THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
BY
OSE ELIZABETH CLEVELAND.
DETROIT, MICH.:
F. B. Dicker son & Co.,
1886.
COPYRIGHT :
F. B. DlCKERSCN & CO.
1886.
The Long Run.
CHAPTER I.
RUFUS GROSBECK is writing a letter. A let
ter of great importance, you conclude, and one
concerning which he has fully made up his mind
for he writes with great energy, never stop
ping from first to last. You are not prepared,
therefore, to see the letter, when finished,
folded indeed, and enclosed in an envelope,
but thereafter thrown upon the table and left
there, unsealed und unaddressed, while, the
writer leaves the room. It is, perhaps, four
2 9
1618540
10 THE LONG RUN.
hours before he re-enters, picks up the letter
still unsealed and unaddressed, and puts it in
his pocket. Then he buttons one button of his
rather ill-fitting frock coat, throws on his head
the hat that lies near, and walks out of the
house undoubtedly to mail the letter which, in-
his preoccupation with its matter, he has for
gotten.
If the latter be his intention, his inadvertence
continues alarmingly, for he walks swiftly past
the dingy country store, one corner of which
is appropriated to the mail department, past
the next store, equally dingy, past the row of
houses next, and down the hill which follows.
Here he is lost to the village and the village is
lost to him. His path stretches before him
into wide rural loneliness. Only across the
meadows, one, two, three, at his left, gleams the
white and green of a little manse, where dwell
THE LONG RUN. II
the rector and his wife, one babe, one maid
and, just now, one visitor.
This visitor is well known among a large
and important circle in the city as Miss Long-
worth. She, individually, has done nothing to
make herself notorious except to be born and to
bear her name, which latter is the notoriety, it
being that of a wealthy and aristocratic family,
time out of mind. The men of this family
have always been stirring and influential citi
zens; the women languid and lovely ladies, as
becomes women of blue blood to be, and the
female Longworth> whom we are about to con
sider is no exception, thus far, to her line. In
fact, to any one's knowledge, she is exceptional
in no way whatever. She is now a woman in
the thirties and somewhat settled in her ways.
And one of these ways, since Mr. Brown, the
rector, has brought a wife to Stonewall, has
12 THE LONG RUN.
been to make a visit every summer season to
Mrs. Brown.
These visits have come to be special events
to a small circle in the village of Stonewall.
From one and another reason, Miss Longworth
has made herself interesting to the parties com
posing this circle. She has always been inter
esting to Mrs. Rev. Brown. Long before her
marriage, Aggie Snowdon was devotedly in
terested in Miss Longworth; a matter not
inexplicable to even superficial observers, for
Miss Longworth was Miss Longworth, and
Aggie Snowdon was one of six daughters
of a minister's widow who was not an ex
ception, in point of this world's goods, to the
general run of minister's widows. Miss Long-
worth, although the only daughter of a doting
but despotic mother, herself a widow and
thoroughly Longworthized, insisted on liking
whom she pleased to like, and Aggie Snowdon
THE LONG RUN. 13
was one of this selection. Aggie, for her part,
made no opposition of her own free will to this
predestination, and doted upon Miss Longworth
disproportionately, as was proper under the cir
cumstances. When she became Mrs. Brown,
she did not desist from this devotion, although
the fact that Mr. Brown did not fully enter into
her feelings on this subject, somewhat mitigated
its measure. On the other hand, Mr. Brown,
although the most spiritual of men, had a suffi
cient conception of certain considerations inher
ent in social relations, to reconcile him to the
position of third person in a temporary trio, and
induce him carefully to cultivate the friendship
and encourage the visits of Miss Longworth.
Outside of the manse, there were those to.
whom a visit from Miss Longworth was an
interesting event. It was comprehensible to the
least logical observer that a rosy young country
girl, like Sallie Slycomb or her sister, should ,
14 THE LONG RUN.
be all stirred up in the anticipation and experi
ence of rides and picnics and teas with the
lovely lady who realized in her manners and
presence and exploits all their highest colored
dreams. As comprehensible was it that Far
mer Slycomb and his painstaking wife, both
consumed with parental ambition, should
much solicit the patronage for their daughters
of this very improving acquaintance. It was
an opening wedge in the future of the family.
For had not Miss Longworth already had Sal-
lie to visit her at her own home in the city, and
had not Sallie returned thence with a certain
delightful veneer of savoir faire over all her
rustic fibre, which reflected rose-wood lustre on
the whole family? Then again, in respect to
such personages as the Woolwiches poor, mis
erable Woolwiches as they were ! it was clear
as day how Miss Longworth's visits to Stone
wall were interesting to them. Thev looked
THE LONG RUN. 15
hungrily forward to her coming, from the first
time that little rat-faced Steve had wheeled her
trunk from the station to the manse, and had
brought home thrice the money he had ever
before got for a like job, and had thereafter
been " noticed " by the great lady in her re
searches in Stonewall, even to the extent of a
visit to the Woolwich headquarters, which visit
resulted in a systematic plan for the ameliora
tion of the whole family after the best approved
methods of work among the parish poor of St.
John the Beloved's in the city. It belonged to
the lovely and languid Longworth ladies to be
benevolent.
Thus it will be seen that various persons in
Stonewall were much interested in Miss Long-
worth, and upon grounds comprehensible even
to that reader whose gift of observation is but
ordinary. There remains, however, one per
son to whom she is of the greatest interest
1 6 THE LONG RUN.
at the moment of the letter-writing above
noticed, and it is of him and of his interest
that we must give some explanation, not trust
ing the reader of the most extraordinary
observation to infer the facts without our assis
tance.
CHAPTER II.
RUFUS GROSBECK had become interested in
Miss Longworth after a fashion vastly differing
from that of the Browns, the Slycombs, or the
miserable Woolwiches. His interest had been
circulating about the zero point until ten days
ago, although it is more than a year now since
Miss Longworth has been a periodical visitor
at Stonewall. This interest had been languidly
increasing up to within ten days, when it sud
denly rose to a degree which makes his inter-,
est, if ever, of interest to us. By us I mean
any Emeline Longworth or Rufus Grosbeck
who may live, and look upon these lines, and
3 17
1 8 THE LONG R UN.
any others who for any reason may, like the
writer, feel an interest in either.
Grosbeck himself is thinking it all over now,
as, with the letter in his pocket, he is pacing
slowly up and down the leaf-strewn path. He
is shut into a kind of privacy by the hill behind
which hides the village, and by the distance and
slope in front leading to the manse. The in
creasing dusk helps this sense of privacy, for
the sun had set some time since. A sudden hot
flush has flooded the western sky and, rolling
up to the zenith, seems to peel away from the
sky its veil of ashy cloud-film, which curls and
falls off in thin evaporating strips. The stars
show dimly here and there, gaining distinctness
constantly.
Rufus Grosbeck walks quietly to and fro,
stopping every now and then, as a man will
whose attention is intensely subjective. He is
thinking over that letter and trying to come to
THE LONG RUN. 19
a conclusion as to what he shall do with it.
For the reader is greatly mistaken if he persists
in the conviction that the letter written with
so much energy and certainty of movement
has, therefore, a settled destiny in the mind of
the writer. " I will get it out on paper any
way " he had said in the writing. And, on
reading it, for he had been reading it over,
he had said: "It is well said, (Byron's letter
to Miss Milbanke, the reasons alleged for its
sending and its fatal consequences, had just
then come to his mind) but it shall not go on
that account. It shall not go, unless that is the
thing to do ! " And this is what he is about
now, here in the dusky twilight. Trying to
see what is best, under the circumstances.
The circumstances are the rub. He is try
ing to see the circumstances to be something
different. Trying to pose himself in the midst
of them with a different effect. After all, this
20 THE LONG RUN.
a -priori inference may not be accurate; and
he tries the a posteriori. That involves a re.
trospection. And so he paces back and forth,
and halts and starts again, there in the twilight,
but the obstinate circumstances stand still. It is
all a picture and he is in it; and, though he has
a critical perception of the faults in the arrange
ment of figure and drapery, he has no power
to rearrange them. Only three days ago, he
thinks, neither of them, figure nor drapery,
had an existence. Now they cling hard and
dry to an imperishable canvas !
Well, then, since he can do nothing with the
last three days, he goes back of them and tries
to re-arrange the past, but here succeeds as ill.
The Circumstances still twit on facts and slide
in a jumbled panorama before his vision; he
is in them, but so confused and changeful in his
position that, like the elusive figure of a
dream, he can neither find nor lose himself at
THE LONG RUN. 2 *
will. But he persists in his attempt. With
that trick which besets every man when Con
science draws all consciousness to the fiery
focus of one time, with its electric light of
Then and There, he is groping up and down
the lengthened radii, back and forth, inspecting
with a needless, fruitless nicety, trying to divert
the light from that focus and so dilute its inten
sity.
But Grosbeck's confusion in viewing the cir
cumstances of the past in which he and Miss
Longworth are central figures need not over
take us. He is studying them with a purpose
to eliminate their ethics as bearing upon himself
in his present situation. We are not subjected
to any such necessity, but may view them in
the role, pure and simple, of sight-seers. As .
such, we may look upon the scenes of his con
fused panorama, arranged in their proper rank
22 THE LONG RUN.
and succession, as they slide before our eyes
with orderly distinctness.
Scene first of this panorama carries us
back one year and some months, to the sum
mer of Miss Longworth's advent to Stonewall.
The occasion is no less than that of the
annual church picnic, regular as the summer
solstice, which at this return is graced by the
presence of the guest of the rector's wife.
Perhaps, indeed, no occasion could be contrived
on which the graceful and gracious demeanor
of so fine a lady could find more generous
scope among the Brown and Slycomb constitu
ency, not omitting the miserable Woolwiches.
The moment at which we introduce ourselves
at this religious orgie is somewhat later
than the hour of collation. The generous
tables present now but the lacerated remains of
a prodigality of refreshment. All the Sunday
School children are filled to satiety; even the
THE LONG RUN 2,3
miserable Woolwiches, if never before or after
in the revolving years, do now and here satisfy
their souls with the fatness of " frosted " cake
and lemonade. Fed to repletion are they,
one and all, and out of their nursery for the
time being, gathered lazily about the church
melodeon, which has been cautiously removed
to the grove for the purpose of accompanying
the rendition of " Gospel Hymns,' 1 after refresh
ments. Here presides Miss Sallie Slycourt,
with a gentle gentility suggestive of Miss
Longworth, much as her own copy for Sallie
paints in fresh, stout colors resembles the less
striking original. This her mother, and others
of the committee, seated on a hill near by,
where they enjoy a select repast, observe with
fondness. The compact figure of Mrs. Brown
has made successive circuits of the ground,
attended by the tall and slender stranger lady
who condescends to all, and in her low-toned
24 THE LONG RUN.
affability wins golden opinions from all sorts of
people.
" There, Emmy, I believe I have slighted
nobody so far, have I ?" ejaculates Mrs. Brown,
standing with her friend aside for a moment.
Mrs. Brown feels the responsibility of her posi
tion as minister's wife. This is her first sum
mer in Stonewall, although the winter has
preceded it, and she feels a degree of anxiety
at this, her first really public performance.
"Although there was the Donation, Emmy,"
she admits, " on the whole, perhaps that was
as much of a trial as this, only there were not
so many -outsiders, I believe. I do hope I shall
see everybody and say the right things to peo
ple! " Aggie's gospel is one of peace and good
will to all men.
"Oh, my! here comes Mr. Grosbeck," cries
she, presently, as an elderly lady and younger
man are seen to approach.
THE LONG RUN 25
" Come, Emmy, I do want you to see Mrs.
Grosbeck so much!"
Aggie had told Emmy long ago, in making
her inventory of the parish, of " old Mrs. Gros
beck."
u She is the widow of the last rector but
one, and is so different from the Stonewall peo
ple, Emmy! " she had said.
" They are all good, of course, but Mrs.
Grosbeck is different, you know. I'm quite
afraid of her sometimes! And Mr. Grosbeck.
a-
he is her son, and so very talented and odd ! "
This latter item has not slipped Miss Long-
worth's mind when she is now brought face to
face with the Grosbecks, mother and son.
Old Mrs. Grosbeck is very affable, with the
something " different " to be seen at a glance.
Aggie is fascinated, as usual, not being afraid
this time, and the two fall into talk concerning
the position of minister's wife, which being
4
2,6 THE LONG RUN.
very old to Mrs. Grosbeck and very new to
Mrs. Brown, furnishes a topic of inexhaustive
interest. The aged iady is not averse to giv
ing, nor the younger to asking, advice. And
so it came about that Miss Longworth and Mr.
<jrosbeck are left to entertain each other.
CHAPTER III.
MR. GROSBECK is put upon his best behavior
by a swift compunction that comes as Aggie
presents him to " my friend, Miss Longworth."
It had been " my most intimate friend " when,,
three weeks before, she had invited him, coax-
ingly, to " call upon her very soon." This was
before Miss Longworth came, and while Aggie
was casting about for means to entertain her.
Miss Longworth had been in Stonewall now
nearly two weeks and Mr. Grosbeck had not
called. There was no particular reason for
this remissness, however, except that there
never was any particular reason why he should
27
28 THE LONG RUN.
call anywhere, and he always shirked such a
duty as long as he could. He felt a little
abashed now, however, in view of the slight
put upon Mrs. Brown's invitation, and this feel
ing stimulated him to make what propitiation
the present occasion should afford him oppor
tunity for.
" Oh, Mr. Grosbeck, I always forget every
thing when you are around," exclaimed Mrs.
Brown presently, as her eye wandered, during
the recital of a reminiscence of the older lady,
and she was suddenly brought to a sense of
what was due again by a look, thrown across
heads, from her husband yonder. This con
jugal reminder was perfectly intelligible to Mrs.
Brown, as she saw deputations from " the
denominations " filing in, in a friendly, after-
dinner way. Self-respect prevented the sects
from coming to the " Episcopal picnic " before
refreshments, because to go and "eat without
THE LONG RUN. 29
taking anything " was much looked down upon
by Stonewall quality.
"Do make me go and speak to the Metho
dists and Baptists! I see them coming, and
there is Mr. Brown looking at me! Do come
with me, Mrs. Grosbeck, and see that I behave
myself." And, the ceremonious old lady gra
ciously assenting, Aggie added, in her girlish,
bubbling way " Mr. Grosbeck will take care
of you, Emmy!" To this Mr. Grosbeck replied
in a manner quite like her mother's, and yet not
like anybody at all:
"Miss Longworth will take care of me I
foresee, Mrs. Brown."
A smooth remark that, which might slip off
the tongue of any society man and leave no
remembrance of itself behind. It is, however,
an inexplicable fact that these trifling words of
Rufus Grosbeck 's echoed long after in the ears
of Emeline Longworth. Months after, when
30 THE LONG RUN.
there were carefully considered words of Gros-
beck's in her mind, offered to her by him for
careful consideration, this trivial remark would
strike in among them and put them all to mo
mentary flight. The never-understood change
in his voice, his grave bow to the other ladies,
which seemed their dismissal, the humility of
the words, the authority of his manner, the
charm of a sense of custody which stole over
her or did she herself imagine all these things
and their effects into existence? and some
thing besides, probably the thing in it all which
escapes analysis, and which, if anything, was
everything, would all stand out vivid, novel,
captivating as then. Now to a fresh, rustic
girl like Sallie Slycomb, this sort of thing
might be impressive; but it seems an out
rageous irony on this world-worn lady that she
should be impressed so instantly by this country
gentleman's careless remark. Indeed, when
THE LOAG RUN. 31
written as an influential fact, all this seems in-
incredible. But the influential facts of our lives
are rarely written. If it chance that we con
front them in some self-assertion of themselves,
we turn away from them and refuse to recog
nize them for what they are. For all that,
these trifles are the grappling, hooks which
catch and fix us in our ruts. Up to this mo
ment Miss Longworth had not been specially
interested in Mr. Grosbeck. Amused, perhaps
even curious, for his appearance, like that of
most men who live solitary and studious lives,
was incongruous, and Miss Longworth was not
blind to incongruities. His very best clothes
never relieved him from an air of seedy peculi
arity in dress, and his efforts at small talk were,
at best, but a counterfeit of conversation. His
attempts to pass the current coin of society
brought to that arbitrary exchange a medley
of trashy half-penny phrases mixed with rare
32 THE LONG RUN.
obsolete oboli of unknown value. He had an
ambition to appear like other people when with
them, and to pass for a society man; and it hurt
his pride to experience defeat in this role. He
thought <a man of his parts should be able to go
into any society easily and admirably, without
wasting his time in it habitually; in short, he
wished to have the ability to appear at ease in
all situations, without being willing to accus
tom himself to all situations.
On this occasion Mr. Grosbeck had not
ceased to wag his tongue in the manner de
scribed, and Miss Longworth had become
somewhat confused and fatigued in conse
quence. It was Mr. Grosbeck 's own impres
sion that he had, so far, made an admirable fig
ure before this woman of the great world; but
he now saw, for he was not lacking in percep
tion, and, unfortunately, it was to be seen, that
she did not share his own impression concern-
THE LONG RUN. 33
ing himself, and this aroused him and made
him desirous to prolong the interview. He
wished not to suffer the mortification which
would follow him in the sense of defeat, if their
interview were then terminated. He was not
interested in Miss Longworth. She seemed to
him feeble and fussy and without beauty, al
though agreeable enough to the senses of sight
and hearing. Her make-up was harmonious,
its effect pleasant, without being pleasing. Her
tones were even charming, but there was noth
ing in them to linger in the ear. There was
nothing about her to hold his attention, but this,
that he did not hold hers. At the instant of
discovery that he was boring her with what he
supposed was the most savory pabulum that
could be offered her, his curiosity was faintly
aroused to see what sort of talk would interest
her. There must be something to a person
who can be bored, he reflected, even though
34 THE LONG RUN.
that person be that most transparent jelly-fish,
the frippery, fashionable fine lady who belongs
to the church and society.
At once, then, on being relieved of an audi
ence which always made him uneasy, and being
in secure tete-a-tete, he fell into a more natural
role. He became, in short, himself ; and, when
quite himself, he was always fascinating, if not
always agreeable.
CHAPTER IV.
"Miss Longworth will take care of me, I
foresee, Mrs. Brown," said Grosbeck, turning
and bowing to that lady as she and his mother
moved away. Then, squaring himself before
Emeline, he demanded, "Well, Miss Long-
worth ; now that you have me on your hands,
what are you going to do with me? "
" I have not the least idea," confessed Eme
line sincerely.
"I thought so. Well, then, I have. But
you must come and sit down." And he led
the way to a little eminence where ferns waved
untrodden, and seated Emeline at the base of a
35
3 THE LONG RUN.
beech tree, throwing himself down near her.
The artificial character he had assumed was
quite gone, and he had now, in manner and
attitude, the abandon of a boy.
" So you are really enjoying yourself here in
the country?" commenced he.
"Very much," returned Emeline briefly.
She was somewhat surprised to find herself
sequestered and settled in this way, seated on
the ground with her back against a beach tree.
It was not after the Longworth-lady style to
go off by themselves with strange men, and she
never was seen to sit with her back against
anything. But there seemed no help for it,
and her mother was not present.
"So you really enjoy yourself?" persisted
Grosbeck in a teasing tone.
" I did not say that, did I? Do not take me
for an egotist," replied Emeline uninterestedly.
"Why not? Everybody is, in one way or
THE LONG RUN. 37
another. But what do you do, Miss Long-
worth? It has just occurred to me, and I am
devoured with curiosity to know how you get
through the days." His voice had changed.
He had thrown a certain seriousness into it.
"Ah, you have touched a sore spot there,
Mr. Grosbeck," answered Emeline, with a sud
den responsive earnestness. " That is the
worst thing about it; I do not see that I do
anything but gaze from hill tops and piazzas
on lovely landscapes. I am troubled about it
sometimes." From where they sat the loveli
est distant hills showed in summer steadfastness.
Shadows from the white clouds above swept
across them. The green of rolling meadows
and the glisten of water lay between.
"But is nothing being done to you, then?"
asked Grosbeck. " One who has eyes to see
ought never to look unchanged on those hills
yonder. Do not they do something to you?"
3 THE LONG RUN.
"Do what?" asked Emeline with a little
sharpness of tone.
" Why, make you think and feel. ' Cultivate'
you," answered Grosbeck, with an accent of
slightly sarcastic quotation upon the last two
words. His opinions of the kind of cultivation
vaunted by these esthetic fine ladies was not
respectful.
Miss Longworth seemed not to have heard
his last words. She repeated the former:
" Think and feel ! Oh yes, no end of that.
But what does thinking amount to if one does
nothing about it? or feeling either! "
" But that is the way fine ladies live," sug
gested Grosbeck. He could not feel either se
rious or trifling.
" That does not ease my conscience!" replied
Emeline.
Grosbeck found nothing to say at once.
Presently he said kindly:
THE LONG RUN. 39
" But you certainly cannot do any harm."
It occurred to him that this was very true,
as he studied the aspect of this gentle woman
sitting there so easily and stroking character-
lessly and gently the ferns which he had been
laying in her lap as they talked. He, like all
men of his nature and habits, had no concep
tion of the self-control and self-reserve that goes
to make up this aspect of characterlessness, the
pillow by which the woman of the world soft
ens all contact with others, and smothers her
self.
There was no estimate of her betrayed in
Grosbeck's words to Miss Longworth. If to
him harmlessness was a greater evil than ca
pacity to do harm, she had no right to infer
that as the meaning of his words. But she
winced under them as if there had been con
tempt in them. It was her self-contempt that
40 THE LONG RUN.
hurt her. It was so certain to herself that she
was helpless and harmless!
" Not even that ! " The words escaped her.
She would not have dreamed that she could
have spoken so unguardedly to the acquaint
ance of an hour. She had no acquaintance to
whom she spoke so, and she never had had one.
But the swift-mood that had somehow, without
her will it seemed, overtaken her, left her no
leisure to analyze anything now, and the bitter
ness in her tone was an actual betrayal.
Could she never escape it this conscious
ness of being nobody-in-particular to herself or
to anybody else ! If she never could if things
were so immutable and inexorable that she
never could come to anything definite then it
was cruel that she could never forget it; that a
stranger must discover it so soon and thrust it
upon her recognition again! The inanity of
Longworth-dom had tortured her so long!
THE LONG RUN. 4*
With all her slick, purring composure, soft
movements and slow, reposeful attitudes, she
maintained, under all, a feline vigil for any
means of escape. She knew there was a race
different from the tame people among whom
she was herded. She had seen people who
were some-bodies-in-particular, but no one of
them ever seemed to see her. People of energy
and purpose and career seemed to have nothing
to do with her. She has, again, to-day a sense
of being labelled "Not Wanted!" and put
away to be never wanted. This man, for all
the absurdity of it, makes her feel that some
how the Unusual is hovering around and con
trasting with her. But, spite of comparison,,
her antennae are ever groping for the wild, the
unhindered, the Free! In slumberous luxury
upon the Persian rug, she dreams of the jungle.
Grosbeck was about to reply to this too
much-meaning remark of Emeline's " Not
6
4 2 THE LONG RUN.
even that! " "Why, that is a great deal to say,
Miss Longworth. It is no small matter to do
no harm in this world." He would have
spoken in the same soothing kindness of tone
which he had used in his last remark. But,
somehow, he did not speak at all. He was
silent for some moments.
It all flashed before him with the bitterness
of her tone in the words she used. He imag
ined he saw her as she was, the fine lady who
goes to the country and idles away her time in
insincere bucolics, lives her inane life out with
year after year of such alternation from idle
city winter to idle country summer to him
the most meaningless creature in the world.
Her content was ignoble, her complacency in
tolerable. But if she were ^contented ! that
was another thingi The possibilities of pathos
in such a woman's life had sometimes occurred
to him. And now there came over him a con-
THE LONG RUN. 43
viction that here was such a woman feeble,
discontented, every way incapable, and realiz
ing it !
After a while he said slowly and seriously:
" I see, Miss Longworth. But can nothing
be done about it ? "
He did not wait for her reply. She was not
ready.
"After all, each one of us is an individual,''
he went on. He was trying to answer his own
question. Grosbeck was given to speculation
on all possible situations of man or woman, but
in his imagination of this one, he had never
been able to see his way out. He could not see
what could be done about it. If she had any
power to feel even! But pulseless, passionless,
spoiled with her advantages, prisoned by a
caste all the more inexorable in its demands that
(in our glorious republic) there is no name for it
he had never been able to see what such a
44 THE LONG RUN.
woman (it would be so different with a man !)
could do about it.
"After all, each of us is an individual. Noth
ing can help that or hinder. 'In der Be-
schrankung zeigt sich erst der Meister? Our
limitations test us. It is what we amount to in
spite of them tha is the real thing. And no
one can touch }our own intrinsic life. You
have your secrets with God and Nature, like
the rest of us, and no one can violate their
sacredness."
"But one ought to do something in this
life," said Emeline, simply.
Another inscluble problem to Grosbeck!
After all, the demands for room that hands
should move ungloved and feet should step
unfettered was so unreasonably reasonable!
" There is a great deal of delusion about this
doing things," murmured Grosbeck. His voice
still had the tone of answer to an argument
THE LONG RUN. 45
with himself. " You remember what Schiller
says ' Seek'st thou the Greatest, the Best?
The plant can teach it thee. What it does, not
willing, that do thou by willing!' We have
but to surrender ourselves to friendly elements.
All nature is for us. The sun can only bless;
the air only stimulate ; the earth has for us only
nourishment. Ours only is it to assimilate
these friendly elements. The fern there has no
power to resist all this conspiracy that makes
for its development. We have. That is the
worst and the best of it."
Emeline was wondering where the best of it
was for her. What friendly elements were
about her? The Longworth sun had never
seemed to do anything to her but shrivel her,
and she knew no other's ray. The Longworth
atmosphere, if stirred at all, was rippled only by
a Southern breeze which brought enervation in
its exotic perfumes. The Longworth soil had
46 THE LONG RUN.
yielded all its phosphates to earlier scions, and
no revolutionizing plough-share furrowed re
newal.
" Yes, that must hold for us all," continued
Grosbeck presently. 'In der Beschrankung
zeigt sich erst der Meister, und das Gesetz
nur kann uns Freiheit geben." 1 Freedom in
the midst of our own bondage. Freedom out
of our bondage. We must forge our liberty
from our fetters themselves. You and I.
This in a tone of quiet assurance, his eyes
fixed on the hills yonder, blue and distant,
gleaming through the trees.
And more, a good deal more in the same
strain. Grosbeck was nothing if not didactic,
and at home anywhere except in the common
place.
CHAPTER V.
Miss LONGWORTH had never before been
so preached to. Never before had her case
been formulated, and the subtle sympathy
which was inseparable from Grosbeck's tones
gave her a feeling of being understood, for
once. She exultingly felt a sense of having, at
last, been recognized as woman, in distinction
from a Longworth. She came away from her
first interview with Mr. Grosbeck, with a tri
umphant consciousness of having been discov
ered.
This, rather than that of having made a dis
covery; though the one involved the other.
47
48 THE LONG RUN.
That the protesting, interior self had been seen,
necessitated one who could see it and who
would see it. The could and the 'would waged
war for precedence. That he could see her
real self beneath the Longworth strata argued
uncommon power and set him up among the
seers and demi-gods. The Goethe and the
Schiller he quoted seemed only his peers. Yet
he might have ability to do all this, and never
care to. Because he had done it, he must have
thought it worth while. He must have faith
in her, and interest in her. She remembered
Grosbeck's words, and they repeated them
selves constantly in her mind, but always they
were ended with the "You and I!" And
so a certain concreteness ran already through
this Unusual Abstract, and left a vague but
constant impression upon her mind, that be
tween her and this Olympian there was an un
derstanding, a kind of ethical tutoiment.
THE LONG RUN. 49
Miss Longworth had never felt so much
enjoyment at a picnic. When Mrs. Brown
found her again and Mrs. Grosbeck claimed
the attention of her son home, never had this
very lovely stranger seemed so amiable to all,
never so radiant, so gently exuberant to Brown,
Slycomb and miserable Woolwich ilk, as now.
The remaining minutes of the picnic became
a fete under her management. Old and young
were alike captivated by her affectionate inter
est in them. Silent, horny-handed farmers and
brisk, critical farmeresses were, one and all,
stormed and captured by her soft sieges. She
emanated about her a shower of subdued scintil
lations in which everybody lit up. Aggie had
never seen her most intimate friend so irresistible
and was never so much so herself. The gaiety
spread over the whole crowd, and, at last, when
it was time, and past time, to conclude the
7
5O THE LONG RUN.
games, in which everybody played, and to break
up the conversation, in which everybody talked,
nobody wanted to go home. Aggie was
delighted, and, conscious that she herself had
behaved becomingly, was disposed to ascribe
the bulk of the glory to Miss Longworth.
"You did the most to make it pleasant,
Emmy dear," she said. " You were so sweet!"
And Emmy was just so sweet in her denial
of having any part in that result. The Rev.
John Brown himself was heartily honest in his
acquiescence in his wife's claims for her friend
this time.
" Quite remarkable in her way, my dear, and
no mistake," he admitted, with the air of a
man who means to be fair, at all costs.
As for Miss Longworth herself, she was con
scious of her own exhilaration and its cause.
Her case was that of the man who shines in
THE LONG RUN. S 1
society from the stimulus of champagne; the
shine is seen, the champagne may or may not
be seen. With Miss Lonworth her cham
pagne was her own secret
CHAPTER VI.
IT would be vain to deny that the elegant
Miss Longworth had great expectations of Mr.
Grosbeck. She, herself, would not have denied
it had the occasion of its admission been con
ceivable.
As a matter of fact, she had passed a more
nearly sleepless night after the picnic than ever
before in her life. A profound excitement
banished sleep. Her thought might have been
epitomized in the words There is, after all,
help for me. Her antennae seemed to have
suddenly come upon a crevice of escape from
52
THE LONG RUN. 53
the depths of the Persian rug; who could tell
how that crevice might open, whither lead?
Her case was like that of the boy who cannot
sleep because when the night is past he is to
start on his journey, outward bound, into life.
It may be his start is only that of bundle-boy
in the great city store. No matter. It is a
start in the path of to him boundless pos
sibilities. Miss Longworth's average imagin
ation is scarcely up to that of the average boy.
But this night her imagination is rampant.
She certainly has got a start and that is not to
be the last of it. Then, too, she has a feeling
that this strange man has found out, or may,
if he will, find out all about her, and that is
enough to keep any woman awake nights.
Yes, Miss Longworth has expectations
because she has intentions. She does not,
indeed, think it would be the last if she, her-
54 THE LONG RUN.
self, had no intentions, for she concludes at
once it is a matter of course he will have
them. She supposes that so lonely (he must
be lonely in such a place) a man as Mr. Gros-
beck will be glad to pursue her acquaintance,
and long avenues of usefulness to him rise up
before her in the future. The path of her
intentions fork that way also. But, aside from
any disposition of his, she means to follow him
up. An intense admiration of the being who,
as it seems to her, has so calmly explored her
soul, has taken possession of her. She deter
mines that he shall help her, because he can;
that he was presumably willing to do so, that
she was anxious that he should do so, were
asides. She intended to apprentice herself to
Mr. Grosbeck, and the articles of apprenticeship
unrolled themselves before her at great length.
The preliminary lines she reads clearly, but
THE LONG RUN 55
tnose which follow become confused, and the
conclusion is blurred and wholly uncertain.
What is certain is that she intends to learn a
great deal from Mr. Grosbeck, and to com
mence right away.
All this does not seem at all unsuitable to
Miss Longworth. She is not a young thing,
smitten with love at first sight, that she shall
be frightened away from making any sign of
herself to the man who has bewitched her. It
Is no more unsuitable that she should be the
one to make advances to this remarkable
country gentleman, old and odd, than that she
should " take up " anybody else ; and Miss
Longworth, as we have seen, is given to
taking up individuals here and there, who
strike her fancy or enlist her benevolence. Of
course she knows what might be said by foolish
or ignorant people; but, even if this were so, it
5 THE LONG RUN.
would not be unbecoming in her. At the bot
tom lay the blue blood. Long-worthiness stood
in any possible gap. On the whole, Miss Long-
worth looked forward to the next day with a
zest that was an era in her hitherto languid
life.
CHAPTER VII
Miss LONGWORTH looked forward ten next
days before she again talked with Mr. Gros-
beck. Then Mr. Grosbeck called with his
mother, who made the effort with extraordi
nary graciousness. Mrs. Grosbeck highly ap
proved the Longworths, whose antecedents
were familiar to her, though she made nothing
of that in her intercourse with them. She had
suggested several times that Rufus should call
to' see the ladies, for Mrs. Longworth had
now joined her daughter in the country, not as
Mrs. Brown's guest, however, but as boarder
in the comfortable home of a parishoner.
8 57
5 8 THE LONG RUN.
" Emeline is so infatuated with your little
village, Mr. Grosbeck," she said, by way of
disclaiming any infatuation herself. " I really
could not induce her to join me at the moun
tains, so I was induced to finish the season
here ; and, indeed, I like it very well so quiet
and retired. Quite the ideal of pure country
life!"
It is a question if Grosbeck would have
called at all, unless compelled to escort his
mother. For he was entirely without inten
tions concerning Miss Longworth. She had
not, spite of her own convictions, interested
him. It was the old story. The discontented
fine lady was poor pastime for a student. He
hoped at the time he had said something
to her that she would remember with profit;
but he, himself, had forgotten what it was by
the next day, and the interview left on him
only an impression of dilettanteism on both
THE LONG RUN. 59
sides. It was natural to him to preach, and
he was accustomed to being listened to in
silence. To him there was nothing unpre
cedented in the occasion which formed an era
for Miss Longworth. If the considerations
i
concerning her, or rather, her class, which
moved him to speak as he did at the time,
occurred to him at all again, they came back
diluted, and he had as little faith in the sincer
ity of her discontent with the narrowness of her
life and nature as he had in her ability to make
herself more room. The anticipation of a pos
sible repetition of this interview did not interest
him.
On this evening of the call, Mr. Grosbeck, in
his complacent and ill-fitting role of society
man, fell to Mrs. Longworth, his mother quite
monopolizing the daughter, who was most assid
uous in her attention. This arrangement, how
ever, gave no one vivid satisfaction, unless it
60 THE LONG RUN.
might be Mrs. Grosbeck, who wished to inves
tigate Miss Longworth. As for Emeline her
self, when her callers left, she felt doubly dis
appointed.
Disappointment succeeded disappointment.
Emeline saw Mr. Grosbeck at church and in
the street, but he showed no sensitiveness in the
recognition of her. Any other meeting which
happened between them was in the presence of
others and there was never an approach to his
first tutoiment. Of course, however, she could
not refer to it, and it harmonized with her ideal
of him that he should be too delicate to do so;
for he must have felt that it was all very unus
ual. He would know, too, how sensitive she
would feel about her own admissions. In this
line of argument she explained away her sur-
*
prises and disappointments.
It was not until the day before that fixed for
her departure from Stonewall that Miss Long-
THE LONG RUN. 6 1
worth met Mr. Grosbeck alone. She had gone,
this September afternoon, to the same grove
where the picnic had been held, and had sought
the same spot where her feelings had been so
excited weeks ago. She had a volume of Ten
nyson in her hands, but she was more occu
pied with her own thoughts than with his. It
had swept all over her again the misery of
being nobody-m-particular, the unimportance of
her life, the painful sense of being cramped and
smothered by the things for which she was
envied and admired. The future, full of even
ing drawing-rooms flashing with beautiful dress
and fine manners; of crowded city-church ser
vices, where colored glass and waxy flowers
and soft music and chanted litanies mixed
soothingly; of high-art operas and concerts and
receptions, it all looked blank and gray to her
vision ; and all the more so because t"ie vivid chi
aroscuro with which this idealized man had lit
62 THE LONG RUN.
up new, satisfying scenes for her, had seemed
to fade away from her and her life. She had
hoped so strongly for help from this seer who
had so divined her ! Poor Emeline ! her
thoughts are very simple and very sad this
afternoon.
She is thinking of Grosbeck now, wondering
about him humbly. For it has humiliated her
that she must conclude, at last, that she has no
attraction for him. She thought he would see
how he could help her and would come for that
if nothing else. She feels herself feebler than
she ever did before.
It happens there is really no necessity that
this convenient phrase shall involve the idea of
chance it happens that Grosbeck himself is
wandering this very afternoon in this very
place, with no thought of Miss Longworth
however, or remembrance of the interview of
which this spot was the theatre. But in his
THE LONG RUN. 63
wandering he wanders to this spot, and the
sight of her there does not displease or disturb
him.
His footstep behind her startles her, and she
turns and meets his approaching face. He
smiles and in a moment stands before her, hat
in hand. She was rising, but he lays his hand
on her shoulder and she keeps her seat. The
coincidence of it all and she does not know
what (it is years before she owns that it was
his hand upon her shoulder) sends a sudden
wave of color over her face, which she resents
helplessly. He notices this, the blush and the
resentment, and both occur to him for deduc
tions afterward.
"I am glad to see you again, Miss Long
worth," he commenced. " I had supposed your
allowance of time for Stonewall was ex
hausted."
It all fell in with the general pitch of mood
64 THE LONG RUN.
in Emeline's mind that he should have thought
her gone.
" I go to-morrow," she said simply.
'When we met here a month ago or was
it longer? I thought we should see each other
often " said Grosbeck. " We seemed to know
each other very well, at once."
What could she reply to this singular man?
It was not the Longworth who was at a loss.
The Longworths were never at a loss.
She wished to ask him why they had not
met? It seemed unkind in him to have held
himself so aloof. Resentment was alive in
Emeline.
"Yes?" she said feebly.
"Why, yes," echoed he. "I wonder why
we have not met oftener; because it has
happened so? As if that accounted for any
thing! No, it was somebody's fault."
THE LONG RUN. 5
"You do not care for society, Mr. Grosbeck,"
suggested Emeline.
" Sometimes " said Grosbeck. " Now this
afternoon, for instance, I was wishing for com
pany. But in the main I am an unsocial crea
ture, I fear. You think so, I know."
Emeline laughed. The Longworth would
make no personal confessions.
" Of course, come to think of it, that is what
you must think, for if any one is to blame
because I have not seen more of you, it must
be Rufus Grosbeck. He is a bad fellow, Miss
Longworth; a person who makes no more of
a blunder than of a crime. Yet, somehow, he
always seems to stand in his own light. What
do you think of him anyhow?" He asked this
last in a tone of audacious curiosity.
"How can I think anything of so great a
stranger?" responded Emeline.
66 THE LONG RUN.
" Of course " he is scrutinizing her closely
now (and she knows it), as he stands there
leaning against a tree, his hat in his hand and
his great Saxon face beaming down on her,
"I knew you did not think anything of me.
I am ground slowly, but exceeding small. But
I will have my revenge next summer. You
are coming again then, and I shall devote two
weeks to you, by the clock."
It was one of Emeline's fixed purposes to
come to Stonewall the next summer. But how
did he know that? No matter, she could not
be displeased at his quiet assumption of her
purposes. She brightened visibly and said
gaily:
" Then I shall certainly come for two weeks.
I have ho end of questions I want to ask you,
Mr. Grosbeck. I have not forgotten anything
you said."
She was falling into her normal place at his
THE LONG RUN. 67
feet. The woman had escaped from the
Longworth.
'What did I say? But no matter. lean
tell when you ask your questions."
Grosbeck rather dreaded the subjectivity of
too minute a recitation to him of his own elo
quence. Of course this woman was morbid,
as all such women were. His tone set the date
for resumption of their introspections ahead one
year, very decidedly. He looked at her book
and, without pausing, said:
"What! Tennyson? I should have sup
posed Wordsworth instead."
" In looking on the happy Autumn fields?"
asked Emeline.
" There is but one goddess, and Wordsworth
is her prophet," returned Grosbeck. "You
are a panthiest, I presume, Miss Longsworth?"
" I do not think I am very clear about what
I am, Mr. Grosbeck. It flatters me to be
68 THE LONG PUN.
called anything. But please do not catechise
me. You found me out so completely the first
day you saw me! I was never so communi
cative.'
" I do not remember that you said much. I
thought I preached, mostly,' 1 responded Gros-
beck, indifferently.
" I said a great deal too much for my own
peaceful recollection," replied Emeline, eagerly.
She was nearing the talk round to the
"Woman-question" again, and, in its very
worst shape, the Longworth-lady question.
Grosbeck tacked.
" Forget everything that is not pleasant to
remember, as I do," said he, quietly. And
then, "What were you reading?"
" Nothing in the book, I think," replied Em
eline. It was open at Elaine.
"Are you sorrier for Elaine or Launcelot? "
asked Grosbeck, idly, as he glanced at the
THE LONG RUN. 69
open page. A faint curiosity sprang into his
question, however. What could such women
find in such poems?
' I think I never compared my respective
sympathies for the two," said Emeline.
" I think it was a mistake to kill Elaine,
don't you?" persisted Grosbeck.
"Why so?" asked Emeline, with coldness.
"Sweet is true love though given in vain!"
quoted Grosbeck.
"And sweet is death which puts an end to
pain! " retorted Emeline.
Grosbeck glanced at her. Could this modu
lated woman know anything of love or pain?
It jarred on him to hear her speak so. Worse,
that he had spoken so to her.
" We are not so sure of that," said he pres
ently. But whatever is uncertain, of one thing
there is no doubt in heaven or earth that
Love conquers in the long" run"
7 THE LONG RUN.
He said these words (as if he expected, or
had had, contradiction) with a vehement
emphasis. But how he came to say them he
could never tell. If ever one's Aai^wv put
words into one's mouth he certainly did then.
Grosbeck was conscious of no motive, or rele
vance in these words, but, on the contrary, a
strong sense of their absurd irrelevance came
over him as soon as they were uttered. He did
not know what would come next, and resolutely
closed his lips, switching the fallen leaves
viciously, and looking hard at the ground.
But danger of any further sentimentalities was
averted by the sudden and sure apparition of
Mrs. Longworth, who was perceived by Erne-
line to rise steadily over the intervening hills,
with sails set hither.
Mrs. Longworth did not care to be quite so
woodsy as her daughter, and generally permit
ted Emeline to have an hour or two the start
THE LONG RUN. 7 1
of her in all afternoon rusticities. But she
had far too accurate ideas of being the right
thing in the right place to affect no bucolics.
3he made it a matter of principle to sally forth
under her leghorn hat and Japanese umbrella,
every afternoon, soon after her daughter. The
direction her daughter intended for the after
noon was always ascertained, and a time and
place of meeting arranged, the appointment
being as regular and religious between the two,
as the church covenant.
At the view of this embodiment of Long-
-vvorthism making steady strokes toward them
and directing keen glances thither, herself, in her
composed freshness and state looking a fair
rival of her daughter, a change came over
both.
" There comes mother!" said Emeline. She
could have spared her from her side a little
longer.
7 2 THE LONG RUN.
" A timely deliverance for you, Miss Long-
worth," laughed Grosbeck. " I felt symptoms
of an approaching fit of verbosity again, and
this time I fear we'd have had esthetics rather
than ethics.
By this time Mrs. Longworth was in speak
ing distance and Grosbeck had wriggled, in
stinctively, into his dearly-loved role of society
man. Mrs. Longworth had a certain blankness
of visage as she recognized her daughter's com
panion, which Emeline knew well how to inter
pret. Between the two, Emeline's manner lost
something of that repose which stamps the
caste of Longworth. She had not yet wholly
recovered from the ignominy of her confusion
on meeting Grosbeck. It was something so
new to her to lose anything of her elegant self-
poise of manner, that her rage and resentment
were far above the average, now that a fresh
foolishness fell upon her under the eye of her
THE LONG RUN. 73
mother. She was no coward, however, and
pride and courage restored her indifferent calm
and grace, and the three fell into a set of be
coming utterances.
After a sufficient amount of compliment to
nature and each other, Mrs. Longworth re
minded her daughter that it was nearly tea-
time.
" I got rather a late start this afternoon, you
know, Emeline," said she, with an idea that
Grosbeck might think her behind in enthusiasm
for the country.
Emeline was not aware that her mother's
tardiness was exceptional, but made no reply.
They started toward their boarding-place and
Grosbeck strolled with them, with an air of at
tention to Mrs. Longworth, who chiefly kept up
the conversation. As he swung the little gate
between the ladies and himself at the cottage,
Mrs. Longworth made him a formal and polite
10
74 THE LONG RUN.
adieu, with a little less brevity than might have
characterized her had it not been the eve of their
departure from Stonewall. To this gracious-
ness Grosbeck bowed low and responded be
comingly. To Miss Longworth he held out
his hand and smiled.
"Next summer then!" he said; "Good-bye!"
And somehow the woman of society found
no word to say but simply " Good-bye."
CHAPTER VII L
THE next summer came. In its last month
the Longworths appeared again in Stonewall.
" They are only coming for this month," ex
plained Mrs. Brown to Mrs. Grosbeck. " Miss
Longworth has taken the greatest fancy to this
country, you know. I think it is almost
strange, too. Of course, its very pretty, but
then Emmy (Mrs. Brown felt that her most
intimate friend might be familiarly named to
Mrs. Grosbeck) has seen so much nicer, you
know. Has been everywhere and seen so
much! But Emmy is crazy about the country,
76 THE LONG RUN.
anyway. To tell the truth, Mrs. Grosbeck, I ex
pect /am at the bottom of it.'"
Aggie felt that it must strike Mrs. Grosbeck
as inconsistent with the grandeur of the Long-
worths to come from preference to so small and
inexpensive a place as Stonewall, a second sum
mer, in the character of tourists. She went on,
smilingly, to explain.
" You know, Mrs. Grosbeck, they are coming
to my house. I believe, actually, that it is
nothing but that which brings them. Emmy
does manage such things so! It will be a reg
ular fortune to me, for they ivill not come un
less they can feel comfortable, you know. So
I have had to let them make their own terms,
and I expect I shall grow rich on my boarders!"
and Aggie laughed merrily. " It is so funny,
you know. One's friends! But Emmy is very
downright and makes such fun of me for feel
ing it."
THE LONG RUN. 77
Mrs. Brown was delighted with the arrange
ment.
" Emmy says I shall have a trip myself," she
bubbled on. " Of course, she understands our
circumstances. Oh, I couldn't begin to tell you
how much she does for us. She is so down
right and delicate, you know."
Mrs. Brown was not morbidly sensitive.
So the Longworths, mother and daughter,
came. Mrs. Longworth yielded to consid
erations based upon the Browns, as argument.
Mrs. Longworth greatly enjoyed being benevo
lent, and dispensations to such people as the
Browns had a finer flavor than any other, from
the fact of their being " friends " people of parts
really excellent and valuable. The character
of discreet and unostentatious Lady Bountiful
to these as compared with miserable Woolwich
or even well-to-do Slycomb constituents high-
caste beneficiaries seemed more to enhance
7 THE LONG RUN.
the sublimity of the line, than benevolence on a
greater scale on lower planes. Then, too, she
personally enjoyed Mrs. Brown and her baby,
and she highly approved of Mr. Brown as a
sound and orthodox clergyman. But she made
no affectation of interest in Stonewall. It was
monotonous and she could not see what Erne-
line found so superior in the views. As for the
people Sallie Slycomb was well enough as a
pretty, buxom country girl, if Emeline must be
always taking up such persons; but, as a whole,,
they were certainly disagreeable. She did not
mention any other names. Probably she did
not remember any one else, as an individual.
On the whole, Mrs. Longworth had no hanker
ing for Stonewall as Stonewall. She could not,
and would not get into the way of going there
summers; and Emeline should not. So this
summer's arrangement was a compromise be
tween the two. They would spend this month
THE LONG RUN. 79
of August, exactly so much and no more, in
Stonewall.
Stonewall was unchanged. In the manse,
the first installment towards posterity had
been made in the person of an infant son.
" If it had been a girl, Emmy, I should have
named it after you," wrote Mrs. Brown, loy
ally. " But, being a boy, I must name it John,
of course. The first boy has been John for
ever in Mr. Brown's family, you know?" John
Brown, as a patronymic had acquired a sud
den historic distinctness and distinction, to the
young mother, not inferior to that of Plantag-
enet.
In the special circle swept by Miss Long-
worth the previous summer, the objective points
were undisturbed; the Slycombs advancing,
the Woolwiches receding in prosperity, as was
consistent and inevitable. The Grosbecks,
8o THE LONG RUN.
mother and son, were also in statu quo to all
outward appearance.
" I see those Longworths are here to-day,"
said Mrs. Grosbeck to her son as they dined on
the first Sunday after the arrival of Mrs.
Brown's friends.
"Are they! " replied Rufus absently.
"Why, yes," replied his mother, with some
impatience. "What do you look at, Rufus? I
do not see how you could help seeing them."
Mrs. Grosbeck dislikes some of her son's hab
its. His abstraction at unsuitable times espec
ially annoys her. Not that a scholar like Ru
fus could be expected to have his mind taken
up with trifles. Of course, it is occupied with
his studies, as is proper. But Mrs. Grosbeck
.expects everybody about her to behave suita
bly to the circumstances of time and place,
and really Rufus carries his head in the clouds
i
altogether too much. It makes a bad impres-
THE LONG RUN. 8 1
sion on people. But that was the Grosbeck of
it! The Grosbecks all had a streak of eccen
tricity.
" There were a good many people there,"
suggested Rufus. " And you know we did not
stop. They are on the other side, too."
He was sensitive about this failing of his. It
stung his self-satisfaction as a man among men
and a performer in ordinary roles. He fought
against it with a wasted energy, for he could
not overcome it. The truth was, he had a
study of his own which crammed his conscious
ness. And, in the quiet and ease of Sunday
mornings as he sat a model listener, staring fix
edly at Mr. Brown, it had come to be his fate
to be the victim of no end of fresh and vigor
ous ideas. What things eluded him as he
sought them in his study came to him, un
sought, as he sat in the pew. It was like the
hebdomadal ailments of the farmers for which
11
82 THE LONG RUN.
they must consult the doctor on their way to
and from church; or the famous feminine Sun
day headache. Often by the time service was
over, Grosbeck was thoroughly abstracted,
though vaguely conscious of this abstraction, and
eager to conceal it, and careful to notice every
body who would notice him. But years of this
going up and down the not so dim aisle of the
little church, and filing past the same people
every Sunday had hardened their hearts as
well as his: so that, in case his mother had
staid at home, he often came away unable to
stand any examination as to " who was at
church?" It had come to be rather a
sore point with him. It made him un
comfortable to realize that he looked some
times at people without seeing them. Now that
his mother spoke of it, he had an indistinct
remembrance of a tall slender lady, with a good
deal of agreeable drapery, somewhere among the
THE LONG RUN. 83
people this morning, as a person often sees the
most noticeable figure on a crowded can
vas. Probably, that was Miss Longworth.
What a pity it had not occurred to him before!
Grosbeck's thoughts of this sort were mainly
after-thoughts lagging along too late for
presentation, always.
That Miss Longsworth! Yes, he recollects
all about her now; the picnic, the preaching,
and all. He wonders what is her hobby now
if it is still herself! She has forgotten him, pos
sibly. He must see about that. It is rather a
dry time with Mr. Grosbeck. He is tired of
study and feels an inclination to diversion. If
he did not think that she might fasten to him
inconveniently, he would call right away. But
such empty-headed, idle ladies are great burrs!
So she had come again, had she? Thus he
mused over his Sunday cold roast; and when
his mother said, presently:
84 THE LONG RUN.
" They are very nice people, those Long-
worths. We must call upon them in a day or
two."
He only replied:
" I am at your service.
They called the latter part of the week.
Grosbeck perceived at once that he was not at
all forgotten. Miss Longworth frankly showed
her interested remembrance of him, but made
no allusion to any special previous meeting
with him, though there was a certain confiding-
ness in her manner, when talking with him
alone, which intimated something of the tutoi-
ment in which she still believed. He was so
exactly as she remembered him!
As for Grosbeck, he found Miss Longworth
very different from his remembrance of her,
and vastly improved. Perhaps this was partly
because his remembrance of her did not do her
justice. But that did not account for all the
THE LONG RUN. 85
difference. Evidently there was some new
vitalizing influence upon her. Probably she
was engaged! His speculations took a very
short cut to this conclusion. Her circum
stances or her nature did not generate for her
any such metamorphosis outside of an affair of
the heart. To fall in love was the only chance
for her as it was for most women. Well, it
was worth while, for it made another woman
of her. Her elegant aimlessness was, some
how, much mitigated, and the general lack
lustre air about her was quite gone. He dis
covers that she is exceedingly good-looking.
After all, a thoroughbred city woman's get-up
is a comforting sight. The harmony of tone
and tints and attitude is very agreeable to see
and feel, for one does feel them. This is his
consciousness as he, silent himself, observes her
as she talks gracefully to his mother. It is
pleasant, after all, to see this fine lady and have
86 THE LONG RUN.
her around, and more normal, he reflects, to
the Grosbeck blood than the society of Stone
wall commoners. He feels it in him to be
fairly entertained, occasionally, by Miss Long-
worth.
Under such auspices does Emeline begin her
second campaign, laying, thus promisingly, her
soft sieges to the heart of Rufus Grosbeck.
For why attempt to deceive the reader as to
the facts in the case? The effort could scarcely
end in self-deception of the writer as to its suc
cess. The only one at all in the dark, I fear,
in this matter is Grosbeck himself; and his only
but sufficient apology, were he now to be
suddenly made aware of the facts, would be
that this situation was entirely phenomenal in
his experience. It was the only one of its
kind, so far. Thus would he exonerate himself
from the charge of self-depreciation as cause to
this unambiguous effect. For Grosbeck was
THE LONG RUN. 87
as far as any man has ever 'been who can
measure the distance from feeling himself
suited by any secondary role in the cast for a
love affair. It was more likely to be himself
than anybody else, he always decided, when
any woman favored at all adequately with his
acquaintance showed symptoms of the grand
passion. But this woman had not been so
favored, and, in her case, another man must
be encumbered by her tenacious affections.
Under the circumstances she was not to blame,
and her attractions suffered no disparagement.
With him it was to be seen and to conquer;
but if not seen his fatality of conquest suffered
no impeachment by another's, so that there
was no reason why he could not conscientiously
approve of Miss Longwor'th in the situation to
which he predicated her. * In his younger and
foolisher days he had never felt any great de
gree of interest in engaged girls. But he was
o8 THE LONG RUN.
no longer a boy and she was not a girl, and
Mr. Grosbeck really found Miss Longworth
very agreeable company. There was no sense
of responsibility about anything now; he was
not bothered by any fear that she might remain
on his hands in some tedious way, after these
pleasant interviews were past. He could wake
her up all he liked and have no bill to pay for
his entertainment.
So these two talked and walked all these
glorious harvest days freely as boy and girl.
He had forgotten all about the contract for the
promised two weeks, and Miss Longworth had
made no allusion to it. She saw Grosbeck
nearly every day of her stay in Stonewall.
CHAPTER IX.
AN unexpected event prolonged Miss Long-
worth's allotted month in Stonewall to nearly
two months. A sudden exigency in real estate
business brought a peremptory summons to Mrs.
Longworth from one of the male members of
the line, to present herself upon the field of
her own interests and stay around conveniently
if she would secure them from damage. This
field was extensive and left the elder lady little
room for other anxieties. She lost sight of any
maternal suspicions which might fill the nest of
leisurely incubation, and fled to the scene of
possible disaster, leaving Emeline to follow
12 89
90 THE LONG RUN.
when affairs were more settled and she could
herself repair to her city mansion.
So it came about that Emeline's furlough
was extended to something over three weeks
into September, weeks that have gone golden
and noiseless like the others, and have now
come to a close. With her, as with so many
another, the whole of life is now but to wait be
fore a fallen curtain, whose rising shall reveal
the pathway of life's future; that impenetrable
curtain which we call to-morrow.
It was on this day the last one of Miss
Longworth's stay in Stonewall that the drama
fell which is unrolling its scenes to Grosbeck,
as he paces there in the twilight all the time
we have been telling our story up to this
point. This day has brought upon him those
swift and thronging consequences which must
account for the letter in his pocket, and for sev
eral other items foreseen or unforseen by the
THE LONG RUN. 9 1
reader. As Grosbeck sees this last scene we
may see it; it will look the same to both.
And this is what is to be seen. Ferns wav
ing in a breeze that grows gentler as the after
noon wanes to sunset. Under foot, beds of
moss, grey and green, dappled with the russet
gold of fallen beech leaves and the scarlet of
vivid squawberries, woven and wound with
long lacings of ground pine and ground cedar.
Towering pines whose tapering tops seem to
surge with the sound of sea-surf against an in
visible shore, and tall, erect hemlocks with only
a stiff cap of green at the summit of black trunks.
A tawny squirrel glancing up and down and
athwart the fallen trees which are lying every
where, streaked with the sunshine and spotted
with lichens. A snowy rabbit erect upon its
haunches, with drooping forefeet and pink
pointed ears; a dusky woodchuck wriggling
along the ground farther off. The sun laying
9 2 THE LONG RUN.
long bars of gold amid the greens, pathway
of that Presence which invests the scene and
steals a reverence upon the intruder. One
must be very pure and true who hears not here,
the mandate procul, O -procul este profani!"
And this was felt by the intruders in their re
spective fashions! The tall, willowy figure of
the lady bending over the ferns, taking one here
and there gently from the mould, stepping
lightly from mound to mound . The man lying
with uncovered head upon a log yonder, follow
ing her movements with an indolent pleasure
in his gaze that misses not an item in the make
up of the scene. Neither one is speaking.
Their intercourse has come to be that of old
friends who feel no need to keep up the conver
sation. Neither is jealous of the silence
or speech of the other. She has the tact
which chats or is silent to suit his mood. He
always does as he feels. If he talks she is de-
THE LONG RUN. 93
lighted to listen. If he is silent she waits, but
never lets the silence become awkward or bur
densome.
To-day, however, the silence is full of some
thing, and she does not break it. It is some
thing between them not felt before. It may be
with her the consciousness she does not for a
moment lose that it is her last day in
Stonewall. At the same time she is confident
that this something is not to be broken by to
morrow. A sense of this as certain as herself,
as sure as life or death or God, and yet !
That is as near as we may come to this very
gentle lady's line of thought, or, should we
say ? feeling! It has been thus with her a
a long time. She was waiting, her soul listen
ing. Her faith never faltered that the moment
would come when another's recognition of this
something would transmute it from subjective
to objective possession. This has not come, so
94 THE LONG RUN.
far why shall it not come to-day? To-day
she could not chat easily in the silences that
fell between her and Grosbeck. For the first
time in her life she felt as though she knew
how it is that sound and sight are interchange
able. Mrs. Browning's line " and through the
word I think their happy smile is heard " came
to her mind. It seemed as if in this trance of
Nature, or of herself, she knew not which, sounds
could be seen.
"Wenn Alles schiveigt ! '" murmured Gros
beck finally. She turned. She had not caught
his words, but she started and stood like a
hemmed-in creature whose pursuit has ended.
Her own consciousness was so intense she could
not tell, in a moment after, if he had spoken
aloud or not. Presently she sat down.
"Im stillen Haine geli* ich oft zu lauschen
ivenn alles scli-weigt" repeated Grosbeck dream
ily. "To listen, Emeline, when all is still "
THE LONG RUN. 95
That means something, doesn't it? It makes
me think of Mrs. Browning's angel's smile
being heard do you remember? "
It did not seem strange to Emeline that these
lines in her own mind should be in his.
" Yes," she said.
Something struck him. In his own oblique
fashion he pursued the thought.
" But Mrs. Browning and Goethe were not in
the same boat when they sailed into this fancy,
I suppose. Goethe was in love, you know.
That's what made him hear things that other
ears were deaf to. I suppose he could hear
one of Lili's smiles, just as Mrs. Browning did
the angel's. If one is in love I suppose a
sixth sense absorbs and embraces all the
others."
He paused a little, and then went on:
" That's a pretty thing of Goethe's, now, isn't
it ? How it runs in one's head ! '
9 THE LONG RUN
"Ich denke dein ... ! "
He repeated the four verses in that strange
vibrating voice which carried the pain and the
passion of the words. He could never say
them any other way.
Emeline did not understand the meaning of
every word of Goethe's German, but she felt
the meaning of the poem as a whole. And how
coulcl it be but that it was meant for her ?
" Ich denke demf" The cadence of those
words, as her heart caught and held them, was
intolerably tender. Grosbeck had not looked
at her at all in their recital, but lay with face
upturned to the blue sky showing richly
through the golden foliage of beech leaves
over-head. But Emeline expected that gaze.
Any instant he might turn those eagle eyes
upon her. Any instant it might come! He
would see all she was helpless to prevent it.
What could she do and what did she care to
THE LONG RUN. 97
do? What was it that she wished to conceal
from him? She knew that she had never
made any confession of her love to him that
could not have happened yet. But, oh, he
knew it, he knew it! In the long winter it
all seemed winter between parting and meeting
she had reasoned it all out so clear. Philos
ophy confirmed feeling. The nature of things
was on her side. And her logic was it not
that of the seers, Mrs. Browning and Tenny
son? spite of Elaine? Every principle of
right and wrong and retribution gave their
testimony on her side. Her part was only to
wait. Had he not, himself, epitomized it all,
hundreds of days ago, when he said, u Love
conquers in the long run?" If "the course of
true love never did run smooth," it was, after
all, only the short run that was troub ed. Love
conquered in the long run! Way back in
those days she thought that he who saw so
13
9 THE LONG RUN.
soon all there was to see must know that
he had won her then, and she believed this
because she believed he loved her with a love
that commenced then. And he had said this for
her, to her, about her. It was all consistent
with her theory that he should not have spoken
yet. It was like love, like him. Words might
linger mere words. She had been glori
ously happy and blessed in this interval of time.
It had been with Emeline, we see, quite like
the probation period assigned to converts in
certain religious persuasions, before confession
is made, and union publicly cemented with the
church. It may be that an accurate analysis
.and comparison of mental exercises would re
veal an involution of the same faculties in the
one case as in the other, and put a similar strain
upon each.
In Emeline's case faith had been equal to the
strain, and, because equal, unconscious of it.
THE LONG RUN. 99
Doubt had found no room for play in her mind.
Her thoughts had been busy with the numerous
progeny of faith. Very practical points had
been provided for, in her mind. She had
thought over everything, was prepared for all
the Longworth set could say, or do. She was
ready to encounter all argument and contra
diction and to reconcile all incongruities
and inequalities. For Emeline's love by no
means annihilated in her mind the sense of cer
tain clear incongruities and inequalities; she
had passed, some years before, the age at
which such inconsequence was possible. Nei
ther was her mind of that fibre that she could
dispose of such difficulties by handing them
bouyantly over to that vague agency whose
unkept promise it is that "these things
'will all come out right! " Not at all, for on the
contrary, Emeline's ingenuity had been well
exercised to meet future exigencies; and ner
100 THE LONG RU<\~.
resolution had received a thorough military
education. Farther ahead, too, she had gone.
The woman in the hush of innermost con
sciousness she whispered to herself, the 'wife /
came out clear and finally disenthralled
from the Longworth, and, in the sphere of that
future, considered ways and means, matters
which she felt would and must be hers to man
age. The most homely details were familiar
to her love's frequent rehearsal of this future.
And yet and yet now that it was coming,
was here, she shrank and trembled ! It seemed
to her that she could not bear that he should
turn and look upon her. Everything stood
still. A lies schweigt! Yet It was everywhere.
The mosses throbbed with It. The beech
leaves melted their gold out dazzlingly under Its
radiance. The squawberries seemed sphered
and palpitating blood-drops. Everything lived,
but held its breath. She could never tell how
long the hush was.
CHAPTER X.
It was some time before Grosbeck spoke.
He reclined upon his log, with face still upturned,
looking full of comfort and confidence. The
comfort sensuous and nervous; the confidence
a kind of arrogance that often looked forth
from his eyes, and seemed to appreciate, as his
own, any pleasant possession toward which he
might stretch his hand. Emeline knew this
look and felt that in meeting his gaze now she
should encounter it.
Grosbeck's thoughts were not, however, in
that taut, golden line along which our pure, sim
ple Emeline conceived them. Yet, she was in
101
102 THE LONG RUN.
them. As he lounged there he had before been
following her movements among the ferns and
mosses. Saturated with the sunshine, soothed
with peace and beauty of the scene, fitted there
to his log like a lichen, she had filled the mus
ing of his mind, and his speculations were of
her, just as a squirrel or rabbit, had either hap
pened to enter his idle sensorium, might have
sent him speculating on animal instinct or the
transmigration of souls. He noticed that she
was very quiet this afternoon, and there was
something about it! She was a graceful
woman, though over tall! Every woman
could not manage two or three superfluous
inches so well. Who was this man she was in
love with? Some genteel fellow or other, with
some catch or other that other genteel fellows
of her set did not have, by which she could
idealize and idolize him into extraordinary pro
portions for Grosbeck was conscious that
THE L ONG R UN. 103
something out-of-the-common must be mixed
with the bait that would hook this fine lady.
Likely as not some clever preacher, possibly a
Methodist or Presbyterian, furnished with a
double bank of keys, one of which responded
to the touches of religion, art and ethics with
its treble tremolo, the other thrilling with am
biguous basso tones, evolved by the solicitations
of certain susceptibilities toward Longworth
loaves and fishes. The tune need not be actu
ally discordant. It was just such a fellow who
would wake up this sort of a woman. He
would come at her with sledge-hammers of
personal devotion, having already made her
malleable with blows of pulpit eloquence. If
he had not a passion for her he would have a
passion for hers. If he did not love the
woman he would love the Longworth.
At first that seemed unfair to Emeline, but,
after all, it perhaps was an even thing. She
104 THE LONG RUN.
got the good of it, just the same, and the man
would, too. If deceived at all, neither need ever
be undeceived. A fine lady of this type was
too selfish to have an enthusiasm which did not
involve herself; too limited to have it for a pur
suit or an idea ; for anything but a person. It
was only could be only the directest influ
ence that could develop purpose or passion in a
.nature so filtered of energy. It must be a man
full of strong red blood who could vitalize her
bluish serum. Well, he hoped it was a good
man whom Emeline was going to marry. She
deserved a good man. She was a good woman.
It was in this strain, ( " Oh, lago, the pity of
it ! ") that Grosbeck mused, and became
interested in his speculations. After all, could
such a woman love ? That long hand, drawing
the fern so gently from the mould, without
bruising a frond or breaking a stem,
could it clutch anything! What sort of a grip
THE LONG RUN. IO 5
could it give! Could the blue blood ever turn
to red and throw off its feebleness? If Emeline
had been sitting near he would have pursued
his studies experimentally. No considerations
of breeding or humanity would have embar
rassed his mood for vivisection. But she
seemed interested in getting the nicest ferns
and was moving here and there; so he let her
alone. She is, of course, thinking of her
lover, he says to himself. That is the under
current of everything now. Probably in that
careful selection of ferns she was adjusting
them mentally upon the walls of her boudoir
and drawing-room that was to be. That was
what made her so still; by the way, how
still it was! He turned himself and looked up
through the gold leaf of the beeches. To lie
and look heavenward in a forest is to banish
common-place speculation. The Presence in
the temple is felt. It fell upon Grosbeck from
14
IO6 THE LONG RUN.
the luminous leaves, and cleared his counte
nance of all save worshipful reverie. Some
where in its train those words of Goethe's
came, and he murmured them aloud: "Wenn
A lies schiueigt!" Presently the whole poem
came, as we have seen, and something in the
last verse, perhaps or the consciousness that
Miss Longworth was quietly sitting near him
listening, brought her and his speculations
concerning her back to his mind.
" Pshaw! Why cannot a person keep still? "
he said, rising and shaking himself. " It is all
over now this full silence. The goddess, like
the squirrels, will not bear the human babble.
If we would enter into her holy of holies we
must ' listen when all is still.' '
"Why don't you say something, Emeline? "
he added, in a moment, with a sudden irrita
tion in his voice. All at once the silence
between them jarred upon him instead of har-
THE LONG RUN. 1 07
monizing with his mood. He turned and
looked at her.
She had not heard his words, only his voice,
and had felt his gaze. She only realized that
the moment had come when he should see. It
seemed to her as if her love was bare beneath
his eyes, and a swift wave of shame such a
proud shame ! toppled over everything else
and bore her down under it. Lower and
lower the proud head fell, the woman striving
with and overcoming the Longworth. All
her consciousness was filled with whirring
wheels; nothing clear but his voice, his eye.
" You needn't mind if you can't talk of any
thing but that fellow you are in love with,
Emeline. I know all about that, and I'm wil
ling to be cut out and talk about him if you
won't talk about anything else."
With these words for an opening wedge,
Grosbeck meant to pry into the phenomena
IO8 THE LONG RUN.
of Miss Longworth's passion and satisfy his
curiosity concerning it. But his self-rehearsal
left him speechless when the curtain rose.
What was this? It came upon him, the
sight of this proud lady so distressfully con
fused, like the sight of her in some sudden
danger, only that then he would have sprung to
her side to rescue her. But now he is paralyzed
in his place, and, without realizing that he
speaks, cries out:
"Why, Emeline!"
Only those two words. In a moment more
he turned, for men have instinct if not intui
tion of these matters. Perhaps, too, it was
resistance to a counter impulse that put him
some paces away, and employed him with sud
den energy in freeing from its tree trunk a
fine fungus he had observed while lying in his
listless mood, meaning to get it for her when he
rose. He was a long time about it, but
THE LONG RUN. 109
finally he laid it in her lap, standing behind
her.
" That's a good shape for a bracket, is it
not? " he asked practically; and then, without
waiting for an answer, added: "We must go
home, Emeline; you will take cold there; see,
the sun is setting! "
His voice was unspeakably indulgent and
kind, but she said nothing, and gave no other
sign of having heard him than by rising and
following him as he, without looking at her,
strode on before. The hanging branches and
underbrush made his excuse for this, but he
did not hold them now, for her to pass, as he
had in entering the woods.
When they came into the meadows he fell
back at her side, but did not at once speak or
look at her. If he said anything, it must be
anything but comment or curiosity concerning
her mood; and, somehow he was not ready to
1 10 THE LONG RUN.
affect the irrelevant and common-place. In
fact, a singular excitement was gaining upon
him. He had been trying to analyze this thing
with all the logic he could summon at the
moment's notice, but found himself bewildered
beyond precedent. One instant he called him
self a fool for the sudden suspicion that he was
the man Emeline loved; for what possible proof
had he of it? What but a baseless fancy bred
of his egotism was it which had struck this
conceit into his mind. True, her confusion
was unaccountable otherwise, but that was
to say that he could not account for it. Per
haps, after all, he did not understand her so
well as he had supposed. And then into his
reasoning would suddenly fly feeling, a presen
timent perhaps, but tenacious and self-asserting
as a bat in one's hair. And it would alternate
the man's reason against his instinct. The
alternation made him curious, and curiosity ran
THE LONG RUN. Ill
up to the boiling point. It was absurd, this
situation. He must understand. She must
understand. Why did she say nothing? It
was the first time the established camaraderie
between these two had been embarrassed.
And then it rushed over him with a flood of
novel pathos: What if she did love him?
What would it be to evolve the woman that
"was so smothered, and to watch the leading of
the eivig iiueibliche? The query kindled some
thing in him. He felt the magnetism of this
conjectural passion at his side and many wave
lets of emotion played upon him as he walked.
The sun had set when they had emerged
from the woods, and by the time the path
where we had seen him pacing alone was
reached, the early September twilight had set
in. A few paces more and they had reached,
still silent, the little bridge that arched above
112 THE LONG RUN.
the little stream running fast away below.
Grosbeck halted.
"Listen, Emeline !" he said.
He closed his eyes to listen. It was a trick
of his. The brook spelled out its vocal cipher
in his ears, catching up into its hieroglyph all
the mystery in his mind. In a moment more
he would think of the right thing to say.
But before this moment came Emeline looked
at this man she loved. A desperate will arose
in the woman, that was not to be denied.
As if he had been touched, he opened his
eyes to meet hers. As if those long, narrow
hands, filled with ferns, had drawn him with
irresistible power, he bent toward her. In an
instant that happened which he would, an hour
ago, have deemed as impossible to occur as for
the sun to whirl into the earth his lips rested
and lingered upon hers.
"Do you love me, Emeline?" he said.
THE LONG R UN. 1 1 3
Her voice sounded out clear and solemn, as
if before the marriage altar and a world of
Longworths. "I do. 1 '
She stood erect and noble, her face transfig
ured. To Grosbeck's imagination her form
seemed to expand and grow colossal, like a
goddess. Unspeakable tenderness seemed to
well up and overflow her, till her aspect was
glorious and awful.
What had befallen Emeline in the wood be
fell Grosbeck now. Confronting this transfig
ured woman he instantly realized their mutual
relations. A chasm deep and broad opened
between him and the woman he had just kissed.
Standing still so near that her dress brushed
his hand, he felt immeasurably distant. In
such supreme moments consciousness does not
detail the items of the situation separately and
in succession. They rise like a panorama of
the whole, grouped and in proper relation be-
15
114 THE LONG RUN
fore the vision. Every circumstance from the
meeting at the picnic, more than a year ago, in
which any significant word or look had passed
between them, stood out as clear in its meas
ure of contribution toward the present as did
the deed and words of the minute past. What
of retrospect happens to a drowning man, hap
pened then to Grosbeck. The pain, the pity,
the pathos, and as potential an item in that
retrospect the vague pledge of its conse
quences with a terrible sense of self-intrication,
overwhelmed him. How long all this lasted
he could not have told, but he heard the man's
voice which broke the spell it seemed another
man who spoke saying, "Good night, !"
and her slow answering, "Good night, dear,
good night!"
And Emeline walked the little path to the
rectory gate, alone.
CHAPTER XI.
The next morning Grosbeck appeared at his
tete-d-tete breakfast with his mother, exhibit
ing every sign, to her practiced eye, of an ap
proaching hunt. She was not surprised there
fore, when, on rising from the table, he said:
"I saw some partridges in the woods the other
day, mother, and I'm going for them to-day."
But she was surprised when, early in the
afternoon, she saw him striding across the
meadows homeward, and heard his study-door
close almost immediately after the street door.
It is here and now where we first saw him
writing the letter which lies in his pocket as
115
1 1 6 THE LONG RUN.
he has been pacing there in the twilight where
we left him. We have seen what he sees, and,
in the time it has taken us to do this, he should
surely have come to some decision and finished
his meditations.
Well, he certainly is not where we left him.
Neither do we come upon him at any point in the
path between this and the little white gate of
the rectory. He may be, doubtless he is,
within the modest manse settling his affairs in
person; indeed, he must be there, for the lady
leaves to-morrow. In this case we shall not
dare to intrude, but will go back and spy
about his study for any hints that may further
our acquaintance with Mr. Grosbeck, and con
tribute toward our opinions as to his future.
But, alas! here in his study is the man him
self, and he seems to have come to no decision,
after all. If so, it is not clear to us what possible
relevance his present occupation has to this con-
THE LONG RUN. 1 1 7
elusion. He is writing again rapidly but not
uninterruptedly. He stops constantly, casting
sharp looks upon the manuscript leaves lying
ludibria ventis all about his cave, and
peering now and then into the French and
German as well as English volumes that are
piled around. These books bear titles that
show them to be works on the science of geol
ogy, and are useful to him in the paper he is
preparing to prove that the firmament as used
in the Scriptures means, beyond a question, the
crust of the original earth. He has decided to
do nothing else until this argument is com
pleted; and that may take him some weeks.
Afterwards, if need be, he will review this
other affair.
The letter lies where he has irritably thrown
it on coming in. His mood is not one of self-
satisfaction; for he has not at all succeeded in
clearing his mind as to what is "best to do,
1 1 8 THE LONG R UN.
under the circumstances" He has groped
about there in the circumstances until the sit
uation, from being sublime, has sunk to the
ridiculous, almost. Nothing seems so absurd
and disgusting to him as hopeless perplexity.
He has a great pride in seeing and then doing.
He believes, with Goethe, that with regard to
most of the affairs of life, it is "but to perceive
and then to perform." But this time he cannot
add with his German master, "it is very easy."
Perhaps you and I are already suspecting,
reader, that the difficulty lies in the fact that
the most influential item of this perplexity
of Grosbeck's is one which he will not
admit to be present. Of course, if this be the
case, he can never arrive at a solution. Char
acteristically he throws the whole subject aside
with the letter, though that he intends to put
away after a while.
" It will keep," he says. And he thinks "so
THE LONG RUN.
will she and I. It is f oolisher to keep tink
ering at this muddle, than to leave it alone
until I see things more clearly." And he turns
his back, bends his head over his table and
goes on with his manuscript.
And now, if ever, we may look into this
unfriended epistle and judge for ourselves con
cerning its adaptation to the situation. Read,
then, for it is our last chance !
" Emeline, my friend, I have to seek your for
giveness. I have done you a wrong, a griev
ous wrong, for which a hot shame burns my
cheek no less than blasphemy against your
womanhood. It is this which I have to ask
you to forgive, ask you if you can forget;
though I know not what will ever wipe 'it from
my consciousness.
" I seek in vain for self-justification. Is it,
then, a matter to dwell so heavily in memory,
that some tender words should be said in sep
arating, that friends should kiss in parting?
U A11 the same, the memory comes back to me
120 THE LONG RUN.
freighted with a mill-stone's weight. The
weakness of your majesty is pain to me. You
stand so helpless, Emeline. On a sudden there
has come upon you so pitiful a pillage of all
your reticence, your self-containedness, your
dignity of disguise. You stand so uncovered,
Emeline. All at once, from your slender
hands has fallen mercilessly the power to droop
so gracefully aside. Your face, always so har
monized to the mild emotions of good society,
has lost its veil and confronts me in the divine
distortion of its infinite passion Das eivig
Weibliche !
" I ought never to have seen this sight. Never
to have evolved it by the swift impulse which
flung my arms about you and laid my lips on
yours though I swear to you, Emeline, that
I knew not what I did !. My sin is that of one
who, with no worship in his soul, invades the
innermost of the tabernacle, only to see with
his eyes its hushed and sacred splendor, to pil
lage with his hands its celestial treasure. Such
is my folly, Emeline ! Above all soft words of
sophistry excusing, reducing, echoes the scream
of conscience Fool! Fool!
THE LONG RUN. I 2 I
"You love me, Emeline! I have not sought
to win your love in our past pleasant friend
ship. I had not consciously lifted a finger to
beckon you to me. I had not cared to.
" Now I do care. I have lifted a finger to
beckon and to grasp. I have seen the great
sun of your never before sun-filled soul, rising
under my eyes, welling out its billows of radi
ance. I have caught a glimpse of what your
nature's landscape, emerging for its twilight,
would unroll to my "vision, and a greedy, es
thetic passion leaps toward it. I would explore
that landscape.
" I do not love you, Emeline, but you love me !
An old, too-familiar passion of research and
acquisition kindles beneath your beams. It
would never rest until it had hunted you to
your last cover and captured you there ! and,
before God and all the witnesses in the back
ground, I will not move an inch!
" Let the past suffice !
" I take your long hands, Emeline, and fold
them over your heart. They must be its
shield. Go your way, and let me go mine!
What need has been subserved, we shall, per-
16
122 THE LONG J? UN.
haps, some day know and acknowledge with
satisfaction. For the present, we can have no
more to do with each other. Yet, sometime
and somewhere, if we walk along the same
lines, we must meet!
" You do not admit of any pity. I do, and I
think you will not withhold it.
"Good bye, then, Emeline! The cadence of
your "Good night, dear! good night!" will
never get so far back in any corridor of time
but I shall hear its echo. And I say now,
good-bye. It is the only good thing I can
say."
CHAPTER XII.
Common sense, practical people will consider
that, with the brave epistle above, our story
must have reached its conclusion; one "lame
and impotent," perhaps, yet, necessarily, the
end. For, collecting from its jargon that small
gist which we can comprehend, it would seem
tolerably clear that our modern Elaine is most
thoroughly jilted. We are now prepared for
the barge and the burial, with such modifica
tions of its pomp and circumstance as must be
admitted in the case of an Elaine Longworth.
Also, we shall expect a suitable disposition of
Mr. Launcelot Grosbeck, who will, doubtless
124 THE LONG RUN.
continue to muse by the water-courses of
Stonewall, it not being feasible to retire to
a more forsaken mere for the purpose of re
maining ignorant that he should die a holy
man. Such would be our just and reasonable
expectations.
But the master who manages this panoramic
performance, and such like, seems not to regard
the unities of the piece, as such unities are con
cerned in its denouement; for while we are
supposing that we have seen the last of this
show, and are gathering ourselves up for an
exodus, he slides in another scene and compels
our attention to fasten itself thereon.
Sunrise here, in place of sunset, and cold
December instead of September!
Rufus Grosbeck stands this morning at his
study window looking forth a somewhat un
wonted situation in which to find this gentle
man at this hour of the day. It happens thus
THE LONG RUN, 125
occasionally, however, as he is irregular in his
rise and set, especially the latter.
He is unprepared for the scene that meets
his gaze. For three days and nights a sullen
east wind dashing frozen rain against his win
dow, has alternated with a wild west wind that
whirled snow in clouds before it. It was so
last night and now !
A powder of the finest, freshest snow covers
all scars and removes all traces of conflict. It
threads each deep green needle of the Norway
pines yonder, with its flaxen filament. It fluffs
the outlines of the garden flower-beds and lays
its ermine soft upon the sleeping pansies. It
coils a white rope to the rounds of the ladder
leaning against the woodshed's roof. It rolls
off in foamy wave after wave on the meadow
yonder. It climbs the hill and stretches away,
whitening the dark brows of the aged hemlock,
that sentinel between sky and earth in the
126 THE LONG RUN,
picket line of the horizon. But this way, in
the east, the scarlet sun is bursting through
this line, and rose-petal vapors are puffing up
the sky, drifting and curling away to the west.
Now the rose-heart of the sun has turned to
yellow, and is raying everywhere its molten
splendor, tinting with gold the embroidery of
frost upon the window panes, laying golden
bands upon the snow, unfurling golden banners
off on meadow and on hill. Such a morning, this,
as makes a man oblivious of a wretched, sleep
less night, oblivious of a defeated past. The
most brow-beaten of fortune feels that he can
go forth to battle again to-day.
One would expect a man of Rufus Gros-
beck's temperament to be enraptured with
this scene; and, as he turns quickly from
its contemplation and seats himself on his
table, taking pen in hand, we are satisfied that
he has received an afflatus and will turn out
THE LONG RUN,
something congenial to his poetic mood, and
ours. The circumstance that, as he turns, he
looks at his watch, seems somewhat inconson
ant with a fine phrensy. Its vicious snap jars
upon our senses inharmonious with expected
tuneful numbers, but we forget that as he
dashes away at the poem.
It must be brief, though the god tears with
greatest rage ; for in a minute he lays down his
pen. Neither should we have expected that
this effusion would be addressed to his
mother. We had not looked for such filial
passion, and had not supposed that old Mrs.
Grosbeck would be warmed up to sunrise son
nets at breakfast of a winter morning, before
the mercury had come to something. Such,
however, seems the direction of this inspira
tion, for Mr. Grosbeck now steps from his
study with this slip of paper in his hand, and,
entering the dining room where a Teutonic
128 THE LONG RUN. ,
maid, not yet thawed to much energy of move
ment, is stepping solidly around in preparation
of the breakfast table, lays it on his mother's
plate and goes out again. Nearly an hour
later as the fine old lady sits over her toast
and coffee, she reads as follows:
" I have decided to go to town to-day,
Mother, and take the early train. I shall,
probably, return to-morrow evening.
RUFUS."
The old lady lays down the slip with equa
nimity and proceeds to her smoking cup. Rufus
had said a day or two before that he was
about ready to visit his publisher. There is
nothing remarkable in his going except its
early hour. She is glad he has so fine a day.
The evening is worthy of the morning.
The western horizon gapes with crimson
wounds that drop their heavy ichor on city
spires and dome, and redden city windows
THE LONG RUN. 1 29
where the golden sun beats through;
wounds that are not staunched till Venus,
throbbing great and tender, rises to bind them
up with love. Ready in the zenith waits the
jealous little moon, lighting up to some pur
pose, now that her mighty rival has gone by.
The city scintillates. A jargon of sleigh-
bells and merry voices fill the air. Elegant
looking gentlemen hurry along the streets, and
enter and alight from splendid equipages
Handsome homes hint their warmth and
splendor through broad windows. At the
door of one of these residences stands a gentle
man we have seen before; not, it must be con
fessed, especially noticeable for elegance,
though he has a certain carriage that pre
serves him from insignificance. As he enters
the hall, murmuring his inquiries to the ser
vant, another gentleman passes out: not, evi
dently, the acquaintance Grosbeck seeks
17
13 THE LONG RUN
here, for he looks at the incomer with the quick,
shrewd glance of the busy city man, who
knows everybody in town, and sees you to be
a stranger in the city. He hears, however, the
question Grosbeck asks, and seeing the card
intrusted to the servant, bows courteously
as he passes out.
Grosbeck enters and is shown into the draw
ing-room, which is quite unoccupied, it being
an unusual hour for calls. The city dinner is
but just over, and positions for the evening are
not yet taken. All this is very agreeable to
Grosbeck, who wishes to see but one inmate of
this house, and to see her alone. He cannot
conceive a spur that would bring out the paces
of a society man this evening.
CHAPTER XIII.
The sable Mercury wings his way aloft, bear
ing to the goddess the pasteboard in his hand,
which her maid transmits, having cast an
oblique look upon the name, as is her wont in
all such transmissions; for the lady is in her
boudoir, and the maid is dressing her hair
for the evening. A less oblique glance would
do, if obliquity were not her necessity, to
reveal to the French girl at the lady's back
that lady's agitation as reflected from the mir
ror before her, at the receipt of this card. A
sudden pallor falls upon her face.
"Be quick, Toinette, and put my hair back
131
1 3 2 7VZE LONG R UN.
for this dress. I will not change it this even
ing. I shall not go out."
But to our troubled Emeline the maid's nim
ble fingers seem, one instant, to drag insuffer
ably, as she would have flown into her visitor's
presence; the next instant, to fly intolerably as
she trembled at the thought of meeting him.
She knows now that her long and strange per
plexity is to have an end.
A pitifully agitated woman it is who de
scends the staircase finally in her dinner dress,
stopping once, one hand upon her heart, the
other clutching at the railing for support. But
the lady who finally enters the drawing-room
is no less, no other than Miss Longworth, with
the Longworth aspect never so distinct. Gros-
beck himself does not look unkingly. He feels
at home in the atmosphere of this house and
suitably surrounded. The mellow luxury of
the beautiful apartment, with its nameless tone
THE LONG R UN. 133
and tint, carry into his nerves a subtle soothing
and stimulus. He fits as comfortably to the
elegant chair, into whose phish depths he sinks,
as he did to the lichened log in the forest.
The subdued glow of chandelier serves him for
that September sun, and a similar, yet differing
mood steals over him. The same half-sensu
ous, yet brighter, smile plays over his broad
fair face, and seems to radiate from his tossing,
yellow hair. His nervousness has vanished and
his eyes betray the same self-confidence in his
thought, and a greater arrogance. He is so
sure it is all as he has planned it.
In such a frame did the entrance of Miss
Longworth find him. His spirits had risen to
a pitch of positive playfulness. He shrank
away as far as possible from the door by which
he expected she would enter, meaning to enjoy
the searching of her eyes before she found him,
134 THE LONG R UN.
and to spring upon her from ambuscade, as it
were, capturing her by a coup des bras.
In pursuance of this playful strategy he did
not confront Miss Longworth until she stood
beneath the full radiance of the chandelier.
She had advanced to the center of the room
and there stood. Grosbeck had started impet
uously forward, but stopped. He had a sud
den sensation as of a blow in the face, and cer
tainly no real blow could have left stronger cir
cumstantial evidence of itself thereon. His
face the poor gentleman ! was sadly
streaked, red where the lashing fingers fell,
white in the space between. Let none, hence
forth, argue to him that Fate does not mete
out even retributions. Emeline, huddled and
crimsoned in the forest, was never so sorry a
figure as he.
What does he see which so transforms him
from his kingly, confident mood, to this abject
THE LONG RUN. 135
confusion? The tender lady whose love had
slain all her maiden reticence and overflowed
in red tides all the barriers of her will, in the
forests ; the towering torrent of confession
from eyes at last unveiled, and welling forth
fathomless yearning toward him, as she stood
transfigured and divine upon the bridge; the
gracious pleasant comrade of all the days be
fore; it was from these images that Gros-
beck had evolved in the merrily bubbling cru
cible of his imagination and but a moment be
fore had so beheld the form of her he would
confront. And now not one fibre of all this
material went toward the making up of this
woman la grande dame sans merci before
whom he cowered. He could not identify a
single item in this figure, nor lay a finger
anywhere upon his own.
" Why, how do you do ! Mr. Grosbeck ! "
That voice, too! Grosebeck's petrifaction
136 THE LONG RUN
took on an extra layer at the sound. He had
forgotten all tones of Miss Longworth's voice
except the tones of the last words he had heard
her speak. For this much of that remarkable
letter we have read was quite true. He had
not lost the cadence of her slow Good-night,
dear, Good-night! with their solemn joy and
meaning of no more Good-night, never Good
bye! But this voice which now saluted him,
he had surely never heard. Even in those first
days when he had played society-man, she had
never spoken so. This was the merest fine-
lady tone to her indifferent evening caller
coldly cordial, with a freedom which said most
clearly thus far and no farther.
Grosbeck could only falter feebly, "Miss
Longworth! "
Then Emeline knew she had it all her own
way. She had never imagined this man save
in towering mastery of himself and everybody
THE LONG R UN. 137
else. It was thus that she devotedly idealized
him, and she would have recoiled loyally from
any suggestion of him in his present plight,
crouching at bay, streaked red and white, his
fluent tongue tied in pitiful embarrassment.
But love had revealed to her many things and,
in this moment, it shows her one more.
Miss Longworth was not reckoned and did
not acknowledge herself to be impulsive, but
just now her impulse was of the maddest sort.
What, then, kept her from rushing to the side
of this poor blusher, flinging her arms around
his neck and crying out the words were
fairly shouting themselves in her ears "Love
has conquered, Rufus! It tuas true it is
true true, true! Love conquers in the long
run!" Why? Let him or her answer who can.
With just enough softening of her polished
notes as would most certainly convey to him
the fact that she saw and pitied his confusion,
18
138 THE LONG RUN.
and attributed it to his unfamiliarity with such
society, or society, in any proper sense at all,
she said, as she sank with the best form pre
scribed by her set, into a luxurious chair.
" I am very glad to see you. Are you in
town for the season? "
"I came to-day," said Grosbeck, faintly.
"Indeed! How very kind to call so soon!"
{She should not have expected so -prompt a call.
In fact it 'was not the thing, ivas indeed, rus
tic^) adding,
" Is Mrs. Grosbeck with you ? "
"No."
" Oh, then, you will not remain long, I
fear." (Of course you ivill not on that
account I can afford to be very indulgent of
your queer ness this time!}
It was the parenthesis which sounded in
Grosbeck 's ear.
" I came on an errand, " said he.
THE L ONG RUN 139
The lady laughed lightly. This country
gentleman's speech had no polite reserves.
One less sensitive than Grosbeck could not
have missed this meaning, as she said pleas
antly :
" Of course ! I do not dream that you came
for anything else! Your friends are grateful
though that business brings you sometimes."
This state of things could not last. The least
valorous worm will turn finally from under foot.
Grosbeck had been slowly wriggling himself
free from this dainty heel all this time, and
was, at length, quite ready to rear. He rose
and stood before her. Emeline quailed; but
that he did not see. He spoke slowly and dis
tinctly, and his face was quite pale.
"My errand was with you, Miss Long-
worth ! I had expected a different result : but
I had I see now, no right to forecast a con
clusion."
14 THE LONG RUN.
(Emeline is holding out desperately. She
will not yield a hair's breadth until she must.
The besieged of Calais . are nothing to her.)
Grosbeck had come to his fullest stature,
and stood there, every inch a king. He goes
on in words he had never dreamed of using as
applied to himself. He speaks with dignity, a
strange pain vibrating through his words.
"I have learned a new thing, slowly and
very surely, Miss Longworth. I could not
rest until I had told you. It seemed right,
necessary, that you should know it. It is
strange, when you come to know it, how
exactly even the balances are held by Fate."
His voice took on the old musing strain, as
if he did not believe what he was saying. It
sounded as it had in his first conversation with
her, which grew to be an argument with him
self. In fact it was rushing over him as he
spoke; with a bitter sense of #;zevenness of
THE LONG RUN. 1 4 1
balance, and zV/equality of lot, how a woman
not this one but another as in a dream or
a play read long ago, had made a confession
similar to that he had to make in words such
as he should use yet not the same at all.
Suddenly all that was but seeming, and no
offset to this reality. Fate did not hold even
balances if this were true and nothing could
ever be so true, he thought !
During his pause Emeline has risen, quite
his match now, as she, pale too, and very dig
nified, stands unflinching.
" I do not understand you, Mr. Grosbeck,"
she said, haughtily.
"You must understand me. My errand to
town was to ask you to be my wife. But now
I have only to say to you good-bye."
Emeline held out yet, though every re-in-
forcement was wholly hopeless, every munition
had failed. Perhaps he pitied her after all
he, who must know it all!
I4 2 THE LONG RUN.
"Mr. Grosbeck!" she called.
He turned back and stood where he was.
He had reached the door.
Her eyes searched him. Her voice was that
of one who has right and authority. She said,
"Do you love me?"
Was it a voice, hers, or the gurgling of the
little swift, impassioned brook? Was the sud
den dimness that of blurred vision, or the twi
light of the sweet September evening? Was
the softness beneath his feet that of the Axmin-
ster carpet, or the thickness of the fallen
leaves upon the little bridge! Was it her
hands that drew him, or his that drew her?
What matter, so that his lips again rested on
hers, so that he was sure, now, what man it
was who spoke, and who echoed her words of
that September evening, those words of solemn
joy and certainty, "I do!"
But it was long before either said, Good
night!
EPILOGUE.
The panorama is now over, the last scene
slid past our eyes; and yet this old-fashioned
and persistent showman, whose chief point it
is innocent of Goethe's dictum that a work of
art must never have a moral that his show is
a moral show, detains us yet a moment longer
to point that moral in a bit of epilogue.
Doubtless this is a supernumerary office to my
select circle of readers, whose discernment
must have anticipated the haec fabula docet of
this, which is, however, no fable. But, as I
am not responsible for the panorama, so am I
not for the epilogue, which he who runs may
read, or forbear to read.
143
144 THE LONG RUN.
The recital of this epilogue is intrusted to
none other than Mr. Rufus Grosbeck himself,
who presents it in person, as follows:
STONEWALL, Jan. i.
"Happy New Year, Emeline! I can make
you this greeting as who can make it to anoth
er? For I know it is neiv and I know it is
happy." ....
(It is the exceedingly confidential character
of the elision which induces Mr. Grosbeck to
conceal from us its contents not at all consid
eration for our feelings which we, in misplaced
gratitude, may assign to him.)
"If to love you, Emeline, be
a liberal education, I shall be the best edu
cated man alive, for that future learning, the first
installment of which I am receiving now, has
been preceded by an education not less liberal,
in being loved by you. Let none hereafter
THE LONG RUN. 1 45
teach that the course of true love never did
run smooth. That is true only of the short
run, Emeline! never of the long run!
"And here, partly to amuse you or to instruct
you, and partly because it is yours and must
not be withheld, I enclose this old letter, how
old you will see, and understand it all, as I do
now. I did not when it was written.
" I believe I shall throw up my fossils and
their history, and write a book (you may sug
gest it would not be unhistoric of a fossil with
which you have to do !) to prove that all those
fellows were fools who have believed and
taught the eternal predestination of man and
wife in the ideal marriage. It is all Free Will,
Emeline, under and let no Calvinist claim
me, in my enunciation of the doctrine the
mighty grace of Love. You have loved me
with an everlasting love, and I, all unelecting,
have yielded to its grace and been drawn with
the cords of love and found my fate. But,
19
THE LONG RUN.
halloo! what is this Free Will, or Necessity?
Faith, I cannot tell. I'll go back to my fossils
and prove that the firmament tuas the crust of
the earth; for I am sure of only two things;
that the very ground I tread has become to me
as Heaven's floor; and that Love al-ways con
quers in the Long Run ! '
THE END.
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