[See page 73-] 
 " JUDITH HEARD THE WORDS THROUGH THE OPEN WINDOW "
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 21 
 
 BY 
 MARIA LOUISE POOL 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 BY W. A. ROGERS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 1896
 
 BY MARIA LOUISE POOL. 
 
 AGAINST HUMAN NAT 
 URE. 
 
 OUT OF STEP 
 
 THE TWO SALOMES. 
 
 KATHARINE NORTH. 
 
 MRS. KEATS BRADFORD 
 
 DALLY. 
 
 ROWENY IN 13OSTON. 
 
 fast Szw, Cloth, Orth iicntal, $125 each. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NHW YORK. 
 
 Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All rights rrsen cd.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A BOTTLE OK BEANS ........... I 
 
 II. THE DAUGHTER ........... . . 9 
 
 III. OLD PLAYMATES ............. l8 
 
 IV. MR. C.ROVER COLLECTS A SMALL SUM ...... 24 
 
 V. JUDITH AND HER MOTHER ......... 30 
 
 VI. TURNED OUT .............. 37 
 
 VII. UNDER ANOTHER ROOF .......... 44 
 
 VIII. THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE ......... 50 
 
 IX. A NEW-COMER ...... ........ 58 
 
 X. LITTLE EM ............... 64 
 
 XI. "I WANT MY JUDE !" ........... 69 
 
 XII. SHE CLUNG TO IT AS SHE I RAYED ....... 75 
 
 xin. "YOU SEEV i i M .AST , ,V\ ;\, ;.^ ..... 80 
 
 XIV. RYLANCE . . - . * \ . .", . ,!; .\^\ ..... 86 
 
 xv. "NO" . . ., v: : ; v, ;. j v. ....... 91 
 
 XVI. UNCLE DICK . . ,: , ,.- ,\ ,?>,.- ....... IOO 
 
 xvn. AN INTRODUCTION ;"; ,;, :;--;, : ...... 107 
 
 XVIII. ON THE CLIFF -W/ I>X \. \ ....... 112 
 
 xix. "IT WAS LUCIAN" ............ 118 
 
 xx. MR. GERALD S CALL ............ 125 
 
 XXI. A LOVER ........... ... 131 
 
 XXII. WATCHING ............... 137 
 
 XXIII. DECISION .... .......... 143 
 
 xxiv. A RICH MAN S WIFE ........... 153 
 
 XXV. RETURN ................ 159 
 
 XXVI. A LITTLE CONVERSATION .......... 165 
 
 P !..!?! fC f F**r
 
 iv CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 xxvii. "WHERE S THE FATTED CALF?" 172 
 
 XXVIII. MRS. JENNINGS 178 
 
 xxix. LUCIAN S SEARCH 184 
 
 XXX. "IT WAS WRONG TO DO IT 1 ." . 190 
 
 XXXI. "I FORGIVE YOU" 196 
 
 XXXII. AFLOAT 204 
 
 XXXIII. "NOTHING COULD HAPPEN"" 2IO 
 
 XXXIV. "I KNEW SHE LOVED HIM" 217 
 
 XXXV. A TELEGRAM . . 224 
 
 XXXVI. "DO YOU MEAN DIVORCE?" 231 
 
 XXXVII. IN THE HOSPITAL 237 
 
 XXXVIII. "WE WILL BEAR WITH EACH OTHER?" 244 
 
 XXXIX. "LET US GIVE UP THIS JOURNEY" 249 
 
 XL. THE PASTURES 256 
 
 XLI. SOME TALK 262 
 
 XLII. RESCUED . . 270 
 
 XLIII. "LET US BE REAL FRIENDS " 277 
 
 XLIV. EMBARKED 283 
 
 XLV. ACCIDENT? 2gO 
 
 XLVI. GOOD IN TEN" iONS 2g6 
 
 XLVII. "YOU HERE?" r . , 33 
 
 XLVIII. " IT CAN r BE .IX^NE,"-.. . ; } / :: : 39 
 
 XLIX. BISKRA .". . . . . ". 3lf) 
 
 L. "I TELL YOU YOU Atf^- tffcOW}?" 324 
 
 LI. "ANOTHER INCARNAi iON . ." 330
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "JUDITH HEARD THE WORDS THROUGH THE OPEN 
 
 WINDOW " Frontispiece 
 
 MRS. GUILD AND HANFORD GROVER Facing page 2O 
 
 " OH, WON T YOU GO NOW ? " 46 
 
 " i DON T B LIEVE IN BEIN ALARMED " 84 
 
 " I DON T THINK I NEED TO LISTEN ANY LONGER " . " 128 
 " YOU CAN T TELL A FALSEHOOD, AND YOU HATE TO 
 
 HURT ME " " 134 
 
 " THAT S A FIRST-RATE SUIT YOU VE GOT ON " . . " 160 
 
 " YOU WANTED TO CLEAR MY NAME? " " l86 
 
 " WELL, WHAT IS IT? " " 214 
 
 "SHE HELD LUCIAN S HOT HAND " " 240 
 
 " YOU SENT THEM? " " 28o 
 
 "THERE is LIFE HEKF., SAID THE DOCTOR" ... " 292 
 
 l l KEPT CLOSE TO HIM 1 " " 32O
 
 Part J
 
 PROPERTY OF THt 
 CITY OF NEW YUHK. 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 A BOTTLE OF BEANS 
 
 " I GUESS they re feelin real poor in these days. I must 
 say I m sorry for the women folks there. I heard down to 
 the store they were goin to put up their seraphine." 
 
 "You don t mean Judith s seraphine?" asked Mrs. Ma- 
 comber, looking up anxiously at her husband, who was stand 
 ing by the cook-stove. 
 
 Mr. Macomber was slowly filling his pipe from some to 
 bacco held in the palm of his hand. Occasionally he put 
 his little finger into the bowl and pressed the loose stuff 
 down more closely. He wore a green baize jacket which 
 barely covered his hips, and which was buttoned up to the 
 checked blue-and-white handkerchief tied firmly about his 
 neck. This handkerchief was partly concealed by a white 
 beard allowed to grow only below his chin. 
 
 You could not please Ellis Macomber in any way so much 
 as to say to him, when you first met him, " Somehow, Mr. 
 Macomber, you seem as if you d been a seafaring man." 
 
 Then the rough old face would light up, and the man 
 would reply, " You re right there, sir. Twenty-five years, 
 lackin three days, I passed on the briny. I was first mate 
 of the best three-master that ever stepped over blue water. 
 Then I broke my arm, n I had phthisic, n I ain t be n 
 nothin 1 since."
 
 2 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Mr. Macomber was so very long before answering now 
 that his wife said again, "You don t mean Judith s sera- 
 phine ?" 
 
 "Of course I do mean hern. You don t expect they ve 
 got two of urn over to Grover s, do ye ?" was the reply. 
 
 " You needn t snap me up so, s I know of," said the 
 woman. " But that was Judith s grandmother s seraphine, 
 and they never did seem to mind how it squeaked n wheezed 
 n carried on when they played it. They used to pour in oil 
 somewhere, but it would squeak jest the same." 
 
 " Wall, they re goin to put it up." 
 
 Mr. Macomber now reached over and took a match from 
 the shelf above the stove. He drew it across his trouser- 
 leg and sucked hard at his pipe. 
 
 " I d know s I know what you mean by puttin it up," 
 now remarked Mrs. Macomber. 
 
 Her husband looked at her pityingly. He always main 
 tained that he didn t think women was called upon to 
 know very much, not so long as men was round to tell um." 
 For the last ten years he had been constantly round to in 
 struct his wife on every possible occasion ; but still there 
 were many times when even he would have been gratified 
 if Lucindy had manifested a somewhat stronger intelligence. 
 Mr. Macomber eyed the smoke rising from his pipe before 
 he replied. 
 
 " It means they re goin to have kind of a raffle for that 
 seraphine," he said ; " anyway, that s what I call it. Folks 
 may call it what they please, but I call it kind of a raffle." 
 
 " What ! Like a Thanksgiving turkey ? N the Grovers 
 are church-members !" 
 
 "Lucindy, can t you wait a minute? I ain t said nothin 
 bout a Thanksgiving turkey." 
 
 Lucindy waited. She took off her spectacles and patiently 
 rubbed the glasses with an old silk handkerchief. She was 
 saying to herself that she " s posed Ellis d be jest so tryin 
 the longest day he lived." She looked at him as he stood 
 there smoking on the other side of the cook-stove. His en-
 
 A BOTTLE OF BEANS 3 
 
 tire employment was strolling about the village, sitting on 
 the wharf, or in the store, and hearing every bit of gossip 
 there was. He never let any news escape him, and nothing 
 was too trivial. He followed up a scent as a fox-hound 
 follows a fox not as rapidly, but as persistently. Then he 
 went home and told Lucindy. And he usually ended his 
 tale by remarking that it "would be jest like her, bein a 
 woman, to go n spread that story all over the neighbor 
 hood." 
 
 " Yes," now began Mr. Macomber, after he had made his 
 wife wait a sufficiently long time, "I call it a sort of raffle. 
 They re goin to fill a bottle full of beans, n then anybody 
 that wants to guess how many beans there is pays twenty- 
 five cents a guess, n the one that gits the nearest has the 
 seraphine." 
 
 " I declare !" Mrs. Macomber pulled off her spectacles 
 again and hurriedly renewed the wiping of them. " How 
 long s the bottle of beans goin round?" she asked. 
 
 "Jest long s anybody wants to guess," was the answer. 
 
 "I s pose everybody 11 take a chance, won t they?" 
 
 " I expect so. I met Mr. Elclridge comin up from the 
 wharf. He said he was goin to guess ten times, n if he got 
 the old machine he sh d fling it off Gun Rock." 
 
 "But his girls is real musical," said Mrs. Macomber, 
 shocked at such vandalism. To her the Grover seraphine 
 was a fine instrument in spite of its wheezing. She wished 
 she might be so lucky as to get it. She had decided in her 
 own mind to have one guess out of her own savings, and 
 she hoped Ellis would take another. That would give them 
 two chances. 
 
 "The Eldridge girls have got a planner," said Mr. Ma 
 comber. " But I guess Mr. Eldridge pities the Grovers. 
 He said he d do a good deal to help the Grover girl, but he 
 s posed everything d go right into Han ford s pocket. He 
 said he never knew such a darn convenient liver complaint 
 as Hanford Grover had. He said he d be one of ten to 
 ride Grover out of town on a rail any time. He didn t say
 
 4 MRS. GERALD 
 
 clarn ; he said damn." Mr. Macomber set his teeth hard on 
 his pipe and chuckled. He was now in the full tide of nar 
 ration, and his wife leaned back to listen. "Curious how 
 everybody feels bout them Grovers, ain t it ? I stopped into 
 Mis Guild s, V I arst her if she d heard bout the seraphine s 
 bein put up, n she hadn t heard a word. She said she 
 couldn t really afford to take a single guess, but she should 
 make out to take two, anyway, not that she wanted to do 
 anything for Hanford, but she did pity his women folks. 
 Near s I can find out, everybody thinks that way, n I ll bet 
 there ll be lots of quarters paid out for guesses. I should 
 like to have the seraphine myself. Twould be kind of 
 pleasant winter evenin s to see it settin there between the 
 winders." 
 
 " So t would," said Mrs. Macomber. She looked at the 
 place her husband had mentioned. This space was now 
 occupied by a table with a red cloth on it. " I always did 
 wish we could afford a piece of music," she said. " I know 
 we can t either of us play, but it would be a satisfaction to 
 know there was a piece of music in the house." 
 
 "That s a fact. I kinder hanker after that seraphine. 
 I d know but I sh ll make a raise n take two chances. If 
 you have one, Lucindy, we shall have three between us. N 
 you know it s helpin a neighbor. It makes us feel kind 
 of different bout spenclin the money, seein it s helpin a 
 neighbor." 
 
 " So it does. N then there s somethin excitin bout 
 guessin in that way," said Mrs. Macomber, with some eager 
 ness, " n not knowin whether you re goin to git anything 
 or not." She fixed her eyes on the table that stood where 
 the seraphine would stand if they got it. "Yes," she said, 
 twould look real well there ; n I always did wish I could 
 have a piece of music in the house." She rose and moved 
 the table away, then gazed at the empty space. There was 
 a slight flush on her wrinkled face as she turned to her hus 
 band and asked, "Do you really think, Ellis, that there s 
 any likelihood of our gittin it ?"
 
 A BOTTLE OF BEANS 5 
 
 "Jest as much as there is of anybody s havin it. I shall 
 bring the bottle over here, n we can look at it s long s we 
 want to fore we give our guesses." 
 
 " I shouldn t care much if twas so wheezy," responded 
 Mrs. Macomber, evidently referring to the seraphine and not 
 to the bottle. "Twouldn t make much difference to us, 
 Ellis, you know, as we ain t neither of us musical." 
 
 The next day Mrs. Macomber moved the table two or 
 three times from its position, and contemplated the space 
 thus left between the windows. Her husband had started 
 forth on his daily rounds. He would not be likely to be 
 back much before noon. He had not known any particu 
 lars as to when the bottle would be ready for guesses, but 
 he hoped to find out that day. 
 
 It was half after eleven, and Mrs. Macomber had put the 
 potatoes on to boil. She was looking over the money she 
 had taken for eggs within the last month, and wishing she 
 could justify herself in having two guesses, when she heard 
 some one coming up the walk from the road. She knew it 
 was not her husband s step. The door was open, and the 
 June sunshine poured across the kitchen floor. 
 
 " I don t s pose there s no need of knockin now no more n 
 there ever was," said a fat, jovial voice, "so I guess I ll 
 walk right in with my bottle." A thick-set woman climbed 
 heavily up the step and sat down in the nearest chair. She 
 coughed, and then laughed. " I tell um," she said, " that I 
 need a bottle of beans passed round for me bout s much 
 s anybody. Only I ain t Hanford Grover, n I ain t got 
 the liver complaint." Here she laughed again. " I de 
 clare," she went on, " if Hanford ain t got the most accom- 
 mydation kind of a complaint that ever I heard of. He 
 can sleep well with it, n eat hearty, n be reg lar to meetin 
 n all the neck-tie parties, n strawberry festivals, n every 
 thing else where there s a chance of a meal. D you ever see 
 him eat cake to one of our sociables ?" 
 
 " Yes, I ve seen him." 
 
 " Then you know thout no description from me. You
 
 6 MRS. GERALD 
 
 see, he s got a kind of a liver that lets him do everything but 
 work. And it comes mighty hard on his women folks. Of 
 course, Ellis has told you bout these beans. Here they be. 1 
 The speaker reached forward and set down a quart bottle 
 filled with black beans on the table. " You c n give as 
 many guesses as you c n spare quarters. I ve guessed 
 three times, n I couldn t afford it no more n I c n rly. But 
 I m willin to help Hanford Grover s women folks all I m 
 able." 
 
 Mrs. Macomber took the bottle in her hand and looked 
 at it. She had expected to see white beans, and she told 
 her companion that somehow white beans would have 
 seemed more " sootable." 
 
 "It don t make no difference, as I can see," was the re 
 sponse. 
 
 " Mebby it don t. Must I guess right away ?" 
 
 "Oh no; keep the bottle till towards night; then p raps 
 you c n bring it back to me. I told urn I d try to git it 
 round in this neighborhood. You c n set down your 
 guesses there," she put a sheet of foolscap beside the 
 bottle, " and you can bring me the money when you fetch 
 the bottle. It s gittin to be real summer weather, ain t it ? 
 Most hayin time, too. I always dread to have the grass 
 cut, cause then summer seems most gone. There ain t no 
 summer to speak of after the grass is cut." 
 
 Mrs. Macomber had put down the bottle of beans, and 
 now she took it up again. 
 
 " It seems almost kinder like gamblin , don t it ?" she 
 asked, with a hint of fearsome delight in her somewhat 
 flat face. " But, then, it s to help a neighbor, n I shall 
 spare all the money I can. I ve decided to take two 
 guesses, n Ellis he ll take two, though it s more n we 
 really ought to do. Then, you see, if we don t git the 
 seraphine, after all, why we don t git nothin ." 
 
 " But it s for a neighbor," said Mrs. Guild, repeating her 
 companion s words, " so we needn t begretch our money." 
 
 " I s pose somebody 11 git it that don t care nothin for
 
 A BOTTLE OF BEANS 7 
 
 it," now remarked Mrs. Macomber. " I was tellin of Ellis 
 that twould set first-rate between them two winders." 
 
 Mrs. Guild glanced at the place mentioned, but she did 
 not seem much interested in this phase of the subject. 
 She leaned back in her rocker instead of going. The 
 rocker was comfortable, and the sun was hot. 
 
 " I can t help thinking about Judith, n wondering what 
 she ll say bout this bean business." She shook the bottle 
 reflectively as she spoke. 
 
 "Judith!" exclaimed Mrs. Macomber; "why, I thought 
 she was the one that started the whole thing." 
 
 " No she ain t, either. She don t know a word about it. 
 She ain t been to home for two weeks. Twas Mis Grover 
 that got it up. She mentioned to Mis East that she wished 
 she could raise money on something. Grover he ain t 
 worked a stroke for more n six months, n they owe 
 everybody, cause Judith couldn t keep on at the factory on 
 account of their shuttin down, you know." 
 
 " But where is Judith ?" 
 
 " She s up to the North Village. She s doin the house 
 work for her cousin Joyce, the Joyce children being all 
 down with the measles." 
 
 " I want to know ! I thought she was to home." 
 
 " No. N I m thinkin that if we want to take chances in 
 that seraphine, n help um along, the sooner we do it the 
 better. When it s done it ll be done, and there s no tellin 
 how Judith 11 look at it." 
 
 "Judith s a real good girl." 
 
 " I know she is. But there s no tellin how she ll look 
 at it." 
 
 Here Mrs. Guild rose from her chair. She said she 
 dreaded going out into the hot sun, but she s posed she 
 might s well start. She came back to the door to say that 
 she guessed Mr. Macomber d like to take that bottle 
 round, and he was welcome to do it if the heat kept on. 
 
 When that gentleman came home to dinner a few min 
 utes later the first thing his wife said was, " What do you
 
 8 MRS. GERALD 
 
 think, Ellis? Judith don t know bout this bottle of 
 beans." 
 
 But in spite of his wife s assurance to the contrary, Mr. 
 Macomber professed to believe that Judith did know. He 
 said " twa n t reasonable to think they d do such a thing n 
 she not know it." 
 
 As the days passed on the bottle circulated in the 
 vicinity. People volunteered to carry it in this direction 
 and that, and the list of guesses on the foolscap grew 
 longer and longer, and the quarter-dollars accumulated.
 
 II 
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 MRS. GUILD held the funds. Mr. Hanford Grover called 
 on her with a view towards getting an advance. But he did 
 not succeed. Mrs. Guild had been sitting at her back door 
 shelling early pease. She heard a shuffling footstep coining 
 along the road, and she saw a tall figure slowly turning in at 
 the gate. This figure wore a long linen duster, brown linen 
 pantaloons apparently just washed and ironed, and a tall, 
 black silk hat with a very narrow rim. If there is anything 
 that can make a man look desolate it is a silk hat which has 
 been out of style for several years. 
 
 Mr, Grover carried a cane, and when he did not forget to 
 do so he leaned on this cane as if he needed its support. 
 He had a thin face, shaven all save a small tuft below his 
 underlip, a tuft which on a gayer face might be called an 
 " imperial." He had a heavy mouth so filled with glistening 
 artificial teeth that it was with difficulty he could bring his 
 lips together over them. His pale, greedy-looking eyes wan 
 dered over the snug, green-blinded house, at the door of 
 which Mrs. Guild sat. He came up and placed himself on 
 the door-step. He took off his hat and wiped his bald head. 
 
 " I was thinkin as I come along," he said, " how mighty 
 lucky you n your husband d always been, Mis Guild no 
 sickness-, no money goin out for medicine. If I d had my 
 health I could have had jest as good a place as this. N here 
 I be nothin laid up; n house moggiclged ; n I need 
 some kind of sarsap rilla this minute. I ain t been able to 
 git much sarsap rilla this spring; n here tis June, n most 
 July."
 
 10 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " I sh d think you might dig it," said Mrs. Guild, shortly, 
 her mouth snapping together something like a spring after 
 she had spoken. 
 
 " I ain t able. But I needed tonin up so that Pnscilla 
 she went over to the Williams wood-lot V dug a few roots. 
 But she had to take the little girl with her, V she couldn t 
 go round quite so fur s if she hadn t had the child. Sarsa- 
 p rilla s ruther skerce. N somehow tain t quite so effect 
 ual s when you buy it with a little liquor in it. I s pose the 
 liquor stimulates some. N Priscilla she says what I need 
 is stimulatin -" 
 
 Mrs. Guild kept her mouth shut tightly. She flung some 
 pea - pods clown with such violence in the pan that they 
 bounded over on to the door-stone, where Mr. Grover gath 
 ered them up, remarking that he wished he had a mess of 
 early pease, and that he should have planted some if he d 
 been able. 
 
 " You had a garden last year," said Mrs. Guild. 
 
 "Yes; Judith she made the garden last year. It was 
 good for her to have the fresh air night n mornin when she 
 was out of the shop. It s surprisin how tough n well Judith 
 is. Health is a great blessin . I hope Judith appreciates it." 
 
 " So Judith worked in the shop n took care the gar 
 den ?" 
 
 " Yes. It s a mercy she s so tough. I d know where she 
 gits her constitution from, I m sure. I s pose she takes back 
 somewhere." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Guild, "I guess she does take back in 
 more ways than one." She rose as she spoke. " You ll 
 have to excuse me, Mr. Grover, unless you c n come in n 
 set a spell. I must git these pease on." 
 
 Mr. Grover rose also. Pie replied that he thought he 
 would set a while. And when he was comfortably estab 
 lished in the best chair he remarked that he " s posed he 
 hadn t ought to have come out till after he d had his lunch 
 eon, for it didn t do for him to git faint. He thought that 
 when he over-et himself it didn t hurt him so much as it did
 
 THE DAUGHTER II 
 
 to git faint." These words were received in absolute silence. 
 But Mr. Grover was comfortable, and the manner of his host 
 ess did not affect him in the least. Presently he asked how 
 the guesses on the beans were coming on. 
 
 " Toll erble well," was the reply. 
 
 Mr. Grover took his handkerchief from his hat, which 
 stood on the floor by him. He wiped his bald head once more. 
 He said he understood that his hostess held the money for 
 these guesses. Yes, she did. Here Mrs. Guild s mouth 
 snapped up again so very much like a steel trap that it al 
 most seemed as if Mr. Grover were caught in that trap. But 
 Mr. Grover did not appear to think himself caught. He 
 put his handkerchief back in his hat, and said that he s posed 
 it was time for him to have a little advance from that fund. 
 The bean bottle had been going some time now, and 
 
 " I can t let you have any advance," here interrupted Mrs. 
 Guild. " I ain t goin to touch that money till the bottle has 
 gone back to your wife, n the beans been counted ; and then 
 I sha rTt give the money to you, Mr. Grover." 
 
 The man brought his heavy lips forward over his teeth 
 and held them shut an instant, thus making his face ex 
 tremely ugly to look at. 
 
 " I expect," he said, at last, " that I m the head of my 
 family, ain t I ?" 
 
 "It don t make no difference to me whether you be or 
 not, s I can see," was the answer. "I sha n t give you none 
 of that money." 
 
 Mr. Grover rose. His eyes looked whiter than ever, but 
 he was smiling -that is, his mouth was drawn away from 
 his teeth. It was while he was standing thus, with his hat in 
 one hand and handkerchief in the other, that a loud rumble 
 of wheels was heard. 
 
 " That s the noon stage," said Mrs. Guild, briskly. " It s 
 consid able early to-day, seems to me. Why, it ain t stoppin , 
 is it?" 
 
 Yes, it was stopping. She went to the door as the stage, 
 which had really degenerated to a roomy covered wagon
 
 12 MRS. GERALD 
 
 drawn by two horses, came to a stand-still. A girl with a 
 large satchel in her hand stepped out. She glanced up at 
 the door and smiled as she paused to pay the driver. 
 
 "Why, if that ain t Judith herself!" cried Mrs. Guild. She 
 hurried down the yard, her big face shining with delight. 
 She took the bag from the girl s hand, flung an arm over her 
 neck, and kissed her loudly. "Well, I am surprised!" she 
 exclaimed. " Come right in. When Nathan gits back he ll 
 harness up V take you home that is, if you must go." 
 
 " Yes , I guess I must go," was th.e answer. " Do you 
 know how the folks are?" 
 
 "Bout the same." Mrs. Guild rather delayed the girl as 
 she walked up the path. " How d you leave the measles ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " I didn t leave any measles," with a laugh ; " they re gone. 
 That s why I could come home." 
 
 Mrs. Guild followed the girl. In a moment Judith stopped 
 in the doorway. 
 
 " Why, father !" she said. Then she walked forward and 
 her father kissed her cheek, and said it was a wonder how 
 tough she was looking. 
 
 Mr. Grover was thinking that, now his daughter had come 
 and would be invited to dinner, he would have to be in 
 cluded in the invitation. And he would be taken home in 
 Mr. Guild s carriage with Judith. 
 
 Mrs. Guild was thinking the same thing, and wondering 
 how she could prevent this man from having his dinner with 
 them. And she knew that she would have to submit. 
 
 "Take your hat right off," she said to Judith. "Go in 
 my bedroom and wash your face if you want to. It s clret- 
 ful dusty, ain t it ?" 
 
 The girl did no.t immediately wash her hands. She had 
 poured some water into the bowl, and was standing before 
 it, her eyes drooped, her face showing both weariness and 
 resolution. 
 
 It was a curious fact that when you saw Judith Grover for 
 the first time you had an indefinite feeling that you had
 
 THE DAUGHTER 
 
 3 
 
 known her, or that you had been wishing to know her. But 
 gradually that feeling wore away, or it left only the phase 
 that you wished to know her. She was so dark that you 
 expected her to seem languid, as if with a Southern lan 
 guor. Perhaps she could seem thus; it indeed appeared as if 
 that manner must be her natural manner, only that, being a 
 New England girl and the mainstay of her family, she had 
 no opportunity for anything but work and planning for her 
 self and others. And another first impression of a discern 
 ing observer was sure to be that she only lived now a stinted 
 life, but that she did not know it was a stinted life, never hav 
 ing been acquainted with any other. The hands that she at 
 last put in the water before her were hardened with labor that 
 had been wellnigh incessant since she had begun to grow up. 
 It is a piteous sight to see young hands hard, and to know that 
 they will but grow harder and harder with more and more work. 
 
 But Judith had never thought of pitying herself. She had 
 no time to think of anything but that she must earn all she 
 could, and plan to make her money go as far as possible. 
 And yet there seemed to be dreams in the brown eyes, and 
 a tenderness in the mouth which suited well with its con 
 tour and its color. She was dressed in a dark gingham and 
 a thin black sack, garments without the least "style" to 
 them, and which were respectable, and no more. She was 
 always glad when the warm weather came, for she had never 
 yet had anything to wear in the winter that was a sufficient 
 protection from the cold. 
 
 Sometimes two or three families in the town who had 
 plenty of everything had sent over cast-off cloaks and 
 shawls to the Grovers. But no one had ever seen Judith 
 wearing any of these clothes. Once there had been a jacket 
 from the Eldridges which had just fitted Judith. Mrs. 
 Grover had taken it out of the box and insisted that the 
 girl should try it on. Judith had stood stiff and still during 
 the process, and had refused to look at herself in the glass 
 when her mother had buttoned it up and was gazing at her 
 daughter in admiration.
 
 14 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " 1 declare, it fits grand ! exclaimed Mrs. Grover. " I 
 didn t know you were so good-looking, Judith. But you 
 don t have any chance poor folks don t have any chance. 
 You ve got to wear this jacket, anyway. You never do take 
 anything that s sent here to us." 
 
 Judith glanced down at the sleeves, holding her arms out 
 as she did so. " I sha n t wear it," she said. " You can 
 make it smaller for one of the children. I don t believe 
 father can wear this, anyway." The girl s lip curled as she 
 said the last sentence. Then she added : Perhaps he can 
 change it for some kind of medicine. What kind is he 
 taking now ?" 
 
 "Yellow-dock." 
 
 Judith gave a short laugh. She began to pull off the 
 jacket. 
 
 " Won t you keep it for yourself ?" her mother pleaded, 
 going closer, and taking hold of the girl s arm. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Please ! You look so well in it." 
 
 "No. You and father may do what you please, but I m 
 not going to live on charity, and I shall work as hard as I 
 can for you all." She flung the jacket down in a chair as 
 she spoke. 
 
 "Oh, Judith!" 
 
 Her mother s voice irritated her, but she did not reply 
 until she could say, without showing that irritation : " You 
 know I never have taken such things from the neighbors, 
 and I ain t going to, either." 
 
 Then Mrs. Grover had sat down and begun to cry. She 
 said she didn t know what was going to become of them, 
 she was sure ; and sometimes she didn t know as she cared. 
 Having said this, something boiled over on the kitchen 
 stove, and she sprang up exclaiming that it was the yeller- 
 dock, and that she knew that kittle wouldn t hold so much; 
 but it had got to be three quarts boiled down to one quart, 
 and that was the only kittle they had. Judith stepped 
 quickly forward and swung off the vessel, placing it in the
 
 THE DAUGHTER 15 
 
 sink, while a strong, bitter smell pervaded the room. Mrs. 
 Grover began to mop up that portion of the liquid that had 
 run over on to the floor. 
 
 " I should think your father s stomach would be in a 
 dreadful condition with all the stuff he puts into it," she said, 
 as she was on her knees by the stove. 
 
 " I m sure I don t know which would be worse," responded 
 the girl : "to have a man drink, or be given over to dosing 
 himself all the time." 
 
 Mrs. Grover had now risen, and was rinsing out her mop. 
 She was a little, bent, round-shouldered woman, who was 
 really only fifty, though she looked seventy. She had no 
 teeth, and her voice had a hollow, lisping sound. She seemed 
 always to have on the same calico gown, and the same apron, 
 made of men s shirting, girded about her. Her shoes were 
 never drawn up at the heel, but were trodden down there so 
 that her heels were never shod, and her shoes flapped with 
 every step she took on the bare floor. People who had 
 known her before her marriage were fond of saying that 
 they should never know her now. Twenty-five years of life 
 with Hanford Grover were stamped upon her aspect. 
 
 When Priscilla Stetson had married Mr. Grover she had 
 been the teacher of the school in the Clapp neighborhood. 
 She had been what the people there called "a real dressy 
 girl," and she had painted a little. Three of these "oil 
 scenes "were hung in the best room now, but Mrs. Grover 
 always tried not to look at them. The memories and the 
 dead hopes that hung about those pathetic pictures were 
 like blows on sensitive flesh. She had been a " high-strung 
 girl," and she had thought that Mr. Grover loved her. She 
 was not quite so sure that she loved him, but she was posi 
 tive that she respected him, and she did not believe much in 
 being in love. 
 
 In those clays Hanford Grover had not begun to take 
 medicine and to watch for symptoms, and he had just in 
 herited a good farm, and was apparently altogether eligible ; 
 and he did not then have those shining white teeth from the
 
 16 MRS. GERALD 
 
 dentist s. So Miss Stetson married him, and children began 
 to come, and Mr. Grover immediately began to manifest a 
 disinclination for work, and an inclination for patent medi 
 cine and stewed herbs. And the dressy school-teacher 
 ceased to be dressy, and almost stopped caring whether she 
 used her nouns and verbs right or not. But she tried not 
 to give up her habit of speaking correctly for the sake of 
 her children. Some of them acquired her way of speaking, 
 and some of them lapsed into their father s way. 
 
 As the years went on Judith, the eldest, became the main 
 stay. She took up the burden without whining, but she 
 grew to hate her father. She tried to conceal this feeling; 
 she never spoke of him when she could help it. Sometimes 
 he caught her glance fixed on him in such a way that he 
 felt like writhing. Then he would take the first opportunity 
 to speak of the respect that children owed their parents. 
 
 Now as Mr. Grover sat in Mrs. Guild s kitchen he told 
 himself that Judith must have brought home some money 
 from the Joyces not much, but some. He wondered how 
 he could manage to get hold of a portion of it. 
 
 Since she was eighteen Judith had not handed her earn 
 ings to him, and she had only given a part of them to her 
 mother, for she was never quite sure that her father would 
 not get the money from his wife. She had paid debts with 
 her money, and spent everything on the family. There was 
 no other way that she could see, and no other way in all the 
 years to come but just to keep right on as she had been do 
 ing. In spite of the measles, she had really rested at her 
 cousin s. And now, the moment she had returned, even be 
 fore she reached home, here was her father ; and he would 
 stay the two hours she had planned to be with Mrs. Guild, 
 and then he would ride home with her. 
 
 Judith lingered a moment at the small looking-glass in 
 the bedroom. She was mechanically brushing back her 
 hair, and thinking she seemed to herself to be thinking a 
 thousand things in a vivid way that appeared strange to her. 
 She put down the brush at last. She went to the window
 
 THE DAUGHTER 17 
 
 and glanced out, then gazed intently up into the clear blue 
 of the June sky. A thrill of delight went through her as she 
 gazed. " Somehow I don t have any time to enjoy anything," 
 she thought, as she turned away from the window. 
 
 Mrs. Guild opened the door and came in. " I guess you 
 better come right out to dinner," she said. " Mr. Guild s 
 got home. He s puttin his horse out. Why, Judith, what s 
 the matter?" 
 
 There were tears in the girl s eyes, but they did not fall. 
 She passed her hand quickly over her face.
 
 Ill 
 
 OLD PLAYMATES 
 
 "I S POSE you re dretful tired," said Mrs. Guild, sympa 
 thetically. " Mebby the Joyce measles didn t come out 
 good, and that worried you." 
 
 The girl laughed resolutely. " Yes, they did come out in 
 the best kind of way. Is father going to stay to dinner?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mrs. Guild refrained from saying "of course he is," and 
 the restraint this refraining involved made her grow red in 
 the face. 
 
 When Mr. Guild entered he nodded shortly at Mr. Grover, 
 shook hands with Judith, and, being a jocose man, he asked, 
 "Well, how s beans, Judith?" 
 
 Mrs. Guild coughed warningly, but her cough was en 
 tirely unheeded, for when they had all drawn up to the 
 table, Mr. Guild, stirring his coffee with a swift, rotary move 
 ment, remarked that he didn t s pose Judith knew what a 
 business woman her mother was gittin to be. 
 
 " Nathan !" said his wife, warningly. 
 
 " Oh, I m all right," responded the man, who had never 
 been known to understand anything without a full explana 
 tion, " only I wanted to ask Judith if she didn t think that 
 bean-bottle idea a good one. I ve been thinkin I should 
 take another guess." 
 
 " Mr. Guild, will you pass the p taters to Mr. Grover ?" 
 asked Mrs. Guild, with some ferocity in her manner. 
 
 " I don t know what you mean," said Judith. She thought 
 her father s face had something peculiar upon it. She be 
 gan to grow indignant
 
 OLD PLAYMATES 19 
 
 "Oh, I thought you knew all about it; I thought it was 
 your notion," said Mr. Guild. " Mary, what are you look 
 ing at me so for? I ain t doin nothing. Didn t you get 
 up the bean-bottle ?" turning to the girl, who felt her hands 
 growing cold, she hardly knew why. But of course there 
 was some new humiliation for the Grovers. Her eyes flashed 
 over at her father, but he did not look up. He was eat 
 ing greedily. 
 
 " Judith," now began Mrs. Guild, " I never did see such 
 a stupid thing as Nathan is. You see, we didn t mean to 
 tell you till the thing was done and we d got all the money 
 we could." 
 
 Judith pushed her chair from the table. " Do you mean 
 that you ve been taking up a collection for us ?" she asked ; 
 her voice rang in the low room. 
 
 " Daughter," said Mr. Grover, " I hope you ll show a 
 proper spirit of gratitude." 
 
 " Father, please don t speak to me now," she replied. 
 Then to her hostess, " I want you to tell me what s been 
 done. I don t want the neighbors to give us anything. 
 I can take care of the family. I " 
 
 "Judith s so tough and well," here interrupted Mr. Gro 
 ver. " Folks in health don t appreciate what a blessing 
 health is. Mr. Guild, I d be obleeged for some more of 
 that cabbage." 
 
 " I can take care of the family," repeated the girl. 
 
 "You needn t flare up," now said Mrs. Guild, "but I 
 was afraid you d do jes so, so I didn t mean you should 
 know anything about it till the money was handed over to 
 your mother. But I don t see what you can do, as tis now. 
 You see, your mother said that that Mr. Grover was never 
 so in debt s he is this minute, n something d got to be 
 done, n you can t do everything. So she s put some beans 
 in a bottle, and we re goin to guess at twenty-five cents a 
 guess, n the one that hits it 11 have your seraphine." 
 
 " But the seraphine isn t worth a cent !" sharply. 
 
 " Daughter." said Mr. Grover, as soon as he could artic-
 
 20 MRS. GERALD 
 
 ulate on account of cabbage, "you shouldn t speak in that 
 way. Tain t becomin in a young person." 
 
 " Nobody can possibly want that seraphine," went on Ju 
 dith. " I don t see what made mother do such a thing." 
 
 Having said so much, the girl tried to control herself 
 and to go on with her dinner. But all her hunger was gone. 
 The corned-beef lay on her plate untouched. She swal 
 lowed some coffee. She was inwardly angry at sight of her 
 father eating swiftly, and with an air as if he could keep up 
 the process indefinitely. She wondered what her mother 
 and the children were having for dinner. Very likely it was 
 nothing better than hasty-pudding. As soon as she could 
 she rose from the table. She said she thought she would 
 be starting for home. Her father gave her a look. He 
 was drinking his third cup of coffee, and he knew that he 
 would be expected to go with her. 
 
 " You shaVt stir a step yet !" exclaimed Mrs. Guild, 
 briskly. "Nathan 11 take you over bime-by ; won t you, 
 Nathan ?" 
 
 Mr. Guild nodded. He said he didn t ask nothin bet 
 ter than to wait on pretty girls. 
 
 Judith went to the door of the bedroom where her hat 
 was. She turned, and glanced beseechingly at her hostess, 
 who rose and joined her. When the t\vo were in the little 
 room Judith seized the woman s arm. " Don t tease me to 
 stay ! she pleaded. " I d rather walk than to ride with 
 father. It s dreadful to say it, but I know you won t tell I 
 said so. I want to be alone until I can think this over. 
 And I shall have time enough in the three miles from here 
 home. I should be glad if Mr. Guild would bring my satchel 
 over some time when he s going that way." 
 
 "Oh, Judith," responded Mrs. Guild, "it don t seem to 
 me you re right when you hate to have friends help you 
 any !" 
 
 Judith was hurriedly pinning on her hat before the glass. 
 Her young face was so troubled that Mrs. Guild was more 
 sorry than ever for her. "You don t know how tis," re-

 
 OLD PLAYMATES 2I 
 
 turned the girl ; " I can t tell you, either. Now, good-bye. 
 I shall come over and see you as soon as I can. I ll go 
 right out this porch door." She hastened across the yard. 
 She turned back to see Mrs. Guild still looking at her. She 
 retraced her steps. " I do hope," she said, in an unsteady 
 voice, " that you won t think I don t know how kind you are 
 to me." This time she almost ran out of the yard. When 
 she reached the road she slackened her pace to a steady, 
 swift walk. 
 
 In half a mile the highway turned and ran by solitary 
 pastures, where cows were feeding and over which crows 
 sailed. Here, in the June days, the song -sparrows and 
 blackbirds and robins and their kin held festival, and snuffy 
 brown chipmunks darted across the sweet -ferny spaces. 
 There were frequent clumps of white birches by the road 
 side outposts, apparently, from the pastures. 
 
 As Judith approached one of the birch-clumps a young 
 man who was peeling off a wide strip of bark turned and 
 saw her. At the same moment she saw him, but she was 
 walking on without giving him a second look. He was a 
 stranger to her, and her mind was preoccupied. The man s 
 hat had fallen off, and lay on the ground near him. He had 
 one arm around the tree trunk, and the other hand had been 
 carefully pulling back the bark. It was not probable that 
 Judith noticed that he was in appearance rather different 
 from the ordinary youth of the town. He was fair, with 
 girlish-looking hair worn rather long; a meagre yellow beard 
 pointed down from his chin, and a thin mustache was twist 
 ed upward, revealing a large, irregular mouth that had an 
 appearance, not unpleasant, however, as if its owner were 
 fond of the good things of this life. He was clothed in 
 gray corduroy coat and knickerbockers. It was doubtful 
 if this town had ever seen such a costume before. Had 
 not Judith been so absorbed she would have noticed this 
 dress. 
 
 She was hurrying by, having barely seen him, when the 
 man stepped forward into the road behind her, standing and
 
 22 MRS. GERALD 
 
 watching her for the space of half a minute. Then he dart 
 ed back, snatched up his hat, and ran after her. As he 
 reached her side, still with his hat in his hand, he exclaimed, 
 "Well, Judith Grover, you are a cool one, upon my word ! 
 
 She stopped and looked at him, her face flushing some 
 what as she did so. 
 
 " Now don t you dare to say you don t know me," he be 
 gan again, with some eagerness. "Because if you do, I shall 
 think it is only airs, and I can t believe you would put on 
 airs, little Judith Grover." 
 
 "Little!" echoed Judith, laughing; "I am ns tall as you 
 are, every bit, Lucian Eldridge." 
 
 She held out her hand, which he took closely. He came 
 somewhat nearer. 
 
 " After ten years one might think you would let me kiss 
 you," he said, with an air of being only half in earnest. 
 
 " I don t know why we should begin kissing now," she re 
 sponded. 
 
 They were still holding each other s hands and gazing de 
 lightedly at each other. 
 
 " I didn t know but gratitude might suggest to you to give 
 me a good hug," he answered. 
 
 " Gratitude ? 
 
 "Yes; for all the times I used to drag you on my sled 
 and make the other girls envious. You know, if I wasn t the 
 handsomest boy, I certainly had the best sled." 
 
 "I remember," went on Judith; "your sled was carpeted 
 with a bit of red carpet, and it was painted blue with a pink 
 lion on each side. Yes, it certainly was the best sled." 
 
 " Didn t we use to whiz down the Fassett hill, though ?" 
 
 o 
 
 asked the young man. 
 
 He still kept the girl s hand. He was thinking that he 
 had not had the least idea that he should be so glad to 
 see Judith Grover, and he was surprised to find it such a 
 distinct pleasure to look in her face. 
 
 "Yes," said Judith, "we had good times." Then suddenly 
 her face grew less bright, and without intending to speak in
 
 OLD PLAYMATES 23 
 
 that way, she yet said, " Good times are about over for me, I 
 think." As soon as she had spoken thus she was ashamed 
 of having done so, and hastened to say, " But you ll think 
 I m blue, and I am, just a little. Still, I know how foolish 
 I am just as well as if you told me. I must be going." 
 
 "All right. I ll go with you." 
 
 Young Eldridge immediately fell into step and walked 
 beside her. She glanced over him again and then laughed. 
 
 "Are you laughing at me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Eldridge smiled delightedly. "Anything to make you 
 cheerful. But what amuses you ?" 
 
 " Your clothes. Is that the way the men dress where 
 you ve been ?" 
 
 "Sometimes. Don t you think this suit is becoming? 
 Becoming is what you girls say, isn t it?" 
 
 " Yes, that s what we say." 
 
 The young man s smiling and intent gaze was on his com 
 panion. He was wondering about her. He had hardly 
 thought of her in the ten years since he had seen her. He 
 had been at home frequently in that time, but it had not hap 
 pened that he had met Judith. How shabbily she was 
 dressed ! What true eyes she had ! How lovely it was to 
 have her look straight at you !
 
 IV 
 
 MR. GROVER COLLECTS A SMALL SUM 
 
 " HAVE the folks in the village seen you in that rig ?" 
 asked Judith. 
 
 "Yes; this morning. I only came late last night. Right 
 after breakfast I went to the store I hoped I should meet 
 old Ellis Macomber. I wanted to see his green baize jack 
 et. I couldn t feel really at home until I had seen that 
 jacket. I suppose it s the same one he used to wear when 
 you were my best girl. Judith ?" 
 
 " The very same one. But I was not your 
 
 " Don t, please, go and wound me by saying you were not 
 my best girl !" 
 
 As he said this Eldridge faced round into the path in 
 front of his companion and made her stop in her walk. He 
 was laughing, but there was a suspicion of earnestness in 
 his manner. He was going to say that he had always 
 thought of her in that light, but he knew that he had hardly 
 thought of her at all, and there was something so truthful 
 and sincere in what he called this girl s " atmosphere " that 
 he could not quite tell an untruth to her. 
 
 Judith hesitated an instant. " You were awfully kind to 
 me with with that sled and skating and when we went 
 huckleberrying. Don t you know how you used to pick into 
 my basket because I had to get all I could to sell, and you 
 were not obliged to go for berries anyway ?" Now she lifted 
 her eyes to his face. She spoke more lightly as she went 
 on : " You were certainly what Mr. Macomber would call a 
 fust-rate little chap. " 
 
 Eldridge put his hand on his heart and bowed deeply.
 
 MR. GROVER COLLECTS A SMALL SUM 25 
 
 "And if you will kindly allow me to see you, now I ve come 
 home, you ll find I ve grown into a fust-rate young man. 
 Must you hurry ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. Mother 11 want me. I ve been away for a 
 couple of weeks. My Joyce cousins have had the measles, 
 and I ve been helping them." 
 
 " Helping them have the measles ?" 
 
 " Put it anyway you please. But I must go." 
 
 She began to walk fast now. But the young man kept 
 beside her. He was silent for a few moments. He was re 
 calling all he used, as a boy, to hear said about the Grovers. 
 And he was trying to understand how he could so complete 
 ly have forgotten them, or how he could now remember 
 them so vividly. 
 
 " I hope you have prospered in all these years," he said, 
 finally. And as soon as he had spoken thus he knew it was 
 an awkward thing for him to have said, for no girl who was 
 prosperous in the usual meaning of that word would look so 
 shabby as Judith looked. 
 
 " Thank you," she answered. She held her head a little 
 more erect as she continued, " We get along as well as most 
 folks who work for a living. Of course, we ve got to work ; 
 but we expect that." 
 
 "Is your father s health any better?" Eldridge supposed 
 that he must put that question. 
 
 " Father is about the same," was the stiff answer. 
 
 " Proud little girl !" he murmured, his face softening won 
 derfully as he spoke. He put out his hand and took hers 
 quickly again, thus detaining her in her rapid walk, for he 
 stood still. " We used to be friends when we were children," 
 he said, "and there s no reason why we shouldn t be friends 
 now we are grown up. I won t go any farther this time with 
 you ; but I m coming over to see you all. And I m going 
 to have my pay for letting you slide on my sled and for put 
 ting huckleberries in your basket. And there s a lot of in 
 terest due, and you ll find me an exacting usurer. Good 
 bye now, Judith."
 
 26 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Eldridge stooped and kissed her hand. Then he stepped 
 back and lifted his hat. Judith smiled swiftly and involun 
 tarily at her companion. Then she went on alone down the 
 road. 
 
 Young Eldridge remained where he was for a few mo 
 ments.- He looked about him for a convenient resting-place, 
 and saw nothing better than the wall. So he established 
 himself upon that under a pine-tree, and began gazing up 
 into the thick branches above him. 
 
 " That pine knows it is June," he presently said, aloud. 
 Then in an apparently irrelevant mannef, " How hard her 
 hands were ! 1 suppose she works so that she has no time 
 to know whether it s June or not." 
 
 He thrust his hands into his pockets. He was still look 
 ing into the pine-tree, but his eyes were now half closed. 
 He was thinking of the expression in Judith s face, and a 
 thrill went through his heart as he thought. How did she 
 happen to grow up into such a woman ? Why, it was deli 
 cious to talk to her, and to see her face lighten and darken 
 as he talked. And she had no idea abcrut making eyes, and 
 using those silly flirting ways that other girls used. It was 
 too bad that she had to work and spoil her hands. What a 
 thundering old brute her father must be ! Was Hanford 
 Grover going on in the same old way ? 
 
 Eldridge recalled one thing after another. He remem 
 bered now that people used to say how sorry they were for 
 Grover s family. And now he came to think of it, Judith 
 never had any warm clothes when she was a child and came 
 to school. He used to be sorry for her then, but she had a 
 way with her that kept him from telling her he was sorry. 
 She had that way now. And he liked it ; only it somehow 
 prevented his approach. But he was glad he had kissed her 
 hand ; though, now he thought of it, it must have seemed to 
 her a very strange thing for him to do. 
 
 " Poor little thing !" he said, aloud. " Why don t some of 
 those patent medicines carry off old Grover ? I suppose he 
 takes them now just the same. Odd I should have forgotten."
 
 MR. GROVER COLLECTS A SMALL SUM 27 
 
 While the young man sat there rather absently watching 
 the birds and the squirrels, and finding his thoughts grow 
 ing more and more vague in the happy reverie that youth 
 and a June day may induce, there came the sound of slow, 
 dragging steps from the direction in which he and Judith 
 had come an hour before. Eldridge turned his head and 
 saw a man in a tall silk hat and a long linen duster walking 
 towards him. 
 
 When it became known to Nathan Guild that Judith had 
 started to walk home he decided that he should not harness 
 his horse that he might convey Mr. Grover to his residence. 
 He informed that gentleman that he guessed twould do his 
 liver good if he took the exercise; and so Mr. Grover was 
 obliged to go home as he had come. But though his system 
 was now fortified by what he called a " biled dish," he was 
 in a bad frame of mind because he had not succeeded in 
 getting Mrs. Guild to advance some of the money which she 
 held for guesses on the number of beans. His teeth glit 
 tered viciously in the June sunshine, and he struck out 
 cruelly with his cane at the lavish clumps of daises by the 
 road-side as he came along. 
 
 After a moment s steady gaze Eldridge announced to him 
 self, "Why, it s the miserable old wretch himself! But I ve 
 never seen those teeth before." He got down from the wall 
 and sauntered along towards the approaching figure. 
 
 Mr. Grover looked sourly at the young man. It always 
 made him feel sour to see a prosperous human being; and 
 this youth with the well-fitting clothes, the easy manner, and 
 the somewhat saucy smile was the picture of prosperity. 
 
 As the elder man came nearer he began to be more cu 
 rious. Of course this was not a townsman, and there was 
 no such thing as a summer visitor known in this part of the 
 world. 
 
 " I cannot be mistaken," said Eldridge, moving forward 
 and speaking with great seriousness, "I must be addressing 
 Mr. Hanford Grover." 
 
 " That s my name. But you have the advantage of me,
 
 28 MRS. GERALD 
 
 young sir." Mr. Grover felt that he could be as polite as 
 any one. He immediately thought of the bottle of beans, 
 and wondered if this stranger could not be induced to take 
 a few guesses. When the money for those guesses was paid 
 he meant to get the most of it into his hands. It should 
 not go to pay debts when his system stood in such need of 
 a toning-up medicine. 
 
 " Don t you remember Lucian Eldridge, Mr. Grover?" 
 
 By this time the young man was disgusted with himself 
 because he had spoken ; and he had a morbid and increas 
 ing desire to strike out from the shoulder at those teeth and 
 knock them down the old fellow s throat. 
 
 Mr. Grover s smile increased in width and brilliance. He 
 held out his hand and exclaimed, effusively, " Bless me ! 
 Now I see the Eldridge look. Have you been to home 
 long?" 
 
 " About twenty-four hours." The young man was already 
 trying to go away, but his companion held on to him. 
 
 "Then you ain t heard nothing about that little plan of 
 the bean-bottle ?" Mr. Grover was so afraid that Eldridge 
 would escape him that he could hardly enunciate. 
 
 " The bean-bottle ? Of course I haven t." 
 
 Eldridge looked at his watch. He was thinking how 
 sickening this man was, and wondering why he had been 
 such a fool as to speak to him. But he knew very well why 
 he had done so. 
 
 "You see, I enjoy dretful poor health," began Mr. Grover, 
 hurriedly, " n I ain t be n able to work for some years. 
 Judith she s real tough n can earn, but a woman s earnin 
 ain t like a man s, you know. My liver s most always too 
 toppid, or else it ain t toppid enough. So you see there tis 
 n I need some kind of medicine constant. There s a 
 new elixir out now; it s said to be mighty good for bile; 
 if you ve got too much bile it reduces it ; n if you ain t got 
 enough it increases it. I ought to have some of that elixir 
 I m always trying to git my health so I c n work for my 
 family."
 
 MR. GROVER COLLECTS A SMALL SUM 29 
 
 Eldridge made an inarticulate murmur of assent. He 
 put his hand in his pocket. Was the man begging ? 
 
 "You c n have a guess on them beans for twenty-five 
 cents," went on Mr. Grover, " and if you guess right you ll 
 have our seraphine. Everybody thought twas a real good 
 plan to sell the seraphine in that way. If you feel like tak 
 ing a few chances you c n give me the money now, and then 
 go to Mrs. Guild s and see the bottle of beans and put down 
 your guesses." 
 
 "All right. I ll take twenty guesses." 
 
 Hanford Grover almost jumped at the success attending 
 this effort. His long face grew red with the sudden triumph. 
 He took the bill that Eldridge extended to him and crum 
 pled it quickly into his waistcoat-pocket. It was a moment 
 before he noticed that the young man had left him. Then 
 he turned and looked at the figure striding along the road. 
 
 " Lucian Eldridge," he shouted, " be sure n go n guess 
 on the beans at Nathan Guild s ! We ain t objects of 
 charity." 
 
 Lucian whirled round and nodded. Mr. Hanford Grover 
 turned at a corner that led towards the village. He was 
 saying to himself that he would try two bottles of that elixir. 
 According to the advertisements it was a sure cure, and he 
 would still have some money left to get something for that 
 pain he thought he sometimes felt on the left side of his 
 head, and which he rather hoped was a touch of" nooraligy." 
 He had never had nooraligy yet, and this omission seemed 
 almost like a slight put upon him by Providence.
 
 V 
 
 JUDITH AND HER MOTHER 
 
 ELDRIDGE went straight to Nathan Guild s house. When 
 he was a boy he had liked the Guilds. He now found a 
 keen pleasure in renewing his old associations. Mrs. Guild 
 had had a jolly, shrewd face. It was the same face that ap 
 peared now at the door in answer to his knock no older, 
 he thought. He stepped forward, put an arm around the 
 woman s neck, and kissed her cheek. 
 
 " I want a cooky with sugared caraway-seeds on top of 
 it !" he exclaimed, with that intimate, good-natured laugh of 
 his which went so far towards making people like him. Mrs. 
 Guild pulled him into the house and pushed a chair towards 
 him. 
 
 " I ain t forgot how you used to like them cookies," she 
 said. Then she looked him over from head to foot. " Be 
 them men s clo es that you ve got on ?" she asked. 
 
 " Certainly, since I wear them," with an assumption of 
 dignity. "But what is the bean-bottle, Mrs. Guild? Bring 
 it forward. I invest in it. I didn t expect to come home to 
 be tempted by a lottery immediately." 
 
 When the young man had put his name down Mrs. Guild 
 waited for him to give her the money. She looked over his 
 shoulder and saw the munificence of the sum, and she said 
 that the Eldridges always was generous, and they could af 
 ford to be ; but them that could afford to be wa n t always 
 so. Then she told him that he must give her the five dol 
 lars, for she held the amount until the guessing was all 
 through, and she added that she did hope that Judith 
 would be kind of reasonable ; but that girl was so proud
 
 JUDITH AND HER MOTHER 31 
 
 that you couldn t help her any, and she would probably end 
 by killing herself with work trying to support urn all. 
 
 Elclridge hesitated a minute, much to Mrs. Guild s sur 
 prise, before he handed her his second five dollars for the 
 Grovers that day. But he said nothing. He listened 
 while Mrs. Guild talked profusely about the whole Grover 
 family and the origin of the seraphine plan. She ended by 
 asking if he had seen Judith since he came home. He 
 answered carelessly that he had met her on the west road 
 that morning. 
 
 "I always did like Judith," said Mrs. Guild, heartily. 
 " But I do think she s got kind of stiff notions about some 
 things. When she marries I d know, I m sure, what 11 be 
 come of the rest of urn." 
 
 " Is there a prospect of her marrying ?" 
 
 " I ain t sure. She don t say nothing about it. Mebby 
 there ain t anything in it. But I ve heard that one of the 
 Rylances in the north part of the town has been thinkin 
 about Judith for some time. I s pose she s seen him now 
 while she s been over to the Joyces." 
 
 Eldridge sat a few minutes longer. He ate one of the 
 caraway cookies. He affirmed that it was just as good as 
 when he had stopped on his way home from school and 
 Mrs. Guild had given him the same refreshment. But, in 
 truth, he did not know what he was eating. He was think 
 ing of the Rylances. And when he had left Mrs. Guild s 
 and was strolling towards home he was still thinking of 
 them, and wondering which one it was. There had been 
 three Rylance boys, and they used to walk over to the 
 school. They had always, in the winter, had their caps tied 
 down by red wool "comforters." In sledding- time they 
 never had sleds, but "jumpers," which they made them 
 selves. 
 
 Lucian Eldridge was not aware that this mention of a 
 Rylance as a probable lover of Judith Grover s went a great 
 ways towards deepening and confirming the interest he had 
 suddenly felt in the girl. That afternoon he rode over to
 
 32 MRS. GERALD 
 
 the " north part " solely to see the Rylance house and farm, 
 though he told himself when he mounted his horse that he 
 didn t know which way he should go. 
 
 When young Eldridge went to bed that night he was 
 quite sure, after all, that he shouldn t be bored now that he 
 had come home to stay until he could think what he really 
 wanted to do in the world. He had been rather afraid that 
 he should be bored. But he found things much more inter 
 esting than he had expected they would be. And how long 
 before it would be proper for him to call on the Grovers ? 
 He might happen around there the next day. He would 
 take some of those Marechal Neil roses that were growing in 
 the garden to Mrs. Grover. And perhaps Judith s eyes 
 would have that lovely look in them the look that had been 
 there when she had spoken of his having put berries in her 
 basket. Really, it was very lucky that it didn t seem likely 
 that he should be bored. It was a fine thing to be home 
 again. And the Rylance house and farm looked as if the 
 owners had rather a hard time to get along. At this point 
 in his thoughts Eldridge fell asleep. 
 
 Judith, when she had parted from her old playfellow, had 
 not felt that she had time to linger out-of-doors in the beau 
 tiful June weather. She must always hurry by beautiful 
 things. She had done so all her life, and she gave little 
 time to repining ; she had no time for repining, either. 
 When she came within sight of the house her mother was in 
 the field at the south spreading some newly washed clothes 
 on the grass. 
 
 At sight of the bent figure in the old gown and the ever 
 lasting shirting apron, the girl s face changed and melted 
 into a look of loving protection. She ran forward and crept 
 under the one bar that was left in the two posts near the 
 road. 
 
 Mrs. Grover, hearing steps, tried to straighten herself. 
 She looked up right into the sunshine and blinked blindly. 
 Then she put her hand above her eyes, uttered a joyful cry, 
 and hastened forward.
 
 JUDITH AND HER MOTHER 33 
 
 " Oh, Judith ! I am glad to see you !" she exclaimed. She 
 kissed the girl on both cheeks. " There ain t anything 
 worth while when you re gone, Judith. But I didn t dare to 
 expect you fore next week. How did you get away?" 
 
 The quick tears had sprung to the girl s eyes at her 
 mother s greeting, but she would not let them fall. She had 
 no time for emotion of any kind. She walked to the basket 
 of wet clothes and began taking them out and spreading 
 them. 
 
 " The measles were so considerate as to be very light," 
 she answered. " I suppose if our children have them, or it 
 somehow the measles always seem a multitude they 
 will go the hardest kind of way." 
 
 " But I don t mean the children shall stand any chance," 
 was the anxious reply. " You don t think they ve stood any 
 chance, do you, Judith?" 
 
 For answer the girl turned quickly away. The high, 
 somewhat querulous voice struck her as it had never done 
 before, and it seemed to her for an instant that she could 
 not bear it. She was surprised at herself that so short an 
 absence should have dulled her memory in the least as to 
 how things were at home. 
 
 The Joyces were thrifty people. They had been able to 
 pay her two dollars a week, though she hated to be obliged 
 to take anything. She had not spent a cent of that sum, 
 save for her stage-fare, and the money for the four weeks 
 was now in her pocket. She had felt a keen sense of grati 
 tude for that money all the time she had been riding tow 
 ards home, but now there was a sudden bitterness diffused 
 through everything. She kept her face averted as she spread 
 sheets and towels on the ground. A strange, furious rebel 
 lion was in her heart, she did not know why. 
 
 " You don t think they ve stood any chance, do you ?" re 
 peated her mother, who had ceased her work, and who was 
 gazing in a kind of beseeching way at her daughter. 
 
 " I haven t been here, you know," answered the girl. Then 
 she made a great effort to speak cheerfully. She assured
 
 34 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 her mother that they could get along, even if the children 
 did have the measles, and she had brought home almost 
 eight dollars. She took her purse from her pocket as she 
 spoke. She was going to give it to her mother; then she 
 hesitated. " I guess I d better keep it myself," she said. 
 "Ill go round to the grocery store to-morrow and pay some 
 thing towards what \ve owe." 
 
 "Oh, Judith," exclaimed Mrs. Grover, "I don t know 
 what we should do without you ! Yes, I do, too we should 
 all go to the poor-house. Sometimes I think we might as 
 well as to be a-dragging you clown all the time." 
 
 Judith wished to say something comforting, but she could 
 not think of anything. She turned now and glanced at her 
 mother again. The sight of the forlorn figure made her sob 
 in spite of herself. 
 
 "Why, Judith!" Mrs. Grover came close to her daugh 
 ter. The worn heart of the elder woman gave a beat of 
 alarm. 
 
 " I don t know what makes me so foolish," said Judith, 
 with some savageness, "but somehow this lovely clay, and 
 you looking so poor and wretched, and seeing father gob 
 bling corned-beef up at Mrs. Guild s, and -and I declare 
 I didn t know I was so silly !" 
 
 " Mebby you re coming clown with the measles," was the 
 anxious response. 
 
 Judith threw her head back. She laughed. She hur 
 riedly passed her handkerchief over her face. " I don t 
 know when I ve done such a thing," she said, firmly, " and 
 I m not going to do it any more." 
 
 " Did you see Tom Rylance when you was at the Joyces ? 
 
 Mrs. Grover rather ostentatiously turned away, took a 
 pillow-case from the basket, and began to shake it out. 
 Therefore she did not see the color that rose slowly over 
 the girl s face, or the sudden change of the curve of the 
 mouth. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. 
 
 " I declare I d know what 11 become of us if you get
 
 JUDITH AND HER MOTHER 35 
 
 married. We sh ll just go to the poor-house," with monoto 
 nous repetition. 
 
 " Mother !" said Judith, remonstrantly. The two went on 
 spreading clothes in silence for a few moments. The girl 
 was thinking what she had thought many times. She was 
 saying the words to herself that she had begun to say almost 
 as soon as she had entered her teens : " It isn t any use for 
 me to think of any life of my own." 
 
 That evening, after the children were in bed, and while 
 Mr. Grover was peacefully slumbering on the lounge, after 
 having grumbled a good deal because he had no meat for 
 supper, Judith asked her mother to come out into the yard. 
 It was too pleasant to stay in the house, she said, and she 
 wanted to talk, and she could never be sure that her father 
 was not shamming sleep and listening. The two women 
 leaned on the fence under the big clump of lilacs, whose 
 faded blooms still lingered on their stems. A soft west 
 wind blew over the fields and woods. The insects piped 
 merrily. A smell of growing green things was in the air. 
 There seemed a sense of hope and promise everywhere in 
 the world. 
 
 Judith, being young, could not help feeling this hope and 
 promise in a vague, delicious way. She had asked her 
 mother to come out that she might talk about the bean- 
 bottle that was circulating through the village. She could 
 not prevent a certain incisiveness from coming to her voice 
 as she announced that she should start out the next morn 
 ing set the list of those who had taken chances and the 
 
 O 7 O 
 
 money from Mrs. Guild, and pay back the money where it 
 belonged. 
 
 Mrs. Grover leaned heavily on the fence. She did not 
 speak for some time after her daughter had declared her 
 intention. She was conscious of a feeling of rebellion 
 against the girl s power, and she reproved herself for that 
 feeling. Then she almost wished that Judith had not come 
 home until that money had been paid and spent. 
 
 " I was going to pay some of Hanford s debts," she said,
 
 3 6 MRS. GERALD 
 
 at last. " We ve got to live. And you know how the shoe- 
 shops have shut down so you ain t earned so much. And 
 I thought 
 
 " Mother," interrupted the girl, " I know all about that. 
 I mean to pay those debts. We shall have to live awfully 
 close. I shall work you know how I shall work " 
 
 " Poor Judith !" whispered the mother, all her indignation 
 gone. Then she said, pleadingly, "But there ain t any harm 
 in that bean-bottle. The minister told Hanforcl that, under 
 the circumstances, he didn t see any harm in it." 
 
 " Don t you know," began Judith, with the intolerant 
 fierceness of youth, "that the seraphine isn t worth anything 
 not anything ? If it were valuable "
 
 VI 
 TURNED OUT 
 
 So the girl talked. The mother cried a little at seeing 
 this hope taken from her, but she was obliged to submit. 
 She said that she didn t care for herself; she was past want 
 ing anything. But the children 
 
 "And sometimes, Judith, I don t know but I m too hard 
 on your father. Mebby he does need some of that elixir 
 he s been talking about." 
 
 But the girl laughed scornfully. She was often frightened 
 at the intensity of the bitterness with which she thought of 
 her father. She held to her intention. Early the next 
 morning she started forth. She secured the paper. She 
 went to Mrs. Guild and made her give up the money. 
 Nothing Mrs. Guild could say moved her from her deter 
 mination. She only replied that it was an imposition to 
 call that seraphine worth anything, and that she was not 
 willing to accept charity. 
 
 "All I ve got to say, then, Judith Grover," said Mrs. 
 Guild, impressively, "is that you ve no business to be so 
 set as this about this matter. You re jest as liable to be 
 wrong as anybody." 
 
 Judith toiled along the different roads all day, return 
 ing to their owners the money they had paid. She did 
 not explain in many words. She repeated her state 
 ment about the worthlessness of the seraphine, and she 
 added that it had. been thought best not to carry out that 
 plan. She would not stay to hear the remarks of the 
 people. 
 
 "There s something wrong about that Grover girl," some
 
 33 MRS. GERALD 
 
 of them said. " She ain t got no right to carry things with 
 such a high hand. We wanted to help urn." 
 
 When she went home that night, weary in soul and body, 
 Judith found her father sitting in a rocker placed outside 
 of the door in the shade. He saw her coming, and leaned 
 forward on his stick, watching her. His pale eyes had 
 sparks of fire in them ; his lips were drawn across his two 
 rows of white teeth until the lips were almost colorless. 
 
 Hanford Grover had an evil temper, and it seemed to 
 him that he had never been so angry in his life. Judith 
 walked into the yard, and was going by her father when he 
 said, " Stop !" She paused in front of him. She was so 
 tired that there was a white circle about her mouth and an 
 unusual languor in her eyes. Her whole face had that 
 look which would excite a special tenderness in one who 
 loved her. But Mr. Grover did not notice this. He had 
 made his wife tell him where Judith had gone and what 
 was her errand, and he had placed himself here an hour 
 ago that he might see his daughter as soon as she came. 
 " I hear you ve been meddlin in what wa n t none of your 
 business," he said. It was with some difficulty that he ar 
 ticulated distinctly, his rage and sense of having been baf 
 fled were so great. There was no answer to this statement, 
 and this silence but added to his fury. " Ain t you got 
 nothin to say for yourself?" he asked. 
 
 Judith gazed at him. The gaze was like a scorching 
 flame to the man. He felt that his child did not respect 
 him. He knew that there was no reason why she should 
 respect him, and this very knowledge but made him more 
 furious. He opened and shut his mouth twice before he 
 was able to say, " You jest answer me, you little viper you ! 
 He lifted his stick and shook it at her, almost hitting her 
 face. She did not blench, but stood perfectly still. " What 
 you meddlin for?" 
 
 " I m not meddling." 
 
 " You be ! You be !" 
 
 Mr. Grover made a great effort to control himself. There
 
 TURNED OUT 39 
 
 were some things he wished to say. He wished that this 
 girl was ten years younger; then he would give her a whip 
 ping. If he could do that now he thought it would be the 
 only relief to his feelings, and he was certain that he must 
 have relief in some manner. 
 
 " Have you be n n paid back that money ?" he asked. 
 
 "Most of it. I didn t think it was fair to take money 
 that way." 
 
 " You didn t think ! Fair ! You !" He stopped again. 
 
 " I m willing to work every minute for the family," said 
 Judith, her voice sounding weary and cold, " but 
 
 "You ain t the judge !" cried Mr. Grover. " I m the one 
 to tell. I m the head of the family. I m your father. 
 Ain t you be n taught in Sabba -school to honor thy father ? 
 Ain t you ? I say, where s the rest of the money ? Where s 
 what you ain t paid back ? You tell me that !" 
 
 " In my pocket." 
 
 Judith made a movement as if she would go on into the 
 house. She wondered where her mother and the children 
 were. She did not know that Mrs. Grover, seeing how 
 angry her husband was, had taken the three children into 
 the pasture, ostensibly to look for June-berries. 
 
 " You sha n t go in there yet. If I ve got a child that 
 won t honor thy father, I ll see about it." 
 
 Judith paused. She was looking at the man before her, 
 and wondering if her mother had ever been in love with 
 
 O 
 
 him. Then a faint red came over her face. She tried to 
 behave respectfully. He was her father. She had been to 
 Sabbath-school all her life until a few years ago, and the 
 lessons she had learned there in regard to her parents still 
 clung to her. She told herself that she must try to find 
 the good in every one. Where was the good in her father ? 
 She knew that he was very scrupulous about going to meet 
 ing every Sunday and to the evening prayer-meetings. He 
 usually prayed and exhorted at these latter gatherings, and 
 he always seemed very much in earnest. She had often re 
 proved herself for her inability to feel impressed at such
 
 40 MRS. GERALD 
 
 times. Perhaps it was all because she could not under 
 stand him. The girl s face changed somewhat from its 
 scornful expression, but she could not bring herself to 
 speak any conciliatory words. 
 
 "That bean-bottle was goin to bring a lot of money," 
 now began Mr. Grover, his voice trembling with the in 
 tensity of his emotion, " n you ve be n n put your finger 
 in it, n spoilt everything. N I with the liver I ve got, n 
 with symptoms of nooraligy ! You re a thankless child, 
 you be." 
 
 Judith s face began to harden again. Mr. Grover s tones 
 grew louder. He rose to his feet. The more he thought 
 of the matter the more infuriated he grew. He had been 
 planning to have "butchers meat"" in abundance while 
 that money lasted, and to experiment in several kinds of 
 medicine. He was fond of saying that a person with his 
 liver needed nourishing food. And here was this girl 
 The man s face grew livid. Several times since Judith was 
 grown he had clashed against her will, and had always been 
 defeated. He used to tell his wife that Judith would come 
 to some bad end, for she hadn t never had her will broke. 
 
 "Why don t you speak ?" He shouted out the words. 
 
 " I haven t got anything to say." 
 
 " Don t you ever think that mebby you c n be mistaken ? 
 
 Judith made no reply. But the words seemed to pene 
 trate some crevice in her armor. 
 
 " I tell you what tis," began Mr. Grover, lashing himself 
 onward, " I ain t going to have no disobedient child under 
 my roof. No, I ain t. One as disobeys and goes contr y 
 to her father every time she can, and that despises him 
 him as is constant to meet n , n n " 
 
 His voice went on incoherently. He was beside himself 
 with rage and disappointment. He had been secretly nurs 
 ing the plan about the seraphine for months, and he had 
 put his wife forward to act upon it the moment that Judith 
 was out of the way. And she had come home and ruined 
 everything. The secret anger against his daughter, the an-
 
 TURNED OUT 41 
 
 tagonism towards her, blazed out now unhindered. The 
 man did not care what he did. 
 
 " D you hear me ?" he cried, at the end of half a dozen 
 furious sentences. 
 
 " Yes, I hear you." 
 
 " Then why don t you take your duds n clear out, I say ? 
 1 tell you I ain t goin to have a disobedient child under 
 my roof a-settin an example to the other children. You 
 may jest march !" 
 
 Judith was now so white that she looked ready to faint. 
 But there was a strength in her face that showed that she 
 would not faint. She walked by her father towards the 
 open door of the house behind him. She pressed one 
 hand heavily upon the door-casing as she turned her head 
 towards the figure standing by the chair. " Do you mean 
 that ?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, I do! Ain t you always goin ag inst me? And 
 don t I know t you ain t got no belief in my liver? N 
 now you ve be n takin the bread outer your mother s mouth, 
 n n Again he stuttered on to a silence. 
 
 Judith went into the house. She walked quickly through 
 the rooms. The brilliance of the setting sun was in that 
 part of the dwelling that was towards the west. She saw 
 the robins flying about among the apple-trees as she looked 
 out of an open window. A ray of sunshine fell full upon the 
 red breast of one of the robins as he sat on a stone preen 
 ing himself. The bird s bright eyes seemed to look directly 
 at her. It was a curious thing that she should have a fancy 
 that the bird knew that she was turned out of her home, 
 and she had a tenacious love for the old house where she 
 was born. She had hoped some time to be able to earn 
 money enough to pay the mortgage which her father had 
 put on the place. But as yet she had only kept the inter 
 est paid. She must keep up that interest even if other 
 debts remained unpaid. She was thinking of this in the 
 midst of her keen wish to find her mother. She went 
 through every room. She noticed that the straw hats of
 
 42 MRS. GERALD 
 
 the three little girls were gone, as well as her mother s old 
 sun-bonnet. Did her mother know was it possible that she 
 knew that her husband was going to turn his daughter away 
 from her home ? At this thought Judith s heart seemed " to 
 turn over," as the old expressive phrase is, and a chill as of 
 age and hopelessness came to the girl. She had worked 
 so hard. She had always denied herself everything. And 
 now they did not care for her. Her mother had forsaken 
 her. They had planned this. 
 
 Judith went up-stairs to her own room. She looked at 
 the two or three cheap, worn gowns that belonged to her. 
 She would not take them. Perhaps they might be good 
 enough to make over for one of her sisters. Her scanty 
 and shabby belongings in the old bureau no, she would 
 take nothing. She felt as if she were going to die, and 
 should never need anything more. She took a scrap of 
 paper from the cheap portfolio that a cousin had once 
 given her. She stood a moment, with that and a pencil in 
 her hand, gazing about her room. This room had a slant 
 ing roof and one window. If she should live a thousand 
 years she would never forget the scene from that window. 
 In heaven there could not be anything so dear as the 
 sight of the stretch of low hills with birches on them, 
 birches which had been cut off several times since she 
 could remember, but which grew so fast that she hardly 
 missed them before they were tall shrubs again, with bits 
 of song-sparrows singing in them. She looked a moment 
 intently through this window. Then she wrote on the 
 paper : 
 
 " DEAR MOTHER, Father has told me to go. Perhaps 
 you want me to go. I shall leave the money that I earned 
 at the Joyces in the right-hand corner of the lower bureau- 
 drawer." 
 
 Having written thus, she hesitated a moment before 
 adding :
 
 TURNED OUT 
 
 43 
 
 " I thought I was right about giving back the money for 
 the seraphine. I couldn t seem to bear it that we should 
 get money in that way. Good-bye. I love you just the 
 same." 
 
 Here she hesitated again. Then she wrote, her pencil 
 bearing down blackly and heavily : 
 
 " Oh, mother, I love you just the same !"
 
 VII 
 
 UNDER ANOTHER ROOF 
 
 JUDITH carefully placed this paper on the bureau. She 
 put the money in the drawer she had mentioned. Then 
 she suddenly pressed her hands over her face, standing still 
 in the middle of the room. Then she hurried down the 
 stairs and left the house by a door which would not lead 
 her near where she had seen her father. She ran across 
 that place where she had worked in her vegetable garden 
 the summer before, and so out into the road. She went on 
 towards the village. She had not yet begun to think where 
 she should go. Any of the neighbors would take her in 
 for a few days; she was sure of that. She thought of Mrs. 
 Guild. But Mrs. Guild had plainly believed she had been 
 taking too much upon herself when she had interfered in 
 the plan concerning the seraphine. She hastened on some 
 what blindly. Perhaps a plan would come to her. She 
 must get work as soon as possible. There were rumors 
 that the shoe business was going to " start up." Some of 
 the factories would soon be running again. 
 
 The Eldriclge factory was the largest ; it was there where 
 she had worked as a stitcher, and she had earned very 
 good wages, too, or she could not have clone even as much 
 as she had done for her family. She would go there now 
 and make inquiries. She would have to take a room some 
 where. She was walking so fast that she was nearly run 
 ning. A film, not of tears, but it seemed of sheer suffering, 
 was over her eyes. She could only see vaguely the way 
 before her, and that it was filled with the red sunlight from
 
 UNDER ANOTHER ROOF 45 
 
 the west. A glossy Irish setter strolled across the road in 
 front of her, and the girl almost fell over him. 
 
 " Here, Random ; come here, sir !" called a man s voice 
 from the field. " What do you mean by tripping people 
 up in that way ?" 
 
 The dog ran into the field, and young Eldridge jumped 
 over the wall and came towards the girl. He had a hand 
 ful of roses in his hand, and he was looking eager and de 
 lighted. 
 
 "I was coming over to call in state," he began, "and to 
 present these flowers to your mother. I Why, Judith, 
 what has happened to you? He held out his hand, and 
 she put hers in it. " Are they all well ? quickly. 
 
 "Yes, thank you, as usual." 
 
 Judith could not look at him. She was very sorry she 
 had met him. She glanced down the road, as if she were 
 thinking of running away. 
 
 " Then what is it ? But don t you want to tell me ?" 
 
 " I think I d rather not tell now," avoiding his eyes. 
 
 " But perhaps I may help you. Judith, don t you know 
 how I would like to help you ?" 
 
 " But you can t you can t." 
 
 " Don t be so sure." 
 
 " Oh, I know you can t. Now I must go. I m in a hur 
 ry." She started on ; but she turned back to say, " I know 
 you are kind. But you mustn t be kind. I can t bear it. 
 I shall break down, and I mustn t break down." She hast 
 ened on. 
 
 The young man stood where she had left him for a mo 
 ment. But the dog galloped towards the girl for a few rods, 
 then returned a little as if to invite his master to follow 
 him ; and Eldridge did follow. In a moment he was again 
 by Judith s side. His face was red, and his eyes shone with 
 his earnestness. " It s no use, Judith Grover, for you to try 
 to run away from me like this when you are in trouble. I 
 won t have it. I will help you, whether you ll let me or not." 
 
 Judith would not pause, ami she could not weigh her
 
 46 MRS. GERALD 
 
 words. " I tell you you can t. No one can. I I Oh, 
 Lucian Eldridge, I wish I hadn t met you now !" Her voice 
 broke a little. "Won t you go away?" She turned her 
 face towards him, but she did not lift her eyes. " Please 
 go away." 
 
 He could not mistake her tone. But he was almost 
 ready to run the risk of incurring her displeasure. He 
 hurried on beside her for a few yards. Suddenly she 
 paused. She put out her hand and rested it on his arm. 
 She was conscious of the perfume of the flowers in the 
 young man s hand, and it was strange to her that she 
 could be conscious of such a thing in her suffering. 
 
 " You re as good as you can be," began the girl, in a halt 
 ing voice, " but you know there are some things that we 
 have to bear alone. I m just as grateful Oh, won t you 
 go now?" 
 
 Eldridge suddenly thrust his bunch of roses at his com 
 panion, compelling her to take them. Then the two sep 
 arated, each hurrying, as if flying from the other. It was a 
 long walk to the village, and Judith believed that she would 
 surely have time to make some plan, if only of the most 
 temporary kind, before she reached there. But she found 
 that she could not think. Thought was drowned in a 
 strange, astonished suffering. When she came to the main 
 street she paused an instant, trying to decide whether to go 
 to the Eldridge factory or right on towards Mr. Guild s. 
 Then she remembered that the factory would be closed, for 
 it was after sunset now, and the long June twilight was be 
 ginning. She turned towards the right. She began to 
 meet people who nodded to her and said " twas a pleas 
 ant evening." They looked at her roses in surprise. She 
 was so afraid they would ask her some question that she 
 barely replied to their salutations, not pausing a moment. 
 It was the time of day when everybody who could do so 
 strolled out-of-doors. 
 
 There was Mr. Macomber coming along, with his exag 
 gerated, rolling gait. Judith knew that she could not es-
 
 OH, WON T YOU GO NOW ? "
 
 UNDER ANOTHER ROOF 47 
 
 cape his questions if she met him. She glanced at her 
 right and left no, there was no escape. She went swiftly 
 on, but he stood directly before her. " You re in a dret- 
 ful hurry, ain t ye, Judith ?" he asked. " I wanted to see 
 ye. I wanted to ask what makes ye take such a stand 
 bout that seraphine. Lucindy, she was in hopes we sh d 
 git it." 
 
 " How is Mrs. Macomber ?" asked Judith, quickly. 
 
 " She ain t very well. Her asthmy s come on. I was 
 goin to the store, n I thought I d stop in n ask Mis 
 Jessop if she wouldn t set with her for a spell. But I want 
 to ask you why 
 
 " I ll go and stay with your wife," here broke in the girl. 
 " So you needn t speak to Mrs. Jessop." 
 
 She did not wait for the man to make any reply. She 
 sprang on as if she had found a momentary relief. She 
 turned in at the gate of the little Macomber house, and 
 -walked through the kitchen into the sitting-room, where 
 she found the mistress of the place sitting in a large chair, 
 with pillows behind her and a footstool at her feet. 
 
 The old, patient face turned towards the new-comer. 
 " Why, Judith," she wheezed, " I m real glad to see ye ! 
 Set right down. I m havin one of my spells." 
 
 The girl sat clown. She pushed her hat back. She felt 
 like pressing her hand to her heavily beating heart, but she 
 was afraid that would be too dramatic. Her hostess would 
 " think strange." 
 
 Mrs. Macomber gazed at her, her tired eyes at last tak 
 ing in something out of the ordinary in Judith s appearance. 
 "There ain t nothin happened, has there?" she inquired. 
 And then, without waiting for an answer, she went on, paus 
 ing every now and then for breath : " I was real sorry when 
 Ellis brought back the money for our guesses that you give 
 him. I was in hopes we should have got the seraphine. I 
 always did want a piece of music, though we can t play, 
 either of us." 
 
 Judith did not reply. Mrs. Macomber was so mild and
 
 48 MRS. GERALD 
 
 weak in character that the girl could not feel angry, and 
 a definite wish had suddenly formed itself in her mind. 
 
 " Is any one using your front chamber? she asked. 
 
 The woman s short breath grew shorter in her astonish 
 ment. 
 
 " No," she answered. 
 
 " Will you let it to me ?" 
 
 No answer for a moment, during which time Mrs. Ma- 
 comber stared absorbedly. 
 
 "Yes," she said at last, "I ll let it if Ellis don t object, 
 n I guess he won t." 
 
 "I ll take it, then," promptly responded the girl. "I ll 
 take it to-night. I hope the rent won t be much?" 
 
 She looked inquiringly at her companion. 
 
 " I guess twenty-five cents a week will do," was the an 
 swer. " Goodness gracious !" 
 
 Having uttered this exclamation, Mrs. Macomber s strain 
 ing breath entirely prevented her from speaking for a while. 
 When she was a little easier Judith said : 
 
 "I wish you wouldn t ask me any questions- I can t 
 talk about it. I shall stay here, if I can. Father" here 
 the speaker s voice entirely failed her " father and I 
 have had a misunderstanding. No, I mean " with intense 
 bitterness "I mean that I understand him now better 
 than I ever did. He doesn t want me to live at home. I 
 should go farther away, only I must be where I can take 
 care of mother and the children I must see to them. I 
 thought if you d let me get my meals by your stove, and 
 have your chamber and I m pretty sure of a job at stitch 
 ing when business starts up 
 
 " Goodness gracious !" cried Mrs. Macomber again. 
 
 " Please don t !" pleaded the girl. 
 
 " There ! there !" gasped the woman, " I won t bother you 
 now, you poor thing ! You jest set still, n we won t try 
 to talk now. I guess things 11 come out right bime-by." 
 
 " I ve got to bear things, whether they come out right or 
 not," was the answer.
 
 UNDER ANOTHER ROOF 
 
 49 
 
 So the two sat there in silence while the June clay deep 
 ened into night. They heard the voices of a few people as 
 they passed by the house. Once a cat set up a distressed 
 mewing in the cellar and Judith let her in, and, under her 
 companion s directions, gave her a saucer of milk. At last, 
 just as the clock was striking nine, Mr. Macomber s unmis 
 takable step was heard in the road. 
 
 Judith started. "I ll go up -stairs," she said, quickly. 
 " Don t let him question me, please, Mrs. Macomber !" 
 
 In her haste she did not take a lamp, but she found her 
 way. She would not go back for a light lest she might be 
 asked something, and every word on the subject of her leav 
 ing home was like a pressure on a wound. She groped and 
 fumbled until she was in the bit of a room under the roof. 
 She found the bed, and laid herself down upon it. She laid 
 upon her back and clasped her hands over her breast, ly- 
 incr motionless, while her brain seethed and throbbed. 
 
 O
 
 VIII 
 THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE 
 
 JUDITH had a kind of terrible comfort in her position upon 
 the couch. It was as if she were dead. All the dead peo 
 ple she had seen had been lying in this way. But they did 
 not have thoughts of fire that made life intolerable. Their 
 brains were cool. 
 
 The girl felt keenly the disgrace of being turned out of 
 her home. It was a disgrace ; it must be, even though it 
 was a man like her father who had done it. Some people, 
 of course, would always believe she had in some way de 
 served such a thing. And her mother and the children ? 
 Over and over, as if it were some mechanism that started 
 the repetition, went the words: "Was mother willing to have 
 me turned out ? Was mother willing to have me turned out ?" 
 Even when she was trying to make plans for the future 
 these words would not stop. "I ve got to help them just 
 the same. Father won t take care of them. I shall do it. 
 Poor mother! Dear mother! Oh, was she willing to have 
 me turned out?" 
 
 Thus the girl lay there. She would not change her posi 
 tion. To her morbid state there was an unwholesome com 
 fort in that attitude. And at last she fell asleep. When she 
 awoke she was shivering with cold. She rose and crept 
 into the bed, only taking off her shoes, and huddling down 
 desolately among the feathers, which rose up warmly about 
 her. The kitchen clock and then the town clock struck 
 three. It was already growing light. The long June day 
 was beginning. She would not go to sleep again. She was 
 brushing her hair at five o clock, hearing the incessant, gruff
 
 THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE 5* 
 
 hum of Mr. Macomber s voice below. She knew that he 
 would soon start out and go through the village with his 
 news. And she wondered if she could stay in the town. 
 But she must stay. She could get work here, and she must 
 be near her mother and the children. They would need her. 
 If it were not for them she would go that morning, she did 
 not care where. 
 
 Presently she heard the voice of her hostess at the foot 
 of the stairs. The asthma fit was over, and she was calling 
 Judith to come down to breakfast. The girl finally yielded 
 to the kind insistence. She sat down at the table with the 
 two. Evidently Mr. Macomber had been instructed by his 
 wife, for though he looked as if ready to explode he did 
 not ask a question. Indeed, he did not speak save to say 
 "Butter?" interrogatively, when he passed that article to 
 his guest. 
 
 At seven Judith went to the factory. Mr. Macomber, 
 sitting with his wife in the kitchen, looked at her and then 
 said " I swow !" with so much force that the very house ap 
 peared to vibrate in response. 
 
 " I ain t goin to say nothin more bout the Grovers," 
 remarked Mrs. Macomber. ."I ve told you every word I 
 know, over n over." 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Macomber lighted his pipe, put on his 
 hat, and started out. He felt that there were some delight 
 ful hours before him. 
 
 Judith thought she was in luck. Work was starting up. 
 She could begin the next clay. She could hardly wait to 
 be at her place in the buzzing stitching-room. She would 
 be obliged to put her mind on her work. That would be 
 something. She felt as if the day would never end. She 
 spent nearly all of it in her room. She could not bear to 
 go out, for she did not wish to meet any one. She sat at 
 the window and looked along the road over which she had 
 come the night before. All clay she watched, hoping to see 
 a thin, bent, woman s figure walking on the highway, and 
 coming towards her.
 
 52 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Her mother would read the note she had left, and she 
 would come to see her. Surely her mother would come to 
 see her. But the day passed, and no one came. She rea 
 soned that her mother would start, and that any one could 
 tell her where Judith Grover was staying, for Mr. Macomber 
 had been through the village with his news. 
 
 At seven o clock the following morning Judith was at her 
 stitching-machine, and the hum of the machinery was in 
 her ears. Her heart had grown very bitter within the last 
 twenty-four hours. She was continually telling herself, " I 
 thought mother loved me." And then she would add, " I 
 must save all my money for them just the same. Father 
 won t support them. He s got his liver to take care of." 
 Her lip curled. A hard gleam came mto her eyes. 
 
 When she went back to her room that night she paused 
 with something like tenderness before the bowl which Mrs. 
 Macomber had loaned her for the flowers. She bent over 
 them ; the fragrance had changed from freshness to that 
 scent which belongs to fading roses. Their heads were 
 hanging over. All their brilliance was gone. The girl 
 hesitated an instant , then she lifted the whole cluster and 
 pressed her face down among the petals. But she put 
 back the flowers hastily, and with a movement of great de 
 cision. She straightened herself and walked to the win 
 dow. Her dark, richly colored face had an austere look 
 upon it as she stood there. 
 
 After a few moments she went clown-stairs, borrowed a 
 pail, and started to Mrs. Jessop s for some milk. She had 
 brought some crackers with her when she came from the 
 shop. She made her supper of crackers and milk. She 
 could not buy the two or three things she needed to cook 
 with until she had earned some money. 
 
 Judith had decided what she would say to any one who 
 questioned her " Father and I have had a misunderstand 
 ing " and she would say no more. This she told Mrs. 
 Jessop. Every time she spoke that sentence she felt that 
 her anger against her father grew stronger.
 
 THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE 53 
 
 After her supper that evening she left the house and 
 called at the few places where she had not returned the 
 money for the guesses. The last house was the Eldridge 
 home. She dreaded going there. It seemed to her that 
 she could not go. But she kept straight on to the large 
 house, the only mansion in the village. She rang the bell. 
 Even then she wished to turn and run down the path that 
 led between the tall syringas. But she stood still, her girl 
 ish figure half hidden by the vine that climbed over the 
 lattice. By the time she heard footsteps in the hall she be 
 lieved herself quite composed. 
 
 The door was opened by the younger Eldridge daughter, 
 who exclaimed, " Oh, how do you do, Miss Grover? Come 
 in." 
 
 The girl in the doorway, dressed in some light, flowing 
 morning -gown, smiled with something like her brother s 
 ease ; and her smile resembled his. 
 
 "No, I thank you," was the prompt reply, spoken in a 
 monotonous voice, for Judith had composed her speech 
 and adhered strictly to it. " I called to hand back this 
 money which Mr. Eldridge and Mr. Lucian paid for guesses. 
 We have decided not to carry out that plan." 
 
 Miss Eldridge took the money in silence. She was look 
 ing at the girl before her in a bewildered way. There was 
 a cold, decisive air, a sort of high, reserved expression that 
 she did not in the least understand, but that made Judith 
 Grover in her eyes something different. 
 
 Judith did not linger. She hurried down the syringa 
 walk, breathing the heavy evening perfume of those flowers 
 as if it were a wine of relief to her. She should get out of 
 the grounds without seeing Lucian. She was sure if she 
 should see him now, and he should be kind to her as he 
 had been 
 
 "Judith! Judith, I say! Why do you rush on like 
 that ?" 
 
 The young man came hastily forward, his straw hat in his 
 hand, the warm smile in his eyes which Judith was fright-
 
 54 MRS. GERALD 
 
 ened to think seemed to be a smile that belonged to her 
 alone. 
 
 " I rush on because I m in a hurry," she answered, hard 
 ly pausing in her walk as she spoke. 
 
 " I can take a sprint myself," he responded, placing him 
 self beside her, and falling into step as if he had been wait 
 ing all day for this moment. 
 
 The two walked on without speaking until they were on 
 the road. Eldriclge s face had grown more and more grave 
 until it was nearly as serious as that of his companion. 
 
 Finally he turned towards the girl and exclaimed, abrupt 
 ly, " Judith, are you in trouble ? Won t you let me comfort 
 you ? I want to help you. You must let me be a friend 
 to you." 
 
 The girl wondered if he knew how gentle his voice was. 
 She kept an unyielding control of her face. She thanked 
 him in the most proper manner. She said he was very 
 kind, but she thought she could take care of herself. And 
 she did not particularly need any comfort. She should 
 keep very busy. 
 
 For answer, Eldriclge suddenly moved forward and placed 
 himself in front of her. She stopped, perforce, and looked 
 up at him. Their eyes met, and for an instant the woman s 
 eyes held the man s gaze. 
 
 Eldridge mistily and deliciously asked himself how eyes 
 could be so uttterly what he had been longing for all his 
 life. And he had found them here, in his old home, and 
 little Judith Grover was the owner of them. How strange 
 it all was ! And how intensely delightful ! 
 
 But his old playfellow was not little any longer. She was 
 tall, she was lovely of figure, she was Why, how was it 
 possible that there should be a certain opulent magnificence 
 in this girl s presence ? She was shabby ; she certainly was 
 not in the least stylish. What was it, then ? With a quick 
 movement Judith turned away. 
 
 " Good-bye, Lucian," she said. " I m going in here." 
 She hurried towards the next house.
 
 THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE 55 
 
 The young man knew that he must not wait for her; 
 there had been a decided dismissal in her manner. He 
 went back into the grounds of his own home. He strolled 
 there in the gathering dusk, the odors of the warm twilight 
 deepening the mood that was upon him. When he heard 
 the voices of his sisters as they came towards him he 
 walked quickly away in an opposite direction. 
 
 As for Judith, she scrupulously kept on with her self- 
 appointed task, and before it was really dark she had fin 
 ished the returning of the money. 
 
 When she entered the Macomber house she lingered with 
 the two occupants a few moments, hoping they would tell 
 her that her mother had been there. But no. She went 
 up the steep stairs, her heart aching, and at the same time 
 growing hard. She sat clown by the table where the 
 fading roses stood. She leaned forward in her chair 
 until her forehead rested on the Bible which was near the 
 roses. 
 
 " I thought mother loved me," she said, in a whisper. 
 Then, with a sort of triumphant tenderness, " She ll have 
 to let me help her, anyway. I shall always love to help 
 her." After a while she rose, took the flowers from the 
 bowl, went to the open window and flung them out. 
 " They re withered," she said. 
 
 At the same time, three miles away, on the Grover farm, 
 the children had been put to bed. They had confided to 
 each other that " Ma was so odd they didn t know what to 
 make of her, N twas so lonesome they didn t care what 
 became of them." Then they had gone to sleep. 
 
 Mr. Grover was sitting in his favorite place just outside 
 of the "end door." He had the best chair placed on the 
 grass there, and he was leaning comfortably back in it with 
 his feet on a small wooden " cricket." He had eaten a 
 copious supper of ham and potatoes. There would be 
 some rump-steak for breakfast. He had bought three bot 
 tles of the elixir, the ham, and the steak, and he still had a 
 dollnr and a half of the five dollars which young Eldridge
 
 56 MRS. GERALD 
 
 had " advanced " ; for he called the money advanced to him. 
 He liked that phrase. 
 
 He had just told his wife that he thought the elixir " Stiin- 
 erlated his liver in about the right degree. A person always 
 had to be careful and not stimerlate too much. The man 
 who made the elixir knew what he was up to ; there was no 
 mistake about that." 
 
 To these remarks Mrs. Grover had only replied by some 
 thing inarticulate. She was sitting in a hard chair just 
 within the door, and was leaning her head against the cas 
 ing, gazing out beyond her husband into the semi-darkness. 
 She was thinking of Judith, but she did not speak of her. 
 She had not spoken of her after that night when the girl 
 had left. 
 
 Mr. Grover seemed in much better spirits when his eldest 
 daughter was absent, and in particularly good spirits now. 
 He did not worry. He believed that he should be taken 
 care of. In his own words, he was confident that " the Lord 
 would provide." The presence of Judith, who worked hard 
 and spent her money for him and his family, and who did 
 not approve of him, was not agreeable. 
 
 When he had told the girl to go that night he had not 
 done so from premeditation, but the words had come as a 
 sudden and natural sequence to his anger against her. He 
 had not regretted them to any degree. He had sat still 
 and seen her walk away from the house by the back door. 
 Of course he thought she would soon come back, say, in a 
 week or two, and he still thought so. He had heard her 
 go up the stairs to her own room, but he noticed that she 
 did not take any bundle with her. Of course she was com 
 ing back " before long." 
 
 After a few moments he began to be curious as to what 
 she had done in her room. He hesitated a little; then he 
 rose and looked towards the pasture. His wife was not 
 coming. He hurried up the stairs. The chamber was tow 
 ards the west, and it was still light. He scanned the room. 
 He saw the scrap of paper on the bureau, and he made haste
 
 THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE 57 
 
 to read it. Of course he would read it. Wasn t this his 
 own house ? though Judith always paid the interest on the 
 mortgage and wasn t it his own daughter who had written 
 the note ? True, it happened to be written to his wife, but 
 he was the head of the family. Having read the few words 
 Judith had pencilled, he immediately opened the bureau- 
 drawer and took the money she had mentioned. This also 
 was his, for the husband was the head of the house.
 
 IX 
 
 A NEW-COMER 
 
 IT had always been very trying to Mr. Grover that Judith 
 had chosen to give the money she earned to her mother. 
 It was true that he had usually taken a great deal of it 
 away from his wife. Of late the girl had kept more of her 
 money in her own possession and supplied the wants of the 
 family from it. This also was very trying. Now, having 
 read this note and taken this money, of course he could not 
 inform his wife of the fact. But he was not going to lie. 
 He never did lie. 
 
 When Mrs. Grover came clown from the pasture she 
 hoped the storm had blown over. She asked where Judith 
 was. Mr. Grover said he didn t know. 
 
 Was she coming back that night ? 
 
 O O 
 
 Mr. Grover didn t know, but he rather guessed not. 
 They had had some words, he said. The girl was not as 
 respectful as she ought to be to her "pirent." Didn t the 
 Bible say " Honor thy father " ? 
 
 Mr. Grover did not seem as angry as his wife had thought 
 he would be, in view of his state of mind when she left him. 
 In fact, that gentleman was quite soothed, not to say ex 
 ultant, thinking of the money he had in his pocket. It was 
 a good while since he had had so much money. If the 
 time came when it should be known how he had obtained 
 these funds, and some particulars of this evening should be 
 disclosed, he would revert, as usual, to his position as head 
 of the house. 
 
 It must be acknowledged, however, that when he saw his 
 wife s face that night after the lamp was lighted he was
 
 A NEW-COMER 59 
 
 sorry for her. Not sorry enough to explain anything to 
 her, but enough to feel himself quite a virtuous and tender 
 hearted man. And the next day he was still sorry. He 
 went down to the village, being curious and interested him 
 self. He came back and informed his wife that Judith was 
 stopping with the Macombers ; he supposed when she got 
 ready she would come home. Indeed, Mr. Grover won 
 dered how much in earnest he had been when he turned 
 the girl out of the house, and how high a stand he ought 
 to take on the subject. He had learned that Judith had 
 said that she and her father had had a misunderstanding. 
 In view of this remark of hers it seemed as if he could give 
 almost any explanation. 
 
 Mrs. Grover heard him in silence on his return. She was 
 sitting with the youngest child, a girl of three years, on her 
 lap. The child was ieaning her head on her mother s 
 shoulder. The head was hot and the eyes dull. After a 
 while the mother laid her burden down on the lounge. She 
 tried to go about some household duties, but everything 
 went wrong. 
 
 As she passed back and forth in the room she saw 
 through the window her husband s figure sitting in the 
 pleasant shade of the lilacs while she worked. Gradually 
 her lips became compressed, and a red spot came upon each 
 cheek. It seemed to her that the sufferings of years were 
 all rising before her and making themselves felt again. 
 She recalled herself as she had been when she taught 
 school and was considered "dressy." 
 
 She glanced down at her checked shirting apron. Then 
 she looked again through the window at her husband. 
 Something, she did not know what, was beating in her 
 pulses and making her blood hot. She felt as if she had 
 not seen Judith for months. Judith s father must have said 
 something very bad to make her stay away like this. She 
 must see Judith. Suddenly she put down the broom with 
 which she had been sweeping and walked out-of-doors to 
 where Mr. Grover was sitting.
 
 60 MRS. GERALD 
 
 He wondered why she was coming with such an air of 
 resolution. He did not wish to be disturbed just then. 
 The process of digestion, aided by the elixir, was going on 
 in a very comfortable manner. His wife came and stood 
 directly in front of him. He hitched his chair a little and 
 frowned. 
 
 " Hanford," said the woman, " I want to know what you 
 said to Judith. You ve got to tell me. Tain t like her to 
 stay away so." 
 
 "I told her," answered Grover, emphatically, "that she 
 wa n t honorin thy father. I told her to remember what 
 her Bible said. She got some mad. I ain t above confess- 
 in that I lost my temper a little. I m a human bein , n I 
 lost my temper." 
 
 " Was that all you said ?" 
 
 Mrs. Grover had folded her arms and was standing straight- 
 er than was usual with her. The sight of her thus erect was 
 extremely irritating to her husband. 
 
 "That was about the heft of it," he answered. 
 
 Then he tried to absorb himself in the contemplation of a 
 distant point in the landscape. 
 
 " I don t see how that could be all," she responded. 
 " Tain t like Judith to go off n stay, n not send any word 
 to me. You re sure she didn t send any word to me?" 
 
 The wistful and yet desolate tone in which this question 
 was put did not affect. Mr. Grover otherwise than to make 
 him more impatient. 
 
 " No, she didn t," he snapped. 
 
 Mrs. Grover stood a moment longer. Her eyes were 
 smarting and her breath was coining quickly. 
 
 "I s pose you know," she said at last, trying to appeal to 
 the man in a vulnerable place, " that Judith s all the support 
 we ve got." 
 
 " Mebby she is. But if she is, she d better remember 
 what the Bible says bout honorin pirents. Besides, I guess 
 the Lord will provide. Ain t we taught that the Lord will 
 provide, Mis Grover?" When he wished to be particu-
 
 A NEW-COMER 6l 
 
 larly impressive Hanford always called his wife " Mis Gro- 
 ver." 
 
 There was no answer to this question. Mr. Grover crossed 
 and uncrossed his legs, and again tried to find a point in 
 the landscape which would really absorb his mind. After a 
 moment Mrs. Grover went back into the house. She worked 
 so hard that day, and the next, and the next, that the mo 
 ment she laid herself down on the bed she fell asleep from 
 sheer exhaustion. 
 
 One afternoon when Judith had been away nearly a week 
 one of the little girls came home from school and said she 
 had seen Judith, that the elder sister had been waiting for 
 her at the corner, had hugged her and most cried, and had 
 given her this, and told her to be sure and not lose it, but 
 to give it to mother. " This " was a silver dollar, warm and 
 moist from lying tightly clutched in the child s palm. 
 
 Upon receiving the money Mrs. Grover had burst into 
 tears. She said "it waVt no use; she was going to see 
 Judith that very night." She rose from the supper-table, 
 pushing back her chair with a rebellious movement. Mr. 
 Grover stamped his foot heavily. 
 
 " Priscilla !" he cried, " don t you stir one step !" 
 
 The woman paused. She glanced at her husband. There 
 was that hard, domineering look in his eyes which had al 
 ways made her afraid, always controlled her. 
 
 " She s a disrespectful child," he went on. "Let her be ! 
 Let her be, I say. If she wants to come V ask my forgive 
 ness, why, let her come." 
 
 This thought came to the man, and he immediately de 
 cided that this would be a good stand to take. He repeat 
 ed his last sentence, and he added that he hoped his wife 
 understood what he meant. "There wa n t goin to be no 
 runnin after that girl. The husband was the head of the 
 house. The wife s place was to obey." 
 
 Mrs. Grover turned away. She went blindly out of the 
 room. She wanted to be alone, but she had no place 
 where she would not be disturbed. She snatched her sun-
 
 62 MRS. GERALD 
 
 bonnet from its nail in the kitchen and went out of the 
 house. She did not care where she went. Her whole 
 heart longed for her daughter. She hurried across the road 
 and into n field that sloped upward until it was merged 
 into a pine wood. 
 
 After a few moments she paused, and from this height she 
 gazed along the road that led to the village. There was no 
 one visible. Yes, far away was a horse and wagon, but she 
 hardly noticed it. She was longing for the sight of a girlish 
 figure. She could almost think that this very longing for 
 Judith would bring her child to her. It was late in the af 
 ternoon, but the sun was still fully an hour high. By this 
 time Judith was out of the shop. Perhaps she was sitting 
 in that chamber at the Macombers . How strange for Ju 
 dith to be there ! 
 
 Mrs. Grover wished that she had not spoken of going to 
 see her daughter. Then she would not have been forbid 
 den. As she recalled her husband s face of a moment ago 
 she felt that she hated him almost as much as she feared 
 him. She knew that she should not dare to disobey him. 
 But Judith had never been afraid of him. And Judith had 
 generally been able to keep up an appearance of respect. 
 
 She looked down towards the house. She saw her hus 
 band walking about in the yard. He had on his long linen 
 cluster and his tall hat. At sight of him a wild fury rose in 
 the woman s heart. 
 
 But it was a useless, objectless fury ; she knew that very 
 well. She would always remain with him; always sacrifice 
 herself for him. She had begun by effacing herself early 
 in her married life, and she could never assert herself again, 
 not even for Judith ; no, not even for Judith. 
 
 This knowledge made the woman still more furious. The 
 knowledge of her own weakness, which she could not over 
 come, seemed as if it would drive her mad. Perhaps she 
 would never see Judith again, and there she was, only at the 
 village. 
 
 Mrs. Grover s eyes were fixed dully on the horse and
 
 A NEW-COMER 63 
 
 wagon which, from ill-defined objects, had grown plainer and 
 plainer. There was one person, a man, in the wagon, and 
 Mrs. Grover saw that he bowed to her. She tried to put 
 her mind on him. Did she know him? He had stopped 
 his horse and was hitching him to the fence. He sprang 
 over the fence and came striding up the hill. 
 
 " I thought twas you," he said, holding out his hand. " Is 
 Judith to home ?" 
 
 He looked eagerly down to the house as he spoke. 
 
 " Why, Tom Rylance !" was all that Mrs. Grover said.
 
 X 
 
 LITTLE EM 
 
 MRS. GROVER shook the young man s hand, and then 
 dropped it. He withdrew his gaze from the house and 
 looked at his companion, showing long, well-opened gray 
 eyes that were apparently somewhat out of place in his 
 thick-set face, with its heavy jaw and heavy mouth. He 
 was dressed evidently in his best a ready-made suit that 
 did not fit him, and which would have made even Lucian 
 Eldriclge look awkward; his checked red-and-blue necktie 
 was arranged with great care, and had evidently been se 
 lected as appropriate to a state of being dressed in one s 
 best. 
 
 " Is Judith to home ?" he repeated, after a moment. 
 
 " No, she ain t." 
 
 "Are you expectin her ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " She must be out of the shop by this time." Rylance 
 turned and looked down the road. 
 
 Mrs. Grover was trying to command her voice so that 
 she might reply. " She ain t livin to home now," she an 
 swered. There was even more in her tone than in her 
 words. 
 
 " What s the trouble ?" quickly inquired the young man. 
 
 " She V her father have had some misunderstandin ." 
 
 " What ? You don t go V take sides ag inst her, do you, 
 Mis Grover ?" Rylance s face grew red. 
 
 " No, I don t. But, then, he s my husband, you know." 
 
 Rylance made no response. He presently asked, 
 " Where is she ?"
 
 LITTLE EM 65 
 
 " They say she s stoppin at the Macombers . You see, 
 she interfered Oh, I don t know what I shall do !" 
 
 " Don t cry, Mis Grover !" said the young man, help 
 lessly. He wanted to hurry away. 
 
 " Are you going to see her ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Give her my love ; oh, Tom, do give her my love ! Tell 
 her her father don t think it s best for me to go V see her 
 now. Stop a minute. Be you goin right long ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The woman caught hold of Rylance s arm. She clung to 
 it regardless of the fact that her husband, walking about in 
 the yard, could see her. " Tom," she said, " you make her 
 know that I love her, won t you ? You be sure V make 
 her know that. Tell her I wanted to come n see her, but 
 Mr. Grover he didn t think twas best. A woman s got to 
 obey her husband, you know." 
 
 " I ll tell her ; I ll be sure n tell her," replied Rylance. 
 Then he hesitated, but resolved to give up the hope of see 
 ing Judith alone if her mother would go with him. " Come," 
 he said, with energy, " you ride right over with me n see 
 Judith, n I ll bring you back. Of course, Mr. Grover won t 
 care. I ll go n tell him." 
 
 " No, I can t go. You don t know how tis, Tom. Tain t 
 best for me to go. I d know how it s comin out, I m sure. 
 I s pose it s a woman s place to submit." 
 
 Rylance hastened down to his horse. In a moment he 
 was driving away. 
 
 Mr. Grover beckoned to his wife. Slowly she retraced 
 her steps until she had entered the yard. " What s Tom 
 Rylance round here for ?" he asked, sharply. 
 
 " He came to see Judith." Mrs. Grover did not look at 
 her husband as she answered him. 
 
 " Is he courtin her?" 
 
 " I don t know," dully. 
 
 " Women don t know anything !" burst out Mr. Grover. 
 " I hope she won t encourage that Rylance. The Rylances 
 
 5
 
 66 MRS. GERALD 
 
 are poor as poverty. I tell you what tis : I ve made up 
 my mind that young Eldridge s got his eye on Judith." 
 
 But even this information did not rouse Mrs. Grover ; it 
 might have done so if she had believed it. She stood look 
 ing at her husband in silence. 
 
 Mr. Grover was walking about, his hands thrust into the 
 pockets of his cluster, which flew back as he moved. " Them 
 Rylances !" he exclaimed; then he glanced at his wife and 
 concluded to say no more. You couldn t expect to make 
 women understand things. 
 
 It was that evening, while Mrs. Grover sat holding her 
 youngest child, who still seemed ailing, that Lucian Eldridge 
 carried out his intention of calling on Judith s mother. 
 Mr. Grover was smoking at the door. He sometimes 
 smoked, for he said it was good for digestion. 
 
 A horseman came galloping from the direction of the 
 village. He galloped in at the yard and dismounted. 
 Young Eldridge came gayly forward. He had another 
 bunch of roses which he had brought for Mrs. Grover. He 
 insisted upon going by the man in the doorway. He found 
 Mrs. Grover, and put the roses in the lap of the child she 
 was holding. 
 
 Hanford followed him. He was very sweet to the young 
 man, and when the visitor had gone he exclaimed, "There ! 
 \Yhat d I tell you, Priscilla ? That feller didn t come here 
 jest for your sake. If Judith only works her cards right 
 
 But the woman said nothing. She felt sick, and a cloud 
 of depression settled down upon her. She had given up 
 hoping that Judith would come back ; and again came the 
 thought that she might never see her again. The child 
 she was holding became more feverish and fretful. If Ju 
 dith were only there the burden of work and responsibility 
 would be shifted to her young shoulders. As the evening 
 deepened into night the woman still sat holding the little 
 girl who moaned and cried out when the mother tried to 
 put her on the bed. 
 
 Mr. Grover retired at his usual time. Before going he
 
 LITTLE EM 67 
 
 suggested that Priscilla have one of the other children steep 
 some catnip-tea for the sick child. Then he sought his 
 couch and slept soundly until he was roused by having his 
 arm pulled by some one. He resented this ; he said it was 
 injurious to be roused from a sleep. 
 
 " You ve got to go for the doctor, Hanford," said his 
 wife. " You ve got to go right off. Em s got a sore throat. 
 She s sick." 
 
 Mr. Grover rose. He said it was a pity that a man 
 couldn t rest in his bed nights. He grumbled all the 
 time he was dressing, but he started out on his errand. 
 When he had reached the gate his wife called to him. 
 "Don t you think we d better have Judith come home?" 
 she asked. "I d know what we shall do without her." 
 
 " If Judith s sorry for what she s done " answered Mr. 
 Grover. Then he hurried on. He did not stop at the 
 Macomber house, though he went by it on his way to the 
 doctor s. 
 
 At a corner a horse came trotting briskly round. It was 
 young Eldridge in the saddle. He was just returning from 
 a long ride. He saw the linen duster and the tall hat, and 
 recognized them. He pulled in his horse. 
 
 Mr. Grover s first thought was to make a person useful 
 to him. It was more than half a mile to the doctor s. He 
 explained his errand to Eldridge and asked him to go. It 
 was for this reason that this young man was able to tell 
 Judith, when he met her the next noon coming from the 
 factory, that the little one at her home was ill. 
 
 Judith s dark face turned pale. " What ! little Em ?" she 
 cried. She clasped her hands. 
 
 Yes, it was the youngest; the one to whom Judith felt 
 like a mother. Had she not always had the care of the 
 child ? 
 
 The girl s first impulse was to turn and run towards her 
 home. Then she remembered that she had been " turned 
 out." And now her face grew red. Her eyes flashed fire. 
 She felt the sympathetic gaze of her companion, and it
 
 63 MRS. GERALD 
 
 somehow made things more tolerable, at the same time 
 that it seemed to take her strength away from her. 
 
 " I ll get my horse and buggy, and take you right over," 
 said Eldridge. " You re too tired to walk." 
 
 " No, I can t go," she answered, coldly. She drew her 
 self together. But she was longing to tell her companion 
 that she was turned out. Instead, she exclaimed, in a low 
 voice, "It s dreadful to have such a father as I have! She 
 clinched her hands. She thought of how he was keeping 
 her now from little Em. " I think I know how murderers 
 feel," she said. 
 
 Eldridge was shocked at the violence of her words. 
 
 She would not linger longer. She went back to the 
 factory. She remained there all the afternoon, and she 
 sat in her room until it was dark in the evening. Then she 
 left the house. She told Mrs. Macomber she would take 
 the front door-key, as she might be out until ten. 
 
 Once in the road she sped along towards her home. She 
 supposed it was because Em was sick that she felt so 
 strange so bowed clown with a strong fear.
 
 XI 
 " I WANT MY JUDE !" 
 
 ONCE out in the beauty of the evening Judith for a few 
 moments felt more calm. The soft sweetness of the air 
 unconsciously soothed her. She did not hurry, as she had 
 intended doing. She was able to think now that no one 
 had told her that her baby sister was dangerously ill. She 
 could not believe that her mother would fail to send her 
 word if Emmeline were very bad. 
 
 She went by Mrs. Guild s house. That lady was in the 
 yard trying to fasten a blind in place. " That you, Judith ?" 
 she said, in some surprise. " Ain t you out ruther late for 
 you? I was jest goin to bed, n then I knew I shouldn t 
 sleep a wink if this blind kep up a clatterinV 
 
 Judith leaned on the fence as she answered. " And I 
 knew I couldn t sleep if I didn t know how my little Em is 
 to - night. I thought, perhaps, I could catch a glimpse of 
 mother and ask her about the baby. I ve heard they had 
 diphtheria up to the other village." 
 
 Mrs. Guild came to the fence and leaned on it beside the 
 girl. She looked at Judith sharply in the dusk. "Ketch 
 a glimpse of your mother ?" she said. " What do you mean ? 
 Ain t you goin in over there ?" 
 
 Mrs. Guild saw Judith s hands suddenly shut tightly as 
 they rested on the fence. That impulse which we all feel 
 to try to share our sufferings made Judith suddenly exclaim, 
 passionately, " I can t go in there ! Father s turned me out ! 
 Oh, I hate him ! Mrs. Guild, I m frightened at myself. I 
 must be so wicked." 
 
 The woman did not speak for a moment. She was more
 
 70 MRS. GERALD 
 
 startled than she would confess. She had never seen 
 Judith just like this before. She put her hand on the girl s 
 shoulder. " Now, don t you worry," she said, gently, but 
 with a feeling that she was very ineffective. "Things 11 
 come out right somehow. We all know what your father 
 is. I s pose he was mad cause you would pay back the 
 money for the guesses ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, well. You know, Judith " hesitating " you do 
 carry ruther a high hand sometimes." 
 
 The girl said nothing. Mrs. Guild could only repeat that 
 she guessed things would come out all right. 
 
 "Yes," said Judith, "they may be right, but they may 
 break our hearts, all the same." She turned to go away. 
 She began to hurry now. She heard Mrs. Guild call after 
 her, cheerily, "Don t be discouraged, Judith !" and she turned 
 and waved her hand. 
 
 All at once the sense of haste grew upon her. She did 
 not know how she had been able to linger talking with Mrs. 
 Guild. She was near the entrance to a cart-path which led 
 across a rocky pasture bordering on the ocean. If she 
 took this path she would save nearly half a mile of the 
 distance. She did not hesitate, but turned in and walked 
 quickly, stumbling somewhat over the rough way. 
 
 It was not long before she met a young man who worked 
 in the stitching-room at the factory with her. He glanced 
 at her, and then glanced again as he said good-evening. 
 He turned and asked if he shouldn t go with her. Was she 
 going by the Great Rocks ? Yes, she was. " That way is 
 so lonesome, you ought to have company, Judith," he said. 
 
 " Oh no," answered the girl, "I m not afraid. And I know 
 the way so well that it doesn t seem lonesome to me." 
 
 She thought it was strange that she should meet still 
 another acquaintance a short distance farther along. This 
 also was a shop-mate, a girl who was almost running, and 
 who paused long enough to say that " you never d ketch her 
 in that path again in the evening." But Judith laughed at her.
 
 "I WANT MY JUDE!" 71 
 
 As she went on she came nearer and nearer the shore, 
 and the sound of the water grew more distinct. It was 
 flood -tide, and with a wind off the land, so that the ocean 
 made very little noise only a sort of long sobbing among 
 the pebbles of the beach. 
 
 Judith came out from among the scattering birches and 
 pines, where it had been very dark, to the open, high past 
 ure whence she could see the wide stretch of water lying 
 blackly under the heavens, with now and then the glitter 
 of a star upon it. 
 
 As she walked Judith s eyes were fixed on the ocean. 
 She knew it as one knows an old friend whom one loves. 
 The sight of it, dark, with the slow under -heave of its 
 bosom, was like a restorative to the feverish mood of the 
 girl. There was the faint gray glimmer of a small sail in 
 an inlet that came pushing a short distance up into some 
 marsh -land below. The sail was flapping idly, and the 
 sound of the oars dipping in the water came plainly in the 
 still, sweet air. Judith knew well the long, shallow beach 
 where the boat would land. 
 
 It was scarcely nine o clock, and the June day was not 
 long since ended. Again Judith was conscious of that 
 longing to have time to enjoy something. There was 
 always upon her that stern, unrelenting grip of necessity. 
 She was now very near her home. If it were lighter she 
 would be able to see it off to her left, down from the cliffs. 
 She looked wistfully towards it; she could see the shining 
 of one light. That must be in the little bedroom where 
 Emmeline was lying ill. 
 
 Judith was about turning to go down from the cliff when 
 she saw some one hastening up. This person was a man, 
 and the next moment she recognized her father. He 
 had on his tall silk hat, but he had replaced his duster by a 
 wool coat. She nodded to him, and was walking on. He 
 stared at her in surprise. Then he said, "It s you, ain t it, 
 Judith?" 
 
 " Yes. How s Em ?"
 
 72 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Instead of replying, the man asked, "Was you comin to 
 tell me you was sorry for what you d done ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I was tellin of your mother that you d got to say you 
 was sorry for what you d taken on yourself to do," said Mr. 
 Grover, in a strident, domineering way. "You hadn t no 
 right to do it. N now your sister s sick we can t git her 
 things nor pay the doctor s we could if you hadn t meddled. 
 You always pretended to think a lot of Em." 
 
 " Won t you tell me how Em is ?" The girl s voice was 
 hardly above a whisper, but it thrilled in strange contrast 
 to that of the man. 
 
 " She s real sick." 
 
 Judith looked away. She could hardly tell whether her 
 father was exaggerating or telling the simple truth. She 
 turned back and forced herself to ask a favor of him, 
 although the doing of it hurt her physically. " Will you let 
 me go in and see my little Em ? I ll help take care of 
 her." 
 
 Judith s very heart was in her request. But Mr. Grover 
 could not know that; he did not feel things in that way. 
 And he thought it was an excellent time to show his au 
 thority and to discipline his daughter. " You jest tell me 
 you re sorry you meddled in that seraphine business," he 
 said, with a good deal of impressiveness. 
 
 Judith turned herself again towards the old house where 
 the lamp burned. " No," she answered, " I can t tell you 
 that, because I thought I did right. It wasn t fair to try 
 to raise money in that way." 
 
 Mr. Grover began to say something violent. Then he be 
 thought himself of his belief that young Eldridge had taken 
 a fancy to Judith. If he had really done so, then it would 
 be better for Mr. Grover if he should keep "on the right 
 side" of his daughter. But he wanted to maintain his au 
 thority. He tried to infuse a little mild dignity into his man 
 ner. " Be you and Lucian Eldridge goin to set up court- 
 in ?" he asked.
 
 " I WANT MY JUDE ! 73 
 
 Judith shrank back, sickened by the question. " No," she 
 said, forcibly. 
 
 Mr. Grover s face grew black. He had had a feeling that 
 it would be quite easy to get money from young Eldridge. 
 If he and Judith were to "set up courtin , 1 why, it would be 
 worth while for him, Hanford Grover, to reconsider his or 
 der to Judith to stay away from her home. And he did 
 not know girls well enough to guess that a denial in such a 
 case might mean absolutely nothing. " You re a disobedient, 
 bad child," he cried out now, in a loud voice, "and don t you 
 step your foot inside my house ! Do you hear?" 
 
 "Yes, I hear." The girl s face was so pale that it looked 
 almost luminous in the darkness. 
 
 Mr. Grover put his stick down sharply on the ground. 
 He made such a quick movement to go on that he almost 
 fell over the cliff. Judith started forward and caught his 
 arm. He shook her off and straightened himself. "You re 
 an ungrateful girl !" he shouted. He walked on farther 
 away from his home. 
 
 Judith stood there alone a moment. She had both hands 
 pressed to her bosom. Her face was turned towards the 
 house, dimly seen below. She began to run down the steep 
 path towards that house. Presently she was looking in at 
 the window of the room where the light was. She saw Em 
 lying propped up with pillows and her mother sitting close 
 to the bed, holding the little hand and bending over the 
 child. Em s face was drawn, and she was breathing heav 
 ily -that dear little face, which always brightened so at 
 sight of Judith. The elder sister s eyes were fastened to that 
 form on the bed. Em threw up her other hand. "Take 
 me, mummer, take me!" she said. Judith heard the words 
 through the open window. 
 
 Mrs. Grover bent over to lift the child. But the little 
 one turned capriciously away, saying, hoarsely, " No ; you 
 don t carry me good. I want my old Jude ! I want my 
 Jude !" She began crying piteously, gasping and coughing 
 as she did so. "Ain t Jude comin ?" she asked. "I don t
 
 74 MRS. GERALD 
 
 want you. You ain t strong. Oh ! Oh ! I want my 
 Jude !" 
 
 The plaintive voice, thickened by the throat disease, ended 
 in a long wail. The girl watching outside saw the tears 
 fall from her mother s face as it was bent over the child.
 
 XII 
 
 SHE CLUNG TO IT AS SHE PRAYED 
 
 JUDITH shut her lips closely. She walked round to the 
 back door. But here she paused a moment. In spite of 
 what Mr. G rover so frequently asserted in regard to his 
 daughter s not honoring her parents, she had grown up with 
 the instinct and the desire to honor and obey them. That 
 instinct of obedience was alive in her now, and it hurt her 
 to do violence to it. She did not reason about it; she only 
 felt wicked and sacrilegious in the act of disobeying. 
 But she stepped over the threshold and hastened to the 
 bedroom. The child s dull, half-closed eyes suddenly opened 
 widely in a flash of happy recognition. She stretched out 
 her arms, crying, " Here s Jude ! Jude, take me !" 
 
 In an instant the girl was beside the bed. She lifted the 
 little form so dear to her, carefully wrapping a blanket 
 about it. Her heart gave a great bound when she felt the 
 childish arms go close round her neck. She began to walk 
 about the room with her burden, singing softly under her 
 breath. 
 
 Mrs. Grover sank back in her chair, her first emotion be 
 ing one of relief and relaxation. She breathed a long 
 breath. Judith had come. Things would all be right now. 
 Km was "dreadful sick," but Judith would know how to take 
 care of her. Then she suddenly remembered. "Oh, what 
 will your father say?" she exclaimed. 
 
 The daughter s strong glance met the appealing eyes of 
 her mother. " Don t let s think of that now," she responded. 
 "You see, I had to come when I heard Em was sick. Don t 
 worry. I won t stay after she s better."
 
 76 MRS. GERALD 
 
 The little arms began to cling still more closely, and Em 
 sent up a wail as she heard these words, half understanding 
 them : " Oh, don t go, Jucle !. Stay with your baby !" 
 
 Mrs. Grover, worn out by the keen anxiety of the last 
 few hours, covered her face with her hands and groaned. 
 She could not put entirely away the thought of her husband 
 and his displeasure. She had lived too many years under 
 his control. His will had grown to be to her like some 
 mighty thing overshadowing all her life, something which 
 could no more be disputed than the will of God. And yet 
 this woman had a larger mind, a larger nature in every way 
 than belonged to the man who ruled her. But the gaze of 
 that cold, selfish blue eye could quell her. 
 
 In a short time the sick child began to seem more com 
 fortable. She rested in her sister s embrace, and drew 
 strength from her. Judith continued to carry her about. 
 Mrs. Grover, every few moments, would say, anxiously, " I 
 wonder where your father is. You ain t heard him come 
 in, have you ?" And Judith would shake her head. 
 
 "I never saw him more set nor more tried in my life," 
 said his wife. "You couldn t have done anything to make 
 him madder." 
 
 To this the girl said nothing. She glanced wonderingly 
 at the speaker. She was asking herself if all wives felt like 
 this about their husbands when they really came to live 
 with them. Should she feel thus if Here she forcibly 
 detached her thoughts from that subject and bent her 
 flushed face over the little head on her shoulder. " When 
 is the doctor coming again ?" she asked. 
 
 " Early in the morning. He said Em was having a touch 
 of diphtheria, but he hoped he-could subdue it. He said it 
 was going light up to the other village." 
 
 Judith could not at first speak for the dread in her heart. 
 She had never seen any one ill with this disease, but it 
 seemed to her that Em was very sick. 
 
 " Hanford was sorry he hadn t known what was the mat 
 ter before," went on Mrs. Grover, as if stating an ordinary
 
 SHE CLUNG TO IT AS SHE PRAYED 77 
 
 fact, " for he was afraid he d been exposed already. He 
 said he shouldn t come near the child again, for it wouldn t 
 do for any one with such a liver as he has to be careless. 
 He said twas a man s duty to take every care of himself. 
 He s been out-doors a good deal since. I told him if he 
 kept out-doors he d stand the best chance not to have it." 
 
 Judith was silent. She sat down on the bedside with 
 Em in her arms. Her mother looked at the clock and gave 
 the child a spoonful of medicine. Em cried and sobbed 
 and coughed, but finally swallowed the liquid. Then she 
 fell asleep in her sister s arms, often starting up wildly and 
 crying out that " Jude mustn t go." 
 
 Judith grew cold and stiff and aching, but she resolutely 
 maintained her position. Sometimes she would listen for 
 the sound of her father s footsteps, for she saw that her 
 mother was listening. 
 
 It grew on to midnight, and Mr. Grover had not returned. 
 Once Mrs. Grover lighted the lantern and went to the barn, 
 thinking her husband might have come back and gone there 
 for fear of infection. 
 
 A gentle south rain was beginning to fall, and the drops 
 stood upon Mrs. Grover s gray hair when she came in from 
 the yard with her light. 
 
 " Mother !" cried Judith, sharply. 
 
 The woman dropped her lantern with a crash. She ran 
 forward. Em had suddenly flung up her arms. Her face 
 grew purple. But her eyes had love in them as they turned 
 to her sister. Judith was still holding her. She had sprung 
 to her feet. That strain of agonized longing to help was 
 upon her. 
 
 " My Jude !" said the child, .hoarsely. She leaned towards 
 her sister. She gasped. She stopped breathing. 
 
 The girl laid her burden down upon the bed. She 
 straightened the little limbs that had always run to meet 
 her. Her hands were cold and stiff, but they obeyed her 
 will. When she raised herself from performing this duty 
 she turned towards her mother.
 
 78 MRS. GERALD 
 
 The woman s poor, round-shouldered figure was lying on 
 the floor near the door which she had reached when she 
 had seen that never-to-be-mistaken look on the face of her 
 baby. The sight had been too terrible for the tired, over 
 worked mother, and she had fainted dead away. 
 
 As Judith knelt down by her she almost felt that it would 
 be a pity to rouse her. For these few moments her mother 
 was not suffering. The girl wondered at herself that she 
 felt so calm. It seemed to her that she could do anything ; 
 she was conscious of what appeared a miraculous access of 
 strength. She forgot all about her father. She only knew 
 that she must take care of her mother. Little Em would 
 never need her care again. She found the camphor in its 
 place in the cupboard. She rubbed her mother s face and 
 hands. She lifted her to the old lounge when she revived. 
 She made her drink some currant-wine which she herself 
 had bottled the previous summer. 
 
 When she recovered consciousness Mrs. Grover imme 
 diately girded herself. She must not give way again. She 
 went and stood by the bed where the child lay. Judith 
 came to her side and put her arm about her. The two 
 looked down at the small, quiet, lovely face on the pillow. 
 
 Suddenly, notwithstanding all her efforts, Judith began 
 to sob furiously with all the abandon of youthful sorrow. 
 But her mother did not sob. She turned to her daughter 
 and stroked her face. "You re my dear Judith," she whis 
 pered. " Cry cry. I wish I could. But I m too old. I 
 ought to be where Em is gone." 
 
 " Oh, mother ! mother !" Judith said no more. She reso 
 lutely put clown the manifestation of emotion. 
 
 Very soon the two women were obliged to begin to dis 
 cuss what should be done. Mrs. Grover had not allowed 
 the other children to come near Em, and now they must 
 be kept away. Judith would change her clothes, and take 
 her sisters over to Mrs. Guild s. She was sure Mrs. Guild 
 would let them stay awhile with her. There would be dis 
 infecting to be done, and Em must be laid away. There
 
 SHE CLUNG TO IT AS SHE PRAYED 79 
 
 could be no funeral. Everything must be arranged so that 
 the disease need not spread. 
 
 Once Mrs. Grover exclaimed, " Where can your father 
 be?" 
 
 Judith went to her room and prepared to go away with 
 the children, and soon the three started out, the two young 
 er so dazed that they could hardly ask questions. 
 
 Mrs. Grover stood at the door with the lamp in her hand. 
 The mild rain was still falling. She saw the drops glitter 
 on the umbrella which Judith tried to hold over her charges. 
 They did not look back. They hurried on out of sight. 
 
 The woman was left alone with that form of Em which 
 was lying on the bed. She went and stood beside it. The 
 heart of the wife and mother turned involuntarily, but with 
 a terrible sense of hopelessness, towards the husband and 
 father. He was little Em s father. Surely, surely it was 
 but natural that she should think of him. But if he were 
 here he would be fearing that he might take the malady. 
 But he would mourn yes, he would mourn. 
 
 Then, dimly at first, but more and more brightly, the 
 woman s mind grasped the sense of the presence of a great 
 er Comforter a Father whose love was sweet and strong 
 and ever present. She believed in religion ; she was a 
 member of the church, and always went to meeting when 
 she could. Still she could not but realize that she had nev 
 er in her life so felt the sustaining of a Father s love. She 
 knelt down by the bed. She took Em s hand. It had not 
 yet grown cold. She clung to it as she prayed.
 
 XIII 
 
 "YOU SEEN HIM LAST" 
 
 ALL the time she wished that her husband might be 
 there to pray with her. She tried piteously to forget his 
 absorption in himself, or to excuse it. When she rose she 
 lighted the lantern and again went to the barn. She was 
 anxious, but her anxiety was dulled by grief. Mr. Grover 
 was not in the barn. Where could he be ? 
 
 After she reached the house she held the lantern up to 
 the clock. She saw that it was twenty minutes after one. 
 Yes, if there were room in her mind she would be still more 
 anxious. But one s emotional powers, whether for grief or 
 joy, have their limitations. 
 
 The cat had come in with her and was rubbing against 
 her ankles, purring loudly. Mrs. Grover felt that she could 
 not endure that sound of comfort. She took up the cat 
 and thrust her out into the rain. Then she immediately re 
 pented of what she had done. Em had been fond of her 
 kitty. She opened the door, and the animal stepped in and 
 began to purr again. Mrs. Grover looked down at it, say 
 ing aloud, "I guess I can bear a little thing like that." 
 
 She began to look forward to Judith s return. Over and 
 over she said to herself that she didn t know what she 
 should do without Judith. And when Hanford came back, 
 would he recall his words and say that their daughter might 
 come home ? 
 
 But where was Hanford ? How strange it all was to- 
 ni^ht ! Sometimes it seemed to the woman that everything 
 was unreal, and presently she should find that her husband 
 was there and that Em was not dead. Two or three times
 
 "YOU SEEN HIM LAST 8l 
 
 more she took her lantern, and, followed by the cat, she ex 
 plored in every direction about the house. Once she went 
 forward a short distance along the path towards the cliff. 
 
 The tide had turned to go out now ; she knew by the 
 change in the sound of the water against the Great Rocks. 
 With a feeble iteration her mind dwelt upon the calculation 
 as to how long it would take Judith to go the three miles 
 to Mrs. Guild s with the children and to return. It seemed 
 to the mother that she could not wait for her daughter to 
 get back. That feeling of impatience for the girl s return 
 gradually overrode all other emotion, growing more poig 
 nant with every moment. 
 
 As for Judith, every step that she took away from her 
 mother was a pain to her. When she had reached Mrs. 
 Guild s and roused her friend, told her story and seen the 
 little girls taken into the house, she turned and began to 
 run homeward. She was running against the rain now. 
 The wind, still southerly, had risen somewhat. 
 
 Judith did not try to hold her umbrella open. She let 
 the water fall on her face as she splashed through the pud 
 dles which were now forming in the road. She wished 
 that it might rain still harder; she wanted to feel the rush 
 of it on her cheeks, which burned hotly. At last, pant 
 ing, she turned into the yard. There was the light just 
 as it had been a few hours before. And now Em was 
 gone. 
 
 Neither of the two women could ever think calmly of 
 that night. And years after a warm south rain would al 
 ways bring to Judith a keen memory of those hours and 
 that same sickening throb of her pulses. At last the morn 
 ing came nay, it came soon these June days. 
 
 It was Judith who attended to everything. She went to 
 a neighbor and had him dig the grave at the end of the 
 garden. It was she who helped him put what was left of 
 little Em down in the earth when the cheap coffin was 
 brought. She was willing to help, and it was well that she 
 felt so, for people were afraid to come near. 
 
 6
 
 82 MRS. GERALD 
 
 The rain spattered down on the coffin. With a morbid 
 persistence Judith tried to think where she had seen the 
 lines : 
 
 " Blessed is the bride that the sun shines on ; 
 Blessed is the corpse that the rain rains on." 
 
 Anyway, little Em was blessed. God had blessed her. 
 He had taken her. That was well. 
 
 By the close of that day Judith was sitting alone with her 
 mother in the kitchen. It was almost sunset. The rain was 
 over. The clouds had formed themselves into long, parallel 
 lines, and below them, on the very horizon, was a wide bar 
 of bright amber light. It was fair, and it was going to be 
 cooler. The robins were giving out short, clear calls among 
 the old apple-trees. 
 
 Judith was sitting with her face shaded by her hand. 
 She was wondering if Em could hear the robins. Was 
 she where she could hear them and love them as she had 
 heard and loved them the day before ? 
 
 "Judith," said her mother, suddenly, "you don t say 
 anything about your father." 
 
 The girl roused herself. " No," she answered, " I don t 
 know what to say, and I ve been so bewildered. Things 
 have happened so fast." 
 
 Mrs. Grover rose. She moved restlessly about the room. 
 " I m just as worried as I can be. We ve got to do some 
 thing, Judith." 
 
 The girl also rose now. " What shall we do ? she asked. 
 Then she added, hesitatingly, " Somehow it always seems 
 as if nothing would happen to father. He d be sure to take 
 care of himself." She could not prevent the bitterness 
 from coming into her voice. 
 
 " I guess we c n go up on the cliffs fore it s dark, don t 
 you ?" asked Mrs. Grover. 
 
 Judith walked to the back entry, where her hat hung. 
 She took a small shawl and put it over her mother s shoul 
 ders. The two were just stepping out at the door when
 
 "YOU SEEN HIM LAST" 83 
 
 a man entered the yard and came quickly towards them. 
 It was Mr. Guild. 
 
 "Walk right in," said Mrs. Grover, with mechanical hos 
 pitality. She set a chair for her guest. He took hold of 
 the back of it instead of sitting down in it. He seemed to 
 be trying not to glance at Judith. 
 
 " I hope there s nothing the matter with the children," 
 said Mrs. Grover, hastily. 
 
 " No, oh no ; there ain t nothin the matter of them." 
 
 " The doctor said he thought we could get through the 
 disinfecting so it. would be safe for them to come home in 
 a few days," said Judith. And she added, with a tremor in 
 her voice, " It was so good of you and Mrs. Guild to take 
 them. We sha n t forget it." 
 
 " We ought to be neighborly, you know," responded the 
 man. He kept looking furtively at Judith until at last she 
 noticed the gaze. With an effort he withdrew his eyes. "I 
 s pose Mr. Grover s got home fore this, ain t he, Mis 
 Grover ?" he asked. 
 
 "No, he ain t," was the answer. "Judith V I were just 
 going up to the cliffs. I m most worried to death about 
 him" 
 
 " Then you ain t heard ? 
 
 "Heard what?" 
 
 Mrs. Grover stepped forward and caught hold of Mr. 
 Guild s arm. IJut Judith did not stir. When the man went 
 home he told his wife that Judith never moved or spoke, 
 and that he didn t know what to think of it. 
 
 " I don t b lieve in bein alarmed fore there s any oc 
 casion," now remarked Mr. Guild, in a voice that he tried 
 to make judicial, " but wall some folks think mebby Mr. 
 Grover s fell off the cliffs." 
 
 Here, in spite of a strong resolution to the contrary, 
 the speaker turned and gazed with a strangely penetrating 
 look at Judith. She returned the look with dilated, fearful 
 eyes. 
 
 " It wouldn t be like him " she began. Then some-
 
 84 MRS. GERALD 
 
 thing, she knew not what, in the man s face made her pause. 
 A vague horror began to come over her. 
 
 "You seen him last, didn t you, Judith? suddenly in 
 quired Mr. Guild. 
 
 " I don t know whether I saw him last," she answered. 
 " It was about nine o clock when I met him on the cliffs, not 
 far from the Great Rocks." 
 
 " I guess he ain t be n seen sence," responded the man. 
 
 Mrs. Grover started towards the door. " Come, Judith," 
 she said, " we can find him. P raps he s fallen and broke 
 his bones. I d have gone for him before only I was ex- 
 pectin him every minute, and and you know how it s been." 
 
 " You needn t go," said Mr. Guild, in a voice that made 
 Mrs. Grover grow whiter than ever. " There s five or six 
 of us men be n lookin . Tain t no mercy to keep things 
 back no longer. Se down, Mis Grover. Tain t no good 
 to stand." He gently pushed the woman into her chair. 
 She sat staring up at him as he went on. " You see, Ellis 
 Macomber was comin over the cliff -path this mornin - 
 He s always peekin round to see what he c n see. He 
 was lookin over the cliffs, n he seen a hat lyin up on the 
 pebbles there. It looked kinder natural to him, bein a tall 
 silk hat. So he climbed down, n he brought the hat back 
 to the village. It didn t take him long to spread the story. 
 A lot of us went down. We found Mr. Grover s cane 
 wedged in among some stones jest as if it had be n washed 
 up n lodged. There ain t no mistake bout the cane n 
 hat bein Grover s. We ve be n lookin most all day. We ve 
 telegraphed to the towns up n down the coast here. 
 Thought we would, though didn t think twas much use ; 
 n twa n t." 
 
 Mrs. Grover was twisting her hands together, her eyes on 
 the speaker s face. 
 
 Judith was quiet. There was some blackness in this 
 story which she had not yet fathomed. She was still won 
 dering, in the midst of the shock she felt, as to what else 
 was coming.
 
 "YOU SEEN HIM LAST" 85 
 
 There was silence for a few moments. It was broken 
 by Air. Guild s turning to the girl and repeating, suddenly, 
 his words, " You seen him last, I guess, Judith." 
 
 There was that in the tone with which these words were 
 spoken that made Judith lift her head with a quick, curious 
 feeling of self-defence. " I don t know whether I saw him 
 last or not. I told you when I did see him, Mr. Guild." 
 
 At this the man gazed yet more intently at the girl. Then 
 he suddenly set the chair which he had been holding for 
 ward with a crash on the floor. " I declare," he cried out, 
 " I don t care a damn what folks are a mine ter say ! I 
 know what I think. What if you was on the cliffs with 
 him? What if you n he had said things? No; I tell ye 
 I don t care one damn !" 
 
 A deep red rose to Judith s face, remained an instant, 
 then subsided, leaving her white. But she still stood up 
 right, gazing at Mr. Guild, who now, having relieved his 
 mind, began to appear more like himself. 
 
 Mrs. Grover was still bewildered. She did not in the 
 least know what the man s words had signified. 
 
 "Do they think my father is drowned?" Judith asked, 
 at length. Mr. Guild nodded. "And do people think 
 that I" 
 
 Judith paused. The words she was about to say seemed 
 impossible of utterance. But she was going to speak 
 them.
 
 XIV 
 RYLANCE 
 
 JUDITH began again : <; Do people think that I would do 
 anything to hurt my father ? 
 
 Mr. Guild shuffled his feet about. " I don t b lieve it s 
 worth while to follow that up." 
 
 "Yes, I want to follow it up," she said. 
 
 " I guess that s about it," he replied, hesitatingly. " You 
 see, everybody knows that you n he have had a fallin out. 
 N folks didn t blame you bout it. N some folks think 
 mebby you n he got to quarrilin , n you got excited, you 
 know ; n you might have given him a little push, not mean- 
 in much; n he, bein on the edge there, jest toppled right 
 over. That s the way some folks talk. N , you know, 
 some things you said bout him yisterday, n how you felt. 
 N there was William Mackay was goin long the cliff last 
 night, n he heard your voices ; n he heard your father 
 call you a disobedient, bad child, and tell you not to set 
 foot in his house agin. N " 
 
 Here he paused, unable to go on, seeing the horror grow 
 ing in the girl s face. He turned arid walked to the window. 
 He saw the wide band of pale yellow sky beyond the line 
 of pines. 
 
 " I guess it s goin to be pleasant to-morrer," he said, in 
 an indistinct voice. 
 
 He heard footsteps coming across the floor towards him, 
 but he would not move. He did not stir when Judith s 
 voice said, insistently, " What else were you going to say, 
 Mr. Guild ? You must tell all." 
 
 There was no response for a moment. Then Mr. Guild
 
 RYLANCE 87 
 
 suddenly dashed his right fist down on the palm of his left 
 hand, exclaiming, " I vow you ve always had a thunderin 
 hard time, Judith ! I vow you have !" 
 
 It was a perceptible space before Judith spoke again. 
 Then she said, " What else did William Mackay tell ?" 
 
 Mr. Guild looked at her pleadingly. It was as if their 
 places were reversed for the moment. His rugged, weather- 
 beaten face worked. " Can t you jest let that go ?" he asked. 
 
 " No, I can t let it go." 
 
 " Wall, Mackay said that he though he saw you put out 
 your hand towards your father s if you was goin to push 
 him over." 
 
 "Did he see him go over?" Judith s voice sounded 
 high and harsh. 
 
 " No, he didn t ; twas dark ; but he s posed mebby you 
 might have pushed him over, bein mad V excited, n he 
 so provokin , you know. He wa n t certain you did put 
 your hand out." 
 
 During this talk Mrs. Grover was sitting leaning far for 
 ward in her chair, her eyes on the two. Her lips were 
 parted, and there seemed to be a veil of horror over her 
 face. 
 
 " I did put my hand out," said Judith, still in the same 
 harsh voice, "but it was not to push him. He stumbled, 
 and I caught hold of him. But nobody will believe that. 
 Since we were saying unpleasant things, and he is missing ? 
 people will want to think I killed my father. Mother " the 
 girl took a step towards the woman sitting there " moth 
 er," sharply, "do you hear that? They think I pushed 
 father off the cliff !" 
 
 Mrs. Grover rose. Her bent form straightened. Her 
 face cleared from the veil that had been over it. She 
 walked to her daughter s side. She put her arm about the 
 girl and held her closely. Her head reared itself. Her 
 faded eyes flashed. " I don t care what they say !" she 
 said, loudly. "They re a set of fools! Let them talk! 
 Judith, my Judith ! Let them talk !" The fire faded from
 
 88 MRS. GERALD 
 
 her aspect as suddenly as it had come. She flung herself 
 on her daughter s neck and clung there. 
 
 Judith stood, tall and strong, holding her mother close to 
 her, not glancing down at her, but looking over the bent gray 
 head at the man before her. 
 
 "Oh, by George!" cried Mr. Guild, in a thick voice,"! 
 can t stand this ! Damn Bill Mackay ! Damn uin all ! 
 What d yon make me tell you for, I should like to know?" 
 He drew an immense handkerchief from his pocket and 
 openly began to cry into it. 
 
 Judith led her mother to a chair and put her into it. 
 Then, overcome by a sudden physical weakness, she sat 
 down near her and covered her face with her hands. But 
 she did not sob. She was perfectly still. 
 
 In a moment Mr. Guild lifted his head, looking rather 
 ashamed. He passed his handkerchief vigorously over his 
 countenance. He walked to the door and stopped, with 
 his hand on the latch. He began to speak, with his back 
 to the two women : " I come over here cause rny wife 
 made me. She said I d got to come n tell you what folks 
 was sayin . She said you might find it out some way twould 
 make you feel even worse n to have me tell it. N she 
 said to be sure n say that after folks d had their talk out 
 twould all blow over. N twill, of course. It s got to blow 
 over. N she was partickerler bout my makin 1 you know 
 t we didn t believe a word of it not one devilish word of 
 it." Having spoken thus, Mr. Guild opened the door and 
 shut it quickly behind him. 
 
 Judith heard his feet stumbling rapidly along the yard ; 
 she heard the sound with a strange keenness. And she 
 heard and discriminated between the different notes of the 
 crickets that were playing vociferously all about the house. 
 
 The dusk was deepening now. The odors of the June 
 evening were becoming more heavy ; they floated in through 
 the open windows. A sudden, imperative longing to be 
 alone took possession of Judith. She must be alone if only 
 for a brief time. She rose. She hesitated, her face towards
 
 RYLANCE 89 
 
 her mother. " If you don t mind, I ll go out a minute," she 
 said, speaking scarcely above a whisp6i. 
 
 Mrs. Grover nodded. She watched the girl go out. Then 
 she herself left the house. But she did not see Judith. She 
 went to the lower end of the garden to the fresh mound 
 there. She thought it would be a comfort to pray by Em s 
 grave. There must be comfort somewhere. There was 
 nothing left for her but to pray. 
 
 Judith, as soon as she had stepped without the door, be 
 gan to walk fast she did not at first notice in what direction. 
 Presently she became aware that she was going towards the 
 cliffs. She paused. The sweetness of the sea-salt air swept 
 across her face. In this sweetness was mingled the odor of 
 wild roses. 
 
 All the girl s senses were painfully awake. A terrible 
 and passionate consciousness of the possibilities of happi 
 ness was mingled with her present misery. She was par 
 tially aware that she was never so capable of knowing rapt 
 ure as in this time of wretchedness. 
 
 Naturally her thoughts and her feelings were magnified 
 and exaggerated. She thought of her father with a violent 
 questioning. She could believe for the moment that she 
 had power to wrest from God the secret of his fate. 
 
 Then suddenly there came upon her an unspeakable hor 
 ror of those cliffs. Was it only last night that she had 
 walked there and begged her father to let her go and see 
 little Em ? She had disobeyed him. She had held Em in 
 her arms. Surely it had not been wrong to disobey him ? 
 And she had comforted Em. 
 
 She was hurrying away from the vicinity of the cliffs. She 
 walked out upon the highway and sat down under a low, 
 thickly growing pine-tree. 
 
 The Grover home was in so retired a spot that there was 
 little likelihood that any one would come along the road. 
 Sitting there alone in the warm and fragrant dusk Judith 
 was beginning to think it possible for her to have coherent 
 thoughts once more. She was just telling herself that there
 
 go MRS. GERALD 
 
 was nothing for her to do but to go on living right there ; to 
 go on taking care of her mother and the children. She had 
 no money to go anywhere else. And wherever she went 
 that story, her story, would be sure to follow her, and be 
 worse for her in a strange place. " I must think this over 
 exactly as if it were about some one else," she said, aloud. 
 
 Was that the sound of horse s feet and of wheels? Well, 
 she could stay where she was. The pine-tree would hide 
 her. She shrank farther in among its branches. 
 
 The horse came on quickly. The animal was drawing 
 an old, shabby w.igon. In the wagon sat a young man 
 whose eyes keenly took in every object in the dusk. He 
 pulled up the horse. 
 
 " Is that you, Judith ?" 
 
 The girl rose and came forward. Tom Rylance sprang 
 out of the wagon. 
 
 " I want to see you I want to see you alone," he said, 
 quickly. "Will you get into the carriage, or shall I go home 
 with you ?"
 
 XV 
 
 "NO" 
 
 "You may go home with me," answered Judith. "But 
 mother is there." 
 
 "I tell you I want to see you alone," repeated Rylance. 
 
 " I ll get in, then, and drive with you to The Corners. I 
 mustn t leave mother alone for long." As Judith said this 
 she came forward still farther. Then she paused, and said, 
 "I ought to tell you that we ve had diphtheria here. Em 
 died." 
 
 "Oh, Judith," exclaimed the young man, " how you must 
 have suffered! I ain t afraid of ketchin anything. Come 
 come." 
 
 He helped her up to the seat and then sprang in beside 
 her. He turned the horse round and hushed him down to 
 a walk. Then he slipped his left arm through the lines and 
 turned towards his companion. 
 
 It was not so dark but that she could see that Rylance 
 was very pale in spite of the tan, and that his heavy jaw 
 looked more resolute than ever. 
 
 "You see, Judith, I couldn t help comin right over. I 
 couldn t, noways, have got through the night without seeing 
 you." 
 
 There was no reply to this. 
 
 "Of course," he went on, "when I knew you was in 
 trouble I had to come. Ellis Macomber was up to the 
 north part this afternoon, n he told our next neighbors, n 
 they told mar, n when I got in from plantin mar told me. 
 I wanted to harness right up then n come down here n see 
 you; but I had to wait till after supper."
 
 92 MRS. GERALD 
 
 As he finished speaking Rylance put his arm over the 
 back of the seat, but the arm did not touch the girl. 
 
 "What did you hear?" asked Judith. 
 
 " Why, bout you n your father, you know. N I wanted to 
 tell urn that I didn t blame you none if you did push him 
 off. But I wouldn t say nothin I jest kep my mouth shut. 
 I thought twas the best way." 
 
 "You wouldn t blame me, then ?" 
 
 The girl s eyes fixed themselves on the face beside her. 
 Her heart was beating fast. 
 
 "No, indeed, I wouldn t. I know how tryin he s always 
 been, n then turnin you out, as he did. If I knew you 
 pushed him over I should love you just the same. Oh, Ju 
 dith, I ve got to love you, no matter what you do ! 
 
 Judith shivered. She kept her eyes on Rylance s face. 
 " But I didn t do that !" she exclaimed. " Oh no, I didn t do 
 that!" 
 
 The young man turned yet more towards her. " Didn t 
 you?" he asked. 
 
 " Could you think it for one instant?" 
 
 There was something in her voice that made Rylance 
 cold. He hesitated. " I didn t really think it," he answered. 
 "When I remembered how your father d been to you, and how 
 one s temper rises up all of a sudden like a like a whirlwind 
 I but Oh, Judith, why do you look at me like that ?" 
 
 Rylance stopped his horse. He seized Judith s hand 
 and held it painfully close. "But I didn t care what you d 
 done !" he exclaimed. " It don t make no difference to me, 
 I love you so. And I come over to-night to ask you to mar 
 ry me right off. Then I c n stan between you n everybody. 
 I tell you they ll have to deal with me then. When you be 
 long to me fore all the world I shouldn t think of anything 
 but how happy I was. Let urn talk. We sha n t care. I 
 tell you, Judith, I could almost wish you had done some 
 dreadful thing so t I could show you how I love you. There 
 never was no man in this world that ever loved a woman s 
 I love you."
 
 "NO 
 
 93 
 
 Rylance bent forward as if to kiss the girl, but she shrank 
 away, and murmured, " Don t, Tom, don t ! 
 
 " Why not?" he asked, savagely. "What makes you like 
 (hat always? You never would hardly let me kiss you. I 
 don t understand it." 
 
 Judith was leaning as far away as possible from her com 
 panion. There was something like fright in her aspect 
 fright, and a deep perplexity. " You must foregive me, 
 Tom," she said, gently. 
 
 His look changed instantly. " No, no," he said, penitent 
 ly, "it ain t me that s got to forgive. It s you. I d know 
 what makes me say things to hurt you, n you in such trouble, 
 too. But I do wish you d say you d marry me right away. 
 Won t you, Judith? You know we ve been s good s en 
 gaged a long time now." He moved and gathered up the 
 lines in both hands. But he could not keep his eyes from 
 Judith s face. 
 
 The girl was motionless. She seemed to be holding 
 herself thus by a great effort. Finally she turned. "Tom," 
 she said, softly, " you know I never would really be engaged 
 to you. You must remember that. Don t you remember?" 
 
 "You know it amounts to jest the same thing as an en 
 gagement." 
 
 He was resolved to be gentle that is, if lie could possi 
 bly keep himself in hand. What was she coming at ? he 
 questioned, inwardly. 
 
 " Not just the same." 
 
 " It does. Ask anybody." 
 
 His voice began to grate. He could not understand. 
 He didn t believe many men would come forward as he 
 had done. Not but that it was a privilege and a happiness 
 to do it. He told the truth when he said that he did not 
 care what Judith had done; or if he cared, that feeling 
 made no difference in his love. 
 
 "You know I always told you, Tom, that I didn t see 
 how we could ever marry; that I d got to take care of my 
 family; that I wouldn t bring them as a burden to anybody,
 
 9 4 MRS. GERALD 
 
 and and Oh, Tom, you know what I said ! You know 
 I didn t promise !" 
 
 Judith s eyes, large with pain, were fixed on the man s 
 face. He met the look, his blood leaping as he did so. 
 She had never been so lovely in his sight. But he could 
 not quite control the barbarian in him. He had been used 
 to having his own way. He had dominated everybody at 
 home. 
 
 " I know what you said," he responded. " And I know 
 what I said that I was engaged to you, whether you was 
 to me or not ; and I d take your whole family, father n all, 
 n slave for um all my life if you d marry me. And I will, 
 Judith. We c n manage some way. Let s go over to the 
 minister s to-morrer n be married. It 11 be the best thing 
 all round. Do say yes ! Jest think how I ve waited ! Ain t 
 1 been patient? I tell you, I ve about got through bein 
 patient. Say yes, Judith !" 
 
 The girl s hands were clasped in her lap clasped tightly, 
 as if to help her bear the strain upon her. There was noth 
 ing in her, she thought, that did not say " no " to his urging. 
 She was going to say no ; but, womanlike, she hesitated. 
 She knew that she was in a wrong position. She knew that 
 she ought never to have allowed such an arrangement, and 
 she could not understand why she had allowed it. Looking 
 back now it was as if it had been some other identity than 
 her own that had permitted a sort of half-engagement with 
 Tom Rylance. But she did not promise, she remembered. 
 
 Can we not all recall deeds like that actions in which 
 we have taken part, and which, in the retrospect, seem to 
 have been performed by some other person ? But some 
 part of ourselves did this thing or permitted it to be done, 
 and now we abide by it, or suffer for it, or are happy in 
 consequence of it. 
 
 She remembered the time, nearly two years ago, when she 
 had entered into this one-sided bargain only bargains 
 are never really one-sided, no matter how much we may try 
 to believe them to be so. She liked Tom Rylance warmly
 
 "NO" Q5 
 
 she liked him now. But Her mind struggled to 
 make things plain to itself. She turned and gazed appeal- 
 ingly at her companion. " I can t," she said " I can t do 
 it." 
 
 Tom s mouth compressed itself. His jaw became more 
 than ever like that of a bull-dog. " Let s have it out now," 
 he said. " I m goin to understand this business. You 
 mean you don t care for me ? 
 
 She broke in, eagerly, " I care for you so much, Tom." 
 
 "Then let s be married." 
 
 " I can t do it," she said, once more. 
 
 " Why not ?" the primeval savage springing up again. 
 
 It was unlike herself that she did not go right to the 
 foundation truth. " It wouldn t be right," she began, "for 
 me to marry you. I m under a cloud. People will always 
 wonder if I really pushed father off the cliff " She 
 stopped a moment to gain control of her voice. Then she 
 went on, " And some folks will believe I did do it. And 
 mother and the children No, no, I won t have you take 
 care of them. We must give it all up. But you needn t 
 think of me as being happy, Tom. I don t think I shall 
 ever be happy. I suppose I shall get used to things. I 
 mean to work real hard. And I sha n t ever marry. It s 
 not in the least likely." 
 
 Tom waited before he spoke. Then he said, " I want to 
 ask you just one question." 
 
 She averted her face, and he noticed that she did so. 
 The action made him furious, but he tried bravely to com 
 pose himself. 
 
 " I want to ask if you love me, Judith, and you ve got to 
 answer me. It s fair that you do answer me that, now, 
 ain t it ?" 
 
 "Yes, it s fair." 
 
 "Then tell me." The young man sharply made the horse 
 stop in its walk. 
 
 " I do love you in a way." 
 
 She turned towards him fully now, and looked up at him.
 
 96 MRS. GERALD 
 
 She put her hand on his arm. He could see her eyes glow 
 ing through the dusk. A tremor of hope and longing went 
 over him. But in the bottom of his heart he knew there 
 was no hope. 
 
 " In what way ? Don t you keep nothing back, now." 
 
 " No, no ; I won t. I love you dearly as a friend, a 
 brother, Tom ; in all the way that I must ever love any 
 man. Don t you see that even if I did love you in the way 
 you want me to I couldn t possibly marry you ? Tom ! 
 Tom ! do be kind to me now ! 
 
 She pressed her hand down on his arm. He was dear 
 to her. He was part of her old life when she had been 
 young, and before the burdens had begun to bear so heavily 
 upon her. Well, she would never be young again, and she 
 must square her shoulders for their load. She supposed 
 that some women were free to be happy. And again, like 
 a flash of light in darkness, there came to the girl the 
 knowledge of the possibilities of happiness in her own nat 
 ure. How strange it would be to be able to allow those 
 possibilities to become realities ! But Judith knew better 
 than to let such thoughts live. She strangled them mer 
 cilessly, as she had always done. 
 
 Rylance fought visibly with himself. The girl s touch on 
 his arm was tenderness itself. It seemed to subdue in some 
 degree the fierce selfishness of his passion for her. " I m 
 goin to be good to you," he said, finally, in an unsteady 
 voice. " But I guess you better get out of the wagon. I 
 don t want to see you any more now. I can t bear it. I 
 might say something I should wish I hadn t said." 
 
 Judith jumped quickly down to the ground. But she 
 turned instantly. " Wait one minute, dear Tom !" she ex 
 claimed. " You know if I loved you loved you every way, 
 I mean I wouldn t marry you just because I did love you ; 
 I should spare you that. I ve got my work. And you know 
 what folks think I ve done. Good-bye, Tom." 
 
 He opened his lips to speak, but he said nothing; his 
 voice did not come. He was gazing down at the girl s face,
 
 "NO" 97 
 
 and he was inwardly cursing the darkness, which kept him 
 from seeing that face more plainly. He leaned forward and 
 struck the horse with the lines. 
 
 Judith had hardly time to start back from the wheels as 
 they rolled forward. She waited a little before going to 
 the house. She knew that she had folded down one leaf 
 of her life. This episode was over. Rylance would never 
 willingly see her again. And so it proved. She came to 
 think of her acquaintance with Tom as something that had 
 been the experience of some one else. Only it was upon 
 her own individuality that such experience was indelibly 
 stamped, whether she recognized this fact or not. Soon 
 she hurried back to her mother, reproving herself that she 
 had been so long away from her. 
 
 The next few days passed with that strange and solemn 
 swiftness with which time goes after a great grief and 
 change. Mother and daughter remained at home. They 
 went about their duties with mechanical precision. They 
 obeyed scrupulously the doctor s orders in regard to disin 
 fection. 
 
 At the end of the week the two children were brought 
 back from Mrs. Guild s. At the beginning of the next 
 week Judith went again to the factory. She must lose no 
 more time, for time was money. She knew that her shop- 
 mates looked at her curiously, and she felt herself harden 
 ing beneath their gaze. She went the first noon and gave 
 up her room at Mrs. Macomber s. 
 
 Mr. Macomber was just coming from his daily journey to 
 the wharf and the stores. Judith saw his green jacket in 
 the distance, and she knew she could not avoid him. He 
 waved his hand at her ; he almost ran in his eagerness. 
 "Wall," he said, "so you ve got to work agin ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The man stared at her unrelentingly. He appeared to 
 think that he should discover some astonishing change in 
 her, like the loss of an eye or a tooth, if he could only look 
 lone: enough^ ts^S 1*1
 
 98 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " I s pose there ain t nothin been heard of your father ? 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I s posed not. I guess you won t hear nothin . Hev 
 they carried over his cane n hat ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " There wa n t no doubt bout their bein his n, was 
 there ?" 
 
 " They were his." 
 
 "I could hev taken my oath to um in any court. You 
 don t s pose there ll be no court, do you ? 
 
 Judith restrained the manifestation of her terror. It had 
 not occurred to her that there could be what Macomber 
 called "a court." 
 
 "I don t know," she answered. 
 
 The man was saying to himself that Judith "didn t 
 have much feelin , n twas well she didn t." 
 
 "No, I guess there won t. Mr. Eldridge the old man, I 
 mean said there wa n t much to have a court about. He 
 said he guessed they wouldn t arrest you cause you hap 
 pened to see your father on the cliffs. N he said there 
 wa n t no body, n a court couldn t bring much of a charge 
 thout no body. Ye see, you ve got to hev a body to make 
 much of a charge. Of course, your par s drownded I 
 guess there ain t much doubt bout that ; but you can t 
 prove nothin thout no body. How s your mar gittin 
 along ?" 
 
 " She isn t well." 
 
 " Ain t ? I s pose not. You couldn t really expect her 
 to be real well. Does she hev no expectation of findin 
 the body now ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I shouldn t myself. It may hev be n carried out by the 
 tide, n it may be thrown up on the shore hundreds of 
 miles away. You can t tell nothin bout them things. 
 N mebby there won t no body ever be found. Was you 
 comin in, Judith ?" 
 
 "Yes; I wanted to see Mrs. Macomber."
 
 NO 
 
 99 
 
 The man removed himself from the gate and allowed the 
 girl to pass. She had resisted the inclination to go, and re 
 turn when Mr. Macomber was gone. She rarely turned 
 back. And now, though her very lips were white with the 
 strain upon her, she walked up the path and into the house.
 
 XVI 
 
 UNCLE DICK 
 
 THE Eldriclge family were at breakfast. There were the 
 father and mother, the two girls, and the 5011, Lucian. But 
 there was a plate and a still unfilled chair at the right of the 
 hostess who, as she poured coffee, frequently glanced in the 
 direction of the door. 
 
 " I suppose you are thinking of Dick," remarked Squire 
 Eldriclge. "There s no knowing when he ll come down. 
 Sometimes he is waiting for his breakfast at seven, and then 
 he is in his room till near noon. It s out of the question to 
 wait for anybody like that. " 
 
 The speaker set clown his coffee-cup with more empha 
 sis than was necessary. His wife looked at him deprecat- 
 ingly. 
 
 " You never did have any patience with Dick," she said. 
 " You know he insists on our not making any difference in 
 our meals. He says he ll take his chance." 
 
 " Oh, well," was the response, the squire trying to be 
 good-humored, " if you can stand it, I m sure I can. And 
 it ought to be easy to put up with the whims of a man who 
 has as much money as Dick Gerald has." 
 
 Here Mr. Eldridge laughed, and took his book again, for 
 he had the unsocial habit of reading at his meals. 
 
 Lucian was silent. He had come home from a short 
 absence late the night before, and he had that aggrieved 
 feeling which one is apt to experience who has not slept 
 sufficiently. 
 
 " I wonder how the Grovers are," remarked the younger 
 daughter. " I m just as interested as I can be in that
 
 UNCLE DICK I0 i 
 
 family. They do seem to have things what you might call 
 real tough." 
 
 " Can t you find a more lady-like phrase than real tough ?" 
 plaintively inquired the mother. 
 
 " No, I can t. Real tough is what I mean." 
 
 Mrs. Eldridge shuddered a little, but she said nothing 
 more. 
 
 Lucian looked up. " What s the matter with the Gro- 
 vers ?" he asked. "Isn t the old man well supplied with 
 patent medicines?" 
 
 Before the girl could reply the door opened and a man 
 of about fifty sauntered in, and took the seat by Mrs. El 
 dridge, who was his sister. This man was tall and spare. 
 He was dressed in light trousers and a Prince Albert coat 
 of irreproachable cut. His linen was immaculate ; his nar 
 row black tie looked fresher and more elegant than any 
 narrow black tie ever looked before. His forehead was 
 high and retreating, and a wisp of gray hair was brushed 
 up on each side, meeting in a double curl at the top. His 
 eyes were gray and deep set. His mustache was very long 
 and thick. His cheeks and chin always had the appear 
 ance of having been shaved the moment before. He had 
 a very probing way with his eyes, and a sort of unbelieving, 
 sceptical look on his whole face. He wore a large ring 
 with a carved black stone in it on his left hand. His 
 hands were long and white, and his nephew Lucian had 
 always had the idea that these hands betrayed, even more 
 than the face of their owner, the keen, curious, mocking 
 mind. 
 
 The whole outward appearance of " Uncle Dick " was as 
 if arrayed for an afternoon call. He always dressed in this 
 way for morning, and for any evening function whatever. 
 He said he meant to be well-dressed, but he " would never 
 be such an idiot as to wear a swallow-tail." He did not 
 explain why it was idiotic to wear the conventional dress- 
 coat. When his nephew had once put that question to him 
 the elder man had smiled whimsically, gazed an instant at
 
 102 MRS. GERALD 
 
 his interlocutor, and then said, " So many fools have worn 
 that kind of a garment that now the garment takes its re 
 venge and makes a fool of a man who puts it on." 
 
 Richard Gerald, no matter how absurd was his statement, 
 invariably uttered it in such a way that you almost believed 
 it at first. Now he glanced about the table, spoke a com 
 prehensive "good- morning" in a remarkably agreeable 
 voice, took his coffee, returned it and said that it appeared 
 to be a blend of two coffees, and he could never endure a 
 blend, anyway. Would his sister please have some plain 
 hot water brought in ? Plain hot water was precisely what 
 he needed this morning. 
 
 Mrs. Eldridge volubly offered tea, chocolate, coffee of 
 pure Mocha or Java ; but her brother answered decisively, 
 " Plain hot water, Caroline." 
 
 When the servant had brought this beverage, and the re 
 ceiver of it was sipping from the cup with an air of great 
 luxury, Lucian turned to his younger sister and asked 
 again : " What s happened to the Grovers, Belle ? 
 
 "Quite some, I should say," was the brisk reply. "The 
 youngest has died of diphtheria, and they say Judith has 
 pushed her father off into the ocean near the Great Rocks. 
 And how can one blame her much ?" 
 
 "Belle !" said her mother, reproachfully. 
 
 " Really," said Belle, who invariably repeated an offence 
 when her mother reproved her for it, " if my father were 
 like Hanford Grover I should have pushed him into the 
 sea long ago." 
 
 Here the girl looked affectionately at her father, who had 
 put down his book permanently when Mr. Gerald had come 
 in. Mr. Eldridge smiled back warmly in response. 
 
 Lucian had involuntarily pushed his plate from him at 
 his sister s reply. A change like a sudden blackness came 
 to his face, and the effort with which he banished this look 
 was visible to his uncle, whose absorption and delight in 
 his hot water did not prevent him from noticing every 
 thing.
 
 UNCLE DICK 103 
 
 " I suppose you re joking, Belle," said the young man ; 
 "but it s poor taste to joke in that way." 
 
 " I m not joking at all," was the response, in the same 
 brisk manner. " I m in solemn earnest." 
 
 " Then I must say you re very disagreeably flippant," re 
 turned Lucian, with fraternal frankness. 
 
 " And you re quite delightfully outspoken, Lucian, dear," 
 Belle said, flashing her eyes over at her brother. 
 
 "I always did say," now remarked Mr. Gerald, suavely, 
 " that family life was the most blissful of any conceivable 
 existence." 
 
 " A bit of sparring does no harm," said the squire. He 
 was always secretly wincing at his brother-in-law s remarks, 
 but he had thus far been able to conceal this fact. 
 
 Mr. Gerald prepared to eat an egg in the shell. In this 
 operation his hands seemed longer and whiter than ever. 
 Lucian tried not to watch them. The young man was 
 thinking of Judith, and of her grief at the loss of her little 
 sister. He would not consider the other statement made 
 by Belle, for it was, of course, merely an invention of that 
 young lady s. He had decided not to ask any more ques 
 tions of any member of his family. After breakfast he 
 would drop in at Mrs. Guild s and learn what there was to 
 know. 
 
 But Mr. Gerald had made up his mind to interrogate. 
 He liked to make Belle talk, and thus indirectly shock 
 Belle s mother. As for the people of whom she had been 
 speaking, he knew nothing and cared nothing about them. 
 
 " Let us go on with this village history," he said, as he 
 put his egg-spoon into his egg. "There seem to be vicis 
 situdes here in this corner of the world, of course, for 
 there s no difference in parts of the world, anyway. Belle, 
 who has died of diphtheria ?" 
 
 " A child one of the Grovers. They live out of the 
 village a bit. The father won t work ; he would rather take 
 patent medicines and enjoy a bad liver. So they re just 
 rotten poor "
 
 104 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " Belle !" from her mother. 
 
 " Yes, they are rotten poor. Judith is different 
 
 " Not rotten poor ?" interrupted Mr. Gerald, lifting his 
 eyebrows somewhat. 
 
 "Oh yes," with a slight laugh, "she s just as poor, of 
 course ; she works like a slave and takes care of the whole 
 of them. When she was away they tried to raise money 
 with a bean -bottle on an old seraphine. I ll tell you all 
 about it some time, uncle." 
 
 " I shall insist that you do so," from Mr. Gerald. " A 
 bean-bottle on an old seraphine! Yes, you must tell me 
 about that." 
 
 " Yes, and father and Lucian took a lot of chances, so as 
 to help, you know ; and when Judith came back she just 
 stepped on the whole thing. She said it wasn t fair, and 
 the seraphine wasn t worth anything, which was the truth ; 
 and she went round and paid back all the money that had 
 been given for guesses. She came here. I went to the 
 door to her. I declare I just wanted to hug her, she 
 looked so proud, and so so well, so splendid, somehow." 
 
 " I never could find out," said Mr. Gerald, " what one girl 
 means when she calls another girl splendid. " 
 
 "Why, she means splendid," answered Belle. 
 
 " Thank you ; please go right on." 
 
 "Well, Judith paid this money back, and that made her 
 father so terrifically angry that he turned her out of the 
 house." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Lucian, quite taken by surprise. He 
 said nothing more; but he felt his uncle s eyes sweep over 
 him. It was too late to be sorry he had spoken. 
 
 " Dramatic scene, undoubtedly," said Mr. Gerald. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Grover turned her out, though she has support 
 ed him and the rest of them since she was big enough to 
 learn to stitch in our factory. And then the youngest child 
 was sick, and Judith wanted to see her, and her father 
 wouldn t let her. She had met him on the cliff by the 
 Great Rocks and asked him to let her go home, so they
 
 UNCLE DICK 105 
 
 say ; and she pushed him off, and he fell over and can t be 
 found, and is drowned, of course ; and a good thing, too." 
 
 "Belle!" The mother s voice sounded like a small, reit 
 erative note on some instrument. 
 
 " Yes," repeated Belle, " an awfully good thing, too, I 
 say." 
 
 Lucian, during this story, had exerted himself to the ut 
 most not to reveal the emotion it caused, and in consequence 
 he showed no emotion at all not even a natural surprise and 
 interest. 
 
 Mr. Gerald did not look at him again save in the most 
 casual way. He was saying to himself, "My nephew knows 
 more about this Judith Grover than anybody here. Let us 
 inquire into this. Lucian is a ridiculously good fellow. Let 
 us protect him." 
 
 He looked over at his brother-in-law. " Is it going to be 
 an affair of the courts, Alfred ?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh no, I m sure not. Of course, she didn t do it. 
 There s no real testimony. Because they were not on good 
 terms hardly constitutes evidence." 
 
 " Circumstantial, entirely ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; and slight at that. And the body hasn t been 
 found. You can t say a person s been killed until some 
 body has seen him dead, you know. Terrible thing for the 
 girl, though terrible. There never was a better girl in the 
 world." Mr. Eldriclge spoke more and more earnestly. 
 
 Lucian did not know how gratefully he was looking at his 
 father, and no one, save his uncle, noticed his face. 
 
 " Upright, honorable to the last drop of blood in her," 
 went on the squire. " I ve known her ever since she was 
 born. I never in my life knew any one who so valued truth, 
 who would so honor her word. Why, Dick, you may think 
 me silly enough, but if there was overwhelming evidence 
 that she pushed her father off the cliff and she told me she 
 did not do it I should believe her." 
 
 "Bravo, father, bravo!" cried the elder daughter, "so 
 should I."
 
 106 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " I m sure I m glad you ve kept such faith in human nat 
 ure," said Mr. Gerald. " For my part, I haven t been so lucky. 
 I think any one would break a promise if the right thing 
 were brought to bear. It all depends upon the right thing, 
 you see. Particularly do I think women don t know or care 
 what a promise means. They seem to be lacking in a cer 
 tain moral fibre which makes a person value a passed word. 
 I hope you ladies will pardon me," making a comprehensive 
 bow. "But you make me quite interested in this girl. Ro 
 bust, plain sort of a person, I suppose ? 
 
 " I think she has good health," replied the squire, rather 
 coldly, "but I don t call her plain ; neither do I think she is 
 beautiful." 
 
 " Oh no, not beautiful in the least," said Mrs. Eldridge, 
 positively ; "but she has always been a very worthy person," 
 in that tone which some women invariably use in speaking 
 of other women who are not in their set. 
 
 The squire frowned a little, but he made no other sign that 
 his wife s words irritated him. He rose, saying that he must 
 go if.he was to catch the train in the next town. Then he 
 paused to add that the fellow who said he saw Judith and 
 her father on the cliff, heard them quarrelling, and so on, 
 was a fellow whose word would not be taken even against a 
 thief.
 
 XVII 
 
 AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 As soon as Lucian had left the breakfast-room he went 
 into the hall and took his hat. Going out towards the road 
 his uncle met him, cigar between his lips, and having the 
 appearance of starting for a stroll. 
 
 " I m always in luck," said the elder man, affably. " I 
 was going to walk, and I meet you who are also going to 
 walk. You ll let me accompany you ?" 
 
 Lucian put great constraint upon himself. He answered 
 that he should be glad to have his uncle s company, thus 
 telling a downright lie, and then despising himself for so 
 doing. Mr. Gerald s eyes twinkled. 
 
 The two men walked clown towards the village street. 
 Lucian s hands were thrust into the pockets of his sack-coat, 
 and he indulged himself in clinching them there, while he 
 was swearing inwardly. He had been brought up by his 
 mother in something like awe of his uncle Dick. His uncle 
 Dick was enormously rich, and it was but natural that he 
 should leave his money to his nephew that is, if Dick would 
 only have the sense to remain unmarried ; and thus far he 
 had had that sense. But it must be owned that Richard 
 Gerald was a man who would have had great influence even 
 without money; with it he was very powerful if he chose to 
 be. But one never knew when Gerald would choose to do 
 anything, or what he would choose to leave undone. In his 
 life of fifty years he had committed some very eccentric 
 deeds. 
 
 As for Lucian, his uncle had from boyhood possessed a 
 curious attraction for him, partly the attraction which a clever
 
 IOS MRS. GERALD 
 
 man of the world has for a younger man, and partly that 
 subtle something which a cynical, able mind so often wields 
 over other minds. There is a force in mere cynicism that 
 is a factor in life, and that acts like a kind of rust. 
 
 Gerald talked desultorily as he walked with his nephew. 
 He had never quite made out Lucian ; he had not been 
 able to classify him permanently. And one of the first 
 things that Gerald did in regard to other human beings 
 whom he met was to label them and, as it were, hang them 
 up in some chamber of his brain. 
 
 " Lucian is clever," he used to say to himself, " but he 
 has a sort of volatile look. The deuce is in it that I can t 
 yet tell whether or not he is really volatile. He s just the 
 man to make love to women and for women to adore. But 
 here he is nearly twenty-seven years old, and I can t find 
 out as he has even been in love. He is the frankest and 
 the most secret human being I ever met." 
 
 When the two men came on to the road where the " thick 
 settled " part of the town lay, Gerald suddenly turned to 
 his companion, and, keeping his eyes on Lucian s face, he 
 said, in a careless tone, " I suppose you know every soul in 
 this place. There s a girl coming across the pasture there. 
 Who is she ?" 
 
 In spite of the careless tone the young man was on 
 guard immediately. He did not know how he knew, but 
 he did know instantly, before he looked, that the girl 
 was Judith Grover. He glanced in the direction men 
 tioned. 
 
 Yes, there was Judith. She was coming swiftly, walking 
 with the free step of youth and strength and unconvention- 
 ality. Her hat was pushed back somewhat, and there were 
 two or three dark locks lying close and damp upon her fore 
 head. She was thin and pale and tired-looking, but at the 
 same time there was an appearance of invincible strength 
 and vigor about her a something which Gerald directly 
 called by the contradictory term of feminine virility. 
 
 Lucian s hat came off, and then Gerald doffed his. He
 
 AN INTRODUCTION 109 
 
 was delighted with the unaffected smile which returned 
 Lucian s greeting. 
 
 " Who is it ?" he asked again, now in a swift whisper. 
 
 "It s Miss Grover" 
 
 " The one they were talking about ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Present me, then. I insist upon it." 
 
 By this time Judith had reached the fence which sep 
 arated the field from the road. She stooped to let down 
 the bars, and Mr. Gerald darted forward and made the rails 
 clatter to the ground. He offered his hand to help her 
 over, but she stepped lightly across without seeming to see 
 the hand. She was going on quickly, and Lucian wished 
 to let her go on. He knew, however, that he must obey 
 the warning touch of his uncle s hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Surely you and she are old friends enough," whispered 
 Gerald. 
 
 The life-long habit of yielding in everything to his com 
 panion made young Eldridge call, " Miss Grover !" 
 
 Judith stopped. She half turned, waiting their approach. 
 Gerald noted how extremely shabby her clothes were, and, 
 notwithstanding that fact, he also perceived a certain noble 
 ness in her figure and pose. To his great surprise his in 
 terest grew with every moment. He had not expected to 
 see any one in the least like this. He had pictured to him 
 self, perhaps, a girl of a rustic prettiness who blushed when 
 spoken to, and who, if she had been in the same station in 
 England, would have courtesied when she met him. 
 
 " Miss Grover," said Eldridge, with considerable cere 
 mony, " my uncle wishes to be presented to you. Will you 
 let me introduce him ?" 
 
 He could not have spoken with more deference ; and he 
 could not know that his manner was like a sudden, lovely 
 balm to the girl s wounded spirit. 
 
 Nevertheless, Judith was obliged to force herself to ac 
 knowledge politely Mr. Gerald s greeting. She shrank from 
 seeing any one. She had been wishing as she walked
 
 110 MRS. GERALD 
 
 across the field that she might bolt and bar herself in the 
 old house with her mother and the children, and never see 
 another face save theirs from year s end to year s end. She 
 was wishing this so strongly that she was already planning 
 how she might make such an arrangement. 
 
 Perhaps the foreman at the factory would send shoes 
 home to her. She might put on the buttons. But she 
 would not earn nearly as much. They would starve, liter 
 ally. She wished it were not too late to make a garden 
 this year. There was so much " living to be had from 
 garden-sauce." Beans and corn went a great ways, and 
 as for butcher s-meat, of course they couldn t expect that. 
 Debts must be paid ; and if it could only be that no more 
 debts need be incurred ! 
 
 Resolutely the girl, as she came over the pasture, was 
 facing a life as bare and arid as life could well be ; reso 
 lutely, though the young and healthy blood coursed richly 
 through her vigorous body and demanded happiness. She 
 would not flinch as she looked into the future. That future 
 meant for her the most unremitting work and a starved exist 
 ence. Underneath all that work was the continued conscious 
 ness that people would always, when they looked at her, ask 
 themselves whether she really did push her father over the 
 cliff. She thought of the time when her sisters would be 
 grown, and she and her mother would be alone in the old 
 house, for she supposed her sisters would marry and move 
 away. Life was not barred for them. 
 
 Yes, she was very sorry it was too late to make a garden. 
 Perhaps she could spade up a small space and plant some 
 late beans. She could do this, and hoe them in early morn 
 ings before the shop was open. And she would not forget 
 to try to arrange that she might have work at home, and so 
 gradually cease to see people. 
 
 She longed for time to mourn for little Em. She had no 
 leisure even for that ; she could only know that there w;as a 
 leaden heaviness upon her besides the trial about her father. 
 And nights when, weary and, as it were, sodden with over-
 
 AN INTRODUCTION III 
 
 work, she laid herself on the bed she hardly had a chance 
 to cry a little for Em before heavy sleep came on. 
 
 All these thoughts and feelings were in her consciousness 
 as she walked towards the shop that morning and saw the 
 two \vell-dressed, prosperous looking men sauntering along 
 the highway. 
 
 She had been kept from the factory until now, in the 
 middle of the forenoon, and she would be "docked" for 
 these lost hours. An hour that was not filled with hard 
 labor was " lost." She had learned to know that among the 
 very first things she could remember. 
 
 Mr. Gerald s salutation was of that kind which some men 
 of the world are able to employ ; it was something that held 
 in it a suggestion of homage, also a hint of respectful sense 
 of attraction that could not be unheeded by the dullest 
 woman on the face of the earth. And it had in it a suffi 
 cient element of sincerity. It was plain that Judith did not 
 wish to linger. She seemed poised, ready for immediate 
 flight. And in a moment she hastened on. 
 
 " I was on the verge of asking her to let us walk with 
 her," said Mr. Gerald, " but, you see, I couldn t do it. Odd 
 what men and women will grow up in an outlying place like 
 this ! That girl will never have an opportunity, of course. 
 Splendid animal, as well as splendid human being ! But 
 she will never develop into anything." Here the speaker 
 suddenly faced round upon his companion. " You re a 
 blind bat, Lucian ! Well," with a foreign shrug, much in 
 use with Gerald, " lucky for you that you are blind. Now 
 I" 
 
 Gerald swung his stick round and gave a short laugh, 
 covertly watching his nephew as he did so. As for Lucian, 
 he was surprised at himself that he could come so near 
 hating his uncle.
 
 XVIII 
 ON THE CLIFF-WALK 
 
 WITHIN the next quarter of a mile the two men saw com 
 ing towards them a man in a green baize jacket. He was 
 stumping along quickly, and he drew up directly in front, 
 nodding in an off-hand way, and asking, eagerly : 
 
 " Heard the news, Lucian ? You ve be n away this some 
 time, ain t ye ? Stirrin kind of a spell round here. I jest 
 seen Judith Grover go long. Guess you ain t had a chance 
 to hear the partick lars, hev ye ?" 
 
 Mr. Gerald smiled encouragingly at Ellis Macomber. He 
 wanted to hear what he had to say. But Lucian drew back 
 with a quite unaccustomed haughtiness. 
 
 " I m going on," he said, abruptly, and he strode forward, 
 throwing back his shoulders and taking a deep breath as he 
 found himself alone. He had not been alone a moment 
 since he had heard that story about the Grovers. Now his 
 face softened from its lines of restraint. 
 
 He hurried forward, hardly having yet determined where 
 he should go. Anywhere, so that he might be sure of being 
 alone. He gave up seeing Mrs. Guild at present. He sud 
 denly found that he could not bear to see any one who 
 would pronounce Judith s name. " Blind !" He spoke the 
 word aloud in a rage as he traversed the pasture into which 
 he had gone after a moment s walking on the road. In the 
 pasture was solitude. " Blind !" Oh no, he was not so un 
 seeing as his uncle chose to suppose. But of course the 
 best thing for him to do was to go away and stay away. 
 Could he do that ? He knew himself well enough to be 
 lieve that, if he remained, he would be continually trying to
 
 ON THE CLIFF-WALK 113 
 
 see Judith. He had been sure of that much about himself 
 during his short absence from home. But now that she was 
 in trouble the feeling was ungovernable. If she were in dis 
 tress he must help her. 
 
 Coming out upon another road he stood still. Here was 
 where he had first seen the girl after his return from abroad. 
 There was the birch he had been peeling when she came 
 along the road. The happening of a great misfortune 
 seemed all at once to have broken all thought of reserve 
 from the young man s consciousness. If that had not hap 
 pened he might have gone on, he knew not how long, not 
 thinking anything but that it was pleasant to meet Judith 
 now and then. 
 
 Eldridge started forward again, going towards the Grover 
 farm. He heard the sound of the incoming tide beating up 
 against the Great Rocks. The sound made him pause and 
 shudder. It was up yonder, on that cliff, that Judith had 
 walked with her father. Did she grieve for him any ? Of 
 course the man was drowned. 
 
 Presently Eldridge began to ascend the slope which led 
 to the cliff-walk. From here the ocean stretched away il- 
 limitably. The morning sun shone on it and dazzled him. 
 Swift spears of light from the bright water smote his eyes. 
 He went to the utmost verge of the cliff, where it went sheer 
 down. He threw himself on the ground and thrust his head 
 forward to look over. 
 
 It was nearly flood-tide, and the water was dashing up 
 against the side of the hill. It had been nearly flood-tide 
 that night when Grover had fallen down there. And it had 
 not been a storm. Couldn t the man swim? The full tide 
 prevented him from falling upon the ragged rocks. 
 
 What a ridiculous thing it was to think of the possibility 
 of the man s being alive. If he were alive there was every 
 reason in the world for his appearing, and not one reason 
 for his refusing to come home. 
 
 Eldridge rose to his feet. He had felt an imperative de 
 sire to come here again, although he had known the place
 
 114 MRS - GERALD 
 
 thoroughly as a boy. He sat down in the shadow of one of 
 those stunted, east-wind-blown savin-trees that seem a part 
 of the New England coast. The spicy odor of the rough 
 foliage was drawn out by the sun. 
 
 He had not been seated long when he heard footsteps, and 
 he started up, thinking of only one person who could come 
 here. But it was not Judith, but Judith s mother who came 
 toilsomely up the incline and stood nearly in front of El- 
 driclge, who had not moved forward. The slight, round- 
 shouldered figure was clad in its calico dress and long shirt 
 ing apron, a sun-bonnet on its head. 
 
 Mrs. Grover stood perfectly still, gazing out towards the 
 offing. It is the habit of the old-fashioned New-Englander 
 to stand still under the blows of fate. 
 
 After a while the woman took off her head-covering. She 
 dropped the bonnet on the ground. She put both hands up 
 to her head and pushed her hair back as though it troubled 
 her. But there was no impatience in her movement. For 
 an instant she held her hands pressed to the sides of her 
 head, thus framing her worn and wrinkled face in her worn 
 and wrinkled hands. 
 
 Eldridge felt as if he were guilty of sacrilege in thus 
 staying there unseen. He thought there could be nothing 
 more pitiable than that solitary, bent figure, with the sun 
 shining on its gray hair. He wished that he could do some 
 thing for this woman. A poignant desire to be of use to 
 her, to comfort her, took possession of him. But he knew his 
 powerlessness. He moved a careful step away from her. 
 
 She started, gave a little cry, and turned towards him. 
 "That you?" she exclaimed. And then, with a touching 
 accent of apology, " I m dreadful nervous. I git scared at 
 everything." 
 
 The young man took Mrs. Grover s hand and held it. 
 He had an impulse to put his arm about her and make her 
 lean upon him. The sun was on his face now, and the 
 woman, lifting her blurred eyes, saw there a wonderful gen 
 tleness and tenderness at least, it seemed wonderful to
 
 ON THE CLIFF-WALK 115 
 
 her. She had shrunk determinedly from the few neighbors 
 who had come to see her. She wanted to announce that 
 she would see no one who could believe it possible that her 
 girl, even in the wildest anger, could push her father off the 
 cliff. But they would talk about it ; they were talking about 
 it, she knew, and she could hate them for it. 
 
 There was Ellis Macomber had walked all the way out 
 to the farm merely to see " how she took it." Mrs. Grover 
 had been sure that was why he came, and she had stood in 
 the door and thus prevented his entering ; she had not shut 
 the door upon him simply because she had not had the 
 courage. Even the kindest of those who came had been 
 curious, and Mrs. Grover was so sore that she felt their 
 curiosity more than their kindness. For the first time in 
 her life she had a wish to bar out every one, since she could 
 not know who were those who thought her Judith capable of 
 such a thing. And they all talked. With unavailing, weak 
 fury the mother felt that she could hate them for merely 
 talking it over. But Lucian Elclriclge she did not know 
 why his presence was such a comfort to her. Her soul 
 seemed to be groping towards him now as she gazed at his 
 young face, which was filled with sympathy. 
 
 All at once she remembered that she did not know 
 whether he thought Judith had " done that "(this was the 
 phrase by which she always referred to what had happened), 
 or believed that she could by any possibility have been guilty 
 of such a deed. 
 
 " Somebody told me you d been away," she said. " Mebby 
 you don t know how tis with us." 
 
 "Yes, I know. I was coming to see you." 
 
 "Was you?" Mrs. Grover drew in her breath. She com 
 pressed her lips before she opened them to ask, "Well?" 
 She had meant to say more, but she found that she could 
 not add another word. 
 
 " Of course, I know she couldn t do such a thing." Lucian 
 spoke with energy. He pressed the hand he held. 
 
 Mrs. Grover suddenly pulled away that hand. She had
 
 HO MRS. GERALD 
 
 meant to cover her face, but she had a characteristic fear 
 that such a movement would seem too much like what she 
 would call " taking on," and she would not do that before 
 any stranger. She turned her head away, and made a stren 
 uous effort to keep her features steady. She walked to the 
 savin as if she would lean against its trunk, but she did not 
 lean. When she was with her daughter she allowed herself 
 to give way, conscious of sustainment and strength from that 
 stronger nature. But now she must bear her burden alone. 
 
 It was very hard, though. The tender sympathy of her 
 companion seemed to fill the very air. The next moment 
 the tired woman felt that she could not hold out against it. 
 She suddenly flung her arm about the savin. A strong sob 
 shook her. 
 
 " You see," she burst forth, " I ve lost my husband J s 
 well s goin 1 through all the rest ! Folks don t seem to think 
 nothing about that. They don t seem to remember t I ve 
 lost him. Judith don t seem to think bout that. She s 
 grievin for little Em n so m I 
 
 Here the words choked her. She pressed her forehead 
 against the tree trunk. In a moment she began again, her 
 sentences seeming to hurt her as they came, though they 
 must be spoken : 
 
 " I know how folks thought about Mr. Grover," she said. 
 "They didn t half of um believe he had no liver trouble, 
 n they thought he ought to work more. It wa n t none of 
 their business. He was a real good provider s long s his 
 money lasted. He had beefsteak that very last day 
 
 Here another pause. Mrs. Grover left the tree and stood 
 up straight. 
 
 " He n Judith had some difficulty," she said ; " but there 
 ain t many families where there ain t any difficulty, only 
 things don t happen so to them. Judith s got a will that 
 there can t anybody go against. She s the best girl in the 
 world, but I ain t made up my mind yet whether she had 
 any right to do s she did about the bean -bottle. Her 
 father said she had no right. He was real set on that.
 
 ON THE CLIFF- WALK 117 
 
 And he needed the money. He really needed some kind of 
 medicine for his liver. He was ha sh, though ; yes, -he was 
 ha sh." 
 
 Mrs. Grover had not spoken so much since that dreadful 
 night. Eldridge listened in amazement. He did not un 
 derstand that inexplicable tendency which could prompt the 
 widow to begin immediately to idealize her lost husband. 
 And he could say nothing in response to such remarks. 
 
 Mrs. Grover blindly had a sense that something had come 
 between her and the gentleness she had felt from Lucian, 
 and she resented this fact. 
 
 " Folks didn t predate Hanford," she said, in a harder 
 voice. 
 
 There was no reply to this remark either. Eldridge was 
 puzzled. He did not know what to say, and he did not 
 wish to leave her. Suddenly Mrs. Grover started to go 
 down the walk. Then the young man s pity for Judith s 
 mother overcame everything else. He had never in his life 
 seen anything so desolate as that bent figure of a woman. 
 He went to her side and drew her hand through his arm. 
 
 " Let me go with you," he said, in a whisper. 
 
 She tried to walk more erectly. "Id know why I ve 
 gone on so," she said, tremulously. " I never meant to say 
 anything to anybody only Judith. I m all broke down. I 
 ain t good for nothing. I wish we could just shut ourselves 
 up here n never see folks any more." She was openly 
 weeping now. " I d know how tis, but there s something or 
 other bout you, Mr. Eldridge, that makes me don t care 
 whether I keep up or not. And do you remember how you 
 brought some roses and put um in little Em s lap when she 
 was sick, n I was holclin her? She took lots of notice of 
 them roses. I ve got um saved up now in the middle bureau- 
 drawer with Em s things. You re real gentle ; there s a look 
 in your eyes that makes me cry, and thankful to cry, too. I d 
 know how tis." 
 
 The two walked in silence down the path. The woman 
 leaned heavily on Eldridge s arm.
 
 XIX 
 
 " IT WAS LUCIAN " 
 
 WHEN they had reached the end of the high path they 
 turned into an outlying pasture belonging to the Grover 
 farm. Here Mrs. Grover paused and took her hand from 
 the young man s arm. 
 
 " Let me go home with you," he begged. 
 
 She looked at him earnestly as well as she could for the 
 tears which kept gathering and falling. 
 
 " I d know how tis," she repeated. " You haven t said 
 anything. I guess it s cause I ve talked myself. Don t 
 you s pose it s that ?" with a touching simplicity. She had 
 given up trying to speak correctly. 
 
 " Yes," answered Eldriclge, " it must be that. But I do 
 wish I could do something for you for you all." 
 
 She resumed her walk, and her companion kept beside 
 her. " There ain t nothing to do." 
 
 After a while they came to the path that led up through 
 what had once been the garden. Mrs. Grover stopped 
 again. She had been carrying her sun-bonnet in her hand. 
 She now put it on, and drew it forward over her face. With 
 out looking at Eldriclge, she said, "I m going to little Em s 
 grave. I go there and I go on the cliff every clay when 
 Judith ain t here. Somehow I wish you d come to the 
 grave with me. She took so much notice of them roses." 
 
 Eldriclge said " Yes." They went along over the un 
 thrifty looking land. Everything all about was unthrifty 
 looking had a melancholy aspect, even beneath this sum 
 mer sun. 
 
 Mrs. Grover led him to the fresh mound in the garden.
 
 IT WAS LUCIAN 
 
 Iig 
 
 Close by it was a small cleared space smoothed, and evi 
 dently planted. 
 
 "Judith put in some mignonette seed there," said Mrs. 
 Grover, now speaking quite calmly. " She thought if she 
 watered it and took real good care of it twould come up 
 so s to blossom fore frost. N I guess twill. Em she was 
 fond of mignonette. She used to say somehow it smelt like 
 sunshine." 
 
 " So it does," said Lucian. He was looking down at the 
 grave. He was thinking many things ; foremost among 
 them was the thought that he would have Judith Grover for 
 his wife. 
 
 The picture of her as he had seen her an hour ago was 
 vividly with him. To him she was as strong as she was 
 beautiful. He fancied that she was the complement, the 
 other part, of his nature. And what sincere lover does not 
 fancy thus? In his mind he had already overridden every 
 possible obstacle, and was imagining how he would make 
 things easier for this family, which had had things so 
 hard. 
 
 Mrs. Grover knelt clown by the mound. She passed her 
 hand softly over the gravel, carefully picking off some small 
 stones and throwing them away. The reticent, broken-down 
 woman seemed to feel it an exquisite relief not to be reticent 
 in the presence of this young man who had said so little, 
 but whose heart had mysteriously come so near her own 
 heart. 
 
 " When it gets a little later we re goin to sow some grass 
 seed on the grave," she said, without looking up, and speak 
 ing from the depths of her sun-bonnet. "Judith s goin to 
 bring some loam in the wheelbarrow from the side of the 
 road. We want it to be pleasant here." 
 
 There was very little more said. At last Mrs. Grover re 
 membered that she ought to be " doin something in the 
 house." 
 
 When they had reached the door Lucian asked where he 
 should find the wheelbarrow. He wanted to bring the loam.
 
 GERALD 
 
 Mrs. Grover did not try to prevent him. She went with him 
 to the ruinous barn ; she found some worn old tools for him 
 to use. 
 
 An hour later and the young man had done his task. He 
 was standing by the grave, which was carefully covered with 
 rich earth. He had told Mrs. Grover that he would bring 
 some grass seed. 
 
 " I can t tell you how much obliged I am," she replied. 
 " You ve done ms a lot of good." 
 
 " Don t think of me as a stranger. Let me come some 
 times," he answered. 
 
 When he walked home, carefully keeping in the pastures 
 that he might avoid meeting any one, he had a feeling that 
 there was a relation established between him and that des 
 olate family. He was glad to think that he had set up a 
 kind of sentimental right to be their friend and to see them. 
 The young fellow s nature had so much of gentleness and 
 sweetness in it that sometimes he did not have credit for all 
 the strength he possessed. It was not a blustering strength, 
 and it was not, perhaps, the kind that made such a leaven in 
 Judith s character. It may be it was for that very reason 
 that he was so strongly drawn to her. 
 
 "Curious," suddenly began Mr. Gerald at dinner that 
 night, "how one never imagines correctly about a person 
 one has never seen." 
 
 Here he glanced at Lucian, who returned his glance in 
 such a veiled way that his uncle could make nothing of his 
 face, and consequently admired his nephew more than he 
 had ever clone. But the young man knew very well who it 
 was that was in the man s mind, and he chafed under that 
 knowledge. He had a desire to rise and fling out of the 
 room and out of the house. But he sat calmly quiet and put 
 more sugar in his coffee. 
 
 " You were saying, Uncle Dick ?" he remarked, gazing with 
 unreadable eyes across the table into Mr. Gerald s face, as 
 that gentleman paused in his talk. 
 
 " That things never turn out as you expect," somewhat
 
 "IT WAS LUCIAN 121 
 
 brusquely replied Mr. Gerald. " Now there s that girl, that 
 Miss Grover, whom we met this morning " 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Dick, you ve seen her, then ?" interrupted 
 Belle from her end of the table. " Now tell me, do you think 
 she pushed her father off the cliff?" 
 
 "That s entirely immaterial to me," answered Mr. Gerald, 
 easily. " Now my habit of mind is not to care in the least 
 who or what a woman is if she be interesting." 
 
 "Richard," expostulated his sister, "don t talk so before 
 my girls." 
 
 " Oh, uncle, please go right on. Your words sound so im 
 proper," pleaded Belle. 
 
 "No, indeed," was the prompt response, "I m not going 
 to be charged with corrupting the minds of my nieces. Nat 
 urally, Caroline would never forgive me. But I suppose I 
 may be permitted to quote that goodness is often uninterest 
 ing, while 
 
 " Richard !" again exclaimed Mrs. Elclridge. 
 
 Richard bowed with great suavity to his sister and re 
 mained silent. The two girls exchanged glances with each 
 other and the younger one pouted. 
 
 When the meal was over it was still daylight, though the 
 sun was near the horizon. Lucian had made up his mind 
 he would call at the Grovers. It would be useless to try to 
 meet Judith on her way from the factory. Besides, the 
 young man was eager to demonstrate openly that he cared 
 for her. He wished it to be known in the village that he 
 was her friend, and that he believed in her. He would not 
 lurk about anywhere hoping to see her in an apparently ac 
 cidental way. His sister Belle followed him into the garden. 
 
 " I ve been wishing you d take me to call on Judith Gro 
 ver," she said, abruptly. " You know her better than I do. 
 Take me over there. I want her to know that I m her 
 friend, and I don t want to go alone. I can t help thinking 
 how she looked that day she came here so proud and so 
 strong ! I call her a heroine, and she s the first heroine I ever 
 saw in my life. Now, Lucian ?"
 
 122 MRS. GERALD 
 
 She looked at her brother eagerly. With a sudden, im 
 petuous movement Lucian drew the girl to him and kissed 
 her. Belle held him close with her arm about his neck 
 while she whispered, " Why, Lucian, is it so bad as that ?" 
 
 She did not lift her head, and she did not see the glow 
 that came to her brother s eyes. He did not speak for a 
 moment. Then he said, in a rallying tone, " What a senti 
 mental little creature you are, Belle !" 
 
 She raised her head. Could it be possible that she had 
 been mistaken ? She flounced out of the arm that held her. 
 " Who s a better right to be sentimental, I should like to 
 know ? But you needn t try to deceive me. I know a few 
 things." 
 
 " So glad. I ll have old Blacky put into the phaeton. 
 We ll drive over now. And we needn t advertise to the 
 whole household where we are going." 
 
 When Belle came out ready for the drive she brought with 
 her a bunch of pale roses, which she carefully held in her 
 lap. 
 
 Mr. Gerald was strolling along the drive, taking his after- 
 dinner smoke. He elaborately raised his hat as they passed, 
 and he smiled under his mustache in a way that did not 
 disturb the apparent repose of his face. 
 
 " It s a pity Uncle Dick wasn t born in France," somewhat 
 viciously remarked Belle, when they were well on the road. 
 " He s a regular Frenchman. Sometimes I like him and 
 sometimes I hate him." 
 
 The girl chattered on with her usual freedom and frank 
 ness, but when the horse s head was turned into the rarely 
 travelled road that led to the Grover farm she became 
 markedly silent. 
 
 In the farm-house the family were at the supper-table. 
 One of the children had whined a little because she wanted 
 something besides bread and milk. She had been reproved 
 so sharply by her mother that she was now choking over her 
 bowl. 
 
 Judith ate what she could, but of late food had no flavor
 
 IT WAS LUCIAN 
 
 123 
 
 for her. Every faculty of her being was absorbed in the 
 effort to find out some honest way whereby she could earn 
 more money. If she could start fairly out of debt it seemed 
 to her that she could make her mother and the children com 
 fortable. But she could not start so. And to her indepen 
 dent and honest spirit the thought of the debts was contin 
 ually with her hounding her, stabbing her. She must save 
 something out of every day s wage, something to go towards 
 the debts. This necessity kept down the sum that she felt 
 she could spend on the wants of life to a fearfully small 
 amount. 
 
 Sometimes she wished that she could do as some people 
 did go on contracting debts wherever they, could, not car 
 ing whether they were ever paid or not. But it was simply 
 impossible to do that. She chafed so in her attempt to per 
 form the impossible, in her hourly struggle to put all feeling 
 from her, that she became gaunt and old-looking But there 
 was still in her face, her figure, her air that something which 
 marked her as different from her surroundings that nobility 
 and strength and inherent sweetness; only the latter quality 
 was kept submerged beneath the waves of adversity in which 
 she was struggling. 
 
 Now, as she sat at the bare table and knew that her mother 
 and the children ought to have more and better food, her soul 
 seemed to be fighting against itself and against fate. She 
 could not eat. She sat with a stern face looking at the 
 others. She knew that this was wrong also she ought at 
 least to try to seem cheerful- She thought of God. Since 
 He permitted these thing they must be right. After a while 
 she would get herself in hand. She was resolved not to 
 make a sombre home for these dear ones. She should be 
 able presently to do better 
 
 Now she rose from the table and went out-of-doors, going 
 towards the garden. She was continually, in the midst of 
 everything, thinking of Em and her sweet, loving ways. Em 
 could never have grown up into a sordid, care-corroded 
 woman, such as she herself was becoming. Yes, she was
 
 124 MRS - GERALD 
 
 growing sordid, and her whole being revolted from that 
 quality. Beneath all this, that encompassed and overlaid 
 her, Judith was always half aware of some strange tropical 
 longings that seemed to have come to her from a life she 
 had lived somewhere else. These longings were continually 
 cropping into sudden and acute life, and were as suddenly 
 and strongly put clown. 
 
 She had never thought anything about a theory of a pre- 
 existence , she had heard none of the talk so common in 
 these clays. She knew absolutely nothing of it. What she 
 knew was that she must keep on fighting as long as she 
 lived. She would not have shirked if she could. 
 
 She came to Em s grave. She had been thinking there 
 might be time for her to bring one barrow-load of loam. 
 When she saw the care, the apparently loving care, that had 
 been bestowed upon the mound since morning a quick dim 
 ness came to her eyes and a trembling to her frame. Who 
 ever had done this, it was a kind act. She weakened under 
 it. She knelt down and covered her face with her hands, 
 swaying back and forth in the violence of her weeping. She 
 was still in that attitude when her mother came to her. 
 
 "Judith, 1 whispered the elder woman, " wa n t he real 
 kind ?" 
 
 The girl lifted her swollen face. " Who was it ? 
 
 " I thought you d know right off. He brought them roses, 
 you remember." 
 
 " Oh, it was Lucian," responded Judith, calling young 
 Eldridge by the name familiar in childhood. 
 
 "Yes. He met me on the cliff-walk this morning, and he 
 come home with me, and he did this. He says he s going 
 to sow some grass seed if we ll let him. But you come in 
 V bathe your face quick s you can. He V his sister are 
 here. They ve just drove up. You must hurry."
 
 XX 
 
 MR. GERALD S CALL 
 
 WHEN Judith followed her mother into the now darkening 
 sitting-room the two visitors rose to greet her. She won 
 dered how any woman could look so lightly care free, so in 
 tune with all bright things, as did Belle Eldriclge. She felt 
 herself to be like a black cloud coming upon the horizon. 
 But she smiled as she gave her hand. 
 
 Belle s blue eyes darkened a little as she clung to the 
 hand ; then she suddenly reached up, put her arm round 
 the tall girl, and kissed her warmly. "You must be so un 
 happy ! she cried, in a whisper. " I wanted my brother to 
 bring me. I wanted to let you know 
 
 Here Belle found that she was not quite sure how to end 
 the sentence, so she did not try to end it. 
 
 Judith s firm red mouth quivered slightly, then was brought 
 under control. She had just wept all her tears out there in 
 the garden. Belle, gazing at her, thought that she had nev 
 er before known the meaning of the word "dusky" as ap 
 plied to a woman s face. 
 
 "It s so good of you," said Judith, simply. Then she 
 turned and shook hands with Lucian. 
 
 She sat clown. She detected the odor of roses in the 
 room. She recalled the handful of roses which Lucian had 
 thrust upon her on the road that day It was very hard to 
 speak. She was thankful to her mother for beginning to 
 talk, and to Belle for joining in and keeping the conversa 
 tion going. 
 
 When the guests rose Belle was wishing she could say 
 that her mother would come soon to call, but she knew that
 
 126 MRS. GERALD 
 
 she could not truthfully make such an announcement. The 
 girl was not aware that Judith knew nothing of the impor 
 tance to be attached to Mrs. Eldridge s visit, and that their 
 own call was of no official worth ; that it was only a sign of 
 their individual feelings. And so Judith in her heart was 
 perhaps unduly grateful for Belle s kindness. She was com 
 forted by the visit more than she would have thought possi 
 ble. She was almost pitiably thankful for a kindness that 
 did not trench upon her pride of independence. 
 
 She slept that night as she had not slept since her father s 
 disappearance and Em s death. 
 
 The next week passed more calmly. Judith worked at 
 home and in the shop every waking moment. And some 
 times she thought she made some progress in the art of 
 seeming cheerful. 
 
 It was one night in the second week that Mr. Gerald 
 came. He sauntered into the yard as if he had been used 
 to coming into that yard every day for years. 
 
 Mrs. Grover was lying down. She was not as well as 
 usual. She said she must have taken cold. But she reso 
 lutely asserted that she wanted nothing, only to rest. 
 
 Judith was sitting in the doorway mending stockings by 
 the last gleams of daylight. She rose, looking with a slight 
 ly cool surprise at this new-comer. 
 
 Mr. Gerald was very much at his ease. He took off his 
 hat as he begged permission to sit down a few moments on 
 the step after Miss Grover had resumed her seat. So 
 Judith went on with her work. Mr. Gerald talked, not in 
 the least cynically, but with a gentle humor that began to 
 amuse the girl before she was aware of it. 
 
 The dusk deepened into darkness, and still the man lin 
 gered. Judith invited him into the house, but he said that 
 he was not one of those idiots who stopped in-doors in the 
 summer. 
 
 " You ll smile in derision at me when you know my er 
 rand, Miss Grover," he said, after a silence. 
 
 Her work had been laid aside. She sat with her hands
 
 MR. GERALD S CALL 127 
 
 folded over the stockings, the profile of her face dimly visible 
 to the man sitting below her. 
 
 He was very much at his ease, and the girl had ceased to 
 wonder why he had come. She was really enjoying his call. 
 As she made no reply, he asked if she had no curiosity. 
 
 Judith was wondering, not about his errand, but as to why 
 she was not disturbed by his presence. She turned towards 
 him as if waiting for him to go on. 
 
 Mr. Gerald leaned a little nearer. He was congratulat 
 ing himself that a summer evening and the presence of a 
 woman like this woman still had a remnant of power over 
 his pulses ; and he was surprised as well as gratified. He 
 had not come for any sentimental reason, but a mixture of 
 sentiment would be highly agreeable. 
 
 "I came here to talk with you on the subject of mar 
 riage," he said, deliberately. 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 " I see you don t understand me," he went on ; " not mar 
 riage in general, but our marriage, Miss Grover." 
 
 Judith s smile faded. She involuntarily drew back. 
 "Don t you think it is poor taste for you to talk like that?" 
 she asked. 
 
 She had no thought that he was serious, and she was 
 offended. Did he think she was of so little consequence 
 that he could jest with her in that way? She drew herself 
 up still more. 
 
 "I knew you would be unjust," Mr. Gerald said, in his 
 usual tone of suavity, in which one was never quite sure that 
 there was no cynicism. "But I m going to make you listen 
 to me. I always know what I want ; I know immediately. 
 When I met you in the street the other day I was positive 
 that you were the woman to be my wife." 
 
 Judith rose to her feet. Mr. Gerald rose also. She stood 
 tall before him, with her head held high. The man s eyes 
 gleamed with delight in her appearance. 
 
 " I don t think I need to listen to you any longer," she 
 said, coldly.
 
 128 MRS. GERALD 
 
 "Why not? 1 suppose a man has a right to tell a woman 
 when he wants her to be his wife?" 
 
 Judith did not reply. She had not divested her mind of 
 the monstrous idea that he was acting a part for some rea 
 son perhaps for pastime. 
 
 " I mean what I say." 
 
 The two stood looking at each other like two opponents. 
 
 "Yes," said Gerald, with a ring of determination, "you and 
 I are going to be man and wife within six months." 
 
 Again Judith made no reply. She was beginning to be 
 convinced of her companion s sincerity, and this conviction 
 brought with it a bewilderment that was like a cloud over 
 her brain. 
 
 " I tell you," he went on, after a pause, " I m a man who 
 has seen a great deal of life. I ve had my furores of pas 
 sion and know just what they are worth. I ve been think 
 ing for a few years that I would marry. I didn t want one 
 of the women who dress and make eyes. I ve had more 
 than enough of them. I want you. You are a strong wom 
 an. It will be interesting to subjugate you ; for I shall do 
 that. It will be difficult ; nevertheless, I shall accomplish 
 it. You don t think I shall ; and perhaps you think I am 
 not \vise to tell you of this in advance. I m not making love, 
 you know. We are arranging a bargain. Let us look the 
 matter in the face. You are under a cloud. I don t care a 
 farthing for that. I wouldn t care if you had killed your fa 
 ther. I can take care of you. You are so poor that you 
 can t provide for your family. You would keep on with the 
 struggle, but you can t succeed. I have figured the thing 
 out exactly. I know all your debts, incurred, many of them, 
 because of your father. I know precisely what you earn. 
 And if any of you should be ill, if you yourself should be ill, 
 what then ? You know what then. But I m not one of 
 those brutes about whom novels are written, and who force 
 penniless maidens to marry them. You will think this 
 proposition over in all its phases, and you will see it as I do. 
 Miss Grover, do you understand me ? You will see it as I do."
 
 1 DON T THINK I NEED TO LISTEN TO YOU ANY LONGER "
 
 MR. GERALD S CALL i 2g 
 
 A certain strain had come into the man s voice. Judith 
 heard it without knowing what it was. It had the curious 
 effect of rousing her combativeness at the same time that it 
 made her wonder as to the power of her own will. She had 
 never felt this wonder before. 
 
 " No," she said, at last, " I do not think that I shall see it 
 as you do." 
 
 Mr. Gerald smiled, but in the dusk she did not know that. 
 
 " Do not trouble yourself to refuse me," he answered. " I 
 know very well that that is what you are going to do. That 
 is quite of course. I will now wish you good-evening." 
 
 He took off his hat with elaborate movement, bowed 
 deeply, and then walked out of the yard. 
 
 Judith stood leaning against the door-casing. She put her 
 hand up to her forehead and pressed it there. She was in 
 clined to smile, only there was something strange and almost 
 weird about the interview. In the morning she would find 
 that she had dreamed it. She heard Mr. Gerald s footfall 
 sounding on the still road. Yes, he had certainly been 
 there. He had 
 
 "Judith ! called her mother s voice. 
 
 The girl gathered up her mended stockings and carried 
 them in. She found her mother sitting bolt-upright on the 
 lounge. She seemed to be shivering. Judith wrapped a 
 shawl about the frail form, saying, as she did so, " I thought 
 you were asleep, mother." 
 
 " I was jest drowsin when I heard a man s voice," was 
 the answer. " I couldn t help hearin . Doors and winders 
 were open, you know." 
 
 The girl did not speak. It was very dark in the house. 
 These people did not have a light unless it was absolutely 
 needed. 
 
 Suddenly Mrs. Grover said, " I wish you d kindle a lamp. 
 I feel s if I wanted a lamp." She spoke querulously. 
 
 In silent surprise the girl did as her mother wished. 
 
 " Set it right there," pointing to the table ; " I want it where 
 I c n see you, Judith."
 
 1 30 MRS. GERALD 
 
 The elder woman looked long at the girl. As the gaze 
 continued, Judith s blood ran slower and slower in her veins. 
 She would not break the silence. 
 
 "I heard all he said," Mrs. Grover finally began. "I 
 heard every word. I was fraid I shouldn t hear, V I got 
 up still, V went to the winder." 
 
 .Again Judith did not speak. Her mother s pleading eyes 
 were stabbing into her heart. 
 
 "I never listened before," said Mrs. Grover. " Taint my 
 habit." She shivered, and drew her shawl closer over her 
 shoulders. " I s pose he s a rich man, ain t he ?" 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " I heard Mis Guild tellin that he was worth more n two 
 million." 
 
 " Very likely." 
 
 " More n two million," repeated the woman. Then she 
 shivered once more. She kept her eyes fixed on her daugh 
 ter s face. After a moment she said that when she married 
 Hanford she wasn t a grain in love with him. She didn t 
 s pose twas necessary. But she respected him, and it was 
 better for a woman to be married. And women grew tached 
 to their husbands. She knew Hanford cl been unlucky, n 
 had liver complaint. But women grew tached to their hus 
 bands. She s posed folks generally didn t expect to be 
 much more n tached to their husbands. When she had 
 repeated this phrase for the third time she stopped. But 
 she continued to keep her eyes on the young and darkly 
 pallid face the other side of the lamp.
 
 XXI 
 
 A LOVER 
 
 " MOTHER," said Judith, at last, " what do you mean ?" 
 
 "Oh," returned the woman, desolately, "I don t mean 
 nothing. I guess I ll lay clown agin. I shouldn t wonder 
 if I was comin on with a low fever." 
 
 Judith suggested that her mother go to bed. She helped 
 her to undress, and then brewed some pennyroyal tea. She 
 sat on the side of the bed while her mother sipped the hot 
 drink. 
 
 When she had taken the cup from her Mrs. Grover said, 
 with feeble emphasis, "There s one thing I do want to say, 
 Judith, n that is, don t you go to flyin in the face of Provi 
 dence. Don t you do it." 
 
 The next morning Judith came down as soon as it was 
 light. With a sinking of the heart, which no one who has 
 not felt it can understand, she saw that her mother was ill 
 not violently ill, but in a low, feverish state that would in 
 capacitate her for work. But Mrs. Grover insisted that Ju 
 dith should go to the factory; the two children would stay at 
 home and wait upon her. 
 
 In the evening, when the girl sat beside her mother, who 
 was lying on the lounge, a hard, thin hand was put impres 
 sively on Judith s arm. 
 
 " Have you be n thinkin bout what I said ?" she asked, in 
 a dry, eager voice. 
 
 Judith nodded. She was so sick at heart that it was diffi 
 cult to speak. 
 
 " It s more n two million. I can t imagine so much 
 money." The woman lay silent. Then she began again :
 
 132 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " Of course, I know well enough you ain t in love with any 
 one. Now there s Tom Rylance 
 
 " Mother," began Judith, hurriedly, " I want to explain to 
 you that love isn t for me. I wouldn t marry any man who 
 thought he loved me, for he d have to bear my burden too. 
 Some folks think I ve committed murder. You needn t look 
 so. That s what they think. No, I never would marry any 
 man who thought he loved me. I m a marked woman. I m 
 not going to be happy. But I can bear it." Judith sat erect 
 and threw back her shoulders. 
 
 Her mother kept her hold on her arm. " I married your 
 father " she began again ; but Judith said "Please don t!" 
 in such a way that she did not go on. 
 
 It was in this way that the following week passed. Mrs. 
 Grover succumbed to a fever that held her helpless. The 
 neighbors came, and brought jellies and blanc-mange. The 
 children did as well as they could. But on Judith the burden 
 was heavy. She slept very little, for she was often up to do 
 something for the sick woman. 
 
 Every day her mother would gaze pathetically at her, 
 and would then hope that Judith knew what she was 
 doing. Once she said it really did seem providential, as 
 Judith had made up her mind not to marry any one who 
 loved her. 
 
 The girl did not ask what was providential. Her mind 
 weakened and grew hazy under the strain. She wished that 
 she might sleep for one long night. Perhaps that rest might 
 clear the atmosphere. She became aware that she was not 
 seeing things right. Every time she looked at her mother 
 she felt guilty. 
 
 Two or three times Lucian called. He found Judith cold 
 and strange. He could not understand her. He w r as aware 
 that his uncle watched him closely. Sometimes the younger 
 man would lift his head defiantly and return the gaze. Then 
 the elder man would thoughtfully pull his mustache and 
 smile. At such times Lucian was sure that it would be a 
 great satisfaction to hit out from his shoulder hard at the
 
 A LOVER 133 
 
 handsome, well-preserved face that seemed to wear an un 
 reasonable expression of triumph. 
 
 Why should Gerald be triumphant ? Lucian grew in 
 wardly furious asking himself that question. And Judith 
 did not seem the same to him. Not that she had ever been 
 very cordial, but she had been different. What puzzled him 
 still more was the attitude Mrs. Grover now assumed tow 
 ards him, for she had been far kinder than her daughter had 
 ever been. She was now constrained and unlike herself. 
 Was it because she was ill ? Lucian carried her flowers and 
 dainties. Sometimes Belle went with him, and the two sat 
 with Mrs. Grover and waited upon her while Judith was at 
 the factory. She was not so ill that it seemed absolutely 
 necessary that the elder girl should stay at home, for the 
 poor must do as they can. 
 
 One clay at dinner Mrs. Eldriclge remarked that she un 
 derstood that Lucian and Belle had taken a fancy to do a 
 little slumming. She spoke languidly, but there was a sting 
 in her voice. Her son s eyes caught fire instantly. Uncle 
 Dick ostentatiously did not look at him. Belle pressed her 
 foot on his under the table, and he smothered the disre 
 spectful answer that had rushed to his lips to be spoken. 
 
 Belle responded, in as languid a voice as her mother had 
 used, that there was no place in town where they could slum, 
 but that she should like it above all things if there were, 
 doing good gave one such a comfortable feeling. It was to 
 the soul what a new seal-skin jacket in winter was to the body. 
 
 " Belle, you sound irreverent," said her mother, whereupon 
 the girl immediately repeated her remark, and then laughed 
 in a light, saucy manner. 
 
 At the first opportunity Belle frankly told her brother 
 that he came very near being a fool that day at dinner. 
 What was the use of his getting mamma up on her ear, she 
 should like to know? 
 
 Lucian began to be very wretched in those days, and he 
 was becoming more and more in love with Judith. Her dis 
 tant and yet kind manner perplexed him and urged him on.
 
 I 3 4 MRS - GERALD 
 
 " I suppose I bore you almost beyond endurance," he 
 said to her that evening. 
 
 He had hurried across the fields, his setter at his heels, 
 as soon as the Eldridge dinner was over. The dog was sit 
 ting leaning up against Judith, and she sometimes stopped 
 sewing on a garment she was making over for one of her 
 sisters and gently stroked the handsome chestnut head of 
 the dog. The action seemed to comfort her. She looked 
 across Random at his master. 
 
 " No, you don t bore me at all," she answered, in her 
 truthful, straightforward way. 
 
 "And you like to have me come ?" 
 
 Now the girl hesitated. Her eyes fell beneath those of 
 her companion. 
 
 " Oh, Judith," he exclaimed, sorrowfully, " you can t tell 
 a falsehood, and you hate to hurt me !" 
 
 " I do like to have you come in a way," she replied. 
 
 "In what way ?" 
 
 " Because your coming shows how kind you are." She 
 spoke promptly now, as if she were sure that she was saying 
 the right thing. 
 
 " Oh yes, I m awfully kind," he responded, mockingly. " I 
 dislike extremely to come here, but I will do it out of kind 
 ness to you. You see what a fine fellow I am, don t you?" 
 
 Judith said nothing. She took up her sewing again. 
 
 Lucian gazed a moment at her in silence. He was con 
 fusedly asking himself how it happened that there could be 
 a girl like this right here in his own town a girl with a 
 dark, rich face that was full of a bewitching suggestiveness. 
 Now, in this sunset light, she might be Ah, well, Lucian 
 did not try to tell himself what she might be. He was well 
 aware that, mingled with all that Southern opulence of per 
 sonal appearance, Judith had that individual power which 
 comes from the mere ability to be able to determine, and to 
 abide by that determination. There was something some 
 where in her face he could not tell where that showecfr- 
 this power.
 
 A LOVER 135 
 
 Young Eldridge continued to look at her. Suddenly he 
 leaned forward and put his hand authoritatively on hers 
 that held the half-completed frock. She withdrew her hand 
 with an impatient movement and put it over her eyes. He 
 saw her lips quiver. 
 
 "Judith," he whispered "Judith, you are not angry with 
 me? You must know I can t help loving you." 
 
 She hastily placed her other hand up to her face. He 
 bent still nearer her, but he did not touch her. The dog 
 reached forward and rested his head on the girl s lap. 
 
 " How weak I am !" he heard her murmur. 
 
 "You know I ve got to love you," he went on, with that 
 impetus which comes from a previous constrained silence. 
 " And I ve got to tell you of it, at last. But you must have 
 known it oh, surely you knew it !" 
 
 Now he bent and kissed her hands, that were still cover 
 ing her face. He kissed them again and again. She with 
 drew them and tried to look up at him, but her eyes, full of 
 tears, drooped heavily. But the one glance made him seize 
 those hands and hold them in a masterful way. His face 
 shone with that transfiguration which comes sometimes in a 
 man s life, and makes him for one moment a being to be 
 envied ~ r he gods. 
 
 " Be. a! oh, my dearest !" he whispered. 
 
 A little later he insisted, as lovers will. He begged her 
 to say she loved him. It was not enough that he believed 
 it ; she must tell him. 
 
 " Oh yes, I love you," she answered. 
 
 Having said this she thrust him from her with a savage 
 movement. She tried to rise. But Lucian held her within 
 his arm. He would not be thrust away in that manner. He im 
 mediately assumed that her confession gave him some rights. 
 
 " I must go ! I tell you, I must go !" she exclaimed, her 
 voice low but imperative. 
 
 " No, no ! You must give me this moment," he returned, 
 in the same voice. " Do you think you are going to starve 
 me, my love ? My love ! Oh, you don t know what you
 
 136 MRS. GERALD 
 
 are, Judith! You are lovely to me. You are magnificent! 
 And you are mine ! Yes, you are mine ! I ve been tort 
 ured for the last few weeks. You don t know how I ve 
 suffered. But this makes up for everything. This would 
 make up for a thousand years." 
 
 Lucian was smitten with that garrulousness of the sud 
 denly happy lover. He was going on with phrases that 
 would sound extravagant, but that to him seemed con 
 temptibly feeble. Where are the words that are tender 
 enough and passionate enough ? Alas ! Lucian knew that 
 there are no such words. 
 
 Judith placed her hands on his breast, and gently pushed 
 him from her. He stood gazing at her, wondering at the 
 new attractiveness of a face he had thought familiar. 
 
 " Let us stop this," she said. " I ought not to have told 
 you that I love you." Her voice suddenly melted to an ex 
 quisite cadence. " But I do I do love you. To-night I 
 will say it. No, don t come nearer." She still held him off. 
 "To-night I will tell you that you are light and joy and 
 happiness all lovely things in the world to me ; that your 
 love is water to thirst, food to hunger." She paused, her 
 eyes fixed on his eyes, and on her face was no maiden shy 
 ness, only the majesty of love confessed and unashamed. 
 " I wanted to tell you once. I wanted once to let myself 
 loose from the iron chains that I must wear only once in 
 all my life. Don t you know, dear Lucian, that I can t be 
 your wife? That would be an injury that I shall never do 
 you. Don t speak yet. I can imagine that I could have 
 been persuaded to marry you if I had been only poor. But 
 it s worse than that. You know how it is. You see, I love 
 you, so I m not going to harm you. No, no ; don t speak. 
 I ve thought it all out. Perhaps I m mistaken, but it s what 
 I believe. And when I believe a thing I must do it. I 
 can t help doing it if it kills me." 
 
 She stopped abruptly. She took her hands from his 
 breast and stepped out into the yard.
 
 XXII 
 
 WATCHING 
 
 LUCIAN remained a moment leaning against the door 
 frame, watching the girl as she walked aimlessly back and 
 forth. His dog glanced up at him, then gravely went 
 and placed himself behind Judith and paced slowly after 
 her. 
 
 Lucian s thoughts were so confused that he could hardly 
 be said to be thinking. His hurrying pulses forbade thought. 
 As yet the sweetness of Judith s words was diffusing itself 
 through his consciousness. The bitterness had hardly made 
 itself felt. Of course he could not believe her when she had 
 said that she would not be his wife. She was sincere, but he 
 could persuade her to change that decision. Her own heart 
 would help him to do that. Still Here a cold doubt 
 came to him and pressed him away from her, as the girl s 
 hand had just done. She paused in front of him. A few 
 yards of space separated them. 
 
 The night had come on and the gloom was deepening. 
 It was sultry, and the fire-flies were flitting among the lilac- 
 bushes on the other side of the yard. Lucian particularly 
 noted the fire -flies. The air was filled with the odor of 
 thick clumps of blossoming meadow s-queen and elder-blow 
 that grew in the low land back of the house. 
 
 Lucian dimly wished the odor were not so heavy. He 
 almost thought that perfume prevented him from thinking 
 clearly. And there was Judith s face looking very white in 
 the semi-darkness. 
 
 "Lucian," said the girl, softly, "you won t think of me 
 in any way that will make you unhappy? You surely won t
 
 138 MRS. GERALD 
 
 do that ? Oh," with a sudden weakness, " I am wretched 
 enough without having that to remember !" 
 
 The young man made a quick movement towards her. 
 But she recoiled. 
 
 " No ! Don t come near me again ! I ve been wrong 
 and weak. So wrong and weak ! I ought not to have told 
 you. I ought to have let you think I didn t love you." 
 
 "Judith!" 
 
 " Yes. I ought to have done that. But it was so hard ! 
 And I hated to hurt you. Lucian, you don t know how I 
 hate to hurt you." 
 
 The pathetic tenderness of her voice, and at the same 
 time the resolution in it, were so disarming to Lucian that 
 he stood there in silence for a space. Then the rebellion, 
 the furious uprising of his whole being against her decision 
 broke forth. His words came so fast that he could hardly 
 speak them. He stood there with his eyes blazing across 
 the distance between them. He begged, he entreated. He 
 tried to tell her how he loved her, and what the world would 
 be to him without her. As he went on she bent her head, 
 but she endeavored to stand erect. All at once she flung 
 out her hands. 
 
 " Stop !" she cried. " I can t bear this ! And I cannot 
 no, I cannot, even for you, Lucian change myself. You 
 shall not marry a woman like me. You would be sorry, and 
 I should be sorry. Now will you go ?" 
 
 There was that in her manner that made Eldridge know 
 that he must obey her. Without another word he turned 
 and walked towards the road. He had gone a few rods 
 when he faced about and hurried back. The girl was still 
 standing as he had left her. He reached forward and 
 touched her hand, but he did not attempt to take it. 
 
 "Judith," hoarsely, " it s because of what they think about 
 you and your father, isn t it ?" He could not say the thing 
 more plainly. 
 
 " Yes. And I can see that more and more people think 
 it," was the answer. She turned towards him. A strange
 
 WATCHING 139 
 
 flash came to her eyes. " Sometimes, when I haven t slept, 
 and I can t sleep much, I have times of asking myself if I 
 could have done that. Yes, I ask myself that. Perhaps, if 
 I were your wife, and you learned that I had a wild temper, 
 you would put that same question to yourself. Then I 
 should die of grief. I couldn t bear that. Now will you 
 go?" 
 
 " Not yet. If I should find out that your father is living, 
 and he should testify 
 
 " Lucian ! How strangely you talk ! He is dead. I ve 
 dreamed and dreamed that I saw him lying dead under the 
 water. Now will you go ?" 
 
 " If I should find him alive, will you marry me, Judith ?" 
 
 The girl s face at this moment revealed so much love that 
 Lucian thought he was answered. But her words were differ 
 ent. " If I am free," she said. 
 
 " Free ! Good God !" He could not say any more. What 
 did she mean ? He would not ask. He turned abruptly 
 and walked away. She looked after him almost as if she 
 would call him back. But she made no movement. The 
 setter-dog gazed up a moment in her face, and she stooped 
 and, in a blind way, patted his head. Then he cantered 
 after his master. 
 
 Judith hesitated ; it seemed as if she would go into the 
 house. But she did not immediately do so. She went slowly 
 along the yard and down into the garden. She paused at 
 the patch of ground that she had found time to spade and 
 plant beans in. Following the everyday routine, her mind, 
 as if it were a piece of mechanism, took note of the fact 
 that the patch needed hoeing. Even in the growing dark 
 ness she could see that. She dimly saw Em s grave beyond. 
 She stood looking in that direction. She longed to stay 
 out-of-doors in the quiet loveliness of the night. But she 
 knew she could not allow herself that luxury. Her mother 
 might need her. She had already been away from her too 
 long. 
 
 Judith went back to the door where she had been sitting.
 
 140 MRS. GERALD 
 
 She gathered up her work and entered the house. She trod 
 softly, and felt her way in the dark. Her mother was asleep 
 on the lounge. She heard her breathing. This knowledge 
 gave the girl a sudden relief from tension. She sank down 
 in a chair and leaned her head back. The weakness that 
 came upon her for an instant almost seemed like the weak 
 ness of death. And the thought of that possibility had a 
 strange sweetness in it. 
 
 Her mother moved. "Judith ! You here ?" 
 
 " Yes, mother. Do you want anything ?" 
 
 " Some cold water real cold. I want it right out of the 
 well." 
 
 So Judith rose and took the pail to the well. When she 
 gave the glass of water her mother said, " I ve been dream- 
 in ; n I never see anything seem so real s that dream 
 did." 
 
 " What was it ?" for the girl saw that her mother wished 
 to tell her dream. 
 
 " I thought you d married that rich man, n you was jest 
 as happy as you could be; and we all was so comfortable. 
 It did seem so queer n so lovely for us all to be comfort 
 able." 
 
 There was no reply to this. The daughter suggested 
 that her mother go to bed. " And I shall be right here on 
 the lounge, and shall be sure to hear." 
 
 Mrs. Grover obeyed this suggestion. As Judith was turn 
 ing away from the bed her hand was caught and held fast. 
 
 " You know you can t never pay all them debts, n the 
 moggidge to keep up," the woman said, piteously. " It s jest 
 beyend you ; that s what it is." 
 
 " I can keep trying." 
 
 " I tell you tain t no use. It 11 jest wear you out. N 
 after you re worn out, you n what there is left of us c n go 
 to the poor-house. I don t want to end my days in the poor- 
 house." 
 
 Mrs. Grover was ill enough to find it impossible not to 
 talk like this. And why was her daughter hesitating in this
 
 WATCHING 141 
 
 way ? Plenty of girls who had money enough of their own 
 would say "Yes," thankfully, to Mr. Gerald. 
 
 " I wa n t a mite in love with your father," began the 
 woman. 
 
 " Mother !" 
 
 " Well, I wa n t. It s better for a woman to be married ; 
 and" 
 
 " Has it been better for you, mother ?" suddenly and 
 sharply. 
 
 The woman restlessly turned her head on the pillow. 
 " You needn t speak so. Hanford d been a good husband 
 if his liver hadn t plagued him so." 
 
 There was no answer to this. Judith was turning to 
 leave the room. She was going to the lounge to lie there, 
 awake and thinking, all night. When the dawn began to 
 come she might have an hour s restless sleep. 
 
 "Judith !" 
 
 "Yes, mother." 
 
 " You always did have more will n all of us put together. 
 You would give back that money for the seraphine. You 
 made your father awful mad. It s all your doin s. If you 
 hadn t done jest s you have he wouldn t have gone on the 
 cliffs that night, n then he wouldn t have fallen over, n 
 then he d be n here now. You see, you would pay back- 
 that money. You see how it s all come about." 
 
 This was not accurately stated, but there was reason 
 enough in it to appeal forcibly to the weary mind of the 
 girl. The chain of events seemed to her linked together 
 very much as her mother had said ; and the chain dragged 
 her down. 
 
 " I don t feel s if I should sleep a wink to-night," said 
 Mrs. Grover. 
 
 She loved her girl, but it seemed to her unaccountable 
 that Judith should hesitate about accepting Mr. Gerald. 
 In the mother s view it was the luckiest thing that could 
 happen, this offer of marriage. And she had an idea that 
 she was not trying to influence Judith.
 
 142 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " I ll steep you some skull-cap ; perhaps that 11 soothe 
 you," said Judith. 
 
 " No," with feverish irritability. " There won t anything 
 soothe me." 
 
 " Mother," said Judith, when she brought the drink, 
 " I ll try to make up my mind to-night." She hesitated be 
 fore she added, " If you think it s all been my fault " 
 
 "But you re jest as headstrong V wilful s you can be; 
 you know you are, Judith."
 
 XXIII 
 
 DECISION 
 
 THE girl went back to the lounge. She arranged the 
 pillow as carefully as if she expected to rest. She wrapped 
 the faded old shawl about her. She remembered the shawl 
 as one which had been put around her when she had been 
 too young to go out-of-doors alone. The article was like 
 a tangible memory to her. Yes, it must be true that she 
 had been young enough once to be free from care. She 
 smoothed the shawl with a wistful, tender motion. She 
 thought lovingly of her mother, who had talked to her 
 so constantly, and yet who seemed to believe that she 
 had not in the least tried to influence her daughter s de 
 cision. Of course, her mother had always been like that, 
 only Judith had never known it before. Perhaps all moth 
 ers were like that, and perhaps she herself was so. She 
 was continually rinding out things about herself. 
 
 It seemed that she was very strange to hesitate in the 
 saying "Yes" to Mr. Gerald. And if she was to blame for 
 her father s falling and being drowned oh, if his death 
 could really be laid to her! surely she ought to be willing 
 to do what she could ; she ought to be willing to accept a 
 splendid position. 
 
 It was true that she loved Lucian. Here her hands in 
 voluntarily shut themselves upon the old shawl. But it 
 was also true that she was as removed from him as if the 
 world were between them. And it would always be so. 
 Upon that Judith was as sure as if she could see into their 
 whole future lives, and see them forever growing apart. 
 
 The girl had so positive a nature that to believe her
 
 144 MRS - GERALD 
 
 own conclusions was habitual with her ; and now she was 
 bewildered that she had hesitated so long in making up her 
 mind. But it was made up as regarded Lucian. She could 
 never marry him. She wished that she might pluck out her 
 love and fling it from her, since their ways would be differ 
 ent. She must not, by so much as one thought, consider 
 that love in deciding upon Mr. Gerald s offer. 
 
 Here Judith sat suddenly upright on the lounge. She 
 would have liked to walk hurriedly about the house ; but 
 no, she might disturb her mother. She went noiselessly to 
 an open window and knelt down by it. It was still sultry. 
 Along the western horizon "heat-lightning" was playing 
 across a bank of cloud. How loud the crickets chirped ! 
 Indistinctly the outlines of the familiar scene came to her 
 heart rather than to her vision. She drew the shawl more 
 closely about her and leaned her head on the window-shelf. 
 
 This was the first time in her life when she had not made 
 up her mind almost directly upon her course of action. 
 This indecision of itself confused her; she did not recog 
 nize herself. There was absolutely no one whom she could 
 consult, and she knew if there were that she could not take 
 advice on such a subject. She felt so strangely alone that 
 for the moment it was as if the world had receded from her ; 
 only here still were the seductive odors and sounds of a 
 summer night. 
 
 It was not late ; the clock had but a short time before 
 struck ten. She heard a rustle among the boughs of the 
 lilacs, then the shadowy shape of a dog appeared. He 
 came directly to her and licked her hands. It was Lucian s 
 setter. Presently a shrill, imperative whistle sounded down 
 the road. Random looked up at his friend, cocked his ears 
 and wagged his tail, but he did not go. He remembered 
 very well how many times within the last few weeks he had 
 come this way when no one but himself and his master 
 knew. So he stood still. The sound of the whistle came 
 nearer. Another shape this time that of a man came 
 into view on the road.
 
 DECISION I45 
 
 Judith was aware that she could not be seen where she 
 was, and she remained quiet. Her strong young eyes were 
 fixed on the man who had now reached the gate ; he paused 
 there. The girl s pulses beat heavily. She was telling 
 herself that it was a miserable, desperate love ; but, hav 
 ing known it, would she wish never to have felt it ? She 
 was morbid to that degree that she was sure that she had 
 been born only for misfortune. How silly it was of her to 
 make such an ado in her mind about her decision ! What 
 did it matter, anyway ? 
 
 Lucian whistled again. Instead of obeying the dog gave 
 a short bark, as if to inform his master where he was. 
 Young Eldridge hesitated an instant. The house was 
 dark ; it stood blackly and silently there in the night, and 
 it held the woman he loved. He had strolled restlessly 
 out-of-doors. He had come here, impelled by that power 
 which is forever going to be the strongest of all powers. 
 " I shall disturb no one," he said to himself. He walked 
 in the direction from which Random s bark had sounded. 
 
 Now was the time when Judith should have withdrawn 
 into that greater darkness in the house ; but she did not. 
 She suddenly whispered the words, " It is the last time. 
 This time I will see him if he comes." 
 
 She blushed as she spoke that blush of delight and 
 agony which the warm natured can know. 
 
 He was sure to come. He had been remembering too 
 keenly her words " If I am free !" Still, he had not meant 
 to come. 
 
 Somehow a lover may arrive in his sweetheart s presence 
 without the least intention of doing so. 
 
 "Judith!" he exclaimed. 
 
 She leaned forward and held up her hand. " Hush ! 
 mother is asleep." He took the hand, but she withdrew 
 it. " I was wrong to stay here after Random came," she 
 said, blushing again. 
 
 " It was it was divine of you," he returned, in a half- 
 voice.
 
 146 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Then he hurriedly tried to speak in a reasonable way. 
 He said that she was going directly against common-sense ; 
 she was thinking of making them both miserable just for a 
 whim. They could marry and go the ends of the earth. 
 Really, she ought to be made to see how absurd her posi 
 tion was. 
 
 " I can t be made to see it. I tell you I must do what 
 seems right to me. We will not talk about that any more." 
 She shrank back within the room as she spoke. 
 
 " When I am away from you I am sure I can make you 
 understand " he began again. 
 
 She interrupted him. A flash of something, she knew 
 not what, decided her terrible question for her. 
 
 " Lucian ! She again leaned out of the window, but 
 she motioned him away as he would have pressed eagerly 
 nearer. " I want to tell you that I am going to make it 
 impossible, even in your mind, for us to keep on loving 
 each other." 
 
 " You can t do that," hotly. " I shall always love you." 
 
 "No; you ll get over it. When you really know how 
 hopeless it all is " a pause " then you will begin to say, 
 I did think I loved her, but " 
 
 " What do you mean ?" with sharp emphasis. 
 
 " I mean that I am going to marry Mr. Richard Ger 
 ald." 
 
 There was a moment s silence. The words had had a 
 curious sound, spoken into the warm, perfumed air. 
 
 Eldridge flung up his head. It is the instinct of some 
 men to stand straight when they are wounded. 
 
 " Ah !" he said. Then he continued : " Mr. Richard Ger 
 ald has a great deal of money. I can confidently inform 
 you that he has several millions." 
 
 " I am going to marry him for his money." 
 
 " Indeed ! Good-night, Miss Grover. I am sorry that I 
 had not the millions." 
 
 He was going. 
 
 " Stop !" imperatively. He stood still, his hat in his
 
 DECISION 147 
 
 hand. " If you had a hundred million I would not marry 
 you as I am. Because I love you, Lucian Eldridge." 
 
 She rose from her place by the window and went back 
 into the darkness of the kitchen. She stood there and 
 heard him walk away. After a little she went to the bed 
 room door and listened. Her mother was sleeping. She 
 stood motionless for a long time. 
 
 Then she again sought the lounge and laid herself down 
 upon it. She had said the w 7 ords. So far as she was con 
 cerned, it was as if the marriage had already taken place. If 
 her mother should waken she would tell her that she had 
 made her decision. She tried to take comfort from think 
 ing how glad she would make her mother. But she caught 
 herself saying, " Nothing is of any consequence." She 
 could not find the least consolation in those words. She 
 was conscious of a sudden and terrible loss of self-respect. 
 This was an unexpected sensation, and one she had never 
 known before. She found it impossible to lie still ; so she 
 rose and went to the window again. -She leaned far out 
 of it. 
 
 Lucian had gone. He had gone forever out of her life. 
 Well, it was of no consequence. And he would not respect 
 her. What of that ? But she would like to respect herself. 
 Yes, she would be glad to be able to do that ; but she 
 never could again. 
 
 She threw her hands outside of the window and wrung 
 them. She could not keep perfectly still in this stress of 
 suffering. She moaned under her breath. Then strongly 
 she took command of herself. She sat there with the 
 clamp, warm air blowing over her until she heard, muffled 
 in the distance, the town clock striking midnight. 
 
 How her mother had slept ! Sleep was a blessing for 
 which she longed, but it would not come. She folded her 
 arms and put her head clown on them. In a moment she 
 also was asleep. When her mother called her an hour 
 later she rose, stiff and confused, and wondering what had 
 happened to her.
 
 148 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Mrs. Grover was wide awake, and tossing to and fro on 
 the bed. " I ve been calling V calling," she said. " But I 
 s pose you re all tired out, Judith. I want some more wa 
 ter right from the well. Be sure you git it right from the 
 well." 
 
 When the girl brought the water in one hand and a 
 lighted lamp in the other, Mrs. Grover stared at the face 
 above the lamp and did not notice the tumbler which was 
 extended towards her. 
 
 " Merciful sakes !" she exclaimed ; " what s happened to 
 you, Judith?" 
 
 " Nothing," answered the girl. She did not know how 
 cold she seemed. " I ve been asleep." 
 
 Her mother took the water, but continued to gaze over 
 the glass. " You look terrible odd," she said, when she had 
 drank. Then she dropped her head on the pillow. " I 
 guess I m dretful sick," she continued, querulously. " I 
 ought to have the doctor; I know I ought not to let a 
 fever run on so. But we can t have anything. Tain t no 
 matter. You go V lay down again." But the girl re 
 mained standing by the bed. " Why don t you go ? I 
 don t need nothin more. You go n git a nap. But what 
 does make you look so odd ?" 
 
 "I wanted to tell you something," said Judith. Having 
 spoken thus far it suddenly seemed impossible for her to 
 continue. It was as if a hand were put upon her mouth. 
 She made another effort and said, " I told you I was going 
 to decide ; and I have decided." 
 
 Mrs. Grover glanced up eagerly. The face above her 
 was strong and resolute, and already beginning to be hard. 
 
 "I shall marry Mr. Gerald," said Judith. "He is com 
 ing again in a few days. I shall tell him I will marry him. 
 I suppose he will have money enough to take care of us all." 
 
 " Oh, Judith !" 
 
 Mrs. Grover s worn face lighted. She put out her hand 
 towards her daughter, who took it and held it tenderly, the 
 touch warming her heart a little.
 
 DECISION 149 
 
 " You won t be sorry, Judith, I know you won t," said 
 Mrs. Grover, still with the same eagerness. " Why, there 
 ain t a girl nowhere round but would jump at your chance. 
 You ve finally been real lucky. He must think an awful 
 lot of you. You ought to remember that. N a woman 
 ought to be married. Somehow women don t seem to have 
 no standiir if they ain t married." 
 
 Thus spoke the woman who had been Hanford Grover s 
 wife. 
 
 " The Lord won t forgit that you done it for your moth 
 er n 1 sisters. Why, when I married Hanford I didn t pre 
 tend to be in love with him. Tain t necessary. Tain t " 
 
 " Don t let s talk any more, mother, please. Try to go 
 to sleep again," soothingly. 
 
 " I m jest as excited s I c n be," was the quick reply. 
 " Judith, I always did say there never was no girl like you. 
 N I m so thankful, now you have decided, that I ain t nev 
 er tried to influence you any."
 
 Part 33
 
 XXIV 
 A RICH MAN S WIFE 
 
 " I S POSE it s longer ago than it seems. Time jest races 
 when one gits to growin old. It don t seem more n six 
 months to me, Nathan. How does it seem to you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Guild was carefully dusting the rungs of the kitchen 
 rocker. Her husband was sitting by .the open window, look 
 ing over papers of seeds he had saved for this spring s 
 planting. 
 
 " It don t seem no time to me," was the response. " But 
 I know twill be two years in the fall comin ." 
 
 " That so ? Well, I s pose it must be. But I can t take 
 it in somehow. N I ain t seen her sence the day she was 
 married. Did you say Ellis Macomber met um comin 
 from the cleepo this mornin ?" 
 
 " Yes. Course he met um. He sees everybody n hears 
 everything. I wish I could come across them long spine 
 cucumber seed. Where be they, do you think ?" 
 
 " How d they look ? I d know nothin bout your gar 
 den seeds, Nathan ; I never meddle with um. D he say 
 how they looked ?" 
 
 " He said they looked splendid." 
 
 " Did Judith know him ?" 
 
 " Know him ?" with a grin. " Do you think she s lost 
 her mind cause she s married so rich ? Anyway, she had 
 to know him, for Ellis said he jest hailed um ; so the horses 
 were stopped, n he shook hands. He says Mr. Gerald s 
 the perlitest feller you ever seen ; only he clunno, some 
 how, what to make of his perliteness. But Ellis don t know 
 much, anyway. He said Judith arst bout Mis Macomber s
 
 154 MRS. GERALD 
 
 asthmy. He told me that s if twas the queen arskin after 
 that asthmy." 
 
 " I don t s pose she ll come here," said Mrs. Guild, going 
 to the door to shake her dust-cloth. " But I always did 
 think a lot of Judith Grover, n I always knew she never 
 pushed Hanford off no more n she pushed me off. The 
 land !" 
 
 This exclamation was uttered after a slight pause. It 
 made Mr. Guild raise his eyes from his box of vegetable 
 seeds and turn them down the road. He saw a woman 
 coming rapidly towards the house. She was not dressed 
 like the village people, though the man could not tell in 
 the least what was the difference. In a moment she had 
 turned in at the gate. 
 
 Mr. Guild rose, and his packages dropped to the floor. 
 " If that ain t Judith !" he cried. 
 
 The new-comer had put her arm about Mrs. Guild s neck 
 and kissed her. She turned and shook hands with Mr. 
 Guild, who had hurried forward. 
 
 " Come right in," said the elder woman, heartily. " My ! 
 but I am glad to see you ! Se down. I s pose you ve been 
 to your mother s?" 
 
 "Yes, I just came from there. I m going back; but I 
 wanted to see you." 
 
 As Judith spoke Mrs. Guild was gazing at her with a 
 curious intentness. In spite of the fact that she had come 
 so quickly to see her old friend, the woman was aware of 
 some indescribable coldness in Judith s tone, or was it in 
 her face ? 
 
 Mrs. Gerald s face and figure were strikingly handsome. 
 She was dressed irreproachably, and with that subdued 
 effect which rich material and faultless fitting can produce. 
 She was so aristocratic in appearance that Mrs. Guild, gaz 
 ing at her, recalled vividly those days when Judith Grover 
 had been the most shabbily clothed girl and the poorest in 
 the town. 
 
 " How d you find um to your mother s ?" inquired Mrs.
 
 A RICH MAN S WIFE 155 
 
 Guild after a moment, during which the younger woman 
 had been looking about her with the air of one who sees 
 once familiar things after a long absence. 
 
 " I found them well," she answered. " I ve never seen 
 mother so strong and so prosperous looking. And the farm 
 seems like another place." 
 
 " It must seem real good to you to see the old spot so 
 different," remarked Mrs. Guild. As there was no response 
 to this the speaker glanced up in surprise, and repeated, 
 " Don t it seem real good ?" 
 
 " I m glad they re prosperous," was the evasive reply. 
 
 Mrs. Guild stared in silence for an instant, and as she 
 stared she was aware that the girl s face had changed even 
 more than she had thought. It was handsomer yes, cer 
 tainly it was handsomer , but with a sinking of the heart 
 the warm-natured woman decided that it was Having 
 reached this point in her thoughts Mrs. Guild suddenly 
 found that she could not in the least describe the change 
 in Judith s countenance. 
 
 The visitor went on to make inquiries after almost every 
 body in the village. She listened to the replies, and all the 
 time she knew that her companions were watching her. 
 When she rose she said she was going directly back to her 
 mother s. She was to stay there through the day. 
 
 " But where be you stoppin ? To Squire Eldridge s-, I 
 s pose ?" 
 
 " Yes. But Mr. Gerald is going away in a few days, and 
 then I shall stay with mother for a week or so." 
 
 She had risen, and was standing near the door. She 
 looked at Mrs. Guild earnestly, and that woman was aware 
 that her heart began to beat faster. 
 
 " I declare," she said, hurriedly, " it s a dretful good to 
 see you back again, Judith." 
 
 "Thank you," said Judith. She lingered. "It is cu 
 rious," she continued, suddenly, " that when I was abroad I 
 seemed to be really here more than there. No matter 
 where I travelled I was always thinking of this village. I
 
 156 MRS. GERALD 
 
 was seeing the rocky pastures, the old fences, and this 
 kitchen, Mrs. Guild." Judith s voice had a thrill in it which 
 communicated itself to the consciousness of her hearers. 
 " I remembered how kind you were when little Em died of 
 the diphtheria," went on Judith, in the same tone. "When 
 I was looking at those wonderful pictures in the Louvre, 
 between me and the canvas there kept coming Em s face as 
 it was when I held her that night. Yes, you two were very 
 kind to me always. I didn t want you to think that because 
 I had married a rich man I could forget such things. Even 
 if I should seem to forget, I remember all the same. But 
 I don t think I shall speak like this again." 
 
 Judith passed through the open door out into the sun 
 shine of the yard. Mrs. Guild followed her. " I hope 
 you re happy, Judith," she said. 
 
 "Thank you," was the answer, in a superficial and yet 
 kind manner, " I m fully as happy as I deserve to be," with 
 a slight laugh. 
 
 Mrs. Guild kept by her side. " I guess the most of us, 
 if we re happy at all, are enough sight happier n we de 
 serve to be," she said. 
 
 "It does me good to see my mother," said Judith, ear 
 nestly. " All my life, till my marriage, she had been suffer 
 ing from grinding poverty and overwork. She looks like a 
 different woman. You ll come and see us, won t you, Mrs. 
 Guild ?" 
 
 Judith walked down the road. She went erectly, with an 
 easy swing that was full of grace and strength. The other 
 woman watched her. Then she returned to the room where 
 her husband still sat. " I declare !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Well, what now ?" 
 
 But his wife did not reply. She took up her dust-cloth 
 and went to work with it. But occasionally she stopped 
 and repeated her words : " I declare !" 
 
 Judith went her ways, turning into the field at the same 
 broken place in the fence that she had known how many 
 years ago ? She walked steadily on as if with a well-de-
 
 A RICH MAN S WIFE 157 
 
 fined purpose. That purpose was manifest when she began 
 to climb the ascent that led to the path over the cliffs. She 
 had not been there since that night when she had last seen 
 her father. 
 
 Now the sunlight was pouring over water and land. 
 There was a brisk east wind ; the ocean was a sparkling 
 ultramarine ; the waves of the incoming tide rushed along 
 with white crests on them as far as the vision could reach. 
 Every object was sharply defined ; the shore line stretching 
 north and south was a bright glitter of white sand. 
 
 Judith stood at the topmost part of the path. She un 
 furled her parasol and held it up towards the sun. The 
 breeze swept her skirts back. Gradually the air brought a 
 glow to her eyes and to her heart There was life and 
 beauty in that air and in the scene before her. It was a 
 "day of golden glory" one of those days which come to 
 the New England coast to make you wonder why one should 
 ever spend a summer anywhere else. There were boats 
 scattered on the water; a steamer, far away in the offing, 
 was leaving a long trail of smoke against the bright sky. 
 
 Judith watched every object. Finally, without being 
 really aware that she did so, she was watching one sail that 
 was coming nearer and nearer, the craft careening over and 
 cutting the blue water, seeming to make a line right through 
 its surface. There were two men in the boat ; one was man 
 aging it, the other was sitting in the stern. Having watched 
 it for some moments she was sure that it was coming in at 
 the landing-place where boats had come in on this coast 
 ever since she could remember, a place where the Grover 
 farm ran down to the sea and made a safe, shallow beach. 
 Having decided this in her own mind, Judith straightway 
 forgot the boat, and fell to looking more vaguely at other 
 familiar objects. And how the sight of familiar objects 
 will stab the wanderer who has returned home ! 
 
 Presently Judith walked slowly down the path towards 
 her home. She was pausing by the gap in the fence that 
 led into the home field, which was no longer unkempt, but
 
 158 MRS. GERALD 
 
 now had the look of a prosperous bit of " mowing." She 
 leaned on the wall. She was, perhaps, asking herself where 
 was that girl who had so many times hurried over this farm, 
 always too busy to stop to enjoy anything. Well, that same 
 girl had leisure enough now. 
 
 There were steps behind her. She was annoyed, and 
 drew herself up, not raising her eyes, merely waiting for the 
 person to pass. But the steps paused. 
 
 Judith, ain t that you ?" asked a familiar voice.
 
 XXV 
 
 RETURN 
 
 JUDITH turned about sharply, the blood flying into her 
 face, and her pulses trying to throttle her. 
 
 " I declare I thought it must be you, though I ain t never 
 seen you dressed up like that before. I guess I sh ll tell 
 um the Grovers have got some luck left," with an accent of 
 pride. " Can t you give your old par a kiss ?" 
 
 \Yith this question Hanford Grover bent down and put a 
 resounding kiss on his daughter s cheek. Then he repeated 
 that he should " tell um the Grovers had got some luck 
 left," as if this luck had come by his own individual exer 
 tions. 
 
 Judith had made no reply as yet. She felt her eyes sting 
 ing and throbbing in the intensity of her gaze at the man 
 before her. 
 
 Mr. Grover had the same expanse of shining artificial 
 teeth, and the same apparent difficulty in drawing his lips 
 about them. In other respects, however, he was much 
 changed. His formerly lean frame was now, to use the 
 country phrase, " quite stocky." Though he was dressed 
 shabbily, he had a physically prosperous look. He did not 
 seem inclined to move on ; on the contrary, he showed an 
 inclination to remain where he was as long as possible. His 
 eyes dwelt on the details of his daughter s raiment, and ap 
 peared to gloat over them. 
 
 "That s a first-rate suit you ve got on," he remarked. 
 Then, with a slight laugh, he continued, " You knew better 
 n your old par, didn t you ? You was fishin for a bigger 
 fish n young Lucian Eldridge. Why didn t you say so ?
 
 160 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Them Eldridges are real forehanded, but they ain t a prim- 
 in to the man you caught, V that s a fact." 
 
 Though Mr. Grover spoke familiarly, he yet showed signs 
 of a vulgar deference to the fact that his companion could 
 command money. 
 
 Judith listened to him, a conflict rising and becoming 
 stronger and stronger in her mind. She was alarmed at the 
 fury which was taking possession of her. She made a great 
 effort to subdue this feeling. Her eyes dwelt on this man. 
 When she last saw him she was bound down by the galling 
 chains of poverty. But now ? she repressed a shudder. 
 Perhaps it would be best for her not to say anything. If 
 she began to speak she feared that words would utter 
 themselves in spite of her. 
 
 She made a movement to go on, but her father put out 
 his hand and stopped her. " You needn t be in such a hur 
 ry," he said ; " but, then, you never did treat your father right." 
 
 Judith resumed her position, leaning again on the fence. 
 " Have you seen mother ?" she asked, coldly. 
 
 " No ; but there s lots of time. She won t be lookin for 
 me, ye know. I s pose you have ever so much pocket- 
 money, don t you,. Judith ?" 
 
 Judith thrust her hand into her pocket and drew out her 
 purse She emptied the contents into the palm of her hand 
 and extended the hand towards the man opposite her. 
 
 Mr. Grover made a quick movement and secured the 
 bank-notes before the wind had taken them. He stuffed 
 the money into his waistcoat-pocket. 
 
 "You always was a good girl, Judith," he said, unct 
 uously, "but you ve got a will of your own. You see, you 
 take after your father." He turned towards the house. He 
 gazed about him a moment before he said, "I s pose your 
 husband s be n layin out money on the place. It looks 
 some better. I most wonder he didn t build an addition 
 on to the house when he had it shingled. I s pose your 
 mar s be n cultivatin the farm some. Who s she hired ?" 
 
 " Mr. Burgess."
 
 
 *. *-<>.; " ;- 

 
 RETURN X 6r 
 
 " Oh, Ben Burgess ? He thinks he knows bout farmin , 
 but now I ve got home I ll tend to that myself. I c n hire 
 my work done. I guess your husband makes your mar a 
 lowance, don t he ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "That s the best way. How much is it?" 
 
 "One thousand dollars a year." 
 
 "That so? Tain t much, of course." But Mr. Grover s 
 pale eyes sparkled. He swept his tongue over his lips in a 
 way Judith remembered he used to do on those rare occa 
 sions when they had a good dinner at home. " No, tain t 
 much for a man with millions, but I c n make it go a good 
 ways. I ll take the burden off your mar s shoulders. Is 
 your mar well ?" bethinking himself to ask. 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 Judith was holding the handle of her parasol closely. 
 She could not take her gaze from her father s face. 
 
 "No, tain t much," licking his lips again, " but I c n take 
 the burden off your mar; and mebby now your par s come 
 back your husband 11 see that a larger lowance 11 be more 
 propriate." 
 
 " He would have made it larger at first, only I told him it 
 was ample," said Judith, mechanically. 
 
 "Oh, you did!" A disagreeable expression came to the 
 man s face. " But your par s come back now." 
 
 Judith took the conversation into her own hands. "We 
 thought you were drowned," she began. " You must have 
 known we should think so." Mr. Grover moved his feet 
 uneasily. He smiled in a somewhat constrained manner. 
 "Where have you been ?" As the daughter asked this ques 
 tion her voice rose to a higher key in spite of her efforts 
 to restrain it. She was thinking of many things, and her 
 thoughts were becoming almost intolerable. 
 
 As for Mr. Grover, his old, secret dislike for his daughter 
 that inevitable repugnance of the sneaking, selfish nature 
 towards the being of an opposite kind was beginning to 
 rise to the surface as he heard her question. He tried to
 
 162 MRS. GERALD 
 
 draw himself up with an independent movement. " Oh, 
 wall," he began, " that s kind of a long story, n I guess it 
 11 keep. You see, I fell off the cliff, n a boat picked me 
 up, n wall, as I said, it s a long story. I ll tell it when the 
 time comes." Here he tried again to wear a bold front as 
 he added, " I reckon I m a free moral agent, anyway." 
 
 " Since you were not drowned you might have sent word, 
 even though you did not come back." 
 
 " I tell you," repeated the man, with some appearance of 
 anger, " I m a free moral agent. I thought about the mat 
 ter, n 1 1 reasoned on it, n I decided I d keep still till I come 
 back. N 1 kep thinkin I d come back any day, you see." 
 
 " Did you think that people might believe that I pushed 
 you off into the water? Did you think of that?" 
 
 Mr. Grover s face grew a deep red. He made a motion 
 of genuine horror. " No, I didn t. I never thought of such 
 a thing, n I can t b lieve it now. Tain t possible." 
 
 " It is true." 
 
 The two stood in silence a moment. Then Mr. Grover 
 asked a question in a horrified whisper : " Was you ar 
 rested ?" 
 
 " No. But it was known that we had a disagreement, 
 and that we had unpleasant words on the cliff that night. 
 Do you know what all this has clone to me ?" 
 
 Mr. Grover ignored her question. He rubbed his hands 
 together. He said, hurriedly, that he could make it all right 
 now. But he didn t understand how anybody could suspect 
 a child of his of such a thing. He repeated this phrase 
 twice. 
 
 "You cannot make it right," said Judith. She was try 
 ing to throw off the dreadful feeling of rebellion useless 
 and too late rebellion that was gripping her and shaking 
 her, making her soul writhe. 
 
 Mr. Grover was recovering. He smiled broadly and 
 rubbed his hands. " I guess whatever s happened you ve 
 feathered your nest first-rate," he remarked. " There ain t 
 a gal round here anywhere t s done so well. I didn t know
 
 RETURN 163 
 
 but you n young Eldridge d make a match, but you was 
 cuter n I was, n that s a fact. Was you goin up to the 
 house ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but you may go on alone now. I will come after 
 a while." 
 
 Judith turned away and began to retrace her steps. She 
 went up the cliff and sat down. Her face was turned tow 
 ards the ocean, but her eyes were blind; they saw nothing. 
 When she came down an hour later and made her way to 
 the house she found her mother walking aimlessly about 
 the rooms. There was a red spot on each cheek and an ex 
 cited glitter in the woman s eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Grover looked a very different person from what she 
 had been at Judith s marriage. She was still bent, she still 
 showed that she had been a hard-worked and worried wom 
 an, but her face was more full now, and she carried herself 
 unlike a slave. She ran towards Judith and caught her 
 hands. "You ve seen him ?" she cried. 
 
 "Yes, yes." 
 
 " He said he seen you. He said he guessed the Grovers 
 d got some luck left. He s gone out to look at the farm. 
 He says I done real well for a woman, but he ll tend to 
 things now. He says a thousand dollars ain t no great 
 
 " Mother !" 
 
 " Mebby he, bein a man, c n judge better," went on Mrs. 
 Grover, hurriedly. " But I ain t refiectin on Mr. Gerald. I 
 think he s done real well. I told Hanford so." 
 
 As the woman went on talking thus her daughter watched 
 her, wondering if, in the bottom of her heart, her mother 
 was glad that Hanford Grover had come back. 
 
 " N , you see," she now heard her saying, " folks 11 know 
 you didn t push him in. They ll have that proved to urn 
 now. I didn t expect to live to see that proved. Hanford 
 says he ll put a stop to that kind of talk quicker n time. 
 Hanford says he s been in a climate t jest suited his liver. 
 I ll tell you all about it soon s I can git my wits together. 
 I can t sense much of anything now. I hope, Judith, that
 
 164 MRS. GERALD 
 
 your husband 11 understand that a man needs more money 
 n a woman with two little girls. A man, you see, s dif runt. 
 That s what Hanford was just sayin to me." 
 
 Judith went to her mother s side. She drew her to her, 
 looking down from her superior height with a great pity in 
 her face. The younger woman was very pale. Her lips 
 trembled as she spoke. " Mother, please don t begin to 
 worry now ! Please don t ! I shall try to have things right 
 for you. You know I shall." 
 
 Mrs. Grover dropped her head on her child s shoulder. 
 She began to cry convulsively. " I m jest as excited s I c n 
 be," she sobbed, " n I d know half what I m sayin ."
 
 XXVI 
 
 A LITTLE CONVERSATION 
 
 JUDITH held her mother closely, stooping to rest her 
 cheek on the thin, gray hair. 
 
 The two little girls came in and stared hard at the group. 
 They always stared at their sister, and took the gifts she 
 brought them in a petrified kind of silence. They had pale 
 eyes like their father greedy, selfish eyes, that had no 
 warmth in them. But little Em had been different little 
 Em, whose grave was green now. The mignonette had 
 sowed itself near the mound and blossomed among the 
 grass. 
 
 " He s only jest found out bout your marryin a rich 
 man," said Mrs. Grover, in an indistinct voice, without rais 
 ing her head. Judith said nothing, but her face darkened. 
 " I mean, he found it out jest fore he come home. He said 
 he couldn t wait no longer to see his wife n children. He 
 said I hadn t no idea how he had missed me. I s pose he s 
 thought more of me n I ever knew of." Again Judith kept 
 silence. Her head was raised and her eyes, distended by 
 suffering, were gazing unseeingly on the window. 
 
 Presently she said she would go now. To-morrow she 
 would come back and see them all. She spoke so quietly 
 that her mother looked at her with some wonder and disap 
 pointment, but she made no reply. 
 
 When Judith entered the Eldridge parlor an hour later 
 she found her husband sitting there alone. He had a book 
 in his hand. He rose as she came into the room, looked 
 carelessly at her, then looked again. He placed a chair for 
 her, and remained standing until she was seated. He never
 
 166 MRS. GERALD 
 
 failed in any outward act of politeness. He appeared pre 
 cisely as he did that morning when we first met him. His 
 Prince Albert coat, his mustache, the gleam in his eyes all 
 were the same. 
 
 "You give me the idea of one who has just had an ex 
 perience of some kind, Mrs. Gerald," he remarked. 
 
 " I have." Her eyes were fixed on the gloves she was 
 drawing from her hands. 
 
 " Indeed !" Then he waited. 
 
 Judith leaned back in her chair. She crossed her hands 
 in her lap, pressing them a little too closely together. She 
 knew that her husband s eyes were on her face. At other 
 times she often had the feeling that he was watching her as 
 if expecting to find out something. " I have just seen my 
 father," she said. 
 
 Mr. Gerald sat up straight. He ceased to keep his finger 
 between the leaves of his book. " He has come back ? 
 
 "Yes: just now. Mr. Gerald " she hesitated; she 
 lifted her glance to her companion s face " I think he 
 will ask you to give more money." 
 
 " No matter. I have money enough." 
 
 "You are very kind -with money," in a low tone. 
 
 " Thank you. I can afford to be. So he wasn t 
 drowned ?" 
 
 " No ; he has preferred to stay away. I don t know yet 
 where he has been. He came back when he heard I was a 
 rich man s wife. It s hard for me to say these things. But 
 you would know I felt them." 
 
 " I understand." Mr. Gerald rose as he spoke. He 
 walked to the door and closed it gently. " The family have 
 all gone out to drive," he said, returning and leaning an 
 arm on the mantel, gazing down at his wife, " but I won t 
 run the risk of a servant s hearing us. When a man and 
 wife begin to talk " here the speaker s face was changed 
 by that smile which his nephew Lucian could never under 
 stand, and therefore always distrusted " one can never pre 
 dict precisely what they may say."
 
 A LITTLE CONVERSATION lf>7 
 
 For several moments after this remark there was silence, 
 so that it began to seem as if this particular man and wife 
 would not utter anything whatever. Mr. Gerald maintained 
 his position where he could look down at Judith. Finally 
 he exclaimed again, " So he wasn t drowned? 1 
 
 "No." 
 
 " And this will clear you in the minds of those who were 
 so blind as to think it possible that you 
 
 Here the man hesitated, and Judith said, " Yes, it will." 
 
 Judith did not look up. She did not see that Mr. Gerald 
 was slightly paler than was usual with him, and that his 
 face was less cynical. 
 
 " If this could have been known a year and a half ago 
 you would have persisted in your refusal of me ?" 
 
 Judith hesitated. Then she glanced bravely up. She 
 flushed as she answered, " Yes." 
 
 A faint quiver ran across the man s countenance. But 
 it was resolutely suppressed. " I was sure of it," he an 
 swered, quietly. " You would not marry a man who loved 
 you, because of the suspicion against you. Do you think 
 I ve been completely ignorant? And I know the man." 
 
 Although Mr. Gerald s manner was so quiet there dif 
 fused from him a sense of agitation that made Judith s 
 heart beat quickly. She had never seen him in the least 
 like this. Cold, calm, systematically kind, with a curious 
 sneer at human nature in general in his incisive voice, ready 
 to grant any favor to her; that was the way she had found 
 him. To the woman who sat there there seemed something 
 strange in the very air of the familiar room. She glanced 
 at the door as if she would like to escape. He interpreted 
 that glance and smiled. 
 
 " We are quite alone now," he said ; " please oblige me by 
 remaining a few moments. There are two or three things 
 I want to say. I m sure we have refrained beautifully from 
 saying things ever since our marriage. In my opinion, a 
 married couple who can refrain from saying things ought 
 to be congratulated. Don t you agree with me ?"
 
 168 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Mr. Gerald removed his arm from the mantel and thrust 
 his hands into his pockets. " I haven t been a bad sort of 
 master to you, have I ?" He asked this question in his mild 
 est way, but his eyes were not mild as he spoke the words. 
 
 She did not answer. She felt her blood growing hot 
 within her, and she would not speak in reply. 
 
 "You know I told you," he went on, "that I should be 
 your master that I would subdue and control you. Do 
 you remember I told you that ?" 
 
 " I remember." 
 
 "You would not be likely to forget it, I m sure. Let us 
 recall a few things. I am in the mood to retrace my steps 
 in my mind, I mean and see how my aims have been 
 achieved. Do I weary you, Mrs. Gerald ?" 
 
 "Go on," she responded. 
 
 " That is like you. You will not politely say I do not 
 weary you, because that would be false. I admire you, 
 Mrs. Gerald. You do not lie not even in the way of 
 women. You must have discovered that I admire you. 
 Have you not made that discovery ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " No ? Is it possible ? But I believe you. There is 
 something else of which I am sure you are ignorant. This 
 something else is a very curious fact, indeed." 
 
 Mr. Gerald here took a hand from his pocket, but in 
 stead of pulling his mustache with his usual gesture he 
 pressed his palm for a moment on his forehead. 
 
 " Let us go on to something else," he continued, presently. 
 " I m going to use very plain words. Euphemisms are not 
 necessary between man and wife, are they, Mrs. Gerald ?" 
 
 Here the speaker smiled again. But he evidently did 
 not expect any reply to this question. Judith sat quite still. 
 She was leaning one arm on the chair and her hand was up 
 to her forehead, so that only the lower part of her face was 
 visible. Her husband s eyes dwelt on her for an instant 
 before he spoke again.
 
 A LITTLE CONVERSATION 169 
 
 " I am going to recall the terms of our bargain," he went 
 on " our bargain, which the minister who married us re 
 ferred to as an arrangement made by the Ruler of Heaven 
 and Earth: whom God hath joined together. I suppose 
 you laughed in your sleeve then ; I m sure I chuckled in 
 wardly. I always did like that phrase. Perhaps it is pos 
 sible that man cannot put asunder what God has joined." 
 
 Judith made a slight movement. The man watching her 
 saw her lips press together. Mr. Gerald looked at his 
 watch. 
 
 "There s plenty of time," he remarked. "The family 
 have gone over to Lane s Crossing. They cannot possibly 
 be back for an hour. I was recalling our bargain. I did 
 not pretend to love you any more than you made any pre 
 tence of love for me. We understood that. I bought you 
 because I thought you were an unusual kind of a woman ; 
 I approved of your face and figure and of what I guessed 
 of your character. You sold yourself, not from personal 
 desire for the money and position I could give you, but to 
 benefit your mother and sisters. Do I state the case cor 
 rectly ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I thought so. That s the way I understood it then, 
 and that s the way I understand it now. But what puzzles 
 me is that I should have been so mistaken about you, Mrs. 
 Gerald." 
 
 Judith raised her eyes. They were burning and dry, 
 and there was a cutting pain from her eyeballs to the 
 back of her head. Mr. Gerald walked a few steps and 
 came back. 
 
 " Yes," he repeated, " mistaken in you and, I suppose, in 
 myself. I spoke just now as if I had been your master; I 
 told you long ago that I intended to be that. Well, the 
 curious thing, the unaccountable thing, is that never for an 
 instant have I been your master. Did you know that, Mrs. 
 Gerald ?" 
 
 "No."
 
 iyo MRS. GERALD 
 
 The man was pale and quiet, but there were fine beads 
 of moisture on his forehead. He drew out his handker 
 chief and passed it over his face. 
 
 " You did not know it, then ? Well, it is true true as 
 you are, Mrs. Gerald, and I can think of nothing truer. I 
 wanted to make the chains of your bargain gall you as lit 
 tle as possible, but still more I wished to get the control of 
 your nature. I have not done so. It is the greatest sur 
 prise of my life that I have failed in this. But I don t give 
 up. I never do give up. I have every advantage. I know 
 that you loved some one when you became my wife. I 
 know that if you had not been under a cloud you might 
 have permitted that love to have its way. Do not grow 
 pale. I know you well. I know your springs of action. 
 You are an honorable woman. You are the first woman I 
 ever knew who even knew what honor meant just as a 
 man is sometimes able to know it, I mean. Women have 
 a kind of honesty often, but of honor they know pitiably 
 little. I suppose they can t know it. I m not blaming 
 them. I accept human nature as it is ; I long ago learned 
 to do that. Do you care to know something in my mind, 
 Mrs. Gerald ? And will you look at me ? 
 
 Judith again raised her eyes. Her face had softened. 
 " Tell me," she said. 
 
 " You ought to care to know that you have raised my 
 respect for woman." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I do greatly care to know that," she said, 
 hastily. 
 
 Mr. Gerald bent and took her hand for an instant. He 
 stood gazing down at her. Then he suddenly dropped the 
 hand, turned away, and went to the end of the room. In a 
 moment he returned. He pulled out his mustache and 
 twisted the ends. His voice was still very kind, but it had 
 something of its old tone in it when he spoke again. 
 
 "We have come amusingly near to being sentimental, 
 haven t we ?" he asked. " And it has been my fault. I sup 
 pose the average human being must be more or less senti-
 
 A LITTLE CONVERSATION 171 
 
 mental. Now that we are in this mood, pray let me tell you 
 that I am perfectly aware of the exasperating quality in your 
 father s return so late. If he had come back immediately, 
 as he ought, you wouldn t have been my wife. But I am 
 glad he didn t return. You can t get any sympathy from 
 me on that subject." 
 
 Judith had risen. She held the parasol she had brought 
 in with her in both hands. The two were looking at each 
 other. In Judith s heart and in her eyes was more softness 
 than she had felt since her marriage. She had opened her 
 lips to speak when a step and voice were heard on the 
 veranda outside. The two recognized the step and voice 
 as belonging to Lucian Elclridge. He had been travelling 
 ever since his uncle s wedding, at which he was dutifully 
 present, and he was not expected home until the fall. 
 
 " That is Lucian," said Mr. Gerald. And he removed 
 his eyes from his wife s face.
 
 XXVII 
 " WHERE S THE FATTED CALF ?" 
 
 THE next moment young Eldridge entered the room. He 
 started a little at sight of the two, but he came forward 
 promptly and cordially with extended hand. 
 
 " This is an unexpected pleasure, Mrs. Gerald," he said, 
 politely, bending over Judith s hand, "and you, Uncle Dick 
 I didn t know you had come back from foreign parts." 
 
 "Oh yes, we tired of foreign parts," was the response; 
 " we longed for the doughnuts and pies of New England. 
 So we came home. Really, Lucian, if you were only dark 
 you would look quite like an opera villain, with your long 
 hair and beard. Have you turned bandit, or what is the 
 matter with you ? 
 
 Lucian laughed and passed his hand over his yellow 
 beard. "You see, I ve been with some artist fellows, and 
 we ve wandered far and we ve wandered near. I took it 
 into my head that I wouldn t have my locks cut until I d 
 presented myself to my sister Belle. I wanted to hear her 
 shriek. After that I m going to be barbered." 
 
 " I m sure she will shriek," said Judith. 
 
 "Thank you. I wasn t prepared for these compliments. 
 Where are the members of my family ? Where s the fatted 
 calf? Where is the rejoicing? 
 
 The young man s tongue ran glibly over these nothings. 
 He had given one comprehensive look at Judith, and now 
 his eyes met hers vaguely, almost unseeingly ; but still he 
 glanced at her as fully as good manners required. What 
 he was thinking was, " She is a magnificent woman mag 
 nificent."
 
 "WHERE S THE FATTED CALF?" 173 
 
 As a spring will suddenly fill with water, so the young 
 man s heart filled with bitterness. In spite of himself, 
 when he looked at his uncle his eyes burned. He let his 
 gaze wander over the room. " Things don t seem to have 
 changed," he remarked. 
 
 "Nothing really changes," responded Mr. Gerald; "we 
 only grow more and more wicked as the years go on, and 
 the hair and beard of the men get longer and longer in 
 token of this same wickedness. Lucian, you must have 
 been exceeding sinful to expect the fatted calf and rejoic 
 ings on your return. It s only the extremely wicked that 
 are greeted in that way, don t you know ?" 
 
 Mr. Gerald was standing, leaning easily against the man 
 tel again. His voice and enunciation had the same clear 
 ness and cynicism which Lucian remembered so well. How 
 had Judith liked this leading trait in her husband ? Im 
 possible to tell. She had resumed her seat, but she had 
 an appearance as if she were about to leave the room. 
 She smiled at Mr. Gerald s words, and her face still wore 
 something of that softness which had just come to it. 
 Presently she rose. Her husband moved quickly to open 
 the door for her. She turned and addressed Lucian. She 
 felt that it would seem odd not to speak to him again when 
 he had just returned from a long absence. 
 
 " I don t think I ought to stay," she said. " Your moth 
 er and sisters will not want any one present when they 
 come home and find you. I can imagine Belle s face when 
 she sees you. We shall meet at dinner." 
 
 She went directly into the garden. The Eldridge gar 
 den was large and old-fashioned ; she had often looked at 
 it with longing as she had hurried by the house in the old 
 times when she had been a working-girl. Now as soon as 
 she could reach a bench which stood under a grape-arbor 
 she sat down. She still had her parasol in her hands, and 
 she held it closely. Then, with an appearance of great care, 
 she laid it on the seat by her side. She folded her gloves 
 and put them beside the parasol. She was deeply intent
 
 174 MRS - GERALD 
 
 upon doing these little things. Her whole mind seemed 
 to be in these acts, and she prolonged them to the utmost. 
 At last she clasped her hands and sat quiet. The sunshine 
 came in shifting flecks upon her hat, a soft wind moved 
 the hair upon her forehead. She was thinking of her fa 
 ther. She was thinking of how he had stayed away. And 
 as she thought her face grew paler and paler. 
 
 After a while there was a little sound on one of the 
 walks ; in a moment a red setter-dog appeared at the en 
 trance to the arbor. He stood there, glossy in the sunlight. 
 He looked inquiringly at Judith, swinging his tail slowly. 
 It was Lucian s dog. Judith extended her hand mechan 
 ically. "Come, Random," she said. The dog came and 
 sat clown close to her, and she rested her hand on his 
 head. 
 
 In the house Mr. Gerald and his nephew were still in the 
 room where Judith had left them. The young man was 
 strolling about the apartment, looking at familiar things 
 and occasionally touching them. The elder man was in a 
 lounging - chair, his feet, in immaculately polished boots, 
 stretched out before him. Sometimes he looked at his 
 boots and sometimes at Lucian looked through narrowed 
 eyes that saw, but revealed nothing. 
 
 " I suppose you ve had what we Yankees call a good 
 time, eh ?" Mr. Gerald at last asked this question with 
 some show of interest. 
 
 " Oh yes," answered Lucian, " if killing ever so many 
 live things called game constitutes a good time, why, then, 
 we ve had it. Up there in the Northwest there are creat 
 ures endowed with life; we have taken life until I for one 
 felt like a butcher or, rather, as a butcher ought to feel. 
 I ve had enough of it. I will never shoot an animal again 
 save in self-defence." 
 
 Mr. Gerald opened his eyes rather more widely as he 
 asked, " Why this sudden resolve ? I believe you re an ex 
 cellent shot?" 
 
 " Yes, I am. But one of those creatures gave me a look
 
 "WHERE S THE FATTED CALF?" 175 
 
 when it was dying in defence of its young that I had just 
 killed before its face well, I won t expatiate on the sub 
 ject. I threw down my rifle, and I left the other fellows. 
 I came home round by Hudson s Bay. I tell you, Uncle 
 Dick, I ve seen Nature absolutely herself. I ve hugged my 
 self all alone with her. She smiled on me, and I m in love 
 with her. If I could get a job with the Hudson s Bay 
 Company I d jump at it. Have you got any influence in 
 that direction, uncle ?" 
 
 "Not an atom," was the prompt answer, "and if I had I 
 wouldn t exert it. What you ll do eventually, Lucian, will 
 be to marry some nice girl, settle down here, and help your 
 father run his shoe factory. You are born to shine in do 
 mestic life, my boy. Did you know it? 
 
 " If I am, then that s where I shall shine." Lucian 
 laughed and looked at his companion. 
 
 "Don t go to Hudson s Bay, whatever you do," went on 
 Mr. Gerald. " You ll throw yourself away. Stay here. 
 When I was as young as you I thought life was a mighty 
 fine thing." 
 
 " Don t you think so now ?" 
 
 Lucian gazed full at his uncle, who shrugged his shoul 
 ders as he answered, "Well, after forty the glamour keeps 
 melting. But you won t be forty for this many a long year. 
 Mind you don t go away. Perhaps we can arrange some 
 thing for you to do. Don t forget that I have an interest 
 in you." 
 
 Mr. Gerald spoke with a certain emphasis which rather 
 surprised his listener, though the young man gave no ex 
 pression to his surprise. Before he could make any reply 
 carriage wheels were heard coming up the drive. Lucian s 
 face lighted. 
 
 " There they are !" he exclaimed. " Do you think they ll 
 take me for a bandit if I go to meet them ?" 
 
 He did not wait for any answer. He ran out of the 
 house and sprang at the horse s head, shouting, " Stand and 
 deliver !"
 
 176 MRS. GERALD 
 
 His mother screamed. He heard Belle cry out, "Gra 
 cious, it s Lucian ! He s going to be a wild scout of the 
 plains. Oh, let me get out !* 
 
 She stood up and held out her arms to her brother, who 
 extended his arms to her, and she jumped over the wheel 
 into his embrace. She was crying with joy and surprise on 
 his shoulder when the rest of the family came up and greet 
 ed him with that tender effusiveness which it is so sweet to 
 receive. 
 
 Lucian felt his heart melt beneath their welcome. Some 
 cruel stricture seemed to give way at their loving touch. He 
 asked himself how he could have remained away from them 
 so long. 
 
 Belle at last drew back a pace, still keeping her brother s 
 hand. " How beautiful these locks !" she exclaimed, but 
 her bantering tone rather failed her. 
 
 " I saved them for thee," replied Lucian, in an operatic 
 tone. "Everybody has admired me, from the far Pacific 
 coast to Oh, but it s jolly to see you again ! Let s shake 
 hands once more, all of us. I feel as if I should continue 
 to shake hands indefinitely. Mother, you grow young. Fa 
 ther" 
 
 Lucian paused. He looked with a watery smile at the 
 group pressing about him. He was a soft-hearted fellow, 
 extremely fond of his friends. They all went into the 
 house. 
 
 At the first opportunity Mrs. Eldridge took her son one 
 side. Her face showed her anxiety. " Lucian," she said, 
 in a low voice, " I do wish you would do one thing for me." 
 
 " You know you have but to mention it," was the reply. 
 The young man bent over and kissed his mother s forehead. 
 
 She sank her voice still lower. " Have many people seen 
 you ?" she asked. 
 
 He looked at her wonderingly as he answered, " I walked 
 from the station, and I did not meet a person." 
 
 She gave a long, relieved sigh. " I m so thankful ! Now 
 will you please get up early to-morrow morning and take
 
 "WHERE S THE FATTED CALF?" 177 
 
 that six o clock train to Boston and and get your hair cut 
 the first thing, and have your beard trimmed, just to oblige 
 me, Lucian ?" 
 
 The young man burst into a laugh ; but there was a cu 
 rious little feeling at the bottom of his heart even as he 
 laughed. He took out his watch and looked at it. 
 
 " I ll do better than that, mother, I ll go up in the eight 
 o clock train this evening," he said. " I only came in this 
 guise to amuse Belle. I m sorry you think me lacking in 
 respectability of appearance." 
 
 Mrs. Eldridge took her son s hand. She was truly at 
 tached to him ; he was her son, and necessarily admirable ; 
 but there were some things in him that she wished might 
 be different. These things that she wished to have differ 
 ent he of course inherited from the Eldridge side of the 
 house. No member of her family would ever have appeared 
 in public with hair like that. That hair really seemed to 
 make the whole house like a she did not know precisely 
 what, but something shamefully Here she was compelled 
 in her thoughts to stop again. 
 
 " Perhaps that would be better," she said, in reply to his 
 proposition. " I hope you ll excuse me for mentioning my 
 wish. I should have to ask you anyway, and then I feel 
 quite particular about it, for we are expecting company to 
 morrow by the noon train, and I should hate to have any 
 one meet you just as you are now. A person would re 
 ceive a wrong idea." 
 
 Lucian s face had fallen as he heard this information. 
 " Who is coming ?" he asked. " I did wish we might be 
 alone just for a clay or two. Who is coining ?" 
 
 " Some one we met last summer at the mountains. I 
 asked her here. If I had known you were to be here, and 
 would care " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Lucian. " I ought not to be 
 selfish." 
 
 " It s Mrs. Jennings," said Mrs. Eldridge. 
 
 " I don t know her," was the uninterested reply.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 MRS. JENNINGS 
 
 " I VE changed my mind about our leaving here." It was 
 Mr. Gerald who said this the next morning after Lucian s 
 arrival. He was standing by the window, looking out. 
 
 Judith lifted her eyes quickly, but her husband s back 
 was towards her. "You re not going the little journey you 
 had planned ? she asked. 
 
 Mr. Gerald, listening, could not detect any difference in 
 her voice. " No. I would rather stay, now Lucian has come. 
 I m fond of the boy, and I know you won t find it pleas 
 ant at your old home with your father in it. I hope you 
 will stay here with me." Mr. Gerald now turned round and 
 looked at his wife. 
 
 "Certainly," she said, "if you wish it." 
 
 He allowed a decided admiration to come into his eyes, 
 while he was saying to himself, " She has pluck ! I knew 
 she had !" 
 
 "Yes," he went on, carelessly, "my sister would like to 
 have us stay; but, to tell the truth, I don t stop for that. 
 And you ll be near your mother, and perhaps the company 
 may amuse us. We ll get through the summer somehow. 
 And this Mrs. Jennings, they say, isn t stupid. I wish you 
 would drive over to the station with me to meet her. The 
 rest of them can t go. We must start in half an hour." 
 
 Lucian had gone to Boston the evening previous. He 
 came down to the city station that morning looking as dif 
 ferently as a faultless morning -suit and fresh barbering 
 could make him. His naturally fair face was tanned, save 
 for his forehead, which was strikingly white. His beard was
 
 MRS. JENNINGS I 7 g 
 
 trimmed closely to the cheeks and to a point on the chin ; 
 his mustache, now grown extremely long, was carefully 
 brushed out at the ends. He had defeated his barber in 
 his intention as to his hair, which was not clipped closely, 
 but hung in a couple of thick, carelessly parted locks on his 
 forehead. 
 
 I am, perhaps, too particular in itemizing concerning Lu- 
 cian s personal appearance; but I am but describing him as 
 he appeared to a woman who had just left a coupe in front 
 of the station, and for whom young Elclridge had the priv 
 ilege of holding open the heavy swing-door that she might 
 pass into the building. Her eyes flashed comprehensively 
 over the man as she slightly inclined her head in response 
 to his service. He glanced after her as he stood in the 
 large room after entering. She was rather slight in figure, 
 under medium height, with an unmistakable air of style 
 about her, not precisely dashing, but any man would look 
 twice at her. Having thus given his second look, Eldridge 
 turned away and forgot her. But a little later, as he sat in 
 the car which was to take him home, he was rather sur 
 prised to see this same lady enter. And she did not leave 
 at any of the large stopping-places, and she was one of the 
 few who remained in the car when the last change had been 
 made. 
 
 Eldridge, sitting a few seats behind her, suddenly be 
 thought himself that this woman might be his mother s 
 guest. Having thought of this possibility he immediately 
 became positive that it was she. And he was right. When 
 the train slowed up to the solitary little station there were 
 only two people to alight there, and these were Eldridge 
 and the lady whom he had been lazily watching for the last 
 hour and a half. She allowed a glimmer of remembrance 
 to appear in her face as she saw him step upon the platform 
 beside her. 
 
 There was drawn up on the other side of the station an 
 open carriage, which glittered in the sunshine of noon. On 
 the back seat of this carriage Judith sat holding the loop of
 
 l8o MRS. GERALD 
 
 the driving-lines, which Mr. Gerald had placed in her hands 
 when they heard the train coming. 
 
 " You can t mistake her, Richard," Mrs. Eldridge had 
 said to her brother. " There ll be hardly anybody stopping 
 at our station anyway; and even if there were, you have 
 only to pick out a woman who is why, she is stylish, and 
 something more." 
 
 Mr. Gerald had politely protested that that was descrip 
 tion enough for even a policeman in search of a criminal. 
 And two or three times, in driving over, he had laughed a 
 little, apparently at nothing, and then had explained to his 
 wife the cause of his hilarity. Now, there he was, hat in 
 hand, the moment the lady stepped from the train. He 
 found time to glance sharply at his nephew before he ac 
 costed the stranger, and he was saying to himself, " She is 
 fair. Why did I think she was dark ? And she is a wom 
 an of the world who knows to the finest fraction how much 
 her smile is worth. Apparently it has been worth a great 
 deal." 
 
 " I am sure this is Mrs. Jennings ?" he said. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings acknowledged her identity with a curve 
 of the lips and a glance that fully justified Mr. Gerald s 
 thoughts about her smile. 
 
 She was conducted to the carriage, and she and Mrs. 
 Gerald were introduced to each other. Judith made a place 
 for her beside heron the seat, and she instantly told herself 
 that here was a woman whom she should not like, and a 
 woman to whom men would be drawn as naturally and inevi 
 tably as steel is drawn to a magnet. Having told herself 
 this, Judith was puzzled and somewhat confounded, when 
 Mrs. Jennings turned to her and began to talk with her and 
 to look at her, to find herself immediately assuming an at 
 titude of mind towards this stranger so different from what 
 she had, but a moment before, thought possible. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings s voice was particularly fitted for the utter 
 ance of mocking cadences, and for saying apparently un 
 meaning words with a great deal of meaning. Her laugh
 
 MRS. JENNINGS iSl 
 
 also was mocking, but Judith could not understand why she 
 did not dislike it more. Sometimes there would come a 
 sudden feeling into face and tone that appealed strongly, 
 and that overturned some impression that the speaker had 
 made the moment before. 
 
 Judith leaned back on the carriage seat beside this 
 stranger, and listened as she talked with the two gentlemen 
 in front. But she did not talk so much with them as with 
 Judith herself, and, to Judith s continual surprise, Mrs. Jen 
 nings seemed more interested in her than in the men. 
 
 " Do you know," remarked the new-comer, " I am already 
 puzzling my mind about you, Mrs. Gerald. How do you 
 happen to be here in New England ?" 
 
 " How do I happen to be here ? repeated Judith, in sur 
 prise. For an instant the light, green-gray eyes met the 
 dark ones. Then Judith smiled. " I have a particular right 
 to be where I was born." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings gave a little exclamation. " Oh, that is 
 impossible !" She leaned forward, " Mr. Gerald, do you 
 know that Mrs. Gerald here is telling me that she was born 
 in this town ?" 
 
 " Well, so she was. Have you any objection to that ?" 
 
 Mrs. Jennings laughed. She made no immediate reply. 
 But in a moment she gave Judith a peculiar, quick glance, 
 and murmured, "The isles of Greece! The isles of 
 Greece !" 
 
 A slight flush rose to Judith s face. Mr. Gerald s quick 
 ears had caught the words. He turned. " Oh, 1 know that, 
 Mrs. Jennings," he responded, evidently well pleased to join 
 in this persiflage ; " but notwithstanding all appearances, my 
 wife is a true Yankee. She values honor and truth." 
 
 " You don t mean to insinuate that the Yankees have a 
 monopoly of honor and truth, Mr. Gerald ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; not by any means. Still, the truth of a Yankee 
 is very thoroughgoing." 
 
 Lucian heard in silence. He did not think it in good 
 taste to talk in that personal way, though there was such an
 
 lS2 MRS. GERALD 
 
 air of lightness in the manner of the speakers. He had 
 never seen his uncle just like this before, and then he re 
 called the fact that he had never before seen Mr. Gerald in 
 such company. He glanced covertly at the man sitting be 
 side him. And as he glanced he was startled at the ferocity 
 of the rebellion suddenly filling his heart. He shut his lips 
 tightly under his mustache and turned his head to one side. 
 He did not try to talk ; he sat with an apparent moroseness 
 almost in silence during the drive home. But he heard all 
 that was said. Mrs. Jennings and Mr. Gerald kept up a 
 lively talk. Judith listened, and smiled vaguely. She did 
 not care for such talk ; it was to her like something singing 
 by her ears, but hardly entering her mind. She had, how 
 ever, learned that " in society " there was much conver 
 sation like this, only not usually as bright. 
 
 When she and Mr. Gerald were alone before dinner the 
 gentleman turned to her and asked, " Is that woman a 
 widow ?" 
 
 " I don t know." 
 
 " What do you think of her ?" 
 
 " Well " hesitatingly. 
 
 Her husband laughed. " I have a particular reason for 
 wanting to know what you think of her. And I m positive 
 she is a widow. The name Jennings is in a cranny of my 
 memory somewhere, and I must hunt it up." 
 
 " I think," said Judith, slowly, " that she is capable of 
 being fascinating." 
 
 " So do I. Now, the question is, will Lucian agree with 
 us ?" He seemed to expect Judith to make some response 
 to this remark, but she did not. He walked across the 
 room. He came back and stood before his wife. " You ll find 
 out presently," he said, " that my sister is trying her hand at 
 match-making. That s why Mrs. Jennings is invited here." 
 
 " But Lucian was not expected." 
 
 " Not now. But you don t know how long-headed my 
 sister is. She can make a plan that begins here and now, 
 and that ends fifty years hence in Constantinople."
 
 MRS. JENNINGS 183 
 
 Judith kept silence again. And her face, though a trifle 
 pale, revealed nothing. She was becoming more and more 
 proficient every day in the art of controlling her features. 
 
 When she went down-stairs that afternoon a half -hour 
 before dinner Lucian was standing at the open door of 
 the hall. He had an appearance of waiting for her. He 
 stepped forward, saying, with a slight note of haste, " I 
 hoped you would come down, Mrs. Gerald. I have two or 
 three words to say to you. Let us go outside." He pushed 
 open the wire door and drew back to let her pass. A gentle 
 whiff of warm, fragrant air bent clown the flowers of the 
 garden as the two moved along the broad gravel path. 
 
 Up-stairs, Mr. Gerald, who had not yet left his room, 
 happened to glance from the window. He saw the man 
 and woman walking slowly away from the house. He gazed 
 at them an instant, and as he gazed a slight, inscrutable 
 smile came to his lips. He drew back; he passed his hand 
 from his forehead down over his face. 
 
 "Given honor, truth, a strong will, a passionate nature, 
 against a forbidden love what will be the answer to that 
 problem ?" As if drawn by an irresistible power as his 
 mind pronounced these words, Mr. Gerald went again to the 
 window. 
 
 Lucian and Judith were walking back towards the house, 
 and Lucian was talking with apparent earnestness, but he 
 was not looking at his companion. 
 
 Mr. Gerald noted also that she was not looking at him, 
 but that her face betokened her interest in what he was 
 saying. 
 
 The man at the window now went resolutely away. " It s 
 going to be interesting," he was saying to himself; "not that 
 the play has really begun, by any means."
 
 XXIX 
 
 LUCIAN S SEARCH 
 
 " I WANTED to speak about your father s return," Lucian 
 had said the moment the two were out of the house. 
 
 Judith raised a surprised glance to his face. " Did you 
 know he had come ?" she asked, quickly. 
 
 Young Eldridge smiled as he replied, " I should rather 
 think I did know it. I brought him over from Jewett s 
 Landing in a sail-boat I borrowed there." 
 
 " And it was your boat I saw coming in towards our land 
 ing when I was on the cliff-walk?" 
 
 "Yes; and I saw you standing there/ 
 
 " How strange !" 
 
 Judith put her handkerchief to her lips; she did not know 
 why they should tremble uncontrollably. 
 
 " Not a bit strange," responded Lucian, in a hard, matter-of- 
 fact voice ; " only that I believed you to be gazing at the Bay 
 of Naples, and lo ! there you were on the Massachusetts 
 coast looking at Massachusetts Bay ! I was surprised, I 
 can tell you. But I knew you instantly." 
 
 There was no answer to this. Judith was trying to ask 
 where he had found her father ; but it was unavoidable that, 
 in this first interview with Lucian, she should be remember 
 ing one hour somewhat more than a year and a half ago. 
 After she had become accustomed to seeing him it would be 
 different; of course it would be different. But just now 
 
 "I am very curious," she said at last, and her voice was 
 so dry and so proper that she was justly proud of it. The 
 moment of emotion was now well over. "Father was very 
 reticent to me," she went on; "I don t know what he has
 
 LUCIAN S SEARCH 185 
 
 told mother. I suppose when he fell off the cliff some one 
 picked him out of the water?" 
 
 " Precisely that. It was a friend of mine, though I didn t 
 know about it until a few days ago. I ve been trying a great 
 deal to find your father." Here Judith uttered a low excla 
 mation, but Lucian continued in the same business-like way 
 in which he had begun. "Yes, I have followed out a num 
 ber of what looked like clews, but were not ; for, you see, I 
 assumed that he was not drowned, and I wanted to find 
 him. I knew it must be very disagreeable for you to have 
 even one blind fool imagine you could have had anything to 
 do with your father s death." 
 
 It was really quite strange the success which Lucian had 
 now attained in making his manner and voice to the ut 
 most degree commonplace. Before he could go on Judith 
 paused in her walk. She put out her hand to detain her 
 companion, though she did not touch him. Her eyes, "dar 
 ingly warm," were on his face ; her own features were not 
 steady. She was not thinking of anything in the past or 
 future, only of what Lucian had been doing for her. 
 
 " You wanted to clear my name ?" she said, in a whisper. 
 " You thought enough about me to try to do it ?" 
 
 She had an unerring knowledge that he had done much, 
 though his words did not convey that fact. 
 
 " Why, yes," still in that off-hand manner. " Perhaps I 
 have a natural gift at the detective business," with a slight 
 laugh. "Anyway, I ve been an amateur detective ever since 
 your father s disappearance. And, after all, it was not skill, 
 but sheer luck, that brought me success. Shall I tell you 
 about it ? I shall have time before dinner. I will cut short 
 the details." 
 
 "Yes, please tell me." 
 
 Judith stooped and gathered up the long folds of her 
 gown. She gave one furtive glance at her hand to see that 
 it was steady. As for Lucian, amid the turmoil in his mind 
 he was trying to be able calmly to see Judith clad in this 
 wonderful, transforming way which lies in the power of
 
 lS6 MRS. GERALD 
 
 wealth. The lace; the diaphanous sweep of the gown; the 
 dressing of the heavy, dark hair ; the gleam of jewels ; the 
 mysterious glow and sweetness which somehow belong to 
 some women all this Lucian must be aware of, and he 
 must seem indifferent to it. And in his mind, through every 
 instant of this interview, had been Judith s words that night : 
 " I love you, Lucian Eldridge." 
 
 But those words were spoken a hundred years ago, and 
 very soon after their utterance the woman who had used 
 them had sold herself to a rich man. Still, at the moment 
 she had felt them. Lucian was sure of that. Like an im 
 becile he hugged that belief: at the moment she had felt 
 them. She had strange ideas, and she was wilful. But she 
 was sincere. She did what seemed right to her. What else 
 could any one do ? 
 
 " It was odd," went on Lucian, " that, after I had travelled 
 hither and yon on this hint and that, I should find what I 
 wanted to find under my own hand. 
 
 " One night when we were camping out in the far West, 
 Berwick that s my friend who used to come here to see me 
 happened to mention about picking up a man in the cove 
 there by your farm, Mrs. Gerald. I hadn t seen Berwick in 
 a year since the thing happened, which accounts for his not 
 thinking to mention the affair, and it was after he had left 
 me. He s a careless fellow, and only writes to me once in 
 a great while. Anyway, he had never told me this, and he 
 didn t know I had been hunting for a man supposed to be 
 drowned. I caught at his story, but for some reason I 
 didn t let him know why. He said this man was uncon 
 scious when he pulled him into the boat had hit his head 
 on a rock, evidently. 
 
 " Berwick was going to join a friend in a yacht which lay 
 off a couple of miles from Jewett s Landing. The yacht 
 was to sail at a particular time, and the wind was just right. 
 It occurred to Berwick that he wouldn t delay to put the man 
 ashore here and hunt up his friends, but would take him 
 along, and when he had recovered say, by the following
 
 
 YOU \VANTKD TO CI.KAR MY NAME?
 
 LUCIAN S SEARCH 187 
 
 morning he would leave him at a town near by on the 
 coast with money enough to take him home, for Berwick, 
 being a medical student with a bran-new diploma, was quite 
 sure that Mr. Grover was only temporarily stunned. And 
 that was the case. 
 
 " The yacht sailed, and Mr. Grover recovered conscious 
 ness, just as Berwick had expected. But the thing that he 
 did not expect was that the man whom he had rescued de 
 clined to be set ashore anywhere. He said he thought it 
 would agree with his liver to take a voyage. He said that 
 if those who had money did as they ought to do they would 
 give more help, in the shape of ocean voyages, for instance, 
 to the people who didn t have money and did have ill-be 
 haved livers. 
 
 "Now all this struck Levering, the young fellow who 
 owned the yacht, and a pile of money besides, as being im 
 mensely funny. He said that a man with a liver was the 
 very thing The Kelpie needed. So he kept Mr. Grover. 
 
 " I suppose you know that your father has a natural knack 
 at cooking, and that he is willing to use this ability upon 
 occasion. Well, he helped the cook, and there were dishes 
 he made himself, and Lovering, though the joke of his pres 
 ence wore off very soon, let him stay all that season ; and he 
 let him go this summer again. I found him up at Calais, 
 Maine, where The Kelpie was stopping. You see, I went af 
 ter him when Berwick told me and said he would bet ten to 
 one that the man with a liver would stick to The Kelpie. I 
 don t know whether Mr. Grover was intending ever to come 
 home; perhaps he liked to know he had a refuge. He 
 spent the winter with the cook. But Lovering keeps his 
 yacht in commission five or six months of the year; it s a big 
 boat, and everything fine. 
 
 " Well, I found Mr. Grover. He wasn t very glad to see 
 me. He said it seemed that his falling into the water and 
 being saved that way was like the finger of Providence 
 pointing him to a different life. He hinted that he wasn t 
 appreciated in his home, and that he had a very headstrong
 
 188 MRS. GERALD 
 
 daughter pardon me, Mrs. Gerald, but I must explain mat 
 ters a daughter who meant to do right, but who was not 
 sufficiently guided by her father. He said he had not heard 
 anything from his family or from this town since that even 
 ing. I told him of your marriage. I knew then by the look 
 that came to his face that he would come home. And I was 
 right. 
 
 "That is the story. Please, Mrs. Gerald, don t accuse 
 me of meddling in what did not concern me. The cloud on 
 your name concerned your friends. I was an idle fellow, 
 you know, and could afford to occupy myself in the pursuit 
 of the missing man. I couldn t quite give up the idea that 
 it was possible he was not drowned. You forgive me for 
 meddling?" 
 
 Lucian tried to look at Judith as she turned impulsively 
 towards him. 
 
 " Forgive you ? Oh yes, I forgive you," she said. 
 
 " Thank you. There s the dinner-bell. I did not think 
 my story would be quite so long." 
 
 They walked towards the house. At the lower step of the 
 veranda Judith paused. 
 
 "It was very kind she hesitated "very thoughtful it 
 is a great deal to me, Mr. Eldridge." 
 
 She held out her hand. Lucian took it, and immediately 
 released it. He did not look at her. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings was at the foot of the stairs on her way to 
 the dining-room as the two came into the hall. 
 
 " Delightful old-fashioned garden," she said. " I meant to 
 come down early enough to walk in it before this. Mrs. 
 Gerald, you like those flowers, I m sure." 
 
 "Yes," answered Judith, with a perceptible fervor in her 
 voice, " better than all the conservatory blooms in the world. 
 Will you have some of these pinks, Mrs. Jennings ?" 
 
 Judith took the bunch of pinks from her belt, separated 
 the flowers, and extended several of them to the woman 
 who was leaning against the stair-post. 
 
 " Thank you ; but do they become me ?" She held them
 
 LUCIAN S SEARCH 189 
 
 up to her face. " Pinks are so trying to most people. But 
 not to you, Mrs. Gerald. Do you think I might venture to 
 wear these ? 
 
 " Surely," said a voice from the stairs. Mr. Gerald was 
 descending. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings looked smilingly up. She raised her arms, 
 removed from her hair a long silver pin with a large tur 
 quoise in the head of it, deftly put the flowers within the 
 braid, and replaced the pin. " If I look like a Dutch 
 woman it will be your fault, Mrs. Gerald," she said. 
 
 "You will never look like a Dutchwoman as you mean 
 the phrase/ remarked Mr. Gerald, with the proper em 
 phasis. 
 
 At the table that night Judith s olive face was tinged 
 with more color than usual ; her lips glowed more deeply 
 crimson ; her eyes, when she raised them, had a humid 
 light in them. She talked very little; she seemed to be 
 listening to the conversation which Mr. Gerald and Mrs. 
 Jennings kept up. 
 
 The dinner and the evening were quite different on ac 
 count of the stranger s presence ; there was a brightness 
 and an interest which every one felt. 
 
 Belle confided to her brother that "Mrs. Jennings was 
 no end jolly," but that she did not exactly know whether 
 to believe in her or not. 
 
 "It isn t necessary to believe in any one," responded 
 Lucian, with something like his uncle s manner and tone.
 
 XXX 
 
 "IT WAS WRONG TO DO IT!" 
 
 LATER in her life, when Judith looked back upon this 
 summer, she seemed to be gazing through a cloud that 
 obscured her vision and prevented her from judging her 
 own actions. She had an idea that her husband was watch 
 ing with a cynical questioning and amusement in his eyes. 
 He did not watch her as one who had the slightest wish 
 to control her movements, but as one who was merely inter 
 ested. 
 
 She was tired, strangely tired, all the time. She was 
 fighting, struggling, and never attaining peace. She knew 
 that she did not appear to be engaged in any battle, that 
 apparently she was drifting pleasantly through the summer 
 driving, riding, yachting; but, in spite of all these amuse 
 ments, spending many hours of each week with her mother. 
 These hours were the times when Judith came the nearest 
 to knowing repose. She used to sit with folded hands in 
 the old kitchen where she had worked so hard. She had 
 made her mother hire one of the girls of the village who 
 would rather do house-work than be confined in the factory, 
 so there was no more hard work for Mrs. Grover. 
 
 Everything was different on the farm now. Two hired 
 men did Hanford Grover s bidding, and Hanford Grover 
 himself seemed a very prosperous man and he always 
 thought of Mr. Gerald s money, and spoke of it as means 
 which had come to his family by efforts of his own. He 
 used to boast at the store that he guessed there wa n t any 
 man provided for his family better n he provided. He 
 said he wa n t one to see his folks out of victuals, and
 
 " IT WAS WRONG TO DO IT !" 
 
 191 
 
 he meant to get the very best for urn, too. And he did ; 
 and he never failed to see to it that the cream of that 
 best went into his own mouth. 
 
 Sitting thus in the kitchen Judith would unconsciously 
 release her face from the strict watch she kept over it else 
 where. And her mother fell into the habit of giving long 
 looks at her daughter ; after these looks she would breathe 
 a deep breath, turn her eyes away, and presently leave the 
 room. 
 
 Suddenly one day Mrs. Grover said, " I s pose you have 
 all the money you want, don t you, Judith ?" 
 
 The other woman roused herself. She fixed rather va 
 cant eyes on her companion. 
 
 " Oh yes, certainly. Did you want some money ?" 
 
 Involuntarily Judith s hand began to try to find her 
 pocket. 
 
 "No, I don t," rather sharply. "I didn t mean that. I 
 meant oh, Judith !" 
 
 Mrs. Grover rose hurriedly and came to her daughter s 
 side. She seemed to want to touch her, but she did not. 
 Her faded face worked piteously. 
 
 "Why, mother! What is it? Have I hurt you in any 
 way ?" 
 
 Judith s voice was full of concern. She reached forward 
 and took her mother s hands ; she gently pulled her down 
 on the lounge beside her. It was the same lounge where 
 Judith had tried to sleep when her mother had been ill. 
 
 " Hurt me ? Oh no ; you ain t one to hurt anybody 
 but yourself, I ve been thinkin. When I see you settin 
 here n lookin as you do " 
 
 Judith smiled reassuringly as her mother paused. Mrs. 
 Grover felt the old sense of strength and comfort coming 
 from her daughter s presence. 
 
 "Why, mother, you actually seem to be worrying about 
 me ! exclaimed Judith. 
 
 " I can t help it," was the reply. She gazed wistfully 
 up into the young face that was the same, and yet not
 
 ig2 MRS. GERALD 
 
 the same, as it used to be. " You do have everything you 
 want, don t you, Judith ?" 
 
 " Mr. Gerald is very kind," was the prompt and evasive 
 reply. 
 
 Mrs. Grover pushed her hair back as if this would enable 
 her to think more clearly. 
 
 " I ve been thinkin , V I ve been feelin dreadful fraid I 
 didn t do right that time," she said. 
 
 Judith did not ask what time. She was silent. It 
 seemed to her that she could not bear anything more. 
 After a while she said, " I don t believe it will do any good 
 for us to talk like this." 
 
 " But I ve got to talk, or something 11 happen to me." 
 Mrs. Grover spoke hurriedly. "All the while you ve been 
 gone I ve been thinkin , of course, you was havin a first- 
 rate time. You d married rich, V everybody was envyin 
 you, n me too. But now I see you when you re settin 
 here with nobody but me, I know I ain t done right. No, 
 I didn t do right." 
 
 " Mother, won t you stop ?" 
 
 "You wouldn t have married him if it hadn t been for 
 me ; you know you wouldn t, Judith." 
 
 " Oh, do stop !" 
 
 " No, I m goin to speak now, n you ve got to answer 
 me, Judith. You wouldn t have married him, would you?" 
 
 " No, mother." 
 
 " I was sure of it I was sure of it. Somehow I ve made 
 a dreadful mistake bout you. I married thout loving Mr. 
 Grover, though I liked him well enough, n you know lots 
 of women are real pleased to be married ; somehow a 
 woman ain t thought much of if she don t marry some 
 body. But you ain t like me ; of course I thought you 
 was like me. I can t understand it, I can t. You d been 
 happier if I d let you alone, n you d gone on workin 
 your fingers to the bone for us all, n tryin to pay the 
 interest on the moggidge, n everything else, wouldn t you, 
 Judith ?"
 
 " IT WAS WRONG TO DO IT !" 
 
 193 
 
 No answer. The younger face was very white. She was 
 looking at her mother, not as if she saw her, but as if she 
 saw nothing but dreariness and desolation stretching out 
 interminably before her. 
 
 "You ve got to answer me," went on Mrs. Grover. " I m 
 your mother, n you can say anything to me, n you can 
 let your face be jest as you feel. I m your mother, n I 
 love you, though I ain t done right I see it now I ain t 
 done right. You d have been happier, wouldn t you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Grover s eyes were dropping tears. She drew her 
 daughter s head down to her breast. She softly smoothed 
 the heavy hair. 
 
 "Yes," said Judith, in a whisper. 
 
 "Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" went on Mrs. Grover. 
 " N now I can t never take nothin back never. He s 
 kind to you, ain t he, Judith ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you don t love him ?" 
 
 " No ! no ! no !" 
 
 The two women sat holding each other. The tears con 
 tinued to fall from Mrs. Grover s eyes, but no tears were 
 in the younger eyes. 
 
 Finally the mother said, with piteous repetition, " You 
 ain t like me." 
 
 After another silence, Judith, still with her head on her 
 mother s bosom, said, as if she were speaking to herself, " I 
 read somewhere that if a woman marries without love she 
 may thank herself if she gradually becomes a moral leper 
 if a poison reaches her very soul that so sacred a rela 
 tion shall not be polluted without punishment. I don t 
 know about other women, but for me that is true true." 
 
 " Oh, dear !" softly and helplessly cried Mrs. Grover. 
 She stroked the young face. 
 
 Judith suddenly raised her head. She drew back a little 
 from her companion. 
 
 " 1 tell you, mother," she exclaimed, " 1 cannot respect 
 myself! I despise myself! It was wrong to do it! No
 
 IQ4 MRS. GERALD 
 
 matter what you or any one suffered, it was wrong to do 
 it! I had no right, no woman has any right, to sacrifice 
 herself like that. We might all have gone to the poor-house 
 together. I wish we had ! oh, I wish we had !" 
 
 There was an incredible, a terrible bitterness in the 
 speakers voice. Mrs. Grover recoiled from it. What did 
 her daughter mean ? Surely marriage was respectable. 
 What notions had Judith got into her head ? And where 
 did she get them ? But as suddenly as she had spoken 
 Judith controlled all extreme manifestation of her emotion. 
 
 " Don t mind me, mother," she said, gently ; " you know 
 you never did quite understand me. It ought to help me 
 that you are all sure to be comfortable as long as you live. 
 It does comfort me greatly. If it were not for thinking con 
 stantly of that I should oh r well, I should be unhappy. 
 Don t you think it would be better if we talked about some 
 thing else?" 
 
 But Mrs. Grover insisted upon one thing: that Judith 
 ought not to try to conceal her feelings from her mother. 
 She repeated again and again that it would do her daughter 
 good to have one person before whom she need not school 
 her face or her manner. 
 
 " You ll jest be ravin crazy some day if you don t never 
 give way, Judith. When you come here you slvll set n not 
 speak, n look any way. It don t matter how you be when 
 you are here, you know it don t." 
 
 It seemed to be some consolation to the mother that the 
 old home should be a sort of refuge to the daughter, and 
 so Judith came there more and more often. She roamed 
 about the house, or she strolled in the garden and the 
 fields. She always tried to evade a meeting with her fa 
 ther ; but when the two did meet Mr. Grover was so pleas 
 ant and so deferential that he made Judith sick. He did not 
 attempt to see her, but he never failed to improve the oppor 
 tunity when he did see her to get from her more or less 
 money. She uniformly gave him whatever she had with her, 
 as she had done that first time when he had just returned.
 
 " IT WAS WRONG TO DO IT !" 195 
 
 So a part of the summer passed. Nothing seemed to 
 have happened. Mrs. Jennings had finished her visit and 
 gone, but, at Mrs. Eldridge s earnest invitation, she had 
 promised to return, in the early autumn. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lucian had made several short journeys, but 
 he always came back sooner than he was expected. He 
 was tormented by an unconquerable restlessness. He grew 
 thin, and there were black hollows under his eyes. Mr. 
 Gerald used to look at him with a curious intentness, and 
 when he withdrew his eyes his face would harden. Then 
 if his wife were in the room he would turn to her and exam 
 ine her countenance not openly, but over a book or a paper. 
 
 One day Judith had gone to her mother s. She had in 
 sisted that she would walk back, and that no one should 
 come for her. Mr. Gerald had been sitting in the garden 
 nearly all the afternoon. The heat was intense. Every 
 thing alive was gasping for relief. The sky was cloudless 
 and brassy ; the sun, going slowly westward, was red as 
 blood. Mr. Gerald sat with a book in his hand, but he 
 had not read a word. His sister, waving a fan, came down 
 the path towards him. It was one of those times when any 
 thing dreadful might happen, it was so relentlessly hot. 
 
 " Hasn t Judith come back ?" inquired Mrs. Eldridge, not 
 because she cared, but because it occurred to her to ask 
 that question. 
 
 " No. ; 
 
 " How warm it is ! Lucian is the only sensible one. He 
 has gone out in his boat. He invited me to go with him, 
 but I told him I should die walking to the shore." 
 
 Mr. Gerald s face changed in an indescribable way. He 
 very rarely allowed so much interest to show itself in his 
 voice as was audible in it now. He turned towards his 
 sister. " I wish you had gone with Lucian," he said. 
 
 " Why ?" in surprise. 
 
 Mr. Gerald leaned back in his chair. He smiled languid 
 ly, and answered in his usual tone, "Oh, I don t know. 
 One isn t responsible for fancies in this cursed heat."
 
 XXXI 
 
 " I FORGIVE YOU " 
 
 JUDITH had left her old home in the middle of the after 
 noon. She was restless from the heat, and she walked slow 
 ly down to the bottom of the garden. Coming to little Em s 
 grave, she stood there a long time. The grass was green 
 above it, for she had carefully brought water ever since she 
 had come back, and the drought had not touched the place. 
 
 It seemed to Judith as she stood there that her brain was 
 affected by the weather. She looked off over the dry, 
 brown pasture. The heated air shimmered under the red 
 sun. She gazed down at the grave. " I should like to 
 weep to weep all clay and all night," she said, aloud. 
 " Perhaps tears would wash away the dust in my mind." 
 Then she smiled, and added, " I m getting as morbid as a 
 modern novel." 
 
 She strolled along to the cliff -path. She would go back 
 that way. There was not a breath of air from the sea or 
 from anywhere, but the sight of the water might revive her. 
 As she turned towards the cliffs she saw a boat lying in 
 the bit of a cove. The man sitting in it was looking tow 
 ards the shore. He immediately rose and waved his hat ; 
 she recognized Lucian Eldridge. 
 
 "Are you going to walk home?" he called out. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Let me take you by water. It is not quite so insufferable 
 here as on land." 
 
 Judith walked down to the beach and waited. Why 
 should she not go ? In a few moments she was in the 
 stern seat, and Lucian was rowing away from shore.
 
 I FORGIVE YOU 
 
 197 
 
 " We may stand a chance for a breath of air," he said, 
 " but the land suffocates to day." After a while he pulled 
 in his oars. "Are you in a hurry, Mrs. Gerald?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 She sat with her open parasol resting on her shoulder. 
 Her hands were clasped over the handle. Those hands 
 were no longer hard from work. They were soft and well 
 shaped, but just now brown from the summer sun. Several 
 rings glittered on the fingers. 
 
 Lucian was not looking at her ; nevertheless, he saw 
 nothing on ocean or earth but that woman in the stern of 
 the boat. His entire feeling at that moment was one of 
 exultation. Not that he in the least intended to let that 
 exultation be discovered. This was the only time he had 
 seen Judith alone since that evening when she had let him 
 know that she loved him the only time, save the few mo 
 ments when he had told her about finding her father. 
 
 Well, what harm would it do if he should sit there alone 
 with her for an hour ? No harm to anybody, save to him. 
 He wanted to laugh recklessly as he told himself that he 
 was past harming. Perhaps this torrid atmosphere affected 
 his head. He had had a sense of desperation brooding all 
 day over his consciousness. Of course it was the weather. 
 
 There came a warm puff of wind from the land. There 
 was in it the odor of elder -blows and the queen of the 
 meadows ; the same odor had been in the air that evening. 
 Odd how vividly perfumes brought back scenes and words. 
 What a sumptuous woman that was who sat opposite him ! 
 And that was Judith Grover, who had ridden on his sled 
 and worked at stitching in the shoe factory. And she 
 had said that she loved him only that was a thousand 
 years ago ; and perhaps she had not loved him, after all. 
 One never knew much about women, anyway. What was 
 she thinking about now ? 
 
 The crimson parasol shed a soft glow on Judith s face, 
 relieving the pallor of heat. Lucian now openly looked 
 at her. He had thrust his hands beneath the belt that con-
 
 198 MRS. GERALD 
 
 fined his flannel blouse. His broad hat was drawn over his 
 face to keep the sun from his eyes. 
 
 " Do you think in these days, Mrs. Gerald ?" he asked, 
 suddenly. 
 
 She seemed to withdraw a little from him ; then she 
 smiled as if in apology for that involuntary movement. 
 
 " I am not guilty of much thinking, I m afraid," she an 
 swered. 
 
 " Because you are so occupied in living, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " Now it is quite otherwise with me," was the response- 
 " I seem to have plenty of time to think, but I don t amount 
 to anything. I m an idle fellow. I used to believe I 
 should do something in the world. Now well " 
 
 The young man paused. He leaned forward, resting his 
 elbows on his knees. A dark flush came to his face ; his 
 eyes throbbed and burned. Judith was gazing off over the 
 burnished water. Faintly from the shore sounded the song 
 of a blackbird as he flew down over the Grover meadow. 
 
 " Can t you give a poor young man any advice, Mrs. 
 Gerald ?" asked Lucian. 
 
 Every time he said " Mrs. Gerald " Judith felt like draw 
 ing back from a blow, but she resolutely gave no sign of 
 this feeling. Lucian let slip no opportunity to pronounce 
 this name, as one may press viciously upon a wound, 
 strangely longing to bear the pain induced by the touch. 
 
 "A man has the world under his feet," said Judith. She 
 still kept her eyes on the distance. 
 
 " Oh, does he ?" 
 
 Lucian burst into a loud laugh. His companion glanced 
 at him anxiously. 
 
 " I must laugh at your joke, Mrs. Gerald," he said. Then, 
 after a moment s silence, he leaned forward again, and 
 spoke in quite a different tone. " Do forgive me. I think 
 I must be getting to be more of a brute every day." 
 
 " Oh no ! You can never be that, Mr. Eldridge." 
 
 " You really have faith in me ?"
 
 " I FORGIVE YOU " 
 
 199 
 
 " Why should I not ?" 
 
 Judith was looking at him now. Her eyes dwelt on his 
 face. It seemed to the young man that his soul clung to 
 that glance, which was only kind but so kind ! 
 
 " But why should you ?" 
 
 He did not know that he had spoken until he seemed to 
 hear the words from somewhere, he hardly knew where. 
 
 " I must have faith in you, Lucian I must !" 
 
 Her words and tone had a supplication in them. She 
 could have reached forth her hands to him in pleading. 
 But she sat perfectly still, holding her parasol, her dark 
 face turned to him, and appearing to lift him up from deeps 
 into which he was sinking. He raised his head. 
 
 "You have not called me Lucian before since well, for 
 a long time," he said. There was something boyish and 
 almost piteous in his tone. "Why shouldn t you call me 
 that?" he went on. "We were boy and girl together. I 
 wish you would call me Lucian." 
 
 " I will. There is no reason why I should not." 
 
 " Thank you thank you so much." 
 
 Lucian lifted his hat that the air might pass over his 
 forehead. He was asking himself why it seemed as if some 
 one were talking through him. Why was the time so un 
 real ? Was it the heat the relentlessness of that brassy 
 sky ? The sun was now down to the tops of the pine-trees 
 on the hills over there in the west. 
 
 "I have wanted to see you," began Lucian again, still 
 with that oppressive feeling, as if some one else were speak 
 ing. " There was something I wanted to say to you." 
 
 He stopped, gazing at her. She did not avoid his glance. 
 Her eyes still had the same kindly look ; but her face was 
 now ashen, and a line of still whiter hue was about her 
 lips. 
 
 " Perhaps you have decided upon what you will do in the 
 world," said Judith, with an effort. 
 
 "No; it wasn t that. Shall I tell you what it is?" 
 
 Judith hesitated. She withdrew her eyes, and looked off
 
 200 MRS. GERALD 
 
 to the horizon almost as if she were searching for the an 
 swer to his question. She hardly dared to say yes to the 
 inquiry. Her heart was beating so that to speak was nearly 
 impossible. Dominant over everything was the resolution 
 to be true to her idea of duty to be loyal to her own soul. 
 
 " Yes," went on Lucian, " I am going to tell you. It is 
 that I have been trying ever since your marriage to forgive 
 you. I have almost hated you. You know it has been 
 said that there is always some hate in love. I could have 
 killed you. I wanted to kill you. That was odd, wasn t 
 it? You were wrong. Your idea of what you ought to do 
 that you ought not to marry me that was all wrong. But 
 to-day, since I ve been out in this boat thinking of you I m 
 always thinking of you it came to me that I forgave you. 
 I said aloud, Thank God for that ! And then I looked 
 towards the land and saw you going up the cliff. That 
 was providential, wasn t it? to see you then, and have 
 you come into the boat ?" 
 
 As he ceased speaking Lucian took up the oars again, 
 and began to row farther out. The sail lay useless, dropped 
 down the little mast. 
 
 A keen anxiety was mingling with other feelings in Ju 
 dith s mind. But she tried not to betray that feeling. 
 
 " I m glad you forgive me," she said, gently. 
 
 " I wanted to tell you," he went on. Again he removed 
 his hat and put his hand to his head. 
 
 " Have you been out all the afternoon ?" she asked. 
 
 " Yes ; I left the house the moment I had finished lunch. 
 I tried the garden, but it was intolerable. I asked myself 
 how I was going to live until night. I remembered my boat. 
 I invited mother to come with me. I thought of taking 
 Belle, but she said the heat was bound to kill her before 
 night, and she would rather die on land. So I came alone. 
 Now I m glad of it ; I should have been sorry if any one 
 had been with me. Then I couldn t have told you I have 
 forgiven you." 
 
 Having spoken thus Lucian took up the oars again and
 
 " I FORGIVE YOU " 2OI 
 
 bent to them, the boat throbbing over the glassy water, the 
 eddies on each side making a pleasant, cool noise. 
 
 Judith looked about her. She gazed back at the shore. 
 The village was not in sight, being hidden by the low ridge 
 behind which it lay. But there was the long, decaying 
 wharf, where vessels of small tonnage used to land, the 
 stretch of cliff, the white line of sandy beaches, the tree- 
 covered hills in the background, the flushing sky, the look 
 of quivering, swooning heat over everything Judith saw 
 it all. 
 
 The water was growing darker as the sun withdrew itself, 
 but it did not lose its sultry aspect. The sound of oars in 
 rowlocks and the splash of the blades in the water farther 
 out in the bay made Judith turn her eyes in that direction. 
 
 " Awful hot, ain t it ?" asked a familiar voice. The 
 speaker was Ellis Macomber. He was sitting in a boat 
 that was rowed by one of his neighbors. He gazed with 
 his usual curiosity at Judith and her companion. 
 
 Judith replied to him. She said Mr. Eldridge was taking 
 her home, but it was so warm they were not hurrying ; it 
 was more comfortable here than anywhere else. 
 
 " Jes so," responded Mr. Macomber, staring continu 
 ously. Judith was always an interesting object to him ; he 
 had known her as a very poor girl, and now she was rich 
 rich. He and two or three other men used often to try to 
 reckon up what Mr. Gerald s income per minute probably 
 was. They would smack their lips over the sum. 
 
 " Bob had to go out to his lobster-pawts," now remarked 
 Mr. Macomber, " V I was jest about roasted, so I come 
 with him. But, land, there ain t no air out here neither !" 
 
 " I guess there ll be a change fore long," said the other 
 man. " Gen rally is; when it s got so hot it can t be no 
 hotter it has to change, you know." 
 
 Then the two boats parted company. Judith watched 
 the little craft making its way towards the long wharf. The 
 sun dropped behind those pine-trees on the hill. 
 
 Lucian s oars swept out in long strokes, taking hold of
 
 202 MRS. GERALD 
 
 the water with a will. Now that the sun did not beat down 
 upon them the occupants of the boat became conscious 
 that there was a slight refreshment in the air. 
 
 " Aren t we getting too far away?" Judith put this ques 
 tion a half-hour later. 
 
 She had been sitting in silence, watching the dusk come 
 over the world. Out like this she felt as if she could see 
 the whole universe and watch the beating of its pulses. 
 There came a subtle and strong happiness to her soul. 
 She knew that this happiness would not last, and she felt 
 it all the more acutely for that reason. She repeated her 
 inquiry. 
 
 " Don t you think we are getting too far out ? It will be 
 dinner-time soon." 
 
 Lucian took his watch from his pocket and peered at it. 
 But he could not see the time until he had lighted a match. 
 
 "It is dinner-time," he answered, with a laugh "in 
 fact, it is almost an hour past." 
 
 He laughed again as he threw the little wax-taper into 
 the water. 
 
 " They have waited a few minutes for us, and then they 
 sat down to the table. They will think you have decided 
 to stay with your mother until evening, and that I have for 
 gotten about dinner." 
 
 Judith turned her head and gazed back at the shore, now 
 a fast darkening line with not a light upon it. She was 
 anxious, but that curious sense of happiness remained with 
 her. 
 
 "I think we ought to go back," she said. " It seems to 
 me that we are a long way out." 
 
 " But you are not afraid with me ?" 
 
 "Oh no." 
 
 " Thank God for that !" exclaimed Lucian, fervently. It 
 was the second time that evening that he had thanked God. 
 
 "You should have been with me this afternoon when the 
 sun shone on the water," said Lucian. " It gave me vi 
 sions "he looked at her for a moment before he went on
 
 " I FORGIVE YOU " 203 
 
 "visions of you of you and me, Judith and of the time 
 when we are going to be together. You needn t be shocked. 
 The sun, I found, is a greater giver of dreams than the moon. 
 Did you ever discover that?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 While he talked Lucian was rowing rapidly. The boat 
 leaped and bounded beneath his strokes. 
 
 " Do you know how to use the oars ?" he asked. 
 
 " No ; I never had time to learn. We must go back, 
 Lucian." 
 
 " Not yet." He stopped rowing. " Do you think I ve 
 suffered what I have, starving, famishing for an hour alone 
 with you, to turn back now?" 
 
 His voice suddenly sank to the tone she remembered. 
 She trembled. She grasped the sides of the boat. When 
 she did speak she was able to say, steadily, " It is not like 
 you to talk in that way." 
 
 " Oh yes ; it must be like me, or I should not do it. Ju 
 dith, you did a wicked thing when you married Richard 
 Gerald. Even if I had been dead it was wrong. No woman 
 has a right to do such a thing." 
 
 The woman s hands gripped the boat still more closely. 
 
 " Lucian, please go back !" She spoke with extreme 
 gentleness. 
 
 " Do you really want to go ?" 
 
 " I must." 
 
 " Do you not like to be here with me ?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Judith," bending forward, "tell me: do you not like to 
 be here with me ?" 
 
 Judith sat up straight and aloof. Her eyes burned 
 through the fast-deepening dusk. 
 
 " You are not acting like a gentleman," she said.
 
 XXXII 
 
 AFLOAT 
 
 LUCIAN made no reply, but his face changed. It had 
 been flushed all the time, and this flush seemed to deepen. 
 
 "You don t answer me," he said at last, "and the rea 
 son is that you dare not tell the truth ; and if you speak at 
 all you have to speak truth. I rejoice in your truth, Ju 
 dith. Always I rest upon that." 
 
 " We will talk of something else," said Judith, trying to 
 speak coldly. 
 
 "You are not angry with me ?" with eager anxiety, reach 
 ing forward and placing his hand over one of the hands 
 that was grasping the boat s side. 
 
 " Not angry," was the answer, after a moment s hesita 
 tion, "but disappointed deeply disappointed." She was 
 unable to keep her voice entirely steady as she said this. 
 
 " In me ?" 
 
 " Yes, in you." 
 
 Lucian drew back. 
 
 " I want always to respect you," went on Judith, her tone 
 gathering emotion as she spoke. " I cannot, I must not 
 lose my respect for you. That would be oh, I cannot tell 
 you how dreadful that would be ! You and I are to go dif 
 ferent ways ; and and don t you see that we must be able 
 to think well of each other ? That is all there is left, and 
 we can keep that we must keep that. Now, will you take 
 me home ?" 
 
 She half rose, but sat quickly down. A sudden sense of 
 her helplessness overcame her. The fainting light from 
 the west was on Lucian s face. His eyes were fixed on his
 
 AFLOAT 205 
 
 companion. And now the wonder as to his manner grew 
 greater and more alarming in Judith s mind. 
 
 " Since you are disappointed in me," he began, " it will 
 make little difference if I say all that is in my heart." 
 
 Judith bent forward. She took hold of Lucian s hand 
 firmly. She found the fingers cold and the palm burning 
 hot. 
 
 " Be silent !" she said, authoritatively. " Don t say what 
 you will be sorry to remember. Something is the matter. Is 
 it the heat ? You have been in the glare of the sun for hours. 
 Row home now, immediately." 
 
 She spoke as if she had no doubt of his obedience, and, 
 indeed, he took up the oars mechanically and made several 
 long strokes not towards the shore, however. 
 
 " You are going wrong," said Judith ; "turn the boat." 
 
 "The sun came right clown into my brain, but it made 
 thought very clear," he said. " Why do you want me to 
 turn the boat ?" 
 
 " Because we are not headed towards the shore." 
 
 " That makes no difference. We shall get somewhere all 
 the same. And since we are together " 
 
 " Lucian !" 
 
 "Judith !" 
 
 "Will you listen to me ?" 
 
 " I always listen when you speak; that is the very worst 
 of it. Whenever you say anything up there at the house 
 where they all are my very heart stands still to hear. That s 
 an old phrase, isn t it ? But it s a true one. And I try not 
 to let any one know that it does stand still. So, you see, 
 the whole thing is rather wearing. I ve tried to go away, 
 but you may have noticed that I come back. I say to my 
 self, She will soon be somewhere where I cannot see her, 
 so I come back. Yes, you did a very wicked thing when 
 you married and did not marry me." 
 
 Judith s courage was rising with the need of it, and she 
 felt that she was never more in need of courage than now. 
 
 " Lucian," letting her voice express the tenderness that
 
 206 MRS. GERALD 
 
 she fel.t, "you must listen to me and do what I say. Will 
 you ?" 
 
 " Oh yes yes !" 
 
 " Take the oars, then, and turn about. We must go home. 
 I m afraid you are going to be ill, and we must be where 
 you can have care." 
 
 The young man took up the oars. In the gathering dusk 
 Judith could see that his eyes, always fixed upon her, were 
 shining strangely. As she met his look her face softened 
 even while it took on an expression of still greater resolu 
 tion. She felt the perspiration starting on her forehead 
 from sheer excitement. She was sure now that their get 
 ting home at all, unless they were picked up, depended 
 upon her ability to make Lucian obey her, and he would 
 not obey simply because she commanded. 
 
 Lucian skilfully turned the boat towards the shore, which 
 was now only a long black line. The darkness had come 
 down, but the stars were near and softly brilliant in the 
 blue blackness of the heavens. Before he began to row, the 
 young man, holding his oars poised, asked, " If I am ill, 
 will you take care of me ?" 
 
 He noted her hesitation. She would not, even now, give 
 her word lightly. He laughed and dropped his oars. She 
 wondered why she had not suspected before that he was 
 already in the first stages of illness. He had been looking 
 wretched of late, and now he had spent this long afternoon 
 between the glare of sun and water, smothered with the heat. 
 
 " I don t think that is much to ask from one so kind as 
 you are," he said. " If I could go into the shadow of ill 
 ness knowing that you were near " 
 
 " I hesitated because I did not know what might be 
 against my keeping the promise," she said. 
 
 " Then we will stay here." 
 
 She was now fully convinced that it was useless to reason 
 with him in the least. 
 
 " If you are ill," she said, after a long pause, " I will help 
 take care of you."
 
 AFLOAT 
 
 207 
 
 " Dear Judith ! Oh, how kind you are ! Now we will 
 go home." 
 
 He rowed steadily for perhaps five minutes; then the 
 strokes began to be uneven, the boat whirled about. 
 
 " I ll rest a minute," he said. " Somehow I don t seem 
 as strong as usual." 
 
 Again he drew in the oars, but this time one of them 
 slipped from his hand. Judith sprang to get it ; she reached 
 out her arm, the boat tipping as she did so. The ends of 
 her fingers touched the end of the blade ; one more effort, 
 and the boat sent a swell that drifted the oar entirely be 
 yond her reach. She drew back and sat down. She did 
 not heed that her arm was dripping. She sat still, her eyes 
 fixed on her hands that were lying in her lap. 
 
 Lucian was leaning his head on his hand. He was smil 
 ing. " I didn t mean to do it," he said, at last. 
 
 " I know you didn t," replied Judith. 
 
 " Don t expect me to be sorry," he said, a few moments 
 later. 
 
 There was no reply to this. 
 
 " I don t want you to be unhappy." He said this anx 
 iously. " Won t you look at me ?" lie asked. 
 
 Judith lifted her eyes. The two could barely discern 
 each other. 
 
 " If it were daylight I could soon make some one see 
 us," she said ; " but now why, I couldn t distinguish a boat 
 a quarter of a mile away, and people here rarely go out 
 in the evening. I don t know what to do." 
 
 " We can wait," he returned, in a contented tone. 
 
 The stillness was emphasized by the distant sound of the 
 rising tide against the rocks on the nearest point of land. 
 The sound carried a long way. Judith found herself listen 
 ing to it with a strained attention, as if the hearing it could 
 somehow bring help. 
 
 " Do you think there is any boat near?" she asked. 
 
 " I don t know," indifferently. 
 
 " But I care a great deal," she returned, earnestly.
 
 208 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " Lucian, will you shout ? Perhaps some one will hear 
 you." 
 
 "That is not in the least likely. This is no place for 
 pleasure-boats, and all other kind have gone inshore long 
 ago." 
 
 Judith could not fail to detect the satisfaction in the 
 speaker s manner. 
 
 " No matter," she answered, authoritatively. " You can 
 try to make some one hear." 
 
 " No. Why should a man who is happy make any at 
 tempt to be miserable ?" 
 
 " Very well. I will call out myself. I can do that." 
 
 And Judith did call, clearly and shrilly, her voice going 
 over the still water as if some one must surely hear and 
 respond. Lucian uttered an exclamation of remonstrance 
 which his companion appeared not to hear. 
 
 " Can you scull ?" she asked, presently. 
 
 "No ; that is, not much. And I haven t any strength 
 to-night. That sun, which gave visions, took my strength 
 away." 
 
 " I am so sorry," she said, tenderly. " You see, you are 
 ill, and we ought to get home so that you may have care." 
 She spoke as if he were a sick child. 
 
 " Yes, but we can t go. Providence has made it impossi 
 ble. Some time, I suppose, we shall be picked up but I 
 hope not." 
 
 " Don t talk so, Lucian !" 
 
 He came and sat down on the floor of the boat and 
 leaned his arm across her lap. She remained quiet, not 
 showing that his attitude was unusual. In all her life she 
 had never found it so difficult to seem calm. That chok 
 ing of hurrying pulses in her throat, that suffocating anxi 
 ety on account of their position, and that strange, unrea 
 sonable happiness how was she to manage all these 
 emotions ? 
 
 "Think of the friends who will worry about us," she 
 said.
 
 AFLOAT 209 
 
 " Oh, well," easily, " we can t help that, so why should 
 we think of them ?" 
 
 Another long silence, during which Lucian sat at Judith s 
 feet, looking up at her, while she, her face turned towards 
 the shore, was gazing and listening intently. The world 
 was as still as if there were no living thing in it outside of 
 these two. All that could be heard was that faint, distant 
 swish of the water against those rocks. 
 
 " We can t be very far from Rough Rock Point," said 
 Judith. 
 
 " Perhaps," was the answer. 
 
 A moment later Lucian seemed to rouse himself somewhat. 
 He looked about, and he glanced apprehensively at Judith. 
 
 " Are you really suffering," he asked, " just because we 
 are here? We may be kept here for hours. And I can t 
 help it really, I can t." 
 
 " If there should be a breeze we could put up the sail 
 and get to land somewhere. Let us run up the sail now, 
 that we may catch a breath of wind if it comes." 
 
 Lucian remonstrated. He urged that a sudden flaw 
 might capsize them he promised to raise the sail if there 
 was any hope of using it. Very soon after this he seemed 
 to become drowsy. 
 
 Judith drew his head to her knee, and he contentedly 
 closed his eyes. A moment later she roused him to ask 
 for what matches he had. She had seen him light one to 
 look at his watch. He gave her a box of wax-tapers from 
 his waistcoat-pocket. Judith poured them into the palm of 
 her hand, and carefully counted them as she slowly re 
 turned them, one by one, to the box. There were eighteen. 
 At intervals she would light one. The first one burned 
 straight in the still air, held up at arm s-length. A few mo 
 ments later she gave another piercing, insistent cry. 
 
 Meanwhile Lucian was asleep with his head on her 
 knee heavily asleep. Judith s hand was on his hair ; her 
 eyes, when they were lowered towards him, changed from 
 their strained expression to one of divine gentleness and pity.
 
 XXXIII 
 
 "NOTHING COULD HAPPEN" 
 
 AT nine o clock that evening Mr. Gerald left the garden 
 and strolled out into the road. It was still torrid. The air 
 appeared to hold nothing in it for one to breathe. Hidden 
 among the leaves, the birds held their wings up and their 
 bills open ; they moved restlessly. The noise of the insects 
 was incessant and shrill. 
 
 Mr. Eldridge was leaning on the gate in his shirt-sleeves, 
 smoking. But Mr. Gerald was dressed exactly as usual 
 Prince Albert coat and immaculate linen. 
 
 " By Jove, Dick, I should think you d die in that coat!" 
 exclaimed his brother-in-law. 
 
 " I hope and expect to die in it, or one like it, some 
 time," was the answer. " I suppose Judith hasn t come in ?" 
 
 " Guess not, I should have seen her. I ve been gasping 
 like a horn-pout on this gate for an hour." 
 
 Mr. Gerald walked on along the highway. When he 
 came to the village he found men and women sitting on 
 the door-steps, or on the brown, dewless grass of the yards. 
 They all seemed to be waiting for the weather to change. 
 
 Ellis Macomber had a chair tilted back against his yard 
 fence. " Hottest spell for twenty years," he said, as Gerald 
 came near. " I jest as lives be off the coast of South 
 Afriky as to be here. Hotter here, I do believe." 
 
 Mr. Gerald paused. " Of course," he said, " this coun 
 try can get up the most infernal heat this side of hades, we 
 all know." 
 
 He was going on, switching his stick on the dusty, road 
 side weeds.
 
 "NOTHING COULD HAPPEN" 211 
 
 " Judith s be n bright enough to stick to the water," said 
 Ellis. "That s where she was right. I wish I hadn t 
 come in myself." 
 
 Mr. Gerald paused and half turned his head. He did 
 not speak, but Mr. Macomber went on. 
 
 " I seen her n Lucian out in a boat when me n Bob 
 Sisson went to look after his pawts. I jest wish I d stayed 
 out." 
 
 " Yes," responded Mr. Gerald, " this village ought to 
 have a flotilla for these fire-and-brimstone spells." 
 
 He spoke lazily, and he went on in his indolent walk, 
 slowly striking at the weeds, his upright figure growing 
 more and more vague as Mr. Macomber watched him. He 
 kept on for more than half an hour. At the end of that 
 time he was entering the yard of Judith s old home. The 
 entire Grover family were out-of-doors. The glimmer of 
 Mr. Grover s shirt was visible at a long distance. 
 
 " Ain t Judith with you ?" inquired Mrs. Grover. She 
 was never at ease with Judith s husband. 
 
 " No," he answered. " Probably she has had walking 
 enough for to-day. But this heat made me restless." 
 
 He remained a few moments ; then he took the cliff-walk 
 on his return. After he had heard Mr. Macomber s infor 
 mation he had wished to know if Judith had come back to 
 her home. She might have done so. He lounged slowly 
 along the high path. From this height he could sometimes 
 see a faint display of " heat-lightning" in the north, where 
 was a film of cloud. Well, it was eminently proper and 
 natural that Judith should have gone in Lucian s boat if 
 she had the opportunity. 
 
 Not the faintest twinge of suspicion was in the man s 
 mind. He knew Judith. A curious change came in the 
 darkness to his face as he stood on the cliff. Then he 
 smiled, and pulled at his mustache. " Odd," he was 
 thinking, "that I never knew such a woman before. Well, 
 I wish she was happier. Tremendously odd, too, that I 
 don t bear her any grudge for not Ah ! what was that?"
 
 212 MRS. GERALD 
 
 He was looking out into the blackness before him. In 
 the oily stillness of the water was now and then a spark of 
 reflection from a star. But this was not a star. Just a dot 
 of light far out in the bay a dot that burned a moment 
 and then died. 
 
 " Somebody lighting a cigar. I wish I was on the water 
 myself. I wonder if they miss their dinner ? I really be 
 lieve I m more sorry for Lucian than for Judith. Poor fel 
 low! he looks like a ghost. I wonder what will be the 
 end ?" 
 
 He thrust one hand into the breast of his waistcoat and 
 sauntered on. After a few moments he found the path so 
 rough that he left it and walked back to the road. As he 
 strolled he was asking himself how long those two would 
 stay out. 
 
 At eleven o clock the whole Eldridge household were 
 asking that question, and some of them were getting angry 
 that Lucian should be so inconsiderate. But Mr. Gerald 
 said, placidly, that he supposed those two were aware of 
 what they were doing. There was no storm and no dan 
 ger; Lucian knew his boat. 
 
 "Dick," said Mrs. Eldridge, "you never did have any 
 feeling." 
 
 Her brother did not answer her. He only smiled in his 
 mustache in that quite inscrutable way he had. 
 
 Mrs. Eldridge was walking rapidly back and forth along 
 the piazza.. The two girls and their father had gone down 
 to the wharf, where they also were walking back and forth. 
 But Mr. Gerald was sitting quietly in an arm-chair just out 
 side the door. He seemed to be watching the fire-flies 
 darting in and out of the big syringa-bushes. 
 
 " Richard," again exclaimed Mrs. Eldridge, " I wish you 
 would do something !" 
 
 " Really, Caroline, you are quite ridiculous. What do 
 you suggest ? There has been no storm not a breath of 
 wind. Lucian is an experienced boatman. Nothing in 
 the world has happened. They are staying out because
 
 "NOTHING COULD HAPPEN" 213 
 
 they choose to do so. We should cut a fine figure going 
 as a rescuing party and finding them enjoying themselves 
 on the water. I suppose it is comfortable out there, and 
 they dislike to return." 
 
 "I m glad you can be so calm. But it isn t a bit like 
 Judith. She must know we should be anxious." 
 
 " No ; it isn t like Judith," responded the man. 
 
 Then he asked himself if, after all, he knew what was 
 like Judith. Did he know her ? It was only a few hours 
 ago nay, hardly an hour when he had been thinking 
 that he knew her. After all, perhaps, his lifelong theory 
 concerning women was the correct one : that the best of 
 them were hypocrites ; that they did not know the meaning 
 of honor ; and that the man was a fool who trusted them. 
 
 Nevertheless, he had trusted Judith ; he had grown to 
 trust her more and more. He wanted her to understand 
 that she was to act precisely as she liked. He wanted her 
 to follow out what she considered the line of her duty. 
 He watched her month by month. He found that he was 
 by no means her master in that subtle sense in which alone 
 he cared to be her master that sense in which one per 
 sonality influences another. And that knowledge brought 
 him no feeling of defeat rather one of triumph in that 
 such a woman belonged to him. This man, who was cyni 
 cally sure that he knew men and women, found that here 
 was one kind of human being hitherto unknown to him. 
 
 No\v, as he sat with such apparent calmness on the 
 piazza and heard the clock in the hall strike twelve, a sud 
 den and horrible doubt sprang upon him. Vaguely he 
 heard his sister exclaim again how very thoughtless it was 
 of Lucian and Judith. 
 
 Could it be possible that he had been mistaken in his 
 wife ? Possible ? Mr. Gerald sat up erect, and he put 
 a steady hand up to his mustache. 
 
 " I do almost believe something has happened." That 
 was his sister s voice. 
 
 " Don t be silly," he said, in his usual manner. " Proba-
 
 214 MRS - GERALD 
 
 bly Lucian rowed out farther than he intended, and you 
 know the sail would be of no account. It s a long task to 
 row back. Ah ! who is that ?" 
 
 Mr. Gerald rose as a white figure appeared running up 
 the walk. He did not advance, however; he stood still, 
 while Mrs. Eldridge hastened forward. The next moment 
 he saw that the figure was Belle. She came up the steps, 
 and her mother caught her arm. 
 
 " Well, what is it ?" asked the elder woman, shrilly. 
 " Where are they ?" 
 
 " I don t know. Father sent Maud and me back, but 
 Maud wouldn t run. Father has got Bob Sisson to take 
 him out in his boat. He says he thinks something must 
 have happened." 
 
 " Absurd !" said Mr. Gerald. " There s not a breath of 
 wind. Bob ; 11 have to row. Nothing has happened, unless 
 Lucian has deliberately turned his boat over." 
 
 "Oh, Richard!" 
 
 " You know it is so. It s as safe on the water so far as 
 on your parlor floor." 
 
 " I don t care if it is," said Belle, " I m glad father s 
 gone. I don t know whether Lucian would stay out so, 
 but I m sure Judith wouldn t. She d know we should have 
 a thousand fits by midnight. But men don t know any 
 thing, even Lucian." 
 
 She sat down on the edge of the piazza and began to fan 
 herself with her hat. Mr. Gerald sat looking at her. A 
 glaze seemed to come over his eyes as he looked. The 
 slender figure in white, indefinitely seen in the dusk, 
 changed to another figure taller, with a magnificent car 
 riage of the whole person, with a dark face and dark eyes 
 that were lustrous and soft and kind and true. Above all, 
 true true. 
 
 It was only by a distinct effort that Mr. Gerald refrained 
 from saying that last word aloud. Still he did not say it ; 
 he did not speak. He listened to the question and answer 
 that passed rapidly between mother and daughter. But he
 
 "NOTHING COULD HAPPEN 215 
 
 gained no information ; there was nothing known. If it 
 had not been for Ellis Macomber and Sisson it would not 
 even now be known that Judith was with Lucian. 
 
 " I wish I could feel as easy as you do, Richard," said 
 Mrs. Eldridge, in a whining voice. 
 
 " Do you ?" 
 
 Mr. Gerald rose. He walked down the path towards the 
 gate. 
 
 " Sometimes I hate Uncle Dick," remarked Belle. 
 
 " Hush !" 
 
 " I do. If I were Judith I know I should kill him, and 
 then run away and shoot myself." 
 
 " Oh, do be quiet, Belle !" 
 
 " Why ? Perhaps she has run away. I don t blame her 
 if she has. Lucian has been odd lately. He has either 
 been planning this or he is going to be ill." 
 
 " For Heaven s sake, Belle !" Mrs. Eldridge held up her 
 hands in horror. 
 
 The girl gave a short laugh. She did not care what she 
 said. "You know Lucian was distractedly in love with 
 Judith," she went on, recklessly; "you guessed it, any 
 way, or you never would have been resigned to Uncle 
 Dick s marrying her. You would rather he would do it than 
 Lucian, and she suspected of drowning her father ! I never 
 shall know why she married Uncle Dick. I " 
 
 " Belle, you re talking like a fool !" sharply from Mrs. 
 Eldridge. " Any girl would have been glad to marry 
 Richard." 
 
 "His money, you mean. Very likely. But I can t make 
 out Uncle Dick. He always sneered at women. Why did 
 he want to marry one ? But he doesn t sneer quite so 
 much ; I ll say that for him. What do you think has hap 
 pened to Lucian and Judith ? Eather swore fearfully down 
 there on the wharf. He said if Lucian were not drowned 
 he ought to be horsewhipped. Then he seemed to re 
 member that Maud and I were with him, and he apologized 
 and said that he didn t know but the heat would turn all
 
 2i6 MRS. GERALD 
 
 our heads. There s Maud. Did you see any one as you 
 came back ?" 
 
 " No ; only Uncle Dick, who was as calm as if he were 
 out for a promenade." 
 
 Belle gave another excited little laugh. Then she ex 
 pressed a wish for the most terrible thunder-tempest that 
 ever broke over the earth. She thought that such a tem 
 pest might clear her mind, and that nothing less would 
 do it. 
 
 Mr. Gerald did not hasten in his walk down to the wharf. 
 He knew very well that it would do no good, and only ex 
 haust him to hurry. The heat \vas still very great. If one 
 remained perfectly quiet there was a modified kind of com 
 fort, but the moment one moved, save in the most moderate 
 manner, the face became wet with perspiration, the body 
 steamed as if in a vapor-bath. The great vault of heaven 
 was like a hot cover shutting over the reeking world. 
 
 Once Mr. Gerald stopped on his way and sat down on a 
 rock by the road-side. He folded his arms closely across 
 his chest ; his heart was beating heavily, and he was dis 
 mayed to find that he could not help its beating in that 
 way. "A man who has a particle of feeling after forty de 
 serves to suffer," he said, aloud. Then he straightened 
 himself and pulled out his mustache. So an old soldier 
 might do after receiving a bullet which he knew would be 
 fatal sooner or later. 
 
 He went on till he came to the wharf.
 
 XXXIV 
 " I KNEW SHE LOVED HIM " 
 
 THE water was lapping against the old rotting planks 
 with a refreshing sound. With the incoming tide there 
 ought to be a breeze from somewhere. 
 
 Mr. Gerald stood with his stick under his arm and gazed 
 out over the black water. In the calm he could hear the 
 sound of oars, and he saw what must be Bob Sisson s boat 
 with a lantern fastened forward so that it threw its rays a 
 little distance ahead. And Mr. Gerald could see a figure, 
 grotesque and shadowy, with now and then a glint of light 
 upon it, sitting in the stern. That must be Mr. Eldridge. 
 
 Mr. Gerald placed a hand on each side of his mouth and 
 shouted, " Boat ahoy !" 
 
 The rower paused, and Mr. Eldridge called in answer, 
 " That you, Gerald ?" 
 
 "Yes. You re going on a fool s errand. Let them 
 alone." 
 
 The faint sound of an impatient exclamation came across 
 the water from the boat; then Mr. Eldridge s voice, saying, 
 " Something has happened." 
 
 The man on the wharf turned away with an oath. The 
 sound of the oars recommenced, and the light of the lan 
 tern grew smaller and smaller, going straight across the 
 bay. 
 
 After a little hesitation Mr. Gerald sat down on a piece 
 of timber on the wharf. He thought he would stay away 
 from the house for a time, so that he need not hear his 
 sister talk, it was so extremely difficult for him to refrain 
 from breaking forth into oaths as her voice kept rattling
 
 2l8 MRS. GERALD 
 
 about his ears. Here everything was still ; no one would 
 speak to him. He clasped both hands on his stick and 
 leaned upon it. In this attitude he suddenly felt like an 
 old man. 
 
 In the boat Mr. Eldridge had changed his position. He 
 now sat forward, behind the lantern, peering all about him, 
 his hand shading his eyes. He was continually imagining 
 he saw the shape of a boat as far off as his eye could 
 reach. 
 
 " Over to the left, Sisson now row faster." 
 
 But it was nothing nothing but a stretch of dark water 
 glittering under the light as the boat drew nearer. 
 
 "Try towards that cove by Grover s farm. 
 
 Sisson obeyed. The sweat was dropping off his face. 
 He rowed about, as near the shore as he dared to go, op 
 posite the Grover farm. 
 
 "What if we try that water over by Gunner s Point ? 
 
 Sisson rested on his oars that he might draw his arm 
 across his wet face. " Tain t no use," he grunted, " but I ll 
 go if you say so." 
 
 " You can t earn ten dollars any easier than by taking me 
 round, can you ?" was the sharp retort. 
 
 "Gunner s Point it is, then." 
 
 Again Mr. Eldridge leaned forward and gazed every 
 where about him. He gazed until his eyes ached, and the 
 darkness glimmered and danced before him. And the ra 
 dius of that light was so small ! Often he shouted his 
 son s name at the top of his voice, and then Sisson s 
 deep, rough bass bellowed across the stillness. But for a 
 long time absolutely nothing answered them. 
 
 Then, all at once, so close to them that Mr. Eldridge 
 jumped back, a voice called out, " What in thunder you 
 doin ? You goin to run into us ? You ll bust yourselves 
 if you do ! 
 
 Sisson swore ; he veered off so that he did not hit the 
 craft, save to graze against it. 
 
 " Why in the devil don t ye have a light out ?"
 
 "l KNEW SHE LOVED HIM 2IQ 
 
 " So we did. Can t ye see nothin ?" 
 
 It was a small sloop lying with no sails, rocking gently on 
 the water. A man was leaning over her side, looking down 
 at the boat. 
 
 " What s up, anyway ?" he asked. " Why, it s Bob Sisson ! 
 Yer pawts ain t out here, be they ?" 
 
 " I ain t after lobsters now," answered Sisson, with a grin. 
 
 Mr. Eldridge stood up and laid hold of a rope that hung 
 over the sloop s side. " We re looking after a boat that s 
 been out since two o clock a man and woman The Plover 
 we re afraid something has happened." 
 
 "There couldn t nothin happen," was the confident an 
 swer, " thout they wanted it to happen. Stillest time, n 
 hottest time, n " 
 
 " Have you seen The Plover T" 1 interrupted Mr. Eldridge. 
 
 " Yes, I seen it." 
 
 Here the speaker stopped to take some tobacco from his 
 pocket, bite off a piece, and return the remnant. 
 
 " Well, where and when ?" 
 
 " Long bout here. Time, little fore sunset. Ain t they 
 got back yet ?" 
 
 " No. We re anxious. Haven t you seen The Plover 
 since ?" 
 
 " No. We ve be n here can t stir no wind. The boat 
 went by us young feller rowin gal in the starn. Seemed 
 to be a good time. There ain t nothin happened to them 
 only what they wanted to happen, you bet. Lopin , meb- 
 by. Who be they ?" 
 
 Here the man winked in the most open and atrocious 
 manner at Sisson, who grinned in response. 
 
 "Told ye so, squire," said Sisson. "Don t want to of 
 fend, but I told ye there couldn t nothin happen." 
 
 " Hold your tongue !" was the angry response. " I ll 
 knock you out of the boat if you say another word !" 
 
 " All right, squire." 
 
 " Who be they ?" repeated the man in the sloop. 
 
 " It s my son," said Mr. Eldridge, with dignity.
 
 220 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " But who s the gal ?" persisted the man. 
 
 " None o yer damn business !" was the prompt response 
 from Sisson. 
 
 "There s no occasion for concealment," now said Mr. 
 Eldridge, in his most dignified manner. " The lady is 
 Mrs. Richard Gerald." 
 
 " That so ?" 
 
 The man did not know that name, but he chose not to 
 acknowledge his ignorance. He knew Sisson, because he 
 had been to " the Banks " fishing with him. 
 
 Mr. Eldridge let go the rope and sat down. Sisson 
 looked at him and waited. Finally he asked, " What s to 
 be done now ?" 
 
 " Go home something has happened. But we ll wait 
 until daylight." 
 
 Sisson dipped his oars. The man in the sloop leaned 
 over. "Whistle for a nor wester!" he called out. Sisson 
 nodded. The two crafts parted company. 
 
 Again Mr. Eldridge began to look everywhere. His com 
 panion gazed at him pityingly. " Tell ye what tis, squire," 
 he said, " you ll find everybody 11 tell you nothin s hap 
 pened." 
 
 " Hold your tongue ! There was a quivering fierceness 
 in the tone. 
 
 Once more Sisson responded, "All right." 
 
 After that nothing more was said for a long time. Sisson 
 watched a light just visible down the coast the Sheep 
 Light-house ; he could guess where he was by that, but it 
 was close work after he got too near the coast to see it. 
 Still, he knew the shore almost by instinct, or as one knows 
 an apparently pathless woods which one has threaded from 
 childhood. When the boat grazed the wharf there was a 
 faint light of morning beginning to send long gray lines 
 over the sea. 
 
 Mr. Eldridge stepped on the planks. As he did so a 
 figure rose from a little distance, rose rather stiffly, and 
 joined him.
 
 " I KNEW SHE LOVED HIM " 221 
 
 " Is it you, Gerald ?" again asked his brother-in-law. 
 
 " Yes. Any news ?" 
 
 The two men met and looked at each other in the gray 
 light. 
 
 " Have you been here all this time ?" 
 
 " Yes. Any news ?" 
 
 " Nothing ; only " 
 
 " I knew nothing could have happened," interrupted Mr. 
 Gerald, coldly. 
 
 "Only," went on the other, mechanically, "we ran afoul 
 of a sloop. A man on her had seen them." 
 
 " When ?" 
 
 "Oh, before sunset. He said Then Mr. Eldridge 
 paused and drew his hand over his face. 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " Curiously, just what you say. Those two men told me 
 nothing could have happened. If there had only been a 
 storm, or a tempest, or something !" 
 
 " A water-spout, for instance, to swallow them," remarked 
 Mr. Gerald, in the same cold, still way. But though he 
 spoke calmly there was a terrible, an indescribable bitter 
 ness in his voice. He walked on, swinging his cane, not 
 leaning on it. But his companion seemed bowed. 
 
 " I cannot believe it !" Mr. Eldridge made this exclama 
 tion after they had gone a few rods. He paused and seized 
 Gerald s arm. " Why do we always believe the worst of 
 people ?" 
 
 " Because experience justifies that belief," was the prompt 
 reply. 
 
 " No ! no ! How can you say so ? I m not going to 
 give up yet. The world isn t worth living in if it s as bad 
 as you believe." 
 
 Mr. Gerald glanced at his brother-in-law with something 
 like contempt. He shrugged his shoulders. " You talk like 
 a child, Eldridge," he said ; " I ve been a fool for the last 
 time. I did believe in Judith I had to believe in her. She 
 was absolutely the first woman I ever knew who did not tell
 
 222 MRS. GERALD 
 
 any kind of falsehoods. Perhaps she thought she was liv 
 ing a lie staying with me. Bah ! I m sick of the whole 
 thing ! To be a fool at my age !" 
 
 The two men went on quickly. A red color came along 
 the east, and tinged the ocean and land. The sky was dap 
 pled over with " mackerel-scale " clouds. There was not a 
 breath of wind. The sultriness was so great that even the 
 sparrows had a languid appearance. 
 
 When Eldridge and his companion came in sight of the 
 house Mrs. Eldridge hurried down from the piazza.. She 
 had on the gown she had worn the night before. 
 
 "I can t have that woman speak to me!" muttered Mr. 
 Gerald. He turned and walked round the house to a side- 
 door. He went up to his own room and sat down by the 
 window, looking steadily out. He watched closely the com 
 ing of the new day. His mind noted every phenomenon. 
 Sometimes he pressed his hand on his face. 
 
 Finally, when the sun had come up and broken through 
 the clouds, he rose and went to a desk that stood at the 
 other end of the room. He opened it. Within it lay a 
 sheet of note-paper partly written over. The man hes 
 itated, stiffened himself, then carefully adjusted his eye 
 glasses. He was sure the note was to him. But no ; it 
 was addressed to a friend in London, and Mr. Gerald scru 
 pulously refrained from reading a word beyond the saluta 
 tion. He was not a man to read his wife s correspondence. 
 He compelled himself to glance about him. There was a 
 shawl lying upon a chair; there was a book turned down 
 on the table at the place where she had been reading. He 
 took up the book and read a few lines where it was open. 
 It was The Mill on the floss, and the page was where Mag 
 gie and Stephen Guest were out in the boat which carried 
 them so far. Mr. Gerald s face became yet more ghastly. 
 There was a lividness upon it that was frightful to see. 
 
 " Can she go after reading that /" he said, aloud. 
 
 He moved abruptly away. He went again to the desk ; 
 he had not yet found what he sought. From one of the
 
 I KNEW SHE LOVED HIM 
 
 223 
 
 drawers he took a photograph. It was a portrait of his 
 wife taken a year ago in Vienna. This was what he wanted 
 to find. 
 
 He placed the picture upright against a volume and then 
 sat down in front of it, leaning his arms on the table. The 
 beautiful and faithful eyes looked full into his. It was the 
 face of an enthusiastic woman, of one whose nature was full 
 of warmth and intensity. At first one might think only 
 thus of her ; then the other characteristics became more 
 and more visible ; there was firmness as well as beauty in 
 the mouth, a certain clear-cut decisiveness to the chin. 
 
 " Curious that I should wait until my youth was over be 
 fore I became a blind idiot blind idiot ! Why should I 
 blame her in the least ? I knew she loved him. And she 
 can love." 
 
 With a quick movement the man turned the picture face 
 down upon the table. 
 
 "How long had she been planning this? And all the 
 time her eyes kept that look of utter truth." 
 
 He rose, and again went to the desk. This time he 
 opened a compartment and took carefully into his hand a 
 small revolver, which sent out a blinding ray of light from 
 its polished surface as the sunshine struck it. He smiled 
 at this little toy, and passed his fingers caressingly over it. 
 
 " What a melodramatic end I could make !" he thought. 
 
 He seemed to hesitate. Then he replaced the weapon 
 with a calm hand. He walked to the window and looked 
 out. He was thinking that there were few human beings 
 who had not, some time or other in their lives, had moments 
 when they could contemplate a pistol in that same longing 
 way. 
 
 There was a sound of horse s feet galloping along the 
 road. The sound came nearer ; it was evidently in the 
 drive.
 
 XXXV 
 
 A TELEGRAM 
 
 MR. GERALD, at the window, did not move as he saw a 
 boy appear on horseback. The boy flung himself off, and 
 Mr. Eldridge, who was still on the piazza with his wife, 
 hastened down the steps, and took the yellow envelope ex 
 tended to him. Mr. Gerald remained motionless, staring 
 down. 
 
 It was several miles to the station where the telegraph- 
 office was, and it was not open during the night. 
 
 Mr. Eldridge turned his face upward to the open window of 
 the room above him. " Gerald, come down !" he cried out. 
 " Here s a message for you !" 
 
 Mr. Gerald deliberately descended the stairs and leisurely 
 walked along the hall. 
 
 " Do hurry, Richard !" cried his sister. 
 
 The man was feeling that if he yielded in the least he 
 might lose that control over himself which he was resolved 
 to maintain at any cost. Did they think he was going to 
 hurry and tremble and exclaim because of a woman who 
 He reached out and took the envelope. He signed the re 
 ceipt for it with a steady hand. The boy jumped on his 
 horse and galloped away. 
 
 Mr. Gerald tore open the envelope. Then he put on his 
 eye-glasses. It in some way soothed his pride to keep up 
 this manner. Of course this told him they had gone. And 
 he must read it aloud : 
 
 " BOSTON, Thursday Morning. 
 
 " At H Hospital. Lucian very ill. Will you 
 
 come ? JUDITH GERALD. "
 
 A TELEGRAM 
 
 225 
 
 " Good God !" cried Mr. Eldridge, " I call this mysterious !" 
 
 Mrs. Eldridge was wringing her hands. " There s a train 
 goes at seven thirty! she cried. "Get the horse round!" 
 She disappeared in the house; she could be heard rustling 
 and panting up the stairs. 
 
 Her husband pulled out his watch. " There s time 
 enough," he said. He also turned to go. But he paused 
 and went back. 
 
 Mr. Gerald was standing still, his eyes fixed on the bit of 
 paper which now trembled in his hand. 
 
 " What do you make of it ? asked the other man, lower 
 ing his voice almost to a whisper. 
 
 His companion suddenly caught hold of Mr. Eldridge s 
 arm. He held it closely, swaying a little as he did so. His 
 face was gray, his eyes distended. 
 
 " You re ill !" cried Mr. Eldridge. " Let me get you 
 something." 
 
 " No, no. It will pass. I have these attacks." 
 
 The speaker made an effort and held himself erect. 
 Never before in his acquaintance with his brother-in-law 
 had Mr. Eldridge felt any pity for him. 
 
 " It means," said the man, proudly, " that I would stake 
 the whole world on my wife s honor." 
 
 The two men clasped hands for an instant; then Mr. 
 Eldridge hurried round to the stable. 
 
 The tall figure left standing there seemed to make another 
 effort to keep erect. But the reaction was too great. Mr. 
 Gerald almost tottered as he made his way to the nearest 
 chair and sat down. He grasped the arms of the chair and 
 held his head up. In a moment he raised his hand and 
 stroked his mustache. By the time his sister came down 
 she found her brother apparently his ordinary self. 
 
 " I m sure I can t imagine what s happened," she said, in 
 a high voice, "and I don t know how they got to Boston, 
 or whether it s an accident ; or maybe it s typhoid, Lucian 
 has looked horrid lately. And how did Judith happen to 
 be with him ?"
 
 226 MRS. GERALD 
 
 "What if we should wait?" gravely inquired Mr. Gerald. 
 "Or, if you please, you may continue to put questions. I 
 suppose it amuses you, and I ought to be able to bear it. 
 
 But Mrs. Eldridge did not care for the scorn in the man s 
 voice. She bustled round upon the piazza. She drew on 
 a glove and then took it off. 
 
 " I don t see but that it is just as mixed up as it ever 
 was," she said. " I don t understand it at all. How did 
 she and Lucian come to be in a hospital in Boston ? That 
 telegram doesn t amount to anything." , 
 
 " It tells where they are," remarked her brother. 
 
 " Yes, of course. But it doesn t tell how they got there." 
 
 "One doesn t expect a long history by wire," said Ger 
 ald s caustic voice. 
 
 " That s true. But I really should like to know why Ju 
 dith dragged Lucian off like that." 
 
 " Caroline !" 
 
 " Oh, well, you needn t be angry, Richard. But you must 
 own it was odd in Judith to take Lucian off in that way. 
 And it looks so queer, too. I suppose some folks will talk. 
 Some folks will talk if you wear gray gloves when they 
 think you ought to wear brown." 
 
 Mr. Gerald pointedly turned and left the piazza.. He 
 knew that the telegram explained nothing. But he was 
 none the less grateful for it. He met Mr. Eldridge driving 
 from the stable. As the two came round in front of the 
 house the woman waiting there ran forward. She now had 
 her arms piled with wraps. 
 
 "There s the east fog coming up," she explained. " It 1! 
 be here before we get to the station." 
 
 She climbed in before her husband could alight to help 
 her. As she settled down on the seat she repeated that 
 she was afraid she never could understand why Judith had 
 taken Lucian off in that way. 
 
 " Don t be a fool," counselled her husband. Whereupon 
 Mrs. Eldridge fell into a silence which she mercifully pre 
 served during the drive.
 
 A TELEGRAM 
 
 227 
 
 Far out at sea was a line of dense mist. It came creep 
 ing on towards the land. All at once it caught at the shore 
 and rolled forward. No more sultriness. People shivered 
 and drew deep breaths, and were thankful that they could 
 shiver. But Mr. Gerald did not shiver. He sat in his seat 
 in the car with his coat buttoned about him just as it had 
 been in the heat. He was the only one of the three who 
 seemed unmoved when they were waiting in the reception- 
 room at the H Hospital. He would not look tow 
 ards the door. But he heard the trail of skirts on the stairs, 
 and then Judith appeared in the light, thin gown she had 
 worn the afternoon before. Was it only the afternoon be 
 fore ? 
 
 They all rose. Judith walked quickly towards her hus 
 band. She put out her hand to him, and he took it firmly. 
 
 " I am glad you came," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 " Of course I should come," he answered, in the same 
 tone. Their eyes met. They both knew that in their hearts 
 they had never been so near each other before. 
 
 Judith was so pale that her face seemed to have sunken. 
 There were black hollows under her eyes. There was a 
 tense line of suffering on each side of her mouth. An at 
 tendant was waiting at the door to conduct the father and 
 mother to Lucian. 
 
 " I will stay here," said Judith. She moved to Mrs. 
 Elclridge s side. She laid her hand on her arm. " He will 
 not know you," she said. " He is Here she paused. 
 She evidently could not go on, though she did not sob, and 
 there were no tears in her eyes. 
 
 When the two had gone Judith turned towards Mr. Ger 
 ald. " Will you take me out ?" she asked. "There s a park 
 near here. Take me there." 
 
 The man lifted one of the wraps his sister had brought. 
 He placed it over his wife s shoulders. On the sidewalk he 
 offered his arm, and she took it. They did not speak until 
 they were in the park and sitting on one of the benches there. 
 
 "You must have been anxious," she said.
 
 228 MRS. GERALD 
 
 "Yes, very." 
 
 Judith wanted to thank her companion fervently for not 
 making any inquiries. She thought that questions then 
 would have been like blows on bruised flesh. Yes, she felt 
 that she could have thanked him with tears and sobs for his 
 bearing towards her now. She looked up at him. But he 
 was not looking at her; he was gazing carefully at a couple 
 of children who were rolling hoops down the walk nearest 
 them. 
 
 " I knew it would all seem quite strange," she went on. 
 " Lucian saw me from his boat when I started to come back 
 by the cliffs. He asked me to let him row me home. So I 
 joined him. After a while I thought he was not like him 
 self. Really the heat affected him so the doctors say 
 and he was probably coming down with a fever besides. He 
 rowed a good ways out. He would do it, and he wouldn t 
 go back. Then he lost an oar. I couldn t do anything but 
 light matches and hold them up, and shout for help. He 
 was strange. Finally a steam-launch belonging to some 
 Boston people picked us up. They were in a hurry to get 
 back to Boston, and that was the easiest way for us to reach 
 home too. But before we got there it was plain that Lucian 
 couldn t be taken anywhere save to a hospital. The people 
 on the launch were very kind. They found us about eleven. 
 They telephoned to the H Hospital for an ambulance 
 when we reached the wharf. It has been it has been very 
 hard to bear." 
 
 Judith s voice sank into silence. But directly she roused 
 herself and continued : 
 
 " There s one thing he wanted me to promise, Mr. Gerald. 
 He asked me while we were in the boat, before his mind 
 was really so strange, though he was not himself. I don t 
 know as you will approve of my doing it." 
 
 " And if I don t approve ?" 
 
 " I shall have to do it all the same. I promised, you 
 know. And Lucian laid such stress upon it, and seemed so 
 relieved when I did give him my word."
 
 A TELEGRAM 
 
 229 
 
 Mr. Gerald was now watching an old man coming along 
 the path. He felt his forehead growing moist. He was 
 thinking that the man was very old, and wondering if he had 
 ever had a wife, and if 
 
 "Perhaps you will tell me what you promised?" he said. 
 
 " Oh yes. I told him that I would help take care of him 
 if he were ill." 
 
 " Then you will stay here at the hospital ?" 
 
 " Yes. I hope you don t object ?" 
 
 "But I am helpless if I do." 
 
 " Still I should be glad if you had no objections." 
 
 " Thank you. I will take rooms at the nearest hotel, for 
 you cannot really stop here only come when you can. And 
 I will stay with you." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Gerald, you are kind !" 
 
 Judith s pale face quivered, but she struggled to steady it. 
 
 " Of course I know that you love my nephew." 
 
 The man spoke these words as if he had said that he 
 knew his wife liked Glory of Dijon roses. He said them of 
 a set purpose, and he turned and looked full at her as he 
 pronounced the sentence. 
 
 The sudden, utterly uncontrollable effulgence that filled 
 the woman s face smote the man full in the eyes. It was a 
 blinding glory straight from her soul. It was for no more 
 than a flash of time, like a flash of lightning from heaven. 
 Then, almost before it had come, Judith was resolutely 
 struggling for self-control. She was worn with the night s 
 experience, weakened by hours of intense emotion and anx 
 iety. Fortunately she was ignorant of what her face had 
 told. 
 
 After seeing that face Mr. Gerald felt that any words she 
 could say would hurt little. 
 
 " I am convinced it is best for us to have things clear," 
 went on the man. " We are aware of some facts ; it will not 
 make them any more facts if we speak of them." 
 
 Though he paused, Judith kept silent. 
 
 " I knew you loved him when you married me," he went on.
 
 230 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " More than that, I was sure that he loved you. I meant 
 to break up any plans he had in reference to you. That 
 was before I saw you. When I did see you, coming across 
 the pasture there in your shabby gown, I changed my 
 mind as to the means by which I would prevent Lucian s 
 marriage to you. I decided to marry you myself if I could. 
 Before I saw you I supposed you to be a common shop-girl 
 who, for some reason, had taken Lucian s fancy. When I 
 did see you I was quite sure you were the kind of woman I 
 had not before believed existed."
 
 XXXVI 
 
 "DO YOU MEAN DIVORCE?" 
 
 IT seemed necessary for Mr. Gerald to pause frequently in 
 his talk. But Judith kept silent. She was obliged to be 
 silent, for she could not speak. She had never known before 
 that Mr. Gerald had intended these things. But he might 
 
 o o 
 
 have spared himself everything everything. It was her own 
 decision that had stood between her and happiness. 
 
 She could see now that she had been blind and wrong: ; 
 
 O 7 
 
 nevertheless, she had been obliged to choose as she had 
 chosen, for that way had seemed the right way. And now, 
 having chosen, it remained for her to abide by her own act. 
 
 And what did it all matter? A few years, more or less, 
 of happiness, years that would seem brief as days, and then, 
 oh ! her thoughts suddenly broke off was not God above 
 all ? Was it anything to Him that she should do as her 
 conscience told her was right ? 
 
 She sat rigidly quiet on the bench beside her husband. 
 How kind he had been ! And yet how strangely he was 
 talking now ! What did he mean ? She could not ask. 
 She could only be still and wait. 
 
 "I took a fancy that the truth was in you," said Mr. 
 Gerald. " And, besides that, your personal appearance 
 suited me. I knew what you would be in silks and velvets 
 and jewels. And I thought I could to put it strongly 
 get the whip-hand of you. Curious what a force there is in 
 simple integrity ! Curious, too, that I never had to do with 
 it before. That s why I didn t believe in it. Is Lucian go 
 ing to die ?" This question was put abruptly. 
 
 Judith essayed to speak. The first attempt ended in a
 
 232 MRS. GERALD 
 
 mere opening of the lips. Then she said, "Yes ; I think he 
 will die." 
 
 "Then that simplifies matters, or complicates them I 
 really cannot tell which." 
 
 Having spoken thus, Mr. Gerald smiled in that stiff way 
 which makes a face grotesque like a mask. Judith had no 
 idea what was meant by those words, and she could not ask 
 for their meaning. Indeed, she cared little. 
 
 " Somehow I feel like an old man." This apparently 
 irrelevant remark was spoken a moment later. 
 
 Mr. Gerald leaned on his stick. "Some things take hold, 
 you see," he said. " I ll tell you what came into my mind. 
 I don t know how it is, but after an experience like mine a 
 man looks at things differently. You see, I have failed mis 
 erably. There s nothing so blind as a human being. In 
 spite of the fact that I saw you were not like the women I 
 had known, I yet acted much as if you were. 1 thought I 
 could mould you, make you attached to me, wean you from 
 your past, give you wealth and all that it brings you know 
 what I mean." 
 
 " Mr. Gerald, you have been very kind," in a scarcely 
 audible voice. 
 
 " Pshaw ! Did you expect I was going to beat you ? 
 I ve been through a good deal of torture since you did not 
 come home last night. Finally, I thought you had gone 
 away with Lucian." 
 
 " Mr. Gerald !" 
 
 Judith s whole face flashed out a flame of indignant fire. 
 She rose to her feet and stood before the man for an in 
 stant stood tall and outraged. Then she cried out, 
 " Oh !" and turned away. 
 
 The man rose also. He strode after Judith and put his 
 hand on her shoulder. " Come back/ he said. " Let us 
 have this talk through. Please sit down again. The hu 
 man heart," he went on, with a derisive smile, after Judith 
 was again seated, " is a very strange organ. I would not 
 think, until the very last moment, that you had gone with
 
 "DO YOU MEAN DIVORCE?" 
 
 233 
 
 Lucian. But Macomber saw you, and the man in the 
 sloop saw you, and there seemed no reason why you 
 should stay away, save for the reason that you and he had 
 gone. And I knew you loved each other. And this is the 
 curious thing about the human heart : notwithstanding all 
 my suffering, there was a spice of triumph in the conviction 
 that I had not been wrong in my old judgment all women 
 were alike, after all. Even you were not honorable. But 
 I was mistaken. You are honorable." 
 
 Again Mr. Gerald took off his hat and pressed his hand 
 kerchief to his forehead. 
 
 " Now the miserable thing about the arrangement of the 
 universe," he presently went on, " is that to be honorable 
 and to do right does not make one happy." 
 
 " It is impossible to be happy if one is not honorable." 
 
 Judith spoke hastily, but with great earnestness. Her 
 mind was confused by suffering and excitement ; but she 
 could feel what was right to her, if she could not ex 
 plain it. 
 
 " Oh yes, I can conceive that that may be," answered 
 Mr. Gerald. As he spoke he turned towards his wife and 
 looked at her with unmistakable admiration in his eyes. 
 "But I am not merely speculating. Judith," with a sud 
 den, sharp tone in his voice, " if Lucian should live, what 
 shall we do ?" 
 
 She started ; then she clasped her hands and succeeded 
 in being motionless. She did not think of replying. She 
 had nothing to say, and she did not know what her com 
 panion meant. 
 
 " What should we do ?" he insisted. 
 
 He evidently meant that she should answer. 
 
 "Do?" 
 
 She gazed hazily at the man s face. She was asking her 
 self how much more she could bear, and if she were even 
 now in her normal condition of clear-headed capability to 
 think reasonably. 
 
 " Yes, what are we going to do ? Do you think we might
 
 234 MR S- GERALD 
 
 try the incompatibility dodge? If we agree on the thing, 
 it will all be comparatively easy." 
 
 "Do you mean divorce ?" Judith s voice was very dis 
 tinct. 
 
 "That s precisely what I mean/ Mr. Gerald rose after 
 he had said this. " If you ll excuse me, I ll take a turn 
 along the walk here. It s all a great muddle, isn t it?" 
 He smiled, pulled his mustache, and began to pace up and 
 down the mall not far from where his wife sat. 
 
 Judith remained quiet and watched him. She was not 
 at the moment capable of continuous thought. A hundred 
 things jumped and jumbled themselves up in her mind. 
 
 Mr. Gerald came back and stood in front of her long 
 enough to say, "Of course, your father and mother would 
 continue to receive just what they do now, and you would 
 have a liberal allowance. And you would be free free !" 
 
 He walked off again, and Judith continued to watch him 
 in the same confused way. She did not even try to think. 
 
 Presently she saw her husband coming back for the sec 
 ond time. Would he insist upon her answer now ? She 
 put her hand to her head and gazed up at him. She saw 
 something in his face which confused her still more. It 
 was something she had never seen there before. He un 
 covered his head with what appeared an unconscious move 
 ment. 
 
 "There s one other item which I think I ought to men 
 tion," he said, " though I can hardly expect you to be influ 
 enced by it in coming to a decision, and that is I love 
 you. I did not know I could love in this way, more pro 
 foundly, more truly, than I had been able to imagine love. 
 For my love has hitherto been a kind of fleeting animalism 
 a short-lived something for a few other women. I wasn t 
 ennobled by it. I was degraded. I thought I would tell 
 you, Judith Grover, that I could not live with you and know 
 you without loving you. It was only fair to tell you this. 
 I don t understand these things ; but perhaps it is because 
 I love you that I want you to be happy in your own way."
 
 DO YOU MEAN DIVORCE? 
 
 235 
 
 He did not wait for any reply now. He turned and 
 walked away again. 
 
 Judith rose also. She could not be quiet any longer. 
 She began to walk in an opposite direction to that taken by 
 her husband. She moved hastily, and she found a diffi 
 culty in keeping her body steady. It was as if she were 
 partially intoxicated. Her head seemed to be full of a 
 blinding light which made everything strange to her. She 
 had not gone many rods when a hand drew her own hand 
 within a firm arm. 
 
 "It was very unkind of me not to remember that you 
 must be suffering," said Mr. Gerald. "And perhaps you 
 have had no breakfast?" 
 
 " No ; I forgot about it." 
 
 Mr. Gerald took his wife to a restaurant. He made her 
 eat and drink, and he kept silent. Indeed, he had nothing 
 more to say. He had now only to wait for her decision. 
 He considered that he had put the matter plainly before 
 her. 
 
 Restored somewhat by food, Judith was able to notice 
 that her companion showed signs of what the night had 
 been to him. She kept back some expressions of concern. 
 She found it very difficult to speak. 
 
 It was in silence that the two returned to the hospital. 
 There had been no change in Lucian s condition , there 
 would be no material change at present. He had not 
 known his father and mother. He talked constantly; 
 words without sense or connection flowed from his lips in 
 a turbid stream. The whole party established themselves 
 in the nearest hotel. 
 
 Judith, obeying the urgent request of her husband, laid 
 herself on her bed, knowing that it would be impossible 
 to sleep. To her great surprise, she fell immediately into 
 a profound slumber which lasted several hours. 
 
 She dreamed vividly, not of anything that had just 
 transpired, but of Mrs. Jennings. That lady was before 
 her, was tracking her everywhere, was talking with her,
 
 236 MRS. GERALD 
 
 caressing her, blighting and consuming her in some way. 
 When she wakened, Judith stretched out her arms and 
 clasped her hands above her head. 
 
 "Oh," she said, aloud, "I think I hate her!" 
 
 Then, without remembering what had happened, she fell 
 asleep again, and at once resumed her dreaming of Mrs. 
 Jennings, who was very lovely to her, but who repelled her, 
 and made her wish to creep away into some place where 
 she could never see her again. But one of the dreadful 
 things of the dream was that she was positive that there 
 was no place in the whole world to which she could escape 
 from that woman. And she did not dislike her, and was 
 pleased to be with her. That was the inconsistency of the 
 dream, and one of the things which made it, she thought. 
 so painful and wearing. 
 
 When at last Judith opened her eyes again she saw Mr. 
 Gerald sitting in a large chair by the window. She was 
 now fully awake. She lay for some moments gazing at 
 him. He had a book in his hand, but he was not reading. 
 His head was leaned back, and his profile was clearly de 
 fined. 
 
 Judith studied that face intently, as, it seemed to her, she 
 had never before studied it. It was the face of a gentle 
 man. She thought she was sure of that much. Then there 
 came into her mind a distinct remembrance of what he 
 had said to her in the park a few hours before. Or was it 
 a few days before ? 
 
 The blood rushed up to her head and seemed to make a 
 red film over her eyes. She moved impatiently.
 
 XXXVII 
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL 
 
 MR. GERALD turned his head, but he did not rise. He 
 closed his book, keeping his finger between the leaves. 
 
 " So you ve wakened ?" he said. 
 
 " Yes. I ve been dreaming so unpleasantly !" was the 
 weary response. Then she added, " I don t know why Mrs. 
 Jennings should be so present with me." 
 
 " Mrs. Jennings ? That s odd. I ve just left her. I 
 didn t know she was in town ; in fact, I didn t know any 
 thing about her. She has been to the hospital. There s 
 no perceptible difference in Lucian." Mr. Gerald gave this 
 information distinctly. 
 
 " I knew Mrs. Jennings was in town." It was some mo 
 ments before Judith made this remark. She ascribed to 
 her fatigue and anxiety the sudden and curious importance 
 which the presence of Mrs. Jennings had for her. 
 
 " Did you ?" Mr. Gerald spoke with the air of one who 
 will be very careful not to ask unpleasant questions. 
 
 " Yes. I knew by my dream. It was so insistent and so 
 peculiar." 
 
 "Oh, there s no accounting for dreams. Mrs. Jennings 
 said she saw you and Lucian when you arrived at the wharf 
 in the early hours of this morning. She had just come in 
 from somewhere by boat. She was in a carriage which had 
 stopped a moment on the wharf. You were standing by 
 while Lucian was being helped into the ambulance. She 
 was about to speak to you in fact, had left her carriage to 
 do so when you quickly entered another carriage and 
 were driven off after the ambulance. She learned that Lu-
 
 238 MRS. GERALD 
 
 cian was taken to the H Hospital, so she came round 
 
 this morning. My sister saw her. My sister wept in her 
 arms. Are you going to weep in Mrs. Jennings s arms, 
 Judith ?" 
 
 Judith shook her head. There was an unreasoning and 
 quite unreasonable terror in her heart. She had never sup 
 posed herself fanciful ; but she had suffered a great deal of 
 late, and suffering, perhaps, makes one superstitious. 
 
 " My sister is making much of Mrs. Jennings," went on 
 Mr. Gerald. " Ever since Lucian has been grown his moth 
 er has been arranging matches for him ; but the boy has 
 gone unharmed among those pitfalls. Are you going out ?" 
 
 For Judith had now risen and was standing before the 
 glass, looking at herself and trying to bring her mind to the 
 face reflected there. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, without turning towards her ques 
 tioner. She glanced down at her tumbled and soiled gown 
 of thin stuff which she had worn in the heat the clay before. 
 Still, she was not really thinking of her gown, and her gaze 
 was mechanical; but her husband noted it. 
 
 "I ve been to a place where they have such things," he 
 said, " and ordered a few plain, ready-made frocks to be 
 sent here for you to choose from. It could be done a great 
 deal sooner than we could have anything up from Eldridge s 
 place, you know. " 
 
 " How thoughtful of you !" 
 
 Judith s voice was absent, though she tried to make it 
 grateful, for she really was grateful. Mr. Gerald bowed in 
 silence. He raised his book and appeared to read. 
 
 It was a half-hour later that Judith came into the room 
 in a closely fitting black dress, without a bit of color about 
 her. 
 
 Mr. Gerald put down his book and looked critically at 
 his wife. His eyes darkened a little as he looked. " Really, 
 Judith," he said, " you can bear any kind of dress." Then, 
 before she could make any reply, he went on : "I must beg 
 your pardon for having bored you by mentioning the fact
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL 239 
 
 that I love you. Kindly consider the thing unsaid ; it was 
 an inadvertence on my part. I wish to assure you that you 
 need not dread any return to the topic. It is quite too 
 ridiculous not that any man should love you," with a po 
 lite smile, "but that I should tell you what I did. Please 
 forget that sentence ; and, above all things, don t fear that 
 I shall be guilty of such an error again. I hope you will 
 permit me to accompany you to the hospital." 
 
 The two went clown the street and crossed the little park 
 together. Midway in the path they met Mrs. Elclridge. 
 She was leaning on Mrs. Jennings s arm, and appeared to be 
 pouring into that lady s ears a flood of words that called tears 
 from her own eyes. Her companion, however, maintained 
 more self-possession, but her air was one of deep sympathy. 
 
 Judith paused to greet this woman. As she did so the 
 particulars of her dream came back to her memory and 
 made her manner constrained. 
 
 There was Mrs. Jennings before her, as if she had 
 stepped bodily from the dream that faultlessly gowned 
 figure ; the light hair, soft and fluffy, on the forehead ; the 
 gray-green eyes with their thick, light lashes ; the lips so 
 scarlet that in some strange way they seemed the lips of a 
 siren that might smile away the heart of a human being. 
 Judith, as in her dream, was repelled from this woman and 
 drawn to her. 
 
 " I have been telling Mrs. Jennings," began Mrs. El- 
 dridge, " how you and Lucian were out in the boat yester 
 day, and how he could not go so far as you wished without 
 being overcome by that dreadful heat. Of course, you 
 didn t mean it, but it turned out so unfortunately so un 
 fortunately ! Oh, my poor boy !" 
 
 Mr. Gerald s eyes, narrowed and intent, were fixed on 
 the speaker s face. His sister felt them and mentally 
 squirmed under them, but she was not going to retract, al 
 though she knew she had perverted the truth. 
 
 "There were a great many prostrations from the heat 
 yesterday."
 
 240 MRS. GERALD 
 
 It was Mrs. Jennings who spoke, with the air of one 
 trying to make the conversational atmosphere more en 
 durable ; and as she spoke she flashed one look straight 
 into Judith s eyes. That look, so suggestive, so signifi 
 cant, made Judith s heart shrink in absolute terror. In the 
 midst of this emotion she heard her husband s voice say 
 ing, with great urbanity : 
 
 " My dear Caroline, I wonder where you obtained your 
 information concerning Lucian. You know he spends 
 days on the water, and yesterday was one of those clays." 
 
 " But," began Mrs. Eldridge, with the maddening persist 
 ence of the narrow-minded, "you will, I suppose, permit 
 me to have some knowledge of the actions of my own son." 
 
 They all smiled, all save the mother, who looked inquir 
 ingly from one to the other, and who finished her examina 
 tion with a deep sigh. 
 
 " I m sure you can t know what I suffer," she said. 
 " Only a mother could know." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings turned solicitously towards the speaker. 
 Mr. Gerald ceremoniously raised his hat, and then drew his 
 wife away. 
 
 " I hope you won t think I am very wicked," he said, " if 
 I express to you privately, Judith, my gratitude that I am 
 not compelled to live with my sister. Poor Eldridge !" 
 
 He left his wife at the door of the hospital. Twice a day, 
 morning and afternoon, for the next fortnight, Mr. Gerald 
 walked here with Judith and saw her enter the door. Once 
 within the door she went straight to the room where Lucian 
 lay. The nurse in charge admitted her, and she sat down 
 by the bed. She held Lucian s hot hand, she listened to 
 his hurrying words, or sat watching him as he slept that 
 lethargic sleep induced by opiates. She could do nothing ; 
 the attendants did everything; but she could keep her 
 word to him. 
 
 He did not know her, for he recognized no one ; but it 
 soon became evident to the nurses that when this woman 
 who spoke so little, and whose eyes dwelt so upon the pa-
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL 
 
 241 
 
 tient s face, was sitting by the bed the tossing and moan 
 ing and muttering became less constant, less dreadful to see 
 and hear. Sometimes the young man opened his eyes, 
 and they rested instantly in that dark, gentle gaze that 
 seemed at such moments to envelop him and strengthen 
 him. 
 
 Once, lying thus, silently drinking in the soft light from 
 Judith s eyes, Lucian smiled as a child might smile when 
 full of content. He reached out a hot, dry hand towards 
 her, but before she could take it he drew it back, whisper 
 ing, hoarsely, " No, I will not row. We will stay here. I 
 never see you alone. No, I tell you, I will not row." 
 
 A few moments later he said, in a louder voice, " I m 
 glad the oar is gone. And I am too weak to scull." 
 
 And again, starting up suddenly from a sleep, he called 
 out, " Judith, aren t you glad we are a good ways from 
 land ?" Then he laughed as he added, " We may drift out 
 to sea. A man can t do much with one oar." 
 
 At such times Judith s face grew yet more white. But 
 she listened, and sat resolutely in her place. 
 
 The two nurses who were alternately in charge soon be 
 gan to watch this woman who came so regularly, and who 
 was not the sick man s wife nor his sister. Unconsciously 
 they grew to like to do little things for her; they allowed 
 her to wait upon their patient, being quick to see that she 
 was grateful for the privilege. They fell to talking and 
 wondering about her ; and Judith, without in the least 
 knowing it, drew them to her. 
 
 " He does rest better when you are here, Mrs. Gerald," 
 said one of these girls at last. "I don t know why." 
 
 Judith, in her chair by the bed, looked up into the pleas 
 ant eyes of the girl who had spoken. 
 
 " You have such a lovely presence," said the girl, " I 
 don t wonder. he feels it. But of course I can t explain it," 
 diffidently. 
 
 " That is all a fancy," responded Judith. 
 
 " Oh no, it isn t. We ve noticed it. We know it s so. 
 
 1 6
 
 242 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Indeed, we must be stupid not to know it. And he s bet 
 ter to-day." 
 
 " Is he ?" 
 
 Judith started. The blood flowed heavily to her heart, 
 leaving her so white that the nurse quickly held a glass of 
 water to her lips. 
 
 As she stood there the girl in the white cap and trim uni 
 form was thinking: "Oh, how lovely she is! Of course 
 he loves her. But how mysterious it all is !" 
 
 Judith drank the water. She did not need it, she was 
 sure, but the drinking it was a slight occupation for hex. 
 She glanced up at the nurse as she returned the glass. 
 
 " Thank you," she said. " You see, we had given up all 
 hope, and suddenly to be allowed to hope 
 
 " Yes, I understand," said the girl, gently. 
 
 " And I cannot see as he is any better. Are you sure ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. I thought so ; the temperature, the pulse 
 and the doctor said this morning that he was better. Per 
 haps I ought not to have told you, for if he should have a 
 relapse it will be so hard for you to bear it." 
 
 The nurse spoke the truth. Lucian was better, and he 
 had no relapse. On those days when the east wind swept 
 through the city, reviving everything, Lucian began to feel 
 life returning to him. But when the salt air gave place to 
 the hot south breeze, he lay panting and sometimes deliri 
 ous on the narrow iron bedstead in the clean, bare room. 
 But he was gaining. The doctors predicted health for him 
 when the coolness of the fall was established. 
 
 Meantime Judith came no more. All the long hours, the 
 interminable hours, when Lucian, too weak to sit up, still 
 too ill to leave the hospital, lay on the bed or sat bolstered 
 up in it, he thought of Judith and longed for her. He 
 could not be assured by his own memory that she had been 
 there. He knew she had, because she had promised. But 
 he desired intensely to remember her presence, and he could 
 not save indefinitely, as if he had dreamed of her. 
 
 His father and mother and sisters visited him every day.
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL 243 
 
 He stubbornly would not ask them anything about Ju 
 dith. 
 
 One evening, after a long, tedious day, during which he 
 had waited and listened until every nerve in his frame was 
 tingling with frustrated hope and weakness, he turned to 
 the nurse who had just entered. 
 
 " Has any one else been to see me ?" he asked, with 
 abrupt sharpness, feeling a decided self-approbation because^ 
 he did not begin his speech with an oath. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Man or woman ?" 
 
 The nurse gave him some medicine. Lucian held the 
 glass in his hand while he gazed at the girl with a heavy 
 frown on his face. 
 
 " Woman," was the reply. 
 
 " Name ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Gerald." 
 
 " Ah !" 
 
 Lucian drank the contents of the glass. Then he turned 
 his head aside to hide the tears that suddenly filled his 
 eyes and rolled down his cheeks. In his weakness he 
 could have sobbed with gratitude. She had not forgotten 
 him. She had come to him. She had kept her word. 
 Yes, he had been sure she would do that. But it was 
 hard that he could not have known when she was with 
 him.
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 "WE WILL BEAR WITH EACH OTHER?" 
 
 " WHAT do you say to spending the winter in the south 
 of Europe, Judith ?" 
 
 It was the first of October when Mr. Gerald asked this 
 question. They were again at his sister s. For some rea 
 son which Judith could not understand her husband had 
 quite insisted upon staying there the last few months. 
 
 The man was standing by the window. As he spoke he 
 moved so that he could see his wife s face with the light 
 full upon it. He saw a shadow rise and cloud the whole 
 countenance, and he saw, or fancied he saw, the attempt 
 which she made to drive away the shadow. 
 
 In these clays it was in vain that he tried not to watch 
 his wife. The habit had grown upon him until he could 
 not shake it off. But he fancied that he was generally suc 
 cessful in concealing what he was doing. 
 
 In a moment Judith looked up at him and smiled. " Per 
 haps it would be very pleasant, she said, "and you would 
 like it?" inquiringly. 
 
 " Like it ?" in a little louder tone than was usual with 
 him. Then instantly getting himself in hand, he continued, 
 " Oh, as to that, I ve been everywhere, and most places are 
 all the same confounded bores." 
 
 Judith rose quickly to her feet. There was a faint flush 
 on her face. She put her hands together ; then, apparently 
 bethinking herself, she dropped them to her side. She 
 moved slowly to the table, and touched a book here and 
 there upon it. 
 
 " What are you thinking?" he asked.
 
 WE WILL BEAR WITH EACH OTHER? 
 
 245 
 
 This occupation of watching his wife was one of intense 
 interest to the husband. Sometimes he thought he under 
 stood her fully, and the next moment he was quite sure he 
 did not understand her in the least. 
 
 Judith turned towards him. She was now resting one 
 hand on the table. Her figure was outlined against the 
 light a figure full of grace and power. 
 
 Mr. Gerald noted the tendrils of hair on the forehead; he 
 saw the perpendicular line coming there. He had learned 
 to associate that line above the brows with some sort of 
 suffering to her; and he began to speculate now, as he al 
 ways did, as to what particular suffering it was at this mo 
 ment. 
 
 What are you thinking?" he asked again. 
 
 She gazed down at the title of a book. " Of the south of 
 Europe, naturally," she answered, calmly. "Where shall it 
 be Mentone, or where ?" 
 
 Her companion was watching her forehead, where the line 
 was deepening; and on the temple nearest him a vein was 
 swelling. In the intensity of his gaze he thought he could 
 almost see the pulse in that blue vein stirring the hair near it. 
 
 Mr. Gerald remained standing with apparent ease. "Jove!" 
 he was saying to himself, "but she is made of good stuff!" 
 
 He tried to ignore the pang that contracted his heart. 
 Sometimes in this constant watch he feared that he might 
 become a monomaniac. It was not that he suspected Ju 
 dith of anything but the most high-minded conduct ; but with 
 every clay increased his feverish longing to read her very 
 soul, to see every mystery of her being. 
 
 She was his by law. He was thoroughly conscious that 
 he was quite irreproachable in his conduct towards her. But 
 what were the thoughts and what the sufferings of a noble- 
 hearted woman who had married Richard Gerald and who 
 loved some one else ? 
 
 Mr. Gerald sometimes found himself painfully impatient 
 for the end of the play. What would the end be ? There 
 were moments when he had turned suddenly upon himself
 
 246 MRS. GERALD 
 
 in solitude, and had asked, fiercely, " Great God ! what will 
 the end be ?" But after such a rare and solitary outburst 
 he was sure to be more calm, more kind and polite than 
 usual. 
 
 " Can you suggest a place ?" he inquired, at last. He 
 moved a chair near her. " Please sit down. It seems to me 
 you look tired." 
 
 "Thank you." She placed herself in the chair. She 
 glanced up at him. "Would Algiers bore you ?" she asked. 
 
 Mr. Gerald s eyes brightened, though his face remained 
 impassive. " I should like that," he said. " Shall we spend 
 the winter there ? Or perhaps we might go up the Nile ?" 
 
 " Please make any arrangements you like," she said. "You 
 know I shall assent." 
 
 Mr. Gerald s eyes grew dull again, but his features and 
 manner were the same. "Judith," he said, "I should really 
 like to do something to please you." 
 
 "No one could be more kind," she said. " Why do you 
 talk like that?" 
 
 " Why, indeed ?" 
 
 He drew a chair up in front of her. He sat down in it. 
 He leaned forward, his hands loosely clasped between his 
 knees. 
 
 " Have you changed your mind about my project of get 
 ting a divorce on the ground of imcompatibility ?" He asked 
 this question slowly, in an absolutely neutral tone. 
 
 " No. Why should I change it ?" 
 
 "You still refuse ?" 
 
 "I still refuse if you are proposing it on my account." 
 The answer was given promptly and decisively. 
 
 "Solely on your account," he rejoined, " solely to release 
 you." 
 
 " Then I will not be released." Her voice rang still more. 
 Her eyes, distended but full of her resolve, met his. 
 
 Mr. Gerald tried to keep the fervent gratitude he felt from 
 showing in his face. 
 
 "Mr. Gerald," she said, "you know I will not draw back
 
 "WE WILL BEAR WITH EACH OTHER?" 247 
 
 from a contract I made with a full knowledge of what I was 
 doing. We need not discuss the subject again, I hope." 
 
 " Certainly not. Still 
 
 " Still ?" she repeated, questioningly. 
 
 "Oh, I have nothing to say but the old remark: that I 
 want you to be happy." 
 
 " And I do you not understand that a divorce from you 
 would not make me happy ? That we cannot undo anything 
 in that way ?" 
 
 " Then, for the last time, we will bear with each other ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mr. Gerald reached forward and took his wife s hand. He 
 held it a moment; then he raised it, and lightly touched his 
 lips to it. As he put the hand down he looked gravely at 
 her. A pale crimson had risen to her face ; in the eyes 
 there were tears. But she did not speak. 
 
 It was a week later, and the day before the Geralds were 
 to sail. Judith had been with her mother. She had bidden 
 them all good-bye in the farm-house, and was walking back 
 over the cliffs. She was wondering why she felt the parting 
 from her mother so little, and she was congratulating herself 
 upon the apparent fact that she was growing to have less 
 feeling. " Since to have feeling is to suffer," she said, aloud. 
 
 "Judith! Judith!" a shrill voice was calling from below 
 the cliff. 
 
 Judith paused. She recognized the voice, and hurried 
 down the declivity. There was her mother, with a shawl 
 drawn close about her head. 
 
 " I didn t feel as if I could let you go," the elder woman 
 said, in a trembling voice, when her daughter had joined her. 
 
 "Oh, mother!" 
 
 Judith put her arm over the bent shoulders. The two 
 stood a moment in silence. 
 
 " I jest had to call you back," at length said Mrs. Grover, 
 " and I didn t have the strength to climb up the path. I d 
 know what is the matter with me, but I feel dretfully bout 
 your goin this time. It was bad nough before, but now it
 
 248 MRS. GERALD 
 
 does seem as if twas too much for me. Can t you persuade 
 your husband not to go ? Can t you stay somewhere this 
 side of the ocean ?" 
 
 Judith hesitated. What if it should come about that she 
 could stay at home ? The thought went like wine through 
 her consciousness. Then she put it away from her. She 
 had chosen. And her place was with her husband. And 
 then As her mind instantaneously followed out some train 
 of thought her eyes changed, and she blushed painfully. 
 
 "Mr. Gerald is so kind," she said, "that I don t think I 
 ought to say a word against the journey." 
 
 "Then you won t stay? Jest think" with tremulous 
 eagerness " if you could only be with me this winter ! Oh, 
 dear, I feel exactly as if something was going to happen !" 
 
 Mrs. Grover clung to her daughter, who held her tightly, but 
 who did not retreat from the mental position she had taken. 
 
 " I s pose if you jest said the word Mr. Gerald d do what 
 ever you wanted," went on the mother. " I never seen a 
 man so thoughtful s he is; n he so kind of masterful, V 
 I d know what ; I can t make him out. You ll stay round in 
 this country, won t you, Judith ? You won t go that journey ?" 
 
 Judith felt the tears coining to her eyes. She waited until 
 she could speak steadily ; then she repeated, as tenderly as 
 she could, her refusal. It had been Mr. Gerald s proposi 
 tion that they should go, and she would go. 
 
 "Oh, dear," cried Mrs. Grover, "that s jest like you! 
 You won t never give in !" 
 
 It was useless to argue or explain. Judith felt that her 
 very longing to assent, to stay in the old home, was the 
 strongest reason why she should refuse to make any attempt 
 to do so. She lingered and lingered, saying everything she 
 could to comfort her mother, her heart sinking lower and 
 lower as she talked. 
 
 Finally she said good-bye again, and retraced her steps up 
 the cliff-walk. And the last thing her mother said was, " I 
 can t help it ; I do feel just as if something was going to 
 happen."
 
 XXXIX 
 
 "LET us GIVE UP THIS JOURNEY" 
 
 JUDITH hurried on after she had left her mother. She 
 climbed the path so rapidly that she was panting for breath 
 when she reached the top of the cliff. 
 
 The sun was setting, and the water was reddening from 
 the red clouds floating up from the west. It had been one 
 of those days of splendor which come in the fall. A light 
 wind blew from the east. The tide rushed in, almost at the 
 flood. A flock of coots was sailing along towards the shore. 
 Every object was clear and distinct. There seemed to be a 
 vivid, bright light everywhere. 
 
 Judith wanted to run, the air was so bracing, but she re 
 strained her pace to a swift walk. Descending the slope 
 that led into the field beyond, and that turned away from the 
 sea, she came suddenly upon Lucian, who was striding along 
 towards the path she had just left. She stopped abruptly. 
 It almost seemed as if she glanced about her to see if she 
 might escape. But immediately she advanced with extended 
 hand. 
 
 The two had not met since the last day she had been in 
 the hospital, and then it could hardly be said that they 
 had met, since he had not known her. 
 
 " Lucian !" she exclaimed, " I thought you were in the 
 Aclirondacks ?" 
 
 " So I was until two days ago. But, you see, I have come 
 back." 
 
 They shook hands. 
 
 " So I see," lightly, " and looking what we call here 
 tough as a hickory-nut. "
 
 250 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " Thank you. I suppose I am tough. I thought I ought 
 to come for an hour or two to see the folks before I sailed. 
 
 The young man s face was so brilliant that Judith rather 
 wondered. But she accounted for the change by telling 
 herself that he had, doubtless, in recovering his health, re 
 covered from that unhappy idea that he loved her. 
 
 " Sailed ?" she repeated. " What, are you also going to 
 sail ?" 
 
 "Well, I should think so," with a laugh. "You are 
 making believe you don t know." 
 
 " Am I ? When do you sail, and for what port ?" 
 
 "To-morrow. For the Mediterranean." 
 
 " What ?" rather sharply. 
 
 " You don t mean to say you didn t know it ?" 
 
 " Certainly I didn t know it." 
 
 Their eyes met for an instant. They had both grown 
 white within the last moment. Lucian looked off across 
 the fields. 
 
 " Of course," he said, hastily, " I shouldn t have thought 
 of going with Uncle Dick if he had not asked me. He 
 wrote, and urged me to join you and him. He said the 
 trip and the winter in Algiers would be just the thing to 
 restore me to fighting-trim. That was his phrase. He 
 said he should insist upon my going. You know all of 
 our family have always done just as Uncle Dick decided. 
 That s the way mother brought us up. And now father 
 and mother say I would be quite foolish not to go for I 
 did hold out about it. Judith," pleadingly, and with some 
 thing of his old manner, " I declare I refused point-blank 
 at first. But I was wild to go. You can t blame me, Ju 
 dith ; you can t. I was deadly afraid that you wouldn t 
 want me along. But I won t annoy you. And Uncle Dick 
 won t take No for an answer." 
 
 "Don t apologize," said Judith, coldly. " Of course there 
 can be no reason why you shouldn t accept Mr. Gerald s 
 invitation not the least reason." 
 
 She hastened on across the field. She had not gone
 
 "LET us GIVE UP THIS JOURNEY 251 
 
 many rods before Lucian ran after her. Without looking 
 at him, she yet knew that his face was much disturbed. 
 
 " Judith," he said, " I won t go. I didn t think you d 
 dislike my going so much. I " 
 
 " Dislike it !" The lips of the woman trembled as she 
 spoke. Then she drew herself up a little. " You will go," 
 she said, in a hard voice of command and decision. " You 
 will certainly go. Why should you not do as Mr. Gerald 
 wishes you to do ?" 
 
 Lucian stepped back, and Judith walked on quickly. She 
 made no pause until she had reached the house. She was 
 going at the same swift pace up the gravel path when she 
 saw Mr. Gerald in the garden at the south of the building. 
 In a moment she had joined him. His face betrayed some 
 surprise as he glanced at her, and there was a certain 
 tightening of the mouth beneath the mustache. 
 
 " So you ve said good-bye to your mother, he remarked. 
 " I hope she won t grieve too much." 
 
 " Mr. Gerald," began Judith. But her voice did not 
 quite suit her, and she began again, after a slight pause : 
 " Mr. Gerald, I met Lucian on the cliffs. He told me he 
 was going with us to Algiers." 
 
 " Yes ; I thought the trip would be just the thing for 
 him. He looks well, but, somehow, he isn t strong enough." 
 
 " You didn t tell me." 
 
 No ; I thought it would be a pleasant little surprise for 
 you." 
 
 " Did you think that ?" 
 
 Judith was standing in front of her husband. Her head 
 was back, her cheeks and eyes were burning. He gazed at 
 her in undisguised admiration ; but there was a lurking 
 spark in his eye that glowed more and more deeply. Ju 
 dith waited ; then she asked her question again. 
 
 "Certainly I thought that," he answered. "Can you tell 
 me that you do not find my nephew s presence agreeable?" 
 She did not reply. " You like him ?" the speaker changed 
 his form of address.
 
 252 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Judith came a step nearer. She seized her husband s 
 arm. "Yes, I like him," she replied. 
 
 "Well, then, am I not doing well in providing him as a 
 travelling companion ? 
 
 " You are doing ill." 
 
 Judith was trying so hard to keep her hold on at least a 
 degree of composure that her voice sounded strangely to her 
 own ears. 
 
 "111?" with a smile. "Oh no, I think not. I was afraid 
 that with me only you would be horribly bored, so I pro 
 vided this surprise for you. And you are fond of Lucian, 
 are you not ?" 
 
 It seemed malicious, brutal, to Judith that her husband 
 should return to that question. There was a stirring of re 
 bellion and anger in her heart. She looked again straight 
 in the eyes bent down upon her. 
 
 " Aren t you fond of Lucian ?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "I am fond of him." 
 
 " Yes, of course ; I knew that," was the response ; " that s 
 why I invited him. As for myself, though I like the boy, 
 I can easily enough spend the winter in Algiers without 
 him." 
 
 Judith dropped her hand from the arm she had touched. 
 She walked away a few paces. She came back to where Mr. 
 Gerald stood in exactly the same place. " Let us give up 
 this journey," she said. 
 
 Her companion elevated his brows. " Oh no," he an 
 swered. " We shall get no end of amusement out of it." 
 
 He was watching the vertical line coming and deepening 
 on his wife s forehead. And he was feeling what seemed 
 like a burning knife cut through his brain. 
 
 "You insist upon going, then ?" she said. 
 
 "On the contrary, I don t insist at all," he answered, cour 
 teously. "I only ask if you will go with me. 
 
 He knew very well that she would assent. He had found 
 out long before this that she always intended to do what he 
 wished, provided it was nothing that went against her con-
 
 "LET us GIVE UP THIS JOURNEY" 253 
 
 science. It was really quite a wonderful study for Gerald, 
 the study of his wife s conscience. He found himself con 
 tinually adjusting his mental vision to a still more minute 
 inspection of this woman s soul. 
 
 " If you request it, I shall go," she answered, promptly. 
 
 " Thank you, Judith." 
 
 Again she turned and walked a short distance, while he 
 still maintained the same attitude, looking after her. He 
 had become by this time nearly as pale as she was. She 
 came back and stopped in front of him. 
 
 " Do you know what you are doing ?" she asked. " Do you 
 think you ought to do it?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I don t quite understand." 
 
 "Yes, you do understand." 
 
 " But explain." 
 
 "Very well. I will. You know I love Lucian." 
 
 " Ah !" 
 
 Mr. Gerald lifted his head still higher. His face stif 
 fened. 
 
 " Yes, you know I love him with all my heart with all 
 my heart." The low voice thrilled in speaking the sentence. 
 " You know I should have been his wife but for a miserable 
 chance. I was wrong. I suffer for it ; I expect to suffer for 
 it all my life. But I can suffer." 
 
 She paused. The eyes of the two met in the silence. 
 
 " I knew you loved him," he said. 
 
 "Yes, it was no secret from you, but you seemed not to 
 care. You did not love me, but for some reason you asked 
 me to be your wife. Mr. Gerald," suddenly, with an irre 
 sistible access of visible emotion, "do you still ask me to go 
 this journey ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; why not ? Because you happen to love my 
 nephew is no reason why you should not travel with him, 
 since I am to be with you. Really, Judith, you take things 
 too seriously. Nobody takes things seriously in these days. 
 And what if, here and there, a wife doesn t love the right 
 man, or marries the wrong man ?" Mr. Gerald paused to
 
 254 MRS - GERALD 
 
 laugh slightly. He went on, "Why, the situation is as com 
 mon as well, a hundred times more common than for a 
 woman to marry the right man. That s the unusual thing." 
 He paused again. Judith, gazing at him, saw some peculiar 
 and indescribable expression come into his face. " Haven t 
 I been fairly considerate ?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; you have been kind. But you are cruel when 
 you put me " 
 
 Mr. Gerald held up his hand. A ray of intense light 
 streamed from the pupil of each eye straight into his wife s 
 eyes. 
 
 "Cruel!" he exclaimed. "God! she calls me cruel ! she, 
 who is squeezing out my heart s blood between her white 
 hands 
 
 Judith felt her breath leaving her. She tried to step for 
 ward and touch the man before her, but she could not move. 
 She stood staring at him. It seemed impossible that he 
 could have spoken such words. They were as utterly unlike 
 him, as she knew him, as words could be ; they frightened 
 her. The next instant the spark died out of his eye. His 
 face became dull and flabby. He smiled coldly, and with 
 what Judith thought was self-contempt. 
 
 "You didn t know I could perform a bit in melodrama, 
 did you ?" he asked. " But a man has a great many odd 
 traits stowed away in his individuality. Now, Judith, I want 
 you to go over to Algiers just as we planned. I m not a man 
 to harbor any petty jealousy." 
 
 " I know you are not," she returned, with some bitterness. 
 
 " No ; there s not a bit of the tyrant in me, and there is 
 no more ridiculous object on the face of the earth than a 
 jealous husband." He stroked and pulled his mustache, 
 and then he thrust his hands into his pockets. " Whatever 
 happens," he said, "you need never expect me to take that 
 part." 
 
 " Nothing will ever happen," she answered. Her face was 
 turned away, and her voice was cold. 
 
 "Oh, I m sure of that. A man really ought to be able to
 
 "LET us GIVE UP THIS JOURNEY 255 
 
 trust a wife who comes to him and tells him that she loves 
 some one else." 
 
 There was something so incredible in the tone in which 
 this was spoken that Judith started, stung by an indignation 
 she would not try to conceal. Had she done right or wrong 
 in thus speaking to him ? She had meant to be wholly 
 truthful in trying to make her husband know how vitally 
 averse she was to this journey. She raised her head and 
 looked at him. Then she left him. 
 
 She went to the far end of the garden. She must be alone 
 for a time. She leaned against a tree - trunk, her head 
 drooped forward. Did her husband have a mania that led 
 him to try her? Was he putting her in a difficult position to 
 prove her? Yes, it was cruel. Was that a sane light that 
 had flashed out from his eyes as if a demon had suddenly 
 peeped at her? She moved. She tried to banish the horri 
 ble questioning. And she could speak of such things to no 
 one.
 
 XL 
 
 THE PASTURES 
 
 JUDITH did not go to her own room ; Mr. Gerald might 
 follow her there. She hesitated after having reached the 
 house. She stood in the hall, in the light of the sun, which 
 poured in through the western window. 
 
 Mr. Eldridge came in ; he glanced at her, passed on, 
 then came back and asked, kindly, " Has anything hap 
 pened ?" 
 
 " Nothing/ was the dull answer. Then she tried to say, 
 gratefully, " You have always been so kind to me, Mr. El 
 dridge." 
 
 The moment she had spoken thus she knew how strange 
 such words must sound. She saw his look of astonish 
 ment. 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon," she said, trying to smile, "I 
 think I must be getting absent-minded. I have just come 
 from my mother s. She is really superstitious about this 
 journey." 
 
 She passed on up the stairs. Then she remembered that 
 she was not going to her room. Nevertheless, she paused 
 there a moment. A book lay on the table. She took it in 
 her hand, gazing down at the title-page without seeing the 
 words. Finally she read The Mill on the Floss." 
 
 She started. Her eyes flashed about her in a frightened 
 way. She had been reading that story on that day before 
 she went out with Lucian in the boat. She remembered 
 that while she was reading she felt sure that Lucian had 
 ceased to love her, and she had been coldly grateful for 
 the belief; grateful as we poor human beings are when a
 
 THE PASTURES 
 
 257 
 
 precious thing that we know we ought not to have is really 
 put beyond our reach. Then she had seen him in the boat 
 and he did love her. 
 
 With the book in her hand, though she was not conscious 
 that she had it, Judith hastened clown the stairs. She felt 
 stifled and oppressed, and there was a strange sense of fright 
 upon her. She knew indefinitely that she was afraid of her 
 self. Once more without the house she hesitated. 
 
 "Where shall I go ?" This question repeated itself over 
 and over in her mind. "The pastures the pastures," a 
 voice seemed to say in her ear. 
 
 She went down the walk. She saw Mr. Gerald still in the 
 garden. The sight of him made the wild tumult in her heart 
 still more tumultuous. She turned her head away lest he 
 should see her face. 
 
 As soon as she was in one of the wide stretches of rocky 
 pasture she began to run. She ran full in the teeth of the 
 east wind that was coming from the sea. With the decline 
 of the sun the wind had become chill, and a fog was rolling in 
 towards the land. She could see the bank spreading itself 
 in away out by the white shaft of the light-house. As she ran 
 she watched it coming with a strange interest. She was say 
 ing to herself, " When the fog gets to the Point I will stop 
 running." 
 
 All at once that fog seemed to have something to do with 
 her destiny. She kept her eyes fixed upon it. She crushed 
 the sweet-fern shrubs under her feet, and she was conscious 
 of inhaling the odor in strong whiffs. With that odor her 
 childhood days trooped up in order in her mind. She stooped 
 and caught up in her hand a bunch of the leaves, pressing 
 them to her face. She recalled how she had run over this 
 very pasture in pursuit of a stray dog who had come to her 
 home, and whom her father had said shouldn t stay there; 
 and he had driven it off. She had longed passionately to find 
 that dog. He had come this way when he had been driven 
 from the house. But she had never found him. "No," she 
 cried now, between her quick breaths, " I never found him."
 
 258 MRS. GERALD 
 
 The fog was at the Point. She stopped still, almost breath 
 less. She was going to clasp her hands. Then she found 
 the book in one hand and the sweet-fern leaves in the other. 
 So she stood still with her hands dropped at her sides. She 
 watched the fog unroll itself from the sea over the land. It 
 was as if some giant were shaking it forward. 
 
 Presently Judith s lips were salt with the vapor; her hot 
 cheeks grew damp and cool with it. Heart and soul were as 
 if immersed in that cold, salt fog. The excitement which had 
 controlled her ebbed away as the sun set, and the quick-coming 
 darkness of an October night quenched all the bright color 
 which the fog had not already obscured. In a moment Ju 
 dith stood shut in by the mist, able to see but a few paces 
 about her. But she knew all the localities of the coast so 
 intimately that she had no fear. She threw back her shoul 
 ders and took in long breaths of the sea sweet air. She had 
 a childish hope that this familiar atmosphere would help her 
 drive away the invincible depression which settled down over 
 her soul as the fog had settled down over the land. 
 
 What if she should lose herself, and should finally die of 
 hunger and exposure ? She knew of marshes where peo 
 ple had wandered in a fog which kept on day after day. At 
 this thought she laughed. There were no marshes here, and 
 she knew her way. She began to descend towards the mead 
 ows, stumbling sometimes, going a few rods astray as the fog 
 became thicker, but always, as she thought, getting into the 
 right direction after a few efforts. She was in no hurry. She 
 dreaded the return to the Eldridge house. 
 
 And what had her husband meant by saying that she was 
 wringing his heart in her hands her "white hands" he had 
 said. Oh no ; she would not wring any one s heart, save her 
 own. She had been obliged to tell him that she loved Lu- 
 cian, so that he might change his mind and not make her 
 take that journey. She had been sure he would give up the 
 journey when she had told him that. But no, nothing made 
 any difference. He would not help her ; more than that, he 
 assumed that he was helping her.
 
 THE PASTURES 
 
 259 
 
 Ah, here were the bars which led into the lane that wound 
 up from Mr. Eldridge s field into the high pastures. They 
 suddenly confronted her, ghastly in the silver mist. She let 
 down the rails, thinking some one had come through since 
 she had passed that way an hour or so ago, and this person 
 had put up the bars. So she also replaced them and went 
 on. The grass was now damp, and her skirts, trailing over 
 it, were heavy and wet. She threw away the handful of sweet- 
 fern leaves, but she kept the book pressed close to her side. 
 
 She began to think of Maggie Tulliver. "To be right in 
 the great moments of life," she said, as if she were talking 
 with some one, " I must keep my word. He trusts me. He 
 knows I will be loyal as far as in me lies yes, as far as in 
 me lies. It is not the wrong, involuntary thoughts and long 
 ings which dishonor us; it is the wrong longings which are en 
 couraged and made much of. And integrity is all there is in 
 the world that is worth while all all." 
 
 To her surprise, Judith found it a slight relief to speak 
 aloud. The fog was very thick, and now that evening had 
 come it was an opaque wall that opened to let her through 
 and then closed about her, keeping close all the time. She 
 had descended from the uplands ; indeed; she was going 
 down a steep incline, and with the salt odor was mingled the 
 scent of wet, fresh meadows. She stopped. This was not 
 the way. There was no steep hill in the lane that led towards 
 Mr. Eldridge s. And those bars through which she had 
 passed could not have been what she had thought them. 
 
 She tried to think where she was, and presently she re 
 called the locality : but though she knew the locality the 
 knowledge did not avail her in the least, for she had lost 
 the power to tell east from west or north from south. She 
 could not even really place the dull sound of the waves 
 against the shore. Sometimes that sound seemed in one 
 direction and sometimes in another. The fog confused her 
 completely. She struck her foot against a rock in her slow 
 progress. She sat down on the rock, sitting perfectly still, 
 not thinking of anything and not caring for anything.
 
 260 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Presently she began to be cold. When she had first 
 started out that afternoon the sun had shone clear and warm, 
 and she had worn only a thin wrap, and this wrap was all 
 the out-of-doors garment she had now. She drew it closely 
 about her, and pulled her hat more firmly on her head. She 
 sat there shivering, and hearing the sounds of the field : 
 the slow, autumn chirp of the crickets, the many mysterious 
 hummings and cracklings and mutterings of the night in 
 the country. Soon she heard the distant, soft step of some 
 thing drawing nearer and nearer, sometimes stepping on a 
 twig, then coming on over wet gress or thick mud. 
 
 Judith drew herself up, waiting breathlessly. At such a 
 moment the wilderness might easily enough be peopled with 
 dragons and goblins. Some shape formed itself in the mist 
 and came closer and closer, until Judith, palpitating and 
 tremulous, sprang from the rock. At the same moment the 
 shape jumped back, seemed to hesitate an instant, then 
 pressed forward inquisitively, while the woman stood still, 
 not knowing where to run, and resolved to brave anything ; 
 for, after all, what did it matter? She inhaled a warm, sweet 
 breath, and a rough, hairy head was rubbed against her arm. 
 She drew her hand along the face, pressing her fingers in 
 the dish-shaped forehead, and smiling to herself that there 
 should be another lost thing abroad this night, for this calf 
 plainly was accustomed to petting, and so was not afield day 
 and night. The animal drew yet closer to her, and Judith 
 placed her arm over its neck, while the calf began to mum 
 ble an end of her wrap. 
 
 There is no way to judge of time in such places. Judith 
 only knew that it was early in the evening when she had 
 lost her way ; she could not guess how long she had been 
 in this spot. After a while she sat down again on the rock. 
 She heard the calf gently nipping grass now and then near 
 her, and the sound greatly comforted her. She thought it 
 was near midnight when, in the distance, there came the 
 sonorous, deep baying of hounds in full cry. A few moments 
 later there rushed past her something that she did not see at
 
 THE PASTURES 261 
 
 all, and then with a wild dash some dogs after that some 
 thing, the dogs telling what they were by their insistent bay 
 ing, in which there already seemed to be a note of triumph. 
 
 Judith had been sitting crouched over on her stone, her 
 shoulders raised and her head sunk between them, shivering, 
 and yet dozing now and then in a strange way that did not 
 refresh her, and that confused her greatly. Every time she 
 dozed she began again to beg her husband to give up the 
 journey; then she would start awake to a knowledge that 
 he would not change his plans. Two or three times she 
 caught herself saying aloud, " To be right in the great mo 
 ments of life " But she could not think what came next, 
 try as she would. 
 
 The calf had evidently laid down quite near her, for she 
 could hear it breathing, and sometimes it chewed its cud. 
 She must have been half asleep. Was that the calf which 
 had risen and But what was it? Judith rose and stood 
 still, her lips parted, her very pulses listening.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 SOME TALK 
 
 CERTAINLY that was a step coming forward in her direc 
 tion. She moved so as to face towards the sound. Some 
 one was breathing heavily close to her. The next moment 
 the tips of hands belonging to extended arms touched her. 
 
 "Good heavens!" cried a woman s voice. "Speak, can t 
 you ? What is it ? What are you ?" 
 
 But it was a moment before Judith could speak. The ex 
 citement she felt made it impossible for her to command her 
 voice, though she tried to answer. 
 
 " Speak, I tell you !" was repeated again. 
 
 A gloved hand caught Judith s bare fingers and gripped 
 them painfully. A perfume that was in some way familiar to 
 her exhaled from this person. Judith felt her brain growing 
 dizzy with the suspicion that came to it and with what 
 seemed the impossibility that the suspicion could be justi 
 fied by fact. 
 
 " Well," she said, as soon as she could speak, " what shall 
 I say ? Who are you 1 That is as much the question as 
 who am I." 
 
 " Is it Mrs. Gerald ?" quickly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Thank fortune for that ! Oh, how odd this is !" 
 
 The speaker broke into an excited laugh. But she caught 
 her breath rather suspiciously as she laughed. 
 
 " I made sure I should have to stay all night in this fog." 
 
 " And you will now. I can t be quite certain who you 
 are. Your way of speaking But no that is impossible 
 do tell me !"
 
 SOME TALK 263 
 
 Judith leaned forward, but she could distinguish nothing. 
 
 " Oh, I thought you knew me as I knew you," was the 
 response. "Guess! it will while away one minute if you 
 guess." 
 
 Judith unconsciously drew back a little. " I know now," 
 she answered " Mrs. Jennings. But I don t see how it is 
 possible that you are here no, it isn t possible. I suppose 
 I am dreaming." 
 
 And as she spoke Judith actually thought this apparent 
 arrival might be only a dream. She felt that she was not 
 able to judge just now as to what were realities and what 
 were visions. 
 
 The other woman had kept her hold on Judith s hand. 
 She now slowly reached forward and encircled Judith s 
 neck, coming close and putting her face against her com 
 panion s. She lightly brushed Judith s lips with her own. 
 She laughed a little. " Now do you know me ?" she asked, 
 in a whisper that was even more caressing then her caress 
 had been. 
 
 " Yes, I know you," was the answer. 
 
 " I can t tell you how glad I am to see you no, I mean 
 to find you, for I can t see you. And if we are to stay here 
 all night I shall have time to say all I want to." 
 
 "I think you ll have time," returned Judith. 
 
 " Yes. And I m thankful to be with you when you haven t 
 your armor on. For it would be quite ridiculous if you wore 
 it when you are lost in a sea fog. Now you unbrace and 
 unhelm, and throw down your sword eh ?" 
 
 " My armor ?" 
 
 " Certainly." Judith thought her companion was going 
 on, but she did not. After a moment s silence, during which 
 the new-comer seemed to be unfolding a shawl, she said, 
 " Since you have found a rock I will share it with you, and 
 this shawl will cover us both." 
 
 They sat down. They drew the shawl close, and sat with 
 their arms around each other. 
 
 "I ll tell you how I happen to be sitting here beside you,"
 
 264 MRS. GERALD 
 
 began Mrs. Jennings. " I was invited to visit Mrs, Eldridge 
 last week ; I was unexpectedly prevented from coming. 
 This morning I suddenly decided to start. There was no 
 one to meet me at the station, of course ; but I counted on 
 the depot carriage. There wasn t any. I knew I could 
 walk well enough I m a good walker and in this fine Oc 
 tober air. But the distance seemed farther than I had 
 expected. I took a short-cut across the pasture, a path I 
 had gone over several times, but the fog came up now you 
 understand ?" 
 
 Judith did not reply. She was recalling her old curiously 
 mixed feelings towards this woman how she had been 
 di awn to her and repelled from her, all in the same mo 
 ment. Now, as she sat so near to Mrs. Jennings that she 
 could feel her heart beat, she forgot any repulsion she had 
 ever known ; she even had an inclination to draw still 
 nearer, and the mocking voice and deliberate enunciation 
 were pleasant to her ears. She wondered how she could 
 ever have felt any differently from the emotion of this mo 
 ment. 
 
 "I hope you are not sorry I am here," said Mrs. Jennings, 
 softly. 
 
 "No; I am glad." 
 
 " And if we die of exposure and the crows eat our bodies, 
 then will you still be glad ?" laughing. 
 
 " Perhaps ; who knows ?" 
 
 " Ah, yes ! who knows?" with a prolonged intonation. 
 "And then when the crows have eaten you, Mrs. Gerald, 
 you will not have to live with that man who has bought and 
 paid for you." 
 
 "Mrs. Jennings!" 
 
 " Oh, you need not exclaim. Better to be carrion than to 
 live like that!" 
 
 Judith tried to shrink away, but could not. "Don t talk 
 so !" she murmured. 
 
 "Yes, I must talk so," was the response; " I may even say 
 worse things."
 
 SOME TALK 265 
 
 Then she became silent, and in the silence the two could 
 hear the sound of the hounds far away, melancholy and 
 long drawn out, and the faint muffle of the waves. The calf 
 had walked off when this other woman had come, and he 
 could be heard among the bushes near by. 
 
 " Are you glad you did it ?" abruptly asked Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 Judith did not reply. And yet she felt a strong inclina 
 tion to burst out into a flood of confidences to empty her 
 heart of all the "perilous stuff" which was poisoning her. 
 
 "You needn t answer," said Mrs. Jennings, in a moment; 
 "there isn t the slightest need. I can see into your soul." 
 
 " Can you ?" in a whisper. And Judith wondered why 
 she did not feel repelled at the thought that any one could 
 do that. 
 
 " Oh yes ; I can see. Do you remember the first time we 
 met? You and Mr. Gerald came to the station for me, and 
 I sat on the carriage-seat with you ; and I looked at you, 
 and felt drawn to you; and I was saying to myself, There s 
 another one ! " 
 
 " Another one ?" 
 
 "Certainly. I suppose Mr. Gerald s money tempted you 
 not but what some woman might love him for himself 
 and you married him. But you were not the woman to love 
 him, because 
 
 "Oh, stop!" cried Judith. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings laughed ; and then she drew her hand 
 softly down her companion s cheek. 
 
 " Don t be afraid," she said. " I m talking on a subject 
 that is quite familiar to me. I know it well. But you are 
 one of the kind to be silent to be proud and strong and 
 keep your word, and all that. I ll warrant you never told 
 him you loved him ?" 
 
 " Oh no !" 
 
 Again the other woman laughed. 
 
 "You wouldn t do that. Do you ever want to kill him ?" 
 
 Judith shuddered. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings went on. " Perhaps not really kill him
 
 266 MRS. GERALD 
 
 with your own hands ; but see him drop dead, and so be done 
 with the whole dreadful business." 
 
 Judith tried to rise to her feet, but her companion held 
 her closely, and she soon ceased her efforts and sat still. 
 She replaced her arm about the woman near her ; as she 
 did so she sobbed violently, but without tears. Her eyes 
 were dry and strained open in the darkness. Was this wom 
 an going to put into words any more horrible, fleeting fan 
 cies ? And how did she know ? This last question fright 
 ened Judith. Did she show in her face, in her very presence, 
 the one thing she tried most to conceal ? 
 
 " Yes, and so be done with the whole business !" 
 
 Mrs. Jennings repeated these words with a kind of diabol 
 ical emphasis. There was something in her manner that 
 gave Judith, she knew not why, a wellnigh irresistible wish 
 to make use of the same phrase. But she was not person 
 ally repelled in the least. She could not understand that. 
 
 " No," said Judith, at last, and in a firm voice, "I do not 
 wish to see him drop dead." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "I do not wish it!" with increased firmness. 
 
 " To wish and to do are two different things," said Mrs. 
 Jennings. 
 
 "No, no!" with an approach to violence in her voice; 
 " they are alike. The wish leaves the same stain on the soul 
 the same ineradicable stain that God himself cannot wash 
 away." 
 
 It was only after she had spoken that Judith realized how 
 she was lifting the curtain from her soul, and lifting it for 
 this woman, whom she did not know and whom she had mis 
 trusted. She did not understand why the darkness, the 
 strange position in which these two found themselves, con 
 spired to make her less reticent ; and she experienced a 
 relief, as if some hand which had been constraining her was 
 unclasped for a moment, and for the first time since her 
 marriage she was able to speak and to breathe. But she 
 thoroughly distrusted this relief and fought against it. She
 
 SOME TALK 267 
 
 thought she was always fighting ; she had no moment when 
 she could be her own natural self. 
 
 " You are quite wrong," answered Mrs. Jennings. " It is 
 the deed which deepens the stain to ineradicableness. If I 
 were to kill you now " The speaker paused. 
 
 " Perhaps you will," whispered Judith, with a passionate 
 emphasis. Then, realizing what she had let herself say, she 
 began to tremble. 
 
 " Is it so bad as that ? Is it so bad as that ?" 
 
 She heard the voice tenderly speaking to her. She felt 
 Mrs. Jennings s gentle touch on her face and hands. There 
 were more words, half spoken, pitying. 
 
 " I m sure I can t imagine why I speak like this," she 
 said, finally, when she could command her voice. "You 
 are the first human being who has ever heard me." 
 
 Having said this, Judith felt the tears come burning to 
 her eyes and rush hotly down her face. They came in 
 floods. She would not put her head on her companion s 
 shoulder, but sat with it lowered, letting the drops fall, 
 thankful for them, but at the same time afraid of them. 
 She could never, she was sure, go on with her life if she 
 should become emotional. 
 
 "It s because I understand," said Mrs. Jennings. "You 
 had a feeling that I knew. But you don t believe in me 
 all the same. And you need not, for I don t believe in 
 myself. 
 
 " Now, there was my husband. I did not love him in 
 the least, and I was afraid of him ; and you grow to hate 
 what you fear. I couldn t earn my living, and I liked fine 
 things; and the men whom I loved didn t love me; and 
 my aunt was tired of taking care of me. So I married Dr. 
 Jennings, who didn t love me, but who, for some reason, 
 thought he would have me for his wife. 
 
 " I had three years of the life. Every morning I wished 
 that man would die before night, and every night I wished 
 he would die before morning. But I kept on smiling at 
 him, and he actually seemed to like me more and more.
 
 268 MRS. GERALD 
 
 You see, I can t be what is called a refined woman, or I 
 should either have poisoned him or gone mad. No, I m 
 not a refined woman. I m grateful for that, though I do 
 give people the impression of refinement. But that s only 
 because my tastes are nice, and tastes have nothing to do 
 with the matter. Are you listening, or are you beginning to 
 be bored ?" 
 
 " I am listening." 
 
 " Dr. Jennings was a great surgeon. Be thankful, at 
 least, that Mr. Gerald is not a surgeon. I was sure that 
 my husband s first thought concerning a person was how 
 that person would look on the operating-table how he 
 would cut up, you know." 
 
 Here Mrs. Jennings paused to give a cruel and yet tri 
 umphant little laugh. She went on. 
 
 " And I always had a conviction that some time I should 
 have some ailment that would give him the opportunity to 
 put me on that table and plunge his knife into me. You 
 see what fancies can come into the mind of a woman. 
 That idea grew upon me till I imagined the doctor was 
 thinking of his scalpel every time he looked at me. I be 
 lieve that before the end of the fourth year something 
 would have happened and he was getting fond of me in 
 his cold-blooded, scientific way. I thought so much about 
 his death that there are times now when it almost seems as 
 if I killed him." 
 
 It was Mrs. Jennings now who shuddered. Then she 
 shook herself impatiently. 
 
 " He used to ride horseback every day. He was trying 
 a new horse, and it threw him head-first on to the pavement ; 
 so he was brought home dead. Actually, Mrs. Gerald, I 
 have had moments of asking myself if, by any occult means, 
 I had introduced my individuality and my feelings into 
 that horse ; and I couldn t rest until I had had the horse 
 killed. People thought it was quite natural ; they under 
 stood why I wanted that horse put out of existence. Had 
 it not been the means of ending my precious husband s
 
 SOME TALK 269 
 
 life ? But the simple truth was I was afraid of that an 
 imal. What if it should some day reveal why it had thrown 
 its rider ? 
 
 " It was in the days previous to the doctor s death that I 
 began to carry a little revolver. I had no reason for carry 
 ing it, but I liked to have the thing with me ; and I ve kept 
 up the habit. I have times of practising shooting ; it takes 
 up your mind. But I don t know why I mention that. 
 
 " Did you ever think that a tiny revolver with a shining 
 barrel and beautiful tracery on the handle would be a 
 comfort just to know it was with you ?" Mrs. Jennings 
 laughed slightly as she asked this question. 
 
 " No," said Judith. But she was afraid the idea would 
 have a fascination which would return to her. 
 
 " What strange notions will come into a woman s mind," 
 went on Mrs. Jennings. " Now, almost from the first time 
 I saw you I had an impression that I should be somehow 
 instrumental in doing a good deed for you unintentionally 
 instrumental, perhaps. I don t know what the deed will be, 
 but I can t get rid of the impression."
 
 XLII 
 
 RESCUED 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Jennings ceased speaking Judith became 
 aware that she had been listening greedily to her words 
 listening with that creeping of the flesh and rising of the 
 hair which made her, now that her companion was silent, 
 feel as if she were still under the power of some uncanny 
 spell. She moved uneasily. She wondered how she could 
 bear to feel Mrs. Jennings so near her, to be conscious of 
 the warmth of her touch, of the beating of her pulses. 
 She argued that she ought to wish to shake her off in hor 
 ror. That she did not wish to do so terrified her. 
 
 " Are you sorry I told you this ?" at length asked Mrs. 
 Jennings. 
 
 " No, oh no at least, I think I m not sorry." 
 
 Hardly knowing that she did so, Judith pressed closely 
 the hand she held. She had a feeling that she was looking 
 into the workings of a human heart and brain, that she saw 
 there sin and resistance to sin in a never-ending battle, just 
 as she might see the circulation of the blood in a prepared 
 subject. She shrank, and yet she was uncontrollably at 
 tracted. 
 
 " And since your husband died," she began, " have you 
 been happy ?" 
 
 " Oh no !" 
 
 "How terrible! how terrible!" Judith uttered these words 
 in a kind of cry. 
 
 " But I have been free. I have been able to respect my 
 self in the present, when I have not despised myself for the 
 past." Mrs. Jennings spoke exultantly.
 
 RESCUED 
 
 271 
 
 Unable to remain quiet, Judith shook herself from her 
 companion s hold and rose to her feet. She took two or 
 three rapid steps forward. Then she stumbled against a 
 shrub ; she felt its damp branches dash drops of water in 
 her face. She stood still in the darkness. 
 
 " I can at least pray," she said, aloud. 
 
 "Yes," said the light, penetrating voice behind her, "we 
 can pray. I suppose there is a God." 
 
 " I know there is a God," returned Judith. 
 
 She remained where she was, clasping her hands as we 
 involuntarily clasp them in supplication. 
 
 " If you are going to pray," said Mrs. Jennings, " let me 
 hear you. I shall believe what you say while you are say 
 ing it." She rose impulsively and groped her way to her 
 companion. 
 
 " Please don t touch me now !" said Judith, whereupon 
 Mrs. Jennings drew back. 
 
 But though she was left standing alone, Judith found that 
 she could not utter a word of prayer. Her soul was con 
 vulsed with a petition that was not able to reach her voice. 
 Her whole being was not demanding release, but only 
 strength to go on with the life she had deliberately chosen 
 strength, that was all; and surely that was a great deal. 
 
 "Why don t you pray?" asked the voice near her. 
 
 Judith s hands unclasped and fell to her sides. 
 
 "Or perhaps you don t consider me worthy to listen to 
 you ?" 
 
 Still the other could not speak. 
 
 " Do you want me to leave you ? There s room enough 
 in this wilderness for us both." 
 
 Judith could hear Mrs. Jennings s movements and the 
 rustle of the twigs. 
 
 " Shall I go ?" 
 
 " Stay with me." 
 
 Judith s words broke from her in a cry. She turned about, 
 and extended her hands in the direction from which her 
 companion had spoken. The next moment the two women
 
 272 MRS. GERALD 
 
 had joined hands again, and stood there as if waiting for 
 something. 
 
 "I don t approve of you in the least," murmured Judith. 
 
 " Oh, I know that very well." 
 
 "Then why have I spoken thus to you?" 
 
 " Because you knew I should understand." 
 
 " Yes ; that must be the reason. But I ought to have 
 died rather than let such words pass my lips." 
 
 " That is silly of you to feel like that. Besides, what have 
 you said ? Listen to me now. I have a bit of advice to 
 give you." 
 
 Judith fancied there was a peculiar seriousness in the way 
 in which her companion spoke. She waited, and at last 
 Mrs. Jennings said, " Have you ever thought of making a 
 kind of fetich of your husband ?" 
 
 " A fetich ?" 
 
 A chill ran over Judith as she heard. 
 
 " Yes ; possibly that isn t the word, but it will do as well 
 as another. You are bound to be loyal and true, I sup 
 pose ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes." 
 
 " Then you are bound to be a fool ; but I won t try to dis 
 suade. To every woman her own kind of folly, I say." 
 
 " But go on." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings laughed. 
 
 " Do you know there was once some one who had a hus 
 band whom she hated, but he would not die, and she was 
 principled against killing him. So she agonized over the 
 subject until finally light came to her. She succeeded in 
 bringing her mind to the point of believing that upon his 
 life hung all her prospect of happiness, even of life. You 
 see, she reasoned this way and that way until she came to 
 the conclusion that she would do everything in her power to 
 prolong that man s life ; she would watch his very breath 
 lest it should stop ; she would try to give her heart-beats 
 for his ; she would institute a care of him that would lengthen 
 his days, for if she should let him die something dreadful
 
 RESCUED 
 
 273 
 
 would happen to her, just because, you see, she never could 
 be happy while he lived. You can t find any fault with that 
 reasoning, can you? It is as lucid and logical as a woman 
 can sometimes be. Try that kind of life, Mrs. Gerald." 
 
 Judith had been listening intently. She knew the advice 
 was given half mockingly, but in her morbid state of mind 
 she felt herself clutching at it eagerly. And it seemed to 
 her a kind of atonement. Had she been sufficiently atten 
 tive and devoted ? Had she not failed in many ways ? 
 
 Oh, how well she seemed to understand that woman who 
 had paid such tribute to her fetich! It was not right to call 
 such a life by the names Mrs. Jennings used. And she 
 would go this journey in a different spirit she would here 
 after show that she could act in any way that she decided 
 to act. Again, what did it matter? What did anything 
 matter? 
 
 " I m glad you told me this," she said. 
 
 " Are you ?" in surprise. 
 
 " Certainly. It s what I ve been groping for." 
 
 " And can you do it?" 
 
 " Yes ; I will do it." 
 
 Already Judith was nerving herself for the effort. She 
 was looking forward to a battle which would occupy her en 
 tire forces. 
 
 " First, however," said the other, in response, " we must 
 be taken alive from this fog." 
 
 " But if we are never found " began Judith, with an ex 
 ultant tone in her voice. Then she stopped and added, 
 " When the fog lifts we cannot help finding the way home." 
 
 " Still," said Mrs. Jennings, " I ve heard of fogs that 
 lasted for days long enough to starve us both." 
 
 " They will look for us," returned Judith. 
 
 " They may look for you, but no one knows I am here. 
 If I am found it will be by clinging to your skirts. I wish 
 I knew what time it is. If we were men we should proba 
 bly be smokers, and if smokers we should have matches. It 
 would be a great relief to me to see something, even for the 
 
 18
 
 274 MRS - GERALD 
 
 space of the flame of a match. I am faint and hungry ; it 
 must be near midnight." 
 
 After two or three attempts they succeeded in finding the 
 rock again, and they seated themselves upon it, and huddled, 
 shivering, close together. They were silent now. Some 
 times Mrs. Jennings s eyes closed for a moment, but Judith s 
 eyelids were widely open as she stared into the darkness, 
 thinking, thinking. 
 
 She started as her companion moved yet nearer, and ex 
 claimed, " Did you hear that ? 
 
 Judith roused herself. 
 
 " I heard nothing." 
 
 She did not seem much interested. 
 
 "It was a dog barking." 
 
 " It is the hounds ; they have been here before." 
 
 " No, no. It is a different bark. Listen. Do you recog 
 nize it ?" 
 
 Judith did listen ; and as she did so the blood rose from 
 her heart to her face, then set back again in a choking flood, 
 leaving her white. But the darkness hid her. She had rec 
 ognized the sound. It was the baying of Lucian s dog 
 Random. 
 
 She opened her lips to say, " I hope they won t find us," 
 but she did not speak. 
 
 " You know the dog?" persisted Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 " Yes ; it is Random, Mr. Lucian Eldridge s setter." 
 
 " Oh, then we shall presently be found and rescued." 
 
 The speaker was smiling to herself. She was thinking that 
 it was a very interesting drama, and still more interesting 
 in that it might at any moment become a tragedy. 
 
 " We shall shortly hear something more," she said. 
 
 And she spoke truth. Muffled, but still plainly audible, 
 a man s voice shouted, " Hullo ! Hullo !" drawing out the 
 sound on the final vowel. 
 
 "Answer !" commanded Mrs. Jennings, sharply. 
 
 " No." 
 
 Judith sat erect, and removed from the woman.
 
 RESCUED 
 
 275 
 
 " Idiot !" sharply whispered the other. Then she raised 
 her own voice and shrilly responded : " Hullo ! this way !" 
 
 The two waited motionless until, after a few moments, 
 the call was repeated and answered as before. In a few 
 more moments the two heard the sound of an approach 
 through bushes ; an animal leaped out and came with the 
 swiftness of vision directly to the two, putting eager front 
 paws on Judith s knees, whining tremulously and joyfully. 
 
 Judith leaned over, and the dog licked her face. She 
 suddenly flung her arms round his neck and hugged him. 
 A spark of light was now coming from the same direction ; 
 then the spark revealed that it was a lantern carried by a 
 man. The light shone upon a yellow, fog-wet beard and 
 a pale face that at this moment had a brilliance of hope 
 upon it. 
 
 Both women were standing now and waiting. The mist 
 glowed about the lantern like a halo. Judith, after the 
 first glance, looked at this halo as if it fascinated her. 
 
 Lucian burst through the bushes. " Thank Heaven !" 
 he began; then he stopped suddenly. "What two of 
 you !" 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Jennings, finding that she must be the 
 one to speak ; " two of us for the brave rescuer. Isn t that 
 glory enough for you for one night ?" 
 
 Lucian came forward slowly. He was plainly trying to 
 assume a light manner, and just as plainly he was failing 
 miserably. 
 
 " I wasn t thinking of glory," he answered, gravely ; " I 
 was thinking of Mrs. Gerald s safety. We didn t know 
 you were also lost, Mrs. Jennings." 
 
 " I m glad the fact wasn t known," began Mrs. Jennings, 
 dryly ; " otherwise your anxiety would have been increased." 
 
 " Certainly," with still more gravity. He turned aside 
 and drew a revolver from his pocket. " I must give the 
 signal that you are found," he said, before he fired three 
 shots. 
 
 " How interesting !" exclaimed Mrs. Jennings, flippantly.
 
 376 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " It is really the first time I was ever rescued. Is it a 
 common experience with you, Mrs. Gerald ?" 
 
 Judith longed to put her hands over her ears to shut 
 out the light, saucy voice. But she stood quiet, and did 
 not think it worth while to answer.
 
 XLIII 
 
 "LET us BE REAL FRIENDS" 
 
 BEFORE any one spoke again three answering shots were 
 heard far away at the right, and then, still farther off, 
 three more. 
 
 " It is a scene in a theatre," exclaimed Mrs. Jennings, 
 " with all the lights turned down so that the one lantern 
 may be seen ; and you are the heroine, Mrs. Gerald. No 
 music by the orchestra ; audience thrilled to silence." 
 
 " I m glad you can view the matter so cheerfully, Mrs. 
 Jennings," remarked Lucian, still with that unusual gravity 
 of manner. He had not, after the first moment, appeared 
 to see Judith, by whose side the setter was standing. 
 
 " We have had plenty of time to cultivate cheerfulness," 
 was the response, " nights and nights, it seems to us." 
 Mrs. Jennings advanced nearer the lantern and held her 
 watch close to it. " Only a little after twelve !" she 
 said. 
 
 She turned to Judith, and the latter now became aware 
 that this woman was making talk that Judith might have 
 an opportunity to recover her self-possession if she had 
 lost it. An impulse of gratitude stirred in Judith s heart. 
 But Lucian understood nothing of this, and his irritation 
 was so great as to be with difficulty concealed. He had 
 expected to find only Judith if indeed he were fortunate. 
 
 " Of course the time has seemed very long," he now said, 
 stiffly. "And it has seemed long to your friends, Mrs. 
 Gerald," turning, with marked reserve, towards Judith. 
 
 "I am very sorry," she returned, with the same reserve; 
 " it was so heedless of me to get lost. The fog came up,
 
 2?8 MRS. GERALD 
 
 but I am so much at home on the shore here that I didn t 
 think of the possibility of losing my way." 
 
 "There are a dozen men searching in different direc 
 tions," went on Lucian. " Uncle Dick held out in the opin 
 ion that you were not lost, and that you would resent any 
 search being made ; but when I got home at half-past ten, 
 and he found I hadn t seen you, we roused some of the 
 neighbors and set out. I think we ve been lucky to find 
 you so soon. Shall we start for home now ? The firing 
 gave the signal for the people to give up looking." 
 
 All the long and tiresome walk homeward Judith was 
 thinking of the few words Lucian had said, which told her 
 that her husband had thought that she was with his 
 nephew. This thought annoyed her so much that she was 
 surprised at the strength of the irritation. 
 
 The three reached the Eldridge house a few minutes be 
 fore Mr. Gerald s arrival, and when that gentleman came 
 his wife met him in the hall. He was so pale that she was 
 betrayed into uttering an exclamation of alarm. She went 
 quickly to his side and took his hand. " I m so sorry !" 
 she said, in a low voice. 
 
 He smiled somewhat satirically as he answered, " Oh, 
 don t grieve about that ! You have given us a taste of 
 the pleasures of the chase." 
 
 She wanted to shrink back, but she would not. She 
 said something so gently that he gave her a quick, inter 
 rogative glance. He was still holding her hand. 
 
 " I hope you ll forgive me," she pleaded, " and I hope 
 you haven t been very anxious." 
 
 "Oh, a trifle ; just enough to give a seasoning to every 
 day monotony." 
 
 Though he spoke thus he did not release the hand. 
 He was looking steadily down at her. The next moment he 
 glanced about him ; he saw that no one else was in the hall. 
 
 Judith saw a spasm as of physical agony cross his face. 
 His grasp on her fingers unconsciously tightened. " Oh," 
 she cried, in a whisper, pressing nearer, " you are ill !"
 
 "LET us BE REAL FRIENDS" 279 
 
 " Not in the least," throwing his head back. " I wanted 
 to ask you something, and I know you will answer me 
 truthfully. Really," here he managed to smile, " I find it 
 quite an advantage to have a wife who tells the truth." 
 
 Judith now drew back somewhat. " What do you want 
 to ask me ?" she inquired, coldly. 
 
 "This: have you been wandering over those cliffs think 
 ing to throw yourself into the water?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 In spite of his efforts, Mr. Gerald could not restrain the 
 long sigh that came through his lips as he heard that 
 monosyllable and believed it implicitly. "Thank you," he 
 said, after a moment. 
 
 The next day, as they were in Boston, and driving down 
 to the wharf of the Cunarder in which they were to sail, 
 Gerald turned suddenly to his wife and asked, " Why did 
 you shrink so from this voyage ?" 
 
 Judith felt that this was almost too much. Her eyes 
 flashed. Then she lowered them. Whatever happened, 
 her foremost effort should be to sacrifice everything to 
 this man. She would treat him as a devotee might treat 
 an idol. Since feeling did not prompt her, she was sure 
 to overdo. But she could not help that, and probably 
 would not know it. And she was already beginning upon 
 the exaggerated plan which Mrs. Jennings had suggested. 
 " If you will excuse me, I won t answer," she said, but 
 speaking with an extreme gentleness. 
 
 Mr. Gerald laughed. Then he examined her face with 
 great care. At such times, though she felt as if she were 
 under a microscope, she would not shrink perceptibly. 
 She sat now with her eyes lowered under her husband s 
 gaze, her whole frame thrilling with the intensity of her 
 rebellion. Presently Mr. Gerald laughed again. 
 
 " I thought I had arranged everything with the utmost 
 forethought," he said: "A sea voyage, with Lucian along; 
 a trip to Algeria, with Lucian along ; an indefinite stay 
 somewhere in Africa, with Lucian along. And all the time
 
 2 8o MRS. GERALD 
 
 a useful husband one who trusts his wife, and who will not 
 be forever present. Upon my word, a woman must be diffi 
 cult to please who isn t satisfied with such an arrangement." 
 
 Judith remained silent. Into her rebellious feeling had 
 now come something like terror. How he returned again 
 and again to this topic ! It seemed impossible that any 
 man should make such arrangements, and should talk about 
 them like this. She longed to scan her husband s face 
 closely, but she would not lift her eyes. She sat there 
 motionless. The carriage whirled down on to the dock. 
 In a few moments more they would be on board the 
 steamer. 
 
 A fantastic idea that fate awaited them on the boat came 
 into Judith s mind, but she would not harbor the idea. She 
 knew that in these days she could not trust to her impres 
 sions. 
 
 " Would you like to turn back ?" asked Mr. Gerald. 
 
 She glanced to her right and saw the shipping. A cold 
 puff of salt water came to her nostrils. She longed to say 
 " Yes yes go back !" But she would not say it. 
 
 She turned now and looked up at her husband s face. 
 His eyes, with an expression of intensity and questioning, 
 were on her. She had a dreadful wonder as to how plainly 
 her soul was seen under his microscope. 
 
 But she had nothing to conceal. So she said, firmly, " I 
 wish to do exactly as you like." 
 
 Mr. Gerald threw himself against the cushions. " By 
 Jove ! he exclaimed. What had he wished her to say ? 
 No matter ; she could not again beg him not to go. And 
 she had made up her mind. 
 
 In a moment more they had crossed the gangway-plank, 
 and were standing watching the carriages drive up with 
 their passengers. 
 
 Mr. Gerald was politely kind. Judith could have doubted 
 whether he had asked her that question or looked in that 
 way in the carriage. Very soon he conducted her down 
 stairs. She found a magnificent bunch of roses in her
 
 SENT THEM ? "
 
 "LET us BE REAL FRIENDS 281 
 
 state-room. She bent over them, her face losing its stiff 
 ness. 
 
 " You sent them ?" She looked up, smiling at her husband. 
 
 " Yes. I knew you were a real woman about roses." 
 
 "Why shouldn t I be?" 
 
 Again she came near him. She had taken one of the 
 roses. She now fastened it to his coat. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, formally ; and then, immediately, 
 " I wonder if Lucian has come aboard yet." 
 
 He left the room, and Judith sat down alone. But she 
 turned her back on the roses, and she replaced the one she 
 had kept in her hand. All at once the odor sickened her. 
 Then, with that revulsion and curious self-constraint which 
 so often is characteristic of the nature resolved upon self- 
 sacrifice, Judith rose and went to the flowers again. She 
 arranged a cluster and carefully pinned it upon her cor 
 sage. While she was doing so she heard the shouting on 
 the deck, the hurried giving of orders, and she knew that 
 the boat was about to cast off from its moorings. She 
 stood still in the middle of the little room listening. 
 
 Then, with a sudden passionate movement, she knelt 
 down by a chair and pressed her face into her hands. 
 " Oh, God !" she said, in a loud whisper, " keep him away ! 
 Keep him away !" Then a pause ; then another whisper, 
 " But, above all, give me strength !" 
 
 She experienced a certain comfort from the very attitude 
 of supplication. She seemed to be near to the great Giver 
 of strength, and the nearness soothed her. But she dared 
 not remain on her knees. The door was not locked, and 
 her husband might come back at any moment. She rose 
 and looked out. She now saw that the state-room was on 
 the side next the land. She could see a portion of the 
 wharf. As she looked a vivid color came to her face and 
 a glow to her eyes. A carriage dashed down over the 
 planks and out of her range of vision. But in the carriage 
 she had caught a glimpse of a young man with a yellow 
 beard and a pale, eager face. He was leaning forward, as
 
 282 MRS. GERALD 
 
 if that attitude might hasten his arrival. It seemed not a 
 moment later when the boat moved and swung away from 
 the wharf. 
 
 Judith grew pale. She pressed her hands together. " He 
 was too late !" she whispered. 
 
 A sense of desolation, a very keenness of disappointment 
 swept over her before she could rally herself to the attitude 
 of mind it was her duty and her determination to maintain. 
 That natural heart for the instant spoke aloud, but only for 
 an instant. 
 
 She had hardly thought he was too late before she said, 
 with strenuous earnestness and utmost sincerity, "Thank 
 God for that ! God has heard me." 
 
 She had thought of going on deck. But now she sat down, 
 breathless at first ; but soon a peace came upon flesh and spir 
 it. Gradually the boat got under some headway. She felt 
 it gliding along beneath her and vibrating to its pulse of 
 steam. It was not many minutes before she heard a step 
 which paused at her door; then a knock. Mr.Gerald came in. 
 
 "It s magnificent outside," he said. "A real October 
 glory is in the sunshine. Come on deck and see the shore 
 left behind." 
 
 He lifted a warm wrap from a pile of hand luggage, and 
 put it carefully about her. 
 
 " Besides, I have a surprise for you ; and I ve learned 
 that women like surprises. They are always wanting excite 
 ment of some kind." 
 
 "Are they?" 
 
 "Aren t they?" 
 
 " No. I m a woman ; and what I want is peace yes. 
 even the peace of stagnation." 
 
 As she spoke Judith looked up in her companion s face. 
 
 " Mr. Gerald Richard." she said, " let us be real friends 
 close friends ; may we not ?" 
 
 " Why, certainly. Am I lacking in friendship towards 
 you, Judith ?" 
 
 She turned away with a gesture she could not suppress.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 EMRARKED 
 
 MR. GERALD frowned, but his companion did not see the 
 frown. She was holding her wrap about her, and gazing 
 blindly straight in front of her. The sense that she was 
 confined vv. thin the limits of the ship already made itself 
 felt oppressively. 
 
 Mr. Gerald leaned his back against the door. His frown 
 was replaced by a smile. " Really," he said, " I shall soon 
 begin to think I am a much misunderstood man. I shall 
 be pitying myself, and if there is anything morbid it is self- 
 pity. Have you a wish ungratified ?" 
 
 There was something indefinite in the voice which pro 
 nounced these words something which chilled and came 
 near frightening the woman who heard it. It was a per 
 ceptible space of time before she could reply, and then she 
 could only use the phrase she had so often repeated. 
 
 "You are very kind to me." Then she added, " Shall we 
 go on deck ?" 
 
 She was expecting to hear her husband say that, after 
 all, Lucian had been too late, and she was schooling 
 herself to receive the news exactly as she ought to re 
 ceive it. 
 
 " Wait a moment." 
 
 Mr. Gerald still stood with his back to the door. More 
 than she had ever felt it, Judith now was conscious of some 
 subtle, inexplicable change in her companion. He was dif 
 ferent, and she was sure that no one else would notice the 
 difference ; yet it was a difference which sent a chill to her 
 very heart.
 
 284 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Mr. Gerald thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and 
 seemed in no hurry at all. 
 
 "Now he is going to tell me that Lucian did not come," 
 she was saying to herself, and she might even be obliged 
 to listen to condolences for the young man s absence. She 
 wondered if any woman was ever in such a position be 
 fore. 
 
 " Here I am, a model husband," began Mr. Gerald. " Be 
 cause my wife has a preference for a certain person, I ar 
 range a journey, I look to it that she has the society she 
 likes ; I am ready to efface myself to just the proper de 
 gree, but to be in evidence when it is desirable. And yet 
 I have the spirit of a man in me. Yes, by Jove, I have the 
 spirit of a man in me !" He pulled his mustache. His 
 eyes, shining deeply, met his wife s glance. She gazed at 
 him with an appearance of courage that she did not feel. 
 Her heart was sinking, sinking , and she could not have 
 told precisely why. All her misgivings came to life again 
 and clamored for expression ; but she would not give them 
 expression. 
 
 " I must ask you not to talk like this to me again," she 
 said. 
 
 " Not talk like this ?" 
 
 " There is no need ; and you know there is no need. 
 Will you let me pass, Mr. Gerald ?" 
 
 The man s face changed. He moved and opened the 
 door with ceremonious politeness. Then he followed Ju 
 dith on deck, his face composed to its usual look. She 
 walked quickly forward, not knowing which way she went, 
 and mechanically moving aside when she met the people 
 who were promenading and watching the shores recede. 
 She went straight to the rail and leaned upon it, staring at 
 the city that seemed at first to be rising upon the horizon, 
 crowned by the gold dome of the State-house. 
 
 " I don t care what happens ! I don t care what hap 
 pens !" she was saying, furiously, to herself. 
 
 She withdrew her eyes from the land and fixed them on
 
 EMBARKED 285 
 
 the dark, blue-black water that was rushing past the ship s 
 side. For the first time the thought of sinking down be 
 neath that water came to her as an almost tangible temp 
 tation. 
 
 Mr. Gerald had asked if she wished to drown herself. If 
 he asked her that question now she must give him a differ 
 ent reply. 
 
 "There is Minot s just coming in sight," said a voice 
 close beside her. 
 
 The voice made her pulses stop with a captivating terror. 
 It was an instant before she turned and looked out tow 
 ards the light-house. 
 
 " Uo you remember that time we children went out to 
 Minot s in Ellis Macomber s sloop ?" asked Lucian. 
 
 " I remember." 
 
 " And that you were the only girl, after all, who dared to 
 climb up into the light ?" 
 
 " Of course I don t forget that," Judith said, lightly. " It 
 is not our brave deeds that we forget." 
 
 She looked at the young man beside her with eyes that 
 seemed covered by a cloud, so baffling were they. It was 
 her husband who had made this meeting possible ; perhaps 
 at that moment she came near to hating Gerald. 
 
 Lucian had behaved in the matter of taking this journey 
 quite as you would expect a young man to behave who is 
 drawn strongly and yet who has a conscience. After he had 
 found Judith the night before in the fog he had resolved to 
 throw the whole thing up and go off to the ends of the earth 
 in the opposite direction. He had even arranged to accom 
 pany a friend to California. He had gone with that friend 
 to get tickets. His resolution had held out until the mo 
 ment when he was pushing his money across to the agent. 
 Then it was as if some bodily presence at his elbow seized 
 his arm and drew it away. He thrust the bills back in his 
 pocket. 
 
 " What ails you ?" asked his friend. 
 
 " No, I can t go !" he exclaimed. " I knew all the time
 
 286 MRS. GERALD 
 
 I couldn t do it. And yet I told myself, with a great show 
 of resolution, that I would do it. I tell you, I felt quite fine 
 and resolved when I shoved my money towards that clerk." 
 
 " But what s the matter with you ?" scrutinizing him. 
 
 " The matter is that I m a cursed simpleton." 
 
 This was quite strong language, and the other man made 
 a remark to that effect, adding that he supposed it was true, 
 and that there was only one reason for idiocy so pronounced, 
 and that was that Eldridge must be in love. To this re 
 mark Lucian made no immediate reply. 
 
 The two young men walked away. When they were in 
 Wheaton s room Lucian turned to him and asked, "Have 
 you ever been in love yourself, Wheaton ?" 
 
 " Thank fortune, no !" 
 
 "Then hold your tongue on the subject." Lucian s face 
 was flushed and his eyes had a fine sparkle. He looked at 
 his watch. " Good-bye," he said. " I m going to take that 
 Cunarder." 
 
 "The devil you are ! But you can t do it. She starts in 
 exactly thirty-three minutes." 
 
 "I will do it." 
 
 Lucian tore down the stairs. He was lucky in getting a 
 cab, lucky in getting over the ferry, but then he found that 
 his watch had been a little slow. Within the last three 
 minutes he felt that he would die rather than not reach the 
 wharf in time. And he took credit to himself, such is the 
 complexity of human nature, for having held to a resolution 
 in a way that made him come so near not being able to get 
 aboard. It seemed quite a merit that it was barely possible 
 to scramble on to the boat just as it started. But the mo 
 ment he was on deck a beautiful thankfulness and peace 
 descended upon his spirit, and he wondered how he had 
 been so silly as to think that he would give up the trip. 
 He was making mountains out of nothing. He had sent 
 his luggage aboard a few hours earlier. Now he went to 
 his state-room and sat down for a brief space. He felt that 
 he needed a few moments in which to compose himself be-
 
 EMBARKED 287 
 
 fore he should go back on deck, for Judith would be sure 
 to be there to see the familiar landmarks of the harbor. 
 
 Sitting thus in his room with his feet stretched out and 
 his hands clasped over his head, Lucian smiled at his out 
 rageous folly in taking a fancy to go to California. Why, 
 nothing on earth could have kept him from coming aboard. 
 And why shouldn t he come ? He reasoned the whole 
 matter out with the utmost lucidity. He was absolutely- 
 sure of himself, and as for Judith, she was very friendly; 
 but that was all. 
 
 " Yes, that is all." 
 
 Hearing his voice pronounce those words aloud, Lucian 
 suddenly was aware of a pang that was utterly unreasonable 
 in view of the premises laid down by him. He sat silent 
 after this brief soliloquy. He was trying to recall that 
 evening when he and Judith had been in the little boat off 
 shore, and had drifted about until the launch had picked 
 them up. He had often tried to recall the particulars of 
 that time, but everything was indistinct, and a like blur 
 was over all his memory of the days he had spent in the 
 hospital. He was only sure of one thing : that Judith had 
 often been with him. He could remember nothing but the 
 most cordial friendliness on her part since her marriage? 
 and surely that was precisely as it should be. 
 
 Then his mi-nd went back still further to that summer 
 evening when she had said that she would not marry him, but 
 that she loved him. He was not likely to forget that time, 
 but he ought to forget it. The memory of it was disastrous 
 in every way to him ; and the worst phase of his mental 
 condition was that he hugged that remembrance to him and 
 made much of it. But he had had no sign from Judith that 
 she had not forgotten what she said then. The sultry scent 
 of the elder-blows came to the young man at this moment as 
 it had come that evening. He started up from his chair. 
 
 " I m a sentimental fool !" he exclaimed. 
 
 After a few moments more of lingering in his room Lu 
 cian went on deck. Almost the first person he saw was
 
 2 88 MRS. GERALD 
 
 his uncle Richard pacing calmly back and forth, carefully 
 dressed, brushed, and barbered looking exactly to his 
 nephew as he had always looked. 
 
 Lucian advanced towards the tall, notable figure, thread 
 ing his way among the people, his eyes glancing eagerly 
 about him. 
 
 Mr. Gerald held out his hand, smiling as he did so. Some 
 how the young man felt that there was a great deal of glitter 
 to that smile, but he met it frankly. 
 
 " I had almost given you up when I saw you dashing on 
 board," said Mr. Gerald. " Did you know you came within 
 a hair s-breadth of not going with us ?" 
 
 "Yes, I know it," indifferently. The young man won 
 dered why his uncle looked so keenly at him. " I came 
 near giving up the trip," remarked Lucian, with the same 
 careless appearance. 
 
 " Did you ?" sharply. " Well," more calmly, " of course 
 there isn t a great deal to tempt you to go with us. A young 
 fellow like you can t find much to amuse him with two quiet 
 people like my wife and me." 
 
 Lucian did not contradict this assertion. He stood gaz 
 ing towards the city they were leaving. He only said quietly 
 that he had a strong mind to go with Wheaton to California. 
 
 Mr. Gerald drew a cigar-case from his pocket, selected a 
 cigar, and contemplated it as he said, in his most unemo 
 tional voice, " Well, my boy, I congratulate you on not going 
 with Wheaton. You would have decapitated yourself nicely 
 if you had gone with Wheaton." 
 
 Lucian stared hard at his uncle, who now drew a small 
 box of wax-tapers from his waistcoat-pocket. He put his 
 cigar between his teeth and took a taper in his fingers. 
 
 "I don t know what you mean," said Lucian; and he 
 could not tell what it was in the face before him that made 
 a chill go down his spine. 
 
 " Why," said Mr. Gerald, with another smile that glittered, 
 " I mean this : that you would have decapitated yourself 
 nicely if you had gone with Wheaton. When I asked you
 
 EMBARKED 289 
 
 to come abroad with us I meant that I wanted you to come." 
 The speaker made a pause, and then added, " I often have a 
 special reason for making a request. I have a special reason 
 for wanting you with us." 
 
 The words and the manner of the elder man had an ex 
 tremely bewildering and freezing effect on his listener. 
 
 Lucian turned partially away. He was embarrassed with 
 out knowing why he felt thus, and that feeling of ice down 
 his spine continued in a very uncomfortable degree. 
 
 " It was awfully good of you to invite me, Uncle Dick," 
 he said, awkwardly, "but of course I don t understand what 
 you mean." 
 
 " Oh," responded the other man, with sudden cordiality, 
 " I mean that I m fond of my nephew, and that I m sure 
 he ll make himself useful. I m going to ask you to be our 
 courier on this journey." 
 
 " All right," said Lucian, relieved, " I ll take the whole 
 thing on my shoulders. Only give me an idea of where you 
 want to go." 
 
 Mr. Gerald lighted his cigar. "We are thinking of Al 
 giers," he answered. "And I ve thought of Biskra. I want 
 Judith to see something a little different, you know." 
 
 "Yes," said Lucian. 
 
 "Judith enjoys travelling, you see," remarked Mr. Gerald, 
 " and, odd as it may seem, she enjoys travelling with an old 
 fellow like me." 
 
 " Yes," said Lucian again. And added, " But you are not 
 old, uncle Dick." 
 
 " Thanks, boy, thanks," with a laugh. " I m not quite 
 patriarchal yet, but I m old enough ; yes, I m old enough."
 
 XLV 
 
 ACCIDENT ? 
 
 LUCIAN had an uncomfortable feeling which he could not 
 explain after he left his uncle Richard on the deck. It was 
 quite useless for him to refer the whole thing to his own per 
 turbed state of mind. 
 
 The next morning he was pacing the deck and thinking of 
 his uncle s manner when he was presently joined by Mr. 
 Gerald and his wife. They were both well wrapped, for the 
 wind was blowing briskly, and the ship was going ahead 
 with a good deal of motion. Judith took hold of the rail to 
 steady herself as she looked about her. Everything was 
 gray this morning gray sky, and dark water running fast, 
 as if trying to empty itself somewhere. 
 
 " Luckily we are going to a warmer climate," said Mr. 
 Gerald, who did not touch the rail, but stood trying to bal 
 ance himself. "And there ll be color there something dif 
 ferent from this infernal leaden hue." 
 
 As he finished speaking there came a yet sharper lurch. 
 Mr. Gerald was near the rail. He stood with what suddenly 
 seemed to Judith like studied carelessness, and she sprang 
 towards him. At the instant a yet more violent wave tipped 
 the deck still farther. The eyes of husband and wife met in 
 one swift instant. She extended her hands. One more horri 
 ble pitch. They all staggered. Mr. Gerald was over the side. 
 
 Judith did not scream. Her wild, white face was turned 
 towards Lucian, who was tearing off his ulster. 
 
 A cry rang out from below somewhere : 
 
 " Man overboard !" 
 
 At the same instant Lucian, who had thrown both of his
 
 ACCIDENT ? 291 
 
 coats from him, jumped into the water, and somewhere 
 from below a plank was tossed out into the foam. The sig 
 nal was given, the wheels stopped, backed, churning up the 
 water into a wide froth. 
 
 Everybody on deck rushed to the side where Judith stood 
 alone. She stood stiff and still, her face frozen into that 
 look of horror which had come to it a moment ago. A mo 
 ment? Was it not rather an hour? She was gazing out on 
 that drab-colored water far behind oh, how far behind it 
 was ! where the plank bobbed about on the waves. 
 
 Had either of the men overboard known the plank was 
 thrown out? Surely Lucian had known it. 
 
 There! A wet shining head came to the surface away in 
 the distance. 
 
 Oh, would they never lower that boat ! 
 
 Whose head was it ? 
 
 Judith s eyes strained forward. No, no, she could not tell 
 whose head it was. 
 
 Some one behind her with an opera-glass to his eyes said, 
 "It s the young fellow! No! Yes, it is! By Jove, he s a 
 plucky one !" 
 
 Judith heard. That meant Lucian. At this moment nat 
 ure asserted itself untrammelled. Her heart leaped, but 
 in the next instant it fell again. What right had her pulses 
 to start forward in that thrill of insupportable thankfulness 
 because it was Lucian ? 
 
 She clung with both hands to the railing. She heard the 
 voice behind her say, " There goes the boat !" 
 
 She saw the boat with the two men in it rising and falling 
 saw it with a film over her eyes that were starting, it 
 seemed, from her head. But she was very quiet. Whatever 
 happened, she would be perfectly quiet. 
 
 She turned towards the man behind her. "Allow me to 
 take your glass ?" she said. 
 
 As she spoke she had a strange feeling that her voice 
 sounded as if she were speaking in a theatre. She took the 
 glass, watching her hand to see to it that it should be per-
 
 292 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 fectly steady as it raised the instrument to her eyes. She 
 was dimly aware that the man to whom she had spoken was 
 gazing at her with a look of wonder. She supposed he 
 knew that it was her husband who had fallen. 
 
 Suddenly into the welter of waters that the glass revealed 
 there came the head of a man. That was Lucian. He was 
 alone. He was swimming about. How far away he was ! 
 That plank was a short distance from him. 
 
 At that instant a loud shout went up from the men on 
 deck. At first Judith could not see what it was that had 
 made them shout. Her hand had become unsteady, and 
 the glass only revealed the stretch of gray, foam-lined water. 
 But now ! ah ! there was Lucian, with one arm resting on 
 the plank, the other sustaining some burden which hung 
 limp upon him. 
 
 Judith could hold the glass no longer. It dropped with a 
 clash unheeded to the floor of the deck. A man s voice be 
 hind her said, "Madam, take my arm." 
 
 " No," she answered, and clung again with both hands to 
 the rail. 
 
 A dark cloud before her eyes made it impossible for her 
 to see anything for a moment. Then, when another shout 
 went up from the steamer, her sight cleared again, and she 
 saw the boat coming towards them. Lucian was sitting in 
 the stern, and he was supporting Mr. Gerald* against his 
 breast. 
 
 When the two were helped up the side Lucian s face was 
 as white as that of his uncle, but there was no life in the 
 elder face. The young man turned towards Judith, apparent 
 ly not knowing that any one else was present. 
 
 "Judith," he said, in a faint voice, "I did all I could." 
 Then he staggered off towards the stairs, and somebody 
 sprang towards him as he went. 
 
 But Judith had not seemed to hear him or see him. She 
 had knelt down by the still figure which had been laid on 
 the deck. The people pressed respectfully back from her. 
 The ship s doctor was kneeling at the other side, examining
 
 ACCIDENT ? 293 
 
 the inert body. Judith did not see him. She was looking 
 absorbedly down at the still face. 
 
 One of the men in the group who was watching her turned 
 to his wife who stood near him. "There s a woman who 
 loved her husband," he said, in a whisper. 
 
 The wife smiled slightly as she answered, "No; I was 
 just thinking that she never loved him. Did you see the 
 look that young man gave her when he staggered up to her ?" 
 
 " Commend me to a woman for ferreting out something 
 wrong !" was the response. 
 
 In a moment the physician raised his head. He looked 
 at Judith, but her eyes were fixed on Gerald. 
 
 " There is life here," said the doctor. 
 
 The red blood rushed suddenly to Judith s face. She put 
 her hand up to her throat and gasped for breath, but she 
 did not speak. 
 
 A woman stepped forward from the group and put a vinai 
 grette to Judith s nostrils. She eagerly inhaled the pungent 
 odor. 
 
 After a little two sailors carried Mr. Gerald to his state 
 room. He had breathed heavily, and once opened his eyes 
 upon his wife. Then a spasm had contorted his features, 
 and his eyelids fell. 
 
 It was not an hour, however, after the accident before Mr. 
 Gerald was lying on his bed fully conscious, and occasion 
 ally speaking. His wife sat by him. As strength came 
 gradually, the man s countenance took on an expression of 
 whimsical surprise and amusement. His first question had 
 been, " How is Lucian ?" 
 
 Judith hadn t inquired, but she was quite sure he wasn t 
 injured. 
 
 "Good boy," said Mr. Gerald. Then he laughed slightly. 
 "Quite a coup de thc&trc, wasn t it? I hope somebody ap 
 plauded the rescuer ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Judith. 
 
 " That s right. And you ? I ll wager you behaved pre 
 cisely right ?
 
 294 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " I don t know," replied the woman, wishing to shrink 
 away as she spoke, but not changing her attitude by as much 
 as a hair s-breadth. 
 
 " Have Lucian in here," said Gerald, when he spoke again. 
 
 So Judith sent for the young man, who came, dressed in 
 dry clothes, with studiously quiet features, though his eyes 
 were glowing like fire. 
 
 Mr. Gerald put his hand out towards him. " You re a 
 good fellow, Lucian," he said. Here he smiled, as he add 
 ed, " But you made a great mistake just now ; for, you see, 
 I had as good as died, and now it 11 have to be all done over 
 again some day. But you meant well. Now you may go." 
 
 So Lucian walked out of the room without having spoken 
 a word. For twenty-four hours he was a hero on board ; 
 then the incident was apparently forgotten. 
 
 It was not until the next day that Judith, meeting Lucian 
 on deck, said, "It is so insufficient to thank you, Mr. Eldridge." 
 
 "Then don t do it, for it s not like you to do insufficient 
 things," was the flippant rejoinder; and the young man 
 raised his hat and walked on. 
 
 Having behaved thus, Lucian was presently seized with 
 a great remorse for his impoliteness. He went on deck at 
 all hours and seasons for the next three days watching for 
 Judith, but she did not appear. She was in close attend 
 ance on her husband, who was also invisible. 
 
 Here was the voyage half done. Lucian, so bored that 
 he longed for almost anything to interest him, walked miles 
 on the deck, uttered under his breath a great many ex 
 pletives, called himself a fool innumerable times, and yet 
 knew very well that he would have allowed nothing to pre 
 vent him from crossing the ocean on this particular boat at 
 this particular time. But life was a failure, and everything 
 was imbittered. Having come to this conclusion, he jeered 
 at himself for being so weak-minded. 
 
 "I ought to cut everything and start anew. I m handicapped 
 I m good for nothing. Wish I could find some nice girl 
 who wanted to marry me and make me all over. I wish "
 
 ACCIDENT ? 295 
 
 " Lucian, would you mind finding our steamer-chairs for 
 us ?" 
 
 The young man wheeled round and snatched off his cap. 
 One look in Judith s face, and he was positive that there was 
 no nice girl in the world whom anything could induce him 
 to marry. 
 
 " Twas better for her despairing," his heart sang. 
 
 He pulled the rugs about his uncle, devoting his whole 
 attention to him. He sat down on a camp-stool by his side, 
 and began to discuss guide-books and descriptive catalogues 
 with him, spreading the books open on his knee, not ap 
 pearing to know that Judith was sitting there on the other 
 side of her husband. 
 
 And, in truth, Judith also seemed oblivious. She sat 
 leaning back in her chair, her eyes dreamy, the wind blow 
 ing her hair from under her Scotch cap, the color deepen 
 ing on lips and cheeks. 
 
 Mr. Gerald only referred to his accident by saying that it 
 was a very odd thing to be a kind of Lazarus, and that, 
 for his part, when a person seemed to be dead, it was a 
 thousand times better manners to stay dead ; for if he didn t 
 stay dead the surviving relatives were likely to be very con 
 fused, not to say disappointed. Here the speaker laughed 
 and stroked his mustache. He glanced at his wife, who 
 smiled and remarked that he didn t give his surviving friends 
 credit for good taste. There was a tone of good comrade 
 ship and understanding that Lucian noticed. He congrat 
 ulated himself that it was so, all the time quite aware of the 
 insincerity of these inward congratulations. So curiously 
 are we able to be hypocrites to an audience of one only, 
 and that one ourselves ! 
 
 Still, in moments of truthful self-examination, Lucian was 
 always able to say that if driven to the choice he would 
 inevitably choose that his uncle should live and that Judith 
 should be happy with him. Such strange bundles of im 
 possible contradictions are we !
 
 XLVI 
 GOOD INTENTIONS 
 
 THE hours of the voyage now seemed to go more and 
 more rapidly. Nothing whatever happened. The passen 
 gers walked and read ; and some of them gambled ; and 
 some sang, and played the piano of an evening ; and they 
 all gossiped more or less ; and those who were young 
 enough flirted ; and others nearly perished of ennui. The 
 same women asked the captain every day how long it would 
 be before they sighted land, and every day the captain 
 politely answered them. 
 
 In the midst of this Lucian strolled, eating and drinking 
 when it was time, and finding the voyage quite a different 
 thing from what he had supposed it would be. He had 
 supposed he would have constant and friendly companion 
 ship with his uncle and with his wife. But now he never 
 saw Judith without her husband. They came on deck for 
 a walk every day, but the weather was too cold to sit, save 
 for a few moments. 
 
 Judith read to her husband or sat beside him. She was 
 continually seeking to do something for him. Her eyes 
 anxiously sought his face, but if he suddenly looked at her 
 her glance fell. 
 
 " You see, you were entirely wrong when you surmised 
 that Mrs. Gerald does not love her husband," said that man 
 who had watched her at the time of the rescue. 
 
 " No," returned the wife, with yet more emphasis, " I am 
 right. That is duty, not love." 
 
 The man laughed. " Give me duty, then," he said. 
 " But you women are really horrible in your conclusions.
 
 GOOD INTENTIONS 297 
 
 Are you making a French novel out of the man and his 
 wife and the nephew ?" 
 
 "You men are really blind," was the return, "if you can 
 imagine that Mrs. Gerald would ever lend herself to the 
 making of a French novel. No. I know truth and high- 
 mindedness when I see them in the flesh." 
 
 The gentleman took his cigar from his mouth, looking 
 down at it as it smoked between his fingers. He was wish 
 ing that he had come to know such a woman as Mrs. Ger 
 ald when he had been younger. Then he gave a swift look 
 at his wife s cold face and laughed again. 
 
 " What are you laughing at ?" she asked. 
 
 "I was having a sentimental turn thinking of Owen 
 Meredith, and that whom first we love we seldom wed, and 
 all that rot," was the reply. And then the man resumed 
 his smoking, while the woman s face grew colder than ever. 
 
 Meanwhile below, at one end of the long saloon, Mr. 
 Gerald sat leaning far back in a lounging-chair. Beside 
 him, in a low rocker, sat Judith. She had a book in her 
 hand, but book and hand were lying in her lap. She had 
 been reading aloud, but noticing that her companion s eyes 
 were closed, she had become silent, thinking he might be 
 asleep. 
 
 It was useless to pretend not to know that Mr. Gerald 
 had seemed of late almost like an invalid, and now the 
 face against the dark velvet of the chair was pallid and 
 languid. Without moving his head the man opened his 
 eyes, and they rested on his wife. 
 
 " I seem to be somehow changed," he said. 
 
 Judith s heart began to beat more quickly. 
 
 " You see," he went on, " I have never been ill in my life, 
 and I wasn t aware that illness could change one so much. 
 Not that I m ill now," sitting up erect, his eyes becoming 
 brighter. " Judith," in a very low voice, " you have been 
 really an angel to me." 
 
 This remark was so unlike what she had hitherto known 
 of Mr. Gerald that she was almost alarmed.
 
 2 gS MRS. GERALD 
 
 "Oh," he said, with a smile, as if answering her thought, 
 " I m perfectly sane. You know I never believed in women 
 till I knew you. Well, I don t believe in them now," with 
 his old manner, " but," bowing, " I have unlimited faith in 
 my wife." 
 
 " I am glad of that," she answered, earnestly. 
 
 " Oh yes, no doubt. You are one of those who make 
 truth a reality. It is a necessity for you to be loyal. But 
 is that a merit of yours ? There are others who must be dis 
 loyal. Is that a fault of theirs ?" 
 
 " But surely " began Judith, but her companion moved 
 his hand and interrupted her. 
 
 " Pardon me. I know you are quite old-fashioned, luck 
 ily for me, but I m going to tell you something." 
 
 For an instant his eyes rested in hers. He drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 "Take notice," he said, "that I m well aware that I 
 shouldn t tell you this if I were in my ordinary health. I 
 understand all about that. Are you listening ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The other day, you remember the day I fell over 
 board ?" 
 
 "Yes," in a whisper. 
 
 He watched her face blanching. He seemed to be 
 drinking in the look of deepening pallor. 
 
 "You thought it was an accident ?" in the same whisper 
 she had employed. 
 
 "I thought so." 
 
 "You did?" 
 
 "But I had one doubt one faint doubt which left 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, it left you ? I wonder why it left you ?" 
 
 " I don t know." 
 
 Judith was leaning forward yet nearer to him, her face 
 pale as death. A man, passing, turned to look back, hesi 
 tated, but finally went on. 
 
 "Well," with another long breath, " it wasn t an acci-
 
 GOOD INTENTIONS 
 
 299 
 
 dent. I went over the boat s side of deliberate decision. 
 You will believe that I have good intentions " his old 
 manner again. 
 
 Judith drew herself up. She clasped her hands tightly, 
 but, mindful of appearances, she kept them on her lap. 
 
 " Yes, I was going to drown myself, like a young fool ; 
 and you and everybody else would think it was accident, 
 and there d be no scandal. I ve seen a man fall overboard, 
 and I had no idea the ship could be stopped in time. I 
 reckoned without Lucian. He s a good lad. Things are 
 all awry. But I m to blame for that. However, it s be 
 cause I m not quite well that I ve told you that I made an 
 effort to set you free. And my will is made." 
 
 Here Mr. Gerald gave that slight laugh of his which 
 always grated upon Judith, but she did not notice the 
 laugh now. She was sitting without motion, gazing at her 
 husband. 
 
 " You meant to drown yourself ?" She asked the question 
 in a low voice, knowing the answer. She was thinking 
 with a dull sense of fear that all her efforts had been 
 worth nothing, and that she would never be at ease again 
 that a new anxiety would grind her down yet lower. 
 
 " But I don t mean it now," was the answer. " That 
 ocean bath has made me bound to cling to life and to 
 you at present. Odd what twaddle has been talked about 
 what a man feels and sees when he is drowning ! It s all 
 bosh. I didn t think of myself; I was thinking of you. 
 I saw a picture of you and Lucian, happy with each other 
 vividly, gloriously happy; and I thought you knew that 
 this happiness was my gift to you. Then I had to be 
 brought back to life again. But it s very singular that I 
 seem to be entirely cured of any wish to give you happiness 
 in that way. I m bound to live now. Are you sorry ?" 
 
 Mr. Gerald suddenly fixed his eyes penetratingly upon 
 his companion. She met the gaze fully, and for the instant 
 forgot to reply in words. 
 
 " Are you sorry ?" he repeated.
 
 300 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " Surely not," was the firm answer. 
 
 Mr. Gerald sank back in his chair again. His glance 
 roved about the saloon. At the far end of it he saw the 
 slender figure of a young man with a pointed blond beard. 
 Judith, watching her husband, saw a change come swiftly 
 into his gaze, but she would not look to see what had oc 
 casioned it. 
 
 " Yes," repeated the man, with still more emphasis, " I m 
 bound to live now." 
 
 Judith tried to say something, but her lips would not 
 obey her. 
 
 Mr. Gerald s eyes were still fixed on that young man at 
 the end of the saloon who was conversing animatedly with 
 a group of men. 
 
 At last, unable to bear the silence any longer, Judith 
 opened her book again. " Shall I go on with my reading ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " No. I m quite in the mood for what some one calls 
 intimate conversation to-day." 
 
 She closed the book; but she gazed down at it, spelling 
 out, over and over again, the title-page. 
 
 " I suppose I am as fatuous as other men, after all," now 
 said Mr. Gerald ; " but for a few days I have actually begun 
 to hope that you might love me even that you do love me." 
 
 He spoke very gently, and with a certain wistfulness in 
 his tone and his face that was piercingly pathetic, partic 
 ularly as coming from a man like him. 
 
 Judith ceased to spell out the words of that title-page; 
 she ceased to see anything, in fact, for her eyes went blind 
 for a moment. 
 
 "Perhaps you love me a little?" he went on. "Surely 
 no woman could be quite so kind quite so tenderly 
 thoughtful 
 
 Here he stopped, not trying to finish his sentence. 
 
 Judith made an effort to think of something to say that 
 should be absolutely the right thing, but her mind was a 
 blank filled only with an indefinite horror.
 
 GOOD INTENTIONS 
 
 301 
 
 " Have you nothing to say to me ?" he asked. 
 
 She trembled. A rebellious feeling that she ought to 
 have been spared this came strongly to her. 
 
 "Indeed," she began, in an unsteady voice, "I have an 
 affection for you I " 
 
 She ceased speaking, utterly unable to go on. She was 
 longing to be able to say " I love you ;" but she could 
 not say it, and had a sense of guilt even in trying to 
 say it. 
 
 " That will do," he responded, harshly. He tried to 
 draw himself up erect in his chair. His face was gray, 
 his eyes suddenly clouded over. 
 
 Judith rose quickly. She leaned over him. An anguish 
 of yearning tenderness was in her heart. " Oh, Richard ! 
 Richard !" she whispered. 
 
 He roused himself now. He looked up at her with 
 something of his old manner. 
 
 " Pardon me," he said, huskily, " I have made a damned 
 idiot of myself. But pray don t think I m going to keep 
 this thing up. I ll go into my room for a while. Ah ! 
 Lucian, lend me your arm for a moment," as that young 
 man now approached. " I m getting to be rather of an 
 old hulk, it seems to me. But wait until we are settled 
 in that oasis of Biskra, then you ll see a transformation. 
 The air of northern Africa in winter is like wine." 
 
 Lucian had hurried forward. He had never seen his 
 uncle look so ghastly, but he said nothing. He did not 
 even glance at Judith, who followed them. And it was in 
 vain that he tried to see Judith later. It was true that she 
 came out to dinner, but she had a look on her face that 
 made it impossible for him to address her. She seemed 
 so absorbed, so far away, and the line between her brows 
 was so plainly marked as to be like a furrow. When she 
 rose from the table she went directly back to the large 
 state-room where Mr. Gerald was sitting reading. As she 
 came in he rose. He said, carelessly, that he had changed 
 his mind ; he believed he would go out to dinner, and after
 
 302 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 that he would have a walk and a smoke on deck. Lucian 
 would bear him company. 
 
 Judith wished to remonstrate, but she said nothing. She 
 watched her husband as he went out with his usual air. 
 She thought to herself that Lucian would take care of 
 him ; at any rate, it was plain that he did not wish for 
 her company. She sat down on a high chair by the little 
 window. She leaned her head against the wall and looked 
 out, seeing the illimitable stretch of water, and sometimes 
 a bird flying across her vision. She watched for a long 
 time the curl of foam that ran swiftly away from the 
 track of the steamer. She seemed to be absorbed in this 
 watching.
 
 XLVII 
 
 " YOU HERE ?" 
 
 JUDITH was asking herself why she could not have told 
 her husband that she loved him. She repeated the ques 
 tion until it had lost all sense to her. Then she started 
 up and walked hurriedly across the room, but there was 
 no space in which to walk. She was shut in, imprisoned. 
 She could not breathe. No ; why should she say u I love 
 you" when the words would not be true? He ought not 
 to have asked her. It was wrong, ungenerous in him to 
 try her so. But he was changed, indescribably changed. 
 He was not well but, oh, how cruel to ask her that when 
 she could not answer " I love you." 
 
 What would another woman have done ? Would another 
 woman have called a friendly affection love, and so tried 
 to deceive him ? But he had not meant a friendly affec 
 tion. Oh no ; not that in the least. 
 
 She was standing quiet in the small room. The light 
 fell upon her figure in its perfect gown. She was very 
 particular about her dress in these days. Her husband 
 wished her to be so. She glanced down at the glitter of 
 gems on her hands. The sparkle of them struck into her 
 heart. She stretched out her hand and looked at the 
 beautiful things. She was thinking of that time a thou 
 sand years ago when her dress had been so shabby 
 that even her own mother was half ashamed to see her 
 daughter go about so clad, and her hands had been 
 grimed with the smut of shoe-leather and hardened with 
 unending work. Well- 
 There was a <;harp, imperative knock on the door.
 
 304 MR S- GERALD 
 
 Judith, now always thinking that something might happen 
 to her husband, sprang quickly to open it. She stepped 
 back with a movement of uncontrollable astonishment. 
 
 " What ! You ?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, I," replied Mrs. Jennings. "Ask me in, please, 
 for I can t stand." 
 
 Judith put her arm about this unexpected guest, and led 
 her to the lounging-chair. Mrs. Jennings sank into it and 
 held a vinaigrette to her nostrils. She was as white, almost, 
 as the handkerchief she held in her hand, and her face was 
 so thin that her eyes were unnaturally large, and were 
 faded to a dull green-gray. There was no hint in them now 
 of what might be there upon occasion. 
 
 "You didn t know I was on board?" she asked, as soon as 
 she could speak. 
 
 " No. How should I ?" 
 
 " Mr. Gerald knows. He didn t tell you ?" 
 
 " No. But now I remember that he mentioned when we 
 came aboard that there was a surprise for me. Still, I had 
 forgotten." 
 
 "Perhaps I am the surprise, then," with a wan smile. 
 
 Judith hastened to pour something from a decanter into a 
 glass, which she brought to Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 " Is it wine ?" whispered that lady. 
 
 " Yes ; drink it." 
 
 " No ; give me brandy." 
 
 When a few drops of brandy had been sipped, Mrs. Jen 
 nings said : " I have almost died of sea-sickness. I have 
 been in my berth nearly every moment. It is always so 
 when I cross. My maid has been sick too. I have been in 
 purgatory from the time we started. Give me your hand for 
 a minute. It s a good hand, my dear Judith Gerald." She 
 smiled at her companion. " Do you know, when I am with 
 you I wish I were a Quaker, so that I might be permitted to 
 call you by your real name ? By your real name I mean 
 Judith." She paused, but Judith did not think these re 
 marks needed any reply. She stood closely holding the
 
 "YOU HERE?" 305 
 
 woman s hand, while the two looked steadily at each 
 other. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings had the appearance of a ghost. There was 
 not a vestige of color in her face ; even her lips, generally 
 so scarlet, were now like ashes. Her head was tipped back 
 against the chair so that she could gaze absorbedly at her 
 companion. 
 
 " It s so curious about me," she said, at length. Her 
 voice was very weak, but still possessed that peculiar quality 
 of I cannot call it anything but the quality of seduction ; for 
 it seemed to draw a person to her, if she so wished, at the 
 same time that it gave no guaranty of good faith. It was 
 sometimes as if it were mocking at her own self. 
 
 Judith, standing there, felt strongly and, at the same time, 
 unreasonably glad that Mrs. Jennings was on board. A 
 woman, even a happy woman, often longs for the compan 
 ionship of another woman. There is continually something 
 which calls for a glance or a word from one of her own 
 sex; and Judith, during this voyage, had dully felt this want, 
 hardly knowing what it was. Now, holding Mrs. Jennings s 
 hand and feeling how weak it was, though it had even now 
 its personal touch of power, Judith recalled the dream and 
 the impression it had left upon her. 
 
 "What is it that is curious about you ?" she asked, at last. 
 
 " Why, this : that I m a poor sort of person myself, given 
 to evil, I suppose, and not having high ideals, and all that; 
 but I never fail to recognize one who does have ideals, and 
 I m always drawn to that sort if they are like you," with a 
 slight laugh. 
 
 " Oh, you are so mistaken !" exclaimed Judith, with a pang 
 at her heart. " I could almost say that I try not to have any 
 ideals. I want to live only in each prosaic moment as it 
 comes." 
 
 " Do you ?" 
 
 As Mrs. Jennings asked that question her face suffused 
 with feeling, and, for the instant, she was utterly charming. 
 She bent her head and just touched her lips to the hand
 
 306 MRS. GERALD 
 
 she held. Then she reached forth and took the glass of 
 brandy again, drinking a little of it. 
 
 " Sit clown by me," she said. And when Judith had 
 drawn a chair near, she went on : " You must know that I 
 often act on the impulse of the moment. I find I m just as 
 sure to be right as if I studied days on a question. That s 
 how I came to be going to England now. I suddenly asked 
 myself, Why not go in this steamer? and so I started. But 
 I didn t suppose it necessary to tell Mrs. Eldridge. I did 
 tell Mr. Gerald, though. My aunt is in London. It oc 
 curred to me that I would go over and spend the winter 
 with her. If she is writing a novel, for she just what you 
 might call welters in the writing of novels, I would not in 
 terrupt her, and if she were not writing I might amuse her. 
 She doesn t dislike me, and now that I have married she 
 doesn t feel responsible for my unmarried condition. To be 
 a widow is a fine thing ; you have the glory and respectabil 
 ity of having been married, and you also have the greater 
 glory and freedom of not being married now." Here Mrs. 
 Jennings took a few more drops of brandy, and then laughed.- 
 " Yes, there are many fine things pertaining to widowhood." 
 
 " So you go to London ?" remarked Judith, ignoring the 
 last phrase. 
 
 " Yes. But you what is it about Algeria?" 
 
 " I don t know that anything is settled," was the answer. 
 Then Judith s face flushed. She spoke impulsively. " I 
 wish you would come with us to Africa." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings s eyes shone. A faint pink colored her 
 cheeks. "That would be lovely," she answered. "But 
 are you sure you want me ?" 
 
 Judith never knew why she did not seem to hesitate, for 
 deep in her heart there sprang up something which pulled 
 her back. Still she responded, instantly and truthfully, 
 " Yes, I am sure. Will you join us ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and be thankful to do so." 
 
 Judith turned away. She took up a trifle, she knew not 
 what, from the small table. She looked at this object for
 
 -"YOU HERE ?" 
 
 307 
 
 some time before knowing that she held a penknife in her 
 hand. And she wondered why she should feel as if she had 
 done a thing which she might wish undone. Why should 
 she wish it undone ? She was grateful to have this woman s 
 society. She glanced at her companion now. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings had leaned back and closed her eyes, but 
 her cheeks were still pink. " Shall you go through France 
 to Marseilles ? she asked, without opening her eyes. 
 
 " I think so. Really, I haven t cared to ask. Mr. El- 
 driclse takes charge of the details." 
 
 O *-> 
 
 The eyes flashed open, but they did not dwell on Judith s 
 face. Some things she might say in the darkness of a foggy 
 night on the coast, when they were both lost; but she was 
 not likely to return to the subject. She felt truly that Mrs. 
 Gerald would not forgive any resumption of that topic. 
 
 After a few moments more Mrs. Jennings rose. She 
 grasped quickly the back of a chair. " I always pay a great 
 price for an ocean trip," she said, growing ghastly as she 
 spoke. " Now I ll go back to my bed, where I shall lie on 
 my back until we arrive." 
 
 Judith hurriedly placed her arm about her friend, then 
 walked with her to the door of her state-room. When she 
 had returned to her own room she sat down with an air of 
 resolution. She was thinking of the invitation she had 
 given, and reproving herself for considering it of mysterious 
 importance. What could there be mysterious about it? 
 Then she found her mind drifting away again to that dream 
 which had not been definite when is a dream definite? 
 but which had stamped itself on her mind. So powerful was 
 the memory of it, now that she was alone, that she started 
 up and walked as far as Mrs. Jennings s door, thinking she 
 would recall the words she had spoken. 
 
 She stood by the door, hesitating, telling herself she was 
 weak-minded, when Mr. Gerald appeared. " What is it ?" 
 he asked, without a sign of what he would scoffingly have 
 called his "sentimental manner." "You are standing like 
 a Peri at the gate. And whose door is that ?"
 
 308 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " It is Mrs. Jennings s door. Is she your surprise ?" 
 
 By this time Judith s face was under her control. 
 
 "Yes, she is. But I had forgotten her." 
 
 " I ve done something you may not like." 
 
 "Ah ! I m glad to hear it." Mr. Gerald seemed in high 
 spirits. " Confess." 
 
 " I ve asked Mrs. Jennings to go to Africa with us." 
 
 She watched her husband s face. But she could learn 
 nothing from it. 
 
 " Ah !" he said again. And that was the only remark he 
 made on the subject. 
 
 So at last the end of the voyage came, and the end of 
 the journey across France, and the arriving at Marseilles. 
 And nothing whatever had happened; and Mrs. Jennings 
 was wholly recovered from her sea-sickness ; and Mr. Ger 
 ald kept up his good spirits ; and Lucian made the best of 
 couriers was always ready to assist any one of his party, 
 was gay as possible, and continually trying to find some way 
 of making the tour more delightful. 
 
 The people on the route envied " those Americans " their 
 fine spirits, and those Americans themselves felt that they 
 were doing their very best.
 
 XLVIII 
 
 "IT CAN BE DONE " 
 
 "Now here one might believe he had left his old self be 
 hind and had taken on a new body, at least ; and the body 
 modifies the spirit, you know." 
 
 It was Judith who spoke. She and her husband were 
 standing in the steep, narrow street which is called the Cas- 
 bah. They had come down from the old fortress of the 
 Deys, and were going into the Moorish town. Sauntering 
 slowly on ahead of them were Lucian and Mrs. Jennings, 
 but Mr. Gerald had lingered here and there until they were 
 practically by themselves. 
 
 "You would like to leave your old self behind ?" 
 Mr. Gerald stopped as he asked this question. His wife 
 returned his gaze with more freedom and lightness of spirit 
 than she had felt for a long time; she could almost have 
 said than she had ever felt, for life had had very little free 
 dom for her. Perhaps it was the clear brilliance of the 
 heavens, the indescribable sweetness of the air, the utter 
 strangeness of everything. She wished that no one would 
 ask her a serious question now. Her mind partook of the 
 buoyancy of the atmosphere, and she desired to flit here and 
 there without really thinking of anything. 
 
 "You would like to leave your old self behind ?" 
 He repeated the question, evidently insisting upon having 
 an answer. He continued to look at her. He was noting 
 the loveliness of the dusky pallor of her face, the veiled, 
 dreamy splendor of her eyes. She was standing under a 
 white umbrella which was tipped back on her shoulder. 
 She wore a light gray travelling-- gown, with white gloves,
 
 3io 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 long and wrinkled on the wrists. A languid, drooping red 
 rose was fastened on the lapel of her close coat. Some ten 
 drils of darkest hair were creeping from under her white 
 sailor hat, and they lay damp upon her temples. 
 
 Yes, Judith Grover s suggestive promise of physical at 
 traction had come to fruition. Still, hardly a man or wom 
 an of any penetration who looked at her would have thought 
 of her beauty first. Rather they would have said, " Ah, 
 there are truth and honor," and a woman would have added, 
 in astonishment, "and she doesn t know that she is attrac 
 tive !" Perhaps this latter fact went far towards explaining 
 why Mrs. Jennings liked to be with her. 
 
 Judith now tried to laugh as she replied, " If I had the 
 choice, I don t suppose I would really leave my old self be 
 hind me. After all, don t you think we cling to our individ 
 uality, even though we haven t been particularly happy in it ? 
 
 As she finished speaking something suddenly sent the 
 lightness out of Judith s consciousness. A peculiar expres 
 sion flashed into Mr. Gerald s face. His companion could 
 not explain it, and she tried not to think of it. It seemed 
 as if a spark of deep cunning (no, it could not be that, Ju 
 dith said to herself; but what was it?) came to the man s 
 eyes came and faded instantly. 
 
 "I don t feel that way," he responded. "I d be thankful 
 to anything that would free me from my old self and give 
 me something different. To tell the truth, I m cursedly tired 
 of my old self." He turned now quickly and significantly 
 towards her as he said, " What man wouldn t be deadly 
 weary of a personality that had failed to win your regard ?" 
 
 Judith moved hurriedly nearer to him. " Oh," she cried, 
 remonstrantly, "you haven t failed to win my regard !" 
 
 " You know what I mean," he answered, with some fierce 
 ness. " What s regard ? Who cares for regard from a 
 
 o o 
 
 woman with a face like yours ? I didn t mean to use that 
 word. I meant love love !" He struck his stick against 
 the wall of the house near which they stood. But before 
 Judith could speak again he continued, " Pray pardon me,
 
 " IT CAN BE DONE" 311 
 
 Mrs. Gerald." He took off his hat and passed a hand over 
 his forehead. He began to walk on again, and Judith kept 
 by his side. She was wondering if the same benign re 
 splendence was in the sky and sunlight that had been there 
 a few moments before. 
 
 The two ahead of them had stopped in front of a mosque. 
 There is nothing more bewitching to the ordinary Amer 
 ican than his first acquaintance with a mosque, unless it is 
 his first hearing of the muezzin s call. 
 
 " Wait a moment," said Mr. Gerald, laying his hand on 
 his wife s arm. "I was going to say," he went on, "that 
 when you spoke of changing one s individuality you men 
 tioned the very subject that I ve been thinking of lately. 
 Now I want to tell you something. Are you listening ?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 She wondered at the look of triumph that came to the 
 face before her. 
 
 "-Well, then, I tell you it can be done." 
 
 "What can be done?" 
 
 Judith felt herself growing cold, even beneath that sun. 
 
 " Why, what we are talking about the changing of one s 
 individuality." 
 
 " Of course," said Judith, calmly, " we may greatly modify 
 our characteristics " 
 
 " Oh, I don t mean any rot of that kind. You see, the case 
 is just here : if I were a different person there is the possibil 
 ity that you might love me. Therefore, I ve nearly made up 
 my mind that Til make the change. Do you follow me ?" 
 
 Judith, though she was looking straight up in her hus 
 band s face, yet saw, far ahead of them, Mrs. Jennings turn 
 and gaze towards them, making some movement with her 
 umbrella as she did so ; and she saw an Arab cross the 
 narrow street, his dingy white burnoose and swarthy face 
 outlined as if in a camera before her. It seemed to her 
 that she never saw objects so distinctly as at that moment 
 when her heart was throbbing to her very finger-ends with 
 an anxiety that she would not name.
 
 312 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " Do you follow me ?" The question pursued her sharply. 
 
 " I think I follow you," she replied. 
 
 She was feeling thankful that she had her umbrella 
 handle to grasp tightly. 
 
 " I knew your mind would take in the idea," was the re 
 sponse, " and that you would approve. Being an honorable 
 woman, you would much prefer to love your husband rather 
 than to have a lover. Now you are aware that you have 
 tried to love me ; but no human being ever yet succeeded 
 in loving because of trying. You see plainly that the only 
 remaining thing to be done, on the chance of gaining your 
 love, is for me to become somebody else ; and it can be 
 done. To tell you the simple truth, Judith, all mysterious 
 changes can be accomplished in a land like this. Think of 
 the centuries of marvellous history behind us. It was here 
 that many of the old miracles were performed, and the 
 same conditions remain." 
 
 Again Mr. Gerald took off his hat, a pith helmet that 
 appeared extremely out of place in conjunction with the 
 Prince Albert coat. 
 
 Judith saw a bony, mangy cur trotting along the middle 
 of the street, stopping to nose in the dirt. She tried to 
 speak. A second time she tried, but before she could pro 
 nounce a word Mr. Gerald touched her arm lightly, and 
 smiled in his old whimsical way as he said : " Come now, 
 Judith, confess that I have given you a real fright. I 
 wanted to see how you would take such a theory ; and 
 your own remark suggested the whole thing. You remem 
 ber ? It was a huge joke of mine." 
 
 "Was it a joke ?" 
 
 Judith was conscious that the tension upon her whole 
 frame was relaxing so suddenly that it was all she could do 
 to keep from trembling. 
 
 "Of course it was," with a laugh, "but I didn t know I 
 could deceive you so easily." 
 
 Judith put her umbrella down to the ground and leaned 
 heavily upon it. A rising sense of anger was beginning to
 
 "IT CAN BE DONE 313 
 
 make her blood tingle. She averted her face lest her hus 
 band should see how irritated she was. One resents being 
 frightened just for the amusement of another. The silence 
 which followed was so expressive that Mr. Gerald presently 
 said : " I know you must think me unkind, but really I 
 didn t suppose you would care. And you started the talk." 
 
 It seemed odd to Judith that he should recur again to the 
 fact that she had made the first remark upon the subject. 
 It was trivial that he should do so. She tried to answer 
 good - naturedly : " Since we have been only talking for 
 fun, let s forget the whole thing." 
 
 She began to hasten on, stumbling as she did so, for a 
 sudden dizziness came to her. Her husband drew her 
 hand within his arm, and as they walked along he began to 
 talk glibly and instructively concerning Algiers its capture 
 by the French and subsequent modernization. 
 
 Judith listened, or she thought she was listening. She 
 heard the words and she knew what they meant, but after 
 wards when she tried to recall them they refused to come. 
 
 Lucian and Mrs. Jennings had disappeared. When Ju 
 dith discovered that they had gone she suggested that they 
 also hurry back to the hotel. What if they should miss the 
 train to Biskra ? But Mr. Gerald evidently did not wish to 
 return to the hotel. He looked at his watch. He proposed 
 that they climb to the top of the Casbah. So they went on 
 up the wretched, picturesque street until they stood at the 
 top of that angle where the old city stops in its ascent of 
 the hill, and pauses as if to look off over the sea and down 
 upon itself. 
 
 Judith s eyes kindled as she gazed. The Mediterranean 
 glittered below, stretching out in one long expanse of pul 
 sating, ravishing beauty calm under the blinding sun. But 
 to the New England woman, longing for warmth and sun 
 shine, no glow could be too bright. This was the sea of 
 which she had read, which had seemed to her as far away 
 as heaven. But here she was, standing above Algiers, and 
 with the water below her. All at once, between her and
 
 314 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 this scene, there came the picture of the old cliff-walk at 
 home, and the foamy reach of Massachusetts Bay, with the 
 sails of the fishing-boats upon it. She seemed to see Ellis 
 Macomber sitting on the rotten old wharf watching the lob 
 ster men go out in their dories. And her mother. But she 
 resolutely thrust away from her the thought of her mother. 
 Was the wind east at home to-day ? This wind that came 
 like a caress upon her face was both soothing and life- 
 giving. 
 
 " Why not stay in Algiers ?" she suddenly asked. 
 
 " Don t propose that," said Mr. Gerald. " We must go 
 on we must go to the edge of the desert." 
 
 " Must ? Do you care so much to go to Biskra ?" There 
 was astonishment in her voice as she put the question. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "I care greatly. I am to meet 
 some one there." 
 
 She said no more; but the curiosity in her mind was 
 flavored with dread of she knew not what that vague, 
 formless dread which is worst of all to bear. She looked 
 down at the wharves. She saw the steamer Ville d Alger, 
 in which they had just come from Marseilles, lying at her 
 moorings. She yielded expression to the wish that was as 
 strong as it was sudden. She seized her husband s hand 
 in both her own, her parasol falling to the ground. 
 
 " Let us take the steamer back ! she exclaimed, her tone 
 thrilling with her earnestness. 
 
 " Take the steamer back ?" Mr. Gerald s tone was raised 
 in his surprise. " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " It is not often that I ask a favor of you a personal 
 favor," she said. 
 
 " No, you do not." 
 
 Mr. Gerald s eyes, narrowed to mere lines in his face, 
 were fixed on his wife s countenance, but she saw very well 
 that there was no relenting in his expression ; rather there 
 was something hard, something she had never seen before. 
 
 " Why do you pitch upon this one thing to ask ?" he in 
 quired, with a rasp in his intonation.
 
 IT CAN BE DONE 
 
 315 
 
 " I pitch upon it because it is the thing I want." 
 " Well, you can t go back in the Ville iVAIger. You are 
 going to Biskra with me. The doctors say Biskra has a per 
 fect climate in the winter. Besides, I am to meet some one 
 in the desert. It is quite necessary for my happiness that 
 this meeting take place. And you can see that if we return 
 to Marseilles that But you women never understand ex 
 planations. Shall we go back to the hotel now ? I really 
 hope, Judith, that you are not going to do like other women 
 take up notions." 
 
 Judith answered nothing. She walked down through the 
 strange, narrow streets of the old Moorish town till they 
 came to the new town, where their hotel was situated. And 
 all the time she was retracing her steps she was thinking 
 two things : one was that Mr. Gerald had never spoken in 
 that way before ; and the other was that her mother had 
 begged her not to cross the ocean this time, for " something 
 was going to happen."
 
 XLIX 
 BISKRA 
 
 A HOT sky and a hotter desert. Behind, the roofs of 
 Biskra, that strange little settlement on the oasis. Ahead, 
 the hard and stony wilderness that seems limitless, as if it 
 occupied the whole world. 
 
 Judith and Mrs. Jennings are mounted on two Arab 
 horses. They have found that Arab horses can be very 
 sorry beasts, with well - defined ribs and hard mouths. 
 These animals will amble if they are continually urged to do 
 so, and they will also sometimes surprise one by running 
 away, dashing wildly over the rough ground, their long, thin 
 heads stretched out as they fly on into the unknown lands 
 of Africa. It seems that they are going into some dreadful 
 terra incognita, and that nothing can ever stop them ; that 
 they are going on forever at least, such tales had been 
 told concerning these Arab steeds by people who had rid 
 den them. But it was a peculiar fact that no one who had 
 not actually been run away with by one of these animals 
 would ever believe it could run. 
 
 " I suppose," remarked Mrs. Jennings, " that we are in 
 Africa." 
 
 " Yes," answered Judith, " I think there s no doubt of it." 
 
 " And I never was in such a cold place in my life," shiv 
 ering. "The wind that blows over the snow on the Aures 
 Mountains is the coldest wind that ever blew, and it never 
 stops blowing. I am surprised at Africa. For sand I was 
 prepared yes, even for the amount I have in my bedroom, 
 and on my bread and meat, but for But, Mrs. Gerald, 
 you are not listening."
 
 BISKRA 3 17 
 
 " No ; pardon me, I didn t catch what you were saying." 
 
 " I was saying sand and cold." Mrs. Jennings urged her 
 horse yet nearer her friend. " What is the matter with 
 you ?" she asked. " You look like a person who lives in 
 constant fear of something. This look has grown on you 
 ever since we landed in Algiers." 
 
 "Nothing is the matter with me," was the reply. Then 
 immediately, " I think I shall have to tell you. I must tell 
 some one." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings leaned forward from her saddle. " You cer 
 tainly will have to tell," she said. " You can t go on looking 
 like this and not tell. And why am I here if I can t be of 
 any use to you? There must be some reason for my being in 
 Biskra instead of in some part of the world where they have 
 fewer canned meats than they have at the Victoria here." 
 
 " I hadn t noticed that the meats were canned." 
 
 " Hadn t you ? Have you noticed that there is a gale 
 blowing most of the time a gritty gale that sets your 
 teeth on edge and makes you know the very taste of the 
 desert ?" 
 
 "No ; I hadn t thought of these things." 
 
 Judith bent over and absently stroked the ragged mane 
 of her horse. She was conscious that all the time her com 
 panion was talking in this way she was thinking of the 
 something that worried her ; and the presence of Mrs. Jen 
 nings was a comfort to her. If it were not for this presence 
 there would be no one to whom she could speak of things 
 that never left her mind, and that grew harder and harder 
 to bear. 
 
 " We won t have any attendant this morning," suddenly 
 said Mrs. Jennings. " Surely it is safe for us to ride out 
 a little way towards Chetma. We will keep the roof of the 
 Victoria in sight." 
 
 So they told the servant whom Mr. Gerald had ordered 
 to go with them to remain at the hotel. They rode out into 
 the desert, the horses going at that distressing creep which 
 tends towards desperation in the mind of the equestrian.
 
 3 i8 MRS. GERALD 
 
 The day previous Mr. Gerald and his nephew had started 
 on a hunting expedition, taking two men, a tent, and some 
 canned food. They hoped to get a gazelle, but they would 
 not despise even a hare. 
 
 The two women thus left immediately experienced that 
 sense of freedom which comes from the absence of the 
 supervising, masculine element in a party. When half a 
 mile had been traversed Mrs. Jennings s horse suddenly 
 stopped, then tried to turn round towards Biskra. Then 
 Judith s horse did the same. After a short struggle with 
 the animals they consented to walk on side by side. 
 
 " Well ?" said Mrs. Jennings. She looked at Judith, who 
 suddenly cried out, sharply : 
 
 " I cannot endure it !" 
 
 " My dear !" 
 
 Judith had held herself in hand night and day until the 
 relief of even this cry was very great. 
 
 " I cannot understand," she went on, hurriedly. " There 
 is a shadow over me the shadow of a blow ; and when it 
 will fall I cannot tell. But perhaps I ought not to speak. 
 Don t you think we ought always to bear in silence ?" 
 
 Judith turned excitedly towards her companion. Her 
 face was unlike itself, the eyes full of wildness. 
 
 " Go on," said Mrs. Jennings, imperatively. " If you 
 do not you will be insane." 
 
 " To be insane !" repeated Judith, in a tone of horror. 
 Then she evidently placed a great restraint upon herself. 
 " Well, I ve got to tell, that s all ; I have got to tell," she 
 said. " You know we have been here a week," she went 
 on " a week yesterday. Seven days seven times I ve had 
 that hour to live through. Does that hour show in my 
 face ? I look in the glass every morning to see if my hair 
 is gray." 
 
 " Mrs. Gerald !" 
 
 There was keen alarm in this exclamation. Mrs. Jen 
 nings tried to catch the bridle of the horse nettrtier, but 
 the horse gave a jerk away from her.
 
 BISKRA 319 
 
 Judith took the bridle more closely. She placed herself 
 more firmly in the saddle. " Don t worry about me," she 
 said. " There is never need to worry about me. Have 
 you noticed Mr. Gerald of late?" She put the question 
 abruptly. 
 
 " I have thought he seemed in unusual good spirits," was 
 the answer " as if," with a smile, " he had been drinking 
 champagne." 
 
 " But he eats nothing !" 
 
 " That is true ; still, there is nothing to eat in Biskra. 
 We are expected to live on air and sand, and the sand of 
 the African desert is not edible." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings spoke thus that she might not speak in a 
 far different manner. Indeed, she was greatly alarmed, 
 and feared to show that feeling. 
 
 " Mr. Gerald expects to meet some one in Biskra," said 
 Judith, not apparently hearing her friend s words. 
 
 " Some old friend, perhaps ?" 
 
 " No, Mrs. Jennings, it is not an old friend. That is 
 the remark I made to him. He turned and looked at me ; 
 he told me that I was a fool a stupid fool to think he 
 should want to see an old friend. Mr. Gerald is very po 
 lite ; it made me jump to hear him call me a fool. He 
 said that he did not know the person whom he was to meet, 
 but that it was of the last importance that the meeting should 
 take place." 
 
 " Not know the person ?" Mrs. Jennings stared at the 
 face near her. A terrible suspicion that Judith s mind was 
 unbalanced by the strain under which she lived came to her, 
 and made it impossible for her to say any more. 
 
 Judith s face flushed as she spoke. "Are you going to 
 doubt what I tell you ?" she asked, sharply. 
 
 "No no." 
 
 " Very well. But I would not blame you if you did 
 doubt ; for I am bewildered, and can hardly believe my own 
 senses. Now listen to me. Every night since we have been 
 in Biskra, between one and two o clock, Mr. Gerald leaves
 
 32O 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 his bed. He dresses quickly. Then I rise and dress quick 
 ly. I am shivering with excitement, but he seems perfectly 
 calm, and he dresses accurately, even to his necktie ; and 
 he brushes his hair, and files and cleans his nails ; and he 
 does all this with incredible celerity. The first time he 
 did this I asked him why he rose at such an hour. 
 
 " Because I am afraid I shall miss the meeting, he 
 answered. 
 
 " What meeting ? 
 
 " With that person that person who comes to me at 
 Biskra. 
 
 " Do you expect a man or woman ? I put this inquiry 
 calmly, for I somehow knew I must speak calmly, though 
 my heart was hammering in my throat, and I was huddling 
 on my clothes, my fingers sq stiff that I could hardly use 
 them. He answered, impatiently : 
 
 " How can I tell ? It may be a man or it may be a 
 woman. It doesn t matter. What matters is that I mustn t 
 miss the meeting. 
 
 " I will go with you, I said ; but I was surprised that 
 he made no objection to my going. 
 
 " He took his cane and his hat before I was ready. 
 
 " I can t wait, he said, for I shall not be waited for. 
 
 " I would rather have died than let him go alone. In 
 my haste I could find nothing. I seized a blanket from 
 the bed and wrapped it around me. Mr. Gerald did not 
 seem to notice that I had done so." 
 
 In a momentary pause Mrs. Jennings said, eagerly, " He 
 was asleep. He is a somnambulist." 
 
 " No ; he was not asleep. He was perfectly awake. 
 Don t you think I would be glad to believe that he was 
 asleep ? I ve tried to believe it, but I know better. 
 
 " We went out at the door of the hotel as noiselessly as 
 if we were thieves. Can you imagine my sensations as I 
 followed him through the grounds and along the street 
 that we have just traversed ? I kept close to him. My 
 blanket trailed on the ground with a soft noise. The wind
 
 " I KEPT CLOSE TO HIM "
 
 BISKRA 321 
 
 blew cold from the mountains, my teeth chattered ; but he 
 did not seem cold. He walked on ahead of me in his 
 tightly buttoned coat, swinging his stick, but looking sharp 
 ly to the right and left all the time. Though he did not 
 notice me, I felt sure that he was aware of my presence. 
 
 " That first night there was a moon a fading moon, not 
 very long risen, and it made everything ghastly. It made 
 the mountains distant monsters that would presently spring 
 upon Biskra and devour it, and I longed for their spring. 
 I wanted to be crushed in their jaws and to be done with 
 everything." 
 
 Judith stopped. Though she was very pale, her face was 
 composed. She was gazing straight ahead of her. 
 
 When Mrs. Jennings spoke she started as if she had 
 forgotten that she was not alone. "Where did you go?" 
 was the question. 
 
 " We left the town, but only for a short distance. It was 
 piteous, the eagerness with which Mr. Gerald looked about 
 him. Two or three times he stopped and bent his head as 
 if listening. All at once he turned to me, and asked : 
 
 " Do you hear anything? You are younger. You may 
 hear where I cannot. 
 
 "I listened; I felt myself listening with every nerve in 
 me more, my blood seemed to stop that it too might help 
 me to hear the approach of some one. I even lay down on 
 the ground here in the desert and put my ear to the earth, 
 holding my breath in my anxiety. Mr. Gerald stood close 
 beside me, his features rigid in the great tension that was 
 upon him. 
 
 " Judith, he said, you must be able to hear some 
 thing. 
 
 " But I could not. The wind did not blow then, and all 
 the world was silent. I rose and stood beside him. I 
 longed to see his face more plainly. He would have re 
 sented the fact that I pitied him had he known it, but my 
 heart was breaking with pity for him. After a few mo 
 ments more he pulled out his watch, but it was not light
 
 322 
 
 MRS. GERALD 
 
 enough for either of us to see the time, so he lighted a 
 match. It was twenty minutes after two. 
 
 " It s too late, 1 he said, and then we turned back tow 
 ards Biskra. 
 
 " How do you know it is too late ? I asked. 
 
 " How do I know ? He looked at me in astonishment. 
 Then it seemed to me that he tried to think of some words 
 that would appear reasonable, but he could not. 
 
 " A man knows some things simply because he does 
 know them, he said, at last, and that s the way I know 
 that after a quarter-past two in the morning it is too late to 
 look for that person. 
 
 " I did not speak again as we hurried back. I held my 
 blanket very closely about me. All at once Mr. Gerald 
 glanced at me and smiled in amusement. How could he be 
 amused at such a moment ? I was exasperated by his smile. 
 
 " Why did you choose that wrap ? he asked. 
 
 " Because I had no time to find another. 
 
 "Then he laughed, not quite like himself; but when he 
 begged my pardon a moment later he was quite as usual. 
 When he reached his room and went to bed he was asleep 
 immediately. But as for me, it seems to me I have not 
 really slept since that night the night we arrived until 
 last night. Am I boring you ? It is a great relief for me 
 to speak." 
 
 Judith pressed her lips together. She stroked her horse s 
 mane again. 
 
 "You are not boring me. You must speak." Mrs. Jen- 
 nings s face was nearly as white as that of her companion. 
 
 "Yes," resumed Judith, hurriedly, " I must speak. I am 
 getting to have strange thoughts thoughts that frighten 
 me." 
 
 She paused. She was still stroking the horse s neck. 
 Both horses were standing quietly side by side. Mrs. Jen 
 nings reached forward and took the gauntleted hand, hold 
 ing it closely. But Judith did not look at her. She was 
 gazing out over the desert gazing blindly, despairingly.
 
 BISKRA 323 
 
 " And every night you have gone out thus ?" 
 
 " Every night. Mr. Gerald goes to sleep and sleeps until 
 
 about one. He is sure to wake then and to rise directly. 
 
 As for me, I am awake. I cannot sleep. My head is very 
 
 light." 
 
 She took off her hat and pressed her hand on the top of 
 
 her head.
 
 L 
 
 " I TELL YOU YOU ARE WRONG !" 
 
 " MR. GERALD goes out eagerly each night. Each night 
 he is sure that the meeting will take place. Once we met 
 one of the gentlemen at the Victoria. He stared hard at 
 us, but Mr. Gerald explained, with great suavity, that he was 
 troubled with insomnia, and I had been good enough to 
 walk out with him. How long do you suppose this will 
 last?" 
 
 Mrs. Jennings did not answer. She pressed the hand 
 she held. 
 
 " If Mr. Elclridge had not taken him away yesterday I do 
 not believe I could have behaved like a sane woman to-day, 
 for the time had come when I must sleep or be frantic, 
 and I could not sleep when I was watching and waiting for 
 it to be one o clock, and for us to start on our expedition. 
 Last night I slept. I was like a log. 1 went to my room 
 directly after dinner. Did you ever feel like that ? As if 
 you had drunk laudanum ? as if the world might come to an 
 end, but that you would sleep ? It is almost as dreadful as 
 when you lie awake hour after hour." 
 
 " Have you told Mr. Eldridge ?" 
 
 "No no." 
 
 " But why not ?" 
 
 Judith s eyes and face had a coldly surprised expression 
 as she turned towards Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 j o 
 
 " Why not ?" she said. " Indeed, I see no reason why I 
 should tell him." 
 
 " Perhaps he suspects that something is wrong, and that 
 is why he took his uncle out hunting."
 
 " I TELL YOU YOU ARE WRONG !" 
 
 325 
 
 " It is not probable," indifferently. 
 
 "Oh, how proud you are, Mrs. Gerald!" exclaimed the 
 other woman. 
 
 " Proud ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " But you need not explain why you think so." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings nodded her head and smiled. Then she 
 asked, " Have you told me all ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Judith gazed about her like a prisoner who is seeking for 
 some way of escape. 
 
 "The last night," she presently began, "that we came 
 out thus I ventured to ask Mr. Gerald why it was that it 
 was necessary that we meet this person." 
 
 Here the speaker stopped, and was silent so long that 
 Mrs. Jennings at last said : 
 
 " Did he tell you ?" 
 
 She spoke under her breath, as if some one would hear 
 her in that wilderness, and Judith answered her in the 
 same way. She even glanced about to see if any one were 
 near. 
 
 " Yes, he told me. He said that this person for whom he 
 is waiting is one who has wonderful power. He has power 
 to change Mr. Gerald into another individuality. He says 
 that he is bound to be changed, because then because then 
 it may be that I shall love him." 
 
 Having said this in an almost inaudible voice, Judith sud 
 denly bent forward on her horse s neck, dropping the bridle 
 and covering her face with her hands. The strange, eerie 
 pathos of the situation so appealed to Mrs. Jennings that 
 her own face blanched still more and her eyes dimmed. She 
 sat still, staring at the figure before her, unable at first to 
 say anything. At last Judith lifted her head. Her eyes were 
 dry and burning. 
 
 "What a wretch 1 am! What a hard-hearted wretch I 
 am !" she cried, in a low voice. " And what shall I do to 
 make myself over ?"
 
 326 -MRS. GERALD 
 
 " Why do you call yourself hard-hearted ? 11 asked Mrs. 
 Jennings, with some sharpness. " You are not hard-hearted 
 enough." 
 
 " Don t mock at me." 
 
 " Mock at you ? I must be sharp with you, or I shall set 
 to at crying myself. Why don t you make him think you 
 love him ?" 
 
 " But I don t. He has always known from the very first 
 that I didn t love him, and he didn t love me when he mar 
 ried me. He only thought I was the kind of woman he 
 wanted for a wife. You know what notions some men have. 
 And I married him for his money, not for myself oh, I 
 can t tell you about it, and it would do no good if I could. 
 I was wrong. I did a wicked thing, and I ought to be pun 
 ished yes, I ought to be punished." 
 
 " Now don t talk like one of those weak-minded people 
 who assert that God punishes us for doing just what creat 
 ures with the attributes he has given us must do. You are 
 a strong woman. Just now you are worn out for lack of 
 sleep." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings s imperative voice penetrated like some 
 keen knife into Judith s consciousness and stimulated her. 
 She drew herself up and turned to her companion. 
 
 " You counsel me to deceive him," she said, reprovingly. 
 
 "Certainly," coolly, "why not?" 
 
 " I don t know. Only it isn t natural for me to deceive." 
 
 " Was it natural for you to marry a man you knew you 
 did not love ?" 
 
 The question was hard and cutting. Judith drew her 
 self up still more. She looked in amazement at the wom 
 an beside her. Mrs. Jennings s greenish eyes had not no\v 
 a particle of softness in them. The pupils were contracted 
 to pin points, and were fixed on Judith s face. 
 
 Judith wanted to writhe as she sat there in the saddle, 
 but she did not move. She remained silent. She was ask 
 ing herself if it could be possible that this woman was 
 right.
 
 " I TELL YOU YOU ARE WRONG !" 
 
 327 
 
 " As for me," said Mrs. Jennings, after a silence, " I am 
 not so finical about the truth as you pretend to be." 
 
 " Pretend to be !" 
 
 Judith s eyes flashed. In her indignation the strain upon 
 her relaxed somewhat. 
 
 " Yes. I know you don t think it s pretence ; you think 
 it s natural. But I should like to ask you what act of decep 
 tion can be more decided than your marriage ?" 
 
 " But I explained my position to Mr. Gerald. I did not 
 deceive him." 
 
 Mrs. Jennings shrugged her shoulders, but she said noth 
 ing. Her companion felt that she was very exasperating. 
 
 At last Mrs. Jennings spoke again : " What are you going 
 to do ?" 
 
 " Nothing, save that I will take care of Mr. Gerald." 
 
 " Do you know the danger you may incur ?" 
 
 " I do not care for the peril." Judith spoke as one who 
 should say, " I am glad of the danger." 
 
 " You have no business not to care." 
 
 This time it was Judith who shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " He is not responsible," went on Mrs. Jennings. "What 
 if, some time, out here in the desert, he should take it into 
 his mind to kill you ?" 
 
 " It is not so difficult to die. " 
 
 As Judith made this quotation she turned towards the 
 woman beside her and smiled. As she saw that smile Mrs. 
 Jennings uttered an exclamation, she knew not what. She 
 trembled, and for months afterwards the memory of Judith s 
 face at that moment would come to her with a vividness that 
 made her weak and faint. 
 
 Judith apparently tried to rouse herself. "The difficult 
 thing is to live," she said "to live, and to do the thing you 
 ought." 
 
 " Perhaps you have no doubt as to what is the thing you 
 ought to do ?" 
 
 " Not the least doubt," firmly. 
 
 " And that is ?"
 
 3 a8 MRS. GERALD 
 
 " To sacrifice myself in every way for Mr. Gerald s happi 
 ness," still more firmly. 
 
 " I tell you you are wrong !" with violence. " You will 
 give him the best of care ; but have you any more right to 
 sacrifice yourself than you have to sacrifice me, for in 
 stance, or Mr. Gerald himself ? Are we called upon to im 
 molate ourselves ?" 
 
 "Under the circumstances, I am called upon," said Judith, 
 with an air of finality so decided that the other said no more 
 on that subject. 
 
 " Do you fully recognize that an insane person may at 
 any moment become violent, dangerous, to himself or to 
 others ?" 
 
 " Yes, fully." 
 
 There was no dejection now in Judith s manner or voice. 
 She was like a soldier girding himself for a conflict. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings gazed at her admiringly. A whole-hearted 
 sacrifice has a power in it which stirs and exalts the witness 
 of it as if it were something transcending human nature, 
 even though the sacrifice is a wrongful waste. 
 
 "You need not fear," said Judith. " I am certain that I 
 can safely take care of Mr. Gerald, and it may be that this 
 is only a passing hallucination." 
 
 "Oh, I am not afraid," was the hasty response. " I am 
 not afraid for myself. But you ought to let me tell Mr. El- 
 dridge " 
 
 " No, no. I will bear my burden alone. It has been a 
 relief to me to tell you. You must forgive me for doing 
 that. It will be a comfort to know that you know. But 
 perhaps I was weak. Do you think I was weak ?" 
 
 Judith s softened, anxious eyes were fixed on her compan 
 ion s face, and Mrs. Jennings, in spite of all her efforts, 
 could not at first command her voice. " It is not that 
 you are too weak," she said, at last ; " it is that you are not 
 weak enough, and you are wrong." 
 
 The two now, as by common consent, rode on together 
 towards Chetma, But they did not go far. Presently they
 
 "I TELL YOU YOU ARE WRONG!" 
 
 329 
 
 turned their horses about, and as they did so Mrs. Jen 
 nings said, " However, Mr. Eldridge will soon find it out. 
 Thank fortune for that." 
 
 To this there was no reply. When Judith reached the 
 hotel she went to her own room, and, taking off her hat, but 
 not her riding-dress, not even her gloves, she laid herself 
 down on the bed. She lay quite still. After a while she 
 moved and found that she was holding her whip tightly in 
 her right hand. She flung the whip from her. 
 
 "That woman is wrong," she said, aloud. " All there is 
 left for me is to sacrifice myself ; and sometimes sacrifice 
 is blessedness but not happiness. He trusts me he be 
 lieves in me." 
 
 She sat up on the bed and began to pull off her gloves 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " But I cannot no, I cannot even try to make him think 
 I love him. He was never to expect that never never." 
 
 A knock at the door made her rise to her feet. She hesi 
 tated before she answered the summons, though she be 
 lieved it was Mrs. Jennings who was there. When she did 
 open the door one of the hotel servants handed her a card 
 and walked away. 
 
 Judith saw the name, " Mr. Lucian Eldridge," on one 
 side of the pasteboard, and her fingers began to grow cold. 
 But they were steady as she turned the card and read : 
 
 " Please see me immediately in the small reception- 
 room." 
 
 She instantly walked down the stairs.
 
 LI 
 
 " ANOTHER INCARNATION " 
 
 THESE two, though they had met every day, never saw 
 each other alone, and met only as casual acquaintances. 
 The most suspicious observer would have said that Judith 
 was hardly aware of the existence of Lucian Eldridge. 
 When she looked at him as she addressed him it was as if 
 she looked at a chair or a table a glance of sheer indiffer 
 ence. Mrs. Jennings, watching her, sometimes caught her 
 self saying, "That woman is a block of wood only her 
 face is not wooden." 
 
 Lucian was standing in the middle of the room, impa 
 tiently watching the hallway, which was visible from the 
 open door. His face was grimed with dust, and he was in 
 corduroys and leather leggings, just as he had jumped from 
 his horse. 
 
 Judith walked down the hall and up to him. She was so 
 white that Lucian expected to see her fall. But she did not 
 fall. She caught hold of his sleeve. 
 
 " Where is he ?" she asked, and her voice, though it was 
 hardly above a whisper, seemed to echo in the room. 
 
 " I have ridden like mad I have almost killed my horse 
 to find out if he were here," was the reply. 
 
 " No." She looked vaguely about the room. 
 
 The young man took her hand and tried to lead her to a 
 chair. But she resisted his movement. " Do you think I 
 will sit down ?" she asked, harshly. " Let us go. Why do 
 we lose time ?" 
 
 Lucian held her hand firmly. " Wait," he said ; and 
 there was a command in his voice that penetrated to Ju-
 
 "ANOTHER INCARNATION" 331 
 
 dith s sense of reason. "Let us know what to do first," 
 went on the young man. " You are sure he hasn t come 
 back ? I wouldn t ask any one here, save you. I knew 
 how sensitive he would be about about 
 
 " Yes, yes," whispered Judith. " And if he came back 
 he would surely, surely come to me." 
 
 Lucian winced even then, but he replied, " I was cer 
 tain of that. I shall never forgive myself for sleeping last 
 night but I suspected nothing. How could I ?" He was 
 speaking so rapidly that his words tripped against each 
 other. " I slept soundly, for we had ridden far and had 
 had good sport. Uncle Dick was in fine spirits, and he 
 went to sleep in our tent last night even before I fell 
 asleep. Who could have suspected anything ?" repeating 
 his own words. " I knew that he hadn t been well of late, 
 but Judith, you should have told me you 
 
 "Oh, don t ! don t!" 
 
 Her piercing voice of entreaty made Lucian exclaim, 
 quickly, " You see, if I had only had any warning " 
 
 " I did as I thought he would like to have me do," said 
 Judith. " Always I have done that." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I know you have. I will tell you as soon as 
 I can. Perhaps it is not so bad." 
 
 Lucian could not any longer look at her face. He 
 walked away a pace and he bent his head. With his eyes 
 on the floor he went on. " Once in the night, before twelve, 
 I wakened and looked at my watch. The match I lighted 
 showed me that Mr. Gerald seemed to be fast asleep, rolled 
 in his blanket, at the other side of the bit of a tent. I was 
 restless, and finally I walked outside. Our man whom we 
 had taken with us was lying asleep on the sand there. I 
 did not stay long, and when I went back Mr. Gerald spoke 
 to me. He said I had no business to be a poor sleeper, 
 and then he immediately began to breathe heavily again. I 
 don t know when I fell asleep, but I wakened just before 
 daylight, and I wakened with a sense that something dread 
 ful had happened. I turned and looked towards where
 
 332 MRS. GERALD 
 
 Uncle Dick had been lying. The place was so near that I 
 could touch it by reaching out my hand. The blanket 
 was flung aside and the place empty. Judith, I am telling 
 you so particularly, for perhaps the smallest item may 
 suggest something to you. 1 sprang towards the open 
 ing of the tent ; then I asked myself why I should be 
 alarmed if uncle had happened to rise before me. I stood 
 still, looking about me. On the tumbled blanket I saw 
 this." 
 
 He pulled from his waistcoat-pocket a bit of paper that 
 had evidently been torn from a small note-book. 
 
 " In two minutes it will be one o clock. I go to meet the 
 person whom I expect to meet. If I don t come back now 
 I shall come back in another incarnation, and then who 
 knows but that she may love me ? I hope, Lucian, that 
 you won t be a fool and try to find me. But a young man 
 is never a wise man. I wish I had more time. I feel like 
 writing freely. What I mostly fear is that you, Lucian, will 
 be a fool. If you are wise, you will say to Mrs. Gerald 
 that I was called away, and that I am perfectly safe. An 
 other incarnation ! Ah, ha ! Why don t more people think 
 of that ? It is such a simple way out of a set of circum 
 stances. If I only had time to write more, I could make 
 things perfectly clear." 
 
 There was no name signed ; but there was no need of 
 any name. The words were written in the small, legible 
 hand which both knew so well ; and there was no appear 
 ance of haste in the writing. 
 
 o 
 
 Judith held the paper closely. Having read it once, she 
 immediately began to read it again. 
 
 Lucian stood and looked at her, thinking that he had 
 never felt so powerless ; and feeling a sort of despairing re 
 sponsibility that sat on him like an incubus. 
 
 " Judith, is there any one ?" he asked. 
 
 <l Any one ?" 
 
 She tried to think clearly. The terrible necessity that 
 she should think clearly and rapidly made her brain reel.
 
 "ANOTHER INCARNATION" 333 
 
 She involuntarily put forth her hands, with the paper held 
 fast in one of them. 
 
 Lucian did not touch the hands ; he continued to gaze 
 at her. He felt that he could have killed himself out of 
 sheer despair that he had no help to offer. He was groping 
 in darkness. He made a step towards her, saying, hurriedly: 
 
 " You must tell me if you know if there is any one whom 
 he would be likely to meet. You must keep back nothing, 
 for I am going to find him. Help me whai you can help 
 me and speak quickly. Every moment 
 
 " I will speak quickly," interrupted Judith. She glanced 
 round as if for something to lean against. 
 
 " Will you not sit down ?" Lucian brought a chair. 
 
 " Oh no. We are going to find him certainly we shall 
 find him in a few hours. Shall we not, Lucian, in a few 
 hours ?" 
 
 " We will try. But you must tell me 
 
 " Certainly yes. But there is nothing that will be of any 
 help absolutely nothing." 
 
 Then Judith related in a few words how Mr. Gerald had 
 been in the habit of going out at precisely the same time 
 each night since their arrival in Biskra. Lucian almost 
 groaned as he heard her. 
 
 "Why didn t you let me know this before?" he ex 
 claimed. 
 
 "Was I wrong?" she asked, piteously. "But I wanted to 
 be right, and I know how annoyed he would be if 1 told 
 even you. Yes, I wanted to do exactly what he would like. 
 Oh, was I wrong ?" 
 
 Lucian did not reply. It was hard for him to stand there 
 as insensate, apparently, as a stone. And he was human 
 enough and weak enough to ask himself in that moment if, 
 after all, she loved her husband. Then he grappled with his 
 own soul, and said to himself, " Then all the more must we 
 find him." 
 
 " I have ordered fresh horses saddled," he said. " I 
 waited only to see you."
 
 334 MRS. GERALD 
 
 He turned towards the door. She was beside him in an 
 instant. 
 
 " But I am going with you." 
 
 "Yes ; I knew you would go. There is a horse for you." 
 He spoke coldly, but she seemed not to notice. 
 
 She hurried forward, and sprang from the step into the 
 saddle. Then she saw that Lucian had gone on into the 
 hotel. She was angry that he lost so much time. It seemed 
 to her that she could not breathe until they had started. 
 
 A thousand memories came like ghosts to her mind. She 
 shut her eyes as if to shut out those memories. How her 
 husband had tried to throw her more and more into com 
 panionship with Lucian. There had seemed something 
 strange and diabolical in this attempt to her, but now she 
 was sure that he had not been quite himself. She had res 
 olutely, until this moment, refused to acknowledge this ; 
 she had clung to the thought that if she did not acknowl 
 edge it then the thing would be some way less a fact. 
 Have we not all done this ? And have we not all found 
 how fruitless was the endeavor ? Mr. Gerald had been a 
 little strange, perhaps, but Oh, it would all surely pass ! 
 
 Would Lucian never appear? A servant came out. She 
 sent him back to find Mr. Eldridge. The man presently 
 returned to say that the gentleman was coming directly. A 
 step and a trailing dress sounded on the veranda behind 
 her. Mrs. Jennings spoke. "What! out again, Mrs. Ger 
 ald ?" 
 
 Judith sat rigidly on her horse. She did not turn her 
 head as she answered, " Yes." 
 
 The other woman came round in front of her friend. She 
 was herself very pale, and her eyes were quite green in their 
 brilliance. She hesitated ; then she walked close up to the 
 horse and leaned upon it. 
 
 " Where are you going ?" she asked. 
 
 " I don t know. Anywhere everywhere. Mr. Gerald is 
 missing. 
 
 " Has Mr. P^ldridee come back ?"
 
 "ANOTHER INCARNATION" 335 
 
 " Yes. I am waiting for him." 
 
 " But you can do no good." 
 
 " Will you stop talking ?" fiercely. " I cannot bear your 
 talk. Do you think I can stay here and let others look for 
 my husband ?" 
 
 " He might return, and then you should be here to re 
 ceive him." 
 
 " I must go. Thank God, there is Lucian !" 
 
 Lucian ran out and mounted. He did not seem to see 
 Mrs. Jennings. She stood watching them as they galloped 
 away. " I say he may come back," she repeated, in a whis 
 per. Then she walked slowly into the house. But in a 
 moment she came out. She could not be quiet. She stood 
 there when several men rode away from the other side of 
 the hotel. She saw that they went in different directions. 
 
 " I have arranged that others start in the search," said 
 Lucian. "I could not find the least clew as to which way 
 Mr. Gerald rode from our tent, though I tried. I know of 
 no reason why we should go this way or that." 
 
 " We will go to Chetma," said Judith, decidedly. 
 
 " Very well/ 
 
 They galloped on. Two or three dusky men in the 
 flowing white burnoose of the East stepped out of the nar 
 row street to make way for the horses. Two donkeys 
 driven by one boy scrambled aside lest they should be run 
 down. The sky, like a concave of clear, hot, blue metal, 
 arched above, and the sun climbed up the arch. 
 
 Lucian did not speak. Sometimes he glanced at his 
 companion. She was always looking eagerly about her, 
 searching the great stretch of desert, and the desert re 
 vealed nothing. 
 
 Back at the hotel Mrs. Jennings was trying to kill time. 
 She was excited, and she rather resented the fact. She 
 tried to read a novel. She went to her room and took up a 
 dainty box of cigarettes ; but she did not really care for 
 cigarettes, and had only tried them because men seemed to 
 li!:e them so well. She was much given to making experi-
 
 336 MRS. GERALD 
 
 ments in different kinds of sensations. The cigarette sen 
 sation was not interesting to her. She wondered when 
 some of the searching-parties would return, and she won 
 dered where Mr. Gerald had gone. Perhaps they would 
 find him dead. How much better that would be than to 
 think that he was somewhere in the world, and might ap 
 pear at any moment. That would give Judith the kind of 
 freedom which drags continually a ball and chain. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings finally took her revolver, and went out to 
 practise at the target she had caused to be set up. This 
 was a pastime which always amused her. A group of dirty, 
 dusky children gathered at a little distance to watch her. 
 Some lank dogs came up and whined, standing ready to 
 dart away at the first hostile movement. Beyond was a 
 moving picture of donkeys and horsemen, and sometimes 
 a camel walked solemnly across the line of the woman s 
 sight. 
 
 The clay had passed somehow. Mrs. Jennings had been 
 so excited that she had been unable to have her afternoon 
 siesta. Now the sun was near its setting. Its vivid red 
 rays fell from behind her full upon the target. She had 
 fired one round. She had just filled the chambers again 
 when a voice asked, politely, "Will you allow me to try 
 what I can do ?" 
 
 Mrs. Jennings wheeled quickly. She smiled. There was 
 Mr. Gerald standing there. He also was smiling slightly. 
 He was as immaculate in appearance as ever ; his Prince 
 Albert coat was buttoned closely ; there was a pink rose in 
 the lapel. He wore his pith helmet, which he lifted as the 
 lady turned. In each of his eyes burned a warning fire, 
 but Mrs. Jennings would not be warned. She used to say 
 afterwards that she felt as if she were in the hands of fate 
 and must obey its dictates that she was obliged to do as 
 this man requested, and was as much an instrument in his 
 hands as was the revolver in her own grasp. 
 
 " I told them you would return here !" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Certainly. Why shouldn t I return here?" with a slight
 
 " ANOTHER INCARNATION " 337 
 
 elevation of eyebrow. The next moment he added, in a 
 hesitating, explanatory manner, and as if he were trying to 
 remember something, " But I believe I really did not in 
 tend to come back. There was an excellent reason what 
 was it ?" He impatiently shrugged his shoulders. He ex 
 tended his hand. " Pray allow me to try and see what I 
 can do," he repeated. 
 
 Mrs. Jennings gave him the pistol. He took it steadily ; 
 he examined the ornamented little thing. 
 
 " I have mislaid my pistol," he remarked. " Sometimes I 
 suspect Mrs. Gerald of secreting it. Mrs. Gerald watches 
 me lately. I can t imagine why." 
 
 He looked intently and suspiciously at Mrs. Jennings. 
 And now she began to tremble. She made a movement 
 as if to take the weapon from him. He stepped back. He 
 smiled in a brilliant, tantalizing way. 
 
 " Yes, I have mislaid my revolver," he repeated. 
 
 He gazed down at the toy he held, and drew the pojnt of 
 his finger along the chasing on the handle. Without rais 
 ing his eyes he went on, in a conversational way, " I am 
 afraid that person who has promised to meet me is deceiv 
 ing me." 
 
 And in the same tone he added : 
 
 " For another incarnation I fancy this is decidedly the 
 quickest and best way, since that person who holds the 
 power will not meet me." 
 
 With a gentle and yet rapid motion Mr. Gerald turned 
 the muzzle of the weapon to his temple and fired. He 
 flung up his hands and fell dead at the woman s feet. 
 
 Straight as the homing pigeon goes back to its nest, so 
 Judith went back to the old farm-house in Massachusetts. 
 Tltere she could press the knife into the wound and feel 
 the pulsating pain. There she could know in all its power 
 the dreadful truth that she had made a mistake a vital 
 nay, a deadly mistake. She had had no right to marry as 
 she had done. She who loved truth had deliberately put
 
 338 MRS. GERALD 
 
 herself in a false position where her life from hour to hour 
 was a lie, and where her self-respect could not live. 
 
 Remorse, unavailing repentance, filled her consciousness. 
 Had she been hard, unsympathetic ? Could she have been 
 kinder, more tender to her husband ? But she had tried 
 yes, she had tried ! 
 
 One day she took up a book. Listlessly turning the 
 leaves, her eye caught this paragraph : 
 
 " Why is it that in the very upright character there is 
 often too much granite too little of the tender pardon 
 which poor human nature must forever crave? But the 
 answer is plain." 
 
 She shut the book and covered her face. 
 
 " Oh, how he must have suffered !" she whispered. 
 
 Even now, however, Judith did not make the mistake of 
 thinking that if Mr. Gerald were alive she should give him 
 that love he craved. Everything within her volition should 
 be his, more he could not have. It had all been wrong 
 all wrong. 
 
 She did not tell her mother these thoughts ; but once her 
 mother said to her, after a long, wistful gaze into the 
 worn young face, " Judith, you are young, and the young 
 can get over anything. But the old no, the old can t do 
 that." 
 
 Still the daughter had not believed what her mother said 
 about the young. And still, here, if anywhere, her bruised 
 life could heal itself. 
 
 One day Mrs. Grover came in from a long walk. She 
 sought Judith and made her sit down beside her. 
 
 " I ve been to see Mrs. Eldridge," said the elder woman, 
 abruptly. " I ve been thinking I d go, and I m glad I went. 
 I knew you were laying everything to yourself. I couldn t 
 stan it. I wanted to find out something, and I ve found 
 it out. I asked Mrs. Eldridge if any of her family beside 
 her brother Richard had ever been insane. She set out 
 she wouldn t tell, but I made her." 
 
 Judith had taken both her mother s hands, and she was
 
 " ANOTHER INCARNATION 
 
 339 
 
 holding them tightly. Her burning eyes were trying to 
 plunge into the eyes before her. 
 
 * She tried to get out of it by saying twas usually mild ; 
 that her children belonged to the generation that had al 
 ways been skipped ; that they didn t know anything about 
 it, V I mustn t tell them. I told her I didn t want to tell 
 anybody but you. Now you c n stop layin every possible 
 thing to yourself. Will you ?" 
 
 Judith put her head down on her mother s shoulder, and 
 her mother s arm drew her close. 
 
 Judith liked to stand on the cliff -walk and look over 
 the bay. Often when she turned she could see her father 
 with his hired men in the field below her. Her father was 
 very deferential and considerate in his manner to her, for 
 Mr. Gerald had willed all his fortune to his wife willed it 
 when there could be no doubt about his sanity. 
 
 It was the second summer after her return from Biskra. 
 Lucian Eldridge was still abroad. No one knew when he 
 would come home. Ellis Macomber, down in the village, 
 freely told every one that if " he was young Eldridge he 
 should make a try for a nice young woman like Judith, who 
 had thousands of dollars jest a-rottin ." 
 
 He thought Mrs. Guild a silly woman when she re 
 marked, in response to his words, that "mebby Lucian was 
 so proud it galled him to ask such a rich woman to marry 
 him." 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Macomber spat with emphasis, and re 
 plied, that " he guessed Lucian wa n t a dumb fool." 
 
 THE END 
 
 THE HEW VORK PUBLIC LlS ?Ai.Y
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 GAYLORD
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 554 530 6