happiness or unhappi- 
 ness consequent on the one course or the other. One 
 thing he knew, that he loved her ; and every hour made 
 him feel that he must tell her so, come weal, come woe. 
 This decision ended neither his doubts nor his wretched- 
 ness. When he tried to tell Helen, and settle his fate, 
 the words seemed to choke him ; he felt that he was 
 about to desert those three loving, lonely women, or at 
 least to sow dissension and misery in their happy home ! 
 Then he went over once more the same weary round of 
 thought, and determined to conquer himself one way or 
 the other. He still had some self-possession, and resolved 
 to separate himself from her for a little while, so that he 
 could think more calmly. 
 
 Ah, what a relief this solution was, and how gladly 
 he strapped on his knapsack and set off for a few days' 
 ramble ! They said good-by at the churchyard gate, and 
 she watched him go across the churchyard and up the 
 hill, where pausing he waved a last farewell. She an- 
 swered it, and turned away hopeless. 
 
 It would soon be an eternal farewell ; and yet, she 
 pondered, why should it be? She drove the thought 
 away, and went indoors to her father. She longed to tell 
 him all her trouble and ask for some sympathy ; but she
 
 100 THE FELMERES. 
 
 could not, for she was bound, and this would but make 
 him unhappy. It could not now be helped, and she must 
 bear it alone. So she kept her sorrow to herself, and, 
 taking up the book she had been reading, sat down on a 
 low stool close beside her father's chair her place since 
 childhood ; and now, as then, he did not speak, but laid 
 his hand caressingly upon her head. 
 
 She sat still a moment, then drew the hand down and 
 rested her cheek against it. It was all she had here or 
 hereafter, this old, tremulous, failing hand. When that 
 was gone ! The tears sprang quick to her eyes, and she 
 let the dear hand go for fear they might drop on it and 
 betray her. So her tears fell silently, and the book was 
 not read. And he, so near her, was all unconscious of 
 the wasting desolation which was devouring the young 
 life beside him, and of the young heart turning bitterly 
 from its first " Dead-Sea fruit " dust and ashes ! 
 
 So she came and went in her daily occupations, he 
 noting nothing in her that spoke of change, more than 
 that the summer weather made her manner a little more 
 listless, and her step a little slower : the autumn would 
 set all straight again. 
 
 But old Jane, with her keener woman's eye, saw 
 deeper. She had watched these two young things coming 
 and going, working, walking, talking together through 
 all the summer days. What could they do but love each 
 other 3 " Poor lamb, poor lamb, she must be warned ! " 
 So one day she went into the studio where Helen was at 
 work, and after a few moments' silent watching said, 
 standing humbly back : 
 
 " Miss Helen, do y' not count it true that y' are mar- 
 ried to Master Philip ? "
 
 THE FELMERES. 101 
 
 Helen turned quickly ; the red blood rushed into her 
 face and throat. 
 
 " How, Jane ? " she asked. 
 
 " By the laws of man, Miss Helen not by the bless- 
 ing of God, it is true but still y' are married, are y' 
 not ? " The old woman came a step nearer she so loved 
 this motherless, godless girl. 
 
 " Yes, Jane, I know it I know it ! " Ah, what a 
 bitter cry the last words swelled into ! 
 
 " And yet, Miss Helen," the old woman went on more 
 gently, " y' are walkin' open-eyed into a great sin not 
 to you, maybe, but to both o' them." Helen turned 
 away silent. " This last one is little more nor a boy, 
 scarcely older nor you, Miss Helen, an' he don't know 
 what he's doin'. Y' should tell him about it, Miss 
 Helen 'deed y' should." 
 
 Still Helen stood silent, and the old woman turned to 
 go. She had done her duty by the girl and her master, 
 and she had no more to say. It was a dreadful sorrow 
 for the poor child, but better that than sin ay, far 
 better ! 
 
 And Helen let her go, the kind old woman who in so 
 many ways had shown a tender sympathy for her in her 
 loneliness. Even now, though hard to bear, her humble 
 reproof was gentle. 
 
 When she had gone, Helen leaned her head against 
 the side of the window near which she was standing, and 
 tried to think. She did not love Philip. She did not 
 believe in the God by whom she had sworn, and why 
 need she keep her oath ? In time to come it would only 
 be an endurance of Philip : why not tell him so honestly, 
 and confess that she loved this other ? This course would
 
 102 THE FELMERES 
 
 surely be more true. Her father only wished her to have 
 a protector, and Felix would do as well as Philip. But 
 would not the oath be sacred in Felix's eyes ? and if she 
 broke it, would he still care for her ? No, he would not ; 
 she felt assured he would not ; for he would regard her as 
 married and belonging to another. If she should tell him 
 of it and bid him go, he would still respect and love her ; 
 else, she were lowered in his eyes. Ah, she could not 
 bear that ! She wished him to look on her as pure and 
 high, although an unbeliever. Then she must let him 
 go ! Yet how could she stand and see him turn away, 
 knowing she would never look on his face again know- 
 ing that through all the waste of years that lay before her 
 she must go alone ? 
 
 Alas, she must bear it ! "What use in thinking of it ? 
 She could not tell him she was sworn to Philip, and yet 
 beg him to take her away plead that the oath was no- 
 thing tell him that she loved only him. She shivered ! 
 She could feel now the look those honest eyes would turn 
 on her! Then, again, even if he consented, could she 
 let him soil his fair name and heart by helping her to 
 break this vow ? Could she tempt him to this thing that 
 would be so foul a sin to him ? And if he consented, 
 could she love him ? She did not answer ; she was afraid 
 she could nevertheless love him. 
 
 But then her father how could she so disappoint 
 him ? Now, when he was resting after a long sad life 
 resting on the thought of her safety could she wreck 
 his hopes, and put his last days out of tune with her wild 
 love and weakness ? No, a thousand times no ! 
 
 So she answered, and went on with her work. But 
 day after day she would go back and battle over the same
 
 THE FELMERES. 103 
 
 ground, wounding and tearing herself with her argu- 
 ments for and against. Living with Philip was a dread- 
 ful thought, and yet at every turn it seemed to force 
 itself upon her. To drag her days out without a sign of 
 love or hope she could not do it ! she would die rather ! 
 Self-murder would be no sin to her ; and as she did no 
 good in the world, and feared no God beyond, why not 
 die ! After her father's death why need she endure the 
 curse of life ? And all the while she struggled with her- 
 self, she gave her love vent in painting Felix as " Sir 
 Galahad." It was a dim, dark picture, save the face, 
 and that was idealized and glorified by love, until it 
 looted out of the canvas upon her as though from some 
 
 " happy place 
 God's glory smote him on the face." 
 
 Morn and noon she worked on it, touching and retouch- 
 ing it, until the day fixed for his return ; then she put it 
 in her own room with its face turned to the wall. 
 
 Felix had traveled far, but had not accomplished 
 much in the way of sketching. Upon the great question, 
 he had only decided that if Helen would marry him, he 
 would cast consequences to the winds. Indeed, he had 
 come to two conclusions : first, that he only doubted 
 through ignorance ; and second, that he could not live 
 without Helen. This was all he had accomplished, and 
 the worth of it remained to be proved.
 
 104: THE FELMERES. 
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 "Death is the end of life; ah, why 
 
 Should life all labor be ? 
 Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, 
 
 And in a little while our lips are dumb. 
 Let us alone. What is it that will last ? 
 
 All things are taken from us, and become 
 Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past." 
 
 DAY after day passed after Felix returned, yet not a 
 word was said. They worked on their pictures, chatted 
 about the books that were read aloud in the evenings, 
 and were almost happy. 
 
 " Let it last," Felix thought ; " to speak might break 
 it." 
 
 " Let it last for ever thus," Helen thought ; " to speak 
 will break it!" 
 
 And so it went on. 
 
 The summer waned, yet Felix came and went, walk- 
 ing in a dream. He was almost sure that Helen lovei 
 him; but why say anything why not be quite sure 
 first? 
 
 All this time Helen worked diligently under him, and 
 made great progress. Soon he would be gone, and his 
 words and teachings would be all she should have left; 
 so she laid them well to heart, striving meanwhile not to 
 allow herself to think of the time which she felt sure 
 was coming the time when all would be a blank. 
 
 The "King Arthur" was finished at last ; even Felix
 
 THE FELMERES. 105 
 
 could find nothing more to do to it, and consented to take 
 it down to be criticised by Mr. Felmere. 
 
 He was much amused when he found himself put in 
 as the King; and after commending the picture highly, 
 he asked who was the model for Guinevere. 
 
 " A creature of straw," Felix answered, laughing " a 
 lay figure, you know. You see she is crouching at his 
 feet, her face down, and the hair falling so as to hide her 
 almost entirely ; and thus there was almost no need of a 
 model. The hair is Miss Felmere's she let it down for 
 me to paint. Do you think the picture will prove a 
 success ? " 
 
 "I do ; I admire it exceedingly," Mr. Felmere an- 
 swered ; and, Helen echoing all his praise, Felix felt as 
 happy as though his name was already famous. 
 
 So they packed it up, as merry as children, and sent 
 it off bidding it many farewells, and wondering who 
 would buy it, and if they would ever meet it again. 
 
 " It would be like meeting a dear old friend and com- 
 rade," Helen said. 
 
 " More than that," Felix answered ; " it would be a 
 breath of sweet air from this summer, the happiest of my 
 life. It would be all our talks over again all our walks, 
 all our pictures, all our books." Here he paused a mo- 
 ment, and then went on more slowly : " Meeting it again 
 would be either a great pleasure or a bitter pain." His 
 voice sunk. Helen turned to look out of the window. 
 
 "I hope I shall never meet it then," she said, "for I 
 am sure it will be a bitter pain. All things end that way 
 in life, at least so far as I have gone." Then she left the 
 room, and Felix, pausing in his work, pondered over her 
 words. She was sure and it lay in her hands to make
 
 106 THE FELMERES. 
 
 it sure. Was she going to send him away ? He must 
 ask her must at last end this happy uncertainty. Yet 
 two days passed, and it was not done ; for somehow he 
 feared to break the silence. At last, becoming ashamed 
 of his weakness, and urged by the feeling that it ought to 
 be done, he determined to put his fate to the hazard. 
 They stood on the river-bank, silent and thoughtful. It 
 was altogether a new process to him, and, while thinking 
 how to begin, he idly shredded a bit of dry sedge, casting 
 the fragments into the stream that eddied by so broad, 
 so blue, so ceaseless in its flowing. 
 
 The sun was sinking in a flame of crimson and amber, 
 and the evening light lay long and low across the flats. 
 Above, two little golden clouds were poised motionless 
 against a pale-green sky, and far away one great white 
 bird flew up slowly from the sea. The bit of sedge was 
 all shredded now, and Felix, seeing the bird, thought, 
 " Before that bird reaches us, I shall know all." But 
 Helen, watching, saw with a woman's instinct what was . 
 coming, and struck in suddenly. 
 
 " I have never told you of my cousin Philip," she 
 said, and fixed her eyes on the heavy bird that seemed to 
 fly so slowly. 
 
 Felix did not move nor look up, and his voice was 
 uncertain with a nameless fear as he asked : 
 
 " "What of your cousin Philip ? " 
 
 Now that she had to speak, Helen felt her oath close 
 about her as an iron band, and wondered vaguely how she 
 had ever thought she could break it ! The bird was flying 
 faster now ; the summer breeze was howling in her ears, 
 and the river seemed to beat the patient shore. Then, as 
 she spoke, a silence fell on all.
 
 THE FELMERES. 107 
 
 " So far as the law can bind me, I am his." Her 
 voice sounded weak and far away, and she wondered it 
 she had really said those words. 
 
 The bird flew over them ; the color faded from the 
 little clouds ; and as one in a dream she turned and 
 walked away. 
 
 Felix, stunned and silent, stood and watched her as 
 she went, with the red light the sun had left tinting her 
 white dress and fair hair. Fading away from him slip- 
 ping slowly from his grasp, but surely this only love of 
 his life ! He could not think ; he only knew he must go 
 without delay, for she was bound to another as fast as 
 the law could bind her ! The law that was all ? She 
 did not love him then, and had she not often said that no 
 oath could bind her unless she willed it so ? Great God ! 
 how dare he think of such a thing when even she, an un- 
 believer, had turned away ! He must go ; he was too 
 weak to stay another day. 
 
 Helen passed out of sight into the house. She had 
 never once looked back had never once faltered in her 
 going. She had set herself a task : it was to reach the 
 house before her strength failed her. If she could only 
 find a place to hide herself in for a little while, she thought 
 she might somewhat ease herself of this terrible blindness 
 and agony. Once in her own room, she stopped and 
 looked about ; surely nothing had come to her, nothing 
 was changed. She sat down and tried to think, but she 
 could not ; nor could she in any way give up to her pain 
 it held her fast and kept her quiet. But so far she 
 had been true, and this must do for the present ; yet she 
 felt as though all life had gone out of her. 
 
 Without any aim in her going, she went to the win-
 
 108 THE FELMERES. 
 
 dow, and looked out ; she saw Felix coming up from the 
 river, walking slowly and heavily. She knew he would 
 go away, and a vague wonder seized on her as to what 
 excuse he would make to her father for his sudden de- 
 parture : what could he say ? The thought roused her. 
 Her father must never know a word of this ; she must 
 manage to warn Felix, and already she was too late to do 
 anything more than reach the library before he did. She 
 slipped down stairs and reached the library door just as 
 Felix was about to enter it. Felix paused, and, looking 
 at her intently, said slowly : 
 
 " I must go at once." 
 
 " Yes," she answered in a rapid whisper. Then, her 
 voice seeming to fail her, she made a gesture toward the 
 room in which her father sat quietly reading, and clasped 
 her hands imploringly. 
 
 A dim idea came to Felix of what she wanted, but he 
 was too bewildered to fully understand. One moment 
 she paused to collect herself, then entered the library, 
 with Felix following her. She approached her father at 
 once and spoke clearly and quickly, yet all the while with 
 a feeling of wonder that she could do it ! 
 
 " Father," she said, " Mr. Gordon has heard some 
 bad news, and is going away." 
 
 Mr. Felmere laid down his book and looked up. 
 
 " Bad news ? " he repeated. 
 
 Helen turned to Felix imploringly. He understood 
 her now, and replied instantly, as though impelled by 
 something stronger than himself : 
 
 " Yes, sir, very bad news, but not of my own family. 
 It calls me away, however, and I must go over to Felmere 
 to-night in order to take the early train in the mornino-."
 
 THE FELMERES. 109 
 
 Mr. Felmere rose, holding out his hand. 
 
 " I am extremely grieved," he said, " that you should 
 have to leave us, and under such circumstances. We 
 have to thank you for a very pleasant summer, and I 
 need not tell you how much we shall miss you, nor how 
 happy we shall be to see you whenever you can come 
 eh, Helen?" 
 
 "Indeed, yes," she answered, then turned away to- 
 ward the door at the lower end of the room. 
 
 Felix made his thanks and his farewells to Mr. Fel- 
 mere veiy creditably ; but before he finished Helen had 
 left the room, saying something about Peter and the 
 wagon for his luggage. 
 
 Felix heard the door close ; then, with a bitter feel- 
 ing at his heart, he turned and left Mr. Felmere. Would 
 she let him go without a word ? Had he so mistaken 
 her, and did she not care for him in the least ? He put 
 his things together, and watched Peter take them down, 
 with a heavy heart ; then, once more bidding Mr. Fel- 
 mere good-by, and insisting that he should not come out 
 into the night air, Felix passed into the hall. Here he 
 paused a moment, and looked about as though he ex- 
 pected something. It was but for a moment ; then he 
 turned and left the house with a bitter sigh. 
 
 He heard the wagon rolling away in the gloaming, and 
 almost wished he had gone in it. But only for a mo- 
 ment he thought this, for as he reached the churchyard a 
 white figure rose from among the tombstones, and stood 
 in his path. 
 
 " Miss Felmere ! " 
 
 "Mr. Gordon!" 
 
 Then her two little hands were hard grasped in his,
 
 110 THE FELMERES. 
 
 and her eyes gazed into his as one looking on a dying 
 face that the grave will soon hide. 
 
 " I did not mean to hurt you," she said. " I would 
 have told you sooner, but when the knowledge came to 
 me that I had done you wrong, it was too late." 
 
 Oh, the ringing sadness in that voice ! Could he ever 
 forget it ? 
 
 "You could not have helped it," he answered gently. 
 " I loved you from the first." 
 
 Then they stood silent, while the summer breeze 
 whispered through the reeds, and the evening shadows 
 blackened round them. 
 
 " Good-by," she whispered at last. Her voice seemed 
 gone, and she felt weak and weary. 
 
 The grasp of his hands grew closer. 
 
 " You must let me go," she went on hurriedly. " I 
 must not stay. I am Philip's, and that makes it sin to 
 you. Through me you must not sin ! Go now ! " 
 
 Ah, how sharply the words struck home ! His grasp 
 loosened, and ere he knew it she had raised his hands to 
 her lips those slim brown hands that were so dear to 
 her and was gone ! 
 
 The movement was so sudden and so swift, that when 
 he turned the shadows had almost hidden her. He 
 clinched his hands as if to hold himself from catching 
 her ; one spring would do it ! The moment passed, and 
 she was gone ! and, turning slowly, he strode away from 
 out the place of death.
 
 THE FELMERES. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Then as a little helpless, innocent bird, 
 That has but one plain passage of few notes, 
 Will sing the simple passage o'er and o'er 
 For all an April morning, till the ear 
 Wearies to hear it, so the simple maid 
 Went half the night repeating ' Must I die ? ' 
 And now to right she turn'd, and now to left, 
 And found no ease in turning or in rest ; 
 And ' Him or death,' she muttered, ' death or him '; 
 Again, and like a burthen, ' Him or death.' " 
 
 DAYS passed, and that same clinging strength that 
 had come to her down by the river stayed with her still 
 and kept her quiet. She shed no tears, she made no 
 moan that any soul could hear, and, without any seem- 
 ing loss of interest, went about her daily avocations ; but 
 there was an undertone to all her thoughts, and an un- 
 der-strength born of the hope that she would die. What 
 use in living now ? what use in any work ? She had 
 " drunk life to the lees," and for her there was nothing 
 left. 
 
 That love of which she had read and dreamed had 
 come to her and touched her still life, until it danced and 
 sparkled then had faded ; and yet not faded, but rather 
 had been put away and put away through strength born 
 of that very love. 
 
 More than all, she was glad to think that her father 
 knew nothing of it, and should not know ; for why should
 
 112 THE FELMERES. 
 
 she tell him that her life and heart lay wrecked about 
 her ? There was no need for more than one to suffer, 
 and it would be only cruelty to tell him that he had set 
 a seal of eternal bondage on her, and thus destroy his 
 last gleam of happiness. And if she did not die before 
 he did, why then she would die with him. Death was 
 nothing, less than nothing a welcome change ! 
 
 The days crept by, and old Jane, watching the girl 
 grow so wan and heavy-eyed, feared she really would 
 die ; so the old woman waited on her tenderly, doing 
 nameless little things for her, laying little traps to pro- 
 voke her appetite, and making little surprises for her; 
 but to no use ; Helen only thanked her, and passed on. 
 
 At last the faithful soul thought that to see another 
 in worse plight will sometimes soothe us ; so she told 
 Helen of a poor woman beyond the village who sadly 
 needed aid, and begged that she would go with her to see 
 her. 
 
 " But all the people think me so wicked," Helen an- 
 swered, with a bitter recollection of the sexton's little sou, 
 " that they will not let me in." 
 
 "No, no, Miss Helen, ye must not think that; for 
 they all know that in all your life y've never harmed so 
 much as a fly. They all think it wrong that ye do not 
 believe, Miss Helen ; and it is very wrong ye don't 
 know how wrong. But come, won't ye ? Maybe the 
 new walk will help ye." 
 
 " So it might," Helen answered ; " I will go." So she 
 put her hat on, and, taking her purse, set out with the 
 old woman as guide on her first mission of mercy. 
 
 Jane had put on her black silk, for she knew they 
 would be the village talk for the next week ; and for the
 
 THE FELMERES. 113 
 
 same reason she walked the narrow streets with her head 
 held high. She rather enjoyed her importance, and felt 
 quite proud of her young mistress, who was so beautiful 
 that the people in the street stopped and turned to look 
 at her. More than this, the Felmeres were the only 
 gentlefolk for miles and miles, and had once owned all 
 the countryside. True, they did seem cursed now and 
 dying out, but even that was a mark of honor. So old 
 Jane stepped proudly and bowed patronizingly to her 
 passing friends. 
 
 Finally they came to the bakery, and here Jane 
 stopped. 
 
 " We had best buy something here, Miss Helen," .she 
 said, " to take to the poor soul." 
 
 " What shall I buy ? " Helen asked, at a loss ; and as 
 she spoke the baker's wife bustled in. 
 
 " Good evening, Mrs. Judson," Jane said in a stately 
 way. " Mrs. Felmere has come to get some bread for 
 poor neighbor Elmore." 
 
 Helen looked up quickly: what did Jane mean by 
 calling her " Mrs." ? 
 
 Mrs. Judson, being a silent woman, only bowed, and 
 immediately proceeded to put up the bread. But the 
 " Judson girls," as the neighbors called them, who were 
 peeping through the glass door, thought their mother de- 
 mented not to talk. To think of being face to face with 
 the beautiful Mrs. Felmere, who was surrounded by so 
 much delightful mystery, and not saying a word ! A girl 
 who had been married so curiously, and who was so rich 
 and wicked for they had heard the whole story, legacy 
 and all, from the magistrate's daughter, and had quite 
 longed to see the heroine of it ; and now she stood in
 
 114 THE FELMERES. 
 
 tlieir very shop, and their mother would not talk ! Was 
 ever such a grand opportunity lost ? 
 
 And Helen, quite unconscious of what a source of in- 
 terest she was to the community, leaned quietly against 
 the counter and looked out into the street. Presently, 
 among a group of little children gathered about the door, 
 she recognized the sexton's son. A little pang shot 
 through her. She wished to speak to him for the sake 
 of associations, so she called him in. 
 
 " Now," she said, " choose what you most want, little 
 boy, and you shall have it." 
 
 The child's eyes opened wide in wonder, and the Jud- 
 son girls nearly pushed their noses through the door in 
 their eagerness to see. " Choose, child," said Jane ; 
 " don't keep a lady waiting." 
 
 So with much hesitation he made his choice of candy 
 and cakes, and Helen, ordering a large bundle of each for 
 him, sent him on his way rejoicing. 
 
 It was quite a long walk to neighbor Elmore's house, 
 and Helen was tired enough ; but she thought, with a 
 little feeling of rest at her heart, " Perhaps I shall sleep 
 to-night." 
 
 When at last they stopped, she was shocked to see 
 what a bitterly poor place it was Jane ushered her into. 
 Low and damp, it seemed to be overrun with dirt and 
 children. It was not until she became accustomed to the 
 dim light that she discovered the bed in one corner on 
 which the poor consumptive was lying, huddled together 
 under some fragments of blankets and old clothes. Helen 
 looked about her in wonder ; she had read of such things, 
 but only believed them in a vague way ; now she saw for 
 herself.
 
 THE FELMERES. 115 
 
 Jane bustled about and found a chair for Helen, then 
 turned her attention toward making the poor woman 
 more comfortable. She had brought, besides the bread, 
 a basket of stores from home ; and as Helen watched her 
 unpack them, and saw the greediness with which the sick 
 woman's eyes followed her every motion, she wondered 
 how such an existence was possible. Presently their con- 
 versation caught her ear : the poor woman was speaking. 
 
 " Father Paul was here yesterday, and made a promise 
 he would try and put me in a better house; he'd do it, 
 too, if he had the money." 
 
 " Yes," Jane answered ; " he is a blessed man, is 
 Father Paul a blessed man and holy." 
 
 " True enough," the woman went on, " and he spoke 
 most beautiful about my sickness ; it was sent in mercy, 
 he said, and I must bear it. All the same he would try 
 and put me in a better house." 
 
 Helen was puzzled. This awful want and sickness 
 sent in mercy ? How could that be ? 
 
 Then she broke into their talk, and asked : " How 
 much will it take to put you in a new house ? " 
 
 The women turned quickly ; they had almost forgot- 
 ten her. Mrs. Elmore answered : 
 
 " I dunno, Miss " 
 
 " Jfrs." said Jane ; " the young lady is Mrs. Fel- 
 mere ; she is married to her cousin." 
 
 The angry color flashed into Helen's face. 
 
 What did Jane mean by this behavior? And yet, 
 she spoke the truth. 
 
 For a moment Helen forgot the sick woman and her 
 house, and was away in the summer just gone ! Ay, it 
 had been sweet, very sweet ; she sighed alas, too sweet !
 
 116 THE PELMERES. 
 
 " Father Paul can tell ye, Mrs. Felmere " the sick 
 woman it was who called her back to herself; "he can 
 tell ye how much it is, and where the house is. And oh, 
 lady, if ye wud do it fur me ! if ye wud, I'd pray to all 
 the holy saints fur ye, and the Blessed Yirgin and Her 
 Son to care fur ye for ever ! " 
 
 " She will do it, neighbor," Jane answered quickly ; 
 u I know she will, and I will stop and ask Father Paul 
 myself aboutrit eh, Miss Helen?" 
 
 " Yes, Jane." 
 
 Then they rose to go, bidding the w r oman good-by 
 amid many blessings called down on them by her poor 
 thin lips. 
 
 Once out in the open air, Helen felt much better, 
 and, being more at her ease, spoke freely to Jane. 
 
 " My father will not like me to have anything to do 
 with Father Paul, and you know it, Jane." 
 
 " Sure, Miss Helen, I know that, none better ; but if 
 y' can not do your own way now, when can ye? And I 
 know them aster will be glad for y' to help the poor, an' 
 take some satisfaction in somethin'. " 
 
 Helen walked on in silence for a few moments. 
 
 "Suppose Father Paul should insult me?" she 
 said. 
 
 " Sakes alive, Miss Helen ! an' he a priest ! Never 
 in this world ! " Jane felt almost insulted. " But here 
 he comes himself," she went on in a little flurry, as she 
 spied Father Paul coming toward them. 
 
 Helen looked up. She felt some curiosity to see the 
 man who had driven her mother away the man who had 
 so materially altered her life. 
 
 He was tall and slim, with a strong, stern face, clear-
 
 THE FELMERES. 117 
 
 cut and dark. The rim of hair that showed below his 
 black hat was snowy white, but his dark eyes still had all 
 the power and light of youth. There was something 
 about him that very much attracted her, and she kept 
 her eyes fixed on him until Jane spoke to him, when he 
 ceased his conversation with a group of children gathered 
 on the sidewalk. 
 
 " Good evening, Father," she said with a low cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 He looked up first at Jane, then at Helen, and started 
 slightly. 
 
 " Good evening, Jane," he answered, still looking at 
 Helen. 
 
 Jane went on. 
 
 " This is my young mistress, sir, Mrs. Felmere. She 
 is married to her cousin, ye know, sir." Father Paul 
 bowed, and Helen also ; and Jane, looking curiously and 
 anxiously from one to the other, continued : " We have 
 been to see poor neighbor Elmore, and Mrs. Felmere 
 would like to put her into a new house it ye'll tell her 
 how much it would be." 
 
 Father Paul's face brightened a little. 
 
 " Mrs. Felmere is very kind," he said, " and the room 
 I had thought of for Mrs. Elmore is rented at two dollars 
 the month. Moving her will be a few dollars more ; but 
 I shall have enough for that." 
 
 "I have told her I would do it," Helen answered 
 gravely, "and I would prefer doing all. If you will 
 have her moved, please, and her room decently furnished, 
 I shall be ready at any time to pay for it." 
 
 The voice was so clear and true, and the face he 
 looked on so beautiful and sad, that Father Paul felt a
 
 118 THE FELMERES. 
 
 kinder feeling creeping over him for the young crea- 
 ture. 
 
 " I shall do it with much pleasure," he said, and, lift- 
 ing his hat, passed on. 
 
 "I wish you would not call me ' Mrs.J Jane," Helen 
 said impatiently as they went on. 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Helen, begging your pardon, but it's 
 best; and if we had always done it, this last trouble 
 wouldn't 'a' come." 
 
 And Helen, feeling the truth of the words, walked on 
 in silence. 
 
 She was Philip's wife, and that other must always be 
 as a dream, a dream that had passed away a gleam of 
 sunshine that had stolen through the cloud of her fate, 
 and fading had left a double darkness behind it ! Even 
 so, and she must bear it. 
 
 "Father," she began, after they had settled down for 
 the evening, "I have been visiting this afternoon with 
 Jane." 
 
 " What is this you say, my daughter? Visiting, and 
 with Jane?" he repeated slowly, looking at her question- 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " but only to see a poor sick 
 creature who needed help. I did not think you would 
 object ; do you ? " 
 
 " Let me hear more of it," he said. 
 
 " Well, she is a poor consumptive named Elmore ; she 
 is poverty-stricken, and has several little children." Then 
 Helen paused, for she wished to bring in Father Paul's 
 name very gently. " She is living in a wretched hovel," 
 she went on after a moment, " windy and leaking. The 
 priest, she said, wished to move her into a better place,
 
 THE FELMERES. 119 
 
 but had not the money, so I told her I would do it. Was 
 I wrong ? " 
 
 " No, if you wished to do it," he answered. 
 
 Helen went on : 
 
 " On our way home we met Father Paul, and Jane 
 
 */ ' 
 
 stopped him." 
 
 " Did you speak to him \ " Mr. Felmere was looking 
 into the fire with a frown on his brow. 
 
 " Yes, sir, and he was very polite. I told him what 
 I wished to do for the poor woman, and that if he would 
 have her moved and make her comfortable, I should be 
 ready to pay for it at any time ; then he thanked me and 
 went on. Are you angry \ " 
 
 " No, not angry, nor do I object to your visiting the 
 poor if it amuses you ; but I prefer you to see the priest 
 as little as possible." And as he spoke his voice grew 
 harsh. 
 
 " Of course, father." Then more slowly, " He has a 
 fine, strong face, and after seeing him I am sure he 
 thought himself right in what he did; and you know, 
 father," looking up persuasively, " we can not do more nor 
 less than what we think is right." She paused suddenly 
 as she found herself using so glibly Felix's argument. 
 
 " Perhaps," Mr. Felmere answered slowly ; " but still 
 he wrought the evil, and from what motive I could not 
 know. As it is, an eternal gulf divides us. I hope it is 
 eternal ; yet Paul Donaldson was one of my earliest 
 friends." And leaning back in his chair, he gazed into 
 the fire with an unforgiving look on his face. Helen sat 
 silent and thoughtful. Father Paul had been his friend 
 how strange ! She would have liked to ask something 
 more about him, to solve a. little further this new mys-
 
 120 THE FELMERES. 
 
 tery ; but she feared too much paining her father. What 
 a hard life her father's had been harder even than hers ; 
 yet she so bemoaned herself, and he stood silent ! He 
 had had his wife, whom he so dearly loved, driven away 
 from him by his friend ! "Was her life as sad as that ? 
 His had been one long endurance ; so would hers be : 
 his through losing all he loved, hers through this and 
 worse, the endurance of what she now almost abhorred ! 
 She covered her face with her hands. Never mind, death 
 should come, and death would end all ! " 
 
 After this she continued visiting the poor and miser- 
 able about her, going among them constantly, and giving 
 them comforts that nothing but money could buy and 
 give. Nor was it long before she found herself not only 
 interested, but with an actual affection growing up within 
 her for the children in the village. The mothers, too, 
 soon learned to like her, and to be glad to see her coming ; 
 giving her the most comfortable chair, and telling her 
 their little trials and joys as they would to one of them- 
 selves. She seemed at once to possess herself of their 
 confidence, for she showed a true sympathy for them in 
 their troubles. She did not confine herself in her rounds 
 to the extremely poor, but visited also the better class of 
 farmers and their wives. She liked to go among them, 
 and often she envied them these rich poor people ! who 
 so patiently tilled the soil and drew their living from it ; 
 who looked no further than the next day, and, thanking 
 God for all they had, asked no questions a simple faith 
 that to her looked very beautiful and happy. And if the 
 happiness of the human race was the object held in view 
 by the advanced minds of the age, she thought they made 
 a mistake in not giving to the world this faith as a rest-
 
 THE FELMERES. 121 
 
 ing-place. It was more easily reached than " philosophic 
 calm." That calm her father thought he had attained to ; 
 and yet she felt sure that if he knew of her unhappiness, 
 he would at this moment be equally unhappy. Was this 
 "calm"? Alas! she did not believe such calm could be 
 reached until the death of all human affection had been 
 accomplished. And was this imperfect result worth the 
 suffering and strife it cost ? She hardly thought it was. 
 She stood a better chance of attaining this height than 
 her father had done, in that when he died her last heart- 
 string would be broken ! And in the autumn evenings, 
 as she walked home through the yellowing fields, passing 
 by happy homesteads, she would sigh and turn her head 
 away, with a feeling of hunger at her heart for some- 
 thing she had not ! longing for that one heart she could 
 not have longing for the light and the love those dear 
 eyes would have shed on her, and home-sick for the home 
 those dear hands would have led her to ! wondering where 
 he was, and if all were well with him ; and hoping with 
 a wild strength that somewhere in the world she might 
 meet him again ! So once more she watched the dingy 
 maple drop its leaves watched the wide green marsh 
 grow brown, and the snow-drifts gather between the 
 graves. 
 
 One year ago ! Ah, if she could only claim that year 
 again, and live it over or if she could bury it !
 
 122 THE FELMERES. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " After this sad farewell 
 To a world loved too well; 
 After this silent bed 
 With the forgotten dead 
 What then?" 
 
 THE winter slowly gathered in, and Mrs. Elmore lay 
 dying. Her feeble hold on life was lessening each day, 
 yet she did not seem to cling to it, nor to be sorry that 
 her time had come. 
 
 Helen watched her almost curiously. It was strange 
 to be able to stand and look on this fellow mortal fading 
 toward the end of her span of certain life, and nearing 
 helplessly that vast and wide mysterious uncertainty of 
 which no man could tell ! Would the woman be afraid ? 
 she wondered ; or would her religious faith, as it pro- 
 fessed to do, uphold her at the last ? 
 
 One afternoon there came a hasty messenger. 
 
 " Would Miss Helen come ? Mrs. Elmore was dying 
 and wanted her." 
 
 " She would go ! " 
 
 There was no refusing such a request; and, calling 
 Peter, she ordered the sleigh, and made her preparations 
 for going. 
 
 It was a wild, ghastly evening. The wind was howl- 
 ing, and the snow lay thick and white over all the land. 
 So deep was it that the shapes of the graves had disap- 
 peared ; the wall looked a blank, and the marsh seemed 
 one frozen sheet.
 
 THE FELMERES. 123 
 
 Helen shivered as she looked abroad. How dreary 
 to die on such a day ! how awful to be put away beneath 
 the snow ! 
 
 Then all was ready, and they set off ; but it was a long, 
 slow drive, for Peter at his best was never a reckless 
 driver, and to-day he seemed to be afraid to let the horse 
 do more than crawl, and with all Helen's patient urging 
 seldom got beyond a fast walk. Finally, finding her 
 words of no use, she let the old man alone, and sat 
 silently thinking of the scene that was to be gone through 
 with. She had never seen so much as a bird die, and 
 she wondered what it would be like ; and as she won- 
 dered, they reached the long level hilltop, where, the 
 wind having full sweep at them, she felt the cold strike 
 through her like a sword ! She shivered. Would death 
 be like that only slow and creeping, gathering about 
 one with a horrible, irresistible slowness? She wished 
 Jane had come, or that her father had prohibited her 
 going. It was too cold ; she would turn back. Turn 
 back? "Was she afraid, and of what she had said was 
 nothing ? And still Peter drove slowly on, hearing no 
 suggestion of turning back. 
 
 If she could help the poor woman to bear it, of course 
 she would. Some day she would herself have to face this 
 mysterious something that sooner or later claimed all 
 this death she had in her wild agony promised herself 
 and then she would want some comfort and help. It was 
 strange that she should be so terrified by the thought of 
 even seeing it borne by another, and she had promised it 
 to herself as a boon. She hid her face, she was so piti- 
 fully weak ! She was weak, and had more than once 
 confessed it to herself ; but as she j^ondered on it, it more
 
 124: THE FELMERES. 
 
 and more came home to her how terrible it must "be to 
 die alone to die without a human creature to stand by 
 you, or the warm touch of a living hand about your 
 own to go out into that dark void without one farewell 
 word ! 
 
 Ah, the awfulness of this mystery ! She dreaded the 
 ordeal very much, but through her dread there stole a 
 gleam of hope that in witnessing it she might catch a 
 glimpse of what it was that made these Christians believe 
 in a beyond. But if she did, what good to her ? She 
 had sworn not to go with them. Poor woman ! would 
 she be afraid would her God help her ? 
 
 They reached the house at last, and saw Father Paul's 
 pony looking as though it was leaning against the post it 
 was tied to. Poor little thin pony ! Helen doubted 
 much if it were ever thoroughly filled or warmed. Its 
 master did not look over-well clothed or fed himself ; and 
 as the parish was a poor one, she thought it more than 
 probable that her surmises were true. Peter had brought 
 two blankets for his horse, who was quite fat enough to 
 do with one ; so Helen ordered him to put one on the 
 poor pony. " And, Peter," she said, " you will leave that 
 blanket there when we go." She somehow longed to 
 help all living creatures, for some day she might need 
 help herself. She imagined the poor beast looked at her 
 gratefully, and Peter certainly did. Then she gathered 
 up her dress and went into the house. 
 
 The sick woman's room, thanks to Helen, was com- 
 fortably furnished and warm ; and the bed had thick 
 decent covering on it. The children, too, were well 
 clothed, and looked better cared for than most children 
 of their class.
 
 THE FELMERES. 125 
 
 Mrs. Judson, the baker's wife, sat near the fire with 
 the little things gathered about her ; the doctor stood at 
 the foot of the bed ; one or two neighbors sat near ; and 
 the priest stood by the dying woman talking to her. 
 The services for the dying were all over, the farewells 
 had all been said, and now they only waited to see her 
 die. 
 
 All turned at Helen's entrance, and the face of the 
 dying woman seemed to brighten a little as she motioned 
 Helen to her side. A sort of awe came over her the 
 room was so still the crisis was so dreadful and who 
 was right ? 
 
 Father Paul moved to the other side of the narrow 
 bed, and Mrs. Elmore grasped Helen's hands, looking at 
 them a moment as in wonder. 
 
 " So warm, and strong, and young," she whispered ; 
 " and mine look at them ! " 
 
 And Helen looked so pitifully thin they were and 
 cold ! Ah, they struck a chill through her, more piercing 
 .far than wind or snow! Then her eyes met the poor 
 patient dying eyes below them, and filled with tears. 
 
 " You are so beautiful," the woman faltered " so 
 beautiful and good I know the good God will save your 
 soul. And I have prayed fur ye yes, more times nor I 
 can count, fur I don't know much. I am but a poor 
 creetur ; but y'ave been so good to me I wanted to do 
 somethin' fur ye, and it was all I could do ; but I did it 
 earnest-like an' true, an' if the dear God answers my 
 prayers y' shall be saved." The poor voice faltered ; she 
 seemed almost gone. 
 
 Father Paul gave her some stimulant, and with this 
 little foreign strength she motioned him to pray. He
 
 126 THE FELMERES. 
 
 knelt obedient to the signal, and the poor woman, still 
 holding Helen's hands, now almost as cold as her own, 
 tried to push heron her knees; but Helen could not 
 kneel, and all the company, some kneeling, some stand- 
 ing, were watching and waiting. 
 
 Helen shook her head. 
 
 " It would be a mockery," she said hurriedly ; and all 
 the bystanders seemed to draw away from her all save 
 the priest and the dying woman. 
 
 " Oh, humble yerself , child ! " the woman said, " or 
 the Lord will humble ye in some dreadful way." 
 
 But again Helen shook her head ; she could not leave 
 her father. Then they let her stand, and the prayer 
 went on. 
 
 It seemed to Helen to be a sort of commendatory 
 prayer for the dying; and as she listened she thought 
 that surely this would comfort the poor creature if she 
 believed it. and she seemed to do so. It was simple, too ; 
 any one could understand it. 
 
 It ceased, and there was a sudden stillness. "Was the 
 woman dead ? 
 
 The face on the pillow looked so strange, so gray and 
 pinched ! What a horrible thing death was ! And the 
 priest, standing there with the crucifix in his hand, held 
 high before the dying woman, seemed cut in stone. 
 
 Helen tried to draw away ; but the grasp of the cold 
 hands tightened with that terrible death-strength that has 
 so much of pitiful impotence in it, and she was con- 
 strained to stay where she was. And she stood as though 
 spellbound, gazing down on the drawn face, watching it 
 with a strange fascination she could not master. 
 
 Slowly the eyes opened beneath her look, and fixed
 
 THE FELMERES. 127 
 
 themselves on hers so beseeching, so pitiful, so fearfully 
 bright, lighted with the last rays of the fluttering spirit ! 
 A dim glassy look crept over them ; there came a convul- 
 sive shudder, a rattling in the throat ; the jaw dropped, 
 and the hands that held Helen's were dead ! The flame 
 had been blown out : where was it ? 
 
 A horror seized Helen ; she tried to loosen the hold 
 of the dead hands ; she must go she must reach fresh 
 air or die ! Those dreadful hands were freezing her very 
 blood! 
 
 Father Paul looked with pity on the horror-stricken 
 face, and gently loosened the dead woman's hands : she 
 was not used to death poor child ! 
 
 Once outside, Helen stood still to let the wild winter 
 wind sweep over her. Then she rubbed her hands with 
 snow : that coldness was life-like warmth to the clammy 
 ice-chill of those dead hands ! Oh, if she could only rub 
 the scene from her memory that shudder, that sound, so 
 terrible, so awfully mysterious, so hideous ! 
 
 Old Peter seemed to take years to uncover and un- 
 fasten the horse : would he never be ready to take her 
 away from that dreadful place ? At last he was ready, 
 and they started on their slow, crawling journey over the 
 snow. So slowly they went, they scarcely seemed to move. 
 She was bitterly cold. The wind blew full on her, the 
 snow nearly blinded her ; and old Peter, doubled up in 
 front, looked scarcely human. The memory of the death- 
 scene clung about her, and she shivered as she looked 
 around her in the falling shadows. If they could only go 
 a little faster ! 
 
 The night had settled down when they reached the 
 churchyard, and, in the shifting white light that seemed
 
 128 THE FELMERES. 
 
 to be shed by the falling snow, the tombstones looked 
 like restless spirits wandering to and fro. Helen closed 
 her eyes : she wished Peter would say something ; or was 
 he dead too ? She roused herself ; she was unnerved 
 and foolish, and ought to be ashamed of herself. So she 
 sat up and fixed her eyes on the light from the library 
 window, determined not to be so foolish ; but, foolish or 
 not, she had to confess that in all her life she had never 
 heard so sweet a sound as Jane's cracked voice calling to 
 them as she opened the gate ; and in the grasp of her 
 father's hand and his warm kiss there was something very 
 delightfully real. Ah, she was very glad to get home ! 
 
 When she came down stairs after changing her dress, 
 Mr. Felmere watched her curiously. He knew where 
 she had been, and why she had gone, and had let her go 
 almost as an experiment. Now he was watching for the 
 results. She came in slowly and knelt in front of the fire, 
 holding her hands as close to the blaze as possible. 
 
 " Are your hands so cold that you need scorch them, 
 daughter ? " he said. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she answered, " terribly cold ! " 
 
 " Then let me rub them for you," he went on. 
 
 She was more than glad to turn and lay them in his 
 soft warm grasp ; it would perhaps destroy the death-chill 
 that seemed to cling to them. 
 
 " They are very cold," Mr. Felmere continued, as he 
 stroked them gently. " Did you not wear gloves ? " 
 
 " Yes, father ; but you can not know how that dead 
 woman clung to my hands. Oh, it was so awful ! " 
 
 " Why did you allow her to hold them ? " he asked, 
 almost impatiently ; for now that he saw how nervous 
 and overcome she was, he was sorry he had let her go.
 
 THE FELMERES. 129 
 
 " I could not help it," she answered, laying her face 
 down on his knee ; " she called me, and I had to go, and 
 then she held them until she died. Father, death is 
 awful!" 
 
 " Not if you look upon it as a release, my child," he 
 answered slowly ; " not if you think of it as a rest from 
 toil and sorrow as a sleep that has no waking a night 
 that has no morning. It is not pleasant to look upon, but 
 it should have no terrors for the thoughtful." And he 
 gently kissed the little hands he held. 
 
 " I know all that," she answered ; " but still there is 
 a horror about it I did not expect ; such an awful, lifeless 
 stupidity crept over the face such a resistless convulsion 
 and such a sound as I hope I shall never hear again. 
 Then she was nothing ! That is the worst thought." 
 
 "How? "he asked. 
 
 " I do not know exactly," she answered ; " but, as I 
 watched her dying, life seemed so useless, and death so 
 horrible! One moment she looked at; me so beseech- 
 ingly, a knowing, thinking being; the next, the eyes 
 were dim, the jaw fallen, and she lay there a lump of 
 lifeless matter ! She had spent her life in caring for that 
 useless body, in clothing it and feeding it ; and what was 
 the result ? Nothing ? After a long . life in which she 
 loved herself, cared for herself, and thought herself some- 
 thing stood up before the world a creature to be consid- 
 ered among her kind, a loving, hating, sorrowing woman 
 then the end comes. And is she nothing ? To me it 
 all seems so unmeaningly dreadful this long life to no 
 purpose ! " 
 
 " And therefore," Mr. Felmere answered slowly, " we 
 should not spend our lives grieving over small sorrows
 
 130 THE FELMERES. 
 
 over useless desires and longings, and in useless strivings ; 
 for death soon comes and destroys all." 
 
 Helen was silent. If this were so, why live at all ? 
 At last she said : 
 
 " Father, what was the use or beauty of that poor 
 life, lived at such a cost of suffering, and now swept 
 away?" 
 
 " Her life was the result of natural laws," Mr. Felmere 
 answered quietly. " That it was not useful or beautiful 
 we do not know ; but if not, it was her own fault. She 
 did not reach up to a higher life, she did not recognize 
 the beauty and order of the universe by which she was 
 surrounded, and so did not put herself and her life in 
 accord with it. She had but one, and that the lowest, end 
 of life in view her daily bread." 
 
 " And she did not make that," Helen answered ; " so 
 why look for a higher ? " 
 
 " Her failure was the result of ignorance," JVIr. Fel- 
 mere returned " her ignorance, the fault of her progen- 
 itors ; and their ignorance could possibly be traced back 
 in the same way. So it was her own fault, and the fault 
 of those from whom she came, that her life seemed use- 
 less. Our lives are in our own hands, to make or mar as 
 we please to be made beautiful and useful in accordance 
 with the laws of order, or to be ruined and defaced as we 
 see fit. But in either case we have only ourselves to look 
 to, and ourselves to blame." 
 
 " And how, then, can I make my life useful and beau- 
 tiful ? " the girl asked. 
 
 " By educating yourself up to the highest of which 
 you are capable, and so reaching happiness for yourself 
 by the full and harmonious development of all your facul-
 
 THE FELMERES. 131 
 
 ties. This will make your life beautiful. Your example, 
 and the assistance your education will enable you to give 
 your fellow creatures, will make your life useful. But 
 surely, my daughter, we have argued all this out before 2 " 
 
 " Yes, father," she answered ; " but I seem to lose 
 sight of abstract beauty and order when I come in con- 
 tact with the hideousness of starvation and death ; and I 
 have to argue myself back into the belief that there are 
 such things as order and beauty to live for." 
 
 Mr. Felmere answered, half musing: 
 
 " I can very well understand that also, for I have 
 often been myself almost led to exclaim against the in- 
 congruities of life. But we know that these laws do 
 exist, and in order to be happy you must work and live 
 up to them ; you have no alternative." 
 
 " And this is all," she said, and rose as the servant 
 announced dinner. 
 
 " Yes, all" her father answered, following her, " but 
 more than enough to fill a lifetime." 
 
 "A lifetime," she thought ; "but a life would it fill 
 that 8 " 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Oh, hush! what more remains to me, 
 But this dead hand whose clasp is cold in mine, 
 And all the baffled memory of the past, 
 Buried with him ? What more ? " 
 
 Six years had passed since Helen's marriage with 
 Philip, and five since Felix had faded from her life ; and 
 in these years she had done much. Through a rigorous
 
 132 THE FELMERES. 
 
 and undeviating self-discipline she had won for herself a 
 certain calmness and strength that showed in every move- 
 ment and expression a calmness that might have been 
 called coldness but for the sad soul lurking deep in her 
 eyes, and the gentleness gathered tenderly in the curving 
 of her lips. She had made herself much beloved in the 
 country all about her home, her name being with many 
 almost a household word ; and it was this love she gained 
 and gave that kept her heart and soul warm and safe from 
 hopeless torpidity from being frozen over with the cold- 
 ness of her future and the bitterness of her sorrows. At 
 home she moved about the guiding spirit ; she cared for, 
 thought for, and provided for everything ; and in a nega- 
 tive fashion she was happy. 
 
 In -all these six years she had never failed in her 
 weekly letter to Philip but once, and that was the week 
 when Felix went away. Philip's letters were only of in- 
 terest to her as a study of his character, and it was the 
 only way in which she could know him ; for, according 
 to the agreement between them, he could not come back 
 until her father's death. He had looked eagerly, hope- 
 fully, but vainly in all her letters for some softening of 
 this clause in the contract, some faint shadow of relent- 
 ing and invitation to come again, if only for a day. But, 
 alas ! he never found it. Her letters came like clock- 
 work always one length, always one temperature ; al- 
 ways beginning "Dear Philip," and always ending 
 "Very sincerely"; never even dropping to the more 
 familiar "My dear Philip," and never by any chance 
 ending with " Helen," but always the full stiff " Helen 
 Felmere." 
 
 He was learning gradually what sort of nature he
 
 THE FELMERES. 133 
 
 would have to deal with ; and he was also learning to 
 doubt his ability either to govern or guide it. But .in 
 proportion as he recognized this coldness, and the relent- 
 less strength of this beautiful creature, the thought that, 
 with all her pride and strength, with all her beauty and 
 talent, he had succeeded in binding her, made his love 
 take fresh root in his vanity, and so fascinate him afresh. 
 He was sometimes guilty of almost wishing for his uncle's 
 death, that he might claim her. While he was traveling 
 it did not make so much difference ; but now for three 
 years he had settled down as head of his father's busi- 
 ness, and he wanted her at home. He kept up with soci- 
 ety, that he might at once place her in the front rank ; 
 he amassed money, that he might enable her to shine 
 the more resplendent ; . he entertained, that his home 
 might be a place where people would come often, and 
 so spread abroad the fame of his wife's beauty. 
 
 On the other hand, if Helen ever allowed herself to 
 think of her marriage at all out of the proper routine 
 where it had its special place and time, it was with utter 
 dread of this day which she knew must come. She 
 watched with intense wretchedness the breaking down 
 of her father's health the pitiful decaying of a strong 
 man. For a long time she had been doing all his writ- 
 ing and reading for him ; and, his mind still continuing 
 clear and strong, his inability to do for himself was 
 pathetic. But Helen never let this appear, trying to let 
 their habits change almost without his knowledge ; he 
 was her one thought, and she cared for him as a mother 
 for her child, watching closely for every sign of a wish 
 and trying to anticipate it. 
 
 " I shall be glad to go," he said one evening as they
 
 134 THE FELMERES. 
 
 sat together in the firelight; "I am so fast becoming 
 worthless." 
 
 Helen, sitting in her old place on a stool at his side, 
 laid her head down on his knee as he spoke. 
 
 " You are my life, father my world ; how are you 
 worthless ? " she said. 
 
 She felt the tremulous touch of his hand on her hair, 
 and a knowledge of desolation swept over her as she 
 thought of the time when the touch of that hand would 
 
 O 
 
 be gone from her life for ever ! He answered slowly : 
 
 "And this thought this thought of your intense 
 love haunts me ; and this certainty of the suffering you 
 will endure gives me the only pain I now feel. Else, 
 my life would pass away calmly and without a regret." 
 
 The light in the room was dim the light of his eyes 
 was dim ; but a blind man could almost have seen the 
 glorious beauty of the face that looked up into his, 
 shining with the light of the last sacrificial fires she could 
 build for him ! 
 
 " Father, I promise not to grieve," she said slowly 
 " that is, not openly, nor yet morbidly. Only tell me 
 how it must be, and I will do it I promise ! " 
 
 "Are you strong enough?" he asked, straining his 
 eyes to read her face. 
 
 " Yes, father ! " and the voice rang clear and true as 
 when in her ignorant youth she had sworn to stand by 
 him for ever ! 
 
 " Then, child, say that your grief shall not overwhelm 
 you ; that you will make it your private sorrow, and not 
 allow it to be a bar to any wish of Philip ; that you will 
 put on no outward sign of mourning, and never speak of 
 what you suffer. I know all this will be hard, but any
 
 THE FELMERES. 135 
 
 of these things might fret him men are so impatient of 
 sorrow which they do not feel. These precautions may 
 seem useless, but I know men of the world better than 
 you do, and I am so afraid of standing in the way of 
 your happiness. Will you promise all this for me ? " 
 
 " Yes, father, I will. This sorrow shall be mine, arid 
 mine alone, as it ought to be ; so do not let it trouble 
 you any more." And again she put her head down on 
 his knee. 
 
 Her happiness, her love, her life had all been put 
 under foot for him : why not her grief ? If it pleased 
 him, why not cast this last luxury aside, and tread her 
 path barren even of tears ? 
 
 Once more she felt his soft old hand wandering about 
 her brow and hair as he went on talking. 
 
 " You have been a good daughter, and I thank you, 
 darling you, who have been the one steady brightness 
 of my life, which else had gone out in darkness. You 
 have never thwarted a wish or desire of mine ; you have 
 never knowingly given me a pang ; and loving me as 
 you do, my child, this knowledge will be your reward." 
 
 " Ay, more than a reward," she answered, drawing 
 his hand down to her lips ; " for nothing can ever dim 
 the joy of it ! " 
 
 '' I knew it," he answered, smiling tenderly to him- 
 self, " and so I told you ; and when I am gone, I believe 
 you will carry out whatever you know to be my wishes. 
 Thus I am certain your happiness is secure, for what I 
 wish is entirely for your good. First of all, that you 
 should be a faithful wife to Philip, and never leave 
 him " his voice grew tremulous as he touched on the 
 sorrow of his life " never leave him for any pique or
 
 136 THE FELMERES. 
 
 fear, any anger or ill-treatment for nothing save his own 
 command." 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 " And, child, you must strive to be reasonable and 
 patient with him and all the world. I tell you this be- 
 cause I know you will find many things in him and in 
 the world that will provoke you ; but you must strive to 
 b*e tolerant and gentle." He paused here, then went on 
 more slowly : " And if in your life you should ever meet 
 your mother or your brother, you must not feel any anger 
 against them for me ; but rather pity them for having 
 committed what to them was a sin, and in the eyes of all 
 the world a wrong. Now I charge you to be kind and 
 gentle to them both ; for as I near my end, a feeling 
 comes over me that I should at least have made it my 
 care to see that they did not want." His voice sunk, and 
 Helen held his hand more close as though to comfort 
 him. 
 
 " Father, she left you of her own free will," she said, 
 with a strange feeling coming over her as she listened to 
 the first self-accusations she had ever heard from his lips. 
 
 "So she did, my darling," he answered slowly; "but 
 she was young and easily swayed, and I should have been 
 more patient and have tried to win her back. In any case, 
 the boy was mine, and I should have provided for him. 
 However, it is too late now, for he must be a grown man 
 if living. Ah, it was a cruel thing ! " 
 
 His head drooped as he finished, and a silence fell be- 
 tween them. Helen had never before heard him speak 
 in this way of her mother ; indeed, only once or twice in 
 all her life had she ever heard him so much as allude to 
 her. And now, what did it mean? "Were these his last
 
 THE FELMERES. 137 
 
 wishes, and was he going from her now ? She crushed 
 the thought down in her mind and turned away from it ; 
 she would not think it. But still she found herself lay- 
 ing all his words away in her heart treasuring every 
 tone of his voice, every nervous break that came between 
 the sentences. He should not go ! 
 
 Presently he spoke again. 
 
 " My child, I wish you would write to Philip. I do 
 not like leaving you alone." 
 
 Had her heart stopped its beating? Had the fire 
 gone out entirely ? Was the sea surging in the room all 
 about her, and was that her voice that answered ? " Yes, 
 father " then a little pause. " Shall I light the lamp 
 and write now ? " Poor voice ! it sounded very weak 
 and very far away ; and did the words her father uttered 
 strike her ? They must, for with every one a sharp pain 
 shot through her ! 
 
 "Yes, this very night; the letter must go in the 
 morning." 
 
 Then she was conscious of going to the table, lighting 
 the lamp, and writing. She knew every word she put 
 down ; she remembered for all her life how every line of 
 that note looked, and how a sudden feeling of hatred to 
 Philip seemed to cover it all ! 
 
 Her father was going she was to be given up to 
 Philip ! Ah, if that note could only kill him ! And if 
 he dared to come and share the last hours of her father's 
 life with her, she would shut the door upon him he 
 should not come in ! He did not care for her father ; for 
 had he not said in one of his letters that he longed to 
 claim her, and did not that mean he would not mourn 
 her father's death ? But the note must be written, for
 
 138 THE FELMERES. 
 
 her father desired it. The next evening Philip, sitting 
 in his office, read it with a feeling of exultation ! At last 
 his time had come, and his waiting was over ! 
 
 " DEAR PHILIP : My father requests that you will 
 come to him. Of course you will come immediately. 
 
 " Very sincerely, 
 
 "HELEN FELMEEE." 
 
 This was all only these few terse words. No sign 
 or shadow of any wish from her for his presence ; not one 
 line that wavered not one uncertain word or stroke to 
 betray the strain under which it was written, the strain 
 of bitter sorrow and growing hatred ! But he did not 
 look for any of these things ; he cared for nothing but 
 that he had been sent for. 'No thought crossed him of 
 the agony this old man's death would cause of the fear- 
 ful doubt that veiled his last hours of the woman left 
 broken and desolate ! He only remembered that now he 
 could claim what he so long had waited for ; after these 
 six long years he was to be rewarded. 
 
 He could scarcely wait for the next day's express 
 train. Indeed, if he had only had himself to consult, he 
 would not have waited, but would have wasted the next 
 day at way stations on the route just to feel that he was 
 traveling; but his mother showed him the folly of such a 
 proceeding, and persuaded him to wait. 
 
 And in the still watches of that very night, while he 
 lay dreaming of the happy morrow, and while she of 
 whom he dreamed paced up and down her room, striving 
 to strangle down her heart and its crying in preparation 
 for that morrow, the old man met death alone ! He had
 
 THE FELMERES. 139 
 
 no voice to cry for help ; he had no human hand to cling 
 to ; he had no hope ! Alone the dread hour came to him ; 
 alone he struggled with the inevitable alone, and in the 
 darkness ! If at the last he caught a glimpse of what lay 
 beyond the portal of the grave if at the last he found 
 there was a Hereafter if at the last he had the awful 
 agony added to his own anguish, the agony of knowing 
 that he had doomed his child's soul to eternal misery ! 
 there was no one to hear the warning in his moans, or see 
 the horror in his dying eyes ! The secrets of that death- 
 bed no mortal ever knew ; for the darkness tells no tales, 
 and the darkness was the only watcher there. And all 
 night long the wild sea moaned and the night winds 
 howled about the hall ; then the gentle morning light 
 stole in and looked upon the old man dead ! 
 
 And later on his daughter came and found him with 
 the sunlight making a glory in his silver hair ! ~No wail 
 broke from her, no sob no tears shone in her eyes ; only 
 an irresistible shuddering as one in mortal agony then a 
 stillness as of death ! Had she not promised 2 She set 
 the house in order, gave all directions to old Peter, then 
 shut herself and her agony in her far-off room until Jane 
 should tell her all was finished. Then in the dear old 
 library, where all spoke of him where from child to 
 woman she had lived and learned with him, where one 
 thing after another she had given up all for him she 
 stood alone with her dead ! 
 
 One last lesson she would learn from him, looking 
 down on his calm dead face one last lesson of self-con- 
 trol. And she, learning it, stood mute ! 
 
 Once more she found herself without a God to cry to 
 in her misery without a comfort in her desolation !
 
 140 THE FELMERES. 
 
 There was no time hereafter when she might hope to be 
 reunited to him. For him there was only the grave ; for 
 her, only memory! wailing and weeping would do no 
 good ; and more than this, had she not promised ? 
 
 Philip, coming in .almost joyous, found her thus. She 
 turned away at his first entrance, but only for a moment ; 
 then she turned and met him quietly, raised her face for 
 his kiss of greeting, and led the way from the room. She 
 could not allow him to stay there with her. This grief 
 was hers, and sacred ; Philip had no share in it. 
 
 In the hall she paused and told him of all her arrange- 
 ments. The next morning her father would be laid in 
 the family vault in Felmere church ; this right had been 
 reserved to the family for generations, and no objections 
 could be raised on the score of his being an unbeliever. 
 She wished no services at all ; they meant nothing to her 
 nor to him. As to the marriage ceremony, she hoped 
 Philip would allow no interval of time to elapse between 
 that and the funeral ; and afterward she wished to go 
 away immediately. Quietly and methodically she said it 
 all, and Philip, much relieved by her calmness, assented 
 gladly, saying he had brought a clergyman with him, 
 and there was no reason why all should not be done as 
 quickly as possible. Then he made a half-way suggestion 
 of mourning. But Helen answered with proud quiet : 
 
 " It was my father's wish that I should not show grief 
 for his death in any outward manner ; and it was his par- 
 ticular request that neither you nor your mother should 
 alter your daily lives in any way for him. He was no- 
 thing to any one but me, and I must ask you never to 
 mention his name to me. I need no sympathy, nor any 
 outlet for my sorrow."
 
 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Better silence him at once, she thought ; for he had 
 not that in him that could comprehend her sufferings, 
 and his attempts at comfort would only torture her. 
 
 And Philip did not object, for he felt no positive sor- 
 row and had no real sympathy to offer. 
 
 So the next morning the dead man was carried to 
 his grave the grave of all the Felmeres! The door 
 of the vault grated harshly, and swung heavily on its 
 hinges ; for it had not been opened since he, young Hec- 
 tor Felmere, saw his father laid there. Silently they put 
 him down, and Helen, ere the door was closed, stepped 
 in to lay one flower on his coffin. One moment she 
 paused and looked about her to the right and left where 
 her ancestors lay. Some day they would bring her there 
 ah, very soon, she hoped ! 
 
 She turned to come away to leave her father for 
 ever ! The rush of this thought almost shook her from 
 her calm. One moment she steadied herself with one 
 hand on his coffin one moment, that was all ; then she 
 rejoined the watchers outside. The door was closed and 
 locked, and all was done ! No prayers for the soul de- 
 parted no words of comfort for the soul left desolate ; 
 all was cold, dreary, hopeless ! 
 
 Then came the marriage ceremony. Only some of 
 her village friends were there, who wept, poor simple souls, 
 to see her " go to be wed, with the dust of the grave still 
 unshaken from her white dress ! " Alas, what mattered 
 it to her? "Was not the dust from that tomb spread 
 henceforth all along her path, deadening all the sounds 
 of life and joy that might happen there ? What was a 
 simple smirch or two on her wedding dress ? She went 
 through the service mechanically, but did not kneel for
 
 THE FELMERES. 
 
 either prayers or blessing : she did not believe. When 
 that was done, the worst was over, for the parting with 
 Peter and Jane, and the last look at her home, weighed 
 as nothing with what had gone before ! 
 
 " Jane," she said as the old woman clung about her, 
 " keep everything just as I leave it. You and Peter will 
 be supported here as usual, but let nothing be changed. 
 I will come again some day, and all things must be as I 
 leave them." Then she kissed the old woman, with a 
 long, loving kiss her last farewell at Felmere and was 
 gone. Gone out into a life and a world she dreaded 
 gone, guarded only by her own strength and a promise to 
 a dead man !
 
 " Thousands of human generations, all as noisy as our own, 
 have been swallowed up of Time, and there remains no wreck of 
 them any more ; and Arcturus and Orion and Sirius and Pleiades 
 are still shining in their courses, clear and young, as when the 
 Shepherd first noted them in the plain of Shinar. Pshaw ! what is 
 this paltry little Dog-cage of an Earth ; what art thou that sittest 
 whining there ? Thou art still Nothing, Nobody : true ; but who 
 then is Something, Somebody ? For thee the Family of Man has 
 no use ; it rejects thee ; thou art wholly as a dissevered limb : so 
 be it ; perhaps it is better so ! "
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " And the days darken round me, and the years, 
 Among new men, strange faces, other minds." 
 
 MRS. FELMEKE, Philip's mother, was certainly in her 
 element ; for there was nothing she liked better than the 
 bustle and confusion and excitement consequent on the 
 arrangements for a gay winter, and of all her gay winters 
 this was to be the gayest. 
 
 The Jourdans were all curiosity to see Philip's wife, 
 and had been much disappointed that he had not brought 
 her home immediately after her father's death, instead 
 of taking her to travel. But Mrs. Felmere nodded wise- 
 ly ; said it was her arrangement that they should spend 
 the months of mourning in travel : she preferred that 
 Helen should make her appearance all at once, and not 
 creep into society as she would have to do if she came to 
 town while in mourning. Then she would go off into 
 descriptions of Helen's extraordinary beauty and talents, 
 and into discussions of large plans for the winter's cam- 
 paign, and for the reception of the young people. Evi- 
 dently she expected much increase in importance from 
 7
 
 14:6 THE FELMERES. 
 
 the possession of this beautiful daughter-in-law ; and the 
 Jourdaiis waited with doubtful pleasure and questionable 
 curiosity to see this wonder. 
 
 " If she was such a marvel, how had Philip managed 
 to catch her?" So they whispered to each other, but 
 only whispered ; for the Jourdan family stood rather in 
 awe of their strong-minded sister Mrs. Felmere. 
 
 And all the while she wrote her son the most minute 
 descriptions and directions on the subject of Helen's 
 trousseau, which he was to buy in Paris, and begged 
 Helen to be careful in suiting her style of beauty. Helen 
 would read the letters in the most dutiful manner, but 
 could not remember them ; so she let Philip do as he 
 pleased, and buy whatsoever seemed good in his sight. 
 She only hoped she would be able to keep her temper 
 and be patient under the host of trifling annoyances she 
 saw ahead of her. She was a little curious as to society, 
 yet feared much that she would not like it ; in which case 
 she would still be obliged to go out into it. She carefully 
 pondered all the advice her father had given her ; tried 
 to look hopefully out to her future ; then tried to be 
 philosophical over the failure and fruitlessness of her 
 efforts, and bent her will to crush out the undercurrent 
 of thought that made her wonder if in her husband's 
 circle of friends she would meet Felix Gordon. 
 
 So all the long bright summer was spent in going 
 from place to place places she had longed all her life to 
 see places that she now looked on and walked through 
 with quiet apathy. More than this, she seemed uncon- 
 scious of the devotion Philip lavished on her. Philip 
 was good to her, and she thanked him, but did not in any 
 way seem to realize his admiration. And Philip, watch-
 
 THE FELMERES. 14T 
 
 ing her, began to wonder when this cold calm would 
 wear off. At first, after her father's death, when he met 
 her down at Felmere, it had been a pleasant surprise to 
 him ; for he had expected and feared tears and wailings, 
 and, not finding them, was agreeably disappointed, and 
 was thankful that his wife knew what self-control meant. 
 But now he thought it time for her to have overcome her 
 grief enough to look at him, and treat him in some other 
 way than she had done heretofore. Her scrupulous 
 politeness was wearying to him; and although as Mrs. 
 Philip Felmere her every action was worthy of all admi- 
 ration, yet he also was worthy of some consideration. 
 But she did not seem to agree with him, and, although 
 he left no means untried, he had to give up at last, and 
 only hope that the settling in her new home and among 
 new people might rouse her. 
 
 When the winter found them with their faces turned 
 homeward, he was hoping much from the change she 
 dreading it, and more than all the long after-life with her 
 aunt. In all her life she never felt more desperate than 
 when she stood in the doorway of her future home, with 
 her future full before her. 
 
 The meeting between mother and son was ecstatic but 
 short ; then Philip turned : " Mother, here is Helen " ; 
 and Mrs. Felmere came with open arms to the stately 
 young woman who had kept herself rather in the back- 
 ground. As it was, her arms closed round a mass of silk 
 and furs, and she had to wait until the owner of them 
 chose to bend her head and receive the proffered kiss. 
 But Mrs. Felmere was not to be daunted ; and as she led 
 them to their apartments, she gushed on irrepressibly. 
 
 " Some of her family were to dine with them that
 
 148 THE FELMERES. 
 
 day," she explained, " to meet dear Helen, so that dear 
 Helen must have as much time as possible in which to 
 rest and dress before the appointed hour." 
 
 " Dear Helen " looked and listened, and the mother- 
 in-law grew restless under the grave quiet of the 
 daughter, and left the room a little anxious. What it 
 was Mrs. Felmere could not say, but there was something 
 very trying in this young person's manners ; it was worse 
 than trying it was actually exasperating ! 
 
 Philip followed his mother down stairs ; and Helen, 
 glad to be alone, yet with nothing to do, stood near the 
 window and looked down thoughtfully on the people and 
 vehicles that passed so ceaselessly to and fro. 
 
 Her musings were interrupted by the entrance of the 
 men bringing in the luggage. 
 
 " How stupid," she thought, " to have such a quan- 
 tity ; and at the best, what extremely frivolous things 
 fine clothes are ! " And she was almost impatient with 
 the maid who came to ask. what she would wear for 
 dinner. " Anything you please," she answered ; " I do 
 not in the least care." So the woman with ready tact 
 chose a dress she had heard Mr. Felmere praise : it was 
 wise to please some one. 
 
 The party assembled in Mrs. Felmere' s drawing-room 
 was made up entirely of the immediate Jourdan family. 
 There were Mr. John Jourdan, banker, and Margaret his 
 wife ; his son, young John Jourdan, commonly known as 
 Jack; and his daughter Amelia. Besides these, who 
 were known as the " John Jourdans," there was the old- 
 maid aunt of the family, Miss Esther Jourdan, who was 
 also the terror, keeping her connection well in hand with 
 the lash of an unmade will. The only member of the
 
 THE FELMERES. 149 
 
 whole family who did not bow to her rule was her young 
 brother, Arthur Jourdan, who now leaned on the mantel 
 watching with skeptical eyes for the advent of Philip's 
 wife. They were all rich and moderately well educated, 
 these Jourdans, with good complexions, sound teeth, and 
 strong digestions a fair-haired, sturdy race, with neither 
 souls nor livers. 
 
 Helen was introduced by Mrs. Felmere to each one 
 separately : " This is your uncle John, my dear, and your 
 aunt Margaret. This is Aunt Esther, and this Uncle 
 Arthur ; but he is so little older than Philip that you 
 may call him Arthur. This is Jack, and, last but not 
 least, Amelia, my namesake and goddaughter, of whom 
 I hope you will make a friend." 
 
 Philip watched a little anxiously as the ceremony 
 proceeded, he was so much afraid that Helen might in 
 some way offend them ; for she was so very different, 
 and at times so strangely abrupt and peculiar, not to say 
 eccentric. But he need not have feared ; it all went off 
 quietly enough ; she distinctly repeated all their names 
 and prefixes after Mrs. Felmere, and kissed them all 
 most dutifully. 
 
 There was only one little pause. When Mrs. Fel- 
 mere explained about Arthur's age, Helen asked him 
 gravely which he preferred, " Arthur " or " Uncle 
 Arthur " ; and he answered, " It is as you please, 
 Helen." She said quietly, " I have no pleasure in the 
 matter," and turned to Jack. Miss Esther smiled to see 
 Arthur snubbed, for it was such a rare occurrence ; but 
 Mrs. Felmere looked grave and frowned very slightly. 
 
 The dinner passed off very successfully ; for Helen, 
 seated between old and young John, was much amused
 
 150 THE FELMERES. 
 
 by young John's hearty boyishness and old John's honest 
 admiration. There was something contagions in the 
 merry flow of Jack's spirits, and she found herself chat- 
 ting and laughing in a way that "was quite unusual for 
 her. Philip bloomed out under this, and Mrs. Felmere 
 was in her glory. 
 
 Arthur watched Helen with growing admiration ; she 
 was surely the most beautiful creature he had ever seen ; 
 he must certainly make his peace with her. 
 
 " Have you ever been to a ball ? " Jack was asking. 
 
 " Never in all my life," she answered. 
 
 " Then to-morrow night will be your first ; how 
 queer ! " he went on. 
 
 " Am I to go to one to-morrow night ? " she asked. 
 
 " Why, have you not heard ? Aunt Amelia has not 
 told you ? " 
 
 " No," Mrs. Felmere answered from the end of the 
 table ; " I thought to-morrow would do as well." 
 
 Jack nodded. " Then I will tell her now " ; and he 
 went off into a description of a grand party to be given 
 at his father's house in honor of Philip and Helen. 
 
 " You are very kind," Helen answered, "and I hope 
 I shall like it ; but I do not know how to dance." 
 
 The whole company looked aghast not know how to 
 dance ! 
 
 " What have you been thinking of, Philip ? " Jack 
 asked reproachfully. 
 
 " We have not been going out, you know," Philip 
 answered with mysterious solemnity. 
 
 Then a little pause fell on the company, and the hot 
 blood rushed angrily to Helen's cheeks. How dared 
 Philip allude to her father in this strange company, or
 
 THE FELMERES. 151 
 
 allude to him at all ! She paused a moment to steady her 
 voice, then said coldly : 
 
 " We might have gone, Philip, if you had said so, for 
 there was nothing to hinder us." 
 
 This was a little more shocking than her not knowing 
 how to dance. Such plain speaking was not usual in the 
 world. Philip's excuse was very proper; why not let it 
 alone ? And it remained for Arthur to break the silence 
 that ensued. 
 
 " It will give me great pleasure to teach you how to 
 dance," he said quietly. 
 
 Helen looked up quickly and gratefully for this inter- 
 ruption to her angry thoughts. " Indeed, you are very 
 kind," she answered, " and I shall do my best to learn." 
 
 " It is a very easy matter," Arthur went on, "if one 
 has any ear for music, which you no doubt have." 
 
 " I can not say," Helen answered, shaking her head ; 
 " I have never taken a music lesson in my life." 
 
 " She was educated entirely by her father," Mrs. Fel- 
 mere put in quickly, seeing a little sneer on Miss Esther's 
 lips. 
 
 Helen looked around from one to the other with a 
 shade of wonder in her eyes, then said a little proudly : 
 
 " I have no accomplishments at all, save perhaps paint- 
 ing ; I can do something at that." 
 
 " And one accomplishment is quite enough if you do 
 that one well," Arthur said quietly. 
 
 " Yes," Helen answered slowly, as though considering 
 and concluding on her deliberations "yes, I do paint 
 well." 
 
 " That is honest at least," Miss Esther remarked, with 
 a trifle of sarcasm in her tone. She had been panting for
 
 152 THE FELMERES. 
 
 an opportunity to snub this new-comer into a proper ap- 
 preciation of her special merits. 
 
 Helen looked up surprised. 
 
 " And is not honesty a desirable quality ? " she asked. 
 
 " Very desirable," Miss Esther answered, with a little 
 toss of her head, "if there is a trifle of modesty mixed 
 with it." 
 
 " There are such things as false modesty and affecta- 
 tion," Helen went on quietly, to the great amusement of 
 the family, who never by any chance answered Miss 
 Esther ; " and I despise both. If I think I paint well, 
 why not say so ? " 
 
 " Would it not be just as well to wait and let others 
 say so ? " Miss Esther's ire was rising. 
 
 " Others might not think so," Helen replied, and a 
 general laugh followed her speech. 
 
 " You do not mind over-estimating yourself then ? " 
 Miss Esther asked. 
 
 " If it is my honest opinion of myself, then to myself 
 I am not over-estimated ; and if I am satisfied with my- 
 self, what are the opinions of others to me ? Indeed, 
 they do not disturb me for one instant." She was look- 
 ing at the old lady gravely, and listened most attentively 
 to her answer. 
 
 " There are some people who are humble enough to 
 think that there are others a little wiser than themselves, 
 and with sometimes a little better taste and judgment." 
 
 " If one is confessedly inferior," Helen answered, " it 
 would be wiser, perhaps, to ask the opinion of all before 
 deciding for one's self ; but I think it is much happier to 
 be honestly aware of your own powers, and honestly self- 
 confident."
 
 THE FELMERES. 153 
 
 To Helen the conversation had now become an abstract 
 argument, and as such she pursued it. Miss Esther, how- 
 ever, not having been trained to this sort of exercise, after 
 the manner of most women, continued personal, and an- 
 swered bitingly : 
 
 " In short, be conceited." 
 
 " JSTo," Helen said gravely ; "that is one step too far ; 
 that amounts to self-admiration, while what I mean is 
 simply self-approval. The one is putting yourself above 
 and beyond your fellow creatures ; the other is only put- 
 ting yourself on a level with them." 
 
 " And you consider yourself on a level with the high- 
 est?" queried Miss Esther. Helen laughed as she an- 
 swered : 
 
 " I could not answer that question, Aunt Esther, until 
 I had met and estimated all the people in the world." 
 
 " Of course you know I mean the highest you have 
 met," Miss Esther snapped. 
 
 Helen smiled. 
 
 " With one or two exceptions known long ago, yes." 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried old Mr. Jourdan ; and the young 
 men were quite delighted to find some one who dared to 
 contend with Miss Esther. Mrs. Felmere and Mrs. Jour- 
 dan, however, felt anxious as they looked at Miss Esther's 
 angry face and remembered her fortune and unmade will ; 
 so they strove to mend matters by making a movement 
 to leave the table. 
 
 That night, after all were gone, Mrs. Felmere called 
 her son aside and told him he must speak to Helen, and 
 warn her of the danger of making Miss Esther angry. 
 Philip looked doubtful, and after pondering for a few 
 moments said with a deep sigh :
 
 154: THE FELMERES. 
 
 " We had better say nothing about it, mother. Helen 
 is very peculiar about some things, and I know that about 
 this she will think differently and will probably say so. 
 More than this, I am quite sure she will not heed me." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere looked amazed, then angrily scornful as 
 she said sharply : 
 
 " I would be ashamed to acknowledge that, Philip ; 
 and since you are afraid, I will speak to her myself." 
 
 "As you please," Philip answered, shrugging his 
 shoulders and driving his hands deeper into his pockets; 
 " but you will find I am right." 
 
 And Mrs. Felmere without answering left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Ah, me ! the clinging touch of those days those days so utterly 
 
 dead! 
 
 The ringing sadness of last farewells farewells so quietly said ; 
 The falling shadows of lonelier times, dark days in the midst of 
 
 strife ; 
 The longing for peace, and faith, and love that were ours in that 
 
 old life." 
 
 FOE the first time since their marriage, Helen missed 
 Philip when on the morning after their arrival he went 
 to his office ; indeed, she more than missed him, she felt 
 deserted and almost in danger, being left alone with Mrs. 
 Felmere. That a collision between them was inevitable, 
 and that her hours of peace were numbered, were two 
 facts of which she was sure. She could only hope that 
 the shock would be a slight one, enough to show each of
 
 THE FELMERES. 155 
 
 them the position the other intended to occupy, yet not 
 enough to make a decided break. It was a disagreeable 
 thought and expectation, but there was no use in trying 
 to escape from it, for it must finally be faced. She had 
 feared many years ago that this would be so ; but now 
 that she had seen Mrs. Felmere, her surmises had ripened 
 into knowledge. 
 
 So she pondered as she stood in the front drawing- 
 room, looking over a photographic album filled with 
 meaningless faces which, fortunately or unfortunately 
 for herself, she did not see. She was very home-sick for 
 old Felmere for Peter and Jane for anything simple 
 and natural. She had been so shut up in cities and 
 hotels, had so stupidly followed the beaten fashionable 
 track in traveling, had been so tied down to convention- 
 alities and non-essentials, that she longed for the broad 
 clear flats, and the wild fresh wind that dashed about 
 the hall down at Felmere. And now that she was at 
 home, she looked about her and wondered if in all the 
 world there was anything more dreary and unhomelike 
 than these grand parlors teeming with silk and velvet 
 and gold, yet with the rug in front of the sham fireplace 
 turned wrong side up ! It was a little thing, yet to her 
 it spoke volumes. Then, in irresistible contrast to this 
 brand-new affair too handsome to be used, there came to 
 her memory the old worn rug in the library at Felmere 
 worn almost white at the corner where her father used to 
 sit; burnt in innumerable little black spots where the 
 sparks from the open fire would fall ; and persistently 
 rolling itself up at the four corners. Ah, how pathetic 
 was the picture of that old Felmere rug, and to her how 
 beautiful !
 
 156 THE FELMERES. 
 
 But this was dangerous ground, and she hastily turned 
 her eyes and mind to other things. She looked curiously 
 at the miserable little gas fire, entirely for show ; and at 
 the awful holes in the walls, so black and unlovely, where 
 the real heat came in : could anything be more dismal, 
 except perhaps the album before her? And, turning 
 over the leaves, she wondered vaguely what could have 
 been in the minds of the originals of the pictures when 
 they allowed themselves to be so represented. Did they 
 for one moment imagine that people seeing these would 
 consider them correct likenesses ; that any one would be 
 deceived into thinking they always had their hair arranged 
 so wonderfully, or their heads in these painfully graceful 
 positions, or these sweet smiles always on their lips? 
 But they, perhaps, had been brought up in just such a 
 home as this, where on all sides they were trained to and 
 surrounded by shams ; and how could anything different 
 be expected from such an education ? Alas, how utterly 
 small it all was ! 
 
 As she reached this point in her reflections the door 
 was opened, and Mrs. Felmere joined her. Helen looked 
 up as her aunt advanced, and wondered a little at her 
 grave looks ; but, not liking to ask the cause, she went 
 on turning over the leaves of the album after an idle 
 uninterested fashion. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere watched her a moment in silence, then 
 said slowly : " Helen, I have come to have a few mo- 
 ments' talk with you. I wish to take a mother's privi- 
 lege and give you a little advice ; may I ? " 
 
 Helen looked up gravely, and for a moment scanned 
 Mrs. Felmere' s face ; then she looked down again, answer- 
 ing quietly :
 
 THE FELMERES. 157 
 
 " Certainly, aunt, if you wish." 
 
 The permission was not very encouraging ; neverthe- 
 less, Mrs. Felmere went on. 
 
 " I only wish to say, my dear," she began, " that it is 
 utterly useless ever to argue with my sister Esther, and 
 it is much wiser not to anger her wiser for many rea- 
 sons. She is getting old, and perhaps a little peevish ; 
 but through all she is very fond of Philip, and I should 
 like her to be fond of you as his wife." 
 
 Helen assented; and Mrs. Felmere, seeing her so 
 quiet under her little lecture, put Philip down as a goose 
 for his fears, and warmed to her subject. 
 
 " Her health is not good," she continued, and at her 
 words Helen felt a little contrition for having provoked 
 an old sick person ; " and as she is very wealthy, we, 
 Margaret and myself and Philip " Helen looked up with 
 a gleam of surprise in her eyes " feel a little anxiety 
 about her will ; for she is entirely untrammeled, and can 
 leave her money where she pleases." 
 
 "And Philip wants her money ?" Helen asked slow- 
 ly, as Mrs. Felmere paused. 
 
 " Yes, of course ! " she answered quickly and sharply, 
 being made impatient by the tinge of scorn in the girl's 
 voice and the contempt she saw gathering about her lips ; 
 " of course he wishes it. Money is not to be picked up 
 in the streets, and every sensible man will and ought to 
 take all he can honestly get. Philip has a right to hope 
 for a more prominent place in Esther's will than any of 
 the family, unless, indeed, you spoil all by angering her." 
 
 Helen did not look up. She felt ashamed to face any 
 one who could acknowledge such motives ashamed for 
 them ; and she answered almost sadly :
 
 158 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " I had better avoid her then." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " cried Mrs. Felmere ; " that would be worse 
 still ; that would be neglect, and it would never do ! " 
 
 " Then will you tell me what I must do ? for I must 
 confess to being almost at a loss to understand you." 
 Helen began to be restive, and her voice had an impatient 
 ring in it as she strove to control her desire to vent her 
 honest scorn of this groveling after money. 
 
 " You must be kind and attentive to her, as you should 
 be to all old people," Mrs. Felmere answered instruc- 
 tively ; " be patient with all her little tempers, and seem 
 pleased with her little jokes. To an amiable person it 
 is a very simple process ; Amelia does it admirably." 
 
 " I have never tried to act anything in all my life," 
 Helen answered slowly, as her aunt ceased speaking, " and 
 I am afraid I am not an amiable person. I beg you will 
 let me avoid her." There was a moment's pause ; then 
 she added sharply and quickly, " As for her money, I 
 abhor it ! " 
 
 Mrs. Felmere raised her head in angry astonishment, 
 and the color in her cheeks deepened swiftly. 
 
 " That is foolish," she said in a stinging voice ; " and if 
 you do not wish the money, you can at least be unselfish 
 enough not to ruin Philip's prospects." 
 
 Helen shook her head. " I can not think Philip wishes 
 for Aunt Esther's money to this extent. If he does " 
 she paused, and in the pause Mrs. Felmere watched her 
 closely " if he does, I can not stoop to any such means 
 to aid him in getting it." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere grew angrily white as she listened to 
 this quiet opposition, and her voice shook audibly as she 
 answered :
 
 THE FELMERES. 159 
 
 " And Philip shall get it without your help ! and if 
 you prefer making enemies for yourself in place of friends, 
 I can not help you. But, thank God, I am still here to 
 see to the interests of my son ! " 
 
 Helen turned away, sorry that the breach made was of 
 such width ; she had tried through it all to be tolerant, 
 but she had not succeeded in even keeping the peace. 
 She must now make an effort to mend things, and turn- 
 ing at the door she said apologetically : 
 
 " I will ask Philip, aunt, and what he wishes I will 
 try to do. I am sorry I have displeased you." 
 
 But Mrs. Felmere answered coldly : 
 
 " It is of no consequence ; whatever is necessary I can 
 do myself as heretofore. I am sorry I troubled you at 
 all. Philip advised that nothing be said to you about it ; 
 I now see he was right." 
 
 Helen closed the door slowly, and turned away ponder- 
 ing deeply. So Philip did want this money to this sordid 
 extent, and was ashamed that she should know it ! 
 
 She had readied her room, and stood looking out of 
 the window into the street. She did not wish to think 
 any further on the subject of the morning's discussion. 
 It was a pity it had ever come up, and to change the cur- 
 rent of her mind she began in childish fashion to count the 
 different kinds of carriages that passed. Suddenly she 
 stopped : this was very weak ; it was silly and cowardly 
 to turn away from realizing facts ; why not at once look 
 them in the face, and weigh them for what they were 
 worth? This morning she had found out that Philip 
 loved money more than she had supposed ; that he would 
 stoop to what she considered deceit to get it ; that he laid 
 his plans with his mother without consulting her she
 
 160 THE FELMERES. 
 
 was of no consequence ! This last thought she put on one 
 side : it was not because she was of no consequence that 
 she was not consulted, but because Philip knew she 
 would not aid in any such scheme. She was glad of this 
 glad that he knew her opinions on such matters well 
 enough not to put her in the disagreeable position of 
 giving them. Then a sort of despair crept over her as 
 she brought home to herself the facts that these were the 
 people she had to live with, and that this man was her 
 husband ! 
 
 She walked from one window to the other under the 
 "pressure of this thought, and stood looking down into the 
 side street. What a close horrid place a city was ! and 
 what had become of her " philosophic calm " ? 
 
 Her father was right : to be at peace one must rise 
 above the littlenesses of every-day life ; for they seemed to 
 be more trying to one's philosophy than the greater trials 
 of life or rather, those things that were deemed the 
 greater trials. If the happiness of Philip and his mother 
 lay in the attainment of this money, she had no right to 
 put difficulties in the way ; the more so as she believed 
 that happiness was the one end in life. 
 
 And it was in this frame of mind that she went down 
 to lunch. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere was a little stiff in her greeting ; but 
 as the time went on she talked politely of the round of 
 entertainments prepared for Helen, of the habits and 
 hours of the household, and ended by asking if the last 
 quite suited her. 
 
 " Philip," she said, " never comes home until dinner. 
 He might perhaps alter this habit if you wished it ; but I 
 have never urged it, as it seemed to suit both his father
 
 THE FELMERES. 161 
 
 and himself to take their lunch down town. The office 
 is such a journey from this place." 
 
 " I hope neither you nor Philip will change anything 
 on my account," Helen answered. " It is entirely imma- 
 terial to me how the day is divided. My only tastes are 
 painting and reading, and they can fit in anywhere." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere bowed, then looked up ; for the door 
 had opened, giving entrance to Arthur Jourdan. The 
 interruption was a pleasant one to both the ladies, and in 
 consequence his welcome was warm. He joined them in 
 a glass of wine, and while drinking it told them he had 
 come to try and teach Helen something about dancing 
 before the ball that evening. 
 
 " I thank you very much," Helen answered, feeling 
 really grateful to him, " and you are very kind to have 
 thought of it." 
 
 " It is a pleasure to me," Arthur answered kindly ; 
 " and now if Amelia will play for us will you ? " turn- 
 ing to Mrs. Felmere. 
 
 " Yes, whenever you are ready." . 
 
 It was certainly very amiable in Arthur, Helen 
 thought, to take so much trouble for her pleasure ; and 
 she wondered if she would be able to learn she feared 
 not. Arthur, however, was determined that she should, 
 and quite wearied his sister's politeness and fingers before 
 the long afternoon was half spent. But she said nothing ; 
 for Philip, coming in earlier than usual, seemed so 
 pleased with the state of things, that she was content 
 to go on and make no sign of weariness; for was not 
 Philip's pleasure hers ? So she thrummed away monoto- 
 nously the same waltz over and over again, until Helen 
 laughingly declared that if she did not know the steps
 
 162 THE FELMERES. 
 
 she certainly did the tune, and that she was too tired to 
 dance any more just then. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere was glad to be relieved, and joined 
 Helen and Arthur, who were following Philip into the 
 library to see a picture "a favorite of his," he said, 
 "which he had been keeping for years as a gift to 
 Helen." 
 
 The library was a long room, not very well lighted, 
 but richly furnished with all the appliances for a literary 
 life, as the libraries of most wealthy un-literary men 
 are furnished thoroughly at first, and remaining so be- 
 cause unused. 
 
 Helen looked about her, wondering what use Philip 
 found for a library, and secretly planning to spend most 
 of her spare time here until she arranged a studio for 
 herself. 
 
 " Here it is," Philip said, as he drew away the cur- 
 tain hanging in front of an arched bay window, revealing 
 a gilt easel on which rested a painting. Helen paused 
 a moment, then, paling painfully, came forward slowly 
 as a somnambulist might slowly as though uncertain of 
 her steps. It was Felix Gordon's " King Arthur " ! 
 
 Philip stepped hastily between her and the picture. 
 . "Do not look at it, Helen. The likeness is very 
 strong, but I did not think it would affect you so much." 
 
 She looked at him as though not quite understanding 
 him, but, obeying his gesture, turned and left the room. 
 Up stairs in her own room she paused and tried to collect 
 her thoughts. 
 
 " What a strange fate ! " she whispered to herself, 
 and covered her face with her hands. And so she sat, 
 feeling weak and powerless before the throng of old
 
 THE FELMERES. 163 
 
 memories that came about her, until Philip, rapping at 
 the door, said his mother was ready for a drive ; would 
 Helen go with her ? But Helen felt much too tired, she 
 said, and begged hini to make her excuses for her. 
 
 She stood near the window after that, and watched 
 them until they drove away ; then she went down swiftly 
 to the library so glad to be alone with her picture ! 
 She knelt down in front of it, and gazed on it with all 
 the love and sorrow of her short life glowing vividly in 
 her face. 
 
 " My own, my darling picture ! " she murmured, lay- 
 ing her cheek against it, putting her arms about it, and 
 kissing it as passionately as though it lived. " I am so 
 glad, so glad to see you ! " Then she drew away and 
 looked at it. 
 
 Alas, it was no longer a joy ! The fair, sweet past 
 that rose before her seemed almost to numb her heart. 
 She could see her father as he sat reading, all uncon- 
 scious that she was stealing his lineaments from him ; she 
 could see Felix as he stood in the hall door scanning and 
 praising her work ; she could hear him talk as later on 
 he worked the head into his picture ; could see the slim 
 brown hands, so skillful and graceful as they plied their 
 task those dear brown hands she kissed so sadly for 
 good-by ! She could almost smell the fresh salt wind ; 
 could almost hear the wild, sad cries of the sea-birds fly- 
 ing to and fro, and the peevish chatter of the marsh-hens 
 in the flats ! 
 
 Ah, so vivid, so vivid it all swept over her as she 
 gazed on the sad grace of the picture; and again the 
 words came back to her, " It will be a sweet breath of 
 air from this summer, the happiest of my life ; it will be
 
 164 THE FELMERES. 
 
 all our talks over again, all our walks, all our pictures, all 
 our books ; meeting it again will be either a great plea- 
 sure or a most bitter pain ! " Alas, a most bitter pain ! 
 
 Sweeping into the ball-room that night, her shimmer- 
 ing satin and sparkling jewels seeming to radiate light, 
 people called her " wonderfully beautiful " and looking 
 again, " strangely sad ! " For the thoughtful eyes seemed 
 to look into every soul they met, and, drawing thence the 
 drop of bitter sadness always hidden there, revealed it to 
 you in their violet depths. A strange and strong fas- 
 cination seemed to attract attention to her. People saw 
 her beauty, but wondered at something in her they could 
 not understand. 
 
 " Surely," the gossips began, " there is some mystery 
 or misfortune hidden somewhere in her life there must 
 be." 
 
 And Helen, looking vainly among the shifting crowd 
 for that one bright boyish face always bright and boy- 
 ish to her felt a new excitement creeping through her 
 veins, an excitement deep and powerful. Always expect- 
 ing, always hoping, always listening for some echo of his 
 name and fame, she talked and listened eagerly to every 
 stranger. 
 
 Arthur, always close beside her, always ready to help 
 or entertain her, watched the flickering color come and 
 go watched the flashing of her eyes and the sorrow in 
 the depths of them, and wondered why she had married 
 his commonplace nephew. 
 
 But in the dim day-dawn, when all the house was still, 
 the sad-eyed, envied, beautiful Mrs. Philip Felmere crept 
 down to where the picture was slowly growing into color 
 under the morning light, and knelt before it as before a
 
 THE FELMERES. 165 
 
 shrine. And there forgetting her " lord and master," 
 forgetting her host of admirers, forgetting her enviable 
 beauty and riches she went back to the far-away sum- 
 mer down in the old house among the flats once so 
 dreary, now so glorified ! 
 
 So the sad troubled face of the " Great King " grew 
 slowly into light sad and troubled as the face of him 
 who had lost his God sad and troubled and strangely 
 like the face of the woman who knelt desolate in the gray 
 dawn the woman without religion, without love, without 
 hope! 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 And, indeed, her chief fault was this unconscious scorn 
 Of the world, to whose usages woman is born." 
 
 THE winter opened with a fashionable rush : balls, ger- 
 mans, dinners, theatres, operas everything in fact that 
 could be done to absolutely annihilate time. And Helen, 
 in the thickest of the fray, half way scorned and half way 
 enjoyed it all. To Mrs. Felmere, however, the winter 
 was somewhat shadowed, as she found that the possession 
 .of her beautiful daughter-in-law was not unmixed delight 
 and triumph ; for Helen had, among other peculiarities, a 
 quiet way of putting all the conventionalities which were 
 the creed of Mrs. Felmere's week-day life to the crucial 
 test of reason, and as often as not putting them aside. 
 Mrs. Felmere could not deny that Helen was very polite 
 in her manner of doing this often, indeed, seeming to 
 do it with a calm unconsciousness that the feelings of any
 
 166 THE FELMERES. 
 
 person would or could be hurt by a difference of opinion 
 on such subjects ; but this fact did not make her course 
 any the less disagreeable. On the other hand, if there 
 was anything Helen desired to do, and in which she saw 
 no harm, she would unhesitatingly do it in spite of, or 
 rather in disregard of, the world's opinion. 
 
 Another thing that Mrs. Felmere could not recover 
 from was Helen's perfect candor whenever her opinion 
 was asked. She never for one moment considered expe- 
 diency ; nothing was ever shaded off or added to what 
 came from her lips; and Mrs. Felmere was becoming 
 afraid even of telling so much as a polite fib where Helen 
 could hear her. It was surely very trying to have such a 
 disagreeably exact person always about you. But the 
 open and quiet expression of Helen's unbelief was one of 
 the hardest trials Mrs. Felmere had to bear, for she was 
 superstitiously religious ; and on this score poor Philip 
 also suffered, for, lectured by his mother into lecturing 
 his wife on this point, he was always met by a silence half 
 contemptuous, half amused, and wholly pitying. It surely 
 did not promise to be a happy household. 
 
 On the second Sunday after their arrival Mrs. Fel- 
 mere insisted that Philip should make a point of Helen's 
 going to church, and afterward dining at Miss Esther 
 Jourdan's house. Under great stress of harassment 
 Philip made his point, and, much to his happiness, was 
 met by a quiet acquiescence, on the ground that, as she 
 looked on church-going as one of the family habits, it 
 would be impolite not to conform. Mrs. Felmere also 
 was surprised at this, and, looking back, was compelled 
 to put a retrospective faith in the headache Helen had 
 given as an excuse the Sunday before.
 
 THE FELMERES. 167 
 
 A handsomely respectable, well-lighted, well-heated, 
 comfortable church ; a richly rustling congregation ; a 
 grand organ, a brilliant choir, and an oratorical rector ! 
 Such was the " holy temple " where the Felmeres wor- 
 shiped. Not ritualistic ? Oh, no ! Not Methodistical ? 
 Oh, never ! What then ? Why, respectable " middle 
 church." Yes, deadly respectable excessively " middle 
 church " cold unto death ! 
 
 Mrs. Felmere took one comfortable corner of the pew, 
 and Philip the other, and Helen sitting very straight in 
 the middle mused on unselfishness ! 
 
 The service opened with airs from " Traviata," which 
 to Helen, with the opera and its story fresh in her mind, 
 seemed a trifle incongruous. She listened and admired 
 until the service began ; then with much curiosity, but 
 without pretending to follow, she studied her prayer-book 
 and watched everything with much interest. 
 
 The sermon did not in the least attract her, nor did 
 the singing, notwithstanding her love for music ; for to 
 her it all seemed ill-matched and caused a sort of sorrow 
 to come over her that this should be so. She remembered 
 her girlish ideal of Christianity an ideal built on her 
 father's description of its rise and spread and could not 
 but feel a little sad at having to give it up. She had 
 pictured something so grand and solemn, so far-reaching 
 in its services and prayers ; and it was not there at least 
 not in this church. She had so often imagined the Chris- 
 tians' reverence for their God, and their love of their 
 prayers to Him, and how deep and thankful their trust 
 would be. Alas ! in this light, unmysterious church she 
 heard the priest saying these very prayers off in oily, 
 familiar tones, and with a self-appreciative, patronizing
 
 168 THE FELMERES. 
 
 manner, as though he were conferring a favor on the 
 Lord by his service ! Among the people she saw that 
 few knelt, leaning forward in preference ; and that all 
 of them, kneeling or sitting, rattled off the responses as 
 though speed were at a premium. She looked, and 
 listened, and wondered. This sort of religion could not 
 surely benefit any one ; and was she not as well off as 
 they were ? But she kept her thoughts to herself, not 
 even remarking on the hurry to get away that seemed to 
 possess every one as soon as the service was over rush- 
 ing out into the aisles with the greatest air of relief, and 
 chattering to each other in the most frivolous manner and 
 about the most incongruous things ; yet this to them was 
 a holy place ! 
 
 They drove from church to Miss Esther's house, where 
 the whole family made a point of assembling every Sun- 
 day, making it, as Helen thought to herself, strictly a 
 duty day. 
 
 She watched them all with keen, unloving eyes, and 
 drew many conclusions that it never entered into their 
 wildest dreams to conceive as possible regarding them- 
 selves. Jack and Arthur she really liked, for they were 
 strictly honest and kind to her. Philip, too, would have 
 been so, if his mother had not constantly forced upon 
 him a course of advice and lecturings. 
 
 During dinner the talk turned on the services, and 
 Mr. Jourdan, addressing Helen, asked her what she 
 thought of them. Mrs. Felmere and Philip looked up 
 anxiously as they heard the question ; for, although they 
 had tried to impress on Helen that it was considered 
 almost a disgrace for a woman to be an unbeliever, and 
 especially so in their circle^ yet they knew that she had
 
 THE FELMERES. 169 
 
 not heeded them, and would not now, if she so minded, 
 hesitate to confess herself before the assembled family, 
 and so cover her husband and mother-in-law with morti- 
 fication, and reveal to all the " skeleton in the closet." 
 But Helen answered without the shadow of a scoff : 
 
 " It was not what I expected, Uncle John." 
 
 " And what did you expect ? " Miss Esther asked 
 sharply. 
 
 " I do not know exactly," Helen answered quietly, 
 " but something more quiet, more solemn I might say 
 more deep and reverential." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere and Philip were surprised at these sim- 
 ple answers, and felt much relieved that danger had 
 been avoided, not knowing that Helen had made up her 
 mind to avoid as far as possible all discussions and con- 
 tentions with Miss Esther. 
 
 But the fates were not so propitious as Mrs. Felmere 
 had imagined ; for Amelia Jourdan, having heard vague 
 hints of Helen's unbelief, and being curious to hear more, 
 entered into the conversation. 
 
 " You are a Ritualist, then \ " she asserted interroga- 
 tively. 
 
 Helen looked up quickly. 
 
 " I do not quite understand you." 
 
 " I mean you are fond of forms and ceremonies, and 
 hang your faith on non-essentials," Amelia explained, let- 
 ting her voice linger fondly on these " war-cries " of her 
 party. 
 
 " No," Helen answered, shaking her head ; " you do 
 not now quite understand me. You are perhaps not 
 aware that this is my first experience of church ser- 
 vices." 
 
 8
 
 170 TEE FELMERES. 
 
 The family looked interested and curious, and Mrs. 
 Felmere and Philip utterly miserable, as Amelia pursued 
 her inquiries. 
 
 " Why, are you a sectarian ? " 
 
 " No, not at all." 
 
 " A Romanist ? " 
 
 " No, nor that either." Then Helen paused and felt 
 a little pity for Philip and his mother, both looking so 
 nervous and restless just opposite her. 
 
 " "What are you, then ? " Amelia said quickly, afraid 
 some one would stop her. 
 
 " Your cousin was not trained in any special church," 
 Mrs. Felmere answered reprovingly. 
 
 Helen smiled and looked up at Arthur, who sat beside 
 her and knew pretty well what the truth of the matter 
 was. He returned her smile and shook his head warn- 
 ingly, for he was anxious for her sake to keep the peace : 
 but he saw plainly that his sister had made a false move. 
 
 Amelia was silenced ; but Miss Esther, who had taken 
 a strong dislike to her new relative and longed to see her 
 humbled, and, moreover, had an amiable desire to clip 
 Mrs. Felmere's too triumphant wings, here asked of 
 Helen : 
 
 " And which church or denomination do you intend 
 joining, Mrs. Helen ? " 
 
 There was a moment's pause until the harsh voice died 
 away ; then Helen answered quietly and frankly : 
 
 " None. I was not brought up a Christian." 
 
 Amelia's curiosity was satisfied, as was Miss Esther's 
 spite, and an ominous silence fell on the shocked com- 
 pany. It did not last long, however ; for poor Mrs. Fel- 
 mere, whose mortification was only exceeded by her anger,
 
 THE FELMERES. 171 
 
 broke the silence in a smooth cold voice, which Helen had 
 learned to know meant warning of silence to her. 
 
 " My brother-in-law was very peculiar in his views," 
 she said slowly, " and made the mistake of bringing Helen 
 up in accordance with them ; but she will join us before 
 long, I hope." 
 
 It was a frightful blunder, this speech, and Helen 
 would in pity have let it pass but for the slur on her 
 father; that made her blood tingle, and must be an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Perhaps he thought your views, if not peculiar, at 
 least very wonderful," she said quietly, but with a light 
 in her eyes that Philip did not like ; " and perhaps he 
 thought, and with as much reason, that you were mis- 
 taken." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere turned very white, and leaned back in 
 her chair quite silenced ; for further argument would 
 only insure further disclosures. So she put away as 
 gracefully as she might her wounded pride and wrath 
 until some future time, when her family would not be 
 there to triumph sympathetically over her discomfiture 
 with her beautiful and much-vaunted daughter-in-law. 
 
 The women rather veered away from Helen after din- 
 ner ; but Arthur, seeing it, and feeling angry with them 
 for their treatment, came and sat by her. She made no 
 remarks about the conversation at dinner, nor yet about 
 the present loneliness of her position ; but taking up a 
 book of etchings, she began idly to turn over its pages, 
 allowing him to choose his own subjects and talk as he 
 pleased. Slowly she turned over the leaves of the book, 
 uninterestedly listening to Arthur's talk, all the while 
 commenting in her own mind on the people she found
 
 172 THE FELMERES. 
 
 herself among. They seemed so narrow, so small-mind- 
 ed, so low in their views of life ; and yet what higher 
 views had she ? 
 
 Suddenly she stopped with a page held -tight in her 
 hand. She rose abruptly, leaving Arthur in the middle 
 of a sentence, and stepped nearer the light to examine 
 one of the pictures ; only a moment she looked at it, then 
 closed the book slowly without a word, and came back to 
 the sofa weak and pale. It was only a sketch of Fel- 
 mere church and churchyard, with the initials F. G. in 
 one corner ! Why was it that he met her at every turn ? 
 Why was it that those old days should so haunt her pres- 
 ent misery ? 
 
 " You are ill," Arthur said quickly, as he saw how 
 pale she looked, and he brought her a glass of water. He 
 was so kind, and seemed so true, that Helen determined 
 to ask him a few questions ; for even if he did surmise 
 anything, she did not think he would talk of it. So 
 when he again took his seat she began : 
 
 " Are there many rising artists that you know any- 
 thing of, Arthur?" 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " there are several, but I only 
 know them very casually. I have a friend, however, 
 who has just returned to town and, by the way, is very 
 anxious to meet you who knows all that sort of people, 
 and can tell you all about everybody." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "Mrs. Vanzandt." 
 
 " Yanzandt," she repeated ; " is she a friend of my 
 aunt ? " 
 
 Arthur laughed. 
 
 "Not altogether loving friends, but they keep up
 
 THE FELMEEES. 173 
 
 what you might call a guarded and armed fondness. To 
 tell you the truth, she has once or twice taken the social 
 lead out of Amelia's hands, and among women of the 
 world this does not induce affection." 
 
 " Yes," Helen said, nodding her head ; " I remember 
 now what it was Aunt Amelia said, and that I drew the 
 conclusion at the time that I should be apt to like Mrs. 
 Yanzandt." 
 
 " It is more than probable," Arthur answered, " for 
 she can make herself and her house very charming if she 
 chooses ; I am really very fond of her." 
 
 " Where is her husband ? " 
 
 Arthur shook his head. 
 
 "I do not know; they were divorced many years 
 ago rather a dark story, I believe. But people do not 
 heed or remember that now, for she is rich and in a 
 certain way charming." 
 
 "Money seems to be a great power," Helen said 
 musingly, " and I have never realized it until now." 
 
 " And you will be made to realize it more and more 
 the longer you live," Arthur answered. 
 
 "I think I would prefer being poor, really poor," 
 Helen went on, " so that I should have to work for my 
 living. I am very tired of this easy, useless life, and I 
 feel penned up, inane, and altogether a burden on my 
 own hands." 
 
 " What would you like to do ? " Arthur asked. 
 
 " I should like to be an artist," she answered. " I 
 am very fond of painting, and I think I could succeed ; 
 but I have not touched a brush since I have been here." 
 And she sighed. 
 
 " You need not sigh so pitifully," Arthur said, feel-
 
 174: THE FELMERES. 
 
 ing a great sympathy for his lovely companion creeping 
 over him ; for a beautiful woman looks so sad when she 
 is sad, and an ugly woman so ugly ! 
 
 " I did not mean to sigh," Helen answered, and felt 
 impatient with herself for giving way to even that much 
 feeling ; but she found she was being sadly shaken out 
 of her self-control by these prying people. 
 
 " I should think you could easily arrange a studio for 
 yourself," Arthur suggested ; " your house is full large 
 enough." 
 
 " I intend to either that, or hire one," she answered ; 
 " and then you may introduce me to your friend Mrs. 
 Yanzandt, who you say deals in my sort of people I 
 mean artistic people." 
 
 Arthur laughed. 
 
 " Not only artistic," he said, " but literary, scientific, 
 musical, and commonplace people of all grades and em- 
 ployments. A strange conglomeration sometimes, but 
 always entertaining ! " 
 
 " I should think much more so than the conventional 
 stereotyped people we meet at balls and parties. They 
 seem to have lost all command of ideas." And Helen 
 yawned slightly, as though even the remembrance of them 
 wearied her. 
 
 " Even the recollection of them makes you sleepy," 
 Arthur said, laughing ; " but you should not allow your- 
 self to get really sleepy, nor indulge yourself in any 
 hopes of getting home for an hour or two yet, as the Rev- 
 erend Mr. Tolman always comes in for a sociable cup of 
 tea on Sunday evenings." 
 
 " Who is he ? " Helen asked " the man who preached 
 this morning ? "
 
 THE FELMERES. 175 
 
 " The very same ; and as you are a fresh importation, 
 you will have to bear the brunt of his conversation." 
 
 " I shall not object," Helen answered ; " indeed, I 
 shall like to meet him and hear what he talks about. I 
 was out when he called. But is he married, and will 
 Mrs. Tolinan come with him ? " 
 
 " Ko, he is not just now married, but I do not doubt 
 but that he will replace his wife before long, for the 
 women all ' adore ' him Amelia Jourdan among the rest." 
 
 Helen looked up quickly. 
 
 " Do you mean, Arthur, that Amelia would like to 
 marry him ? " 
 
 " To all appearances, yes." And Helen, listening 
 much interested, detected the trifle of scorn that came 
 into his voice as he went on. " Amelia is not a beauty, 
 you know, nor so rich as to be an heiress ; so she will be 
 quite willing to compromise on the church and a certain 
 salary. The family actually seem anxious for it." 
 
 " Is she in love with him ? " Helen asked gravely. 
 
 " In love ? " Arthur repeated, looking at her curiously ; 
 " do you think that a necessary part of the contract ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered ; then, after a moment's pause, 
 she added more slowly, " that is, if you desire or expect 
 the faintest shadow of happiness." 
 
 " So she lives without the ' shadow of happiness,' " 
 Arthur thought ; and feeling more than ever sorry for 
 her, he answered slowly : 
 
 " I do not know about Amelia, but girls as a rule do 
 not count love in after they have passed their earlier 
 youth; but from that time they act on what they are 
 pleased to term a ' common-sense basis ' choosing a man 
 according to his money, his position, his morals."
 
 176 THE FELMERES. 
 
 "Do they put morals last ?" Helen went on gravely. 
 
 Arthur shook his head. 
 
 " There is somewhat of mystery surrounding that 
 point," he said ; " but it seems to depend on how much a 
 man is worth. If he is very rich, and is not pulled out 
 of the gutter during the day, they will marry him on the 
 plea of reforming him: it is quite a missionary spirit 
 they show." And he pulled his mustache medita- 
 tively. 
 
 " Is this so everywhere, or only in this city ? " Helen 
 went on. 
 
 " Everywhere that I have been," he answered. " The 
 love of money seems to be in a state of development ; we 
 shall soon be able to rank it as a feminine instinct." 
 
 Helen laughed. 
 
 " You make me think that you have been at some 
 time a sufferer from these or like causes." 
 
 Arthur shook his head. 
 
 " Not one only has treated me ill on this account, but 
 whole dozens of them. Of course there can be no other 
 reason for their not being charmed." 
 
 " Of course ; but, Arthur, what is it that so influences 
 them to the love of money ? " 
 
 "They are brought up to it," he answered slowly. 
 " As soon as a girl has teethed, money and matrimony are 
 the two aims and ends of life that are set before her ; 
 and as after a while existence would be a blank without 
 these two things, they are naturally the main objects of 
 pursuit." 
 
 "It is pitiful," Helen said; "and I had formed such 
 different ideas of the lives and education of Christians." 
 
 Arthur looked at her in surprise.
 
 THE FELMERES. 177 
 
 " Where did you get your idea of Christians from ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " From my father's descriptions, and from the Bible," 
 she answered. 
 
 Arthur felt nonplused. He was too honest to pre- 
 tend that the Christians he moved among guided their 
 lives by the Bible ; in fact, he had more than once, in 
 observing them, thought that they could only be called 
 Christians in contradistinction to " Jews, Turks, infidels, 
 and heretics," and not because they had any of the real 
 life of Christianity in them ; and yet to this unbeliever he 
 could not bring himself to acknowledge this. Finally he 
 said rather deprecatingly : 
 
 " I am afraid that the religious training of the present 
 day is rather ecclesiastical than biblical ; at least I should 
 be led to this conclusion from my observations of the 
 results." 
 
 " It seems to me the blindest folly," Helen answered, 
 " not to hold -to such a beautiful religion when you have 
 the choice of doing so." 
 
 Arthur looked up surprised, but his reply was cut 
 short by the entrance of Mr. Tolman. 
 
 Helen watched Amelia curiously as she greeted him, 
 wishing to judge for herself of Arthur's conclusions. 
 Amelia was reverentially gushing, and Mr. Tolman held 
 her hand in both of his while he told her in a fatherly 
 way how glad he was to see her, and how well she looked. 
 Arthur saw that she was watching, and smiled signifi- 
 cantly as she looked up to him for confirmation of the 
 scene. 
 
 Then Mr. Tolman was brought toward where they 
 sat. Helen scanned his face curiously during his intro-
 
 178 THE FELMERES. 
 
 duction ; and all the while he shook her hand and made his 
 speeches about " dear Phil's wife," and " dear Mrs. Fel- 
 mere's happiness in such a daughter," she was reading 
 him. 
 
 He did not leave her a moment in which to say a word 
 until they had been seated for some little time ; then he 
 asked her " how she liked city life ? " 
 
 " Very well," Helen answered gravely. 
 
 " Only ' very well ' ! Why, how is this, Phil 2 " 
 
 " It is not Philip's fault," Helen answered in her lit- 
 eral way ; " it arises from my being country-bred. I like 
 the quiet best." 
 
 Philip looked a little anxious, and Arthur smiled as 
 he watched the growing perplexity on Helen's counte- 
 nance as Mr. Tolman rattled on. 
 
 " Prefer the quiet ? Why, how is that ? Miss Amy 
 here does not, I warrant." 
 
 Amelia looked a little sad, and Mrs. Jourdan said she 
 thought " Amelia had quite tired of society lately." 
 
 Helen looked around quickly ; she had not at all ob- 
 served this weariness in Amelia ; and Mrs. Felmere, seeing 
 the look and fearing a speech from her, hastily filled the 
 little pause with words to the effect that " the dear child 
 longed for a higher life." 
 
 "A sisterhood," Arthur suggested from not an alto- 
 gether amiable motive ; and Miss Esther, scenting a dis- 
 cussion, smiled grimly. 
 
 Mr. Tolman shook his head. 
 
 "Home is a higher sphere for a woman than any 
 other," he said reprovingly. 
 
 Helen was listening attentively. 
 
 " I thought only Roman Catholics had sisterhoods,"
 
 THE FELMERES. 179 
 
 she said, while Mrs. Felmere looked reprovingly at 
 Arthur. 
 
 " So it has been until of late," Mr. Tolman answered 
 instructively ; " but now there is a branch of our church 
 which seems to think religion lies in copying Rome ; in 
 sinking back into mediaeval darkness and superstitions ; 
 returning to images and pictures, to bowings and 
 scrapings, and playing at ' What o'clock, old witch ? ' all 
 round the church. To me all this is abhorrent and 
 foolish." 
 
 " I agree with you entirely," Miss Esther said severe- 
 ly ; " it is actual mummery and idolatry." 
 
 " Miss De Sayle has entered the sisterhood," Amelia 
 said with a tinge of pious pity in her voice. 
 
 " She was never afflicted with much sense," Mrs. Fel- 
 mere rejoined contemptuously. 
 
 " To me it seems less of a sin to be a regular Romanist 
 at once than a bad imitation," said Mrs. Jourdan. 
 
 " What is it they do in the sisterhood that is so 
 wicked ? " Helen asked, looking from one to the other. 
 
 " They take an oath of celibacy," Arthur answered 
 gravely from where he leaned on the high back of her 
 chair. 
 
 Helen turned to see if he were in earnest, and Jack 
 laughed merrily at the look of surprised consternation 
 that came over the faces of the company. 
 
 " No, Arthur, but I really wish to find out about 
 them," Helen went on, turning to Mr. Tolman. 
 
 "They profess to devote themselves to charitable 
 works," Mr. Tolman answered. 
 
 " Profess ? " Helen repeated. " Do they not perform 
 them ? Are they not true in what they say ? "
 
 180 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " I, for one, do not believe they are," sneered Miss 
 Esther. 
 
 " All affectation ! " said Mrs. Jourdan. 
 
 " The dress is becoming and romantic," added Mrs. 
 Felmere. 
 
 " But tell me really," Helen asked of Mr. Tolman, 
 " do you not believe in them? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered slowly, as though, he were 
 weighing the matter; "yes, I believe they mean to be 
 true." 
 
 " Then what is wrong in them ? " Helen asked grave- 
 ly. " If they are striving to do right, and give up their 
 lives to charitable works, why so abuse them ? " 
 
 "Softly, softly, my dear young lady!" Mr. Tolman 
 interrupted. " I do not for one moment abuse them ! " 
 
 " Indeed, but you forget," Helen rejoined quickly ; 
 " you intimated that doing good and being true was a 
 'profession ' on their part, and not a practice." 
 
 Mr. Tolman colored up. 
 
 " I was, perhaps, a trifle hasty in my choice of words, 
 madam," he said. " I do not mean to cast any slur on 
 their works or their sincerity, but I do think the system 
 a mistaken one." 
 
 " Why ? " Helen went on, wishing to make him ex- 
 press himself firmly on the question. 
 
 " Because it leads to superstition and empty forms ; 
 because it is copying Rome ; because I do not think God 
 meant women to cut themselves off from their duties in 
 any such way." And he looked around complacently on 
 his audience. 
 
 " But if they think this mode of life their duty ? " 
 Helen urged.
 
 THE FELMERES. 181 
 
 " Then they think wrong" Mr. Tolman answered 
 promptly. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because, I say, God never meant them for any such 
 purpose." His tone was becoming a little impatient ; he 
 was not accustomed to such contumacy. 
 
 " How do you know that so certainly ? " Helen went 
 on quietly. 
 
 " How do I know anything \ " Mr. Tolman re- 
 torted. 
 
 " In no way, I think, except by experience," Helen 
 answered ; "and I can not see how you can know God's 
 purposes in that way, since I suppose you will admit that 
 you can not even so prove that there is any God." 
 
 Mr. Tolman looked aghast; Philip walked to the 
 other end of the room ; Mrs. Felmere was pitiably morti- 
 fied ; and the rest of the ladies looked in a sort of pious 
 " I told you so " state. Mr. Tolman's metaphysics were 
 rusty ; he could dogmatize on ritualism, but he had not 
 attempted to philosophize on the " Absolute " and the 
 " Infinite " since he had come to be a popular orator in a 
 rich city church : in fact, shortly after his call to this 
 highly respectable salary, he began to have queer feelings 
 in his head that prevented much study on his part. So 
 now, with a retrospective sigh for the disadvantages un- 
 der which he had labored, he shook his head slowly and 
 sadly, and, falling back on faith, answered solemnly : 
 
 " We need no such proof." 
 
 "I know you do not," Helen answered. "I only 
 wished to find out how you can know so positively what 
 God means, unless you can with equal certainty know 
 God. You may say you do not approve of sisterhoods,
 
 182 THE FELMERES. 
 
 but I can not understand how you can so dogmatically 
 assert that God does not approve of them. If I remem- 
 ber rightly, St. Paul advises women to remain unmarried 
 and to do the works of the Lord ; does he not ? " 
 
 Here Mr. Tolman was on firm ground again, and re- 
 joined quickly : 
 
 " St. Paul may have advised it, but you may also re- 
 member that he tells us he spoke there without inspira- 
 tion ! " 
 
 As he finished his voice sounded almost triumphant ; 
 and as it ceased Helen's answer came in quietly : 
 
 " Yery true, but may not these ' Sisters ' think the 
 uninspired advice of St. Paul is better to be followed 
 than your uninspired opinion ? " 
 
 The point was made so simply that Mr. Tolman 
 scarcely realized it ; and when even Miss Esther joined 
 the young men and Mr. Jourdan in a little half-smoth- 
 ered laugh at his expense, his state of mind could not 
 have been described as tranquil. He looked at his adver- 
 sary a moment in silence, then asked : 
 
 " Are you a Romanist or an Anglican ritualist ? " 
 
 Helen did not wish that her unbelief should again 
 come under discussion, for there was no use in making 
 her husband and mother miserable before strangers, how- 
 ever silly such misery appeared in her eyes ; so she sim- 
 ply answered : 
 
 " I am not either." 
 
 "What are you then?" 
 
 There was a painful silence in the room as she an- 
 swered : 
 
 " In your vocabulary there are many names for me : 
 Utilitarian, Materialist, Skeptic, Positivist, Atheist. I
 
 THE FELMERES. 183 
 
 call myself a Rationalist ; I think that more nearly ex- 
 presses my position." 
 
 Miss Esther nodded her head once or twice, then 
 leaned back in her chair in a state of happy resignation ; 
 Mrs. Felmere muttered " Horrible ! " while Mrs. Jourdan 
 and Amelia looked exceedingly sorrowful. 
 
 Mr. Tolman turned away from Helen as she ceased 
 speaking, and walked the length of the room once or 
 twice in silence. At last he stopped near Philip, who, 
 overwhelmed with these exposures and the weight of the 
 family displeasure, leaned against the mantel with his 
 head bowed on his hand. 
 
 " How has this happened \ " Mr. Tolman asked slowly. 
 
 Helen heard the question, as did the rest of the com- 
 pany, and listened intently for Philip's answer. 
 
 " How was it done ? " Mr. Tolman repeated in a more 
 authoritative tone. 
 
 " She was educated to it," Philip answered sullenly. 
 
 "And you knew it? " Mr. Tolman went on. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 There came a quick, sharp sigh from Arthur, and Hel- 
 en's chair shook under his grasp ; he made a quick move- 
 ment forward as he said : 
 
 " And wherein do you presume to blame him ? " The 
 question cut sharply through the silence. 
 
 Jack twisted round and round on the piano stool ; Mr. 
 Jourdan looked exceedingly annoyed and the women ut- 
 terly demoralized at this new development. Mr. Tol- 
 man, turning, answered slowly : 
 
 " * Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbeliev- 
 ers ' have you never heard that, Mr. Jourdan ? ' for 
 what part hath he that believeth with an infidel ? ' "
 
 184 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " And why did not you impress all this more deeply 
 on Philip in his early youth ? " Helen asked quietly, but 
 with a shade of scorn creeping into her voice. " You 
 were his spiritual director ; why did you not make him 
 appreciate more fully the vileness and blackness of unbe- 
 lief and reason? With all due deference, I think you 
 and my aunt are more to blame in this matter than Philip ; 
 for six years ago, when he came first to look after his 
 father's legacy, he did not seem to think there was any 
 sin in what he was doing neither did my aunt ! " 
 
 There was a bitter, bitter ring in her voice as for the 
 first time she put in words the knowledge she had felt 
 creeping over her of her husband's utter weakness, and 
 the knowledge of why she had been dragged from her 
 peaceful seclusion. Ah, if her father could only have 
 foreseen the results of his plans for her happiness and 
 comfort ; have seen her standing up to defend her hus- 
 band's weakness, and to excuse his sin in marrying her ! 
 
 It w r as a bitter moment to her no one knew how 
 bitter ; for, womanlike, she had striven to build a pedestal 
 on which to set her " lord and master " ; had searched 
 diligently in him for the wherewithal from which to 
 weave a mantle or a veil of ideals to cover his smaller 
 faults and shade his failings; had striven to raise him 
 high enough for her to look up to ! And now now, 
 when one manly word or look would have for ever put 
 him on a higher level in her heart and mind when one 
 brave, authoritative gesture, even, would have ended all 
 this impertinent prying and reproof he stood silent, and 
 his wife defended and despised him ! 
 
 Helen had been trained to no charity, and so could 
 only despise weakness; she had been taught no forgive-
 
 THE FELMERES. 185 
 
 ness of injuries, and so only felt a contempt for the mean- 
 ness which prompted them ; she had been educated to no 
 paltering between right and wrong, only to a straight- 
 forward code of reason and self-control. She could not 
 now pity Philip, nor excuse his mother; and she no 
 longer cared who knew the true state of things. They 
 had torn down the flimsy screen that hid their motives : 
 why need she hide that she despised both them and their 
 actions? They were cruel to her; she was careless of 
 their standing before the world. Ay, any one and every 
 one might think what they pleased ; it was no longer any 
 concern of hers. 
 
 All this she thought as she stood looking round on 
 the silent company, and her last scornful words seemed 
 still to reverberate through the room. Mrs. Felmere sat 
 rigid with anger ; Philip did not move ; and Mr. Tol- 
 man felt a sharp pricking in his conscience that betokened 
 the truth in her words. 
 
 "You may be right," he said slowly; "perhaps I 
 am to blame. I can only pray God's forgiveness for my 
 fault, and that you may be brought to a better mind." 
 
 Then he said "Good evening," and walked away 
 through the darkness to his home, with a dim sense of 
 the folly in the weak wranglings and jealousies of theo- 
 logians over non-essential ecclesiastical differences, when 
 there was opening in the midst of them a black abyss of 
 utter destruction for many wavering souls ! 
 
 Alas for the blindness of theologians ! Rationalism 
 derides them ; Judaism mocks them ; Science pities them, 
 watching them as they march to their downfall splitting 
 hairs over " real " or " objective presence," over green or 
 red altar cloths, over broken bread or wafers !
 
 186 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Whatever Christ meant in leaving His memorial 
 among them, He did not mean them to battle over it ; 
 He did not mean to raise strife and contention among 
 them ; He did not mean for them to let go of peace, 
 charity, love, patience, gentleness, meekness, long-suffer- 
 ing, tenderness, and to take instead malice, envy, hatred, 
 " and all uncharitableness ! " Christ taught no such re- 
 ligion as this ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Bat standing apart as she ever had done, 
 And her genius, which needed a vent, finding none 
 In the hroad fields of action thrown wide to man's power, 
 She unconsciously made it her bulwark and tower, 
 And built in it her refuge, whence lightly she hurled 
 Her contempt at the fashions and forms of the world." 
 
 THE formal, irreparable breach had been made ; all 
 had chosen sides, all had shown their colors, and all 
 thought of repairing the mischief was given up. Here- 
 after there could only be an armed peace, to preserve 
 which would require the most watchful care. There was 
 no forgiving to be done, for the deepest wound had been 
 dealt to Mrs. Felmere's pride, and that is a wound that 
 seldom heals; almost anything else a woman can forgive, 
 but this seems always to rankle. 
 
 For Philip, Helen could now only feel pity, could only 
 bring herself to a state of endurance ; what little influence 
 he had possessed was entirely gone, and his words were as 
 an idle wind in his wife's ears. For, in the war of words
 
 THE FELMERES. 1ST 
 
 that had swept over the family on Sunday night, he had 
 not only failed to defend his wife, but had suffered him- 
 self to be reprimanded ; had allowed himself to be put 
 down in the presence of all ; had lowered himself irre- 
 trievably. He was now spoken of in the family as " poor 
 Philip," and in his wife's eyes he was so "poor" that, 
 ignoring and unheeding him, she went on her own way, 
 seemingly in a state of quiet indifference. All advice or 
 reproof from her mother-in-law or husband was listened 
 to in respectful silence, but quietly unheeded when it did 
 not suit her. She would not consent to quarrel, nor in 
 any way allow herself to be ruffled ; and this to Mrs. Fel- 
 mere was exasperating, and her self-control was not always 
 so perfect as to hide this fact. And so between them, as 
 might have been expected, " poor Philip's " life was a 
 burden ; for where can any more pitiful position be 
 found than a weak man between two willful women ? 
 
 For Helen, however, the tiresome round of every-day 
 fashionable life was pleasantly broken by Mrs. Yanzandt, 
 Arthur's friend, who since her return had opened her 
 house to the gay world with much noise and bustle. She 
 and Helen had immediately exchanged calls, and were 
 mutually pleased, for each found in the other something 
 different from the common run, something fresh and in- 
 teresting. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere saw, and was displeased ; she had no 
 love for Mrs. Yanzandt, who, though a much younger 
 woman than herself, had of late years been her rival in 
 social matters ; her rival to the extent of outshining her 
 on one or two occasions, and thus giving sufficient ground 
 for maledictions and many innuendoes from Mrs. Felmere. 
 But Mrs. Yanzandt gained for herself the considera-
 
 188 THE FELMERES. 
 
 tion and afterward the honest liking of Helen. Above 
 all, Helen found in Mrs. Vanzandt a true love for art, 
 with knowledge enough to really appreciate talent in 
 others, and the necessary kindliness to admire it. 
 
 " Why do you not fit up a studio \ " she asked of 
 Helen one day as they were out together for a drive. 
 
 "My aunt dislikes the smell of paint," Helen an- 
 swered. 
 
 Mrs. Vanzandt's eyebrows arched themselves in a sig- 
 nificant manner. 
 
 " She used to come often to my studio and sit for 
 hours," she said. 
 
 Helen shrugged her shoulders. " In such cases one 
 can only acquiesce," she answered. 
 
 " Very true," her companion rejoined, then continued 
 rapidly : " But you must have some place to work in. 
 If you will, you may have the room next to my studio. 
 The light is good, and as the room stands it is quite use- 
 less to me. Will you come ? " 
 
 Helen was touched by this unexpected piece of kindly 
 interest. 
 
 " You are very kind," she answered, " and if you arc 
 sincere in your offer, I will accept it with gratitude." 
 
 " Gratitude, indeed, when it is an absolute favor to 
 me ! You will make my house a new place, and soon fill 
 it with pleasant people for me ; I am getting too old and 
 stupid to do this for myself." And she drew her pretty 
 little dark face out as long as possible. 
 
 Helen smiled as she caught the queer little expression, 
 and, thinking how pretty her companion was, wondered 
 what the story of her past life had been. 
 
 " Indeed, I am getting old," Mrs. Yanzandt went on,
 
 THE FELMERES. 189 
 
 shaking her head slowly ; " and if it were not for my 
 hot suppers and a clattering tongue, my former friends 
 and admirers would be as cold as charity, and poor Valeria 
 Yanzandt would be ' shelved.' But so long as I can ac- 
 ceptably feed the men and flatter the women, I can count 
 on something this side of neglect." 
 
 Helen looked amused and puzzled. 
 
 " Why do you worry yourself to keep up friendships 
 that are based on such low motives ? " she asked. 
 
 Mrs. Yanzandt looked at her a moment in silence, 
 then said with mock gravity : 
 
 " It is really astonishing to hear a person talk in so 
 wild a way in this advanced age of the world and society ! 
 My dear, how old are you, that you can still foster such 
 delusions ? ' Friendship ' ' low motives ' it is wonder- 
 ful ! Indeed, I do not know when I have been more 
 shocked." 
 
 " Then why do you value this society and life ? " Helen 
 went on. 
 
 " What else is there to value ? " 
 
 " Honest friendship and honest love." 
 
 Mrs. Yanzandt shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " My dear child," she said, " I was born many years 
 before you were ; I have seen many more phases of life 
 than you will ever see ; I have moved in much more and 
 more various society than you have ; and my testimony 
 is, that unless you can enjoy the society of selfish, low- 
 toned people, who are for ever watching for their own 
 interests, you had better leave the world. And unless I 
 can keep a chattering, flattering tongue in my head, and 
 give handsome entertainments, I shall be, as I before re- 
 marked, simply shelved."
 
 190 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " And would you not be willing to be shelved from 
 among such people ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 Mrs. Yanzandt paused a moment, and a sadder look 
 came over her face as she answered : 
 
 "What else have I?" 
 
 "Can you not make some higher aim for your- 
 self?" 
 
 " Can you make rope out of sand, or ' bricks without 
 straw ' ? It is my life, child this same mean, self-seek- 
 ing world and I can not do without it." 
 
 " Have you not your religion ? " Helen went on in a 
 lower tone. 
 
 Mrs. Yanzandt turned quite round to look at her. 
 
 " My dear, you continually shock me from my self- 
 control. What do you mean by such an attack ? Has 
 ' Chadband ' Tolman converted you ? I hope not sincere- 
 ly, for you are a better Christian than any of us. But 
 since you ask me, I make you the same answer I made 
 the Reverend T. I am not rich enough to wear my Sun- 
 day clothes all the week. I should die of melancholy if I 
 were to indulge in religion all the time." 
 
 Helen sighed. This beautiful religion she had almost 
 longed for, how different its effects were from what she 
 had imagined ! 
 
 " My experience has been small," she said after a little 
 pause, "but it has been enough to make me long for the 
 seclusion of my early youth." 
 
 " I can readily believe you," Mrs. Yanzandt answered, 
 " and pity you, too at least, your awakening." 
 
 "I fortunately did not expect much," Helen said.
 
 THE FELMERES. 191 
 
 Then she quite changed the subject by asking who was 
 the most rising artist. 
 
 " There are several of them who stand nearly abreast," 
 Mrs. Yanzandt answered, " but there is one young man 
 who bids fair to distance them all ; and now that I reckon 
 up, he is no longer such a youth. Gordon Felix Gor- 
 don." 
 
 At last she had heard of him ; at last the hunger of 
 her ears was satisfied with the echo of his fame that 
 reached her ! But it was harder to listen to than she 
 imagined it would be, and she had to turn and look out 
 of the carriage window. 
 
 "He is almost a genius," Mrs. Yanzandt went on, 
 " and such a nice dear fellow at least he was when I 
 knew him several years ago. I hear he has changed a 
 great deal of late." 
 
 " How long have you known him ? " Helen asked ; 
 " and how long is it since he became known to the pub- 
 lic?" 
 
 "Let me see," and Mrs. Yanzandt paused reflective- 
 ly; "I have known him off and on for seven years ; but 
 he has only been known to the public in the last five. 
 His first real success was a picture called ' King Arthur.' 
 I think your husband bought it, did he not ? " 
 
 " Yes," Helen answered, " he did ; but where is Mr. 
 Gordon now ? " She found it more difficult than she had 
 expected to speak of him quietly. 
 
 " I do not know exactly. He is a wandering, uncer- 
 tain sort of creature ; you can never be sure of him for a 
 day ; but he usually puts up one fine picture for sale each 
 winter, and they always sell. But is it not time to turn 
 toward home ? Remember Mrs. Tilmont's to-night."
 
 192 THE FELMERES. 
 
 So the horses were stopped in their stately pacings 
 around the park, and turned homeward ; and Helen, pon- 
 dering on what she had heard, sat silent and let her com- 
 panion talk. 
 
 So at any time and in any place she might meet Felix 
 Gordon ; people knew him, and he was sought after and 
 admired. Indeed, she might meet Felix that very night ; 
 for were not the Tilmonts, strictly speaking, blind follow- 
 ers of Mrs. Yanzandt, always trying to have at their en- 
 tertainments the same sort of people that Mrs. Yanzandt 
 had?. 
 
 With these and such-like thoughts haunting her, Hel- 
 en went through the ordeal of dinner almost in silence ; 
 usually so impatient of the state and stupidity of this 
 meal, she to-day scarcely noticed them. At last Philip, 
 becoming annoyed at her silence, spoke to her directly 
 on the subject. 
 
 " Are you ill," he asked, " that you are so silent ? " 
 
 " Am I unusually so ? " Helen answered, with the tone 
 and manner of one stepping out of absorbing dreams. 
 " I was not aware of it." Then, after vainly searching 
 among her thoughts for something to say, she ventured 
 upon the remark : 
 
 "1 suppose we go to the Tilmonts' at ten." 
 
 " I am not going," Philip answered rather shortly ; 
 " I have a headache." 
 
 " Indeed ? I am very sorry." Then Helen turned to 
 Mrs. Felmere : " You will go, of course." 
 
 "And leave Philip sick?" Mrs. Felmere asked se- 
 verely. 
 
 " I supposed that with a headache he would prefer 
 being left alone," Helen answered quietly ; then turning
 
 THE FELMERES. 193 
 
 to the servant said : " Tell Andrew to have the carriage 
 by nine, and you come to me for a note." 
 
 " Are you going ? " Philip asked as the servant left 
 the room. 
 
 " Yes. I will send for Arthur ; he never has any en- 
 gagements, and will be glad to escort me." And she rose 
 to leave the room. 
 
 "Can you not stay at home one evening?" Philip 
 went on almost fretfully. 
 
 " I suppose I could if I liked," she answered, " but 
 why shoiild I? " 
 
 " Because I am not well," he continued, as he swal- 
 lowed a glass of wine. 
 
 Helen waited until he had finished, then said provok- 
 ingly : 
 
 " If that is true, so much wine is not good for you." 
 And, not waiting for further discussion, she left the 
 room. Since her afternoon's conversation with Mrs. Yau- 
 zandt, she felt as though she would not for any considera- 
 tion miss an entertainment where there was the remotest 
 chance of meeting Felix Gordon ; she had been watching 
 and waiting for all these days and weeks for even a men- 
 tion of his name, and now that she had heard it the long- 
 ing to see him redoubled itself. She took great pleasure 
 in dressing for Mrs. Tilmont's, and bestowed more than 
 usual care on her adornment ; and when she had finished, 
 she surely had reason to be satisfied with her success. 
 
 Before the last touches had been given, Philip came 
 in fully dressed and equipped for the ball. Helen 
 looked up quickly from what she was doing. 
 
 " Have you recovered ? " she asked. 
 
 "No," he answered severely, "but I prefer taking 
 9
 
 194 THE FELMEEES. 
 
 you myself, sick as I am, to allowing you to go with any 
 chance person." 
 
 His wife smiled. 
 
 " Your own uncle ? " she said. 
 
 " So he may be," and as he spoke, Philip's manner 
 became majestic ; " but that does not exempt liim from 
 observations in the town." 
 
 " Is your mother going ? " Helen went on, stepping 
 carelessly over the subject of Arthur. 
 
 "No." 
 
 She sighed as though relieved, and, giving Philip her 
 fan and flowers, led the way down to the parlor, where 
 Arthur sat waiting. 
 
 " She is too beautiful ! " said one of a group of gen- 
 tlemen, as Helen passed into the ball-room ; " and to be 
 tied to Phil Felmere must be awful to her." 
 
 The man he was speaking to was Felix Gordon, who, 
 turning quickly, saw Helen, magnificent in jewels and 
 satin, sweep by him. Her dress touched him, the per- 
 fume of her flowers floated about him, and the music 
 of her voice as she spoke to some one near at hand 
 drowned all the voices and laughter. He had in a mo- 
 ment gone back far, so far into that fair dead summer ! 
 If she had been beautiful to him then in her simple white 
 dresses and plainly braided hair, what was she now ! She 
 carried her jewels and her laces with regal stateliness, and 
 yet as if unconscious of their splendor. In the years that 
 had passed since Felix last saw her, her beauty had be- 
 come thoughtful and more soul-full; and to Felix the 
 proud coldness which hung about her added a strong 
 charm.
 
 THE FELMERES. 195 
 
 He watched her as she made her slow progress to the 
 upper end of the room ; he watched her make her saluta- 
 tions to her hostess; and then she turned so that her 
 beauty shone full upon him. He drew nearer, stationing 
 himself just outside the circle of which she was the cen- 
 ter ; unseen by her, he. stood close to her, watching the 
 play of her features, the changing expressions that flitted 
 across her face, the expressive gestures that almost told 
 him what she was saying. 
 
 It was a happy moment a moment that made his 
 heart leap ; but he could not stand it long. Should he 
 go and speak to her? Should he not rather go away 
 and leave her undisturbed in the careless enjoyment she 
 seemed to find in her present life ? 
 
 " Felmere watches her like a cat," said a voice near 
 him. 
 
 Felix started ! 
 
 " "Where is Mr. Felmere ? " he asked. 
 
 " That short, light-haired man just behind Mrs. Fel- 
 mere." 
 
 And Felix, looking, found "the light-haired man" 
 with his eyes fixed on him. Look for look they gave 
 each other; then Philip spoke to Helen, and she, raising 
 her eyes, met the one face in the world she cared for ! 
 After so long a time, after such hungry longings, after 
 such vain struggles, they met at last ! 
 
 And Philip, watching, saw in that instant a look come 
 over his wife's face he had never seen before ; so gentle, 
 so longing, so bitterly sad. What did it mean ? Never 
 had that beautiful face so softened, never had those shin- 
 ing, liquid eyes so yearned for him. 
 
 But he need not have feared. That one look was all ;
 
 196 THE FELMERES. 
 
 then Felix turned away and went out into the cold dark- 
 ness of the street, and into his narrow life that seemed so 
 empty turned away, for he felt he was not strong enough 
 to stand and fight. 
 
 And as Helen saw him turn away and knew that he 
 had gone, a desert emptiness and silence seemed to reign 
 throughout the rooms an emptiness and blackness of 
 darkness ! 
 
 " Who was it ? " Philip asked in her ear. 
 
 She started from her thoughts. 
 
 " Felix Gordon," she answered, with an unconscious 
 lingering on the syllables of his name. 
 
 " Do you know him ? " Philip went on. 
 
 " I did know him." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Five years ago." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " At Felmere ; he spent the summer there." 
 
 " After I was there ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Then Philip stopped. She had answered his ques- 
 tions so quietly, so unevasively, that he was afraid to 
 go on afraid to go deeper and find out that something 
 more which he felt sure was under all this, and which he 
 could not reach without a point-blank . revelation of his 
 suspicions. And should he question further, would she 
 scorch him with one of those surprised, pitying glances 
 she sometimes gave him ; or would she answer with her 
 cool, literal honesty, and confirm his fears ? Alas ! he 
 feared the latter ; feared a quiet " Yes " that would make 
 him more than miserable; feared the indifferent "of 
 course" sort of look that would come with it, killing
 
 THE FELMERES. 197 
 
 more utterly, if that were possible, all hope of her ever 
 caring for him this woman who owed him her love ! 
 
 He watched her as she moved amid the dance, always 
 a prominent figure, always the leader of any company 
 she entered the admired, the brilliant, the fascinating 
 woman whom he owned, but that was all ! As he watched 
 her, he almost felt willing that she should have been the 
 wife of any other man if she would look at him as she 
 had done at Gordon. Ah, he hated Gordon ! 
 
 He leaned against the door-post revolving many things 
 in his mind, while he followed his wife's every move- 
 ment. He always did that now some said from jeal- 
 ousy, some said from love ; but no one rightly knew. If 
 Helen would dance with him, he would dance, but not 
 else : he made no engagements save with her, and these 
 he made as diligently as any stranger would have done ; 
 and she treated him very much as she did her common 
 acquaintances. 
 
 " A queer couple," the world said ; and the men 
 called her the " coolest hand on record." 
 
 So Philip stood and tortured himself until his turn 
 came to dance with her ; then, after no little elbowing, he 
 managed to make his way through the circle of which she 
 was the center, and to catch her attention. 
 
 " Is not this my dance ? " he said, in the same con- 
 ventional tone that every one else used to her. 
 
 And she, looking up with the careless look that is 
 common on such occasions, answered, " Yes, I think it 
 is," and went away with him. 
 
 " I would like to know the mystery of that match," 
 said one of the circle she had left as he watched her go 
 off.
 
 198 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " There is no mystery in it," was the reply ; " she mar- 
 ried him for his money." 
 
 " I do not believe that," said a third ; " for she had 
 money of her own. More than that, she is too proud and 
 too honest to so deceive any one. I would take that 
 woman's word against all odds." 
 
 " Then why did she marry him ? " asked the second 
 speaker. 
 
 " I can not tell, I am sure, but certainly from some 
 higher motive than money." 
 
 And the first speaker, agreeing, said : 
 
 " I prefer mystery to such a solution ; for I have never 
 met a woman who answered so perfectly my ideal as this 
 one. Only one thing she lacks softness; and if she 
 loved her husband, she would have that." 
 
 " You are quite eloquent," said a bystander who had 
 hitherto been a silent listener. 
 
 " It is but natural I should be, with such a text." 
 
 The speaker was a middle-aged man with an honest, 
 earnest face, and evidently meant all he said ; and he now 
 stood watching Helen with a sad, kindly, almost fatherly 
 look in his eyes. 
 
 " She is magnificent ! " said the second speaker ; " but 
 I would prefer a little religion in my wife. Women 
 ought to be religious I can not trust one who is not ; and 
 this woman deals in the most bold unbelief." 
 
 " I noticed that she flung you in that last argument," 
 his middle-aged companion observed a little maliciously. 
 
 " So she did, and cleverly too ; but I would not like a 
 wife who could do that sort of thing." His answer was 
 honest, and a little laugh from the listeners followed it. 
 
 " Well," said the middle-aged gentleman, " if she loved
 
 THE FELMERES. 199 
 
 me, I would marry her, metaphysics, skeptcism, and all, 
 though I have never yearned for a metaphysical wife ; for 
 if that woman loved you, she would do it without stint 
 and with the blindest faith." 
 
 "I wonder," said the second speaker, "if she has ever 
 had a love-scrape ? She does not look it." 
 
 " I venture to say she has," answered Helen's middle- 
 aged champion, "for she has the saddest eyes I ever 
 looked into. They go all through me." 
 
 And Helen, waltzing with Philip, did at that moment 
 look at him with those same sad eyes, and say: 
 
 " Yes, Philip, I loved him, but I could not help it." 
 
 " And now ? " Philip went on, with a white shadow 
 creeping over his face. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 That was all honest, quiet, irrevocable ! utterly damn- 
 ing to all his hopes, perfect death to all his happiness, 
 small as it had been. 
 
 He escorted her to a seat, then left her ; and she, 
 watching him go, felt in her heart a deep pity for him, 
 and for the mistake he had made made in spite of her 
 warnings and his own common sense.
 
 200 THE FELMERES. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 " So I have said, and I say it over, 
 
 And can prove it over and over again, 
 That the four-footed beasts on the red-crowned clover, 
 
 The pied and horned beasts on the plain, 
 
 That lie down, rise up, and repose again, 
 And do never take care or toil or spin, 
 
 Nor buy, nor build, nor gather in gold, 
 Though the days go out and the tides come in, 
 
 Are better than we by a thousand fold ; 
 For what is it all, in the words of fire, 
 . But a vexing of soul and a vain desire ? " 
 
 So Philip, bitterly unhappy, went about his daily 
 tasks. He did not have even the excitement of watch- 
 ing her, for Helen was very honest almost too honest, 
 he thought ; she told her secret too readily, too much as 
 though it were a matter of course that she should not love 
 Philip. No, there was no use in watching her, for what- 
 ever she did she would do openly. The misery was that 
 he did not know what she would do ; for, since she did 
 not love him, he had no hold over her. He did not know 
 the promise she had made her father ; he did not know 
 that she had been trained never to diverge from her word 
 once given ; he had not learned that her whole nature 
 tended upward ; and he could not comprehend in its 
 fullness the truth of the character he had to deal with. 
 He only Isnew that, unless she so willed it, there were no 
 laws on earth that could bind her. 
 
 Helen, meanwliile, entered into every species of gaye-
 
 THE FELMERES. 201 
 
 ty longing and hoping to see Felix again, yet all the 
 while dreading to meet him, and glad that he did not 
 come. She had accepted Mrs. Yanzandt's offer, and had 
 furnished for herself a studio in her house, spending there 
 much of her time. It was not long before she became 
 known among a certain artist circle, who found her studio 
 a pleasant resort, a place where they could meet infor- 
 mally and talk on the subject that most pleased them. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere watched this growing intimacy with 
 much wrath wrath that was not silent. Helen listened 
 politely to all she had to say on the subject, all the while 
 surmising that Mrs. Felmere's chief cause of disapproval 
 lay in the fact that Philip's wife, who had been for many 
 years held back as the best card in her hand, should go 
 to complete Mrs. Yanzandt's victory in making her house 
 and entertainments more than ever popular. It was 
 doubtless very aggravating, but it was, Helen thought, 
 Mrs. Felmere's own fault. The conversations on these 
 matters were frequent and long, and Helen, when escape 
 was out of the question, listened with patient but heed- 
 less ears. Finally things came to a crisis, and Mrs. Fel- 
 mere turned the force of her attack on Philip : it was 
 his duty, she said, to change the state of things, to break 
 up this intimacy with Mrs. Yanzandt ; indeed, if neces- 
 sary, to compel her to a different course. Philip, as his 
 wife had done, listened quietly until she finished ; then, 
 with more wisdom than courage, declined to say or do 
 anything in the matter, and strongly advised his mother 
 to let things alone. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere shook her head : that was not the way 
 to manage so contumacious a person; strong measures 
 must be taken. Determined not to be baffled, she made
 
 202 THE FELMERES. 
 
 her plans to attack tliem at dinner, where they could 
 neither avoid each other nor escape her. She patiently 
 awaited her opportunity ; then, deliberately dismissing 
 the servant, began her lecture. 
 
 " Philip, I have for some time watched and warned 
 Helen about her intimacy with Mrs. Yanzandt ; but as 
 she pays no heed to my advice, I think it will be better, 
 perhaps, if you will speak to her." 
 
 Helen sipped her wine gravely, and Philip, looking 
 diligently into the bottom of his empty glass, said slowly : 
 
 " What shall I say, mother ? " 
 
 " Say that you do not approve," she answered sharply. 
 
 " Helen already knows that," he went on as he filled 
 his glass. 
 
 " If either of you will show me any reason in your 
 objections," Helen said quietly, " I will heed them." 
 
 " Any reason ! " Mrs. Felmere exclaimed. " Do you 
 forget how often I have told you that Mrs. Yanzandt has 
 been talked about, and that she is not a proper person-? " 
 
 " And yet," Helen rejoined, " I found her a leader in 
 your circle, a visitor in all the best houses in town, a high 
 member of your own especial church, and, more than all, 
 much admired by Mr. Tolman. How is she improper ? " 
 
 "She makes herself conspicuous on all occasions," 
 Mrs. Felmere answered angrily, " fills her house with all 
 sorts of unknown people, and is continually doing queer 
 things." 
 
 " And still I see no wrong," Helen said. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere looked indignantly at her silent son. 
 
 ""Will you say nothing? " she asked. 
 
 Philip shook his head. "It is useless for me to 
 speak," he said.
 
 THE FELMERES. 203 
 
 " I should be ashamed to acknowledge it," Mrs. Fel- 
 mere retorted ; then turning to Helen, she went on : 
 " For you, Helen, I have no more words. Your sense of 
 propriety seems never to have been cultivated ; and if 
 Philip will not use his lawful authority in this matter, 
 why then the world will have to talk I can not help it." 
 
 " Why should people talk ? " Helen asked quietly. 
 
 " Because it has not been the custom for women to 
 have studios, and art receptions, and " 
 
 " And does custom make right and wrong ? " Helen 
 interrupted gravely. " Must I bind my life between two 
 dead unwavering lines in order that I may suit the cus- 
 toms inaugurated by people who are possibly, if not prob- 
 ably, idiots ? Why can I not make customs for myself ? 
 why can I not make these little art gatherings a custom ? 
 They are sensible and pleasant, and can have no possible 
 harm in them. They clash with no known code of mor- 
 als ; are better than this ' going from house to house to 
 hear and tell some new thing ' that is called among us 
 ' visiting ' ; and are, besides all this, instructive. Indeed, 
 aunt, I can see no reason in your objections." 
 
 " Of course," Mrs. Felmere said in an injured tone ; 
 " when people utterly disregard everything but their ow y n 
 will and pleasure, they had best be let alone ; but I thank 
 God, there are some who sometimes consider the happi- 
 ness of others ! " 
 
 " And allow them to enjoy themselves in their own 
 way," Helen rejoined quietly. " And I can not see, 
 aunt," she continued, " why I need, cut my life down to 
 suit the ideas of everybody, making it a long battle and 
 burden in order to conform to opinions for which I do 
 not care. You know, as does all the world as far as the
 
 201 THE FELMEEES. 
 
 world knows me, that for me there is no after-life, no 
 reward nor any punishment ; the grave ends all ! Why, 
 then, fret out my only life against all the little stones of 
 custom and prejudice ? "Why not let it flow on as quietly 
 as it may, so that when death comes I shall be as well off 
 as most ? You may never have looked at my life and at 
 me from this standpoint ; you may never before have 
 taken these things into consideration when you strove to 
 coerce me into your forms and fashions ; but now I beg 
 you to think of them, and in judging me remember that, 
 believing in no hereafter, I do not see the profit in wear- 
 ing out this little span of which I am possessed in prac- 
 ticing self-sacrifice. I ask nothing either of the world or 
 fate, and I fear neither." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere listened with widening eyes as the quiet 
 voice went on, so grave, so cold ! She had never before 
 realized the girl's position ; she had never imagined the 
 depth and scope of her unbelief; she had never known 
 the width of the gulf that separated them ! She covered 
 her face with her hands, and, as the soft voice ceased, 
 burst into tears and left the room. Philip sprang up and 
 followed her, and Helen, touched and surprised by these 
 signs of feeling from her aunt, went after them into the 
 parlor, where Philip was striving to comfort her. 
 
 " Aunt," Helen said gently, bending over Mrs. Fel- 
 mere, " if I have said anything to wound you, I am 
 sorry." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere started away from her. " Leave me ! " 
 she cried " leave me ! You are enough to bring God's 
 curse down on this house ! What have I done what 
 have I done, to be so punished \ God forgive me for 
 harboring such a creature ! "
 
 THE FELMEEES. 205 
 
 Helen stepped back, and, looking at Philip's white 
 face, she said no word she was too sorry for him. 
 
 In her own room, while her maid laid out her jewels 
 and dress for a reception at Mrs. Yanzandt's, she pon- 
 dered over what had occurred. How strange a God was 
 this, who would curse one for the sin of another ! Poor, 
 weak-minded, superstitious people ! she felt very pitiful 
 for them. Then a wild glad hope sprang up within her 
 heart that Philip would send her away. Ah, she would 
 ask nothing more than to quietly go back to Fclmere and 
 live at peace ; she was weary of this eternal contention 
 and enmity weary of her whole life ! 
 
 She was at length dressed, and, Philip declining to go, 
 drove oif alone. The rooms were crowded with a bril- 
 liant assemblage of the very best people ; music, flowers, 
 lights, all beautiful. Every one seemed to be enjoying 
 thoroughly all that had been arranged for their pleasure, 
 and Mrs. Vanzandt seemed everywhere at once. 
 
 " Ah, my dear," was her greeting to Helen, " you do 
 not know what has been done for you ; you do not know 
 that you have been immortalized ; and yet the town, 
 which means { our set,' is ringing with it." 
 
 " I do not understand ! " Helen said in much bewil- 
 derment. 
 
 " Of course you do not, but follow me and you 
 will understand." And she led the way into a small 
 side room, where a crowd were collected round a picture 
 artistically lighted up and draped with red velvet cur- 
 tains. 
 
 "I found it yesterday at Pittelli's," Mrs. Vanzandt 
 continued ; " it had just been unpacked when I entered 
 and saw it; most mysterious affair artist desires his
 
 206 THE FELMERES. 
 
 name to be concealed. Of course I ordered it home im- 
 mediately. Is it not beautiful ? " 
 
 Helen paused astonished, for she stood facing herself 
 as "Guinevere"! Guinevere taunting Lancelot and 
 casting his diamonds into the river. On the beautiful 
 stately face there was a world of mingled love and pride, 
 woe and passion ! and Helen, gazing in silence, knew the 
 hand from which it came, and listened half consciously to 
 the wild surmises spoken round her. 
 
 Slowly she turned away, with a dull pain gathering 
 about her heart that Felix could have conceived her such 
 as this willful, weak woman ! 
 
 " Do you not like it ? " Mrs. Yanzandt asked, watch- 
 ing her closely. 
 
 " No," Helen answered gravely ; and people listening, 
 especially the women, thought her foolish not to enjoy 
 the distinction. But among the crowd there was one 
 man the middle-aged man who so admired her who 
 was pleased with her action and words ; he surmised a 
 portion of her feelings, but only that portion he expected 
 from her as a high-toned, pure-minded woman. She did 
 not like the character ; she did not like the notoriety. He 
 could not guess that the chief bitterness lay in the thought 
 that the only man the only soul, in fact for whose 
 respect and love she cared, could have so painted her ! 
 
 Alas, "and also this fell into dust" ! 
 
 But the world only saw enough of her sadness to put 
 it down to displeasure that she should have been made so 
 conspicuous : her friends were pleased that this should be 
 so ; her detractors put it down to affectation. 
 
 " A thoroughly wicked woman according to his code," 
 she thought ; " and if he ranged her so low, what need to
 
 THE FELMERES. 207 
 
 care for the rest of the world ! ' Eat, drink, and be merry, 
 for to-morrow ye die ! ' Even so. Her life, as far as hap- 
 piness went, was a failure, why not substitute excitement, 
 and so dull the pain ? " And she did it. 
 
 She -quietly put her husband and mother-in-law aside, 
 and took the lead : she threw open the house, and began 
 a series, seemingly endless, of the most brilliant entertain- 
 ments. Her toilets were magnificent, and the bills ruin- 
 ous ! A reckless, brilliant, beautiful woman where 
 would it end ! 
 
 The family, meanwhile, stood looking on in amaze- 
 ment. Mrs. Felmere would have liked nothing better 
 than all this parade and show, if she had been given the 
 lead ; but, that being taken and held by the daughter, 
 Mrs. Felmere became virtuously indignant, and with the 
 rest of the feminine Jourdans set up a piteous wail over 
 " poor Philip " and his " heathen wife " ! 
 
 But the "heathen wife" did not heed them, and 
 " poor Philip," miserable and morbid, raised not so much 
 as a finger to stop or rectify things. 
 
 So time slipped by, and the days, and the weeks, and 
 the months swept on to make the unhappy years ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Nay, but Nature brings thee solace ; for a tender voice will cry. 
 'Tis a purer life tban thine ; a life to drain thy trouble dry." 
 
 AND so, amid all the sorrow and trouble of their lives, 
 a son was born to them a fair-haired, blue-eyed child, 
 strong and straight of limb, and lusty as a country child
 
 208 THE FELMERES. 
 
 might be. And through the fresh May-time, when Helen 
 lay quiet and thoughtful, so happy in this fresh happiness 
 that had come to her with the child that lay on her arm, 
 life seemed to have a new meaning, and for Philip there 
 grew up within her a gentler feeling. Poor Philip ! his 
 life had told on him. 
 
 But with Mrs. Felmere the horror of Helen's unbelief, 
 and the almost hatred she felt against her for her beauty 
 and success, and rebellion against control, grew daily. It 
 was a bitterness to her that her son seemed to be again 
 learning to care for his wife, and in a more hopeful way ; 
 it must not be. It was a sin to live with this woman and 
 allow her to rear his children a deadly sin, and one that 
 she could not stand by and see committed ! She kept 
 herself aloof from Helen and the child, ever brooding 
 over the failure of her schemes and hopes, and making 
 new plans for the future. She determined, for one thing, 
 that Helen and the child should go away for the summer, 
 and that she should stay in town with Philip. This would 
 give her full opportunity to strengthen and regain her 
 old influence over her son; afterward she could mold 
 tilings to her will. 
 
 So, as she had determined, Helen spent that summer 
 on the sea-shore, in a quiet cottage far out from the gayer 
 portion of the watering-place, and down near the beach. 
 She was glad to go ; glad to leave behind her the fret and 
 turmoil of her city life ; glad to be where she could sit 
 and watch the great waves rolling in and dashing high 
 against the cliffs to fall back in snowy foam. She was 
 glad once more to greet the deep sad voice ' that had 
 sounded round old Felmere through all the lonely sunny 
 days and long still nights of her young life the deep sad
 
 THE FELMERES. 209 
 
 voice that, singing to her through all her childhood, had 
 made life seem a rhythmical mystery. Sitting near the 
 window in the dusky summer evenings, listening to the 
 sweet old song of her early days, and feeling the soft 
 breath of her little one come and go as he slept in her 
 arms, she thought often and regretfully of her own 
 mother. Now that she realized what a mother's love 
 was, there came a softer feeling in her heart for her. 
 Suppose some harm or danger should threaten this child, 
 imaginary or not, would she not fly to the other end of 
 the world to save it ? What were Philip, or laws, or 
 oaths of any kind to her in such a case ! And she ac- 
 knowledged the truth of Felix's words when he repre- 
 sented to her the misery of having to leave one child to 
 save the other ! Yes, she felt the most intense pity for 
 her mother, often wondering where she was, and if her 
 son for whom she had endured so much had proved a 
 comfort and a joy to her. Poor, sad, superstitious lady, 
 suffering intensely, and for what ? 
 
 Helen did not go out much, although Arthur, who 
 was staying in the town, came out every morning to put 
 himself at her disposal. Sometimes she went to a recep- 
 tion or a lunch, but without much zest ; for she always 
 had her mind divided between the light nothings of 
 small-talk and the secret fear that during her absence 
 the nurse would give the baby cold tea, or commit some 
 other heinous crime. 
 
 Nevertheless she was much sought out, and her little 
 lawn was made the scene of many a charming reunion, 
 such as luncheon or high-tea, croquet, or perhaps a regu- 
 lar game of romps ; for her cottage could be considered
 
 210 THE FELMERES. 
 
 in the country, and there was surely no harm in a coun- 
 try frolic ! 
 
 But, outside of all this, this long bright summer was 
 very delightful to Helen. For here her little child was 
 so entirely her own, growing and thriving under her care 
 and love in a way that was astonishing, learning to know 
 her and to stretch its little arms to reach her, and sleep- 
 ing close to her heart. This child and life had become 
 synonymous terms to her, and in the flush and delight of 
 her joy she wrote old Jane a letter, in which she opened 
 her heart and revealed herself as she had never done 
 before in all her life, pouring out her feelings to old, ig- 
 norant Jane, knowing that she would be understood 
 without being doubted or scoffed at. 
 
 " Dear Jane," she began, " I write this to tell you 
 that I have a little baby. Think of that, Jane my own 
 little baby, to love and to keep all my life ! It is a little 
 boy, strong and healthy and beautiful, and I shall name 
 him < Hector ' from my dear father. I have not written 
 to you before, dear Jane, because I have not been very 
 happy, and did not see the use in worrying you with 
 troubles you could not help. I do not like the world 
 nearly so well as old Felmere; and I should be very 
 glad if they would let me come home to you, and show 
 you my child. These people do not understand me, nor 
 love me as my father did, and you ; they scorn me be- 
 cause I do not believe as they do, and I scorn them in 
 return. Oh, dear Jane, I would give anything to come 
 home again ! I could be very happy with you and Peter 
 to take care of me, and my child to love and live for. 
 But I am better off than I have been ; for with this child 
 my life, even here, is bearable. Indeed, I do not see
 
 THE FELMERES. 211 
 
 how I managed to live so long without anything of my 
 very own to love ; and now my life would not be endura- 
 ble without it. His little hands are so soft, and his little 
 feet are like rose-leaves rose-leaves with little toes and 
 toe-nails, so tiny and so perfect. I love them so, I can 
 not bear to think of them growing into great mannish 
 feet, and having, perhaps, to walk through many sorrows 
 and trials before they reach their rest. 
 
 " Ah, Jane, I do not see how you can believe as you 
 do, and be thankful, as you say you are, for this life ! I 
 think it is a dreadful, hard thing, and I could not love a 
 God who let me suffer so much. -You have never tried 
 the world, and so you do not know, but I tell you it is a 
 dreadful thing ! These people who call themselves Chris- 
 tians are such shameless hypocrites, and so hard-hearted, 
 you would not, I am sure, understand or like them. My 
 father was the best man I have ever known ; he never 
 lowered himself by abusing and backbiting even his worst 
 enemy, and these people do it to their dearest friends. 
 More than this, my father was kind and charitable to all, 
 and made me think more of Christianity by his account 
 of it than these people will ever do by their example. 
 Oh, I do despise them ! 
 
 " But I am away from them all now, down by the 
 beautiful sea the same sea that comes to you down at 
 Felmere, that I used to listen to, and be afraid of, and 
 love ; and it is very beautiful. It seems a piece of home, 
 and I sometimes fancy I hear voices in it when it cries at 
 night voices that used to talk to me at home. Ah, Jane, 
 I did not know how happy I was until my happiness was 
 gone ! I am afraid it is always so. But I have written 
 you a very mournful letter, and I intended it to be very
 
 212 THE FELMERES. 
 
 joyful ; but my life lias been out of tune for so long, that 
 you must excuse me and not grow sad over it. I will try 
 and come back to you some day ; then I can rest. Take 
 care of my garden. 
 
 " Good-by. My love to all the people, and to you, 
 and Peter, and the place. 
 
 " HELEN FELMEEE." 
 
 A childish letter, maybe, and foolish ; but it was true, 
 and came from the depths of the heart, wherein, if we 
 are fortunate, there always lies one little drop of that 
 innocent truth and love with which we begin our lives. 
 We may bury it, deny it, hide it ; but, unless we willfully 
 murder all our better selves, that little drop is always 
 there, still, clear and sweet ! Some there are who have 
 kept their simple childish hearts through all their lives, 
 seeming to draw all love, and trust, and sorrow toward 
 them ; seeming to spread a new and wondrous beauty 
 over all the path of life ; seeming to see in all about them 
 goodness and worth. Such things are, and we may be 
 thankful for the knowledge ! 
 
 So Helen's letter went, and old Jane, reading it to 
 Peter as they sat by the kitchen tire, stopped many times 
 to wipe her glasses, while Peter had frequent need to 
 mend the fire. Then they talked it over in their homely 
 fashion, and Jane decided that Father Paul must read it, 
 and help them pray for their dear young mistress who 
 seemed so very sad. And Jane's old heart warmed over 
 the little baby ; she longed to see it and to hold it ; for 
 once, long ago, she had held children children of her 
 own, who for years and years had rested in the church- 
 yard ; and she and Peter were left without a child to close
 
 THE FELMERES. 213 
 
 their eyes. Her little babies ! how long ago it seemed ! 
 She was a strong young woman then, and now she was 
 very old. Yery old, bat she could remember the look 
 and the voice of every one their little ways, and the 
 touch of their little hands. For, young or old, rich or 
 poor, good or evil, high or low, bond or free, a mother 
 never forgets her children never forgets their voices or 
 their kisses ; and through all her life the clinging touch 
 of their little hands reaches forth to her, the patter of 
 their little feet echoes in her soul, and the lengthening 
 shadows of their little graves fall upon her heart ! The 
 mother whose arms have once held a child can always feel 
 its shadow resting there can always feel the void it left 
 within her life ! 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " O ye years ! 
 
 That intervene betwixt that day and this ; 
 Yon all received your hue from that keen pain and bliss." 
 
 ONE glorious day in early August, when the sky was 
 cloudless, and the sea lay darkly blue and softly swelling 
 in the morning sun, Helen, with her child in her arms, 
 stood on the beach watching the lazy waves roll up the 
 shore, leaving little lines of foam and sedge-grass, with 
 here and there a tiny glistening shell ; watching the com- 
 placent sand-crabs ambling back and forth with no visible 
 object in their joumeyings ; watching the gleaming white 
 sails that shone far out on the wide horizon. 
 
 She was happier than she had been for years, and
 
 214: THE FELMERES. 
 
 happier in that she realized it and enjoyed it consciously. 
 Humming softly to herself the little country song she 
 had learned from Jane, and pausing now and then to look 
 down upon the child, she walked to where the rocks jut- 
 ted out into a little promontory. The sun was warm, 
 and behind those rocks she would find shade. So, still 
 singing the little ballad, she rounded them. 
 
 Alas ! Facing her stood Felix Gordon ! ISTot three 
 feet of the shining sand lay between them, and her shadow, 
 reaching out beyond her for a little space, was lost in 
 his! 
 
 " Mr. Gordon ! " The tone was low and almost fright- 
 ened ; and he, paling painfully, held out his hand in 
 greeting. 
 
 She looked at him a moment, then gathered her little 
 one close in one arm and laid her other hand in his. 
 After so many years after so many changes, they once 
 more stood face to face, hand clasped in hand ! 
 
 So long he had not seen her save on his canvas and 
 in his memory, that his eyes seemed hungry in their gaz- 
 ing. And her look, so full of the sorrows of her life, 
 wandered sadly from the gray hairs tinging the brown, 
 from the lines across his brow, from his full, dark beard, 
 down to the hand that held hers, then up again to the 
 eyes. She would surely find her young tutor there ; she 
 would surely see again that happy, careless look she so 
 well remembered ; surely it had not deserted those hon- 
 est, kindly eyes ! 
 
 Alas! only a bitter despair shone there; and with- 
 drawing her hand, she turned away. Felix stopped her. 
 This meeting had been decreed by Fate; he had not 
 sought it, and it should not be shunned.
 
 THE FELMEEES. 215 
 
 "Will you not," lie said slowly, "spare me a few 
 moments out of all your life ? " 
 
 She turned quickly, looking at aim honestly and 
 truthfully as a child might. " It is you," she answered, 
 " who have shunned me ; I have wanted to meet you." 
 
 " True ? " he asked, looking into her eyes as though 
 to read the depths of her heart. 
 
 " Yes, it is true ; I have wanted to see you." Again 
 she turned away. 
 
 Felix stepped in front of her. 
 
 " You Tiave wished to see me, but now ? " 
 
 Her eyes met his unflinchingly as she answered : 
 
 " Now I am not so lonely, for I have in my child a 
 friend" wrapping the child closer in her arms as she 
 spoke " my little child, who will always love me, and 
 never doubt me." 
 
 " Doubt you ? " Felix repeated questioningly. " Who 
 has doubted you ? " 
 
 The blood leaped into her cheeks, and her eyes flashed 
 as she answered : 
 
 " You painted me as Guinevere ! " 
 
 Felix looked at her steadfastly as though expecting 
 some further communication ; then, slowly, and as from 
 far off, a shadow of surprise gathered on his face, deepen- 
 ing into a look of absolute pain. 
 
 " If I understand you rightly," he said deliberately, 
 " you sadly misjudge me." Then he went on, with his 
 voice a little shaken by his eagerness of self-defense : " I 
 painted you as Guinevere because you only were beau- 
 tiful enough and queenly enough to represent her." 
 
 " Then I have wronged you," Helen answered, the 
 quick tears springing to her eyes " wronged both you
 
 216 THE FELMERES. 
 
 and myself ; for after I saw that picture I thought you 
 had lost all respect for me and faith in me ; and if you, 
 knowing me, could so think of me, what right had I to 
 expect any more from the rest of the world ? So I let all 
 go. But now I am thankful this is not so, and I beg 
 your pardon." Her eyes and voice were full of tears. 
 
 So beautiful she looked, with a faint flush on her face, 
 her crimson lips half parted, and her hair all ruffled by 
 the wind ! 
 
 Felix stood as if lost to all about him ; then his eyes 
 fell on the sleeping child, and he turned away. 
 
 " It has all been very bitter," he said at last, " and I 
 have been very weak and very wicked ; but now the worst 
 is over, and I think I can venture to be your friend. I 
 have loved you, I do love you, and I will always love 
 you " He stopped suddenly, and Helen, waiting, won- 
 dered at his strange abruptness. " No," he began slowly, 
 not able to deceive himself, "I can not altogether say 
 what I hoped to be able to say whenever I should meet 
 you again ; but putting this aside, will you be my friend ? 
 "Will you let me come to see you ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered sadly ; " if you wish to come, I 
 shall be glad." 
 
 In her mind there was no anxiety, no misgiving. 
 
 Then he walked home with her through the summer 
 sunshine, talking little, feeling he knew not how held 
 quiet under the excitement of the hour. At the garden- 
 gate he left her, and she for the moment, forgetting where 
 or who she was, stood and watched 'him as he walked 
 away. 
 
 Felix never once looked back, nor allowed himself 
 to think of or to weigh the consequences of the course he
 
 THE FELMERES. 217 
 
 had entered on. He stood on the shore and looked out 
 across the shining sea. The summer wind whispered 
 about him, the waves left their lines of creamy foam at 
 his feet, and the sea-birds flew lazily back and forth. He 
 noted it all jn an idle, dreamy way that seemed to make 
 no impression on him ; yet in the after-time he could recall 
 it all, and his every thought as he stood wrapped in a 
 dizzy maze of past and present. 
 
 He had not arranged the meeting ; he had not sought 
 Helen ; he did not even know she was on the island ; 
 all was accidental, and he would not turn away. All these 
 long years he had hungered for the sound of her voice 
 and the touch of her hand ; all these years other women 
 had been as nothing in his eyes ; all these years he had 
 pondered over her sweeping skepticism and the causes of 
 it, had studied her side of the question and his own, and 
 wavered ! The strain upon his soul no man could know ; 
 it had whitened his hair, and taken the strength and pur- 
 pose out of his life. And with this wavering, the knowl- 
 edge of himself came to him with overwhelming sudden- 
 ness, causing him to distrust and to despise himself. So 
 the youth in him died, and in its place stood a gloomy, 
 embittered man ! 
 
 And at his home those three devoted women watched 
 the change with sorrowful wonder. "What had come to 
 their boy, their Felix the life, the joy, the one bright 
 thing in their world ? And he could not explain ; he 
 could not tell them of his misgivings that to them would 
 be too dreadful ! So he became more and more silent 
 and sad, and they learned to love their changed idol with a 
 new and different love a love with more of care and pity 
 in it, with more of unobtrusive action and less of words. 
 10
 
 218 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Now, after all these years and changes, he stood in 
 the yellow August sunshine, deciding without judging, 
 determining without weighing, without argument, on 
 what might prove the most important step in his life ! 
 Yes, he would stay ; he must see and know Helen in her 
 full womanhood. Her happiness was dear to him ay, 
 dearer than his own ; he would only stay and enjoy for a 
 little while the sunshine of her glorious beauty. His life 
 had been too barren, and now that he had once more 
 touched her hand and heard her voice, he could not leave 
 her. He could die for her, but he could not go ! 
 
 CHAPTER, VIII. 
 
 " f or comfort, the waste of a long doubt and trouble! 
 On that sultry August eve trouble had made me meek ; 
 I was tired of my sorrow ; O so faint, for it was double 
 In the weight of its oppression, that I could not speak ! " 
 
 THE next day Felix called at the cottage, and found a 
 croquet party assembled on the lawn. He was kindly re- 
 ceived, introduced to those he did not know, given a mallet, 
 and set to work. He played in an unenthusiastic, common- 
 place way, and talked to the young ladies, who were thrown 
 into quite a nutter by his attentions, in the same way. 
 The game seemed longer to him than it really was, and it 
 seemed strange for him to be idling in this careless man- 
 ner through all the turmoil and excitement that surged 
 like a strong wild undercurrent through his heart and 
 brain. He found himself watching Helen furtively, and
 
 THE FELMERES. 219 
 
 earnestly and constantly striving to catch the tones of 
 her voice, all the time longing for the people to be gone. 
 
 After a while the game was over ; then came the lunch, 
 and after that the beginnings of farewells. He watched 
 the company lingering over the last moments with ill- 
 concealed impatience ; he drew a deep sigh of relief as he 
 helped the last party into their carriage, and, lifting his 
 hat to their last bow, turned and followed Helen into the 
 house. She made her way among the flower-beds to a 
 low French window that, being open, gave a full view of 
 the dainty drawing-room. She took her seat inside, but 
 Felix, with her permission, preferred to sit on the win- 
 dow-sill with his feet down among the flowers. 
 
 Over th'e lawn and flower-beds, over the hedges and 
 clover-fields, down to the sea, a fair sunshiny view 
 stretched before them shadowless, save for the passing 
 summer clouds. When the sun got lower, the stiffly 
 trimmed cedars and poplars would cast long still shadows 
 across the velvety grass, and so lie there until the dark- 
 ness destroyed them. 
 
 " A fair sweet picture," Helen mused, " with a color- 
 ing and an atmospheric softness about it that could never 
 be put on canvas, and a peacefulness that should fall like 
 a healing balm on the most troubled heart." So she 
 thought, while her quiet heart beat calmly ; and Felix, at 
 her feet, almost touching her, was fighting manfully with 
 himself, striving to begin temperately his conversation. 
 What should he say to her? why had he sought this 
 interview ? how could he talk of commonplace things ? 
 
 The wind, brushing a portion of Helen's dress against 
 him, startled him ; he looked up quickly, and found his 
 companion regarding him with a steadfast sadness. Then,
 
 220 THE FELMERES. 
 
 without a tremor in her voice or a sign of excitement, she 
 said meditatively : 
 
 " This reminds me, Mr. Gordon, of the evening we 
 sat in the old churchyard at Felmere, when I told you I 
 w r as an unbeliever. Do you remember ? " 
 
 Felix looked up in surprise. How quietly she went 
 back into the very heart of the old days, bringing up 
 the associations he had of all others expected her to 
 avoid. Was it intentional? he wondered. Well, it did 
 not much matter ; since she had led up to them, he could 
 but follow. And, he not answering her question, Helen 
 went on in the same musing tone : 
 
 " I can not think why it should remind me of Fel- 
 mere, but it does. It must be the fresh wind, or the 
 white clouds, for there is nothing else here that could 
 bring it up, not even you." 
 
 Then she bent her look out toward the sea, and 
 Felix, looking questioningly at the averted face, answered 
 slowly : 
 
 " In some things I know I am changed, and wof ully 
 so. How is it with you ? " 
 
 There was much in his voice, but she did not seem 
 to hear it, or if she heard she did not heed it, but an- 
 swered without so much as turning her eyes from the 
 sea: 
 
 " Yes, I am also changed, but whether for better or 
 worse I have not of late stopped to ask ; and when I look 
 back at that poor, high-strung, unhappy girl that you 
 knew, I could almost cry for her. She thought she had 
 lived her life, and her life had not begun ; she thought 
 she had conquered herself, and she did not yet know 
 herself. Alas, it was down among the blackest of all
 
 THE FELMEEES. 221 
 
 black days that she learned all this, and without a human 
 soul to tell it to ! " 
 
 There was a little pause while Felix was trying to 
 see if there was any deeper meaning hidden in her an- 
 swer. At last, not able to decide, he said slowly : 
 
 " If I had known that you had no friends " Then 
 he paused, forced to do so by the look almost of curiosity 
 that Helen bent on him a look as though she was trying 
 to fathom his deepest thoughts, and to find if there was 
 a special motive for his words. She looked at him 
 steadily for a moment, and, he not continuing his speech, 
 she again turned her eyes to the view spread before her, 
 and answered : 
 
 " No one could have helped me. There are depths 
 in every heart and life that must sooner or later be 
 sounded depths to which you must descend alone, and 
 from which no love or sympathy that I have found can 
 help you. You Christians cry to your God : I have no 
 God ! " 
 
 All the sorrow he had felt for her in her early youth 
 came back to him now, as once again the loneliness of 
 her life was spread before him this soul-desolation that, 
 absorbing the bitterest drop from every sorrow, stands 
 alone and quiet, held still in a cold despair ! Her words 
 had quieted him, and he said : 
 
 " And you are still an unbeliever ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And your unbelief has satisfied you ? " 
 
 " As well, I think, as your Christianity has satisfied 
 you," she answered, looking sadly down on his face, that 
 had gathered in these years an expression of settled 
 weariness.
 
 222 THE FELMERES. 
 
 He looked up quickly and met her look full of sym- 
 pathy bent on him ; but it was only sympathy, and he 
 turned away. 
 
 " I have studied both sides," he said at last. 
 
 " But you still believe ? " Helen asked almost anx- 
 iously. 
 
 He stooped down among the flowers, and picked a 
 fresh, fair daisy ; he laid the flower on his palm ; it was 
 so frail and tiny, and yet its life and being was as deep 
 a mystery as those greater questions he could not solve ! 
 He put the flower on Helen's knee. 
 
 " It is all a mystery," he said " as great a mystery as 
 the life of that little flower." 
 
 " And you have learned to doubt ? " Helen asked 
 sadly, and in her turn laid the flower on her hand. 
 
 " ~No" he said ; " I have never been a skeptic ; I 
 only wavered somewhat at times." 
 
 " And now ? " Helen was watching him very closely. 
 
 " I strive to believe without questioning ; and I. will, 
 until such time as God in his mercy shall make it clear 
 to me." 
 
 A pain shot through Helen's heart. Had she done 
 this? had she clouded the beautiful faith her girlhood 
 had known and loved in this man ? Then she asked : 
 
 " Was it my fault ?" 
 
 Felix looked up quickly. 
 
 " Your fault ! What ? " 
 
 " Your unbelief." 
 
 He looked at her a moment in surprise, then said : 
 
 " It seems so strange to me that you do not know 
 how weak I am ; that you do not know where the tempta- 
 tion to doubt came into my life the temptation to strive
 
 THE FELMERES. 223 
 
 to stand where you stood to look on the oath you had 
 taken as an empty form to put away all law of obliga- 
 tion, and, casting consequences to the winds, go back and 
 plead with you ! But I could not," he went on more 
 slowly, laying his hand on hers and crushing the little 
 daisy under his hot palm " I could not when I remem- 
 bered how you had turned away when I remembered 
 how high and pure you seemed to me I could not even 
 try to drag you down ! No, it was not your fault you 
 saved me. And now " 
 
 Helen clasped her other hand over his. " Go back to 
 your faith and your God ! " she almost whispered. " I 
 have no peace to give you. I would do anything to help 
 you to take the doubt and longing out of your life, or 
 in any way to make you happier." 
 
 " You can " Then he paused and looked away 
 across the peaceful land and sea. He almost crushed the 
 hand he held ! Was she not as high and pure as in the 
 past? 
 
 He rose abruptly. 
 
 " Good-by." He wrung her hand. " I will come 
 again," he said, and turned away with the bitter knowl- 
 edge surging in his heart that, even after all he had suf- 
 fered through his doubts, and through the bitter discovery 
 of his own weakness, he would now be willing to live in 
 doubt for ever, and irrevocably confirm his weakness, if 
 in payment he could claim this woman ! 
 
 It was a sickening revelation of himself, and he bowed 
 his head in hopeless humility !
 
 224: THE FELMERES. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Let us alone. What pleasure can we have 
 To war with evil ? Is there any peace 
 In ever climhing up the climbing wave ? 
 All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave 
 In silence; ripen, fall and cease : 
 Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease." 
 
 THERE was a ball in town the next night, and as the 
 hostess was a special friend of Mrs. Felmere's, and had 
 already complained that young Mrs. Felmere kept up 
 none of the family friendships, Arthur had insisted on 
 Helen's going; and Helen, seeing the kind motive that 
 underlay his persuasion, consented that he should come 
 for her. She was ready when he arrived, and called him 
 in to see the baby. 
 
 " He is so beautiful, Arthur, you must come and take 
 one look at him." So Arthur, obeying her as men usu- 
 ally did, stood looking at her as she leaned over the sleep- 
 ing child. 
 
 " How much more beautiful love and happiness make 
 her," he thought, " and if she had only married the man 
 she loved ! " for he had long ago decided in his own mind 
 that she had loved some one once whom, or when, or 
 where, or what the circumstances were, he could not sur- 
 mise ; but of the one fact he was quite certain, she had 
 loved some one once ! 
 
 " Is he not lovely ? " Helen said, looking up at him. 
 
 Arthur immediately bent on the child that dispassion-
 
 THE FELMERES. 225 
 
 ate gaze that men are in the habit of bestowing on the 
 young of their land. 
 
 " I do not like him," he answered gravely. 
 
 " Arthur ! " 
 
 Arthur shook his head. 
 
 " He always recalls to me the fact, the miserable fact, 
 that I am a great-uncle ; he makes me feel too old." 
 
 Helen laughed ; she was really relieved that he did 
 not dislike her child. 
 
 " You are too ridiculous ! " she said ; and drawing 
 her cloak up over her shoulders, she led the way to the 
 carriage. 
 
 "You are looking happier and handsomer to-night 
 than I have ever seen you," Arthur said as they entered 
 the ball-room. " What has happened ? " 
 
 " I do not know, unless it is that yesterday I met my 
 old friend Mr. Gordon," she answered frankly. 
 
 " Gordon the artist ? " in much surprise. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Why, where on earth did you meet him ? " 
 
 Here they were interrupted by their hostess, who 
 came up leaning on Mr. Gordon's arm. 
 
 " Mrs. Felmere, I brought Mr. Gordon to be intro- 
 duced," she said, "but he tells me he has had that plea- 
 sure." 
 
 Helen, shaking hands with Felix, answered : 
 
 " Yes, we met each other a great many years ago 
 before you were famous ? " she went on. 
 
 " Before I had ever sold a picture," he answered. 
 
 " Then, of course, you have much to talk over," Mrs. 
 Beaumont said, smiling and arching her eyebrows in 
 knowing surprise; "and I can leave you feeling sure
 
 226 THE FELMERES. 
 
 that at least three of my guests are enjoying themselves." 
 And, with an especial smile and bow to Arthur, she 
 joined another group. 
 
 " Will you let me look at your card ? " Felix asked, 
 after greeting Arthur. 
 
 She gave it to him, and while he was busy writing 
 down his name, she turned to Arthur. 
 
 " I never answered your last question," she said ; 
 " what was it ? " 
 
 Arthur looked up, smiling pleasantly. " You answered 
 it to Mrs. Beaumont. I only asked where you had known 
 Mr. Gordon." 
 
 " Ah, I did not understand. Why, I knew him long 
 ago at Felmere," she answered ; " he taught me all I know 
 of drawing or painting." 
 
 " Not quite all" Felix amended ; " you had advanced 
 exceedingly well, and you had been grounded thorough- 
 ly." 
 
 Then others joining the group, Gordon moved away ; 
 and Arthur, following him with his eyes, thought, " Gor- 
 don is the man ! " 
 
 And all the evening he watched them as they danced 
 together, and pitied them from the depths of his heart. 
 
 " I did not know you danced and went to parties," 
 Helen said. 
 
 " I am very fond of dancing," Felix answered. " Did 
 you not see me at Mrs. Tilmont's ball ? " 
 
 Helen looked away. 
 
 " Yes, I saw you." Then, after a little pause : " Why 
 did you not speak to me ? " 
 
 They had stopped dancing now, and stood out on a
 
 THE FELMERES. 227 
 
 terrace looking over the moonlit sea. Felix*] ooked down 
 into the honest, questioning eyes, and manfully told the 
 truth : 
 
 " I was afraid." 
 
 "Afraid?" 
 
 "Yes, of myself." 
 
 Helen stood silent : then the thought that had come 
 to her the evening before, and that she had put away as 
 unworthy of her old ideal, was true ? Was h meeting 
 her now against his better judgment ? She looked at 
 him gravely. 
 
 " And now ? " she asked. 
 
 " Now ? " Felix turned away as he repeated the word, 
 for what could he answer ? " Now now I have given 
 up. I can not go away and leave the only friend I care 
 for in all the world I am too weak ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " Helen almost whispered. " I do not want 
 to think you weak I do not want to lose faith in you. 
 I should have to despise you." 
 
 " I despise myself more than you can ever do," Felix 
 answered ; " and yet I have given up. Hereafter I must 
 float wherever the tides drift me. I am too tired to strug- 
 gle any more." 
 
 " And you will do wrong, and say you drifted into 
 it ? " she asked, with a tone of scorn creeping into her 
 voice. " Would it not be braver to say, ' It is wrong, but 
 I will do it ' ? " She paused a moment, then added, 
 " Whatever you are going to do, for the sake of my old 
 trust in you, do it honestly and bravely ! " 
 
 Ah, how her words and tone stung ! this woman who 
 could not pity, but only despise weakness. 
 
 And Felix answered with deliberate quiet :
 
 228 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " Suppose'I am neither honest nor bravep 
 
 " Then I am sorry," she said bitterly, "aii<| my ];i. ' 
 delusion as to humanity is swept away." Arwf 
 toward the house. 
 
 Felix stepped in front of her. 
 
 " Wait ! " he said quickly. " I can not losflfff' fri"' ' 
 ship in this way, just as I have laid hold on 
 
 She paused, and they stood looking at e: i 
 
 silence he angry, she bitterly disappointed.! 
 spoke : 
 
 " Yesterday afternoon you said you weffilwjc^ertti \l 
 from pleading with me because in your eyes' i i,;!i 
 
 and pure because I turned away. Did yon ', n t;n: 
 other hand, go over in your own mind the probable course; 
 of reasoning, and the probable motives, that guided me 
 through that great temptation of my life ? " 
 
 Felix looked surprised. 
 
 "Your devotion and promise to your father," he 
 answered readily. 
 
 " Yes, that ; but did you surmise nothing else ? " 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 She waited a moment, then went on in a lower tone. 
 
 " The strongest weapon against my love for you," she 
 said, " was my love for you. I could not bear to let you 
 see me break my word anci be untrue ; I could not bear 
 to see my ideal step down and succumb to a weakness. I 
 preferred giving you up and emptying my life, to keeping 
 you with the faintest taint on your strength and honor ! 
 And now ? " 
 
 " And now you have lived to find out what you did 
 not want to see," he answered, looking straight into her 
 true, pure eyes " have lived to know that I was saved
 
 THE FELMERES. 229 
 
 through your strength ; have lived to see your 'last de- 
 lusion as to humanity ' swept away by me ! " 
 
 " Have I ? " she asked, laying her hand on his arm 
 " have I lived to see this ? Will you let this thing be ? " 
 
 He trembled under her touch, and his voice sank low 
 as he asked : 
 
 " Must I go away again ? " 
 
 " You know the right here better than I can tell you," 
 she answered sadly, " and you must do it." 
 
 " I can not." 
 
 " You can, and you must ; for the sake of my old 
 faith in you, you must ! " Her voice was low and tense, 
 and there was a ring of .despair in it that was pitiful. 
 She clung so desperately to the love and belief of her 
 life ; she so longed to prove him what she had thought 
 he was ; and if he failed her now ? Ah, she would rather 
 a thousand times see him dead ! 
 
 Felix did not answer, and she went on : 
 
 " You. will do right ? " She hesitated a moment, then 
 added a saving clause, " But whatever you do, I will trust, 
 and not judge you," and, passing him swiftly, entered 
 the ball-room. 
 
 Ah, what a bond her last words had laid on him! 
 And he wondered if she had realized it. "Whatever he 
 did, she w r ould trust, and not judge him " ; and he knew 
 her well enough to know that whatever she said she 
 would do. 
 
 He paced up and down, thinking. She had left him 
 a loophole ; he might stay, and she would trust, and not 
 judge him ! He paused : she had also left herself a way 
 of escape ; he might stay, and she could not to herself 
 blame him. In short, she would accept his staying as a
 
 230 THE FELMERES. 
 
 pledge that he was acting according to his better judg- 
 ment, and in his own eyes doing no wrong ! 
 
 Up and down he walked thinking, arguing, fighting, 
 and with no result. He would far rather have had her 
 do as most women would have done, and denounced, 
 commanded, or pleaded with him. Anything would have 
 been better than this calm binding him this quiet com- 
 pelling him to do right, or to deceive her. "Was there 
 ever another woman so wise ? he wondered. 
 
 Suppose he should go to her and say he knew he was 
 wrong, but had decided to stay ; what would she say ? 
 Alas, he knew the answer too well a look of pitying 
 contempt and a quiet turning away as from a worthless 
 thing ! !No ; if he stayed, it must be done quietly as 
 though he thought he was right ; that was the only way. 
 
 Should he stay ? 
 
 And Helen, in the silence of her cool, dim-lighted 
 chamber, did that night ponder many things. The world 
 was such a pitiful jumble, and no one was strong or weak 
 in the right place. The strength she had so much ad- 
 mired in her father, the strength that had kept him still 
 when her mother fled, was afterward regretted. And 
 herself if she had only been strong enough to resist her 
 father's wishes in regard to Philip, or weak enough now 
 to respect Philip ! 
 
 It was all very strange, she thought ; and, looking out 
 over the shining sea, she longed so bitterly for her father 
 and Felmere longed for the love and the home she 
 would never have again. She had suffered so much that 
 the years that had passed since her father's death stretched 
 almost into a lifetime ; and it seemed her sufferings were
 
 THE FELMERES. 231 
 
 not over. For this child, who was almost her life, was 
 but another hostage to sorrow, an entering wedge that 
 would separate her for ever from any chance of happi- 
 ness ; for how could she rear him acceptably to Philip and 
 his family how could she give him up to be a Christian ? 
 It was not often she let herself dwell on, or even contem- 
 plate, this subject ; but sometimes it would come up, and 
 so darken all her present joy. And she was powerless 
 save to wait and watch. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " ' "We meet at one gate 
 
 "When all's over. The ways they are many and wide, 
 And seldom are two ways the same. Side by side 
 May we stand at the same little door when all's done ! 
 The ways they are many, the end it is one.' " 
 
 IT had been a lowering day, with a fitful wind blow- 
 ing that put a cap on every tossing wave. Just now the 
 sun was setting, and a long stream of glory, breaking 
 from between the clouds, shot across the hills and fields 
 down to the sullen waves ! What a glow of color came 
 over land and sea, rounding the ragged outlines of the 
 crags and cliffs, and transmuting as it were the long curve 
 of the beach into a band of gold ! Far out on the gray 
 waste of waters a solitary boat-sail caught the wandering 
 beam ; and the sea-birds, flying landward, were turned 
 to silver as they came. 
 
 " A wild, beautiful picture," Helen thought as she 
 sat in the low window, with her feet down among the
 
 232 THE FELMERES. 
 
 flowers ; so beautiful, it made her sad. Ah, this sadness 
 did it live in her, or in all things beautiful ? 
 
 A step on the gravel disturbed her musings, and look- 
 ing up she saw Felix Gordon approaching. He took off 
 his hat as he neared her, but did not offer to shake hands, 
 nor would he take the seat she offered him beside her, 
 but leaned instead against the window-frame just opposite 
 her. It was a strange meeting and greeting, she thought ; 
 but the silence that followed was stranger still. At last 
 he raised his eyes from the tender little daisies among 
 which he stood, and, looking at her, said : 
 
 " I have come to say good-by Mrs. Felmere." 
 
 There was a little pause before the last two words, as 
 though he found them difficult to say ; and to Helen the 
 name sounded strangely from his lips. 
 
 " When do you go ? " she asked slowly. 
 
 " To-night." 
 
 She looked up with a glad light shining in her eyes, 
 and an expression of positive happiness sending a glow 
 over her face. 
 
 " Are you so glad then ? " Felix asked a little bit- 
 terly. 
 
 " I am," and the eyes that met his seemed cleared of 
 some trouble. " I am glad because you prove yourself 
 true and strong," she said; and again there was a silence 
 between them, she looking out across the sunset-tinted 
 sea, he looking down on her and drinking in the exceed- 
 ing beauty of the sad face. 
 
 Would he ever see it again ? Could he ever see 
 enough of it ? 
 
 "Good-by," he said abruptly, and his voice struck 
 hard and sharp on the air.
 
 THE FELMERES. 233 
 
 Helen started, then rose and gave him her hand, say- 
 ing nothing. 
 
 "I am going," he said hurriedly. "I could stay 
 longer, but to what purpose ? What would these few 
 moments of nearness be to the eternity of separation that 
 lies before me ! Good-by God bless you ! " 
 
 He wrung her hand, and, turning away, ground the 
 frail, pink-lipped flowers under his heel. He heard a 
 sigh as sharp and tense as though some heart-string 
 strained too tightly had given way : he turned, and saw 
 the face that to him was all the world look white and 
 suffering, with all the glow of joy and thankfulness 
 faded away ! One swift step brought him back to her 
 side ; he laid his hand on her shoulder, and his voice 
 trembled as he spoke. 
 
 " God will bless you," he said ; " you will be happy 
 somewhere ! Twice you have saved me in my hour of 
 weakness ; twice you have turned me back into the right 
 way ; and God will reward you ! Remember, I have 
 you, and you only, to thank that I am not a miserable 
 and utter wreck ! " He paused ; his voice lowered and his 
 grasp on her shoulder grew heavier. " If by God's mercy 
 I am saved, may I not hope to meet you in eternity \ " 
 
 She trembled under his hand, and his words seemed 
 to ring about her like a thousand bells. He was miser- 
 able, but he had a hope : she stood desolate ! How the 
 weight of her misery seemed to crush her down how it 
 seemed to double itself when she realized how utterly 
 alone she stood ! Solitary outside the pale of all the 
 Christian world ! But one had stood there an old, de- 
 serted, white-haired man had stood there, and dared all 
 risks ! Her place was at his side.
 
 234: THE FELMERES. 
 
 She stepped from under the hand that lay on her 
 shoulder, and, looking up with a light of devotion shining 
 in her eyes, and a pale, brave face, she answered : 
 
 " If I deserted iny father, remorse would torment me 
 even in the Christian's paradise 1 This life is all I have 
 or hope for ; with it I must be content ! " 
 
 One moment they stood facing each other, realizing 
 intensely the awful distance that possibly lay between 
 them ! And while they looked, the crimson glory of the 
 sunset faded, and the world was left to the gray dusk and 
 sobbing wind ! 
 
 " I will pray for you day and nigh't," he said at last, 
 " that God will save you." 
 
 Then, without another word or touch, he left her and 
 strode away through the gloaming. 
 
 Gone! 
 
 She stood among the gathering shadows and listened 
 until the last echo of his footsteps died away : firm, 
 steady, unfaltering, it faded from her hearing and from 
 her life ! It was right, and she had wished it so ; but 
 now the loneliness of it came home to her so heavily, and 
 she only now realized how much she would miss him 
 how much of a link he had been between her and her old 
 home. He had known her father, and had lived with 
 them in their daily life ; he was something to make her 
 conscious that those former days were not a dream, and 
 when he was near her she had missed the empty longing 
 and home-sickness of her life. But it was well : he had 
 shown his strength and gone away, and she could still 
 remember him with pleasure and trust. This was a hap- 
 piness to her, and she was glad for it. 
 
 After this she drew within herself more than before ;
 
 THE FELMERES. 235 
 
 lived within her little circle of home, her child, and her 
 art ; painted, as in her youth, sad little pictures of the 
 scenes about her stretches of gray sea under a somber 
 sky, ragged headlands with the wild waves surging about 
 them, desolate marshes with solitary birds hovering over 
 them, and dreary fragments of wrecks with dead bodies 
 lashed to them. Here and there among them would 
 nestle a little rosy sketch of her child, or some view of 
 Felmere glorified with a beauty born of love and memory. 
 
 So the summer faded into autumn, and the sharp Sep- 
 tember winds dispersed the gay crowds that filled the 
 hotels and cottages, and left the little seaport town at 
 rest in its own quiet, old-fashioned beauty. And for this 
 Helen was glad. 'She preferred seeing the long rows of 
 villas on the avenue shut up and desolate ; she liked its 
 old-time crooked streets best when they were empty of 
 gay carriages and finely dressed visitors ; for in her mind 
 the frivolous crowds that gathered there did not suit the 
 sadness of the winds and the waves. 
 
 The place to her was sad with an infinite grandeur 
 that seemed to raise her above and beyond the littlenesses 
 of life; that seemed to still the ever-reaching longing 
 within her that, in her searchings for a name, she called 
 her soul. 
 
 "Was that her soul ? this thing that seemed ever striv- 
 ing to express itself; wailing and sobbing for lack of bet- 
 ter speech, tingeing all the beautiful with a shade of mis- 
 ery, and all the high and good with a mist of tears ! Was 
 that her soul ? That " something " these Christians be- 
 lieved would be saved or damned ; that " something," 
 now trammeled with " fleshy bonds," that in its freedom 
 would soar to the Infinite, to enjoy or suffer infinitely !
 
 236 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Was this " divine despair " within her a portion of the 
 all-pervading unknowable ? This was something she 
 could neither understand nor quiet ; that made the rising 
 storms the watching the waves lash themselves into a 
 fury, howling and crying as though they were human the 
 hearing the winds wail, and seeing the low clouds hur- 
 rying by torn and rifted the standing alone, far out, and 
 feeling the wild spray about her a fascination to her. 
 And so living, she gathered to herself a patience born 
 of beauty and the nothingness of all; a patience born 
 of pity for her own misshapen lot; a patience and a 
 sadness that pervaded all her after-life ! 
 
 At last the day came when Philip wrote requesting 
 her return, the seaside being now, he thought, much too 
 bleak for the child. No hint of wishing to see her, no 
 anxiety on her account ! only the tersely given opinion 
 as to the place being no longer beneficial to the child, and 
 the cold request that for this reason she would bring him 
 home. 
 
 What did it mean ? she wondered. Was his mother 
 influencing him to this extent, and why ? She could not 
 answer the question, but the letter made her more than 
 ever realize how sorry she was to leave her little home, 
 where she had found somewhat of happiness, and go 
 back to the false conventionalities of the world, and the 
 hypocrisies of her husband's family ; but of course she 
 must go, and the orders for the move were given. 
 
 In the next two days she wandered slowly and regret- 
 fully from one to the other of her favorite haunts to say 
 a last good-by : she hoped she would see them again some 
 day, for among them she had been almost happy. 
 
 Happy ! Alas ! had she ever been happy ? Was there
 
 THE FELMERES. 237 
 
 such a thing as happiness for her ? Felix had said she 
 would be happy somewhere. Poor fellow ! how he had 
 loved her, and how pitiful his blessing had sounded in 
 her ears ; and his faith that she would be rewarded for 
 her course and be happy " somewhere " was so simple and 
 so beautiful ! He could not let himself believe that all 
 her life would be of one somber hue ; some joy must touch 
 her sooner or later. Ah, he had loved her truly ; and for 
 his sake, as well as her own, she hoped it might be, though 
 she could not think it would. 
 
 So she reflected, standing alone and far out on a jut- 
 ting crag, looking a last farewell on her favorite view. 
 Tire day had darkened before a coming storm ; the clouds 
 scudded low in hurrying crowds ; the fitful wind, moan- 
 ing now as sadly as a broken heart, now rising with a 
 sudden dash into a high wild shriek, lashed the sullen 
 waves to a fury, boiling and hurling them to and fro until 
 they howled like human souls in hell's deep agony until 
 it seemed as if, in impotent despair, they strove with thin 
 foam-hands to clutch and hold the mighty cliffs ! Already 
 the storm wailed sad among the scanty seaside trees, and 
 far and near the screaming birds flew inland from the 
 rising wind. 
 
 "With tight-clasped hands, and set white face, and eyes 
 brimful of all heart-breaking sorrow, Helen stood a pic- 
 ture of despair, framed in the wan storm-light. The wild- 
 ness of the storm entered into her ; the waves in their 
 anguish seemed to call to her ; the sorrows of her life 
 seemed too much for her. Why not end it there ? why 
 drag on a weary existence that she loathed ? why go 
 back to the torments and the trials of her life ? why 
 not now solve the mystery of death, the truth or false-
 
 238 THE FELMERES. 
 
 hood of eternity ? A swift plunge a little struggle with 
 the mighty waters a last sharp breath a quiet floating 
 on the wandering waves a resting on some sea-beaten 
 shore ! 
 
 Why not ? 
 
 A hand closed on her arm, and a voice said in her ear : 
 
 " Come away ! " 
 
 She started, and turning quickly saw beside her a 
 small, ill-dressed man, almost a hunchback. She made as 
 though she would have drawn away, but a strange power 
 in the great brown eyes held her, and looking deep in 
 them she wondered what it was. 
 
 " Yesterday I saw you with your child," he said ; 
 u you must go back to it now." 
 
 A rush of love and memory for her .little one throbbed 
 through her : how could she have forgotten him ! 
 
 " Thank you," she said, as though in a dream, and 
 turning left the sad-faced man alone.
 
 " Full desertness 
 
 In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare 
 Under the blanching, vertical eye- glare 
 Of the absolute heavens."
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " ' But woe is me I I think there is no sun ; 
 My sun is sunken, and the night grows dark : 
 None care for me.' " 
 
 MRS. FELMERE had prophesied a two weeks' delay 
 before Helen would so much as answer Philip's letter, so 
 that Helen's appearance in the " sitting-room " the fifth 
 evening after the letter had been sent gave them quite a 
 shock. She* had opened the door quietly, and stood 
 watching for a moment tie two silent occupants of the 
 room : Philip in a low-hung reading-chair, his book turned 
 down on his knee, his arms crossed, and his head bent 
 until his chin rested on his breast ; Mrs. Felmere under 
 the full glare of the lamp, knitting, and casting from 
 time to time furtive glances at her son. The fire in the 
 grate looked dull and red, the place and people somber ; 
 and as she came forward, Helen could not help sighing 
 deeply. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere dropped her knitting, and Philip, start- 
 ing up with a hurried exclamation, let his book fall to 
 the floor. " What is the matter ? How have you come 
 so soon ? " 
 
 11
 
 242 THE FELMEEES. 
 
 "You wrote for me," Helen answered, pausing in 
 her approach with a look of surprise on her face, " and I 
 came ; did you not expect me to do so ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; yes, of course," Philip said quickly ; then, 
 recollecting that he had not in any way greeted his wife, 
 he stepped forward, seeming much embarrassed, and 
 kissed her. Then Mrs. Felmere also came and kissed her, 
 and Helen sat down. Then the child received more at- 
 tention, but being asleep was sent to bed, and the three 
 were left together. 
 
 ""We did not expect you so soon," Mrs. Felmere 
 began, " or Philip would certainly have met you." 
 
 " Of course he would," Helen answered, and won- 
 dered why Philip could not say that for himself. 
 
 " You should have telegraphed," Philip said. 
 
 " I never thought of it," Helen answered. " In your 
 letter you said, ( Come as soon as possible,' and did you 
 not know that would be to-day ? " 
 
 Her voice was very quiet, but all tKe while the 
 thought coming up to her that, this was home gave her a 
 feeling almost of desperation ! Her temporary servants 
 whom she had just left had always given her a warmer 
 welcome after a day's absence ; and she wondered what 
 had come over Philip, at the same time casting about for 
 some polite excuse that would allow her to retire to her 
 own room. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere scanned her closely. " You are not 
 looking very well," she said at last. 
 
 " I am only a little tired," Helen answered. 
 
 Then Philip looked at her more narrowly, but he said 
 nothing.
 
 THE FELMERES. 243 
 
 " The family are they all well ? " Helen asked after 
 a few moments. 
 
 " Yes," Mrs. Felmere answered, " all except my sister 
 Esther ; she is far from well. Amelia is engaged to Mr. 
 Tolman." 
 
 Helen looked up quickly. " Indeed ! I had not heard 
 that." Then more slowly : " I hope they will be very 
 happy," and she wondered if Amelia loved him. 
 
 " She ought to be," Mrs. Felmere answered ; " he is 
 everything that any woman could desire or deserve ; and 
 even if Amelia does not all at once love him, she is such 
 a good Christian that love will soon come through her 
 submission and desire to please him. But I believe she 
 loves him now." 
 
 Philip crossed and uncrossed his legs nervously : were 
 they going to quarrel already ? And Helen, looking into 
 the fire, answered simply : 
 
 " I sincerely hope- she does, else she will be very un- 
 happy." 
 
 " But I say if she does not," Mrs. Felmere persisted, 
 " she will make it her pleasure to learn to do it." 
 
 " Perhaps," Helen answered, " but it is a desperate 
 risk." Then she changed the subject by asking if Miss 
 Esther was really very sick. 
 
 "Yery," Mrs. Felmere answered emphatically, then 
 closed her lips as though that subject were a dead letter 
 between Helen and herself. 
 
 But Philip, who felt really very grateful to Helen for 
 not quarreling over Amelia when she had been offered 
 such a good opportunity, and being anxious to help in 
 the diversion from that subject, said boldly : 
 
 " She does not look very ill."
 
 244 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " I do not know what you can be thinking of," his 
 mother said quickly and sharply ; " I have never seen any 
 one break as she has done. It is true she has brightened 
 up a little since Amelia's engagement, for she says it is 
 such a happiness to her to see those she loves uniting 
 themselves with pure good Christians, and so insuring 
 both their temporal and eternal happiness." Then Mrs. 
 Felmere sighed deeply, and a look of resignation came 
 over her face. 
 
 If Helen had not felt the truth that was in these 
 words, the truth she felt too deeply every moment as 
 exemplified in her own ill-assorted marriage, she might 
 have smiled at the spite in them. As it was, she an- 
 swered quietly, without even the desire to retort : 
 
 "Aunt Esther has always admired Mr. Tolman." 
 
 Her listeners were surprised, and Mrs. Felmere, being 
 made rather impatient by the peacefulness of her words, 
 said quickly : 
 
 " Of course she has ; and every one who has any ap- 
 preciation of goodness and worth admires Mr. Tolman ; 
 indeed, he is universally esteemed." 
 
 Helen half way smiled as she answered : 
 
 " He seems to be very popular." 
 
 Philip was much relieved, and Mrs. Felmere was really 
 provoked that Helen should so baffle her. What did this 
 extraordinary patience on her part mean ? Was it a plan 
 to win Philip back to herself ? A little pang of jealousy 
 shot through Mrs. Felmere's heart, for she had come to 
 feel that she ought to stand first with him ; and now she 
 felt it more than ever before in her life. With the 
 growth of this feeling her antipathy to Philip's wife had 
 rapidly increased. It was the force of this feeling which
 
 THE FELMERES. 24:5 
 
 made her forget, in her search of motives for her daugh- 
 ter-in-law's behavior, that Helen had not yet been made 
 aware of the breach which slie 'had been preparing be- 
 tween her husband and herself. 
 
 "Had you a pleasant journey?" Philip asked, feel- 
 ing awkward in the pause that followed Helen's last re- 
 mark. 
 
 " Not very," was the answer ; and there was a hope- 
 less sound in the voice, as though the speaker was asking 
 herself : " Would anything ever be pleasant again \ " 
 
 Mrs. Felmere caught something of the tone, and 
 looked up quickly. " Perhaps you were not anxious to 
 make the journey," she said deliberately. 
 
 " You can not be surprised that I was not anxious to 
 come back," Helen answered candidly, wondering the 
 while if her aunt wished to quarrel " The quiet was 
 delightful to me, I like the country so much better than 
 town." 
 
 Philip straightened up in his chair. " It was only 
 on the child's account that I suggested your return," he 
 said stiffly. " I did not at all mean to coerce your move- 
 ments." 
 
 Helen sat quite still while he spoke, and listened with 
 a surprise that was almost painful. It was true she had 
 never loved her husband, and did not now care for him 
 to any great degree ; but since the birth of her child she 
 had come to have a more gentle feeling toward him, 
 more as though peace between them would be a pleasant 
 thing ; and coming home after her long absence, she had 
 determined for their son's sake to do all in her power to 
 put things on a happier footing in the family. Mingled 
 with this feeling and the good motive inducing it, there
 
 246 THE FELMERES. 
 
 arose from the same source from the love for her child 
 another feeling and another motive. The knowledge 
 that her husband had more 330 wer over the child than she 
 had, power enough to separate her from it, filled her with 
 an intense fear and longing to do all to make her stay 
 under his roof sure. All this came up in her mind and 
 heart as Philip spoke, and, without looking at him, she 
 answered slowly : 
 
 " I know that, and think it better for the child my- 
 self." 
 
 Philip rattled the leaves of his book, with a fresh 
 amount of wonder at Helen's extraordinary patience. 
 Mrs. Felmere, knitting diligently, could not make it out ; 
 and Helen, weary of it all, excused herself and went to 
 her own room. 
 
 Slowly she traversed the long halls and mounted the 
 broad stairway ; slowly her thoughts revolved around the 
 questions, " How could she bear this life ? " and "What 
 did this treatment presage ? " Their letters had been 
 short and cool during her absence, but not to an ex- 
 tent that would have led her to expect this state of 
 things, and the fact that this was " home " grew blacker 
 as she contemplated it. Home ! and no hope for a hap- 
 pier one. Ah, it was desperate ! 
 
 On reaching her room she found that the servant, out 
 of his own thoughtfulness, had put refreshments there 
 for her. She paused a moment, touched by the little at- 
 tention, then turned to him as he stood waiting for fur- 
 ther orders, and held out her hand in greeting. 
 
 " Thank you, James," she said ; " this was very 
 thoughtful of you. I shall not need anything more." 
 
 James bowed low ; he felt honored by her gracious
 
 THE FELMERES. 247 
 
 thanks, and asked respectfully after her health and after 
 the conduct of his daughter, who filled the important post 
 of nurse to the child. 
 
 " Annie has been very good," the mistress answered ; 
 " I am perfectly satisfied with her, and so should you be, 
 James." 
 
 "Thank you, madam, and I am," James answered, 
 then left the room. 
 
 Down in the servants' hall talk was plenty that night. 
 Young Mrs. Felmere's arrival, her cool reception, her 
 beauty and gentleness, Master Philip's weakness in being 
 managed by his mother, and " old Mrs. Felmere's " gen- 
 eral disagreeableness, were some of the themes. Then 
 there was a whisper that " Miss Helen " would not be al- 
 lowed to stay long Mrs. Felmere was working too hard 
 against her. The coachman had heard scraps of many 
 conversations to this effect between her and her son as 
 he drove them out in the summer afternoons. James 
 had picked up a great deal around the table, and the 
 housemaid had heard long discussions between the ladies 
 of the Jourdan family. It was a " sin and a shame," 
 they all declared ; for, although " Miss Helen " might 
 not be a Christian, she was more of a " real lady " than 
 any among them ; and the current of feeling set strong 
 toward her. 
 
 Before Helen had quite finished her tea, Philip 
 knocked at the door. Annie opened, it, and stood back, 
 holding it wide. He hesitated a moment, then came in 
 and went to the crib where the child slept. Helen did 
 not move, but, thinking that perhaps Philip had come to 
 make peace and explain her reception, she motioned An- 
 nie to leave the room. For a few moments he stood
 
 248 THE FELMERES. 
 
 looting down on the child, then turned toward the door, 
 and said slowly : 
 
 " I only came to tell you that I am going with my 
 mother to see Aunt Esther, and that when I come back 
 I shall not disturb you, as I am at present in my bachelor 
 quarters on the other side of the house." 
 
 "Yery well," Helen answered quietly; then added, 
 " Good night." 
 
 " Good night," he repeated, and held out his hand. 
 There was an almost imperceptible hesitation before 
 Helen laid hers in it ; then he left the room and went 
 slowly down stairs. 
 
 Very slowly he went, each step seeming as though it 
 would be the last in that direction, and as if he would 
 come back. Helen listened intensely. At last he paused. 
 " He will come," she thought. 
 
 Alas ! his mother was listening. " Philip, I am wait- 
 ing," she called, and he went on. 
 
 Helen covered her face with her hands. She did not 
 love him : why should she be pained ? Even so ; but in 
 all the world he was the only creature she had any right 
 to call on in time of need ; and above all, he had the 
 power to take her child from her ! She raised her head. 
 Was this to be a separation, and why ? "What had she 
 done to make him take this course now ? She had been 
 away all summer, but he had sent her. She did not love 
 him, but she never had, and he had always known it. 
 She was not a Christian, but in spite of that he had in- 
 sisted on marrying her. Could it be because she had 
 acknowledged to him her love for Eelix Gordon ? If so, 
 even that was his fault, for he had asked her the direct 
 question, and she could do nothing but tell the truth.
 
 THE FELMERES. 249 
 
 Then, with the memory of Felix, her thoughts seemed 
 to slip away from the turbid current of her present life 
 into a stiller stream, between green banks, by nodding 
 flowers, back to the old days. She had seen him again ; 
 and, though changed, yet he was true, and she could feel 
 that there was one thing left living in her life that was 
 not a delusion. And he had said she would be happy 
 " somewhere." It would never be here, and was there a 
 hereafter ? She drove the thought away ; she would not 
 go back to the old never-ending round of questions ; it 
 could make no difference to her, for she had made her 
 choice, and would abide by it. "Somewhere!" How 
 the sound of his voice came back to her with that piteous 
 ring of despair in it ; and she could see his white face 
 as it had looked down on her through the gloaming ; she 
 could smell the sea-wind and the poor little flowers whose 
 lives he had crushed out under his heel as he turned 
 away ; and the cry of the waves came to her as she sat 
 alone in the heart of a great city. 
 
 The little child sighed in its sleep, and the sound 
 brought all the knowledge of her present life to her 
 again ; and again she questioned herself. Would this 
 lead to a separation, and what had caused the breach ? 
 She thought over everything she had done or said, and 
 could not solve the mystery. 
 
 Suddenly she paused. The solution of it lay plain 
 before her distinct as the pictures on the wall or the fire 
 that burned in the grate ! The love had been all on one 
 side a hopeless love that had died, had worn itself out, 
 had recoiled upon itself and choked out its own life. 
 She had not cared for it, yet now that it was gone she 
 missed it ; she felt lonely and cut off from all save her
 
 250 THE FELMERES. 
 
 child. She went near the crib and looked down on the 
 little sleeper, so peaceful and innocent, and wished from 
 the depths of her heart that she could have blinded her- 
 self to the faults of her husband. She had honestly- 
 tried to do it, but found that her education had been pe- 
 culiarly fitted for the discovery of those very weaknesses 
 and shortcomings he had fallen heir to. 
 
 " Poor Philip ! " she whispered as she recommenced 
 her walking to and fro ; " he has suffered much, and a 
 separation would be much happier for him." She paused 
 in front of the fire. Once she had longed for a separa- 
 tion, and even now would agree to it if she could have 
 the child. 
 
 A chill crept over her, and walking to the crib she 
 took her baby in her arms : she would serve as a menial 
 in Philip's house rather than leave her child. Yet, if he 
 commanded her ? She paused. Could he command her 
 to leave him without just cause ? Surely not ! Could 
 she humble herself to the extent of staying in his house 
 against his wishes ? Never ! And she crushed the child 
 to her bosom with such force that he waked with a pite- 
 ous cry ; and with the sound of that little startled voice 
 all her self-control came back to her. Gently she hushed 
 him to sleep, and when again he was quiet, a calmer train 
 of thought had come to her. 
 
 Of course she could not expect Philip to give up the 
 child, for he was the last of the name, and a son ; and 
 realizing this, she must make up her mind what she 
 would do in case Philip proposed her leaving him. She 
 could not argue these questions calmly with the child in 
 her arms ; so, stopping in her walk, she laid him in the 
 crib, then took her seat near the fire. If it came at all,
 
 THE FELMEEES. 251 
 
 she thought it would only be a private separation, with 
 no law and no publicity about it, so that there could only 
 be a private arrangement as to the child ; and how would 
 this be managed ? Turn the question as she would, she 
 could see but one solution : six months -with her, six 
 months with its father. Would this do ? Would it not 
 be the surest way to ruin the child and to make them all 
 bitterly unhappy ? She paused. This was too true ; and 
 they must agree to live together, or one or the other 
 must give up entirely ! 
 
 She buried her face in her hands. A thousand times 
 better for her that she should have ended her miserable 
 life than that it should come to this ; and if that wretched 
 man had not stopped her, she would have been at peace 
 now dead ! 
 
 She rose, and again began her walking to and fro ; 
 for she could not sit still and think calmly on such a 
 subject. Once more she paused beside the child, and, 
 looking on him and beyond him to the future, her lips 
 turned white and her hands clinched themselves convul- 
 sively together. She could not bear it ; she would appeal 
 to the law before she would give up her child ; if the law 
 decided in Philip's favor, then Philip would have to 
 bring the law to bear to force her child away ! Slowly 
 her hands unclasped themselves, and a coldness of horror 
 crept over her white face and half-parted lips. Would 
 the law protect an unbeliever ? She grasped the back of 
 a chair to support herself. Where had the thought come 
 from ? Would Philip think of it ? Was there any truth 
 in it? 
 
 A feeling of hatred and defiance against Philip and 
 his mother was growing up within her. They should
 
 252 THE FELMEEES. 
 
 not take her child ! She would run away with it, would 
 hide it ! How her head ached, and how her brain seemed 
 to throb and swell ! 
 
 " O father," she whispered, " if you were only here to 
 help me and tell me what to do ! " 
 
 Suddenly a remembrance came to her, and taking a 
 light she went down to the library where the picture of 
 " King Arthur " stood. She put the light on a stand 
 near by, and knelt before the picture as before a shrine. 
 She had not seen it for so long that now it burst on her 
 with redoubled force. 
 
 " Father, father ! " she whispered, and her sobs 
 swelled into a storm of grief. All the past came back ; 
 all the sorrow she had through all her life controlled, all 
 the tears she had smothered, found vent with redoubled 
 force, while the hours swept on and the night waned. 
 
 And she did not know that Philip and his mother, 
 passing by on the thickly carpeted floors, had paused and 
 looked on her crouching in the dim light; had listened 
 to her wild sobs ; had gone away without speaking or 
 looking at each other gone away and left her to the 
 blank bitterness of her own heart ! She was all uncon- 
 scious that she had been watched; and when she had 
 worn out the violence of her suffering, and her sobs had 
 ceased, she looked up into the face of the " Great King " 
 that seemed to sympathize with her despair; she gazed 
 on it as though she would put life into the eyes and 
 speech upon the lips ! 
 
 At last she rose. 
 
 "He would have been calm and strong," she said, 
 " and waited quietly until the trouble came ; he would 
 have stooped to no deceit, nor will I; he would have
 
 THE FELMERES. 253 
 
 asked for no mercy, and I will not. If any trouble comes, 
 I will bear it, and through all I will study only the good 
 of my child as he did for me." 
 
 She paused a little before her last words ; for when 
 she thought of it all, she felt that his actions had not at 
 all worked for her good ; but he had meant all for her 
 good, and so had acted to the best of his judgment. So 
 she said the words ; and then, as one taking an oath, she 
 laid her lips on the unanswering canvas, and left it. 
 
 The next morning, before the house was astir, Philip 
 stood on the spot where he had seen his wife the night 
 before stood there scanning the picture closely. " Aha ! " 
 The exclamation was made below his breath; then, he 
 straightened himself, and his face darkened strangely. 
 In one corner of the picture he had found the letters 
 "F. G.," and the date "18," the very year after he 
 had left Felmere ! Ah, what a blind fool he had been, 
 never to put things together ! Gordon had painted this 
 picture Felix Gordon and had probably done it while 
 at Felmere ! All those wild sobs, that long midnight 
 vigil, meant Felix Gordon ! And Mrs. Beaumont had 
 seen them together at the seaside ! 
 
 He "glared at the picture ; he longed to cut it to pieces, 
 to burn it, to dash it from the window anything that 
 would destroy it and for ever remove it from his sight, 
 now that he hated it so much. For a long time he stood 
 there battling with himself, debating, reasoning, planning, 
 but coming to no conclusion save that he was learning to 
 hate his wife !
 
 254 THE FELMERES. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Change, reverting to the years, 
 
 When thy nerves could understand 
 What there is in loving tears, 
 And the warmth of hand in hand." 
 
 THE next morning after Helen's arrival brought a 
 note from Mrs. Yanzandt. 
 
 "If dear Helen will come to me tins morning, I 
 shall eternally thank her ! As refreshing showers after 
 summer heat, so will dear Helen's presence be to me. 
 " Devotedly, 
 
 "VALERIA VANZANDT." 
 
 These few words, written in a strictly fashionable 
 hand, on strictly fashionable paper, covered a whole sheet, 
 and took at least twenty minutes to decipher ; but Helen 
 read to the end with admirable patience, and answered 
 in her honest round hand, on plain square paper, that she 
 would surely come. She said nothing to any one of her 
 intended visit ; for on the preceding evening it had been 
 made painfully clear to her that her presence in the house 
 was of no consequence. She therefore quietly ordered 
 her private carriage, and, sending the nurse and child 
 down stairs ahead of her, was about to follow them when 
 Mrs. Felmere, meeting her on the landing, stopped her. 
 
 " I think it is too cold for the child," she said. 
 
 " I do not agree with you," Helen answered ; " it is
 
 THE FELMERES. 255 
 
 quite pleasant, and a drive will do him good. Besides, I 
 wish Valeria to see him while he is looking so well." 
 
 " Of course," Mrs. Felmere rejoined, " it is as you 
 please. I can only warn and advise ; I can not prevent. 
 You know, also, our feeling about Mrs. Yanzandt ? " 
 
 Mrs. Felmere's tones were those of an injured and 
 much aggrieved person ; and Helen, listening, paused a 
 moment before she spoke, then said gently : 
 
 " I know, aunt, that you do not now like my friend ; 
 but you once liked her and made her known to me. Now 
 I can not give her up, for I believe she is true to me, and 
 I am fond of her." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere bowed, and in the action there was a 
 world of unspoken sarcasm. "Yes," she said; "and you 
 intend, I suppose, to continue fond of her in spite of 
 everything ? " 
 
 Helen did not answer immediately, but wisely paused 
 a moment to think whether she should do so or not. 
 Deciding quickly that it was not worth her while, she 
 turned to descend, when a sudden thought, came to her 
 that made her change her mind. 
 
 "Aunt," she said, "please tell me the worst thing 
 against Valeria." And the voice was so quiet and con- 
 ciliating, so much the voice of a person asking for advice, 
 that Mrs. Felmere was surprised. She had never in all 
 her experience of her known Helen to feign anything, 
 and yet what other explanation was there for this patience 
 and gentleness ? After a moment of wondering, she an- 
 swered : 
 
 " She is a divorced woman, and we ought not to hold 
 such people in much respect. Besides, the world says 
 she was to blame."
 
 256 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " Do you think a divorce a disgrace ? " 
 
 Helen stood looking straight down into her aunt's 
 eyes in a searching manner that was not very agreeable. 
 Mrs. Felmere shifted her position uneasily once or twice ; 
 then, suddenly standing quite still, she answered in a 
 decided tone : 
 
 " Yes, I do." 
 
 " And Philip also ? " 
 
 Mrs. Felmere stood still now and scanned the face 
 before her curiously as she replied.: 
 
 " Yes, my son also : all Christians ought to think so." 
 
 Helen stood silent and thoughtful for a moment, then 
 went on : 
 
 "On whom do you think the disgrace falls more 
 heavily in general, the man or the woman ? " 
 
 " On the woman," was answered unhesitatingly. 
 
 Helen looked at her a moment, as though she had not 
 heard her words and was thinking of something very far 
 away from the subject under discussion. At last she 
 spoke spoka slowly and musingly as though to herself. 
 
 " But the children," she said, " suffer the most ; for 
 they have the disgrace without being sustained by the 
 strength of the motive that drove their parents to take 
 the step." Then for a moment she stood silent, and Mrs. 
 Felmere watching her was puzzled. 
 
 " Poor Valeria ! " Helen went on after a little while ; 
 < I will not believe she was in fault." And, without a 
 word of explanation or a word of farewell, she turned 
 away in a slow, preoccupied manner and went down to 
 the carriage, where the nurse and child already awaited 
 her. 
 
 And Mrs. Felmere, watching her from the landing,
 
 THE FELMERES. 257 
 
 seemed to catch the look from her face, and in the prob- 
 lem that opened before her forgot the dispute over the 
 child. 
 
 " Was Helen going to sue for a divorce ? " she pon- 
 dered ; " and in such case what should be done ? " 
 
 " Philip will not go to law," Helen thought ; " he 
 thinks it a disgrace. What then ? " 
 
 Mrs. Yanzandt said all in praise of the child that could 
 be expected or desired so much that both mother and 
 nurse agreed in pronouncing her a woman of much judg- 
 ment. Then the child was sent for a drive round the 
 park, and Mrs. Yanzandt made known to her friend the 
 urgent need there was for her presence. " An art recep- 
 tion, dear, to-morrow ; and behold ! with all my invita- 
 tions out, three of the best pictures have failed me ! Is it 
 not awful ? Utterly dreadful, and you can appreciate my 
 despair ! And now, I want to beg you to fill their places ; 
 can you, and will you ? Your pictures are all lovely, and 
 peculiar also ; they will, I know, be admired, for your 
 style is not at all commonplace. Will you ? " 
 
 Helen looked doubtful. Her pictures were almost 
 sacred to her, and she did not like or wish to put them 
 on exhibition for the public ; yet it would seem very un- 
 kind, not to help her friend out of her dilemma. 
 
 " We can send for them," she said slowly, " and de- 
 termine if any of them will do. Most of them, how- 
 ever, are up stairs in this very house. I have made only 
 a very few this summer, but you can send for them if 
 you like. I will write a note." 
 
 Mrs. Yanzandt's thanks were profuse, and the pic- 
 tures were sent for.
 
 258 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " And now, dear, while we are waiting I will order 
 in a little lunch, and we can exchange a few remarks." 
 
 Helen smiled as though she were tired. 
 
 " You begin then, Valeria," she said, " for I have nei- 
 ther the ideas nor spirits necessary for even a ' few re- 
 marks.' ' : 
 
 Mrs. Yanzandt poured out some wine for her friend, 
 then for herself, saying soberly the while : 
 
 " You should remember, my dear child, the remark 
 that * to those who think, life is a farce; to those who 
 feel, a tragedy ' ; and surely you are among the thought- 
 ful?" 
 
 "Yes," Helen answered, "I ought to be ; I was regu- 
 larly trained to think. But I doubt, Yaleria, if life ever 
 becomes a farce even to the most thoughtful until their 
 feelings are worn out." 
 
 Mrs. Yanzandt arched her black eyebrows, and 
 shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I would not wait to wear my feelings out," she said, 
 rather bitterly ; " I would, without further demur, anni- 
 hilate them that is, if I were as you are." 
 
 Her companion shook her head sadly. 
 
 " So you think," she said in a voice full of despair ; 
 " but you have never had a child." . 
 
 The pretty dark face of the woman opposite worked 
 strangely for a moment, and her answer came slowly and 
 with difficulty : 
 
 "Yes I have." 
 
 For a moment there was a dead silence ; for Helen 
 was more than pained to have so wounded her friend, 
 and was besides astonished out of all words. At last 
 she broke the silence.
 
 THE FELMERES. 259 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Valeria," she said slowly. " I 
 did not know I did not mean to hurt you." 
 
 Mrs. Yanzandt recovered herself. 
 
 " Of course you did not ; I understand. I do not 
 mind it very much now ; it has been long enough for 
 me to get over it somewhat, for my child died many 
 years ago, and when it was only a few months old. 5> 
 There was a little pause ; then she went on in the same 
 quiet, musing voice : " And I was glad it died, for I could 
 not have kept it ; the law would have given it to its 
 father, and this would have made both it and me utterly 
 miserable." 
 
 A chill crept over Helen as she listened. The law 
 would in any case go -against her, and appealing to it 
 would only insure the loss of her child ! 
 
 "My dear, you are spilling your wine all over your 
 dress ! " and Mrs. Vanzandt made a sudden dash with 
 her napkin into Helen's lap. 
 
 Helen started, and the glass fell to the floor with a 
 little crash. 
 
 " I am so sorry," she said, looking helplessly into the 
 astonished face of her friend. " I could not help it. 
 And, Valeria, are you sure about that? " 
 
 " About what ! " Mrs. Vanzandt's voice sounded al- 
 most frightened, and the look of bewilderment increased 
 on her face : was Helen losing her wits ! 
 
 Helen rose, and walking to a window answered 
 slowly : 
 
 " Nothing. I have changed my mind, dear, and you 
 must excuse me without an explanation." 
 
 Here they were interrupted by the arrival of the pic- 
 tures ; and to Helen, at least, the interruption was more
 
 260 THE FELMERES. 
 
 than welcome. Mrs. Yanzandt soon selected what was 
 needful to fill the places left vacant, and, the child com- 
 ing in as she finished, Helen rose to go glad to be free 
 to think, glad to be once more alone ; promising faith- 
 fully, however, to come the next day. 
 
 " And the law will not give me the child," she pon- 
 dered. " Oh, what shall I do ? " 
 
 Once more she stole down into the library to ask 
 counsel of the picture, and to seek comfort in the strong 
 face of her father. 
 
 " He would have been strong," she thought ; " he 
 would not have cringed or deceived ; he would have been 
 calm and patient. Oh, my father my father ! " 
 
 And Philip, coming in, found her standing there. 
 She saw him coming, but she did not move. 
 
 " You love that picture," he said, pausing near her. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Philip went on more slowly : 
 
 " Gordon must have painted that about the time you 
 first knew him." 
 
 "Yes; he painted it at Felmere." The voice was 
 very quiet, and the face as unconcerned as though they 
 were discussing the weather ; and to her it did seem but 
 little more now, for that time was so far away, and it 
 appeared such a gentle grief in comparison with the sor- 
 row that now overshadowed her. But her unconcern 
 made Philip angry. 
 
 " That accounts, then, for the likeness to your father," 
 he said quickly. 
 
 " Yes, my father was our model." 
 
 "Ah! you helped in it?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 THE FELMERES. 261 
 
 " You never told me all this before," Philip went on 
 coldly. 
 
 "You never asked me before," she answered with 
 studied slowness. She was trying not to be scornful nor 
 cross ; it would not be wise to anger him unnecessarily ; 
 and yet she did not wish to be too polite or gentle, lest 
 she should be tempted to go further and cringe a little 
 in order to be allowed to remain with her child. And 
 now, since Philip as it were put her at the bar to be 
 questioned and judged, she felt as though she would 
 rather die or go away than humble herself to him. 
 
 Meanwhile Philip stood looking out of the window 
 as though arranging his next words, finally breaking on 
 her thoughts with 
 
 " There is a new piece by Gordon it is down at Pit- 
 telli'^j called 'By the Sea.' Have you seen it ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " It was painted last summer while he was at the sea- 
 side." 
 
 " Doubtless." Why did he not ask her the honest, 
 direct question ? He knew she would answer truly. 
 But patience was wisest just now; and, although she 
 longed to express her contempt for his little hints, she 
 stood quite still and silent, and Philip went on : 
 
 " Mrs. Beaumont said you seemed to be old friends." 
 He was watching her closely, and she looked at him 
 steadily. 
 
 " And was it necessary for Mrs. Beaumont to corrob- 
 orate the statement I made to you years ago ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " You did not meet as old- friends at Mrs. Tilmont's 
 ball," he answered slowly.
 
 262 THE FELJ\fERES. 
 
 This was hard to be borne ; but, putting a still strong- 
 er curb on herself, she kept silent until the first hot rush 
 of her indignation passed, then said with deliberate cold- 
 ness : 
 
 " I do not like your tone, Philip ; there is something 
 behind which you do not seem willing to speak out 
 honestly. If you and your mother suspect me, there is 
 nothing easier than to watch me, and I am willing that 
 you should do so." She stopped suddenly, for she felt 
 her anger again getting the better of her. She turned 
 and left the room. 
 
 That it was natural for Philip to suspect her, was a 
 fact she had often looked at squarely and imagined that 
 she realized ; but, coming home to her as it had done in 
 the last few days, reason as she would, she could not 
 reconcile herself to the justice of it. It was truc^that 
 Philip, knowing that she had little regard for the bonds 
 forged for humanity by either custom or religion know- 
 ing that she was neither guided nor swayed by any of the 
 hopes and fears engendered by a belief in future rewards 
 and punishments had almost aright to be uneasy. Fur- 
 thermore, he knew she did not love him, and this, to a 
 man of his narrow views and education, was enough to 
 condemn her at once. He could not comprehend a per- 
 son being true for truth's sake ; for all his life he had 
 been furnished with motives other than this. 
 
 Helen saw and knew all these things, and, trying 
 honestly to make excuses for him, succeeded until the 
 reflection assailed her that in all their intercourse she 
 had never told him anything but the most unshadowed 
 truth, and that in remembrance of this he ought to spare 
 her these insults. More than this, it was his own fault
 
 THE FELMERES. 263 
 
 that lie stood where he was ; and although she pitied him, 
 yet he only was to blame, and had no right to visit his 
 mistake on her. He had been weak enough to be man- 
 aged by his mother, and must now abide by the conse- 
 quences. So she argued as she walked up and down her 
 room trying to calm her temper. What her father had 
 said was true : peace was better than all, and peace lived 
 on the heights. She must rise above the tangle and tor- 
 ment in which she stood, for she could never step out of 
 them. Then there came to her mind the conversation they 
 had had so long ago about the worm crawling to the top 
 of the post, out of the dust and above its fellows. Her 
 father had been right ; she had come fully to agree with 
 him that starvation on the post was better than the tur- 
 moil and the dust ; and while she thought, the words of 
 the great poet came to her, " On every height there lies 
 repose." Could she not gain some height was she inca- 
 pable of rising ? Surely not ! She would rise ; she would 
 recover her self-control. Philip should not know that 
 she minded his coldness and anger, or in any way re- 
 sented them. 
 
 Philip angry ! She covered her face with her hands 
 as the thought of the dreadful power he held came to 
 her ! Had she made him angry enough to send her away ? 
 If she had, who was there to counsel her ? And if he 
 should take her child from her, who to protect or comfort 
 her? 
 
 She walked the room in a terror of agitation ! She 
 tried vainly to recall her resolutions to do as she thought 
 her father would have done in her place ; to wait calmly 
 until the trial came, then to study only the good of the 
 child. Of course she must train herself to face this sor-
 
 264: THE FELMERES. 
 
 row and self-abnegation, and she would be wiser to begin 
 at once. 
 
 She took one or two more turns up and down the 
 room; then, sitting down and crossing her arms on a 
 table, put her face down on them, and tried to think. 
 
 Would the child do better without her ? As a flash 
 of light the answ r er darted across the chaotic gloom of her 
 misery : Yes ! She crushed her face more closely down, 
 and drove herself to follow out this thought. She would 
 be only a weight about his happiness ; a weight to drag 
 him down to where she stood in cold, hopeless misery ; a 
 bar that would separate him from his kind; a shadow 
 that, blotting out all hope, would darken all his life! 
 How had her life and happiness fared under her training ? 
 Alas ! a blankness of despair and misery seemed to sweep 
 over her as she looked back over her empty, aimless days 
 as she looked forward to her hopeless future ! Should 
 she doom her child to that ? 
 
 Once, in the years that were gone, she had heard a 
 poor woman cry out in her despair, " Oh ! my God, help 
 me, help me ! " and the cry seemed to help her. " And 
 I have no God to cry to," she murmured, " nor any hu- 
 man creature ! " She was tempted to blot out the almost 
 conviction that had come to her, lighting up like a storm- 
 gleam the horrid possibilities that lay before her, making 
 the wild whirl of doubt and despair in which she stood 
 seem wilder. Her father had not thought Christianity 
 best for her ; he had not deemed it best to send her to 
 her mother. Why act differently ? Why ! Ah, who 
 better than she knew why ? Who better than she could 
 tell how bitterly the plan had failed ? Who better than 
 she could weigh and balance the chances of her child's
 
 THE FELMERES. 265 
 
 happiness if lie should be trained as she had been, and 
 find them wanting ? 
 
 She rose hurriedly from her chair ; she dashed her 
 hands in front of her as though to fling away her thoughts. 
 
 " I will not, will not let him go ! " she cried. " Let 
 the consequences be on my head ; I can not give him 
 up ! " She paused a moment and listened as her words 
 seemed to' come back to her from all parts of the great 
 room where the evening shadows were gathering. " I 
 can not, I will not ! " she murmured ; and, kneeling on 
 the hearth-rug with the. red gleams of the firelight dan- 
 cing about her, she made a bright spot in the twilight 
 room. 
 
 A picture that would have made a study for an artist 
 a sorrow that would have made an angel weep. A 
 hopeless human soul ! 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " No one can be more wise than destiny." 
 
 MKS. YANZANDT'S " art reception " promised to be a 
 grand success. It was an entirely new sensation, and its 
 novelty was in itself almost enough to insure a good 
 result. All the pictures were to be by native artists, 
 and after judgment had been passed by a committee 
 selected for the purpose, a handsome prize was to be 
 awarded for the best. 
 
 " Artists were always poor," Mrs. Yanzandt said, 
 "and her reception, besides bringing the pictures into 
 12
 
 266 THE FELMERES. 
 
 notice, would probably sell a few. More than this, the 
 prize, besides being handsome, should be suited to the 
 circumstances and station of the successful artist." 
 
 There were, of course, many comments passed on 
 what was called " Mrs. Yanzandt's new freak." 
 
 "She does not know what to do with her money," said 
 amiable friends, " and it is just as well for her to waste 
 it in this way as any other." 
 
 " She likes to be notorious and conspicuous," said 
 pious enemies, " and we ought to be thankful that she 
 has taken a decent way." (Whether they were or not, 
 has never been proved.) 
 
 And Valeria Yanzandt, looking only to the novelty 
 of the thing, with the hope of helping some poor artist 
 as the excuse for her lavish expenditure, enjoyed without 
 heeding the criticisms. 
 
 Philip and his mother had both decided to go, mak- 
 ing Helen suspect that they went for the purpose of 
 watching her ; then, thinking the term watching too 
 strong, she softened it into curiosity to see her pictures. 
 But whatever the real motive was, they announced their 
 intention and carried it out. 
 
 When they arrived, the house was crowded ; and a 
 long line of carriages stretching down the street told of 
 the wealth, at least, of the company assembled. 
 
 The rooms were exquisitely arranged, and the hang- 
 ing of the pictures and the falling of the light were ar- 
 tistic in the extreme. Added to this, a band of music, 
 hidden amid wonderful flowers in a distant conservatory, 
 made the scene still more charming. The whole was so 
 charming, indeed, that all the fashionable world pro- 
 nounced it a " wonderful success."
 
 THE FELMERES. 267 
 
 " How lovely ! " Helen said to Arthur, with whom 
 she was walking ; " what a success Valeria makes of 
 everything ! " 
 
 " Everything except her own life," Arthur answered, 
 as he watched their brilliant hostess moving back and 
 forth from picture to picture and group to group, criti- 
 cising, chatting, laughing, and making all seem brighter 
 for her presence. Arthur watched her until she had 
 passed out of sight into another room, then turned and 
 led his companion up to a gilt easel on which a water- 
 color sketch was most conspicuously placed. 
 
 " Mrs. Philip Felmere," he read slowly as he turned 
 over the card attached. " Did you really do this, Hel- 
 en ? " he went on. 
 
 " Yes, I did it years ago, and dressed it up last sum- 
 mer ; it is ' Felmere.' " 
 
 Arthur scanned the picture closely, and the thought of 
 how dreary it was saddened his kind face ; that, lonely 
 and dreary as it was, it was the only home this young 
 creature at his side had ever known ; that there she had 
 grown up, a solitary young heart without a gleam of joy 
 or hope to lighten her life, and with only an old man for 
 her companion ! 
 
 " How sad it looks ! " he said at last. 
 
 "It is glorified to me now," she answered slowly. 
 " Time was when I thought it dreary enough, and longed 
 to get away ; but now She ceased suddenly, and 
 Arthur, looking up, saw Philip and his mother approach- 
 ing them. They also paused before the picture, and 
 Mrs. Felmere, as Arthur had done, read the card. 
 
 " It is * Felmere Hall,' " Helen explained. Then 
 Mrs. Felmere looked more closely.
 
 268 THE FELMERES. 
 
 "How dreadfully lonely," was her first comment, 
 " and so near the graveyard ! I wonder, Helen, that you 
 did not die of the blues long ago; and I can not see 
 what charm held your father there." 
 
 It was almost too much for Helen's patience to hear 
 Mrs. Felmere speaking in her false, oily tones, and so dis- 
 paragingly, of this, to her, sacred place ; but she did not 
 fail herself, and only answered longingly : 
 
 " It was home, and we had each other. More than 
 this, neither of us was without happiness. Ah, I would 
 give a great deal to go back all, and ten times more 
 than I possess, or ever shall ! " Her tone had become 
 very bitter toward the end of her speech. 'Not that she 
 had intended it so to be ; but her life was so fast becom- 
 ing desperate, that she could not always keep down her 
 despair. Fortunately, no one was near enough to hear 
 either her speech or Philip's sullen answer : 
 
 " You can go, and could have gone long ago had you 
 expressed your wish on the subject." 
 
 Her face grew crimson for an instant ; then the pal- 
 lor almost of death crept over it down even to the 
 parted lips. What had she done? "Would he send 
 her away without her child ? These thoughts swept over 
 her, and she spoke slowly, as though with much diffi- 
 culty : 
 
 " Thank you, Philip ; I should like very much to go 
 in the spring." 
 
 Philip stared at her a moment almost rudely, and, 
 turning away without waiting for Helen to finish her 
 speech, walked off with his mother, leaving Arthur pale 
 with rage. Under his stare Helen's expression changed 
 from almost pleading to a look of utter contempt ; she
 
 THE FELMERES. 269 
 
 could not help it, and the little pity that she felt for him 
 only crept into her face when he turned away. 
 
 After this, she and Arthur walked about examining 
 pictures, but without much spirit in their talk or com- 
 ments, and were much relieved when Mrs. Vanzandt 
 came up to them followed by the committee of selection. 
 
 " We have come, Helen, to take you in to see the 
 picture that has gained the prize." 
 
 And Helen, wondering, followed her down the long 
 hall to a small room at the end the same room where 
 on a former occasion the picture of " Guinevere " had 
 hung. The daylight had been excluded, and an artificial 
 light so arranged as to throw into wonderful relief the 
 picture of the hour. As the party approached, the crowd 
 made way for them, and Helen found herself face to face 
 with her picture of " Sir Galahad." Under it were these 
 words printed : 
 
 " And there was one among us, ever moved 
 Among us in white armor, Galahad." 
 
 She stood quite still and looked up at the idealized 
 face. It was so long since she had seen it that she had 
 forgotten how beautiful it had been to her ; but now it 
 came to her like a new wonder ; it shone down on her 
 like a star from out the crimson draperies. Ah, what a 
 glad, pure look there was on the lifted, half-turned face ! 
 and the light that touched it was glorious no doubt of 
 that. Her " bright boy knight " how glad she was to 
 greet him once more ! 
 
 She forgot the -crowd, forgot her present life and 
 misery, and stood thinking over the same thoughts that 
 had been in her mind when she painted the picture.
 
 270 THE FELMERES. 
 
 She almost felt that if she turned her head she would 
 be looking through the old studio window across the 
 Felmere churchyard, and would see Felix coming with 
 his knapsack on his shoulders ! 
 
 " Do you know, madam, that your ' Sir Galahad ' 
 has won the prize ? " It was the chief of the committee 
 of judges who spoke, and his voice sounded clear above 
 the hum of talk about her. 
 
 Helen started, and looked up at him, wondering that 
 he did not see the likeness and call it by its rightful 
 name. Then a little shiver ran over her. Suppose he 
 had done so, how dreadful it would have been ! It was 
 fortunate she had scribbled that quotation on the back 
 of it ; and how in the world had Valeria found it ? 
 
 " You look so dazed," Mrs. Yanzandt broke in, " and 
 you do not say anything. Are you not pleased to have 
 your genius found out ? for every one says there is de- 
 cided genius in that piece.'' 
 
 " How did you get it ? " Helen asked irrelevantly. 
 
 " Get it ! " Mrs. Yanzandt answered ; " you may well 
 ask. TVhy, I found it in a dark corner of your studio, 
 with its face to the wall, absolutely hidden in the most 
 careful manner ! " 
 
 Helen looked up at the picture sadly. Yes, she had 
 hidden it even from herself since her marriage ; and 
 now that she met it in the full glare of all the world, it 
 seemed like laying her heart bare to be criticised by any 
 passer-by. 
 
 " I did hide it," she answered absently. 
 
 " And that is what I can not understand," Mrs. Yan- 
 zandt went on " that you should hide the very best 
 thing you ever did. Why, my dear, it has taken the
 
 THE FELMERES. 271 
 
 prize over one of Gordon's pictures ; think of that ! " 
 The hot blood dashed into Helen's cheeks, and Arthur 
 felt the hand on his arm give a little nervous twitch. 
 " And by the way," Mrs. Vanzandt went on, " if you had 
 ever known Felix Gordon, I should say you had put 
 somewhat of him in your picture." Arthur felt the hold 
 on his arm tighten ; he saw his companion raise her eyes, 
 and watched while the color faded from the calm face ; 
 but she did not turn her eyes from the point where she 
 had first fastened them as she answered Mrs. Yanzandt : 
 
 " Yes, I feel it a great honor to be thought to have 
 excelled Mr. Gordon, and shall value my prize very 
 highly." Then she looked away, and Arthur, turning his 
 eyes to where she had been looking, found Philip's eager, 
 pale face watching her intensely. 
 
 Afterward one or two persons standing near took up 
 the freshly dropped idea, and said the picture was some- 
 what like Mr. Gordon ; in fact, he must have looked much 
 like it in his youth. 1 
 
 Then Helen turned and drew Arthur with her from 
 the room. 
 
 " It is very close," she said faintly, " and I should 
 like a glass of wine." 
 
 Arthur instantly obeyed her move, and, taking her 
 into the refreshment room, suggested calling the carriage. 
 She paused thoughtfully for a moment before she an- 
 swered, as though considering the proposal ; then re- 
 fused, on the plea that she was quite well again. But 
 the time after that dragged heavily to her, and Arthur, 
 watching her, saw the effort she made, and felt a sincere 
 pity for her. 
 
 Fortunately, it was not long before the company were
 
 272 THE FELMERES. 
 
 collected together for the presentation of the prize, which 
 was to be the conclusion of the entertainment. The 
 spokesman of the committee made a little speech, full of 
 well-worn compliments, and, ending abruptly and unex- 
 pectedly at the apex of his eloquence, left his audience 
 in a state of stupid surprise. 
 
 There was a painful pause of a few moments' dura- 
 tion, while the company looked expectantly at Philip, 
 who, standing stolidly angry, made no movement to re- 
 ply. It was only for an instant; then Arthur stepped 
 quickly from Helen's side, and, receiving the prize for 
 her, said such pleasant words of thanks that people al- 
 most forgot their surprise at Philip's silence. 
 
 " It must have been arranged between them," the 
 world said ; " yet it was strange Mr. Felmere had not 
 taken Arthur's place unaccountably strange ! " 
 
 Helen was quiet under it all. No one could see the 
 slightest change of expression when Arthur took Philip's 
 place and did Philip's duty; no one could discover so 
 much as a quiver of her eyelids when Mrs. Beaumont 
 told Mrs. Yanzandt, in her hearing, that Mrs. Philip 
 Felmere and Mr. Gordon were old and intimate friends, 
 and that there might be some look of him in the pic- 
 ture ; nor was there any more show of expression when 
 Mrs. Yanzandt, with a flash of her black eyes, answered 
 glibly and without a moment's hesitation : 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have just heard all about it. They were 
 brought up together ; he was an adopted brother, or uncle, 
 or something very near. Mr. Jourdan has just told me." 
 And Arthur bowed very low to hide the smile he could 
 not repress ; it was such a quick, clever little story, and 
 the motive behind it was so generous, he would have
 
 THE FELMERES. 273 
 
 liked to thank her. Then she swept Mrs. Beaumont off 
 into a crowd where this last item could be repeated to ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 But no one could have told that Helen heard it, and 
 her only feeling about it was that Valeria was telling a 
 story to shield a person who was fated. Everything mili- 
 tated against her ; there was no use in struggling, nothing 
 was left for her but endurance ! So she chatted and 
 smiled with those about her, receiving their congratula- 
 tions and thanking them for their kind compliments, and 
 all the while wondering what would come of this day's 
 work. 
 
 Arthur, meanwhile, waited deliberately, and without 
 invitation, for the Felmere carriage, in order that he might 
 ride home with Helen, and, if possible, prevent any dis- 
 cussion of the events of the morning until he had had 
 some private conversation with his sister and Philip. But 
 he need not have feared ; for Philip kept utterly silent, 
 spending his time looking out of the carriage window ; 
 while Mrs. Felmere made only a few general remarks 
 about the entertainment they had just left. On their ar- 
 rival at home the party separated, and Arthur, seeing the 
 time was not propitious for his talk, did not stay. 
 
 The whole evening Philip spent alone in the library, 
 sitting for hours in one position, brooding over and nurs- 
 ing his resentment. Helen loved Felix Gordon ; for him 
 her face would soften and her beautiful eyes grow glad ; 
 he had seen it ! He clinched his hands. For him she 
 watched and waited with ever a longing in her heart ; 
 for his praise she cultivated her talents and worked so 
 diligently at her art ; and in her dreams it was his face 
 she idealized, putting a glory and a beauty about it that
 
 274 THE FELMERES. 
 
 only the light of heaven could cast ! Could he be ex- 
 pected to love and protect and cherish her, knowing all 
 this ? Who could measure the wrath and agony he had 
 suffered that day, as he watched her receive the prize for 
 that glorified face glorified as only love could have con- 
 ceived it ? 
 
 " Great God ! " he muttered, almost wringing his 
 hands ; " and if I ask her she will say, ' Yes, it is Mr. 
 Gordon's face ; I did it years ago ; but its exhibition was 
 a mistake I am sorry.' Of course she is sorry ! " Then 
 he put his face in his hands ; he could almost hear her 
 voice saying the words Ije had muttered : a sweet clear 
 voice it was, but always cold to him. Ah, he had made 
 a bitter mistake in marrying her, but then he had hoped 
 for so much ! 
 
 So he sat until the night closed about him, then he 
 rang for a servant, and without any message or note sent 
 the gilt easel and the picture of "King Arthur " up to his 
 wife. And Helen, discussing with her maid what she 
 should wear at the ball that night, laid down the spray of 
 jewels she held, and quietly superintended the placing of 
 the picture. She knew it meant a great deal, but she 
 had reached that point where hopelessness merges into 
 calm. Nothing but the actual mandate to go could touch 
 her now. 
 
 At the ball that night, no one not even Arthur, with 
 whom she went could have told but that her life was 
 one even flow of prosperity. Yes, she was very calm : 
 no one but the little nurse, watching for her returns from 
 balls and parties, listening through the dusks and dawns 
 of many days, knew of the despair that held her, of the 
 hopelessness that possessed her! And often the little
 
 THE FELMERES. 275 
 
 maid would tell her mistress of a kind gentleman, a cler- 
 gyman, who lived among the poor and helped them: 
 would not her mistress ask his advice ? 
 
 But Helen only turned away, saying, " Child, this is 
 a trouble that only death can comfort ! " 
 
 And so the days sped by ; and Philip told her no- 
 thing except that in the latter part of spring he was going 
 abroad, and that if she wished she might go back to Fel- 
 mere. He did not mention the child, and she would not 
 ask any questions. 
 
 CHAPTEK IY. 
 
 " O for comfort, O the waste of a long doubt and trouble ! " 
 
 THE house was still ; the fires burned dull; the sky 
 was gray, and the wind howled dismally up and down 
 the streets. Helen sat alone ; for, being Sunday, all the 
 family, including baby and nurse, had gone to Miss 
 Esther Jourdan's house to dinner. Helen, however, find- 
 ing she was not- welcome, had not been present at these 
 reunions for some time. Now she sat by herself, lis- 
 tening to the wind, and thinking how many days she 
 could remember at Felmere when the wind sung the 
 same song about the dreary marsh that now sounded in 
 the busy city streets, and how in its tones the cry of the 
 weary sea would mingle. 
 
 Ah, she did not like to look back ; she did not like to 
 think ; and she could no longer stay in that lonely house ! 
 
 She rose with nervous haste, and, putting on cloak 
 and furs, and muffling her face in a heavy veil, she went
 
 276 THE FELMERES. 
 
 out. The wind was desperately high, and battled with 
 her at every corner in a way that seemed almost malig- 
 nant. But she would not turn back ; she rather enjoyed the 
 struggle ; it made her forget her misery for a little while, 
 and almost cured her home-sickness and restlessness. 
 She turned from the usual course of her walks and drives, 
 and in a very short time found herself among unknown 
 scenes. The houses were poor and shabby, and the few 
 people she met looked common and tawdry ; but this 
 pleased her, for she wished to. be where there was no 
 danger of meeting any one she knew. 
 
 At last she reached a dreary little park, grown over 
 with grass that looked gray from age, with here and 
 there a few stunted trees and impotent-looking benches, 
 dingy with over-much rain and sun, and scarred by many 
 idle knives. The safest-looking of these benches stood 
 under, or rather leaned against, a tree so black and bare 
 as to make one almost doubt the resurrecting power of 
 spring ; that tree could surely never again bring forth 
 summer foliage ! Helen gave the bench a precautionary 
 shake, and, finding it tolerably firm, sat down, thinking 
 to rest for a little while ; but the wind seemed to be of 
 a different mind, and attacked her on every side. It 
 would not let her alone, and finally there came with it a 
 fine, penetrating rain, that made her scan the buildings 
 about her for some sheltering door-step or porch, where 
 she could stand for a while before turning her steps 
 homeward. After some moments' scrutiny, she descried 
 a narrow, dingy church, standing rather back among the 
 high rusty rows of houses. She went nearer, and, hear- 
 ing a strain of music floating out on the wild winds, de- 
 termined to seek shelter there. " It is such a poor and
 
 THE FELMERES. 277 
 
 mean-looking church, I dare say it is frge," she said to 
 herself, as, fighting hard against the wind and rain, she 
 crossed the dingy square and muddy street. 
 
 Reaching the church, she paused to look for some re- 
 tired side door that would let her in without attracting 
 
 O 
 
 notice, or that would perhaps protect her sufficiently 
 without the necessity of an actual entrance. It took her 
 some moments ; but at last she discovered the desired 
 place a side porch built in a little crevice between the 
 church and one of the crowding houses that seemed to 
 lean in on every side. She was not long in making her 
 way to this newly discovered haven, flattering herself 
 that she had found sufficient protection, But only for a 
 moment was she unmolested ; then the wind and rain, 
 driving round the corner, crowded her back against the 
 wall, and dashed the cold drops in her face. She could 
 not stand this, and, waiting a second until she heard the 
 music recommence, she opened the door and stepped in. 
 In a moment she was at rest, finding herself in a dim 
 dark corner, quiet and calm, where she could hear the 
 tempest but not feel it. She could see all the tired hu- 
 man faces congregated there, but could not well be seen. 
 
 The church was long and dim, with a dark arched 
 roof and high narrow windows. The floor was paved, 
 and the benches, crowded close together, were of com- 
 mon deal. There were no soft hassocks, no cushions, no 
 carpets nothing that could at all remind her of the 
 light, fashionable temple where her family worshiped. 
 All save the altar looked common and unlovely; but 
 there soft lights were burning, and fair fresh flowers gave 
 forth their fragrance. 
 
 Once catching sight of the altar, her looks were fas-
 
 278 THE FELMERES. 
 
 tened ; for a strange feeling began to steal over her, 
 taking her back to the days when as a child at Felmere 
 she had crept inside the church door ; and a mysterious 
 reverence and awe, that did not at all seem the outcome 
 of reason, made her, now as then, wish to kneel. Alas ! 
 she was no longer the ignorant child of those days, and 
 bitterly she felt the change ! She could now realize and 
 see the awful gulf of doubt and risk that yawned between 
 her and that altar ; she knew it would be but a mockery 
 in her, and a desertion of her father ! 
 
 She closed her eyes, and the sounds of prayers and 
 chants passed, leaving her without any distinct conscious- 
 ness of their meaning, and with only a feeling that they 
 were one long sigh and longing going up from all those 
 weary souls ! 
 
 Suddenly, distinct words fell on her ears : 
 
 " Art thou weary, art thou languid, 
 Art thou sore distressed ? " 
 
 She raised her head : she was all that ; could these 
 people give her any comfort ? 
 Softly the answer fell : 
 
 " ' Come to me,' saith one, ' and, coming, 
 Be at rest.' " 
 
 She listened eagerly, greedily, longingly, and the sound 
 seemed to float away from her utterly and entirely. She 
 was cut off ; she had no part in that rest ; that call had 
 no meaning for her ! 
 
 All those hard-worked servant-girls and day-laborers 
 could listen and find comfort could sing with all their
 
 THE FELMERES. 279 
 
 heart and strength could believe, and in believing rest ! 
 She could not. 
 
 She covered her face again. She envied the lowest 
 there, and would have given all she possessed for the 
 simple faith and ignorance of any one of them. 
 
 " ' Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy 
 laden, and I will give you rest ! ' ' 
 
 The voice rang out above her bent head, clear, musi- 
 cal, soft sounding down the dim length of the church 
 that was fast fading into obscurity, losing itself deep in 
 many human hearts. 
 
 " O ye who are weary with the burden and heat of 
 the day, laden with sin and sorrow ; weary with toil and 
 care, laden with regrets and remorse ; blinded with the 
 dust of many troubles, thirsty with the drought of many 
 wants, who, reaching groping hands from out the clouds 
 of doubt, fall prone without a voice to cry : 
 
 " ' Come to me,' saith one, ' and, coming, 
 Be at rest ! ' 
 
 Are there any here among you who can say, ' I have none 
 of these ' ; any who ban say, * I have no need of rest ' ; 
 any save, perhaps, some little child still standing poised 
 on the brink of life, watching with wonder the toilers 
 after this world's rewards, the mourners over this world's 
 disappointments some fair, pure soul that still looks 
 beyond the dust and pain of mortal warfare, that still 
 can fix its eyes on yon far Paradise, forgetting its roots 
 are in clay ? To such I do not speak. I only ask them 
 to come and stand beside me, that, looking down into the 
 depths of their far-reaching faith, my own faint spark 
 may be fresh kindled ! It is not to the pure and stain-
 
 280 THE FELMERES. 
 
 less I come, but to those who like myself are ' weary 
 and heavy laden ' ; those who search longingly after some 
 shadow wherein to rest. My beloved, for all who believe 
 and trust, there is such rest. Sometimes it touches us 
 even here among the drifting sand-heaps of this present 
 life ; and I know it waits for us yonder, beyond the grave, 
 beyond the mystery of death and the dread of hell ! 
 ' Only believe ! ' Believe that Christ died for you ; that 
 his blood can save you ; that he stands waiting lovingly 
 for your halting steps, ready to forgive and blot out the 
 broken promises that mark your days, and listen patient- 
 ly for the few scattered wandering cries for help that 
 flicker up through all this waste of years ! Believe that 
 he still waits and says unto you, ' Come, and I will give 
 you rest ! ' Only believe ! " 
 
 Helen did not move, and her eyes seemed to have 
 grown to the pure, pale face in the pulpit above her 
 almost a boy's face, with luminous dark eyes and a grand 
 broad brow the face of the man who had saved her life 
 on the cliff ! 
 
 She listened and looked until the dusk hid all save 
 that white face, shining through the gathering shadows 
 like the face of one who has seen God ! And the clear 
 sweet tones rang on and on, commanding, comforting, 
 pleading with them for their own souls requiring of 
 them to believe in Christ. How T the words rang about 
 her ; how they sounded back and forth through the empty 
 past and future of her life ! 
 
 " Only believe ! " 
 
 Desert the old man who had trusted her the one 
 human heart that in the past had been her own ! 
 
 " Only believe !"
 
 THE FELMERES. 281 
 
 And for ever keep her child beside her the one hu- 
 man heart in all the world that would in the future be 
 her own ! 
 
 She covered her face with her hands. To do it would 
 be breaking her oath to the dead, and bring remorse 
 upon her. Not to do it ! Ah, who could measure what 
 her life would be without her child ! She wrung her hands. 
 
 "And when life's short day is past, 
 Rest with tliee in heaven at lastl " 
 
 Slowly the words faded from about her as the choir 
 filed out, and the soft "Amen " sounded miles away. 
 
 Once more from under shelter, battling against the 
 wind and rain, but now heedless of them ! ISTor did she 
 again pity the dwellers in those common houses, the fre- 
 quenters of the dingy square; for down this narrow 
 back street she had found the Christians her father had 
 described to her. Among the common work-people, in 
 a dark, unlovely, free church, she had found herself face 
 to face with the foes she had longed yet dreaded to meet 
 the foes, the beauty of whose lives and religion had so 
 strong a fascination for her. 
 
 This priest was different from the Christians she had 
 lived among. He really and realizingly believed, and 
 there was that in his face that made her know he lived 
 up to his faith. Had he found peace and rest ? she won- 
 dered. Had that almost boyish face grown pale and har- 
 assed, and those shining eyes grown troubled, through 
 his anxiety for the souls of others, or for his own ? She 
 wondered still further whether he had ever doubted, and 
 thought she would like to know him and talk to him 
 should like to plead for counsel in her dire distress.
 
 282 THE FELMERES. 
 
 She did not heed the wind and rain nor the lateness 
 of the hour. She plodded on through mud and slop, 
 across crowded streets, around slippery corners, scarcely 
 knowing when she reached her own door, or realizing 
 that she was weary, wet, and cold. She did not even 
 note James's astonishment, nor his gratuitous informa- 
 tion, as he took her wet wraps, that " Master Philip and 
 the baby had come, but that the carriage was to be sent 
 back for Mrs. Felmere." She did not see Philip, who 
 had stopped in his walk up and down the long parlors to 
 observe her late arrival and wet condition. She only 
 thanked James for his services, and went hastily up stairs. 
 She wanted her child ; she wanted to lay fresh hold on 
 her promise to her father ; she wanted to turn away from 
 this temptation to forsake her father and leave the ways 
 of her youth ! She did not heed or stay her quick steps 
 until she knelt on the hearth-rug where the child was 
 playing, and felt his touch upon her face ; then she paused 
 and thought. 
 
 " Believe in Christ," and she would for ever have him 
 for her own ! Ah, the depth and far-reaching strength 
 of those words " her own," " for ever " ! And the little 
 arms about her neck were dreadful powers dragging her 
 from the old paths ! 
 
 " O father, father ! " she almost sobbed, as she crushed 
 the child nearer to her, " I will be true ! " Then the 
 clasp relaxed, and the little maid, watching, felt the tears 
 rise to her eyes. She did not understand it all, but this 
 much she knew : her mistress was in some deep distress, 
 and her mistress had no religion ! And all the tender- 
 ness of her kind, young nature went out in sympathy for
 
 THE FELMERES. 283 
 
 the misfortunes of her fellow woman, who was also 
 young, and oh, how beautiful ! 
 
 " What is it ? " the mistress asked at last " what is 
 it that troubles you, Annie ? " 
 
 " Only you look so sorrowful, ma'am." 
 
 " I feel sorrowful, child." 
 
 " I know it, ma'am ; and oh, Mrs. Felmere, if you 
 would only go just once to my church ! " 
 
 " Would I come away happy, do you think, Annie ? " 
 
 " P'r'aps not altogether happy, ma'am, but more 
 peaceful like," the girl answered thoughtfully. 
 
 " I did go to church this afternoon," the mistress an- 
 swered slowly, as she rocked the child back and forth in 
 her arms " a free church on a back street, where the 
 singing was beautiful, and a good man preached ; I know 
 he was good." 
 
 " Were he a small man, ma'am, and did his eyes 
 shine ? " the girl asked eagerly. 
 
 " Yes." Then Helen gave the street and square, and 
 it proved to be Annie's " own " church. 
 
 "And didn't he give you peace, ma'am?" the girl 
 went on gravely. 
 
 The mistress shook her head. 
 
 " No, he did not give me peace, for no one can give 
 me that nothing can rest me but the grave. But he 
 showed me he was a good, true man, one to whom I can 
 go and tell my troubles ; and I shall go." 
 
 " Now I know you will be happier, ma'am ; for Mr. 
 Heath will do all he can to help you ; he will show you 
 the right way if any one can." 
 
 " Our ways are very far apart, child," the mistress 
 said ; " but I shall go to him and hear what he says."
 
 284 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Then a silence fell between them, and the red fire- 
 light danced merrily on their sad faces, and on the peace- 
 ful sleeping of the child lying still in its mother's arms ; 
 while, in the long dim rooms below, the master and fa- 
 ther paced nervously to and fro, angry, wondering, and 
 suspicious. 
 
 Why had Helen stayed at home from dinner ? Where 
 had she been ? Had she come home alone at that late 
 hour ? And what had troubled her so much as to prevent 
 her from even looking in his direction when she passed ? 
 None of these questions could be answered except by 
 asking, and he could not ask. Up and down, up and 
 down he walked, cursing his fate, cursing himself for be- 
 ing so miserable and jealous, and tormenting himself with 
 plans he could not possibly carry out. 
 
 In the midst of his self-torture his mother came in. 
 
 " What has happened ? " she asked hurriedly. 
 
 Then Philip, as though it were a relief to talk to 
 some one, told her all: that Helen was out when he 
 arrived, and had not come in until after lamp-light ; that 
 she had appeared wet and draggled, and had gone im- 
 mediately up stairs without saying a word to any one. 
 
 " Did she see you when she came in ? " Mrs. Felmere 
 asked gravely. ' 
 
 " I do not think she did," Philip answered ; " she 
 seemed very much preoccupied and hurried, and did not 
 so much as look in this direction." 
 
 " She did not wish to," Mrs. Felmere said musingly ; 
 " and her behavior of late has been most peculiar. I have 
 been observing her closely." 
 
 Philip turned away impatiently. 
 
 " You need not watch her," he answered gloomily ;
 
 THE FELMERES. 285 
 
 " you have only to ask her point-blank questions, and she 
 will answer you without hesitation." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere shook her head. 
 
 " You are deluded, my son." 
 
 " I tell you it is so ! " Philip answered sharply, as 
 he turned to face her. "In all my intercourse with 
 Helen, I have never known her to deviate one hair's 
 breadth from the truth. The difficulty does not lie 
 there," he went on more quietly, " but in the miser- 
 able fact that she does not admit that there is any law 
 that can be binding on her, unless she chooses to be 
 bound." 
 
 A keener look came on Mrs. Felmere's face as he fin- 
 ished speaking. 
 
 " Will she always keep a promise ? " she asked. 
 
 " I do not know how she looks on that," he answered 
 " whether she would consider a promise to mean for 
 ever, or only until she gave you warning of her intention 
 to break it." 
 
 " Why do you not solve the question, then, and ask 
 her first where she has been, and second how she regards 
 a promise ? " 
 
 They looked at each other a moment in silence ; then 
 Philip turned away. 
 
 " I would rather remain in doubt for all my life," he 
 answered sullenly, " than ask her those questions. No ; 
 I will solve the difficulty by going away in April." 
 
 "And your child, my son?" Mrs. Felmere's face 
 was really sad as she looked up, and as she went on there 
 was real solemnity in her tone : " Do you think you 
 should go and leave your only son, and the last of your 
 name, to grow up as he may ? Do you think you will
 
 286 THE FELMERES. 
 
 be doing your duty in leaving Mm to be reared in utter 
 atheism, so risking his eternal welfare ? " 
 
 Philip stood silent a moment. 
 
 " Then, mother, what shall I do ? " 
 
 Mrs. Felmere did not answer immediately. The plan 
 she had for proposal was one that had long since matured 
 in her own mind, and one she really thought was right ; 
 but she hesitated as to the first mention of it. 
 
 " Helen wishes to go back to Felmere in the spring ? " 
 she said inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You have told her she could go ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " The place is low and marshy ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And therefore not healthy for the child ? " 
 
 Philip looked up quickly, as though intending to 
 speak ; but Mrs. Felmere raised her hand for silence. 
 
 " I will take the child and go with you to Europe ! " 
 Her words fell quick and sharp, and she watched closely 
 for their effect. 
 
 Philip stood still for one moment, looking at her in 
 mute surprise, then turned and walked away thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " It would be too cruel," he said at last, standing be- 
 fore his mother. 
 
 " Cruel to save your child's soul ? " she asked. 
 
 " We could educate him as a Christian without taking 
 
 O 
 
 him away from her," he argued. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere shook her head. 
 
 " Is it more cruel to separate them now," she asked, 
 " or to let them live together and learn to love each other
 
 THE FELMERES. 287 
 
 more and more, and then, teaching him the fearful error 
 of his mother, sow grief and dissension between them ? 
 For, even if you leave them, they will be separated if he 
 is trained a Christian. Her own unbelief sets a gulf 
 between them, and the day he is baptized they will be as 
 far apart as heaven and hell ! " 
 
 Philip shuddered and turned away, and his mother 
 went on in the same low voice : 
 
 " Better never let your son know his mother, than 
 know her as she is ; better for him not to learn to love 
 one he must lose eternally j better have no faith in Jesus 
 Christ and his power to save, than to have faith under- 
 mined and shaded by the knowledge that the one he 
 loves best in the world, and who seems to embody all 
 goodness and purity, looks on such faith as weak and 
 foolish ! " 
 
 " You should have thought of all this before, moth- 
 er," Philip began, standing before her and speaking 
 slowly " long before you sent me to Felmere." 
 
 " And God forgive me that I did not," his mother 
 answered earnestly. " But this excuse I have, my son : 
 I did not realize what her unbelief was; I could not 
 realize it." 
 
 Philip turned away wearily. 
 
 " She will never consent to give the child up," he 
 said. -^~ 
 
 " I think I can manage that," his mother answered 
 more confidently, " provided you are enough convinced of 
 the truth in my words to give me the authority to act." 
 
 " The truth of what you say can not be denied," he 
 said ; " but it seems too hard and cruel to leave her all 
 alone."
 
 288 THE FELMEEES. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere covered her face with her hands for a 
 moment, then said slowly : 
 
 " I have, my son, told you all I think about this mat- 
 ter, and have only this to add : that to stand and see your 
 child grow up an atheist to feel that if he should die 
 he would be inevitably lost to know that when at the 
 last I stand before the judgment I can be held account- 
 able in part for the loss of that little soul to feel all 
 this is breaking my heart and making my life utterly 
 miserable utterly miserable ! " 
 
 Philip paused. He would have liked to wring his 
 hands like a woman ! As it was, he thrust them deeper 
 into his pockets while his mother spoke, and when she 
 ceased he said : 
 
 " I put it all into your hands, mother. It has been a 
 miserable mistake ; right it if you can I can not." Then 
 he went from the room ; and Mrs. Felmere, left alone, 
 burst into tears. 
 
 At last she was free to act free to rid her conscience 
 of this weight that had been resting there ! She had 
 been terror-stricken when she discovered the depth and 
 reality of Helen's infidelity ; and her family and clergy- 
 man had not made light of it. " Little worldly sins 
 could be forgiven at the last," they agreed ; " but never 
 before had anything like this come under their ken, 
 and it was too awful to be contemplated." Thus poor 
 Mrs. Felmere had been living in what was very nearly 
 a purgatory of mental suffering, and to gain her point 
 was almost too great a relief. Kow the child could be 
 rescued, and the contumacious mother quietly sent home. 
 
 " Thank God ! " she whispered. 
 
 And up stairs the mother, alone in her dim fire-lighted
 
 THE FELMERES. 289 
 
 room, rocked her child slowly to and fro in her arms, for 
 ever repeating the same question : 
 
 " What shall I do ? what shall I do ? " 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " If this were thus if this, indeed, were all 
 Better the narrow brain, the stony heart, 
 The staring eye glazed o'er with sapless days, 
 The long mechanic pacings to and fro, 
 The set gray life, and apathetic end." 
 
 IT was a poor-looking room on the ground floor of a 
 third-rate boarding-house a very third-rate house; and 
 you might, notwithstanding the landlady's assertion to 
 the contrary, put it one grade lower. It was a pitifully 
 bare and common room, with an uneven brick floor ; with 
 the two windows either side the entrance door barred as 
 much with dirt as with iron ; with a poor gaunt stove, 
 that for many years had suffered from a chronic case of 
 rust, and with walls that were dingy beyond compare ! 
 The entrance door and the two windows furnished one 
 side of the room ; the blankness of the opposite wall was 
 broken by a door leading into an inner chamber ; while 
 the two side walls could only boast, the one of the stove 
 and a small bookcase, the other of a solitary chair. Be- 
 tween the stove and one of the cobwebbed windows, and 
 within reaching distance of the bookcase, stood a deal 
 table littered with books, papers, and writing-materials. 
 More than this there only remains to be mentioned a 
 13
 
 290 THE FELMERES. 
 
 dilapidated writing-chair, and two rags of carpet that lay, 
 the one under the table, the other in front of the stove. 
 
 "A pitiful, poverty-stricken place," Helen thought, 
 as, entering, she paused to look about her. Presently 
 the inner door opened, and a man came in. He was 
 miserably attenuated and small, with a stoop in his shoul- 
 ders that amounted almost to a deformity. But his head 
 was grand past question, and his face and eyes were such 
 as to make one overlook his unfortunate body. 
 
 Helen turned as he approached her, and they stood 
 for a moment scanning each other closely and curiously. 
 To Helen there was something in the man's face and 
 eyes that seemed strangely mixed up with her past life ; 
 and he recognized in her the beautiful woman whose life 
 he had saved on the cliff the woman on whose face he 
 had then seen hopelessness written, and in whose eyes he 
 now saw nothing but despair. 
 
 " Are you Mr. Heath ? " she asked at last. 
 
 " I am," he answered ; then, bringing the one extra 
 chair from the opposite wall, he placed it for her, and 
 waited for her to speak. 
 
 " I have come to you, Mr. Heath," she began after a 
 little pause, " because I heard you would help people 
 who were in trouble ; and you should know better than 
 any one how deep my trouble must be." 
 
 " I do know how deep your trouble must be," he 
 answered solemnly, for he remembered the day on the 
 cliff ; "and I will help you if I can. But what is your 
 trouble ? " 
 
 " I am an unbeliever, and my husband is a believer. 
 We have one child, a son, and I do not know what to do. 
 I can not give him up, yet how can I keep him ? "
 
 THE FELMERES. 291 
 
 The story told in so few words and in so straightfor- 
 ward a manner puzzled her listener; it was certainly 
 a very strange recital, and at first hearing Mr. Heath 
 was somewhat provoked at the nature of it. A person 
 who was so deliberate and cool an infidel as this woman 
 seemed, deserved to suffer. What did she come to him 
 for ? What did she expect him to say ? These were his 
 thoughts until he looked in the pleading face opposite 
 him and recalled the real sorrow in her voice ; then he 
 concluded there was something behind that would ex- 
 plain the mystery. So, after a moment's pause in which 
 to change his temper, he asked kindly : 
 
 " And what can I do for you ? And how is it you 
 come to me for advice ? " 
 
 " I heard that you were kind," she answered sadly, 
 " and I have not a creature in the world to ask counsel 
 of. So, after I heard you preach, and recognized you as 
 the person who had seen me when overcome by my sor- 
 row, I thought you more than any other would realize 
 the depth of it, and help me if you could." 
 
 The story looked more pitiful now than provoking, 
 and Mr. Heath's voice was more gentle as he said : 
 
 " Tell me first how you became an unbeliever, and 
 why you continue so." 
 
 " My father educated me in unbelief," she answered ; 
 " and I continue so because I can not believe, and because 
 I promised him I would never desert him." 
 
 " Is your father living ? " 
 
 She shook her head. " If he were, I should need no 
 other counsel nor strength. He would tell me what was 
 proper, and help me to do it." 
 
 The story was becoming more puzzling, and Mr.
 
 292 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Heath could only strive through questions to find the 
 right clew; but he hesitated before he asked the next 
 question : he did not know how much his visitor wished 
 to tell him. 
 
 "Did your husband," he began slowly, "know when 
 he married you that you were an unbeliever ? " 
 
 " Yes," was answered unfalteringly. " He was my 
 cousin, and knew all about me : knew I had been trained 
 an unbeliever, and had sworn to continue so ; knew it 
 was only to please my father that I accepted him. Yet, 
 through all, he married me; now he does not care for 
 me any more, and I think he will take my child from 
 me ! and what shall I do ? " 
 
 Mr. Heath hid his eyes with his hand ; it was too 
 wretched a story as it slowly dawned on him ; nor did he 
 know what to say, for all his sympathies were going w r ith 
 the infidel. Then he asked slowly : 
 
 "Do you mean that your husband is going to sepa- 
 rate you from your child entirely, or that he intends edu- 
 cating him as a Christian, and so only alienating him ? " 
 
 His companion looked up at him quickly. 
 
 " One is as bad as the other," she said. 
 
 " So I think," Mr. Heath answered ; " but surely you 
 can not expect me to advise against educating your child 
 as a Christian, or to condemn your husband for doing it." 
 
 " I do not ask you to condemn my husband at all," 
 Helen said ; " nor do I blame him for such a wish, for it 
 is but natural in him. The only question I have to 
 decide is, what is best for the child. When that is set- 
 tled to my satisfaction, I shall bend all my energies 
 and strength to accomplish it. I have thought about it 
 so much that I am distracted, and so have come to you
 
 THE FELMERES. 293 
 
 for help. You looked true, as though you could put 
 aside any prejudice against me, or bias for my husband, 
 and act solely for the good of the child." 
 
 Her face seemed to grow stronger as she spoke ; but 
 a look of latent agony in her eyes and about her lips 
 touched the man in front of her as no pleading would 
 have done. 
 
 " I can not advise anything but that your child be 
 brought up a Christian," he answered sadly ; " you could 
 not expect anything else from me ? " 
 
 "No, certainly not." Then her voice faltered and 
 she had to pause a moment. " And I confess I came 
 here more to be confirmed in that opinion than anything 
 else." 
 
 " If you wish him to be a Christian," Mr. Heath said 
 eagerly, "you will be one yourself, and your troubles are 
 at an end ! " 
 
 " You misunderstand me," Helen answered, drawing 
 back. " I do not wish him to be a Christian because I 
 am convinced, but only because I think it more expe- 
 dient." 
 
 There came a trifle of scorn and some pity into the 
 expression of her listener's face as he asked : 
 
 " Why is it not just as expedient for him to be an 
 unbeliever as for you ? " 
 
 " Because my life has been an utter failure ! I have 
 been bitterly unhappy, and I want his life to be differ- 
 ent." 
 
 " And why has your life been a failure ? " Mr. Heath 
 went on. " There are numbers of unbelievers to give 
 you countenance ; unbelief is actually becoming fashion- 
 able. Why is it you have no friends and companions ? "
 
 294: THE FELMERES. 
 
 Helen shook her head. 
 
 " That is not what I meant ; you misunderstand me 
 again : I meant expedient in the sense of happy. My 
 non-belief is so empty, I think Christianity is more com- 
 fortable." 
 
 " If that is all," Mr. Heath answered, "I do not see 
 the need you feel to sacrifice yourself in giving up your 
 child. If there is to you no principle involved, he should 
 give up his comfort for yours." 
 
 Helen looked puzzled : what a peculiar man this was ! 
 
 " Then you think I need not let him go ? " she asked 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Certainly you need not, if it is only his comfort in 
 this life that is endangered," Mr. Heath answered. " If 
 you are sure there is no life to come ; that death is the 
 final end ; that there is no heaven and no hell ; that there 
 is no danger of his being eternally damned if you are 
 sure of this, 1 would not for one moment think of sacri- 
 ficing my own comfort for his in such a little matter as 
 this world's happiness. Life is at best a short affair 
 soon over." 
 
 Helen sat silent. How strange that this man should 
 give her the very reasons with regard to her son's life 
 that she had urged with regard to herself years ago ! 
 
 " I gave myself all those reasons years ago when I 
 promised my father not to forsake him," she answered 
 almost absently, her mind going back the while ; then 
 added more slowly, " but they did not satisfy me." 
 
 Mr. Heath looked at her doubtfully. " I do not quite 
 comprehend you," he said. "You tell me first that you 
 have been educated an unbeliever, and have promised to 
 remain so ; still, you are not sufficiently satisfied to train
 
 THE FELMERES, 295 
 
 your child as you were trained. Did you, believing there 
 was a risk, or a shadow of truth in Christianity, dare to 
 make such a promise dare to throw away your immor- 
 tal soul 2 " 
 
 How his eyes gleamed and shone as he questioned 
 her, and what awful depths there seemed in them as he 
 fixed them on her as though striving to read her inmost 
 thoughts ! She met the look, and her answer came sad 
 and quiet : 
 
 " Yes, I did dare it. My father dared it, and he, lov- 
 ing me as never parent loved a child before, asked me to 
 dare to stand by him ; and I promised, and shall fulfill 
 my promise. I acknowledge I think my life is a failure, 
 but I believe it is owing more to my weakness than my 
 training. I can not prove this, because I can not go back 
 and educate myself afresh ; but, recognizing the fact that 
 my life is a failure, and not being able to prove where- 
 fore, I must take the most probable causes, and strive to 
 leave them out of my son's education." 
 
 "And why," Mr. Heath asked, "do you put down 
 your unbelief as one of these causes ? " 
 
 " Because it made me different from my kind," she 
 answered readily ; " because, seeing every one around me 
 with near motives, my life seemed empty with only far- 
 off ones. I was not content to sacrifice my happiness for 
 an abstract principle of truth that was being preserved 
 for future generations. This life, as you say, is but a 
 short affair, but it was all I had, and I naturally wanted 
 it to be happy. But it has not been, for I was not gen- 
 erous enough to be happy in feeling that I was living for 
 the good of my kind ; nor was I strong enough to re- 
 fuse to give up my wishes when my father's happiness
 
 296 THE FELMERES. 
 
 was in the balance. Thus I was obliged to be satisfied 
 with emptiness. It is not because your belief is reason- 
 able, or because my unbelief is unreasonable, that I am un- 
 happy; but because I am not strong enough to stand 
 alone because I am not noble enough to live a life 
 guided by abstract principles, and barren of all reward 
 or punishment." 
 
 Mr. Heath listened patiently until she finished, then 
 asked : 
 
 " And now that you have reached these conclusions, 
 why do you not for expediency's sake become a Chris- 
 tian, and put some hope never mind how silly and 
 some motives never inind how low into your life ? 
 Why keep to your level, barren nothingness ? " 
 
 She looked at him questioningly as she answered : 
 
 " Because I promised my father." 
 
 " And you kept your promise as long as he lived ; but 
 why keep it any longer ? If he is dead as you believe 
 in death, it can make no difference to him now." 
 
 Mr. Heath was almost sorry he had said it when he 
 saw the paleness that crept over his listener's face. She 
 raised her hand as though to ward off a blow. 
 
 " But if he should not be ! " she cried, and her voice 
 was low and tense "if you should be right, and I 
 wrong, I could not even then desert him. I would 
 rather bear all the consequences than be in peace and see 
 him suffer ! Oh, heaven itself would be hell under those 
 circumstances ! " 
 
 " And you admit the possibility of a future state ? " 
 
 " A possibility yes, but not probability." 
 
 Mr. Heath paused a moment after her answer, then 
 said:
 
 THE FELMERES. 297 
 
 " Admitting then this possibility, I, a Christian, am 
 convinced by you, an unbeliever, that your child should 
 be trained a Christian." 
 
 " And must I," she asked, as though not quite un- 
 derstanding the position she had been brought to occupy 
 "must I let him go?" A moment's pause, then a 
 quick, sharp sigh. " I can not, I can not ! " she cried. 
 " I tell you, in all the world I have no other soul to 
 cling to ; there is no other creature that is all my own ! " 
 The last words came like a wail, as though the heart 
 had crowded the reason down and now stood clamoring 
 for itself, crying out against being desolated ! "I can 
 not, I will not let him go ! " 
 
 Her listener waited quietly. He had expected some 
 such outburst; for no woman, no mother, could argue 
 for long in that quiet strain about giving up her only 
 child. And the last cry of agony had been watched 
 for; and patiently he began the same arguments over 
 again. 
 
 " Can you reconcile yourself," he asked, " to making 
 him run the same fearful risks you are running at this 
 moment ? " 
 
 " My father, I tell you, let me run them ! " 
 
 " And if we are right " Mr. Heath began. 
 
 " I know all you can say," she interrupted, sharply 
 striking her hand on the table " I know all you can 
 urge, and more. I can see him cut off from all his kind, 
 as I have been ; I can see his life stretch blank and hope- 
 less before him ; I can see the spring taken out of every 
 action, and the light out of all his days by this nothing- 
 ness I cling to ; but I can not let him go ! " The words 
 seemed to rush from her lips, so fast and passionate were
 
 298 THE FELMERES. 
 
 they, ending with the pitiful iteration, " I can not let 
 him go ! " 
 
 " And you would doom him to the same path of suf- 
 fering you now find so intolerable ? " The voice was sad 
 beyond description. 
 
 "And must I add to the intolerableness ? " The 
 question was pitifully pleading. 
 
 " Let us put it differently," Mr. Heath said patiently. 
 " Give way to your clearer reason and better self, and 
 you acknowledge it is better even from a worldly stand- 
 point for your child to be a Christian. Now, acknowl- 
 edging this, surrender him, feeling that, if the sacri- 
 fice is hard, it has been made through your love for him ; 
 that ever in his looking back he will remember and rev- 
 erence you for it." 
 
 " He will not be allowed to remember me at all," she 
 answered bitterly. 
 
 " Even so ; let him never know you, let him never 
 hear your name, never know you cared for him. Are 
 you not strong enough to put yourself out of the ques- 
 tion ? Are you not mother enough to look only to the 
 good of the child, and, subverting self, be thankful you 
 can do something for the future of your son, for at best 
 his future will be clouded ? " 
 
 "When he ceased the face opposite him had changed ; 
 there was a light and a strength in it he had never seen 
 before ; and the eyes shone ! She had heard the old 
 war-cry of her youth the cry that had urged her through 
 her life and its sacrifices : " Are you not strong enough 3 " 
 Had her father come back ? Was it not his voice she 
 heard saying the old familiar words ? She answered to 
 the call almost by instinct.
 
 THE FELMERES. 299 
 
 " I will do it ! " 
 
 The voice and the words were quiet, but there was 
 no faltering in them. The habits and training of all her 
 life laid their clinging hands about her, and she took her 
 old position. " Life was short at best, and a little suffer- 
 ing more or less did not matter ; she was born to trouble ; 
 she must learn to bear her fate." 
 
 The Christian priest watched the beautiful face as the 
 light went out of it and it seemed to settle into quiet 
 endurance. Would she be strong enough to keep her 
 word, he wondered strong enough without the help of 
 religion, without the hope of a future life ? 
 
 Presently she rose. 
 
 " I must go now," she said ; then paused a moment 
 before she went on slowly : " You have made me decide 
 on what is best for my child as far as I can see. My 
 father judged differently for me, but here I think he 
 would have agreed with me, for the practical results of 
 my education have been miserable. I thank you for 
 helping me to end my suspense, although you have left 
 me hopeless ; but you must not let this thought annoy 
 you, for it is but where I have before stood. And now, 
 good-by. May I come again ? " 
 
 Mr. Heath took the hand she held out in both his own. 
 
 " If you only will," he said gently, " by God's mercy 
 I may some time help you." Then after a little pause : 
 " I shall pray for you day and night." 
 
 The words came back to her as they had been said 
 before : " I will pray for you day and night, that God 
 will save your soul " ; and the thought of that gentler 
 sorrow that was now so overshadowed brought a mist of 
 tears before her eyes.
 
 300 THE FELMERES. 
 
 "I have been prayed for before," she said; "and if 
 you think it will do me any good, I thank you. Good- 
 by." Then she was gone, and the room seemed poorer 
 and the day darker as she passed away. 
 
 And the man left standing there drew a long breath, 
 as one coming back to present things after absorbing 
 dreams ! 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 " And, coveting the heart a hard man broke, 
 One standeth patient, watching in the night, 
 And waiting in the daytime." 
 
 " HELEN," Mrs. Felmere said, one day not long after 
 Helen's visit to Mr. Heath, " we have decided, Philip 
 and I, that the child should be baptized." 
 
 This announcement was sudden, for nothing had as 
 yet been openly said in the family on this subject ; and 
 now this unexpected mention made Helen feel as though 
 her breath had left her, and something \vas tugging at 
 her throat. There was quite a moment's pause before 
 she found her voice ; then she answered slowly : 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " We thought we would ask Mr. Tolman to come to 
 the house," Mrs. Felmere went on, " and have only the 
 family present." 
 
 " Yes," Helen again assented, still finding it hard to 
 speak. 
 
 This non-committal style of conversation began to 
 have its effect on Mrs. Felmere, causing her to feel both
 
 THE FELMERES. 301 
 
 uncertain and uncomfortable; but she persisted in her 
 course. 
 
 " I wish to name the child Philip, but my son says he 
 thinks you wish to name him after your father." 
 
 " I did so wish," Helen answered. 
 
 " Well, have you changed your mind ? " 
 
 " My mind has never yet been fixed." 
 
 " Will you then fix it, and let us discuss the matter? " 
 Mrs. Felmere's tone was becoming stiff. 
 
 Helen thought a moment, then answered very slowly : 
 
 " If the child is to inherit Felmere, I prefer his being 
 named Hector ; it has always been the name of the eldest 
 son, except my brother." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere did not understand the apparent inde- 
 cision on her daughter's part, and asked sharply : 
 
 " Who else is there to inherit Felmere ? " 
 
 Helen shook her head. " It is mine," she answered, 
 " to leave as I please." 
 
 " But you surely would not leave it away from your 
 child ! " 
 
 " When I decide on what I wish the child namecl," 
 Helen answered, quietly passing over Mrs. Felmere's last 
 question, " I will tell you. After that, if Philip desires 
 another name for him, he can suit himself." Then she 
 left the room. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere sat thinking. Would Helen really leave 
 the place out of the family ? The very idea of having no 
 Felmere Hall to talk about struck Mrs. Felmere as an in- 
 curable and dreadful ill. This Felmere Hall that she 
 had so longed and yearned for, that she had planned and 
 fought for : ah, she could not give up now ; this thing 
 must not be ! Of course the child should be named Hec-
 
 302 THE FELMERES. 
 
 tor. Then she went to tell her son how very quietly his 
 wife had behaved about the baptism, and how she had 
 concluded it more wise to name the child Hector. 
 
 Helen, meanwhile, strove to calm and brace herself 
 for this inevitable event. She had thought herself pre- 
 pared, and had fixed in her own mind that Mr. Heath 
 should baptize the child. But now she could not even 
 think to any purpose, and after all her efforts could only 
 decide that she would declare this desire of hers to her 
 husband and his mother, and would the next day go 
 again to Mr. Heath. 
 
 Having come to this determination, she went down 
 to the parlor, where Philip and his mother were in grave 
 silence awaiting dinner. 
 
 " Aunt," she said slowly, " I have come to say that I 
 am willing to have the child baptized, but on the condi- 
 tion that Mr. Tolman shall not do it." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere was too much shocked to speak, and 
 Philip, looking at his wife in much surprise, asked : 
 
 " Whom else would you have the Bishop ? " 
 
 " I do not know the Bishop," Helen answered, " and 
 the honor is nothing to me. The person I wish to bap- 
 tize the child is Mr. Heath. He is a regularly ordained 
 clergyman of your church, so you can have no objection 
 to him. You may ask the Bishop about him if you like." 
 And she gave the street and name of his church. 
 
 " And what fault, may I ask, do you find with Mr. 
 Tolman \ " Mrs. Felmere began, having partially recov- 
 ered her astonishment, and at the same time found her- 
 self under the weight of a large access of indignation. 
 " Mr. Tolman is about to be connected with the family," 
 Mrs. Felmere continued ; " he is, more than this, a good
 
 THE FELMERES. 303 
 
 man and the clergyman of my church. What can you 
 say against him ? " 
 
 " I would rather not discuss Mr. Tolman," Helen an- 
 swered ; " it is enough that I do not like him. The point 
 with you has heretofore been to have the child baptized. 
 I concede that, and now make my point that the child 
 shall be baptized by Mr. Heath, or not at all. I will stand 
 to this, for it is no gain to me to have this thing done 
 rather loss." 
 
 Then she left them and went back to her room. 
 
 About the naming of the child Helen had been think- 
 ing much, and in the train of these thoughts came many 
 others of deeper import. If she allowed her son to be 
 trained a Christian, would it not be better for the child 
 never to know her ? Ought she not to carry the plan 
 completely out and leave him altogether ? And if she 
 were going to leave him, would it not be better to let 
 the family train and name the child to suit themselves, 
 and let her go away back to her own home ? And here 
 she would pause in her cogitations and plans, for she 
 could not decide. She would even go so far as to think 
 whether or not she should leave him the old place, and 
 give herself reasons for and against it. There was no 
 reason why she should do it. The child would never be 
 taught to love or reverence either herself or her father ; 
 the place would have no associations for him, no sacred- 
 ness in his eyes ; it would ever be represented to him by 
 his grandmother as the home of her husband ! If she 
 should live and hold the property until after the child 
 came of age, it would be different ; for she could then 
 send for him, and, making herself known to him, put the 
 old house and things into his own hands ; and if he had
 
 304 THE FELMERES. 
 
 not too muck Jourdan in him, he would value them for 
 themselves, and not because they made him able to say 
 to the world, " I have an ancestral home ! " 
 
 How she despised the Jourdans ! There was an- 
 other thought she could never reconcile herself to : it 
 was that Mrs. Fehnere should ever set foot inside of Fel- 
 mere. The place seemed to her too sacred ; she could 
 not bear to think of those cold, light eyes looking about 
 and appraising things that to her were worth more than 
 all the world old things hallowed by association, and 
 beautified by the touch of dear, dead hands ! Ah, that 
 should never be ! 
 
 Thus her thoughts would wander off into the farthest 
 possibilities, and finally, after long circuits of unanswer- 
 able questions, come back to the naming of the child and 
 her first round of arguments. " If he had the place, 
 ghe would wish him to be named Hector ; and yet she 
 could not know if she were going to live until her son 
 was of age. Then, again, if he were to be brought up 
 among the Jourdans, she would prefer his not being 
 named Hector often ending with the wild wish to take 
 him away and rear him as she pleased ! Then she would 
 wring her hands, or cast herself down and sob as though 
 her heart would break ! How could she how could she 
 go away and leave him ! But it was not often she let 
 herself reach this point ; for she ever strove, and wisely, 
 to keep her mind off side issues, such as the naming of 
 the child and the bequeathing of the place. 
 
 Mr. Heath, meanwhile, thought much about her, and 
 often wondered who she was. Only once since her visit 
 had he seen her, and then she was driving among the 
 rich and fashionable people in the park, and did not see
 
 THE FELMERES. 305 
 
 him. It was a strange case, he thought, that a woman 
 with everything this world could give should yet seek 
 him out in his poverty and obscurity, to tell him her 
 sorrows, and ask his help. It certainly was very strange, 
 and he often wondered how it would all end, and if she 
 would really come to him again. Poor thing ! he was 
 very sorry for her. 
 
 But she did come again, and, standing in the same 
 place, scanned him in the same way. 
 
 " I am come again, Mr. Heath," she said, as they 
 shook hands, " and this time it is to ask some questions. 
 I will try not to keep you long." 
 
 " I am glad to give you my time," he answered, as 
 they sat down, " and only hope I may be able rightly to 
 answer your questions." 
 
 " They are not difficult." Then she paused. " I 
 have consented that the child should be baptized," she 
 went on more slowly, " and that, of course, means that 
 he shall be reared a Christian. Now, the question is is 
 it wiser for the child that I should stay with him or 
 leave him ? Shall I give him up body as well as soul ? " 
 There was a moment's silence, then she went on : " My 
 desire is that you put aside all consideration of me in 
 this matter, and look only to the good of the child ; and 
 for you to do this justly, you should know somewhat of 
 the child's circumstances and surroundings. He will 
 grow up among a set of people who are nominally Chris- 
 tians, but Christians stamped with the ' image and super- 
 scription ' of the world. This Christianity, as you will 
 already have concluded, is neither true nor deep, and 
 can not have much hold on a true nature, such as I hope 
 my child's will be ; and knowing this, I can not but think
 
 306 THE FELMERES. 
 
 that my staying may cloud even the small fragment of 
 faith they may succeed in inculcating. I have no desire 
 to do this, for I am truly seeking my child's happiness, 
 and I well know he will not find it in doubt. "Whatever 
 he is, let him be that honestly. Christian or nationalist, 
 he must not be lukewarm ; for of all that is the bitterest 
 suffering ! On the other hand, if his nature is false, 
 and I mingle in his life, he will prefer my unbelief, for 
 his nature will then be untrammeled ! But more than 
 all this, will it be happy for him to learn to love a mother 
 he will have to regard as a lost soul ? Had I not better 
 go away quietly and leave him to grow up not knowing 
 me?" 
 
 Mr. Heath could not answer; he could not tell her 
 she must go, he could not tell her she must stay ! 
 
 " I do not know what to say," he began at last. " I 
 could not advise you to teach him yourself, for your 
 teaching would not be true, and I hold religion far too 
 sacred to be taught falsely ; I could not ask you to be 
 such a hypocrite." 
 
 " And I could not be," she answered. " If I stay," 
 she added, " I shall have to stand by and see others train 
 and teach him ; and I do not know that I should be 
 strong enough to hold myself from molding him. I do 
 not know what to do." 
 
 " If she were only a Christian ! " he thought ; then 
 spoke slowly : 
 
 " If it is better for your child to be a Christian, I ask 
 again, why not for you ? " 
 
 And she, going back loyally, made the old answer : 
 
 " Because my father did not think it best ; because I 
 took an oath to stand by him for ever."
 
 THE FELMERES. 307 
 
 " And you do not fear the risk ? " 
 
 " I can not really believe there is any risk ; it is only 
 a dim, shadowy possibility that haunts me sometimes. 
 When I analyze your religion, it is as mysteriously con- 
 tradictory as a fairy tale : it is to me a mass of beautiful 
 foolishness." 
 
 Mr. Heath rose and walked td the window, and back 
 again to the inner door ; then asked : 
 
 " Have you ever talked with any one, I mean any 
 Christians, on this subject ? ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And did they in no way sway you \ " 
 
 " No ; I only thought it all very beautiful and very 
 comfortable, but not very reasonable. Perhaps, if my 
 faith had been cultivated more and my reason less, 
 I should have looked at it differently; but now I can 
 not." 
 
 Mr. Heath thought a moment, then answered slowly : 
 
 " In that it is beyond reason, I know it is unreason- 
 able." 
 
 " How then can you hold it ? " she asked quickly. 
 
 " Because it also comes down within the sphere of both 
 reason and common sense." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "I can not see this as you do," she answered; "it 
 puzzles me ; I get lost in trying to think it out. I can 
 not see so far as to understand why your God took the 
 trouble to make us. Do you think he made us for his 
 glory ? Do you think he likes the wails and cries of ag- 
 ony that for ever go up ? This God that is all-merciful 
 and all-powerful : could he not have saved us by his word, 
 and without all this suffering without this elaborate plan
 
 308 THE FELMERES. 
 
 of salvation ? It surely seems a great deal of useless sor- 
 row and work." 
 
 " We do not know why he made us," Mr. Heath an- 
 swered, " but we know we are here ; and we can not com- 
 prehend his plan of salvation, but we understand enough 
 of it at least to use it to overcome our sinful natures, 
 and so be saved from the death of sin. Look where you 
 will, you see the whole physical universe governed by 
 laws ; would it have been wiser, do you think, to have 
 made the moral universe without laws, without any plan, 
 a chaotic uncertainty ? Must God, because he is all-mer- 
 ciful, save us in spite of ourselves raise us from this 
 life to a higher state, whether or not we are prepared to 
 understand or even desire that higher state ? The moral 
 universe without laws would be in as confused a state as 
 the physical universe without laws. We do not expect 
 the law of gravitation to be done away with because we 
 choose to jump out of a window ; and we know that if 
 we do so foolish a thing we shall certainly be dashed 
 upon the earth and be killed. Why, after living a dis- 
 obedient life, should we expect God to do away with the 
 natural results consequent on broken moral laws, any 
 more than he should do away with the suffering conse- 
 quent on our dashing ourselves from a window ? I can 
 not see, and yet on all hands I meet this expectation. The 
 same God established all the laws, and why they should 
 not be carried out equally seems a strange inconsistency 
 to me. In both cases humanity is fairly warned ; and 
 why, if we believe at all, should we not believe as firmly 
 in one set of laws as in the other ? " 
 
 His tone had become as the tone of one musing, as
 
 THE FELMERES. 309 
 
 though he had forgotten his companion ; and her answer, 
 coming slowly, startled him : 
 
 " And you wish me to say I humbly receive and blind- 
 ly believe these awful mysteries and laws that go to make 
 a creed which, if true, condemns my dead father to eter- 
 nal damnation ! " 
 
 Her words dropped on the silence heavily, and the 
 man before her pondered sadly. 
 
 " No one can know God's mercy," he said at last ; 
 " your father may be saved." 
 
 She made a quick gesture with her hand, as though 
 waving his words aside. 
 
 " If your religion is true, there is no hope for him ! " 
 she answered. " He had all the opportunities for being 
 a Christian, and he deliberately determined not to be 
 one : more than this, he calmly and thoughtfully took 
 another soul, and, shutting it ofi. from all Christian knowl- 
 edge, carefully put every known barrier between it and 
 possible belief ! Is this not a deadly sin in your eyes ?" 
 
 The answer came unfalteringly 
 
 " Yes, to me it would seem an unpardonable, a dam- 
 nable sin ! but in another, how can I know how God in 
 his omniscience may regard it ? We do not know what 
 may have been revealed in the depths of that poor hu- 
 man heart, what reasons for his blindness and weakness ! 
 His life may have been all bitterness and disappointment 
 until his faith failed him. I do not know I can but 
 leave him to God ! But you you can see the light if 
 you will ; and if you will not " 
 
 " I shall follow my father." 
 
 " And if there is an after life yon will for ever leave 
 your child ! for the baptismal cross upon his brow will be
 
 310 THE FELMERES. 
 
 the sign of the ' great gulf that will be set between you ! 
 His little arms can never reach you ; his little voice can 
 never come to you " 
 
 Ah, the pitiful agony that crept over the face opposite 
 him the white speechless agony that made him wish his 
 words unsaid ! He turned away ; he could not look at 
 her. And she, not moving her eyes from his averted 
 face, answered slowly: 
 
 " And you would have me convince myself, or strive 
 to do it, that a religion is true which would compel me 
 to believe that my father, the only creature in all rny 
 past that was my own, is now suffering an eternity of in- 
 creasing torture ; or, unless I hold this, that I shall for 
 ever lose my child 3 " 
 
 Mr. Heath faced her quickly, and his words fell fast 
 and sharp : 
 
 "I would have you to suffer that thought, or any 
 other, to save your soul ! Your father lived his life ; he 
 turned from the light or he hid it ; he used his oppor- 
 tunities as he deemed best ; and he is now in the hands 
 of an infinitely merciful God. But, lying in his grave, 
 he has no right to trammel you. He had no right to 
 blind you and to drag you after him ! Every mortal 
 soul stands or falls to itself, and no man has a right to 
 put another soul in bondage. I tell you again, if your 
 father is dead as you believe in death, your keeping your 
 promise is of no avail: if there is a hereafter" he 
 paused a moment, and his words came more slowly 
 " will it make his sufferings any less that you should 
 stand beside him to add the awful thought that he had 
 dragged you there had betrayed your trusting inno- 
 cence ? "
 
 THE FELMERES. 311 
 
 There was an awful horror in the face of his listener, 
 and the eyes looked almost glazed as they stared into 
 his ; then the answer came in a low-strained voice : 
 
 " Now I know my father was right, for he loved me 
 more than he did himself; and unless he had been sure, 
 he would never have made me follow him ! " She paused 
 a moment. " Could I make my child run any such risk ? 
 I do not wish him to run the risk even of present unhappi- 
 ness ; I am almost willing to empty my life for him by 
 leaving him ; and my father loved me just as well nay, 
 better. In all his life he had no creature left but me, 
 and in death I will not desert him ! " It was too awful ! 
 Mr. Heath again turned his face away, and the low voice 
 went on : " And now, as I stand here this day, suffering 
 more almost than I am able, I can see back into my own 
 life, and forward to my child's. If I train him as I was 
 trained, all that I have endured he will also meet ; if I 
 rear him a Christian, then some day he will suffer the 
 torture for me that you would have me suffer for my 
 father. I will not put this on him. I must gather up 
 my strength and go ! " 
 
 It was almost sublime ! As far as he could see, her 
 life had been all sacrifice first to her father, now to her 
 son. She had no God, she had no friend ; and now she 
 stood ready to leave herself utterly desolate for the love 
 of her child ! 
 
 She rose. 
 
 " I must go now ; but before I say good-by I wish to 
 ask you if you will baptize my child for me ? I have 
 come to feel that you are true ; you never let the thought 
 of my suffering stand between you and what you think 
 you ought to say, and I value this. More than this, I
 
 312 THE FELMERES. 
 
 think you will feel for me, and not against me ; you will 
 look on me as a suffering woman, and not as an obstinate 
 infidel. Will you do it for me ? " 
 
 "I will." 
 
 " Then, when the time comes, I will send for you, or 
 come for you." 
 
 " And I shall be ready," he answered, then conducted 
 her to the carriage that was waiting. 
 
 Once more alone in his poor dingy room, he went 
 again over the morning's talk. This woman and her 
 trouble haunted him, and he could not push them aside. 
 He wondered if she would be able to give up her child 
 entirely go and leave it to live and grow without any 
 knowledge of her and do this without any hope of re- 
 ward except the child's happiness here ! It was wonder- 
 ful! 
 
 Poor thing! How pitifully she clung to her father 
 " the only soul in all her past that had been wholly 
 hers!" 
 
 This father must have been a strong man to gain so 
 powerful an influence, and create such a love ! She had 
 never mentioned her mother, and he wondered what had 
 become of her. And while he thought of her, he re- 
 membered that even in this second visit she had not re- 
 vealed herself, and was as unknown to him now as she 
 had been at first. He did not know so much as her 
 name, nor how she had ever heard of him ; the next time 
 he met her he would ask her this last question : her name, 
 of course, she must reveal or not, as she pleased. He 
 was pitifully sorry for her, yet did not see that he could 
 comfort her. Alas! no mortal could, but he honestly 
 believed and prayed that God would do so.
 
 THE FELMERES. 313 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 " Canst thou not fold rebellious hands at last ! " 
 
 MKS. FELMEEE was unhappy ; and the whole Jourdan 
 family, except Jack and Arthur, were in a state of " I- 
 told-you-so " and " "What-else-can-you-expect ? " sympa- 
 thy. Long ago Mrs. Felmere had given up trying to 
 make Philip's marriage appear a success; long ago she 
 had given up uncomfortable ruses, and taken to talking 
 over things in delightful conclave with Miss Esther, Mrs. 
 Jourdan, and Amelia. This new freak of Helen's was 
 a charming tit-bit ; and, being left by Philip to manage 
 as best she could, Mrs. Felmere ordered the carriage and 
 drove immediately" to Miss Esther's. Here she found 
 Mrs. Jourdan and Amelia; so with much alacrity she 
 opened her budget. 
 
 Miss Esther refused to be astonished; she had ex- 
 pected this all along was, in fact, surprised that Helen 
 consented at all to the baptism ; and she was sure that 
 when she heard of the proposed plan of taking the child 
 to Europe, she would poison both Mrs. Felmere and the 
 child, for there was no telling what unbelievers would 
 not do once they began ! 
 
 Mrs. Jourdan looked triumphantly sad. Amelia was 
 not a beauty, nor was any great social or intellectual suc- 
 cess expected from Jack ; but she felt certain that these 
 commonplace children of hers would afford her more 
 comfort and satisfaction than poor Sister Amelia's child 
 14
 
 314 THE F ELM ERE S. 
 
 had given her! Mrs. Jourdan only thought this; she 
 said that she was sure both Amy and Mr. Tolman would 
 understand the position, and, though very sorry about it, 
 would make no difficulty nor bear any hard feeling. It 
 was all very sad, she thought; and the sooner Helen 
 could be persuaded to go back to her own home, the hap- 
 pier for all parties. Philip and his mother could stay in 
 Europe until the thing was forgotten, and this would not 
 be very long. 
 
 So Mrs. Felmere went home much comforted. Miss 
 Esther had agreed that it was best to let Helen have her 
 own way, had appeared deeply interested in Philip, and 
 had consented to be godmother to the child. 
 
 This last was a great point gained ; but Mrs. Jourdan 
 felt as though " Sister Amelia" had taken an undue ad- 
 vantage of her ; for, as they had always been comrades 
 in their intentions about Miss Esther's money, it seemed 
 hard that the baby should be brought to play on his 
 great-aunt's feelings when "Sister Amelia" knew that 
 Mrs. Jourdan had no grandchild to dedicate to that un- 
 made will ! And Mrs. Felmere had an instinctive cer- 
 tainty of this feeling of " Sister Margaret's " ; but she 
 quieted her conscience by the knowledge that all of 
 Amy's children would be offered up after this same plan, 
 and that where she had the advantage in time, they would 
 doubtless have it in number. Poor Jack had lost all his 
 chances by espousing Helen's cause, but Amy had dou- 
 bled hers the day she accepted Mr. Tolman ; and Philip, 
 too, had much increased his by putting things into his 
 mother's hands and leaving them there by turning his 
 life and his wife over to be managed by his family ! 
 
 This action was looked on as undeniable proof of
 
 THE FELMEEES. 315 
 
 good training, and a pledge to the good teachings and 
 influence of Mr. Tolman. 
 
 For all this Mrs. Felmere was truly thankful, and 
 began to hope she might yet turn her misfortunes and 
 disappointments concerning Helen into helps instead of, 
 as she had once feared, hindrances. So, out of the abun- 
 dance of her satisfaction and gratitude, she asked Mr. 
 Tolman to preach a sermon on the text, " All things 
 work together for good," etc., and Mr. Tolman said he 
 would. 
 
 Thus Helen found her point conceded concerning Mr. 
 Heath, but a counterpoint made about Miss Esther. 
 
 " You may name the child and have him baptized by 
 whom you please," Mrs. Felmere said ; " but I wish my 
 sister Esther to be his godmother." 
 
 Helen stood silent, thinking. She longed to defy 
 them and refuse to have her child baptized at all ; but for 
 the child's good she restrained herself, and, though she 
 hated Miss Esther, she gave up, not seeing the use in fur- 
 ther contention. 
 
 " I have no one to propose as his godmother," she an- 
 swered, " but I should think a younger person, who would 
 live long enough to really help train the child, would be 
 preferable; and he will have enough money without 
 hers." 
 
 Arthur, who was sitting near, could not help smiling ; 
 Philip drummed on the window-pane ; and Mrs. Fel- 
 mere had to wait a few moments before she could get 
 sufficient control of her voice to speak, and in the pause 
 Helen w T ent on : 
 
 " I suppose, then, I may choose the godfathers. I 
 believe a boy has two ? "
 
 316 THE FELMEEES. 
 
 "I prefer not saying anything," Mrs. Felmere an- 
 swered, " for I am insulted at every turn." 
 
 " I did not mean to insult you," Helen said ; " and 
 you can not surely have forgotten the conversation we 
 had on the subject of your sister's will when I first came ? 
 You did not seem then to think it was wrong to use 
 means to get Philip favorably remembered, so I natu- 
 rally concluded baby was to be used to make up my de- 
 ficiencies in this matter. I meant no insult. But I 
 would like to choose the child's godfathers." 
 
 " And you may," Philip answered, after a short si- 
 lence. 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 Then the conversation dropped, and Arthur shortly 
 after took his leave. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere's curiosity as to the godfathers was a 
 gnawing pain, but she would not ask she would not 
 stoop to such a thing 1 They would doubtless be chosen 
 out of the " art-ring," and one would probably be Helen's 
 " old friend " Mr. Gordon ! Philip was an idiot to have 
 given her any such permission after she had put the pos- 
 sibility of refusal into his hands ; but it did truly seem 
 impossible to teach Philip tact or wisdom ! Presently 
 she spoke, and Helen, sitting quiet, listened with inten- 
 sity to her words ; but she did not pause in her stitching 
 nor show in any way how vitally she was interested in 
 the conversation. 
 
 "Philip, Mrs. Beaumont sails for England in May; 
 do you not think that will be a pleasant party to go 
 with ? " 
 
 " Who else will be in the party ? " Philip asked in a 
 not very joyous tone.
 
 THE FELMERES. 317 
 
 " Mortimer Beaumont and his wife ; and I do not 
 know but that Amy and Mr. Tolman will be persuaded 
 to go." 
 
 " Will Amelia be married before May ? " Helen 
 asked, wishing to help the conversation on, and if pos- 
 sible find out the family plans. That there was a plan 
 she was sure ; for things had been much more quiet of 
 late, as though settled in their grooves and working to- 
 ward some certain end. Of course the end could bring 
 her no good, but she would rather know what it was to 
 be, and prepare herself for it. She had, as far as she 
 could, settled her own plans, but did not wish to divulge 
 them until she had found out theirs to some extent. For, 
 although she said she had decided to give up all and go 
 away, yet if she found they were willing she should keep 
 her child in any half-way fashion, she did not know that 
 she could leave him. She would not attempt to make 
 any resistance, for by law they could get him, and by 
 patience she might win something, never mind how little. 
 So she asked quietly her question, " Will Amelia be mar- 
 ried before May ? " 
 
 " God willing, she will," Mrs. Felmere answered sol- 
 emnly. Then there was a pause, in which Helen wished 
 very much to ask why the Lord might object, for she so 
 hated this lip-piety of Mrs. Felmere and her family ; but 
 she restrained herself, saying instead : 
 
 " Then I should think she would go ; it will make it 
 so much pleasanter for her to be with you." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere looked up quickly, but Helen stitched 
 away quietly; and Mrs. Felmere wondered much how 
 Helen had discovered the plan for her going. Then she 
 answered slowly, watching Helen's face the while :
 
 318 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " Yes, and she can help me too." 
 
 Philip was watching also, but not a muscle moved, 
 not a shade more of color came or went, and the needle 
 did not pause in its going ! They did not know by what 
 an awful effort it was that Helen held herself in check, 
 nor how for a long time she had been schooling herself to 
 meet this trial ; but she met it bravely, for the self-con- 
 trol to which she had been trained came now to her aid, 
 and she went on quietly : 
 
 " ' Help you ? ' Why, will you not take your maid ? 
 Will you not be very uncomfortable without her ? " 
 
 Philip had stopped his drumming on the window- 
 pane, and stood looking into the street without seeing 
 anything, only heartily wishing himself away from before 
 the storm he feared was brewing, ready to burst on his 
 miserably unfortunate liead. He listened anxiously as his 
 mother answered : 
 
 " Of course my maid will go, but there will be other 
 things to do beyond her sphere." 
 
 The words fell chillingly on the daughter's heart and 
 soul, killing all the faint fluttering hopes she had fos- 
 tered with such clinging love. She knew this work 
 that was beyond the maid's sphere meant the caring 
 for her child ! But she did not cry out in her an- 
 guish, nor make any sign ; she only felt she must be 
 alone for a little while ; so folding up her work quietly 
 she rose. 
 
 " I am sure I hope you will have a pleasant time," she 
 said " as pleasant as I know I shall have at old Fel- 
 mere." Then she left the room, pausing on her way to 
 glance out of the window, and to push back a vase that 
 stood too near the edge of a bracket.
 
 THE FELMERES. 319 
 
 Ah, what a long breath of relief Philip drew when 
 the door closed after her ! 
 
 " Mother," he said, " have you told her yet? " 
 
 Mrs. Felmere shook her head. 
 
 " 'No, my son, but she knows." 
 
 " How do you know that? " he went on. " I mean, 
 how does she know that the baby is to go, and how do 
 you know that she is aware of it ? " 
 
 " I understand what you allude to," Mrs. Felmere 
 answered, " and I know from many little signs which a 
 man would not notice that what I say is true. First, she 
 is making for the child with her own hands an entire set 
 of clothes, and learned to sew in order that she might do 
 it. There is no need for this unless he is going from her. 
 Second, she has made Annie promise to stay with him 
 as his nurse as long as she possibly can. And the last 
 thing, and to me the strongest evidence of all, is that 
 two months ago she moved the child's crib and clothes 
 into the nursery with Annie, giving the girl the entire 
 charge of him, and only allowing herself to see him twice 
 in a day, and never at night. Does this not show that 
 she is breaking gradually the ties between herself and 
 the child ? What need unless they are to be sepa- 
 rated ? " 
 
 "She is strong !" Philip said emphatically, driving 
 his hands deeper into his pockets. 
 
 " I call it heartless," his mother retorted. 
 
 Philip shook his head. 
 
 " If she were heartless she would not need to break 
 herself away gradually; she would give the child up 
 easily." 
 
 " If she cared for him, she would not give him up at
 
 320 THE FELMERES. 
 
 all," Mrs. Felmere answered. "I know I would not 
 until compelled." 
 
 Philip looked at her in astonishment. 
 
 " Why, mother ! and yet you compel Helen to do this 
 thing ! How can you ? " 
 
 " I think, Philip, of the good of the child," his 
 mother answered. " What were the suffering of ten 
 lives compared with the loss of a soul ! This is my mo- 
 tive ; but I do not see how this can be any motive to an 
 unbeliever, especially so obstinate a one as she is. Thus 
 I am compelled to put down her calmness and willing- 
 ness to give him up to lack of affection." 
 
 " May she not be acting for the child's good also ? " 
 Philip asked. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere smiled bitterly. 
 
 " Can you imagine your wife thinking I could work 
 good to any creature ? " she said. " Does she treat you 
 as though she considered you a success ? " 
 
 Philip looked doubtful. He would like to be con- 
 vinced by his mother's reasoning. It would be more 
 comfortable to think Helen did not care for the child ; 
 and the thrust in the last clause of his mother's speech, 
 which he knew to be true, hurt him and aided much in 
 confirming his desire to agree with his mother; so he 
 went on more tamely in his defense of his wife : 
 
 " But, mother, if she dislikes you to this extent, the 
 very knowledge that you want the child would make her 
 keep him from you." 
 
 " So one would think," Mrs. Felmere answered, " un- 
 less one had found other motives." 
 
 Philip looked at her searchingly. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked sharply.
 
 THE FELMERES. 321 
 
 " Only this, Philip : She asked me once on whom the 
 disgrace fell the most heavily in case of a divorce. I 
 told her on the woman. She is ambitious, beautiful, 
 popular, and proud : do you think she would enjoy being 
 disgraced ? She knows if she demurs you will get the 
 divorce and the child too, and she thinks it better to give 
 him up. More than this, the pathetic story she can make, 
 that because she is an unbeliever you and I have taken 
 her child from her, will be quite a card in her hands ; 
 for the world will not stop to reflect on the awful re- 
 sponsibility we feel for that child's soul ! It will surely 
 take the short-sighted view that the child could be edu- 
 cated a Christian anyhow, even with all her influence 
 bearing against it, and with her example giving the lie, 
 as it were, to all our teaching ! I have thought seri- 
 ously on all these points, my son, and I know them to 
 be true. "Why, already Arthur and Jack look on her as 
 a martyr. The next person to take this view will be 
 Valeria Yanzandt; then all her train of artist people, 
 and people who admire her notoriety and bow to her 
 money ! Ah, my son, your wife will have many more 
 adherents than you will, but you will be right 1 More 
 than this, she may have other plans. I doubt her going 
 back to Felmere to live alone." She paused a moment, 
 then added more slowly : " Did she not tell me Fel- 
 mere was hers to leave as she pleased, and that she 
 did not care for the child to be named Hector unless 
 he was to inherit the place? To what does all this 
 point \ " 
 
 Philip turned very white. Mrs. Felmere went on : 
 " Did it never occur to you that she might marry 
 again ? Divorced Christians do ; and what better could
 
 322 THE FELMERES. 
 
 you expect from an unbeliever ? I tell you she does not 
 want the child ! " 
 
 Up stairs the mother sat stitching feverishly, driving 
 the needle through monotonously, swiftly ; beating down 
 her heart with words that kept time to her stitches : 
 " They will take your child, but you knew it long ago. 
 Why break your heart ? Life is short ; death ends all." 
 Over and over again she said these words, keeping time 
 to her stitch, and the stitches keeping time to the song 
 the little nurse sang in the next room, " Hush, my babe." 
 Yes, the nurse's babe, the father's, the grandmother's 
 any one's babe but hers ? She was cut off she stood 
 alone, desolate, cursed ! She would sew, though sew 
 for her little one ; sew in love in every stitch a drop of 
 heart's blood for every time her needle pierced the little 
 garment. She would so wrap him with love that, baby 
 as he was, he could not but remember her ! 
 
 The needle snapped, and pricked her finger ; a drop 
 of blood oozed out upon the little shirt 1 She looked at 
 it as though she did not know what it was, and watched 
 it as it spread into a larger spot with a wondering sorrow- 
 ful look. Slowly she folded the little garment with the 
 spot of blood inside with the thread and broken needle 
 still hanging ! " I will put it away," she thought ; "and 
 when he is a man and I am long dead, they shall give it 
 to him." Then she went to her writing-table and wrote 
 a note,, and folding it in with the little shirt, made a bun- 
 dle of it, and on the outside wrote that if she died before 
 her son came of age, at that time this bundle should be 
 given him. Then she laid it carefully away, and won- 
 dered if she was losing her mind !
 
 THE FELMERES. 323 
 
 The song of the little nurse had stopped. She wished 
 it would begin again ; she longed to hear something else 
 than the noise of the fire and the ringing in her head ! 
 She listened ; far down the street she heard a band play- 
 ing; she put up a window, and on the spring-touched 
 wind the music came to her. A waltz ! She leaned her 
 head against the window-frame. How wild the music 
 sounded in the gathering dusk a waltz to be played in 
 glittering ball-rooms for broken-hearted humanity to 
 dance to ! Yes, the time should be gay, but the melody 
 should be gathered from all the hearts that ever broke 
 the spirit from all the tears that ever fell ! Poor Human- 
 ity, striving so despairingly to be happy ! smiling faces 
 over breaking hearts dancing feet over opening graves 
 life and death all woven in together! Sad ? How could 
 any music ever be sad enough for them to dance to ! 
 
 She put her hands over her face. Was she going 
 mad? She would have been thankful for some tears. 
 Alas ! her brain seemed parched, her eyes dry and burn- 
 ing! 
 
 They were going to take her child away ! She wrung 
 her hands. Not more than six weeks then such utter, 
 dead emptiness ! 
 
 " O God ! " she cried out. She stood quite still. The 
 words came back to her time and again, echoed, and echo- 
 ing from every part of the room whispered above, about, 
 within her! She had called on GOD that mysterious 
 spirit these Christians believed in. It was so silent : was 
 He there, in the room ? She shivered. Had He heard 
 her ? Did He think she had forsaken her father ? 
 
 " Never, never ! " she whispered. " I tell you I have 
 not I do not believe. My father is all I have all I
 
 324: THE FELMERES. 
 
 have ! " She wrung her hands and crouched on the floor 
 by the fire. 
 
 Oh, the horror of the thought ! that lonely old man, 
 with his sad face and silver hair, and his beautiful eyes 
 that loved and trusted her so ! Never, never ! They 
 might take her child they might torture and burn her ; 
 but never would she desert him ! 
 
 The inner door of the room opened ; a stream of light 
 came flickering through, and in the doorway stood the 
 nurse with the child in her arms. 
 
 The mistress rose. 
 
 " Bring him here," she said; " then, Annie, light the 
 lamps." 
 
 Ah, how close she held the little one ! In six weeks 
 he would be a year old ; in six weeks he would be gone ! 
 How empty her arms would be and her heart ? 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " It will wring in my heart and my ears till I die, till I die." 
 
 THE words haunted her. The cry that had broken 
 from her in her agony followed her day and night ; she 
 lived in a feverish dream an awful nightmare ! She had 
 called on God ! If there was a God, if there was a here- 
 after, if her father could listen and hear, this God would 
 think she believed her father would think she had de- 
 serted him ! She would raise her hands to heaven as in 
 defiance. " I do not believe I will not believe. There 
 is no God ! "
 
 THE FELMERES. 325 
 
 The days slipped by ; soon all would be gone her 
 child her life ! Maybe she would die ; ah, it was a 
 blessed hope ! 
 
 But outwardly she was calm ; she stitched morn and 
 noon ; the little piles of clothes grew high and higher ; 
 the time grew shorter ; her haste increased, and still no 
 tears came ! 
 
 Philip had come almost to think with his mother, 
 that Helen did not want the child, for she was so calm 
 as the time drew nearer. But not so Arthur. He had 
 had one glimpse into that poor, wild heart, and the sight 
 had almost terrified him ; what would come of it ? 
 
 One day she stopped him on the stairway. " Come 
 here one moment, Arthur," she said ; " I have something 
 to say to you a favor to ask." And she led him into 
 her room and closed the door. She leaned with her back 
 against it, and he stood facing her. He watched her 
 white hands, grown so thin and n'ervous, twist and un- 
 twist themselves ; he watched the expression change upon 
 her face until it seemed to him a mask had fallen off. 
 She seemed unconscious of his presence she seemed 
 unable to speak. At last she looked at him, saying 
 slowly: 
 
 " Arthur, I dare say you know more of what I am 
 about to speak than I do. I do not, in fact, know any- 
 thing, but I think they are going to take my child from 
 me. I can not help myself ; for, besides knowing that 
 the law will give him to Philip, I feel that it is for the 
 child's good that I should leave him. But I shall not 
 enter into these reasons; it is not necessary. I have 
 brought you here to ask you if you will act as godfather 
 to my child? Will you be good to him, Arthur, and
 
 326 THE FELMERES. 
 
 watch him for me ? You know the world ; you know 
 your sister and Philip ; you know what that child will 
 have to contend against ! And, Arthur,, if I live, will 
 you sometimes write to me about him, and tell me how 
 he looks and how he is ? Am I asking too much, Ar- 
 thur?" 
 
 Arthur shook his head. Man of the world as he was, 
 the tears were strangely near at hand, and his voice 
 seemed hard to find. 
 
 " I promise you, Helen, to do all in my power for 
 your child. I will watch over him and guard him to the 
 utmost of my ability, and from me he shall know you for 
 what you are ! " 
 
 She shook her head hopelessly. 
 
 " It does not matter much what he thinks of me," 
 she said, " for to him I can only be a lost soul ! But you 
 will write to me ? " 
 
 " I will." Arthur felt almost dazed ; her last speech 
 had opened so much to him that he had not thought of 
 before ! 
 
 She went on : 
 
 " Do you go to Europe with them ? " 
 
 " Yes, and I shall write you at every stage. I shall 
 be glad to do it." 
 
 "Thank you," she answered, holding out her two 
 hands " thank you very much, Arthur. It would not 
 be any use for me to say ' God bless you ' ; but if there 
 is a God, I hope He will bless you for all your kindness 
 to me, and now to my child. You have been very good 
 to me, Arthur ; and I hope you will be very happy, and 
 that some day you will be repaid." 
 
 Then she opened the door, and Arthur, scarcely know-
 
 THE FELMERES. 327 
 
 ing why or how, went down stairs and out of the front 
 door as in a dream. Poor creature ! was there no help 
 for her ? 
 
 A few days after this interview Mrs. Felmere asked 
 Helen if she had yet decided on the godfathers for the 
 child, and on his name. 
 
 " I have asked Arthur to be one," Helen answered, 
 " and I hope Mr. Heath will be the other ; but about the 
 name I have not yet made up my mind." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere was frowning. 
 
 "Who is this Mr. Heath? " she asked. 
 
 " He is my friend," Helen answered, " and will be 
 baby's godfather, I hope." 
 
 There was silence for a few moments ; then Mrs. Fel- 
 mere spoke. 
 
 " And when is the baptism to take place \ " she 
 asked. 
 
 " On what day shall you sail ? " was the counter-ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Mrs. Felmere answered deliberately, watching the 
 face before her as she spoke : 
 
 " On the first day of May." 
 
 " On the morning of that day, then, he shall be bap- 
 tized." The voice and answer were disappointingly 
 calm. 
 
 That afternoon, as Mr. Heath sat preparing his ser- 
 mon, the slatternly housemaid brought him a note, say- 
 ing the messenger was waiting for an answer. He took 
 it from her, and, seeing through the window that a ser- 
 vant waited outside, he sent the girl away, saying he 
 would give the answer himself. When the door had 
 closed behind her he tore open the envelope.
 
 328 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " ME. HEATH : If you will be at home to-morrow at 
 twelve, I shall be glad to come and see you. I wish to 
 ask you something for my child. 
 
 "HELEN FELMEKE." 
 
 He put the note down slowly as one in a dream. 
 " Helen Felmere ! " He looked at the name as though 
 it were a ghost, and pushed it from him ! It was doubt- 
 less from his unknown visitor ; but was that beautiful, 
 rich woman Helen Felmere ? Then he remembered it 
 was her marriage name ; she might have been Helen 
 Brown or Smith before that. 
 
 He turned and walked up and down the room once 
 or twice. There were Felmeres in the city, he knew ; 
 he had seen them more than once a mother and son ; 
 and this must be the son's wife. But the sudden sight 
 of the name had given him quite a shock. He stopped ; 
 he would answer the note first, and think it out after- 
 ward. 
 
 " MKS. FELMEKE : I shall be at home to-morrow at 
 the hour named, and will gladly do anything in my 
 power to help you. 
 
 " Yery truly, 
 
 " PEKCIVAL HEATH." 
 
 He handed the note to the servant, then returned to 
 his cogitations. 
 
 " Helen Felmere ? She must be Philip Felmere's 
 wife." He stopped still in his walk. " She said she 
 had married her cousin ! " he put his hands over his face 
 " and had been educated an unbeliever by her father ! "
 
 THE FELMERES. 329 
 
 For a long while he stood thus ; he did not move, he 
 seemed scarcely to breathe. One or two knocks came at 
 his door and went away unanswered; still he stood 
 there. At last there was a sound a little whisper: 
 " Mother, mother, you were wrong ! " It was only a 
 whisper, but the concentrated sorrow in those words was 
 inexpressible ! 
 
 Again the beautiful woman stood within the dingy 
 room, and the man there waiting for her looked on her 
 with different eyes. She sat down wearily, and her face 
 looked worn and thin and her eyes were unnaturally 
 bright. 
 
 " I have come," she began abruptly, " to ask a favor 
 at your hands, and you must not hesitate to refuse me 
 if you think best to do so ; will you promise ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It is that you will be one of my child's godparents 
 more than that his friend. He will live here near 
 you ; I shall go away to my old home. I am afraid it 
 will not be a pleasant position for you, but I have a wish 
 that you should take it." 
 
 " And I will take it." 
 
 " Thank you." Then she paused a moment before 
 she went on, and her voice was lower, as though she 
 was more carefully weighing her words : " And will you 
 make him an undoubting Christian ? If one is brought 
 up to it, he can believe it all ; and if one can believe it 
 all, it is, I think, the happiest state. Either that, or 
 where my father stood, an undoubting unbeliever." 
 
 " And you think it easier to be an undoubting Chris- 
 tian than an undoubting unbeliever ? " Mr. Heath asked.
 
 330 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because all the world believes, and it is hard to 
 stand out against it." 
 
 Mr. Heath shook his head sadly. 
 
 " I am sorry to be compelled to differ with you on 
 this point," he said. " All the world does not believe. 
 On the contrary, unbelief is quite popular. One only 
 needs to say, ' I am not quite sound, I lean rather to the 
 scientific side than to the religious,' to be considered well 
 educated and of high mental attainments. To me it is 
 pitiful ! If you wish your son to be well considered in 
 the fashionable world, let him be educated an unbeliever ; 
 for this thing is growing, and by the time he is a man 
 will, I am afraid, have firm hold of this country. Then 
 it will be easier to be an unbeliever than a Christian, 
 perhaps." 
 
 His listener looked at him wistfully as she asked : 
 
 " Do you not wish my child to be a Christian, that 
 you so often, in a manner, dissuade me ? " 
 
 " I certainly do wish your child to be a Christian, 
 Mrs. Felmere, but I do not wish to get him under any 
 false pretenses. If you are going to make him a Chris- 
 tian solely for his present comfort, I must tell you I 
 think unbelief more immediately comfortable, especially 
 for a rich man of the world. The life of a Christian is 
 by no means an easy, even flow of happiness. There are 
 many pleasant things you have to give up, many tempta- 
 tions you have to withstand, many trials you have to bear 
 patiently for Jesus Christ's sake " (there was a reverent 
 bow with his last words) ; " so" that you must not make 
 the mistake of thinking your son will have no trouble."
 
 THE FELMERES. 331 
 
 Helen listened intently and watched him closely, and 
 the reverence that came so naturally as he mentioned the 
 holy name impressed her : it was so different from Mr. 
 Tol man's patronizing manner ; it seemed so honestly 
 done an almost involuntary humbling of himself. Then 
 she said : 
 
 "But when all this is over, you have your re- 
 ward ? " 
 
 " ISTot if you do it from that motive certainly not," 
 he answered quickly. " You must ever act from a high- 
 er motive than self-interest from the love of the true 
 and the good from the love of God. In fact, I do not 
 believe that one can be a true Christian from hope of 
 reward or fear of punishment alone ; for the essence of 
 Christianity is love ; and this not love of self, as acting 
 for a reward would imply, but love to God. I think it 
 wrong to teach Christianity as a system of rewards and 
 punishments." 
 
 "And yet," Helen said, "it was not so very long 
 ago that you told me the moral universe was governed 
 by laws, as the physical universe is ; and as certain re- 
 sults followed certain actions in the physical world, so in 
 the moral. Is that not law ? is that not a system of re- 
 wards and punishments ? " 
 
 " I grant all that," Mr. Heath answered ; " and those 
 intuitions of right, and wrong that were created with 
 us, or were given to us in the last stages of develop- 
 ment from brute to man you may put it as you please 
 are the laws of the moral universe. If we do right, 
 good will result ; and if we do wrong, evil. These laws 
 have existed ever since man stood upright facing his 
 Maker; But Christianity comes under a higher dispen-
 
 332 THE FELMERES. 
 
 sation, and the key-note of it is, ' If ye love me, ye will 
 keep my commandments' ; a higher revelation that says, 
 ' Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good 
 to them that hate you, and pray for them which despite- 
 fully use you and persecute you.' Are these intuitions ? 
 Do these laws naturally govern the moral universe ? I 
 think not. We seem to have by nature only a sense of 
 justice more especially to ourselves and a sense of 
 truth. Charity and mercy come in with Jesus Christ." 
 
 Again Helen saw the humble little reverence follow 
 the holy name, and she felt as though compelled to wait 
 a moment before she could speak. This man seemed to 
 feel that some other presence was there, as though Christ 
 himself stood beside him, and his feeling impressed her. 
 At last she said : 
 
 " But your Christ surely teaches reward and punish- 
 ment ? I have read the New Testament often, and all 
 through I found this system." 
 
 "And so any one must," Mr. Heath answered; "for 
 Christ came under the law, and fulfilled it in every par- 
 ticular. And so do our rewards and punishments come 
 under that same law. But Christ's teachings are all 
 love: there is a fullness of joy and a happiness that 
 comes in proportion to our love and faith in Jesus Christ, 
 that is over and above the cold just reward of keeping 
 the law a wonderful beauty and gentleness that was 
 never known before." 
 
 " But are you not punished for not believing in Jesus 
 Christ ? " she went on. 
 
 ""Why, Christianity is Christ. Our belief is this, 
 that the Eternal Son of the Eternal Father took our 
 humanity into his divine nature, so that two perfect na-
 
 THE FELMERES. 333 
 
 tures, the human and divine, coexist in the one diivne 
 person. As all men were in Adam, so the Son of God 
 has taken the whole of our essential humanity into Him- 
 self. Thus he was not, strictly speaking, a man, but the 
 man. As any individual man was essentially in Adam 
 from the beginning, and yet had to be actually born into 
 the world, so each of us, being essentially in Christ, has 
 yet to be born into Him by the sacrament of Holy Bap- 
 tism. And as, after we are born into the natural world, 
 food and other things are needed to sustain our new life, 
 so, when we are regenerated or born spiritually into 
 Christ, He has provided spiritual sustenance for this new 
 life in Him chiefly in the mystical food of His Body 
 and Blood, tfys Sacrament of the Altar. Now the salva- 
 tion of man is the object in all this ; but it is salvation 
 from sin, and not merely from the penalties of sin in 
 the future. You will see, then, how necessary it is to 
 accept Christ and to do His will if we would have the 
 salvation He has provided ; and how meager and wrong 
 it would be to say we are punished for not believing in 
 Christ." 
 
 " Yes," she answered slowly ; then asked, " Are 
 these your own original views ?" 
 
 " No, by no means. I have only given you what has 
 always been held by the one Holy Catholic and Apos- 
 tolic Church." He paused a moment, then added more 
 slowly and gently. " As I have told you, the key-note of 
 Christianity is love, not fear. The blessed Master is all 
 love. There is no heart so humble, so ignorant, so sin- 
 stricken, that He will not receive if it comes to Him ; 
 nor is there any heart that will not be able to love Him 
 if it has any desire for purity and truth."
 
 334: THE FELMERES. 
 
 " But what has made you think this is the Christ ? 
 The Jews do not believe in him." 
 
 " Because He is the only one who has ever fulfilled 
 the law, thus making His life the most perfect, pure, and 
 holy life that has ever been lived. You may not believe 
 the prophecies, or not believe that they point to Christ ; 
 but you must believe in the pure and glorious beauty of 
 His life ; and holding this, you must accept the miracles, 
 or believe Him an impostor ; and in accepting the mira- 
 cles you must look on Him as divine." 
 
 " And do you accept the miracles, and the Incarna- 
 tion, and the Resurrection, and the Trinity ? Do you 
 really believe them as you believe this is a table ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 She looked at him curiously. 
 
 " It is strange," she said, " and it strikes me more 
 forcibly in you than in any other Christian I have ever 
 met. Out in the world where I live, they say they be- 
 lieve all these things, but I can not think they really do ; 
 for it seems to me that there are few of them who ever 
 give a thought to these subjects, and less than few who 
 can give a ' reason for the hope that is in them.' But I 
 really think you earnestly believe, and it seems so strange 
 that you can" 
 
 Mr. Heath smiled sadly. 
 
 " And yet," he answered, " your belief seems quite 
 as strange to me much more so, in fact." 
 
 She looked at him quickly. 
 
 " You surprise me," she said. " I thought it was 
 my lack of belief that was strange ; for what I believe is 
 perfectly reasonable and logical ; there is nothing strange 
 in it."
 
 THE FELMERES. 335 
 
 " Is it not strange," Mr. Heath asked, " that from a 
 blind, unintelligent Force should be evolved the marvel- 
 ous intellects that guide the nations, and the high and 
 beautiful moral laws that lift us above the brutes that 
 perish and the worms that crawl ? Is it not rather a new 
 and strange idea to have more in the effect than there 
 was in the cause f " 
 
 She listened thoughtfully, and answered slowly : 
 " We get all that through association of ideas." 
 " The first idea must have come from something." 
 " Yery well ; and that first idea was evolved and de- 
 veloped slowly." 
 
 " And there must have been some germ in the ori- 
 ginal Force from which it was developed : everything 
 begins from something. Admit the germ, or admit that 
 there was a fresh creation of intellectual and moral pow- 
 ers which were added to this Force. In this case there 
 was something greater behind Force something moral 
 and intelligent. I will call it God ; you may call it what 
 you please. If not this special creation, then these germs 
 of morality and intelligence were contained in this Force 
 I grant this also ; and this blind Force becoming moral 
 and intelligent, I call it God." 
 
 " Do you believe in evolution ? " she asked. 
 " I shall if it is scientifically proved. There are some 
 alarming gaps in the theory now, but if proved I shall 
 not object to it. To me it would be a beautiful mani- 
 festation of the wonderfulness of the Intelligence that 
 governs us. But with evolution I must also believe that 
 at some period during these transitions there was a moral 
 sense put into man that the brutes have not a time when 
 there was breathed into him the * breath of life.' "
 
 336 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " And do you hold spontaneous generation ? " she 
 went on. 
 
 " I shall hold it also, if it is proved, and shall be no 
 less a Christian ; for my foundation is sure." 
 
 " Tell me your foundation." 
 
 " My foundation lies bedded in myself. I know I am 
 moral and intelligent ; I see about me thousands who are 
 also moral and intelligent ; I know that the sum of all 
 morality and all intelligence must have been contained 
 in that from which it was developed ; and that contain- 
 ing substance be it what you please is to me God. 
 For what greater can I conceive than that which con- 
 tains all intelligence and all morality ? " 
 
 There was a moment's silence when he ceased ; then 
 she said : 
 
 " And yet you say you believe that unbelief will lay 
 hold on this whole country. Unless there is truth in it, 
 why be afraid ? " 
 
 " That is the trouble," he answered. " There is so 
 much truth in it that the majority, for the sake of this 
 truth, will accept it all and look no further." 
 
 " But you," she said, " discriminate, as far as I can 
 judge : why should not they ? " 
 
 " Because very few have the time to devote to inves- 
 tigation, even if they were fitted to make the exami- 
 nation. More than this, many would rather believe it 
 because it is new, and Christianity is old ; others are car- 
 ried away by the beauty of the scientific investigations ; 
 others will follow for the fashion, and yet others for the 
 reason and common sense they claim to find there. But 
 the strongest weapons in your hands we have put there. 
 Our churchmen, through ignorance of the scientific side
 
 THE FELMERES. 337 
 
 of the question, and through devotion to the old theo- 
 logical grooves and ruts, are not meeting the question 
 rightly. They attempt to ridicule it, or attack it angrily. 
 I :an not think these the proper modes of refuting it, or 
 of doing anything but injure ourselves. It is far above 
 ridicule, and to rush against it furiously only convinces 
 people that there must be a great deal in it to cause so 
 much anger. To me it would seem wiser to meet it 
 quietly and examine it thoroughly, carefully sifting out 
 the truth and accepting it, and proving the false for what 
 it is. I am not afraid of any truth being found anywhere 
 that will overthrow my belief. I do not, therefore, hesi- 
 tate to examine closely." 
 
 " Have you ever doubted ? " she asked. 
 
 " JSTo ; but through peculiar circumstances I was led 
 to examine, not only unbelief, but the creeds of the three 
 great branches of the Church." 
 
 Then his words came more slowly, and his voice was 
 lower as he said, " My father also was an unbeliever." 
 
 Helen looked up quickly, drawing a sharp, short breath 
 of astonishment. 
 
 " Did he die an unbeliever ? " she asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She looked at him in silence : how strange this was ! 
 
 " You were not educated an unbeliever ? " she went 
 on. 
 
 " No ; I was brought up a Romanist." 
 
 A feeling of bewilderment was creeping over her. 
 What was all this leading to ? "Whom was she talking 
 with ? Again she spoke : 
 
 " How, then, are you an Anglican ? " 
 
 " The Romish Church, or rather a mistaken priest, 
 15
 
 338 THE FELMERES. 
 
 made my mother commit a great wrong," lie answered 
 slowly, " and I could no longer tolerate or trust its teach- 
 ings. It was a bitter trial to forsake the religion of my 
 mother, but truth compelled me to." 
 
 Helon covered her face with her hands. She could 
 not collect her thoughts ; she seemed groping with the 
 light shining all about her ! At last she put her hands 
 down and looked at him. 
 
 " I feel so bewildered," she said ; " I have had so 
 much of late to trouble me, that I do not think my mind 
 is quite clear; so tell me plainly, is there anything be- 
 hind all this that you wish me to know ? " 
 
 " Only this," he answered, laying his hand on hers 
 "that in your trouble God has guided you not to a 
 stranger, but to your brother, for help ! " 
 
 She looked as though she did not quite understand 
 him. 
 
 " Tour name is Heath ? " 
 
 " That is my name," he answered " the maiden name 
 of my mother, which she took again after she left her 
 husband. I was baptized Percival Heath Felmere, and 
 also by that name ordained ; but I am always called 
 Heath. Will you not believe me ? Wait, I will bring 
 you proof " ; and he left her quickly. 
 
 She did not move ; she could not think connectedly ; 
 she only wondered in a dull stupid manner. She had 
 known there was some strange tie between her and this 
 man from the first moment she looked at him ; she had 
 seen and felt something in him that seemed hers; he 
 looked like her father, and like the picture of her grand- 
 father he was the image of that. It seemed to her now 
 that she could have told him this long ago if she had not
 
 THE FELMERES. 339 
 
 been so worried and troubled about her child ! How un- 
 necessary in him to bring proof to her ! His voice was 
 enough ; sometimes it had seemed as though her father 
 was speaking to her ; this she had observed long ago. 
 She wished he would come, she was so tired of waiting, 
 and she needed no proof. He was not very long gone, 
 although it seemed so to her. He brought with him tw T o 
 miniatures and a package of letters. 
 
 " I know yon are my brother," she said, looking up at 
 him as he stood beside her ; " I could have told it to" you 
 long ago long ago if I had not been so tormented. 
 Your voice is like our father's, and you look like a picture 
 I have of our grandfather. Oh, I am so glad so glad ! " 
 She took his hand and looked at it. " My own flesh and 
 blood ! a hand I have a right to a hand that I can love 
 and call mine. Oh, I have been so lonely, and now I 
 have a brother ! " 
 
 " Yes," he answered, looking down on her sadly, " a 
 brother who is all yours, who will devote his life to you 
 who will love you as sister has never been loved before. 
 All my life I have thought of you and loved you ; all 
 my life I have longed to go to you, for I was so afraid for 
 you ! And now I have found you ; and oh, my sister, 
 you will not make me look on you as worse than lost ; 
 you will not put that awful gulf of unbelief between 
 us?" 
 
 She raised her hand imploringly. 
 
 " Hush ; do not mention that yet. Leave me my joy 
 for a little while undimmed ; let me forget all differences, 
 for I can never do away with them ! " She turned from 
 him, and took up one of the pictures he had laid down. 
 
 " Is this my mother? "
 
 340 THE FELMERES. 
 
 " Yes ; and you somewhat recall her to me ; your face 
 has haunted me ever since I saw you on the cliff. I first 
 thought it was your great beauty, but now I know it was 
 this dim resemblance to our mother." 
 
 It was a sweet, sad face she looked at, with a shadowy, 
 colorless beauty about it, that seemed to fade away on 
 closer examination, and a mingled expression of strength 
 and weakness that was remarkable. 
 
 " Did she ever speak of me ? " Helen asked, as she 
 looked at the picture. 
 
 " Often and often. The thought of having left you 
 seemed to haunt her day and night, and all my childhood 
 was filled with descriptions of you and charges about you. 
 For a long time she thought of you as dead ; then she 
 heard from a priest who lived near Felmere that you were 
 alive and well, and the longing to see you nearly broke 
 her heart. In her last illness I begged her to let me go 
 for you, but she would not." 
 
 " Poor mother, to have to leave her child ! " Sud- 
 denly she closed the picture sharply, and put it down. 
 "She did a great wrong," she went on bitterly, look- 
 ing up at her brother ; " she brought all this sorrow 
 on us ; and, if you are right, she left me to eternal dam- 
 nation ! " 
 
 Quickly her brother's hand was laid on her lips. 
 
 " It was wrong," he said, " but you must not say so ! 
 And now the matter of your salvation lies in your own 
 hands. Your trials have come to you in such wise as to 
 make you look into these things, and you can now choose 
 for yourself." 
 
 She shook her head wearily. "It is too late," she 
 said " too late to turn back from the choice I made long
 
 THE FELMERES. 341 
 
 ago from the vow I took in my youth ! Faith has never 
 been cultivated in me ; all my training has been against 
 it. I can not believe I can not leave my father ! " She 
 rose and walked to the other side of the room, then back 
 again, and stood before him. " You never knew him, 
 you never loved him, or you could not quietly stand here 
 and say to me, ' He will suffer eternal punishment.' I 
 will not believe it, nor any religion that teaches it ! The 
 other day in my agony I cried out, ' O God ! ' and ever 
 since I have been haunted with a mortal terror. Ever 
 since I have been afraid there was a God, and that He 
 heard and believed me. Ever since I have been afraid 
 there was a hereafter, and that my father thinks I have 
 deserted him ! I tell you it has ever since been an awful 
 horror following me ! I do not believe, and I will not 
 believe. I know there is no God ! " Her voice was low 
 and tense with excitement, and at the last she raised her 
 hands up solemnly as though taking an oath against her 
 brother's God. 
 
 He sat quite still, feeling almost at peace when he 
 thought she had called on God that to this extent she 
 had acknowledged Him. God was merciful, and God 
 would judge her according to her light ! 
 
 She stood looking in his face with eyes full of defiance. 
 " Have you nothing to say ? " she asked at last. " Do you 
 not try to persuade me that this is a morbid imagination ; 
 that I am over-excited ; that I am under an unnatural 
 strain, and my nerves are giving way ? I know all this ; 
 I have said it over and over again ; but that does not les- 
 sen the clinging horror that is about me, and it can not 
 lessen the knowledge this horror has brought to me, that 
 even in your heaven, your eternal progression from your-
 
 242 THE FELMERES. 
 
 self to God, this feeling .would drag me down with a 
 more terrible anguish of remorse than you can imagine 
 a remorse for leaving my father ! Ah, you never knew 
 him ; you never saw his beautiful, strong face ; you never 
 saw the trust in his dear eyes when he looked on me ; you 
 never heard him say ' My darling,' nor felt his soft trem- 
 ulous hand wandering about your brow and hair never ! 
 And you ask me to desert him ? " 
 
 She turned away, and Percival still said nothing ; he 
 could not say anything, for his sympathy ah 1 went with 
 this poor torn human heart, this strong soul, so true and 
 loyal to the teachings and love of its youth to its oath 
 made in ignorance ! He watched her as she stood lean- 
 ing on the table, and loved her with a pitying love that 
 was absolute pain. "What should he do ? How could he 
 help her ? 
 
 Presently she turned. " Can you not help me ? " she 
 asked. " Can you not tell me that your God did not hear 
 me ? or that, if He did, He believes that I honestly defy 
 Him ? Tell me something help me in some way ! You 
 are my brother, and you said you loved me." 
 " And I do," he answered, as he came and stood beside 
 her " I do with all my heart love you ; but how can I 
 help you ? I believe there is a God, and I believe He 
 heard you. If you do honestly defy Him, He. will know 
 it ; if your defiance is not honest, He is merciful ! " 
 
 She looked at him a moment in silence, as though 
 striving to calm herself. 
 
 " You are so good," she said, laying her hands on his 
 shoulders, " and so true ; in my deepest anguish you never 
 mitigate the truth. It is so like our father, and I love 
 you for it. And now I tell you I am right in giving up
 
 THE FELMERES. 343 
 
 my child. I would do a great deal more than give him 
 up, if that were possible, to save him from what I suffer 
 now ! And to you I leave him, to protect him and to 
 care for him ; for I do not think I can live very long I 
 hope I shall not. But -one thing I charge you : never let 
 him suffer for me as I suffer for my father ; never let him 
 be able to say, as I say now, ' This suffering is my mother's 
 fault.' Promise me this." 
 
 " I promise that this shall be my endeavor," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Thank you 1 " There was a world of earnestness in 
 her tones. Then she went on : " And now I must go ; 
 it is late. But to-morrow you must come to me ; you 
 must come and see my child ; you must come and let me 
 learn to love you more and more let me learn to real- 
 ize this one joy left in my life, and talk with you as I 
 can not to-day, for I am excited and weary ! Will you 
 come ? " 
 
 " Without fail. You are now my first thought and 
 duty, and, next to God, you have my dearest love." 
 
 Then she stooped and kissed him fervently, hurriedly, 
 as though she did not dare trust herself ; and gathering 
 up the letters and the pictures he had brought her, she 
 left him. 
 
 Left him standing alone in his dingy room, miserable 
 with a misery that was hard to bear !
 
 344 THE FELMERES. 
 
 CIIAPTEK IX. 
 
 "Dreamed ; for old things and places came dancing about my brain, 
 Like ghosts that dance in an empty house ; and my thoughts went 
 
 slipping again 
 
 By green back-ways forgotten to a stiller circle of time, 
 Where violets, faded for ever, seemed blowing as once in their 
 
 prime." 
 
 AT home in her own room, Helen sat down and tried 
 to think over the events of the day, and to look quietly 
 on the discovery she had made. No one could know how 
 glad she was ; no one could appreciate what a relief it 
 was to her. For now she could feel that a true loving 
 care w r ould be about her child when she was gone. Now 
 she need not feel so desolate ; there was some one in the 
 world who loved her, and to whom she had a right ; some 
 one who would take care of her, and to whom she could 
 leave Felmere Hall, and who would love and appreciate 
 it almost as she did. 
 
 She looked again at her mother's picture, and a gentler 
 feeling of sorrow for her mother came over her. She 
 looked so weak and so pitiful, and yet had had the strength 
 to leave her child, whom she evidently thought dying 
 leaving one to save the other, and finally losing both ! 
 Poor mother ! The other picture was of her father in 
 his earlier youth handsome, but without the beauty of 
 that perfect calm which she remembered, and without the 
 soft love in his eyes she always met there. .But both 
 pictures would prove Percival's identity to her husband
 
 THE FELMERES. 345 
 
 and his mother, and, more than all, establish Percival's 
 right to love and train her 'child. They would not like 
 it, she knew ; but this thought did not in the least trouble 
 her; and, though she looked on the feeling with con- 
 tempt, yet a little shade of triumph would creep up and 
 mingle with her joy a feeling of triumph in that she 
 could partially foil her aunt's plans. 
 
 The bundle of papers proved to be the marriage cer- 
 tificate of her father and mother, Percival's baptismal 
 certificate, and two or three letters from her father to her 
 mother, written during his last absence from home, at 
 which time she had left him. 
 
 Yes, these would be quite enough to satisfy them that 
 she had found her brother, and she would disclose the 
 fact at once. So, when the summons came for dinner, she 
 took the pictures and letters down with her, and laid 
 them by the side of her plate. 
 
 The conversation was never very easy during dinner, 
 and to-day Mrs. Felmere's curiosity was so excited by the 
 old letters and pictures Helen had brought with her, that 
 she remained for long intervals silent. At last, when the 
 servant had been dismissed, she turned to Helen saying : 
 
 "Has Mr. Heath consented to be the baby's god- 
 father?" 
 
 " Yes," Helen answered ; " and to-day, in my conver- 
 sation with him, I have made a discovery which renders 
 my choice of him the happiest thing in the world in fact, 
 nothing short of marvelous." 
 
 "What do you mean?" Philip asked sharply; and 
 Mrs. Felmere was all attention. 
 
 " I mean that I have found in Mr. Heath my brother 
 Percival."
 
 34:6 THE FELMERES. 
 
 There was an utter silence for a few moments ; then 
 Helen went on, her voice and quick words showing some- 
 thing like triumph and much suppressed excitement. 
 
 " These letters and pictures are the proofs ; you may 
 look at them if you please,' 7 handing them to Philip, who 
 opened them slowly. "I shall leave him everything I 
 own in trust for my child, if not absolutely. I tell you 
 this, aunt, as you .asked me to whom I would leave Fel- 
 mere. It will now, with everything else I own, go to my 
 brother. More than this, I will say that, unless my 
 brother has a fair share in the training of my child, the 
 property I leave shall go to some charitable institution at 
 his death. It is all mine, you know, to dispose of at 
 pleasure." 
 
 Mrs. Felmere listened in silence. She wished to hear 
 Helen's full plans ; and, besides this, her anger was so 
 great she would have found it difficult to speak. But, 
 when Helen finally paused, she said coldly : 
 
 " Do you intend to die immediately \ " 
 
 "To my child I do," Helen answered; "but you 
 know this, and need no answer to your question. And 
 far better than I can tell you do you know that ever 
 since my child's birth you have been plotting and work- 
 ing to take him from me. Now you have succeeded. I 
 could have driven you to the law, but for my child's sake 
 I have not; I would rather he should think of me as 
 dead. Beyond this, I think it more for his present hap- 
 piness for him to be trained a Christian, and if I were 
 with him he could not well be so trained ; or, if he were, 
 he would have the bitterness of looking on me with pity 
 or horror ! " She paused a moment, then continued with 
 the same strained self-possession : " If I believed in a
 
 THE FELMERES. 347 
 
 future life, I do not think I could be content to leave my 
 child in your hands, aunt ; for your religion and your life 
 do not seem to me altogether consistent. But, now that 
 I have found my brother, I am satisfied even on this 
 point ; for I feel sure my child will be trained to some- 
 thing definite and consistent." 
 
 She did not let her awful doubts and trouble appear 
 on her face, nor in any way let them see the depth of her 
 bitter unhappiness ; she would rather they should think 
 that the fear, for the child's sake, of the disgrace of a 
 divorce made her give him. up. 
 
 "While she was speaking, Philip appeared to be read- 
 ing the letters she had given him, and Mrs. Felmere, lean- 
 ing on the table, listened with a look of bitter anger on 
 her face. 
 
 " And now," Helen continued, as she rose and held 
 out her hand for the letters and pictures, " I wish to hear 
 nothing more about this thing. I have consented to go 
 away and leave my child entirely, as though I were dead ; 
 but consented on these terms that his uncles Arthur 
 and Percival shall exercise all my rights in his education. 
 If this at any time shall not be allowed, I shall come back 
 if I am alive ; and, if I am dead, you will find this point 
 carefully covered in my will. If his education is such as 
 I desire, all my property will be his; otherwise not. 
 And now, having secured him as far as I am able an 
 honest training, I wish him named Hector. He shall be 
 baptized on the day you are to sail, and go with you. I 
 shall go to my own home, and find what peace I can, un- 
 til death releases me." 
 
 So saying, she turned and left the room. 
 
 No comment passed between mother and son ; they
 
 348 THE FELMEEES. 
 
 did not so much as look at one another. They were tri- 
 umphant inasmuch as they had gained their point, but 
 their victory was accompanied by unavoidable and bit- 
 terly humiliating conditions, almost enough to rob tlie 
 success of all its meaning. They separated as soon as 
 possible and in silence Philip to the club, Mrs. Felmere 
 to her own room, there to calm as best she might her 
 ruffled feelings. 
 
 Helen, up stairs in the nursery, busied herself and as- 
 tonished the nurse by moving the child back into her 
 own room. 
 
 " You must not talk about it among the servants," 
 she said to Annie, " but I have agreed to give up my 
 child and let him be trained a Christian, and next week 
 he goes to Europe with his father and grandmother, and 
 I go home. So, Annie, you must stay with him as long 
 as you can, and watch him for me. And Mr. Heath, 
 Annie, the clergyman of your church, has turned out to 
 be my brother ; so he will help to take care of my baby." 
 
 The girl stood mute, listening to the wonderful story ! 
 Then her eyes filled with tears as she watched her mis- 
 tress with the child, and listened to her pitiful talk. 
 
 "He will be mine only a week longer, Annie, and 
 every moment of that time I want him for my own. I 
 have been trying to break away from him, but I can not ; 
 and, if I live a hundred years away from him, at the end 
 of that time my arms will be just as empty and my heart 
 just as freshly broken as on the day he goes. I can never 
 become used to being without him ; therefore I had bet- 
 ter have all of him that I can in this last week. I will 
 myself do everything for him, and I will give you time 
 and money to prepare for your journey. Oh, Annie, if
 
 THE FELMERES. 349 
 
 I were only you! Will you do all you can for him, 
 Annie, just as though I were by ? or more than that, just 
 as though he were your own child ? You shall be paid 
 any money, Annie, if you will." 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am," the girl answered, kneeling by her 
 chair, " I will do all I can for the child, and not for any 
 more money than I now get, but because I love him. 
 All his life I have taken care of him, and I promise to 
 do for him as if he was mine ; and I promise you, Mrs. 
 Felmere, honestly. I do." Then the girl went down, and 
 Helen sat there alone with her child, singing to him 
 softly, and soothing him to sleep. 
 
 Only a week more, she thought only a week more, 
 and he would be gone ; her heart would be broken, her 
 arms empty ! She would go back to old Jane at Fel- 
 mere, and try to find some rest go back to her old life, 
 to the old books and walks, to the old studio ! She bent 
 her head until it rested on the child, and let her thoughts 
 float back to the old things and places. She would go 
 back just as though she were again the old Helen Fel- 
 mere ; she would absorb herself in study and in paint- 
 ing ; she would make herself a name in the world of art, 
 so that when her son heard of her he could be proud 
 of her ! 
 
 She wondered if anything at Felmere had changed ; 
 if Jane had moved the book her father had left open on 
 the library table the last thing his eyes had read. She 
 wondered if her little childish garden was still there ; if 
 Peter had kept it in order for her ; and if the martins 
 came as they used to do in the summer evenings to fly 
 about the old house. And would the marsh-hens quarrel, 
 and the bitterns cry as sadly as in the old times ? Of
 
 350 THE FELMERES. 
 
 course they would, and she only would be changed. 
 Jane would seem a little older, and there would be a little 
 more moss on the old tombstones, and a few more rocks 
 fallen from the old wall. It would be just the same, and 
 she would go back like a spirit from another world like 
 a ghost haunting old scenes ! The river would be sing- 
 ing the same song, and the sea making the same moan ; 
 and the maple-tree would still be keeping its lonely 
 watch among the dead ! And the winds would still 
 wander all about the flats, and whisper, to her the same 
 old stories. And the storms, and sunshine, and seasons, 
 and years would come and go, and she would live there 
 desolate and a mystery ! live there until her hair grew 
 white and her strength forsook her until death should 
 come and lay a friendly hand upon her, and she could go 
 to rest beside her father ! This would be her life ! Could 
 she live it ? Alas, she could not help herself ! And yet 
 Felix had said she would be happy somewhere. Poor 
 Felix ! how could he know ? He had only put his hope 
 in the shape of a prophecy ! Alas ! she had no hopes of 
 any happiness; she was born to misery, and the fates 
 were all against her ! Better, if she could, to stand quiet 
 and not even make a sign !
 
 THE FELMERES. 351 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "Two eyes with coin-weights shut, 
 
 And all tears cease : 
 Two lips where grief is mute, 
 And wrath at peace." 
 
 THE last day, a dark and rainy one, came in its turn, 
 and all things were in readiness for the journey. "With 
 her own hands Helen had made every arrangement for 
 the child ; she forgot nothing that could possibly add to 
 his comfort, or that could possibly lessen the trouble he 
 would give his attendants; only asking in return that 
 the nurse should be sometimes allowed to send her a few 
 of the child's worn-out garments as a remembrance of 
 him ! 
 
 And now the company had assembled in the library 
 all the Jourdans, Mr. and Mrs. Tolman, Mrs. Van- 
 zandt, and Percival Felmere. The luggage had all gone 
 on in advance, the carriages stood in readiness, and the 
 party only waited for mother and child to come in. 
 
 At last the door opened, and she came among them, 
 calm and still as though all life had gone from her. She 
 took the child and held him while the service went on 
 held him close through the prayers, through the prom- 
 ises and answers .until her brother paused and held out 
 his arms to take him ! She clutched the child closer and 
 drew back. This meant for ever ! Once that cross upon 
 his brow, and they were eternally separated ! She looked 
 from one to the other like some poor hunted animal. 
 Would no one have any mercy on her I
 
 352 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Mrs. Yanzandt hid her face ; others turned away ; a 
 perfect silence reigned ! 
 
 One deep sobbing sigh sounded through the room 
 a sigh as though from the rending apart of soul and body ; 
 that was all, and she put the child in her brother's arms. 
 She stood as rigid as stone, and watched him as he was 
 baptized in the name of the Trinity " signed with the 
 sign of the cross," and pledged a " soldier of Christ " ! 
 And when he held out his little arms to come back to 
 her, she turned away and pushed the nurse forward in 
 her place. '' Take him to the carriage, or he will cry for 
 me," she said ; and the nurse obeyed. 
 
 Then there were hurried farewells, and gathering up 
 of shawls and hats ; for they were late and might be left ; 
 they had waited so long on the service that only a few 
 
 v / 
 
 moments remained in which to reach the far-away docks. 
 
 " Take me away," Helen whispered to her brother, all 
 the while putting on her hat as though in a frenzy. " I 
 have heard one carriage go ; take me away before the 
 rest leave, or it will kill me ! " 
 
 Once down the front steps, she paused to whisper one 
 last charge and farewell to Arthur as he stood on the 
 step of the last carriage, where were Mrs. Felmere and 
 the child ; then Percival hurried her off ! 
 
 But they were not quick enough : only a few steps 
 farther on they walked, when the last carriage rolled 
 swiftly past them ! One sharp cry, " My child ! " one 
 quick spring one moment's mad clutching at the wheels 
 and the poor, wild creature lay among the trampling 
 horses and crushing wheels, helpless in the hurrying 
 crowd !
 
 THE FELMERES. 353 
 
 There were hushed voices, and hurrying steps, and 
 horrified faces in the sumptuous house where Death wait- 
 ed so patiently at the door ! Messengers came and went, 
 but too late to stop the travelers. Physicians came and 
 went, and Death stood there unheeding ! At last there 
 came silence, broken only by the heavy breathing and 
 now and then the low, weak moan of the beautiful, 
 wrecked creature. 
 
 The brother watched watched and prayed in an 
 agony of fear ! What if she should die before he had 
 time to make one more appeal for her soul before he 
 had time to plead yet again for her salvation ? So he 
 watched until night fell, and only a dim night-lamp flick- 
 ered in the room. Then the moans ceased, and the breath 
 came and went more gently. Was this death ? he won- 
 dered. He bent over her, with his hand resting on the 
 poor tired heart. Would God not grant her yet a little 
 time ? The wind outside was rising, and rattled the win- 
 dows as it went shook them like some angry hand seek- 
 ing entrance; and the rain came in great swirls and 
 rushes that in the silence of the night the lonely watcher 
 heard hissing through the air. 
 
 Slowly the sad, pain-stricken eyes opened under his 
 gaze, and a whisper came to his ears : 
 
 " Will it wreck the ship ? " 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " I do not think there is any danger." 
 
 How heavily her heart beat, as though every stroke 
 was a labor how heavily and slow ! There was no time 
 to lose, and yet he could not speak ; the wistful gaze of 
 those dying eyes seemed to paralyze his heart to silence ! 
 Then she spoke again :
 
 354: THE FELMERES. 
 
 " I am dying ! ah, I am glad glad ! " 
 
 " And will you leave me without hope for your soul ? " 
 broke from the brother in a sudden cry that smote sharp- 
 ly on the silence. " Oh, my sister, will you die without 
 saying ' I believe ' ? " 
 
 There was a little negative movement of the head, 
 and a whisper : 
 
 " I can not leave my father." 
 
 " And your child ? " 
 
 A wild light of pain came into the eyes, a shiver 
 seemed to go over the poor, crushed body, there was a 
 moment's waiting, then the dying hand closed over his 
 and a moan broke from the white lips, rising high, and 
 tremulous through weakness. 
 
 " I can not leave my father ; it is too late too 
 late ! " There was a pause, a catching of the breath, 
 then a whisper : " Your God will not save me ; I have 
 not learned to love Him ; I have defied Him ! " 
 
 " God will forgive," the brother said. " lie who 
 wore the crown of thorns has felt and known all your 
 sorrow ; only lay your hand in His, and He will lead you 
 into rest ! " 
 
 Ah, how eager and hurried his words were ! and the 
 answer came so weak and slow, the voice was so weary, 
 as though she wished to die in silence. 
 
 " I can not say I believe. I only fear losing my 
 child!" 
 
 " Do you believe in God enough to fear Him ? " the 
 pleading voice went on. " Only say ' I believe.' Oh, for 
 the love I bear you, do not leave me hopeless ! " 
 
 " I can not leave my father." 
 
 On his knees by the bedside the brother prayed aloud
 
 THE FELMERES. 355 
 
 cried out to God in his agony for mercy on the blind, 
 starved soul, that through all its days had wandered in 
 the dark land of unbelief ! Then he bowed his head 
 on the clinging, dying hands close clasped within his own, 
 and his words fell gently : 
 
 " For your child's sake ? " 
 
 A little sob broke from her. 
 
 " You took him from me," she moaned, " and signed 
 him with the cross ! " 
 
 " That cross need not separate you from him. Only 
 say ' I believe ' ; only pray that God in His mercy will 
 save your soul this night ! Think of suffering through 
 all the waste of eternity, a lost, hopeless soul ! Think of 
 meeting God face to face before this hour goes meeting 
 Him alone, and without help ! " 
 
 Ah, the strained gaze of the eyes looking up into his; 
 the burning, eager intelligence that shone in them ; the 
 terrible flickering light of death that seemed to rise and 
 fall as life ebbed ! How the poor hands clung to him, 
 and how the fading mind seemed to strive after his 
 words ! He was running a fearful race with Time and 
 Death for this immortal soul, and his strength was 
 almost gone ! 
 
 " I have prayed for you," he cried, " and I know that 
 God has heard me. I have carried your soul to the 
 mercy-seat, and Christ I know will save it. You called, 
 on God in your agony, and I know he heard you 1 " 
 
 There was a wild striving to push his hands away, 
 and a cry went up that clove the silence like a sword ! 
 
 " Hush I hush ! You shall not drag me from my 
 father ! Even now his hands hold me, and my child is 
 gone oh, my baby ! "
 
 356 THE FELMERES. 
 
 Ah, the piteous breaking of the dying voice the 
 wail that came with this bitterest memory ! Then the 
 weary iteration : " I can not leave my father." The poor 
 dying heart was still loyal ; the poor struggling soul still 
 clung to its oath ! 
 
 And still the brother pleaded : 
 
 "Our father chose his own path; he put aside the 
 light ; he blighted your life ! ' Oh, my sister, do not fol- 
 low him ! You have gone far enough through all this 
 waste of hopeless years ; do not cling to him through 
 eternity ! Say ' I believe ' for your child's sake say it. 
 Or else for ever wander soul-stricken and desolate, with 
 him who has murdered your soul wandering with long- 
 ing cries for help that can not come ! My sister, think ! " 
 
 " So let it be," she said ; " I have defied your God ! " 
 The voice was very faint ; each breath seemed the last. 
 
 " God is merciful ! " the brother cried ; " He will for- 
 give He can save ! " 
 
 "I" then the voice failed; the beautiful, death- 
 darkened eyes looked at him mournfully like some strick- 
 en animal that longs for words with impotent despair ; 
 but speech was gone ! Ah, how he prayed wildly de- 
 spairingly ! 
 
 Outside the storm howled, and far away, out on the 
 wide sea, the ship tossed and the child wailed in its sleep. 
 
 And as the brother prayed, an awful terror gathered 
 about the face and in the dying eyes, as though some 
 horror laid hold upon her. 
 
 " Have mercy, Lord ! " he cried ; " have mercy ! " 
 
 A mute upraising of the dying hands a little gur- 
 gling cry a shiver! And out on the wild storm-wind 
 the soul took flight !
 
 THE FELMERES. 357 
 
 Once more the grating door ot the Felmere vault 
 swung open, and Helen Felmere was laid to rest beside 
 her father. Old Jane and Peter shed some honest tears, 
 and Percival stood there crushed and broken. It was 
 not long, then all left her and went their ways ; and, as 
 in the days gone by, the wild winds wailed about the 
 desolate flats and lonely church, the only voice to sing 
 her requiem. 
 
 In the summer evening a stranger came a stranger 
 with sad gray eyes and a heavy, step. He paused be- 
 neath the maple-tree and on the river-bank ; he sat a 
 long hour in the library, and up stairs in the studio he 
 shed some bitter tears over a little sketch he took from 
 off the wall a little sketch he had tacked there long 
 years ago. Then, lingering in the church until nightfall, 
 he went his lonely way. 
 
 THE END.
 
 " We can not too highly commend this latest scheme for presenting good 
 literature in comely and convenient shape, at extremely low prices." XEW 
 YORK EVENING POST. 
 
 APPLETONS' 
 
 NEW HANDY-VOLUME SERIES. 
 
 Brilliant Novelettes ; Romance, Adventure, Travel, 
 
 Humor ; Historic, Literary, and 
 
 Society Monographs. 
 
 The later developments of literary taste with American readers indicate two things: 
 First, a preference for compact and lucid outlines of historic or literary periods, and 
 for stories which, while within the compass of a single reading, shall have all the sym- 
 metry, the artistic treatment, the careful character-drawing, and the freshness of inci- 
 dent, which mark the lengthier but scarcely more ambitious novel ; second, a demand 
 for books in a form so convenient and handy that the volume may be always carried 
 In the pocket, ready for use on the train, on the steamboat, in the horse-car, at mo- 
 menta snatched at twilight or bedtime, while sitting on the seashore or rambling in the 
 woods, at all periods of rest or leisure, whether in town or country. 
 
 1. JET: HER FACE OB HEB FORTUNE? A Story. By Mrs. ANNIE EDWARDES. 
 
 Price, 30 cts. 
 
 2. A STRUGGLE. A Story. By BARNET PHILLIPS. Price, 25 cts. 
 
 3. MISERICORDIA. A Story. By ETHEL LYNN LINTON. Price, 20 cts. 
 
 4. GORDON BALDWIN, and THE PHILOSOPHER'S PENDULUM. By RU- 
 
 DOLPH LINDATT. Price, 25 cts. 
 
 5. THE FISHERMAN OF AUGE. A Story. By KATHABrNE 8. MACQUOID. 
 
 Price, 20 cts. 
 
 6. THE ESSAYS OF ELIA. First Series. By CHARLES LAMB. Paper, 80 cts.; 
 
 cloth, 60 cts. 
 
 7. THE BIRD OF PASSAGE. By J. SHERIDAN LE FASP. P^lce, 25 cts. 
 
 8. THE HOUSE OF THE TWO BARBELS. By ANDRE THEURIET. Price, 20 cts. 
 
 9. LIGHTS OF THE OLD ENGLISH STAGE. Price, 80 cents. 
 
 10. IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA. By R. W. DALE. Price, 25 cts. 
 
 11. THE GOLDSMITH'S WIFE. A Story. By Madame CHARLES RETBAUD. 
 
 Price, 25 cts. 
 
 12. A SUMMER IDTL. A Story. By CHBISTIAN REID. Price, 80 cts. 
 18. THE ARAB WIFE. A Romance of the Polynesian Seas. Price, 25 cts. 
 
 14. MRS. GAINSBOROUGH'S DIAMONDS. A Story. By JULIAN HAWTIIOBNK. 
 Price, 20 cts.
 
 APPLETON& NEW HANDY-VOLUME SEEIES.-(Continucd.) 
 
 15. LIQUIDATED, and THE SEEK. By EUDOLPH LINDAU. Price, 25 cts. 
 
 16. THE GEEAT>}EKMAN COMPOSEES. Paper, 80 cts.; cloth, 60 cts. 
 
 17. ANTOINETTE. A Story. By ANDRE THEURIET. Price, 20 cts. 
 
 18. JOHN-A-DEEAMS. A Tale. Price, 30 cts. 
 
 19. MES. JACK. A Story. By FRANCES ELEANOR TROLLOPS. Price, 20 cts. 
 
 20. ENGLISH LITEKATUEE. By T. ARNOLD. From the " Encyclopaedia Britan- 
 
 nica." Price, 25 cts. 
 
 21. KAYMONDE. A Tale. By ANDRJE THEURIET. Price, 30 cts. 
 
 22. BEACONSFIELD. By GEORGE MAKEPEACE TOWLE. Price, 25 cts. 
 
 23. THE MULTITUDINOUS SEAS. By 8. G. W. BENJAMIN. Price, 25 cts. 
 
 24. THE DISTURBING ELEMENT. By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. Price, 30 cts. 
 
 25. FAIET-TALES: Their Origin and Meaning. By JOHN THACKRAY BUJJCK. 
 
 Price, 25 cts. 
 
 26. THOMAS CAELTLE: His Life his Books Ms Theories. By ALFRED II. 
 
 GUERNSEY. Paper 30 cts. ; cloth, 60 cts. 
 2T. A THOEOUGH BOHEMIENNE. A Tale. By Madame CHARLES EETBAUD. 
 
 Paper, 30 cts. ; cloth, 60 cts. 
 28. THE GEEAT ITALIAN AND FEENCH COMPOSEES. By GEORGE T. 
 
 FERRIS. Paper, 80 cts. ; cloth, 60 cts. 
 89. EUSKIN ON PAINTING. With a Biographical Sketch. Paper, 80 cts. ; cloth, 
 
 GO cts. 
 
 80. AN ACCOMPLISHED GENTLEMAN. By JULIAN STURGIS, author of " John- 
 
 a-Dreams." Paper, 80 cts. ; cloth, 60 cts. 
 
 81. AN ATTIC PHILOSOPHEE IN PAKIS; or, a Peep at the World from a 
 
 Garret. Being the Journal of a Happy Man. From the French of EMILE 
 SOUVESTRE. Paper, 25 cts. ; cloth, 60 cts. 
 
 82. A EOGUE'S LIFE : From his Birth to his Marriage. By WILKIE COLLINS. 
 
 Paper, 25 cts. ; cloth, 60 cts. 
 
 83. GEIEE- WALLT : A Tale of the Tyrol. From the German of WILIIELMINE VON 
 
 HILLEKN. Paper, 30 cts. ; cloth, 60 cents. 
 
 34. THE LAST ESSAYS OF ELIA. By CHARLES LAMB. Paper, 80 cts.; cloth' 
 60 cts. 
 
 APPLKTONS' NEW HANDY- VOLUME SERIES is in handsome 18mo volumes, in large 
 type, of a size convenient for the pocket, or suitable for the library-shelf, bound in 
 paper covers. A selection of the volumes bound also in cloth, 60 cents each. 
 
 Any volume mailed, post-paid, to any address within the United States or Canada, 
 on receipt of the price. 
 
 D. ArPLETON & CO., 549 & 551 BROADWAY, NEW YORK.