-
 
 A WEEK 
 
 BOSTON: 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 1887.
 
 Copyright, 1SS7, 
 BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Hnifatrsitn |lrfss : 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PRELUDE i 
 
 PROLOGUE ..... 3 
 
 FIRST DAY 3 1 
 
 EVENING OF FIRST DAY 45 
 
 THE ITALIAN LETTER 55 
 
 SECOND DAY 75 
 
 SECOND DAY (continued ) 85 
 
 EVENING OF SECOND DAY 101 
 
 THE STORY OF THE NECKLACE .... 103 
 
 THIRD DAY 125 
 
 EVENING OF THIRD DAY 141 
 
 THE LAWYER S STORY 156 
 
 FOURTH DAY .- 167 
 
 EVENING OF FOURTH DAY 181 
 
 THE PALACE OF THE CLOSED WINDOW . . 191 
 
 FIFTH DAY 241 
 
 IN WAR-TIME; OR, ONLY A WOMAN S SHOE 251 
 
 EVENING OF FIFTH DAY 283 
 
 SIXTH DAY 291 
 
 202 52
 
 iv Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 EVENING OF SIXTH DAY 295 
 
 THE VOICE 295 
 
 SEVENTH DAY 311 
 
 EVENING OF SEVENTH DAY 325 
 
 HAPPINESS 331
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 Not under Olive nor the Tuscan pine 
 
 Sat this enchanted circle, as of old 
 
 They sat ivho heard Boccaccio s story told ; 
 
 Yet are these spirits of a kindred line, 
 
 Who in their ozvn Fair Harbor dream, and tell 
 
 The matter of their dreaming, wJiile the spell 
 
 Of Indian snnsets and sea-breakers bold 
 
 Braids the romance wherewith their voices twine.
 
 What mortal could be sick or sorry here ! 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD. 
 
 And all ive met was fair and good, 
 
 And all was good that Time could bring, 
 And all the secret of the Spring 
 
 Moved in the chambers of the blood. 
 
 . . . And in my breast 
 
 Spring wakens too, and my regret 
 
 Becomes an April violet, 
 And buds and blossoms like the rest. 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 Ver illud erat. VIRGIL.
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 FAIR HARBOR. 
 
 FAIR HARBOR is one of the few places 
 now left in the world which most people 
 know nothing about. You may coiint on 
 your fingers the men and women who have 
 ever heard of it ; and if you have the usual 
 number of fingers, your list will come to an 
 end first. 
 
 You are lucky if your own name find a 
 place among the few who, led by chance or 
 by natural selection, have come upon this 
 singularly pretty and attractive bit of the 
 very tip end of the heel of Cape Cod} I 
 
 1 Thoreau calls Cape Cod " the bared and bended arm 
 of Massachusetts" and Buzzard s Bay " the shoulder." 
 Then Fair Harbor should be about the elbow, or " crazy 
 bone."
 
 4 Prologue. 
 
 say come upon advisedly ; for yon may 
 live all unsuspecting in its near neigli- 
 borhood, and lo ! one day yon turn a corner, 
 either from tlie sea or the shore, and you 
 are there ! You may drive from Falmouth 
 to Wood s Holl forty times, and never dream 
 that if you had taken a certain turn doivn 
 a green lane to your left you would have 
 come after a little to zvhat would seem to 
 you enchanted ground, the tiny harbor 
 lying still and peaceful between ivooded 
 banks and high pastures and headlands 
 stretching with graceful curves into the 
 beautiful bay beyond. Or you migJit sail 
 forever across from Mattapoisett down Buz 
 zard s Bay and never steer near enough to 
 the opening which, once seen, would draw 
 you to the fairy inlet where tJie voices of 
 sirens singing to your soul would bid you 
 stay and be at rest. 
 
 The southwestern breezes come fresh and 
 cool np from Florida, up from the Gulf
 
 Prologue. 5 
 
 Stream, soft as a doves wing, bringing 
 healing and balm to nerves hurt and over 
 wrought by the " whips of tJie east wind " 
 and the exciting air of other parts of the 
 New England coast, hinting of icebergs 
 while the hot sun biirns. The wonderful 
 quality of the air differentiates this whole 
 region, and gives it a positive character of 
 its own. Its special grace is temperance ; 
 fierce heat and sharp cold are here alike 
 unknown. 
 
 At the time our story opens, Fair Harbor 
 had, as I have said, few acquaintances, and 
 so, few lovers. These few, however, made 
 up for their rarity by an intensity of affec 
 tion which somehow always assumed a very 
 personal form, and this little fragment of 
 the world became to them a beloved strong 
 hold, intrenched in which they pointed their 
 guns at the rest of mankind, demanded their 
 sympathy or their life, and were themselves 
 ready to die in defence of their citadel.
 
 6 Prologue. 
 
 Margaret Temple passed a good deal of 
 her time in this defensive attitiide toiuards 
 the Philistines, who did not know or did not 
 care for her "pays de predilection . 1 She 
 was one of tJie rare people w/io really 
 love Natiire among the thousands of fake 
 worshippers who wrong tier by lip ser 
 vice while their hearts are far from her. 
 Hers was no fitful homage, rendered at 
 one season and denied at another. She 
 walked through the days and years, doing 
 loving and reverent service at the shrine of 
 her Alma Mater, and her lamp burned as 
 constantly and brightly in storm as in sun 
 shine. "It is poor love , she used to say, 
 " which cannot bear a frown or a stern 
 look from the object of its affection, and 
 which depends upon smiles and soft words 
 for its loyalty 
 
 She had discovered Fair Harbor ivhile 
 staying in its neighborhood one summer, 
 after having been in Europe for several
 
 Prologue. 
 
 years. Her husband, for whose health they 
 remained abroad, had died there, and tier 
 only brother went to Algiers to meet her 
 and bring her home. The brother and sis 
 ter, although quite different, were very near 
 to each other, and had a true and inti 
 mate sympathy, which consanguinity by no 
 means always implies, but which when it 
 does exist in this special relationship is apt 
 to be of very beautiful and perfect quality. 
 Margaret s hiLsband had been much older 
 than herself (she was very young when she 
 married}, and their union was rather that 
 of father and daughter. He became a con 
 formed invalid soon after t/ieir marriage, 
 and her ivhole time and care had been con 
 centrated upon him. Her grief at his death 
 was as genuine as was everything about her, 
 and for some years she lived very quietly, 
 and saw only her own people and intimate 
 friends. But she was still young ; she had 
 absolute health and wonderful vitality, and
 
 8 Prologue. 
 
 a freshness of sympathy and interest in peo 
 ple and things which made her life full and 
 rich, and of much meaning to herself and 
 others. 
 
 She was a handsome creature, tall and 
 beautifully made, with a firm, elastic step, 
 and bounding, joyful movements, as if only 
 to be alive were a delight. Wlicn sJie was a 
 young girl she used to say that she never 
 opened Jier eyes in the morning without 
 thanking God for another day, and when 
 she thanked Him on her knees for her 
 " creation, preservation, and all the bless 
 ings of this life , 1 it ivas with a profound 
 gladness that she had been born into the 
 world. The fairies ivJw presided at her 
 birth knew very well what they were doing 
 when they gave her this supremely fortu 
 nate nature ; knciu that it was better tJiau 
 genius or gold ; something which neither 
 moth nor rust could corrupt ; which thieves 
 might covet, but could not steal. Not the
 
 Prologue. 9 
 
 tender est sympathy for the sorrows and sins 
 of otliers, nor a true humility with regard 
 to herself ; not the untruth or unkindness, 
 which, like all of us, she sometimes encoun 
 tered, coiild kill out the cheerful, hopeful, 
 buoyant heart of her ; and she still thanked 
 God for her creation, and blessed Him for 
 every day that He made, and said, " Let us 
 rejoice and be glad in it!" Besides this 
 dower of Nature, she had pre-eminently a 
 good temper, as distinguished from good 
 nature, or good-humor ; and if you have 
 read the Rev. James Freeman Clarke s ser 
 mon on " The Education of the Temper" 
 you will know what I mean ; and if you 
 have not, you had better do so. 
 
 In the spring of 188- Margaret went to 
 Fair Harbor to pass a few weeks alone. 
 She wrote to her brother Ralph (who had 
 been living in New York lately, and was a 
 flourishing stockbroker], and tried to per 
 suade him to take a spring vacation and
 
 i o Prologue. 
 
 join her ; but Jie said tilings were very 
 lively just then, and made merry allusions 
 to bulls and bears, the fauna of Wall 
 Street, he called them, which must have a 
 prior claim over the flora of the Cape, 
 and, in fine, he could not come. Margaret 
 meant to go across the water in June for 
 the summer months, and Ralph promised 
 to be with her at Fair Harbor when she 
 returned in the autumn. So Margaret 
 went to Fair Harbor alone, and, truth to 
 say, did n t mind it in the least. She knew 
 most of the towns in Barnstable County by 
 heart, and the farmers and retired sea-cap 
 tains and their families who lived in them 
 liked her as well as she liked them, and 
 welcomed her to their houses as their hon 
 ored guest and good friend. TJiey hardly 
 understood her enthusiasm for the places 
 they had known all their lives, and felt 
 towards her very much as the White Moun 
 tain stage-driver did to the New York
 
 Prologue. 1 1 
 
 tourist. " O no / I dorit mind stoppin a 
 bit while yoit, stare around. I dare say if 
 I was doivii to York I should ivant to go 
 gawpin about same as you do up here ! " 
 Or like the Roman lady who said to the en 
 thusiastic American, raving over the beau 
 ties of the Campagna, " But what you 
 artists and l fores fieri find to admire in 
 this gloomy, hateful, malarial old spot is 
 what we Italians cannot understand. Come 
 out to my villa to-morrow, and I will show 
 you lovely gardens and fountains and ter 
 races. There, indeed, it is beautiful!" 
 
 However, the good people on the Cape 
 admired Margaret so much tliat they began 
 to suspect there must be advantages in their 
 surroundings to which they had hitherto 
 been blind. 
 
 It was blossoming-time for the apple- 
 trees and lilacs ; the beach-plum all along 
 the roadsides made white patches like soft
 
 1 2 Prologue. 
 
 snow-falls, and here and there formed 
 hedges which looked like banks of snow 
 in the distance, and as one came near, it 
 smelt sweet as honey, with branches all 
 chisters of delicate flowers like hawthorn. 
 The birds welcomed Margaret with new 
 songs that sounded all the sweeter for being 
 old ones, and told her they had learned 
 them for her sake. Song-sparrows, blue 
 birds, yellow-throated warblers, greeted her 
 as they flew from bough to bough; slie 
 heard the quivering note and plaintive cry 
 of the plover, and every now and then a 
 friendly family of quails would cross the 
 road in front of Jier in a leisurely manner, 
 enjoying the immunity of life which a few 
 months would endanger. 
 
 She was stopping at an old farm-house 
 in the lane that led down to the Harbor, 
 with Captain Nye and his wife, old friends 
 of hers, to whom her coming was always a 
 festival. They had lost their only daughter
 
 Prologue. 1 3 
 
 many years ago, and they fancied that Mar 
 garet looked like her. " She has our An 
 nie s eyes, mother, she surely do" the old 
 captain had said the Jirst time tJiey ever 
 saw Margaret, his own eyes full of tears. 
 " She favors Annie greatly, and brings her 
 right back to me, though V is many a long 
 year since we laid her in tJie churchyard 
 yonder" the mother answered. " She d V 
 been just about Mis Temple s age now. 
 Dear ! dear ! But the L ord knows best" 
 " And blessed be His name !" said the old 
 man reverently. 
 
 So there was nothing possible to be done 
 which the worthy couple did not do for 
 Margaret" s comfort and satisfaction. Cap 
 tain Nye was joint-owner of an oyster-bed 
 in a little fresh-water river which ran into 
 the bay near by ; and " even the most be 
 nighted Bostonian knows" said Margaret, 
 " that there are no oysters like Cape oysters ; 
 and tJie beauty of tJicm is, that, unlike ordt-
 
 1 4 Prologue. 
 
 nary bivalves, they need no R in the month 
 to make tJiem eatable. TJicy are just tJie 
 nicest oysters in the world all the year 
 round," a proposition which she stated so 
 sturdily that no one ever thought of dis 
 puting it. As to sea trout, they were a 
 drug in her market. " They swim to my 
 door , she declared, " and implore me to cat 
 them? Certainly they came to her often, 
 from up tJie Day, generally in baskets, 
 smothered in moss and mayflowers, with 
 cards attached, bearing, not the names of 
 the Jish, but of their captors, laying them- 
 selves and their spoils at her feet. 
 
 One evening she was walking slowly back 
 to the house from the wharf, where she had 
 just left her row-boat. She had been row 
 ing about the little harbor in the sunset^ 
 exploring the pretty coves she had explored 
 so often, or floating with oars at rest, feast 
 ing on the glory of color in sky and sea, 
 dreaming dreams with half-shut eyes,
 
 Prologue. 1 5 
 
 the young May moon smiled at her over 
 her right shoulder (she held a good deal to 
 that] , and one by one the stars shone. 
 
 As she walked up the lane to the farm 
 house, a handsome red IrisJi setter came 
 bounding across the fields, and ran towards 
 her with miich leaping and wagging of the 
 tail and other marks of recognition* " Why, 
 Erin ! Where did you come from, Erin, and 
 what are you doing here alone ? " Mar 
 garet looked over the fields to the large 
 white house at the head of the Harbor, 
 where she knew the dog belonged, and saw 
 that the wide, dark-green blinds were closed, 
 and the whole house wore an empty, de 
 serted air. Erin evidently knew all about 
 it ; but as he did not tell, they went on to 
 gether to Captain Nyes, where Mrs. Nye 
 stood waiting on the porch step. 
 
 " There, Mis Temple, I was just telling 
 the Cap n he \i better go and look for you. 
 Them quahog cakes is just hot and done to
 
 1 6 Prologue. 
 
 a tiirn ; and, says I, Mis Temple s fell 
 a-dreamin out in her boat, and you d bet 
 ter go and look her up, for she docs like 
 quahog cakes first-rater 
 
 " 77m/ / do, Mrs. Nye. I ll come in 
 tJiis mimite ; and pray ask the Captain to 
 come and cat his supper with me this even 
 ing. I suppose it s of no use to ask you ? 
 
 " Why, bless you, no ! " exclaimed Jlfrs. 
 Nye. "And if I did, who in mercy s 
 name s going to mind the cakes ? You 
 don t suppose I d trust em to D rushy- Ann, 
 do you ? She d burn em to a cinder, or 
 else serve cm raw as raw. But I ll tell 
 father, and it II please him clear round. 
 Come along, Erin ; you ve come for your 
 supper too, I guess!" 
 
 Margaret found the table covered with 
 good tilings, of which the quaJwg cakes 
 were the final expression and fiowcr ; and 
 presently in came the Captain, his weather- 
 beaten face and Jiands sliining with soap
 
 Prologue. 1 7 
 
 and water, his best wig on (Jie had one of a 
 rusty brown for every day, and a lustrous 
 black one for Sunday), and a big, white, 
 starched shirt-collar, the points of which 
 stuck into his eyes at intervals ^and made 
 him wink. Erin, too, considered himself 
 invited, and stretched himself contentedly at 
 Margaret s feet, asking no questions. 
 
 Captain Nye and Margaret were great 
 cronies. She declared there was not one 
 of her male friends from whom she got 
 more solid information and soitndcr phi 
 losophy than from old " Cap n Bishy" as 
 he was called round about. 
 
 " / noticed that the White House was 
 closed, as I came along. What has hap 
 pened there since last year ? v 
 
 " You may well ask replied the Captain. 
 " That house is an eyesore to me whenever 
 I look at it ; and it used to be so lively, 
 what with the human beins and the dumb 
 critturs. Well, I sometimes tell mother she
 
 1 8 Prologue. 
 
 and I have lived too long. We are aboiit 
 the only things that seem to stand by and 
 not go off out o Fair Harbor one way or 
 another . 
 
 " Tell me about the Sandersons, and why 
 they left the place" 
 
 " Well, you see old Squire Sanderson 
 died just after you was here last fall, and 
 poor Mis Sanderson she almost died her 
 self, grievin after him. Their .only son s 
 away at sea. He s captain of a merchant- 
 vessel, you know, and^s mostly away, and 
 they W buried their otlier children on and 
 off, all but Mary Ann, and she s married 
 and lives over to New Bedford, married 
 lawyer Doane, a likely young fclloiu. Mary 
 Ann came to stop with her mother zv/icn 
 the Sqiiire died, and secin her so broken 
 down and lonesome, she just insisted on 
 takin her back to Bedford. You see V is 
 quiet here in the winter, and no mistake, 
 and there s a good deal <? stir to Bedford ;
 
 Prologue. 1 9 
 
 so the old lady went, and she s there now, 
 and she s got Mary Anns baby to pet and 
 play ivith, and I guess she s considerable 
 consoled. The White House and the barn 
 and all the critturs and fixiris are to let, 
 and I do wish some clever folks would 
 come and take em. I promised I d look 
 after the place and the live-stock until 
 somethin turned up ; and Erin here, he s 
 mostly with us, always at meal-times and 
 at nigJit, though he lies in the sun in front 
 of the White House daytimes, and seems 
 to be waitin for somebody. It was kind o 
 cute his knowin you, was nt it ? I dont 
 suppose now" said the Captain, looking at 
 Margaret, " I don t sitppose " 
 
 " / m not at all sure I would n t , said 
 Margaret. " Can one get into the house 
 to see it?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, to be sure. I ve got the keys in 
 charge, and the whole concern, and I II take 
 you all over the place any time .
 
 2O Prologue. 
 
 " To-morrow morning, then" said Mar 
 garet. 
 
 And the next day they did go all over the 
 place; and Margaret (whose principle it 
 was, when you like a thing and want it, take 
 it if yon can get it) then and there bought 
 the ho2isc and farm and all the belongings, 
 wagons and farm horses, four good cows 
 (natives crossed with Jersey), and beehives 
 on a settle in the apple-orchard; a vege 
 table garden behind the house, with a border 
 of twigs for sweet peas to climb on, and 
 plenty of sweet-smelling herbs ; in front 
 of the house a flower-garden, zvith paths 
 divided by high rows of box, where grew 
 guelder roses and calycanthus and Persian 
 lilacs, and all manner of old-fashioned 
 shrubs and flowers. There was a grove 
 of trees on one side, walking down to the 
 water s edge, and the path along the high 
 bank was bordered with sumac h and bar 
 berry bushes, and whortleberry and bay-
 
 Prologue. 2 1 
 
 berry and sweet-fern, growing thick and 
 fast, and giving promise of rich color for 
 the autumn-tide* There were broad, green 
 fields for the cows pleasure-grounds, and 
 JiigJi pasture lands where sJiccp migJit 
 browse ; and the grassy lawn beyond the 
 garden led straight down to the little beach, 
 and to the wharf for boats. 
 
 Afterwards, when Captain Nyc was talk 
 ing it over with his wife, he said: " As we 
 were walkin up to the White House, Mis 
 Temple says to me, says she, Cap n, I do 
 hope there // be three kinds of flowers in 
 that garden, three special kinds that I 
 love, and used to have in a garden of my 
 own when I was a little girl. In fact , says 
 she, if those flowers ainl there, I dont 
 know as I shall take the place" I was kind 
 o" nervous when she spoke like tliat, for I 
 did want her to buy ; and I was afraid it 
 was some o 1 them rare things she meant, 
 that they have in gardens, Mis May s
 
 2 2 Prologue. 
 
 got some, you know, over to Wood s Holl. 
 High-breds, I believe they call em. But 
 there, wJiat do you think, mother? She 
 went into the garden and looked about for 
 a while, and then she said, qiiite joyful-like, 
 Oh, here they are, Cap n, every one ! And 
 she stooped down and made tier a little 
 boquay, and put em into her dress, and 
 she kissed em, and I believe to mercy site 
 cried over em some. And what do yoit 
 think tJiey were ? Jiist ladies dcligJits, 
 the little old-fashioned kind, yoii know, 
 and striped grass, and stars of Bethlehem" 
 she called em." 
 
 " Well, well , said Mrs. Nye, " / ve given 
 up calculatin on city folks. They seem to 
 go jiist contrary to what you d expect. 
 They dont care for the things you d figure 
 t/iey d set by ; and then they just go crazy 
 over some little unsignified thing that seem- 
 in ly ain t of no acco^mt. I do believe Mis 
 Temple thinks more of a glass o new milk
 
 Prologue. 2 3 
 
 and a fresh churniri o butter tlian she 
 does of the best pies and plum-cake and jell 
 that I can set before her. And my last 
 putting iip of grape and quince jell was 
 just splendid, if I do say it" 
 
 " / shall depend upon yoii for oysters, 
 Captain , 1 said Margaret. " But quahog 
 cakes ! What shall I do for them ? " 
 
 " Sakes alive!" cried Mrs. Nye, "Til 
 be bound your city cook // make em much 
 better than me ; but you ve only to say the 
 word any time, and I II come over and show 
 her, if she cant." 
 
 " That s a bargain" said Margaret. "/ 
 know I shall never have such good things, 
 or like my housekeeping as well as yours ; 
 but I want to ask some of my friends to 
 come to me in the aiitiimn, and I must have 
 a big house to hold them" 
 
 TJie next morning, before Margaret went 
 back to town, she walked across the fields to
 
 24 Prolog^le. 
 
 view Jier new possessions. TJie day was 
 f-iir, and as delicate-tinted as any opal, 
 suck a day as comes far oftener to our Neiv 
 England coast in spring tJian its maligners 
 would kave the world believe. Margarefs 
 
 CJ 
 
 mood was in accord witk the time; and 
 as ske walked along, her handsome head 
 thrown back, her dark eyes deivy and sweet, 
 her pulses beating time to the song in her 
 heart, her hands full of wild Jlowers, she 
 made a charming picture. " For spring 
 still makes spring in the mind" says Emer 
 son, who knew tlie secret of eternal youth. 
 A soft breeze blew from the water, bowing 
 the tall grass and chasing the shadozvs it 
 made as it ran JiitJier and yon among the 
 fields, and sending great whiff s of perfume 
 from the lilac hedge over the stone wall. 
 The roadside was gay with spring coloring. 
 Red columbines and blue violets ; wild gera 
 nium and the golden-hearted strazvberry 
 blossom; Solomons seal and anemones, and
 
 Prologue. 2 5 
 
 that most delicate and gracefullest of vines, 
 the blackberry ; the purple-pink fringed po 
 ly gala ; the cassandra, or leather- leaf, hold 
 ing its white racemes on one side, they 
 were all here at Margaret s feet, and sJie 
 took tribute from them all. She crossed a 
 piece of white-sanded beach, and walked up 
 the bank through the little wood at whose 
 
 o 
 
 edges the shad-blossom and dogwood were 
 in white bloom. There were maple-trees 
 among the pines, clothed in tender shades 
 of red and pale green, waving graceful 
 tassels in the breeze; and oaks trying to 
 make up for lost time, and bud and boiir- 
 geon witli the rest. " How much red there 
 is in the springtime ! " said Margaret. 
 She had the habit, common to those who 
 live alone a good deal, of talking to herself. 
 " Why do people speak as if green were its 
 only wear? Charles d Or leans knew better 
 
 when he said, 
 
 Un premier jour du mois de Mai, 
 De tanne et de vert perdu?
 
 2 6 Prologue. 
 
 I never could quite get the right English 
 word for lanne, by the bye, tan-color 
 does 11 V just express it" SJic sat down ou 
 the soft moss, sprinkled with partridge- 
 berry and wintergreen, and murmitrcd, 
 
 " The green grass is bowing, 
 The morning wind is in it ; 
 Tis a tune worth thy knowing, 
 Though it change every minute. 
 Tis a tune of the Spring, 
 Every year sings it over? 
 
 " Every year sings sings " And Mar 
 garet fell into a gentle slumber, and dreamed 
 that she was at home in Boston, and that 
 her sister and brother-in-law were laugh 
 ing at her terribly for her purchase of the 
 Sanderson estate, and she was getting very 
 angry and very miserable; and then she 
 dreamed that some one stood beside her, and 
 a voice she had not heard for years said 
 earnestly, " It is well ; and better than yoii 
 know remains behind"
 
 Prologue. 2 7 
 
 A slight noise in the underbrush wak 
 ened Margaret, and Erin was by her side, 
 looking at her a little anxiously, until slie 
 spoke to hint and told him she had not lost 
 her path nor fallen by the way. " / have 
 only had a dream, Erin" she said. So 
 they went on to the White House, Erin 
 marching soberly, with a dignified manner, 
 for lie knew he was her natural guide 
 about his old home, and felt the responsi 
 bility of the situation. 
 
 " As from some blissful neighborhood 
 A notice faintly understood, 
 I see the end and know the good? 
 
 "Like an sEolian harp that wakes 
 No certain air, but overtakes 
 Far thought with music that it makes. 
 
 " Such seemed the whisper at my side. 
 What is V thou know st, sweet voice ? / cried. 
 1 A hidden hope] the voice replied?
 
 // was October with the heart of May. 
 
 E. S. PHELPS. 
 
 And round us all the thicket rang, 
 To many a flute of Arcady. 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 // may be that the gulfs shall wash us down, 
 It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles. 
 
 TENNYSON.
 
 FIRST DAY. 
 
 " Now, please don t begin with a prejudice, 
 Ralph ! " 
 
 " My dear Margaret," said Ralph gravely, " I 
 am surprised at you ! I thought you knew 
 Latin. If I am to have any prejudices at all 
 (and pray don t attempt to deprive me of them, 
 they are among the few things I have to be 
 proud of), I must begin with them. One can 
 not end with a prejudice. For the word is 
 formed of two Latin ones, fre, signifying " 
 
 " Oh, Ralph, how can you be so provoking ! " 
 exclaimed his sister. " I dare say \ve shall find 
 the girl delightful, and end by all falling in love 
 with her. At any rate, you know I am doing 
 the right thing in asking her to come here. 
 You know how very nice her people were to 
 me in England, and you ought to be glad
 
 32 A Week away from Time. 
 
 that I can show any attention to Miss Carr- 
 Wynstede at this season of the year, when no 
 one is in Boston." 
 
 " It s so like English people to go there at 
 this season," said Ralph. " And how on earth 
 does she happen to be over here at all? I sup 
 pose she is one of those terrible Englishwomen 
 who have lately taken to travelling about in 
 squads, quite able to take care of themselves, 
 pour cause, with long pointed noses all ready 
 to sniff, smooth, uncompromising hair taken 
 straight off their brows ; long of limb, water 
 proof as to attire, carrying sketching materials 
 about with them wherever they go, though 
 never yet have I seen one of them make a pic 
 ture; utterly unmusical, yet calmly sitting down 
 to the piano unbidden of evenings, and singing 
 English songs as devoid of melody as their 
 voices. I can see them from here." 
 
 " I don t know if she sketches, nor how she 
 sings, nor even how she looks. I have never 
 seen her," said Margaret. " When I stayed 
 with her parents in Devonshire, she was away 
 on the Continent "
 
 A Week away from Time. 33 
 
 " Of course," interjected Ralph, " travelling 
 in a squad, I dare say " 
 
 " With her aunt, Lady Molyneux," went on 
 Margaret, regardless of the interruption; "but 
 I heard of her constantly as a very charming 
 girl, and I shall feel that she is until I find that 
 she is not. And you will be very nice to her, 
 to please me, even if you think her detestable, 
 because you are a great dear, however horrid 
 you may seem." 
 
 " That being the case, my prepotente sister, 
 and having told me how I ought to feel, please 
 tell me what I must do ! Am I to drive you 
 to the station to meet this young woman with 
 two names, for I believe she is to arrive this 
 afternoon, and by which name shall I look 
 for her? " 
 
 " Listen," said Margaret, " to a letter I had 
 this morning from Bell, who, wonderful to re 
 late, is going to rouse herself sufficiently to 
 come to this despised spot after a summer at 
 Bar Harbor." 
 
 Margaret took a letter from the table and 
 read : 
 
 3
 
 34 A Week away from Time. 
 
 BOSTON, Saturday, September 29. 
 
 You DEAR UTOPIAN, I can conceive of nothing 
 more incongruous, more absolutely untoward, than the 
 presence of that English girl with the two names 
 (Tom calls her the two-headed girl) in the midst of 
 our family party for a whole week, and Heaven save 
 the mark! at Cape Cod! ["There! you see!" 
 grumbled Ralph.] But since you will have it so, 
 and since, I confess, whatever you undertake in this 
 line is apt to turn out well, I will do your bidding, 
 call upon General and Mrs. Carr-Wynstede at the 
 Brunswick Hotel on Monday, be presented to the 
 daughter, and bear her away with me to lunch. See 
 how I love you ! a call on strangers at high noon, for 
 me, who hate both strangers and high noon, and a long 
 journey by rail of nearly two hours ; all in one day ! 
 [" Nearly two hours ! Hear her ! " said Margaret, " and 
 by the Flying Dude ! "] Nevertheless, it shall be done. 
 So expect us by the afternoon train. I have no idea 
 where I am going, nor how we get there ; but Tom 
 knows, and he will engineer us. The children are both 
 away, Dick in the Adirondacks, with some, of his 
 " fellows," and your namesake, Peggy, Tom took to his 
 mother s, at Oaklands, yesterday. As she went away she 
 said, " I wish I were going with you to aunty, mamma ;
 
 A Week away from Time. 35 
 
 grandma is very nice and kind, but she is n t aunty 
 nobody is ! " I shall not bring my maid, thanks, for I 
 am sure your Susan will do all I want for me (you 
 say Miss C.-W. takes a French maid with her), but I 
 will bring Joujou, if you don t mind. He would die of 
 grief if he were left behind, and so should I. By the 
 bye, Charlie Wyatt came to see us last evening. He 
 says his yacht, the " Hope," is not laid up yet, and that 
 he shall take her round to Fair Harbor and put her 
 and himself at your service. I said it must be too cold 
 to sail (and at any rate nothing would drag me on 
 board a boat, you know), but he said, " Too cold at the 
 Cape ! The first week in October ! Oh dear ! no. It 
 will be perfect sailing weather, and a full moon ! " He 
 has the Cape madness as badly as you and Ralph, so I 
 did n t discuss with him. He looked bored, and twirled 
 his long golden moustache a good deal (I declare he 
 is handsomer than ever) when I told him of Miss 
 C.-W. ; and I tried to cheer him by saying perhaps she 
 didn t like yachting any better than I. "They do, 
 they all like it ! " said he gloomily. " Look at Lady 
 Brassey ! I dare say this one will be taking the helm 
 and ordering my men about. But to please dear Mrs. 
 Temple I would take Queen Victoria herself on a 
 cruise ! " He certainly could n t say fairer than that,
 
 36 A Week away from Time. 
 
 could he? Till Monday afternoon, then, and with 
 love from Tom, Your sister, 
 
 BELL BOWDOIN. 
 
 P. S. I was going to take down quantities of eatables, 
 pates defoie gras and French canned things, but 
 Tom says you d be insulted ; that you disapprove oifoie 
 gras on humane grounds, because it hurts the geese, 
 not the geese who eat, but those who are eaten, 
 and that you are not camping out on a desert island. 
 Still, I notice he has a hamper of pears and hot-house 
 grapes in the hall addressed to you. I suppose even 
 you will acknowledge that there are neither vines nor 
 fig-trees in your Paradise. And yet, I am not so 
 sure. 
 
 P. S. 2d. So you really mean to put us all under 
 contribution for something to amuse our evenings ! 
 Tom vows he never wrote anything in his life but 
 checks to pay my bills. As for me, I have had no 
 time at Mount Desert for anything so serious as writing 
 a story. But perhaps I may cudgel my brains one day 
 down there while you are all out in that dreadful boat, 
 and beat up a trifle of some sort. We shall see. 
 
 " I am sorry Tom discouraged Bell s good in 
 tentions in the commissariat department," said
 
 A Week away from Time. 37 
 
 Ralph. " I have a tremendous appetite, having 
 positively eaten nothing in New York for 
 weeks. This air makes one ravenous. I think 
 I devoured a bushel of oysters at luncheon. 
 You Ye got a capital cook, Margaret. Is she 
 a native? " 
 
 " No," said Margaret. " Don t tell Bell and 
 Tom ; they will laugh at me. You know how I 
 have always praised the cooking here ; and cer 
 tainly when I have been at Captain Nye s, and 
 dear Mrs. Nye superintended everything, it left 
 nothing to be desired. She used to get what 
 she called an abrigoine from Marshpee to help 
 her, you know; and somehow when the Red 
 Indian was under her influence she did excel 
 lently well. But I have not been fortunate in 
 my experiences with the original owners of the 
 soil ; I got one from Marshpee when I first came 
 to the White House in September. She was 
 really a very good cook, and I thought we 
 should never part." 
 
 "Well, what happened? Did her proud spirit 
 refuse to accept a hireling s pay, or did you 
 send her for a scholarship to Hampton?"
 
 38 A Week away from Time. 
 
 "Neither," replied Margaret laughing. "But 
 the first time I paid her her wages she de 
 parted, going back to her native wigwam, and, I 
 regret to say, taking all the week s family wash 
 with her. I forbore to prosecute her, in view 
 of the wrongs of the Indian race. So I called 
 it quits got some more table linen, and a 
 cook from Boston. But it is time for you to 
 drive to the station. I told Bell to get out at 
 Wood s Holl rather than Falmouth, the drive 
 thence is so pretty. Tell David to put the 
 bays into the beach-wagon for you, and he can 
 go himself for Miss Carr-Wynstede s maid. I 
 do feel a little nervous about the French maid, 
 I confess. I am afraid we shan t be able to 
 amuse her. Let Erin run along with you and 
 be introduced to his cousin Joujou." 
 
 Ralph sighed deeply. " We were so happy 
 here, we two!" he said. "When I think of 
 our Arcadia being invaded by unsympathetic 
 relatives (unsympathetic to the beauties of Fair 
 Harbor, I mean) and by the British female, - 
 when I think that we are all expected to write 
 stories and read them aloud of evenings just as
 
 A Week away from Time. 39 
 
 they do in books, but never in real life that I 
 ever heard of, it really does seem, Margaret, 
 like voluntarily introducing the serpent into our 
 Eden, and I only hope he will not turn and 
 rend us! How many shall we be in all?" 
 
 " With Mr. Wyatt, whom I count as a guest, 
 and to whom I have sent word that he must 
 bring a story, poor fellow! we shall be 
 six," said Margaret. 
 
 " Don t you think we had better be seven 
 and done with it? It is a magic number, and 
 besides, it just fills out the days of the \veek. 
 Whom else shall we have? Did you know that 
 Philip Kirkland had got home from Europe 
 Japan India Heaven knows where? I met 
 him in Boston the day I came down here. He 
 asked for you, and I wanted to tell him then 
 to take the train and come and see how you 
 are, but I did n t quite know. How long is 
 it since you saw him?" 
 
 Margaret had risen while Ralph was speak 
 ing, and walked to the open window, where she 
 stood breaking off branches of pink and white 
 honeysuckle from a vine which grew from the
 
 40 A Week away from Time. 
 
 porch across the casement, in a quick, nervous 
 way. She answered her brother without turn 
 ing her head. 
 
 " How long? I don t quite remember. It is 
 several years. We were in Rome, you know." 
 
 "Why don t you send for him?" said Ralph 
 cheerfully. " He is out and out the most in 
 teresting man I know, and no end of a good 
 fellow. Write a line now, asking- him to come 
 down to-morrow afternoon, and I 11 take it to 
 the mail myself. I will go to the stable and 
 come back for your note. He can telegraph 
 his answer." And he left the house and was out 
 of sight before Margaret turned round. When 
 she did, her face was flushed and her eyes were 
 shining with some unwonted emotion. 
 
 " How foolish I am ! " she said aloud. " I am 
 sure he has forgotten. I dare say I imagined it 
 then. Is it all because of that dream of mine 
 in the woods last spring? Shall I be governed 
 by a dream of the springtime, I, for whom it 
 is no longer spring? No. I will ask him, and 
 we shall meet like any other good friends who 
 have not met for years and who sincerely like
 
 A Week away from Time. 41 
 
 each other. I dare say he won t even care to 
 come, he has been at home so little while." 
 
 When Ralph returned, driving the bays to 
 the door, Margaret stood in the porch, the note 
 in her hand and the flush faded from her cheek. 
 When he had gone, she took her scissors and 
 went into the garden to cut fresh flow T ers for her 
 guests bedrooms, singing to herself, 
 
 " What s the way to Arcady, to Arcady ? "
 
 Italy, my Italy ! 
 
 Queen Mary s saying serves for me ; 
 Open my heart and you will see 
 
 Graved inside of it, "Italy." 
 Suck lovers of old are I and she 
 So it always was, so it still shall be. 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING.
 
 EVENING OF FIRST DAY. 
 
 " IT is really very nice here, far nicer than 
 I thought," said Mrs. Bowdoin. " You never 
 told me how beautiful the view is coming from 
 Wood s Roll, where one looks down upon Buz 
 zard s Bay on one side and Vineyard Sound on 
 the other, and upon those miles and miles of 
 rolling wooded country." 
 
 <w I have told you a thousand times," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 " And why did you never say how enchanting 
 the little harbor is when one turns the corner 
 of the lane yonder and comes upon it so un 
 expectedly? I fairly screamed with delight." 
 
 " I have said it constantly for years," replied 
 Margaret. 
 
 " As to the air, and I confess I have heard 
 you speak of the air, I never felt anything 
 so delicious. It is as soft as Newport, with a 
 hundred times more snap to it. It has quite
 
 46 A Week away from Time. 
 
 gone to my head. And the house," she went 
 on as Margaret showed her upstairs to her 
 room, " how charming it is, with the big hall, 
 and the white wainscoting, and the wide stair 
 case with carved balusters, and this landing 
 with a window-seat, and such a lovely view ! 
 And oh, Margaret, what big, sunny, cheerful 
 rooms ! You could n t have had anything better 
 if you had built it yourself." 
 
 " Nothing half as good," said Margaret, " for 
 this was built nearly a hundred years ago." 
 
 Presently, when the brothers and sisters were 
 sitting together in the large, comfortable room 
 on the right of the hall door which Margaret 
 had made into her library, waiting for Miss Carr- 
 Wynstede to come downstairs to afternoon tea, 
 " Well, how did you find her? What do you 
 think of her? " asked Margaret eagerly, turning 
 first to one and then to the other. " She is 
 certainly very handsome ; that I could see for 
 myself." 
 
 " I know Tom and Ralph are just dying to 
 speak," said Mrs. Bowdoin, " but I insist upon 
 the floor."
 
 A Week away from Time. 47 
 
 " As if she did n t always have the floor ! " 
 said her husband. " I am not even allowed in 
 the chair to keep order. However, I have my 
 views of the young lady, which I shall take a 
 grim pleasure in keeping to myself." 
 
 " You may as well," retorted his wife. " They 
 will be of no benefit to any one else. You 
 were n t at home at lunch, and you passed your 
 time on the way down in the smoking-car, 
 shamelessly, with your boon companions from 
 those two dens of crime up the Bay, the Monu 
 mental and Forefathers Clubs. And you and 
 Ralph hardly addressed a word to either Miss 
 Carr-Wynstede or me on the drive here. I am 
 the only person who can tell you anything 
 about her." 
 
 " I am waiting," said Margaret. " But be 
 quick, for she will be coming down soon. I left 
 Susan struggling to make Marie understand the 
 lay of the land upstairs. Miss Carr-Wynstede 
 told me Marie was very anxious to learn Eng 
 lish, so I did n t attempt to interpret for her. 
 Go on, Bell." 
 
 " To begin with, then," said Mrs. Bowdoin,
 
 48 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " must we always call her by her two names? 
 It is such a bore, and takes so long. One can 
 abbreviate in writing, but one can t call her Miss 
 C.-W. to her face. Why will English people be 
 so absurd ? Life is not long enough for hyphens. 
 What is her Christian name, I wonder? " 
 
 " Muriel," said Mrs. Temple. " She sent me a 
 charming note in answer to my invitation (for 
 I wrote to her separately when I learned that 
 her parents could not come), and it was signed 
 Muriel. " 
 
 " How English, to be sure ! Such an out- 
 of-the-way name ! But I must say I like it. 
 It is my only reason for regretting that I was 
 not born English; then I might have been 
 Gwendolyn, or Gladys, or Iseult Don t smile 
 in that aggravating way, Tom ! I feel just like 
 Iseult. Very well," she continued ; " I went 
 to the Brunswick and paid my call on the 
 father and mother. They were very nice, I 
 must say, Margaret, and they said charming 
 things of you, and how much they cared for 
 you. And as we were talking, and they were 
 saying how sorry they were their engagements
 
 A. Week away from Time. 49 
 
 prevented their passing the week with you, and 
 how glad they were to confide their daughter to 
 my care, and all that, the young lady herself 
 came into the room. I confess I was unpre 
 pared for such beauty ; she really is exquisitely 
 lovely. I took her home with me, and we got 
 on very well. She did n t talk much ; I can t 
 tell if it is shyness, or want of anything to say." 
 
 " I think I could explain it," remarked Mr. 
 Bowdoin dryly ; " it is for the same reason that 
 I am a small talker at home. One thing I will 
 reveal ; when the young lady got out of the 
 wagon just now, I saw an uncommonly pretty 
 little foot, which was more or rather less 
 than I expected. Did you notice it, Ralph? " 
 
 " And what a beautiful voice she has ! " ex 
 claimed Margaret, " low and sweet and clear. 
 I could fall in love with a voice like that if I 
 were a man." 
 
 " It seems to be the classical voice with noth 
 ing beside, as far as I can make out," said 
 Ralph. " You have spent the day with the girl, 
 Bell, and you have told us nothing about her 
 except that she is good-looking, which we can 
 
 4
 
 50 A Week away from Time. 
 
 see for ourselves. I don t believe there is much 
 to tell. I believe I know just what sort of person 
 she is : she rides and hunts and plays lawn 
 tennis. Oh, yes, of course she plays lawn ten 
 nis ! I am so thankful Margaret has no tennis- 
 court. Don t pray be having one marked out 
 in the sand on the beach ! Let her see that 
 there is one spot on the earth where sensible 
 people can get along without that assertive and 
 all-pervading game. And she takes long walks, 
 and cares more for horses and dogs than for 
 any human being; and when she wants to ex 
 press the highest praise of any one, she calls 
 him or her doggy ! WJiy Margaret insisted 
 upon asking her ! It s going to be a horrid 
 nuisance." 
 
 At this moment a rustle was heard on the 
 stairs, and in another the English girl stood at 
 the door of the library. There was one awk 
 ward moment, for the whole party felt guilty 
 and ashamed of themselves to have been dis 
 cussing their guest so freely, and then Mrs. 
 Temple went forward and took her hand and 
 spoke in her own cordial, sweet way, which
 
 A Week away from Time. 5 1 
 
 always made strangers feel quite at home 
 directly. 
 
 " When we have had a cup of tea," she said, 
 " if you are not too tired we will walk toward 
 the headlands yonder and see the sun set over 
 the water ; that is what one cannot often witness 
 on our eastern coast." 
 
 " Indeed, I am not in the least tired," said 
 Miss Carr-\Vynstede, " and I meant to ask if I 
 might take a walk. But please don t trouble 
 yourself to come with me. I d much rather find 
 my way alone, if I may take your handsome set 
 ter with me. Oh, I don t really mean that I d 
 rather go alone, you know, only I thought 
 I " And the poor girl flushed crimson, and 
 looked so troubled that Margaret pitied her. 
 
 " Hullo ! " cried out Mr. Bowdoin, who was 
 standing at the hall door looking out, " Hullo ! 
 here s a yacht coming into the harbor, a sloop. 
 \ truly believe it is the Hope. Wyatt has 
 been as good as his word. Now, Miss Carr- 
 Wynstede, you will see our handsome man, our 
 Antinous, our champion masher ; and the queer 
 part of it is, he s an awfully good fellow."
 
 52 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " Let us all go down to the pier to see the 
 Hope come in," said Margaret; "and you 
 shall have Erin for your special escort, my 
 dear," turning to Muriel with a charming smile. 
 
 Mrs. Bowdoin said she could see both the 
 sunset and the yacht very well from the porch. 
 Margaret and Mr. Bowdoin walked together, so 
 Ralph was obliged to be the English girl s com 
 panion; but he was really quite embarrassed 
 and awkward, for he felt that she had probably 
 heard what he was saying when she came down 
 stairs. So they walked silently through the 
 garden, sweet with the scent of late roses, helio 
 trope, and mignonette ; along the path cut 
 through a tangle of golden-rod, bayberry, grape 
 vines, and purple asters, till they came down to 
 the wharf just as the " Hope " reached moor 
 ings and the gig was pushing off with her 
 handsome captain. He raised his cap in answer 
 to waving handkerchiefs, and in a few minutes 
 he had shaken hands heartily with his friends 
 and had been presented to Miss Carr-Wynstede. 
 Mr. Bowdoin had spoken truly; he really was 
 as handsome as it is given to man to be. The
 
 A Week away from Time. 5 3 
 
 sun and the sea-air had tanned his almost too 
 fair skin to a rich brown, and as he stood 
 with his yachtsman s cap in his hand, in his 
 yachtsman s dress, more than six feet of broad- 
 shouldered vigorous manhood, his yellow mous 
 tache glowing in the setting sun s rays with every 
 shade of tawny gold, his blue eyes, blue as 
 violets are blue, sometimes rather sleepy, and 
 half veiled by heavy lashes, but now lighted 
 with honest, frank pleasure, Charlie Wyatt was 
 the very picture of a sun-god in uniform. 
 
 " Here I am, dear Mrs. Temple, and here is 
 
 my boat; and both are yours, to use or abuse, 
 
 as pleases you. You must look upon us as a 
 
 part of your establishment, but you must never 
 
 "let either of us bore you." 
 
 " I want to see Captain Nye about a new 
 centre-board for your cat-boat, Margaret," said 
 Ralph. " I 11 be at home in time to dress for 
 dinner." 
 
 So when the party went back to the house, 
 the last rays of the sun fell upon Wyatt walk 
 ing by Miss Carr-Wynstede, looking down into 
 her face with those blue eyes which he had
 
 54 A Week away from Time. 
 
 found very troublesome many times in his life, 
 so much more had been understood from them 
 than he had ever intended to convey. Marga 
 ret whispered to her brother-in-law, " Oh, dear ! 
 I hope she won t go to falling in love with 
 him and breaking her heart. I wish he were n t 
 so ridiculously handsome ; and he s as unsus 
 ceptible as he is beautiful." 
 
 After dinner, when the men had had their 
 cigarettes and the ladies had sat for half an 
 hour in the broad porch giving themselves up 
 to enjoyment of the moonlight and the soft, 
 odor-laden air as it came from the sea across the 
 flowers, Margaret said, " It is really too bad to 
 go into the house and leave all this loveliness ; 
 but I mean to be stern about this thing, and we 
 must begin to-night, or we never shall. I shall 
 set you a good example, but this evening s 
 entertainment will be a mild one. I shall read 
 you a letter I have lately received from my dear 
 friend Mr. Johns, who is in Italy. It is about 
 Beatrice Bernardi, the peasant Improvisatrice, 
 whom we know of through the Roadside Songs 
 of Tuscany, of Francesca, which have been
 
 A Week away from Time. 55 
 
 edited and so greatly admired by Mr. Ruskin. 
 The letter describes a visit paid to Beatrice by 
 Mr. and Mrs. Johns." 
 
 " It is a shame to go in," said Wyatt, in a low 
 voice to Miss Carr-Wynstede. " One does n t 
 have many evenings like this, even at Fair 
 Harbor." 
 
 Just then a figure appeared at the open win 
 dow of a room above where they stood. 
 
 " Oh, Marie, don t close the shutters, please ! " 
 said Miss Carr-Wynstede. "*I like to have the 
 moonlight in my room." 
 
 " Is that your room?" asked Wyatt. "Then 
 when you see the Hope s light shining yonder, 
 won t you think that it is burning for you, and 
 keeping watch for you while you sleep?" 
 
 When the company had seated themselves in 
 the library to their satisfaction, Wyatt securing 
 to himself a chair behind Miss Carr-Wynstede, 
 Margaret began : - 
 
 CUTIGLIANO, APPENNINO PISTOJESE, Aug. 15, 188-. 
 MY DEAR MARGARET, E. and I went to-day to 
 see Beatrice. Beatrice Bernardi is the most remark-
 
 56 A Week away from Time. 
 
 able of the Improvisator!, male or female, who have 
 been in Italy during the last sixty years. She was 
 born in the neighborhood of Cutigliano about eighty 
 years ago. Her parents were poor, as are all the peas 
 ants of these mountains. She had no instruction, and 
 to-day does not know how to read or write ; but she 
 always delighted in Nature, and used to sing to herself 
 about the flowers and the trees and the sunlight and 
 the sky as she tended the sheep or worked in the 
 fields or gathered the chestnuts. At twenty she mar 
 ried, and the first "ottava" 1 she ever sang (her first 
 improvisation) as it were aloud, was to her husband on 
 their wedding-day. Here in their mountains, which 
 the poet Tommaseo calls " the most poetic place in the 
 poetic Tuscan land, poetry is to these poor mountain 
 eers a necessity, and the fame of Beatrice soon spread. 
 From that time forward she sang constantly, and with 
 such effect that her fame was carried all abroad, so that 
 she was sent for by rich and distinguished persons to 
 sing for them, and among the people she always col 
 lected a great crowd whenever she sang. Thus she 
 went to Bologna, Pistoja, and Florence. Manzoni sent 
 
 1 An " ottava " is a poetical stanza of eight verses of eleven 
 syllables, of which the first six rhyme alternately and the last 
 two rhyme with each other.
 
 A Week away from Time. c 7 
 
 for her to come to Milan to see him, but died before 
 she could start. Tommaseo and Giuliani went to see 
 her frequently, and the former began his collection of 
 popular poesy by songs taken from her lips. " Here, 
 for the first time," says "he, "I felt the popular poesy 
 revealed to me by Beatrice on the mountains, in its 
 modest beauty, opening for me a new life ; whence 
 the Lima is more memorable to me than the Arno." 
 
 And so her fame increased, and she went from place 
 to place singing, always to the enthusiastic delight of 
 hundreds. When she once warmed up, she could go 
 on singing for hours. " I could sing all day long, and 
 all night too, when I was young," she told us. Other 
 Improvisator! challenged her, and many were the tourna- 
 ments ; but she defeated them all, and put many vain 
 ones to shame, so that finally all acknowledged her 
 supremacy. Meanwhile she became the mother of 
 ten children, of whom five are dead, as is her husband. 
 She has always retained her mountain home, and there 
 she lives, with two of her sons and their families, the 
 life of a peasant, this woman who has known most 
 of the distinguished literary men of Italy of her day. 
 Although eighty years old, she still walks over the 
 stony paths of the mountain to Cutigliano, three hours 
 away. Many strangers go to see her, and she is the 
 great personage of " the Mountain."
 
 58 A Week azvay from Time. 
 
 So E. and I went to see Beatrice. E. went on a 
 donkey or thought she did and I walked. The 
 donkey was small and of much character. Her name 
 was Margherita, in compliment to Italy s attractive and 
 beloved queen. This donkey had two devilish pro 
 clivities : one was an almost invincible indisposition to 
 be mounted ; the other, a strong objection to going 
 when she was mounted. She also had a way of puff 
 ing herself out while the saddle was being girthed, and 
 of drawing herself in at different points on the road, so 
 that the very ugly and very awkward saddle was slip 
 ping round most frequently and inopportunely. This 
 gave my beloved companion the privilege of walking 
 one half or more of the way. to the evident satisfac 
 tion of the female owner of the donkey, our guide, who 
 looked as if she thought stout strangers ought to carry 
 small donkeys, and pay well for the chance ; for on 
 the plea that she had had twelve children, seven of 
 whom were dead, this person had, of course, extracted 
 from my companion the promise to pay double the 
 usual price, and her only object now was to get through 
 the job with as little fatigue and inconvenience to the 
 donkey as possible. So our ears were regaled with 
 accounts of the fondness of the children (living and 
 dead) for Margherita ; of the beauty and delicacy of 
 her feet, and of her dislike of stony roads (now, all
 
 A Week away from Time. 59 
 
 roads in this part of the country are stony, and this 
 road the stoniest I ever saw out of Palestine) ; of our 
 good fortune in having secured the donkey, which two 
 foreign parties had sought in vain to do after we had 
 hired her ; with no end of more lies, which E. thought 
 all right because the woman had chosen to have 
 twelve children and had lost seven of them. I con 
 fess to much ill-humor in being kept back by this 
 lazy beast, who should have been well thrashed ; but 
 the delay was of no account, for had not her owner 
 had twelve children, and seven of them were dead, 
 and they were all fond of the donkey? Men are 
 brutes ; and women well, some are tender-hearted 
 and some cunning. The road climbs the side of the 
 mountain to Pian degli Ontani under the chestnut-trees. 
 Far belo\v rushes the Sestajone, just about to join the 
 Lima, over its torrent bed, making gleams of silver and 
 white through the sparkling leaves of the chestnuts. 
 At intervals little clear brooks cross the stony path, 
 hurrying down to join the larger stream ; and every now 
 and then we came to the smothering, smoking, black- 
 brown piles in which the charcoal was being burned, 
 and which gave out strong odors of pyroligneous acid. 
 Just before we arrived at Pian degli Ontani a vil 
 lage of a church and about twenty houses we came 
 to a little pool of clear bright water, so small that it
 
 60 A Week away from Time. 
 
 could scarcely have harbored a dozen ducks. It was 
 shaded by great chestnut-trees, and was quite a pretty 
 spot. " See that tiny, lovely, bright little water," said 
 our guide in those caressing diminutives in which the 
 Italian language abounds. " There a bella sposina 
 (a pretty little wife) drowned herself a few months 
 ago. She was only twenty-two, and left a little one 
 only a few months old." 
 "But why?" 
 
 " Oh, she was not happy. Her mother had made 
 her marry a young man whom she did not love. She 
 told her mother she would drown herself some day. 
 She had been married only two years." 
 
 "Did she love some one else?" asked we, with that 
 universal idea that if a woman does n t love one man 
 she must love another. 
 
 " Oh, no ! She did not love any one else." 
 " Was the husband old, or cross, or violent? " 
 " Oh, no ! He was young. He had been in love 
 with her for years. Nobody could tell why she did 
 it. She told her mother she would do it some day. 
 Her husband got up early in the morning to go to his 
 charcoal-burning, and soon after she got up, and in 
 her night-clothes, with only a petticoat on, she left her 
 baby on the bed ; she went down there, and kept her 
 head under the water until she was dead."
 
 A Week away from Time. 6 1 
 
 "But she must have been pazza (crazy)." 
 
 " No, she was not pazza. She always told her 
 mother she would do it. Poor sposina ! Yes she 
 left her baby on the bed and went there and drowned 
 herself." As we went through the village, there were 
 three men lounging by the fountain in that easy way 
 in which Italian peasants always astonish us by their 
 grace. After we had passed them, our guide said, 
 
 " Did you see that young man nearest to the foun 
 tain ? He was the husband, poverino ! Yes, he was 
 the husband." 
 
 He was a handsome young fellow. Had she told 
 us that some romantic girl had drowned herself because 
 he would not marry her, we should have been less 
 surprised. 
 
 " Speriamo ! Let us hope that he and the mother- 
 in-law may be able to console each other ! " said the 
 mother of twelve children. 
 
 From Pian degli Ontani to Pian di Novello, where 
 Beatrice now lives, the road still mounts, although not 
 quite so rapidly. The chestnuts became mingled with 
 beeches curiously twisted old beeches and young 
 birches with bright fresh leaves and silver trunks 
 with dark patches on them. The steep mountain 
 sides were in many places covered with them, in 
 others bare and stony, with great chasms worn by
 
 62 A Week away from Time. 
 
 rushing rains. In the distance the peaks were shining 
 in the sunlight with beautiful variety of color, throwing 
 off the light instead of absorbing it, as in painting on 
 porcelain. Wild flowers and delicate heather abounded, 
 and little patches of yellow grain on terraces gilded the 
 landscape. Down below, by the side of the fast run 
 ning stream, was a group of mill-buildings, and the 
 sound of the clapper and of barking dogs mounted 
 up to us. And so on for nearly an hour and a half 
 after we had left Pian degli Ontani. At last we arrived 
 before the little stone house shaded by a tall cherry- 
 tree. There was a stable close by, and piled around 
 it were sheaves of yellow grain just brought in from 
 the terraced fields. Two young women, her daughters- 
 in-law, met us at the door, and in an instant appeared 
 on the threshold Beatrice herself, with as many affec 
 tionate greetings as if we had been old friends and 
 she had been expecting us for months. " Why, how 
 do their worships do? I am so glad to see them ! 
 Come in, come in. I am so glad to see them ! Let 
 them take the trouble to sit down. I am so glad to 
 see them ! " 
 
 We sat down and looked at her. The first thing 
 that struck us was the wonderful brightness of her hand 
 some eyes, the refinement of her looks and motions 
 and manners. She is a very handsome old woman,
 
 A Week away from Time. 63 
 
 a handsome brow, beautiful eyes, delicate nose, wetf- 
 formed and expressive mouth ; none of the coarseness 
 which one might expect in an old peasant who had 
 spent her life in the Apennine Mountains, worked 
 hard, and lived principally on chestnuts. None of the 
 photographs I have seen of her do her any justice. It 
 is difficult to recall everything she said, and impossible 
 to recall it as she said it. E. had brought her some 
 kerchiefs such as the peasants wear on their heads and 
 shoulders ; one of silk, two of cotton, and a warmer 
 one of wool, inexpensive trifles, but of bright, gay 
 colors. She thanked us with warmth, but did not open 
 them, nor show any vulgar curiosity, but sat with them 
 folded on her lap during our visit. She talked con 
 stantly. Her voice was very pleasing. She told us of 
 the people who had come to see her, of the illustrious 
 literary men she had known, of the places she had 
 visited. She had been to Florence, to Bologna and 
 Pistoja, and to many other cities. And she had been 
 all over the mountains, yes, all over. A beautiful 
 countess from Venice had been to see her and had 
 told her all about that city of the sea. People had 
 come from England, and even America. She had been 
 sent for by Manzoni, and was to have gone to Milan, 
 yes, all the way to Milan, when he died, " povero ! " 
 and she did not go. Had we ever heard of Manzoni ?
 
 64 A Week away from Time. 
 
 \ 
 
 He was a famous writer. She did not read herself, 
 nor write, but people read to her. Had we heard of 
 Manzoni? " Oh ! yes, we had heard of him." 
 
 " Davvero ! (indeed !) " Well, she was to have 
 gone to see him, at his request, and he died and she 
 did not go. " Povero ! he died. And I knew Tom- 
 maseo, who used to listen to me hour after hour, and 
 wrote down what I said. And I knew Giuliani, who 
 wrote letters to Tommaseo about me, and printed 
 them in a book." 
 
 "Yes, we have read the book." 
 
 " Davvero ! Yes, men had been for hours and days 
 writing down all that I said and improvised and re 
 cited, ottave and stornelli and rispetti. I 
 have sung and recited everywhere. No other Impro- 
 visatori could compete with me. I have had many 
 trials with them, and I have conquered them all, yes, 
 all men and women. One man quite lost his voice 
 singing against me, and never got it back. When I 
 once got started I could go on almost forever. The 
 verses poured out like water from a fountain." 
 
 " You have had a happy life. We know that you 
 have had sorrows, but still your life has been a happy 
 one." 
 
 "Che! che> CHE! CHE!" These four die s in 
 crescendo were inimitable. " I think I hare been
 
 A Week away from Time. 65 
 
 happy. E altro ! " She beamed all over, and you 
 might have thought she had never known a care in 
 her life. We remembered the death of her son, the 
 destruction of her house at Pian degli Ontani by 
 the flood which swept it to the river, the pain and 
 trouble of building the very house in which we were 
 seated, for which she carried all the stones up the hill, 
 until her "reins were sore," as she had said to Giu 
 liani. But for the moment she had forgotten all this. 
 I asked her how old she was. "If it please the Lord 
 Jesus Christ to spare me, I shall be eighty next March." 
 She speaks the purest Tuscan, and the words roll out 
 to one s delight. I asked her, with intention, if she 
 did not sing or recite or improvise now. She said, 
 " Oh ! I am too old. My voice is all gone see ! " 
 And then she began to sing, with a voice so pure and 
 musical, although, of course, weakened by age, that 
 it astonished us. It was as if she had taken the note 
 from some rich-voiced bird s warbling. She sang a 
 number of verses in that Oriental way which Spanish 
 gypsies and Egyptian alme"es had made familiar to us. 
 It was startling to hear in these Italian mountains strains 
 which in their form we thought belonged only to Moors 
 and Arabs. " Does that please you ? " She was evi 
 dently delighted with the wonder and pleasure she saw 
 depicted in our faces. And she began to recite some 
 5
 
 66 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " ottave " with a smoothness of rhythm and correct 
 ness of measure that could not be excelled. Then, 
 warming up, she began " rispetti " 1 on the creation 
 of the world, following them with improvised verses 
 wonderful to hear. I remembered what Tommaseo 
 had written : " At Cutigliano I have found a rich vein 
 of song which has required many days to exhaust. A 
 certain Beatrice, wife of a shepherd, who knew not 
 how to write, but who could improvise wonderfully, a 
 woman about thirty years old, with an inspired flash 
 of the eye;" and I thought of Giuliani s enthusiastic 
 words : " Words cannot express to you the astonish 
 ment which fills my mind. I have at last had the 
 delight to see the admirable Beatrice of Pian degli 
 Ontani, and to listen to her sweet improvisation, 
 incredible to those who have never heard it. She is 
 really a prodigy of Nature. Her verse overflows with 
 clearness and breadth, is ever abundant and never fail 
 ing. And what ingenuity of sentiment ever accompa 
 nies it ! What life and grace of expression ! What 
 truth of feeling ! An entirely new thing is this woman, 
 who by a divine instinct reveals and expands herself 
 in giving forth poetry while she is tending cattle ; who 
 
 1 Short compositions of one or two stanzas, which are gener 
 ally on amatory subjects, sung and composed by the contadini 
 themselves.
 
 A Week away from Time. 67 
 
 kncnvs nothing of letters, and lives separated from 
 fellowship with the world. In ancient Greece she 
 surely would have been numbered among the singers 
 selected upon earth to emulate the muses and to give 
 perpetual delight to men." 
 
 All this, and more, came to our minds as we listened 
 to one after the other of the verses she poured forth. 
 I recognized some lines which Giuliani had written 
 down and printed : 
 
 " E gran sollago ci verremo a dare, 
 Che di scrittura non posso imparare ; 
 La Montagna e stata di noi maestra, 
 La Natura ci venne a nutricare," - 
 
 which give an idea of the happy thoughts which inspire 
 her. After a time she burst forth into an improvisa 
 tion of which we were the subject. She thanked us 
 in rich and smooth verse for all our kindness. She 
 asked the good God "the good God who made 
 the noble trees and the beautiful flowers and the sing 
 ing birds and the rich sunshine" to bless us with 
 all His best things. She sang of our having come 
 across the sea to visit her. She thanked us again, and 
 wound up with a new burst of blessings. We remarked 
 upon the beauty of the surroundings, the mountains 
 and their varied forms and colors, the great trees and
 
 68 A Week away from Time. 
 
 their beautiful green, the river in its rocky bed, the 
 golden grain-patches, the lights and shadows and float 
 ing clouds, and the marvellous blue sky over all. She 
 had seen and felt it all, and spoke of it all as would a 
 poet, with the fullest appreciation of the beauty and 
 blessing of its loveliness. 
 
 Time had flown, and we had to go. There was a 
 long walk, and there was Margherita of the tender feet. 
 Beatrice offered us fresh milk, and then came the 
 adieux, which were as cordial as if we had known each 
 other all our lives. She said she would be glad to 
 go to Cutigliano to see us, but she was so old ! (She 
 subsequently came, and walked all the way.) At last 
 the good-byes were said, and we started on our return. 
 My companion walked half the way, to the mother of 
 twelve children s delight, and rode the balance, to my 
 satisfaction. We reached home just at dusk. As we 
 approached the village, the husband of the mother of 
 the twelve, carrying the youngest in his arms, and fol 
 lowed by all the survivors, came in procession to meet 
 the donkey and to escort us, with many smiles and 
 exclamations, chiefly addressed to Margherita. Near- 
 ing the stable, the mother of her children pointed out 
 the " stalla " of the donkey, with strong hints and 
 many allusions to tender feet. My tender-hearted was 
 humbugged by the cunning one, and another was
 
 A Week away from Time. 69 
 
 added to the victims of craft. The donkey walked 
 into her " stalla," and no doubt chuckled with her 
 mistress over the simplicity of the " forestieri." 
 
 The following day a visitor was announced, and 
 appeared in the shape of a pretty granddaughter of 
 Beatrice, aged about eighteen. She came to bring 
 us a basket of wild strawberries gathered on the moun 
 tain, and another of black cherries, with loving mes 
 sages from her grandmother. We asked her if she were 
 the grandchild who had inherited the voice of Bea 
 trice. She acknowledged that she was, but we could 
 not overcome her shyness and persuade her to sing. 
 After a little time another visitor was announced, and 
 she fled with her empty baskets, carrying many mes 
 sages to that rare old woman, the peer of whom has 
 not been known, at least within the last sixty years, 
 as an Improvisatrice. I know that you will be inter 
 ested in this account of her, my dear Margaret, and 
 I remain, etc. 
 
 " What a simple, delightful story the letter 
 tells, does it not," said Mrs. Temple, " and how 
 thoroughly it has the Italian spirit and local 
 flavor! Have you been in Italy, Miss Carr- 
 Wynstede?"
 
 70 A Week away from Time. 
 
 "Yes," was the answer; "I was in Italy for 
 three years." 
 
 " Ah ! then you have doubtless heard stor- 
 nelli and rispetti in their own land. Mr. 
 Wyatt, do sing to us some of your Italian 
 national songs. I trust you have your banjo 
 with you ? " 
 
 "It is onboard my boat; I cannot deny it. 
 I will whistle for it, if you say so." 
 
 " For this evening my guitar will do," said 
 Margaret, " and you can begin with E quando 
 per udir la predica. " 
 
 Charlie Wyatt took the guitar and sang one 
 song after the other, easily, gracefully, in a rich, 
 mellow barytone. While he was singing, Miss 
 Carr-Wynstede rose from her chair, walked 
 out of the room, out of the house, and they 
 could see her tall, slender figure standing in the 
 moonlight in her white dress, her head slightly 
 bent, like a lily on its stalk, leaning against the 
 vine-covered porch. 
 
 " She s a calm young woman," muttered 
 Ralph to himself. " I suppose singing bores 
 her."
 
 A Week away from Time. 7 1 
 
 When Wyatt had stopped, she came back. 
 
 " Do you sing? " asked Mrs. Bowdoin. 
 
 " Yes, I sing," said the girl, and her voice 
 trembled slightly. 
 
 "Will you sing?" said Wyatt eagerly, bearing 
 her no grudge for her apparent indifference to 
 his own music. 
 
 " Not to-night, please," she replied. 
 
 When Wyatt rose to go, Mrs. Temple said, 
 
 " You know I should be only too glad to 
 have you stay here, but I suppose I cannot 
 induce you to sleep on land. You must do 
 everything but sleep here, though. Come to 
 breakfast to-morrow, and we will arrange our 
 day." 
 
 When Muriel looked out of her window that 
 night, the moon was high in the heavens, and 
 the " Hope s " light burned steadily as she lay 
 at her moorings just across the harbor, as if it 
 were burning only for her to see.
 
 Oh, good gigantic smile d 1 the brown old earth, 
 This autumn morning ! fJoiu he sets Jiis bones 
 To bask f the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet 
 For the ripple to run over in its mirtli j 
 Listening the while, where on the heap of stones 
 The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet. 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 High grace, the dower of queens; and there witJial 
 Some wood-born wonders swat simplicity : 
 A glance like water brimming with the sky, 
 Or hyacinth-light where forest shadows fall : 
 Such thrilling pallor of cheek as doth enthrall 
 The heart ; a mouth whose passionate forms imply 
 All music and all silence held thereby : 
 Deep golden locks, her sovereign coronal. 
 
 DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.
 
 SECOND DAY. 
 
 THERE were two big linden-trees near the 
 house, which had been planted there in old 
 Squire Sanderson s boyhood ; and under them 
 Mrs. Temple had a table covered with books 
 and magazines, a Scheveningen chair, Persian 
 rugs, and various seats and cushions. A parrot 
 which Margaret had brought from Europe years 
 ago hung in his cage from one of the branches, 
 and a hammock swung between the trees, which 
 Mrs. Bowdoin took possession of on Tuesday 
 morning, and announced her intention of not 
 leaving through the entire week. 
 
 O C> 
 
 " You promised me hammock weather in this 
 famous climate;" she exclaimed, "and please 
 don t ask me to do things ! I hate doing things. 
 I was bored to death at Bar Harbor by being 
 constantly obliged to go on all sorts of dread 
 ful excursions. One had to go, or be disliked. 
 Let me alone here, please ; it s all I ask. I
 
 76 A Week away from Time. 
 
 shall not mind if you go away and leave me. 
 Of course, Margaret will be wanting to show 
 the beauties of her beloved Cape to Miss Carr- 
 Wynstede ; Polly and I can talk to one another, 
 and I can listen to the wind whispering in the 
 pine-trees yonder, and to the lapping of the 
 waves on the beach below. I shall be quite 
 happy." 
 
 " The Hope is just hoisting sail, you see," 
 said Charlie \Vyatt. " She is at your disposi 
 tion whenever you command, Mrs. Temple." 
 
 " Thanks," replied Margaret. " I believe she 
 must content herself with a masculine party to 
 day. I am going to take Miss Carr-YVynstcde to 
 drive presently, when we have been to call on Mrs. 
 Nye, and Bell seems to have arranged herself 
 for the morning. She wishes to be left alone 
 for purposes of composition, I presume. You 
 can take Ralph and Tom with you, Mr. Wyatt; 
 only don t sail away too far ! We lunch at two, 
 you know." 
 
 Wyatt looked a little disappointed, but only 
 asked, " How is Miss Carr-Wynstede this 
 morning? "
 
 A Week aiuay from Time. 77 
 
 " Very well," replied Margaret. " I left her 
 writing letters in her room. I wish to say, here 
 and now, that she has won my heart; that I 
 find her absolutely lovely. I don t think I ever 
 met a girl who more completely captivated me 
 on first acquaintance." 
 
 "Whew! Margaret," cried Ralph, "what a 
 pace you do go at, when you once get started ! 
 What has the Englanderin done or said to 
 fetch you like that? And pray when did she do 
 or say it? In the night-watches, when the -rest 
 of us were slumbering, all unconscious of this 
 conqueror come among us?" 
 
 "Yes, you have guessed," answered Margaret 
 quietly. " In the night-watches. You have said 
 it. Last night, as I was sitting by the fire in 
 my bedroom, there was a gentle knock at 
 the door, and when it was opened, Miss Carr- 
 \Vynstede stood, hesitating a little, and said, I 
 beg your pardon. Mrs. Temple, but may I come 
 in for a moment? I cannot tell you how lovely 
 she looked, in a long, softly-falling white peignoir, 
 her golden hair gathered into a great loose coil, 
 setting off the perfect shape of her head and
 
 78 A Week away from Time. 
 
 throat, as the open sleeves of her dress showed 
 arms and hands of rare shape and fairness. As 
 she came forward to speak to me, I looked into 
 her beautiful eyes, and thought I saw traces of 
 recent tears. What is it, my dear girl? I 
 said. Are you ill? Has anything happened 
 to trouble you? I made her sit down by me, 
 and she said, Dear Mrs. Temple, what must you 
 think of me? Indeed, I know I have been very 
 tiresome and very stupid, but I never meant to 
 be rude; and yet twice in these few hours I 
 must have seemed so. I took her hands in 
 mine, and tried to say that I did not know what 
 she meant ; but she went on : When I first 
 came downstairs this afternoon (I am going to 
 tell you the exact truth, Mrs. Temple) I caught 
 a few words which your brother was saying, and 
 they made me feel shy and embarrassed. " 
 
 Here Ralph colored violently, and Polly, who 
 was tired of receiving no attention, screamed 
 out, " I told you so ! I told you so ! " 
 
 " It was very foolish of me to show anything, 
 she continued, but I had feared that it must 
 be a great bore to have a stranger in your little
 
 A Week away from Time. 79 
 
 circle, and now I was sure of it. That was why 
 I said I would rather take the dog, and walk 
 by myself. But it was very tiresome of me. I 
 beg your pardon. I am awfully ashamed of 
 myself. : 
 
 [" I wonder how Ralph feels about it? " whis 
 pered Tom Bowdoin to his wife. 
 
 " Not very happy, I should say, judging from 
 the vicious way in which he is knocking the 
 heads off those poor white daisies."] 
 
 "I assured her that we had none of us noticed 
 anything amiss in her, and that it was for its 
 to be mortified and shocked (as indeed I was 
 and am) that we should have been so ill- 
 mannered as to have been discussing her at all. 
 Then, when Mr. Wyatt was singing/ she said, 
 what must he, what must you have thought? 
 But if you knew, dear Mrs. Temple, what his songs 
 reminded me of! My only sister and I were in 
 Italy together. We used to sing all those songs. 
 She stopped for a moment; her eyes filled and 
 her voice shook as she added simply, My sister 
 died in Florence. We both loved Italy passion 
 ately. That beautiful letter had brought it all
 
 80 A Week away from Time. 
 
 back to me, and I was afraid I should burst into 
 tears if I stayed in the room. But I suppose 
 Mr. Wyatt will never sing for me again. We 
 talked for a long time," said Margaret, " and, as 
 I tell you, she won my heart forever. And I 
 think she need not fear that you will not sing 
 to her again, need she, Mr. Wyatt? Ah! I 
 see you have brought your banjo with you this 
 morning. That promises well." 
 
 " Miss Carr-Wynstede said last night she 
 would like to learn to play the banjo," said 
 Wyatt, " and I told her I should be honored 
 if she would let me teach her." 
 
 " Have you heard from Kirkland, Margaret? " 
 asked Ralph. 
 
 "Yes; I had a telegram just now. He is 
 coming by the afternoon train." 
 
 " Good ! " said Ralph ; " and must he have a 
 story in his pocket too? You surely cannot 
 expect that from a Professor of Ethics at Har 
 vard University." 
 
 " No ; he need tell no story. He and Miss 
 Carr-Wynstcdc are exempt from the general 
 doom. By the bye, it is your turn to-night,
 
 A Week away from Time. 8 1 
 
 Tom. I have arranged you all in my own 
 mind, and discussion is useless. So don t lose 
 Tom overboard this morning, Mr. Wyatt. We 
 shall need him later." 
 
 " There is a calmness about you, Margaret, 
 worthy of a better cause," said her brother-in- 
 law, laughing; and the three men went down 
 to the landing, and in a few moments were on 
 board the " Hope," and she was under sail and 
 off out of the Harbor, and soon out of sight, 
 with a fair wind and all sails set, heading for 
 Vineyard Sound. Miss Carr-Wynstede came 
 downstairs looking very handsome and serene, 
 followed by Marie. 
 
 " I am ready for a walk or drive, or what 
 you will, dear Mrs. Temple," said she, " as 
 soon as I have found out what Marie means. 
 She tells me your maid Susan has asked her 
 to go upon the sea with her and some one 
 whose name she cannot remember ; but she 
 says it is a name from the Holy Scriptures, 
 and she calls him I homme aux homards. I 
 dare say it is quite right, but I wanted to 
 ask you." 
 
 6
 
 82 A Week away from Time. 
 
 Margaret laughed heartily. " It must mean 
 that Jim Canaan has asked them to go out to 
 his lobster-pots, as a delicate attention to the 
 foreigner. Yes, it is all right. Jim is the best 
 fellow that ever lived, though reputed a lady- 
 killer in the neighborhood, I believe, so let 
 Marie beware, and Susan goes with them for 
 propriety s sake, and all is well. Good-by, Bell. 
 Don t go to sleep, but weave us a romance out 
 of the stuff this golden day is made of." 
 
 As Margaret stooped to kiss her sister, who 
 was lying placidly in the hammock, Bell said, 
 
 " Good-by, sister mine. How young you look 
 to-day, and how happy ! Is this the influence 
 of the Gulf Stream that you and Ralph talk 
 about? Blessed Gulf Stream, if it be ! "
 
 A mesnre qu on a plus d esprit on trouve qifil-y-a plus 
 cfhommes originaux. Lcs gens de commun ne trouvent 
 pas de difference entre les Jiommes. 
 
 PASCAL. 
 
 Homo sum ; humani nihil a me alienum puto. 
 
 TERENCE.
 
 SECOND DAY. 
 (Continued.) 
 
 PROFESSOR KIRKLAXD had telegraphed that 
 he would walk from the station to Fair Harbor, 
 so Ralph went to meet him that afternoon. 
 When the two gentlemen reached the White 
 House, they found the others sitting about 
 under the lindens, Bell in the hammock, 
 covered with a yellow chuddah shawl, from the 
 folds of which the soft black eyes of her King 
 Charles looked sleepily forth ; Margaret wind 
 ing wool for her knitting, while Tom Bowdoin 
 held the skein, and Erin lay at her feet on a 
 very becoming rug; at a little distance, the 
 English girl and Charlie Wyatt, the latter giving 
 a lesson on the banjo, which they both appeared 
 to find very absorbing. Margaret greeted the 
 Professor cordially, as an old friend, and (such 
 born actors are women, the simplest and hon- 
 estest of them) no one would have noticed 
 a deeper color in her cheek, or a shade more
 
 86 A Week away from Time. 
 
 of feeling in her voice than usual, unless it may 
 have been Kirkland himself; and he \vas too 
 much taken up in trying to hide his own emotion 
 to be a keen observer of Margaret s manner. 
 
 " I am just as glad to see you as if I got out 
 of the hammock to greet you," said Mrs. Bow- 
 doin. "Don t, please, expect me to do that; I 
 am too comfortable here. Besides, no woman 
 likes to do what she is not sure of doing grace- 
 
 o o 
 
 fully; and getting out of a hammock is a crucial 
 test." 
 
 " It would be a pity if you moved," said the 
 Professor ; " you are in perfect harmony with the 
 scene. I supposed Mrs. Temple had arranged 
 you as part of the decor. You match the soft 
 dreamy atmosphere, and the purple haze over 
 the headlands, and the murmur in the pine-trees, 
 and the summer sea yonder; in fact, you are 
 the embodiment of Fair Harbor in its most 
 attractive form." 
 
 " Hear, hear ! " screamed Polly from her cage ; 
 and Mr. Bowdoin said, 
 
 " I did n t know you d ever been here before, 
 Philip ! How well you know the shibboleth ! "
 
 A Week away from Time. 87 
 
 " Yes ; once, a long time ago," was the reply. 
 " I was at Mattapoisett, and sailed over to call 
 on Mrs. Temple. I have not forgotten it." 
 
 " Margaret," said her brother, " who are the 
 people that have built the rather pretty house 
 over there, farther toward the mouth of the 
 Harbor? It was not there last year." 
 
 " They are Philadelphians," answered Mar 
 garet. 
 
 " Philadelphians ! " repeated Ralph, in an 
 indescribable tone of voice. 
 
 " You would be known for a Bostonian, just 
 from the way you said that one word," remarked 
 Bowdoin. 
 
 "What s the matter with Philadelphians?" 
 asked Muriel. " Are n t they nice? " 
 
 " They are not precisely nasty, which is the 
 English alternative, I believe," said Ralph laugh 
 ing; "but they re so very, so very Philadel- 
 phian ! They have a language of their own, 
 and they insist upon talking it before persons 
 who are not used to it. They even defend it, 
 and say it is correct; or else they are uncon 
 scious of it, which is more exasperating still."
 
 88 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " Do they really speak a separate language? " 
 asked Muriel, looking very puzzled and serious. 
 
 " It is not exactly a language. It s a dialect ; 
 which should not astonish you, Miss Carr- 
 Wynstede, coming from the land of dialects. 
 I 11 tell you what I mean. They have a queer 
 way of behaving with their vowels. They elimi 
 nate the broad a from their speech almost en 
 tirely. They say paaas and graaas and paaatJi. 
 They call chicken, chickn, and Ellen, Elln, and 
 brown, brayoivn, and bird, and girl no! you 
 must hear a Philadelphian pur sang pro 
 nounce those words ; I could not do justice to 
 them. I am speaking now of the genuine article ; 
 I do not refer to the travelled Philadelphian 
 who has adopted the speech of other places." 
 
 " Of Boston, perhaps you would say," sug 
 gested Mr. Bowdoin. " Any one would think 
 we had some standard by the River Charles, like 
 the French Academy, for example." 
 
 " When I was at Newport once, before I was 
 married," said Mrs. Bowdoin, " there was a 
 Philadelphian quite devoted to me, who was by 
 way of being a poet."
 
 A Week away from Time. 89 
 
 " Their poets are most of them by way of 
 being, " interposed Ralph. " Do you mean old 
 Nugent, who offered himself to you in rhyme? 
 You showed me his note. It began : - 
 
 If you 11 be mine, 
 As I am thine, 
 No ill of Time 
 Can cause repine. 
 Then, Bella dear " 
 
 " Oh, stop, Ralph, for pity s sake ! " said his 
 sister blushing. "I don t believe I ever showed 
 you the note at all. You must have looked over 
 my shoulder while I was answering it." 
 
 " Which you did, in prose," said Ralph. 
 
 " As I was saying before I was interrupted," 
 continued Bell, " this gentleman invited me one 
 day to go to walk with him on the cliffs, and as 
 we walked he asked if he might repeat a little 
 poem (he called it poum) which he had written. 
 I begged him to do so. It began 
 
 Angel faces haaant mee pillah 
 This is all I can remember, for I was trying so 
 hard not to laugh at the first line, I could not 
 listen to the rest."
 
 go A Week away from Time. 
 
 " There are mighty nice people among them, 
 in spite of their patois" said Ralph conde 
 scendingly; "but I wish they had not discov 
 ered Fair Harbor. There are so many other 
 places ! We have had this one to ourselves 
 for so long ! Now. there is that big boarding- 
 
 o o o 
 
 house across the Harbor hotel, I believe they 
 call it. Just fancy, a hotel at Fair Harbor ! 
 Margaret bears it so amiably, I am provoked 
 with her." 
 
 " I bear it amiably, because I don t object to 
 it," said Margaret. " In fact, I like it. In the 
 first place, I am predisposed in favor of people 
 who have the good taste to select Fair Harbor 
 for their play-days. They must sec its beauties 
 and care for them for their own sake ; and I 
 always feel that there must be something very 
 nice in people who love Nature and a country 
 life per se." 
 
 "That theory has its dangers," remarked Mr. 
 Bowdoin. " All persons with innocent tastes are 
 not innocuous. We have heard that a cele 
 brated murderer of our time cared specially for 
 music, flowers, and little children."
 
 A Week away from Time. 9 1 
 
 " Then, besides," went on Margaret, " I like 
 people. People, as people, as human beings, 
 are intensely interesting to me. I have always 
 felt that the Roman gentleman who made the 
 celebrated remark announcing his affinity with 
 all mankind (was it Plautus or Terence who put it 
 into his mouth?) was my twin in sentiment." 
 
 " Yes, Margaret is quite capable of making 
 dear friends of those Philadelphians, and of 
 having them over here constantly," sighed 
 Ralph ; "and even, I believe, she would go so far 
 as to row across the harbor to the hotel and 
 make acquaintance with a lot of uninteresting 
 people and offer them the freedom of the White 
 House." 
 
 "How do we know they are uninteresting?" 
 exclaimed Margaret. " How do we dare take 
 that for granted? They may be saying the 
 same thing of us at this moment, and we know 
 very well how delightful we are." 
 
 " Do you mean that the majority of human 
 beings are interesting, Mrs. Temple?" asked 
 Wyatt ; " because there I should quite disagree 
 with you. The masses are bores. It is Matthew
 
 92 A Week away from Time. 
 
 Arnold s remnant which saves. Elimination 
 is tedious, but necessary. The processes are 
 many, the expense often ruinous, before the 
 true ore emerges, pure and shining. More 
 than most of the time, is the game worth the 
 candle?" 
 
 " I do not like your simile," answered Mar 
 garet. " It does not apply, if you will pardon 
 my saying so. Human nature does not hide 
 itself. One need not dig, or dive, or struggle 
 for it. Here it is, in the world with us, like the 
 sun or rain, or the air we breathe. And what 
 do you mean by the masses ? Are they not 
 composed of individuals, men and vvomen and 
 children, above all, of children? So I have 
 heard people speak of the poor, and how 7 to 
 deal with them. As if the poor were a con 
 glomerate lump of misfortune and ignorance, 
 one great army of Les Miserables, to be han 
 dled en gros and not en detail ! Suppose doctors 
 treated the sick like that, and gave us all the 
 same pills and powders when we were ill ! It 
 would be about as rational as your way of look- 
 ins at the masses."
 
 A Week away from Time. 93 
 
 " I believe, truly, that Margaret delights in 
 common people," said Mrs. Bowdoin. " That s 
 one reason she likes horse-cars." 
 
 " Yes, I own it, Bell. I never go in the rail 
 way train from Boston to Brookline, or in a 
 horse-car from the West End to the South End, 
 without getting interested in some face I see or 
 some conversation I hear. I remember I went 
 far out of my way once, I became so absorbed 
 in a woman and her little boy whom she was 
 taking to the Children s Hospital. We got to 
 be great friends afterwards, that little boy and I. 
 I dare say you all think me terribly democratic; 
 but if one is too exclusive in this world, one 
 may end by shutting out the sun." 
 
 " I cannot express how entirely I am on Mrs. 
 Temple s side of the question," said the Pro 
 fessor, who had been listening attentively, and 
 now joined in the talk. " People are altogether 
 the most interesting things in this most interest 
 ing world. This would seem to be a self-evident 
 proposition ; but it is not, or w r e should not be 
 discussing it. Every time a child is born, what 
 possibilities it stands for ! Here may be the
 
 94 A Week away from Time. 
 
 king a nation is awaiting, the great inventor, 
 the great philanthropist, the great poet, the 
 great preacher, the saviour, in some sort, of 
 his day and generation. One thrills at the 
 tidings, a child is born. It is as when a city 
 rises out of an uninhabited region ; one says to 
 one s self, here may be the cradle of a new and 
 higher civilization ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Bowdoin, " and as a general 
 thing the child grows up to fall into line with 
 the average mortal, to be as commonplace, as 
 unremunerative, as ordinary, as were his parents 
 before him. So the new city, its architecture 
 as dreary, as uniform, as in the next town; its 
 law s as mechanical and lifeless ; its civilization 
 as unprogressive. History repeats itself in in 
 dividuals, in families, in nations. Archimedes 
 lever would be of little use in a treadmill." 
 
 " For shame ! for shame ! " cried Margaret. 
 " E pur si miiove ! I thank Heaven that every 
 day s sun shines on a new-created world. As 
 for me, the very word stranger always makes 
 my heart beat a little quicker. When I was a 
 young girl in society, and one said, Let me
 
 A Week away from Time. 95 
 
 present Mr. So-and-so to you/ I always began 
 by thinking, This may be the prince I have 
 been dreaming of. Let me wake and try to 
 recognize him. " 
 
 " How often you must have been disappointed, 
 dear Mrs. Temple," said Wyatt, " when you 
 were thoroughly awake." 
 
 " Yes, but it never prevented my dreaming 
 again. The prince is always somewhere in the 
 world. One finds the world more beautiful 
 because he is in it, even if he has never quite 
 reached one s castle gate. Meantime the world 
 itself is full and running over with all that makes 
 life worth living. And why? Because in it are 
 hundreds of millions of God s creatures with 
 that thing we call a soul in their bodies." 
 
 " Surely there can be no lack of reasons for 
 finding our fellow-beings interesting," added the 
 Professor, " since to all of them come sorrow 
 and sin and death." 
 
 There was a pause after these last words, and 
 presently a voice was heard, saying, " Well, 
 well ! here you all are ! I am so glad, now, I 
 chose Fair Harbor ! " And the owner of the
 
 96 A Week away from Time. 
 
 voice came panting into the midst of the group, 
 having apparently climbed the steepest part of 
 the bank, from the water. 
 
 " Why Caroline Chauncey, my dear Caroline ! 
 where in the name of all that s welcome did you 
 come from?" exclaimed Margaret; and Polly, 
 who was always greatly excited over a new 
 arrival, shouted, " Te ! Te ! Ones aco? Oues 
 aqui?" 1 Being a Provencal parrot, she had 
 preserved some of her native dialect. " And 
 why did n t you let me know you were in the 
 neighborhood? " 
 
 " For the best of reasons, my dear ! I did n t 
 know it myself till a few moments ago. You 
 see, I meant to go to Newport for a week ; 
 and although I had invitations to my friends 
 houses, I refused them all, and thought I would 
 just go to Munschinger s by myself. When I 
 got down to the Old Colony railroad station, it 
 suddenly occurred to me how stupid it was to 
 go to Newport where I knew every one, and 
 how nice it would be to go to some place I 
 never heard of. So I went and stood by the 
 1 Tiens I Tiens ! Qu est-ce-qu il y-a ? Qui est-ce ?
 
 A Week away from Time. 97 
 
 ticket-office and listened to the names of the 
 places ; and presently somebody said, Give me 
 a ticket for Fair Harbor; and I said to myself, 
 What a pretty name ! That s where I will 
 go. So I got a ticket, and when the train 
 stopped I got out, and went up to a vehicle 
 and asked the boy to drive me somewhere, and 
 he said would I go to the Fair Harbor House? 
 That seemed a practical thing to do. He took 
 me to the house over yonder, and I said to the 
 landlady, Who lives in the big white house 
 across the river, or is it a river? and she 
 said, Mrs. Temple. So I told her to have me 
 taken directly there, that I might see if it was 
 iny Mrs. Temple. I was put, just as I was, into 
 a boat and rowed across ; and here you are, 
 and here am I ! Do you know I like the look 
 of things immensely, and think I shall stay a 
 week, especially since I have found you all." 
 
 " Then come in and dine with us," said 
 Margaret; "that will be delightful." 
 
 " If you will let me dine in my travelling- 
 dress. I find I have not my trunk with me. It 
 must have been left in Boston at the station, or 
 7
 
 98 A Week away from Time. 
 
 perhaps it went to Newport. Would you just 
 telegraph for it, Mr. Travers," turning to Ralph, 
 "to both places, please? If it is not at either 
 of them, or at my own house, I am sure I don t 
 know where it can possibly be."
 
 Honest love, honest sorrow, 
 
 Honest work for the day, honest hope for the morrow, 
 Are these worth nothing more than the hands they make 
 
 weary, 
 
 The hearts they have saddened, the lives they leave 
 dreary ? 
 
 O\VEX MEREDITH. 
 
 Ce qui importe dans le sacrifice, c esl le sacrifice mcme. 
 Si Fobjet pour lequel on se devoue est une illusion, le 
 devouement ft 1 en est pas mains une rcalite ; et cette rcalite 
 est la plus splcndide parure dont rhomine puisse dccorer 
 la misere morale. 
 
 AXATOLE FRANCE.
 
 EVENING OF SECOND DAY. 
 
 AFTER dinner, which was a very gay one, 
 Mrs. Chatmcey s funny mistakes and inconse 
 quences making much merriment, in which 
 that dear lady freely joined, Mrs. Temple 
 said, 
 
 "Now, Tom, what have you got for us? 
 Something very nice, I know." 
 
 " My dear Margaret," said Bowdoin, looking 
 a little uneasy, " I have forborne my confes 
 sion until this supreme moment. I dare say 
 you will be very angry, and perhaps refuse my 
 contribution altogether. But what will you? 
 Can a man who has never written an original 
 line in his life, all of a sudden produce a 
 story on command, even on your command, 
 O Queen? No, of course he cannot. Yet 
 Bell said if I did n t bring something, I could 
 not come at all. So I searched among my
 
 IO2 A Week away from Time. 
 
 papers, thinking that perhaps I might some day 
 have written a story without knowing it ; and I 
 found " 
 
 "Well, what did you find?" eagerly asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 " I found this," said Tom, taking a manu 
 script from his pocket. " It is now, don t 
 frown, Margaret it is a translation, or rather 
 an adaptation of a story of Guy de Maupassant s. 
 I found it in a collection of short stories last 
 winter, and liked it so much that I translated it 
 for my own amusement. If it is quite against 
 your ideas to allow anything second-hand to* 
 come inside this sacred circle, I will not read it. 
 But it is all I have." 
 
 "What does the company say?" asked the 
 hostess, turning to the others. " Shall we have 
 Tom s translation? My only objection would 
 be that it might be taken as a precedent. But 
 I believe we are pretty safe for the rest of the 
 week, are we not? " 
 
 It was voted, with no contrary minds, that 
 the translation should be heard ; and Bowdoin 
 read
 
 The Story of the Necklace. 103 
 
 THE STORY OF THE NECKLACE. 
 
 MONSIEUR ALPHONSE LOISEL was a clerk in what in 
 Washington would be called the State Department. 
 He was a faithful and painstaking official, and as he 
 did not draw his salary from the United States Treas 
 ury, he did not live under the imminent possibility of 
 being turned out of his position at any moment to 
 make room for some fellow whom a member of Con 
 gress, to pay off an old political debt, wanted to put 
 in his place. The machinery of the administration 
 moved all the more smoothly for the care and polite 
 ness with which he attended to his part of it. He had 
 a salary of five thousand francs, and looked forward 
 to the continuance of it so long as he performed faith 
 fully and well his allotted task, and could hope for a 
 pension if in the course of time he were used up in 
 the service of his country. 
 
 Madame Loisel was a charming young woman of 
 twenty-five years. She was the daughter of a small 
 tradesman who had died a year or two before her 
 marriage, leaving her a few thousand francs. Besides 
 having a lovely figure, she was graceful in her man 
 ners and carriage, and therefore most attractive on 
 first acquaintance. She was a brunette, with delicate
 
 IO4 A Week away from Time. 
 
 features, large, soft, dark eyes, with long lashes. She 
 had beautiful arms and shoulders and bust, with small 
 hands and feet. With all this, there was an air of 
 refinement about her more attractive than her beauty. 
 She was one of the women who seem created by Na 
 ture to be admired of men. She would have enjoyed 
 and contributed more to what is called " society " than 
 most of her sex, if she had had the means to do so ; 
 as it was, she had to be content with admiring the 
 luxury of others, in studying the brilliant toilettes 
 which she saw in the public promenades, or at the 
 theatres, where she went occasionally with her hus 
 band to indulge in the artificial emotions of the 
 drama. 
 
 The most memorable day of her life had been when 
 she went to a ball given by one of the heads of the 
 department in which her husband was employed. 
 That was two years before our story opens. How 
 much she would have enjoyed one of those grand 
 ministerial balls to which the great people from all 
 parts of the world were glad to go ! She had heard of 
 them, and pictured to herself halls hung with cloth of 
 gold and Gobelin tapestry ; the panels and ceilings 
 painted by celebrated artists ; marble staircases lined 
 with exotic plants which filled the air with tropical 
 odors ; mirrors reaching from floor to ceiling, and
 
 The Story of the Necklace. 105 
 
 chandeliers of crystal brilliant with the light of innu 
 merable candles. One day, on coming home at the 
 usual hour, Monsieur Loisel informed his wife that it 
 was said that in the following month one of those 
 grand ministerial balls was about to take place. For 
 some reason, he did not know why, it was to be excep 
 tionally fine, more so than any previous one. After 
 a fortnight the rumor became a certainty, and later it 
 was known that invitations were being sent out ; but 
 it was going to be so magnificent and select that it 
 was very difficult, even for high officials, to procure 
 one. There was a great stir about it. It was said 
 that the Shah of Persia was to be there in a uniform 
 shining like the sun with precious stones. 
 
 " How splendid it will be ! " said Madame Loisel 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," said her husband. " I have heard 
 that the Shah has an emerald on his fez as big as a 
 robin s egg, into which are stuck three golden feathers 
 of some bird unknown to science." 
 
 Every day on his return home Monsieur Loisel had 
 something new to tell his wife about the approaching 
 ball. Once, it was that the Russian Grand- Duke was 
 to be there with a suite of twenty-five officers ; again, 
 there were to be members of ten of the royal families 
 of Europe. The Chinese ambassador, who had just
 
 io6 A Week away from Time. 
 
 arrived in France, was going with his suite. It was 
 said they would all be dressed in yellow silk, which 
 was the imperial color, and their shoes and caps, and 
 even their underclothes, would be of the same hue, 
 and of the finest Chinese crape. There was to be a 
 celebrated Turkish grandee, a general of great re 
 nown who had burned an entire village, and who had 
 received the Albert medal from Queen Victoria, all set 
 round with diamonds ; he was to take the wife of the 
 English ambassador in to supper. There would be 
 Scotch officers, who generally go about with bare legs, 
 but on this occasion they were to wear silk tights. 
 Some Bashi-Basouks from Central Asia were going in 
 uniforms made of camel s hair wrought with gold. The 
 ladies would be more superbly dressed than they had 
 ever been before. The principal jewellers of Paris had 
 already sold half of their most precious ornaments. 
 
 " How perfectly magnificent it will be ! " said Ma 
 dame Loisel. " It will be like one of the Arabian 
 Nights tales." 
 
 Two days later Monsieur Loisel came home a quar 
 ter of an hour earlier than usual. He ran up to the 
 third story where his apartment was, opened- his door, 
 and stood panting for breath before his astonished 
 wife, with one hand in his breast. " My dear, what 
 do you think I have in my pocket-book?"
 
 The Story of the Necklace. 107 
 
 "Why," she answered, " how should I know? You 
 are all out of breath. Why did you run so ? I do 
 not know what you have. Is it seats at the opera? " 
 
 " Better than that." 
 
 " Better than that ! What can it be ? " 
 
 " Here," said Monsieur Loisel, taking an envelope 
 out of his breast-pocket and offering it to her, " here 
 are two tickets, for you and for me, for the for 
 the can you guess ? for the grand ball given by 
 the Minister of the Interior three weeks from to 
 day." 
 
 " How extraordinary ! Is it possible ? How did 
 you get them?" exclaimed Madame Loisel, utterly 
 overcome at what she heard, and uncertain if she had 
 understood aright. 
 
 " My friend Goaillet gave them to me. He could 
 not use them himself, on account of a death in the 
 family." 
 
 Madame Loisel took the tickets in her hand and 
 looked at them, first on one side and then on the other. 
 There was no mistake. There was the printed invita 
 tion, with the names written in ink. She beamed with 
 delight. " How enchanting ! " she exclaimed. " I can 
 scarcely believe it." 
 
 After a moment, as soon as she had recovered from 
 her first surprise, while still looking at the invitation,
 
 io8 A Week away from Time. 
 
 she turned quickly to her husband, as if a sudden and 
 painful thought had come to her. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " what shall I wear? " 
 
 " Why," he replied, " put on the dress you go to 
 the opera in." 
 
 " That will not do. It is not made for a ball-dress. 
 It is not a proper one for the occasion." 
 
 " Can you not alter it so that it will do? " 
 
 " Alter it ! No. It could never be made fit. How 
 dull men are about such things ! I should have to get 
 a new dress," she added, after a pause. 
 
 This was a serious consideration. But the grand 
 ball was such an exceptional occasion ; it would be 
 the great social event of her life ; it might never oc 
 cur again ; she would probably never again have such 
 a chance. It was decided that she should have a 
 new dress. It was, however, not to cost over three 
 hundred and fifty francs, and was to be made of 
 some material and color that might be utilized 
 afterward. 
 
 Madame Loisel was beside herself with joy. She 
 immediately set about her dress. She chose a hand 
 some yellow silk, of good quality and becoming shade. 
 It was made de collete , with a long train, and trimmed 
 with lace. She worked at it herself with the dress 
 maker during the day, and dreamed of it at night. It
 
 The Story of the Necklace. 109 
 
 was a great success. The fit was perfect. It became 
 her wonderfully. She looked distinguished and beau 
 tiful in it. There was only one thing wanting to make 
 it perfect, and that was some jewelry rich enough to 
 complete the whole. 
 
 Madame Loisel felt this keenly ; but what could be 
 done ? She had one handsome diamond ring, but that 
 would not be an ornament for her dress. Suddenly 
 the thought struck her that one of her old school 
 friends, who had married a man of property, and was 
 living in style in another part of Paris, had a good deal 
 of jewelry, and might be willing to lend her some. 
 Her name was Caroline Forestier. She had been one 
 of her most intimate friends at school. Marriage had 
 separated them somewhat, as often happens in such 
 cases, but she had kept up a greater intimacy with her 
 than with most of the friends of her school-days. They 
 did not meet very often, it is true, but it was always 
 with affection when they did. 
 
 Madame Loisel resolved to go to see her friend and 
 ask her to lend her some of her ornaments. " My dear 
 Caroline," said she, after the first greetings were over, 
 " I am going day after to-morrow to the grand ball 
 given by the Minister of the Interior." And she told 
 her all she knew about it ; how she had had an expen 
 sive dress made for the occasion, how beautiful iUwas,
 
 no A Week away from Time. 
 
 and how the only thing needed to make it perfect 
 was some jewelry ; and she ended by asking her friend 
 to lend her some. 
 
 "My dear," said Madame Forestier, "how lovely 
 you will look ! Yellow is so becoming to you ! I 
 wish I were going to the ball, but I am not invited. 
 I have heard that it is going to be very splendid. I 
 will lend you some jewels with pleasure. What will 
 you have ? You may choose what you think will look 
 best." 
 
 And thereupon she led her friend to a small safe let 
 into the wall, and opening it with a key she wore on 
 her watch-chain, begged her to choose. There was a 
 necklace of gold, set with emeralds ; there was another 
 of pearls ; diamond brooches, beautiful Venetian chains 
 and bracelets. Madame Loisel looked at them one 
 after the other ; a selection was difficult ; she could not 
 make up her mind. As she was hesitating, she spied 
 in a corner a box of light-blue velvet which had not 
 been opened. She drew it toward her. It contained 
 a riviere of diamonds. 
 
 " Oh, how magnificent ! " she exclaimed. " But 
 I dare not ask you for that. It is too precious to 
 lend." 
 
 "You may, my dear," answered her friend. "Why 
 not 2 You may take it if you desire to so much."
 
 The Story of the Necklace. 1 1 1 
 
 Madame Loisel fell on Caroline s neck and em 
 braced her. When she left, she carried home the 
 treasure with her. 
 
 The appointed evening came. Madame Loisel was 
 at the great ball. As soon as she arrived she attracted 
 as much attention as any one there. She was very 
 handsome, and it was a new face. Two ladies of great 
 fashion, after surveying her carefully from head to 
 foot, though they had to admit that she was very 
 striking-looking, came to the conclusion that the rich 
 ness of her dress did not correspond to that of her 
 necklace. 
 
 "I wonder where she got that necklace?" said one 
 to the other. "Do you know who she is?" 
 
 " No, my dear ; I never saw her before. She must be 
 a stranger. I thought she came in with an American- 
 looking man." 
 
 " But if she were an American, her dress would be 
 extravagantly rich ; even too much so. Hers is too 
 simple for the necklace, and it is not studied simplicity 
 either." 
 
 The men, however, made up by their attentions for 
 any disparaging remarks of the other sex. They vied 
 with each other to be presented to her. Officers, who 
 were as satisfied with their uniforms as Madame Loi 
 sel was with her dress, crowded round her, those with
 
 ii2 A Week away from Time. 
 
 higher titles, or of higher rank, gently pushing the in 
 ferior ones aside. Diplomats, noblemen, distinguished 
 authors, men of science, gazed at her as she passed. 
 An English earl was so charmed with her that he spoke 
 English to her for ten minutes before finding out that 
 she did not understand a word of it ; and he had to give 
 way to a German duke who had thirty orders on his 
 breast. A successful American speculator was so much 
 pleased with her that he invited her and her husband 
 to come and visit him at Chicago, saying that he would 
 pay all their travelling expenses. After much skirmish 
 ing with an Italian prince, who was also a grandee of 
 Spain, one of the financial powers of London suc 
 ceeded in leading her in to supper, and besought her 
 to be present at a ball that was to be given in a month 
 at the English Embassy, saying that H. R. H. the 
 Prince of Wales, would probably be there, and asking 
 for the honor of sending her as many invitations as 
 she desired. The Russian Grand-Duke was presented 
 to her, and ordered his aide-de-camp to see that she 
 was invited to the Russian Embassy. It was the hap 
 piest evening of her life. She was courted and ad 
 mired and flattered, and pleased with herself, and Mon 
 sieur Loisel was sincerely proud of his beautiful wife. 
 
 But every joy must come to an end. Toward four 
 o clock in the morning the salons were being deserted.
 
 The Story of the Necklace. 1 1 3 
 
 Madame Loisel had stayed almost to the last. Her hus 
 band had been patiently waiting for her, quietly dozing 
 on a chair, in one of the side-rooms, with several other 
 men doing the same thing while waiting for their wives. 
 Monsieur Loisel threw over his wife s shoulders a cloak 
 which contrasted strongly by its simplicity with her dress, 
 and with the rich wraps and furs that the ladies put on 
 who were leaving at the same time ; and they hurried 
 off, down the grand staircase, between the double rows 
 of liveried servants, and past the gorgeous sentinels on 
 guard at the entrance. There was no cab to be seen. 
 They walked down the street looking about for some 
 means of getting home. At last, in a remote corner, 
 they found an old tumble-down cab, the horse of 
 which was asleep in the shafts, and the owner asleep 
 on the box. They woke the man ; he started up his 
 horse, and they drove home. It was half-past five in 
 the morning. Monsieur Loisel was tired and sleepy, as 
 he went upstairs to their apartment, knowing that he 
 would have to be at his desk at nine o clock. His 
 wife was too much excited to feel fatigued. She had 
 had such a bewildering night and there was to be 
 another ball next month at the English Embassy. She 
 took off her cloak in front of the looking-glass in the 
 parlor to have one more farewell look at herself in her 
 ball-dress. Suddenly she turned pale, put her hand
 
 114 A Week away from Time. 
 
 up to her neck, staggered for a second, uttered a 
 cry, and remained motionless as a statue, with her 
 eyes wide open, staring at herself in the mirror. 
 
 "What is the matter?" said her husband, coming 
 from the bedroom. 
 
 " I have lost the necklace ! " exclaimed his wife. 
 
 Monsieur Loisel turned pale in his turn. " You have 
 lost Madame Forestier s necklace? " 
 
 " Yes, I have ! " gasped the unhappy woman. 
 
 They began searching for it in her cloak, in the 
 folds of her dress everywhere ; but it was not to be 
 found. 
 
 " Are you sure you had it when you left the ball 
 room?" 
 
 " Yes, I put my hand up to feel for it the last thing 
 I did before leaving the house." 
 
 " Do you think you could have left it in the 
 carriage?" 
 
 " Do I know ! I must have dropped it in the street. 
 I know I had it on when I left the palace." 
 
 Monsieur Loisel put on his coat and hurried out, 
 jumped into a cab and drove to the door of the palace by 
 which they had left after the ball. He then followed 
 on foot the street they had taken in coming home 
 an hour before. He searched the steps of the palace, 
 the gutters, the doorways, everywhere ; he found
 
 The Story of the Necklace. 1 1 5 
 
 nothing. He went to the police office to state the 
 loss, to the overseers of the pawn-shops, to the officers 
 of the cab companies. He advertised the necklace, 
 promising a large reward to the finder who should 
 return it, and no questions asked. In the afternoon 
 he returned home : his wife had passed the day in a 
 worse state of mind than he. After a week they gave 
 up all hope of finding the necklace. They both looked 
 ten years older. 
 
 " We must get a necklace just like it for Madame 
 Forestier," said the husband. 
 
 They took the box to the jeweller whose name was 
 printed in the inside. He looked at it, consulted his 
 books, and said, " The box is mine, but I did not 
 sell the necklace you describe. I have none similar 
 to it." They went from jeweller to jeweller, trying to 
 find something sufficiently like the lost ornament to 
 put in its place. At last they found one which Madame 
 Loisel thought almost exactly like it. The price was 
 40,000 francs. The jeweller promised to keep it for 
 them for three days, and to take it back for 35,000 
 francs any time within three months, in case the other 
 necklace should turn up. 
 
 Monsieur Loisel and his wife did not possess any 
 thing approaching the sum needed. They took all they 
 had carried all they could to the pawnbroker s,
 
 1 1 6 A Week away from Time. 
 
 asked one friend to loan them 2,000 francs, one or 
 two 500, or what they could spare ; they borrowed the 
 rest from money-lenders at thirty to forty per cent 
 interest ; and at the end of another week, with bank 
 ruptcy and poverty staring them in the face, Monsieur 
 Loisel went to the jeweller, paid him 40,000 francs, 
 and received the necklace. The next day Madame 
 Loisel carried it to her friend. 
 
 " I thought you would have returned it sooner. I 
 might have wanted it to wear myself," said Madame 
 Forestier, who evidently had not seen the advertise 
 ments in the newspapers. She put the box back in 
 the safe as she spoke. Then, turning to her friend, she 
 said, 
 
 " But you promised to tell me about the ball. How 
 did you enjoy it? " 
 
 " Oh, I cannot tell you now ! " said Madame Loisel ; 
 and bidding her friend a hurried good-by, she went 
 home. 
 
 Now came for the Loisels a life of poverty. They 
 sent off their " bonne ; " they gave up their apartment, 
 and took a few rooms in one of the poor quarters of 
 the city, way upstairs in a narrow, dirty street. Madame 
 Loisel had to do all the work of the household, the 
 cooking as well as the washing. She dried her clothes 
 on a line running from her window to a hook in the
 
 The Story of the Necklace. 1 1 7 
 
 wall on the opposite side of the yard. They had to 
 bring up the water from the street, and carry down the 
 ashes. Dressed in an old stained gown, with holes in 
 her shoes, and well-darned stockings, Madame Loisel 
 wandered out to get food where it was cheapest, and 
 buy the adulterated groceries with which the poor have 
 to be satisfied. She often went hungry, that her hus 
 band might have something to eat when he came home 
 in the evening. Every month Monsieur Loisel had to 
 pay the interest on his notes, and was often glad to renew 
 them at the same exorbitant rates. He passed part 
 of his nights in copying manuscripts at five sous a 
 page, while in the evenings he kept the books of a 
 small shopkeeper in the neighborhood. Sometimes in 
 the afternoon Madame Loisel would sit at the win 
 dow looking on the street before her husband had 
 returned from his office, and after she had finished 
 the hard work of the day, and think of that happiest 
 evening of her life, and of all the misery that had 
 come of it. 
 
 This life lasted ten years. One evening Monsieur 
 Loisel came home with a piece of paper in his hand, 
 and laying it on the table, said, " At last ! This is the 
 last bill we owe ! Everything is paid." But he and 
 his wife had become old people. She was stout and 
 coarse and wrinkled.
 
 1 1 8 A Week away from Time. 
 
 One Sunday, not long after Monsieur Loisel had paid 
 up the capital of his debts and their compound interest, 
 Madame Loisel strolled out into the Champs Elysees to 
 get a little rest and fresh air after the work and con 
 finement of the week. She was suddenly attracted by 
 the appearance of a lady who was walking with a child 
 not far off. She looked at her long and steadily, and 
 thought she recognized her former friend, Caroline 
 Forestier, whom she had not seen since the day she 
 returned the diamond necklace, ten years ago. She 
 was still young and handsome, while Madame Loisel felt 
 that she herself was worn and wrinkled and dilapi 
 dated. " I must speak to her," she said to herself. 
 " Now we have paid up everything, I can tell her the 
 story and not be ashamed." And going up to her, she 
 said, " Good-morning, Caroline ! " The lady looked up, 
 surprised at being greeted so familiarly by so common- 
 looking a person whom she did not know, and said, 
 
 " You have made a mistake, I believe." 
 
 " Pardon me, I think not. Are you not Caroline 
 Forestier? " 
 
 " Yes, that is my name, but I do not remember ever 
 having seen you before." 
 
 " Caroline, I am Mathilde Loisel." 
 
 " You Mathilde Loisel ! " exclaimed Madame Fores- 
 tier, recalling the memories of former days. " Where do
 
 The Story of the Necklace, 1 1 9 
 
 you come from? How changed you are ! I tried long 
 ago to find you at your former lodgings, but you had 
 gone away, and left no address. I did not know you." 
 
 "Since I saw you last," said Madame Loisel, "we 
 have had my husband and I a hard life, and you 
 had something to do with it." 
 
 " I ! " repeated Madame Forestier. " I had some 
 thing to do with your life ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; you ! Do you remember lending me 
 your diamond necklace, ten years ago, to go to the ball 
 given at the Ministerial Palace ? " 
 
 " Yes, surely ; but what had that to do " 
 
 " I lost it the night I wore it." 
 
 " You lost it ! But you brought it back to me a 
 fortnight afterward. I remember it very well, for it 
 was the last time I ever saw you." 
 
 " No, I did not bring it back to you. I brought 
 you another one, like it. It cost 40,000 francs. My 
 husband and I have been working and economizing 
 ever since to pay for it ; and we have done it at last. 
 I am not ashamed to tell you the truth. When I 
 brought the necklace to you, you put it away without 
 even looking at it." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you paid 40,000 francs 
 for the necklace you brought me for the one I lent 
 you?"
 
 1 20 A Week away from Time. 
 
 "Yes, we did; and it has taken us ten years." 
 Madame Forestier looked at her old friend hardly 
 
 able to speak, and then taking both her hands she 
 
 said, " Mathilda, my necklace was not of diamonds ; 
 
 it was of paste. The whole thing was not worth 
 
 500 francs." 
 
 " It is a very nice story," said Airs. Chauncey, 
 "very nice; only it was too bad that she 
 should have grown so old and plain. It seems 
 so strange, too, in Paris, where they have all 
 sorts of cosmetics and things. Why, I met 
 Mrs. Wiggin in Beacon Street the other day. 
 She has been living in Paris for five years, 
 you know. She s sixty if she s a day; and 
 what with her golden blond hair and her Worth 
 clothes, she looks twenty-five." 
 
 " You will sing to us to-night, Muriel, will you 
 not?" said Mrs. Temple. 
 
 " Yes, willingly," replied Muriel, going to the 
 piano. She ran over the keys for a few moments, 
 preluding dreamily; and Margaret saw that she 
 was really musical, which is not necessarily the 
 case with every one who plays and sings. Pres 
 ently she struck a few chords, and sang :
 
 A Week away from Time. 1 2 1 
 
 " In the summer twilight, 
 
 While yet the dew was hoar, 
 I went plucking purple pansies, 
 
 Till my love should come to shore. 
 The fishing-lights their dances 
 
 Were keeping out at sea, 
 And Come, I sang, my true love, 
 
 Come, hasten home to me ! 
 
 " But the sea it fell a-moaning, 
 
 And the white gulls rocked thereon, 
 And the young moon dropped from heaven, 
 
 And the lights hid one by one. 
 And silently their glances 
 
 Slipped down the cruel sea, 
 And Wait, cried the night-wind and the storm, 
 
 Wait till I come to thee. )!1 
 
 Charlie Wyatt had been gazing with a rapt, 
 adoring expresbion at Miss Carr-Wynstede while 
 she sang, and with the utter unconsciousness 
 that any one might be observing him, which 
 betokens a man very far gone indeed. He went 
 toward her when the song was finished. 
 
 " I never heard those words set to music," he 
 said. " They are great favorites of mine." 
 
 " Will you sing the song you were speaking 
 to me of this morning?" asked Muriel. 
 
 1 The words by Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford.
 
 122 A Week away from Time. 
 
 VVyatt took the guitar and sang : 
 
 " Thy claim alone I wait, 
 If soon or late it summon me 
 
 Stranded like yon imprisoned boat, 
 
 Till the compelling tide shall lift or float, 
 And bear out unresisting to the longed-for sea, 
 So will I wait that one full hour with thee ! 
 
 " No other love than thine ; 
 
 Though the slow hours ebb wearily, 
 False voices tempt from off the shore, 
 One song once-sung I hear forever more, 
 
 One light burns clear and white across the blackest sea ; 
 
 One hour the flood-tide of thy love shall set me free." 
 
 Afterward Muriel and Wyatt sang together 
 Italian, German, English songs. Muriel s voice 
 was a mezzo-soprano, with deep, tender, low notes, 
 and the two voices blended perfectly together. 
 
 " Confound the fellow ! " whispered Ralph to 
 his brother-in-law; "isn t it enough that he 
 should be as handsome as that, without singing 
 love-songs in a way that no woman can be 
 expected to resist, into the bargain?" 
 
 " It is a little rough on the rest of us," 
 said Bowdoin laughing; and to himself he 
 thought, " Oho, Mr. Ralph ! sits the wind in 
 that quarter?"
 
 A Hit when she was embarked, did you not mark how 
 the waves whistled, and the seas danced for joy, and 
 all because they had Urania. 
 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY S Arcadia. 
 
 The great s d>cet mother, mother and lover of men, the sea ! 
 
 SWINBURNE.
 
 THIRD DAY. 
 
 IT was in very truth a perfect day, the one 
 they had chosen for sailing to Waquoit. Even 
 Mrs. Bowdoin was tempted from the hammock, 
 to her own great surprise, and found herself on 
 board the " Hope " at ten o clock in the morn 
 ing, with the rest of the party, Mrs. Chauncey 
 included, who had brought a life-preserver with 
 her from the hotel, but had been induced by 
 Mrs. Temple to leave it behind, as it might hurt 
 Mr. \Yyatt s feelings. To judge by the raptu 
 rous expression on that handsome face, nothing 
 could ruffle him to-day, or mar the absolute joy 
 he felt that Muriel s feet were at last treading 
 the deck of his vessel. He blushed all to him 
 self that he could ever have said what he did 
 (and now remembered with an agony of shame) 
 to Mrs. Bowdoin. " What an idiot I was ! " he 
 muttered. This was to be an all-day expedition, 
 and they were to lunch on board. Margaret
 
 126 A Week away from Time. 
 
 had consulted with Captain Nye, and had found 
 that they were picking cranberries at Waquoit, 
 a function she especially wanted the English 
 girl to witness, as being something the like of 
 which she had never seen, and could see nowhere 
 else so well. 
 
 " I have sent horses and traps to meet us at 
 Waquoit Bay," said Mrs. Temple. "They will 
 take us to the cranberry bog I think best worth 
 seeing, and if any of you prefer land-travel to a 
 sea-voyage, they shall be at your disposition to 
 bring you home." 
 
 " As the wind is fair, and as we have the day 
 before us," said Wyatt, " I thought we would go 
 round Naushon into Vineyard Sound. When we 
 come back, if the tide serves, \ve will make the 
 short-cut through the Holl, by Nobska-light." 
 
 " How charming those names are ! " said 
 Muriel. " Whenever I hear the Indian names 
 in this country, I wonder that I hear them so 
 seldom. And I dare say they all mean some 
 thing. Waquoit, for instance? " 
 
 " They say it came from the call of the quail," 
 answered Wyatt ; "and certainly it is as much
 
 A Week away from Time. 127 
 
 like it as More wet ! More wet ! which is 
 unreliable meteorologically, or Bob White ! 
 which is prosaic and unmeaning. See ! is not 
 the island of Naushon pretty?" 
 
 As Wyatt spoke, they were sailing near to 
 the shore of Naushon, by Kettle Cove, and out 
 from the thicket came a deer, quite down to the 
 water s edge. The beautiful creature looked at 
 the vessel for a moment with her great, soft, 
 startled eyes, and bounded back into the forest. 
 A kingfisher stood on the beach, on one leg, 
 and calmly watched the " Hope " sail by. Shel 
 drakes and gulls flew over their heads, and in 
 the woods beyond, the quail were calling " Wa- 
 quoit ! Waquoit ! " A thick growth of oaks and 
 maples in their autumn bravery made a fringe 
 of color quite down to the narrow line of white 
 beach-sand, so that the brilliant hues were re 
 flected in the water. 
 
 " How very, very beautiful it is ! " said Muriel 
 with enthusiasm. " I have never seen anything 
 quite like it." 
 
 " There is always something very fascinating 
 to me about an island," said Margaret. " I shall
 
 128 A Week away from Time. 
 
 never forget one beautiful day in January, at 
 Cannes, when I went over in a boat to the 
 islands of Ste. Marguerite and St. Honorat. 
 After doing what was expected of us in visiting 
 the fortress at Ste. Marguerite, and the cell 
 where the Man with the Iron Mask was shut 
 up, and looking at the wall over which General 
 Bazaine escaped two centuries later, we walked 
 across the island through a wonderful forest of 
 stone-pines bowed by the winds, and olive-trees 
 whose charm is too subtle and mysterious to 
 be told on canvas or by any words, and came 
 out to the water again. Here a boat took us 
 across to the Isle St. Honorat. I can hardly 
 say why this place appealed so strongly to my 
 imagination, but truly that day I felt as I sup 
 pose poets feel everyday. There is a monas 
 tery at one end of the island, one of the oldest 
 in France, within whose cloistered walls live 
 monks of a silent order. They never speak 
 except to say their prayers; and I fancied I 
 could hear, in the still air, the echoes of the Ave 
 Marias and the Amens as they were chanted 
 from cell to cell. Outside the walls of the
 
 A Week away from Time. 1 29 
 
 cloister garden, into which no woman s foot 
 ever penetrated, were alleys bordered with box 
 and rosemary, which filled the air with sweet 
 odors. The waves w r ashed the stony beach at 
 our feet, and wild flowers and tall canes and 
 rushes grew thick on the craggy banks. I sat 
 down in a little empty chapel looking out to 
 sea, and wanted to stay forever. I believe 
 I would have taken the vow of perpetual 
 silence, if those stern, white-cowled monks 
 would have let me in. For days and days the 
 place haunted me; and at night, when the moon 
 shone, I fancied it lighting up the cells and 
 corridors of the Moines Silencieux, and again 
 I heard the echoes of the Aves and the long 
 Amen." 
 
 " How can men make such asses of them 
 selves?" was Ralph s slightly brusque excla 
 mation. 
 
 " It does not seem to me so remarkable," said 
 Tom Bowdoin. " I dare say they had heard 
 too much talk. They had probably all been 
 married men. Now, what does surprise me, is 
 to learn that there is an order, somewhere, of 
 9
 
 1 30 A Week away from Time. 
 
 Sceurs Silencieuses ! That, indeed, is phe 
 nomenal, and contrary to nature." 
 
 " I think I would rather live at Naushon," 
 remarked Muriel. 
 
 " It s very pretty," said Mrs. Chauncey; " but 
 one might as well be Robinson Crusoe, or a 
 babe in the wood, and done with it. And just 
 think, in case of fire ! and evenings ! No one 
 to drop in, and no theatre or anything, and 
 those dreadful gulls screaming. I should go 
 crazy, I am sure ! " 
 
 The yacht had rounded Naushon, and was 
 sailing up Vineyard Sound, and to the south 
 east Martha s Vineyard lay misty and purple in 
 the distance. 
 
 " Does the entire vineyard belong to Martha?" 
 asked Mrs. Chauncey, " and who is Martha, at 
 any rate? I dare say you think me very igno 
 rant, but I have heard of her all my life, and 
 have always meant to ask some one who knew. 
 Can t we go there some day? " 
 
 "Ah! never; let me beg you, never!" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Temple. " I, too, year after 
 year have sailed by that island, as we are sail-
 
 A Week away from Time. 1 3 1 
 
 ing now, and thought how attractive it looked, 
 veiled in mist, clad in the grace of distance. 
 One day one rash day I made Ralph take 
 me there. We landed at Oak Bluff. It was 
 camp-meeting time. We drove to Cottage City. 
 I spoke never a word till we were on board my 
 boat again. Then I drew a long breath, and 
 said, Oh, horrible ! horrible ! most horrible ! 
 I felt like Rosamond with her purple jar. No, 
 let me spare you that disillusion. Never tear 
 away that veil ; there are ghastly horrors behind 
 it. Non ragionam di lor, ma guarda e passa ! 
 
 "Why, with your love of the masses, I should 
 think you d rather like a cottage at Oak Bluff," 
 said Bell. "It would be better than horse-cars, 
 because more of it." 
 
 Margaret looked scornful, but made no re 
 ply. Steering northward now, they passed 
 Menahaut, another Indian name for Muriel, 
 and came into Waquoit Bay, past Monamascoy 
 Island. She wrote the names down, and said 
 she had a favorite cat at home, who should be 
 christened Monamascoy as soon as she got back 
 to Devonshire,
 
 132 A Week away from Time. 
 
 As the sloop came about just before going 
 into the Bay, her sail hit Mrs. Chauncey s red 
 parasol, which she was holding high over her 
 head, and knocked it into the w-ater. 
 
 " It was my fault," said Wyatt, who was at the 
 helm (for though he had an excellent skipper, 
 he liked sometimes to sail his own boat). " I 
 should have warned you." 
 
 " Don t mention it," said the most good-natured 
 of women. "I really ought to have known myself; 
 for when poor dear Paul was alive he used to 
 take me sailing a good deal, and I might have 
 known that when you took in a tuck that s 
 what you call it, I believe) I should have put 
 down my parasol. I really used to know a good 
 deal about boats, Paul being an architect, you 
 know. I knew all the sails ; the mainsail fmain- 
 sle, you have to say), and boomsle, and sternsle, 
 and all ; and I used to sing, 
 
 Give me a wet sheet and a flowing sail. 
 
 You all know it; though why they wanted to 
 sleep in damp sheets, I never could think it s so 
 unhealthy. To make them hardy, I suppose."
 
 A Week away from Time. 133 
 
 It was luncheon-time when the " Hope " cast 
 anchor in the pretty bay; and as the whole 
 party agreed that it was a pity to go below and 
 so lose sight of the wooded shores and curving 
 beaches, they lunched on deck sumptuously, 
 anl Mrs. Chauncey declared that if she only 
 shut her eyes she should imagine herself at 
 Delmonico s. " But I will not shut my eyes," 
 said she firmly, with something of a Spartan air. 
 
 On shore they found vehicles waiting for 
 them. Mrs. Temple and the Professor led the 
 way up through the lane leading to the little 
 village, through the village, past the old mill, 
 by a wood-road, out upon the cranberry bog. 
 They left their carriages and walked a short 
 distance, across a wooden bridge, and found 
 themselves looking upon what was to most of 
 them as novel a scene as it was to the English 
 girl. The harvest of the cranberry is an impor 
 tant epoch to the dwellers on the south side of 
 Cape Cod. It may be called the industry of 
 that region, as the salting and packing of cod 
 fish is of other parts. Every autumn, before 
 the hard frosts come, the " raccolte " of the
 
 134 A Week away from Time. 
 
 berry takes place. The school-children are 
 given a vacation of three or four days, and 
 young and old devote themselves to the gather 
 ing of the fruit without which no Thanksgiv 
 ing or Christmas dinner in New England is 
 complete. 
 
 This special bog, on this special day, pre 
 sented a memorable sight. A piece of cleared 
 land of ten or twelve acres, of no great value 
 for other purposes, had been consecrated to 
 cranberry culture, and this year s yield was 
 reported to be a remarkably fine one. The 
 delicate vine, with its myrtle-green leaves, ran 
 thick and close, close to the sandy soil; under 
 neath, when you stooped to look, you saw the 
 rich crimson berries, with a purple bloom on 
 them. Indeed, when one looked over the whole 
 wide acres, the ruddy fruit cast a warm tinge up 
 through the green, as one sees the blood-red 
 heart of the alexandrite glowing through the 
 deep green of the stone. 
 
 This cranberry bog was set in a frame of 
 bright foliage ; shrub oaks, their leaves, " some 
 stained as with blood, and made crimson, and
 
 A Week away from Time. 135 
 
 some as with tears ; " maples, scarlet and gold 
 in the sunshine ; red woodbine running riot over 
 the trunks of old pines; all sorts of bright 
 bushes and vines joining hands to dress the 
 festival with the gayest they could give; and 
 kneeling on the ground were women and chil 
 dren by scores, silently picking and filling the 
 measures as if performing some sacred rite. 
 Here and there a bright shawl on one of the 
 women, or a gay handkerchief round a girl s 
 neck, or a colored ribbon knotted in her braids, 
 made a spot of sympathetic color among the 
 crowd. One little fellow looked up as the 
 party approached, and caught sight of Joujou 
 in Mrs. Bowdoin s arms. " Oh, look, mother, 
 look ! " he cried ; " that s the littlest dog I ever 
 saw ! Just see his tail ! " The woman never 
 raised her head. "PiCK ! " she shouted in stern, 
 stentorian tones from the depths of her sun- 
 bonnet to the small boy, who hung his head 
 and obeyed the mandate. What were little 
 dogs or their tails, when weighed in the balance 
 with his stint of so many quarts an hour ! Each 
 picker is provided with a tin measure into which
 
 136 A Week away from Time. 
 
 he drops the berries as he pulls them from the 
 vines. He is paid so much for each measure. 
 These are poured into larger receptacles, and 
 finally into bushel-baskets. Inspectors walk 
 about, and take account of what each one does, 
 and shout the tally across the fields to the 
 head man, who marks it all down. The bushel- 
 basketfuls are poured into sacks, which are 
 piled upon barrows and carried off to fill the 
 carts awaiting them by the roadside. Muriel 
 saw one of these barrows being carried slowly 
 along by two men, one at each end ; they 
 seemed to be singing as they walked, and their 
 song came over the field in a sort of solemn 
 chant. 
 
 "See ! " said Muriel ; "the funeral of the cran 
 berry ! Could anything be more picturesque? " 
 
 " And they are as unconscious of making 
 pictures," said Ralph, who stood by her side, 
 " as any of Millet s French peasants." 
 
 Margaret Temple had been walking about 
 among the people, recognizing here and there 
 an old acquaintance. As she passed the small 
 boy, who now would n t have looked up if a
 
 A Week away from Time. 137 
 
 cannon had been fired close to him, she stooped 
 and put a bit of silver in his quart measure. 
 " Xow you may look at the little dog for a 
 moment," she said ; and Joujou was patted, and 
 wagged his tail, much to the small boy s delight, 
 and the grim maternal face relaxed into the 
 brief semblance of a smile. 
 
 " When Paul and I were in Cuba," said Mrs. 
 Chauncey, as they were walking back to the 
 carriages, " we went to a coffee-picking on a 
 plantation. It was just like this, only, of course, 
 they were slaves, and there were slave-drivers 
 with long whips, and the men were almost naked, 
 and it was entirely different still " and they 
 all said they knew exactly what Mrs. Chauncey 
 meant. 
 
 The vehicles drove back to Fair Harbor 
 empty as they had come. The " Hope " bore 
 her precious freight proudly home, and came 
 up to her moorings just as the sun was setting. 
 " Thank you for the happiest day of my life," 
 whispered Charlie Wyatt to Muriel.
 
 Let s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Ah, what while thing at the door has crossed ! 
 
 DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. 
 
 With bodiless form and unapparent feet. 
 
 IBID. 
 
 A thousand pushing weeds the borders hold, 
 And standing with them, wild and rank as they, 
 Are tender blossoms, now grown overbold, 
 And careless of the garden s slow decay. 
 Oh, far away, in some serener air, 
 The eyes that loved them see. a heavenly dawn ; 
 How can they bloom without her tender care ? 
 Why should they live, when her sweet life is gone ? 
 
 And Against its walls the city^s heart still beats, 
 And out from it each summer wind (hat blows, 
 Carries some sweetness to the tired streets. 
 
 MARGARET DELANO.
 
 EVENING OF THIRD DAY. 
 
 MR. BOWDOIN excused himself for being five 
 minutes late when he came downstairs dressed 
 for dinner. " Captain Nye and I took a walk 
 to the old churchyard between here and Fal- 
 mouth just now," he said, " and I lingered 
 longer than I meant to, trying to decipher some 
 inscriptions by the dim twilight." 
 
 " You told me you were making a compara 
 tive collection of New England epitaphs," said 
 Professor Kirkland. " Do you find that the 
 mortuary sentiment of the interior suffers any 
 sea-change on the borders of salt water?" 
 
 " Perhaps you find these doleful composi 
 tions more vague in expression," suggested 
 Mrs. Temple, " and, so to speak, more modern 
 than your gleanings from our mountain towns. 
 Perhaps it seems easier to reach heaven from 
 the top of a hill ; whereas the hazards of this 
 present life to those who get their bread upon
 
 142 A Week away from Time. 
 
 the treacherous deep would be likely to cast a 
 sea-haze over that which is to come." 
 
 " Well generalized, Margaret," replied Bow- 
 doin. " It is only a pity that a speculation so 
 thoughtful and subtle should not accord with 
 the fact. But the truth is that maritime popu 
 lations want a more cheerful faith than those 
 living upon our green uplands. \Yhen you 
 look over my collection, you will find a distem 
 pered self-consciousness about the inland epi 
 taphs which is somewhat repulsive. Their 
 warning outcries make little impression upon a 
 generation which thinks it knows too much to 
 be scared so easily." He took a slip of paper 
 from his pocket. " Let me contrast them with 
 this verse which I copied an hour ago. The 
 stone, as nearly as I could make it out, bore the 
 date 1742. 
 
 Beneath this sod I lie content : 
 Come rest with me : but first repent : 
 And when the trumpet sounds "Arise ! " 
 Together we will seek the skies. 
 
 Did you ever get an invitation that was more 
 hospitable, hearty, and matter-of-fact? Observe
 
 A Week away from Time. 143 
 
 that the remark about repentance is not made 
 offensively prominent. It is thrown out by the 
 way, as one might say. If you come to the 
 picnic, don t forget your umbrella. " 
 
 "I admire the strong assertion of the Ego 
 in your verse," said Margaret. " It is no miser 
 able matter of lime and carbon, but / who lie 
 here. It is / who propose to enter my bour 
 geois mansion in the sky, and in your good 
 company, if you will ! It is a pity that this 
 honest mariner could not have attended the 
 theosophic conversations at Mrs. Spring s last 
 winter. He would have learned that while 
 John Brown s essence might go marching on, 
 it was very doubtful whether it must carry its 
 baggage of personality throughout the eternal 
 tramp." 
 
 " To change the subject for a moment," said 
 Mrs. Bowdoin, " and to leave immortality for 
 more fleeting themes, who is to be victimized 
 to-night? I wish to state that my story is not 
 finished, but that I hope to lay it before an 
 indulgent audience in a day or two, if I am left 
 in tolerable peace to-morrow."
 
 1 44 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " Mr. Wyatt has something for us to-night, I 
 believe," said Margaret. 
 
 Antinous blushed violently, tugged hard at 
 his yellow moustache, and said : " I have a poor 
 little thing at the service of you all, and shall 
 be only too glad to read it and have it over. It 
 has one merit. It is not long." 
 
 After dinner, and when the company were 
 assembled in the library, Wyatt said : " My 
 story is really very short and quite dismal. Can t 
 we do something a little cheerful first, before I 
 plunge you all in gloom? Miss Carr-Wynstede, 
 cannot you suggest something? " 
 
 " While you were all talking at dinner of 
 epitaphs and things appertaining," answered 
 Muriel, " I was reminded of a sort of game we 
 have sometimes played at home. Games and 
 epitaphs do not seem to belong together, and 
 perhaps this is not precisely what Mr. Wyatt 
 means by something cheerful." 
 
 " Do tell us your game, and let us play it," 
 they all exclaimed. 
 
 " You must furnish paper and pencils then, 
 and let us sit at the big round table, dear Mrs.
 
 A Week away from Time. 145 
 
 Temple. And in the first place, it is really no 
 game at all. I think papa invented it one 
 evening when \ve were a Christmas party in the 
 country and had exhausted all ordinary amuse 
 ments. You may find it very tiresome. It is 
 just this : We took some well-known verse of 
 poetry, and each one of us tried to write it 
 down in other words, preserving the sense. 
 Somehow epitaphs seemed to lend themselves 
 better than other things to this trial of wits ; and 
 the reason I thought of it at dinner was because 
 the first verse we took was Tennyson s epitaph 
 on Sir John Franklin in Westminster Abbey." 
 
 " Let us take the very same, and see what we 
 can do with it ! " exclaimed Margaret. " I re 
 member it begins with a ringing, Not here ! 
 Let me see, how does it go on? " 
 
 "You will let me only listen, won t you?" 
 said Muriel. " I am sure you will all be much 
 cleverer at it than we were; and I have got what 
 they all wrote so jumbled in my head, I could 
 never write an original line, I am sure." 
 
 " And I am too scared at the idea of what 
 is before me, to think of anything else," said 
 
 10
 
 146 A Week away from Time. 
 
 Wyatt; " so please count me out, too. Let me 
 listen \vith Miss Carr-Wynstede." And he 
 drew his chair near hers. 
 
 "Are not these the lines?" said the Pro 
 fessor, 
 
 " Not here ! The white North hath thy bones, and thou, 
 
 Heroic sailor-soul, 
 
 Art passing on thine happier voyage now, 
 Toward no earthly pole. " 
 
 "It is a noble stanza, is it not? "said Mar 
 garet. " It seems almost audacious to tamper 
 with it." 
 
 " Not at all ! " exclaimed Bowdoin. " Let us 
 pull it to pieces before we attempt to put it 
 together again. The lines are well enough, but 
 I think an inscription addressed to the general 
 public should be comprehensible at a glance. 
 Now, the words voy-age and to-ward arc so 
 commonly pronounced as monosyllables that 
 one boggles at them before discovering that an 
 unusual pronunciation is wanted here. Then 
 there is the passing. Who ever speaks of pass 
 ing on a voyage? The idea is poetical, if you
 
 A Week away from Time. 147 
 
 will, but it takes too much time to get at it. 
 Sight-seers doing the Abbey are naturally in a 
 hurry; you must hit them on the wing, or lose 
 your shot. Now, notice the precision with 
 which my Barnstable County rhymer hits the 
 mark. First, we have the bold personation of 
 his deceased friend, then that startling invita 
 tion to the passer-by, and finally the lift to the 
 skies where the imagination is at liberty to 
 shape things as it chooses. No ; I don t say 
 that my man s production is better poetry, but 
 I do say that it better answers the purpose for 
 which inscriptions are cut upon gravestones." 
 
 " I object to your objections," said the Pro 
 fessor. " As to the pronunciation of the two 
 words, it is by no means unusual in poetry; and 
 your tourist must be in a desperate hurry (Lord 
 Tennyson might well urge that his epitaph was 
 not intended for hurried tourists), or have a very 
 poor ear, if he does not detect the reading di 
 rectly. Your stricture upon the word passing 
 strikes me as wholly hypercritical. Put the 
 words in prose, and see : Thou art passing 
 toward no earthly pole [ as thou sailest, under-
 
 148 A Week away from Time. 
 
 stood] on thine happier voyage. I insist that 
 this is clear. And you make no allowance for 
 the difficult conditions under which the poet 
 wrote. Suppose the late Dean Stanley had 
 applied to you for lines in verse upon Sir John 
 Franklin, and requested you to put in the fact 
 that he is not buried under his monument, as is 
 usually the case in Westminster Abbey ! I 
 wonder what sort of poetry he would have 
 got!" 
 
 " Probably no poetry at all, as I profess no 
 gift in that direction ; but he would have got 
 something not amenable to my criticism upon 
 what he did get," said Bowdoin decidedly. 
 
 "As, for example," said Margaret. "Come, 
 here is a pencil, some paper, and a book to 
 write upon." 
 
 " Keep still for a moment, and I will try," 
 replied her brother-in-law. " Let me see 
 who will give me a rhyme to freed ? Miss 
 Carr-YVynstede, come to the rescue, since you 
 got us into the scrape." 
 
 "There is steed, " said Muriel, "and reed/ 
 bead, indeed "
 
 A Week away from Time. 1 49 
 
 " Indeed will do. Now, then, what do you 
 say to this ? 
 
 Explorer of our Western Zones, 
 On frozen shores thy soul was freed: 
 While drift the snows about thy bones, 
 Thou sail st on seas unknown indeed. " 
 
 " I don t like the touch of agnosticism in the 
 last line," said Margaret. " It seems out of 
 place in a Christian temple." 
 
 " Your first line is vastly inferior to Tenny 
 son s," decreed the Professor. " We miss the 
 arresting effect of those two opening words. 
 They are the last things one expects to see, and 
 impressive accordingly." 
 
 " I did n t know we undertook to make 
 lines superior, or equal to Tennyson s," said 
 Bowdoin ; " I only said I would write some 
 thing which should not have the same faults I 
 found in his. Suppose you illustrate your crit 
 icism of my effort by one of your own." 
 
 " I will do my best," replied Kirkland. " But 
 pray all of you be patient. It may take me 
 some time."
 
 150 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " Time is as abundant as sand on the Cape," 
 said Ralph. " Take some paper, and we shall 
 not watch the clock." 
 
 After a few moments silence the Professor 
 said he was ready, though he had not been able 
 to achieve an initiatory shock which should 
 tingle the news to his o\vn satisfaction. 
 
 " Sail northward ! Thou shall find his grave, 
 Without a monument or name. 
 Here, honored with our Wise and Brave, 
 A grateful nation guards his fame. " 
 
 "Very good," acknowledged Bowdoin. "Still, 
 I think you are over-confident in predicting 
 poor Sir John s place of sepulture, with such 
 very definite directions as to where we re to 
 look for it: Turn up on your right hand at the 
 next turning, but at the next turning of all, 
 on your left ; marry, at the next turning, turn 
 of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the 
 Jew s house. Launcelot s directions to his fa 
 ther are, to be sure, almost as bewildering; but 
 then, he did not commit himself to the asser 
 tion that Shylock s house would be found."
 
 A Week away from Time. 1 5 1 
 
 " I think myself," said Mrs. Bowdoin, " that 
 it might be well to localize the spot more de 
 cidedly. Why not introduce some Northern 
 flora or fauna? You lose your way too easily 
 among those Arctic snow-drifts." 
 
 " I don t know what sort of flora you could 
 get to grow there ; and as to the fauna, remem 
 ber that a single stanza docs not give room to 
 run much of a menagerie," said the Professor. 
 
 " Something in that way might be done," per 
 sisted the lady. " Wait a bit, and I will prove it 
 Here, now, here come my characteristic beasts: 
 
 The white bear and the Arctic fox 
 Are mourners by thy Northern tomb ; 
 England her Abbey-door unlocks, 
 To give thy fame its fitting room. " 
 
 " You have brought in your fauna with a 
 realism that makes one shiver," exclaimed 
 Ralph. " But why, in Heaven s name, should 
 these simple wanderers wear crape upon their 
 left legs for the leader of an expedition that was 
 devoted to shooting and trapping them? Come 
 back to Shakespeare again, and get your bear 
 ings. A true poet would have perceived that
 
 152 A Week away from Time. 
 
 those poor innocents must have regarded Sir 
 John and his comrades as 
 
 Mere usurpers, tyrants, and what s worse, 
 To fright the animals and kill them up 
 In their assigned and native dwelling-place. 
 
 Mourners by his tomb indeed! If you en 
 dow your poor beasts with human sentiments, 
 let them at least be such as they would natu 
 rally entertain. May I amend your second line 
 thus : 
 
 The white bear and the Arctic fox 
 Dance gayly by thy Northern tomb ? " 
 
 "Ah!" said Bell, "any poetry can be killed 
 by whipping out a carpenter s rule to take its 
 measure. Such a miserable literalist as you are 
 should be kept out of Westminster Abbey by 
 act of Parliament. Of course it would be easy 
 to meet your objection by a change which 
 would leave dignity in the verse. If we read 
 the line 
 
 Roam scathless by thy Northern tomb, 1 
 
 nobody could demur except those who had 
 the good taste to see that it was better as I first
 
 A Week away from Time. 153 
 
 wrote it. But come, Sir Critic, give us your 
 version, and tell us just how the lines should 
 have been written." 
 
 " The facts should be expressed boldly, and 
 in the fewest possible words," said Ralph. " It 
 should be something with a quaint, old-fash 
 ioned air, to harmonize with the surroundings. 
 Bowdoin s last-century poet of the Falmouth 
 churchyard would know just what to say. I 
 will give you something in his style well, like 
 this, for instance, 
 
 Shrouded in snows, 
 His bones repose ; 
 Here with the great, 
 He keepeth state. 
 
 There is the whole story at a glance. The 
 authorities at the Abbey should be asked to 
 adopt it. Then we should get rid of the ob 
 jectionable voy-age and to-ward, and of the 
 doubtful passing. " 
 
 " Don t take my criticisms too seriously," said 
 Bowdoin. "I rather meant them as part of the 
 play. The maxim in mechanics that nothing is 
 stronger than its weakest part, must be reversed
 
 [54 -d Week away from Time. 
 
 in poetry. A strong couplet or stanza will in 
 vigorate a weak environment. Let us confess 
 that Tennyson s first two lines are perfect. The 
 Northern burial is petrified, as it were, in the 
 mind of the reader, and heroic sailor-soul is 
 finely descriptive. Now, Margaret, it is your 
 turn. Why is n t Mrs. Chauncey here this 
 evening? She would have given us something 
 delightful, I have no doubt." 
 
 " She sent a note just before dinner, saying 
 that her face was so burned by her sea-voyage 
 she was not fit to appear," said Margaret. " I 
 am sure she would have written better lines 
 than I can possibly evolve. She has quite a 
 poetic vein, though it runs a little crookedly 
 and unexpectedly." Margaret took a pencil 
 and presently read aloud 
 
 " Here, in this storied, consecrated Fane 
 Thou art not laid ; yet we, on bended knee, 
 Thank God that, dying on the Northern main, 
 Thou livest where " there shall be no more sea." 
 
 Now," said Margaret, " I beg, no criticism of my 
 lines; not that I could not bear it as bravely 
 as you have all done, but because it is high
 
 A Week away from Time. 155 
 
 time we heard Mr. Wyatt s story. Then let us 
 agree that since none of the present company 
 were within reach at the time, Dean Stanley did 
 well to ask Tennyson to commemorate Sir John 
 Franklin in Westminster Abbey ! So now, dear 
 Mr. Yachtsman, your story, if you please." 
 
 They left the table where they had been 
 writing, and grouped themselves around the 
 big fireplace, in which a cheerful wood-fire was 
 blazing, in various attitudes of comfortable ex 
 pectancy. Wyatt betook himself and his manu 
 script to a small table where was a shaded 
 lamp, and in a sort of half-desperate, half-depre 
 cating voice, said, 
 
 " How I wish I too had brought a translation, 
 as Bowdoin did, and so had braved your dis 
 pleasure rather than run the risk of your 
 contempt. When I received Mrs. Temple s 
 delightful invitation to make one of this party, 
 I was so bent upon acceptance, that I forgot, or 
 thought lightly, of her command to bring a 
 story with me. As if one kept stories in one s 
 bureau drawers with one s pocket-handker 
 chiefs ! As I was painfully trying to conjure
 
 156 A Week away from Time. 
 
 up some ideas from which a story might be 
 made, sitting in my office in Court Street, star 
 ing vacantly at my window-panes, I glanced 
 over to the dust-thickened windows of my friend 
 Button, about whose apparently colorless life I 
 had sometimes pleased myself with weaving a 
 vague romance, why, I cannot say, except 
 that the very absence of romance in his outward 
 existence provoked me to believe that the real 
 man carried about with him unrevealed possi 
 bilities of sentiment. So I set myself to think 
 ing what sort of tale he would have told if he 
 had been called upon by the gracious lady 
 whom we all obey; and I shall call my sketch 
 
 THE LAWYER S STORY. 
 
 MY tale is a short one, and soon told. The life of 
 a middle-aged and rather rusty lawyer does not incite 
 to much incident to break its monotony. When the 
 event occurred which has been, and will be, the domi 
 nant one of my life, I was living in a street about a 
 mile from the immediate city, chosen by me because 
 it was apart. The lack of relatives and friends made
 
 The Lawyers Story. 157 
 
 me shrink from the numbers of mere every-day ac 
 quaintance, and the quiet hours for reading after my 
 day s work, in my remote chambers, were more sooth 
 ing than the sounds of evening bustle and entertain 
 ment which by contrast would have reminded me still 
 more forcibly of my own solitariness. Across the 
 street and opposite my windows there stood far back 
 from the sidewalk an old house, somewhat weather- 
 beaten with its hundred years, and with a charm 
 that often attaches itself to an old building, but with 
 an air of neglect and almost squalor about it. A long 
 flagstone walk, which led to the high steps, was bor 
 dered on either side by a tangled garden, in which I 
 sometimes now linger a little ; for even after these many 
 years it has with its subtle odors of box and southern 
 wood the power to lead me back through the cleared 
 paths of memory to that faint-remembered past. 
 
 Only a few rooms of the large house were occupied, 
 and these by an elderly lady and her granddaughter 
 and one old servant. The granddaughter, a pretty, 
 fragile child of eighteen, whose chill, unchildlike life 
 had been made as colorless and drooping as the pale 
 white roses in her garden, where I mostly saw her, 
 awoke in me much tender interest, and a sorrow that 
 anything so lovely and so young should be so solitary ; 
 and I found myself instinctively looking forward to
 
 158 A Week away from Time. 
 
 her pathetic little smile of welcome as I went my way 
 at morning, and in the coming back at twilight. A 
 few trifling acts of neighborliness on my part to the 
 grandmother had already led to a slight acquaintance, 
 though the stiff formality of the elderly lady did not 
 invite to much intimacy ; yet even that bleak back 
 ground could not altogether prevent the girl s sweet 
 youth from springing up in spite of it, with the same 
 gentle force which sent the snowdrops pushing through 
 the barren earth in the old garden. On my way to my 
 office one fair June morning I saw on the bills that 
 the opera for that evening was to be " Martha," and a 
 sudden impulse emboldened me and made me deter 
 mine that my little girl should be taken out of her dull 
 surroundings, at least for once, and be gladdened as 
 well as all the rest of the world. I felt almost young 
 as I stole home earlier than my wont a little guiltily, 
 taking my unusual pleasure somewhat under protest, 
 and went to ask permission of the grandmother. The 
 request was granted, and an hour later we were on our 
 way, and my pleasure had already begun, in seeing a 
 look of expectant happiness on her serious face. The 
 charm of the music of the opera, and the old, old 
 story forever new, deepened the questioning outlook 
 of her grave, sweet eyes. I wandered away in my 
 thoughts from the scenes enacted before me, and
 
 The Lawyers Story. 159 
 
 made others for myself, wherein she should be the 
 heroine, and a love far tenderer and more passionate 
 than the lover s on the stage should be given to her, 
 and I, whose dull role in life was so nearly played out, 
 would be content to be only a looker-on. 
 
 The memory of that one festal evening, and the 
 pleasant talks we had afterwards about it, served to 
 fill many an hour of the long hot days, which had now 
 reached into July. The burning sun and drought began 
 to tell strongly on the old garden, its look of desolate- 
 ness all the greater since I had lately missed seeing 
 the faithful little hand tending the straggling shrubs 
 and stalks, and trying to lure them back into their old 
 grace. Growing somewhat impatient at her continued 
 absence, I stopped one morning at the door to ask for 
 her, and was told by the servant that she was ill, and 
 had for some time been drooping. The doctor whom 
 they called in said that the intensity of the prolonged 
 heat had prostrated her, and that he feared fever. 
 Depressed by the account, I went on to my office, to 
 find there a message from a far-off connection to the 
 effect that I should appear in person in the small town 
 of W. to settle a dispute which had arisen from the 
 will of a relative. It would take me two days to reach 
 there, and as the business to be settled might occupy 
 many more, I must start at once in order to be back
 
 160 A Week away from Time. 
 
 in time to meet other engagements. I had only time to 
 hurry to my rooms to make my preparations and be off. 
 There was not much for me to do ; a word to the 
 woman who served as housekeeper and servant to look 
 after my few belongings, and I was ready. I should 
 have gone my way with a lighter heart if I could have 
 carried with me a word from my little girl, and could 
 have seen her waiting there with her smile of farewell. 
 I felt selfishly thankful that I was going to new scenes 
 which might help to weaken the sense of sadness. 
 
 I had not anticipated pleasure or much interest in 
 meeting with these relatives altogether unknown to me, 
 and so the surprise was agreeable to find myself in 
 the midst of a little colony very hospitably inclined. 
 The business capacity with which I was invested as 
 sumed to them in their narrow and local lives a vast 
 importance, and their friendliness made my ten days 
 stay most pleasant ; and in leaving I felt I was not 
 altogether so lonely an object as before. But in the 
 late afternoon of the following day, as I stepped from 
 the station into the noisy town, which seemed un- 
 endurably heated and stifling in contrast to the cool 
 quiet of the country, the full weight of solitariness fell 
 upon me. I walked along in the gathering twilight, 
 until the noises became fewer, and the stillness of a 
 deserted city seemed to be brooding. I turned into
 
 The Lawyers Story. 161 
 
 the familiar street, and in the accustomed way looked 
 up at the house standing gray in the waning light, to 
 discern dimly, perchance, some glimpse of a face 
 which in all that city would be the only one to brighten 
 at my return. Disappointed in not seeing her there, 
 I reached my door, turned the key in the lock, and 
 went up to my room, where the cheerlessness and 
 gloom struck me as never before. I threw open the 
 windows and lighted a candle. A high south-wind 
 was rising, and the draught sweeping through scat 
 tered the papers on my writing-table, and I began to 
 gather them together, mechanically sorting them, stop 
 ping in my work to listen to a far-off street band, the 
 strains of which were lifted by the wind now and then 
 and brought up to my window. The music was only 
 an old hackneyed air from " Martha," but it sent me 
 back to the bright glad evening I had passed with 
 the sweet, grateful child who might perhaps be still 
 lying ill in that gloomy chamber in the old house. 
 " As soon as I have tied up the papers," I said to myself, 
 " I will go over and find out about her." The wind at 
 that moment blowing open the door behind me, I 
 reached my hand back to shut it, when it resisted 
 my touch and was gently pushed forward. I turned, 
 and there before me I saw her standing. My first 
 impulse was one of relief and joy, for the smile and
 
 1 62 A Week away from Time. 
 
 light which rested on her face told me she was well 
 again. The frank, calm eyes looked into mine, and 
 yet as I tried to meet their look I saw the gaze went 
 far beyond, and in an instant the thought sprang to my 
 brain that she was in the power of somnambulism. 
 Else, why should she be here? Every question van 
 ished before the one compelling desire to keep her 
 from sudden waking, and to lead her safely home. 
 She moved gently round the room, softly sighing, and 
 once she stopped and leaned upon the back of a chair, 
 folding her hands together, and smiling toward me, 
 but not at me. Then, turning, she passed through the 
 open door, out into the long dark passage-way, her 
 white wrappings glimmering faintly before me. Breath 
 lessly I followed her down into the street. The 
 band was playing still its " Last Rose of Summer," and 
 I trembled in an anguish of fear lest it should waken 
 her. She moved on before me, crossed the street, and 
 turned in at the gate, and along the flagstone walk, 
 then up the long flight of steps. 
 
 I thanked Heaven that thus far she was safe, and 
 stepped in front of her to strike the knocker, when 
 a light breath of wind lifted something that rose, and 
 fell, and fluttered against the whiteness of her dress. 
 I saw that it was a knot of something black. In terror 
 less the nameless horror which swept through me
 
 . The Lawyers Story. 163 
 
 should reach her too, I turned my head toward her. 
 There was no one there ! In a frenzy I struck the 
 heavy knocker, and a whole eternity seemed to roll 
 over me while I waited for the slow footsteps to reach 
 the door. 
 
 I was conscious only of gasping her name, and of 
 hearing some one whisper, " She is dead, sir. She 
 died this afternoon."
 
 Non avea pur natura ivi dipinto, 
 Ma di soavita di viille odori 
 Vi facea un incognito indistinto. 
 
 DANTE, // Purgatorio. 
 
 What if heaven be that, fair and strong 
 At life s best, with our eyes upturned 
 Whither life s flower is best discerned, 
 We, fixed so, ever should so abide ! 
 What if we still ride on, we two, 
 With life forever old yet new, 
 Changed not in kind, but in degree, 
 The instant made eternity, 
 And heaven just prove tJiat I and she 
 Ride, ride together, forever ride ? 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING.
 
 FOURTH DAY. 
 
 MRS. NYE came to the White House just after 
 breakfast was over, and found Margaret and her 
 friends sitting under the linden-trees, Mrs. Bow- 
 doin in the hammock, the Professor cutting the 
 pages of the last " Atlantic Monthly," Margaret 
 talking with her brother, who had just come 
 from the stable, Muriel busy with a piece of 
 embroidery, while Charlie Wyatt seemed ab 
 sorbed in watching the movements of her white 
 hands and deft fingers; Mr. Bowdoin smoked 
 his cigar, and looked as serenely content as did 
 Erin and Joujou. " Quite a stranger ! quite a 
 stranger ! " remarked Polly in a deep bass voice, 
 which she always assumed when she wanted to 
 be very polite. 
 
 " Polly speaks the truth ; you have not been 
 to sec us for a long time," said Margaret, get 
 ting up and going to meet her old friend with 
 outstretched hands. "But your time is too valu-
 
 1 68 A Week away from Time. 
 
 able to waste on a parcel of idlers like ourselves, 
 I know." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said Mrs. Nye, smiling all 
 over. " I just admire to come here, and you 
 know that, dear Mis Temple; but there, I says 
 to father this mornin , I have n t been over 
 lately, says I, because it s just here: they re to 
 breakfast about the time I m gettin my dinner 
 ready, and then they go off somewheres, and by 
 the time they get back it s my supper-time, and 
 their dinner (though I did say, it seemed to me 
 just callin things out o their names, but I guess 
 that s because I m so old-fashioned), and so it 
 goes. But to-day father wanted me to come and 
 bring you some lovely fresh eggs our hens have 
 just laid, and some butter of my yesterday s 
 churnin , and he wanted me to say to the gen 
 tlemen that there s a big school o bluefish right 
 out in the bay, and he thought they might like 
 to go after em. He hasn t known em be round 
 here so thick for ever so long. He s goin* out 
 in his cat, and he 11 be pleased to take any of 
 you with him, if Mis Temple don t want her 
 boat to get all fished up."
 
 A Week away from Time. 1 69 
 
 " Tell the Captain, please, that I 11 go with 
 him with the greatest pleasure, for one," said 
 Mr. Bowdoin. 
 
 The others did not speak for a moment; then 
 Margaret said, "We were just arranging a riding- 
 party when you came, Mrs. Nye. I find that 
 you can ride my mare Magali, Muriel; she hurt 
 her foot slightly last week, but she is all right 
 now. I shall take Cranberry, the horse I usually 
 drive in the phaeton ; he is a delightful saddle- 
 horse. You shall have Mahomet Bey, Mr. Kirk- 
 land, I know you will like him ; and Ralph has 
 his own mare, Black Pearl. I was just consulting 
 with Ralph, Mr. Wyatt, as to whether Hassan 
 Bey, the other one of the pair, would carry you ; 
 he s quite a good horse in the saddle, but " 
 
 " Thanks, dear Mrs. Temple," said Wyatt 
 quickly, " you are too good to trouble yourself 
 about me, but I would not spoil the quartet 
 for the world. Tell your husband, Mrs. Nye, 
 that I will hunt the bluefish with joy, in his 
 good company. We will be ready at his call. 
 I must go on board my boat first to give some 
 orders," he added, " so I will bid you ladies
 
 1 70 A Week away from Time. 
 
 good-morning, and wish you a delightful ride. 
 I shall give the Captain and Bowdoin lunch on 
 board the Hope/ Mrs. Temple, for I know we 
 shall not be here in time for yours ; I have been 
 bluefishing with Tom before to-day." He went 
 towards Muriel, and bending over her said a few 
 words in a low voice ; she blushed and looked 
 rather distressed, but said aloud, " Don t forget 
 to bring the song you promised to show me ; 
 you said you had it on board your boat." 
 
 " I will not forget," he replied, and strode off 
 through the garden, ran down the bank, and 
 was out of sight in a moment. 
 
 " Those broad shoulders of Antinous seem 
 to wear an injured or indignant air," said Mr. 
 Bowdoin, with a look of assumed innocence. 
 " What can be the matter, I wonder ! " 
 
 When Mrs. Nye had gone, Margaret said, " I 
 am really very sorry about Mr. Wyatt; but five 
 is an awkward number, and I knew you would 
 not ride, Bell. As to Tom, when there is a blue- 
 fish within reach, there is he in pursuit always. 
 After all, yesterday was Mr. Wyatt s field-day ; 
 and perhaps we will go for a moonlight sail this
 
 A Week away from Time. i 7 1 
 
 evening, if he asks us. That will settle things 
 nicely." Margaret really looked troubled. She 
 could not bear that every one should not be 
 quite contented and happy; but that is not 
 always possible, even at Fair Harbor. 
 
 " What a beautiful creature your mare is ! " 
 said the Professor, as he and Margaret struck 
 into the woods, and along the western shore 
 towards Falmouth. "And how did you happen 
 to name her Magali ? It is the name of the 
 heroine in Mireio, is it not?" 
 
 " I had a horse at Cannes, years ago," answered 
 Margaret, " that I christened Magali. I read 
 Mireio there for the first time in the poet s own 
 enchanting country, and in his own tongue, with 
 the help of Miss Preston s delightful translation. 
 So as this horse really looks a good deal like my 
 pretty Provencal favorite, I call her too Magali. 
 We went to Algiers from Cannes, and then to 
 Rome ; it was the winter " Margaret stopped, 
 and her voice faltered "you remember 
 
 "Yes, "said Kirkland earnestly, "I remember; 
 as if I could ever forget ! " And they rode on 
 for some time silently.
 
 172 A Week away from Time. 
 
 Margaret s husband (as has been already said) 
 died in Algiers in the winter of which she spoke. 
 Her brother went out to her and induced her 
 to go to Rome with him, where they remained 
 four months, and where, notwithstanding her 
 seclusion, she saw Professor Kirkland often, as 
 he was an intimate friend of Ralph. She had 
 not seen him from that time until now, for it 
 had always so happened that when Margaret 
 was at home he had been away. He was a 
 great traveller, and had just now returned from 
 a voyage round the world. He had resumed his 
 place at Harvard, and seemed disposed to stay 
 at home for the present. Nothing has been said 
 of his personal appearance, for when Charlie 
 Wyatt was about, his beauty was really so bril 
 liant and so compelling, that it was the main fact 
 in the landscape. Yet Kirkland was a most dis 
 tinguished looking man, the sort of man of 
 whom it would always be asked, wherever he 
 went, "Who is he?" He was tall, and strongly 
 built, with dark eyes, very deep and penetrating ; 
 his hair and moustache were slightly tinged with 
 gray, but he was in the prime and fullest vigor
 
 A Week away from Time. 173 
 
 of manhood. His eyes could put on a very 
 tender look sometimes, especially when he was 
 with little children, of whom he was very fond, 
 and who always worshipped him. He had a 
 rarely beautiful smile, which lighted up what 
 might else have been rather a severe counte 
 nance, and a peculiar charm of manner; yet 
 so far as any one knew, he had never cared 
 specially for any woman, and the impression 
 generally prevailed that he never meant to 
 marry. 
 
 We will leave them threading the narrow 
 woodpaths, where sometimes the horses had no 
 room to go abreast, and follow Ralph and 
 Muriel, who had chosen other paths to the 
 same end, as the four had promised to meet at 
 Long Pond at a certain hour. 
 
 " How wonderful this autumn color is ! " ex 
 claimed Muriel, as they came out of the thicket 
 to a piece of undulating ground where pine- 
 trees had been cut down, and where the shrub 
 (or scrub) oak on either side of the road made 
 a rich glow of every shade of scarlet, crimson, 
 and tawny russet among brilliant green leaves.
 
 1 74 A Week away from Time. 
 
 As far as the eye could reach, there was a very 
 carnival and passion of color. There were 
 hedges of barberry, with leaves stained red, 
 and graceful sprays hung full with coral fruit; 
 golden-rod and purple asters filled the ways; 
 the foliage of the grape-vine was turning am 
 ber and orange, and its sweet penetrating scent 
 was more subtle and delicious than wine ; bay- 
 berry and sweet fern sent up their spicy fra 
 grance like incense crushed out of them as the 
 riders passed. 
 
 " Yes, it is marvellous," rejoined Ralph. 
 " Somehow one gets nearer to the color here, 
 one is more thoroughly of it, steeped in it, 
 than in regions where the trees are higher. Mar 
 garet calls it taking a color-bath to come here 
 in the autumn; and truly the expression is not 
 bad." 
 
 " It seems to me all she says is well said, and 
 all she does is well done," replied Muriel. " I 
 think I have never seen any one I admired so 
 much, or could grow to love more dearly." 
 
 "She is a dear creature, certainly," said Ralph 
 heartily, "and the best sister a cranky, half-
 
 A Week away from Time. 175 
 
 savage sort of fellow like me ever had, bless 
 her ! " 
 
 " Indeed," said Muriel, with a little touch of 
 heightened color, and a half-sweet, half-mis 
 chievous smile, " I can quite understand what 
 she must be to you, and how happy you are 
 together ; and I don t at all wonder that you 
 looked upon the coming of an unknown stranger 
 between you two as a horrid nuisance. " 
 
 " Great heaven ! " burst out Ralph. " Then 
 you did hear! I was an insensate fool a 
 brute ! But I am well punished. Ah, I be 
 seech you, as you are strong, be merciful ! Will 
 you, can you, forgive me? I shall never forgive 
 myself." 
 
 Muriel murmured something about there 
 being nothing to forgive, and Ralph went on 
 impetuously, 
 
 "Yes, I was a brute; but, I repeat, I have been 
 well punished. To be near you day after day, 
 and hour by hour, every moment revealing 
 some new charm, some added loveliness, to 
 grow to watch every movement you make, every 
 word you utter, to have to see you gracious
 
 176 A Week away from Time. 
 
 and kind to others, and to acknowledge to myself 
 that they deserve your favor, while each gentle 
 word you speak to me only makes me hate and 
 despise myself the more, all this has been a 
 bitter though a merited retribution." 
 
 Muriel was going to reply, when Mrs. Temple 
 and the Professor appeared beside them, emerg 
 ing from the woods, and spared her what might 
 have been an embarrassing moment. 
 
 " And here we are by the pond, and near the 
 trysting-tree," said Margaret. 
 
 They rode to the edge of the lake, and walked 
 their horses some way into the clear water and 
 let them drink. 
 
 "Now we will ride once round the famous oak- 
 tree, and to-morrow we will bring the others 
 here, that those who say there are no big trees 
 on the Cape may be confounded. I have quite 
 forgotten how many feet it measures round its 
 trunk, or round the turf its branches shadow, 
 but I know that a large picnic-party can abide 
 beneath its shade. Would it not be nice to 
 come to-morrow afternoon and let Bell read 
 her story to us here?"
 
 A Week away from Time. 177 
 
 Captain Nye and his wife were in the little 
 garden in front of the farm-house as Margaret 
 and the Professor rode by on their way home. 
 They had parted company again from Muriel 
 and Ralph, who were nowhere to be seen, and 
 the Professor had told Margaret his story. It 
 was not a new one ; it has been told since the 
 world began, and there shall be never an end to 
 it while the world endures. 
 
 He had never cared for any woman but her, 
 and he had loved her ever since he knew her, 
 many years ago. He had not dared to tell 
 her so then, for he " feared his fate too much," 
 and she had had no suspicion. When they were 
 in Rome, after her husband s death, he had tried 
 hard not to let her know the state of his feel 
 ings, and had reproached himself severely that 
 he had not always been able to command his 
 tones and speech. 
 
 But now ! so little while, and the universe 
 was changed! The miracle was worked, 
 the miracle which those two hearts held as 
 precious, and whose transfiguring power they 
 blessed as fervently, as if it had bloomed upon
 
 178 A Week away from Time. 
 
 the earth that day, and never before in all the 
 days and years. 
 
 " The long day wanes ; the slow moon climbs; the deep 
 Moans round with many voices. Come, my friend, 
 Tis not too late to seek a newer world."
 
 Past we glide, and past and past ! 
 Why s the Pucci palace flaring 
 Like a beacon to the blast f 
 Guests by hundreds, not one caring 
 If the dear host s neck were wried. 
 Past we glide. 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 This night I ll spend 
 
 Unto a dismal and a fatal end : 
 
 Great business must be wrought ere noon : 
 
 Upon the corner of the moon 
 
 There hangs a vaporous drop profound ; 
 
 I // catch it ere it comes to ground : 
 
 And that, distilled by magic sleights, 
 
 Shall raise such artificial sprites 
 
 As by the strength of their illusion 
 
 Shall draw him on to his confusion. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 // was ordained to be so, sweet ! and best 
 Comes now, beneath thine eyes, upon thy breast. 
 Still kiss me ! Care not for the cowards ! 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING.
 
 EVENING OF FOURTH DAY. 
 
 " DID you lose your way in the woods this 
 afternoon, Ralph?" asked Mrs. Temple, as the 
 brother and sister were sitting in the hall waiting 
 for their guests to come down to dinner. " The 
 Professor and I must have got home fully half 
 an hour before you, and we rode slowly, too." 
 
 " No, we did not lose our way," said Ralph, 
 (was it the reflection of the firelight that gave 
 his cheek such a glow?) " but you know Magali s 
 foot had been tender, and I was not sure of 
 her being shod just right, and and 
 
 " Ah, Ralph, dear boy, take care, take care ! 
 Muriel has been confided to me, and I must 
 have no flirting. Perhaps I should not have let 
 her go on a tete-a-tete ride at all. But really, as 
 after all it was a party of four, and as I supposed 
 my brother was to be trusted " 
 
 "Do you mean he is not?" asked Ralph, a 
 trifle indignant. " Surely you do not imagine
 
 1 82 A Week away from Time. 
 
 
 
 that I should say a word to Miss Carr-Wynstedc 
 to which you or any one could object? Let 
 me see what did we talk about? You were 
 one of the principal subjects of conversation, 
 as far as I can remember. And we did speak 
 of the autumn foliage. What were you and 
 Kirkland discussing chiefly, if it comes to that? 
 Not my poor self, I 11 be bound." 
 
 The appearance of the others prevented any 
 more confessions, and all but Mrs. Chauncey 
 were assembled. 
 
 " Really, Caroline Chauncey is a trial to those 
 who love her ! " exclaimed Margaret. 
 
 " Let s sit down without her," said Ralph, 
 " and give her cold ham when she comes." 
 
 " At a side table," added Bowdoin. 
 
 " Poor, dear Caroline, she sha n t," said Mar 
 garet, becoming soft-hearted and a little in 
 coherent. " We 11 wait a little longer. Men 
 are always so impatient, especially for their 
 dinner." 
 
 "Ugh!" cried Bowdoin; "how those sand- 
 flies bite ! I must have brought them up from 
 the beach."
 
 A Week away from Time. 183 
 
 Early in the week Margaret had been obliged 
 to confess that there was an occasional sand-fly 
 to be seen, or felt, down by the water. " I think 
 there were never any until this year," said she. 
 " Those Philadelphians, the Shallings, brought 
 them. They are charming people, the Shal 
 lings, but they must have brought them. They 
 had been at Long Branch before they came 
 here." At this moment she felt her instep was 
 being stung, and she shook her skirts. " An 
 other of those New Jersey sand-flies," she said. 
 
 " I m getting hungry," observed Ralph. 
 
 " Mr. Travers must have a great deal of food, 
 I believe," said Miss Carr-Wynstede, " or else he 
 won t be able to get through his story." 
 
 "My dear, he shall. Am I not his sister?" 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Ralph. " I have been hungry 
 under your care before now. Do you remember 
 a dreadful picnic 
 
 " Ralph," cried Margaret, "New York is mak 
 ing you slowly but surely horrid." 
 
 " Mr. Travers confessed to me this afternoon," 
 said Muriel, " that he was awfully frightened 
 about to-night."
 
 1 84 A Week away from Time. 
 
 Charlie Wyatt was standing by himself while 
 the rest were talking, looking out at the open 
 door, through which the evening breezes came 
 softly, blowing odors of honeysuckle into the 
 hall. He might have been thought to be 
 watching for Mrs. Chauncey, being also im 
 patient for his dinner. But it was not so. Mr. 
 Bowdoin had confided to his wife, when he came 
 from fishing, that Wyatt had seemed terribly 
 bored and preoccupied. " He had a fine blue- 
 fish on his hook," he said, " and he would n t 
 take the trouble to play him and bring him 
 in; I had to do it for him. And he called 
 me Miss Carr-Wynstede twice. The first time, 
 of course I did n t hear him ; but the second, I 
 simply laughed at him. He turned red, and 
 looked very much annoyed, and confoundedly 
 handsome." 
 
 The waitress was seen to speak to Mrs. Tem 
 ple, and was heard to whisper, " The cook 
 says " 
 
 " And I say so too," cried Ralph, jumping 
 up, " in spite of poor dear Caroline ! " 
 
 " Mr. Kirkland," said Margaret, " what are
 
 A Week away from Time. 185 
 
 you reading?" for the Professor had taken a 
 pamphlet from his pocket, and was reading it 
 by the lamp on the hall table. " It looks like a 
 Report. I ought to have warned you that for 
 this week we allow nothing of the kind. I have 
 several waiting for me in the post-office. I re 
 fused to take them out." 
 
 The Professor put down the pamphlet. " It 
 is a Report of some spiritualistic meetings, sent 
 me by a convinced friend. It contains the ac 
 count of a young woman in Iowa who re 
 moved the furniture of a large drawing-room 
 to the attic in five minutes." 
 
 " Well, I should have been furious if they d 
 done anything like that in my parlor," said Mrs. 
 Bowdoin. 
 
 " Except the grand piano," continued the 
 Professor. " That would not turn a corner in the 
 second staircase. Ten men were employed to 
 get all the things down again the next day." 
 
 " Why did n t they make the medium do it 
 herself? " inquired Ralph. 
 
 " She was very delicate, and said she could 
 not endure the strain. She is always in bed for
 
 1 86 A Week away from Time. 
 
 a week after these manifestations. She has 
 made five hundred converts in the city of Des 
 Moines alone." 
 
 "By Jove!" exclaimed Ralph, "the whole 
 business makes me sick. It is one of the tinsel 
 signs of the times, too. People have read a little 
 Darwin and decided that they cannot swallow 
 the Bible any longer. They let go of Chris 
 tianity, or have never had hold of it, and go 
 scrambling and diving about for something else. 
 Your baker takes his wife of a Sunday evening 
 to a hall where by paying ten cents they can 
 see a charlatan go into forged epileptic fits, and 
 call it somebody s grandmother; or if they are 
 a little higher up in the scale, or better able to 
 afford it, they pay a dollar, and go to a seance 
 at the South End, where they sit close to one 
 another in the dark, and white forms glide in 
 and out of a cabinet to slow music, and some 
 poor lady among the deluded company is 
 locked in the arms of one of the white forms, 
 and weeps over it with tears of joy, for this her 
 only daughter was lost, and is found again. 
 And a man goes out from the circle and stands
 
 A Week away from Time. 187 
 
 for tea minutes holding another of the material 
 ized forms (very much materialized, I am in 
 clined to think) in his embrace, calling her by 
 all manner of endearing epithets. A pitiful 
 exhibition of human weakness and wickedness. 
 As for their esoteric Buddhism, that s simply 
 the latest orchid some of the cultured people 
 have got hold of, to have about on their tables. 
 I m tired of these bastard rubbishy religions." 
 
 "Why, Ralph, how oddly you talk!" said 
 Margaret. 
 
 Just then a voice was heard speaking outside. 
 " I could n t help it. I went up to dress an 
 hour and a half ago ; and what do you sup 
 pose? I had sent my dresses to Boston this 
 morning, and kept my clothes for the wash here. 
 Now, pray don t laugh, for I did not know what 
 I should do. I thought I might have to stay in 
 bed, until I found this black lace dress in the 
 bottom of my trunk. And I Ve kept your 
 dinner waiting. My dear, I am so sorry! It s 
 most embarrassing. Such a time as I have had ! 
 They 11 all be down again to-morrow with the 
 ice-cream. They don t make it at the hotel,
 
 1 88 A Week away from Time, 
 
 you know, and I thought I d treat the children 
 there. I ve telegraphed. I said to Fera, Go 
 to house, and get dresses. I said to them at 
 my house, Take dresses to confectioner s. 
 So they 11 all come together by the morning 
 train." 
 
 When they were seated at dinner, she said to 
 Ralph, " I hear it is your turn to-night, Mr. 
 Travers. What are you going to tell us about? 
 Venice ! Paul knew all about Venice the piles, 
 you know. Things under the house that let the 
 water into your cellar; but they ought not to. 
 Paul built some houses down on the Back Bay, 
 and they relapsed, or did whatever houses down 
 there do ; and he went to Venice afterwards, 
 and found that those old architects knew all 
 about it. He explained to me, I remember; he 
 said the salt water kept the wood from rotting 
 in Venice, and somehow it did n t in Boston. 
 So I decided I d rather stay where I was, above 
 Charles Street." 
 
 After dinner Ralph begged Muriel to sing 
 one song, and he should be better able to read 
 his story; and Muriel sang:
 
 A Week away from Time. 189 
 
 WHITE DAYS. 
 
 Yesterday, not a song in the air, 
 
 Not a hope in the sky, 
 
 No bird on the wing 
 A sealed and death-still earth, relentless, bare : 
 
 To-day all the land doth sing ! 
 
 Yesterday, like a barrier, 
 
 Forcing our lives apart, 
 The ground lay like a heavy grave : 
 
 To-day the snowdrops start. 
 
 Yesterday, an unreckoned space 
 
 Stretched from my path to thine : 
 To-day, thy hand, thy voice, thy face, 
 
 All dearest things are mine ! 
 
 Bell whispered to her sister, 
 
 " She puts quite a new expression into her 
 singing to-night. Which of them is it, my 
 dear?" But she saw an unusual expression in 
 Margaret s own face, which was full of emotion, 
 and stopped, a little frightened. 
 
 Ralph was now commanded to begin. He 
 cleared his throat, and looked very nervous. 
 
 " If you have never been in Venice, it is your 
 loss," he began ; " and how great a loss you will
 
 1 90 A Week away from Time. 
 
 never know till you go there. You must n t 
 yawn, Bell." 
 
 " My dear, it was the tone," said his sister, 
 " so hollow." 
 
 "Yes, wasn t it?" said Mrs. Chauncey, "as 
 if he were talking out of the plug in the bath 
 tub." 
 
 " Well, I never told a story before," said Ralph, 
 getting more and more awkward. "Wyatt, why 
 can t you take us on board your yacht? I think 
 I could get on better there. I sha n t see them 
 yawn so distinctly by moonlight." 
 
 This was carried ; at last the chairs on deck 
 were comfortably arranged, and cigars puffed. 
 Wyatt sat at Muriel s feet to-night, and was only 
 a passenger. The moon was just rising, the stars 
 shone brilliant in the sky, and a warm smell of 
 sedge filled the air. Ralph took a second start, 
 and began the story of
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 191 
 
 THE PALACE OF THE CLOSED WINDOW. 
 
 THE dining-room of the Three Wise Men of the 
 Orient is a squalid little place. Its waiters are plausible, 
 and they smile continually ; this good-nature on their 
 part, however, adds but little savor to the food. If you 
 ask for a bottle of wine, you get something so sour that 
 it files the throat all the way down. The wonder is that 
 you ever ask for another, or that you return to the inn 
 at all. Perhaps the reason that I shall always put up 
 there is because, as I sit in Wall Street, I can close 
 my eyes and see the genial face of the landlord, and 
 think of the two ascending steps that lurk in the black 
 est part of my bedroom passage. The smell that per 
 vades the premises resembles no other odor I have 
 met. But a smell you know is better than a new 
 smell ; therefore in August, 1 88-, I came back to the 
 Albergo of the Three Wise Men of the Orient. My 
 room, No. 7, was unchanged ; its door still swung back 
 on joints that slanted it farther from the floor each inch 
 they opened. On the rumpled white curtain in my 
 window the bodies of mosquitoes I had flattened there 
 the year before still stuck. Her excellency my cham 
 bermaid had a thumping tread, and was shrill-voiced of 
 a morning, but she was very glad to see me. " Eh,
 
 1 92 A Week away from Time. 
 
 my lord, how does the Signorino do?" said she ; and 
 she remembered to put an additional green pail of 
 water in my room. Moreover, the leaky seam in my 
 tub had been soldered. This the grinning Sebastiano 
 pointed out as he lugged it into its corner. I found 
 such discomfort comfortable. The very tune the man 
 in the alley-way behind still played on his clarinet after 
 some twelve months beat a rhythm grateful to my ear, 
 for the first day, at least. At dinner the usual food was 
 served. The waiter, Antonio, smiled as he bent over 
 with his dishes, as much as to say, " The Signore will 
 recollect our ambrosia. Nothing in the world like it!" 
 There was nothing in the world like it, so the Signore 
 recollected very well. Pah ! how delightfully bad it 
 was ! And here was Venice again, to be sure ; and in 
 the Signore s pocket was a bundle of letters for the 
 American Colony ; they had been consigned to him by 
 various Americans who persisted in dwelling in the 
 States. They promised tedious hours. Bunched to 
 gether next my heart, though with several thicknesses 
 of stout English cloth between, they felt bulky enough 
 to support a season of gloves and white cravats. I 
 spread them on the table after my soup was removed ; 
 I had to push the glasses and salt-cellars about, to 
 make room for them. I looked at them, and through 
 them to the other side, into a vista of card-plates and
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 193 
 
 open doors, where voices of servants told me their 
 mistresses were at home. 
 
 One letter was to a venomous little lady who had 
 once lived in Thirty-eighth Street, New York. She 
 would dine me, and after dinner, over her liqueurs and 
 cigarettes, she would inquire what color I preferred 
 her hair, and would regale me with anecdotes ; these 
 would bear the cosmopolitan stamp. Another letter 
 was to a family of three seedy daughters and their old 
 fustian papa. He trailed them from Venice to Rome, 
 from Nice to Pau and Paris, and so back to Venice. 
 All were accomplished. Emilie sang Tuscan street- 
 songs to the guitar; Lizzie tinkled the zither and 
 yodled Styrian ditties with an accent pronounced 
 amazing by those who knew; Maria sang "Le petit 
 bleu," " Elle a du zut, zut, zut," and once in a while 
 after supper she could be persuaded to dance while her 
 two sisters twanged the guitar and piano and the guests 
 rattled the fire-irons. Every one said these girls pre 
 served their "entrain" wonderfully. Then other letters 
 to colony painters lay before me, young men who 
 deplored the future of art in America, and spoke 
 fluently the jargon of the ateliers. Must this corre 
 spondence be presented for civility s sake? I stared 
 gloomily into space, till my eye rested on the single 
 other guest of the Three Wise Men, and he grew bleared 
 13
 
 1 94 A Week away from Time. 
 
 under my blank scrutiny. I did not know that he had 
 for some time been staring at me with all his might. 
 
 " Lieber Gott ! and is it my friend Travers?" he 
 exclaimed, tipping over his chair as he hurried up from 
 his end of the table. 
 
 I recognized the excellent Caspar Zell. " Why, 
 Caspar ! Why, bless my soul ! Why, how did you 
 crawl into this place?" 
 
 " And is it not more likely, Mr. Broker from Wall 
 Street, that I, the artist, the Farbenmeister," should 
 nose out a little hole like this? Waiter, another bottle 
 of red wine ! Aha, Mr. Broker ! we 11 set some of the 
 juice trickling down our throats, eh?" 
 
 " Sir, to you ! But what are you doing here ? " 
 
 "Doing? My box is not yet unpacked. I am 
 come to-day from Vienna for a change." 
 
 "How goes work?" 
 
 " Excellent. I hang in Munich for the whole world 
 to admire me, and two pictures have I sold in Dresden. 
 One is pst ! not very serious. I call it Hearing 
 Strauss. Of course it is a man with his girl. And 
 you ? " 
 
 " Excellent also. I do not hang anywhere yet." 
 
 "And the philosophy, Herr Broker? Are we as 
 practical and wirklich as ever ? Do we still scoff at 
 the truth-seekers ? "
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 195 
 
 We still do, Caspar. Money-making, plain think 
 ing, and high living remain our little all, bless them !" 
 
 " Ach ! you New York humans are astonishing, with 
 your street of ticking-machines, and your church at the 
 end like an Amen. Do the Midases of the Republic 
 go there after business to rinse the gold out with a cup 
 ful of holy water, so it will be quite fresh for dinner? 
 Ach, a versatile people ! " 
 
 " I guess we re versatile, Caspar, but we ain t much 
 like that." 
 
 " Now you drawl, and talk with your practical nose. 
 Another bottle will give you a good temper ; you will 
 feel ready for some philosophy. No ? Well, then, come 
 out into the town. You have no notion how I am glad 
 to see you once more." And taking my arm he hurried 
 me into a gondola and away, talking continuously. 
 "Ach!" he began, "let no one speak to me of the 
 mystery of night elsewhere. Look up at those passing 
 walls ; we feel more than we see. Is it not as if they 
 were scenery in the back of a theatre ? Have you ever 
 gone behind the stage when dusk was coming? When 
 you are next at Weimar, I will take you. It makes a 
 wonderful effect on the nerves." 
 
 " The nerves, your nerves, you Teuton ? " 
 
 " And why not my nerves, adopted son of Wall 
 Street ? "
 
 1 96 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " Why, Caspar, I thought you were a materialist." 
 
 " I am a materialist, a hundred times a materialist ; 
 but what of that ? Because I know that what we call 
 fear is nothing but a vibration of nerve tissue, can I 
 stop my particular tissue from vibrating ? At any rate, 
 we Germans have imagination ; and I believe you 
 Americans have none at all." 
 
 I found I had enough to keep me silent as the walls 
 glided by. The unfrequent lamps served to show 
 buildings that might rise to unlimited heights and 
 descend to depths equally quiet and unfathomed. 
 
 " What are the half-dozen lighted cafes and piazzas 
 in such a universal hush as this?" I mused aloud. 
 
 "The Past, she is queen here still, nicht wahr?" 
 said Caspar. " These walls, these walls ; things have 
 been acted behind them. Let us get into the light 
 and have a glass of something ! " 
 
 We had several glasses of something. The buzz of 
 the cafe, and the cheerful haste of waiters tinkling the 
 glasses they carried, put a new aspect on the city. 
 Caspar and I soon arranged our programme. Three 
 weeks were to be given to Venice, he to sketch, and 
 both of us to loaf; and then we should walk in the 
 Salzkammergut. I sauntered to the water with a glass 
 in one hand and my letters in the other. " There," I 
 said, dropping them in, "there goes the American
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 197 
 
 Colony. I come from an American Colony, and 
 
 v 
 one s enough. Caspar, I shall expect you to give me 
 
 points on Renaissance/ and Decadence, and all 
 the rest of it, and I 11 tell you when I see a girl worth 
 painting." 
 
 "Agreed, Herr Broker," said Caspar. " Now to the 
 hotel." 
 
 We got into our gondola, and turned from the 
 broad water, in which lights were twinkling, into a 
 narrower passage that curved into the gloom. The 
 sombre walls began to put forth their influence again. 
 But Caspar had become musical, and was now 
 uttering a string of fragments in a deep and some 
 what harsh bass. 
 
 " Where rippling waters rise and fall, 
 And boats glide silent neath each palace wall," 
 
 
 he sang. 
 
 " Where love is plenty 
 For two-and-twenty," 
 
 
 chimed in another voice from the water s edge, a 
 
 man s voice, but mellow as the night wind. " Ho ! 
 my friends. You sing good songs. In the name of your 
 music, do me a great favor. I am caught in a mesh, 
 and cannot reach my destination by land. I have 
 hailed gondolas in vain. Set me down, in all charity
 
 198 A Week away from Time. 
 
 beyond the second bridge from here, and I am at your 
 service." 
 
 " Go under the lamp, then, and show us what for a 
 man you are," said Caspar. 
 
 " Nonsense, Caspar ; we 11 take him," I said, laughing. 
 
 " The request is fair," said the voice, but somewhat 
 haughtily. In a moment he stood under the lamp, 
 which shone quietly down on him. Leaning back 
 against the wall, he was all of six feet ; but standing, he 
 would have gained an inch at the least. Over one arm 
 hung a cloak ; the other was akimbo. \Ve could see he 
 had a slight black moustache, and a chin clean cut and 
 pointed. The upper half of the face was in shadow. 
 
 "Well?" he asked, laughing a little, as we con 
 tinued to eye him. 
 
 " Step in, sir, by all means," I hastened to say. 
 
 " It is true I am armed," he continued, " but I am 
 one and you are four." 
 
 Caspar was still silent. The stranger now laughed 
 outright. He made a gesture. 
 
 " There ! " he said, as something clattered in the 
 bottom of the boat. 
 
 I stooped and picked up an exceedingly beautiful 
 stiletto. 
 
 " Now I am at your mercy, you see," continued our 
 would-be guest.
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 199 
 
 We bumped against the side, and he stepped in, 
 light and true as a wild animal. 
 
 " I own," said he, " that such a request as mine 
 was a trifle out of the common ; but I felt sure you 
 would grant it when I heard your music. I have 
 always found that the carouser who puts a certain free 
 stroke into his songs will give and take a favor 
 easily. Though it was you, sir, I believe, whom I 
 had the pleasure of hearing," he added, turning to 
 Caspar. 
 
 " Oh, my dear sir " began poor Zell. 
 
 " Not a word, and no offence. Even the night 
 carouser should be prudent. This corner is not a 
 place to take a stranger on board without stopping to 
 look at him." 
 
 We turned into the canal on which was our inn. 
 On the corner stood a palace that in the daylight I had 
 observed as being singularly stately for this quarter of 
 Venice. 
 
 " Many thanks," said the stranger ; " I will leave 
 you here. No, do not stop the boat." He sprang 
 out as lightly as he had entered. "You have my 
 stiletto. Keep it ; though you will remember me 
 without it !" and he laughed strangely. Some corner 
 near us reverberated out of the dark. " No, I insist 
 upon your taking it. You are at the Three W T ise Men?
 
 2OO A Week away from Time. 
 
 We shall meet again, gentlemen, for Venice is small, 
 and I am always at your service ; good-night ! " 
 
 We moved into the shadow, and we thought we 
 heard a door close. There was one that gave entrance 
 to the small garden adjoining the palace. 
 
 " H m ! strange person!" observed Caspar. "A 
 practical joker." 
 
 " Practical jokers don t make you presents in New 
 York," said I. 
 
 " Were I not a materialist, I should say, Beware of 
 it ! " replied the artist. 
 
 In my room, I examined the weapon carefully. It 
 was certainly an old one, and of most intricate and 
 curious ornamentation. I slipped it into the sheath 
 again, and blew out the light, half expecting it to be 
 gone in the morning. I awaked at a decent hour. The 
 stiletto was on my table, substantial enough to have 
 comforted Macbeth. The clarinet was tooting nasal 
 ditties in the back alley, and Stella, my chambermaid, 
 was screaming cheerfully up and down the passage. 
 
 At breakfast Caspar informed me that he was sure 
 he had seen our eccentric guest before where, he 
 puzzled over without success. But he would know the 
 next time. On our way to sight-seeing (and in 
 Venice it is certainly lions one expects to see) we 
 stared up from the gondola at the palace with the
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 201 
 
 garden wall. Singular that a spider s web across the 
 doorway should be dusty already ! There was no 
 other door, nor did the windows show signs of light 
 existing behind them. 
 
 " Tell us, friend Luigi," I said to our gondolier, a 
 most amiable and worthless youth, " what that palace 
 is we are passing." 
 
 " Signore, we call it the Palazzo della Finestra 
 chiusa. " 
 
 " That is a curious name." 
 
 " Look, Signore, before we get too far. There, 
 above tlie row of columns, above the noble story, the 
 line of windows is one too short. Do you see? The 
 cornice juts out, and there is carving on the stone 
 above it, like the others. But the window itself has 
 been walled up." 
 
 " Why was that done, Luigi? " 
 
 "Who knows? It has always been so, Signore. 
 They are a great family that live there, but they come 
 seldom. Forestieri have tried to hire the palace, 
 but they are always refused. Some of our other 
 patricians are not so particular." 
 
 " Now, Luigi, look here ! When the family is away, 
 is their house ever visited, or used for any purpose? " 
 
 " Eh ? no, Signore. What could one do with it ? 
 Though I have peeped into the garden myself once or
 
 2O2 A Week away from Time. 
 
 twice. But no one ever walks there. It would not be 
 a bad place for two to take a walk in!" and Luigi 
 kissed his hand fervently at the air. 
 
 " Ah, Luigi, you re a rogue, I fear. What does the 
 garden look like ? " 
 
 " All grown full of flowers and trees, Signore. The 
 trees you can see. They have become tired of their 
 garden, and now look over the top of the wall ; so 
 they can listen to what the couples are whispering as 
 they go by of an evening. The flowers, poor things ! 
 remain inside." Then our gondolier fell to singing to 
 himself. 
 
 As we crossed the Piazzetta, the good natives turned 
 to have a second look at us or rather at Caspar. I 
 was only an American consulting his guide-book ; but 
 Caspar was worthy of attention. The toes of his shoes 
 were wrinkled and square, their heels high and pointed ; 
 his hat was of green straw, nearly as tall as a beaver, 
 and his gray coat bulged wherever it could bulge, save 
 at the waist only, where it shrank him into something 
 deserving footlights and a character song. Out of a 
 tail-pocket there invariably stuck a volume of fat 
 German learning, while alongside it rattled a protrud 
 ing spectacle-case that shifted as he walked, as if 
 struggling to get itself into a comfortable position. 
 The trousers matched the coat ; and such was his wear,
 
 T/ie Palace of the Closed Window. 203 
 
 out of his bedchamber. His night apparel I never 
 ventured to see. I looked up from my Baedeker to 
 watch him wave his admiring hand at the Lagoon and 
 San Georgio, around which the tide was quietly swim 
 ming. Then I continued my search in Baedeker for 
 the Palace of the Closed Window. 
 
 " Is your guide-book failing you ? Perhaps I may 
 be of assistance ! " 
 
 Of course it was our friend of the stiletto who spoke. 
 There he was, smiling courteously. He walked 
 toward me, and jumped over an intervening chain 
 that stretched between some stone posts. Sunlight 
 showed him to be a man as much out of the common 
 as he had seemed at night. As he came up, I meas 
 ured him with my eye and concluded that his parting 
 with the stiletto would have availed me very little if it 
 had come to that. Caspar had turned, and was look 
 ing at him in obvious perplexity. 
 
 " Good-morning, Signore Signore " 
 " Giulio ; Giulio Massano," he replied. " But you 
 are looking for something in the book? " 
 
 "Yes," I answered slowly, "and I cannot find it." 
 
 " Perhaps I can help you. I am as familiar with 
 
 Venice as though it were my home." By this time my 
 
 answer was concocted. "I was trying to learn," I 
 
 said, " the reason that Titian offered the Signoria his
 
 204 A Week away from Time. 
 
 services in a piece of work for four hundred ducats, 
 when Perugino had refused double the sum twenty 
 years before." 
 
 At the name of Titian there happened a curious 
 circumstance. Caspar struck one fist into the other, 
 and stared harder than ever, while the dark eyes of 
 young Giulio (he seemed not twenty-five) had for 
 one second a terrible look, and the muscles of his jaw 
 knotted under his cheeks. He had noticed Caspar s 
 action also, and gave him a quick glance, anything 
 but friendly. 
 
 "Caspar is getting eccentric, too," I thought. "I 
 shall soon be doing something extraordinary myself." 
 
 "Titian/" said the Italian violently. Something 
 choked him. He cleared his throat. " Titian was a 
 money-dredging traitor ! That is to his art, you 
 understand, sir." 
 
 Caspar plunged into a hot defence of the painter. 
 
 " Do not let us have an argument," Giulio inter 
 rupted, sweeping away any more words with his hand. 
 Then he began to laugh. " You appear to have hit a 
 prejudice of mine," he said to me. 
 
 Caspar stole a look at me, and tapped his fore 
 head. But Giulio saw him. " No doubt you think 
 so," he said. " I have been told so before now ; " and 
 he gave a grim smile.
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window r . 205 
 
 All three of us began to walk along slowly. We 
 strolled into St. Mark s, then across to the Ducal 
 Palace. I told myself that all this promised better 
 than the American Colony. I am not yet enough of 
 a confirmed broker to require the stimulus of a New 
 York newspaper in whatsoever part of the world I find 
 myself. My eight weeks in Europe refresh me most 
 when I pass them without hearing a word of American 
 spoken. None certainly was spoken on this morning, 
 which grew stranger as it went on. Giulio or Julian, 
 as Caspar and I found ourselves calling him without 
 being able to help it became our guide. 
 
 Red books cannot show Venice to you," said he. 
 " What do they know of the things that lurk here? " 
 
 He led us by degrees into the remote corners of the 
 city. It was not churches nor picture-galleries he 
 cared to show us ; they were treated as matters of 
 course, though he was evidently as proud of them as 
 if they were his own. But they bored him. The dis 
 like he showed for everything well-known was curious. 
 " They are stranger-ridden, their bloom is gone," he 
 said. " Steam and hotels are turning Venice into a 
 courtesan ; she is at money s command." He pointed 
 out the sites of gaming-halls and rioting dens, once 
 flourishing, now extinct. " Here is where much young 
 blood came to no good," said Julian. " But the vol-
 
 206 A Week away from Time. 
 
 cano is not active any more." We descended into a 
 dark hole whose walls were blistered with damp, but 
 still plainly showed that they had been gorgeous in 
 their day. It was a haunt where all young Venice had 
 been used to swarm. We stumbled after Julian through 
 ragged suites of rooms where the wine had once been 
 spilt ; the tide-ooze was in them now. As we listened 
 to Julian s talk, the nineteenth century began to dwin 
 dle and shrink ; the world of modern inventions became 
 separated from our existence, and its thoughts dissolved 
 out of our heads. We followed through by-ways and 
 corridors, down curving flights of stone, sometimes 
 beneath the surface of the water, and again emerging 
 into some nook of masonry. We looked out through 
 barred windows at glimpses of columns supporting 
 invisible roofs, and foliage cloaking their mysterious 
 bases. The spell grew, until time and space and our 
 selves were as a single mazy vision. 
 
 Crossing a balcony, the air became full of whirring 
 and flapping. It was the hour the pigeons were fed, 
 and a cohort of them was leaving the crevices and 
 perches all about us. But to our ears this sounded 
 like an exodus of spirits. Julian s knowledge of every 
 corner was marvellous. From the vagabond side he 
 now turned to the great houses of Venice, and pene 
 trated places virgin to the visits of outsiders. If a
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 207 
 
 hidden door were proof against him, he found an ac 
 cessible spot in the wall. My fear of stewards and 
 custodians soon changed to a relish for our unusual 
 proceedings. We climbed into windows, and we 
 crawled under low arches into forbidden ground. 
 
 "We shall at least be in prison together," panted 
 Caspar, as I lifted him up to a ledge that was too much 
 for him. 
 
 " I suppose a man could do this, if he chose, in New 
 York or Boston, at certain seasons. During those 
 weeks when front doors on Beacon Street are boarded 
 up to keep them dry, why should not an energetic 
 tourist make his way into three quarters of them from 
 the little ash-barrel lane that runs behind them along 
 the water s edge?" 
 
 The great people whose mansions we entered on 
 this most fantastic morning were out of town, and we 
 passed unchallenged. The living-apartments of the 
 Wartburg, or the chambers of Chenonceaux, where lived 
 Diane de Poictiers, are full enough of ghostly history ; 
 but the sanctuaries into which we came outdid them 
 all, family chapels from which the faint odor of 
 incense pervaded the winding approaches to them, 
 on their altars missals colored by the hand of some 
 ancestress, sometimes a shrine set up to a family 
 saint on some family crisis. There were rooms that
 
 208 A Week away from Time. 
 
 seemed darkened to keep family secrets closer ; sleep 
 ing apartments with unexpected doors hard by the bed ; 
 galleries from whose walls looked portraits never seen 
 but by friends and descendants ; antechambers con 
 trived for listening. In what part of the town we were 
 it was idle to imagine. We never followed a canal or 
 an alley. Sometimes we crossed one, but our way was 
 through bits of garden, narrow passages, up stairways 
 and turrets into galleries running through the thickness 
 of the wall, across covered bridges, in and out, till the 
 place became another Venice. No sign of life dis 
 turbed us. At last we came into a long hall and saw 
 ahead of us a white-haired old fellow in a velvet gown. 
 A chain hung from his girdle, and at its end were keys 
 that chinked feebly as they swung in the folds of his 
 robe. 
 
 " No harm in him," said Julian. " He is deaf as a 
 post. There he goes into the chapel," he continued. 
 " His ancestor with one of those keys unlocked San- 
 sovino and let him out. Ha ! do you know why they 
 shut up Sansovino thirty feet or so beneath where we 
 stand ? Because he built some arches in the Library 
 so ill that the ice in the springtime crumbled them. 
 If architects were served so now they would still make 
 good buildings. When we flourished at the expense of 
 our inferiors, the world was a finer place to live in."
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 209 
 
 " Perhaps that is still being done. The lower 
 classes are still flourishing at the expense of their infe 
 riors." Caspar Zell put a sour emphasis on " lower 
 classes." 
 
 Julian stared down at him ; the artist stood barely 
 five foot six in his highest heels. " Let us come in 
 here," was all he said. 
 
 He pushed open a door that we had not noticed. 
 The floor upon which we entered was of marble. From 
 the ceiling a lamp shone down with dim rays. There 
 seemed to be no other means of light anywhere in the 
 apartment. Thick Eastern stuffs were spread in lieu 
 of carpet, but not so as to conceal the stone altogether, 
 which was of exquisitely pure grain. In a recess stood 
 a bed, also covered with rich materials. 
 
 "This lamp has burned three hundred and fifty 
 years," said Julian in a hollow voice. " No one has 
 slept here since the day it was lighted." 
 
 The room had been also a living-room. In one 
 corner stood a couch, and by its side a distaff from 
 which dangled a yellow shred. I noticed two little 
 embroidered slippers half hid under the couch. Julian s 
 glance fell on them, and he shuddered and turned away. 
 A silence of the grave fell around us, while with a quick 
 ened tread he visited every corner, struggling visibly 
 with some deep emotion. His gait had become agi- 
 14
 
 2io A Week away from Time. 
 
 tated and uneven, and we could hear the long breaths 
 he took. In the midst of all this increasing mystery 
 I could not help noticing one cuiious trifle, though 
 Caspar and I made constant creaking in our move 
 ments, Julian s steps always fell without a sound. But 
 what he was doing, or might do next, had long passed 
 the point of wonder or surmise. I allowed myself to 
 drift on, as if I were contemplating myself from a 
 distance. Julian was now bringing something in his 
 hand. 
 
 " See ! " he whispered. It was a small harp, whose 
 frame was carved with the legend of Orpheus. Julian 
 seated himself on the couch, and slid his fingers over 
 the strings, which answered with faint, sweet tones. He 
 continued to touch them at random, till gradually a 
 prelude became distinct out of the general harmonious 
 murmur. It came into my head that the sound might 
 bring some one, but if it should, he would probably 
 become merely another actor in all this. Julian had 
 begun to sing, 
 
 " Should sleep assail thy drowsy eyes, 
 When the black priest preacheth wearily, 
 Look where the lofty pillars rise, 
 And I 11 be there to see. 
 Oh, wake ! and look where the pillars rise, 
 And I 11 look back at thee.
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 2 1 1 
 
 " When in the hush of placid night 
 Lonely I rest, and far from thee, 
 Speed me thy thought in a vision s flight, 
 To be my company. 
 Dream me some message in the night, 
 For all my dream is thee. 
 
 When quiet on my last cold bed, 
 I rn borne, shouldst thou then pass by me, 
 Draw near and kiss the face of the dead, 
 And I 11 rise up for thee. 
 Whisper my name, and kiss the dead, 
 And I 11 wake with a kiss for thee." 
 
 The dreary sounds of the harp lingered a moment, 
 then ceased as they had begun, in sweet random chords. 
 Julian silently replaced the instrument. A gust of 
 wind in the corridor rattled the latch. For a moment 
 I expected the old velvet fellow. But nothing entered 
 save the draught, which set some tapestry swinging. 
 Julian stopped it, and lifted a narrow and very delicate 
 strip to show us. The colors were wonderfully blended, 
 and the whole of a surpassing fineness. 
 
 " Such work as this is wrought no longer," said he. 
 " A man comes, and glues machine paper on your wall. 
 She who lived here made this piece. What is any con 
 trivance of wheels and levers compared with the wit in 
 one of her little hands?"
 
 212 A Week away from Time. 
 
 He passed his own hand gently over the fabric, and 
 I saw how it trembled. " Let us go," he said. We 
 preceded him into the corridor, but I saw him bend 
 and kiss the embroidery as he turned to follow us out. 
 In the daylight Caspar gave a sigh, and began to assert 
 himself. 
 
 " It is all very fine, tapestry and palaces ; but there 
 was much of bad going on, oppression, kings, and 
 open dissoluteness." 
 
 Again I saw a look of menace cross Julian s face. 
 
 " To-day is better, you would say ? " 
 
 "Why not? Think of where we are in enlighten 
 ment and world-understanding ! Was there ever an 
 age like the present?" 
 
 " The present ! What is the present? " 
 
 " Critique, reason, science, mechanique, truth ! " 
 and Caspar stood on his toes. 
 
 " Truth ! If what you say were truth, the world 
 would have nothing left. Hunting truth may be 
 good; but what cares a man for the deer when the 
 chase is over? Truth does not exist. Anything is 
 true." 
 
 Caspar gasped at him, and he continued, 
 
 " The mechanical present ! A noble time ! Men 
 fight each other ten miles apart, and let chemistry make 
 their women s portraits."
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 213 
 
 " We have also painters now," said Zell, swelling. 
 " Kings and Queens are gone, to be sure." 
 
 " You think you are rid of them ? They sit in the 
 gutter now, instead of on thrones. You have only 
 placed them elsewhere." 
 
 " If that is so, it is a gain. More prosperity is now 
 spread in towns and villages." 
 
 " What do we care for spreading prosperity? Is it 
 a glorious thing for a country to swarm with second- 
 class people? The vermin would never have been 
 begotten but for machinery. A noble species, the 
 machine-made citizen ! When a man s title to foot it 
 here depended ou this," and Julian struck his right 
 arm, "blood ran thicker in his body. When you 
 ran him through, a richer stream spurted out." 
 
 "My friend, you were born too late," said Zell. 
 
 " You are lucky to have been born when you 
 were," said Julian. 
 
 "What is the use in comparing centuries? " replied 
 Caspar. 
 
 " None, certainly. But when you say critique, 
 how many of your little commentators will be known, 
 think you, in the twentieth century? Venice s creators 
 are living still." 
 
 " All this is nothing, nothing ; merely toys for chil 
 dren," Zell retorted, forgetting that he himself was
 
 214 -A Week away from 7ime. 
 
 down in the Weimar directory as an artist. " What is 
 the finest work of art you can show me, compared to a 
 well-fed and enlightened family?" 
 
 " What is all this talk compared to lunch?" said I. 
 
 Julian put his hand on my shoulder. " Wise man," 
 he said, laughing. But he would not come with us. 
 He brought us out on to the canal, and pointed to the 
 right. " There lies your way," he said. He was lean 
 ing against the wall as we had first seen him under the 
 lamp. The gloom had left his manner and voice, 
 which was now that of the vigorous and careless young 
 animal that he looked. I watched him with admira 
 tion. But for their delicacy, his features suggested 
 nothing but perfect enjoyment of the five senses. " Till 
 we meet again," he said, and was gone at once. 
 
 "A hot-blooded young sinner," I remarked to 
 Caspar. 
 
 " Ach ! I cannot comprehend such people. He is 
 fierce against all the peaceable rights of the human. 
 Did you see him when he talked about locking archi 
 tects up? He would do worse than that." 
 
 " Perhaps so. A good many worse things might be 
 done, Caspar." 
 
 " Himmel ! " said he ; " look where we are ! " 
 
 We were standing beneath the Palace of the Closed 
 Window.
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 2 \ 5 
 
 " Well, no\v I suppose we know how some of it looks 
 inside," I said. 
 
 " Mr. Travers, Mr. Travers, that young man is a 
 villain ! " exclaimed Zell. " If we go with him so 
 again, he will get us into trouble." 
 
 " We re not worth robbing, you know, Caspar." 
 
 " No, but he will rob, and we shall be caught. That 
 is what I think. What business has any man to know 
 so much about other men s houses? " 
 
 " He is not that sort of person," I said. " He is a 
 gentleman, whatever else he may be." 
 
 " A gentleman ! a fine one, truly ! Lock up archi 
 tects, call decent people vermin, murder citizens to 
 see how thick is their blood ; that is a gentleman ! I 
 would not trust my safety to him ; I would not trust my 
 purse with him ; I would not risk my wife or my 
 daughter in his company. He is the worst species of 
 human produced. A gentleman ! " And the little 
 painter bubbled and squeaked. " Ach ! I almost for 
 got ! " he continued presently. " What in the world 
 put Titian and the ducats into your head?" 
 
 " It happened to be the last sentence I had read in 
 the guide-book." 
 
 " But do you not know it was very strange of you to 
 say that? I said I had seen his face before. I was 
 wrong. But I have seen one of his kin. Follow me,
 
 2 1 6 A Week away from Time. 
 
 Herr Travers. You go to the Louvre ; you stop for one 
 moment to look over the shoulder of the old man who 
 paints the Gallerie d Apollon, and never another thing. 
 He sits at the door of the Salon Carre 1 . 1 Do you know? 
 Well, go in at that door, and (if you can help it) do not 
 turn on your right to look at the Mona Lisa. Go on 
 through the opposite door into the long room. There 
 on your left is it the second or the third picture? 
 is a Titian, wonderful, prachtvoll, a master-work ! " 
 
 " Ah ! now I know what you re talking about," 
 said I. 
 
 " Do you not see the resemblance, even though 
 it is an older man? His hair is black, and his eye too. 
 Has he not also a slight moustache curling round the 
 lip ? But he is not in good spirits, like the young Julian. 
 He is like an older and more sinister brother. Yet I 
 could think that Julian might look like that some 
 morning when he lay thinking of what he had done 
 the night before. No ; it is more than Katzcn-jammcr 
 with the man in the Louvre. When Titian painted 
 that man, he sat before the master with gloomy thoughts 
 that did not go away with his headache. He thinks 
 but life does not please him. He, too, is a gentle 
 man, the same breed. He could also live well at 
 
 1 And sits there now (1887) nearly a hundred years old, still 
 copying the Gallerie d Apollon. ED.
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 217 
 
 the expense of his inferiors, and put people that were 
 in his way into dungeons. And he could smile on a 
 woman till she let him betray her. Ach ! I hate them 
 all ! But they are so beautiful, and so fine ! A race 
 that did everything except be useful. This Julian will 
 look like that picture some day, when seeing too many 
 dawns has given him a pale face. I should like to 
 paint him, once in to-day s dress, and then in costume, 
 with a gauntlet and black cloak and all the rest. And 
 look you, Herr Travers, his name is not Massano. If 
 we knew the name of the man in the picture, we 
 should be able to call Mr. Julian by a name that would 
 make him jump." 
 
 There was something in ZelPs theory. I have seen 
 folks who resembled the old portraits on their walls. 
 Julian s face was fuller and browner, and he had a 
 most genial laugh. I had certainly seen him look any 
 thing but genial, however. Caspar s curiosity to paint 
 his theory had now got the upper hand with him, and 
 he talked of nothing else for several days. During 
 these we found ordinary sight-seeing so flat that we 
 gave it up and took to modern Venice, the Lido, the 
 cafes, queer dances, and night prowling. We saw 
 nothing of Julian, and a strange idleness took posses 
 sion of Caspar. He sketched nothing. When I spoke 
 of this, he gave as his reason that seeing so much art
 
 2 1 8 A Week away from Time. 
 
 everywhere was like drowning in one s favorite wine. 
 " The idea of a palette nauseates me," he said. The 
 pianos were going in every direction, as Venice pianos 
 do. Probably a barcarolle a day was constructed on 
 each one. But this energy only disgusted Caspar the 
 more. " It is swill-tub music they make," he said. 
 Then he wandered away, and I did not see him till 
 evening. A change had come over him, and he was 
 eager and restless. " I have seen him again," he be 
 gan at once, " and now I know that there is something 
 wrong about him. When he saw me, he was not 
 friendly. He asked for you, and did not chat with me 
 at all. But I came direct to the point. I said I wished 
 very much to paint him, and when I said that, he 
 turned and looked at me. Then he looked like the 
 portrait ! For what reason do you honor me so 
 much? he asked. And when I saw his eye I could 
 not answer. I said I do not know what ; and then he 
 bade me good-evening. But he shall not escape me," 
 Zell burst out vigorously. " I shall paint him yet. You 
 will see." And he wagged his head slowly, and looked 
 vastly foolish. " He has an evil conscience, Herr 
 Travers, and feels I suspect him." 
 
 I began to grow uneasy about all this. It was evi 
 dent that Julian was no angel, and might let most 
 principles go at any moment that he found them in-
 
 T/ic Palace of the Closed Window. 219 
 
 convenient. But this was not all. Strangely agreeable 
 as I had found his company, I found myself now think 
 ing with Caspar that " something was wrong about 
 him." The next morning we came upon him sitting 
 on the edge of a quay, fast asleep. 
 
 " He has spent the night away from his bed," said 
 Caspar. " Hist ! come into this corner, and I will 
 make now his likeness." 
 
 " Oh, I think not," I replied. 
 
 " And why, pray? " 
 
 " Since he objects ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Zell. 
 
 " Well ; only remember that you 11 be stealing a gen 
 tleman s likeness," I said, walking away. Certainly I 
 was not going to assist at this larceny from the person. 
 The artist made no further answer but a grunt, as he 
 angrily took out his materials. Perhaps it was our talk ; 
 perhaps it was the sun which now came from a cloud 
 and blazed down on the sleeper s face ; but certainly 
 at the first stroke of Caspar s pencil, Julian started to 
 his feet. The pencil rattled out of Zell s hand to the 
 ground, and the paper fluttered away. 
 
 " You are devoted to your art, sir, indeed ! " was all 
 the Italian said. But it was enough to make Caspar 
 stare wretchedly at him. I hastened to call out a loud 
 good-morning from where I stood.
 
 22O, A Week away from Time. 
 
 " Good-morning," Julian answered. " Advise your 
 friend to take better care of himself. Sad things 
 may still happen to painters as well as architects, in 
 Venice, occasionally." He bowed to me, and was 
 gone. 
 
 Zell seemed crazed on the subject. Though I saw 
 that no sense of impertinence would detain him, a 
 sense of danger might, I thought. But I was wrong. 
 All day Caspar muttered : " I must have his face. I 
 must have his face. It would be my fortune." 
 
 Our stay in Venice was drawing to a close, and my 
 hope was to get Caspar away before he had a chance 
 to commit some new folly. This was not to be. I 
 awoke with an unpleasant start early one morning, and 
 found the Weimar artist at my bedside, with a haggard 
 and vacant expression. I sprang out of bed. " In 
 God s name, what is the matter?" I cried. 
 
 "Safe, safe !" was all he could answer. Then he 
 sank into a chair and steadied himself by its arms. 
 Presently he began, 
 
 " I could not sleep. When light dawned I walked 
 out. I went along the edge of the canal till I stood 
 opposite the garden. The spider s web was there, I 
 could see. Over the wall the tree-branches were nod 
 ding, nodding. I grew very cold watching them, and 
 so I walked under the closed window. Perhaps he
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 2 2 1 
 
 sits inside with the harp now, I said. I waited, and 
 listened, and peeped on every side ; but all was very 
 quiet, and no one was stirring. I thought I might as 
 well turn homeward. I turned, and he was there, 
 leaning against the wall behind me." 
 
 Zell s hands shook as he gripped the arms of the 
 chair tighter. " I could not lift my feet, and I thought 
 the air was all going in black waves. He did not move, 
 and I could not take my eyes from his face. His smile 
 was so wicked ! He only said, You make a poor spy. 
 He let me stand there till I tried to scream, but I 
 could not. Then he said, Do you suppose I would 
 touch you ? Crawl home now ; you are not hurt. 
 Paint some pictures if you can His black eyes 
 flashed, and his face ach ! hell was in it. I felt as 
 if something broke in my head. He saw I feared to 
 pass him, and walked swiftly ahead of me, and so 
 round a corner. When I came to the corner I dared 
 not pass it. I walked on my toes as near to the water 
 as I could, and rushed by with all my strength. A 
 horrible laugh rang in my ear. I do not know how I 
 find myself here." 
 
 For the last days Caspar Zell would not go anywhere 
 without me. " Let us get away," he said. " I shall 
 not feel right till we are far, far in Salzkammergut, 
 streams rushing instead of these stagnant canals, and
 
 222 A Week away from Time. 
 
 pine-trees in place of walls ; and how sweet German 
 speech will sound ! " 
 
 He never spoke of Julian without his voice becom 
 ing husky. For my part, it did not seem to me that 
 Caspar had suffered any hurt beyond a severe fright ; 
 his liberties might easily have provoked a worse pun 
 ishment. Yet though Julian had evidently scorned to 
 retaliate on so little a man, our visit to Venice still 
 seemed to have grown more and more sinister since 
 the first evening. A stiletto would be a fitting thing 
 to remember it by. All the artist seemed to have left 
 Zell. His attemps to sketch were futile. 
 
 " I am become paralyzed," he bitterly complained. 
 " Can you remember how his hair went over his fore 
 head? Was it not so? " 
 
 "Not at all," I replied. "That face you are mak 
 ing is merely a copy of the one in the Louvre. Young 
 Julian is swarthy, not pale ; and you are giving him 
 straight hair." 
 
 All day long Caspar spoiled sheets of his album in 
 vain. Finally our heavier effects were sent to wait for 
 us at Munich, and the last day came. We dedicated 
 it to Torcello, whither we were rowed by two gondo 
 liers. As I stretched out in the boat, the stiletto fell 
 from my pocket. 
 
 " Why do you carry that?" inquired Caspar.
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 223 
 
 " To show to a dealer when we get back. I want 
 to find something about it if I can." 
 
 The sky was cloudless, and the water rippled blue 
 beneath it ; but behind this sereneness lurked a fore 
 boding I could not shake off. We both fell into 
 silences, and I doubt if we could have told what we 
 saw in the Church of Santa Fosca, and the two or three 
 other places we wandered into. We sat for a long time 
 in the bell-tower of the old Cathedral. The swallows 
 dodged about, and took care of their second brood, 
 and in the distance lay the Adriatic and the blue 
 mountains. Then we descended and strolled into the 
 Cathedral. A few shabby candles were lighted on the 
 altar, and a shabby second-best service was performing. 
 The puppets on the steps below bobbed and changed 
 places, while a venerable puppet spun out Latin words 
 with incomprehensible swiftness and incoherence. 
 
 " See in the guide-book who is buried here," said 
 Caspar, stopping at a tomb in one of the remoter 
 nooks. " The letters are effaced, but see what a beau 
 tiful girl s head ! It is an exquisite little carving ; and 
 there was another bust beside it, but it is also knocked 
 off." 
 
 There was but little light in here, and I stooped to 
 reach a ray that came from one of the candles. My 
 pocket gaped, and the stiletto rang on the pavement.
 
 224 A Week away from Time, 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," said a young priest at my elbow. 
 He handed me the weapon, and the candlelight flashed 
 on it. " What a beautiful one, sir ! You are fortunate 
 in having such a curiosity. Do not let an antiquary 
 take it in his hands ; you will hardly get it away from 
 him ! " 
 
 He smiled, and moved noiselessly away. Unable 
 to find information about the tomb, we went out into 
 the air again. But Caspar had now one of his strange 
 fits of restlessness. He talked about the girl s face, 
 and the companion bust that was gone. 
 
 " Some one should know about such a work of art," 
 he repeated. "There is our young priest again." 
 
 He joined us, and talked very pleasantly. He 
 pointed out various bits we had overlooked in different 
 parts of the island. 
 
 "I hope we are not on your hands," I said at length, 
 for we had been walking and talking for about an 
 hour. 
 
 " My dear sir, it is so seldom to find agreeable guests 
 at Torcello." 
 
 I had come to be sure this was a man of refinement. 
 We talked on many subjects, and none of them were 
 religious ones. His historical knowledge of Venice 
 was most ample and minute, and he delighted to dwell 
 on Venice. I looked at him with increasing interest.
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 225 
 
 His was no dull eye, nor did he seem able to compass 
 the typical priest s smile in all its wily completeness. 
 Perhaps he had not been long consecrated to the ser 
 vice of Mother Church. But his age I could not tell ; 
 he might be twenty-five, he might be forty. His 
 figure was small and slender, but he walked with an 
 elastic step. Yet these lingering suggestions of the 
 flesh did not go with the rest of the man. His face 
 was transparent, and there was an unearthly sadness 
 in his voice. The black dress hung upon him sombre 
 enough for a pall, yet he did not seem a man doomed 
 by disease. I was constantly struck with the liberality 
 of his ideas. At length it became time to go, but Zell 
 spoke up, 
 
 " Perhaps, sir, you could tell us something of a tomb 
 we saw in the Cathedral." 
 
 " I can," said the priest ; " but it is not often 
 told." 
 
 I thought Zell looked as if he were going to say 
 something about money ; so I said quickly, 
 
 " I know we are profane tourists ; but could you 
 not match my stiletto with a story equally rare? " 
 
 " Perhaps, perhaps ; yes, for the sake of the stiletto I 
 will. To him that hath " He turned back to the 
 Cathedral without ending the quotation. " Come with 
 me."
 
 226 A Week away from Time. 
 
 We found ourselves again by the tomb. The ser 
 vice was over, the puppets gone ; no one now but a 
 lonely old woman kneeling in a corner. 
 
 "The tomb is in memory of two, as you see," said 
 the priest ; " but only one lies beneath. Is she not 
 beautiful ? How sweet a mouth ! Has she not a 
 divine face? One would say a saint." 
 
 " What was the sculptor s name? " asked Zell. 
 
 The priest turned to him with a sad smile. 
 
 " Sir, I cannot tell you. He is one of the children 
 whom the father Time has baptized Ignoto. But we 
 know that her name was Margaret. She was not a Vene 
 tian. Perhaps you may have seen in the city a palace 
 with one of the upper windows walled -up. Yes? That 
 is where Margaret lived, though it was not her home. 
 Sit down on that ledge and I will tell you about her. 
 You remember that our great Titian went to Rome and 
 Florence, and returned here more glorious than when 
 he set out. His wife had died, and he seemed greatly 
 aged by it, for a man of his vigor. I think it was just 
 as well she never knew what a wretch the son she had 
 brought into the world turned out." 
 
 "Who?" I asked. 
 
 " Her son Pomponio, a miserable villain. Titian 
 brought a young girl back with him. Who she was 
 exactly, people never knew. He called her Margaret,
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 227 
 
 and people said she was his own granddaughter, 
 Pomponio s child. He never allowed her to see Pom- 
 ponio, at any rate. Pomponio had become a priest. 
 She called Titian godfather, and whenever he stayed 
 in the houses of great people (as he usually did when 
 he painted their portraits), she always went with him. 
 He guarded her very closely, and very few people knew 
 what she looked like, though the young men used to 
 talk about her face and her singing. If she had Titian s 
 blood in her veins, that would account for her mar 
 vellous skill at all embroidery. Somewhere in the mid 
 dle of the century her godfather went to the Palace of 
 the Closed Window to paint its master. It was then 
 lived in by two brothers, Vitale and Giulio Civran. 
 They were as proud as anybody in those times. Vitale 
 was married, and had children. Young Giulio was still 
 a wild fellow about town. While Titian was at work on 
 Vitale s portrait, Margaret used to sit by him with her 
 embroidery ; and so you can see how it went. Vitale 
 looked at her day after day, and determined to make 
 her his. He became very gracious ; none could be 
 more so. The maestro, he said, painted too well to 
 dine alone ; would he not sit at the family board ? The 
 maestro never crossed the wills of his noble hosts if 
 he could help it, and so now he made one of the com 
 pany, with the family chaplain. The chaplain should
 
 228 A Week away from Time. 
 
 never have taken orders. He had known a young 
 man s life in Venice too, and was too great a friend of 
 Giulio s to have any influence over him. But Giulio 
 told him all his secrets ; and that was how, when Mar 
 garet did not come to table with her godfather, that 
 the young priest knew why. She was afraid to meet 
 her lover Giulio in company. Vitale was much too 
 cunning to allude to her, but he managed to meet her 
 several times, and it maddened him to find that he 
 could not make any impression upon her heart. His 
 suits did not often fail, so he began to think. Of late 
 he had remarked that hjs brother Giulio had become 
 wonderfully well-behaved. Instead of disappearing for 
 several days at a time, he was most domestic. The 
 chaplain was very glad, for he thought Margaret a meet 
 wife for any man. 
 
 " But one night Vitale crept up a little staircase and 
 listened. He heard soft music in Margaret s room, 
 and softer voices, and laughter. He ground his teeth, 
 and came near bursting in. Then he heard the lovers 
 talk. Margaret was being comforted for her fears. 
 She told Giulio that their happiness could not last. 
 Giulio swore it should last as long as their lives. But 
 her heart trembled for his safety. Vitale terrified her, 
 she said. Her eye had seen his evil look while he sat 
 for his portrait. Vitale, standing in the dark staircase,
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 229 
 
 heard them pour out their hearts to each other, and in 
 Giulio s arms Margaret forgot her terrors. This was 
 their plan. The next night Giulio was to go out on a 
 pretended carousal, and come back at twelve. The 
 chaplain was to be smuggled into her room by the 
 little staircase. They were to be married, and fly fof 
 a time, till Titian s wrath should cool when he saw what 
 a good husband Giulio made for his ward. 
 
 " Vitale had heard enough. He went to his friend 
 Pomponio, and told him that Titian was playing a 
 game in his household. A young gallant paid nightly 
 visits to Margaret. This stung Pomponio to the quick. 
 The idea of his father s double hypocrisy in keeping 
 him away from his child and compassing her ruin 
 himself, drove him wild. Vitale (who knew that 
 Pomponio was Margaret s father) played well upon his 
 feelings, and together they hatched a model plan. 
 The chaplain was to be got rid of; Pomponio was to 
 be admitted to his room and pass for him. I cannot 
 permit a scandal like this to be in my house, said 
 Vitale. And your name must be shielded from such 
 a family stain. You shall accompany me into Marga 
 ret s chamber, and you shall make them man and wife. 
 I choose you to do this instead of the chaplain, so that 
 the matter shall be known to no outsiders. Vitale was 
 clever enough to make Pomponio think that he and
 
 230 A }Vcck away from Time. 
 
 his brother Giulio were acting in concert. Giulio will 
 summon you about midnight, he said. We will ar 
 range the rest upstairs. Keep your face concealed. 
 
 The next dusk came, and Vitale paid his chaplain 
 a visit. He invited him to walk into the chapel. I 
 am thinking of improving it, he said. The Church 
 will be well pleased with such devotion from your 
 family, answered the chaplain, wondering a little. 
 See/ continued Vitale, this old chamber for vest 
 ments might go. It would make space, and a window 
 could be put up in honor of our Saint Ambrose. He 
 unlocked the door with a key he held in his hand. 
 The priest peered into the darkness, and pitched head 
 long thirty feet. Vitale laughed, and sent a prayer- 
 book fluttering down after him. Read the marriage 
 or the funeral service, whichever you prefer. The 
 bolt shot, and Vitale left the chapel. 
 
 "Meanwhile Giulio wandered about the city, wait 
 ing for the appointed time to come. He visited 
 some of his old haunts, and was laughed at for his 
 new soberness. At last he was at the chaplain s 
 door. From the darkness of the room, Pomponio, 
 who had been waiting, followed him out. They 
 stepped noiselessly through the black halls and up 
 the stairs. Giulio, in front, heard the stealthy tread 
 of the priest behind him. Pomponio, as much a 
 dupe as Giulio, in his turn, heard another step
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 231 
 
 following in the dark below, and wondered what part 
 whoever it was would be called on to play. Margaret 
 met the two first at the door, and Pomponio marvelled 
 that she showed no surprise at seeing that his com 
 panion was the younger Civran. Now begin, quick, 
 said the lover eagerly. Pomponio raised his face in 
 quiringly. With a terrible oath at seeing him, Giulio 
 wrenched out his sword. At the same instant Margaret 
 shrieked and rushed into his arms ; she had seen Vitale 
 glide in. The sword pierced her body as Vitale s dagger 
 plunged into his brother s shoulder up to the hilt. The 
 main door burst open, and at it stood rooted the gray- 
 bearded Titian, who had heard his girl s cry. She was 
 dead ; but Giulio, with an effort, wrenched himself 
 round on the floor so that he saw Titian. Ah, it is 
 a house of assassins, is it ! he exclaimed, and hurled 
 his sword wildly at the appalled painter. It was the 
 end. The weapon fell harmless midway, and Giulio 
 rolled over by his bride s body. Pomponio wisely con 
 cealed himself from Titian. Giulio s death made it easy 
 for Yitale to invent a plausible explanation of the affair 
 to the old painter, whose heart was nearly broken. He 
 sorrowed with the admirable Vitale over their common 
 bereavement. Vitale secretly sent Pomponio to look 
 after the chaplain, and Pomponio, seeing that he was 
 dying, confessed to him his share in the plot. The
 
 232 A Week away from Time. 
 
 chaplain died in a few hours, and Pomponio and Vitale 
 kept their secret. Margaret lies here ; but Giulio s 
 body was never found." 
 
 The priest s story was finished, and its effect was 
 to stun my reason. We all rose and went to the door. 
 There I put some gold pieces into a box marked 
 " For the restoration of the Church." 
 
 " I hope," I said, " that some of it may go to replac 
 ing the bust of the ill-starred Giulio by the side of his 
 Margaret." 
 
 " It would be but an imaginary likeness, sir," mur 
 mured the priest. 
 
 "Something like this?" said Caspar suddenly. His 
 pencil traced a rapid sketch of the portrait in the 
 Louvre. 
 
 How shall I describe what happened ? I heard an 
 unearthly cry from the priest. A fierce wind napped 
 the curtains that hung over the entrance of the Cathe 
 dral, and we were all enveloped in their choking folds. 
 When I extricated myself, Caspar and I were alone, 
 and the stiletto was gone from my pocket. 
 
 The sun was near setting ; we could stay here no 
 longer. I searched for a moment among the crevices 
 of the stone-work, but I knew such search was idle. 
 We got into our gondola and started back. One 
 phrase of Julian s had struck me with haunting signifi-
 
 The Palace of the Closed Window. 233 
 
 cance. He had told us we should remember him with 
 out the stiletto. Our gondoliers sang at first as they 
 rowed us along ; soon, however, they grew as silent as 
 ourselves. The night came down midway on our 
 journey, and when we landed, the lights were twinkling 
 in the water. Our train was to leave the next morning 
 at half-past four. It was now too late for dinner at the 
 hotel, so we got some food at a cafe. I do not remem 
 ber that we spoke at all. If we said anything, it was of 
 the most commonplace sort. We sat outside the caf6 
 until it grew late. It hardly seemed possible to go to bed. 
 We hailed a gondola, and had ourselves rowed idly about. 
 Near the Ponte del Paradise I felt my arm clutched. 
 
 "There he is ! " said Caspar hoarsely. 
 
 I looked, and saw Julian walking slowly up the steps. 
 I spoke to him, but he did not turn. He passed under 
 the image of the Virgin into the narrow calle. Then I 
 noticed a figure shadowing him, that came from I know 
 not where. 
 
 " We must see about this," I said to Caspar. 
 
 We both landed, and entered the calle. The figures 
 were some distance ahead, and we hastened our steps. 
 We threaded our way through a maze of turns, and it 
 seemed to me in the same direction we had once 
 followed Julian before. The quarter changed from a 
 deserted one to a place full of animation as we went
 
 234 A Week away from Time. 
 
 farther into it. Lights gleamed, many figures passed 
 to and fro, and strains of music filled the air. Julian 
 ascended some steps, and we followed. This house 
 was brilliant with light, and from the open upper win 
 dows came the thud and jingle of tambourines. One 
 or two dominos flitted by us. We found ourselves at 
 the doors of a wild fancy ball. The figures of men and 
 women in rich costumes filled several rooms. Julian 
 wore a very handsome dress himself. Several people 
 spoke to him. and seemed to ask him to join the revels, 
 but he walked quietly through the throng. At length 
 a very pretty girl danced up to him laughing, and 
 pulled him forward, but he smiled down on her and 
 shook his head. Never have I seen a happier look on 
 any man s face. Could Caspar have painted him as 
 he was now, his fame would indeed have been secure. 
 The girl put her arms as nearly round Julian s neck as 
 she could, but he made no return of her caress. Then 
 she left him with pouting lips, and joined a young 
 fellow who seemed contented enough with his good- 
 fortune. Another figure was speaking to Julian. The 
 music had grown wilder, and the dance was whirling 
 with spectral rapidity. I looked at the gaudily painted 
 walls ; they seemed oddly familiar. Could they bear 
 any relation to the blistered remains of those old haunts 
 Julian had shown us? I had no time to think of
 
 1 he Palace of the Closed Window. 235 
 
 anything, for Julian now was leaving the hall. He 
 descended into the street, and once more I saw the 
 figure creep after him. For an instant I was near 
 enough behind him to have been able to swear it was 
 Julian s double, so like was his gait and build, though 
 he seemed somehow like an older man. But I could 
 not see his face. The walk began again. The pace 
 increased, for Julian was hurrying with more speed at 
 every turn. Lamps, doorways, black water, then walls 
 again, all whizzed by. We had begun to run ; but as 
 Caspar and I did not know the ground, we stumbled 
 here, made a wrong turn there, and found at length 
 that the figures had utterly disappeared. We groped 
 about for a moment, and found ourselves opposite a 
 garden wall. A lamp revealed the Palacp of the Closed 
 Window looming above us. Then from an upper floor 
 came a piercing scream ; then nothing but the water 
 lapping lazily against the stones. A violent grip was 
 laid on my arm, and I saw Caspar s face, hideous with 
 terror. 
 
 " Up up there ! " he gasped. 
 
 The space of the walled window was lambent with 
 a vapory light. Caspar swayed and staggered so that 
 I had to exert all my force to keep him from slipping 
 into the water. Suddenly a dark mass filled part of the 
 window. Something plunged through the air, and fell
 
 236 A Week away from Time. 
 
 into the canal with a splash. My eyes for one instant 
 saw Julian s face, ghastly with death, and then the 
 water closed above him in turbulent eddies. 
 
 Over the heaving surface swept a black garment, 
 and the young priest of Torcello passed close and 
 melted into the night. By some inward flash of the 
 mind it was revealed to me that it was the murdered 
 chaplain who had talked with us by the tomb in that 
 dim church corner. 
 
 When the good people at the Three Wise Men came 
 to the spot at our instance, and heard what we had 
 to say, they were of the opinion that our dinner at 
 the cafe had put us in the humor for practical jokes. 
 Nothing could persuade them to inform the police. 
 
 " Why, that is the Palace of the Closed Window, and 
 the Signori tell us that they saw through a wall ! Eh ! 
 body of Bacchus ! the Signori are merry ! " said they. 
 
 In three hours we had left Venice. 
 
 Some time ago I had a despondent letter from Cas 
 par. He wrote that all creative talent in him seemed 
 dead. He traced it to that morning when he had 
 encountered Julian alone. The last accounts of him 
 were, that he had given up his Weimar studio and 
 gone to Paris, where I am told he has taken to making 
 copies of the picture in the Louvre.
 
 A Week away from Time. 237 
 
 No one spoke for some time after Ralph had 
 finished. The breeze had almost died away, and 
 the " Hope s" sail flapped gently as she glided 
 through the water whose ripples were full of 
 phosphorescent gleams. Fleecy clouds veiled 
 the moon, which had begun to wane, and had 
 taken on to-night a reserved air of mystery, as 
 if it had been for something in Ralph s story, 
 and might have elucidated some dark points. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Chauncey said : " Well, Mr. 
 Travers, your story is grewsome indeed. I am 
 sure I shall not sleep to-night with dreaming of 
 that dreadful Vitale and that fascinating Giulio 
 and poor, dear Margaret. But why was the 
 stiletto taken away? And why " 
 
 " You must n t ask me," said Ralph. " I have 
 only told the story as it happened. You must 
 ask the moon. See what a weird, mysterious 
 smile she wears. She will tell you to-night, in 
 those sleepless dreams of yours." 
 
 They made two boatloads from the yacht to 
 the landing. Ralph and Mrs. Chauncey and 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bowdoin went off first, and when 
 the gig came back the rest got into it, and Charlie
 
 238 A Week away from Time. 
 
 Wyatt went with them. As he took Muriel s 
 hand to help her out of the boat, he said, " Re 
 member, my light burns always for you. Ah, 
 if I could only think you looked out of your 
 window sometimes, and gave one kind thought 
 to the poor fellow who lies awake hour after 
 hour, and paces the deck in the night-watches 
 thinking of you ! " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " was Muriel s only reply. 
 
 "Good-night!" "Good-night!" sounded in 
 the air from many voices. 
 
 Charlie Wyatt s manly tones shouted, " Atten 
 tion ! Dip oars ! Give way ! " and the boat 
 shot silently and quickly out of the harbor. 
 
 When Muriel stood at her window an hour or 
 two later, it was very dark outside. The wind 
 had risen, and the waters sounded angry and 
 threatening. The " Hope s" light burned on, 
 the only spot of light to be seen. and by its 
 gleam the vessel seemed to be pitching and 
 tossing as if impatient at being held fast; 
 " frenetic to be free." Muriel turned from the 
 window. Were there tears in her eyes?
 
 The hour which might have been, yet might not be. 
 
 . on what shore 
 Bides it the breaking of Time s weary sea ? 
 
 DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. 
 
 But only the one Hope s one name be there, 
 Not less nor more, but even that word alone. 
 
 IBID.
 
 FIFTH DAY. 
 
 IT had rained in the night, but the day dawned 
 brilliantly. 
 
 " We shall hear Bell s story by the big oak- 
 tree," said Mrs. Temple. "We will carry camp- 
 chairs and shawls and rugs." 
 
 " You will all get wet driving through the 
 woods ; I warn you to wear waterproof gar 
 ments," said Mr. Bowdoin. " Margaret will prob 
 ably tell you no one takes cold by being wet at 
 Fair Harbor. I believe she thinks the rain 
 is mixed with Jamaica ginger and hot-drops. 
 Nevertheless, I advise wraps." 
 
 " By the way," said Mrs. Chauncey, " what 
 did Mrs. Nye mean the other day by saying 
 there were more waterers here than usual 
 this fall? I haven t seen a water-cart since I 
 came." 
 
 The others laughed heartily, and Ralph said : 
 " It is a local expression, Mrs. Chauncey, and 
 16
 
 242 A Week away from Time. 
 
 reminds me of a conversation I heard early 
 this morning between Jim Canaan and Miss 
 Carr-Wynstede s maid, which will answer your 
 question. I was in the stable, and they were 
 standing just outside, Marie gathering lemon- 
 balm to make tisane de melisse, she told me. 
 I shall dramatize the conversation : 
 
 Jim. Won t you come out for a bit of a sail, 
 Miss Maree? [By the bye, you know he has 
 christened his catamaran the "Maree"!] 
 
 Marie. I have fear; it makes much wind to 
 day. 
 
 Jim. Not a bit of it. It s just a good little 
 breeze that ll send the boat hummin . You ain t 
 like them waterers that calls a cupful of wind 
 a squall. 
 
 Marie. What is it a waterer, and what is it a 
 squall? I know them not. 
 
 Jim. Well, a waterer is a party from the city 
 that comes down here to stop, and they mostly 
 begins by sayin they likes sailin better n any 
 thing, and then you take em out in the little 
 harbor here, where you can sail a child s boat, 
 and they screeches and wants to land before
 
 A Week away from Time. 243 
 
 they gets out into deep water, and talks about 
 squalls and storms and bein seasick. That s 
 a waterer. And a squall well, a squall s half 
 a gale. 
 
 Marie. Ah, I see. Well, as you say I am not 
 like a waterer, and you are sure there will be 
 no tempest, I will go. Mademoiselle said I 
 might." 
 
 " She did go," said Muriel, " and came back 
 in a fine flush of excitement and sunburn. I 
 don t know about that attractive homme aux 
 homards ! I should like to take Marie home 
 with me." 
 
 The Professor came just then to claim Muriel s 
 promise to walk to Wood s Holl with him. He 
 
 was going to see his friend Professor B d, of 
 
 the Fish Commission, and he wanted to show 
 Muriel the Government Buildings there, and 
 present to her the amiable gentleman who pre 
 sided over the wonders of the deep. 
 
 " What a charming creature that English girl 
 is, to be sure ! " exclaimed Mrs. Chauncey. 
 " What a pity she is n t an American ! She 
 does n t seem to be a bit like the others, Lady
 
 244 -A Week away from Time. 
 
 Barberina, for instance ; for I always think of her 
 as a real person." 
 
 " No, she is not in the least like Lady Bar 
 berina," said Mrs. Bowdoin, " and yet she is 
 not like us. It is such folly to talk about our 
 being cousins, and coming from the same stock, 
 and all that. We are as different from them 
 as possible ; in education, in tastes, in ideas, in 
 manners, every way. In England, where I 
 was constantly told about blood being stronger 
 than water, and how, after all, we ongJit to feel 
 at home there, and what sympathy should ex 
 ist between two nations, one the child of the 
 other, the same speech, same religion, and all 
 the rest, I generally assented, for of course 
 it was meant as a compliment, and Americans 
 don t like to seem rude. English people don t 
 mind it, and so perhaps speak more truths than 
 we. But once I burst out before an innocent 
 British female who was going on in that strain, 
 and almost astonished her to death by saying, 
 No, no ! it is no such thing ! We are not at 
 all like you. We don t dress like you (Heaven 
 forbid !), nor speak like you (the more s the
 
 A Week away from Time, 245 
 
 pity !), nor look nor think nor act nor love nor 
 hate like you. For myself, I am at home in 
 France with French people, and in Italy with 
 the Italians ; not in England with the English. 
 The good lady opened her eyes, and answered 
 never a word. But I spoke the truth." 
 
 " I must confess," said Mrs. Chauncey, " that 
 in the matter of dress they have immensely im 
 proved of late years. Some of the really nicest 
 people dress very well. Sometimes I am afraid 
 they make American women look as if they 
 were a little over-dressed, as if Worth and the 
 rest had been too much for them, and when 
 Englishwomen do have good figures, they are 
 uncommonly good. I cannot understand why 
 they should have such beautiful long throats 
 and long limbs, just because long throats and 
 limbs are the fashion, brought in by Burne 
 Jones and those sub-Raphaelite folks. In a 
 Redfern-cut dress and jacket, fitting as the Eng 
 lish tailors alone do fit, I make them my best 
 bow, compelled by a sense of justice, not be 
 cause I care to bow to them, Heaven knows. 
 You d better never bow to an Englishwoman
 
 246 A Week away from Time. 
 
 first, if you can help it; as a rule, if you let 
 them alone and look the other way, you 11 find 
 them saluting you." 
 
 " Have you ever noticed one curious thing 
 about English people?" asked Margaret. " They 
 call everybody foreigners but themselves, no 
 matter where they may happen to be. Once in 
 Rome an English lady said to me, I see you 
 pass much of your time with foreigners here ! 
 Do you like foreigners ? What do you mean ? 
 said I ; whom do you call foreigners? English? 
 Americans? Russians? Oh no, she replied, 
 I meant Romans. I see you so much with 
 Romans ! She really seemed to think that 
 Romans were the forestieri on their own soil, 
 and she the native inhabitant and proprietor. 
 It is very amusing." 
 
 " Kirkland seems to have been a good deal 
 disgusted in England and on the Continent," 
 said Ralph, "with the silly, undignified way in 
 which American girls, and still worse, American 
 mothers, behave with regard to society. It has 
 been the fashion lately, especially among the 
 English, to take up Americans, as they call
 
 A Week away from Time. 247 
 
 it. The very phrase is offensive. We, who see 
 in our American women everything that is most 
 charming, are at first disposed to think it quite 
 natural that they should be noticed and admired. 
 And looked at in one light, it is all very nice 
 and flattering. But, by Jove ! it makes my blood 
 boil to see and hear the sort of thing that goes 
 on sometimes. The certain condescension in 
 foreigners, that Lowell writes about, tinges a 
 great deal of the attention our country men and 
 women receive, and makes a sensitive person 
 wince and want to kick somebody. We all 
 know that there is nothing an English husband 
 or brother of decent pride likes less than that 
 his wife or sister should be made conspicuous 
 by the smiles and favor of a certain high per 
 sonage, whose smiles and favors are too pro 
 miscuous and too compromising to be desirable; 
 yet I have seen lovely American cheeks flush 
 and eyes glisten, and have almost heard hearts 
 beat with excitement and pleasure, if only those 
 royal eyes turned upon them ; and if he asked 
 to have them presented, and oh, joy of joys ! 
 if he took them out in the waltz, or in to supper
 
 248 A Week away from Time. 
 
 on his august arm, their cup of happiness over 
 flowed. And the blackguards they marry, to be 
 called My Lady, and to belong to his Royal 
 Highness s set ! It is unbelievable ! " 
 
 "If American girls choose to transplant them 
 selves, and marry Englishmen for titles and 
 position, giving their handfuls of silver for the 
 ribbon on their lords coats, or their place in 
 Debrctt, it is their own affair; but that an 
 American man should take to himself an Eng 
 lish wife, and run the risk of enduring, like Lady 
 Barberina s husband, an ignominious exile, or 
 else of keeping his wife over here bound to be 
 unhappy and forever homesick, seems to me 
 little short of madness." 
 
 All this Mrs. Bowdoin uttered quite fast and 
 rather irrelevantly, standing outside the window 
 as she spoke, and apparently addressing Polly. 
 
 " That s so ! That s so ! " shouted Polly, who 
 was in great spirits to-day. 
 
 Nobody knew Ralph s opinion on this point, 
 for he seemed to be suddenly needed in the 
 stable, as he marched off in that direction. 
 
 " I meant every word of that, Polly," said
 
 A Week away from Time. 249 
 
 Mrs. Bowdoin gravely. And Polly mumbled 
 something which savored of approval. 
 
 " We had better start for the tree betimes 
 after lunch, don t you think?" said Margaret. 
 " I thought we would make no pretence of a 
 picnic to-day. It is so much more comfortable 
 to get home in time to dress for dinner, and eat 
 it nicely at a table like Christians." 
 
 Muriel and the Professor came back just be 
 fore luncheon, the Professor bearing a tin pail 
 filled with water in which was a beautiful " Por 
 tuguese man-of-war," which one of the men 
 had brought in while they were at the Fish 
 Commission. 
 
 "And yet they laugh about the Gulf Stream," 
 said Margaret. " Wait till you see the Spanish 
 mackerel I have for your dinner, and see if you 
 think they would be better in Florida ! " 
 
 They had at last arranged themselves under 
 the oak-tree. Some were in riding-habits, and 
 some had driven. Bell had the seat of honor, 
 with her back to the tree, in the Scheveningen 
 chair (a wagonful of chairs and cushions having
 
 250 A Week away from Time. 
 
 been sent on before them), and the others 
 grouped themselves in front of her. 
 
 " I am a good deal agitated," she said. 
 " The branches really hit hard and hurt me as 
 we drove through the woods, and I was soaked 
 with water. Give me the very thickest of those 
 rugs, please, Tom. It is extremely damp on 
 the ground. How can you lose all sense of 
 truth as you do here, Margaret? It is very sad. 
 You are like an enfant du midi, when it comes 
 to the Cape. Do you remember what Daudet 
 says of the enfant du midi in that most de- 
 liciously witty book, Tartarin de Tarascon ? 
 L homme du midi ne ment pas ; il se trompe. 
 II ne dit pas toujours la verite, mais il croit le 
 dire. Son mensonge a lui, ce n est pas le men- 
 songe, c est le mirage. With Margaret, Gulf 
 Stream stands for mirage. " 
 
 "Now, having basely accused your best and 
 only sister of falsehood," said Margaret, laugh 
 ing, "where is your story?" 
 
 "Here it is," said Bell, producing it from 
 the folds of her wrap. " It looks to be rather 
 a bulky manuscript, but somehow or other I
 
 In War-Time. 251 
 
 could n t stop. I intended to keep to a dry 
 statement of some facts that were told to me 
 a few years ago, but I found my pencil running 
 away with me. I fancy it s also an effect of the 
 Gulf Stream; it weakens one s character. I 
 have heard too that diffuseness is a fault of 
 young authors." 
 
 " It s a trifle hard on their readers some 
 times," said Tom quietly. 
 
 " How sorry you would be if you were made 
 to go out in that punt and fish for pickerel, and 
 so lose the hearing of it ! " his wife answered 
 seriously; and then, as he looked repentant, she 
 began. 
 
 IN WAR-TIME; 
 OR, ONLY A WOMAN S SHOE. 
 
 Ix the autumn of 1870, when poor France was 
 reading the last pages of her record of insufficiency 
 and defeat, it so happened that a regiment of Uhlans 
 was quartered in the little French town of - . It 
 would be of no purpose were I to tell the name of the 
 town, or, indeed, of the regiment, as a bit of mystery is 
 always best when a story is half true. Naturally the
 
 252 A Week away from Time. 
 
 officers of this regiment were put into the most com 
 fortable quarters that the place afforded, and were scat 
 tered about in the outlying chateaux that nestled among 
 the low, wooded hills surrounding the town. A cap 
 tain and two lieutenants were sent to the Chateau 
 d Autancy (here I must give the name), and on the 
 morning before their arrival a polite note from the 
 colonel of the regiment announced their coming to 
 the family. This family was, alas ! very small now, for 
 the father and mother were dead, and the only brother 
 was shut up in Paris, wounded. So Claire, his sister, 
 and an elderly maiden aunt who had lived with them 
 since the death of the parents were alone at the 
 chateau. 
 
 As my story begins, the two ladies were sitting round 
 a pleasant wood-fire in the cheerless little salon, which 
 in the former and grander days had been used as an 
 insignificant morning-room, but now, in the dwindled 
 state of the family, served as sitting-room and music- 
 room, morning and evening room, all in one. The 
 large envelope, sealed with portentous red wax, was 
 brought in by the old butler, who peered at it with 
 the greatest curiosity. Claire d Autancy, to whom it 
 was addressed, opened it with some trepidation, and 
 then turned to her aunt, her cheeks scarlet with 
 indignation.
 
 In War- Time. 253 
 
 "Sec what shame is put upon us," she cried, "by 
 those dogs of Prussians ! " 
 
 " Give it to me, my dear," said Mademoiselle de 
 Varenne ; and putting on her glasses she read that the 
 high and well-born Otto von Barheim, captain of the 
 th Uhlans, and the high and well-born lieutenants 
 von Aarburg and von Sonnstein, with servants and 
 horses, would be quartered at the Chateau d Autancy, 
 from the coming morrow until further orders from the 
 General of Division. 
 
 " Well, dear child, we must submit ; and I only hope 
 that the manners of these barbarians will not be too 
 shocking. We must never see them if we can help it, 
 you especially, Claire." And she drew herself up as 
 stiffly as her embonpoint would permit, and tried to 
 look stern, which was impossible. 
 
 " But, Tante, I don t see how we can avoid meeting 
 them," said poor Claire. " I hate them, these Prus 
 sians ; but we must eat, and really Babette cannot 
 cook as if for a hotel. We must all dine together, I 
 suppose, bad as it will be. We need not converse, 
 you know. But how horrible, how humiliating it all 
 is!" 
 
 " Ah, child, it is the fortune of war ! We must be 
 polite, but patriotic. It may happen that we can be 
 of the greatest service to our dear country."
 
 254 -A Week away from Time. 
 
 " How do you mean, Tante ? Shall we poison these 
 creatures?" 
 
 " Do not jest, my Claire. Wait only, and we shall 
 see, we shall see. I will now give my mind to it, 
 and come to some conclusion." 
 
 Aunt Arte"mise s conclusions were generally arrived 
 at by the aid of, and in company with, innumerable 
 works of fiction, the perusal of which was her daily occu 
 pation and delight. The elder Dumas furnished her 
 with history, romance, and adventure. She was apt to 
 return to him after excursions in more modern and 
 realistic fields, saying, "Get me a volume of my favorite, 
 Claire ; I get amusement from him, and can believe his 
 facts or not, as I choose. I don t have to think too 
 much about it, which is a comfort ; and I am not 
 shocked, which is a gain." 
 
 Her habit was to have her morning cup of chocolate 
 in bed, her novel in hand ; not to hurry after that, but 
 manage to be dressed and take a stroll in the garden 
 before the twelve o clock dejeuner. And, if the truth 
 were told, she was very apt to put on a loose gown and 
 recline on the broad couch in her chamber, to read in 
 quiet, as she said ; and she would not usually be seen 
 again until sunset in summer, or twilight in winter, when 
 she would walk on the terrace in her gray satin dinner- 
 dress, to get an appetite for that late meal. She did
 
 In War-Time. 255 
 
 not care to drive : why should she, she asked. She 
 knew all the roads, and Heaven knew that the country 
 was not amusing. So Claire had a lonely life of it, 
 especially now, in war-time, when the chateaux in the 
 neighborhood were nearly all shut up and deserted. 
 
 The next morning there was a great clattering in the 
 courtyard which enclosed the farm-buildings and sta 
 bles. There were many empty stalls, alas ! as the for 
 tunes of the family were not as flourishing as in the old 
 time, and Gaston had taken two horses with him to the 
 war. Claire had to make a bargain between her patri 
 otism and her curiosity, in order to allow herself to look 
 from a shaded window to see what manner of brutes 
 these were that had come to take possession. Of the 
 three men, gentlemen, as she reluctantly confessed to 
 her patriotism, the oldest looked about thirty, and 
 brown with war and weather. The other two seemed 
 quite young, one a mere boy, with open blue eyes and a 
 very incipient moustache. She could not help thinking 
 of his mother and sister in far-off Germany, and their 
 anxiety for this lad. "Well, they never should have 
 come," her patriotism answered her. As soon as the 
 luggage not much to speak of had arrived and been 
 put in the rooms assigned to the invaders, they all clat 
 tered off again to headquarters, and Claire and Tante 
 were left to their breakfast, with no interruption. But
 
 256 A Week away from Time. 
 
 before dinner they returned, and when that repast was 
 served the two ladies had to meet their conquerors. 
 This was done in silence, and with great dignity and 
 ceremony, the ladies making slight and cold obeisance, 
 courtesying with averted face, and the officers bringing 
 their heels together simultaneously with a loud click, 
 and bowing at the same moment, like figures on a 
 hand-organ. It was not a gay dinner. Old Antoine 
 looked as if he wished that each morsel might choke 
 the Germans, as indeed he did. There were a few con 
 strained remarks by Von Barheim, the older officer, in 
 grammatical French and a bad accent, and as many 
 monosyllabic replies from Tante Artemise. Claire 
 scarcely raised her long lashes, and wished that she 
 had not so good an appetite ; but she could not really 
 scorn the food partaken of by such distasteful guests, 
 for she was a healthy girl of nineteen, living a life in 
 the open air, and, in truth, she had to cat. After 
 dinner more courtesies, more clicking of heels, and 
 all intercourse was over for that day. 
 
 " Well, dear child, it was not so impossibly bad after 
 all," said Tante, as they sipped their coffee in the little 
 salon. 
 
 " I think it was bad," cried Claire, " and the stiff 
 ness and silence were horrible ; I know that youngest 
 one thought so, for I caught him giggling to himself,
 
 In War-Time. 257 
 
 and the Captain looked at him sternly, quite sternly ; 
 but I am sure I felt like laughing myself, just because 
 I wanted to cry. How long will this last? " 
 
 " Claire, I have thought of something as I was read 
 ing the Three Guardsmen to-day. We must intercept 
 their letters." 
 
 " Must do what, Tante ? " 
 
 Aunt Artemise glowed all over with satisfaction, and 
 her silver-gray barrel curls quite trembled as she 
 disclosed her plan. What more natural than that 
 Antoine should say to the Captain that all letters 
 could be put on the old oak chest in the gallery, 
 the chest just outside the door of the apartment given 
 to the Prussians? Then at night, after all was quiet, 
 Claire and she would obtain possession of their dan 
 gerous documents, for of course they would be 
 dangerous. 
 
 " We must not leave it for servants to do, my dearest ; 
 they must all be able to be innocent when questioned. 
 No, to us must belong the glory, but also the danger. 
 If, on reading these letters, we find mischief, we will 
 manage to send them to Paris somehow, perhaps by 
 balloon ; but at any rate we can prevent their reaching 
 their destination." And the worthy lady leaned back 
 in her chair, exhausted by her noble enthusiasm. 
 
 " Oh, dear Tante, what a delightful plan ! " said 
 17
 
 258 A Week aivay from Time. 
 
 Claire, her eyes sparkling. " We will manage it, 
 never fear. Can t \ve begin this very night?" 
 
 So Antoine was told to say his message to Captain 
 von Barheim, which he did, in innocence of any dark 
 treason. I must explain a bit the situation of this 
 " gallery library " and its connection with the rest of the 
 house. It was a long, narrow room, running at the back 
 of the old state apartments, which were in the story 
 above the hall, dining-room, and so forth, and were never 
 used now. It connected the two wings of the chateau, 
 and was a sort of nondescript place, delightful in its 
 way. On one side of it were shelves reaching almost to 
 the ceiling, full of books, manuscripts, and pamphlets, 
 which had been tucked into corners as the years went 
 on. On the other side were windows old mtillioned 
 windows with deep seats whence one could look 
 out over the peaceful country, with carefully kept 
 orchards and cultivated fields, with woods on the lew 
 hill-tops, and the spires of the little town two miles or 
 so away. One of the windows opened on to a small 
 porch, and steps with a quaint balustrade of old iron 
 led into the courtyard below. So it was called the gal 
 lery library, and Claire had passed many pleasant hours 
 there, from the time when her little feet first pattered 
 and stumbled over its floor, paved with small red 
 bricks.
 
 In War-Time. 259 
 
 I will not give you an exact account of how they ob 
 tained possession of the first letters left on the old oak 
 chest near the door of the gallery leading into the 
 " Prussian apartment," as it was now to be called. Suf 
 fice it to say that at the dark time before dawn the two 
 were in Tante Artemise s chamber, eagerly bending over 
 their booty, before them on the table. There was only 
 one letter, addressed in a bold handwriting to " Baron 
 von Altenstein, Frankfurt am Main." "That is just 
 our affair," said Tante in a loud stage whisper. 
 
 Claire felt strangely averse to breaking the seal, con 
 sidering that it was an heroic act ; but conquering her 
 hesitation she tore open the envelope. As she did it, 
 she said, 
 
 " But, Tante, we can t read that horrid German hand 
 writing ; why were we so stupid as not to think of that ? 
 But stay, we are in luck ; it is in French ! " 
 
 And in French it was ; the writer beginning his epis 
 tle by saying that as all officers were enjoined to learn 
 and diligently practise the French tongue, he found 
 it best to write his letters in that language, it being 
 pleasanter than any other kind of exercise. There 
 was lamentably little of political importance, nothing, 
 indeed. It was a simple, friendly letter, saying that he 
 had the good fortune to be quartered in a charming old 
 chateau. " For the sake of the inmates/ it went on to
 
 260 A Week away from Time. 
 
 say, " I hope our stay here may be short. It cannot be 
 pleasant for them, though I shall do my best to make 
 it peaceful, keeping the servants to quiet ways and early 
 hours, and the two youngsters busy with carrying unim 
 portant despatches to the colonel in the town. How 
 is the fair Hildegarde ? Are her eyes as blue and as 
 serious as ever? By the way, did you ever happen to 
 see blue eyes with black hair? It is rather an attrac 
 tive combination ; " and with a little more the letter 
 ended. 
 
 They looked rather blankly at each other. " Better 
 luck next time, dear child." 
 
 " Perhaps so, Tante ; " and the young girl tore the 
 paper into small pieces, and threw them angrily into 
 the fire. " Good-night," she said, and went to her 
 room. 
 
 Claire passed a feverish and unrefreshing night, and 
 when she got up in the morning she felt nervous and 
 unsatisfied. She wandered out into the garden quite 
 early, and betook herself to a little pavilion which was 
 at the end of a long straight path bordered on either 
 side with high box hedges. This little summer-house 
 was a favorite resort of Claire s. It had no special 
 beauty of situation, and one only saw from it the smil 
 ing cultivated valley, the long quiet slopes of which 
 always seemed to possess a certain essence of after-
 
 In War- Time. 261 
 
 noon ; but she liked it, and I think it soothed her 
 somewhat impatient and untried spirit, this mellow 
 aspect of field and sky. She liked to think that per 
 haps far over the faint blue line of the low hills, away 
 there near the sky, her fate might be waiting for her, 
 and that if she might only reach their summit and look 
 beyond, she would see a fair new life lying there before 
 her. As she sat dreaming, she heard a foot on the 
 gravel-path, a booted and spurred foot, and she 
 shrank back into her retreat. Captain von Barheim 
 strode leisurely past her, went to the edge of the ter 
 raced garden, and stood looking out over the valley, so 
 that she could see his face. It was a manly, honest 
 face, as she was forced to acknowledge to herself, and 
 a sad one, as he gazed out into the distance, evidently 
 seeing not this French land, but a far different country, 
 over hill and dale and river. 
 
 " Perhaps he is thinking of that Hildegarde he writes 
 of," she said to herself, and then colored angrily that 
 she should remember that there was a Hildegarde. 
 She wished much to get away unperceived, and moved 
 a little ; but he heard her and turned. She must have 
 made a very pretty picture as she sat there within the 
 low doorway, framed in vine-leaves yellow with au 
 tumn. I fancy he thought so, for he started, and went 
 toward her.
 
 262 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mademoiselle." 
 
 " Good-morning," she said, and rose to go. 
 
 "Stay one moment, Mademoiselle, and let me say 
 to you what I feel so deeply. It annoys me beyond 
 expression that I and my companions should be 
 obliged to trouble you with our presence. The intru 
 sion should not last another day, another hour, if I had 
 any power to put an end to it." 
 
 " You cannot dislike to be here as much as I dislike 
 to have you ! " cried poor Claire, forgetting her man 
 ners. " But after all, it might have been just the other 
 way. My brother might have been in Germany with 
 our army, quartered in one of your quiet homes ; it 
 only happened so ! " 
 
 " Yes, it only happened so," he said quietly, but bit 
 ing his long moustache to hide the smile that would 
 come. " And if your brother had been quartered in 
 one of our quiet homes, I hope that some fair Chate 
 laine would have shown him the courtesy which I have 
 had given me here. It is exile, after all, you know, 
 Mademoiselle, and not all a gay fanfaron of trumpets. 
 And we have our dead to think of as well as our ab 
 sent ones, comrades who will not return with us 
 when we go." 
 
 Somehow Claire had not taken that view of the 
 matter, and it suddenly struck her that his people at
 
 In Wa r- Time. 263 
 
 home must be anxious, that that Hildegarde was very 
 anxious perhaps, and she felt a pang of remorse and 
 pity. She looked at him with something of all this 
 in her eyes, so that he read the softened glance, and 
 said, 
 
 " Then you will be a little sorry for me, although 
 you hate me? " 
 
 "Yes ; " and making him a little gesture of farewell, 
 she turned and went quickly away up the garden 
 path. 
 
 Much to Aunt Arte"mise s discomfiture, Claire re 
 fused to have anything to do with looking for letters 
 that night, and indeed for many nights. When pressed, 
 she made excuses for not doing a patriot s duty, and 
 all things went on quietly. Indeed, the days would 
 have seemed rather empty and dull now, without the 
 coming and going of horses and men, and the little 
 element of uncertainty which lent variety to the hours. 
 The meetings at meals gradually lost a little of their 
 rigid and cold ceremony, and took on a more bearable 
 aspect. Tante s kind heart melted more than she at 
 all liked, at the uniformly polite and pleasant bearing 
 of those hated conquerors ; but she made spasmodic 
 efforts to be stem. 
 
 One day at dejeuner there were some very fine 
 pears on the table. Tante Artemise looked at them
 
 264 A Week away from Time. 
 
 and said to Antoine, "Where did those pears come 
 from? Our trees bear none so handsome." Antoine 
 hesitated, and Von Barheim answered for him. 
 
 " I saw them as I was taking a long ride this morn 
 ing, Mademoiselle, and ventured to bring a basketful 
 back with me, thinking that they might be sweet and 
 good. I hope you will find them so." 
 
 Tante Arte mise looked very indignant, and when 
 Antoine handed the fruit to her, said, " Merci, no ! 
 Our poor peasants cannot defend their orchards, it 
 seems ! " 
 
 Von Barheim colored angrily, and cried, " I can as 
 sure you, Mademoiselle de Varennes, that they were 
 well paid for ! " And then he added more gently, 
 " The poor - old woman seemed very glad to sell 
 them." 
 
 There was a pause. Artemise looked very uncom 
 fortable, but evidently thought it impossible to apolo 
 gize to an enemy, and the young lieutenants stared at 
 the patterns on their plates, lest their eyes should 
 meet, and they be betrayed into unseemly mirth. 
 Then Claire s voice was heard, low but very dis 
 tinct, 
 
 " Antoine, give me the pears, if you please ; " and 
 taking one, she tasted it, and said to Von Barheim, " It 
 is delicious, Monsieur."
 
 In Wa r- Time, 265 
 
 He thanked her with a smile full of gratitude, and 
 harmony was restored. 
 
 One afternoon Tante Arte mise went to the gallery 
 library to get the third volume of " Ange Pitou," when, 
 looking casually towards the oak chest where the let 
 ters were put, she saw one, which she incontinently 
 seized and brought in triumph away. 
 
 When Claire came upstairs to dress for dinner, she 
 called her into the little boudoir between their two 
 chambers and begged her to open it, as it was ad 
 dressed to Captain von Barheim. Claire looked any 
 thing but eager, but at last took it and opened it, and 
 after one glance cried pettishly, "There, Tante, you 
 see how useless and silly all this is ! It is in German 
 handwriting, and would do us no good if it contained 
 the whole plan of a campaign ! " 
 
 " Well, well, dear, at least we can burn it, so that it 
 shall do the enemy no good ; " and taking it from 
 Claire, she put it in the fire. 
 
 " Tante," pleaded poor Claire, " I really don t see 
 that we are doing our country any sendee, and I can 
 not but think that we are wrong." 
 
 " Wrong, you child without a patriot soul ! " an 
 swered Arte mise, ruffling with disdain. " Do you not 
 know that many of the greatest acts in history have 
 been accomplished by the aid of intercepted letters?
 
 266 A Week away from Time. 
 
 Let me see," and she began to search her memory 
 for instances in the pages of her dear Dumas. 
 
 " No matter," interrupted Claire, a little frightened 
 at the thought of the mass of evidence about to be 
 brought against her ; " perhaps it is all right, but I 
 don t like to do it." 
 
 " The highest duties are sometimes the most pain 
 ful/ asserted Tante, still in her severest tone ; " and this 
 very night I wish you to join me in trying to find this 
 dangerous correspondence which is going on under 
 our very roof, for of course it must be going on, 
 and I shall consider you as wanting in all the spirit of 
 your ancestors if you fail me now ! " 
 
 " Not to-night, dear Tante, but to-morrow night," 
 said Claire, feeling a very traitor to the spirit of her 
 ancestors ; and there the matter rested. 
 
 At dinner she scarcely dared to look at poor Von 
 Barheim, feeling quite bewildered and unhappy. He, 
 on the other hand, was more than usually agreeable, 
 making his best effort to talk of things with no bearing 
 on wars or rumors of wars. When she went to her 
 chamber, she sat for a long time brushing her hair and 
 dreamily looking at herself in the glass. At last she 
 leaned her chin upon her two hands and examined 
 with some interest the color of her eyes. " Yes, they 
 certainly are quite, quite blue, and my hair is black.
 
 In Wa r- Time. 267 
 
 So that is an attractive combination, is it? " Then she 
 was angry, and said " Nonsense ! " to herself in the 
 glass, and went to bed. 
 
 The next morning Claire went off for a long walk, 
 and was on her way back, thinking that she might be 
 a little late for the dejeuner, when in a hedged lane 
 outside of her own domain she met a rough-looking 
 fellow in a tattered blouse, who stopped, as if to let her 
 pass ; she looked up, supposing him to be some one 
 of the peasants who knew her, and had her customary 
 pleasant greeting on her lips, when she saw that, he 
 was a stranger. He said he was hungry and wanted 
 some money to buy a dinner. 
 
 " I have no money, my good man, but come to the 
 chateau and they shall give you a good bowl of soup," 
 she answered, not frightened ; for although he had an 
 insolent manner, yet he was a Frenchman, and proba 
 bly lived not very far from her neighborhood. 
 
 " None of your soup for me, my pretty demoiselle ; 
 I want something stronger. Here, give me those ear 
 rings out of your dainty ears, and I will go ; but if not, 
 I shall take them, and a kiss into the bargain," and he 
 laughed coarsely. 
 
 Claire was thoroughly alarmed now, but she could 
 not bear the thought of giving up her little pearl ear 
 rings, which had been her mother s ; she looked up
 
 268 A Week away from Time. 
 
 and do\vn the lane, but all was empty and silent, and 
 she was just taking the trinkets from her ears with 
 trembling fingers, when she heard the sound of a 
 horse s hoofs, and turning again saw through the vista 
 made by the overarching branches of the high thorn- 
 bushes a horseman coming quickly. She waved her 
 hand and ran a few steps toward him, and before she 
 was quite conscious of what happened, the peasant had 
 disappeared through a hole in the hedge, and Von Bar- 
 heim was at her side, and off his horse in a moment. 
 
 "What is it? Are you hurt?" and he looked pale 
 and agitated. 
 
 " No, no, but the fellow was very rude, and if you 
 had not come, I should have had to give up my 
 earrings ; " and she held out one in her hand as she 
 spoke. 
 
 "Where did he go?" And he was on his horse 
 again. 
 
 " Oh, pray don t ! There may be more of them ! " 
 and she trembled and looked so frightened that he 
 dismounted and gave up all idea of chasing the crimi 
 nal. They walked slowly side by side, his well-trained 
 horse following just behind. 
 
 " You should never walk alone outside of your own 
 grounds," he said quite sternly. " Don t you know 
 that it cannot be safe in a time like this?"
 
 In War-Time. 269 
 
 But I have always done it, and forgot that it would 
 be different now. All the people in the country round 
 know me, and are respectful and kind." 
 
 "This, then, was one of our camp stragglers? It 
 shall be looked into, and I think we shall catch the 
 fellow before night." 
 
 "No, no ! Indeed in fact It was not a Ger 
 man," she stammered at last, with such a pitiful glance 
 at having to make the confession, that he laughed ; 
 and then she laughed, and they strolled amicably back 
 to the chateau, talking of other things. When they 
 reached the little gate that opened into the park, he 
 said, 
 
 " Now promise me, Mademoiselle, that you will not 
 walk beyond your own limits, unless, indeed, you allow 
 me to accompany you," he added smiling. 
 
 " But that could not be, you know," answered Claire 
 seriously ; and he was silent. They separated on the 
 terrace. She held out her hand quietly, and said, 
 "Thank you," and he bowed his head gravely over 
 it, saying, 
 
 " It was nothing, Mademoiselle." 
 
 I need not say how mean and guilty Claire felt, 
 when Tante reminded her that evening that she had 
 promised to go letter-hunting in the night. But there 
 was nothing left to her but to keep her word, and
 
 2 70 A Week away from Time. 
 
 indeed she feared that if she refused again, Arte mise 
 would begin to suspect something of the strange tumult 
 in her young heart and brain. She sat by the smoul 
 dering embers of the fire in her chamber, in her long 
 white loose gown, until after midnight, when she 
 went and knocked at Tante s door and said she was 
 ready. 
 
 "How white you look ! " said that worthy conspirator. 
 
 It certainly could not be said of her, for she was 
 clad in a strange garment of crimson woollen stuff, 
 falling full from a yoke, which made her look like a 
 very old baby, that resemblance being heightened by 
 a very be-ruffled lace cap, with lappets. They pro 
 ceeded with great caution to the door which opened 
 from their part of the house into the gallery library, 
 and went in. A lantern on a post in the courtyard 
 was always kept lighted at night, and shone dimly 
 through the deep windows, making it quite possible 
 to find one s way, and even to discern objects. As 
 they walked on tiptoe toward the farther end of the 
 long room Arte mise whispered anxiously, 
 
 " Child of my soul, thou hast on thy mules, and they 
 click loudly on the pavement ; take them off, or thou 
 losest us ! " 
 
 Claire stooped, took off the offending slippers, and 
 holding them in one hand went swiftly on to the oak
 
 In War-Time. 271 
 
 chest ; there she saw a white envelope, clutched it, and 
 turned to go back. Tante trotted nimbly on before 
 her, and they had already accomplished three quarters 
 of their way, when an ominous noise was heard, a 
 sound from the other side of the Prussian door ; the 
 handle grated as it was turned. Their retreat now 
 became a rout. Tante, though stout, could be quite 
 agile when occasion demanded, and being considera 
 bly in advance of Claire, reached their door in safety. 
 Claire made desperate haste, and when she neared 
 the threshold, gave a leap into the passage beyond, 
 dropping one shoe in her effort, but holding fast the 
 letter. 
 
 Von Barheim had sat in his room rather later than 
 usual, first writing, and then by the fire, musing on 
 many things. He was roused from his thoughts by a 
 slight sound in the gallery, which was only separated 
 from his chamber by a small anteroom, the door of 
 which was open. Yes, there was certainly something 
 or somebody moving out there with a little click-clack 
 on the brick floor. Then it stopped, and he thought 
 it must have been a mouse, when again, nearer the 
 door, he distinguished a soft rustle and motion. He 
 remembered the window opening to the courtyard, and 
 bethinking himself that the country was infested by 
 tramps, as always in war-time, he went quietly to the
 
 272 A }} 7 cck away from Time. 
 
 table where he had laid his sword, and then crossed 
 the anteroom and opened the door. What did he 
 see ? No tramp with burglarious intent, but at the end 
 of the gallery a white and youthful figure, the light full 
 upon it from the window near, rushing out at the door, 
 with great floating of garments. He stood for a mo 
 ment undecided, then going back for a candle, walked 
 to the end of the long room. What was that on the 
 floor? He picked it up, and turned it round and 
 round in his hand as if it were some curious toy. It 
 was a very small blue silk mule, a perfectly French 
 shoe, with a high heel, but cut away from the sides 
 and back of the foot ; in fact, like the watch-pockets 
 sold at fairs to hang up at the side of one s bed. Silly 
 shoes, perhaps, with only a toe and a sole and a heel, 
 but very pretty and comfortable withal to slip one s 
 feet into ; not meant, however, for such warlike advance 
 and retreat as the present. He went slowly back to his 
 room, still looking at the shoe with a curiously pleased 
 and tender light in his honest eyes. As he passed the 
 oak chest on which he had put a letter not an hour 
 before, he saw that there was no letter there. Had it 
 fallen to the floor? A careful search convinced him 
 that such was not the case. Then he looked at the 
 shoe again, and it suddenly flashed into his somewhat 
 slow Teutonic brain that they belonged to each other,
 
 In War- Time. 273 
 
 had some connection, this small slipper and his letter. 
 He went into his room, sat down again by his fire, and 
 fell to thinking anew, still holding the slipper in his 
 hand. 
 
 Meantime the two ladies had reached their apart 
 ment, and going into Tante Arte raise s chamber, sank 
 exhausted, Claire on a low chair by the fire, and 
 Tante at full length on her couch, panting, and as red 
 as her gown. 
 
 " My treasure, we are safe ! " she gasped. " What 
 an escape, what a coup de theatre ! Where is the letter 
 for which we have risked so much? I hope it will 
 repay our devotion to our dear country ! " 
 
 Claire did not seem to think that it would, as she 
 held up one foot in a pink silk stocking to the fire, 
 rather piteously. 
 
 " I have lost one of my mules" she said. " I think 
 I must have dropped it in the gallery." 
 
 " Ah, well, child, that is nothing, Marrette can find 
 it for you in the morning. Now for the letter ! " 
 
 Claire opened the envelope, which was addressed to 
 the same Von Altenstein as the former one. She did 
 it with the greatest inward repugnance, and, indeed, 
 read with so much hesitation that Tante reproached 
 her more than once for her want of spirit. It was 
 
 written in the most intimate tone, saying that the 
 18
 
 274 -A Week away from Time. 
 
 writer was beginning to get a little anxious at the non- 
 arrival of any word from his friend. 
 
 "We burned that one, I suppose, my dear," inter 
 rupted Tante Arte"mise. 
 
 " We are in daily and hourly expectation of orders 
 to move," it went on. 
 
 " Ah, Claire, now at last we shall find something of 
 importance ; " and she sat upright on her couch, stiff 
 with interest. " We shall unmask the enemy s move 
 ments. We shall be of the greatest service, and we 
 shall win renown." 
 
 "Wait, Tante," said Claire languidly. "I do not 
 think with you." 
 
 And indeed that was all of the matter that was 
 hinted at. Von Barheim wrote in rather a sad mood, 
 saying that he felt restless and unsatisfied : 
 
 " Ah, my Carl, how terrible a thing is war ! How the 
 nations sit and watch each other, greedy to snatch a bit 
 of territory, and jealous to defend some fancied right ! 
 This horrible feeling of national hatred may so often have 
 broken apart two lives which might have grown together 
 and been happy. I fear I am losing something of my 
 manly impulse, for I find myself wondering in this peace 
 ful chateau peaceful except that I disturb its quiet 
 whether this national glory of Vaterland be worth all the 
 suffering it brings, and whether a nation could not be 
 more glorious by peace than by war ! But you will laugh
 
 In War-Time. 275 
 
 at me, my Carl, and perhaps you would be right ; still, it 
 relieves me of my dull mood to put a little of its weight 
 upon your heart. Good-by, trusty friend and comrade. 
 God grant that we meet before long ! 
 
 " MAX VON BARHEIM." 
 
 As Claire read on to the end, she forgot Tante, she 
 forgot all but the words before her. She read slowly 
 and thoughtfully, more as if she were listening than 
 speaking. When she finished, she looked up with a 
 start, as if coming back to the situation. Then she 
 cried, 
 
 " Tante, this is the last time I will do this thing ! 
 I hate it ! Remember, I will never do it again ! " and 
 the tears rushed to her eyes. 
 
 " Softly, softly, child ; we will see. To be sure, I 
 am rather disappointed not to have found anything of 
 consequence. I did not quite understand all that 
 about peace and war ; it seemed a strange letter for 
 a Prussian." 
 
 Claire made no answer, but put the letter quietly, 
 almost reverently, into the fire, and watched it smoke, 
 and burst into flame for a moment, and then settle 
 into a little gray, quivering ghost of itself, until it floated 
 up the chimney as if to seek its own way to its far-off 
 destination. Then she went to her own room without 
 a word and shut the door.
 
 276 A Week away from Time. 
 
 The next morning she did not go out as usual, but 
 sat by her window until she saw a figure she had 
 learned to know very well come from the other end of 
 the house and go down the garden walk. Somehow 
 it had become quite a usual accident that she should 
 meet him and talk a little by the summer-house. Now 
 she moved from the window, went quickly downstairs 
 and out through the garden, until she found him. He 
 was standing, as was his wont, looking out over the 
 fields. He had scarcely time to hear her step and 
 turn, she came so swiftly. 
 
 "Captain von Barheim," she began. He was so 
 happy that she should openly seek him, that at first he 
 noticed nothing ; but in a moment he saw how white 
 she was, how the dark shadows lay under her sweet, 
 tired eyes. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, what is it? What has troubled 
 you? Can I do anything for you? " 
 
 " You can do nothing but listen to me for a little," 
 she answered ; and folding her hands quite tightly, as 
 if afraid to lose hold of herself, she looked at him and 
 went on : "I wish to tell you that under the mistaken 
 idea that I was aiding my poor country, I have done you 
 a grievous wrong. I have taken your letters ; I have 
 destroyed them ; I have read them." Here the blood 
 rushed to her face, and left it again whiter than ever.
 
 In War- Time. 277 
 
 " I wish you to know it, Captain von Barheim, and I 
 wish to beg your pardon." And she bowed her head 
 like a culprit. 
 
 "Ah, you brave and generous girl ! " he cried, look 
 ing down at the pretty crisp hair, and the white eyelids 
 that hid her eyes from his gaze ; and taking her hand, 
 he kissed it with tender respect. She drew it away, 
 but without anger ; she only said, 
 
 " I am neither generous nor brave. It was a mean 
 and cowardly act ; " and again she looked at him, all 
 her impetuous spirit in her violet eyes. 
 
 "But how many far worse deeds are done in the 
 name of patriotism ! " said he. " And now you must 
 listen to me, for I also have a confession to make. 
 Last night I found a shoe, a very small and pretty 
 shoe. I thought it fair contraband of war, and meant 
 to say nothing of it, but keep it. Now, I want you to 
 tell me that I may have it. No, do not refuse until 
 you hear me ! " he went on quickly, for she shook her 
 head. " This morning we have orders to march, and 
 in an hour I shall be gone from this place, where I 
 could have been, where I have been, so happy, happy 
 in seeing you every day. You will let me take the 
 little shoe with me ; and some day perhaps, some day 
 when there is peace between our people, when the 
 bitterness has passed away, may I not come again to
 
 278 A Week away from Time. 
 
 you ? " and the big fellow s voice failed him, and he 
 was silent. 
 
 " Alas ! " she cried, raising her streaming eyes and 
 clasping her hands, " that day will never come ! " 
 
 He spoke no word, but took her hand again and 
 looked at her. 
 
 "Yes, you may keep it," she said. 
 
 He touched the top of her head with his lips, and 
 released her, and she went away weeping. He made 
 no attempt to follow her, but only stood and gazed 
 until she was gone into the house. 
 
 She went to the window where she had watched them 
 come, these hated enemies. She hid herself no more, 
 but sat there, very pale, watching the preparations for 
 departure. At last he and the two young men mounted 
 their horses in the courtyard and rode slowly out 
 through the gate. She bowed courteously to the young 
 lieutenants. Von Barheim came last, and never took 
 his eyes from her face as he went. When he turned 
 the corner of the road which would hide him from her 
 view, he stretched out one hand toward her, and she 
 answered with hers. Then the sound of horses hoofs 
 grew faint in the distance, and all was silent. The 
 old life had come back, but never to be the same 
 again. 
 
 Claire went to the garden terrace and sat down on
 
 In War-Time. 279 
 
 the low wall, looking out to those distant blue hills. Did 
 their mystery hold any boon for her ? 
 
 At dejeuner, Tante Artemise said, 
 
 " Well, child of my heart, they have gone, as you 
 know. They really made but little trouble, and the 
 Captain left the politest of notes for me, thanking 
 me in all their names for the courtesy shown to them 
 here. Really, it is almost a pity that young man is a 
 Prussian ! " 
 
 And Claire said nothing. 
 
 " Do you suppose they ever met again? " said 
 Muriel, a little wistfully. 
 
 " No, I don t think they ever did," said Bell. 
 
 "Why not, with the world so small, and the 
 war over ? " 
 
 " Because, as a rule, people dorit meet again. 
 The world may be small, but it is wide enough 
 for episodes and unfinished romances. Now, 
 I should n t at all wonder if the French girl s 
 brother came back after the siege of Paris and 
 brought some brother officer with him, of a 
 neighboring family, perhaps a good parti, and 
 all that. Then naturally a match would have
 
 280 A Week away from Time. 
 
 been arranged in French fashion, and there ! 
 The matter is finished ! " 
 
 " But for all that they may have met again," 
 ventured Ralph. 
 
 " Yes, they may have," said Bell, " but let us 
 hope, in that case, that they did not. Don t 
 make a tragedy out of the little interlude ! " 
 
 " As we can all have our conjectures," per 
 sisted Muriel, " I shall cling to mine. And I 
 think, as a rule, that people do meet again ! "
 
 Say, what abridgement have you for this evening ? 
 What mask ? what music ? How shall we beguile 
 The lazy time, if not with some delight ? 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT S DREAM. 
 
 / am never merry when I hear sweet music. 
 
 . THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
 
 EVENING OF FIFTH DAY. 
 
 "IT S an off-night to-night, is it not?" said 
 Ralph, " a relache. I wonder if the rest of you 
 who have spoken your pieces feel as relieved 
 as I do ! Just as I used to feel at school, on 
 Exhibition days, when the fathers and mothers 
 all came, and we had to get up one by one and 
 recite something, or be examined in history or 
 spelling. When my turn had come and gone, 
 and I was not positively disgraced in the eyes 
 of the world, and it was the next boy s turn, 
 oh, how good the apple tasted which I bit 
 surreptitiously under cover of my desk ! I 
 believe you are the next boy, Margaret, aren t 
 you, for to-morrow evening? But how comes 
 it that you two are let off so easily, Mrs. 
 Chauncey and Mr. Professor?" 
 
 "I am not so sure the Professor is let off," 
 said Margaret. " I dare say he will have a 
 Sunday story to tell us. We shall see."
 
 284 A Week away from Time. 
 
 "As for me," said Mrs. Chauncey, "you 
 know I never meant especially to be here at 
 all, so of course I brought no story. I have 
 had a hundred dancing in my head in these 
 last days, but none has written itself down. Be 
 sides, there are not enough days in the week." 
 
 " Alas ! " and "Alas ! " was echoed round the 
 room. 
 
 " For myself," said Charlie Wyatt, " I have 
 not the least idea what day it is, nor what any 
 of the days have been, except that they have 
 been happy and golden, and that they will never 
 be again ! " 
 
 " What are we who have passed our examina 
 tions supposed to have instead of the surrepti 
 tious apple?" asked Bowdoin. "What are our 
 prizes? " 
 
 " Suppose we give ourselves up to unlimited 
 music to-night," suggested Ralph. " I can 
 think of no better reward of merit. And, Mar 
 garet, your hoarseness seems to have quite 
 disappeared ; suppose you begin ! Play to us 
 first, and make us happy, and then you can sing 
 and make us wretched if you choose."
 
 A Week away from Time. 285 
 
 Margaret went to the piano and played for 
 half an hour, Chopin, Schumann, Rubinstein. 
 Her voice was a rich contralto, made of music 
 in every tone, and she sang with a fine dramatic 
 spirit. After a moment of searching in her 
 memory she sang: 
 
 " Oh, think not to win her, 
 
 Luckless besieger ! 
 High on her battlements 
 Sitteth she ever. 
 
 " Dead in the moat beneath 
 
 Lie all thine arrows; 
 They scarcely have frightened 
 The two small sparrows 
 
 " That build neath the window, 
 
 Whence listless, secure, 
 She watcheth thine essay 
 Hour by hour. 
 
 " But know that another 
 Will come from afar, 
 At the blast of whose trumpet 
 Her castle s strong bar
 
 286 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " Shall fly from its socket, 
 
 And drawbridge clang down, 
 As quick from her turret 
 She hastens alone 
 
 " To hold but his stirrup, 
 
 To kiss but his sword, 
 To call him her master, 
 Her lover, her lord." 
 
 "Where did you get those words, Margaret? 
 I never heard them before," said her sister. 
 
 " They were written by a friend of mine, and 
 I set them to such music as you have heard." 
 She ran over the keys for a little while, and 
 sang again : 
 
 " It was on this coast the ship went down, 
 
 Here in the sight of land, 
 God s sky above, and the angels there 
 Stretched never a helping hand. 
 
 " It was on this beacon rock she struck, 
 
 When the long rough voyage was past ; 
 The harbor light burned clear and bright, 
 And home was reached at last.
 
 A Week away from Time. 287 
 
 "In the deep blue sea of thy tempting eyes, 
 
 Close to thy heart of stone, 
 A soul was lost from Paradise, 
 And a freighted life went down." 
 
 " I did not mean to sing anything sad to 
 night," said Margaret, " but I am afraid none of 
 my songs are very gay. I see you have brought 
 some music from the yacht, Mr. Wyatt. Do 
 sing this one, won t you? " She held out a song 
 in manuscript to Wyatt, who took the seat she 
 had left, and sang : 
 
 " The long gray island fades into the night, 
 
 The misty sails glide out beyond the bar; 
 Trustful and grateful to the constant light 
 
 Flashed from the lighthouse tower so high and far 
 
 " I, on the verge of this far vaster sea, 
 
 Put out alone beneath these starless skies, 
 But turning, kneel and bless you ; changeless still 
 The light that never dims within your constant eyes." 
 
 As Wyatt finished, Erin, who had been lying 
 quietly on the rug by the fire, suddenly began 
 to howl so long and mournfully that he was 
 very depressing, and it required a good deal of
 
 288 A Week away from Time. 
 
 soothing on his mistress s part before he could 
 be restored to his usual cheerfulness. 
 
 " And quite right he is," exclaimed Mr. 
 Bowdoin, who had been out of the room for 
 some time. " I never could understand why a 
 pleasant evening should be turned into a vale 
 of tears. I knew how it would be when Mar 
 garet began to sing, although at first she drew 
 it mild. So while you have been amusing your 
 selves with being miserable, I have been pre 
 paring for you a salad, the like of which you 
 never imagined. Come into the dining-room 
 and cheer up ! "
 
 Let us go hence, my songs, she will not hear, 
 Let us go hence together without fear ; 
 Keep silence now, for singing time is over, 
 And over all old things, and all things dear; 
 She loves not you nor me as all we love her, 
 Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear, 
 She would not hear. 
 
 Let us rise up and part ; she will not know ; 
 
 Let us go sea-ward as the great winds go, 
 
 Full of blown sand and foam ; what help is here ? 
 
 There is no help, for all these things are so, 
 
 And all the world is bitter as a tear, 
 
 And how these things are, though we strove to show, 
 
 She would not know. 
 
 SWINBURNE. 
 
 " Et in Arcadia Ego"
 
 SIXTH DAY. 
 
 " IT is indeed a house divided against itself, 
 to-day," said Mrs. Temple, as they were assem 
 bled around the breakfast-table. " Let me see if 
 I have understood the programme. You have 
 petitioned for the hammock and your book, 
 Bell, and Mrs. Chauncey is coming over to help 
 you to be idle ; Tom is determined to leave no 
 bluefish uncaught in the bay; four of us are 
 to ride to the Barnstable Great Marshes ; and 
 Mr. Wyatt what shall I say of him and his 
 defection? I could not have believed it of 
 you," she said, turning to him. 
 
 Antinous looked sore distressed. " Indeed, 
 indeed," he stammered, " I never would have 
 done so stupid a thing. I would get off now if 
 I could. But I promised to sail in this regatta 
 long ago, before I knew, before I and my 
 yacht is entered, and we must go in, unless I 
 maim her or myself somehow, which I have a
 
 292 A Week away from Time. 
 
 great mind to do. There never was such hard 
 luck." 
 
 " Where is the regatta? " asked Muriel. 
 
 " The start is somewhere just outside of Mat- 
 tapoisett Bay; I don t quite know the limits of 
 the race. I have n t taken much interest in it 
 lately. My skipper knows all about it. He 
 thinks the Hope is sure to win." 
 
 Muriel was standing in the porch, and the 
 two walked slowly down the garden path. 
 
 " Perhaps she will win if you will wear her 
 colors," he said, and stooped to pick a blue 
 corn-flower, which the girl put in her white 
 dress. 
 
 " I hope you will win the race, with all my 
 heart," she said simply. 
 
 " I must go now," said Wyatt. " Will you let 
 me see you alone this afternoon, Miss Carr- 
 Wynstede? Before the sun goes down, not only 
 the fate of the Hope must be settled, but my 
 own." And ere she could speak, he was gone. 
 
 It was a very long ride to those wonderful 
 Great Marshes and back, and Mrs. Temple was
 
 A Week away from Time. 293 
 
 surprised when Muriel told her, on their return, 
 that she had promised Mr. Wyatt to walk to 
 the headlands with him to see the sunset. Mar 
 garet was going to remonstrate; but the girl 
 took her hands and kissed her on the forehead, 
 and said, 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Temple, I have promised. Will 
 you trust me that I am meaning to do right, 
 and let me go? " 
 
 " My child, I trust you wholly ; go," Mar 
 garet said. 
 
 There is a picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds of 
 a smiling landscape, and in the background a 
 tomb, with the inscription, 
 
 Ex IN ARCADIA EGO. 
 
 Death even in Arcadia ! And sorrow there, 
 and disappointed hopes, and broken hearts. 
 For Pan is dead, and the happy, careless Fauns 
 and Dryads are gone, and mortals have dared 
 to enter in, taking their burdens with them, 
 which even there cannot be laid down, even 
 in Arcadia !
 
 " I hear a voice you cannot hear." 
 
 . . . for they, at least, 
 
 Have dreamed that human hearts might blend 
 In one, and were through faith released 
 
 From isolation. 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD. 
 
 And love will last as pure and whole, 
 As when he loved her here in Time, 
 And at tJie spiritual prime, 
 
 Rewaken with the dawning soul. 
 
 TENNYSON, In Memoriam. 
 
 Oh days and hours, your work is this : 
 To hold me from my proper place 
 A little while from his embrace 
 
 For fuller gain of after bliss. 
 
 IBID.
 
 EVENING OF SIXTH DAY. 
 
 " MURIEL tells me that we shall not see Mr. 
 Wyatt again," said Margaret that evening. 
 " He was obliged to leave very suddenly, and 
 had to catch a favorable wind. He sent many 
 farewell messages, and wanted us to know that 
 the Hope had lost the race." 
 
 There were all sorts of exclamations of regret 
 and surprise, and Mrs. Temple trusted devoutly 
 that Muriel s pale face and trembling fingers 
 passed unnoticed, as she sat at the farther end 
 of the room, her head bent over her embroi 
 dery. To prevent troubling questions, Margaret 
 said, " And now, if you are ready, I will tell you 
 my story. I shall call it 
 
 THE VOICE. 
 
 MOST of you knew Eleanor Gray, so I need not ask 
 if you remember her. She was a creature not to be 
 forgotten. And you know too that she was my most
 
 296 A Week away from Time. 
 
 dear and intimate friend ; yet it was but a short time 
 before her death that she told me the secret of her 
 life. There was always about her, even to me, and in 
 spite of our real intimacy, a vague sense of some 
 thing mysterious ; of unsounded depths, of a life lived 
 apart, into which I did not enter, to which I held 
 no key. One day, here at Fair Harbor, sitting with 
 me on the very headland from which Muriel saw the 
 sun go down this afternoon, she told me her story. 
 While she lived, it was sacred ; but I can tell it now 
 without disloyalty, and I will. I do not ask for your 
 belief or disbelief. I can give it to you very nearly 
 in her own words, for I wrote it down almost imme 
 diately after hearing it from her lips, I was so anxious 
 to remember it exactly ; and I read it over last night 
 to refresh my memory. 
 
 It will explain much that seemed singular in Elea 
 nor s character and life ; and if you wonder at the 
 facts I shall relate, at least you will acknowledge their 
 consistency with what you knew of her. When I 
 went to Europe years ago, I left Eleanor Gray a lovely 
 young girl ; she was several years younger than I, 
 you know. I came home, to find her a beautiful 
 woman. I had always been very fond of her, but now 
 she attracted me wonderfully, and drew me to her with 
 a different and compelling charm, not alone on
 
 The Voice. 297 
 
 account of her great beauty, her grace, her exquisite 
 sweetness and womanliness, but from something, I 
 could not tell what, which put her quite apart from 
 other women, and inspired in me a sort of reverent 
 feeling. Tennyson s " In Memoriam " was constantly 
 in my mind when I looked at her, and her life seemed 
 to furnish a sort of context to that most spiritual of 
 love-poems. And yet I had not known of her having 
 had any heart-grief, and no one could tell me of her 
 having lost any near friend while I was away. There 
 were moments when she seemed not to be in this 
 world at all. " Her eyes were homes of silent prayer." 
 The dreamy, yearning look that came into them when 
 she sat quietly, her beautiful hands folded before her, 
 seemed to penetrate the mysteries of unseen places ; 
 and sometimes a strange, sudden look of rapture lighted 
 them, such as we may have seen on the faces of the 
 dying. 
 
 And yet Eleanor s life was by no means that of a 
 dreamer. We know how full of work it was, how full 
 of gracious employment, of loving help and sympathy 
 and comfort. She was the light and embellishment of 
 the brilliant assembly, as she was the angel of mercy in 
 the homes of the poor and suffering. Her time and her 
 self were at the service of any who needed them. The 
 world was brighter and better because she lived in it.
 
 298 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " For she had learned the creed of creeds, 
 The loveliness of perfect deeds." 
 
 She was never in what we call "high spirits," and 
 yet I think she was quite the happiest person I have 
 ever known. To be sure, it is only repeating myself to 
 say this, for have I not said that her life was lived for 
 others ? Her own beautiful nature had taught her the 
 secret which people go through life without learning ; 
 longing, struggling to find Happiness ; looking for it 
 in all the unlikeliest places, from mountain-tops of 
 success and renown ; wearily seeking the philosopher s 
 stone or the alchemist s elixir ; asking it of youth, of 
 pleasure, of gold. She only looked straight before her 
 and around her, and saw that 
 
 " all worldly joys go less 
 To the one joy of doing kindnesses." 
 
 To men she was irresistibly fascinating. They fell in 
 love with her in season and out of season, as if fore 
 ordained and predestinate thereto. They simply could 
 not help themselves, and never blamed her for it ; so 
 she kept them always as friends, after she had declined 
 them as lovers. 
 
 I was often made the confidante of these unlucky 
 loves ; and the only consolation I could offer was the 
 quite true, if insufficient one, that if she did not care
 
 The Voice. 299 
 
 for them, at least she cared for no one else. And 
 sometimes I went so far as to remonstrate with her 
 upon her indifference, when some one unusually at 
 tractive presented himself as a suitor only to be dis 
 missed like the rest. Then she would look very sorry 
 and very grave ; and once she put her hands in mine 
 and said, " Ah, my dearest Margaret, some day you 
 shall know ! " 
 
 Just before we came here together, at the time I 
 referred to, a friend of mine came to see me and told 
 me that he had asked Eleanor Gray to marry him, and 
 had been rejected. As he talked of her, his handsome 
 face full of emotion, he showed such manliness, such a 
 depth of devotion, such a passion of tenderness, that I 
 found myself wondering that any woman could say 
 him nay. 
 
 " I love her with my whole heart," he said ; " I shall 
 love her till I die. I am not worthy of her ; what 
 man is? I wonder I was ever so bold as to confess 
 my love to her. And yet, I am glad she knows it. 
 And for myself, I am very proud of it. Do you know," 
 he asked, " if she has ever cared for any one ? No ! 
 do not answer. I have no right to ask. But she told 
 me she should never marry, and I believe her. I be 
 lieve she has no heart to give. She seems to me like 
 a vestal virgin whose heart is vowed to Heaven, or
 
 300 A Week away from Time. 
 
 like a woman who has had one absorbing passion in 
 her life, of which the object is absent, perhaps what we 
 call dead, yet ever living, ever present, to her." 
 
 I had so often felt exactly like this about Eleanor, 
 that I started to find my thought echoed. 
 
 " I can never cease to care for her," he repeated, 
 " never fail to be her loyal friend and true knight ; and 
 such service and devotion as I may give her, will make 
 my life richer than would the love of any woman on 
 earth." 
 
 One does not find such chivalry every day, and this 
 man was a special friend and favorite of mine ; and 
 altogether I could not help feeling vexed with Eleanor, 
 though he would not let me say so. 
 
 A little while after this interview we two came to Fair 
 Harbor together. Eleanor was very fond of this region, 
 and we often came here, or somewhere in the neighbor 
 hood, for a week or so, in the spring or autumn. On 
 the afternoon of which I have spoken, a beautiful 
 afternoon in June, we had been sitting yonder at 
 the head of the bay, watching the ships go by in the 
 glow of the sunset ; neither of us had spoken for some 
 time, when I said by a sudden impulsion, 
 
 " Eleanor, Hugh Endicott told me that he had met 
 with the common fate. Forgive me, dear, but if you 
 only could have cared for him ! He is so clever, so
 
 The Voice. 301 
 
 handsome, such a noble fellow. He seems to me the 
 fine flower of our best civilization, a sign to the rest 
 of what New England can produce ; his career has been 
 so brilliant and honorable ; he is interested and active 
 in all good things. What do you desire more or better, 
 Eleanor ? How can you help caring for him ? Truly, 
 I do not understand." 
 
 While I spoke eagerly, hurriedly, Eleanor s face 
 grew pale and flushed by turns. She began to speak, 
 stopped, hesitated, and then raising her beautiful eyes 
 to mine with that ineffable look in them, she said, 
 
 " Margaret, I want to tell you now, why ! Will you 
 listen ? 
 
 " Four years ago, just before you came from Eu 
 rope, the year of my twenty-first birthday, indeed 
 on the evening of that very day, I went to a dinner 
 party given by Mrs. B. I remember, as if it were yes 
 terday, every detail of that evening. I remember the 
 dress I wore. It was all white, and I had white roses 
 at my belt and in my hair. All the time I was dress 
 ing I had a strange sense of something impending, 
 something very solemn and very unusual. I had never 
 felt anything like it before ; it made me feel very 
 happy, but awe-struck. I went through my toilet as 
 if I were in a dream. When I came downstairs, I saw 
 my mother look at me. Then she came to me, and
 
 3O2 A Week away from Time. 
 
 without saying a word, kissed me on the brow ; and 
 my brother, who was going with me, said, Why, 
 Eleanor, you look you look somehow like a bride 
 whose lover is going off to the war ! How often I 
 thought of his words afterwards, and of their uncon 
 scious prophecy ! 
 
 " When we arrived, and were shown into Mrs. B s 
 drawing-room, the guests were all assembled, and very 
 soon dinner was announced. Mrs. B. came toward 
 me with a gentleman whom I had not seen, as portieres 
 had been between us, and said, Eleanor, I want 
 to present Captain Fortescue, of the English army ; 
 and she told him to take me in to dinner. Our eyes 
 met ; and oh, Margaret, that first look ! It seemed 
 to me as if my whole being were centred and fulfilled 
 in it ; as if I had been waiting for that moment all 
 my life long. I took his arm, and we went in to din 
 ner. It was a brilliant, gay dinner. I believe there 
 were fourteen guests besides ourselves, but I cannot 
 remember, I do not think I ever quite knew, who the 
 others were. I was on the left of my host, and on his 
 right was the lady for whom the dinner was given, so 
 he talked principally with her. He must have observed 
 my absorption, but I doubt if the rest did especially ; 
 at any rate, I did not care. From the moment I sat 
 down, my eyes and ears, my heart and soul, were given
 
 The Voice. 303 
 
 to him. It was an absolute, unconditional surrender 
 of myself. We talked of many things, of books, of 
 music, of American and English politics, of some of 
 the deeper things of life; of each other; and as we 
 talked I felt with startling conviction that we sympa 
 thized absolutely, radically, on every subject. It was 
 wonderful. At last I asked him how long he had been 
 in Boston. Not yet one whole day, he replied. I 
 came this afternoon, and he hesitated ; I looked 
 up at him ; all color had left his face, and his voice 
 faltered and I must go away to-morrow ! I forced 
 myself to speak, but only to repeat his words : You 
 must go to-morrow ! Yes, he said. I had a cable 
 message just before I came here this evening. My 
 regiment is ordered to Zulu-land, and I must start 
 directly to join it. I sail from here to-morrow ! And 
 then, before I could answer, something happened ! A 
 Voice, clear and distinct as mine speaking to you now, 
 but which had in it no earthly sound, it was so pure 
 and silvery, said close at my ear, Tell him that you 
 love him ! You may never see him again in this world ! 
 Oh, let him know it now ! 
 
 Eleanor paused for a moment, and bowed her head. 
 I put my arms round her without a word. Presently 
 she raised her head. Her eyes were shining with an 
 unearthly, holy light. She seemed to be listening again
 
 304 A Week away from Time. 
 
 to some voice I could not hear. Then she went 
 on : 
 
 " I hardly know what happened for a moment after 
 that. I think I must have been almost unconscious, 
 out of myself, as we say. When I next heard a voice 
 speak, it was his own, but in a hushed, low tone, as if 
 to himself, Oh, my God, if I dared ! I am sure my 
 agitation must soon have been perceived by the rest of 
 the company, but in a very short time my hostess 
 made a move, and the ladies left the dining-room. 
 Captain Fortescue excused himself from returning with 
 the gentlemen, and said he must go to his rooms to 
 pack his trunk, as he was to sail the next morning. 
 He walked beside me to the door of the drawing- 
 room without a word ; but as he bade me good-by he 
 took my hand in his and said, Will you give me one 
 of your white roses ? I gave it to him, and he said, 
 I shall write to you, may I ? And we shall meet 
 again ! 
 
 " After that I don t at all remember what passed, 
 nor how I got home. I believe some of the women 
 rallied me on my conquest, as they called it, of the 
 handsome English officer, but I did not heed, and 
 scarcely heard them. I only knew that I had bidden 
 him good-by; and I kept saying to myself all that 
 night :
 
 The Voice. 305 
 
 But in my spirit will I dwell, 
 
 And dream my dream, and hold it true, 
 For though my lips may breathe adieu, 
 I cannot think the thing farewell. 
 
 "Three weeks from that evening," Eleanor said, 
 after another pause, " I was walking home alone, 
 across the Common. It was a mellow afternoon in 
 November. The sun had just gone down, leaving a 
 rich crimson-and-gold afterglow in the western sky. 
 The church towers and spires beyond were lighted up, 
 and showed through the almost leafless trees in front 
 of me like beacon-lights pointing to heaven. There 
 was no one near ; I could hear no footstep but my 
 own, and no sound but the dropping of the autumn 
 leaves, and the rustle of them as I walked. Suddenly, 
 close at my ear, came the silvery tones of the Voice, 
 the same which spoke to me that evening, in the su 
 preme hour of my life. It said, Wait ! It is only 
 for a little while. If the Dawn tarry, wait thou for the 
 Dawn. 
 
 " Nearly a month passed away, and then I received 
 through Mrs. B., the lady at whose house I had dined, 
 and addressed to her care, a thick letter from Natal. 
 I had never seen his handwriting, but I knew it was 
 not he who had addressed that letter. I broke the 
 
 envelope, and two letters were inside. The first I read 
 20
 
 306 A Week away from Time. 
 
 was from a brother officer, and was very brief. It told 
 me that his friend Captain Lionel Fortescue had gone 
 into battle directly after his arrival with his regiment 
 at Natal, and had been struck down while leading a 
 charge against the Zulus at Bushman s River Pass. 
 He lived only a few hours, long enough to write the 
 enclosed lines, and to charge his friend with his dying 
 breath to see that they were sent. He also asked that 
 a withered white rose, which was found where he indi 
 cated, should be buried with him. 
 
 "His letter I can repeat to you word for word," 
 Eleanor said, " for I say it over to myself every day. 
 He wrote : My darling, when I bade you good-by 
 that night, I said we should meet again ; and now I 
 know more certainly even than I knew it then, that we 
 shall. That night we were betrothed to one another 
 forever. We needed no word of declaration or assent ; 
 and yet, I wish I had told you then that I loved you. 
 I wish I had obeyed the Voice that spoke to me ; for as 
 surely as it is sure that my soul and body will be parted 
 ere another day dawn, did I hear a Voice which was not 
 of this earth say to me as we sat together, " Tell her now 
 that you love her ! You may never meet again in this 
 world. Oh, tell her, tell her now ! " And I only said to 
 myself, " Oh, my God, if I dared ! " I know now 
 that it would have been no daring ; that I might have
 
 The Voice. 307 
 
 spoken and told you the truth. But it is only for a 
 little while that I leave you, my own, my bride, my 
 love ! God is very good, and it will not be for long. 
 So I wait till you come to me, beloved, there where 
 there will be no seas between, and no partings. It 
 ended here. In the other letter his brother officer 
 said that he had left him for a moment while he was 
 writing, and came back to find him lying still on his 
 camp-bed, asleep, he thought ; but when he went 
 close and spoke to him he found that he was dead. 
 So," said Eleanor quietly, " I wait, dear friend ; it can 
 only be for a little while, and God is very good. I 
 am content to wait." 
 
 Soon after she told me what I have faithfully related 
 to you, her sister s little boy, of whom she was devot 
 edly fond, was attacked by scarlet fever. Eleanor in 
 sisted upon nursing him, and he died in her arms. 
 She took the disease herself, you remember, and died 
 after a few days. I did not see her again till after her 
 death, and then I begged to be allowed to go into the 
 room where she lay. She never looked more beautiful 
 in life. There were white roses on her breast and in 
 her hands, and on her face, whiter than the roses, was 
 the look of rapture and of sight. 
 
 I stooped down and whispered, "This kiss is for 
 your bridal day, my darling ! "
 
 308 A Week away from Time. 
 
 Muriel stood at her window that night, and 
 the waning moon looked mournfully in at her. 
 Deep in her own soul was a great new joy, the 
 thought of which raised a tumult of happy heart 
 beats; yet to-night she almost reproached her 
 self for being happy, as Wyatt s sad, pleading 
 face came up before her, and the tones of his 
 voice full of passionate despair. 
 
 Outside, the moon s pale rays shone down 
 upon the gray water; all else was darkness. 
 The watch-light was gone ; the vigil was over. 
 The rote of the waves as they broke on the bar 
 sounded to Muriel, with their sad monotonous 
 refrain, like the sob of farewell words, and the 
 sighing night-wind bore to her ears the eternal 
 murmur of " the unrecognizing sea."
 
 To pray together, in whatever tongue or ritual, is the 
 most tender brotherhood of hope and sympathy that men 
 
 can contract in this life. 
 
 MADAME DE STAEL. 
 
 // is those who understand what a church is, who are 
 the least likely to rest in it, or in anything short of Him 
 
 to whom it leads. 
 
 DORA GREENWELL. 
 
 O heart of mine, keep patience ; looking forth 
 
 As from the mount of vision, I behold 
 Pure, just, and free, the church of Christ on earth, 
 
 The martyrs dream, the golden age foretold. 
 
 WHITTIER. 
 
 The American Church is the great total body of Chris 
 tianity in America, in many divisions, under many 
 names, broken, discordant, disjointed, often quarrelsome 
 and disgracefully jealous, part of part, yet as a whole 
 bearing perpetual testimony to the people of America, of 
 the authority and love of God, of the redemption of Christ, 
 and of the sacred possibilities of man. . . . 
 
 We look on, and far, far away we see the Nation- 
 Church, the land all full of Christ, a true part of the 
 World-Church, issuing into glorious life and swallowing 
 up our small ecclesiasticisms, as the sun grandly climbing 
 up the heavens swallows up the scattered rays which he 
 
 sent out at his rising. 
 
 PHILLIPS BROOKS.
 
 SEVENTH DAY. 
 
 As they were driving home from church this 
 Sunday morning Margaret said, " Look at those 
 cabbage-fields, those happy cabbage-fields ! 
 Why don t poets and painters make more of 
 them? With their many beautiful shades of 
 purple, blue, and green, like the sea along the 
 Riviera, and their look of plenteous and ab 
 solute content, they are a delight to my eyes. 
 If there were not an unreasoning prejudice 
 against them as an unaesthetic article of food, 
 if they could be called by another name, they 
 would be sung and painted, I have no doubt. 
 In that matter of names Shakespeare made his 
 one foolish remark." 
 
 I have often wished to write the epic of the 
 cabbage-field," said the Professor; " and as to 
 pumpkins, just look at that glorious pile of them 
 against the gray shingled farm-house yonder, 
 the farm-house with the lean-to roof, and the
 
 312 A Week away from Time. 
 
 well-sweep, and the festoons of dried apples 
 hanging from the roof, and the herbs drying in 
 the sun. What a picture ! " 
 
 " Stop for a moment at Captain Nye s door," 
 said Margaret. " I want to ask Mrs. Nye at what 
 hour she expects us to tea this evening." 
 
 Mrs. Nye had but just got home from meeting 
 herself, and stood at the door in a shining black 
 silk dress, and Leghorn bonnet trimmed with 
 dove-colored satin ribbon. 
 
 " We will have supper at seven to-night, if 
 that suits you all," said she. " Father and I 
 are so pleased that you re coming. I ain t seen 
 father so happy about anything for ever so 
 long." 
 
 " It is to be the best evening of the week 
 for us, dear Mrs. Nye," said Margaret. " I 
 wanted my friends to have the pleasantest for 
 the last." 
 
 As they drove away from the door, the old 
 Captain came round from the barn, where he 
 had been putting up his horse. 
 
 " Father," said Mrs. Nye, " what do you think 
 about it? "
 
 A Week away from Time. 313 
 
 "Think about what? I was wondering why 
 the brindle had n t given as much milk as com 
 mon for two days past." 
 
 " Father," said Mrs. Nye solemnly, laying her 
 hand on his arm, " do you remember what I 
 said to you about Mis Temple and that Pro 
 fessor when they rode by on horseback the other 
 afternoon?" 
 
 " Bless my soul, Martha, hpw you women 
 folks do go on ! You know you would have it 
 our Dick was going to marry Lawyer Willet s 
 daughter the second time you ever saw them 
 together." 
 
 "Well, and was I right? Did our Dick marry 
 Lawyer Willet s daughter, or did he not?" 
 
 " Yes, he did, if it comes to that," acknowl 
 edged the Captain. " But that don t prove 
 folks are always thinking o marrying; and I 
 never see the man yet I thought good enough 
 for Mis Temple." 
 
 " Well, I hope you church-going people en 
 joyed your church and your sermon," said 
 Bowdoin, who had not been.
 
 314 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " I enjoyed both greatly," said Muriel. 
 " What a dear old man the clergyman is, and 
 what a comforting, helpful sermon he gave us ! 
 Our rector at home is such a dreadful pessimist, 
 it always takes one a week to recover from the 
 depression of the Sunday before." 
 
 " Yes," said Margaret, " I always think of 
 those lines of Matthew Arnold s when 1 hear 
 such a sermon as that, and when I look at Mr. 
 Hall s life. Do you remember, 
 
 And yet it seemeth not to me 
 That the high gods love tragedy, 
 For Saadi sat in the sun, 
 And thanks was his contrition : 
 For haircloth and for bloody whips 
 Had active hands and smiling lips ; 
 And yet his runes he nightly read, 
 And to his folk his message sped. 
 Sunshine in his heart transferred, 
 Lighted each transparent word ; 
 And well could honoring Persia learn 
 What Saadi wished to say. 
 
 It is really an excellent description of Mr. 
 Hall. He does incalculable good in his parish 
 by just living and being what he is." 
 
 " It is a pity more of his calling were not like
 
 A Week away from Time, 3 1 5 
 
 him," remarked Tom Bowdoin. " Generally 
 speaking, I should apply to them and to many 
 of their congregations what somebody or other 
 said, The paucity of Christians is remarkable, 
 considering the number of them. And as to 
 going to church, I have no objection to any 
 one s going if they like. For myself, I prefer 
 and he drew a long puff at his cigar. 
 
 " Yes, I know ; I have heard a good deal about 
 that," said Margaret. 
 
 " About what? " asked Tom. " I had n t said 
 anything." 
 
 " No ; but I know what you were going to say, 
 that God can be worshipped as truly in the 
 fields and woods as in a church ; that the groves 
 were God s first temples ; about looking from 
 Nature up to Nature s God, I have heard it all, 
 often, and I don t deny that there is something 
 in it. A reverent soul lifts itself to its Maker 
 anywhere, everywhere, and never more fer 
 vently perhaps than when in the midst of the 
 beauty which comes straight from His hand for 
 our joy and thanksgiving. But lively emotions 
 of gratitude for God s goodness, springing up
 
 3 1 6 A Week away from Time. 
 
 constantly in a man s breast, argue a religious 
 spirit; and a religious spirit is apt to express 
 itself by direct acts of worship. Such acts are 
 naturally performed in the modes and places 
 which mankind has for ages regarded as most 
 fitting ; and so the majority of the civilized world 
 has agreed to gather together on certain days, at 
 stated times, to express in divers fashion their 
 love and gratitude, and to ask for help and 
 forgiveness." 
 
 " Then you think church-going the absolute 
 test of piety and religious feeling," said Bowdoin. 
 
 "By no means; no, indeed," replied Marga 
 ret warmly. " Some of the most truly spiritual 
 people I have ever known have never entered a 
 church since they began to think for themselves. 
 I have even known very good people who 
 seemed to feel a sort of revolt and disgust for 
 all kinds of external religious manifestation. I 
 had one dear friend, an eminently religious man, 
 who tried hard to cure me of going to church, 
 and thought it unworthy a woman of sense. 
 He used to shudder with contemptuous horror 
 when he saw the black-robed High Church
 
 A Week away from Time. 3 1 7 
 
 fathers go by my window in their pitiful petti 
 coats, as he called them. But such persons 
 are rare exceptions, and dangerous exceptions 
 besides." 
 
 " Why dangerous? " asked Bowdoin ; and the 
 Professor looked up eagerly, to see what Mar 
 garet was going to answer. 
 
 " I wish some one else would speak," said she, 
 blushing. " Why do I seem to be preaching a 
 sermon myself? I am sure I never meant to." 
 
 " Please answer my question," urged Bow 
 doin, "why dangerous?" 
 
 " Because they set a bad example, I cannot 
 help thinking. Because this very talk about 
 worshipping God in His works is initiated and 
 encouraged (sincerely, I have no doubt) by 
 such persons. And just because they are good 
 men, whose lives are above reproach, they are 
 pointed at (by the illogical) as proofs of the 
 good effects of non-churchgoing; and unfortu 
 nate instances of men who do go to church, and 
 yet who are dissolute or dishonorable, who lie 
 or cheat or embezzle, are brought forward (also 
 by the illogical) as evidence of the little good,
 
 3 1 8 A Week away from Time. 
 
 if not of the absolute harm, of religious forms 
 and observances. That is why it seems to me 
 that men or women who stay habitually away 
 from church, no matter how excellent and moral 
 their lives may be, are setting bad examples, 
 and in so far are dangerous in their day and 
 generation." 
 
 " What do you think about it, Miss Carr* 
 Wynstede?" asked Ralph. 
 
 " I quite agree with Mrs. Temple. And I 
 have noticed one thing at home. The people 
 who don t go to church, and talk about it being 
 quite as well to say one s prayers in the \voods 
 and fields, don t seem to me to go into the 
 country on Sundays with that view, though I 
 may do them injustice. I dare say one s frame 
 of mind may be as religious in strolling about 
 one s grounds, or sailing in one s yacht, or driv 
 ing about the country, as in going to a service 
 in church, only it don t look so, you know." 
 
 "But one shouldn t mind the look of the 
 thing, should one, so long as the thing itself 
 is no harm," said Bowdoin; "and whose busi 
 ness is it, after all?"
 
 A Week away from Time. 319 
 
 " If every one of us lived on an island of his 
 own," the Professor said, " that would do very 
 well. But as we none of us can escape the 
 responsibility that comes from our all being 
 members of one big family, the lives we lead 
 and the examples we set do come to be the 
 business of all the rest, down to the minutest 
 particular, it seems to me." 
 
 " If we had an established church in America, 
 as you have in England, Miss Carr-Wynstede," 
 said Tom Bowdoin, " there would be some satis 
 faction in belonging to it. But here, where in 
 every little village there are half a dozen different 
 sects, all quarrelling and disputing among them 
 selves and with their neighbors, there seems to 
 be no rest for one s soul. If I had the power, I 
 would decree that henceforth in all America there 
 should be, literally, one faith and one baptism, 
 and an American church; and all outside of it 
 should be under the ban, and looked upon as 
 dissenters and heretics. Then I would be a 
 Churchman myself." 
 
 " I have heard Tom talk like this before," 
 said his wife, " but I cannot really think he is
 
 320 A Week away from Time. 
 
 in earnest. I certainly do not agree with him in 
 the least." 
 
 " Ralph," said Margaret, " do you remember 
 when we were at Woodstable one autumn, years 
 ago, when Mrs. Stuart was with us, and would n t 
 go to meeting, but rode or drove or sailed on 
 Sundays? She was a Churchwoman, and did 
 not consider the little Methodist place of wor 
 ship church at all. I always thought she made 
 a grievous mistake, for she either hurt the feelings 
 of the townspeople by seeming to despise their 
 humble meeting-house, or else gave them to 
 suppose that she had no respect for Sunday and 
 no religion at all herself. I wonder if she ever 
 considered the bad example she set to the young 
 people in that village, or how many Sabbath- 
 breakers she is responsible for to-day?" 
 
 " As far as I am concerned," said Mrs. 
 Chauncey, " I like to go to church, and always 
 do when I can. When Paul and I were in 
 Europe, we always used to go to the English 
 churches on the Continent, when there were 
 any. The only thing I objected to was pray 
 ing so often for the Queen and the royal
 
 A Week away from Time. 321 
 
 family, begging your pardon, my dear Miss 
 Carr-Wynstede ! I was always quite willing to 
 do it once ; but when it came to five or six times 
 in one morning service (and the service so long 
 any way), it was too much, and I just did n t do 
 it, and tried to think of something else. If once 
 is enough for our President, it is enough, or ought 
 to be, for the Queen. I did n t at all blame a 
 little boy who said to his mother, What a very 
 wicked family it must be, mamma, to need so 
 much praying for ! " 
 
 Muriel laughed at this, but said her laugh 
 meant no disloyalty; and then she said very 
 seriously, " I was in Boston only two Sundays, 
 but two Sundays meant going to a certain 
 church four times ; and I wondered, as I looked 
 round at the vast congregation which filled 
 every seat and every corner, if they truly ap 
 preciated the privilege it was to live in a city 
 where their souls could be fed and their lives 
 guided by that inspired preaching and teaching. 
 I wonder still. Sometimes what one has, what 
 is so freely given, comes to be looked upon as 
 
 a matter of course." 
 
 21
 
 322 A Week away from Time. 
 
 "The same question has often occurred to 
 my mind," said Professor Kirkland. " It seems 
 to me that the responsibility in this case is as 
 solemn as the privilege is great ; and that if the 
 sheep hear the voice without heeding it, if 
 they look up and are not fed, because of their 
 own insensibility and hardness of heart, they 
 will be in more woful condition than if they 
 had never come near the fold."
 
 Joy is the vital air of the soul. Health is the first of 
 all liberties, and Happiness gives us the energy which 
 is the basis of health. To inake any one happy, then, is 
 strictly to augment his store of being, to double the inten 
 sity of his life, to reveal him to- himself, to ennoble and 
 transfigure him. Happiness does away with ugliness, 
 and even makes the beauty of beauty. In Paradise, then, 
 every one will be beautiful. For, as the righteous soul is 
 naturally beautiful, and as happiness beautifies all tJiat it 
 penetrates or even touches, ugliness will have no place 
 in the universe, and will disappear with grief, sin, and 
 
 death. 
 
 AMIEL, Journal Intime. 
 
 Happiness is cumulative, as misery is. Happiness has 
 no limits, as heaven has neither bottom nor bounds, and 
 because happiness is nothing but the conquest of God 
 
 through Love. 
 
 IBID.
 
 EVENING OF SEVENTH DAY. 
 
 THE afternoon had been passed in various 
 ways by the friends who knew that it was the 
 last. Muriel and Ralph had wandered off, over 
 the hills and far away, and came home just in 
 time to get ready for Mrs. Nye s tea-party. 
 Margaret and her brother-in-law had driven to 
 Wood s Holl to make some visits, and she told 
 Bell to make the most of the hammock, to be 
 covered with plenty of wraps, as the air was 
 cool, and to let the Professor stay with her un 
 der the lindens; " for," said she, kissing her sis 
 ter and blushing rosy red, " he has a secret to 
 tell you, which is mine too, and which I want 
 him to tell you himself." 
 
 Mrs. Chauncey said she should go to her hotel 
 and write letters and take a nap, and would join 
 them at the farm-house at seven o clock. " I 
 never did take tea in a farm-house," she said, 
 " but I should think it would be delightful. It
 
 326 A Week away from Time. 
 
 reminds me exactly of the Cotter s Saturday 
 Night, only that this is Sunday." 
 
 We are apt to say that a table " groans " when 
 it is laden with good things ; but it would seem 
 an inappropriate phrase, as if the table were 
 unsympathetic and ungracious, and bore its 
 burden grudgingly. Mrs. Nye s table did not 
 groan ; it fairly laughed and clapped its leaves, 
 and overflowed with gladness at its own good 
 cheer. There never was such a tea-time, oys 
 ters of the sweetest and rarest, in the shell and 
 escaloped ; cold roast chicken and ham and 
 tongue ; and a smoking hot pasty, out of whose 
 flaky depths came quail and partridges and all 
 manner of riches; and hot biscuits, white and 
 light as snow just fallen ; and waffles and grid 
 dle (or girdle 1 } cakes; and such honey from 
 her own bees; and such preserves and plum- 
 cake ; and, as the feast s perfect and consummate 
 crown, the Quahog cakes. 
 
 " That any one should dream that he knows 
 what Quahog cakes can be until he has eaten 
 
 1 Scottice.
 
 A Week away from Time. 327 
 
 these, or having eaten these, that he should ever 
 try to have them made at home, seems to me 
 the acme of human folly and conceit," exclaimed 
 Margaret; and they all cried, "Hear, hear!" 
 And Mrs. Nye s purple cap-ribbons trembled 
 with pleasure, and her whole benevolent, bounti 
 ful person shone with content. 
 
 " Dear Mis Temple," she said, " I felt real 
 bad at first when you took the White House and 
 settled there, cause it seemed somehow as if we 
 was going to lose you ! But I declare for t, 
 I m just as glad now as I can be, for \ve have n t 
 lost you a bit ; and as I said to father, it s as 
 good as Thanksgiving, any day, to have you and 
 your friends sit down at our board to-night." 
 
 After supper Mrs. Nye showed the way into 
 the parlor, or "sitting-room." This was a sol 
 emn occasion, and worthy of the room, which 
 was seldom used except at times of peculiar 
 import, such as weddings, sewing-bees, or funer 
 als. A fire had been lighted there some hours 
 before the guests arrived, so that there was none 
 of the musty, uninhabited flavor of rooms which 
 are not used as " living rooms." But it did
 
 328 A Week away from Time. 
 
 have an aromatic, Oriental, delicious odor of its 
 own, and it was full of handsome and curious 
 things which the old captain had brought home 
 long ago from his voyages in foreign lands. 
 There was a Russian samovar, and two big 
 Chinese bowls, one filled with " pot-pourri " 
 made of rose-leaves and lavender and rosemary 
 and white lilies and all sorts of sweet-smelling 
 dead petals which never die, and the other full 
 of fresh marigolds and gladioli and mignonette 
 and pansies and sweet peas and many-colored 
 asters and bright autumn vines. The mantel 
 shelf was decked with rare and beautiful shells, 
 and on the floor were some old Turkey and 
 Persian rugs. Several pieces of old oak furni 
 ture, with shining brass trimmings and claw feet, 
 looked as if they had been in their places since 
 Colonial days. An inlaid cabinet from Japan 
 stood in one corner, filled with cups and saucers, 
 plates and tea-services of old Lowestoffe and 
 Chelsea and Delft ware. There were handsome 
 brass andirons and fire-irons, and a fender of 
 fine workmanship, which would have excited the 
 covetous desires of any connoisseur.
 
 A Week away from Time. 329 
 
 " How have you been able to keep these 
 beautiful things from the hand of the spoiler? " 
 asked Mrs. Bowdoin. " I have friends in Bos 
 ton, who I truly believe, if they knew of their 
 existence, would break and enter, and get them 
 from you by fair means or foul." 
 
 Mrs. Nye laughed good-humoredly. " Why, 
 you would n t believe the things ladies have 
 done," said she. " They have come from miles 
 around, from Wood s Holl and Falmouth and 
 Cotuit ; yes, and from Mattapoisett and Marion 
 and Monument. Some comes and makes a 
 pretence of asking their way, and saying they re 
 tired, and may they come in and have a glass 
 of water, and so works the conversation round. 
 And they coax and wheedle and bribe, and 
 some of them have got real right-down mad 
 when I would n t sell em at any price, and said 
 things well, it made me feel bad to think a 
 lady should say em. But it s never been any 
 use their getting mad, and it never will be. 
 Father began to bring me these knick-knack 
 eries before we was married, when he was 
 courtin me, and kept right on as long as he
 
 330 A Week away from Time. 
 
 went to sea (except some of that chany and 
 furniture that are heirlooms) ; and do you sup 
 pose I am going to let em go for money? 
 No, not till father and I are starving, which, 
 please Heaven, we hope that time will never 
 come. No, they 11 go to our son Dick 
 that s married and lives out West, and s got 
 a likely w r ife and children ; except one or two, 
 which I will say, Mis Temple, I ve seen you 
 admire, and we ve testamented em away to 
 you." 
 
 " Indeed, it will be a sad day for me when 
 I see one of them in any room but this, dear 
 Mrs. Nye," said Margaret affectionately. 
 
 The Captain, who had on his best Sunday 
 black wig and sharpest-pointed shirt-collar, 
 around which was a black satin stock which 
 made him a little stiff-necked, now came toward 
 Margaret, and said a few words in a low voice, 
 looking at the Professor as he spoke. 
 
 " Very well," said Margaret. " The fact is, 
 Mr. Kirkland, I told the Captain, when we first 
 came this evening, that you had something you 
 had promised to read to us if we had stayed at
 
 Happiness. 331 
 
 home to-night, and which I had induced you to 
 bring with you." 
 
 " I am afraid it is too serious for so festive an 
 occasion," said Kirkland. 
 
 " Oh, do let us hear it, Professor," urged the 
 Captain. " Why should n t we have something 
 serious? We are serious folks, I hope, all of 
 us, in one sense ; and if the Professor will do us 
 the honor to read what he has brought, I am 
 sure we shall never forget his goodness. I speak 
 for mother, I know," said the old man, " and I 
 guess I speak for all this company." 
 
 " Then here goes," said the Professor, " I 
 can t resist such kind words as yours, Captain; 
 and if the others find my essay on Happiness 
 more than they can bear, I shall not be in the 
 least hurt if they leave in the middle of it." 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 Not long ago I listened to the discussion of a very 
 interesting question, a question that may be said to 
 have had a place in the speculation of human beings 
 of all times ; no less a question, in short, than how to
 
 332 A Week away from Time. 
 
 be happy, or, in other words, what quality, or attri 
 bute, would lead to the greatest attainment of happi 
 ness. It was very interesting to listen to the modes 
 by which one or another thought that happiness was 
 to be achieved, if achieved at all. Some, indeed, felt 
 as if we might as well begin by relinquishing the expec 
 tation of happiness at first, not attempting to cheat 
 ourselves into a hope which could never be realized ; 
 or again, with Carlyle, that happiness was not even to 
 be desired, but that we should substitute blessedness 
 for happiness, and count ourselves the better off for 
 the change. In fact, as at the beginning of all discus 
 sions, one must clear the ground by finding first what 
 people mean by the words they use ; for the same 
 words are used to mean a thousand different things, 
 according to the temper or the complexion of him who 
 uses them ; according to his sentiment or condition ; 
 according to the lines of thought or action at a given 
 time ; or even according to the conventional standard 
 of a certain period. There are cheap and superficial 
 ways of using noble words, there are partial and per 
 sonal ways ; and in the confusion of ideas which results 
 from all this, no wonder that we hear so many half- 
 truths spoken ; no wonder that some say there is no 
 such thing as happiness, and others that if there be 
 such a thing it is unattainable by mortals. Yet, at the
 
 Happ iness. 333 
 
 same time, whether there be happiness or nof, we 
 must remark the deep and pathetic witness borne to 
 the craving for it in the human breast, in the very 
 frequency and variety of the definitions given. For all 
 the way from Socrates to Schopenhauer, many wise 
 men and every thinking man have set themselves to 
 defining in some shape or other this condition of the 
 soul which we call happiness. 
 
 Now, I cannot help thinking that here, as well as in 
 regard to all our most serious convictions, we want to 
 ask ourselves what we mean when we ourselves use 
 this word ; what deep idea we associate with it, what 
 spring of action is furnished to us. Is happiness to be re 
 garded as rightly attainable, or is it to be set on one side 
 as unworthy the interest or aim of thoughtful people ? 
 
 At the outset of such a discussion one is often met 
 by those who beg the question ; asking how it is possi 
 ble for a sympathetic soul to be happy in the midst of 
 a world s misery ; or if suffering, and not joy, is not 
 the only true discipline ; or if happiness does not tend 
 to enervation and indolence? As I make these run 
 ning suggestions of the current phrases which are used 
 in this connection, I am sure you will all recognize 
 them, and add to them fuller and further varieties of 
 the same questionings. I speak of them because they 
 show how large a temptation there is to accept half-
 
 334 A Week away from Time. 
 
 truths , or to dwell upon the superficial aspect of truth, 
 and ho\v often this superficiality leads to a fatal mis 
 understanding of first principles ; the danger of a little 
 knowledge, not because it is small, but because in our 
 ignorance or our stupidity \ve call it large. And chiefly 
 do we find, in considering questions of this import, how 
 seldom we allow for the relations of things. We seem 
 to live out our own lives, not in one large airy sphere of 
 thought and action, but in little separate worlds of 
 existence, where in each the small circumference hems 
 us in, and keeps our spirits and our reasons bound 
 round, hopelessly withheld from contact with the rest. 
 We are like children who possess a fund of unrelated 
 matter. We have a knowledge, in short, of the details 
 of living, but not of the philosophy of life. 
 
 But let us begin at the beginning : i. Is there such 
 a thing as happiness? 2. What is it? 3. How does it 
 come? Our first question gets its answer from the lips 
 of human experience. We know that there is such a 
 thing as happiness because we have felt it. After the 
 manner of Descartes famous argument for existence, 
 Cogito, ergo sum ("I think, therefore I am "), we may 
 argue from the emotion to the fact, for all have known 
 the note of joy. It matters not at this point what were 
 the causes, what the sources, or what the permanence 
 of happiness ; it is only to bear testimony to the fact
 
 Happiness. 335 
 
 that at some beautiful moment, remote or near, \ve 
 could call ourselves happy. So far it is not difficult 
 to get an answer to our question. But though all may 
 know that there is such a thing as happiness, and be 
 able to vouch for its existence, it is by no means so 
 simple a matter to say what it is ; and here indeed we 
 find, as I said before, an endless variety of definition. 
 To get at its meaning we need to analyze this emotion, 
 this rapture, if we may ; to discover what happens in us 
 by virtue of which we become aware of a feeling which 
 is like no other feeling, in short, to know what we 
 mean when we say we are happy. Perhaps we get a 
 clew in the point upon which I take it for granted that 
 all would agree, the nature of happiness. Every one 
 would admit that the sensation is not contrary to our 
 nature, but in harmony with it ; it is a verification, not 
 a contradiction of our personality ; something that we 
 call native. When one is happy, one does not seem 
 to go forth into a strange country, but to enter into 
 one s own land. When one is happy, one feels no 
 consciousness of restraint or limitation ; in short, when 
 one is happy, what is it but to feel free ? I think in 
 the last analysis this is happiness, a sense of freedom. 
 But this freedom depends upon what? And so we 
 are brought to the third division of our question ; for 
 the way in which the happiness or freedom comes is
 
 336 A Week away from Time. 
 
 through the exercise of power for a given object. I 
 think if we take the end of this thread in one hand and 
 slowly unwind it, we shall find it leads us into the 
 heart of a great and beneficent mystery which we have 
 not begun to understand. We shall find, first of all, that 
 it is by fulfilling the laws of one s spiritual nature that 
 one perceives the joy of living to be a glorious reality. 
 And as these laws are many and various, so there are 
 many manifestations ; and yet all are good, and all 
 noble, if only they spring from a noble use of power. 
 Perhaps the first and most important tiling to take 
 note of in this conception of happiness is that it 
 becomes not a result so much as a state of being; 
 that is, it is not a possession that we clasp, which 
 we long to get, or which we fear we shall lose, 
 not of this meaning or purport is joy, but we are 
 in it, are one with it, and so, finding ourselves, can 
 not be rid of a certain glorious condition. It involves 
 the same analogy as that by which the truth makes 
 men free ; by the exercise of intelligent desire they 
 achieve the knowledge of the truth, and in so achiev 
 ing they are made free. Now, what is the assertion 
 that we are virtually making, if we ascribe this place to 
 happiness? We are acknowledging that each human 
 being comes into the world endowed with certain 
 potencies or capacities for good, and that these capa-
 
 Happiness. 337 
 
 cities developed to their results produce the complete 
 individual, that human result which we believe to 
 have been in the thought of the Creator regarding each 
 one of us ; and in becoming that thing which we are 
 meant to be, we find joy. It will easily be seen that 
 this way of looking at life, at the same time that it 
 admits happiness to all, by no means excludes pain. 
 On the contrary, the powers which we exercise the 
 oftenest, involve suffering, discipline, sacrifice, grief, 
 These well-worn but never out-worn modes of experi 
 ence form the channels in which we labor to gain our 
 ends, to produce our results ; but we claim that so 
 long as one is free to use some or all of the gifts God 
 has given him, there is a central place in the soul where 
 one may be said to be happy. 
 
 Perhaps the first and most general illustration of this 
 comes in the doing of healthy work. Those who have 
 never thought about this see the result without under 
 standing the reason for it. One hears it said, in 
 familiar phrase, that people are "happier" for being 
 employed ; but few ever dream of the essential freedom 
 which willing labor bestows, by virtue of which those 
 who toil earn a sweetness of reward all unknown to the 
 idler and the slave. Of course, the more intelligent 
 the labor, or the more noble or enduring the results, 
 the greater will be the satisfaction of doing it ; but even
 
 338 A IVeck away from Time. 
 
 in the lowest forms there comes the pleasure which is 
 the germ of more complete delight, in the mere iter 
 ated doing of simple and homely acts which involve a 
 successful use of power for a given purpose. 
 
 There is so much to say here. The question of 
 labor is one full of problems, and so, full of interest ; 
 we meet them on every side. There are those who 
 contend that man labors only under the compulsion of 
 acquiring the necessities of life, because he must ; 
 while on the other hand those who claim the dis 
 tinguishing prominence which marks the human from 
 the brute world to be the " law of progressive de 
 sire," insist upon a spring of action that makes labor 
 a normal condition of human existence. But apart 
 from all these theories, it is getting more at the root of 
 the matter to say simply that man is a moral being, 
 committed by his nature to the fulfilment of moral 
 purposes ; and that for him accordingly all forms of 
 labor are beautiful and sacred because they belong to 
 the development of moral order. So, whether work 
 be done by the miner in his shaft or the student at 
 his book, it all has the stamp of nobility, being essen 
 tial to the world s need. 
 
 Again, judged by our test happiness reaches a level 
 of great fulness in the sen-ice which we can render to 
 those who are in need ; for here it often happens that
 
 Happiness. 339 
 
 all our powers are best brought into exercise. We 
 may labor with our hands for their bodies, we may 
 labor with our spirits for their souls, and in the blessed 
 stress of sympathy find manifested to our hearts yet 
 deeper depths of the joy which comes with each act 
 of patience and of faith. 
 
 Nor let it be forgotten that the splendors which wait 
 upon the service of humanity are the direct gift of 
 Christianity ; Christ having gathered the separate 
 sparks of human fellowship which were lit in the 
 breasts of all who would serve their fellow-men, of 
 Moses and David, of Epictetus and Socrates, and 
 laid them on one altar of brotherhood as a quenchless 
 flame which shall not go out day nor night forever. 
 This brotherhood may suffer at men s hands on one 
 side, so long as selfishness and injustice still have sway, 
 or, on the other side, it may be perverted nobly but 
 falsely into a system of religion where man usurps the 
 place of his Maker, as in the Positivism of our day ; 
 but broad and strong between these misdoings and 
 misconceivings runs the stream of Christian fellowship, 
 with infinite interchange of loving service, with infinite 
 sources of happiness. Before Christ came, the prin 
 ciple of fraternity existed as a rudiment ; with Him it 
 became a ministry and a vocation, and in its ceaseless 
 development it has included the world, filling the
 
 34O A Week away from Time. 
 
 web of life with countless offices of mutual confidence 
 and support. 
 
 Especially does it behoove us to remember this with 
 gratitude here in America, America, which is so far 
 the largest and, thank Heaven, so far the most success 
 ful experiment ever tried on the basis of fraternity. 
 That none shall be left in ignorance, that no limit shall 
 be set to free development, that every man s conscience 
 shall be held sacred, this is the service to which we 
 are committed in our country. Is not this a noble 
 freedom ; and, worthily fulfilled, would it not lead to 
 peace and joy ? 
 
 So much for the test which may be applied in our 
 life with others, and in the multitudinous relations 
 which that life involves. But we shall find that the 
 individual life also presents sources of happiness, no 
 matter under what press of circumstance or weight of 
 misfortune it may be led. 
 
 One of the wisest and sweetest of philosophers once 
 wrote these words : " For if good in its essence be 
 in those things which depend upon ourselves, then 
 there is no place for jealousy or envy ; and you will 
 not wish to be a general nor a prince nor a councillor, 
 but to be free, and to this there is but one way, dis 
 dain of the things which depend not upon ourselves." 
 
 This has long seemed to me to be a great lesson in
 
 Happiness. 34 1 
 
 the art of living, for it brings us to the immediate 
 consideration of the great fact that along with the life 
 of service and companionship runs the life of in 
 dependence and of solitude ; while the exercise of 
 power for and in others is largely achieved by its 
 exercise for and in our own souls also. Indeed, we 
 may say that no one can largely help others who has 
 not brought into control his own nature. Otherwise 
 his sympathy is no better than that of a little child, 
 which may solace but cannot support the suffering 
 spirit. He who would bring another into the way of 
 peace needs to have set foot therein ; for those who 
 invite with most persuasive or most compelling force 
 are they who say not go, but come. 
 
 So the gift of happiness awaits the exercise of those 
 powers of the soul which have to do with the most 
 intimate personal life, the acts of faith, the acts of 
 patience, the acts of loyal love, things done for the 
 strengthening and renewal of the soul s forces ; or, 
 again, the solitary resisting of temptation, the abnega 
 tion of self, the loneliness of the darkness and the cloud, 
 if only therein it may draw nearer to God. Let it never 
 be forgotten that it is our glorious privilege to find joy 
 in pain, to suffer and yet be strong, to take the world 
 as it is and to find in it the assurance of the heaven 
 that shall be. Discouragement, it sometimes seems to
 
 342 A Week away from Time. 
 
 me, is a loss of memory ; it can only come when we 
 forget why and what we are. 
 
 So far we have spoken only of the freedom which we 
 gain by acting upon our inner impulses, the spring of 
 action which comes to us in a certain sense from with 
 in. But what shall we say of that great province of 
 refreshment which comes to us in the form of gracious 
 gifts, the gift of beauty, the gift of love ? These 
 bestow happiness also in accordance with the same 
 principles. All about us lies a world full of myste 
 rious suggestion, of infinite charm and variety, yet 
 the charm rests not in the thing itself. Nature 
 on one side, and art on the other, open gates 
 through which the imagination may go free and find 
 delight. 
 
 "Thou hast set my feet in a large room," David said 
 of it. And who does not know what the perception of 
 Beauty may mean to the cabined spirit? how a blade 
 of grass or a patch of sunlight can unloose to a soul the 
 splendors of the spiritual universe, can free it from 
 the blackness and the baldness of prosaic existence in 
 making it feel the power of its perceptions, the glory 
 of its intimations ? 
 
 Who cannot find joy in a world where each soul 
 may, after its own measure, claim the heritage of which 
 Wordsworth tells in his invocation to Toussaint?
 
 Happiness. 343 
 
 " thou hast great allies, 
 Thy friends are exultations, agonies, 
 And love, and man s unconquerable mind." 
 
 The gift of Beauty and the gift of Love. If we 
 end with Love, it is because we must also begin with 
 it. From the mother s embrace, which gives a first 
 direction to the young soul, all the way through, per 
 haps, to some consummate human love, its meaning 
 is but one and the same, a more perfect freedom. 
 It takes us a lifetime to understand this in its fulness. 
 While we are children, obedience is the type of free 
 dom, and after we have left the narrower walks of 
 childhood, and have become men and women, it may 
 be that we shall call it consecration ; but, by whatever 
 name, it is freedom still, and the freedom that comes 
 through love is the best of all, because Love not only 
 allows but invites the soul to enter upon its own, or 
 even runs before with willing feet to show us what we 
 are free to be. 
 
 I have left no room, nor could I venture to speak of 
 what may be discovered when in the fulness of a 
 mutual love one reaches to the very heights of free 
 dom. This is an open secret, a truth greater than any 
 proof of it can be. As such I leave it. 
 
 But the happiness which all may share, this also is 
 real ; this is inseparable from right living. Some things
 
 344 -A Week awxy from Time. 
 
 we may have ; this we must have Sick, sorry, and 
 suffering we may be, all these we undoubtedly shall 
 be, so long as life lasts ; but happy we must be when 
 ever we do one loyal deed or follow one star of duty. 
 Happy, because we fulfil our divine nature therein ; 
 happy, because we serve others ; but, far deeper still, 
 happy because we are unconsciously made one with 
 the Divine Will. 
 
 After Mrs. Nye s guests had said good-night 
 and good-by (for they were going to leave Fair 
 Harbor the next morning), and Mrs. Chauncey 
 had assured her hosts that she had never had 
 such a delightful evening in all her life, " espe 
 cially those heavenly cohort cakes," she said, 
 the good old couple stood together under the 
 stars, and watched the retreating forms till they 
 could no longer be seen. 
 
 "Well, father, what do you think now?" said 
 Mrs. Nye. 
 
 " I think you were right, mother, as you 
 mostly are, and I think that Professor is one 
 of the noblest men God ever made ; and I think 
 he is good enough for Mis Temple, God bless 
 her ! I can t say more n that, can I ? "
 
 A Week away from Time. 345 
 
 " \Yas n t it beautiful to hear him read his dis 
 course in that fine, manly voice ; and did you 
 notice Mis Temple s face, and see how starry- 
 like her eyes were, and how proud and happy 
 she looked? I guess she s come as near finding 
 out the secret of happiness as folks often does; 
 and if ever a woman deserved it, she s the one." 
 
 " Amen to that! " said the Captain. 
 
 " But that ain t all," pursued his wife. " I 
 don t suppose you noticed anything between 
 Mr. Ralph and that handsome young English 
 lady, did you ? " 
 
 " Oh, come, mother, I can t take in so much 
 all at one time ! You do beat all ! I ve got 
 enough to think over now; you can t be pairin* 
 off everybody. I dare say you 11 be makin a 
 match between Jim Canaan and the French 
 Mamzelle, they bcin about the only single ones 
 left to speculate on." 
 
 " I might make a crazier speculation than 
 that," answered Mrs. Nyc, shaking her head 
 mysteriously. " This has been a terrible inter- 
 estin week for the folks at the White House, 
 you d just better believe me!"
 
 346 A Week away from Time. 
 
 " I do believe you always, mother," said the 
 Captain affectionately ; " and there s one thing I 
 know, that they can t none of em choose wiser 
 than I did, nor live happier than you Ve made 
 me live, not if they try ever so ! " 
 
 Mrs. Nye gave her husband a kiss for all 
 answer, and they went up the little garden 
 walk, back into their peaceful home. 
 
 As the others were walking slowly by the 
 path through the fields to the White House, 
 the Professor said, " Who can remember those 
 lines from Matthew Arnold s Empcdocles on 
 ^Etna ? Charicles song, is it not? It begins 
 
 1 Where the moon-silvered inlets 
 Send far their light voice. 
 
 It is running in my head to-night, but I can get 
 no farther." 
 
 " They are favorite lines of mine," said 
 Margaret " I think I know them. I believe 
 I was thinking of them just now myself: 
 
 Where the moon-silvered inlets 
 
 Send far their light voice, 
 Up the still vale of Thisbe 
 Oh speed and rejoice !
 
 A Week away from Time, 34 7 
 
 On the sward at the cliff-top 
 
 Lie strewn the white flocks ; 
 On the cliff-side the pigeons 
 Roost deep in the rocks. 
 
 What forms are these coming 
 
 So white through the gloom ? 
 What garments out-glistening 
 The gold-flowered broom ? 
 
 What sweet-breathing presence 
 
 Out-perfumes the thyme ? 
 What voices enrapture 
 The night s balmy prime ? 
 
 T is Apollo comes leading 
 
 His choir the Nine ; 
 The leader is fairest, 
 But all are divine. 
 
 Whose praise do they mention ? 
 
 Of what is it told ? 
 What will be forever ? 
 What was from of old ? 
 
 First hymn they the Father 
 Of all things : and then, 
 The rest of immortals, 
 The action of men ;
 
 548 A Week away from Time. 
 
 The clay in its hotness, 
 
 The strife with the palm ; 
 The night in her silence, 
 The stars in their calm. " 
 
 Nobody went to bed very much that night. 
 Muriel was closeted for some time with Mrs. 
 Temple ; the two sisters had a long talk 
 together, and finally Margaret and Ralph, far 
 into the night. As Ralph left her room, she 
 said, 
 
 " Then you go to see Muriel s parents to 
 morrow? Bell is very anxious to know if you 
 have kept Lady Barberina sufficiently in mind. 
 She goes all lengths in admiration of Muriel, but 
 Lady Barberina troubles her." 
 
 " Yes, I am going to-morrow," said Ralph, 
 * in spite of Lady Barberina. I cannot be 
 lieve it, even now, Margaret. Great Heaven ! 
 It is inscrutable ! That she can possibly care 
 for me ! And yet, she has said it ! " 
 
 The brother and sister stood hand in hand for 
 a moment without speaking. Then he took her 
 in his arms and whispered, " My dearest, I would
 
 A Week away from Time. 349 
 
 not give you up to any other man in the world ! 
 But you and Philip are worthy one of the other. 
 Gqd bless you, as He will forever ! " 
 
 The last morning had come, the last fare 
 wells had been spoken, and Margaret was left 
 alone at Fair Harbor. 
 
 " It has been a wonderful week," Bell had 
 said, " and it is a wonderful Gulf Stream ! I 
 believe in it ! I salute it ! It is a marvel- 
 worker, a magician, a fateful stream ! " 
 
 Margaret stood in the sunshine, her faithful 
 dog by her side. 
 
 "Erin," she said, "you remember my dream 
 of the springtime ! It is autumn now, but my 
 dream has come true ! " 
 
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