Si 
 
DIANE 
 
Historical Series 
 
 DIANE 
 
 MISSISSIPPI VALLEY 
 
 By 
 
 KATHERINE HOLLAND BROWN 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY S. J. DUDLEY 
 
 York 
 Doubleday, Page & Company 
 
 1906 
 
Copyright, 1904, by 
 Doubleday, Page & Company 
 Published, October, 1904 
 
Wb 
 
 H. S. B. 
 
 AND 
 
 J. E. B. 
 
 PATIENT COLLABORATOR, 
 AND TENDER CRITIC. 
 
 M578525 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 :HAPTK 
 
 
 PAW 
 
 I. 
 
 The City of Dreams 
 
 3 
 
 II. 
 
 The Architect 
 
 . 16 
 
 III. 
 
 The Place of Red Crosses 
 
 36 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Voice of the Rapids 
 
 . . 46 
 
 V. 
 
 A Little Brother to the Trees 
 
 64 
 
 VI. 
 
 Voila La Commune ! 
 
 74 
 
 VTT 
 
 Th* Amber Dav 
 
 . . IO2 
 
 T X JL 
 
 
 
 VIII 
 
 The Price 
 
 i2* 
 
 V J.XX 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Path of the Underground 
 
 143 
 
 X. 
 
 Madame .... 
 
 . 166 
 
 XI. 
 
 A Brotherhood of Impulse . 
 
 . 173 
 
 XII. 
 
 Respite 
 
 . . 183 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Rough Water 
 
 . 199 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Hour Before the Dawn . 
 
 . an 
 
 XV. 
 
 Broken Cables 
 
 . 225 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The Brink .... 
 
 . 240 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The Pilgrims of 56 
 
 *53 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Doom 
 
 . 281 
 
 XIX. 
 
 An Account of Losses . 
 
 . 300 
 
 XX. 
 
 Dreams and a Wakening 
 
 . 321 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Triumph .... 
 
 340 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The House of Peace 
 
 357 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Rose 
 
 383 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The Closing Door . 
 
 . 400 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The Rending of the Veil 
 
 423 
 
 vu 
 
DIANE 
 
DIANE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 THE CITY OF DREAMS 
 
 MISS ROSE! Oh, Miss Rose! Watch out 
 for the marshy places, now. That bank 
 is half quicksand. You d better keep 
 still till I can reach you. Where in the world are 
 you, anyway?" 
 
 Rose clung to a friendly willow and swayed back, 
 breathless. Her long blue Talma was splashed 
 and stained with yellow river clay ; her little morocco 
 shoes were mired to the ankle ribbons. She swept 
 the ripple of black curls out of her eyes and laughed 
 impishly at young Palmer as he scrambled ashore 
 and beached the skiff, then turned towards her, to 
 blunder straightway into the green, gay, treacherous 
 bank. He took a second step; it carried him still 
 deeper; a third, which caught his knees. Then 
 he floundered. First with dignity; then with 
 heaving shoulders and scarlet ears. 
 
 " If you d just followed me, Sydney " 
 
 Rose bit her lips on her unfeeling comment, and 
 slipped away around the hill. He could clamber 
 out unaided ; she would not add to his discomfiture 
 
 3 
 
4 Diane 
 
 by staying to sympathise. And then she could 
 not wait; this very moment she must see all the 
 delight that the wooded slope still hid from her. 
 She ran on, laughing; the wet spring wind beat in 
 her face, cold and sweet and soft as down. But one 
 week ago, the last gray ice-crust had swirled away 
 down the eager river. Now the turf sank like 
 drenched velvet beneath the foot; the air flickered 
 with bird-calls. All the winds of March leaped 
 and shouted over the round, brown hills ; but when 
 one stood in full sunlight, it was a nestling day, 
 stolen from under the breast of June. 
 
 Rose pulled herself cautiously up the last twisting 
 shelf. Ah, there it was, that mighty sweep of 
 hurtling river, that endless golden lift of circling 
 hill! It was even more beautiful than they had 
 promised her. But what could the village be that 
 crowned those far heights ? No frontier settlement, 
 surely. True, the houses were for the most part 
 poor and plain; through this crystalline air, she 
 could discern even the rough, winter-blackened logs, 
 the red of low chimneys. But in their midst 
 reared a great shattered bulk; an Old- World ruin; 
 an uncouth palace, heaped together like a child s 
 block-house, marred with staring windows, daubed 
 with futile ornament; a plaything, yet a plaything 
 for giants; hideous, yet so vast that the eye sank 
 bewildered before its soaring majesty. 
 
 "Whatever can it be oh ! The old Temple! 
 But how strange that there should be a town there 
 
The Qty of Dreams 5 
 
 still ! And such little, little houses, all set in 
 rows, precisely alike. It s just like a toy town. I 
 wonder " 
 
 "The City of Dreams, if you will, Mademoiselle." 
 
 The voice was near and very sweet. But it 
 rippled with all the mockery of a teasing bird-note. 
 
 Rose gasped. She looked behind, to right, to 
 left. She leaned far over the hill shelf and called 
 down. Only the river s murmur answered her. 
 The voice must have come from this wooded bluff; 
 yet the slope was too steep to hold a human foot, 
 and the bare branches could not hide even the 
 broken nests which still clung to them. Rose 
 caught herself looking to right and left again, 
 strung with keen, furtive wonder. Then she bit 
 her lip; the red flared deeper in her round cheek. 
 If this was some of Sydney s nonsense, he should 
 pay for it ! But a peep down the farther slope 
 showed Sydney perched on a log, laboriously 
 scraping the mud from his slim army boots, with a 
 concern which promised long delay. 
 
 "I didn t imagine it, either," snapped Rose, 
 obstinately. "It was a real voice, though it 
 sounded like a call through a flute, it was so far 
 and clear. The City of Dreams!" 
 
 "So we who are awake call it. But there are 
 those who still sleep. And to them it is the New 
 Paradise ; the World of all Justice ; the Palace of all 
 Joy. Where each yields up all, yet possesses all; 
 where man toils not for himself, but for his brother; 
 
6 Diane 
 
 where one knows not pride nor jealousy, hate nor 
 greed. The New Paradise, I have said? Also the 
 Kingdom of Love and Reason, Mademoiselle. 
 Voila la Commune!" 
 
 Rose set her teeth. The rim of climbing hills 
 wavered and dimmed before her eyes. She spoke 
 her name over, loudly and grimly, as though she 
 would rouse herself from some wayward dream. 
 "I am Rose Faulkner. This is the year 1856. 
 This is the State of Illinois. I am Rose Faulkner." 
 
 "Enchantee, Mademoiselle la Rose!" 
 
 Rose whirled about, with a stifled cry. The 
 voice rang now from above, sparkling with eerie 
 laughter, piercing sweet. She stared upward: the 
 red flowed back into her lips. 
 
 On a shelf of the rock above he sat; a slim, 
 blanched twig of a child, golden-haired, his chin 
 braced on both tiny palms, his wide shadowed 
 eyes alight. A birch flute lay on the rock beside 
 him ; an armful of pussy-willow, all silvering velvet 
 on their ebon staffs, were heaped at his feet. 
 Another staff lay beside them; a fairy thing of 
 carven wood, its ivory arm-brace wrought in cun 
 ning knots and flowers by tenderest hands. And 
 Rose s heart melted to love and pity as she saw. 
 
 "Why did you startle me so, little man? Who 
 are you? Where did you come from? What is 
 the Commune?" 
 
 "All in a breath, Mademoiselle?" he queried, 
 sweetly. His peaked, small face gleamed and 
 
The Qty of Dreams 7 
 
 fleeted with expression, like light across a burnished 
 pool; his tiny body rocked with exultant mischief. 
 "Alas that I have frightened you! I make myself 
 desolated for shame. But the temptation, Made 
 moiselle la Rose!" 
 
 " I don t see why in the world I didn t notice you." 
 Rose grew mildly resentful. " I looked up on that 
 rock over and over." 
 
 "Because that I have borrowed the ruse of my 
 brother, the field-mouse. Regard!" He dropped 
 flat on the ground, pulling his soft skin cap to his 
 ears. Against the brown, clay-mottled stone, his 
 pixie body in its quaint blouse and stockings of 
 nankeen showed no more than a fallen branch. 
 
 " I see now. But the voice " 
 
 "It came from the slope? Ah, yes. That was 
 my flute, my mock-bird. With him I can deceive 
 even his brothers themselves." He blew a quaver 
 ing call, and grimaced delight as an anxious thrush 
 cried warning from the bluff beyond. "For your 
 other questions, Mademoiselle. Moi, I am Petit Clef. 
 And I am of the Commune. And behold yonder 
 the Commune!" 
 
 Rose stared perplexed at the little town, high 
 on its crested hills. 
 
 "The Mormon Temple puzzles you? Ah, we 
 have naught to do with it. The Temple has had its 
 day. For us it is but a quarry, is it not so ? From 
 it we have taken the great blocks of limestone to 
 build our school, to make foundation for our fac- 
 
8 Diane 
 
 tories. For we ourselves have no need of a temple. 
 We are the sons of Reason, Mademoiselle. We 
 know not worship. We know not God. Unless 
 but let that go. Yonder stands our Phalanstery, 
 that great house of wood, with the rope-walk 
 beyond it, and the gardens at the side. Without, 
 it is rough, coarse, a shell. Within, it is all beauty, 
 all glory, decked with our best, the dearest treasures 
 that each one can bring ; for it is the heart, the very 
 soul of our Commune life. Beyond it there lie 
 our shops; at the foot of that last slope see? the 
 great mill, which is our pride. And on the crest of 
 the hill, that smallest dwelling, with the door of 
 white and the vine gateway can you not discern? 
 There is the house of our leader, our prophet; of 
 the all-seeing, the all- wise; le Pere Cabet." 
 
 "Le Pere Cabet?" 
 
 The brown eyes narrowed and glinted with dis 
 dain. " It is that Mademoiselle had no love for her 
 History?" he pondered, sweetly. "Else would she 
 know of the great Cabet, that son of Liberty, born 
 when the Great Revolution first thundered, bred 
 up beneath its night ? Strange seeds were planted 
 then, Mademoiselle. Strange fruits have grown 
 from them. And Etienne Cabet has eaten; and 
 since has he gone dreaming. There you may behold 
 his dream made real." 
 
 Rose shut her hands over her bewildered eyes. 
 Could she wake or sleep ? 
 
 "He was born to all things," the child chirped 
 
The Qty of Dreams 9 
 
 on, his face overflowing with whimsical delight at 
 her amaze. "Therefore were all these things 
 granted him. He has been pupil of Jacotot, favour 
 ite of Proudhon; he has been Deputy; he, son to a 
 cooper ! And he has thrown these trappings all 
 away, for that they held him back from following 
 this mirage that has ever gleamed before him. He 
 has left his France, his life, to make it real in the 
 New World, this vision beloved. There he will 
 found a nation upon the broad ground of Equality. 
 All shall possess, all shall labour in common; each 
 shall give according to his powers ; each shall receive 
 according to his needs. There shall be justice, 
 freedom, right, to every soul. There shall be no 
 curse of money; there shall be no poverty, because 
 no wealth. There shall be no fear. And when you 
 have spoken that, Mademoiselle, you have spoken 
 all." 
 
 Rose fumbled helplessly for his meanings. Dim 
 shadows of recollection flitted across her mind. 
 The Commune the Pere Cabet what was it that 
 her father had said that very morning? That she 
 should be careful, and not go to the village alone; 
 that the town was now occupied by a parcel of 
 mad Frenchmen, Communists, anarchists, probably, 
 who had come to America in search of a free field 
 for their lawless enterprises ? She remembered his 
 blustering command, Sydney s irreverent laughter. 
 And Channing what was it Channing had cried out ? 
 That it was not true; that these men were peace- 
 
io Diane 
 
 able and law-abiding citizens; fanatics, perhaps, 
 but none the less innocent and worthy. Through 
 the noisy argument that followed he had defended 
 them with a furious championship which had 
 amazed her beyond words. In all her life she had 
 never seen Channing, easy Channing, so strung with 
 unreasoning anger. Probably the people were well 
 enough, for that matter. Ignorant, to be sure ; but 
 deserving. Yet how could it matter to Channing? 
 
 "We who have taken him as Guide have left 
 many things behind us," the child went on, softly 
 as if he gossiped with his flute, alone. "But 
 we have brought much, besides. Our friends, 
 the best among his followers ; for they are ever the 
 bravest. We have kept the spirit of that body 
 which we have had to yield. We have our music 
 and our tales; our readings; our theatre. Tiny? 
 A toy, a bonbon, Mademoiselle; yet to our eyes of 
 pride, a hall sublime. We have held ourselves 
 choicely; we may have starved, now and then 
 that did not matter. We have lived our hours 
 royally ; we are all brothers, princes ; we have known 
 all happiness, until Ah, Mademoiselle ! Le Pere 
 Cabet, there upon the little boat! There behold 
 Gaspard, his oarsman; and the other who can 
 the other be?" 
 
 Rose unslung the glass from her shoulder and 
 peered eagerly across. The ferry skiff was pitching 
 slowly upstream towards its broken pier. In the 
 bow stood a tall old man holding his frail, graceful 
 
The City of Dreams n 
 
 body with taut, rigid grace. His features were a 
 dim blur at this distance; but his majesty of spirit 
 stood as self -revealed. Beside him leaned a little, 
 swaying shape, muffled in furs and crimson till the 
 eye sank baffled in despair of finding one betraying 
 line. Yet each faltering movement, each curve and 
 turn, each shrinking gesture, told its own tale. 
 Virginal; exquisite; alone. 
 
 " Who is she ? Who can she be ? " 
 
 Sydney came panting up the farther slope. His 
 whistle seemed a call from some far, forgotten 
 world. 
 
 "And she will wear the furs and velvets of a 
 princess," murmured the boy, petting his flute, 
 "and she will be served, even as a queen; and she 
 will toil not. Yet here are we all equal; brothers 
 in labour and in suffering; alike in our lives as in 
 the air we breathe. But she she is ward to the 
 Pere Cabet, child of who may know? As her 
 beauty is royal, so may she well be royal ; but of those 
 things, who may dare to ponder?" 
 
 " If you Rose Faulkner, what on earth have 
 
 you found?" 
 
 Sydney gaped at her over the edge, aghast. She 
 laughed, half startled at her own voice. She had 
 been so far so far ! 
 
 The little lad twinkled back at her, swiftly under 
 standing. Then he rose lightly, balancing against 
 his tiny crutch. 
 
 "Come and behold us, Mademoiselle," he urged, 
 
12 Diane 
 
 gravely. " Envy us our Perfect Law ; show us why 
 it brings not peace. And you, M sieu " 
 
 He stopped, glancing across the river once more. 
 Rose followed his look. Her eyes widened; she 
 caught at Sydney s arm with a cry of delighted 
 mischief. 
 
 " Why, it s Channing, Sydney ! Channing ! Up 
 here in a rowboat, in the middle of the morning! 
 And yet he couldn t think of wasting the time to 
 come with us; he sent me out of the cabin when I 
 began to tease. Won t I make him pay for his 
 fibbing ! What is that bundle in the bow of the 
 Celandine ? It looks like heaps and heaps of 
 clothing no, it s moving. And what why, he s 
 talking to the Pere Cabet !" 
 
 "It is that the river is high; therefore the 
 landing is under water. So he will take them 
 up-stream in his skiff, where they may step on 
 higher ground." 
 
 Petit Clef watched, intent. "He has the strong 
 arm, this blond le Capitaine, not so? See how he 
 has lifted the Pere Cabet as a child, Made 
 moiselle as a doll ! " 
 
 Sydney s shoulders jerked unconsciously. His 
 own arms and fingers were as steel; sometimes it 
 wore a little to hear perpetually the praises of his 
 brother officer s superb frame. 
 
 "He ll tell me this story before he gets any 
 dinner," declared Rose, in mingled wrath and 
 fun. "The very idea! And I ll know what that 
 
The City of Dreams 13 
 
 twisty bundle was before I m an hour older. Where 
 could he have been going? He doesn t know any 
 body up at the Commune, surely." 
 
 "Friend Barclay s house is right across that 
 field." 
 
 "As if Bob would go to see Friend Barclay! 
 Sydney, I m surprised at you. Don t you know 
 he s an Abolitionist?" 
 
 "Bob s a Yankee himself," Sydney grumbled 
 uncomfortably under her indignant eye. " They ve 
 been thick as thieves, ever since Bob first came 
 here. Didn t you know it ?" 
 
 "Friend Barclay is a thief. He s a conductor 
 on the Underground. Father told me so. But Bob 
 isn t. And Bob hasn t any business " 
 
 "Oh, don t fret yourself over Bob. He s a gentle 
 man and your cousin. He d never stoop to that. 
 Do look at that girl, Rose. You can tell she s a 
 beauty, even from way over here. Look at the 
 lift to her head. I wonder who in the world she 
 can be!" 
 
 Rose looked at the demure, slow-pacing figure, 
 her eyes alight with charming, gentle interest. 
 "She s just a little girl, I know that. And she s 
 sort of forlorn and shy. A little, frightened peasant 
 thing, I suppose. What did you say her name was, 
 Petit Clef?" 
 
 "I spoke not her name." Petit Clef had been 
 forgotten too long. He sat curled on his knees like 
 an offended squirrel; his brown eyes blazed. 
 
14 Diane 
 
 "Please forgive us, dear." Sydney choked back 
 his laughter at her glance. "We did not mean 
 to be so rude. We are interested in all 
 that you will tell us. And we want very much 
 to know of the Commune, and of this lady 
 most of all." 
 
 "She is the Princess. We are her subjects." 
 
 " Oh ! we can guess that for ourselves. Please, 
 Petit Clef!" 
 
 Petit Clef s chin relaxed. No human power 
 might hold out against Rose s coaxing will. 
 
 " She is ward to our Pere Cabet. They say that 
 she is a great lady in France, and that she comes 
 here, into this wilderness, only for love of him. 
 Also, they say that she is waif of the streets, and 
 that she lives upon his hand of mercy. Take that 
 which you will choose." 
 
 "But the name, Petit Clef!" 
 
 "The Butterfly. So say the angry mothers, 
 when they behold her trail her robes of fur through 
 all this mire and cold." 
 
 "Ah, the name, the name ! Say it !" 
 
 Petit Clef s straight brows crinkled . Scorn flashed 
 and gleamed from every line of his wee, bitter 
 face. 
 
 "We, ourselves, fathers and mothers of the 
 Commune," he spoke out, softly, hatefully, "are 
 named Citoyen and Citoyenne. To the end of our 
 days is it so. The titles of honour are not for us. 
 For true honour lies only in the titles of brother- 
 
The City of Dreams 15 
 
 hood. Yet here behold the one among us who 
 hoards her Old World glory ; who walks not with 
 us, but beyond, above Mademoiselle, enfin. Made 
 moiselle Diane." 
 
CHAPTER 11 
 THE ARCHITECT 
 
 IT had been a bitter winter for the Commune. 
 The early frosts had blighted the autumn fields; 
 the cruel November storms had killed the cattle by 
 scores. Pride the Citoyens had, and to spare. 
 While there was bread in their ovens and fire on 
 their hearths, what need had they to borrow of 
 their neighbours, these barbarians, the Americans? 
 But the bread dole dwindled to a morsel, and the 
 flame sank pitifully low before the locked year 
 yielded to the key of spring. 
 
 But spring was come, at last. Every breeze 
 called to happy loitering; every whir of wings and 
 whiff of new-turned earth coaxed like a beckoning 
 hand. Up in the Temple School, the children 
 writhed for impatience to escape from the story of 
 the Great Napoleon to the new, real story telling 
 itself in every shadowing cloud and herald twitter 
 without. They were f rocked in quaint mimicry of 
 their fathers; the long-tailed blue coat, the puffy 
 trousers, the wooden shoes, made them look a 
 Commune of Lilliput. Valentin Saugier, looking 
 the giant among his pupils, stood before the class 
 with face wet and aflame, gripping the fat, red 
 
 16 
 
The Architect 17 
 
 "Histoire" in both stubbed red hands. In the 
 heat of toil, he had thrown off his coat, and his 
 appearance caused him much anguish of spirit, now 
 that Mademoiselle Diane had wandered in to make 
 her first visit to the school. Valentin loathed 
 teaching; history was to him a scroll thrice sealed. 
 However, he must take his share of the common 
 burden; and, pricked on by duty, he ploughed his 
 way through the tangled epochs, precisely as he had 
 ploughed the matted prairie field the day before. 
 
 The children echoed his gasped sentences with 
 metallic iteration. The white sunlight flared in 
 sheets across the gay, frescoed walls, and struck 
 answering sparkles from the clustered heads about 
 the desk. Mademoiselle Diane shook out her 
 flounces and twisted her little fingers in her lap. 
 For all her glory, she was more painfully em 
 barrassed before the gaping children than was 
 Valentin in his shirt -sleeves. This was an affair 
 most tedious; but the Pere Cabet had said that a 
 show of interest in Colony affairs on her part might 
 further his attempts to silence the rising complaints 
 against his rule. Fresh from her one home, the 
 Convent, her eyes still dark with cloister shadows, 
 she struggled in vain to follow the methods of this 
 mysterious New World class; but the wish of the 
 Pere Cabet sufficed. Behold her ! 
 
 As an inspector of schools, she had perhaps her 
 limitations. But, as a simple picture, she was a 
 delight, from the bronze curls puffed over her little 
 
1 8 Diane 
 
 ears to the arch of her instep in its leaf -green shoe. 
 The children peered round at her with wide, resentful 
 eyes. Babies that they were, the envious gossip 
 caught at home found warrant in her sumptuous 
 raiment, so unlike their coarse garb. True, she 
 was not of the Colony; but while she lived among 
 them as the Pere Cabet s ward, her butterfly guise 
 should be laid aside. That she should pace in silk 
 and gold while their own mothers, pioneers of the 
 Commune, must yet know homespun as their only 
 wear ! 
 
 Still, there was much fascination in the flow of 
 those shelving skirts, the flash of those tight-clasped 
 hands. Diane chafed under the unblinking stare 
 which walled her on every side. She stood up 
 sighing for relief as the recitation ended. 
 
 "And is it that we may have one little word 
 from Mamzelle Diane, upon our progress?" 
 Valentin mopped his brow, laboriously deferential. 
 
 Diane came forward shyly, and opened her lips 
 to speak. Then there happened a strange thing. 
 
 Led by one white-lipped, defiant boy, the children 
 arose, without a word, and marched out of the 
 room. Not a pupil remained. 
 
 " Mes enfants ! You do not comprehend ! Re 
 turn, I pray you! A-ah! The devils, the little 
 devils ! " Tears of humiliation streamed over Valen 
 tin s cheeks. He caught at her gown with imploring 
 hands. " I beg you, I beseech you, dear Mamzelle, 
 do not be grieved. They would not hurt you, 
 
The Architect 19 
 
 yourself. It is that their wicked parents have 
 taught them to strike always at the Pere Cabet, 
 even through those he loves. And it is all for a 
 cause so slight, this quarrel for who shall be Prsi- 
 dent. If that you can forgive them " 
 
 Diane pulled herself away and fled like a wild 
 thing down Phalanstery Hill. Her breath plucked 
 at her throat in frantic sobs; field, and wood, and 
 river blurred in rainbow lines through her tears. 
 This insult, then, was the one greeting which her 
 new home might give ! Her brooded life had 
 never known so cruel a sting. But the Pere Cabet 
 must not know; the weight of his people s distrust, 
 pressing more heavily day by day, was a sufficient 
 burden. 
 
 She paused on the crest of the farthest bluff. A 
 pale mist silvered the river ; the wind blew suddenly 
 chill. She peered over the edge, half tempted to 
 clamber down to the river-path below. Then she 
 sprang back, her cheeks ablaze, and swept her 
 hand angrily across her tear-stained eyes. That 
 she could so forget her place, her pride ! 
 
 On the steep mill pathway below shrieked and 
 chattered an eager group. Diane looked down at 
 them, first listlessly, then with slow-wakening 
 wonder. There stood Twonnet, head blanchisseuse, 
 her blue sleeves rolled high above her huge milky 
 arms, her red head tossing with the vehemence of 
 her rebuke. Before her cowered Armand, the 
 cooper, brown, shrivelled leaf, with the face of a 
 
20 Diane 
 
 gnome, the hands of a mummy. And in those 
 hands lay a bundle lapped in coarsest rags. A 
 heap of pitiful scraps, it looked to be, tied together 
 with a strip of knitted shawl. To one side stood a 
 third figure, so strange to Diane s eyes that she 
 caught her breath in marvel. 
 
 She stood passive, motionless; her great hands 
 lay folded over her breast; her handsome head, in 
 its spotless turban, bent decently, as before her 
 betters. She had no look of grossness nor of ill 
 proportion; yet she towered head and shoulders 
 above Twonnet s swelling bulk, and her arms were 
 as a cradle. A twig snapped under Diane s foot, 
 as she bent down, peering; the woman looked up 
 swiftly. Diane s lips quivered. In that dark face, 
 first startled, then comprehending, there shone a 
 tenderness deep as the tenderness that had watched 
 her baby years. She felt herself soothed, guarded; 
 the tears dried on her cheek. And yet the face 
 that lifted to her was the face of a slave. 
 
 "Animal ! " sputtered Twonnet. " Miserable ! To 
 bring this waif, this blind kitten, to hide it upon 
 my shelves, among my fresh linen ! To make 
 pretence, enfin, that I have stolen it ! I, Twonnet, 
 thief of infants ! Thief of a little beast, comme 
 cela, black as thy hat, black even as thy soul, 
 Armand ! Take that ! " 
 
 Armand ducked, a breath too late. Her dumpling 
 palm rang upon his shrivelled ear. 
 
 "To make of me fool, ridicule, before my friends ! 
 
The Architect 21 
 
 To make me derided, mocked as a booby who 
 finds that which she seeks not ! And it is all thy 
 fault, image of straw that thou art! Faquin!" 
 
 "I have meant nothing, nothing!" chirped 
 Armand shrilly above the torrent of her abuse. 
 " It is thy own prying, meddler ! Hadst thou not 
 turned the store-room key upon an hour forbid 
 den " 
 
 "There, there, chillen!" The negress swept like 
 a great calm ship between the two. "Can t you 
 unnerstan , Twonnet? He s jes a li l black pick 
 aninny, nothin but a li l slave chile, that s all. 
 De hunters is been watchin us all, day an night, 
 ever sence dat las crowd went through; so Fren 
 Barclay, he tole me to hide im de bes way I kin, 
 fear de hunters would git im an take im back 
 down Souf agin. Right ter do it? Dey am got 
 no right, dey ain got no nuffin , ceptin dey s 
 brass an* dey s hard hearts. Oh, it s all long o 
 dat Fugitive Law, what makes us niggers all slaves 
 agin ! Melissy, his ma, she s free as me, tel dey 
 come an* took her, an sold her down Souf agin. 
 No, I ain see how dey figger hit out, needer. But 
 dat ain here nor dere. Melissy, she ll make her 
 way dis far, but she kain take de baby no furder, 
 hit s dat dangersome, so she ll leave him with us 
 tel there s another crowd sent off Norf. An I fin 
 out dey s watchin my cabin, cause I s free nigger 
 now, so I s coaxed Armand here to hide im over 
 night. He s a good li l pickaninny; an smart!" 
 
22 Diane 
 
 She pushed back the wrappings and drew the child 
 from Armand s grasp. " Look at de white blood 
 in his nose an his chin ! Look at dat straight 
 hair ! An Fren Barclay, he s ter come an take 
 him away this very mornin*. My Lord, honey ! 
 How s you git here?" 
 "Mademoiselle Diane !" 
 " Aie ! What will the Pere Cabet say ! " 
 " I wish to see him, this child, this slave." Diane 
 slipped through Twonnet s detaining hand. Her 
 voice fluttered; her face lighted with eagerness. 
 "The Pere Cabet has related to me often, how we 
 ourselves have been slaves in our own country, 
 before that he has given us this happiness, this 
 freedom " 
 
 "Us!" Armand s dry chuckle was drowned in 
 Twonnet s taunting shriek. " Is it that Mademoiselle 
 considers, then, that we were as this this? 
 She snatched back the enveloping shawl. "That 
 we were black, imbeciles ? And the Pere Cabet, he 
 has made us, then. He has taught us, hein? He 
 has given us all things. So. And is it that 
 Mademoiselle knows what he has taken away?" 
 
 Diane stood back, quivering. The furious tirade 
 shrilled on, merciless. 
 
 "What of me? I, who had my little shop, my 
 customers of the years past, my people, whom I 
 adored, my friends, my carved chairs, my garden? 
 I, Twonnet, whom all declared best blanchisseuse of 
 the quartier? Behold, the Pere Cabet has come 
 
The Architect 23 
 
 to me; he has told me of the glories of this New 
 World, where man works but when he will, as for 
 pleasure ; where food and garments are free as air ; 
 where all share equally of their treasure; where I, 
 Twonnet, shall stand by the side of Madame la 
 Duchesse. And I have listened, idiot that I am. 
 And I have followed. Behold me, yoked now in 
 labour for the months past with Barbe Thore, 
 woman of mutton, with la Veuve Tressain, who 
 can not write her own name ! I, Twonnet ! Equal 
 in labour? Of a truth, yes. We toil until we 
 fall, as the beaten horse in his traces. Equal in 
 food and in raiment?" She twitched down her 
 faded blouse with a cruel laugh. "When there is 
 of food and of raiment to divide, it is divided. A 
 sleeve here, a shoe there. Black bread to one 
 water to his brother. Of treasures we have but 
 the one treasure left. Our name of freedom. And 
 each one his share of freedom when that he 
 sleeps. As for Madame la Duchesse there is no 
 Madame la Duchesse ! Citoyenne, Citoyenne, tou- 
 jours Citoyenne ! Unless " 
 
 Diane waited, white, silent, shocked to the 
 heart. 
 
 "Moi, aussi," grumbled Armand, "I who have 
 built the desks, the buffets, for the house of M. le 
 Ministre himself ! I, who stood President of my 
 guild for three years together! There, in Paris, I 
 am of the profession; here am I artisan. Francois 
 Armand, carver of ebony and of pearl to the noblesse, 
 
24 Diane 
 
 makes of himself cooper, carver of barrel-staves, 
 unto the Commune !" 
 
 Diane stood pulseless. She was as drowned 
 beneath the torrent of their scorn. 
 
 "And we are not alone, we whose eyes are opened ! " 
 Twonnet turned back, fiercely. " Look ! Can you 
 not see the cloud that looms before you? Listen! 
 Can you not hear the storm?" 
 
 "Then, if your hate is so far stronger than your 
 love, why do you not go?" Her voice rang far 
 and strange. " You, whose trust is turned to anger. 
 You, who despise him mon Pere Cabet " 
 
 Strong arms caught her to a deep mother- 
 breast. She lay there, blinded, choking in her 
 tears. 
 
 "You let dis chile alone!" The voice of the 
 negress rolled out, a deep, soft, thunderous peal. 
 " Ain you done tell me she s same as Mister Cabet s 
 own li l girl to him ? How s you like anybody talk 
 bout you pa like dat? Ain you shame !" 
 
 "Persis!" 
 
 The strong clasp relaxed. Diane stood up, 
 hushing herself to breathless quiet. A tall, old 
 man came striding down the bluff-path to them. 
 He swept the group with a keen, gray glance; he 
 laid his hand on the shoulder of the negress. 
 
 "Persis, thee s better at keeping thy word than 
 I. It is ten minutes past th e time I promised, but 
 the delay had reason. Go back up the road to the 
 white oak; thee ll find the chaise hitched there. 
 
The Architect 25 
 
 Drive back with the child to my house, and stay 
 there till I come. There s no danger, this side of 
 the river." 
 
 "Yes, Mas r." 
 
 "And thee ll be of great aid to us, friends, if 
 thee s willing to hold thy peace." His shrewd 
 eyes questioned Armand, then turned satisfied to 
 Diane. "And thee thee s Diane, from the house 
 of Citizen Cabet. Won t thee walk up the hill with 
 me, daughter? It is a lonely road back towards 
 the Commune." 
 
 Diane looked up. Sixty years of gentle deeds 
 were written in the bronzed, smooth-shaven face 
 bent to her. "I shall be honoured, M sieu " 
 
 "M sieu 1 Ami." The gray eyes twinkled de 
 lightedly. He took her arms and swung her like a 
 child across the muddy gully, and up the path. 
 "Good-bye to thee, friends. Now let us see, 
 daughter. Ah, those shoes!" He set her down 
 plumply upon a log, then went to work scraping 
 the clay from her little boots with his pocket - 
 knife. "When I finish, I m going to carry thee to 
 a dry path, my child," he chatted on. He was 
 serenely blind to her furtive attempts to dry her 
 eyes and smooth her ruffled hair. "Thee ll find 
 these hills no convent garden. Thee can spoil all 
 thy finery in a day s romp." He touched the rent 
 flounces of green. "But in May, when my apple- 
 orchard is abloom, I shall come and take thee there. 
 Thee can run in it all day without staining a ribbon. 
 
26 Diane 
 
 Margaret will even let thee eat thy supper in the 
 trees, if thee likes." 
 
 School-room and mill-path receded into the 
 distance. "I shall .much desire to come. I thank 
 you, M sieu 1 Ami 1 Ami " 
 
 "M sieu 1 Ami Barclay. * His eyes danced be 
 neath the gray broadbrim. His French had the 
 burr of homespun learning ; to Diane, it sounded the 
 sweetest note in months. He fumbled carefully 
 through every pocket. "Good children, who learn 
 my name, and speak it loud and clear for me, I 
 always reward," he chuckled. He put a fat, 
 striped stick of peppermint in her hand, and gazed 
 longingly at another. "Sometimes I m tempted to 
 find cause for rewarding myself. Yet this cannot 
 taste so good to me as to some little man in sabots, 
 up at the Phalanstery." 
 
 He bit his lip at sight of the stinging red in her 
 cheek. "I ve reminded thee of something painful," 
 he said, looking hard at the horizon. "Thee must 
 forgive an old man his blunder. It is the Com 
 mune " 
 
 "I shame myself, M sieu." Diane set her teeth. 
 " But how can they taunt him so ! How can they 
 be so cruel ! He has done for them all things ; he 
 has clothed and fed and taught them. And for 
 gratitude they will give a wound ! " 
 
 The man was silent for a moment. 
 
 "Etienne Cabet is a wonderful man," he said, at 
 last. "His Plan, now, is magnificent. Equality 
 
The Architect 27 
 
 in rank and property; the sanctity of the family; 
 religious freedom; and in goods and labour, To 
 each, according to his needs ; from each, according 
 to his powers/ It s a magnificent creed." 
 "True, M sieu. It should work miracles." 
 "Yes. But perhaps thee s noticed, child, that 
 the power of miracles hasn t been conferred on us 
 quite yet. Then there was this scheme of bringing 
 the Commune to America. That meant each 
 disciple must sell his land. A man gives up part 
 of his body when he sells the land he has planted 
 and tilled since childhood. Besides, they must 
 sign an agreement, promising to give up every 
 penny, and every article save the clothes on their 
 backs, to the common fund. Yet it is said that 
 Cabet, himself, has kept the lands which had 
 descended to him, and holds them still, in his own 
 name. Curious ! 
 
 " The best of us cling to those things which have 
 the dearness of our long possession. They tell 
 it of Mere Drouet, grandmother of Jacques and 
 Lucien, that she was one of the strongest workers 
 for the Commune till the day that she -went to 
 sign. A few things must I keep, Pere Cabet/ she 
 said. My wedding ring, the cloak of fur which 
 was my mother s last gift to me, and the cradle in 
 which my babies used to sleep. These things 
 must remain my own.* The wedding ring you 
 shall have, Cabet answered. But the fur is a 
 foolish luxury, and the cradle you no longer need/ 
 
28 Diane 
 
 Then will I give up the cloak/ she said, though it 
 must have cut her heart to part with it. But the 
 cradle I must keep. It was the nest of the two 
 living and of the four that I have lost. I cannot 
 let it go ! Cabet perhaps he did not understand 
 perhaps he did not wish to. Citoyenne Drouet, 
 keep then your cradle, and remain here and forego 
 your liberty, so has he spoken. In that spirit, 
 you may not enter the Commune. She threw 
 down the quill. They say that Cabet, the in 
 vincible, flinched before the fire in her old eyes. 
 If that is your plan, to give liberty by cutting 
 apart flesh and blood, my curse upon you and 
 your Commune ! And she caught up the little 
 straw cradle to her old breast as if it was a child, 
 and went her way." 
 
 "But she came with the Colony in the end, 
 Friend Barclay." 
 
 "And why? Because she must choose between 
 the dead and the living children. But has thee 
 ever watched her as she sits in the nursery, minding 
 the little ones, while the mothers are at work? 
 She cares tenderly for all the babies alike; but 
 when it is time for them to sleep, one of them 
 must lie in her arms; for there is one cradle which 
 she will not use. Curious ! Cabet has many more 
 weighty things to occupy his mind, but, week after 
 week, he goes in person to inspect the nursery, and 
 he sees to it that there is never an extra crib ; for he 
 is determined that one little, warped straw basket, 
 
The Architect 99 
 
 with its faded ribbon, must and shall be used. 
 With osier across on the Island, and cloth to 
 spare in the warehouse, one could make a new 
 crib in a day s time; then this old one could be 
 laid aside. But as long as Mother Drouet sits in 
 the nursery, just so long there must be no new 
 cribs. Curious!" 
 
 He turned his eyes away as he spoke. His heart 
 ached for her, in the shame and grief which his 
 words must bring; but sooner or later, she must 
 know. A bitter draught does not sweeten by 
 waiting. 
 
 "He could not mean it, in that way. He is too 
 kind, too tender," she stammered, at last. Friend 
 Barclay spoke on, as if he did not hear. 
 
 "But the Colony has prospered. They failed, 
 to be sure, in Texas; they failed in New Orleans. 
 But they have flourished here. How many are 
 there in the Commune now?" 
 
 "Over nine hundred." 
 
 "So I thought. Among so many there must 
 be some few able men, fitted for work in higher 
 places than the mill and the field. Or are they all 
 mere labourers?" 
 
 "Mere labourers 1" flashed Diane. "Surely you 
 speak for pleasure, Friend Barclay. What of 
 Alfred Louvier, who built the Phalanstery, and 
 planned the looped wheels for the mill? What of 
 Magloire, who painted the great Fraternite, and 
 designed the theatre, and carved the statue of 
 
30 Diane 
 
 Pre Cabet? What of Citoyen Lemaire, who 
 speaks in the Council till your heart fills your 
 throat, till your breath stops to hear?" 
 
 "Then, if the Commune holds such men, it is no 
 longer a weakling. It is able to stand alone, to 
 govern itself. We are agreed that Cabet is a 
 wonderful man, in all that he undertakes. Many 
 things he has known to do, but one thing he does 
 not know: when to stop." 
 
 Diane stared back at him. 
 
 "Thee s too young to realise how nobly these 
 Communists have proved themselves. They have 
 faced grief and pain and danger. They ve had no 
 law but their own compact, but they have kept 
 their hands clean and their homes pure. They 
 have toiled like slaves at cruel labours, never for 
 themselves, always for each other. If ever men 
 ennobled themselves to the right of self-government, 
 they are the men. Yet Cabet denies the very 
 powers that he had promised them ; and he tries, by 
 ways open and hidden, to keep all control in his own 
 hands. I ll admit that they show resentment 
 childishly; it is beneath them to refuse his salute 
 and to turn their backs on his partisans at table. 
 But some of the clay is still within us, child, and 
 the heat of passion brings it out." 
 
 Diane stood up; her eyes grew violet under the 
 haze of her tears. 
 
 "You mean your words kindly, Friend Barclay. 
 But you do not know him. He is all goodness 
 
The Architect 31 
 
 and truth; he could not do so ill. He has reared 
 me " 
 
 "And thy people were friends of his?" queried 
 the man. He glanced down at the river. His 
 face grew curiously intent. A tiny sailboat was 
 just putting inshore. The boatman s bared fair 
 head and the scarlet handkerchief about his throat 
 made glittering points against the translucent blue 
 of water and air. 
 
 "I know nothing of my people," she whispered 
 back. "The Pere Cabet has always promised that 
 when I had eighteen years I should know all ; but 
 the day of his promise is past these three months 
 gone, and he will not speak. Only this one word 
 will he say, that they were both good and wise, and 
 dear beyond the telling to each other." 
 
 "Thee knows much," the man said gently. 
 " What more could thee wish to hear, dear child ? " 
 
 The frets of the Commune were as blown on the 
 hurrying wind. Diane smiled back at the deep 
 assurance of his word. Her glance followed his 
 own to the skiff, now moored below them. The 
 boatman was climbing swiftly up the hill; his 
 lithe body swayed to the ascent, as easily as if 
 he paced a level sod. 
 
 "It is young Captain Channing, from the Govern 
 ment fleet. An able youth, and interests me much. 
 Thee knows him, child?" 
 
 "Yes." Diane s eyes clouded once again. Be 
 hold another enemy to the Commune ! 
 
39 Diane 
 
 In truth she knew him, this blond giant. He 
 had visited the Colony only the week before. She 
 clenched her hands as she remembered how every 
 shop and tool, every principle and custom, had 
 seemed to shrink and wither under that cool, 
 judicial eye. His impassive dissent crystallised in 
 his response to Pere Cabet s florid praises of the 
 System. "You can make brutes equal, M. Cabet. 
 You cannot equalise men." 
 
 He had better remain at his post down the river, 
 this insolent young engineer, than come to question 
 matters of which he could know nothing. Truly, 
 he might possess some wisdom of a baser sort ; one 
 said that he could read the river as a printed book. 
 Under his direction the jagged rock had been torn 
 from the channel for miles, and the flow straightened 
 like a skein of tangled silk. Then Pere Cabet had 
 told her of the Eastern harbours he had planned, 
 and of the famous canal that would bear his name. 
 But what profited his learning, when it might not 
 teach him to grasp the marvels of the Commune? 
 Ah, he was to be pitied, this poor M. le Capitaine; 
 pitied as one who, having eyes, refuses to see. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Diane 1 " 
 
 Channing swung himself over the edge of the 
 bluff and stood staring, moonstruck. His thin, 
 clear features took on the smitten look of one who, 
 absorbed in racking thought, suddenly realises that 
 his face of abstraction has betrayed his secret. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Diane ! It is a great pleasure to 
 
The Architect 33 
 
 behold you. I did not know that it was your custom 
 to promenade upon these bluffs." 
 
 Diane s chin tilted slowly. She looked past his 
 eager face towards the tree-fringed river. "It is 
 the custom for us to walk here often, Monsieur. 
 The bluffs are, as one might say, our park of pleas 
 ure." Her English was undeniably worse than his 
 French had been; but the young man crimsoned 
 under the implied rebuke. 
 
 "I am delighted that you are willing to speak 
 English with us. Friend Barclay and I will feel 
 ourselves honoured to aid you in your practice, if 
 we are so permitted," 
 
 Friend Barclay s eyes shone full of ripples. 
 
 "I find it both possible and enjoyable to speak 
 the French with M. 1 Ami Barclay," murmured the 
 girl. With a placid gaze she considered the flushed 
 and stammering giant. "I realise that I have 
 intruded upon some important meeting of yourself 
 with Friend Barclay, and I beg that I may be par 
 doned. It is wrong for women to hear the secrets 
 of state, is it not so?" She swept him a flowing 
 courtesy; she should have stood on a clipped and 
 velvet terrace, a greyhound at her side, a fountain, 
 marble-throated, at her feet. " I will go, now, and 
 leave you to confer in peace. No, M sieu l Ami, it 
 is not necessary that I should be accompanied. I 
 Monsieur, your documents of state!" 
 
 Channing had sprung forward, with an exclama 
 tion of protest. A roll of paper, thrust carelessly 
 
34 Diane 
 
 into the pocket of his short coat, fell into an open 
 scroll at her feet. It showed a mass of woven black 
 lines, dotted here and there by little red crosses. < 
 
 "It s not a secret if you ll just look, Made 
 moiselle," he cried, gathering up the clumsy sheets. 
 "See, it is a map of the river, at this point, and of 
 the low lands bordering upon it. There is Mont- 
 rose; over here the Marais Vert, and here the 
 steamer landing. Below it again, those dark marks 
 show the rapids." 
 
 "Ah! And the little red crosses, M sieu?" 
 
 Channing bit his lip. "They oh! they are 
 mere landmarks." 
 
 "You have visited them?" 
 
 " Yes. We sometimes take pleasure trips there 
 little exploring parties," he answered, with feeble 
 pleasantry. "May I row you about to them, some 
 time before long?" 
 
 Diane folded the map with languid care. "I 
 thank you, M sieu. But your river is always in 
 such great haste, and it is so muddy! Truly, it 
 would mean an enjoyment, but one which I fear I 
 must forego." She gathered up her gown with 
 both small hands. " I wish for you a parley most 
 felicitous, Messieurs," said she. Her grave bow 
 was for Channing; her dancing eyes met Barclay s 
 above the bent head of the younger man. She 
 paced away across the wet, bright turf, towards the 
 Phalanstery. The men stared after her till the 
 shimmer of her gown had vanished beyond the 
 
The Architect 35 
 
 crown of the hill. Then they looked at each other, 
 the younger a bit shame-faced. 
 
 "I came as soon as I could," he said gruffly. 
 
 "Thee has the map ready? No, I ll not stop to 
 look at it now. We must get across as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 When Diane paused at the crown of the hill, the 
 Celandine lifted a wing of pearl on the river s blue. 
 She watched it glide through the willows, where 
 shore and island mingled misty branches. She 
 considered it tranquilly. It was a charming feature 
 of the landscape. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 THE PLACE OF RED CROSSES 
 
 "THAT is a dear, gentle child," remarked Friend 
 Barclay, straining his eyes for sight of Diane. 
 "Thy cousin Rose should know her; they d be 
 good comrades. There she stands: see? I judge 
 she s watching the boat. Can t thee make out 
 that dot of green against the white of the Phalan 
 stery?" 
 
 " Haven t time to look." Channing was tinkering 
 with the sail. 
 
 "It would seem wiser, had Cabet permitted her 
 to stay with the nuns, instead of bringing her here, 
 now that the Commune is on the verge of civil 
 war. She s not the flower to thrive in such rough 
 soil." 
 
 No response. 
 
 "I reasoned with him during the winter, when 
 he told me that he had sent for his young 
 ward. He looked at me as if I had struck him. 
 Would you withhold water from the dying? he 
 asked. The man is made desperate by failure. 
 There ! Did thee see her then, beside that clump 
 of birches?" 
 
 "No." Channing did not look up. His mouth 
 
 36 
 
The Place of Her Crosses 37 
 
 spelled Resolution above his indomitable chin. 
 Friend Barclay bestowed a confidential nod on the 
 horizon. 
 
 One doesn t need to be of the world s people 
 to perceive such things as lie beneath one s hand," 
 he remarked benignly. Channing tossed the boat 
 inshore with a mighty fling. 
 
 "Go straight down the beach till you reach the 
 heap of white stones," he said. "I ll come as soon 
 as I tie her up. Hotter will be there by that time." 
 
 "The white stones? In the language of thy 
 map, a little red cross? The landmark of pleasure 
 excursions?" 
 
 "That same." Channing s eyes danced despite 
 his stubborn humour. 
 
 The elder man plunged away through the willows, 
 whistling softly as he went, a curious intermittent 
 trill. The note suggested a family of industrious 
 robins, striving to outchirp each other. Presently 
 he stepped into a narrow clearing, locked in on 
 all sides by twisted willows, and thick-sown with 
 anemone. As he entered, there was a snapping of 
 branches on the opposite side ; first an apprehensive 
 red head, then a small, deprecating body wriggled 
 into view. Friend Barclay sat down on a log and 
 beamed into the scared face. 
 
 "Thee s prompt on the hour. Thee heard my 
 robin call, Jacob?" 
 
 "Prompt? Hear it? I druther think I did!" 
 Hotter leaned against a willow, puffing; every 
 
38 Diane 
 
 leathery seam in his brown, quizzical face was 
 sluiced in sweat. "Got here quick s I could, to 
 choke her off. Sounds more like a ostrich call, I d 
 say. Hope they ain t any spies layin in the brush 
 short of a mile. Seems to me ye re in a powerful 
 hurry to run yer neck thoo the noose, Mister Bar 
 clay." 
 
 The laugh deepened in the gray eyes. "My 
 neck will stand a hard wrench. What s thy 
 news?" 
 
 " She s hidin at Albright s, safe enough, but they 
 won t take the resk of keepin her another day. 
 You can t blame em. Look at the comeuppances 
 folks is gettin fer breakin that Fugitive Slave 
 Law ! Here s Lawyer Osgood fined a thousand 
 dollars, jest fer drivin a nigger acrost ten mile of 
 prairie to Chicago; an* his son, they ve put him in 
 jail fer six months, because he hitched up the 
 horses fer his pa, near s I kin make out. Old 
 Cap n Boyce, he s lost his job, too. He s brought 
 niggers up on the Alfarita three trips runnin* this 
 spring, right in the face of the Commissioners. 
 Course their staterooms was all engaged, so he kin 
 play possum an dodge arrest. But the Alfarita 1 s 
 owners caught on, all of a suddent, an they turned 
 the old man off with one day s notice, an black 
 listed him in every office in Orleans. Sixty-six 
 years old, an got ter hunt a job on a ferry, like as 
 not, after runnin a steamer fer forty year*. When 
 folks see doin s like that goin on every day, it s 
 
The Place of Her Grosses 39 
 
 nateral they want ter walk easy. Ye can t blame 
 
 em/ 
 
 Friend Barclay dusted his hat-brim with infinite 
 solicitude. 
 
 "An* ye re headin down the same road. I 
 don t s pose ye ve seen what the Palladjeem said 
 about ye yesterday?" 
 
 Friend Barclay thrust the proffered clipping into 
 his pocket. "Time enough to read it another day. 
 Here s Robert. Show Jacob thy map, won t thee, 
 please?" 
 
 Channing unrolled the scroll. "You left her at 
 Albright s? Well, now, you want to start at dusk, 
 in a straight line, due east from their poplar grove 
 to this point on the river where I ve made the red 
 cross, see? There s a wood-cutter s shack right on 
 the bank. I ll put food there this afternoon. 
 You ll find a dug-out moored in the first willow- 
 clump, to the south. Take it and drop down to 
 the old Riverside Banding. I ll meet you there, and 
 put her on the Nettie Lee as a cabin passenger; 
 she s white enough to pass inspection by lamplight. 
 You re to go aboard, too, as a deck passenger: and 
 when the boat reaches Foote s Landing that will 
 be about four in the morning you re to go ashore 
 with her and meet Eldredge. He ll be hanging 
 around the wharf somewhere. The minute you ve 
 put her in his charge, your part is done. I d 
 advise you to go straight back aboard the Nettie 
 Lee and go on up to New Boston, then come back by 
 
40 Diane 
 
 stage or boat, whichever is quickest. Your going 
 on north will help to stave off suspicion. " 
 
 Hotter wriggled. Every wrinkle in his face 
 converged to a focus of protest. "Wisht ye d 
 picked out Sam Riggs fer this here job I " he 
 grumbled. 
 
 " Samuel has done much for us this spring. Thee 
 must remember it s harder for him to undertake a 
 thing of this kind than for us. He s holding Govern 
 ment offices. Under the oaths that he has taken, 
 he perjures himself every time that he gives aid 
 and comfort to a runaway." 
 
 "He s county clerk and postmaster, yes; and 
 you re Justice of the Peace. I don t see ez but 
 what you perjure yerself worse n he does. Only 
 thing of it is, ye ain t scared, an he is. Well, I ll 
 do jes as ye say; s pose I kin hold my tongue an 
 travel well s the next one. Lord knows, I want 
 to see her through, poor soul. But s posin they 
 ketch us?" 
 
 "What was thee just saying about the penalties 
 for breaking the Fugitive Law, Jacob?" 
 
 Hotter started, and grinned foolishly. "Come 
 to think of it, I guess we ain t goin to get ketched. 
 But it s the last time I monkey with fire, Hister 
 Barclay. I ll warn ye that. I d do anything in 
 reason fer ye, but I won t break the law fer no 
 man. So don t come ter me again fer help in this 
 business, fer I won t give it." 
 
 " Not till the next time, added Channing. " We ve 
 
The Place of Her Crosses 4* 
 
 heard that before, Hotter. Your bark is worse 
 than your bite. Good-bye, and good luck." 
 
 The men did not shake hands. Perhaps it would 
 have seemed a confession of their anxiety. Hotter 
 slid through the willows to the west : the branches 
 closed behind the others as they thrust their way 
 back to the river. The clearing slept again in 
 brooding shadow. Only the bruised anemones 
 lifted reproachful faces to the strip of light above. 
 
 "I wish one of us might have taken her, instead 
 of sending Jacob," said Friend Barclay. "I d 
 have gone myself " 
 
 "That would have meant sure failure. You re 
 under watch every minute, as it is." 
 
 "Jacob is but a timorous reed. Still, he has 
 little to do. The burden lies with Eldredge. He 
 will drive her up to Chicago in his light wagon; 
 then he will put her on the schooner for Canada. 
 Once safely in her stateroom, she will keep quiet 
 there until she hears the signal knock at the door: 
 that will mean friends and free breath again. I 
 hope the Friends will be able to send her directly 
 to her husband." 
 
 " She s been in hiding for five months, didn t you 
 say?" 
 
 "Five months. Think, man!" Friend Barclay s 
 voice pealed out. "She was a f reed-woman, living 
 happily with her husband and children ; she believed 
 herself safe as the mistress who had given her this 
 freedom. Eight days after the Bill was passed, the 
 
42 Diane 
 
 whole family was seized and sold as slaves in the 
 open market of St. Louis. Sold in defiance of their 
 papers of emancipation, in defiance of the word of 
 sworn witnesses. Steve, the husband, escaped 
 from his new owner and made his way to Canada in 
 a few weeks; Celina might have run away before 
 now, but she would not leave her child. In the 
 end, they did escape together; but she was forced 
 to leave the little fellow with the Friends in Cin 
 cinnati. They will send him North, too, as soon as 
 possible: but think of her long, agonised waiting! 
 Five months at first, now, perhaps, five more on the 
 rack of dread, before she dares hope to see her baby 
 again!" 
 
 Channing was silent. For a time they sped on 
 down the river without further speech. It was as 
 though each divined in the mind of the other some 
 painful thought, which must not be given chance for 
 utterance. 
 
 They had covered half the distance to the Govern 
 ment fleet before Channing laid down his oars. 
 
 "I may as well say it. I must give this up or 
 else resign from the service. I cannot endure this 
 crawling business ! To feel that I m making a busi 
 ness of breaking a law, no matter how infamous a 
 law of my country, that I ve sworn to protect " 
 
 "It is hard." 
 
 " Hard ? Good Lord ! Channing gripped the 
 gunwale. His voice came in gasps. "It s tearing 
 a fellow in two. Here s my people, the Major and 
 
The Place of Her Crosses 43 
 
 Rose down there, all I ve got left in the world, 
 trusting me in everything. And they believe in 
 slavery as a divine institution. To them there 
 can t be any question ; it has always been, so it must 
 be right. They never dream but that I m one with 
 them. There s Palmer, too; one of the best chaps 
 that ever breathed, a slave-owner like his fathers 
 before him, and believing in it heart and soul. If 
 they only knew how I feel, what I m doing, they d 
 as soon have a leper in their midst. And here I 
 am, educated by the Government, in its pay, 
 sworn to protect its institutions. What possessed 
 me to take such an oath, you say? What could a 
 New England boy, brought up as I was, know of 
 slavery? It was a necessary evil, a regrettable 
 yet an inevitable condition, " he flung the words 
 from him as if they had been noisome insects. 
 "An abolitionist was a dangerous fanatic; a come- 
 out er was a traitor, an anarchist. We must not 
 jar the balance of the States, they told us; we 
 smothered our wits with arguments for peace. 
 I m telling you the truth when I say that I came 
 here, not indifferent never that but convinced 
 that endurance was better than rebellion. That 
 was five years ago in 51. And look at me now !" 
 "I know. Thee s conductor of an underground; 
 thee s known as the most daring and successful law 
 breaker in the State. Thee s the ruffian who 
 seized Marianne and her two babies a freed- 
 woman she was, like Celina, but little good might 
 
44 Diane- 
 
 that do her and took them to Canada just one day 
 before the hunter came who would have sold them 
 into slavery again. Thee s the hound who warned 
 the Michaux settlers in Wisconsin, when the slave- 
 catchers were on the eve of swooping down. Oh, 
 thee s a graceless wretch ; I wonder I can endure to 
 stay in the same boat with thee !" 
 
 Channing could not respond to this audacious 
 fun. His passion had far overleaped the bounds 
 of his reserved nature; he was at once shocked and 
 angry with himself. Dearly as he loved the older 
 man, he felt now a shamed resentment toward 
 him, the witness of his impetuous outburst. 
 
 "Well! There s thy destiny." Friend Barclay 
 motioned towards the Government fleet, swinging 
 at anchor below them. "Put me ashore down 
 there, Robert, at Marais Vert. Yes, thee d better 
 cut loose from me and all my ways. It s a heart 
 breaking business. To feel that one is opposing all 
 law and order ; to know that one has stepped down 
 from the level of the citizen and stands with the 
 outlaw. Yes, thee 11 suffer; if thee thinks it will 
 prove unbearable, thee d better step out before 
 thee s mired any deeper." He leaped ashore. 
 
 "How long have you been mixed up in this 
 wholesale thievery, Friend Barclay?" 
 
 Friend Barclay s lips twitched into secular creases. 
 
 "Forty-one years, man and boy," he answered. 
 "I was nineteen when I helped my first slave to 
 escape; Reuben Baxter, his name was; I shall 
 
The Place of Her Crosses 45 
 
 forget that name when I forget mine own. For 
 two weeks we kept him, my brother and I, hid in 
 the corn-crib. For food, we took him our own 
 meals, taking turns that the family might not be 
 alarmed and force upon us physic for our low 
 appetites. He went at last in safety, leaving us 
 his blessing; and I can tell thee we were thankful 
 to see him depart. In all Berks County there were 
 no two such empty young Quakers." 
 
 "Forty-one years! Well, when I ve tried it for 
 thirty-six more, I ll let you know whether I want 
 to resign from the Underground or not. Good 
 bye!" 
 
 The men grinned fraternally across the widening 
 stretch of water. Channing s oars struck quavering 
 echoes from the hollow western shore. The elder 
 man watched him till he had crossed the stream and 
 brought his boat into the sweep of the farther 
 current. The mirth had deepened to something 
 nearer a blessing in his gaze. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 THE VOICE OF THE RAPIDS 
 
 THE Government steamer, a dumpling stern- 
 wheeler, with the Stars and Stripes fluttering im 
 portantly between her dapper stacks, swung at 
 anchor near the flock of barges and the ungainly 
 dredge which constituted the Government fleet. 
 The year, 1856, marked the flood tide of the wonder 
 ful river traffic which flourished from the late forties 
 till the early seventies. Gigantic side-wheel boats, 
 floating terrors in construction for the law which 
 demanded tested boilers and licensed engineers was 
 as yet held lightly but dazzling in the ingenuous 
 splendours of the day, plied the shifting, treacherous 
 channel, from New Orleans to St. Louis and beyond. 
 Fortunes in cotton and in sugar, in bales of silk and 
 sumptuous furnishings, were stacked upon their 
 level decks ; fortunes plunged beneath those churning 
 depths, or flamed to swift ruin at a careless touch on 
 the wheel. Blithely indifferent to the hazards of 
 flimsy boiler and jerry-built hull, the passengers 
 teased the captain into dare-devil races, knowing 
 meanwhile that a slip of the pilot s hand, the fall 
 of a cinder from the throbbing stacks, might sweep 
 them to swift, obliterating death. The risks of 
 
 46 
 
The Voice of the Rapids 47 
 
 the uncharted channel were even greater than the 
 dangers by fire. Many a steamer went aground on 
 one of the shouldering bars which the river built 
 up with wizard swiftness, to be blown to fragments 
 in the effort to fight her way free. Many another 
 was ripped into splinters by one stroke from a 
 hidden rock, the tusk of the River Mammoth him 
 self. Yet, in the public eye, this huddle of boats 
 represented the supreme and culpable extravagance 
 of an audacious Secretary of War. He was not 
 content with the planning of levees and the building 
 of harbours at St. Louis and at Cincinnati, the 
 only cities whose population justified such national 
 outlay; he dared tamper with the bed of the 
 river itself, that tameless yellow flood. With the 
 far sight of the illusioned, he predicted a day when 
 the river would become a vast highway, lined with 
 cities, stretching from that far outlandish place, 
 New Orleans, to that enterprising trading -post, 
 Saint Paul. He would make his mark upon his 
 time by laying the first stone upon that road. It 
 was not enough that the channel should be mapped 
 and charted, that - buoys should be swung, and 
 danger signals lighted. Snags and sunken rocks 
 must be cleared away, a fair channel cut through 
 shelf and island and shallow. As the pioneers of 
 the early century had hewed their way through 
 thicket and underbrush, so must the river pioneers 
 break through their sunken barriers. In twenty 
 years* time, he urged, this work would prove th 
 
48 Diane 
 
 greatest commercial benefit which the fifties had 
 accomplished. Being possessed of authority, he 
 began the work, despite shaken heads and grim 
 assurance of failure. His engineers, slim lads fresh 
 from West Point and Annapolis, fiat of shoulder, 
 long of limb, grave with the absorbed early gravity 
 of the boy who carries the burden of the man, 
 swarmed up and down the river, the surveying 
 crews tagging at their heels. His inspectors, easy 
 army gentlemen, whose prowess at Monterey and 
 Chapultepec still scarfed them, in glory, clambered 
 and puffed behind their eager subordinates. The 
 work prospered as only the work of the foolhardy 
 may prosper. The Secretary rejoiced. Meanwhile, 
 the doubters grieved. 
 
 Channing swung his skiff alongside, and clam 
 bered on deck. A high, sweet call summoned him 
 from above. He held back a moment, frowning; 
 he was in no mood for the jolly banter which awaited 
 him. A second laughing appeal, echoed by a 
 mandatory roar, sent him glowering up the stairs. 
 
 The doors of the tiny cabin were flung wide, re 
 vealing a tight but radiant interior of scoured pine 
 and blinding white wall, decked with gay rugs and 
 crowded with pictures. A dinner-table, set for 
 four, filled the narrow space. Major Faulkner, 
 Division Engineer, set down his cup and greeted 
 Channing with a shout. " Late again ! By the 
 Lord Harry, Bob, you ought to be drummed out 
 of the service! I ll wager you ve been sneaking 
 
The Voice of the Rapids 49 
 
 off to the Commune again ! Nice business for a 
 nephew of mine, hey ? Next thing, you ll be setting 
 up a Red Republic of your own, and bribing my 
 men to join, and stealing Rose, to set her up as 
 Goddess of Fraternity, like that little French 
 princess up there. Rose, pour your cousin s coffee, 
 and tell the steward to fetch him some hot fish. 
 And tell him Mr. Palmer and I need some more 
 waffles, to finish off with." 
 
 "Big brown ones, Amariah." Lieutenant Palmer 
 flashed his dazzling smile at the negro. " You may 
 as well refill that syrup-pot, too, now that the 
 Captain has come. You couldn t hold you se f 
 away from wafHes, could you, Bob ? Not even for 
 the little princess up at the Commune?" 
 
 "Bob deserves no coffee from my hand," vowed 
 Rose, severely. She braced her chin on both 
 soft palms, and twinkled at Channing through 
 flickering lashes. Odd golden lights shimmered in 
 her brown eyes; her cheek burned with a deep 
 pomegranate glow beneath its velvet olive. " Selfish 
 wretch, he promised me yesterday that he would 
 take me up the river in the Celandine the very 
 next time that he could leave his work. Think of 
 it, I ve been here a week, and I ve barely caught a 
 glimpse of the Phalanstery! And here my sweet 
 cousin slips off alone, and stays the whole morning " 
 
 "Oh, Miss Rose, why didn t you tell me you d 
 like to go? You know I d be most happy to drop 
 anything, at any time!" Palmer leaned forward, 
 
So Diane 
 
 flushing to his sunburnt temples. His black eyes 
 snapped: his smooth boyish lips twitched eagerly. 
 
 "Hoity-toity!" remarked the Major. "If my 
 engineers have nothing to do but take my 
 daughter junketing, I may as well saunter back 
 to Washington. What possesses you to go to 
 the Commune so much, Bob? They re not your 
 sort, I hope." 
 
 "One of them is," drawled the irreverent Mr. 
 Palmer. His innocent gaze was fixed upon the 
 willow-wreathed shore. 
 
 "Who is he talking about, Bob ? Own up, now." 
 
 "I didn t go to the Commune, Rose," Channing 
 blurted out, with unlucky truth. 
 
 "Where in the world were you, then?" The 
 Major put down his newspaper and stared. 
 
 "Just ashore, making some calculations, things 
 I had to see to myself. It s too bad, Rose, but just 
 give me one more chance. There s a young girl 
 up there that I want you to meet. She s only been 
 here a few weeks, and I imagine she s pretty lone 
 some. So are you ; perhaps you d be able to console 
 each other." 
 
 Rose s bright lips curled. " Mercy, no, Bob ! 
 I rm not having such a dull time. Moreover, I 
 don t pine for rustic companionship." 
 
 " Rustic?" Channing sputtered in his wild 
 haste to contradict. "They tell me she comes of 
 the best blood in France ! She s convent-bred, 
 and her manners are pretty starchy yet, but she s 
 
The Voice of the Rapids 51 
 
 wonderfully clever. She walks like a little queen. 
 Her English is just as clear as yours " 
 
 "And her tongue is not nearly so sharp." Rose 
 snatched a twig from the jar of pussy-willow behind 
 her, and struck him across the cheek. Channing 
 was suddenly aware of the vehemence of his cham 
 pionship. He laughed, a bit foolishly, then retorted 
 to her blow with a terrifying grimace. They 
 nodded to each other, in serene accord, like two 
 children. Their traditional duel was concluded, 
 and peace ruled once again. 
 
 "Bob, look here !" The Major emerged, red and 
 fuming, from behind his newspaper. "Confound 
 it, look at that list, sir ! I tell you, this country is 
 going to the dogs ! Here s not one, nor two, but 
 fifteen negroes run off from Louisville this week, 
 and every one of them helped north by those 
 infernal Quaker thieves in Cincinnati. Of course, 
 it can t be proven against them: they ll go into 
 Court with their broad-brimmed hats on, and their 
 meek faces, and their whining thee-and-thou, and 
 show they were fifty miles away, at a First -Day 
 meeting when the run took place. They ll bring 
 dozens of witnesses in their favour ; they ll trump up 
 charges of assault or damages against the owners, 
 to delay pursuit. Meanwhile, the niggers will 
 cross into Canada and be comfortably settled before 
 the case is even heard. And then they ll hold their 
 confounded praise meetings to rejoice in the downfall 
 of the wicked! It s an outrage, sir, an outrage! 1 
 
52 Diane 
 
 " I sold off half my niggers three years ago, when 
 I came of age," said Palmer. " Of co se, my planta 
 tion is nowhere near Mason and Dixon s, but I 
 reckon there s no security any place these days. 
 What with those Boston sneaks, who come crawling 
 around and pass themselves off as book-agents by 
 day, and hold sedition meetings in the woods by 
 night, let alone the Quaker Judases, who wait on 
 the safe side of the river to help the runaways along 
 and help them into worse slavery than they ve 
 left, too, I reckon a man don know whether his 
 soul s his own. In my father s time, there wasn t 
 a single runaway; he ruled with the strong hand. 
 The first year I took charge of the plantations there 
 were seven; and here I had stopped the whipping 
 post except in criminal cases, and was giving ten 
 privileges where my father gave one. But they 
 haven t any gratitude in them, no, nor natural 
 affection, either, those niggers. They ll throw over 
 the master who has cared for them all their lives for a 
 blathering Yankee or a mealy-mouthed Quaker " 
 
 " Oh, stop abusing the Quakers, Palmer. You re 
 absurdly prejudiced, or else you haven t met a 
 very choice set among them." 
 
 " A choice set! " The Major s voice rose to 
 a bellow. The buttons on his broad waistcoat 
 vibrated; his spectacles shot from his nose, pro 
 pelled by the reverberation of his shout. "Do 
 you mean to say, Bob, that there can be any prefer 
 ence among men who make the breaking of law 
 
The Voice of the Rapids 53 
 
 a duty? They re a choice set of thieves, every 
 man of them. Oh, there may be exceptions, yes. 
 Friend Barclay up here is a kindly old chap, and a 
 neighbourly. I remember a Quakeress who used 
 to come to the house when I was a boy, back in 
 Prince William County; a sweeter woman never 
 breathed. But the most of them are bigger 
 anarchists than Pere Cabet and his crew up 
 here. They re canting hypocrites ; they re deliberate 
 malefactors 
 
 "Then you would uphold the Fugitive Slave 
 Law, Major?" 
 
 The Major glared. "I would uphold any law 
 of my country, sir, because it is her law, and espe 
 cially one which deals with this momentous question. 
 Its penalties are none too severe, sir, none too 
 Severe ! If we are to stand calmly by and be 
 despoiled of our property, why may we not expect 
 to be despoiled of our rights, of our honour?" 
 
 "Don t excite yourself so right after dinner, 
 father. Bob isn t wanting to despoil anybody. 
 What s the good of arguing all those horrid things? 
 Besides, I want him to tell me more about that 
 French girl, up at the Commune. What is her 
 name? Does she puff her hair, or wear it plaited 
 in a bandeau, like the pictures of the Empress ? Is 
 she prettier than I am?" 
 
 "You ought to be able to give all required de 
 tails, Chan," put in Palmer, amiably malicious. 
 "This is the fourth time you ve been up the river 
 
54 Diane 
 
 in a fortnight. Open confession is wholesome, 
 you know." 
 
 Channing sat helpless beneath the raking cross-fire. 
 
 "Oh, go on with your nonsense!" growled the 
 Major. " If your Manda had been spirited off while 
 we were home in Belhaven, Rose, I reckon you d 
 sing a different tune. But, Bob, I don t want you 
 to be getting any preposterous notions of freedom 
 and equality from those heathen Frenchmen up 
 there. They re relics of the Reign of Terror, that s 
 what they are. They re a menace to the community. 
 A fine pack, with their Sunday plays and concerts, 
 and their demented notions of mutual ownership 
 and common labour!" 
 
 "Their heads are too high in the clouds to see 
 a trifle like the slavery agitation, Major. They re 
 absorbed in their own troubles." 
 
 "Come, now, Bob, how did she wear her hair? 
 And is she fair or is she dark?" 
 
 " Sorry I can t come to your aid and help furnish 
 data, Bob," said Palmer, demurely. He seized 
 his cap, saluted the Major, and swung out of the 
 cabin. In a moment more, the splash of his oars 
 came to their ears, mingled with the whispering 
 rush of the river. 
 
 Channing followed Rose to the rail. "She s 
 just a beautiful girl, about your age, I should 
 think." He met her teasing glance with exas 
 perating guilelessness. "I think she d interest you. 
 She interests me." 
 
The Voice of the Rapids 55 
 
 "Oh!" Rose s eyes followed Palmer as he 
 flashed past the stern. He stood up and bowed 
 to her, after a courtly fashion. There was some 
 thing irresistibly winsome in his supple young 
 body, strapped into stainless duck and glittering 
 leather; his dark face gleamed with buoyant mis 
 chief ; his laugh was the laugh of spring. 
 
 Channing noticed her look. He wondered easily, 
 as he had wondered twenty times before, whether 
 his cousin might not fancy Palmer. Surely the 
 good fairies had elbowed each other at his cradle. 
 Beauty and wit, high place and riches were his in 
 overflowing measure. Even his faults captivated. 
 His teasing pranks, his quick outbreaks of passion, 
 his serene irresponsibility they were all the lovable 
 faults of the boy. 
 
 Channing comprehended these advantages, yet 
 in his grave, simple fashion of thought it never oc 
 curred to him to envy the younger man. In birth, 
 he held himself as high. His people were staid 
 New England folk, punctilious and unassuming; 
 the blood of his Roundhead stock coursed unen- 
 feebled through his veins. Nor did he think to 
 compare his means with those of Palmer. True, 
 his family had bequeathed him no property, save 
 the square white house, shrouded in evergreen 
 from sagging roof to crumbling door-stone, the 
 village pride in far Colonial days. His pay, although 
 meagre, satisfied his needs; and should he ever feel 
 the need of a larger income, one waded through 
 
56 Diane 
 
 good opportunities in this new country. The very 
 ease with which wealth might be won had delayed 
 him thus far in attempting to gain it. 
 
 Yet his eyes clouded as they rested upon Palmer. 
 A vague discontent stirred and stung within him. 
 He grudged Palmer not one whit of his golden 
 fortune, but he longed for the one treasure which 
 the boy held most lightly : a mind at ease. 
 
 He stood secure in his own arrogant right. In 
 his eyes, a slave was a piece of furniture ; the power 
 of the master was always justice : unquestioned, 
 supreme. He walked his way unheeding the tremor 
 of swift change which shook the very earth 
 beneath his feet. No strange doubts beckoned 
 him from the pathway of his father s creed. 
 No mighty convictions dragged him from his 
 place among the high, calm audience to range 
 himself beside the outlaw, the thief, the 
 betrayer. His judgment never swerved from 
 its smooth, selfish course; his conscience was 
 at peace. 
 
 "I ll go up with you some time before long," 
 said Rose, indifferently. The wind loosed a soft, 
 thick ring from the high, amber- wreathed coronal 
 above her little ears and tossed it against her cheek. 
 She thrust it back with an impatient gesture. 
 "Probably Mr. Palmer would like to go, too. It s 
 so dull for him here." 
 
 "No duller than for the rest of us. I wonder 
 why Palmer wanted to leave his plantations and 
 
The Voice of the Rapids 57 
 
 come here, anyway ! There s no adventure to be 
 found on this sleepy river." 
 
 "He likes the engineering work, Bob; he hates 
 cotton-raising. Surely he might as well work here 
 as struggle with those lazy darkies down on the 
 Congaree." 
 
 Her tone was impassive; but her cheek glowed 
 scarlet again beneath her cousin s glance. He 
 looked away, frowning. Why should she blush at 
 the sound of Palmer s name, unless and Palmer 
 was a good enough fellow, for that matter; but 
 where might the man be found who was good 
 enough for Rose? Rose, his cousin, his playmate, 
 his comrade? 
 
 " Bob, tell me honestly. Did you go up the river 
 with Friend Barclay this morning, or are you just 
 joking? Don t you know he s an abolitionist? * 
 
 " My dear girl, he s not dangerous if he is. Any 
 one would think he was the plague. Abolitionism 
 isn t catching." 
 
 He checked himself, oddly disquieted. Was he 
 speaking truth ? 
 
 Rose s curly head tipped loftily. "Of course, 
 Bob. You know I never meant to hint that you 
 would stoop to anything of the sort. But it doesn t 
 look well for you to go about so much with him. 
 You don t want to be classed with a man who 
 steals negroes." 
 
 "Rose, what a little fire-eater you are! If you 
 just knew Friend Barclay, you couldn t be hired 
 
5$ Diane 
 
 to speak of him that way. He s one of the finest 
 men I ever dreamed of." 
 
 "I do know him, a little. He s very kind, and 
 very hospitable, but he isn t our sort, Bob." 
 
 "He s my sort, Miss Potomac. You must re 
 member I m half Yankee by birth, and all Yankee 
 by bringing up, except the vacations I used to spend 
 at your house." 
 
 "But you re always forgetting that you re half 
 Faulkner, too. Shame!" Rose stiffened from the 
 tips of her morocco slippers to the topmost curl of 
 her black head. Channing s mouth settled into 
 lines of steel. Yet his eyes danced at her ruffling 
 temper. 
 
 "You always did cuff me, Rose, when I wouldn t 
 give in to your way. You used to box my ears and 
 pour sand in my hair when I made mud-pies and 
 didn t put enough crimps around the edge to suit; 
 you wouldn t stand up with me at the Burford s 
 ball because I could not balance to please you in 
 the quadrilles; you won t even let me think for 
 myself " 
 
 "I want you to think as a Faulkner should!" 
 
 "Then I ll have to do it for myself, shan t I? 
 There never was a Faulkner yet who borrowed 
 his opinions." Channing s mood relaxed; Rose s 
 high-flown moods always delighted him. "You 
 must give a man some rope. You must make 
 allowance for the benighted way I grew up. Back 
 in Boston, we don t believe " 
 
The Voice of the Rapids 59 
 
 " Bob, you are so tiresome ! Do stop your silly 
 arguing. You and father have done nothing but 
 wrangle over that Bill ever since I came, and he 
 gets so angry at dinner, I know it will give him 
 dyspepsia. I do wish Oh, Bob ! Look, quick !" 
 
 Channing wheeled about at her terrified cry. 
 To the south of the fleet, the river spread in waveless 
 silver, its mirror unmarred till the eye caught the 
 bright rippling flaw of the rapids, half a mile below. 
 Palmer s skiff hovered near the scintillant break 
 which marked the danger line. He stood up and 
 waved his cap to them, then knelt in the bow, 
 shading his eyes to examine the fuse pipe, a leaden 
 tube projecting above the surface, within reach of 
 his hand. Twenty feet beyond him lay Turk s 
 Head, now in low water distinctly visible, the 
 wickedest boulder in the rapids. 
 
 "What s up, Rose? There s no danger. That 
 skiff " 
 
 "Oh, but the fuse, Bob! The fuse! Mulcahy 
 charged it not ten minutes ago ! I saw him rowing 
 away when we came on deck. He ll think you re 
 just in fun !" For Channing was signalling frantic 
 ally. "No, no, you mustn t go, not even to save 
 him! Oh, Bob, don t!" 
 
 Channing crashed into the Celandine with a 
 flying leap. The boat shot away down the current, 
 leaving an arrowy furrow clean as a sword-cut, 
 Rose s shriek died in her throat, strangled by sheer 
 terror. She gripped the rail and stood staring after 
 
60 Diane 
 
 the two figures, black on the blind, white glare of 
 the river. In that fusing glow of water and air, 
 they seemed to hover suspended between the two, 
 black motes in the ethereal light. She did not 
 notice the uproar on the quarter-boat, where the 
 men had suddenly discovered Palmer s danger, and 
 were hurrying to his aid; she did not hear her 
 father s clamorous questions. Every other sense 
 was merged in tense and straining sight. 
 
 Palmer glanced up. In a flash he understood the 
 reason for Channing s swift approach. He backed 
 his boat deftly through the network of oily eddies 
 which skimmed about Turk s Head, and started up 
 stream. His skiff seemed to leap clear of the 
 water, salmon-like, at every stroke. Rose held 
 her breath. Another minute, and he would pass 
 the danger line. Channing was not fifty yards 
 away, rowing like a machine. 
 
 The river parted like a sheet of rending silk. 
 With the roar of a tornado, a mass of mud and 
 rock shot high into the air. The crest of the re 
 turning wave caught Palmer s boat and tipped it on 
 end, like a pea-pod, then hurled it under a surge of 
 heaving water. The river boiled from shore to 
 shore, a sickening yellow pit. Channing s boat 
 was still afloat, although she shipped water with 
 every stroke. 
 
 11 Father, Sydney is drowned! And Bob Oh, 
 make Bob come back ! make him ! " 
 
 The Major was bellowing unheeded orders to 
 
The Voice of the Rapids 61 
 
 the crew across on the quarter-boat. Rose watched 
 the whirlpool below Turk s Head with unyielding 
 eyes. For all her horror and despair, she could 
 not look away. 
 
 Sydney Palmer was gone. The strongest swim 
 mer could not hold breath in that seething pot, 
 flung and battered against its jagged rim. Horrible ! 
 horrible ! Yet her real thought was not of Palmer. 
 Her eyes clung to her cousin; her lips jerked in 
 anguished broken syllables. " Oh, Bob ! If you re 
 only saved! If you only come back to me!" 
 
 As if to defy her whispered plea, Channing 
 rose up in the Celandine, throwing off coat and 
 shoes, and dropped overboard. Mulcahy and a 
 fireman were paddling down to him at top speed: 
 as he sprang they paused in midstream and looked 
 back helplessly to the Major. Before he could 
 shout a command, Channing reappeared above 
 the surface, clutching a dark mass against his 
 shoulder. 
 
 A gasping cheer went up from the group on the 
 quarter-boat. The men rowed madly towards him. 
 Rose gripped the rail with shaking hands. 
 
 Palmer, limp and unconscious, was dragged into 
 the skiff. Channing would not risk overloading 
 the boat. He swam easily behind, and steadied 
 himself by one hand on the gunwale. The river 
 still heaved in long undulations, but the snarl of 
 the awakened rapids had sunk again to the merest 
 whimper of sound. Save for the pitch of the 
 
62 Diane 
 
 steamer and the shatter of light across the dimpling 
 blue, no trace of the explosion remained. 
 
 Palmer struggled to his feet, blinking, as the 
 men lifted him aboard the steamer. There was a 
 clean-washed cut on his cheek, and his forehead 
 showed puffy bruises. His black hair clung in 
 dripping points to his soaked stock ; he saluted the 
 Major, with a feeble grin. " Been inspecting the 
 fuses, sir," said he. "Find em all in capital order 
 and working first-rate." 
 
 "You confounded young fool!" snapped the 
 Major, shaking both his hands violently. "If I 
 catch you running such a chance as that again, I ll 
 recommend you for dismissal. Rose!" But Rose 
 had flown to the cabin. "Go get some dry clothes 
 on, and don t let me hear of such a trick again 
 not till you get your captaincy, sir." 
 
 "Let me give them some coffee first, father." 
 Rose handed a steaming cup to Channing without 
 a word. But she hovered over Palmer with as 
 siduous interest while he drank, exclaiming over 
 his ruined uniform, and bewailing his bruises. 
 Channing sipped his coffee with a face alight with 
 serene discernment. Rose s humour towards him 
 was comically obvious. To be sure, she ought to be 
 grateful to him for Palmer s rescue; but, once 
 rescued, Palmer cut an absurd rather than a ro 
 mantic figure. It was too bad of him, to have 
 made her hero ridiculous. Probably the boy could 
 have fought his way to shore unaided, if he had 
 
The Voice of the Rapids 63 
 
 not rushed in. He wished now that he had given 
 him a longer chance. That would have saved his 
 dignity, not to speak of Rose s feelings. Dear old 
 Rose ! What a royal temper she could show upon 
 occasion ! Yet Palmer was a lucky chap, to be 
 sure. 
 
 His eyes danced as they met her own. She 
 frowned back at him sulkily. Angry colour flamed 
 into her round cheek. Channing nodded to him 
 self, calm in that sublime masculine conceit, which 
 measures all things, visible and invisible, by rule 
 and line; that heavenly assurance, which sorts the 
 stars, and plumbs the heart, and weighs the salt 
 of tears. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 A LITTLE BROTHER TO THE TREES 
 
 WREATHING the village like a bacchanalian 
 chaplet rose the vineyards, tier on tier. They 
 sloped to the river in vast circles ; they netted the 
 square white houses in a mesh of brown and green. 
 Rude trellises, twined thick with woody stem and 
 velvet bud, edged the narrow streets; the ruined 
 Temple, that sumptuous, hideous husk, was bound 
 and fettered in silken tendrils. In the vintage 
 season, when the branches stooped under purple 
 treasure, the air was not sweeter than now, when 
 the fresh-turned earth breathed forth its incense 
 to the April sun. Every baby leaf spread its 
 crumpled pink palm to the breeze; thick in the 
 furrows below huddled half-opened violets and 
 silvery clover, yet un visited by any wandering bee. 
 Scores of blue-garbed men toiled up and down 
 the narrow paths, pruning and tying ; for the quarrels 
 in the Colony had delayed all field work to an 
 unheard-of time. 
 
 On a fence-corner of one great field sat a child of 
 ten, dressed in perfect imitation of the men around 
 him, yet with certain touches of refinement; white 
 linen folded crisp at neck and wrists, and a scarf of 
 
 64 
 
A Little Brother to the Trees 65 
 
 faded crimson wound around his little throat. He 
 sat clasping his elfin hands over his knees, his tiny 
 body bent forward, his wide shadowed eyes gazing 
 across the field. As the men passed him, they 
 called greeting, sometimes gay, always tender. 
 Now and then one looked back at him, and made 
 a swift, silent mark across his breast ; the world-old 
 sign of exorcism, from the groves of the Druids, 
 from the flame-lit altars of Baal; the world-old 
 stamp of fear. 
 
 Presently there stumbled past a bent old man, 
 chattering at his rusted shears like an enraged 
 squirrel. The child stooped to him, his face full 
 of delicate amusement. " Give you greeting, Brother 
 Alem." 
 
 "Give you greeting, P tit Clef ; I did not see you," 
 mumbled the old man, blinking up. He held out 
 the shears with a beseeching gesture. " Place your 
 spell upon them, I beg you. It is the very devil 
 himself who thus possesses them." 
 
 Petit Clef patted his shoulder. "And is it that 
 you do not see the bit of tin which has forced 
 itself up against the nut?" he asked. "Would you 
 demand that they cut in such a case? The poor 
 shears!" He took a knife from his pocket and 
 pushed the bit of metal loose. 
 
 "Merci, merci!" The old man worked the 
 blades delightedly. "Vraiment, yours is a good 
 spell, Petit Clef." 
 
 "It is at your service." The child saluted, 
 
66 Diane 
 
 laying a rigid palm to his brow ; the old man stiffened 
 up with flashing eyes ; his left hand flew to his hip ; 
 the right touched a fleecy lock, once crowned by 
 the plumes of a field -marshal ; he stalked away down 
 the field, his white head reared, his withered cheek 
 aflame. Ah, they were glorious alike in life and in 
 memory, those days ! 
 
 The child looked after him, gravely smiling. 
 
 " Petit Clef ! " A sturdy German boy of seventeen 
 plucked at his sleeve. His moist, round face was 
 set in creases of inquiry. 
 
 " Bonjour, Heinrich. Yes, I carved it last night. 1 
 The child dived into his pocket and pulled out a 
 little ring of bone, daintily shaped. In place of a 
 setting, two initials were carved on the back: H. 
 and M. 
 
 "It is beautiful." Heinrich turned it over as 
 though he fingered a jewel of price. "Minna will 
 like it, and it shall bring us both happiness. It will 
 work a good charm." 
 
 "It has no charm save that which you may 
 give it," returned the child. 
 
 "No charm!" Heinrich s jaw dropped. 
 
 "Your own will be good enough," laughed the 
 boy. "Ask Minna." 
 
 But Heinrich, hopelessly puzzled, turned away, 
 shaking his cropped head. There was no use in 
 trying to plumb the meanings of the little Master. 
 
 The labourers paced up and down the long 
 green aisles in endless file, humming like a swarm 
 
A Little Brother to the Trees 67 
 
 of vast, blue-coated bees. Petit Clef crept from 
 his perch, and swung himself upon his tiny crutches. 
 Strong arms caught him from their support to a 
 great shoulder; he laughed as he settled himself 
 into Pere Cabet s grasp. 
 
 "How is it with thee, Oberon? Watching thy 
 subjects, spying upon their inmost thoughts, as a 
 veritable prince? Shame upon thee, traitor to the 
 Commune!" 
 
 "I spy upon no man," retorted Petit Clef, into 
 the folds of the Master s neck-cloth. "I watch 
 that I may learn." 
 
 41 You, who already know all things ! Come to 
 the office with me, and see the books which are 
 just sent to me. They are not living, I confess," 
 for Petit Clef s small face was crinkling with dis 
 dain. "They are poor, legless creatures, who 
 neither fly nor swim, like your true playmates. 
 They have not even branches. Yet they have 
 speech, when you find patience to hear. Will you 
 not come?" 
 
 Petit Clef laid his velvet cheek to the Master s 
 forehead. It was a caress of farewell. 
 
 "Then back to your forest, ingrate! But when 
 its message wearies you, come again to your other 
 kingdom." He tightened the child to him, then 
 set him on his feet and braced the crutches beneath 
 his arm. "Good-bye, heart s own !" 
 
 Petit Clef tossed his cap in salute, then tapped 
 away across the stones. The labourers paused 
 
68 Diane 
 
 to look at him ; it was as if he passed them wrapped 
 in light, the halo of their loving eyes. 
 
 Beyond the vineyards lay the corn-fields, then 
 illimitable forest, stretching for miles across deep- 
 bosomed hills. Petit Clef passed the scattered 
 sentinel trees with a nod of greeting; but his eyes 
 danced when he reached the first deep hollow and 
 peered down. He let himself cautiously over the 
 edge of this leaf -cushioned amphitheatre; he clung 
 to sapling after sapling, releasing each branch with 
 a smile or a whisper of thanks. When he reached 
 the heart of the hollow, where a thread of a brook 
 trickled through leaves and moss, his cheeks were 
 faintly pink, and his breath came swiftly. He 
 looked up and down the tiny valley. Ah, they were 
 all here, drawn up in line to welcome him, his dear 
 army; the willows, his forest rangers, in livery of 
 gold and green ; the maples, their half -curled leaves 
 of scarlet shining as hussar red ; the stately birches, 
 clad in silver mail. He walked through their 
 rustling ranks, a serious young general, reviewing 
 his men; he marked each trace of change since his 
 inspection of yesterday. From the rasp of a rabbit s 
 tooth on the stem of a stripling beech to the swelling 
 purple buds of the Judas-tree, nothing escaped his 
 loving scrutiny. 
 
 Presently the valley dipped in a wide, lovely 
 circle, walled by high ledges. On the one side, a 
 feathery spring leaped and fell, leaped and fell 
 again over moss-grown shelves of rock, to meet the 
 
A Little Brother to the Trees 69 
 
 brook below. High in the ledge, close to this baby 
 cascade, was a cleft in the rock, stretching far into 
 blackness, but hardly two feet in height. Petit 
 Clef put his crutches aside and clambered up the 
 ledge. It was a trying ascent, even for a sure 
 climber ; but he reached his eyry in safety. 
 
 He straightened his little body on the leafy floor. 
 As he lay, he could look upward and outward, but 
 not down. The murmur of the brook below was 
 softened to the merest whisper of sound; overhead 
 shone the pure, cold blue of the spring sky, laced by 
 tossing branches. Petit Clef folded his hands; 
 his eyes grew darkly bright. 
 
 Lying thus silent and alone, he had learned to 
 focus every power upon his memory, as one collects 
 rays under a burning-glass. Under this white 
 light of concentration, the pictures of his life shone 
 out in living colours, keen and clear. He lay as in 
 a trance of retrospect, watching the gliding pano 
 rama of his days. 
 
 The sides of the diligence shook with a continuous 
 jar, for the horses were taking the last steep hill 
 from Orsay to Paris at a gallop. It was gray dusk 
 without, and darker within the coach. His uncle 
 dozed in the corner; his mother s white, sleeping 
 face made a milky oval against the black cushion. 
 He nestled his head against her arm, to feel her 
 clasp tighten unconsciously upon his little body. 
 Always she slept that wary, listening sleep that only 
 mothers know. 
 
70 Diane 
 
 The days linked long on the ocean : he had counted 
 them till far beyond his power to reckon. There 
 would be fifty-six, he had heard them say; eight 
 blank weeks of water and sky. Sometimes he 
 crept along the deck, his hand folded in his mother s 
 palm; sometimes he rode on the captain s shoulder, 
 the baby admiral, the darling lord of the sea; 
 sometimes he lay for days in the breathless pit of 
 the cabin, wide-eyed and silent under the rending 
 clamour of the storm. 
 
 Then he played in the white-walled cairn of the 
 Street of Saint Ferdinand, a heaven of sunlit flags 
 and turf beneath the cloudless Louisiana sky. 
 Strange forms passed up and down the narrow 
 pavements; strange voices greeted him, in a tongue 
 unknown, yet pictured forth by tender glance and 
 tone. He delighted in them all; the tall negresses, 
 moving beneath heaped, glowing baskets like calm, 
 burdened ships; the spruce Creoles, exquisite in 
 snowy linens and rainbow scarfs, and wearing 
 uncanny shoes, which he eyed with deep distrust: 
 made from the skins of beasts, they were, soft and 
 soundless, unlike the honest click of his tiny sabots ; 
 the radiant children, who leaned from fairy chariots 
 to throw him kisses and flowers : alike they were all 
 enchanting in his sight. Truly it was a white and 
 golden world, that Salle de Reunion in the Street 
 of Saint Ferdinand. 
 
 Blurred into the edge of this recollection, as a 
 cloud darkens the margin of a sunlit field, was the 
 
A Little Brother to the Trees 71 
 
 northward journey up the Mississippi. Its full 
 horror of pestilence and death was mercifully with 
 held from him; he saw now only the low, green 
 shores, the tumbling yellow water, the anxious 
 faces of the men and women as they huddled at the 
 bow and talked quietly among themselves. He 
 was never permitted to enter the cabin; he lay on 
 deck through the chill nights, cuddled to Pere 
 Cabet s shoulder. Again and again he called his 
 mother s name, only to have it hushed with kisses 
 on his lips. Haggard and fear-stricken, the colonists 
 put aside their panic griefs to comfort his vague 
 woe. Now and then he awoke at the sound of 
 sobbing and low voices; once or twice in the gray 
 dawn he sat up to see a ring of pale faces at the 
 rail, to hear the dull splash of a heavy body on 
 the water below. 
 
 One scene alone was burnt into his memory as 
 with a pencil of flame. When the steamer rounded 
 the last bend toward Nauvoo, he had turned from 
 the lovely hill-crowned vista to the colonists crowded 
 behind him. 
 
 "Where are the others?" he cried. "Why are 
 they not here to see? Elise and little Prosper, 
 Lucien and Marie and brother Emile? Why are 
 so many gone? And maman! Oh, maman must 
 see!" 
 
 The colonists stared back at him dumbly. They 
 had braved their sorrows well: but now their mask 
 of self-command was torn away by the one most 
 
72 Diane 
 
 bereaved among them. Cowering, anguished, their 
 grief burst forth in agonised sobs and tears. 
 
 "My children!" Cabet faced them, trembling. 
 "Shall we stay ever to mourn the dead? For the 
 sake of those who are gone, for the honour of those 
 who remain, let us have peace !" 
 
 He caught Petit Clef into his arms. "And for 
 thee, beloved, thou shalt never know the loss of 
 father or mother. We, each one of our Commune, 
 shall nurture thee as our own, our heart s treasure. " 
 
 The tide turned with the Master s word. Petit 
 Clef was coaxed from his arms and smothered in 
 tears and promises. It was no new thing, this 
 passionate endearment ; he had often wondered that 
 it should fall to his lot, when other children, straight 
 and strong and perfect, knew no such tenderness. 
 
 He turned on his leaf pillow and stared at the 
 clouded green of the tree-tops beyond. Since the 
 day of the landing, all the pictures in his memory 
 glowed from frames like this. Save for the winter 
 mornings, spent in the library or with Pere Cabet, he 
 had lived in the woods and fields. His love for his 
 own kind was compounded of gratitude and duty; 
 his* love for the forests was the breath of his being. 
 The trees were comrades; they murmured to him 
 in creaking whispers when the April wind whistled 
 softly through their thrilled branches; they arched 
 over him, protecting arms, when the round ice 
 hurtled from the clouds, and lightning flamed from 
 the smitten shield of the sky. He laid a comforting 
 
A Little Brother to the Trees 73 
 
 cheek to the rind of the riven oak, whose shattered 
 branches darkened the turf below ; he heard the shy, 
 unspoken melancholy of the willow; he knew the 
 silver laughter of the birch. All the eternal marvels 
 shone for him fresh and clear ; the amethyst shadows, 
 folded deep on the mounded February snow; the 
 dappled silences of the river; the dream-sweet 
 breath of golden orchards; the eldritch wail of the 
 wild geese, whose flight traced a wavering black 
 triangle across the orange of the November sky. 
 
 So was Petit Clef. Shy and fearless, serious and 
 gay; renamed in whimsical tenderness for the great 
 key of the Phalanstery ; a pitiful jest, which found 
 warrant in the stooped elfin body, the brain so 
 shrewd that it could unlock any door of mystery. 
 Truly the Little Key loved for his helplessness, 
 his face of pearl, the lucent lamp of his pure spirit; 
 loved the more that his impotent beauty embodied 
 to them that hope for which they had forsworn 
 home and friends : the life of the Commune, idolised, 
 yet unavailing; in form, crippled and helpless; in 
 spirit, lustrous and divine. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 VOILA LA COMMUNE! 
 
 DOWN the valley rang a sweet, anxious call: 
 
 "P titClef! P titClef! Where are you? An 
 swer, little one! Answer!" 
 
 Petit Clef roused himself from his waking dream 
 and crept out of the cleft. Not a twig betrayed 
 him; but half-way down, Diane caught the glint 
 of his red scarf. She screamed with dismay. 
 
 "Oh, little man! Wait, and I come to help 
 you." 
 
 "I do not need help." Petit Clef balanced on a 
 sapling and looked down at her quizzically. 
 
 "But you will fall! Oh, what will Pere Cabet 
 say!" 
 
 "I cannot fall. The trees would catch me." In 
 a flash of boyish mischief, he shook the branch to 
 which he clung. He swayed with it as a squirrel 
 rocks on the topmost branch. Then, relenting at 
 her terror, he scrambled on down the ledge. 
 
 Diane rushed to meet him, with a swirl of flowing 
 silks. He drew back and eyed her gravely. In 
 this floating garb of green, she might have been an 
 eager dryad, hastening to meet a pixie; but he saw 
 only the baffling splendour of her robe, and stood 
 
 74 
 
Voila la Commune! 75 
 
 away from it, abashed. In his diffidence Diane read 
 that hostile silence which had cut her to the heart 
 only the week before. Her breath came painfully. 
 
 " Petit Clef, will you do me one grace ? Will you 
 say what it is I have done that all the people hate 
 me?" 
 
 Petit Clef drew nearer. She was unhappy, then, 
 this strange princess, with the cheeks like breaking 
 pear-buds, and the wonderful hair that glowed as 
 the copper jars that Brother Armand loved to 
 make. In the month of her stay, he had hardly 
 caught a glimpse of her ; one has little time to waste 
 on paltry human creatures when the mould is warm 
 beneath the foot, and the forest ocean tosses spume 
 of green. But if the human creature was in trouble 
 that was another thing. 
 
 Diane watched his wary approach as if he were 
 some charming wild creature. "The people do not 
 hate you. It is only that their heads are so very 
 thick. I have heard of the school-room scene, 
 Mademoiselle Diane; it is best not to grieve over 
 such things." 
 
 " But why should they treat me so ? " 
 
 Petit Clef knit his crescent brows. " You are here 
 as the guest of the Pere Cabet, is it not so? You 
 are his ward ; he has brought you here to visit the 
 Commune as one who shall be shown all honour. 
 The people are bitter against the Pere Cabet for 
 many things; is it strange that they try to hurt 
 him by striking at those whom he holds dear ? " 
 
76 Diane 
 
 "But you you are his favourite, far dearer to 
 him than I; they are not angered against you." 
 
 " I ? I belong to them, not to him. As I would 
 have said, their heads are very thick; they do not 
 know you yet, so they judge by outward sight. 
 Mademoiselle, in a Commune people learn to live 
 without many things ; that is a matter of principle. 
 Yet they do not cease to hunger for those things, 
 and when they see others enjoying them pouf! 
 Out go their principles. You came while the ground 
 was still white, did you not ? And at first you wore 
 furs, all glorious, from head to foot, and a dress of 
 velvet. The mothers of the Commune wear shawls 
 made of blankets in the bitter weather, and gowns 
 always of cotton. Many of them have gone in 
 furs and velvets in their day. Do you think that 
 they have forgotten? Then this morning" he 
 touched the foaming laces "you come to walk in 
 the woods; the mothers of the Commune stand at 
 the river s edge and wash, else they work in the 
 vineyards with the men. And your hands, Made 
 moiselle ! If you could see the hands of these the 
 others, you would comprehend more than I can 
 speak." 
 
 " But the Pere Cabet will not permit me to work ! 
 I have begged it of him, over and over." 
 
 "There are toilers enough in the hive. We have 
 need of a queen." 
 
 Diane stood up. His precocity frightened her. 
 "What am I to do, then? He insists that I must 
 
Voila la Commune! 77 
 
 remain, beg as I may to go back to France. And 
 I cannot bear it, to stay here, a burden " 
 
 "Remain and live as you live now. You are not 
 a burden; you are of much service, though you are 
 too blind to see it." He pulled himself up feebly. 
 
 Diane stooped to him, as if borne on a wave 
 of compassion. He let her help him up the rough 
 slope of the hill; he could grant no greater pledge 
 of friendship. 
 
 They climbed the steep ascent to the birch wood, 
 chatting softly, hand in hand. He stopped to pull 
 a bunch of early bluebells and late anemone; he 
 knotted the stems with a ribbon of grass, and gave 
 his largesse as if he proffered strange exotics, 
 plucked from a magic garden. He never gathered 
 flowers, she had heard them say; this gift had all 
 the significance of a royal order. 
 
 Now they spoke of gay, familiar things, as if 
 the graver subject had been cast aside in the valley 
 below. They pointed gleefully to the round shadow 
 of the thrush s nest, huddled in a tangle of hazel 
 thicket; they pondered over the grave book of a 
 shouldering ledge; they rifled the buckeye of its 
 swelling treasure, great, pointed, roseate buds, set 
 stiff on woody stems. Then, with an occasional 
 outcry from Diane, and a mirthful command from 
 the child, they stumbled down from shelf to shelf of 
 a steep bluff, till they clung breathless to the last 
 birch fringes, fifty feet above the curling brown 
 water. On the bank just below them lay a quaint 
 
73 Diane 
 
 hamlet, its squat, hive-shaped cottages elbowing 
 each other along the water s edge. Pygmy huts 
 they were, yet built up close and strong, snug 
 lodges of stones and willow brush, plastered thick 
 and tight with clay. Up and down the beach, in 
 and out between their cosy domiciles, swam and 
 paddled an eager family. Some tumbled and 
 frolicked like kittens in the warm sunlight, their 
 velvety furred bodies glistening, their scaly tails 
 striking the earth with joyful thuds of challenge. 
 Others played in the wet clay bank, mounding the 
 stiff lumps with dexterous nose and paws. Diane 
 sank in the grass and peered over to watch them 
 with wondering interest. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, behold the Commune !" whispered 
 Petit Clef. " Here are those whose life and toil 
 and station are equal in all things, like as water- 
 drops. Regard Citoyen Luce yonder, he who 
 pats the clay into rolls as his elder brother kneads 
 for us the loaves of bread. He is a bit short of 
 breath, this Citoyen Beaver; he puffs as does Luce 
 when he has finished a great baking. Tis the way 
 of the family. And see, there is Citoyenne Mar 
 garet he, at her washing ! Watch her ! H6, she 
 has even lunettes, as has our own Citoyenne!" 
 Diane gasped in shame-faced mirth at the circle 
 of darker fur which mimicked poor Margarethe s 
 spectacles with malicious fidelity. "Watch her; 
 she stops to rest each moment ! Surely it is Mar- 
 garethe herself, under spell of some harsh sorcerer. 
 
Voila la Commune! 79 
 
 And voila, the wood-choppers!" Three beautiful 
 creatures swam up the beach, dragging long wisps 
 of brush. "There is Raoul Delaunay, he who has 
 taught the Greek and the Latin in the Sorbonne, 
 so wisely that the very blocks and stones could learn 
 of him. But who will study such things in this 
 wilderness? There is nothing for him to do but 
 to cut wood ; therefore his hands are bruised and his 
 back is bent and his heart is sickened by hateful 
 and wasteful toil. It is a pity, is it not so? But, 
 then, in a Commune all must be alike; what would 
 you desire ? And there is Jean Paul Merilhou, with 
 the heaviest load, in spite of his crippled hand. 
 Tis the way of the man. Ten years ago he was 
 one of the little group of men who slept in the 
 huts of Barbizon by night, and roamed the en 
 chanted forest by day, and painted pictures that 
 give you happiness to drink, like water. Poor? 
 They fed upon black bread and fruit, their clothes 
 hung in tatters upon them; none in all Paris but 
 scoffed at their bits of river, so lovely that you could 
 hear it flow, their trees that talked to the wind. 
 And of them all, none had the hand so wise as Jean 
 Paul Merilhou. The three tiny prospects which he 
 finished will one day hang in the galleries of princes ; 
 a nation may not buy them. It was not that his 
 courage failed him; he does not know enough to 
 fear. But he had dreamed, too, and when he 
 heard of 1 Icarie he put away his plans as you 
 would fold a garment. What were the pictures 
 
So Diane 
 
 of a perfect life beside the Life itself ? He came to 
 us content; he stays with us content, though his 
 body is wrecked by the river fever, and his frozen 
 hand will never hold a brush again. But this is the 
 Commune; what will you?" 
 
 Diane crouched against the bluff and shut her 
 hands over her ears. The whisper shrilled merci 
 lessly on. 
 
 "And the last wood-chopper? Who is it? Ah, 
 you need not listen, Mademoiselle ; you know ! 
 Raimond Massias, son of the greatest surgeon Paris 
 has ever known, and himself worthy to stand beside 
 that father. He, too, has the keen eye that never 
 fails to see and to understand disease; his is the 
 wise hand that heals where it touches. When you 
 are in pain and he lifts you ah, it is as if he poured 
 his strength into you through those big fingers ! 
 They say that it is well for him that the Pere Cabet 
 has sent him to the coarsest labour ; he was too proud 
 of his strength; he felt himself of far too great 
 account to the Commune. Of that I cannot say; 
 it is not pleasant to see that gray head bound with 
 the leathern thong, those big shoulders loaded with 
 branches. Perhaps the wood is lighter than the 
 woes he used to carry. But meanwhile Citoyenne 
 Lucie grieves over the baby whose suffering she 
 knows not how to cure; she must wait till the 
 surgeon s day at the chopping is finished. And 
 Citoyenne Paya moans with the ache in her old 
 limbs that his medicine could quiet, only that he 
 
Voila la Commune! 81 
 
 cannot come to see what she may need. Yet as long 
 as he knows not that he is needed, you think he 
 does not worry, Mademoiselle? Ah, I cannot say; 
 I judge only from what I see. And it must be well; 
 for this is the Commune." 
 
 " Petit Clef ! Stop ! I will not bear it ! " 
 
 Petit Clef looked down impassively past the 
 shuddering figure. "Your cry has frightened them, 
 Mademoiselle," he said. "Look! They are all 
 scuttling away, each to his hole. And separately. 
 Now, in the time of danger, there is no thought of 
 Each for All/ And no Unite, and still less of 
 Harmonic. And there remains of all their labour 
 only a heap of mud and sticks, which the next 
 high water will wash away. Truly, Mademoiselle 
 this is the Commune !" 
 
 "Petit Clef! Diane!" 
 
 They scrambled up, glancing half -guiltily at each 
 other. This shelf could not be seen from the top 
 of the bluff whence came the call ; but the voice was 
 unmistakable. 
 
 "It is the Pere Cabet, and he is come barely in 
 time to save your faith," mocked the child. Sud 
 denly his elfin face grew gentle. 
 
 "You must decide for yourself, Mademoiselle," 
 he added softly. "Forgive me if I have tried to 
 make you see the other side." 
 
 Pere Cabet met them at the top of the hill. His 
 heavy figure betrayed the poise of the born leader, 
 even in the field clothes of blue cotton and the wooden 
 
8a Diane 
 
 shoes. The gray hair was damp upon the high, 
 seeing forehead ; the hazel eyes flashed as he helped 
 Diane up the last slope. 
 
 "Well, my little ones, you have led us a grand 
 chase ! Another time do not go so far. There are 
 too many young snakes in the fields; now and 
 then, a wolf is seen in the valley. And see your 
 gown!" He pointed to the rent flounces of green. 
 His voice was caressing; but Diane realised that 
 he did not look her way. Mind and eye were 
 fixed alike on the clump of square white houses 
 beyond the hill. His face shone with the peculiar 
 light that glows from the features of those whose 
 sight is for things beyond our ken. One sees it 
 in the faces of young children, and in the gaze of 
 those who have numbered their days and wait in 
 peace ; sometimes, alas ! in the eyes of men to 
 whom great powers have been given, without the 
 wisdom to direct them. Such see far; but their 
 sight may not distinguish between the wisp and the 
 beacon. 
 
 The great bell of the Phalanstery was clanging 
 the noon hour as they crossed the fields. From 
 rope-walk and arsenal, smithy and mill, came the 
 click of wooden shoes, the hubbub of gay voices. 
 The frets of the Commune might turn brother 
 against brother, and cut through families as with 
 a two-edged sword; but on such a morning as this 
 one, the Spring would have her royal way with them. 
 The huge blue cart which conveyed the Citoyennes 
 
Voila la Commune! 83 
 
 to and from the wash-house on the river side was 
 lumbering slowly up the hill. The heads of the 
 oxen peered from nodding wreaths of willow twigs, 
 wound about the yokes; the driver was half- 
 submerged beneath the garlands which draped his 
 head and shoulders. The women alighted with 
 shrieks of greeting to the others who waited for 
 them at the refectory door. They had toiled since 
 sunrise with only the meagre French breakfast of 
 coffee and bread to sustain them; but not one 
 among them had failed to freshen her gown and to 
 pin a bit of colour a ribbon, a bunch of half- 
 opened snowdrops, even a spray of young leaves, 
 in her smooth hair. The men were no less neat ; 
 their brave Gallic instinct kept them trim and 
 jaunty where a colder race would have gone sodden 
 in slovenry and in gloom. 
 
 Within the refectory the long tables were set 
 with cheap dishes, heaped with plain, abundant 
 food. The cups and plates were of tin, but polished 
 like silver; the coarse linen gleamed as if 
 washed in snow, while the jars overflowing with 
 wild flowers touched the room with grace and 
 charm. Yet once within the room, their gay chatter 
 ceased : the spirit of the Commune seemed to falter. 
 The Citoyens glanced furtively at Pere Cabet: 
 one and another cast sullen looks upon Diane. 
 Then, as if moved by a single impulse, the mass 
 of the people seated themselves at the two tables 
 farthest from the Master s place. These tables 
 
84 Diane 
 
 were in such a position that no one who sat at them 
 could face him. 
 
 A murmur arose from the waiting minority, 
 quickly hushed by Pere Cabet s warning gesture. 
 Following his eye, they seated themselves as near 
 to him as possible. They served each other with 
 clamorous talk and laughter, elaborately ignoring 
 the grim majority across the way; the contrast 
 between their airs of defiant, impotent cheer and 
 the moody silence of the majority told the tale of 
 the five months* wrangle for office and preferment 
 as clearly as though written on the wall. 
 
 Diane sat at Pere Cabet s right hand; Petit Clef 
 perched at his left. Both caught the fever of the 
 moment, and strove to interest Pere Cabet in the 
 chatter of field and shop which swelled into a 
 veritable whirlpool around him. Pere Cabet s face 
 was set and gray; he could not hear. 
 
 When they rose from the tables, the hall gloomed 
 with shadow. Roar after roar of thunder shook 
 the earth with long reverberations. Diane ran to 
 a window. The river flashed white as a ribbon of 
 molten lead: the purpling western sky flickered 
 with points of fire. 
 
 "You cannot go to the shops nor to the fields 
 until the storm has come and gone, my children." 
 Pere Cabet s voice reechoed through the silent 
 room. "I have a word to say, and the time is 
 expedient. Seat yourselves about the dais, and 
 hear. I shall not weary you long." 
 
Voila la Commune! 85 
 
 His partisans bustled forward to seize the benches 
 in front. The opposition hung back for a moment ; 
 but the yoke of obedience was heavy. In a moment, 
 the room was silent and orderly. Pere Cabet took 
 his place and began to speak. 
 
 His first words were gentle and convincing. He 
 reminded the colonists of the dignity of their 
 enterprise and of their loyalty to their vows. They 
 had fought their way, through cruel obstacles, to a 
 measure of material success ; it now rested with them 
 to regain that harmony which had prevailed up to 
 the last few months, and thus prove before the 
 world their power of spiritual self-government, as 
 well as their ability to succeed. 
 
 He sketched the life of the Commune; he re 
 minded them of those whose day of toil had ended 
 even before they might win the poor comfort of 
 prosperity. They had toiled in their narrow cell 
 of Time without hope of requital, yet truly theirs 
 was the one great Reward; they were enshrined as 
 martyrs in the memories of the Colony. They had 
 left a precious example ; it was the privilege of those 
 who remained to live in accord with the honour and 
 the purity of their fair archetype. 
 
 The colonists yielded visibly before his sincere 
 words. Had he continued in this sane, kindly 
 mood, he might have won them to a measure of 
 agreement. But such a victory were too easily 
 won. The theatric instinct which was as his very 
 breath, though stifled for the moment by real 
 
86 Diane 
 
 feeling, flamed up again in noisy rhetoric. He 
 chanted the glories of the Icarian System, not 
 neglecting his own work as its founder; he rebuked, 
 in phrases guarded yet stinging, the sins of those 
 who decried methods on which they could not 
 improve ; for how could an Institution founded upon 
 the rock of flawless principle and governed by 
 himself, moi, Cabet, be else than perfect? His 
 mellow voice swelled to a very trumpet of derision, 
 as he recounted the impudent suggestions, the 
 plots, to alter the laws of the Commune from the 
 rules laid down in his own divine and crystal theory. 
 He spoke no names; it was not necessary, for the 
 schemers were already known. There was one 
 bold fellow, who had proposed that the Colony make 
 of itself an open market; that the Colonists should 
 hire themselves out as workmen in the trades that 
 they had already mastered, instead of taking up 
 hard new duties merely for the sake of a closer 
 union. Heaven be praised, there were few such 
 fools in the Commune. Had not I, Cabet, arranged 
 this plan of an equal division of labour for the very 
 purpose of putting men in new lines of work, that 
 they might be refreshed and stimulated thereby? 
 Was not the union, the solidarity, of the Commune 
 its basic principle, as well as its highest aim ? 
 
 Then, there were those infants, who could bind 
 themselves to the System and enjoy its benefits, 
 yet were unwilling to comply with the trifling 
 condition of common ownership. All the marrow 
 
Voila la Commune! 87 
 
 of individual ownership remained, he declared. 
 The parent was permitted to choose the education 
 of his child; the hearth of man and wife was a 
 shrine, none the less a shrine that it was poor and 
 plain. But these grumblers demanded that they 
 should keep even the poor toys which one would 
 think they had long since learned to despise. There 
 was, for instance, one woman who had actually 
 refused for a time to enter the Commune, unless 
 she might be allowed to keep two preposterous 
 fripperies, a cloak of fur and a piece of furniture. 
 Another woman had wasted a precious month in 
 deciding whether she could sell a strip of land which 
 had belonged to her great-grandfather, the Sieur 
 de Sourche. And the men ! In their reluctance to 
 part with these husks of life, they were even worse 
 than the women. Only this day had he overheard 
 one boast of the rapid growth of the corn and 
 potatoes in his cottage plot. If this occurred 
 again, it would seem best to forbid the raising of a 
 single plant in any other soil than the common 
 fields. So far from being a source of pride, it 
 should be a shame to him that he found himself 
 owning more than his brothers. Equality, equality ! 
 There could be no justice, no happiness, in any 
 other estate. 
 
 The colonists writhed beneath his gibes . Frequent 
 as these outbreaks had come to be, they seared 
 cruelly. Yet they sat and listened, grimly enduring. 
 His magnetism, the insolent pomp of his assump- 
 
88 Diane 
 
 tions, awed them despite their resentment. They 
 gave him meed of respect in form; but even his 
 partisans had slipped the leash of sympathy. 
 
 Cabet felt the chill; he nerved himself for a 
 climax which should rally his scattering forces 
 once again. 
 
 "It is to you, sons and daughters of the New 
 Life, that the world looks for guidance!" he cried. 
 "It is your mission to lift the herald s torch for 
 those who stand in the gloom of ignorance and fear. 
 It is your duty to maintain peace and union among 
 yourselves, that your words unto these others may 
 be heard. And in the name, of Christ, first true 
 Communist, noblest Leader, I demand that you 
 show to others that mercy which has been shown 
 to you. Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, succour 
 them who are fleeing from these oppressors of all 
 time, tyranny and superstition. Stand fast, citi 
 zens of the Commune, upon our rooted rock, Soli 
 darity: be steadfast in your loyalty to our belief 
 Each for all; all for each. Vive 1 Egalite"! 
 Vive rUnite* ! Vive la Fraternite ! " 
 
 During his speech three strangers had entered 
 quietly, and had taken seats in the rear. The 
 colonists did not notice them ; visitors were frequent 
 at the Phalanstery. It was a period of fads and of 
 reforms; castaways from an armada of wrecked 
 enterprises Fourierites, Owenites, even a belated 
 Brook Farmer were constant guests. "Men with 
 beards," oddly clothed, and armed with note- 
 
Voila la Commune! 89 
 
 books, were a very present evil. True, it was 
 trying to feel that these outsiders were listening 
 to Pere Cabet s reproaches; but, as a rule, these 
 barbarians did not understand French; so what 
 matter ? 
 
 The situation was not pleasant, however, to one 
 intruder, who happened to understand the language. 
 An hour before, Robert Channing had met Friend 
 Barclay at the steamer landing, talking with a 
 lank, serious frontiersman, whom he presented as 
 "Friend John; one of us from the Far West." 
 Friend John, it appeared, had ridden east from 
 Kansas on horseback, on a business journey con 
 nected with hand-made maps and little red land 
 marks. He had heard much of this Commune, and 
 desired to spend an hour in visiting it. Friend 
 Barclay found it impossible to go up the hill at 
 that hour; would not Channing take his place as 
 guide ? 
 
 Now, Channing would have faced any other 
 known ordeal rather than to meet with Mademoiselle 
 Diane after her puzzling coldness of the week 
 before ; but Friend Barclay had the gift of persuasion 
 mightily upon him; and in the end the young man 
 gave way. The storm came up so swiftly that they 
 had barely reached the Phalanstery when the down 
 pour began. As they knocked, a tall, elderly 
 coloured woman came panting down the road. 
 Channing nodded and touched his cap to her. 
 
 "You d better stop if you don t want to be 
 
QO Diane 
 
 drenched, Persis," he called. "We re just going 
 in; won t you come, too?" 
 
 The woman lifted a beaming face. She was 
 dressed with the exquisite neatness of the trained 
 house-servant ; her smiling eyes and broad, brooding 
 palms gave one a sense of petting and of comfort, 
 even before her voice rolled out its great, sweet 
 organ-note. " Scuse me, Marse Channing, I ain 
 seen you," she puffed. "I is mos bio wed my ole 
 lungs out, tryin ter git here fore Marse Cabet an* 
 de men-folks goes back ter the fiel . Got somepin* 
 mighty pertickler to ask him." 
 
 She stopped and glanced apprehensively at 
 Channing s strange companion, who had turned 
 away to read a tablet in the wall. Channing 
 laughed at her alarm. 
 
 "He is one of us, Persis. I don t know his last 
 name, but he is conductor on one of the western 
 branches of the Underground, so Friend Barclay 
 said. Where have you been all week? You 
 haven t happened around to look over my clothes 
 lately." 
 
 "Well, I m sorry, Marse Channing, but I s been 
 nussin them two Royce babies with scollet fever; 
 they s gittin long fust rate now, but I ain had no 
 time for nothin else. I s goin come an sew you 
 up to-morrer, certain sure." 
 
 She followed Channing bashfully into the hall, 
 and seated herself well in the rear. 
 
 Every soul in the room knew Manderson s Persis. 
 
Voila fa Commune! 91 
 
 She was the only coloured woman in the town; 
 her skill in simple medicines and in nursing had 
 tided them through many an anxious hour. Still, 
 there were astonished glances when, at the close of 
 Pere Cabet s sounding platitude, she rose with a 
 shy dignity, and asked for permission to speak. 
 
 Pere Cabet wiped his forehead, cold and beaded 
 with the sweat of a tremendous effort. He stared 
 back at her and repeated her question to himself, 
 as though he did not understand. "To speak to 
 us? Of something to our interest?" he reiterated. 
 Then, with a portentous flourish: "Surely we will 
 listen to you, our sister ! Sister, you are in truth ; 
 for your kind deeds, are they not always before us ? 
 Vive l Egalit< ! Behold one who is ever ready to 
 give of her time and strength to all who call upon 
 her, of whatever race : true Communist, in that she 
 labours ever, but never for herself. Hear, citizens } 
 Listen and heed what she may say !" 
 
 Persis twisted her apron in agonised embarrass 
 ment throughout his presentation. But when she 
 spoke, her voice was clear and distinct, though 
 very low. 
 
 "Maybe you folkses can t unnerstan me," she 
 began. " I kain tell what you is talkin bout, mos 
 always; but I is goin say somepin ter you, well s 
 I know how. You-all know fer you se fs how 
 I is brung up, you s hear me tell hit so oflen. I s 
 been slave twel I s fifty year ole, an I am never 
 had a lick or hard word, I is allays had de one 
 
92 Diane 
 
 mistis, an* she s train me an brung me up mos lak 
 I wus her own chile. I is house servant f om de 
 time I s ole nough to bresh flies; so far s I kin tell 
 by my own life, dey ain nuffin wrong bout slavery ; 
 nuffin tall. But when I is mos fifty, my mistis 
 set me free, an I come up here, an goes to work for 
 myse f; an den" her head lifted with a leonine 
 gesture; her voice took on a wonderful volume 
 "den I fin out what free breff means. Fore I 
 come up here, it wus like I breeve water ; now, for 
 de fust time in my life, I breeve air ! " Her massive 
 body seemed to swell and grow tall ; her eyes flamed. 
 " Dee ain no use in my tryin tell you how it feels ; 
 sometimes I think it s mos worth while for be 
 slave jes a little bit, for to know what it means ter 
 git free. But dey is lots of folks what knows what 
 it means, well nough, thout bein set free to see 
 de dirFence. Dey ain had no mas r what talk to 
 you like you s his fren , ner no mistis what treat 
 you s if you s white as she is. Dee is lots of folks 
 what goes col an hongry all they life; what lose 
 father an mother an hosban , sold away f om um 
 like you sell horses ; what have they s chillen snatch 
 out of they s arms, for all the prayers they kin say. 
 Who is goin blame um ef they hates bein slave? 
 Who is goin blame um ef they tries ter git away ? 
 You-all tell me that you come over yere you se fs 
 ter git way f om bein slaves in you s own country. 
 Seems like you d unnerstan bes of anybody what 
 I mean. 
 
Voila fa Commune! 93 
 
 "Well, they s five of my people, two women an 
 three HI chil en, over to my house now, wait in 
 they chance ter go on up the river. It s goin to be 
 two weeks, maybe three, fore they ll be a boat up 
 what they dares take; an if the hunters come, 
 they s sure ter search my house fust, cause I s free 
 nigger. Dee ain no safe place ter hide um in de 
 woods; ef they s goin ter git way tall, they mus 
 lie low in somebody s house tel de search is gone by. 
 Now here you has yo houses an yo shops an 
 barns, room ter spare; ain you goin remember 
 bout you s own day of trial? You ain goin put 
 you se fs in no danger; nobody spect you know 
 anything tall bout runaway slaves. You don 
 talk like de white folks, you don read no news 
 papers, you don have nothin ter do with people 
 round yere. Ef you could jes take dem three li l 
 chil en an they mothers tel the right steamer 
 comes, I ll promise I ll pay you fer they keep 
 twicet over. I ain got no money, but I ll make it 
 up ter you sewin an nussin . It ain so much ter 
 do. Think bout dat woman s ole mother, what s 
 waitin fer her in Canady. Think bout dat girl, 
 so white she s mos fair as you folks, an her baby, 
 all white but de black in his eyes an his hair. Do 
 you know what she s runnin way f om? Think 
 bout that li l boy, straight an strong as yo 
 own chil en, but starved twel you kin see the 
 bone, an beaten with marks he ll carry tel 
 Judgment Day. An you tell me you is been 
 
94 Diane 
 
 slaves in you s own country. How s you goin 
 answer me now?" 
 
 She locked her hands over her breast and waited 
 their answer, silent. She had begun with a plea; 
 she had ended with an arraignment: her features 
 were set with the control of years, but her eyes 
 peered into Cabet s face as if they would drag 
 the answer from his soul. The supreme question 
 of the down-trodden race seemed to echo through 
 the waiting room. 
 
 Cabet arose to reply directly. He did not take 
 his cue from the grave faces of his audience ; had he 
 done so, it might have made a difference in his 
 response. His one thought was to free the as 
 sembly from this most provoking and unanswerable 
 interruption. He lamented, then, that sadly ex 
 cellent reasons would prevent the Colony from 
 taking part in this work which their most worthy 
 Sister had pointed out to them. It was their place 
 to help those who would escape from the tyranny of 
 law and property, not those held in servitude. 
 This duty should be laid upon the shoulders of those 
 to whom it justly belonged. The Americans them 
 selves had brought slavery into their land; the 
 labour of suppressing it was their just fate. With 
 such a problem aliens like themselves had no right 
 to meddle. According to such arguments as he 
 had read, slaves were held as property ; to aid them 
 to escape was on a level with the theft of a man s 
 horses or cattle. What right had they, whose 
 
Voila la Commune! 95 
 
 principles demanded that they uphold the rights of 
 one another, to despoil their neighbours? The 
 Commune had won the admiring respect of those 
 who studied it through its discretion in keeping 
 itself free from the affairs of outside institutions. It 
 could not be asked of them to forfeit this prestige 
 for the doubtful service which their aid might lend 
 to the fugitives. He hoped that she, their friend, 
 would not take his words amiss when he stated that 
 he could not look upon her in the same light as the 
 average slave. She had spirit, understanding; 
 there might be a few like to her; but the mass, 
 he was assured, were ignorant and brutal. It was 
 the sad truth, that, until they should prove them 
 selves worthy of a higher place, serfdom were 
 their fitting rank. 
 
 " Fraternity, equality, are for those who can live 
 up to their high demands!" he concluded. "The 
 dull, the indolent, the vicious to such as those 
 freedom has nothing to give. Come to us when 
 your race is ready to live up to this high calling; 
 then you shall not ask in vain." 
 
 Channing clenched his hands till the nails sank 
 into the flesh. Within himself he suffered that 
 torture which he knew must be racking Diane. 
 She had comprehended both speeches; she could 
 not fail to see the vanity of Cabet s answer: her 
 heart must sicken beneath its arrogance, its soulless 
 egotism. He glanced towards her as Cabet took 
 his seat. She was leaning back in her chair, spent 
 
96 Diane 
 
 and wide-eyed; a sick recollection of his student 
 days brought before him the sight of a doomed 
 bird, struggling for breath, beneath that cruelest 
 experiment, the slow deprivation of air. She had 
 breathed the word of Cabet as the breath of her 
 nostrils ; surely her pure spirit could not live in this 
 miasm of cant and denial. 
 
 Persis heard the speaker through in submissive 
 quiet. She accepted the rebuff as a thing fore 
 seen. Like all her race an heir to baffled hopes, 
 perhaps it was scarcely a disappointment. She 
 merely bent her noble old head, and turned to go 
 away. 
 
 "Friends!" 
 
 The frontiersman s voice rang loud above the 
 clatter of benches and the shuffle of heavy feet. 
 The colonists stopped and stared at him blankly. 
 Channing rose, then sat down ag ain at his com 
 panion s gesture. He had a curious sense of standing 
 on the brink of a crisis. To look at the frontiersman 
 clinched that sense to certainty. He towered above 
 the colonists like a giant tree; his thin, stern face 
 shone white against the white wall. 
 
 " Friends ! I had better call you traitors ! 
 Traitors to the laws you pretend to obey, to the 
 beliefs that you confess ! Traitors to your own 
 word and honour. So if any one of you fall into a pit 
 digged by one not of your brotherhood, you would 
 not save him ; you would wait until he who dug the 
 pit might come to the rescue. You, as aliens, 
 
Voila la Commune! 97 
 
 would have no right to interfere. A slave is property ; 
 to free one is to steal that property. As much 
 said the oppressors of your fathers, sixty years ago. 
 Do you, then, condemn your fathers that they freed 
 themselves and you? You have gained honour 
 from such as have studied your work, and you are 
 determined to hold that honour, even by casting 
 away the very virtues that won it. Justice and 
 mercy and wisdom you are the Esau of the cities, 
 selling your birthright for the pottage of the world s 
 favour. And in this thing most faithless, that you 
 deny that equality of man to man which is the 
 first principle of your being. So the slaves are 
 ignorant and vicious. Who has made them so? 
 That question is asked now; it will be asked again, 
 and the nation will listen and reply. So the slaves 
 are ignorant and vicious. Who has let them remain 
 so? That question, too, will be answered. What 
 will you find to reply, Etienne Cabet? How will 
 you clear yourselves before God and man, you men 
 and women of the Commune ? 
 
 " Listen ! You have left your homes, you have 
 given up many things for your great Duty. But 
 you cannot put aside your duties to this world. 
 You claim Christ, first and noblest Communist, as 
 your example. Are you not pledged by that claim 
 to brotherhood with all men? Is not the way in 
 which He walked, thorn-strewn and stony, the one 
 road open for those who follow Him? 
 
 " Is not this the fast that I have chosen? To 
 
9 8 Diane 
 
 loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the bonds 
 of the yoke, and to let the oppressed go free ? Is it 
 not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou 
 bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? 
 When thou seest the naked, that thou cover him? 
 and that thou hide not thyself from thine own 
 flesh? 
 
 "The time is short. The shadow of the Hour 
 is already upon you. Live according to your 
 word and honour; else shall you be scattered to 
 the winds, and of your house shall there remain not 
 one stone upon another." 
 
 He motioned to Channing. "Come," he said, 
 under his breath. He seized Persis wrist ; together 
 the three walked from the hall, through the be 
 wildered host of the colonists: past Pere Cabet, 
 standing gray and speechless on his platform: past 
 Diane, whose downcast eyes saw only Petit Clef at 
 her side. They crossed the courtyard and went 
 down the sodden road for some distance, without 
 speaking. Channing had an idea that he was very 
 calm; afterwards he noticed a bluish line across 
 his palms, and realised that his fists must have 
 remained clinched for quite a while. 
 
 "I tu ns off yere," said Persis, presently. She, 
 at least, was her tranquil self; she looked the em 
 bodiment of calm beside the two overwrought men. 
 "I is bleege ter yer, Mas r, but it ain* done no good. 
 Dey is all hoppin mad at Mister Cabet, but just 
 the same dey lets him do all they decidin for urn. 
 
Voila la Commune! 99 
 
 An they don unnerstan bout slaves, nohow; dey 
 think we s mos same thing as sheeps, an they is 
 boun ter get inter trouble if they runs us off. I s 
 help um when they s sick, an teach um how ter 
 cook co n an things like dat what dey ain have 
 at home, an I b leeve they think mos of my black 
 is rubbed off, by dis time." She laughed, a soft, 
 infectious ripple. 
 
 "You ve rubbed most of it off," said the frontiers 
 man, absently. Channing, watching him, was aware 
 that he had never seen a man who spoke as spoke 
 this one, his simplest words packed with subtle 
 meaning. Even his outward demeanour caught 
 and held the eye. He was quaintly dressed in 
 snuff-coloured clothes of the fashion of twenty 
 years gone. A high patent-leather stock was 
 buckled around his lean throat; a fur cap was 
 drawn over the thick, silvery brush of hair. He 
 was worn and tired and old; he walked with the 
 pitiful stiffness which comes of sleep in the saddle 
 or on frost-whitened ground; but his blue eyes 
 burned with that fire of the Spirit which neither 
 years nor grief can quench. His sombre face, with 
 its broad forehead, long, straight nose, its thin, set 
 lips, and immovable chin, was as carved from the 
 granite of his far mountain home ; his rare smile was 
 sunlight. Despite his lameness, he moved with a 
 stately calm; he held his old head royally aloft. 
 There shone an august purity from every line of 
 that stern face ; the record of a soul which has lived 
 
ioo Diane 
 
 for one great awful purpose; the record of a blind 
 strength which has given itself to cut one step on 
 the mountain wall, that those who follow may set 
 foot safely therein. 
 
 "Good-mawnin , then, an thank you kindly, 
 Mas r," said Persis, at last. "No, seh, I don* 
 reely need the money." She pushed the stranger s 
 hand away. "We kin git um through thout any 
 more; what I wanted was a safe place ter hide um 
 tel nex week or so; but I sent word ter Fren 
 Barclay las night, an he ain dis point me yet no, 
 not oncet, so I reckon he ain goin ter begin now. 
 No, Mas r, you keep it, please. Mos likely you ll 
 have need er it right way fer some pore folkses 
 what s worse off nor these is. But I is ever so 
 much bleege ter you, an I wanter know one thing, 
 please." Tall woman that she was, she must look 
 up to meet his eyes. "I jes wish, Mas r, you d 
 tell me yo s reel name. T ain t jes John, is it?" 
 
 "My name?" The harsh features lighted with 
 their wonderful smile. " I ve been spoken by so 
 many names of late that I almost forget my own. 
 Thief, ruffian, assassin, and worse. But the 
 real one " 
 
 He stopped; his far-seeing hunter s eyes were 
 fixed on the mounded hills beyond the river. His 
 lips moved still, but no sound came. Channing, 
 all unknowing, listened for the word keenly as he 
 would have listened had he known that five years 
 later it would peal from the trumpets of the world 
 
Voila la Commune! 101 
 
 and echo from every tented slope, the war-cry of 
 a nation. 
 
 " Scuse me Mas r," murmured Persis, impatient 
 to be gone. He turned to her again. 
 
 "I was just looking at those hills," he said, 
 absently. "We may need them, some day. We 
 could fortify the slopes towards the river, and the 
 ravines at the sides would furnish some protection. 
 My name? Well, as I told you, I have a good 
 many. But most of my friends call me old John 
 Brown. 11 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 TH E AM B E R DAY 
 
 "THE river is sleepy this morning, Diane. Look 
 at its eyelashes !" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "I thought you could see things!" Petit Clef 
 put out a masterful finger. "Follow it there, 
 where the water curls up tight around the Montrose 
 shore. Can t you see them, long and black and 
 straight?" 
 
 "Oh, the willow shadows!" 
 
 Petit Clef sniffed. "Yes. You are very blind 
 to-day," he continued, patiently. "It depresses 
 me. Perhaps you behold something more to your 
 taste. Ah ! There is the Captain Channing s sail 
 boat, and she comes this way. She is a haughty 
 lady, is it not so ? " 
 
 " I do not interest myself in the sail-boat of the 
 Captain Channing." 
 
 "She tiptoes along the water, as if she feared 
 to wet her fine gilt heels. Once or twice she has 
 drenched that white robe; wait till there comes a 
 real storm, when the river crawls like a gray snake, 
 and the sky is streaked brown and green like your 
 painted tortoise-shell. Then you shall see her bow 
 
 102 
 
The Amber Day 103 
 
 to the wind ; then she is humble, a slave before her 
 master ! 
 
 "Now she is just a moth-wing." Petit Clef 
 flattened himself on the rim of the bluff and peered 
 down. " But a giantess among moths. The sky- 
 river is not half so blue as the earth-river ; but when 
 it does ripple, it charms one. When I awoke, 
 before sunrise, this morning, it was full of tiny 
 white waves, that never broke. Where are you 
 going, Diane?" 
 
 "I am going to the Phalanstery." 
 
 Petit Clef inspected the sail-boat, which had 
 rounded to the landing just below them. "M sieu 
 Channing brings, in all likelihood, some word for 
 the Pere Cabet. He will consider me too small to 
 be intrusted with it, therefore he will go on to the 
 Phalanstery. The Pere Cabet is much occupied 
 to-day." 
 
 Diane hesitated. 
 
 "M sieu le Capitaine is neither bear nor ogre. 
 One says in the town that he is to be betrothed to 
 his cousin, that Mademoiselle Rose whom you have 
 not yet seen. Myself, I have viewed her only from 
 the hill-top, when she has rowed past in the skiff 
 with him. Such hair ! Black as Brother Felix s 
 pitch-kettle, and heaped up till you would think 
 her little neck would break beneath it. And she 
 laughs like the falling waters in my birch hollow." 
 
 "Perhaps he comes only to talk with Brother 
 Paul at the smithy." 
 
104 Diane 
 
 "That is very likely. This is droll, is it not, 
 Mademoiselle, that he sends himself to-day upon 
 his errands, and does not send his aide, the Lieutenant 
 Palmer? Perhaps he figures to himself that 
 M sieu Palmer has come here a sufficient number 
 of times for his own good. Let us see, Mademoiselle. 
 He came one week since, to bring the broken chains 
 for Brother Paul to weld them. He saw you then, 
 for the first time. That was upon a Tuesday. On 
 Wednesday he came again, to see how soon the 
 repairing would be done. Helas, he has learned 
 that the chains were mended, completement, and 
 that nothing remained for him to do save to carry 
 them back to the boat ! He went away with them, 
 most mournful; disappointment wrapped him like 
 a cloak. But on the next morning he was here once 
 more, tout joyeux, distracted to learn whether 
 Brother Paul would be willing to sharpen the great 
 drills for him, in case it should some day become 
 necessary. He was much fatigued by his row up 
 the river, this poor M. le Lieutenant; he must 
 remain and rest in the library until the hour of 
 noon, while the Pere Cabet made clear to him the 
 principles of the Commune, and Mademoiselle 
 Diane sat by and corrected his last manuscripts. 
 And on Sunday, while we were gone to the house 
 of M. 1 Ami Barclay, has he come also, and sat 
 for an hour entire alone upon this bluff, forlorn as 
 a young owl, though most beautiful to look upon, 
 in his uniform, with those buttons of gold. The 
 
The Amber Day 105 
 
 Pere Cabet would have received him gladly in the 
 library ; but he had interest in the view alone. Eh, 
 bien ! Who would dream that this elegant could 
 achieve so suddenly the soul of a poet !" 
 
 Diane pouted, pink, and gathered up her flowing 
 gown. 
 
 "The Capitaine Channing is, as I have said, 
 neither bear nor ogre." Petit Clef rolled a grass- 
 blade between his palms, then put it to his lips 
 with a deafening whistle. Channing, grounding 
 his boat, glanced up and recognised the two figures 
 silhouetted against the radiant morning sky. He 
 flourished his cap with a gesture of delighted 
 greeting. 
 
 "Now that you have made him perceive us, I 
 suppose that I must remain. But I do not wish 
 to talk with Monsieur- Channing. I cannot forget 
 that it was he who brought that Captain Jean to 
 the Phalanstery. Even if he believed his words 
 true, they were cruel oh, they were cruel ! All 
 these twelve days since, the Pere Cabet has gone 
 about like one stricken. * 
 
 "It is not pleasant to be shaken awake." 
 
 " Petit Clef ! You know that he, like all of us, 
 believes " 
 
 "Surely he believes. And he preaches that 
 each must think for himself, is it not so? Then 
 why do you not think, Mademoiselle? And 
 why do you riot believe as your reason bids 
 you to do?" 
 
io6 Diane 
 
 "But mon Pere Cabet he has made the Com 
 mune. And what he declares is right." 
 
 "And so you must go blindfold." Petit Clef 
 stood up. "This is too good a day to be wasted 
 with people. Let us run to the woods as soon as 
 M sieu Channing goes away. Watch him climb 
 that hill ! There were Norse gods once who used 
 to mount the cliffs like that, as if the air tossed 
 them. And they looked as he does, tall men with 
 blue eyes and fair hair " 
 
 "I do not admire blond men. And such hair! 
 Like buttercups." 
 
 "Like new gold money. I salute you, M sieu 
 le Capitaine. We are pleased to meet you." He 
 put a brown leaf of a hand into Channing s big 
 palm; his greeting was that of the complacent 
 seigneur. Channing flushed with amusement and 
 pleasure. He put out his free hand to Diane, who 
 accepted it, much to her later marvelling. 
 
 "You re just the people that I ve come to see," 
 he said. "It s most obliging of you, to meet me 
 on the way. My cousin, Rose Faulkner, has sent 
 me to ask of you, Mademoiselle, if you will not 
 come to see her. She is here to spend a month or 
 so with her father, Major Faulkner, who super 
 intends our work down here. She planned to visit 
 you last week, but the morning we were to have 
 come she slipped on a wet plank and sprained her 
 knee so badly that she hasn t been able to walk 
 since. She and I have known each other since we 
 
The Amber Day 107 
 
 were little cubs back in Belhaven; she s near your 
 age, and she has lived in France." He coloured 
 more deeply at the shy interest in her eyes. "I 
 think you d both like to know each other. She s 
 pretty lonesome ; you see, she can t leave the steamer, 
 except when Palmer or I can be spared to take her 
 about a little in the skiff. We have sent for her 
 horse, so she will be able to ride about before long; 
 but the days are pretty tedious just now. So she 
 has sent me up as her messenger, to beg you to take 
 pity and row down with me to spend to-day with 
 her. And it will add greatly to our pleasure if you, 
 sir, will accompany us." 
 
 Diane considered the matter gravely. It was 
 an idea most fantastic, to journey down the river 
 for an entire day, in the care of this man, almost a 
 stranger, and under the chaperonage of a child; 
 but people did many unseemly things in this weird 
 America. In the Commune it was even per 
 mitted betrothed man and maid to talk together 
 without espial. She had been told that they 
 were allowed to go so far as to make choice, under 
 some formal limitations, as to who that betrothed 
 should be; this was beyond her credence, as yet. 
 But this was no time for meditation. She must 
 give a direct answer. A refusal, certainly, but 
 worded graciously as her lips could frame it. 
 
 However, Petit Clef saved her the effort. The 
 child seldom asserted himself, but when he did so 
 it was with point and despatch, " Give you grace, 
 
io8 Diane 
 
 M sieu Channing. I shall be content to go with 
 you. And for you, Mademoiselle, shall I not say 
 the same?" 
 
 "But the Pere Cabet " 
 
 "The Pere Cabet will give permission when he 
 learns that you will be in good hands. We will go, 
 M sieu le Capitaine and myself, and request it of 
 him. Meanwhile, Mademoiselle, your gown will 
 not do no, nor your shoes. Thicker and darker 
 garments are needed for such a voyage. While you 
 attire yourself, we will speak for you." 
 
 When Oberon draws a friendly sword, the lucky 
 mortal does well to leave the field to his champion. 
 Channing said never a word as he walked beside the 
 silent girl through the fields to Pere Cabet. Petit 
 Clef followed indolently, without a glance their way. 
 As deep as one might read, there was more of vernal 
 mischief than of vernal beneficence in his small 
 countenance. 
 
 Pere Cabet gave affable consent. The scene of 
 the week before still rankled, but in such volcanic 
 times it is well to be on good terms with one s 
 neighbours. But in the face of his permission and 
 her own curiosity as to the great river, Diane all 
 but rebelled at the last moment. Petit Clef had 
 striven to do her a favour, she was assured; but 
 there are times when one prefers to govern one s 
 own affairs. Yet it was most kind of this strange 
 demoiselle to send so gracious an invitation. She 
 would do her best to give her some distraction; 
 
The Amber Day 109 
 
 she knew only too well what that loneliness meant. 
 Full of loving-kindness, she packed her violet- 
 embroidered bag with the precious volumes of 
 Pere Cabet s novel, L Icarie; a book f chansons 
 taught her at the convent; and a roll of drawings, 
 the work of Soeur Gene vie ve, representing the 
 convent from several points of view, surrounded by 
 florid mountains and ambrosial foliage. She hesi 
 tated a little over the sketches; if, by any chance, 
 the boat should be wrecked and those masterpieces 
 lost, the calamity would be all but insupportable. 
 Nevertheless, to console a stranger, one must give 
 the best one can. 
 
 Channing was wise enough to take his good 
 fortune coolly ; but he breathed deep, as one breathes 
 in a dream. He had not dared to hope that she 
 would come; the undertaking had been beset with 
 perils. In the first place, be it admitted to his 
 shame, he had manoeuvred for hours to beguile 
 Rose Faulkner into sending the invitation. Now, 
 Rose Faulkner was a clear-eyed young person, who 
 giggled unkindly at his lumbering strategy, and 
 took much impish joy in evading his net until she 
 saw how grievous was the discouragement of the 
 fisher. Then, like a gallant lady, she suffered her 
 self to be enmeshed, smiling meanwhile at his 
 tattered mask of indifference. It was really too 
 absurd to see how completely both boys were 
 captivated by a fair new face and a quaint speech. 
 Sydney Palmer was forever falling in love anew; 
 
no Diane 
 
 but Bob had always been so sensible ! She would 
 never have looked for such nonsense in Bob. 
 Probably the girl was a whim of the moment. 
 At all events, if she were as winsome as they 
 declared her, she would help to pass a weary day. 
 
 Armed with the invitation, Channing knew that 
 there were still lions in the way. For one thing, 
 he felt that Diane was subtly hostile towards him: 
 just why, he was more than eager to learn. Whether 
 she disliked him for his own sake, or merely held 
 him in disfavour as a meddler who had dared to 
 criticise the Commune, was the great question. 
 On its answer depended the success of the day. 
 Then she might feel that her dignity would not 
 permit her to make the initial visit. The trip with 
 him was still another obstacle; to a girl of her 
 Continental upbringing, it might seem insurmount 
 able. Moreover, Pere Cabet s wishes must be 
 consulted ; this request would give the older man a 
 tempting opportunity to retaliate for his humilia 
 tion of their last meeting. But now his fears 
 were as spaniels that fawned at his feet. He 
 could have shouted his delight to the courtesying 
 willows. 
 
 Diane seated herself demurely in the bow; Petit 
 Clef curled up beside Channing amidships. Months 
 before, Petit Clef had charmed Channing by his 
 beauty and his eerie wit ; to-day, for the first time, 
 he seemed a real child, transformed into boyhood 
 by his human mischief. Channing vowed a fishing 
 
The Amber Day in 
 
 trip and a new knife to Robin Goodfellow, which 
 pledge he straitly kept. 
 
 " It is not a true day," declared Petit Clef, sliding 
 his hand through the water. " It is make-believe, 
 boat and sky and all. And that which is to happen 
 will be make-believe, also. To-morrow, Made 
 moiselle, we shall awaken to find it the same old 
 world." 
 
 "Not quite the same," said Channing under his 
 breath. 
 
 Yet surely it was a day of dream, too exquisite 
 to be real. Behind them glinted the river, so dim 
 and tender a blue, it seemed builded up of layers 
 of smoke ; veiled in the morning fog, the little town 
 stood carved in mother-of-pearl against the liquid 
 sky. The ruined Mormon temple, now but a vast 
 splendid shell, reared its arrogant front among 
 the huddled Commune cottages; softened by cloud 
 and distance, it was itself a great, imperfect pearl. 
 They sailed so close to shore that the breath of low- 
 growing orchards flung out to them the sweetest 
 caress of the spring. Hedge and hollow were ruffled 
 pink with wild crab ; the tiny valleys, which dimpled 
 the hills to the south, were so many cups of emerald, 
 brimmed with the foam of the birches. Over all, 
 sweeter than all beside, there came to them the wild, 
 enraptured cry of the mating thrush, that bird whose 
 woven music links in a mesh of gold the earth 
 and sky. 
 
 "I like the young hickory-trees best," volun- 
 
ii2 Diane 
 
 teered Petit Clef. "They re lean, but they have 
 courage ; they do not even cry out when you swing 
 upon them. The willows bah ! If you will break 
 me, then break me, they say. And they yield, 
 snap, like corn-pith. Laches ! Only the hickories 
 are the real gentlemen of trees." 
 
 "And the poplars, Petit Clef?" 
 
 "You, M sieu Channing, who know the river! 
 They are the river s sisters; they ripple always as 
 the waves run below. And they fret because they 
 must stay ashore, and cannot go on and on with 
 the great water. If you would listen, you would 
 hear them grumble together." 
 
 "And what do they say?" 
 
 "Only your own ears can tell you." Petit Clef 
 winced beneath a grim and sudden dread of being 
 led out for the gayety of nations. He shrank into 
 himself like an offended mimosa. 
 
 Now Channing lowered sail, and skimmed his 
 way warily past rocks and brush. Half a mile 
 away swung the Government fleet, a handful of 
 toy boats, dazzling white, on the broad glowing 
 blue. A noisy cheer greeted them from the gang 
 aboard the quarter-boat, as the Celandine crossed 
 the head of the rapids and skirted the oily eddies 
 till she rocked in the sweep of the western current. 
 Diane listened, wide-eyed and serious, as Channing 
 explained the plan of his work, and pointed out the 
 various pieces of machinery. She stared at dredge 
 and drill -boat, barge and cables, with solemn 
 
The Amber Day 113 
 
 interest; but the rapids fascinated her beyond 
 measure. Amused at her wonder, Channing brought 
 the Celandine back, with cautious strokes, till the 
 soft outward fling of the rapids leaped in curdle 
 of froth along the stern. He described the trail of 
 the jagged rock, stretching like a vast serpent, 
 turned to stone, mile after mile along the river-bed. 
 He pointed out the boulders which had served as 
 stations when the Government charts were drawn. 
 Now, in low water, their forked crests heaved in 
 black, raking ridges through the foam. Here was 
 the Porcupine, a huge spiked ledge, seeming to 
 swim like a diving mammoth in the sweep of its giddy 
 eddies. Many a canoe had been ripped into shreds 
 of silky bark on those keen spears. Here was the 
 Hilt, a slender barb, carved in flawless lines by the 
 fretting water. On that slim haft, which looked 
 too slight to hinder the passing of the little Celandine, 
 the Cumberland Belle had hung for hour after 
 hour, with straining engines and thrashing wheels, 
 while her passengers made their way ashore as best 
 they might on skiffs and lighters, barely in time 
 to escape the explosion which tore the splendid 
 boat into hideous fragments. And there was 
 
 Turk s Head 
 
 " Ah, this Head of the Turk, myself, I have heard 
 of that!" Petit Clef awoke suddenly. "It is 
 there that you have so nobly rescued M sieu 
 Palmer from the jaws of this most unseemly death." 
 He beamed into Channing s crimson face. "He, 
 
ii4 Diane 
 
 himself, has described this scene most grand to me; 
 he declares that upon the memory of it he feels 
 himself an idiot since birth." 
 
 "I don t blame him," said Channing, grimly. 
 
 "It is most absorbing, M sieu," sighed Diane, 
 intent on the rapids. She laid her hand on the 
 gunwale, then snatched it away as a high wave 
 licked it with yellow foam. " But the terror of it ! " 
 Her lips paled, her blue eyes darkened, strangely. 
 Channing looked at her, perplexed. 
 
 "But the rapids are not dreadful to look at, 
 Mademoiselle." 
 
 " That is why they frighten me. The little waves 
 are so soft, and so merry, and yet there lie the 
 rocks, all waiting, waiting, like sly, patient beasts. 
 Ah, cruel!" 
 
 " If one is cautious, he can cross through be 
 tween them in a small boat, almost anywhere. 
 But he must know the rocks by heart. The 
 eddies are the real danger. Once capsized, the 
 strongest swimmer could not make a rod in 
 the whirlpool below Turk s Head, for instance. 
 I have rowed near it, and thrown in blocks 
 and sheets of paper. You would think that 
 such things would be flung off on the surface ; 
 but the eddy sucks down everything. Nothing 
 ever rises again." 
 
 Diane s glance sent the blood tumbling through 
 his veins. Could it be a protest against his wanton 
 risk? 
 
The Amber Day 115 
 
 A white gown flickered at the steamer rail. 
 Across the water rang a fresh, imperious voice. 
 
 "Since I cannot come to meet my guest, will 
 you please bring her to me, Robert ? I am getting 
 very impatient; in an hour or so I may be angry." 
 
 Channing gasped an apology, and rowed madly 
 to the steamer. Palmer stood on the lower deck, 
 fresh as a pink, eager to lift Diane aboard; Rose 
 waited to receive her at the head of the stairs. 
 Afterwards, Channing wished that he might have 
 been on deck, to read the look of greeting which 
 would pass from each to the other. Between two 
 beautiful women, however generous of mood, there 
 lies always a barrier, dim, yet formidable. That 
 barrier lay surely between Rose Faulkner, winsomest 
 instance of her day, and Diane de Lahautiere, final 
 exquisite blossom of her race. But remember that 
 the elder girl knew herself hostess to a stranger in a 
 strange land; while the younger was as yet a child, 
 a convent darling, shy as the white violets beneath 
 the cloister wall. The barrier was levelled at 
 least, for to-day. 
 
 Rose led Diane to the tiny stateroom, which she 
 had made a nest of daintiness and colour. She 
 exclaimed in delight over the song-book and the 
 drawings ; in her sweet, tripping French she thanked 
 Diane so cordially for the loan of the bulky novel 
 that Diane promised to send her, by early messenger, 
 Pere Cabet s "History of the Revolution," in three 
 volumes, and copies of all the Propaganda. She 
 
 
n6 Diane 
 
 loosened the wide ribbons beneath the girl s chin, 
 and took off the great scoop-bonnet with tender 
 touches. That motherly grace towards a younger, 
 with which the South endows her daughters, was 
 Rose s unfailing charm ; she could no more withhold 
 her hands from gentle courtesies than she could 
 crush the wave from her dark hair. It was like 
 being with the Sisters once more, thought Diane; 
 only that this was so tall and beautiful a sister, 
 with laughing eyes, and red lips set for merry 
 speech. Ah, as Petit Clef had said, it could not 
 be a real day ! To-morrow she would waken to face 
 the griefs of a house divided, and to see the old man 
 whom she loved as father and mother fail hourly 
 beneath the shame of his people s denial. To-day 
 was her hour of respite. She must store up pleasure 
 for the dark hours to come. 
 
 Channing was at first embarrassed, then jubilant 
 over the triumph of his scheme. Her shyness had 
 made her seem so cold and proud that he dreaded 
 the impression she might make upon his friends. 
 But now, as he saw the Major s open admiration, and 
 Rose s gay approval, he realised that her dignity 
 was a thing for rejoicing, a charm most eloquent. 
 He kept his complacence well in hand; but Rose 
 read his delight in every glance. She did not look 
 at him often that day. 
 
 With Rose tucked luxuriously into her cushions 
 astern, and Palmer and Channing at the oars, they 
 paddled for miles along the lovely Illinois shore, 
 
The Amber Day 117 
 
 stopping now and then while Channing climbed the 
 bank for a branch of white-starred dogwood or an 
 armful of wild cherry. They dined in state on a 
 tiny island, where a fire had been kindled and the 
 brush cleared away in readiness for them. Twice 
 they roused hares from their wary browsing ; while 
 they ate, a fawn, dappled like the still reaches 
 of water below, crept through the brush on the 
 mainland, not fifty yards away, and halted to stare 
 at them; then, at Palmer s whistle, it fled, bleating 
 in panic, with a clatter of tiny hoofs. Diane s eyes 
 grew very wide and dark. She glanced toward 
 the shore more than once during the meal. To be 
 sure, the Pere Cabet had said that the buffalo and the 
 Indians were no longer aggressive ; but in a country 
 so savage it is well to keep a watchful eye. 
 
 At sunset the scoop-bonnet and the violet bag 
 were brought out once more. The two girls, grown 
 intimate in the one happy day, laid plans for another 
 visit, while they said good-bye. Of the three, 
 Petit Clef was perhaps the most reluctant to depart. 
 Rose had won his heart completely; Diane owned 
 to her first jealous prick when she saw him cling to 
 her fair shoulder, unwilling to be gone. Hampered 
 by her shyness and her distrust towards all the 
 colonists, she had spent weeks in winning the place 
 which Rose s imperious fun and tender hand had 
 made for her in a day. 
 
 As they stood waiting for the skiff, Major Faulk 
 ner, scarlet and beaming, hurried aft and signalled 
 
Diane 
 
 the men on the drill-boat, which hung at anchor close 
 to the rapids. Channing caught Diane s arm as she 
 would have entered the skiff. 
 
 "The Major commands a salute for you, Made 
 moiselle," he said. 
 
 There rose a mutter, then a rending roar. The 
 river heaved beneath their feet, then leaped in 
 yellow masses from its bed. Like the tusks of 
 some hideous river-beast, there shone for an instant 
 row upon row of toothed rock, gleaming black 
 beneath the froth. The jaws of the rapids ; the jaws 
 of death. 
 
 Even as they opened, the waves swept down again. 
 The pool reeled and spun, a seething kettle of brown 
 water and spray. A moment more, and the strong 
 downward current had hushed the tumult like a 
 wizard s touch. Only the crest of Turk s Head and 
 the glint of the Hilt rose as ever above the dance 
 of the rapids. 
 
 Rose clapped her hands and laughed; Petit Clef 
 smiled in calm approval. Diane thanked the 
 Major in the longest and most courtly phrases that 
 her little tongue could turn, whereat the old gentle 
 man grew red as any turkey-cock for satisfaction. 
 Only Channing knew how she trembled as he helped 
 her into the skiff. Rose watched them from her 
 cushioned chair ; her expression might not readily be 
 deciphered. 
 
 A mile north of the rapids, the river spread 
 motionless, a, sea of glass, ribbed with rosy fire. 
 
The Amber Day 119 
 
 The last sunset clouds were as stately galleons, full- 
 sailed, adrift across the waveless blue. In the pure 
 light, the young trees across on the Iowa shore 
 stood ranked like boyish soldiers, clad in silver 
 mail. 
 
 "Mademoiselle!" 
 
 Diane looked up, finger on lip. Worn out by his 
 long day, Petit Clef had fallen asleep on her shoulder. 
 Light as he was, he made a tedious weight on her 
 frail arm, but she shook her head when Channing 
 tried to lift him. 
 
 "He loves to be petted, M sieu; I have been too 
 stupid to see it. I have feared to offend him; it 
 would be like caressing a squirrel. But since I have 
 beheld him with Mademoiselle Rose, I know what 
 he would like." 
 
 "But you will be tired." 
 
 "I? I am never tired." 
 
 "But sometimes you are annoyed, are you not? 
 I annoyed you, I know, the second time that I ever 
 saw you that morning on the bluffs. And then 
 you did not like the explosion." 
 
 "You are mistaken, M sieu. I was not annoyed 
 that morning. Nor this second time, although it 
 was a terrible thing to see. It was not fear that 
 
 made me seem so cowardly; it Monsieur, do 
 
 you sometimes know before of those things which 
 are destined to take place?" 
 
 "I don t understand." 
 
 Diane s cheeks burnt pink. "Then my thought 
 
i 20 Diane 
 
 will sound very foolish. It is to feel that some 
 strange event, some misfortune, is close at hand, 
 and that one cannot thrust it back. To feel that 
 this grief, this crisis, must come to you, inevitable- 
 ment, and that you cannot swerve from your way 
 to escape." 
 
 "I know, now." In truth, he knew. "But we 
 won t let the rapids bother you. Next time that 
 we row down I shall not take you so near to them. 
 There is really nothing to fear, dear Mademoiselle." 
 
 "I do not fear those waters no!" She drew 
 herself proudly erect, then bent again hastily over 
 the sleeping child. 
 
 Channing noted the flower-like droop of her little 
 head ; his slow masculine eye roved for the first time 
 over her attire, and realised its harmony with the 
 loveliness which it framed. Her violet muslin 
 gown, with its flutter of silky flounces, each bordered 
 with wreathed pansies, showed the arched foot in 
 its purple prunella shoe ; her hair shone redly bronze 
 beneath the violet velvet scoop-bonnet; her little 
 mitted hands were clasped round Petit Clef, whose 
 head lay like a golden petal against her cheek. 
 She felt Channing s scrutiny and was seriously 
 content. It was a melancholy tint, this purple, 
 but it was the most serviceable gown in her ward 
 robe. She would have liked to wear the pale-blue 
 robe, with the flounces edged in rosebuds, for it 
 would have seemed more gala; but in so savage a 
 land one must make concessions. She did not know 
 
The Amber Day 121 
 
 why she had dressed herself in the purple frock. 
 Neither knows the violet the reason for its hue. 
 
 "The Commune is at rest, Mademoiselle,* said 
 Channing, presently. He pointed to the hill. The 
 hush of twilight brooded on the river; the square 
 white houses, guarded by the broad bulk of the 
 Phalanstery and by the great blind Samson, the 
 Temple, seemed a City of Peace. Yet the same 
 thought flashed in their meeting eyes. 
 
 "Have no fear, Mademoiselle." He laughed 
 unsuccessfully. "The Commune has not reached 
 the rapids not yet." 
 
 They climbed the long hills in silence. Petit 
 Clef slept on in Channing s grasp; Diane followed, 
 her arms overflowing with spiced treasure, plundered 
 from bush and hollow. They crossed through 
 orchard after orchard; it was as though they fled 
 a gauntlet of sweet white ghosts. 
 
 At a turn in the road they met a low chaise, 
 drawn by a fat and tranquil pony. It jogged 
 along so slowly that Diane had time to recognise 
 the broad Quaker hat and the generous frame 
 beneath it. Delighted, she called his name, and 
 tossed a blossoming apple spray to him as the 
 chaise rolled past. 
 
 Friend Barclay looked back, nodding to the two 
 figures, half seen in the thickening dusk. Then 
 he turned to the placid face at his side. Deep 
 wrinkles settled round his kindly eyes. His voice 
 took on a grave and anxious note. 
 
122 Diane 
 
 "Thee recalls what we were saying of those 
 children, Margaret?" 
 
 "I do, Stephen." 
 
 "It is borne in upon me that I needed not to 
 take her to our orchard. She will find her way 
 into her own garden without my aid." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 THE PRICE 
 
 THERE was no mistaking that sound; that low, 
 recurrent mutter, which jarred upon the ear like 
 a purring organ-note. Overhead, the sky dazzled; 
 a warm breeze tossed Rose s riding -plumes against 
 her cheek. Again it came that ominous pulse. 
 Rose wheeled her pony and urged him through the 
 thickets towards the river bank, where she could 
 see the western sky. 
 
 The pony nickered protest. Rose clipped him 
 sharply. He stopped short, head down. Rose, 
 assured in her ignorance, struck her small spurred 
 heel against his flank. He leaped forward, crashing 
 through the underbrush: Rose s frightened cry 
 was drowned in the crash of the fall as horse and 
 rider toppled head-first down the steep bank to the 
 sand below. 
 
 Rose sat up, bruised and dizzy. There were 
 no bones broken, she concluded; even her 
 lame knee had escaped hurt. The pony 
 stood at an apprehensive distance and viewed 
 her with a distrustful eye; the broken saddle 
 dangled from his back. The sunlight was of a 
 sudden curiously obscured, as if it shone through 
 
 "3 
 
124 Diane 
 
 yellow glass. The earth shook with long, slow 
 cannonadings. 
 
 " And I m three miles, at least, from the steamer," 
 said Rose, coolly. It occurred to her that she 
 had been worse than rash to take this long ride 
 alone, through unfamiliar country. She limped 
 to the shore and looked down the river. The horizon 
 was a mere strip of greenish light ; above it, billow 
 upon billow, weltered the storm. As she looked, a 
 skiff shot round the bend and came rapidly towards 
 her. She recognised the oarsman s stooped little 
 figure and bright red head with a gasp of relief 
 which betrayed how deeply she had felt her 
 danger. 
 
 11 Mr. Hotter ! Oh, Mr. Motter ! " 
 
 The oarsman looked up ; then he ducked forward 
 like a muskrat. The skiff leaped backward under 
 his reversed stroke; in another breath it had 
 slipped behind the bend again. 
 
 " What possessed him to run away ! As if he 
 was afraid of me ! Mr. Motter 1 Oh, please come 
 back!" 
 
 She hobbled as far down the beach as her aching 
 knee permitted, and called until she was hoarse. 
 As she was about to turn back in despair, the 
 skiff slid into view once more from a clump of 
 willows. Motter grounded it a few feet away and 
 clambered up the bank. His knees knocked to 
 gether; apology was writ large from his tumbled 
 red head to his shuffling feet. 
 
The Price 125 
 
 " I didn t calk-late on its bein you, Miss Faulkner, 
 an I was scared ter come tel I was sure who it mout 
 be, friend er foe," he explained, meekly. "Ye ve 
 had a bad fall now, ain t ye? Sure ye ain t hurt 
 noway ? Lucky I was in mischief this mornin ; 
 else I mightn t have happened along." 
 
 He pulled a knife from his pocket and began to 
 repair the broken straps. "Guess ye know what 
 we re up to, bein as ye re in the family," he chuckled. 
 "The Underground s a-doin a big business lately. 
 We put three through fer Canady last week; I took 
 one of em as far as Foote s Landing, an the day 
 I got back Cap n Channing was over to git me to 
 help with this next load. He an Friend Barclay 
 air over there in the woods now." He motioned 
 towards the Iowa shore. " They ve had word they ll 
 be two more passengers up on the Rosy Taylor this 
 mornin ; so they re waitin in the woods to take em 
 off. Ever seen Friend Barclay s woodpile? I 
 was over there to-day, an I declare he s got that 
 room fixed up fine enough fer comp ny. It was 
 jest a strong shed with the wood corded up over it, 
 to begin with; but now he s put in two beds, an a 
 piece of rag carpet, an even a wash-bowl an 
 pitcher. Yer oughter see it!" 
 
 Rose sat in dazed silence. 
 
 "We can t do as much now as we did when the 
 river was froze over," he went on, cheerfully. 
 " I ve seen em come, a dozen to oncet, women an 
 babies, the shoes tore off their feet ; we d hide em 
 
t26 Diane 
 
 in Barclay s woodpile, an* up his garret, tel we d get 
 em clothed an fed ; then we d take em cross on the 
 ice, an straight into Iowa tel we struck the Beacons- 
 ville road, an the rest was easy. Them licensed 
 hunters never seemed to think we d be smart enough 
 to break trail. The Cap n puts most of the brains 
 into the business. Friend Barclay is always the one 
 to take big risks. He don care what happens, so 
 long as he gits em through. He s been fined three 
 times this year a ready fer harbourin runaways. I m 
 cautious enough, but I ain t had much experience; 
 but Cap n Channing, he knows how ter run the 
 whole game, an* ter run it the safest way. He did 
 take considerable resk, though, when he brung 
 that there Kansas slave-runner, Brown, up to the 
 Community, an let him try to roust them up ter 
 doin the same thing. It ain t no use to talk to 
 them Frenchies; they re too busy takin care of 
 themselves ter stop an help a nigger get away. 
 My oh ! Look at that storm come up ! An* 
 there s the Rosy Taylor, s I live ! Well, I guess 
 they re all ready. See-Channing s skiff over there ? " 
 
 Rose s eye followed his gesture. There was no 
 sign of life on the opposite shore save a trim sail 
 boat rocking lightly against the willows. Its 
 graceful lines and snowy paint blurred before her 
 eyes the Celandine. 
 
 Through the still, heavy air sounded the coughing 
 whine of a steamer; around the bend popped a 
 pudgy little stern-wheeler, white-painted, gilt -railed. 
 
The Price 127 
 
 Her decks were piled high with freight ; she bounced 
 ahead in haste before the lowering sky, comically 
 eager, as a plump little market-woman plunges 
 beneath the weight of her baskets, to reach home 
 before the storm. 
 
 "Aha! Now watch!" Motter s voice shrilled 
 high. " She s a-layin to, by gorry ! Right in the 
 middle of the river ! Now comes th fun !" 
 
 The steamer slackened speed; she came to a full 
 stop in mid-channel. As the paddles ceased to 
 turn, two men pushed through the screen of willows 
 and leaped into the Celandine. They reached the 
 steamer in a dozen strokes. Two women, dressed 
 as Quakeresses, and closely veiled, awaited them on 
 the lower deck. 
 
 Their movements slid with panoramic swiftness 
 before her staring eyes. She saw the men greet the 
 two women heartily and as though they addressed 
 equals; she heard the captain s triumphant laugh 
 as he signalled for full speed ahead. The skiff 
 leaped shoreward under Channing s powerful strokes ; 
 in another minute the women were scudding away 
 behind the trees, led by Friend Barclay. Channing 
 sprang back into the boat and shot away down the 
 river. She could all but see the play of the great 
 muscles beneath his loose sleeves. 
 
 4 Those women were Friends . She spoke through 
 stiff lips. 
 
 "Good disguise, wa n t it?" Motter blinked in 
 tently at the boat. "Did ye hear Cap n Stewart 
 
i28 Diane 
 
 laugh when they got off ? Slipperiest Undergrounder 
 in six counties, he is. Look a there, now !" 
 
 The steamer s deck was suddenly a place of mad 
 commotion. The roustabouts were scuttling like 
 rats behind heaps of freight, bent on places of 
 hiding; the captain and the mate supported them 
 selves against the rail. Their roars of laughter re 
 echoed from the mocking bluffs. 
 
 In the middle of the deck there danced and spun 
 a tall, lean figure, flourishing a long knife. He 
 hopped up and down the deck in a ludicrous 
 paroxysm of fury; the voice of his execration 
 reached them across the still water. With each 
 new outburst of wrath he sprang from the deck, 
 as a pith-ball rebounds from a spent sheet of rubber. 
 There was something monstrous and disgusting in 
 his unbridled rage. He was at once, an absurdity 
 and a humiliation. 
 
 "Slave-grabber," grinned Hotter. "He knowed 
 those women was aboard, but he didn t dast try 
 ter seize em. It s agin the law to lay hands on a 
 state-room door oncet the passenger pays his way 
 an locks imself in. So he s been a settin at their 
 door, like a pup at a woodchuck hole, all the way 
 up from St. Louis; wanted to git a little sleep, so 
 the Cap n promises him he won t make no landin 
 not tel they reach Montrose. An he didn t make 
 no landin , neither; he s kept his word, straight 
 enough. Watch him, now! They d better put 
 im in irons ef they don t want their own niggers 
 
The Price 129 
 
 chased overboard. He s goin to make trouble fer 
 Cap n Stewart ; ya as he is. He ll go ashore an 
 take out a writ agin the Cap n, an the Cap n 11 
 have him caged fer makin a rumpus on the boat; 
 by time he gits free, they ll be clean across the 
 Detroit River. He can t make out no case agin* 
 the boat. But if he gits after Barclay an Chan- 
 ning- " 
 
 " Please help me on." Rose hobbled to the pony 
 and clutched the rein. 
 
 " Why why ! You re white as plaster, Miss 
 Rose; you ain t fitten to go back. An this here 
 storm -" 
 
 "Please give me a mount, Mr. Motter." 
 
 Motter lifted her into the saddle. "You better 
 ride down the road to that first cabin " 
 
 "I m going home." 
 
 "Look here, Miss Rose, you re hurted bad, an* 
 you ought er told me." 
 
 "I am not hurt." The pony reared under her 
 whistling lash. His mad plunge tore the rein from 
 Motter s hand. He gaped wildly after the flying 
 pair as they disappeared in the river woods, then 
 turned, perplexed, to his boat. 
 
 Rose fled on down the beaten trail. The rain 
 had come at last great hammering drops; every 
 tree was an ashen flag of truce before the terrible 
 sky. Drenched and beaten, she urged the horse 
 on, driven by blind instinct; for she was aware of 
 none of these things. In the whirlwind of her 
 
i3 Diane 
 
 passion there was no room for the discomforts of 
 time and place. 
 
 The horse stopped, trembling. It came to her 
 slowly that she had reached the rapids landing. A 
 few rods away lay the steamer, dimly visible through 
 sheeted rain. A skiff was fighting its way inshore. 
 She watched it writhe through shallow water till 
 the bow rasped on the pebbles; she had a curious 
 sense of having known the rower in another world, 
 dream-distant. 
 
 "Why, Rose! * Channing scrambled ashore. 
 " Why, Rose ! Has anything happened ? My dear 
 girl, you re a dripping sop. You ll be sick to pay 
 for this!" 
 
 There was neither shame nor misgiving in his up 
 lifted face. So he had fallen too far to care. 
 
 He stripped the water from his sleeves and held 
 up his arms, laughing. " Come along, old sis. I ll 
 carry you to the Celandine. You must hurry into 
 some dry things, before the ague strikes in. You re 
 terribly pale, dear. Did the storm frighten you?" 
 
 "I don t wish to go in the Celandine again." 
 
 Rose groped for the whistle with which she 
 signalled her boatman, and blew it sharply. 
 
 " No, I don t want any help from you. I can 
 dismount." 
 
 "Rose! Are you crazy? What under the 
 sun " 
 
 She looked on his bewilderment without pity. 
 She pushed his hand from the pommel with the butt 
 
The Price 131 
 
 of her whip. Charming s blood ran hot as hers; 
 but he was alarmed, not angered, by the insult. 
 
 "Rose, what has come over you? Surely you 
 didn t mean that. Come !" 
 
 " Could I set foot in your boat after this 
 morning?" 
 
 Channing s hand fell from her arm. 
 
 "You re one of our own family. We ve loved 
 you and trusted you, father and I, as we did each 
 other. You are an officer in the army " 
 
 Channing caught his breath. The pitiless sen 
 tences lashed him white and sick. 
 
 "Rose, I can t take this from you. You don t 
 understand, dear. It s the only right thing for me 
 to do. Yes, I know it s against the law. And the 
 law is against " 
 
 " Thieves and traitors ! " 
 
 "Rose!" 
 
 She struggled from her horse. "Don t, please, 
 Bob. I can t listen." 
 
 "You shall listen! Rose, you ve always stood 
 by me all the way through. When we were little 
 things at Belhaven, it never made any difference 
 what sort of mischief I led you into, you d never let 
 me be blamed. No matter how vexed your father 
 might be, you always took my part. Don t you 
 remember the time we ran away down to the Fort, 
 and were caught in that thunderstorm? I fell and 
 cut my head, and you tied it up with your sash, and 
 helped me up the hill, through the rain, to the old 
 
132 Diane 
 
 sentry-box. It was nine o clock that night before 
 they found us. Your poor little arms and neck 
 were all scratched and bloody, and you were so 
 stiff with cold that you couldn t walk; but you 
 wouldn t let your father give me a harsh word, and 
 you ordered Mammy out of the room when she 
 began to scold me. You ve never misjudged me. 
 You ve never failed me. Rose, if you have any 
 mercy in you, don t fail me now !" 
 
 "It s too hideous. The disgrace of it! The 
 horror ! And you, a Faulkner, to stoop to that ! 
 No, no; don t touch me!" She thrust him away 
 and stumbled down the beach.- 
 
 Channing did not try to detain her. His eyes 
 followed her till she was blotted from sight by the 
 rain. His face settled into lines and hollows, 
 curiously pinched and gray. Rose was not to 
 blame, he told himself steadily, over and over. 
 She believed in slavery as the institution of her 
 fathers. In the breaking of law she could see 
 nothing but evil, even though the law itself might 
 be false to the nation which framed it. She had 
 struck blindly ; she could not know her own strength. 
 It was not worth while to think of this, perhaps. 
 Yes, assuredly it would be better not to think. 
 
 His regular work was finished for the week, and 
 the labourers had been given the day to themselves 
 because of the rough weather. However, thank 
 God, there was something left for his twitching 
 muscles to do. He flung himself into work as 
 
The Price 133 
 
 another man might have flung himself into carousal ; 
 he made the day a very orgy of toil. The Major s 
 protests went unheeded ; he worked on and on ; the 
 sweat of tremendous effort beaded upon his face. 
 At six o clock, the Major dragged him away to the 
 cabin, promising a straight -jacket on the morrow. 
 
 " You ve done the work of four men to-day t 
 Bob, you young fool!" he sputtered. "What was 
 the use? And in soaked clothes, too, at this time 
 of year! What s that? You re going up the 
 river yet, to-night?" 
 
 "The drills are both too dull to use. I m going 
 to take them up to Citizen Paul at the Commune, 
 He s the best blacksmith anywhere around." 
 
 "Send one of the men." 
 
 "It will be done more promptly for me." 
 
 The Major s eyes opened suddenly; his handsome 
 mouth pursed in a soundless whistle. According to 
 his worthy imagination, a great light had broken 
 upon him. 
 
 " Oh, go on, if you like ! My regards to Monsieur 
 Cabet, and to the lovely Miss Diane. Rose would 
 like to paddle up with you, I dare say, but she s out 
 of sorts. That ride in the rain tired her amazingly. 
 I never saw her look as badly as she did at dinner, 
 and she has just sent word that she won t come to 
 supper at all. What s that? You don t want 
 any supper, either? You ll eat before you leave 
 this boat, I can tell you that, young man I" 
 
 The meal was bread of humiliation. As soon as 
 
134 Diane 
 
 possible he excused himself and went away. The 
 storm was passing at last, grim sabaoth of cloud. 
 Thunder rumbled still in high hill-clefts; but the 
 east shone roseate, and every bush and hollow 
 thrilled with exultant pipings. Channing heeded 
 the calm as little as he had heeded the storm. With 
 the quaint mathematical habit which ruled all his 
 acts, he was reckoning a long account, and striving 
 to balance it with a Sum unknown. Vast, surely; 
 yet one can ill express the sum of human suffering 
 in earthly figures. 
 
 Against its dim score he set the items of his dis 
 content. He must give up his friends. He must 
 resign from the Army: he could not presume to 
 live in the employ of the country whose laws he 
 had set at naught. Ah, that Country ! Only the 
 man alone as he was alone, the man to whom that 
 one word must be home and fire and shelter, can 
 fathom its meaning. He must put aside his hopes 
 and plans for advancement in his work. He must 
 crush out that dearer Hope, as yet only a wing to 
 fancy. He must wound those who loved him. 
 The Major, whose arm and counsel had never 
 failed him. And Rose. 
 
 Rose, his ally; Rose, who was her sweet name. 
 She was dearer to him than every other thing. 
 They had romped together as children; they had 
 sustained each other through the sieges and sallies 
 of their several love affairs never a one of their 
 own, be it said : Rose was too good a cotnra.de fo^ 
 
The Price 135 
 
 that. They had been sister and brother, cronies, 
 friends. She was the one confidante that he had 
 ever known. She stood in the high niche above the 
 altar of his purest thought. The other things 
 might go, he told himself miserably. He could 
 take up other work; he could make for himself a 
 new place among men. To that other hope, dim 
 in the heart of dream, he had no right. Soon it, too, 
 would be lost to him. But let him hold to his one 
 treasure the trust of a good woman. Then all the 
 rest might go. 
 
 He climbed the shaggy slope to the Phalanstery, 
 carrying the drills across his shoulder. The Icarian 
 girls, prattling at their white doorstones, glanced 
 after him as little Roman maidens might have 
 glanced after a Gothic warrior. *He was so tall 
 and fair, mon Dieu, so unlike their short, brisk 
 brethren, and he carried those enormous rods of 
 iron as if they were so many fagots of pine ! 
 They loved to see him bow to a passer-by. He 
 had no manner, none; he saluted all women alike 
 with bared head, all men with the briefest of nods, 
 even to the great Cabet; he made no distinction 
 between Mere Drouet, who tended the babies, and 
 knew not how to write her name, and Citoyenne 
 de Rossigeac, who had been a marquise in the 
 old days. Unless Ah! behold Mademoiselle 
 Diane ! 
 
 She fluttered from the vine-bound door to meet 
 him, rose-flushed, rippling with eager laughter. 
 
136 Diane 
 
 " Oh, she has come with you ! Mademoiselle Rose. 
 Is it that she hides herself from me?" 
 
 Channing was not chilled by the knowledge that 
 this gay welcome was not meant for him. "Miss 
 Rose didn t come; no. She s not feeling well, the 
 Major said." 
 
 Diane grew sober. "It is the knee again?" 
 
 "I can t say. She was out in the storm this 
 morning. Would you tell me where to find Citoyen 
 Paul?" 
 
 "I? I do not know where he may be at this 
 hour. Petit Clef, come help us to find him. Leave 
 thy book, little brother; come, talk with us instead." 
 
 Petit Clef sprang from the window-seat. Chan 
 ning took him on his free shoulder. He breathed 
 deep at the comforting feel of the soft little body. 
 
 "Allons, mes braves!" commanded Petit Clef, 
 drumming lightly on the hand which supported 
 him. " To the right march ! Through the potato- 
 field of the Commune, past the house of Leon the 
 wood-chopper, then defile through the cabbages 
 of Mere Pouquet. Charge then upon the Arsenal 
 and demand that they render up to you Brother 
 Paul, maker of wagon-wheels. Vite ! Night and 
 the enemy approach us!" 
 
 " You have been reading too much of the great 
 Napoleon." 
 
 "Monsieur Channing, could one read too much 
 of him?" 
 
 "Hush, Petit Clef ! To please me, do not talk of 
 
The Price 137 
 
 him." Diane lifted beseeching eyes to the 
 child. 
 
 "At your command, Mademoiselle. Ah, behold 
 Citoyen Paul!" They stopped at the smith s 
 door. "In Mormon days this was the Arsenal, 
 Monsieur; did you not know? Arsenal we call it 
 still, though it is a harmless smithy below and a 
 peaceful carpenter-shop above. We have no need 
 for weapons ; he, Citoyenne Diane ! Even though 
 in the Council they make threat of division, and 
 vow that blood shall flow in the streets " 
 
 "You re talking nonsense." Channing tossed 
 the boy to his shoulder again. " Let us go outside 
 and wait till the grinding is done. We can t talk 
 against Citoyen Paul s wheel." 
 
 He found a dry bench for Diane, but Petit 
 Clef refused to sit with them. It was essential 
 that some one should direct the repairs, he 
 explained. Channing s invitation was promptly 
 snubbed. 
 
 "I have not words to waste on those who do 
 not wish to hear," he retorted, nodding at Diane. 
 His curly locks crisped with mischief; his eyes 
 blazed. He was a little teasing animal now, beauti 
 ful and malicious. "Possibly Citoyen Paul may 
 understand me. His head is pitiably thick, yet 
 not so thick as thine, M sieu. Command me when 
 you wish me to return and show you the way back." 
 
 Channing sat down on a stone near by. "I m 
 very stupid to-night, as he tells me," he said, 
 
138 Diane 
 
 compelling a smile. " I am obliged to leave the 
 conversation to you, Mademoiselle." 
 
 "You are very tired, M. le Capitaine." 
 
 No; Channing was not tired; he was dull, that 
 was all. He wished to know something of Made 
 moiselle, in this long week which had passed since 
 they had met. She had been well and happy? 
 
 Diane poised her chin on both slender palms. 
 Her blue eyes darkened. " I thank you, Monsieur. 
 I am always well and happy. Perhaps I find 
 myself a little lonely this week; the storms have 
 been cruel! Never have I beheld a tempest so 
 terrible as that of this morning. It tore my apple- 
 tree to shreds; the garden was full of the poor, 
 broken stems. And I had hoped so much from my 
 little tree ! The Pere Cabet gave it to me for my 
 very own the day I came to the Commune. Petit 
 Clef says that the rain killed the poor young birds 
 also, by scores. He has grieved much at having 
 to stay in the house; but the fair weather comes 
 now, they say. He can scarcely wait till to-morrow, 
 when he will go to the woods, to see how many of 
 his soldiers may be wounded/ 
 
 " The trees ? In the Painted Creek valley ? " 
 
 "Yes, M sieu." 
 
 "He is a queer youngster. And how goes it 
 with the Commune ?" 
 
 The proud lift of her head did not escape him. 
 "Well, as always, M sieu. Some day I hope to 
 convince you of its merits. It is the only right way 
 
The Price 139 
 
 to live; yet I do not blame you that you do not 
 understand. It is that your training has made 
 you blind." 
 
 Charming winced. He himself had used a similar 
 phrase that day. Yet there was a wonderful 
 soothing in her gentle voice. For the sake of its 
 music, he queried again. 
 
 "But, Mademoiselle, there has been a great deal 
 of complaint." 
 
 "It is the fault of the people, not the fault of 
 the System. They sigh for place and distinction; 
 actually, they do not know why the Pere Cabet 
 insists on holding the Presidency. They think it 
 is that he craves the honour. The honour! It is 
 but to aid them, to keep them from ruining them 
 selves by the election of one of their ignorant 
 members to this heavy duty. And they search for 
 grievances; his smallest act they represent as 
 injustice ; he is tyrant, oppressor. Ah-h ! What 
 justice can one expect from such canaille!" 
 
 "Yet you feel that the System is a success?" 
 
 " If it should fail, M sieu, it will fail because these 
 people are not wise enough to live up to so noble a 
 plan. The System itself cannot fail." 
 
 Channing thought of the map in his pocket. 
 He arose to go. 
 
 " I could pray for such faith as yours, Mademoiselle. 
 I cannot think with you; I cannot but wish that I 
 might. I will go now, You will let me qojne 
 ggain?" 
 
140 Diane 
 
 He was too beaten to stay and look upon her 
 beauty to-night. He only knew that she was very 
 lovely, and that a man who had put aside his birth 
 right must put aside his right to dream. Yet 
 neither vows nor denial may stifle Hope. 
 
 Then came Citoyen Paul, a square giant, dragging 
 the huge drills. Petit Clef hopped beside him, 
 balancing himself on the blacksmith s mighty arm. 
 He bespoke Channing s attention with a cricket- 
 call as he passed. 
 
 "The Citoyen Paul drives his ox-cart to the 
 landing to meet the steamer. He will take your 
 bit of jewelry here, and welcome. I go with him 
 for the ride. He is a man of parts, Citoyen Paul. 
 When I have an arm like this," he laid his twig of 
 a wrist against the huge muscle, " I shall not waste 
 my time in trying to rule a city. I shall be the 
 city." 
 
 " Please, Petit Clef ! " Diane put her arms around 
 him. He slid from her grasp; his was no yielding 
 mood. One might as well try to caress a breeze. 
 
 "Aye, I shall work with my hands and not with 
 my tongue!" he cried. "As you told me, Made 
 moiselle, I have read much of Napoleon; but that 
 is as nothing compared with the sight of a real 
 Napoleon; is it not so? The great Emperor, how 
 splendid was he ! Think how excellent for one man 
 to trample on nation after nation, to use his own 
 people who adored him as balls to knock down the 
 pin-soldiers of the world ! Que c 6tait superbe ! 
 
The Price 141 
 
 Ah, how great was his example ! Here behold 
 among us one little Napoleon, made in his image, 
 only so small alas, too small ! But he steps out 
 well: where he may not trample on nations, he 
 crushes the wishes of a family; while he may not 
 set his people in mortal combat, he commands his 
 friends that they grieve his opponents by every 
 device that the devil may teach them. Oh, it is 
 a noble metier, this business of war and supremacy ! 
 Vive Napol6on!" 
 
 He flung Diane a kiss and was off, clinging to 
 Citoyen Paul. His eldritch laughter echoed back 
 to them. 
 
 "Mademoiselle!" 
 
 Channing s dull heart leaped again. She did not 
 rebel, poor child; she had no words of protest. 
 Only her pale silence spoke her pain. 
 
 In the book of All Truth it is written that he who 
 binds the wounds of another shall find himself, by 
 his most generous deed, miraculously healed. 
 
 To Channing, as he rowed away, the morning was 
 only a blotted page. Another day, he would read 
 it bravely; but, for this little hour, let him picture 
 out the characters which might one day shine on 
 the new, fair book now opened to him. The change 
 in his fortunes should mean nothing; an active 
 young man could always make his way. The loss 
 of his friends bit deeper: perhaps they might not 
 condemn him, after all. They could deplore his 
 course without despising him utterly, he exulted; 
 
142 Diane 
 
 there was a blessed distinction between the sinner 
 and the sin. And Rose? Rose was wise as she 
 was dear. She would not hold her anger against her 
 friend of years. Besides, the two girls loved each 
 other, he was sure; through the sympathy which 
 Rose was sure to give when she learned his hopes, 
 he could win her friendship again. To be sure, it 
 was all a dream as yet, but he was certain that when 
 she came to know, dear sister that she was, she 
 would forgive and understand. 
 
 We, being blind, thank Heaven for lands and 
 possessions, health and pleasures. A thousand 
 times more should we give praises for the power 
 to dream. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 THE PATH OF THE UNDERGROUND 
 
 IT was a hard admission, but Friend Barclay, 
 honest with himself as with every other creature, 
 forced himself to confess its truth. For perhaps the 
 first time in his long life he must own himself dis 
 heartened: not by the heavy fine laid upon him 
 that morning, nor by the threats of his accuser, the 
 slave-hunter; but by the new, puzzling antagonism 
 of his friends. 
 
 Up to this time he had believed that his home 
 town, though not openly abolitionist, yet shared 
 his beliefs in secret. Often he had asked his neigh 
 bours for clothes and money in order to fit out some 
 destitute runaway; and while a few hung back, the 
 majority gave gladly. They would never shelter a 
 fugitive. That was not strange, considering the 
 penalty for such aid. As long as some one must 
 take the risk, his own great house and fields furnished 
 hiding-places; in times of stress, his horses stood 
 saddled and bridled ; his skiffs lay in a hidden cove, 
 with oars ready muffled. If one must walk through 
 a marsh, he may as well resign himself to muddy 
 boots, he would say; and the daring of his methods 
 was an actual gain. Until to-day, although his 
 
144 Diane 
 
 doings had been known among them for years, the 
 townspeople had kept silence more because of 
 their regard for the man himself than for the sake 
 of his beliefs. But during the last months he had 
 felt a gathering opposition, and now the outbreak 
 had come. 
 
 Its violence mystified him, yet the crisis was 
 simple enough to an outsider. The little town, like 
 ten thousand other hamlets in 56, was opposed in 
 spirit to the extension of slavery and to the Fugitive 
 Slave Law; vastly more was it opposed to the 
 thought of proving that hostility in truth. One 
 might pity the slaves with a full heart; one might 
 even convey to them tattered clothing and mis- 
 mated shoes, by the hands of a trusty messenger; 
 but he who showed his sympathy by open speech 
 and act was a traitor as well as a fool. There was 
 no end to the trials which his rashness might bring 
 them. Friend Barclay, set apart in a measure 
 from his neighbours by his creed, had not compre 
 hended their cowardice; it was revealed to him 
 to-day for the first time in their panic evasion. 
 
 The audacious scene of the day before had been 
 the last tug at the chain of their patience. The 
 slave-hunter had rushed to the town, breathing fire 
 and vengeance. He had not been able to settle 
 scores with the captain, but shrewd questioning 
 had put him on Friend Barclay s path, and he had 
 lost no time in swearing out a warrant for his arrest. 
 The women were safely hidden ; there was no danger 
 
The Path of the Underground 145 
 
 for them. So Friend Barclay went obediently into 
 court, rather amused at the promptness of the 
 avenger. He admitted his guilt and paid his fine, 
 which was, as usual, the lowest sum allowed by 
 law. He nodded to the judge, and wished the 
 trader a pleasant journey home; then he went out 
 on the street, elated rather than annoyed by his 
 periodic penance. 
 
 He expected the joking pity of his friends ; instead, 
 they slunk past him, avoiding his eye. Thrifty as 
 ever, he had brought baskets of eggs and butter, to 
 trade in at the village stores. He went from shop 
 to shop with his white-topped baskets; every one 
 was over-supplied. The knots of loungers melted 
 away as he came near; it was as if a wind of 
 panic heralded his approach. Friend Barclay was 
 not slow to see. His amusement changed to wonder, 
 then to wrath. Finally he turned a corner and 
 came upon the three men who, of all the villagers, 
 were his chosen mates; the doctor, the judge, and 
 the postmaster. Taken by surprise, they mumbled 
 a reply to his cheerful hail; then, with one accord, 
 they shambled away. Friend Barclay set down 
 his baskets. 
 
 "Friends!" The three stragglers wheeled, in 
 voluntarily. "I m not given to asking favours 
 from any of thee; but I d like to know whether I m 
 leper or murderer in thy sight. If this is a joke, it 
 does not please me. If it is a truth, I demand its 
 cause." 
 
146 Diane 
 
 The group re-formed, with red, downcast faces. 
 Friend Barclay was the only man who stood erect: 
 his shoulders were a challenge. "I ve just been 
 paying my fine, as thee knows. I ve gone to jail for 
 this practice before, and I mean to go again. Up 
 to this time, thee has overlooked my shame, if 
 thee will so call it. Thee has made a jest of it old, 
 perhaps, but useful. Thee s afraid of agitation; 
 thee doesn t believe in going to such lengths as 
 giving back husband and wife to each other, and 
 saving the child for its mother. I have no quarrel 
 with thee for holding to thy views. But I and 
 mine are to be respected, also!" The doctor 
 winced at the gesture. "I ll have thee know that 
 I m neither a thief nor a pestilence, but a human 
 being, thy brother; and I ask thee now to speak 
 truly, why I am so treated. Many have avoided 
 me to-day, where I might judge that it was because 
 I was under the brand of arrest, did I not know 
 that they had shared my disgrace, many times, for 
 other faults. But I cannot believe mine eyes when 
 I meet with such a taunt from thee." 
 
 The doctor cleared his throat ; the judge and the 
 postmaster stood on one foot in hopeful anticipation. 
 "I I m sure we haven t a thing against you, Mr. 
 Barclay " 
 
 "Then thee acts in this way for thy wilful 
 pleasure?" 
 
 The judge and the postmaster scourged their 
 stuttering proxy with glares of rebuke. True, there 
 
The Path of the Underground 147 
 
 had been nothing for him to say, but any fool could 
 have worded nothing into more artful phrase. They 
 scowled at each other in angry question; not one 
 was ready to couch a lance. At last, with a pre 
 liminary hitch to his shirt-sleeves, the judge entered 
 the lists. 
 
 "What we mean is, we don t lay out to kick on 
 anything you believe, Friend Barclay; our quar l 
 is with what ye do. We all know how generous you 
 are, an how you help everybody that comes to you, 
 black or white or yeller; nobody chokes on that. 
 T be sure, we don t see how you can bring em into 
 your house and take care of them the way you do; 
 but that s none of our business." 
 
 " So I think, also. I m glad thee agrees with me." 
 
 The doctor was as one miraculously consoled. 
 The postmaster, a meek little man in tufted jeans, 
 glanced about for an unostentatious means of 
 escape. 
 
 "Well!" The judge swallowed hard. " S I ve 
 said, we haven t a thing against your principles 
 no, nor your acts, neither, ef it wasn t for the way 
 they ve been showin up lately. We are all proud 
 of you, Friend Barclay, as a benevolent man, and as 
 an independent citizen," the judge straightened 
 up; the flow of words had come at last. "We 
 revere your precepts, sir, and we admire your 
 convictions, though we cannot adopt them in full. 
 But but, you see, Mr. Barclay, things like that 
 there performance yesterday on the river they 
 
Diane 
 
 won t do ! Here you went an* took those women 
 folks off the steamer in broad daylight, rowed em 
 ashore, hid em well, of course, nobody knows 
 where ; but they ain t a child in town but can guess. 
 Then you come to-day an paid your fine, an* 
 you think that s all said and done. It is an it 
 isn t. That hunter is goin back to Louisiana 
 peaceable an quietlike, is he? He s only lost a 
 five-hundred-dollar reward for himself, an two 
 thousand dollars in property fer the men that sent 
 him. No, Friend Barclay, I ll give ye fair warning. 
 He s makin* up a posse to hunt those niggers an* 
 take em, dead or alive; they re watchin* the river 
 roads now; an what s more, he ll most likely seize 
 every free nigger in the district an take em South 
 with him fer trial as runaways. He has all the 
 papers he needs. No use try in to get around him 
 there. Don t ye see ye re doin more harm than 
 good with these wide-open rescues? Ye re jest 
 drawin the attention of them hunters to this part 
 of the country. And once they begin to pull us up, 
 they s mighty few of us that won t have to plead 
 guilty to aidin an abettin , one way or another." 
 
 Friend Barclay s face relaxed. "Thee speaks 
 truth there, John." 
 
 "Well, then, you can see for yourself, it s not 
 fair to the town to bring all those risks down on it. 
 That s why people hang back; they don t want t 
 be suspected of bein thick with you. For myself, 
 I ve threshed it over with you, time an again. I 
 
The Path of the Under ground 149 
 
 don t believe in the Fugitive Act. It ain t no 
 righteous law, an the country is bound to suffer for 
 it, sooner or later ; but a law s a law, an we ve got to 
 swallow it, no matter how hard it goes down. An 
 besides, you don t keep up with the doin s away from 
 here, Barclay; you don t know what things are 
 comin to. I tell ye, this country has got to sit 
 tight to the saddle, if she don t want to git thrown. 
 Here s the South, pourin men an ammunition into 
 Kansas; they ll be a war there that ll beat anything 
 since 76 before they git through. It s only a 
 miracle, as that South Caroliny man, Butler, told 
 the Senate, that the streets of Lawrence ain t 
 been drenched in blood a ready. My nephew out 
 there he s a Free-State man had a letter from 
 him yesterday that had been five weeks on the 
 road, held first at one place, then another. He said 
 it was same as tryin to settle down an* farm it on a 
 battle-field. They s a gang of Border Ruffians had 
 come along the week before he wrote, an run off 
 every horse an cow he had, an* looted the house. 
 He thought he got off easy, that they didn t burn 
 the house, furniture an all. Has to take his rifle 
 along when he goes to plough. He says Kansas will 
 go for slavery, sure; they ain t had an election yet 
 that ain t been stuffed full of outside votes men 
 that s rode over from Missoury, an even from 
 Georgy, to help fill it up fer slavery. I tell you, 
 the South is out huntin trouble, an if she don t 
 find it, she ll make some special. What s the use 
 
i5 Diane 
 
 of you wavin a red flag up here? An* Congress 
 ain t no better than the Southerners. Keeps a 
 makin laws to suit the slavehold " 
 
 "Can t thee think of anything more to blame on 
 the South?" Friend Barclay towered in blazing 
 wrath. The judge hopped back instinctively. 
 
 "Well, they re the real criminals, them slave 
 holders," he began. 
 
 " The real criminals! It is the fault of the 
 South that slavery exists; it is doubly their fault 
 that slavery continues. " Friend Barclay s cloak 
 of humility had fallen from him, a thing forgot. 
 "Thee stands here, a sane man, and dares proclaim 
 that lie ! I tell thee, it is not a question of North 
 and South: it is not a question of Missouri and 
 Massachusetts : it is the sin of the whole nation, and 
 as a nation shall we make atonement. Who were 
 the first traders in slaves, can thee tell me that? 
 Thee s proud of thy New England lineage; thee ll 
 be lucky if thee finds the record blotched with the 
 name of only one slave-dealer. It was a good-paying 
 business, I ll warrant thee; New England rum in 
 exchange for human beings, and the ship s officers 
 paid in either slaves or strong drink, as they 
 chose. Both were valuable enough; thee can be 
 sure no captain ever lacked a crew. But slavery 
 was early abolished in the North? Truly enough; 
 and who abolished it, can thee tell me that? It 
 was not done by abrupt repeal of the slave laws, 
 else it would be made much of in the debates gf 
 
The Path of the Underground 151 
 
 to-day. There was never any uprising of the men 
 of a State, determined to wipe the stain of slavery 
 from their land. Given one such uprising in our 
 smallest and weakest State, and its spark would 
 have kindled the country. There would not have 
 been left one block no, nor one chain. What 
 force, then, drove slavery from the North? Can t 
 thee answer, John? Or is thee ashamed to? I 
 don t wonder thee hates to soil thy mouth with the 
 word. Expediency!" He ground his heel into 
 the pebbles. " Expediency! The devil himself 
 put that word together. Slave labour will not 
 profit in the North; soil and climate are suited to 
 manufactures, not to farming. Slave labour does 
 profit in the South, for the opposite reasons. Hence 
 we, the North, sold our blacks into the cotton-fields, 
 where they might labour, as much our slaves as the 
 slaves of their legal masters; for they toil that our 
 mills may have cotton to weave, and that we may 
 grow rich on what they earn. We write a few 
 Resolutions; we grieve that the number of slaves 
 increases, and that their sufferings are so great ; but 
 we re careful where we step. Ah ! It would never 
 do to step one inch beyond the bounds of our 
 compromise, for if the South, that wicked South, 
 should ever secede, what would become of our 
 Union? And what might not become of our 
 mills?" 
 
 "You ain t doing us justice, Barclay. We ve 
 voted " 
 
152 Diane 
 
 "Thee s voted! And what salvation lies in a 
 vote, pray? It s thy belief, and thee s confessing 
 it before men; I ll grant that. But it s time thee 
 gave something else besides an opinion; it s time 
 thee lived up to that opinion, if thee s brave enough. 
 Thy fathers before thee hated slavery, and voted 
 against it; slavery went on, regardless, for their 
 vote was a minority, and a passive minority may as 
 well not be. But if thee and thy friends would 
 once make of thyselves an active minority, a drag 
 on the wheels instead of a waiting victim, thee d 
 soon see. Thee drops in thy vote, and thee says, 
 Thus have I fulfilled my duty to my fellow-men, 
 and then thee rests in the Lord. Oh, be sure thee 
 rests ! And when thee sees that thy vote was 
 unavailing, thee curses the South, that mother of 
 all iniquity. It s high time thee did thy cursing 
 with thy hands instead of thy mouth !" 
 
 "Strikes me you re a new kind of Quaker, Bar 
 clay." 
 
 Friend Barclay reddened. " I find myself unduly 
 strong in speech," he returned. "It is not strange 
 when thee considers the cause. It goes against the 
 grain to hear the North, mine own country, call 
 with the voice of the Pharisee for judgment upon the 
 South. Let the North close her mills. Let her 
 refuse to carry on business where slave labour has 
 a part. Thee d soon see a wonderful falling off in 
 the negro census; in the end, it would cost the 
 North as much as to buy the slaves and free them, 
 
The Path of the Under ground 153 
 
 which would be the best -paying investment the 
 nation could make. But who is he who will put 
 his hand to the plough? Who is he who will 
 dare even to hint at such a plan ? Yet it is all the 
 fault of the South, that Sodom of the nation. I 
 tell thee, the sin of the whole people is upon the heads 
 of the whole people. Side by side, hand to hand, 
 North and South have mixed this cup; together 
 shall they drink." 
 
 " It ain t goin to do any good for a handful like 
 this town to start out. If the whole North would 
 unite, as you say, there might be some use in it. 
 But as it is " 
 
 "So that excuses thee for neglecting thy duty! 
 Thy brothers will not do their part, hence thee s 
 warranted in leaving thy own undone. Thee s 
 afraid of failure, I suppose ; but if each one stood 
 out against slavery in himself, by himself, without 
 aid or union, it would be scant while till thee d be 
 able to unite for the sake of celebrating thy success. 
 It is not the work of two or of three ; it is the work 
 of each man alone, that counts in the great 
 reckoning." 
 
 "Well, the law and the public feeling are solid 
 against agitation, and there you are. It s a stone 
 wall." 
 
 "Thy grandfather didn t say so when he led his 
 troops at Bennington." 
 
 "That was different. He was fighting for his 
 own government, and not against it. And he had 
 
154 Diane 
 
 good enough reason for fighting. If he didn t, he was 
 likely to lose his house and everything he owned." 
 
 "He fought for his own government? So do I 
 fight for mine. Thee needn t think I m any the 
 less a patriot that I refuse to obey an unjust law. 
 No government has the right to make me sin against 
 mine own conscience. Thy grandfather feared to 
 lose his earthly goods if he did not rebel against 
 tyranny. Very well. I shall lose more than 
 earthly goods if I yield." 
 
 "Well, I m afraid you re sure to lose your earthly 
 goods, as you call em, if you don t stop short, 
 Barclay," broke in the doctor, nervously. " I m a 
 friend *n an admirer, an I m goin to warn you, 
 whether you thank me or not. The store-keepers 
 say they ll have to stop trading with you, not that 
 they have anything against you yourself; but 
 they ve got to do it, to keep their trade in other 
 quarters. You can t expect them to lose money 
 just to favour your principles. That ll spoil your 
 farm and garden sales," he glanced at the cloth- 
 covered baskets. "And I ll bet you ve lost three 
 or four hundred dollars this spring already, what 
 with the horses you ve lent to runaways, and the 
 expense of keeping that boat ready, and everything." 
 
 "Lost it?" 
 
 "Name it as you please, it s gone. And did you 
 ever get that skiff back you lent that slave crew 
 that was going up river just after the ice broke ? " 
 
 "No. They would have sent it, but it was 
 
The Path of the Underground 155 
 
 seized just after they made escape. I could not 
 well, lay claim to it." 
 
 " Well, you see. You re out a boat here, a horse 
 there a man can t stand such a drain long. And 
 how are you going to help your runaway friends if 
 you haven t nothing left?" 
 
 "As long as there is corn in my field and fire on 
 my hearth they shall not be turned away," flashed 
 Friend Barclay. Then, with a sudden shift to 
 grim fun, "And if they like the fashion of my 
 skiffs, I ll be happy to keep on building them, that 
 they may steal!" 
 
 He would have said more, had he not noticed that 
 his companions were huddling together, like fowls 
 before a storm. He glanced up the street ; his tense 
 face broke up into a sea of genial wrinkles. "Our 
 friend the slave-hunter appears to search for some 
 one," he chuckled. "I would not cause thee 
 embarrassment, my friends, and I judge that thee 
 will not care to meet him. Good-day to thee." 
 
 He picked up the big baskets, and trudged 
 slowly down the street, towards his opponent. 
 The three men watched him; they dreaded an 
 encounter, yet they awaited it with a certain 
 fearful joy. If it should be a matter of words, 
 Friend Barclay was ready for any pass; but if it 
 should come to blows, now 
 
 " And he s ugly drunk, the beast ! " said the doctor, 
 in a half -whisper. "He s stopping Barclay now. 
 Wonder what he said," 
 
1 56 Diane 
 
 "I haven t time to talk with thee, friend," 
 Barclay s voice rang out high and distinct in answer 
 to the muttered demand. The hunter planted 
 his shambling length directly in front of the old 
 man and looked him over from his broad brim to 
 his broad shoes. While the three could not hear 
 his words, his posture was in itself an insult. 
 
 "I d like to know why the sheriff doesn t chain 
 him up like one of his own niggers," quavered the 
 doctor. "I do believe he he s pulling out his 
 revolver, by George ! And Barclay hasn t a pen 
 knife about him, of course. What shall we do?" 
 
 "We cannot legally interfere," chattered the 
 judge. Pale but resolute, he pulled out his snuff 
 box and took a mighty blast. " Y-you ll all b-bear 
 witness that Barclay didn t strike f-f -first " 
 
 Bang! The first shot whizzed past Barclay s 
 right ear; the second scraped his shoulder; the 
 third nipped the brim of his straw hat. The 
 old man stood motionless through the volley, 
 holding his baskets in careful grip. One would 
 have said he was waiting on the pleasure of a 
 slow customer. 
 
 " Now, d ye see ! " roared the bully. " I kin shoot 
 straight, can t I? An I ain t so drunk but I ve 
 got m pluck long, ain t I ? Tell me wheresh them 
 niggers gone, before I gi you rest of these six 
 shot . Wheresh they gone? Wheresh " In 
 furiated at the other s calm, he snatched the 
 broad-brimmed hat from the gray head and 
 
The Path of the Underground 157 
 
 stamped upon it. "Goin stamp on you you se f, 
 like that, ef you don speak ! An shoot you fuller 
 holes n " 
 
 The judge and the doctor reeled against the wall. 
 A small figure in tufted blue jeans shot down the 
 street like a blue meteor. There sounded the thud 
 of impact; the bully went down like a pasteboard 
 doll. There rose a mighty bellowing, then shrieks 
 and gurgles of appeal. The judge and the doctor 
 clutched at each other with starting eyes. 
 
 "Samuel, I m afraid thee may get hurt," mur 
 mured Friend Barclay. 
 
 The little postmaster stood up and brushed the 
 dust from his clothes. Ordinarily, he bore the 
 aspect of a bald and dejected chipmunk; to-day, 
 he towered, blood-stained, magnificent. 
 
 "G-get up, ye !" he shouted, red with rage. 
 
 The judge s jaw sank into his black stock ; not in the 
 memory of man had Samuel sworn. "G-get up, 
 I say!" He kicked the collapsed shape viciously. 
 "Now, pick up that hat." 
 
 Goliath picked up the hat. 
 
 "Dust it off. Not a word out of you, or I ll 
 thrash the rest of your hide off. Cleaner. That ll 
 do. Now beg his pardon." 
 
 "I ll be " 
 
 "Most likely you will." The little postmaster 
 had picked up the revolver. He flourished it with 
 the abandon of appalling ignorance. Even Friend 
 Barclay blinked. " Pull in yer horns and apologise, 
 
1 58 Diane 
 
 I say. And be quick about it. I won t stand here 
 all afternoon." 
 
 Gasping and furious, the hunter blurted out the 
 words. Then he turned and pitched away heavily. 
 The judge and the doctor came near, with humble 
 step. Friend Barclay s glance made them shrivel 
 in their shoes. 
 
 "I m much obliged to thee, Samuel," he said. 
 "Thee s sure thee isn t hurt? I m thankful for 
 that." 
 
 " How did you dare do it ?" burst out the doctor. 
 "It was splendid of you, Riggs, but how I don t 
 see " 
 
 Friend Barclay turned upon him. "Try it some 
 time, William. Thee d find it doesn t ruin a man 
 to do a brave thing. Good-day once more, friends." 
 
 As he drove home through the dusk, Friend 
 Barclay brought to mind each incident of the day. 
 It was not a pleasant retrospect; even his sane, 
 cheerful nature gave way to the depression born 
 of long misunderstanding. He was beyond the 
 point where he could smile at the picture of Samuel 
 and the hunter. It was only an added proof of the 
 attitude of his friends. They would dare much for 
 him, as a fellow-man: they would not risk a 
 penny for the principles which he held dearer than 
 life. With a touch of the intolerance that crops 
 out in every ardent reformer, Friend Barclay was 
 peculiarly rasped by their awe-struck respect for 
 
The Path of the Underground 159 
 
 property rights. He was no ascetic, but the things 
 of the flesh had come to mean so little to him that 
 his patience gave way when he heard them exalted. 
 Surely wealth was a reproach to its possessor when 
 gained under laws evil as these. 
 
 Indeed, it was to this first root, the love of property, 
 that the whole wrong might be traced. It was 
 the word of Scripture, verified from generation unto 
 generation. And could this root be destroyed 
 without the destruction of the whole social fabric? 
 Man after man had toiled through his little hour to 
 solve the riddle; man after man had died with the 
 word unspoken. They struck at property itself, at 
 individual ownership ; they gashed the stalk, not the 
 root. Their piteous failures rose like ghosts before 
 his tired eyes. Not a mile away, on the hill -crest, 
 stood the latest of them all; its defeat the more 
 forlorn because of its high aim. 
 
 The thought of the Commune brought to mind 
 Diane as he had seen her last, her arms full of 
 flowers, Channing close at her side. The mighty 
 issues of life make place in our hearts for the most 
 trivial risk, if it threatens one beloved. So Friend 
 Barclay s thought sped to this motherless child, 
 alone and defenceless in her angel innocence. He 
 knew the dangers which Cabet, infatuated with his 
 schemes, could never foresee. A few more harsh 
 demands, a few more rude reproofs from Cabet wise 
 fool, who mistook insolence for authority and the 
 Commune would rise against him, a seething mob, 
 
160 Diane 
 
 wild for vengeance. It would be no check on their 
 fury to remember that most of their grievances 
 were of their own making, that they had pledged 
 themselves to the laws whose enforcement now 
 proved such a trial. Between the fate of the 
 tyrant and the fate of the blind leader of the 
 blind there is little to choose. And in that day, 
 what of Diane ? 
 
 The gleam of his home lights through the trees 
 calmed the whirl of his thought. A night of perilous 
 work lay before him; he must bend all his powers 
 to this one task. His neighbours would not betray 
 him. While they might be cowardly, they were 
 human. But the party of slaves which he was to 
 start northward that night was so large, and the 
 means of travel so hazardous, that he had grave 
 reason for anxiety. The doctor s warnings rang 
 in his ears. He had never yet failed, but if the 
 river roads were under watch, and if the hunter 
 should succeed in gathering a posse from the town 
 scum, he could hardly hope to make his way 
 through. 
 
 The door opened quietly; a woman s figure stood 
 out dark against the rosy light. "It s thee, 
 Stephen?" 
 
 "It is I, Margaret." Friend Barclay s voice 
 rang loudly cheerful. He drove into the carriage- 
 shed, with a halloo to his hired man ; then he tramped 
 noisily back to the door, whistling his pet tune, the 
 robin call. His wife stood waiting for him in the 
 
The Path of the Underground 161 
 
 broad light. There are times when an artless 
 publicity is a very present help. 
 
 They greeted each other with the swift, speaking 
 glance of husband and wife, one in thought. 
 
 "Thee s tired and hungry." Margaret Barclay 
 took up the lamp and led the way into the kitchen. 
 A table set with a dainty supper stood in the middle 
 of the room; Margaret put down the lamp with a 
 whisper, "I laid thy meal here because I think it 
 will hearten them to see thee eat, as though thee 
 wasn t afraid. They are in great alarm." 
 
 Friend Barclay nodded. "Glad to find thee 
 here, friends." His voice rang echoing through 
 the dusky room, still with the silence of supreme 
 fear. "Thee ll have to wait a while on a hungry 
 man. After supper, we ll see what we can do." 
 
 He washed his hands deliberately at the sink; he 
 stopped to punch the hearth-fire into brighter 
 flame ; he sat down and ate with the leisurely content 
 which speaks a tired body and a mind at ease. 
 
 Around him the great kitchen gloomed in shadow. 
 The candles on the mantel and the little lamp at 
 his elbow were mere flickering dots in the huge 
 dusky room, with its cavernous doorways, its deep 
 window-seats, its innumerable closets, whose doors, 
 half -open, were as lids to chests of darkness. There 
 were other Shadows in that room, lurking in dim 
 corners, huddled behind the cumbrous furniture. 
 Their dark faces, now hidden, now peering forth 
 in the restlessness of dread, were abject masks of 
 
1 62 Diane 
 
 fear; their eyes rolled madly; now and then 
 one spoke to another in mumbling gasps. But one 
 of their number kept silence; a girl, who lay on a 
 low settee before the fire. 
 
 She had lain there motionless since noon. The 
 clatter of feet and the murmur of heavy voices 
 had not aroused her. Her *yelids had not quivered 
 when Friend Barclay s voice of greeting sounded 
 through the room. Even in that hushed air of 
 terror, that silence which wakens the sleeper more 
 swiftly than a thunderbolt, she slept on. Her 
 hands lay palms outward lax as the hands of 
 the dying; her black hair breamed in a glittering 
 wave along the floor. Day after day she had lain 
 in brush-screened hollows, \r baby fretting at her 
 dry breast. Night after night she had crawled 
 through marsh and brake, her child in her arms. 
 Her body was sick with hunger; her soul was sick 
 with dread. The others flee* from pain and cold 
 and bondage; freedom, for them, meant comfort 
 and liberty. She fled from warmth and ease and 
 every imperial right that her beauty might demand ; 
 for her, freedom meant toil and poverty and 
 honour. 
 
 To-day, at last, she knew herself safe. She had 
 laid her boy to sleep ; then, without waiting for food 
 or drink, she had fallen upon the cot, in the utter 
 surrender of exhaustion. ut for the pulses in her 
 white throat, she might have been a shape of ivory, 
 fit for Athena s shrine, laid by the cunning carver 
 
The Path of the Underground 163 
 
 before the altar flames, that their glow might flush 
 it with the rose of life. 
 
 Friend Barclay felt her cold wrist. The blood 
 beat faint and slow; for her sleep was very near to 
 death. He glanced at her palms. The left was 
 softly pink, without a line or a bruise ; on that arm, 
 supported by that hand, she had carried the child. 
 The right palm was cut and torn ; the delicate nails 
 were broken; the wrist was swollen and dark. 
 With that hand, she had pushed back branch and 
 briar that they might not strike the child. 
 
 " How old ? " he whispered to Margaret. 
 
 "Nineteen." 
 
 Friend Barclay turned to the middle of the 
 room. "The shutters are down, friends," he whis 
 pered. "Come here to me, that I may tell our 
 plans." 
 
 They shuffled up to him with the sidewise hover 
 of timorous animals; their eyes rolled wildly. 
 "Thee must remember that, while our chances are 
 fair, we must be cautious," he went on, under his 
 breath. "We will walk north, along the willows 
 near the river road, till we are opposite Fort Madison ; 
 a steamer will meet us there, and thee s all to go 
 aboard as cabin passengers. Thee must remember, 
 now, three raps and a whistle like this," he illustrated 
 softly ; " that is the signal for thee to unlock the state 
 room doors. Mind thee doesn t open them for 
 any other call. The friends who wfll come aboard 
 for thee will see to thy needs and send thee on to the 
 
1 64 Diane 
 
 North as soon as possible. The women will go in 
 the wagon, by the prairie road; Friend Rufus will 
 attend to them. I ll walk with thee. Remember, 
 thee s on no account to fight; swim for the Iowa 
 shore or break for the woods, if we re attacked. 
 Make ready, now. See, there s eight of thee men, 
 and three women, besides this girl here " 
 
 "Stephen, we have forgotten one thing," spoke 
 his wife. "Who has warned Manderson s Persis?" 
 
 " Manderson s Persis? She has her free papers. 
 She is in no danger." 
 
 " Scuse me, Mas r." A gray-headed negro pushed 
 to the front. " Scuse me, please, Mas r, but 
 won t you le me go tell her? They s after us free 
 niggers, too. Me an* Cindy " 
 
 " What ! I thought thee and Cindy were here 
 just to help Margaret feed and care for these others. 
 Thee doesn t mean to say thee s running away, 
 too ? When thee s lived here six years, a free man ? " 
 
 " Scuse me, Mas r." The old man shrank and 
 cowered; his knotted hands locked and twisted 
 as if an agony of speech plucked for expression 
 at the dumb finger-tips. His body stooped, the 
 bondsman ; but his prayer must be spoken. " Please, 
 Mas r, she s done been that good to us ! We s got 
 ter go, we dasn t stay. They s been warnin s 
 pinned to our door three nights runnin . But 
 we s got ter save her, somehow. Please, Mas r " 
 
 Friend Barclay looked at him miserably. So 
 with the first alarm, the servile habit would return ; 
 
The Path of the Underground 165 
 
 witness the bent body, the piteous speech. Was 
 it well to give freedom into these clumsy, ignorant 
 hands, which would yield their birthright to the 
 first vile hand that snatched at it ? His eye fell on 
 the sleeping girl. Aye, it was well. 
 
 "I ll go for Persis myself," he said shortly. 
 "Margaret will start thee all on thy way. We ll 
 meet thee at Red Forks most likely, but do not wait 
 if we re not there when thee reaches the creek." 
 
 He threw on his coat and hurried away, first 
 through a long cornfield, then up the hillside woods. 
 The young moon would set in an hour or so; after 
 that, their dangers would be lessened. There was 
 a chance, too, that the wind might rise when the 
 moon went down. Now the pale light barred the 
 forest with silver, and studded the still black 
 water with broad inlay of pearl. The smallest 
 moving object on that glassy surface would be an 
 easy target ; the crash of snapping twigs would re 
 echo in this breathless hush. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 MADAME 
 
 MANDERSON S Persis lived on the first hill south 
 of the Commune, where the river widens into a 
 dimpling curve, like the hollow of a bended arm. 
 Clasped by its flow lie the Iowa bluffs, cloaked in 
 walnut and maple; on the Illinois side, the hills 
 rise more gradually, a stately amphitheatre. On 
 the topmost slope stood her cottage, a tiny white 
 box, perched high on wooden supports, painted 
 white, and trimmed with wondrous scrolls of car 
 pentry. With its bright blue blinds and its bright 
 yellow roof, one was irresistibly reminded of a 
 stout little girl, in much frilled pantalets and smooth- 
 cropped flaxen head. The river flowed two hundred 
 feet below; but fifty years of Persis life had been 
 spent in a marshy quarter on St. Catherine s, off 
 the Carolina coast; her own castle, built by the 
 labour of her hands, should stand high above all 
 danger of overflow. 
 
 For seventy years, the Manderson clan had 
 ruled St. Catherine s, a lordly family. Their cotton- 
 fields spread sheets of snow from the green salt- 
 marshes to the green ocean tossing on the east; 
 their marble castle, throned on high terraces, 
 
 166 
 
Madame 167 
 
 flashed greeting to the passing ships by day; its 
 blazing windows guided far by night. Seven 
 hundred slaves tilled the b^oad fields ; some hundred 
 more served in the great house and manned the 
 barges in which Madame and her guests rode to the 
 mainland or up and down the inner channel, from 
 plantation to plantation, from ball to bridal. It 
 was a heavenly place, that island; not a slave but 
 loved its beauty, and exulted in the splendour of 
 the family that he served. They were spoilt 
 children, those slaves, to the Mainland planters 
 declared. Madame Manderson frowned on the 
 whipping-post; Colonel Manderson proclaimed holi 
 day twenty times a year, and brought some trifling 
 gift to every soul on the plantation when he returned 
 from selling his cotton in New York each fall. 
 Such rank indulgence savoured of disaffection, so 
 protested his conservative friends. It could portend 
 but one issue. The issue ^ame. 
 
 Persis unrolled her ribboned bundle one Christmas 
 morning, to find a crisp f o; d of paper wrapped in the 
 gay turban and knit snawl which her soul had 
 coveted. Wondering, she spelled the printed page 
 aloud. It was a hard task; but its dim import 
 sent the blood in leaps to her old heart. She ran 
 to her mistress, trembling. Madame Manderson, 
 a frail blossom of a woman, stood up and motioned 
 her away. 
 
 " I can t talk about it, Persis. Yes, I know youVe 
 been my nurse, you ve been all but a mother " 
 
1 68 - Diane 
 
 she turned to the window and twisted the cords in 
 icy fingers. "We have talked it over with friends 
 in the North; it is the only thing to do. No, you 
 shall not stay here. It is not best." 
 
 Persis wail rose above her colourless voice. 
 " But I don want ter be free ! I ain goin ter be 
 free! Oh, my little missis! My little missis!" 
 
 "You are going North, two hundred of you, to 
 morrow. When the schooner reaches New York, 
 you will meet friends, who will start you on your 
 way to the farms we have bought for you. You re 
 each one to have a little piece of land ; we can spare 
 very little money this year, but you will be given 
 enough for a start. Another year we will free 
 some of the younger servants; you older ones are 
 to go first. If we had a son to live here after us, 
 to care for you children " 
 
 " Oh, jes let me stay here with you ! You is goin 
 live longer nor me, Miss Felicie. An ef you does 
 die fust, I ain goin keer what dey does ter me 
 then! Dey kin sell me down Souf, dey kin " 
 
 " And with things as they are now, we cannot say 
 what might happen to the Colonel or to me at any 
 time. No, I m not saying good-bye forever, Persis. 
 I ll be North some day, perhaps, and see you. 
 And if anything goes wrong with me I know you ll 
 come." 
 
 The schooner sailed away to the North next 
 morning. A crowd of dark wistful faces watched 
 it till it lay, a moveless dot, against the rim of the sky. 
 
Madame 169 
 
 Another line of faces, stained and tear-wet, gazed 
 southward till the star-white lines of the Great 
 House had set below the whiter mist of the sea, 
 
 A year from that day, the schooner carried a 
 happier crew. This second freed army was made 
 up of younger men and women, whose attachment 
 to the Island was not so deep as was that of the 
 older slaves. Then they had the enthusiasm of 
 numbers. Colonel Manderson found it possible to 
 dispense with half the house-servants, besides the 
 quota of field-labourers. Somehow their duties were 
 fewer. There were no more balls at the Great 
 House; it was an event when Madame Manderson 
 ordered out the barges. Husband and wife lived 
 their stately days as before. The Colonel s head was 
 a little whiter ; Madame s hand rested a shade more 
 heavily upon his arm. Another year, and they 
 could free the last slave; then they would sell the 
 plantations and go North, where they might live, if 
 not in luxury, at least in peace. They dared not 
 speak with each other of their uppermost thought : 
 the horror of separation from the home in which 
 their very being was rooted. But even this wrench 
 could not be so cruel as this, their present life the 
 life of the social outcast, the leper. Nothing 
 better could be expected of Page Manderson, so 
 his neighbours agreed. A man whose grandfather 
 had been hissed from the Senate for his defiant 
 invective against slave importation was fore- 
 
1 70 Diane 
 
 ordained a traitor. But from Felicia Benedict, 
 child of the South, by descent through five genera 
 tions, such apostasy outran belief. They drew their 
 flowing gowns away from her contaminating touch 
 as she paced the narrow aisle to her high-backed pew 
 in Saint Stephen s; Colonel Manderson saw and 
 knew and must endure. The wife felt his every 
 stab of shame and self-reproach for her, but the 
 terrible pity of it Kept her lips sealed. 
 
 When April flushed the marshes with anemone, 
 Colonel Manderson rowed away through the Romilly 
 Marshes to Savannah. He would be back in three 
 days, he said. Madame followed him to the pier, 
 brave in her crimson boat -cloak, to wave him a 
 gay good-bye. Spring called high in her heart. 
 Just five months more, and then they, like their 
 slaves, should be free ! 
 
 She sang softly to herself, those three days 
 alone, her sweet lips rosy, her eyes alight with 
 dream. The song still thrilled on her lips when 
 she went to meet the returning barge. The 
 cok>ur had not faded from her cheek when she 
 knelt on the pier and lifted her dying husband, 
 that his life might go out against the heart that 
 died with him. 
 
 They did not tell her all. Perhaps she would 
 not hear. Sometimes one cannot say how those 
 tragedies begin. A glance, a sneering word; the 
 harsh retort of a generous nature embittered by the 
 persecution of its own blood; a blow there have 
 
Madame 171 
 
 been many such cases. No, she did not need to 
 hear. 
 
 But one other heard ; who knows by what strange 
 messenger? She was shrewd, this Persis, nurse- 
 mother of a generation. She must reach her 
 mistress, but even with her free papers, she dared 
 not travel openly through the South. Too many 
 of her race had slipped the leash of bondage through 
 forged papers and persuasive speech; for the sake 
 of her mistress, more than for her own safe ty, she 
 would run no such risk. So it was eight weeks 
 before she reached St. Catherine s. She had ridden 
 in ox-carts, she had slept in the brush; she had 
 walked scores of miles through marsh and thicket. 
 Her old bones ached; she was ragged and thin and 
 gray; but these things counted as nothing, when 
 she pushed her way up the stairs of the Great 
 House, past the wide-eyed servants, and heard 
 her mistress low cry : 
 
 "I ve waited for you, Persis! I knew you d 
 come!" 
 
 The last slave took his papers and went away. 
 The house and all its furnishings were sold for a 
 trifle: what self-respecting man would own even 
 the chairs and tables of a renegade? Madame 
 Manderson packed away the Colonel s portrait, her 
 gowns and jewels, and the few pieces of silver 
 which had escaped the sale. She was the last of her 
 race. Her husband s people were long alienated by 
 his change of belief; not one among them that 
 
172 Diane 
 
 did not pity her, perhaps ; yet not one dared to offer 
 her a home. She left her summer island for the 
 locked winters of the North. She went from the 
 palace which she had entered as a bride to live in 
 the cottage built for her by her slave. 
 
 She was not penniless ; the tiny house knew many 
 comforts. She was not friendless ; all the Commune 
 loved this strange Americaine, who spoke their 
 French as sweetly as her own tongue, and brought 
 them mint and roses from her tiny garden. She was 
 not unhappy ; she stood too far within the Temple. 
 The life without was a thing of years long past. 
 The only Life she knew lay close ; it was just beyond 
 the veil. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 A BROTHERHOOD OF IMPULSE 
 
 THE cottage door opened promptly at Friend 
 Barclay s knock. Persis stood in the doorway; 
 one might better say that she filled the doorway. 
 Her eyes snapped beneath the demurely folded 
 turban. "It s you, Fren Barclay? Clar to good 
 ness, honey, I b leeve you s losted ! How s you 
 git here?" 
 
 "Let me in, Persis. I want to talk with thee." 
 
 She stepped aside, apprehensively. "Dey ain t 
 nothin wrong? Dey ain cotched um?" 
 
 "No. Where is thy mistress ? " 
 
 "In de settin -room. Ain you goin tell me 
 what s the matter?" 
 
 "I want thee to go North to-night, Persis. A 
 raid is afoot that may mean trouble for thee. We 
 are sending all the negroes, from Rufus house as 
 well as mine." 
 
 Persis stared. Then she set down the candle 
 deliberately, and leaned against the wall. Her 
 silent laughter jarred the pictures above her head. 
 
 "It s no laughing matter, Persis." A very little 
 banter may pique the most exalted spirit. "Sum 
 mon thy mistress. We have no time to spare." 
 
i;4 Diane 
 
 "Persis!" called Madame Manderson from the 
 inner room. Persis bent her features into mournful 
 lines. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Felicie, honey. * 
 
 " Did any one ask for me ? " 
 
 "Why, Miss Felicie/ she stopped short. Her 
 laughter gurgled out irresistibly, like wine from a 
 deep-throated jar. " Scuse me, Miss Felicie, I 
 jes kain help it. Dey s a gemman here, named 
 Fren Barclay, an he lows de paddy-rollers, dey s 
 after me. Spec he s losted, an* thinks he s tromped 
 clear down to Kentuck. He " 
 
 " Why, Persis ! " Madame Manderson came swift 
 ly from her room. "What nonsense oh, it is 
 really you, Friend Barclay!" 
 
 Friend Barclay had no time for the amenities. 
 "Put on thy cloak and come, Persis. We must 
 reach Red Forks in less than an hour." 
 
 Persis shrugged her shoulders. "I ain goin one 
 step, Mas r. Thank you jes the same. I s got my 
 free papers, an ef they won t do, I low I kin 
 jes frail any fool nigger-hunter what comes my 
 way. Yes, seh, I kin ! An sides, who s goin 
 take care of Miss Felicie ef I ain here ? " 
 
 "Get your cloak and your heavy shoes, Persis." 
 
 Persis started at her mistress voice. It was 
 years since she had heard that tone. "I kain go, 
 Miss Felicie," she implored. "What you goin do 
 thout me? Dey ain nobody what kin make yo 
 coffee like me; dey ain nobody what kin sleep at 
 
A Brotherhood of Impulse 175 
 
 door an wake the minute you begin to call um. 
 You ain goin send me away, please, Miss Felicie ! 
 You kain send me away 1" 
 
 "Thee can come back in a week or so, Persis. 
 We will care for thy mistress. Thee must hide 
 now. Come." 
 
 Friend Barclay turned aside while the two 
 women said good-bye. He hurried Persis down 
 the steep road to Red Forks without speaking; his 
 first word was a whisper of caution to the group 
 which cowered in the bushes close to the water s 
 edge. 
 
 " Straight ahead now, boys. Thee sees that fire 
 to the north? Robert Channing is there, with a 
 rowboat; once in that boat, thee s safe, so push 
 ahead." 
 
 They sped on, through clumps of willow and 
 sumac, keeping close to the great still river. Save 
 for their hurried breathing, and the click of the 
 twigs as they passed, there was no sound. Once a 
 man stumbled over a rope of wild grape-vine; now 
 and then the shriek of some frightened bird, jarred 
 awake by the steps below, drove the blood to their 
 hearts. The moon was low on the horizon now; 
 they were nearing the signal fire. Half a mile 
 more of scrub and thicket; then the crossing, and 
 safety. 
 
 There rose a tumult of fierce, excited voices. A 
 swarm of dark figures poured around them, waving 
 lanterns and shouting wildly. Panic-stricken, the 
 
176 Diane 
 
 fugitives dodged and ran for the woods, or dived 
 into the river. Friend Barclay need not have 
 forbidden resistance: they had no thought but 
 flight. The posse was a crew of young men and 
 boys, who had joined the hunt for the adventure. 
 They were innocent of any craft at their under 
 taking; they charged down upon the negroes, 
 whooping and yelling; the woods reechoed with 
 their random shots. Their zeal o erleaped itself; 
 under cover of the uproar, the negroes scuttled away 
 like so many rabbits. Friend Barclay slipped into 
 the brush, motioning Persis to follow. As she 
 stooped to push beneath a mass of willow, a hand 
 gripped her arm and dragged her back into the 
 path. 
 
 "Look a here, boys!" yelled a hunter, exultant. 
 "Got one of em, easy as winkin . Don know who 
 she is, though; one o them purtend freed niggers, 
 I spect." He shook her viciously. "Who are ye, 
 now ? Speak up ! Who are ye ? " 
 
 The posse straggled back, with upraised lanterns. 
 They regretted keenly that they had not each a 
 prisoner to drag up for inspection. It was high 
 time these underground railroad doings were tram 
 pled out; property hereabouts would go down, and 
 business decline, there was no doubt of it, if this 
 nuisance were not put down. At the same time, 
 it was too bad that this one prisoner was not a man ; 
 the capture of one woman by eleven men seemed 
 somehow a dubious triumph. 
 
A Brotherhood of Impulse 177 
 
 "Who is she?" reiterated the hunter, swinging 
 his lantern. The men pushed nearer, blinking. 
 It took them a minute to credit their eyes. Then a 
 gasping exclamation ran from lip to lip: "It s 
 Manderson s Persis!" 
 
 Persis jerked her arm from the hunter s grip, and 
 stepped forward into the full moonlight. Her 
 massive chest lifted under strangling, angry breaths : 
 she seemed to swell, to tower above him. Her noble 
 old head rose filleted by the handkerchief as by a 
 royal coronet ; she swept the ring of men with eyes 
 like finger-touches of fire. 
 
 "Yes, it s Manderson s Persis ! Manderson s Per 
 sis, goin where she ll be her own Persis fer one 
 while ! You w ite folks let me buy my Ian an 
 pay my tax, an build my house, an settle here ter 
 stay. No danger, tall, you tell me. An then 
 you goes an makes a law what makes us all slaves 
 agin. An you conies out an hunts us down like 
 mad dogs you what s been our fren s an neigh 
 bours ! Manderson s Persis ! I cert ny is. What 
 I wants know is, who s you all?" 
 
 The men shrank back, driven less by shame than 
 by the absurd, half -physical fear of a woman 
 righteously angry. 
 
 "They s Jim Pennick, fer one. Oh, Lor , I 
 know you s gormed yo se f up with butternut peel, an 
 you s put on play whiskers, but dey don fool me. 
 Sposen I don know dat squeaky voice ? I use* hear 
 it ev y day when my summer sweets was ripenin , 
 
1 78 Diane 
 
 on y five years back; you was nt mo n grasshopper 
 knee-high then. You use come ter my cabin, an* 
 holler: Mam Persis, you goin let me climb yo 
 tree to-day? An then you d clomb her, an eat 
 all de apples you could hold; an after that, you 
 could fin room fer a turnover, ef it s bakin day. 
 You d come inter my kitchen, an sit at my table, an 
 eat of my food. I wasn t no slave oman then. 
 Manderson s Persis ! You d oughter blush fer the 
 shame of it now. 
 
 "Ya as, an there s Sammy Dowd. How long 
 sence you count up my taters fer me, Sammy? 
 Dey ain nothin happen so cur us as dat sence I kin 
 recommember. Fifteen bushel I had, measure 
 out on my cellar floor; you measured um fer me, 
 basket after basket, an I is keep tab, makin knots 
 on a string. Seem like dey is pooty big baskets, 
 but I ain t no call ter be stingy with my taters; I 
 kin al ays trust de w ite folks. It ain mo n a 
 week dat I is down to de store, an de storekeeper 
 say, Those is eighteen bushel of de nices taters 
 I wanter buy. I tell im, You ain mean dem 
 taters what Sammy Dowd is bring up an sell fer 
 me ? an he tole me over gin, Yes ; those is eighteen 
 bushel* ob de nices taters I wanter buy. Yessum, 
 it al ays bes fo de pore nigger to let de w ite folks do 
 he business for him. Eighteen bushel ! An* there 
 he is pay for on y fifteen bushel ter me ! I tell you, 
 de white folks, dey is cert ny smart. 
 
 " An* there s Royce McCabe. I nussed im when 
 
A Brotherhood of Impulse 179 
 
 he is got de fever. Cross? Um-m-ph, he ain let 
 me tech im with a trout -pole mos of de time; but 
 now an then he is le me rub im when his bones 
 ache so bad. De hands ain black den," 1 " what 
 stroke im; de arm ain black where he lay his head. 
 Maybe de fever make im dat bline, he don know 
 de diff-ence ; you kain al ays tell. 
 
 "An there s Philip Stone. How s dat baby of 
 yourn, Philip? How long is it sence I took er 
 f om her mammy s arms, an helt her, an fed her, 
 an nussed her lak my own? How long is it sence 
 her mammy said to me, Take good care of her, 
 Persis ; she s all Phil will have lef ? She s growed 
 up to a right smart li l missy, now; she mus be 
 goin on six year ole. But she s lak all chil en, 
 she s mighty keerless; she ain keep no count of de 
 law; she ain pay no tention whedder I is slave or 
 free oman. She climbs on my lap, an she snuggles 
 inter my ole neck, an* she don keer a shake o* 
 her li l head fer my black skin. Manderson s 
 Persis ! Mos like she laugh in yo face ef you 
 try splain de diff ence tween us ter her. Dem 
 chil en, dey has ter be growed up fore dey kin 
 unnerstan ." 
 
 The men stood away from her terrible scorn. 
 Even the hunter felt himself abashed, not knowing 
 why. The May wind caught and fluttered the 
 calico gown about her splendid body; to their 
 averted glances, it was as if she stood clothed in 
 avenging flame. 
 
i8o Diane 
 
 "Well, boys," said the hunter, uneasily, "time 
 we s movin along. Come, ole woman." 
 
 "Take your hands off her," growled McCabe. 
 "We ll see to her, all right." 
 
 The hunter s fuddled brain refused to grasp the 
 crisis. "Guess she s safe nough with you," he 
 hiccoughed. "Come long, boys. Plenty more 
 game. Whoo-oop!" He crashed away through 
 the brush, firing wildly as he ran. 
 
 The posse huddled together, whispering. Philip 
 Stone s broken protest mingled with their low 
 parley. "I can t stand it, fellers. If I d on y 
 dremp she was one of em ! I thought it was jest a 
 parcel of wuthless niggers, an if we could break up 
 this gang, mebby we could stop the fool abolitionists 
 from bringin any more through here. J don t 
 mind their gettin away; it s jest fer the sake of the 
 town that I kicked. An* who d a thought of her 
 bein in it? I can t let it go that way, boys, no 
 how!" 
 
 Presently Jim Pennick stepped back as spokes 
 man; the other men crowded behind him. "Now, 
 Persis, you know what we re here for, an we can t 
 negleck our duty. You know that well enough." 
 
 Persis looked past him. Her eyes grew dreary 
 with sad scorn. 
 
 "An you can t expect us to leggo what we come 
 to do, not even fer anybody we like as much as we 
 like you. But " he halted, then dragged his 
 words to a focus, "But accidents will happen. 
 
A Brotherhood of Impulse 181 
 
 S posen, now, we try to take you back to town in 
 that skiff that s waitin right down yonder ye 
 see? And well, happen we d be helt back by 
 somethin , an you d git there fust. We ain t 
 responsible to no law, nateral or onnateral, fer 
 what happens nex ." 
 
 Persis set her palms on her broad hips ; she swayed 
 forward and scrutinised him. Her voice rolled out, 
 a great, soft organ-note. "Honey, you s pose I m 
 goin ter let you go back to town an be laughed 
 at, jes fer an ole nigger like me?" 
 
 Jim started. "Mammy you you damned old 
 
 fool, do as we tell you, or we ll " He set his 
 
 teeth on his breaking voice. " Come along, now, an* 
 git into the boat. We ain t got no time to lose." 
 
 He shoved Persis ahead of him into the skiff. As 
 he would have followed her, he tripped on a pro 
 jecting willow root, and sprawled headlong. It 
 was very badly done, indeed; had the hunter been 
 there to see, even his blurred wits would have 
 marvelled at the neatness of the coincidence. 
 Persis was ready for her part. With one fling of the 
 oars, she shot beyond reach. The crowd surged 
 down to the shore, howling and yelling. The de 
 spair of the hunter who sees his quarry slip from his 
 grasp was audible to the ear of faith alone. 
 
 With half a dozen strokes, Persis swung the boat 
 into the full current. Something small and heavy 
 brushed her shoulder and fell with a thud on the 
 bottom of the boat. She picked it up; it was a 
 
182 Diane 
 
 leathern tobacco-pouch, stuffed with the ready 
 money of the posse. 
 
 "Mind you pay your board while you re gone, 
 Persis," shouted Jim, through a trumpet of his 
 palms. 
 
 Persis stared dumbly at the money spilling into 
 her lap; she looked back at the dim group ashore, 
 waving brotherly hands. The oars slipped from 
 her grasp; her gray old head fell into the covert of 
 her arms. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 RESPITE 
 
 SUNDAY quiet brooded over the Commune. It 
 had rained the night before, and the tree-stems 
 stood out black against the hollowed turquoise sky. 
 The files of tulip and daffodil in the prim little gar 
 dens, tucked up against the squat, white-faced 
 houses, had yielded place to pansies and four- 
 o clocks, and snow-on-the -mountain ; the village 
 breathed of lilac. Wind and rain had tapestried 
 the flagstones with starred blossom ; but the boughs 
 still stooped with bloom. Wherever one might 
 look hung the drifted purples, heavy as the moveless 
 violet bank of rain in the western sky. 
 
 It had been a day of peace to Diane. True, the 
 dissent among the Communists was still manifest. 
 Pere Cabet s faction, made up of the Citoyens who 
 were ready and anxious to make him Dictator, still 
 refused to sit at meat with their democratic brethren, 
 who persisted in maintaining the Equal Rights 
 Charter; the carpenters of antagonistic belief would 
 not share the use of the common tools ; the children 
 in the school-room, like the wise fathers in the 
 Council, held the opposite benches which they had 
 chosen when the wrangle began, five months before. 
 
 183 
 
* 84 Diane 
 
 But beneath this crust of spite and obstinacy, the 
 spirit of the people seemed to yield. During the 
 past few days, the men had thawed so far as to 
 greet one another gayly as they went to their work. 
 Of a clear evening, the women sat no longer in dis 
 mal state, each on her snowy doorstone; instead, 
 they strolled from house to house in clamorous 
 groups, arm locked in arm, their polished sabots 
 ringing on the flags. The monthly dance, held the 
 night before in the Phalanstery, had seemed to 
 mark the passing of the storm. 
 
 Diane dimpled as she bent over her little port 
 folio. At last she had something of pleasure to 
 write to Sceur Aloysia dear Sceur Aloysia, who 
 had read, with the patience of an angel, so many 
 chronicles of despair. She frowned for shame at 
 the thought of those packets of gloom, and vowed 
 nevermore to voice her grief, by lip or by pen. 
 Though when one is eighteen and motherless, such 
 a resolve costs dear. 
 
 "Beloved and Most Honoured Reverend Sister: 1 
 So it began, this veined pink sheet, sealed with a 
 golden Cupid, written in swaying lines, fine as witch- 
 thread, shaded with firm, repeated strokes on every 
 arched and flowing capital. "It is with bliss that 
 I have read your most truthful letter to console. 
 I hope that it is that yours is of health perfect; 
 myself, I am most vigorous and all joyful. Ah, 
 my Sister, that you could have beheld the scene of 
 this evening pr6c6dent ! Picture to yourself this 
 
Respite 185 
 
 grande salle, its walls all glorious in blue and in 
 gold; this ceiling, carved of the vast beams, with 
 the thousand lamps, hung as the grape-clusters, and 
 embellished with vines and flowers savage; this 
 floor, made polished as the grand staircase of the 
 Convent ! Helas ! Canst thou remember that most 
 sad day when I have rolled from the top of that stair 
 case to the bottom, being pursued of the Sceur 
 Antonine when Eug6nie de Lanoye and I were 
 discovered to eat of the spiced bread upon an hour 
 unlawful ? 
 
 "Then upon this smooth floor behold them 
 dance; sons and fathers of the Commune, in gar 
 ments of coton bleu, and sabots, black and shining, 
 carved thin and fine ; upon the one is cut the initial, 
 upon the other a rose or a lily, all perfect, save that 
 it is black. Has it of wonder that we become so 
 proud of him which has constructed these shoes, Toni 
 Leseure? The hairs of the men are cut close; the 
 hairs of the women are arranged with magnificence, 
 although their costume composes itself also of the 
 coton bleu. The music is of heaven. Forty musi 
 cians, from the best theatres of France, with Lucien 
 Pilout, once chef d orchestre in Lyons, at their head. 
 You, yourself, honoured Sister, would find that your 
 feet must partake, even though your soul rests seated. 
 
 "The first dance is one quadrille, which the Pere 
 Cabet will lead, with the ancient Citoyenne Marthe, 
 in the old days the Baronne de Sourche. She has 
 still of beauty; her hair is as frost ; but she treads as 
 
1 86 Diane 
 
 when she danced the memiet de la cour for the 
 King Charles. Her jewels are now possessed of the 
 Commune, but her eyes still hold their sparkle; ah, 
 this is a brave spirit ! Next to them dances the 
 young Heinrich, and will lead his betrothed, Minna ; 
 they know how to dance only as they have learned 
 upon this floor; they are both of grand height, but 
 their steps contain grace. With myself will prome 
 nade Valentin Saugier, head plowman, and, by turns, 
 preceptor in history; it is as if I dance with a 
 mountain, this creature enorme, who carries me from 
 my feet with each turn, and whose step makes the 
 wall to shiver ! Beside us come Achille, the black 
 smith, and Lucie, blanchisseuse ; but do not suppose, 
 dear Sister, that mine is an ignoble vis-a-vis. Five 
 years since, Citoyen Achille Favard, blacksmith to 
 the Commune, was Monsieur Favard, Royal Engi 
 neers; Citoyenne Lucie was then Mademoiselle 
 Lucie Sagansan. The name carries no import to 
 you, dear Sister, nor to me; but they tell me that 
 when she spoke in the great Theatre, men and 
 women breathed as she commanded: they laughed, 
 they wept, they lived, with her. You could believe 
 it, could you now behold her. Small and thin, with 
 the dimmed eyes and the hands scarred with toil, 
 she has yet of magic ! You may pity her the worn 
 body, the beauty which is departed; but if she 
 speaks ! Ah, you are then hers, to follow her 
 command. Your heart is water to her will. 
 
 "The floor is crowded, for all have a part, even 
 
Respite 187 
 
 to the infants of fourteen years. At the hour of 
 eleven, there sound three notes from the great bell 
 of the Phalanstery; the women then depart to the 
 kitchen, with much of gayety. They return, 
 pushing before them the long tables, mounted upon 
 wheels, and spread with plates of white bread and 
 bowls of sweetened coffee. Regard their feast! 
 One longs to set before these brave men the fruits 
 and wines which they once enjoyed ; yet it would be 
 found difficult to make brighter the smiles of joy 
 upon those faces, when they behold even this plain 
 regale. 
 
 "The tables are removed, the musicians and 
 dancers depart, each family to its mansion; one 
 listens with delight to their singing as they disap 
 pear, holding each other hand in hand. Truly, 
 beloved Sister, it is most wonderful to behold how 
 grand a river of pleasure may flow from how small 
 a source ! 
 
 " You make request to know of what friends I am 
 possessed in this new world. I dare to count for 
 myself a friend in every member of the Commune ; 
 I have to-day, at last, won my demand of 
 the Pere Cabet, that I shall assume the garments 
 and share the labours of these, my brothers and my 
 sisters; and I feel that they will now receive me as 
 one of themselves. To-morrow I go to dress myself 
 in the gown of blue and the sabots; then I 
 shall take my place as helper in the sewing. It 
 will be sadly done, at first ; but I shall learn. 
 
1 88 Diane 
 
 "Next to the Pere Cabet in my love stands the 
 Petit Clef, an infant who has thirteen years, but 
 whose body is that of seven years alone. He is 
 as a clear sea ; one looks down, down ; but the deeps 
 are farther than the eye may follow. Through him 
 I know many of the Americans; heretics, yes; but 
 kind ! There is Monsieur le Major Faulkner, whose 
 voice booms as a great bell; there is M sieu 1 Ami 
 Barclay, and Madame, his wife, who are old and 
 possess no children, therefore they make them 
 selves father and mother to the whole world; 
 there is Mademoiselle Rose, of a tallness like to the 
 Blue Mary in the little chapel, but with the eyes of 
 brown, and the laugh like all the birds; and M sieu 
 le Capitaine Channing, her cousin, to whom, one 
 says, she has been betrothed since childhood " 
 
 Diane s fingers clinched over the pen. The page 
 swam and darkened. 
 
 "He is most kind, to Petit Clef and to myself. 
 He has taken us upon this grand river, the Mississippi, 
 in his small boat ; he has made for us fetes upon the 
 islands, and has taken us that we might see the 
 ancient Fort, far up the hills. He is orphan, like 
 myself and Petit Clef; but he has of memories; he 
 has shown to me these miniatures of his parents, and 
 has told me of his life in the nation of Virginia, and 
 of the magnanimity of the Major Faulkner, his 
 Uncle, and of Mademoiselle Rose. But he is 
 heretic; and he believes not in the Commune. 
 Man strikes each for himself, in this America/ so 
 
Respite 189 
 
 he says. He cares but for his work, and to improve 
 the estate of these miserables, the negroes, whom 
 he will attempt to aid ; for the divine doctrines of the 
 Commune 
 
 "Did I startle you, Mademoiselle?" 
 
 The pink sheet crackled beneath Diane s shut 
 fingers. Channing, breathless and laughing, stood 
 in the doorway, Petit Clef clinging to his shoulder. 
 His eyes kindled at sight of her drooped lashes, her 
 brow, hotly crimson. But, being blind, he did not 
 see the tremour of the hand which greeted him. 
 
 " We are returned from one most perilous voyage," 
 proclaimed Petit Clef. "We have made the tour 
 of the Sundered Island, we have brought back 
 beasts and fruits most marvellous." He tossed a 
 sheaf of wild geranium into her lap, and perched him 
 self on the table. " Mademoiselle has been writing. 
 Behold the stain of purple upon her fingers ! And 
 she has not yet finished, but it is well that we 
 interrupt." His hands twitched with mischief; 
 his red -brown eyes shot impish sparks. "Too 
 much of writing breeds melancholy; witness Leon 
 Ximinez, great booby of fifteen years, who does 
 not yet comprehend his alphabet. I discovered 
 him this morning, building the A, B, C with twigs, 
 upon the grass. One would imagine him a bird 
 Nebuchadnezzar, who must construct himself a 
 nest. His tears watered the earth. Helas, Petit 
 Clef, he made lament, If that most excommunicate 
 X came early in the alphabet, I would not murmur. 
 
190 Diane 
 
 Smile, if thou wilt; but I shall die in my old age 
 before that I can spell mine own name ! And 
 voila Mademoiselle, herself so pensive ! Has the 
 Commune no joys of which to write? * 
 
 "What did you do when L6on said that?" inter 
 rupted Channing, to draw the fire. Petit Clef 
 squirmed. 
 
 "That to answer is not difficult," twinkled Diane. 
 " He came not to breakfast ; when I went in search " 
 
 " Chut ! " Petit Clef glowered. 
 
 " Ah, then, I will keep silence. But I will disclose 
 that which I have found; the alphabet, most care 
 fully built of twigs, and the full name of Leon, 
 written in the clay below. And now Leon struts 
 as a peacock, for he can write and spell his mournful 
 name, even to the X most formidable. His mas 
 ter " 
 
 Petit Clef dropped from the table and limped to 
 the door. Diane winced beneath his backward 
 look of reproach. 
 
 " I go to tell my affairs to the trees," he remarked. 
 "M sieu Channing trusts his plans to one parch 
 ment sheet, with the little crosses of red; the 
 Pere Cabet shouts his from the housetop; no man 
 of wisdom hides his in the heart of a maid !" 
 
 "I d like to trust mine to one," said Channing, 
 steadily. The room dazzled with dancing white 
 lights ; his face flushed, darkly. 
 
 "Petit Clef speaks truth; not even one s dearest 
 friends are to be trusted," said Diane, remorsefully. 
 
Respite 191 
 
 "It was but in justice to him that I spoke; his jest 
 seemed so cruel ! He is as the whole Commune ; he 
 makes himself appear cold and harsh, when he is 
 all love and charity within." 
 
 No, he must not speak. She would not under 
 stand. She was only a child; she could not know 
 nor care; he dared not implore her lest he vex or 
 grieve her, this sweet lady of his love. He would 
 not add the bewilderment of his protests to her 
 burden. Her spirit had already all that it might 
 bear. Yet the blood stung in his veins; he would 
 not look at her as he spoke again. 
 
 Mademoiselle, I have come to talk with you 
 about the Commune. No, I m not here to criticise. 
 Its aims are splendid, I know, and I m too ignorant 
 to scoff at its methods. But there s trouble ahead. 
 There is peace now, but it is only a surface calm. 
 The people are exasperated with Pere Cabet, and 
 they want nothing better than the chance to break 
 with him openly. At the first affront, the colony 
 will split into factions again: it s a short step from 
 factions to ruin. The Pere Cabet he is not a 
 young man, Mademoiselle ; and his heart is bound up 
 in the Commune. And in that case what for you ? 
 
 Diane reeled a little, shaken with anger. " Fac 
 tion ! Ruin ! How dare you speak the words ! 
 Had you seen them last night at their merry 
 making, joyous as children, friends each with all ! 
 I can divine what you have come to say, M sieu; 
 that the Commune is not a fit place for me, that I 
 
19 2 Diane 
 
 should return to France. L Ami Chandler has said 
 it; M sieu Faulkner has said it; Mademoiselle Rose 
 has spoken it with her eyes. Since what time has 
 one s home ceased to be the best abiding place?" 
 " But is it home to you, Mademoiselle ? " 
 "The only one that I may ever know. My 
 people they are dead, long before I have of re 
 membrance. I am what the Pere Cabet has made 
 me. He has been father and mother." 
 
 "And the Sisters, whom you love so much?" 
 She turned sharply, thrusting the crushed pink 
 paper into her bodice. He saw the tide of flame 
 rise in her white neck. "They were most good 
 to me," she stammered. "But I have no claim 
 upon them more ! I am here according to the Pere 
 Cabet s will. He needs me, so he believes : surely 
 he is able to protect me. As if I could require 
 of protection ! Let me assure you, M sieu, the 
 Communists are not the sullen brutes you deem 
 them. They have of honour and of courage. 
 They will not fail the Pere Cabet ; they will not fail 
 to themselves!" 
 
 " Mademoiselle, what bond holds them together?" 
 Diane stared. "Surely you have read the Con 
 stitution ! The love of justice ; the plan to organise 
 labour so that each may labour for all; the hope 
 
 to gain happiness " 
 
 "There you have the real bond, Mademoiselle. 
 So we can win happiness by working for each other 
 and by making plenty of money for each other. 
 
Respite 193 
 
 And work and money are all that is necessary to our 
 content." 
 
 Diane s lips parted, quivering. 
 
 "I comprehend, Monsieur. The soul is for 
 gotten." 
 
 "The soul is forgotten." Channing was of a 
 sudden angrily embarrassed by the false shame 
 which besets the Anglo-Saxon when he finds himself 
 speaking deeply on deep things. He fought it 
 down and spoke again. 
 
 " Men have tried to live for each other in this way 
 before, Mademoiselle. To succeed at it they must 
 have one great splendid purpose so great that it 
 makes all the other things of life look small and 
 worthless beside it. It must mean more to them 
 than the wish for place and honour. Bread and 
 clothes and books must be playthings beside it. 
 The soldiers of Cromwell had such a purpose, So 
 had the Puritans. So had your own people, the 
 Huguenots, at La Rochelle. As long as men have 
 a hope like that to cling to, they ll hold together ; 
 but when they lose faith in their Plan, what is 
 there to keep them from striking out, each man 
 for himself? Will their religion hold them back?" 
 
 "The Pere Cabet he has no religion. He holds 
 that obedience to moral law is enough. He pro 
 claims, I clothe no man in Divinity. " 
 
 " Do the Colonists agree with him? Do you know 
 the name his partisans give him among themselves ? 
 Do you know that many of his followers send for 
 
194 Diane 
 
 him when they are sick, to touch and heal them? 
 
 "That is but a fond habit." 
 
 "It is that fond habit which has kept them 
 together. When they once stop worshipping him, 
 they ll be scattered in a month. But I did not 
 come just to worry you, Mademoiselle. I came to 
 tell you that my cousin Rose is to start East in 
 a month, to stay till fall at her home in Belhaven. 
 She wishes very much that you would go with her, 
 and visit her during the hot weather. You could 
 come back in October ; by that time, the Commune 
 the affairs of the Commune will be settled, in all 
 probability. You ll think we re meddling, I know; 
 but we hate to see you stay here, in this dismal 
 place, and Pere Cabet agrees with us. He says 
 he had not thought how dull and harsh the life 
 would be for you when he sent you word to come. 
 Rose is coming to-morrow, to talk it over. To be 
 sure, I know it s not my place to come and urge ; I 
 don t wonder that you re angry. But I had hoped 
 to ask, if you choose to stay, instead, that you 
 would let me care for you, if anything should 
 happen to the Pere Cabet." Channing cut him 
 self short, suddenly remembering ; the sweat beaded 
 white around his lips. What right had he, champion 
 of a forlorn cause, to drag her into his morass? 
 How dared he beg the joy of protecting her he, 
 who had pledged his strength and yielded every 
 right to the work which was to come ? 
 
 Diane frowned, wondering. He had spoken the 
 
Respite 195 
 
 last sentences in English, so rapidly that she did 
 not comprehend. He was deeply moved, she 
 knew; but her bewildered anger swept away all 
 understanding. "The Pere Cabet he would not 
 he could not send me away!" she wailed. She 
 ran to the doorway, sobbing. Channing watched 
 her as she leaned against the frame. He groaned 
 under the misery of his impotence to soothe. 
 
 Pere Cabet paced up the narrow street, gay in 
 the holiday finery which he alone of all the colonists 
 dared assume. This suit of velvet, so the colonists 
 whispered, had lain in its cedar chests for half a 
 generation, save on the rare days when its glory 
 dazzled their sight. It was of the cut of twenty 
 years before; the long-tailed coat, ablaze with gold 
 buttons ; the flaring trousers, striped with tarnished 
 braid; the broad, bell-crowned white hat, which 
 Petit Clef loved to stroke, furry as a hare s breast 
 all pictured forth the glories of the Last Bourbon. 
 The tall black stock, which braced his shaven chin, 
 struck the one uncompromising modern note; one 
 felt that Pere Cabet, the gay, the expansive, the 
 confident, must in time be strangled by this grim 
 Puritan noose. To-day his colour was high, his 
 step the ringing tread of hope. He bowed right and 
 left like a prince, never awaiting the salute of the 
 passers-by; he swung a huge gilded cane in one 
 jewelled hand; his high, seeing forehead seemed to 
 give off light. The children grave-eyed poppets, 
 a doll Commune backed away, clutching at their 
 
196 Diane 
 
 mothers skirts as he passed. The real Pere Cabet, 
 whose jeans pockets always bulged with treasure, 
 whose shoulder was a refuge, might hide beneath 
 that glittering shell; they would take no chances. 
 So might the babes of the Utopian Isle shrink from 
 the splendour of the Ambassadors. 
 
 He mounted his own steps with a flourish; he 
 greeted Channing with florid courtesy; he kissed 
 Diane s wrist. Tears, my little one? And the 
 Capitaine Channing, our chief detractor, present? 
 It is that his unbelief in our brave Commune has 
 grieved you? Ah, we will teach him! It is now 
 past three hours ; on the stroke of four, the Citoyens 
 meet, to declare their approval of my policy in our 
 last purchases of land, and to bestow upon me still 
 higher powers of appointment. Regard their con 
 fidence in me, my daughter. Is it not sublime? * 
 
 Diane clung to him; her eyes glowed. "We will 
 take with us this heretic, that he may learn the 
 truth. Ah, it will not be pleasing, Monsieur; but 
 you are clear of sight, and you are brave. You 
 will not lament to see your iron creed of self for 
 self destroyed. Nor will you try to deny its ruin." 
 
 " I shall be glad to be proved in the wrong," said 
 Channing. He put out his hand to Diane. "You 
 will go to watch my downfall, Mademoiselle?" 
 
 Diane laughed, exultant. Pere Cabet s assurances 
 had warmed her heart like wine. "Aye, Monsieur ! 
 We will soften that heart of ice ! We will show you 
 that the true Commune needs possess but the spirit 
 
Respite 197 
 
 of Brotherhood; there can be no higher purpose. 
 With that purpose, all things are its own !" 
 
 She flung on the long green silken cloak and the 
 rose-wreathed bonnet which made her holiday 
 array. Petit Clef met them as they crossed the 
 flagged path to the Phalanstery. He barred the 
 way like a mutinous chipmunk. 
 
 "I do not wish you to go to the Phalanstery, 
 Diane." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "It is not seemly. No man can say what you 
 may hear. I cannot trust you to them." 
 
 Pere Cabet leaned against a post, shaking. 
 Channing straightened his mouth with an effort. 
 
 "Then lend thyself as her escort," said Pere 
 Cabet, blandly. "Surely three men will suffice to 
 her protection." 
 
 The child set his grasp into the ruffles of her 
 flowered gown. "It is not best for her to enter. 
 I do not permit it." 
 
 Diane put her arm around him. "Is it that you 
 need me, Petit Clef?" 
 
 "Need you!" Petit Clef s mouth drooped into 
 bored creases. "Not while the sky and the trees 
 remain. It is for your own sake that I request you, 
 Mademoiselle, to stay away." 
 
 " And it is for my own sake that I insist ! " Diane 
 caught his hand and dragged him beside her, 
 laughing. "You shall come also, Petit Clef, as 
 chastisement that you have spoken so harshly to 
 
1 98 Diane 
 
 me. Also you shall hear confusion pronounced upon 
 the views of your dear friend, this scoffer, M sieu 
 Channing. Are you not intimidated, Oberon?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle!" The child twitched his hand 
 away and stalked proudly into the Phalanstery at 
 her side. "Petit Clef complains never until he 
 is hurt. My punishment is still at some distance." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 ROUGH WATER 
 
 THEY filed into the Phalanstery six hundred 
 strong, men and women poorly clad and bent with 
 toil, yet moving with the spirit and the grace 
 which neither drudgery nor want may quench from 
 gentle blood. As an audience, they were amiable, 
 but indifferent. They were here for no arduous 
 purpose ; they had come merely to give proof of their 
 agreement on the new Compromise, and to show 
 their friendliness towards the Pere Cabet. True, 
 the Pere Cabet had conducted himself as a spoiled 
 child. His quarrels with the lessees of their farm 
 land had jeopardised the spring planting; his 
 philippics against the pigs of legislators, who had 
 refused to annul the State Charter limiting his own 
 powers, had brought ridicule upon the Commune; 
 but he was still their leader, and it seemed best for 
 them to hold their solidarity by granting him meed 
 of reverence. Truly, the surface was most tranquil. 
 
 Pere Cabet rose, slowly. His hands were full of 
 eager tremors; his face, fair with the touching 
 fairness of abstemious age, gathered colour, beneath 
 those cordial glances. Ah, they were his own again, 
 these vain people, who had wandered so far after 
 
 199 
 
200 Diane 
 
 strange gods ! A weaker man might have been 
 content to rejoice over their return ; but he, Cabet, 
 could never fail in his duty to those who erred, lest 
 they stray again into crooked paths. And what 
 might be the duty of the leader, forsooth, if not to 
 admonish ? 
 
 Wise fool, he plunged at once into a bitter ar 
 raignment of the claims of the majority. The 
 right of the citizen to enjoy the fruits of his tiny 
 door-plot ; to choose his share of the work, and that 
 of his wife ; to dictate the education of his children ; 
 to use a tithe of his earnings for himself, instead of 
 pouring all into the common fund ; each separate 
 heresy was held up for their shame, then stabbed 
 through and through with merciless gibe. More 
 over, since it did not suffice that he should warn and 
 advise, he should now stamp out these evils by 
 public censure. 
 
 A breeze of dissent passed through the hall. 
 Six months before, Pere Cabet could have held an 
 audience spellbound through hours of vituperation, 
 by the spell of his witching speech; but the charm 
 was shattered. Since the February night when his 
 passion for supremacy had burst from his lips in 
 frenzied insults against the majority, those humbler 
 men who had dared to resist him, his disciples 
 themselves could not claim its spell. To-day they 
 frowned at one another, charing ; not a man of them 
 who would not have yielded himself gladly as the 
 scapegoat for his tirade, if by so doing he might 
 
Rough Water 201 
 
 draw the fire from the majority. Mockery they 
 might endure from that cool, scornful phalanx ; but 
 pity, never. 
 
 "Regard how easily are you led away, men and 
 women of the Commune, from your straight path ! 
 Witness Sosthene Magloire, to whom we have con 
 fided our funds, that he may buy for us maize for our 
 planting. He has come to me, this freluquet, 
 and has made request, mon Pere Cabet, permit 
 that I may spend my share of this money for cattle. 
 If I spend all for corn, we will produce more than 
 we can use or sell. His share, ma foil That he 
 should pit his judgment against mine, moi, Cabet ! 
 That he should claim a share, a portion, of his own ! 
 When will we learn that for us there stands no 
 longer such a word as share? The portion of the 
 one is but the portion of the all. 
 
 "Also must we strive against the evil of selfish 
 love, which reveals itself in the ways most innocent. 
 Witness Toni Sauve, who has demanded, Permit, 
 mon Pere Cabet, that I labour for an hour at night, 
 that my father may possess that hour by day, to 
 read in the cabinet de lecture. His eyes fail, and 
 to use them by night gives him much pain. Is it 
 just that I grant you this grace? I have made 
 reply. Would you do so much for any other 
 man of the Commune? Why should he, your 
 father, be dearer to you than these, your brothers ? 
 You may not give to one what you can not give to 
 all. " 
 
202 Diane 
 
 Channing fumbled stupidly for some shift to 
 break the thread. The high, upbraiding voice 
 dazzled him into groping silence. 
 
 "Then we must curb these vanities, these passions 
 for the toys which were treasured by us before we 
 learned their baseness. There stands in this Com 
 mune to-day a man who still cherishes the buckles 
 of gold which were his sister s gift to him upon his 
 day of bridal. A Citoyenne in our midst dares 
 hoard the cups and dishes of carved silver which have 
 come to her as the heritage of her race. Often 
 have I urged her to place them in the common 
 fund; always she will reply, They are come to me 
 from my mother s mother; and to my children s 
 children alone will I yield them. Shame upon you, 
 misers ! Pensioners upon the bounty of the Com 
 mune !" 
 
 A curious sigh breathed through the room. The 
 eyes of all turned as by instinct to the front bench 
 in the section held by the majority. A little white- 
 haired woman sat trimly erect on the wide seat. 
 Her clear, dark eyes watched the speaker with grave 
 meditation; her high, pure profile stood out un 
 ruffled as ivory against the frescoed wall. The 
 people nodded, approving. Even the Pere Cabet s 
 thunders might not shake the old Marquise when 
 she knew herself in the right. 
 
 " Also will I pray you, faithful disciples, that you 
 rear your children to avoid these evils. Teach them 
 to live these grand principles of Unity and Equality, 
 
Rough Water 203 
 
 even in their infant games. Teach them the laws 
 of the Commune; show them the reason why we, 
 
 the upholders of the Constitution " his swinging 
 
 gesture included the narrow array of his partisans, 
 and barred out, by the same audacious movement, 
 the crowd, dense and silent, on the left, "why we, 
 upholders of the Constitution, have triumphed 
 over our enemies, even in the face of despair !" 
 
 Channing found himself wondering dully how soon 
 the crash would come. Only the habit of reverence 
 to Pere Cabet could stave off an outbreak ; only their 
 pity for his blindness could quell the storm. 
 
 He glanced at Petit Clef; the child sat rigid and 
 pale, thrilled with the pulse of approaching crisis. 
 He looked down at Diane : beneath the airy wreathing 
 of her bonnet, her face was an ashen oval : her eyes 
 shone wide and dark. Yet there was no shame in 
 those clear depths; only a great wonder, perhaps a 
 thought of dread. She had not comprehended it 
 all not yet. 
 
 "Pere Cabet! I ask the privilege of the floor!" 
 
 The audience turned eagerly to face the speaker. 
 He stood in the midst of the majority; he was a 
 middle-aged man, gray and bent ; his serious peasant 
 face was full of mild reproach. Channing felt the 
 tremour of relief which swept the audience. Here 
 stood a champion, humble, yet strong, who might 
 regain for them their honour, without blow or 
 bitterness. 
 
 "Pere Cabet, I desire to make request of you. 
 
204 Diane 
 
 I speak for those about me." There was a flutter 
 of assent. "We ask that a change be made in the 
 government of our children. We wish that they 
 shall remain at home with us at all times, save those 
 hours when they recite at the Phalanstery. In that 
 way, those who must now spend their whole time 
 with the children can go to the fields, where they 
 are sorely needed." 
 
 The sane, commonplace words cleared the room 
 like a wave of rain-swept air. Strained faces re 
 laxed ; a buzz of eager comment filled the room. 
 
 "Pere Cabet!" 
 
 Valentin Saugier, a devoted partisan, arose on 
 the opposite side. " I desire to support the word of 
 Citizen Prev6t. The children do but ill in their 
 studies, when they are so much together. It 
 would be well that they remain each with their 
 parents, as he has said. They will not study ; they 
 spend their time in quarrels, in imitating the strife 
 in imitating the arguments of the Council. Save 
 at the hour of recitation, they are better apart." 
 
 The partisan faction nodded praises to Saugier 
 as he sat down, hotly embarrassed. The desire for 
 harmony was supreme; not a man in the hall who 
 was not frankly grateful to the two speakers for 
 bringing up an issue on which both factions could 
 agree, thus making it possible for the meeting to 
 close in peace and order. But Pere Cabet was as 
 one whom the gods would destroy. 
 
 "So you, Prevot," he measured the speaker with 
 
Rough "Water 20$ 
 
 narrowing eyes of scorn, "So you, Prev6t, would 
 dare to rise in Council and question our most wise 
 and benevolent Law ! So you, Saugier, once 
 disciple, now Judas, you would take the side of one 
 who has defied me, your leader ! Are you a fair 
 example of these, the men who have called them 
 selves my friends? Is it not enough that we have 
 bowed ourselves before our enemies, by granting 
 their plea for goods and land? Is it not enough 
 that they have forced us, by might of numbers, 
 to yield to an unjust Compromise, to grant 
 them unlawful powers " 
 
 Channing gripped Petit Clef to his shoulder; 
 Diane s ringers tightened on his free arm. The 
 audience rose at Pere Cabet, one wave of fury. 
 The majority clamoured fiercely for a hearing, for 
 justice; their faces flamed as though his words had 
 carried a fleshly sting. His partisans shouted 
 eager protests of devotion; their voices mingled 
 in torrential uproar. Pere Cabet struggled vainly 
 against the flood. His gestures, his sonorous pleas, 
 sank futile beneath the storm. He had evoked ; he 
 could not quell. 
 
 " Let me go to him ! Mon Pere Cabet ! " 
 
 Channing pushed her gently back. They stood 
 together, hemmed in by the crowd; they must 
 remain and hear ; there was no escape. Had it not 
 been for the child in his arms, Channing might have 
 thrust a way free for her. 
 
 Pere Cabet s voice pierced for an instant above 
 
206 Diane 
 
 the din. An insolent laugh answered him from the 
 left; a cry of rage from his partisans drowned the 
 laughter. Channing thrust Petit Clef behind him 
 and set his shoulder to the crowd. In another 
 moment there would be bloodshed. 
 
 "Monsieur Channing! Vive rAm6ricain!" 
 
 Channing s height had caught the eye of a vocifer 
 ous orator across the hall. A moment s hush 
 followed the shout of recognition. The daring cry 
 rose again. "Vive 1 Amerique ! You, M sieu Chan 
 ning, you who are always calm, speak for us ! Be 
 our mediator!" 
 
 The call was taken up by every throat ; it surged 
 over him, a deafening wave. "Be our mediator! 
 Give us justice! Vive rAm6ricain!" 
 
 Channing was seized and lifted upon a bench. He 
 felt the audience veer to his hand like a turning 
 boat; a fantastic terror curdled his pulses. What 
 could he do? What could he say to these strange 
 people, fired by a passion which he, alien in blood 
 and in thought, could neither understand nor 
 blame ? He caught Diane s uplifted eyes ; he raised 
 his hand and spoke. 
 
 "I have no right to talk to you, my friends. 
 Pere Cabet still has the floor." 
 
 "He will not yield us justice!" 
 
 "He reproaches us us who have upheld him!" 
 
 "He has forfeited his right to speak. Put the 
 question, M sieu. Let us vote, then go in peace!" 
 
 Channing glanced up the hall at the old man 
 
Rough "Water 207 
 
 standing forsaken upon his stage. "It s his priv 
 ilege. If you re so anxious to receive justice, why 
 can t you give it?" 
 
 "Put our case to the Pere Cabet I" rang the voice 
 which had first called him to the front. "Remind 
 him that we, the majority, count three times the 
 number of his followers. Tell him that we have 
 compromised where we had a legal right to seize all. 
 Tell him that we permitted him to hold privileges 
 which no law gives him, because he is old because 
 he delights in them. Tell him that we have borne 
 all that we will bear. We have taken him as our 
 president. Let him rule himself accordingly. Let 
 him remember ! He is President he is not dictator ! 
 
 " Listen, M sieu le Capitaine ! " It was a woman s 
 voice now, high and sweet. The little marquise 
 stood on a bench, leaning against her grandson s 
 shoulder. She dipped daintily as Channing looked 
 her way; she was composed as a Watteau figurine. 
 " Tell him for us, the mothers of the Commune, that 
 he cannot supplant blood with law; that he may 
 beguile our minds; he cannot cheat our hearts. 
 Truly, let him remember ! He may be President 
 he is not God!" 
 
 Cabet reeled forward. " Speak to them, M sieu ! " 
 he groaned. "Tell them that I have done none of 
 these things ! Tell them your true belief ! Show 
 them wherein they are wrong !" 
 
 Channing caught his breath. The thoughts which 
 had sprung unbidden whenever the Commune and 
 
208 Diane 
 
 its laws came to mind fought now for utterance. 
 They spoke themselves; his voice was hardly 
 audible, yet the words broke from his lips, piercing, 
 impassioned. 
 
 "The trouble is, you can t be human and live 
 this way. It isn t your fault ; neither is Pere Cabet 
 to blame. You ve made a beautiful System, with 
 laws that are fitted for angels, not for men; you ve 
 drawn neat little plans for life, but you haven t 
 left room for the big instincts. You forgot that 
 you d probably love your own children better than 
 the others ; you forgot that you might want to work 
 harder and make a better house for your wife than 
 the one allotted to you. You forgot that you 
 might come to hate the kind of work given out to 
 you, and be wretched because you couldn t change 
 to something else. You didn t know what sort 
 of a country you were coming to a country where 
 each one must strike out for himself, or sink. You 
 tied yourselves together and in doing that you tied 
 yourselves down. A man has to work out his own 
 salvation. You can t do it for each other. 
 
 "You re dissatisfied, so you turn and strike at 
 Pere Cabet, because he s the leader. I m the last 
 man in the world to say that either side is in the 
 wrong; the trouble lies in your trying to live un 
 naturally. You re bound to chafe under the yoke 
 of it, the best you can do. You can t blame one 
 man; you can t blame the Commune; it s the fault 
 of the System. And as long as you maintain this 
 
Rough "Water 209 
 
 unnatural law, this struggle for equality, when you 
 know that men never were equal and never will 
 be just so long will you suffer." 
 
 He stopped. The hall was perilously still. 
 
 Pere Cabet reeled from the platform and stumbled 
 down the aisle. He took Diane s hand; he would 
 have snatched Petit Clef away, but the child clung 
 obstinately to Channing s neck. " So you also 
 would stab me, M sieu ! You, whom I have trusted ! 
 You would destroy the one hope which is yet 
 mine the faith of my people !" 
 
 Channing heard him patiently. It did not come 
 to him at once what he had done. 
 
 "I knew you were an enemy, M sieu." Diane s 
 whisper hurt like a turning knife. " Yet I thought 
 not that when we lay at your mercy, you would 
 utterly destroy." 
 
 Her trailing skirts brushed his knee as she walked 
 away, clinging to Pere Cabet s arm. The people 
 made way for them in silence. They made way, 
 too, for Channing, who staggered, white and staring, 
 down the long, whispering lane. The child still 
 hung to his neck when he reached the river bank 
 and stooped to cast the Celandine loose. 
 
 "Good-bye, M sieu le Capitaine. It will be a 
 long day till you return." 
 
 Channing understood. He stood up to push off. 
 
 "You have committed the sin inexpiable. The 
 Pere Cabet cannot forgive you. Mademoiselle will 
 not. Her anger will be a thing of duty." 
 
2io Diane 
 
 Channing cast off the skiff. It came to him with 
 a dull pang that the child might have spared him 
 these pin pricks. Under a stern impulse, he had 
 spoken cruel truths. Yet he had not dreamed that 
 they would grieve; they had said themselves, these 
 mighty convictions, strong past his curbing. He 
 would pay for his words. He was already paying. 
 It was not necessary to add to his stripes. 
 
 " For myself, however, I am a believer in miracles." 
 The child s clear voice floated out to him as he slid 
 away into deep water. " Farewell, and good for 
 tune, M sieu. A miracle may be performed against 
 your return if you do not return too soon. In 
 the meantime Adieu ! And a good journey ! " 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN 
 
 THE river was a witchery of dreaming shadow 
 and silver light. Shoreward the mist -dimmed shal 
 lows lay black as enchanted wells ; but each star 
 ray lit arrowy flaws down the rippling channel, and 
 braided dim willow and tossing stream into a mesh 
 of shimmer and gloom. Friend Barclay guided his 
 boat cautiously past rock and bar till she sidled 
 against the steamer s bow. Then he stood up in 
 the darkness, calling softly: 
 
 "Robert! Oh, Robert!" 
 
 " That you, Friend Barclay ? " The Major s heavy 
 step grated across the deck. " Bob went up to the 
 Commune this afternoon, and hasn t got back yet. 
 Come aboard, won t you? It s late to be out on 
 the water, these aguish nights." 
 
 " Thank thee, I believe I ll row on up and meet 
 Robert. It will be on my way home, and I m 
 anxious to return thither. I have been away all 
 week, at Yearly Meeting. Robert is well, of 
 course?" 
 
 The Major flung his cigar away and leaned out 
 over the rail. "No, he s not. I m worried about 
 that boy." His voice took on a hoarse, anxious 
 
 211 
 
212 Diane 
 
 note. " I wish you d take hold of him and give him 
 Hail Columbia for the way he s been overworking. 
 He won t listen to me. He slaves night and day; 
 caught him working on his specifications for that 
 new cut at one o clock in the morning, Tuesday. 
 
 And another thing " he leaned closer and spoke 
 
 under his breath "I don t like his going to the 
 Commune so much, Barclay. It won t do, I tell 
 you ; it won t do at all ! Young men are getting 
 their heads full of fool notions nowadays. I ve 
 talked to old Cabet myself, and I ll allow it all 
 sounds very fine. But you know, and I know, that 
 kind of thing won t work. It s attractive, though; 
 and here s Bob, all on tip-toe to run into just such 
 a trap, and his father a Brook Farmer before him 
 one of those crack-brained enthusiasts " 
 
 "Thee needn t worry about Robert s taking up 
 with the Commune. He hasn t a particle of faith 
 in its plans. He s vexed Friend Cabet time and 
 again with his plain speaking." 
 
 "Well, there s something wrong, anyway. The 
 boy is working himself sick by day and brooding 
 himself sick by night. Get it out of him, if you 
 can. He has more confidence in you than in me, 
 any day." 
 
 "I ll try to be of aid to him, if I can. Good 
 night." 
 
 He paddled slowly away. He did not try to 
 watch for Channing s boat. In that glancing blur 
 the keenest sight would have been unavailing. 
 
The Hour Before the Dawn 213 
 
 Near at hand the river was a sheet of dark glass ; it 
 shattered into diamond sparkles beneath the dipping 
 oar; it gloomed in illusive shadow where a floating 
 branch, a derelict plank, tricked the eye into belief 
 of voyagers. For many feet from either shore 
 the dusk seemed to project outward, like a dim 
 roof the very eaves of night. 
 
 Friend Barclay put his boat into mid-channel. 
 The swift current tugged mightily against the oars; 
 it took hard pulling to make headway. He could 
 do little more than hold his own against it. From 
 time to time he checked his stroke, and called; 
 now and then he whistled a slow, intermittent 
 trill. One who could not see would have thought it 
 the sleepy call of a half -awakened bird, deep in the 
 willow brush. 
 
 At last there echoed an answering note. Friend 
 Barclay put his boat about; there loomed a dusky 
 blot, dark on the darker water, across near the 
 Illinois shore. It approached steadily; it took on 
 swift, familiar form. In a moment, the two boats 
 rocked softly side by side, and the men were shaking 
 hands. 
 
 "You wanted me, Friend Barclay?" 
 
 "I ve just come from the steamer. No, I came 
 only to bring thee a message. A letter reached me 
 this morning from our friends in Kansas. It has 
 been on the way for five weeks, delayed by 
 fear of raiders, I dare say. There is an enclosure 
 for thee." 
 
214 Diane 
 
 Channing opened the sheet and peered at the 
 fine, distinct characters. In that faint starlight, he 
 could not read the page; yet the meaning leaped 
 out to him. From the curt beginning to the 
 brusque angular signature, the summons flared as 
 in lines of fire. 
 
 Friend Barclay leaned on his oar and looked in 
 tently at the younger man. In these few days, his 
 face had changed mysteriously, he thought. To be 
 sure, the bleaching moonlight might be answerable 
 for his strange new pallor; but the change was not 
 one of colour alone. The straight lips had hardened ; 
 the eyes were sunken and dark. His look betrayed 
 neither interest nor weariness ; only a bleak dulness , 
 a chilling quiet. Friend Barclay felt oddly that in 
 this short week something of the boy had slipped 
 away lost for all time to come; the morning joy 
 that had lighted his eyes and had rung in his laughter ; 
 the hope, the noble trust, the courage Ah, no ! 
 Not that ! 
 
 He turned in his seat with a sigh. Channing 
 looked up. 
 
 "No, I m in no hurry for thee to finish. I was 
 wondering what thee d say. Friend John had 
 written me what he intended to ask of thee." 
 
 Channing folded the letter. " I can t decide yet. 
 I ll talk of it with you to-morrow." 
 
 "Thee s tired. The matter may well rest till 
 another time. Faulkner tells me thee went up to 
 the Commune to-day. Is it well with them?" 
 
The Hour Before the Dawn 215 
 
 "No. There was some trouble a week or so ago 
 at their Council. That isn t patched up yet. I 
 was to blame for most of it. They called on me to 
 speak, and I did ; I tried to smooth things over, but 
 I only made it worse. To-day I went up again, to 
 try and explain to Pere Cabet." 
 
 "Did thee succeed?" 
 
 " I didn t see any one but Petit Clef." 
 
 " I understand. Does thee think it can hold 
 together much longer?" 
 
 "I m afraid not." 
 
 "I said as much to Etienne Cabet a fortnight 
 since," mused Friend Barclay. "I came out with 
 it plumply; in case of a revolt, what would he do 
 for Diane? He answered me that no such danger 
 threatened; that the spirit of the people was again 
 most harmonious. But he added that he has 
 decided to send Diane to France next month, with 
 thy cousin s friends, if possible. He has decided 
 that the Commune is no place for her. As he 
 says, She cannot be happy here, surrounded by 
 those who are so far beneath her in station. If she 
 returns to Paris, she will take her proper rank/ 
 I was tempted to ask him why she was not as well 
 off here, since he, by his omnipotence, has placed 
 all creatures on the same level. But it would ill 
 become me to bandy words. I can see that he de 
 sires to make her safe and happy; from what he 
 went on to say, I judged that she will receive every 
 care and every luxury from the friends to whom she 
 
2i6 Diane 
 
 will go. It would have been better had he allowed 
 her to remain with them all the way through." 
 
 Channing listened, quietly. Friend Barclay s 
 words were severing the last cords which anchored 
 him here. He saw himself cast adrift ; he felt him 
 self yielding to the mighty sweep of the current 
 which had risen about him, inch by inch, these 
 last weeks. His hand shut hard over the folded 
 letter. 
 
 "We d as well go ashore, Friend Barclay. But 
 I ll say now that I think I ll go West, as soon as I 
 can send in my papers and get my resignation 
 through. I can t keep my hands out of the 
 work; and I can t stand it to stay in Govern 
 ment service while I am deliberately breaking a 
 law. It s the old riddle. There s only one way to 
 solve it." 
 
 "Thee s right, Robert. But thee s not deciding 
 too hastily? Thee has considered everything?" 
 
 " There is not much left to consider." Channing s 
 oars flashed silver as the Celandine backed 
 away. "We ll talk more of it to-morrow. Good 
 night." 
 
 He sat through the night in his state-room, the 
 letter laid open before him. Its stern command 
 pulsed through his heart like the call of rallying 
 bugles. If through its solemn peal there jarred a 
 note of fanatic passion, he could not hear. The 
 thunder of its exalted plea, the cry for a free country, 
 drowned every other cadence to his ears. 
 
The Hour Before the Dawn 217 
 
 "LAWRENCE POST-OFFICE, 
 
 Territory of Kanzas, 
 April 28, 1856. 
 
 "ROBERT CHANNING. 
 
 "Sir: The territory of Kanzas is in bitter Straits. 
 I told you a month since of the burdens under which we 
 labour in our effort to make it a free State. We are 
 now in still worse case, for the ice has gone out, and the 
 river permits passage to invading mobs from the South. 
 Free-State settlers and their families are daily menaced 
 by these Pro-slavery Bands. These Companies are 
 made up of the Scum and Offscouring of the Nation. 
 To our shame, many Northern men have joined them, 
 for the sake of plunder. They come from Mo. , Kentucky, 
 and even Georgia. They cross the Mo. River in armed 
 bands, pillage farms, strip the small Towns, and drive 
 out all citizens who are known to be Free-State men. 
 They seize the Polls when elections are to be held, and 
 cast their own votes for slavery, although they have 
 not the Shadow of right so to do, for they are not citizens, 
 nor even property-holders in the Territory. They often 
 force the judges, at the point of the revolver, to report 
 the election falsely. Such men as dare cast an anti- 
 slavery vote in their presence do so at their lives risk, 
 and are always roughly Handled. They end their day 
 of Terror by looting the stores; or if their numbers 
 do not admit of this, they burn farmhouses and 
 run off cattle. In our neighbourhood there are but 
 two horses left out of 200 head, and that because of 
 their ill Condition. Of my own family, my eldest Son 
 has twice seen his Cabin in Ashes, and his family 
 driven to the woods. My house was burnt the night 
 
2i8 Diane 
 
 before I got home, but I am having good success 
 rebuilding. 
 
 "I am promised aid of money and Arms from the 
 Emigrant Aid Ass n; and a large body of Free-State 
 settlers, from Maine and Vermont, well armed, are on 
 the way: but the Mo. river is now patrolled by Pro- 
 Slavery men, and it is thus closed to Free-State passing. 
 All men and supplies must come by waggon from Iowa 
 City, where the railroad ends. This is a hard journey 
 of 600 miles. 
 
 "I need men more than guns. I ask you to come 
 and help me in this work. It is not of necessity a work 
 of Bloodshed. My plan is to form an armed Force 
 large enough to discourage these Marauders from trying 
 any more attacks. Your work will be to meet the in 
 coming waggon trains some miles E. of the Kansas 
 boundary, and to protect them until they reach the 
 point where they intend to settle. You will have a 
 force of six to ten men under you. We cannot spare 
 more. You will find letters and maps at the office of J. 
 Steele, in Iowa City. 
 
 "It will be hard work. The danger is always 
 great. There is no other way to win freedom for 
 Kanzas. Freedom for Kanzas will mean freedom for 
 the Nation. 
 
 "You may think that we cannot muster men 
 enough. Remember that a few men, in the right, 
 and knowing they are right, can overturn a mighty 
 city. For God has given the strength of the hills to 
 freedom. 
 
 "Your Friend, 
 
 JOHN BROWN." 
 
The Hour Before the Dawn 219 
 
 Across the back ran a single line, still in small, 
 clear characters. The plea of the letter crystallised 
 in those ten potent words : 
 
 " Remember those that are in bonds as bound with 
 them." 
 
 Channing folded the letter and put it carefully 
 away. He stepped through his narrow doorway to 
 the deck. The world was one great darkness; only 
 a few stars flickered, high and clear. He swung 
 himself into the Celandine and pushed away up the 
 river. Not knowing where he went, he was turning 
 to the one place of comfort that he knew. 
 
 The water hissed softly beneath the boat; faint 
 coruscations shone from the ruffled surface, as though 
 his oar caught and lifted light from the depths below. 
 It was lighter, he knew, on the water than ashore; 
 yet the darkness seemed to creep and cling about 
 him, a soft, enfolding dread. There was no wind; 
 there rose from time to time a long, cool sigh, that 
 set the willows whispering; the deep breath of the 
 river, dank and heavy-sweet. Channing inhaled it 
 with an effort. It seemed as though the black air 
 caught in his throat. The darkness was not night 
 to the vision alone; one felt, one heard, the vast, 
 unfathomable gloom. 
 
 The air stirred lightly; an inquiring bird-note 
 fluted from the Island thickets. The darkness 
 seemed to melt, slowly; through the dissolving 
 murk one caught dim monstrous outlines, phantom 
 vistas. Gray mist fleeces piled along the mounded 
 
220 Diane 
 
 shore. The water purred along the bow, lapping 
 chill drops against his hand ; all the sedges shivered 
 under the light, cold wind of dawn. 
 
 The breeze rose steadily. It stripped the fog 
 from the river; broad patches shone out, hard and 
 gray, a river of steel beneath the steely sky. The 
 vapour rolled to left and right in vast, dim wind 
 rows, obedient to some mysterious current; he 
 rowed between their opalescent billows as through 
 rent, streaming curtains of film. The stars were 
 paling now; the sky shifted from steel to ashen 
 gray, from gray to silver. Long, trembling flashes 
 glanced away down the river in the wake of the 
 fleeting wind. The world grew very still. 
 
 High on the farthest slope his eye found that which 
 it sought a huddle of squat white houses, tumbled 
 like toy blocks about the broad, low block of the 
 Phalanstery. To the right soared the Great 
 Temple. Its mighty walls gaped broken and de 
 spoiled; the massive blocks, quarried and fitted 
 with painful, reverent labour, had been torn away 
 to fulfil their service in other buildings. The 
 facade alone sprang unmarred, an incredible tower 
 ing bulk. Its clumsy pillars, its vast uncouth arch, 
 its bald, ungainly carvings, all its huge futility, 
 seemed the work of a race long dead; a race 
 of giants; this hulking ruin the one relic of 
 their childish imagery, their measureless strength. 
 And it appealed. Its blank window-spaces were 
 as blind patient eyes, waiting ; a rent mask, spurned, 
 
The Hour Before the Dawn 221 
 
 dishonoured, yet royal in failure, it lay and crumbled 
 to its doom. 
 
 Channing grounded his boat in the shallows of 
 Sundered Island. He leaned on his oar, his eyes 
 still searching the eastern hills; in the darkness of 
 his own night, he had no care for the miracle of the 
 awakening world. Somewhere in one of those 
 squat white houses she slept the woman of his 
 worship, the princess of his dream. His love was no 
 more the easy tenderness for her beauty, her inno 
 cence, her youth. It tortured him with sore 
 longing; it cried aloud in his heart. Her face swam 
 before his aching eyes ; he could see the veined lids, 
 the parted downward sweep of crisp bronze curls 
 above the starry forehead, the oval cheek, the 
 most lovely mouth. He watched her stoop, both 
 hands outstretched, to coax Petit Clef ; he watched 
 her as she stepped from his boat, gathering the 
 soft, long flow of silken skirts from her little feet, 
 then turn to wait for him to wait for him ! He 
 saw the slow flush burn to her throat while he 
 laughed with her at the Phalanstery door; and he 
 saw the blue eyes darken, the dear lips pale, as 
 she turned on him when he would have aided her, 
 to whisper that merciless sentence; that reproach 
 which would echo in his heart forever. 
 
 He had thought to do his best to save a perilous 
 moment. He had done his worst, instead. His 
 clumsy toil had only widened the breach. He had 
 stabbed where he would have healed. And he had 
 
222 Diane 
 
 hurt her, he had grieved her beyond the wish, beyond 
 the power, to forgive. His pleading letters had 
 come back to him, their seals unbroken. He had 
 begged to see her; one moment s speech with her, 
 he believed, might win his pardon. She would not 
 let him come. He found himself breathing her 
 name over and over, as it might have been an Ave 
 for his transgression. " Diane! Diane!" 
 
 With his love was always mingled the father 
 instinct, the yearning to protect. Now it im 
 plored him above the plea of the lover s passion. 
 She was so solitary, so uncared for ! The colonists 
 might admire, but their jealousy blighted every 
 kindlier feeling. To Pere Cabet alone was she most 
 dear; but dearer still was the Institution, and it 
 drained his powers to the lees. He was too ab 
 sorbed to notice; what could one ask of this old 
 stricken man, staggering through his last dark 
 failure? How could he leave her, alone and unde 
 fended, in her angel innocence, to face this certain 
 storm ? 
 
 Yet the call of his promise rang through his 
 memory; that solemn message rose before his 
 eyes. 
 
 He strove to recall what Friend Barclay had said 
 of Diane. The words came back slowly. They 
 brought a new, stinging meaning. "Pere Cabet 
 would send Diane abroad with Rose s friends." 
 "She would have every care and every luxury. 
 "In her proper station," There lay the sting. 
 
The Hour Before the Dawn 223 
 
 What more could he ask for her? What more 
 could he wish for his own comforting than this 
 assurance, this certainty that she should be given 
 all things which her heart might desire? Nothing, 
 surely, unless that greatest right: the right to 
 give. 
 
 He fought it out, inch by inch. At best, if he 
 should burn this letter, if he should take his hand 
 from the plough, and stay in his present work, 
 he could give but little, compared to the splendours 
 which life in her real home would bring. With 
 him, her place would be obscure ; there, it would be 
 lofty. With him, life would be must be harsh 
 and dull. He could not ask her to share its slow 
 ascent. And what good lay in all this threshing 
 of straw? She did not love him. Her grave in 
 difference proved it ; her calm silences proclaimed it. 
 Her soft, cruel words had thrust the truth into his 
 heart. He was a fool, an upstart, to dare the 
 dream. And then the letter ? 
 
 The world lay hushed, a place of waiting; the 
 silence seemed to hang, breathless, upon his word. 
 Far past the hills, a slow flame burned and grew; 
 its radiance lit a courier cloud; the east blazed 
 roseate, one trumpet-call of flame. 
 
 The mists fled, tattered, trembling; the last star 
 faded, dim. The river flushed awake, an aureate 
 flood. Trailing his cope of fire, calm, silent, glorious 
 the pontifical Day strode over the crouching hills 
 
 Even through the shattered windows of the 
 
224 Diane 
 
 Temple shone the impelling light. He read its 
 inexorable message ; his soul bowed to its command. 
 Despite grieved love, and dread, and that fear of 
 shame which darkens the depths of the bravest, 
 peace came to him with the morning. His life 
 might be but a shattered temple rudely built, 
 unwisely planned; yet if the healing light could 
 shine through his poor days, how dared he mourn 
 the wreck of the toy hopes which he had dared to 
 dream ? 
 
 He rowed home silently, with scarce a flicker 
 of oars on the mist -sheeted water. It was as though 
 he passed with hushed step through a shrine. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 BROK EN CAB LES 
 
 "You don t understand me, Major?" 
 
 The Major sat forward, heavily. His hands 
 locked and unlocked across his knees; the colour 
 dropped slowly from his handsome, ruddy face. 
 Grim circles deepened under his haggard eyes. 
 Grim furrows etched themselves around his mouth. 
 
 "I don t want to understand, Bob." 
 
 Channing was silent, sick at heart. 
 
 "I don t want to believe that my dead sister s 
 son could be a traitor. For it s treachery, nothing 
 else. You don t realise that, Bob; you ve been 
 duped and blinded by that fool, Wendell Phillips 
 and that old scoundrel, Brown. It s a beautiful 
 theory. There s a lot of likely fellows that have 
 been tricked the same way, centuries back. But 
 they ve all gone down. You can t tamper with a 
 man s God-given rights. You can t defy a system 
 made and approved by God Himself, and escape. 
 Give it up, Bob. Stand by the laws of your country. 
 Keep the honour of your blood." 
 
 "Law doesn t make for justice always, Major. 
 A man must listen to his own judgment." 
 
 Judgment ! When you ve been filling your 
 225 
 
226 Diane 
 
 ears with that damned Liberator drivel! When 
 you ve put the whims of a desperado, a fanatic, 
 above the word of the wisest men of your day !" 
 
 "I ve thought it all over, Major. I ve tramped 
 the whole road every step of the way. The 
 Fugitive Slave Law is wrong; I shall not obey it. 
 Slavery itself is wrong. I can t help to destroy 
 it now, but the time is coming when I shall. But I 
 can fight to keep it out of free territory. Yes, I 
 know. It s treachery in your eyes; in mine, it s 
 the one honest way. I wrote two weeks ago, and 
 sent in my resignation to the Department; the 
 acceptance came yesterday. I leave for Kansas 
 to-day." 
 
 " Bob, you re mad ! You re throwing away every 
 business chance you ll ever have. You re putting 
 yourself on the level of a common criminal. You re 
 ruining your whole life. I can t have it so. You 
 and Rose are all I ve got left in the world. And 
 you so like your mother, I used to feel you all 
 but took her place for me ! I d rather see you dead 
 than this ! Judith s boy ! And she the bravest 
 little noble soul ! Judith s boy !" 
 
 Channing stared down at the bowed gray head. 
 So stared the victim at his torturer, as the slow 
 rack tightened on the writhing flesh. 
 
 "If I mean all that to you, Major, then you 
 know what it means for me to give you up 
 and Rose." A dull white line had settled around 
 his mouth; his breath came in gasps. "You ve 
 
Broken Cables 227 
 
 been home and friends and father and mother. But 
 I ve got to go my own road. You believe I m 
 dishonourable. Perhaps. I m taking the only course 
 my conscience permits. I thought with you, till 
 I came out here. Then I began to see things, and 
 I knew. There s no use in arguing, Major. Let 
 me go. And good-bye. 1 
 
 The Major towered, shaking. He struck down 
 Channing s offered hand. Grief and anger struggled 
 in his drawn, anguished face. "Go, then!" he 
 burst out, trembling. " I ve trusted you, I ve 
 depended on you, I ve made you my son. I might 
 have known better. It s in the blood ! You had 
 Judith, my Judith, for a mother. But what a 
 father ! That damned Yankee abolitionist, that 
 canting thief " 
 
 Channing held himself as in a leash of steel. 
 
 " I needn t have expected anything else. I was 
 an old fool. But I comforted myself with you, I 
 hoped go on, then ! Trample your country s 
 laws, break her commandments. And never dare 
 claim me as yours again. Keep your hands off me, 
 sir. Go!" 
 
 Channing blundered out of the cabin. 
 
 All June mocked him as he crossed the deck. 
 The river flashed in high sunlight; every bend and 
 island flaunted gold and green. The Celandine 
 tossed softly alongside, her fine lines blinding white 
 and gold in the vivid light. He let himself down 
 awkwardly into the boat, and rowed ashore 
 
228 Diane 
 
 Winnie, his blooded mare, stood tied on the bank, 
 already saddled for the journey. She watched her 
 master with wide deer eyes, and whimpered her im 
 patience when the current swept him again and 
 again out of his course. Never before had she 
 waited so long for him to make the short row to 
 land. Her delicate ears flattened petulantly when 
 at last he beached the boat and staggered ashore. 
 She nuzzled his shoulder, murmuring soft reproof, 
 like a petted child, then tossed her head away with 
 a resentful snort, when her blandishments won 
 neither sugar nor caresses. 
 
 Channing stood looking dully at the scene behind. 
 Through these months of sickening doubt, he had 
 longed more than once for the time when he should 
 turn his back upon the boats forever. The very 
 sight of them flung his disloyalty in his face. Since 
 the wild March dawn of his coming, the days had 
 crowded upon him, laden with strange daunting 
 cares. Every day had scored its crisis; every hour 
 had cast its pebble upon his load. He stooped 
 beneath the memory of those weeks as though it 
 were a bodily weight. His life before this year 
 faded into mists of forgetting, shadowy, remote; a 
 lingering childhood, rounded with machine-made 
 duties, trivial, sunny, prettily ordered. Through 
 this long, daunting spring he had learned for the 
 first time to read the meaning of his Life its harsh, 
 inexorable message, its renunciations, its hopes, its 
 loneliness, its vast unspeakable despair. 
 
Broken Cables 229 
 
 Yet bitter as were the associations of the place, 
 he looked upon it now as a man looks upon the 
 face of his beloved dead. The little group of boats ; 
 the great flashing river, leaping in shatter of jewel 
 and foam across the rapids, dim and sweetly grave 
 in deep, shoreward pools ; the wreathed hills to the 
 west; the burning, blinding splendour of the sky. 
 It was all simple enough commonplace, perhaps; 
 unutterably dear. He would leave it behind, 
 and with it he would abandon the torturing problems 
 which the months here had thrust upon him. 
 And, leaving it, he would abandon his right to home 
 and friends; his honoured place in the world; his 
 dreams of success in the work which was as the 
 breath of his nostrils. And he would yield up his 
 right to all dearer hope, besides. 
 
 He bowed his head upon the mare s arched neck. 
 Winnie turned her head with swift, questioning 
 glance, then tucked her silken muzzle against his 
 knee. Womanlike, she forgot her own pique in 
 the joy of giving comfort. 
 
 Three miles up the river he checked the mare and 
 dismounted, to shift the saddle-bags. The road 
 ran through the abandoned quarry from which the 
 Temple blocks had been cut ; it was a mere twisting 
 bridle-path, quarried high between river and preci 
 pice, powdered with glittering flints, glaring white 
 beneath the noonday sun. Winnie sidled back 
 when he attempted to remount; she put up a 
 slender forefoot with a nicker of protest. Channing 
 
23 Diane 
 
 looked at her stupidly. He put his foot in the 
 stirrup and would have leaped into the saddle. 
 Winnie reared wildly, and struck out, cat -fashion, 
 with all four hoofs. Channing pitched backwards 
 and rolled to the very brink of the ledge, but caught 
 himself in a low-growing oak. He crept to his 
 feet, dizzy and bewildered. What could the cieature 
 mean? 
 
 "What s up, Winnie?" He tried to stroke her, 
 but she shrank away. "Come, now, I wouldn t 
 hurt you " 
 
 "Imbecile!" The voice rang piercing clear from 
 the height of the bluff. " Animal ! Cease torturing 
 your wise beast. Remove the stone !" 
 
 It took Channing some moments to recognise the 
 speaker. He had a curious sense of having seen 
 this tiny, blue-clad form, this sparkling face, in 
 another world, dream-distant. 
 
 "Come down here, Petit Clef. What stone? 
 Where?" 
 
 " Sacred cabbage ! Does she collect of the pebbles 
 in her eye or in her ear ? In her foot, to be sure ! 
 Where else?" 
 
 Petit Clef scrambled recklessly from one sliding 
 foothold to another till he reached Channing s 
 side. " Behold how she lifts her foot and beseeches 
 that you relieve her ! Ah, the clever demoiselle ! 
 Quick now, maladroit! To it!" 
 
 Channing took out his pocket-knife and removed 
 the stone. Winnie, promptly reassured, bent her 
 
Broken Cables 231 
 
 pretty head and watched him gravely. Petit Clef 
 rummaged in his pockets and produced a grimy 
 bit of spice-bread, which she mumbled delightedly, 
 and repaid in damp and smothering kisses, to 
 his discomfiture. 
 
 "I do not esteem the way that you of America 
 caress those whom you love," he complained, 
 dodging her velvet nose. "There are women, great 
 ladies from the East, who come sometimes to visit 
 the Commune ; they also kiss me as does Winnie, an 
 embrace so large, that it covers one s face entire, 
 and chokes A-aah ! It is the salute of a sponge. 
 Conduct yourself with more of reserve, demoiselle. 
 
 "You take your diversions early in the day, 
 M sieu," he went on, after a pause. "It would 
 seem that the spring had gotten into our blood, all 
 of us. The Pere Cabet has departed this morning, 
 by stealth, upon the ferry, not to return till moon- 
 rise. He has charged me that I betray his going 
 to no man of the Commune, therefore they deem 
 that he works in his office, and will not be disturbed. 
 Probably he has slipped forth to make merry with 
 the gnomes in those far hills, is it not so? To 
 dance with Philomele, to contend at archery with 
 Robin Goodfellow? Yet it is strange that he has 
 taken with him so many papers of law, all those 
 sealed documents which hold for us the lands of the 
 Commune in Iowa. Even the great seal of Icaria 
 itself he has taken from its locked case. Perhaps it 
 is that he has gone to the House of Law across the 
 
232 Diane 
 
 hills, to sell those lands, or to claim them for himself, 
 as his own, while the Citoyens toil on, unknowing !" 
 
 Channing listened, submissively. The words rus 
 tled past him like a flight of stinging midges. He 
 noticed them as little. 
 
 "Also our Citoyenne Diane is forth, to take the 
 air, dragged by force from the room of sewing. 
 She has gone with te Mademoiselle Rose and the 
 Lieutenant Palmer to explore the Sundered Island. 
 They have honoured me with the wish that I bear 
 them company. But I like not the Lieutenant 
 Palmer as fellow-voyager. He treats me as bon 
 enfant, truly; yet he always laughs, laughs, no 
 matter what I may say. Since I am small, yet 
 talk with words so enormous, he views me as buffoon, 
 as Pierrot; he looks always at Citoyenne Diane, 
 to see that she enjoys it my absurdity. M sieu, 
 what haste ! Do not leave me behind ; I would go 
 with you to the Fort." 
 
 "How can you get home again? I shall not 
 come back to-night." 
 
 "There are always those who delight themselves 
 in doing me a grace," said Petit Clef, blandly. 
 "Brother Paul drove his ox-cart to the Fort this 
 morning, with a load of chain. He will rejoice in 
 the honour of my company. Or, if we meet not 
 with him, there is Thore, who went up last 
 night, on the Silver Arrow, taking his canoe also, 
 and many osier baskets, to sell in the town. He 
 will finish his errands this morning and row down 
 
Broken Cables 233 
 
 to-night ; there will be a seat and a soft cushion for 
 me, if I choose to journey with him. No, take me 
 in front of you, upon the saddle; it is not fitting 
 that I, the guest, should crouch ignobly behind." 
 
 Channing set the child before him, and lashed the 
 tiny crutches to the saddle-bags. The merciless 
 chatter was rousing him, slowly yet surely, from 
 his torpor of despair. Thought awoke once more. 
 The realisation of his sundered life; the meaning of 
 this ride, beat down upon him like clangorous bells. 
 As life flows back through a frost-numbed limb, so 
 consciousness returned, with stings of recollection, 
 with throbbing agonies. Yet better pain than this 
 blind apathy. 
 
 Petit Clef settled himself with much fidget and 
 circumstance, like a whimsical kitten. Channing s 
 free arm tightened around the child as they started 
 away. It was good to feel the weight of the soft 
 little body against his own. 
 
 "What may your errand be at the Fort, mon 
 ami?" 
 
 "I have no errand there. I am going farther 
 north." 
 
 "H m-m." Petit Clef braided three strands of 
 Winnie s mane with exquisite care. "You please 
 yourself to be mysterious, M sieu. Perhaps you 
 go to look upon that great swarm of emigrants, who 
 passed the Commune yesterday, upon the plank 
 road. Such horses ! Such wagons, with their white 
 tops, like great white birds! They carried with 
 
234 Diane 
 
 them all things which one needs for a home, save 
 the house itself and the well, perhaps. They 
 invited me to dine with them ; it was a thing amazing 
 to behold of beef and of potatoes boiled upon a 
 stove lashed in one wagon to see it served and 
 passed about to the voyagers, as one serves at a 
 Commune banquet. We sat on the grass, holding 
 our plates, clean shingles, upon our knees; we 
 laughed, we joked, all were free and joyous. They 
 showed me their bedrooms, those broad wagons in 
 which they sleep; boxes in ranks of three rose one 
 over another, with linen white as the capstrings of 
 Mere Drouet, and pillows soft as her palm. I 
 climbed upon one wagon and found a shoemaker 
 within, squatted upon his bench, pounding with all 
 his might ; the leather stood around him in rolls as 
 tall as Winnie, fit to make shoes for a colossus. In 
 another wagon stood the blacksmith with his forge; 
 on still another Ah, you should have seen that ! 
 were piled the tubes of iron and the wheels and 
 boilers for a mill; eight oxen dragged this load, 
 yoked side by side; twice that morning had they 
 stopped, to throw water upon the blazing axles, 
 kindled by the rubbing of the monstrous weight. 
 It was a marvel ! Yet these things are not so 
 strange as to behold the people themselves, flocking 
 always to the West. They must leave their homes, 
 not so? And their friends, and all the places 
 which are dear to them ? Yet they go on, on, as the 
 wild pigeon flocks, always to the sunset. Is it that 
 
Broken Cables 235 
 
 the whole world will hurry away to this strange 
 West? So they have passed all spring, those 
 white wagons, ever crawling; so they passed last 
 year, and the year before ah, tou jours ! It is 
 the pilgrimage of a nation." 
 
 The narrow road climbed slope and ledge; it 
 glimmered white through twilight thickets, where 
 the wild grape tossed its silvery censers, and the 
 dim air thrilled with nestling twitter; it forded 
 swift brown runnels, breast-high; it bent to the 
 river again, and trailed along the sandy rim, sedate. 
 Always the man rode silent, unheeding. Always 
 the child voice piped its sweet, ruthless tale. 
 
 "Yonder lies Red Beak, where we rowed, the 
 four of us, to hold the festival of birthday for 
 Citoyenne Diane. Do you remember, M sieu le 
 Capitaine ? You were most stupid that day ! 
 First, you must push your boat aground in that 
 preposterous marsh, with the ooze knee-deep, and 
 the purple flags so thick that one might not step 
 without crushing them ah, how we have reviled 
 you for trampling upon our escutcheon of France ! 
 Then you must carry us ashore, one by one, through 
 the mire. Mademoiselle Rose has torn her scarf 
 of lace upon your epaulet; Citoyenne Diane has 
 lost the slipper from her foot, into a deep pool; you 
 fished for it a half -hour with my crutch, and brought 
 it up at last, the green ribbons all stained and 
 tangled, a pixy s shoe, strung with water-weed all 
 over. Bien, the pixies were angry for its loss ; they 
 
236 Diane 
 
 blew out our camp-fire as fast as we could light it, 
 they sent the sand -flies to tease us, and the thunder 
 to daunt us. But it was a day of Paradise, not 
 so? Myself, I have the most rejoiced to see you 
 contend at archery with Citoyenne Diane. One 
 would not believe such little hands could string that 
 heavy bow ; and what an aim ! Never has she 
 missed the gold ; while you, always so careful of the 
 feelings of others, have taken heed that you shall 
 not wound even your target. And the serpent 
 which you killed, while Mademoiselle Rose held 
 her eyes and shrieked, and the Citoyenne ran as 
 far as to the marsh, that she might not see ! It 
 was a scene to fire the soul this infant reptile, not 
 two feet in length, innocent as the dew, lying slain 
 in the grass, while you stood over him, all glorious ! 
 How have we gazed upon you in reverence, our 
 Sain* George ! 
 
 "Also we have lighted a fire, and have cooked 
 our fish and our apples as do the Indians, upon the 
 red-hot stones. Que c 6tait drole ! And we have 
 rowed home in the dusk, down the big, still river, 
 while the whippoorwills besought us that we should 
 not go so soon, and all the little stars came running 
 out to see. 
 
 "Ah! And there is the Council Mound, high up 
 between those great hills. It was there that signal 
 fires were lighted, in the far years before the Deluge. 
 Mademoiselle Rose has told me of those days; 
 she has marked for me upon the map those other 
 
Broken Cables 237 
 
 Council Mounds, scattered through this great 
 valley, shaped as a serpent, a wheel, a moon. 
 Myself, I have listened; that is not to say, I have 
 believed. Behold, M sieu, if those great banks had 
 been reared before the days of Noah, they would 
 all have melted away in those forty days, not so? 
 For truth, the Pere Cabet believes of the Deluge not 
 one word ; it is all lies, betises, so he declares to me. 
 But I have searched these high bluffs over, yes, and 
 the prairies beyond the river, as well; and I have 
 found of the shells by thousands, yes, and the mottled 
 river stones; therefore, I would say, your Deluge 
 is good history. Does it not so prove, M sieu? 
 
 "She is most amiable in making explanation, 
 Mademoiselle; but, being woman, she believes, and 
 that is a thing most excellent, in its way. She 
 tells me also Oh, behold, M sieu ! There she 
 stands this moment, upon the island bank! And 
 the Citoyenne and the Lieutenant Palmer in the 
 boat below. See !" 
 
 Channing s heart thundered against his breast. 
 It was Rose, indeed. Her arms overflowed with 
 great stalks of fern, green as her flowing boat -cloak; 
 the wind flung her black hair in wild confusion. 
 Palmer beached the boat with careful strokes, then 
 stood up to lift Diane ashore. Through the crys 
 talline air Channing caught the flash of the great 
 gold buckle at her little waist ; the faint chime of her 
 laughter reached him across the still expanse 
 between. He set his teeth as he watched Palmer s 
 
238 Diane 
 
 gallant courtesy, the care and grace with which he 
 aided her, step by step. Rose s head was high, her 
 cheek aflame. Palmer walked as though upon air; 
 his supple, splendid body was a very temple of Joy. 
 And Diane? He could all but read the radiance 
 in her eyes. For them it was all sunlight, all June. 
 
 "We approach the Fort, Monsieur." Petit Clef 
 spoke once again, after an hour of silence. "There 
 is Thore s boat, the Noemi, moored under the 
 willows, close to the ferry landing. Permit me to 
 signal for the ferry, M sieu. My orders are always 
 obeyed upon the moment." He took his willow 
 flute from his pocket and blew a quavering call. 
 
 The ferry crossed over leisurely in answer to his 
 signal. She was a squat and awkward craft, 
 balanced on overhead ropes which crossed the 
 stream diagonally, lashed to high-bound poles. 
 Winnie fretted at the creaking boards beneath 
 her feet, and curveted frantically at each splash of 
 the huge steering oar. Channing could not see her 
 misery. His hand lay lax upon her neck. Petit 
 Clef it was who soothed her with low chatter and 
 tender stroking. When they reached the Iowa 
 side, it was Petit Clef s voice and hand which 
 coaxed the chafing creature up the terrifying 
 landing and so ashore. 
 
 "Adieu, M sieu le Capitaine." Petit Clef turned 
 and laid his cheek against the young man s arm 
 for a moment. "I go to make myself at home in 
 the Noemi until Thorn s return, You go on, upon 
 
Broken Cables 239 
 
 your most mysterious errand. So be it." He 
 slid to the ground and petted Winnie s neck. " May 
 all joy ride with you. You are* a good man, M sieu 
 le Sain George, albeit your head is sometimes so 
 very thick. The things which you leave behind, I 
 shall cherish; you need have no fear for them. 
 Also, you shall return upon a better day, and find 
 them your own once again, the miracle performed 
 if you do not return too soon." He pried into 
 Channing s gray stricken face with eyes diamond- 
 clear and smiling. "And until then bonjour!" 
 He scrambled upon a pile of freight, and watched 
 in silence until horse and rider vanished into the 
 gray dust of the northward road. Two hours 
 afterward, Thore" found him curled in the bow of 
 the boat, his flute clutched tight in both elfin hands. 
 Thor6, tender as a mother, built up a tent of willow 
 branches to shield the child from the sun, and 
 trailed his oars all the long miles to the Commune, 
 lest he might waken the little one. It behooved him 
 to be careful. He rested none too soundly, the 
 dear treasure; and to-day he must be grieved and 
 weary. Truly, it was most pitiful, to hear him 
 sobbing in his sleep. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 THE BRINK 
 
 "YESSUM, Miss Felicie!" Persis rocked back 
 and forth, hugging her knees ; her black face rippled 
 with infectious fun. "You jes orter seed um! 
 I sassed um like ole Cabet does his folks up to de 
 Commune, I des laid on de hick ry ! Spec dey ain 
 none o um been tongue-f railed like dat sence dey s 
 fryin size. An dey s good blood, too, Miss Felicie ; 
 dey took it lak gen T men, ever one. Dey gives me 
 de skiff, an de money ter pay my spenses while I s 
 gone," her face was sober now. "An dey says 
 good-bye, lak dey s talkin ter white folks. Oh, 
 dey s got quality back ov um, no matter if dey 
 is pore white now. An de folks in loway, where 
 Friend Barclay sent me, dey is kind, too; I got 
 fifty cents lef outer what dey give me ter come 
 home with." She dived into the bundle on her 
 knees, and brought out the little pouch which the 
 men had tossed to her the night of her escape. 
 "Yessum, ever body treats me fine; dey cert ny 
 does. But, Miss Felicie how s all dis goin ter 
 end up?" 
 
 "Don t ask me, Persis. It s enough for me to 
 see you back again." Madame Manderson crossed 
 
 240 
 
The Brink 241 
 
 the room to the window; her eyes were still wet 
 
 with the joy of Persis return. "Go out and look 
 at your garden. The morning-glories are choking 
 out the tomatoes, and there are weeds everywhere. 
 I should have asked one of the Commune boys to 
 clear it up, but I haven t been strong enough to go 
 over there." 
 
 "Jes you wait tel I gits at um!" Persis was 
 folding her palm-leaf shawl, and winding a fresh 
 turban about her head. "You mean tell me dey 
 ain nobody been nigh ter see ter you all dis month 
 I s been gone?" 
 
 "Nonsense, Persis. Friend Barclay has been 
 in every day, and Miss Faulkner has come up from 
 the steamer again and again. Young Lieutenant 
 Palmer came with her the first time, and he has been 
 here alone several times since. He came over 
 yesterday afternoon, and brought that dear little 
 Diane, and Petit Clef. They had been out for a 
 row, he said." 
 
 "De HI missy with de curly hair, and de silk 
 dresses?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, but Miss Felicie," Persis clung obstinately 
 to her point, "I wanter know, what s goin happen, 
 nex . Is I goin have ter keep on dis way? Pick 
 tip an leave you, eve y whip-stitch? Is dey goin 
 make slaves outer us free niggers agin, no matter 
 how long we s been free? Kase le s go ter Canady 
 to-morrer, garden er no garden, if dey is. I reckon 
 
242 Diane 
 
 I kin do nough washin ter keep us bofe; an I d 
 sooner be sold down Souf an be done with it s 
 stay on dis teeter. An what s goin come of white 
 folks like Frien Barclay an Cap n Channing, what s 
 been a runnin niggers off up Norf, an lendin um 
 money, an breakin law fer um, time an* agin? 
 Is I tell you how s I seen Cap n Channing up in 
 loway, las week, an he tole me he s goin ter 
 Kansas, ter meet dat Frien Brown, an how they s 
 goin make Kansas free ?" 
 
 "Why, Persis, you re crazy! Mr. Channing is 
 down at the steamer!" 
 
 "No m, he ain t. Scuse me, I knows what I s 
 talkin bout. He went away f om there las 
 week; he ain in de army no more, nor nuffin . 
 He s goin ride roun de country on his horse, an* 
 keep dem paddy-rollers f om gittin de No the n 
 white folks an de free niggers what s tryin ter 
 settle out dar. No m, he ain tole me all dat, 
 hisse f; he ain had much ter say ter me, an he 
 look mighty tired, kase he s come all de way f om 
 White Ford on his hoss dat day; but de urr white 
 folks where I stayed dey tole me all bout it. No m, 
 I ain mistaken, tall!" 
 
 Madame Manderson pondered. Rose had spent 
 an hour with her, only the morning before; the 
 branches of late-blooming crab -apple which she 
 had brought still flooded the room with wild pure 
 incense. "Strange, that she has never spoken of 
 her cousin, nor hinted at his departure!" she 
 
The Brink 243 
 
 murmured. Her eye caught the far huddled out 
 lines of the Commune, dazzling white against the 
 cloudless blue. She remembered the flush on 
 Diane s wan face when she had spoken of Channing 
 and his work; she recalled Palmer s frown, Petit 
 Clef s calm, indulgent glance. Perhaps it was not 
 so strange perhaps ! 
 
 "Somehow I feel worried about the Commune 
 people, Persis. I m better to-day; I have a great 
 mind to walk up there. I can t see a bit of smoke 
 from the chimneys, not even from the bakehouse. 
 And then the wood-choppers haven t passed on 
 their way to the Island these three days. They 
 get so worn out these long afternoons and the hill 
 is such a climb that I have watched for them as they 
 came past in the evening, and asked them to stop 
 for a glass of milk or a cup of coffee with me. At 
 first they hung back, for they dreaded to give 
 trouble. But when they saw how much I liked to 
 see them, they stopped each evening when I called 
 to them, and sat for a few minutes on the porch 
 with me. I think they enjoyed the little rest, 
 really ; and they were so pleasant and so interesting, 
 and always eager to do some favour for me. You 
 don t know how I ve missed them!" 
 
 "They s sompin wrong, an I know it," nodded 
 Persis. "De ferryman, he done tole me so when 
 he brung me across, dis mornin . Dey s mo n 
 sixty families pick up an* lef de Commune dis 
 month, an* day s urrs a leavin eve y day. Dat ole 
 
244 Diane 
 
 fool Cabet, he s done made um all so mad, mos 
 likely dey ll all go, fore he gits through wis um. 
 Says he an de folks what stands by him is goin 
 keep de farms here in Ill nois, an de Phalanstery 
 an* all de books an machinery an things, an 
 those what s mad at him kin go an live on de 
 farms over in loway, ef dey wants ter. Eveh heah 
 anything bodacious lak dat, now? Dey ain rno n 
 a quarter er de folks is friends of his ; dee urr three- 
 quarter kin go live on dat onbroke prairie, where dey 
 am no cabins, nor wells, nor nuffin else. An jes 
 cause dey ain willin ter let him crack de whip 
 ober um ! De ole " 
 
 "Get my bonnet, please, Persis. I m going up 
 there right away." 
 
 The village blazed white and empty under the 
 high June sun. Madame Manderson trod the hot 
 flagstones lightly; her slender figure in its soft, 
 floating black, the widow s cap set like a coronet 
 above her parted snowy braids, made the one 
 grateful shadow in the noon glare. She looked 
 about her with a strained intent ness, which sat 
 oddly upon her tranquil face ; from time to time she 
 paused to look behind her, up the still, empty 
 street. In all her walk, she had not met a soul. 
 This was the more surprising, since it was the hour 
 for recreation. The cottage doors were shut, the 
 blinds were drawn; no sound of children s voices 
 floated out to her; no smoke curled from the roofs. 
 Yet there was no reassurance in this unreal peace. 
 
The Brink 245 
 
 Menace crept and whispered beneath the soundless 
 calm; the sweet common day seemed a thin mask 
 for stealthy Tragedy. 
 
 Madame hurried across the Commune gardens. 
 Faint rose and lavender fragrance floated from her 
 gown to meet the rose and lavender from the crowded 
 glowing beds. The Commune gates stood wide ; she 
 stopped within, paling for surprise. All was silent 
 and deserted in the great shops, which she had 
 always seen overflowing with workers and with 
 laughter. The long, low room where Toni and 
 Th6ophile sat and carved the wooden shoes lay 
 hushed and empty. The great scoop-knife on 
 which they turned and shaped the bass wood blocks 
 still hung from the ceiling by its leathern thong; 
 silvery shavings blew about the floor. One sabot, 
 complete save for the carven star whose outlines 
 were already drawn, lay on Theophile s table; a 
 worn blue coat hung on the apprentice s bench near 
 by. 
 
 The room fairly palpitated with eager human 
 life. The very breath of Labour sighed past the 
 low, vine-bound windows. She passed her hand 
 over her bewildered eyes. Surely her sight must be 
 playing her some eerie prank. The workers must 
 be there. 
 
 She crossed the yard to the ropewalk. Prying 
 sunbeams thrust wizard fingers through the shrunken 
 rafters, and traced quizzical messages along the 
 walls. Madame Manderson walked the length of 
 
246 Diane 
 
 the dim alley, with slow, even tread. She was 
 ashamed of her childish relief when she stepped into 
 full sunlight again. 
 
 At the door of the old Arsenal, now the Commune 
 smithy, she paused. The anvil was silent; the 
 ashes lay cold on the hearth. But Brother Paul 
 sat in the great south arch, a heap of broken harness 
 at his feet. He sprang up with a cry of pleasure. 
 
 " Madame, I rejoice myself to behold you ! You 
 would see the Pere Cabet ? " 
 
 "I would talk with you, Citoyen." She sank 
 down on the rough stool which he sprang to place 
 for her ; she took the cup gratefully which he brought. 
 "Just a little tired. I find that I m older than I 
 think." She smiled back at the anxious giant. 
 "Do not let me hinder your work, Citoyen." 
 
 He flung his big stained hands outward angrily. 
 " My work ! Behold it, Madame ! Since this calam 
 ity is come upon us, I have nothing to do ! Nothing ! 
 I mend the harness thus to pass the hours; it is to 
 say, I embroider altar-cloths. The mill is stopped: 
 I may not care for the machinery. The fields are 
 abandoned; one no longer brings me the horses to 
 be shod. Voila Citoyen Paul, an idler, a drone !" 
 
 "What is the trouble, Citoyen?" 
 
 "Trouble!" he clinched his big hands; the veins 
 rose taut as wire on the huge wrists. " There is no 
 trouble, Madame. It is that we are jus men, 
 jus* human men, that is all, yet we are treated 
 always as the babe in swaddling-clothes, and some 
 
The Brink 247 
 
 day we make the end of our patience. At this 
 hour, when all should rest and eat, the Pere Cabet 
 demands that all shall assemble at the Phalanstery, 
 there to hear judgment." 
 
 "To hear judgment?" 
 
 " I talk the affairs of the Commune to you as to 
 one of ourselves, Madame." 
 
 "Certainly, Citoyen." 
 
 " Then ah ! Let me relate to you one little 
 story. Heinrich, who will wed our Minna, she who 
 directs the workers in the room of sewing, has 
 transgressed the law. The evil thought came to 
 him, I will make gift to my bride, so he has rowed 
 without consent to the City, and has sold the cap of 
 fur, which the Commune had permitted him to 
 keep as heirloom, for a veil of lace for her bridal. 
 Truly, she could not wear it, ever; but she could 
 keep it to look upon, as his gift. By some slip, the 
 word came to the Pere Cabet. He has summoned 
 Heinrich to appear before the Commune, and 
 Minna, also, since she has given temptation. This 
 was at sunset that the word came to them. Full 
 of dread lest the Pere Cabet should forbid their 
 marriage as punishment for this sin, they have 
 slipped away across the fields to the house of M. 
 1 Ami Barclay, Giver of Justice." 
 
 " Giver of Justice/ Citoyen?" 
 
 "Ah, I forget! Justice of Peace, is it not so? 
 He has wedded them, according to their wish. 
 They have returned, man and wife, to the Commune, 
 
248 Diane 
 
 and have sent written confession to the Pere Cabet. 
 That is not to say, they are forgiven. To-day 
 Heinrich stands for his shame before his brothers, 
 while the Pere Cabet exhorts them, that they do 
 not fall into like sin." 
 
 "Surely you are jesting, Citoyen !" 
 "Also there is Sosthene, who has broken with 
 the Commune, and goes to-morrow to seek labour 
 elsewhere. He is given but twenty-five francs as 
 his portion, therefore, he must leave Elise, his wife, 
 with us, until he may make place for her in the 
 world. Their infant has now eight months, and 
 Elise has not strength to hold it. Sosthene is 
 forbidden to pluck of the osiers on the Island, but 
 he has found some small boards, muddy and full 
 of the holes of nails, so he cleans them and makes 
 from them a cradle, that she may rest her arms. 
 This theft of Commune goods is discovered, also; 
 Sosthene now answers before the Council for his 
 crime." 
 
 " Pere Cabet cannot be himself. That is certain." 
 
 "Many of the members have stayed away, 
 
 myself among them. Our reckoning comes later. 
 
 Even Mademoiselle Diane Ah ! Behold her, 
 
 Madame!" 
 
 "The Citoyenne yonder? That is not Diane." 
 
 A young girl came running wildly across the 
 
 Phalanstery garden. Her slender body was swathed 
 
 in a hideous flapping dress of blue cotton, gathered 
 
 bag-fashion at waist and throat; her little feet 
 
The Brink 249 
 
 stumbled in broad sabots. Her curling hair gleamed 
 molten brass beneath the puffed white cap. Of all 
 her finery, only the long, flashing chain remained. 
 At her heels came Petit Clef, hopping as swiftly as 
 a robin on his tiny crutches. 
 
 " Welcome, Madame!" He waved his hand to 
 her. "Regard our Diane, who has assumed the 
 garb of the Commune, and dreams that thus will 
 she aid to bring peace !" 
 
 Diane scarcely looked at Madame Manderson. 
 "Come, I pray you," she gasped, catching Paul s 
 arm. "He is most grieved that you have 
 turned from him; he will not believe it. You 
 still love him, Citoyen? You still have faith in 
 him?" 
 
 "Love him? Always, Mademoiselle." His voice 
 broke and quivered. " He alone knows how dearly 
 I hold him. And he should know that I cannot go 
 to hear him make a mock of himself." 
 
 Diane turned to Madame. "Implore him, I beg 
 you." Her voice was a wail. 
 
 "Leave him alone." Petit Clef clambered to the 
 smith s shoulder. " The Pere Cabet needs to learn 
 that he is not master of our wills. What of your 
 son, Citoyen?" 
 
 The smith put the child down roughly. "He 
 grows daily." 
 
 "Is he yet baptised?" 
 
 "Be quiet, P tit." 
 
 "Ang61e, thy wife, will give thee no peace till 
 
250 Diane 
 
 the baptism. Baptism is to the Pere Cabet a thing 
 of abhorrence. Which wilt thou choose?" 
 
 Citoyen Paul swung away, muttering. Madame 
 turned to Diane. 
 
 "My little girl, I thought that you were to start 
 for France last week. And my child, why should 
 you wear this dress? What good does it do?" 
 
 "I am not going to France." Madame started 
 at the lifeless tone. "The Pere Cabet was de 
 termined; but I have set my will against his, and 
 I am conqueror. I shall stay with him always. I 
 wear the garments of the Commune, I try to live its 
 life. If I can do nothing more, I can be to him one 
 disciple." 
 
 "Do you believe in him, my child?" 
 
 I believe in him. But the System it is not 
 for such as I. It is too high, too noble. It is my 
 wicked selfishness ; but I cannot blame poor Minna 
 for her heart s desire, nor Sosthene, that he wished 
 to please the one he loved. The Pere Cabet he 
 shall never know that I have these evil 
 thoughts. Always shall I uphold him in all that 
 he may do." 
 
 " What of your own life, Diane ? Is this the way 
 to live it?" 
 
 "My own life is gone." Madame could not look 
 into the set white face; she knew what she would 
 read. " I belong to the Pere Cabet. To serve him 
 is all the life that I may ask." 
 
 The Phalanstery doors swung wide. Vexed and 
 
The Brink 251 
 
 wearied by the tedious hour, the people crowded 
 and hustled their way out, like angry bees. 
 
 "I ll go now, dear. You re a brave child. And 
 you will come and see me again soon?" 
 
 Diane put up her quivering face for Madame s 
 kiss. "If you will permit me." 
 
 "And has Rose been here to see you? She will 
 come, and she will help to pass the tired hours, 
 I know." The startled pain in the girl s look did 
 not escape her mother -eyes. " She s a dear comfort. 
 Good-bye, my child." 
 
 She paused in the gateway, and glanced back. 
 
 The grim burlesque of absolutism was ended for 
 the day. The chief actors stumbled down the broad 
 steps, with eyes averted, heavily aloof. Sosthene, 
 carrying the tiny cradle, his face flushed till it would 
 seem that the fury of his humiliation might burst 
 the swollen veins ; Heinrich, glassy -eyed and vacant, 
 his mouth stupidly apart; Minna, clinging bravely 
 at his side, a sobbing champion. 
 
 Last of all came the Pere Cabet. A gray shadow 
 dimmed his features : his step was slow and wavering ; 
 he moved like one in an appalling dream. At the 
 foot of the path, he brushed past a knot of majority 
 sympathisers, who stood their ground defiantly, 
 refusing to make way after the earlier humble 
 fashion. Pere Cabet spoke out harshly; a peal 
 of jeering laughter answered his reproof. Madame 
 saw the old man reel beneath its meaning. 
 
 Diane sprang to his side. The taunting voices 
 
Diane 
 
 died away in shamed silence. Madame watched 
 them walk away together. Diane s head was 
 high, her glance a challenge. Pere Cabet leaned 
 pitifully on her slight arm. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 THE PILGRIMS OP 56 
 
 A WIDE land, dipping and rolling, dipping and 
 rolling again, heaving in vast brown billows far 
 as eye might see, till the last wave broke on the 
 dim blue steep of the sky. A land of blinding sun 
 shine ; of swift and deadly storm ; of fierce summers, 
 when the sky, a brazen shield seven times heated, 
 charred the living green; of iron winters, when the 
 dry snow sifted through every crevice of the pitiful 
 mud-daubed cabins, and whirled in tireless, deadly 
 frolic, a bewildering saraband, without. A land 
 of broad light and massy shadow, whose stern lines 
 melted beneath no grace of cloud, no gossamer bloom 
 of mist. A young land, and a noble; superb in 
 her tawny nakedness, regal in her fruitful strength ; 
 deep-bosomed, pure -breathed, fit nurse-mother to a 
 nation. And a fantastic throng it was, drawn 
 from the far shores of the world, that claimed her 
 foster-mother. 
 
 Four days of hard riding brought Channing to 
 Iowa City, then a dingy huddle of cabins and 
 tents, high on the banks of a hurrying stream. 
 Through this settlement as through a narrow gorge 
 poured day by day the unflagging stream of emi- 
 
 253 
 
254 Diane 
 
 grants from North and East, a vast resistless flood. 
 Files of white-topped wagons slow, patient ships of 
 the prairie stood hub to hub in the half -cleared 
 open ; scores of tents were pegged in line, each with 
 its emblem, a maple-branch, a coon-skin, a horse 
 shoe, hung to the flap, to indicate the train to which 
 it belonged. All about, the half -conquered forest 
 swarmed with eager life. The tiny settlement 
 seemed to thrill and palpitate with an ever-rising 
 fever. It was as if the very blocks and stones 
 felt the jar of swift -treading Event. The town 
 itself seemed a shelter flung together for the day, 
 flimsy, transient; one felt an odd foreboding that 
 the morrow would find only ashes on abandoned 
 hearths. The call of the West breathed through 
 the thin, tense air. Looming Crisis summoned like 
 a beckoning hand. 
 
 Accustomed as he was to mingling with men of 
 every sort, Channing walked among these stirring 
 crowds with wonder and distrust. They were all 
 Free-State emigrants, he knew; they shared alike 
 the common aim of building up settlements in the 
 new country, and thus holding the State for the 
 North; yet, save for this one bond of mutual plan, 
 no more alien host could have been mustered 
 between the seas. Brawny red-shirted lumbermen, 
 who walked with the juggler tread of men to whom 
 a floating log is a seemly pavement, swaggered 
 through the forest paths, greeting each other with 
 shouts that might have drowned the Penobscot s 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 255 
 
 roar. Slim boys in blue and gilt, crested like 
 yearling gamecocks, paced the camp bounds, sword 
 in hand, and laboured to maintain a grim and 
 martial dignity in the face of all the fascinating 
 marvels of the day. To their honour be it said 
 that the traditional buckram of West Point knew 
 no yielding, though the times challenged the 
 curiosity of the sternest. Officers of the Emigrant 
 Aid Association, sober, close-mouthed men, courteous 
 in manner, impenetrable in plan, rubbed elbows 
 with uproarious jayhawkers, thirsting for a brawl. 
 Captious elderly gentlemen, with Boston and Con 
 servative writ large from the bundling folds of their 
 high stocks to the flannel gaiters on their feet, 
 lavished vain charges upon the sentries, and argued 
 themselves purple over their coffee and bacon. 
 There were few women in the camp. The emigrant 
 trains of the day carried full equipments for farming 
 and for stock-raising, besides the famed supplies 
 of " Beecher Bibles " ; but, in the word of an interested 
 chronicler, there was a plentiful lack of spinning- 
 wheels. Yet women there were. Half a dozen 
 tranquil mothers in Israel, dressed with Quakerish 
 simplicity, who toiled by day to keep the tents as 
 neat and shining as their far-away home kitchens; 
 two or three shy German girls, clinging to their 
 husbands, abashed in childish dread at this impossi 
 ble new world; one blithe young wife from New- 
 buryport, a charming, merry creature, whose win 
 some bloom and gay, audacious drollery were the 
 
256 Diane 
 
 joy of the whole camp. She had been a factory 
 girl, so she told Channing, with a courtesy befitting 
 a marchioness. Channing stared. New Englander 
 though he was, he knew nothing of that group of 
 women, peculiar to their place and decade, who 
 had not only graced their labour through their 
 skill and enthusiasm, but had made for themselves 
 a name in scholarly work, as well. Like the most 
 of her mates, she was of excellent birth and breeding ; 
 while in education, she was far beyond her time. 
 She chatted with Channing on Spanish art and 
 Elizabethan rhyme; she showed him, as earnest of 
 rare confidence, the translation of Heine, which she 
 and her husband were making together at odd 
 moments; she petted the children, she gossiped 
 of housewifery with the grave mothers, knitting 
 around the fire; she sang Highland catches and 
 plaintive German ballads in her sweet, flickering 
 voice till the whole camp laid aside map and chart 
 and wrangle in listening delight, and even Channing 
 hushed his sore heart to hear. 
 
 Her husband, a proud, silent boy, drew back into 
 the shadows, and watched her with dark, adoring 
 eyes. Constrained and shy, he had made few friends 
 among his party; but Channing was of his own sort, 
 and fostered by loneliness and perplexities, a swift 
 and enduring intimacy sprang up between the two 
 men. Together they were detailed for night patrol ; 
 through those still hours of comradeship, while they 
 strode through the high, dew-burdened grass, 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 257 
 
 beneath the white June stars, his story fell from 
 his lips, in broken, hesitant snatches. It was the 
 story of many a lad of his time. 
 
 "You see, my people they they can t under 
 stand. It isn t that they want to advance slavery; 
 but they think abolition means anarchy, and they 
 won t listen to me when I try to explain. My 
 father caught me reading a Liberator one day, when 
 I was home for vacation last spring. He tore it 
 away from me and threw it into the fire, and then 
 he stood up in prayer-meeting the next night, and 
 prayed for aid in subduing a backsliding and stub 
 born son, who had wandered away from lawful 
 belief. I m the only boy in the family, you know. 
 Perhaps it was funny. But I was mad, and I 
 let him know it, too. We had it out, pretty hot. 
 I suppose I might as well have held my tongue, 
 though. He couldn t see my way not to save his 
 soul. When I went back to college, he said : Now, 
 Thomas Hurlburt, I ll give you one month to change 
 your mind and quit this damnable heresy. I m 
 giving you money enough to last for just that 
 month. At the end of that time, if you re still unde 
 cided, you can take your choice between your black 
 Republican friends and your family. One or the 
 other must go ! 
 
 " Well, I went back to Cambridge, as meek as you 
 please. But it wasn t two weeks until that Gilbert 
 trial, you know. I heard of it, and I walked into 
 town that morning, and told Mr. Phillips that I 
 
258 Diane 
 
 wanted to help. Gilbert had escaped North from 
 Charleston by ship; but they d traced him easy 
 enough, and he was arrested the minute he stepped 
 ashore at Boston. His master and the witnesses 
 he had brought were there, all ready for him. 
 Of course, he was being tried, over at the court 
 house; but everybody knew that was just a 
 form, and that he would be packed off South again 
 within a week. The only thing we could do was 
 to turn law-breaker and rescue him by force, and 
 that was just what Mr. Phillips and the rest were 
 planning for. They set the rescue for Tuesday 
 night, the i4th of April. There was to be a big 
 Abolition meeting in Faneuil Hall, and at a given 
 signal, in Mr. Ph Hips speech, a lot of us were to 
 jump up, shouting, and offer to run to the court 
 house and rescue Gilbert. Of course, the whole 
 crowd would catch fire and follow, and we d over 
 power the police and hustle Gilbert aboard the 
 Underground, before the town would know what 
 was afoot. Well, you ve heard the whole story, of 
 course. The scheme was good enough; but we 
 were all thumbs when it came to carrying it out. 
 Half a dozen of us fought our way into the court 
 house, but the police held the inside stairs, and 
 before we could break our way up, an extra body of 
 officers came thundering up the steps behind us, 
 from outside, and there we were, caught like rats 
 in a trap. We were pretty badly mauled, too, 
 before we gave up. All Boston was laughing at us 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 259 
 
 next day; and we felt pretty sheepish ourselves, 
 besides our disappointment over our failure. Mr. 
 Phillips came down and bailed me out, next morning. 
 I had a broken wrist, and a sprained knee, and I 
 was in a hurry to get home and be fussed over. 
 You see, it hadn t occurred to me then that after 
 that performance, I needn t expect 
 
 " Oh, well ! Mr. Phillips would insist on helping 
 me down the court-house steps as we came away; 
 it was a rainy morning, and I wasn t steady on my 
 feet. We got clear to the bottom of the steps 
 before I saw my father. He stood there on the 
 curb, holding his horse by the bits ; he had ridden in 
 from the Neck, and he was splashed to the waist 
 with mud. First thing I said was, Hullo ! You 
 must have taken the marsh short cut. And then I 
 looked up and saw his face. He had a little pearl- 
 knobbed riding-whip I had given him for Christmas 
 in his hand. And then oh, Lord !" 
 
 The boy s face was only a dim blur in the darkness. 
 Yet Channing turned his head away and stared at 
 the slow-kindling east. 
 
 "It took me a minute or so to realise what had 
 happened. Mr. Phillips tumbled me into a carriage 
 and took me straight to his house. I remember 
 his wiping the blood off my face with his hand 
 kerchief, and swearing at the driver for not going 
 faster. They say Mr. Phillips never swears ; he did 
 that time, all right. I was so astonished at him 
 that I didn t think of anything else for a while. 
 
260 Diane 
 
 " By the next day things had come to me clearly. 
 I didn t want to figure it out alone. I went straight 
 down to Newburyport, and found Harriet. We 
 had been engaged for a year, then, and we d planned 
 to be married this fall. I was to take my degree 
 from Harvard this month, you know. 
 
 "I didn t have to tell her all of what had hap 
 pened; somehow she she knew. I was for going 
 to work right away, and putting off our wedding 
 till I had something saved up; I hadn t a hundred 
 dollars, and she had just the little handful she had 
 saved for her wedding clothes. But Harriet she s 
 different, you know. She s not a bit like other 
 women. There never was anybody like her. 
 
 "Her aunt was very good to us both. We were 
 married that week, at her house; Harriet spent her 
 money on chairs and things those pieces lashed 
 on the back of our wagon, you know; and I sold a 
 little piece of land my mother had left me, the only 
 thing I owned, so we ll have enough to keep us 
 from starving till our first crops come in. I worked 
 two months in Mr. Garrison s office, till this train 
 was ready to start; then we packed up and joined 
 them. And here we are. Most likely my father 
 and the giris are pitying us this very minute." 
 He laughed, shyly exultant. His face shone 
 radiant in the first dim glow of the dawn. "Oh, it 
 was bad enough while it lasted, to meet my father s 
 friends men who had patted me on the head and 
 dropped pennies down my back when I was in 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 261 
 
 dresses and have them push past me without a 
 word. And my professors, too. Half of them cut 
 me when I met them, crossing the Delta. But as 
 Harriet says, we re living our own life, not theirs; 
 and they ll wake up, too, some day. I ought to be 
 unhappy about it, I dare say. I can t, though. 
 
 "We ve drawn the plans for our cabin already. 
 I ll show them to you to-morrow. And she s to 
 have a flower-garden, right up around the house* 
 and a grape-arbour on the west side, and a honey 
 suckle on the east. We brought the roots and 
 shoots, all tied up under one of those chairs. I 
 have apple- and pear-trees, too, not as high as your 
 knee, of course; but they ll grow. We re going to 
 finish off one room in the loft, and you remember, 
 you re to come and stay with us, whenever you 
 possibly can. I want you to feel it s your home, 
 too." 
 
 Charming tried to thank him; the words died in 
 his throat. Perhaps a throb of envy kept him 
 silent before the boy s rapturous vision. How 
 slender a foundation sustained their golden castle ! 
 Yet they planned their new life in this hut which 
 he should build as a prince s children might plan 
 to enter upon their royal inheritance. Joy walked 
 with them. Friends and home might lie far behind ; 
 the new real home, the work of their united hands, 
 awaited them, beautiful beyond imagining unut 
 terably more dear. 
 
 Directed by the letters which he found awaiting 
 
262 Diane 
 
 him in the surveyor s tent, Channing joined the 
 emigrant train, as a member of its defending force, 
 and rode with it the six hundred miles to the Ne 
 braska border. The days sped uneventfully, yet 
 from gray dawn to grayer dusk the travellers were 
 on the alert. There was much ground for misgiving. 
 The three trains preceding had been stopped at the 
 Missouri River by armed bands of pro -slavery- 
 raiders; their goods had been seized, their horses 
 stolen; their lives had been spared only upon the 
 promise that they would make no more attempts 
 to enter the Territory. However, this caravan 
 journeyed under a lucky star. No roving bands 
 molested it, save early one crisp morning, when 
 the emigrants, awakened by the thunder of rushing 
 hoofs and the clatter of shots, sprang from their 
 wagons to see their boyish guards madly pursuing 
 a herd of panic-stricken buffalo. The women ex 
 claimed and marvelled; the men laughed till the 
 tears came at their wild manoeuvres, their vast 
 and futile volleys, the ferocity of their attack, their 
 meek return, empty-handed. Alas for pride of 
 rank and blazon of buttons ! A cold-blooded 
 traveller from New London, Connecticut, was heard 
 to avow that ef he couldn t hit a caow two feet 
 from the muzzle of his rifle, he d give up that he 
 was too young fer anything that dangersome, an go 
 back to a bow an arrer. 
 
 They crossed the Missouri by rope-ferry at 
 Council Bluffs. The sight of a river once more. 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 263 
 
 even this black, turbulent stream, delighted them 
 beyond bounds. Channing found himself sighing 
 in absurd relief as he stood looking down at the dingy 
 flood. He had not known how this endless fort 
 night of prairie and sky had worn on him. It 
 seemed now as though he stood in the real world 
 once again, after interminable wanderings on a 
 bald new planet, where the sun rose and the sun set 
 by solemn clockwork, with neither trees nor hills 
 nor streams as yet constructed, to rest the aching 
 eye. 
 
 Another day s ride left the homelike hills far 
 behind. They were deep in the real prairie now 
 a flowing, grassy sea, shot with fleeting lights and 
 shadows, billowing to the saddle-girth. The wind 
 blew ceaselessly, pure and cold and strong; one 
 breathed deep of its tonic balm. The air flashed 
 diamond-clear. . Mysterious visions limned them 
 selves on the flaring sunset sky; a cluster of white 
 tents, filed close to a stream, like thirsty sheep 
 awaiting their turn; Indian wigwams, huddled 
 beneath the shoulder of a hill; a fair city, roofed in 
 silver, its streets a pave of pearl. Strung tense by 
 their long, exciting journey, the emigrants grew 
 wild as children as they neared their goal. Every 
 trifle was a portent; every mirage was a prophecy. 
 
 A few miles west of Plymouth, a tiny Free-State 
 settlement just over the border, they met with odd 
 fellow-travellers. Their wagon, a high -geared prairie 
 schooner, was fitted neatly with stove and bunks; 
 
264 Diane 
 
 a surveyor s chart and instruments were lashed at 
 the side. Two men walked at the horses heads; 
 the third, a spare, elderly man, dressed in coarse 
 jeans, white-haired and wearing a patriarchal 
 beard, clambered from the high seat and came 
 to talk with the emigrant leaders. He and his sons 
 were Free-State men, he announced, on their way 
 to Lawrence. He had heard that this train was 
 bound for Lawrence, also. Could he not join it? 
 To be sure, their journey would be short ; Lawrence 
 was only three days away. But the road from 
 here on swarmed with border ruffians, and he would 
 be very grateful for the protection which their escort 
 would give. 
 
 The leaders frowned and whispered together. 
 Channing, who had been beckoned into their circle, 
 shared the general distrust. 
 
 "It ain t no way to do, you mind that," insisted 
 the chief guide. He fingered the clamps of his 
 knife-belt nervously; a dull flush reddened his 
 bronzed face. "How do we know he ain t one o 
 Buford s spies? What s ter prove that surveyin 
 kit ain t jest a blind? No, sirree. Leave him 
 behind an tell him to stay a good way behind. We 
 don t want no night attackt." 
 
 "He appears a worthy man," said the Emigrant 
 Aid clergyman. "His face looks to be one worth 
 trusting, and his language " 
 
 "That s why I object to him," said the treasurer, 
 tartly. "He s too slick. He s no jay-hawk sur- 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 265 
 
 veyor. He ll find out how many there are of us, 
 and just what equipment and guns we carry, and 
 report it all to the Buford crowd within twenty -four 
 
 hours. We can t be too careful -" 
 
 You re too danged careful!" bellowed a big- 
 hearted lumberman, who shared the counsels un 
 asked. "Let the old feller be. We re a nice, 
 dilicate set, ef we can t pertect ourselves agin one 
 old man an two cubs an a team of spavined crow- 
 bait like their n. Ef you re goin to be narvous, I ll 
 stay up nights and keep an eye on him myself, 
 
 an " 
 
 "Captain Channing, what do you say?" 
 Channing started as from absorbing thought. 
 A hazy vision drifted before his eyes : a great arched 
 hall, dusk in the twilight of storm ; a mighty audience, 
 crowded silent about a dais, their faces blurred wan 
 and featureless, a phantasmal company. From 
 the high stage, the speaker s voice shrilled harsh 
 through the deepening gloom. Close to him, on a 
 bench near the door, shone the glint of a scarlet 
 cloak, the gleam of a child s fair head. What was 
 he saying ? The words rang over and over, clashing 
 like base metals, hollow, resounding. "Liberty, 
 Fraternity, Equality . . . are for those who 
 can live up to their high demands." . . . "Come 
 to us when you shall have earned the right to 
 
 Brotherhood!" . . . "Ask- " 
 
 "What had we better say, Captain?" 
 
 "Wait a minute," muttered Channing, stupidly. 
 
266 Diane 
 
 He groped for the link which must associate this 
 memory with the face of the old surveyor. "Wait 
 a minute. I I don t know. It hardly seems fair 
 to refuse, when he may be all right. Suppose 
 we risk it?" 
 
 Some little argument ensued, but in the end the 
 leaders agreed to take the chances. The surveyors 
 were pleased and grateful. One boy insisted upon 
 helping to pitch the tents; the other declared him 
 self a master cook, and proved his boast by broiling 
 prairie-chickens and frying flapjacks which won 
 howls of praise from the lumbermen. The old 
 man lined his wagon up into the hollow square in 
 which all the vehicles were arranged for the night, 
 and helped about the nightly chores till the camp 
 was completed. Unlike his sons, he was grimly 
 taciturn; Channing s advances were met by nods 
 or by thwarting silence. At length, when there 
 was no more work to be done, he turned to the 
 leader, and offered to take a watch. 
 
 "We won t need ye," snapped the chief guide. 
 "We d druther have our own sure men, if the road 
 is as full of raiders as ye say." 
 
 "I d like someone to share my watch," said 
 Channing, hastily. "I m on from twelve till two, 
 and that s a good hour to be careful in. We d 
 better have an extra man on." 
 
 The surveyor turned his head and looked at 
 Channing without speaking. Again the wide, dim 
 audience-room swam before his eyes; the orator s 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 267 
 
 voice pealed shrill above the clamour of wind and 
 hail without. Why should this colourless incident 
 recall that wretched morning ? What likeness could 
 this dull, churlish stranger bear to that beguiling 
 despot, Pere Cabet? 
 
 "Well, ef you want somebody with you, Cap n, 
 I s pose it ll be all right," said the guide, grudgingly. 
 "Perlite old hickory, isn t he?" For the surveyor 
 had turned back to his wagon without a word. 
 
 "He s all right," said Channing, yet without con 
 fidence. He grappled hopelessly with baffling recol 
 lection. 
 
 The last red faded from the west ; the camp-fires 
 sank to drifts of milky ash, dim-flickering with rosy 
 cores of flame. Channing climbed to his bunk in 
 one of the broad white wagons, and fell asleep before 
 the men in the bunk opposite had ceased to wrangle 
 over the surveyor and his possible aim. He slept 
 so heavily that he did not waken at the clatter of 
 approaching hoofs ; neither did he hear the sentry s 
 yell of warning. The flash of a lantern in his eyes 
 and a heavy hand on his neck snatched him at last 
 to dizzy consciousness. He sat up, blinking. 
 
 "Oh, ye air a wakin up!" The guide s voice 
 snarled with shrill derision above its angry fear. 
 " Spose ye thought ye d lay low an dodge the fuss, 
 maybe. Here s a passel of Shannon s milish, here 
 to search the camp, a huntin them Pottawatomie 
 outlaws. Turn out, quick. We ve got ter fall 
 inter line, I tell ye." 
 
268 Diane 
 
 The camp was a bedlam of shouts and oaths and 
 outcries. The horses, terrified by the uproar, were 
 plunging back and forth in the wagon-fenced camp 
 ground; women s voices implored shrill questions, or 
 shrieked for unreasoning panic ; the wails of the 
 children, half -a wakened, and the harsh commands of 
 half a dozen self-appointed leaders swelled the din. 
 
 Outside the square, perhaps a hundred yards away, 
 a group of dragoons sat motionless, dark against 
 the stars. Lanterns bobbed back and forth between 
 the camp and the waiting group, like a swarm of 
 demented fire -flies. As Channing slid to the ground, 
 he heard young Mrs. Hurlburt s voice ripple high 
 and clear, the one cool, merry note in all the clamour. 
 
 1 Tom! Tommy! Wait, here s your muffler, 
 Why, what s the hurry ? It s only a court-martial." 
 
 Channing caught Hurlburt s arm as he jumped 
 down the steps. The two men ran at the heels of 
 the crowd to the leader s wagon. "Jolly, isn t it? 1 
 laughed young Hurlburt, boyishly delighted. "We 
 just needed this adventure to spice the trip. Hullo, 
 there goes your friend, the spy!" 
 
 The surveyor stood in the midst of the crowd, 
 his eyes fixed on the young Federal officer, who sat, 
 revolver in hand, in a ring of flaring torches. His 
 gray head towered above the jostling mob; his 
 erect silence challenged the surging uproar. Again 
 Channing struggled in the web of bewildering con 
 jecture. What could the association be? Why 
 could he not remember? 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 269 
 
 "Gentlemen, give me your attention, please." 
 The officer rose in his stirrups. "I have had 
 certain word that a party of Free-State sharp 
 shooters disbanded to-day on this road, somewhere 
 between here and Plymouth. Among them was 
 John Brown, the outlaw. I want him. Now, if he 
 has taken shelter with you men, or if any of you 
 have seen him, own up to it." 
 
 There was a pause. The men stared from one to 
 another, in blank astonishment. Then, like the stir 
 of wind through leaves, peering surmise flashed 
 from eye to eye. 
 
 "He s not here," said the Emigrant Aid officer, 
 boldly. "We re peaceable men; we re on our way 
 to Lawrence, to take up farm claims there. We 
 haven t seen anything of that gang " 
 
 "I m asking you if you ve seen John Brown," 
 said the lieutenant, tartly. "Of anybody who 
 might be him, for that matter. Come, now." 
 
 No one spoke. Yet the eyes of all turned to the 
 old surveyor. For a moment, he stood unmoved 
 before their pointing glances ; then he pushed to the 
 front of the crowd. 
 
 "They picked me up this afternoon, Cap n," he 
 spoke with a deep, uncouth drawl. " Mebbe they re 
 holdin back fer fear I m the party wanted." 
 
 "You, you old border skate!" retorted the 
 lieutenant. "You re the very man who put me 
 on Brown s trail. Come now, men. Speak up." 
 
 "We have met no one these three days, except 
 
270 Diane 
 
 this man," declared the Emigrant Aid clergyman. 
 " Your party may have passed us during the night, 
 or by another road. We know nothing more. This 
 man and his two sons met us this afternoon and 
 asked permission to travel in our company. No 
 one else has joined us since we left Iowa." 
 
 The clergyman s voice carried weight. The officer 
 pondered a moment; he gave a curt order to his 
 squad: in a moment s time, the camp was sur 
 rounded. Two soldiers searched the wagons, swiftly 
 and thoroughly. The emigrants stood to one side, 
 and watched this domiciliary visit with faces 
 angry or stoical, as the case might be. Channing 
 alone was deaf and blind to the confusion. The 
 tumult in his own mind was absorbing enough; he 
 fought for memory as a drowning man fights for a 
 plank. 
 
 John Brown, the outlaw! 
 
 It could not be. John Brown had sat beside him 
 at Friend Barclay s table. He had talked with 
 him during all that long tramp through the fields to 
 the Phalanstery. Every line of his harsh, spare 
 face, every tone of his resounding voice, was stamped 
 upon Channing s senses. To be sure, there was a 
 resemblance. This man was tall, harsh-featured, 
 deeply bronzed. He moved with the same stiff, 
 formal gait, the walk of a man more at home in the 
 saddle than afoot ; his voice carried the same deep, 
 reverberating note. But the surveyor was the 
 older, by twenty years, It was not alone the gray 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 271 
 
 hair and the snowy beard which marked the differ 
 ence. It was the indefinable, piteous capitulation 
 of age. Ashen hollows deepened the gaunt temples; 
 the big shoulders were erect with the erectness born 
 of conscious effort, not unconscious strength. It 
 could not be. 
 
 The dragoons gave over their search at last, and 
 rode away, leaving wild disarray of pots and kettles 
 and household gear in their wake. Like swarming 
 bees, the emigrants settled themselves for the 
 moiety of night remaining; grateful quiet brooded 
 over the camp once more. Channing knelt down 
 near a smouldering log, and looked at his 
 watch. It was not worth while to go back to 
 his bunk; he was due on his patrol in less than 
 an hour. 
 
 A hand shut lightly over his arm. He looked up, 
 startled, into the surveyor s face. The steel-blue 
 eyes flashed greeting; the deep voice, lowered to a 
 booming whisper, filled his ear. 
 
 " So you have forgotten me already, young man ? 
 Or did you hold your tongue to save me ? " 
 
 " Captain ! " Channing leaped to his feet. 
 
 " Quiet, now. Come over here with me. I don t 
 want to talk on the windward side of the camp." 
 
 They sat down together by the farthest heap of 
 embers, now waking to fitful glow beneath the soft 
 night-breeze. There was no moon; the stars hung 
 poised and trembling, mysteriously bright. The 
 wind rose and fell, murmured and was silent, like 
 
272 Diane 
 
 a living creature, tossing in restless sleep. From 
 time to time long gusts swept their faces the wild 
 sweet gale of the prairie sea. 
 
 " I suppose I was blind," said Channing, presently. 
 "I can see now that the false beard is the only 
 change. But you look older, somehow." 
 
 "I am older." Brown removed the beard, and 
 rubbed his face vigorously with his handkerchief. 
 The gray hollows vanished promptly ; but weariness 
 was written deep beneath his eyes. " It was a good 
 disguise, though. I am glad that you have come. 
 We need you. This country is in a tight place, 
 young man." 
 
 "I m ready, sir." 
 
 " You may as well keep on as you have done this 
 time; go back and forth from Iowa City as a guard 
 for the trains. I ll send you extra men as fast as I 
 can; you will need a larger force as the season 
 
 advances. By November But it will be all 
 
 settled by then. 
 
 " I am recruiting a company of my own," he said, 
 after a while. " I have only ten names, so far; but 
 I have tried them. They are true metal. We 
 cannot win this thing by numbers. But a few 
 men, in the right, and knowing they are right, can 
 sweep everything. It s the cause that counts. 
 See here." 
 
 He pulled a little manuscript-book from his 
 pocket. Channing stooped and read its blurred 
 pages by the dying light. 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 273 
 
 "Orderly Book of the Free-State Volunteers," 
 he read. "We, the undersigned, do hereby pledge 
 ourselves: To refrain from the use of tobacco and 
 strong drink ; to keep the Sabbath holy ; to maintain 
 our speech free from evil language; to obey the 
 dictates of conscience, not the Laws of Man; to 
 devote our lives and our Powers to the Salvation of 
 the Territory of Kansas as a Free State." 
 
 "This is your Regimental Compact, Captain?" 
 
 "Yes. The men will keep those oaths, too. I d 
 as soon have smallpox in my camp as men of loose 
 morals. Quality is what will win for us this time. 
 We made out those rules and swore to them just 
 before I started on this surveying trip, three weeks 
 ago." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you have been driving 
 through this district, unarmed and with no guards, 
 all this time ? And known as you are known ! " 
 
 "I told you that disguise was all right. It is 
 so slight that nobody suspected it. Then there 
 are hundreds of surveyors going the rounds 
 now. I made a map of the whole district 
 from the Missouri River to the west edge of 
 the Shawnee Reservation. I marked the favourite 
 routes of the Border Raiders on them, and 
 their forts, too. Then I sketched in Lawrence 
 and the other Free -State settlements, showing 
 the roads by which they might expect attack. 
 See here." 
 
 Channing unrolled the parchment eagerly. His 
 
274 Diane 
 
 eyes followed the long finger as it slid through the 
 maze of woven lines. 
 
 "I stopped in Westport, the hottest pro-slavery 
 town in Missouri, for two hours day before yesterday, 
 on business." A harsh smile bent the carven lips. 
 "They knew who I was, well enough, too." 
 
 " How dared you risk it ? There s a reward up 
 for you, alive or dead, in every one of those towns. 
 Didn t they try to arrest you?" 
 
 "It is perfectly understood that I will not be 
 taken." The old face shadowed again. "Then 
 there are few men who would run the risk of trying 
 to seize me. A man does not like to chance his life 
 on an act that he knows is wrong. He does not 
 want to meet Eternity with stained hands." 
 
 The old daunting question rose up and faced 
 Channing once again. 
 
 "Somehow, that has been harder for me to 
 decide than than anything else. It s not easy 
 for me to justify myself when I break a law, when I 
 oppose the Government " 
 
 " Break a law? You must keep the Divine 
 Law first. Then, if you can, the human. As for 
 opposing the Government what is Government? 
 What s the use of all your fine schooling if you 
 can t answer me that ? It s a system of expedients, 
 planned with a view to giving liberty and justice to 
 all men, isn t it? And as a part of such a system, 
 you re bound to uphold it. Now, if the time comes 
 when this system for liberty and justice makes you 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 275 
 
 its tool to enslave your fellow-man, to steal his 
 rights, are you a true patriot if you obey? 
 
 "I learned that for myself, when I was a boy 
 at home, during the war of 181 2," he added presently. 
 " We lived near a camp of instruction, and I saw a 
 great deal that is not put down in the books. Per 
 haps it could not have been written. To learn those 
 things, a man must live through them. It was all 
 jealousy and bitterness and waste such waste ! 
 Youngster that I was, I used to wonder if God him 
 self would ever find time to count up the cost of that 
 war. And I swore to myself that no Government 
 should ever force me to fight, unless in a battle for 
 liberty. 
 
 "Talking of schooling, " he went on, after a pause, 
 " I ve often thought that if it was only possible for 
 us to teach the young slaves throughout the South 
 to read and write, we could bring about freedom 
 before the year was out. Educate the young 
 slaves ! It would be like firing powder sealed in 
 rock. As it is, we must go ahead and do by force 
 what we cannot do by strategy. It is our appointed 
 task." 
 
 "Then you are ready for force, Captain?" 
 
 The old man turned upon him grandly. His 
 gray head bristled; his blue eyes flashed beneath 
 the hooding lids. The fire of his vast consuming 
 purpose lighted his gaunt face. So might the 
 flames of the martyr pile illumine the waiting face 
 above, 
 
276 Diane 
 
 "I am ready to do the work that God and my 
 reason set for me to do. I am an old man. I have 
 no time to halt and plan by the way. I shall use 
 force, if I must. There shall be bloodshed, if need 
 be. Foi: this my work must be done. To loose 
 the bonds of wickedness; to let the oppressed go 
 free. " 
 
 A fairit bugle-note echoed from the camp. It 
 was the midnight call ; the signal for their watch to 
 begin. 
 
 Shoulder to shoulder, the two men strode through 
 the knee-deep grass, as the long night waned. 
 Sometimes they talked, quietly, in the hushed voices 
 of men who stand on the brink of fathomless steeps. 
 Again they paced silent, the elder man absorbed in 
 his own thought, the younger waiting on his will. 
 When he spoke, Channing found himself hanging 
 breathless, eager, on each passionless word. He 
 might not believe he could not endorse these 
 harsh measures, this grim merciless ruling; yet he 
 listened as one listens to a voice inspired. 
 
 For more and more he knew that this man at 
 his side spoke not as other men. His calm was 
 the calm of a soul consecrate; his speech was the 
 speech of the prophet ; unheeded, patient, re 
 lentless. 
 
 1 It began when I was a little fellow, back in 
 Connecticut," he said, d,s though in reply to Chan- 
 ning s unspoken question. "I remember a gray 
 squirrel that I caught and tamed, when I couldn t 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 277 
 
 have been more than six; just a little barefoot 
 shaver I was, scooting around in buckskin breeches, 
 with a strap to hold them over the shoulder. I 
 made a cage to keep the squirrel in, at first, but I 
 couldn t stand it, to keep him a captive; it worried 
 me so much to think how miserable he must be 
 that I set to work and petted and fed him till he 
 followed me around the cabin like a puppy. I 
 kept him that way for more than a year. He 
 used to go off on trips of his own now and then, but 
 he always came back in a day or so. In winter 
 he slept in the loft with me, curled up on the scraps 
 of an old quilt ; the snow used to sift in on both of 
 us, many a time. A dog killed him at last, poor 
 little rascal. I didn t know how to stand it. After 
 wards, I tried to have other pets, but I couldn t 
 tame them, and I wouldn t have them in a cage. 
 
 "I was about nineteen before I heard much of 
 slavery. Then some runaways came to our village, 
 on their way up to Canada, and I was one of three 
 or four young fellows who volunteered to guard 
 them on the twenty-mile drive to the next village. 
 We took them through safely, though we had a 
 pitched battle with the slave-catchers, and got well 
 peppered. I dare say I enjoyed the excitement of 
 it; but that was not all. I found my work, that 
 night. I have never lost sight of it, from that day 
 to this. 
 
 "We helped slaves through whenever we had the 
 chance. That was not often, for the Underground 
 
278 Diane 
 
 routes were not near us. It was often enough, 
 though, to.give us a bad name among the neighbours. 
 Time and again I ve driven into town with a load 
 of wool, and out of twenty men I would meet at the 
 market, not one would be seen talking with me. 
 My wife could have no friends; my children could 
 have no playmates. It wasn t easy. But we kept 
 on. 
 
 "In 48 I took my family to a farm up in the 
 mountains, in New York, near North Elba. A lot 
 of freedmen had settled there, and we went up to 
 teach them farming and sheep-raising. We stayed 
 there till 54, when my sons decided with me that 
 we were needed out here more than there. We 
 made a covenant between us, my boys and I, that 
 we would hold together in this work, without fail, no 
 matter what trials we might have to meet. The 
 boys have done their part. They have been driven 
 out of their burning cabins, time and again. Their 
 crops have been beaten down, their cattle stolen; 
 but they have never swerved from their word. 
 They re good boys. 
 
 "I m planning now on a scheme that will destroy 
 slavery once and for all time, if it succeeds. If I 
 fail, some wiser man will be raised up to take my 
 place. But it is a good plan. I have worked for 
 twenty years to make it perfect. I may not live 
 to see it go through. But it will not fail." 
 
 Channing listened, silent. And it seemed to him 
 that the whole world hearkened also, finger on lip. 
 
The Pilgrims of 56 279 
 
 The wind was hushed to a whisper ; the stars shone 
 pale on a high, auroral sky. 
 
 "Ten men can fortify a hill, and hold it against 
 ten thousand," the quiet voice went on. "And 
 when that hill is bound by precipices, and covered 
 with laurel thickets, close as mail, ten thousand 
 could not storm it. That is my hope, to garrison 
 those hills in the Alleghanies, and to make fortresses 
 of them for hunted slaves. The time is not yet 
 ripe. But it will come ! 
 
 "Here is something that you may like to see," 
 he said, after a while. Channing fingered the little 
 volume curiously. It was a handful of coarse, 
 yellowed sheets, bound rudely with a rough strip of 
 cowhide, tied in place with a leathern string. Two 
 centuries of use had worn the leather to a silken 
 thinness ; the paper was torn and darkly stained ; but 
 the type stared black and clear. 
 
 "The Souldiers Pocket Bible. 1643," he read. 
 "Why, it s the pocket Bible that Oliver Cromwell 
 had printed for his troop ! I ve never seen a copy 
 before, though I ve heard of it. Was it a gift to 
 you?" 
 
 "No. It came to me as inheritance, from an 
 ancestor who was one of Cromwell s sergeants. 
 Read that." 
 
 " Be valiant and fight the Lord s Battels. Ye 
 fhall not fear them, for the Lord your God fhall 
 fight for you. Fear them not, for I have given 
 them into thine hand. 
 
s8o Diane 
 
 " And let Souldiers and all of us confider, that the 
 Lord hath ever been accuftomed to give the victory 
 to a few. " 
 
 "I have carried it with me all these years," he 
 said, tranquilly. "I have read it as I have read 
 the stars, night after night, while I lay on my 
 blanket; and the answer has always come to me: 
 The Plan shall not fail. You may perish as the 
 worm perishes. But the Plan the Plan shall never 
 fail!" 
 
 Again the bugle summoned them; a clear, trium 
 phant note, the herald of the royal day. Shoulder 
 to shoulder, they tramped back to the camp, 
 through the opal silence of dawn. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 DOOM 
 
 Fleuve du Tage, 
 
 Je fuis tes bords heureux; 
 
 Et ton rivage 
 
 J adresse mes adieux. 
 
 Rochers, bois de la rive, 
 
 Echo, nymphe plaintive," 
 
 ROSE hummed the lilting lines softly, as she 
 turned the pages. It was a quaint volume, this 
 book of chansons, inscribed in flowing purple ink 
 on polished card -board, the music wearily copied 
 from the Convent scrolls by dint of a ruler and a 
 blunt-pointed quill. Here and there a note leaned 
 awry, where the patient ringers had slipped ; on one 
 bar, the treble clef was turned pathetically wrong- 
 side before, like a rococo S. Around each separate 
 score ran a tight and tidy wreath, done in water- 
 colours, the tints chosen with all the ardour of 
 inexperience. Daisies of lilacs twined with amber 
 violets; roses of that peculiar grim and slaty blue 
 which blossoms only in the samplers and the sketch 
 books of our great -aunts, flaunted beside lavender 
 carnations and saffron foliage. The smooth, broad 
 sheets were tied into the embroidered linen cover 
 
 281 
 
282 Diane 
 
 with crisp blue ribbons ; across the back was wrought, 
 in dainty stitches, 
 
 "Diane de Lahautiere. Eleve du Sacr6 Cceur. 
 1854." 
 
 " Sing Fleuve du Tage for us, Diane." 
 
 Rose sat on the cabin door-stone; Petit Clef 
 curled against her knee. Diane sat within, bending 
 her shining head over a pile of accounts. This 
 was, perhaps, the twentieth morning which Rose had 
 spent at the Commune that month ; Diane had come 
 to look upon her, not as a guest, but as a daily 
 blessing, indispensable as the sunlight. She looked 
 up, dimpling. 
 
 "Mine is a voice to terrify, Mademoiselle. I 
 would not dare attempt it." 
 
 " She can shame the brown thrush, when she will. 
 But not even the brown thrush would sing over such 
 a confusion." Petit Clef grimaced irreverently at 
 the heap of papers. "Leave those for the Pere 
 Cabet." 
 
 " The Pere Cabet has no time for them." 
 
 "Neither have you. Come and teach to us the 
 meaning of these colours, Mademoiselle. Is it that 
 on the banks of the Tagus, all flowers change their 
 tint? How would I admire to stroll beside it, and 
 to pluck blue rosebuds and purple buttercups!" 
 
 " If you had been reared in a convent, P tit, you 
 would have learned that rosebuds display what 
 ever colour you happen to have remaining in your 
 paint-box. When this painting was given to us as 
 
Doom 283 
 
 lesson, Lys Carrivenc had just received gift of burnt 
 almonds from home, and I had bartered every colour 
 in my box save the blues and the yellows, which she 
 would not take, for these delicates unlawful. When 
 Soeur Gertrude has discovered this, she has de 
 clared for punishment that I should use only such 
 colours as remained to me for this whole work. 
 Helas! I have wept till I have melted these 
 colours, all; but she remained steel." 
 
 " Therefore I rejoice that I am man, and heretic. 
 What news is there from our other heretic, our 
 perfidious M sieu Channing? Have you no word 
 of him, you, Mademoiselle?" 
 
 " My father has heard nothing, but Friend Barclay 
 tells me that he is now busy in in the work he has 
 taken up." Rose held her voice to easy indiffer 
 ence. This was the first time that Channing s name 
 had been spoken between them. She did not 
 glance at Diane. "Of course, you know that he 
 and my father do not agree about his plans. Friend 
 Barclay said that he wrote very little only that he 
 was well and busy." 
 
 " There was no message for me, for his comrade ? " 
 
 Rose checked her smile. "No, dear." 
 
 "It is not like M sieu Channing to forget old 
 
 friends. Probably he finds himself discouraged, and 
 
 wishes not to confess as much to us. Perhaps he is 
 
 not the first man who has gone forth to make a new 
 
 heaven and a new earth, and finds his materials 
 
 rebellious. Voila the Lieutenant Palmer. Behold 
 
284 Diane 
 
 a wise man, who strays not away on the trail of 
 dreams !" 
 
 Palmer clattered gaily up the street on Rose s 
 pony. A coil of water-lilies, white and poignant- 
 sweet, dripped over his arm. He cast the flowers 
 on the scoured door-stone, and looked up at Diane, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Can t I tempt you from your work with these, 
 Mademoiselle? I pulled them on my way up from 
 the Point, and I could have brought a steamer- 
 load if I d waited to gather them. Come, let s all of 
 us go for a row. You haven t been out on the water 
 for a week not since you ve been staying with 
 Madame. Petit Clef, we need you for luck. Come 
 on." 
 
 Rose looked to Diane. Her fingers twisted tightly 
 into the rope of glittering beads, which sorted so 
 oddly with her coarse white blouse and bodice of 
 peasant -blue. Petit Clef dragged his willow flute 
 from his pocket and played an airy cadence. 
 
 "Behold my reply!" he said, pertly. "It is, to 
 follow the will of these, my goddesses. What say 
 you, Diane?" 
 
 "I cannot go, M sieu. I have much of work to 
 do. Yet I thank you, a thousand times." 
 
 "But is it so important? Can t you leave it for 
 the day? Or let us help you with it, when we 
 come back?" 
 
 " It must not be neglected. I would not wish to 
 put it aside." 
 
Doom 285 
 
 She spoke too gently to give offence, but Rose 
 saw the hurt red stream to his temples. In his 
 excitement, he forgot the two onlookers. His 
 disappointment flared out with bitter, boyish 
 passion. 
 
 "I m going away in just a week or two back to my 
 plantation. I you don t know how much I have 
 wanted to see more of you, Mademoiselle. It s 
 making a lot of difference to me. I think you might 
 give me an hour or so. It isn t fair " 
 
 "M sieu, I have no time to give. There is much 
 for me to do ; I am stupid and slow to learn. Truly, I 
 know that you would wish to give me pleasure ; but 
 I have no right to pleasures now." 
 
 Palmer stood up. "I ll go on, then," he said, 
 shortly. Rose would not look his way, lest he 
 might see the pity in her eyes; Petit Clef 
 polished his flute with fastidious care. "I ll 
 come again, Mademoiselle, any time that you are 
 willing to see me. When the time comes for 
 me to go, at least you can spare me five minutes 
 for good-bye." 
 
 He lifted his cap to them and rode away at a 
 gallop. 
 
 " How one misjudges!" murmured Petit Clef 
 blandly, his sparkling eyes fixed on the vanishing 
 cloud of dust. "But one minute since, have I not 
 declared that M sieu Palmer was never the man 
 to go on a will-o -the-wisp chase after a dream?" 
 
 Diane bent crimson over her papers. 
 
286 Diane 
 
 " Diane, have you told the Mademoiselle the tale 
 of Citoyen Paul and his son?" 
 
 "I have not heard it myself, P tit. Is it a jest 
 upon the good Paul, that he so adores this first 
 child? If it please you, relate it." Diane breathed 
 quickly. Anything were welcome as a shift of 
 thought. 
 
 "It is hardly a jest." Petit Clef stared away 
 across the yellowing August fields. The river 
 gleamed pure silver under far blue haze; the scent 
 of ripening grapes floated to them from the terraced 
 vineyards below, a deep sweet autumn breath. 
 Petit Clef inhaled it with supreme content. "This 
 is a good year, no matter how hard we have tried 
 to spoil it, hein? Well, then, for Citoyen Paul. 
 You may know that he has been reared bon Catho- 
 lique, like you, Mademoiselle. Probably in his 
 day he has painted purple daisies on little gilt card 
 boards, too. And Angele, his wife, is even fonder 
 of her church than he. She is the only woman of 
 the Commune who still tells her beads in the hour of 
 recreation. Also I suspect that she spends more 
 time before her chamber shrine than in pondering 
 upon the worthy doctrines of Equal Right and 
 Common Possession. 
 
 " Well ! To them has been born a son, Alexandre 
 the most beautiful, intelligent, and virtuous 
 child which the Commune has yet seen. I know it, 
 for Citoyen Paul himself told me so, and Ang61e did 
 not contradict him. According to the custom of 
 
Doom 287 
 
 the Commune, he is welcomed merely as an 
 ordinary infant; no ceremonies honour him; no 
 christening feast is made. What human parents 
 could endure such indifference towards their prodigy ? 
 Especially when they believe, as Angele surely 
 believes, that without baptism his earthly life must 
 be fruitless, his future life a torment ? 
 
 "Therefore, on the last holiday, they took the 
 child and slipped away to the new little chapel of 
 Our Lady, away up the river. Most curious that 
 this shrine has been built there, is it not so ? Miles 
 from any village, beyond reach even of the heathen 
 Commune? And so tiny, a cloister for the birds, 
 the elves ! But of that, no matter. They met me 
 upon the road; and the Citoyen Paul, who feels 
 for me an affection most preposterous, insists that 
 I shall accompany them and act as godfather. 
 Thus is it done. I will bear witness that the young 
 Alexandre has of lungs marvellous; how he has 
 howled when I must support him, during the service ! 
 We returned to the Commune without discovery; 
 no word was said. But yesterday Angele, who 
 must always relate that which she knows, even to 
 the uttermost thought, has displayed to a neighbour 
 the amulet which I have tied about the neck of my 
 godson " 
 
 " Petit Clef ! You do not mean that you have 
 given him that sapphire locket ! The only treasure 
 you own!" 
 
 "Pouf!" Petit Clef reddened at his own slip. 
 
288 Diane 
 
 "It is of no matter; besides, one must deal honestly 
 with the helpless. The scandal ran like fire through 
 the Commune. To-day the word was passed to the 
 Pere Cabet. He will be vexed with me for my hand 
 in the affair ; Paul and Angele, he can never forgive. 
 It is a pity; parents should not be so selfish for 
 their own. And it will make another leak in the 
 boat. We are now a sundered world, as you know, 
 Mademoiselle Rose. Our party those of us who 
 hold with the Pere Cabet sleep and eat in that 
 great house yonder, across the road. The Majority 
 has seized the Phalanstery and the shops, and they 
 declare that, unless we yield and obey the officers 
 that they have legally elected, our daily supply of 
 food shall be cut off. We Cabetists have ceased to 
 work in the fields; we do nothing save lounge in 
 the streets and hold meetings of protest. The 
 misfortune is that these wretches, the Majority, 
 have all law and justice on their side; the perfidy 
 of it ! They have offered compromises, which we 
 have spurned; they have a perfect right to use 
 force, and we have driven them to that necessity. 
 So to-day we have no dinner unless we yield. 
 True, our soft-hearted enemies say that the women 
 and children shall not suffer, whatever their beliefs ; 
 and food will be distributed for them from the 
 Phalanstery steps. But we men who have set our 
 will against their right shall be taught a lesson!" 
 
 " Is it as bad as this, Diane ?" 
 
 Diane laid down her pen. 
 
Doom 289 
 
 "If you desire my word confirmed, ask the Pere 
 Cabet, who approaches, * sniffed Petit Clef. "My 
 self, I go to join him. He seeks my advice upon 
 affairs of state." He slid from Rose s hand to 
 clasp Diane s neck, and lay a velvet cheek against 
 her pale one. Sharp as a woodpecker s fillip, his 
 crutches clicked away up the flagged street. 
 
 "Come tell me about it, dear." 
 
 "There is nothing to tell, Mademoiselle. And 
 there is nothing to be done. The Commune is all 
 bitterness, all discord. It can never unite again. 
 The Pere Cabet talks of taking us, his followers, 
 down the river, and building another Commune in 
 the South." 
 
 "He will not succeed, dear." 
 
 " No. It will not succeed." Diane s head drooped ; 
 Rose studied the fair face, so altered by these weeks 
 of grief and service. Sorrow had dimmed her glow 
 and sparkle, like a tarnishing brush ; yet it had left 
 her face no older. It was the face of a frightened 
 child who peers deep into unfathomable terrors, yet 
 dares not call for aid. 
 
 "Are you still determined not to go back to 
 France, Diane?" 
 
 " I shall never leave the Pere Cabet." 
 
 "And if he takes you South, and then this plan 
 fails " 
 
 " Even then, I am not afraid. I could teach the 
 French in some school; I could sew, perhaps. One 
 can only wait. There is no other thing to do." 
 
290 Diane 
 
 There was one other thing to do, Rose thought. 
 And this one only succour lay in her own hand to 
 give. It must, it must be yielded. Reason and 
 justice demanded the sacrifice; it lay in the strait 
 path of Duty. Though happiness was not for her, 
 surely she could not withhold it from another. 
 Yet her soul was sick within her. Renunciation 
 meant the loss of a lifelong comradeship ; the breaking 
 of ties terrible in their very dearness ; the wreck of a 
 hope, a dream, which she had never dared confess, 
 even to her own innocent heart. The mere thought 
 of giving terrified her: the anticipation, the hope 
 untold, had come all unknowingly to be her food 
 and drink, her very life. To snatch it away would 
 be to snatch the earth from beneath her feet. 
 
 She had loved him since that first day when he 
 came to play with her in the sunny garden at 
 Belhaven, a big, stumbling boy of fourteen, strained 
 into the quaint nankeen uniform of the Academy, his 
 slim insteps strapped taut, his lanky wrists sprouting 
 to amazing length beyond the outworn sleeves. 
 She counted every look of him as beads upon her 
 stainless rosary. She loved the memory of him 
 as he had stood that first luminous morning, his 
 yellow hair brushed high into the comical roach of 
 the day, his serious eyes waiting on her father for 
 permission for some long-planned frolic. She loved 
 his stubborn humour, his fun that could not hurt, 
 his clumsy, chivalrous ways, his will of steel. Under 
 his bashful gruff ness lay a nature tensely sensitive; 
 
Doom 20 1 
 
 more than once her careless fingers had reached 
 the quick. She had stung him that very day by 
 her scoff at his unwillingness to go on the river with 
 her, she remembered contritely. He had longed to 
 stay and hear her father chat with his cronies of 
 the plans for this incredible new railroad, which 
 should stretch from Cincinnati, that outpost of 
 civilisation, to the far mysterious city, New Orleans, 
 through forests unbroken, past rivers unexplored. 
 There was talk, too, of a most visionary engineer, 
 who prophesied that within twelve years time the 
 Mississippi, that torrent of rock and slime, would 
 be cleared and made safe for navigation. What 
 right-minded boy could withstand such converse of 
 enchantment? But she had called him away, by 
 stress of chaff and teasing; she remembered how 
 he had flushed beneath her gibe. And she remem 
 bered how obstinately he had shouldered all the 
 blame in the accident which followed; how angry 
 he had been with her for her insistent sharing. 
 
 He had come again, each year, for the short visit 
 with his guardian, which the Academy permitted. 
 Hand in hand they had crept through the great dim 
 warehouses, ranked like stately ships along the 
 Potomac shore. They had tiptoed through vast, 
 echoing store-rooms ; they had climbed the crumbling 
 ladders ; they had whispered together of the far days 
 when these still, desolate rooms had been the 
 treasury of a nation. Together they had breathed 
 the lingering, ancient scents of corn and oils and 
 
292 Diane 
 
 resinous wood ; of tropic fruits and spices ; of musky 
 silks, of wines, of aromatic herbs; that mellowed 
 perfume of the years, the one treasure that this 
 rifled chest still hoarded. 
 
 They had gone to the warehouses in later summers, 
 teasing gay girl and shy youth. He had come to 
 her with every thought and plan; they had talked 
 his matters frankly, yet with brusque reticence, like 
 two boys. She was always the swifter in speech 
 and thought ; now and then she scolded him roundly 
 for his lumbering comprehension, while she exulted 
 within herself at the deep mastery and slow, un 
 yielding grasp which made all things his own in his 
 good time. She had shared his disappointments, 
 she had furthered his hopes; she had lived his life. 
 Could these strong-woven fibres, knit close by time 
 and blood and common grief and joy, be torn apart 
 by any human hand ? And by a hand so small and 
 frail and childlike as this one which clasped her 
 own? 
 
 " You are tired, Mademoiselle." 
 
 "Not a bit, Diane. Put the work away, dear. 
 Child, why do you wear those sabots !" Diane had 
 stumbled painfully to her feet; the clumsy wooden 
 shoes chafed her instep and impeded every move 
 ment. "What good does it do? And the dress! * 
 
 " Truly, it does little good, Mademoiselle." Diane 
 smoothed down the coarse blue folds. "Yet in 
 these months since I have dressed and lived as my 
 sisters of the Commune, they no longer seem to feel 
 
Doom 293 
 
 towards me so great a bitterness. They even trust 
 me with matters most precious." 
 
 "So I have heard. They let you slave alone in 
 the sewing-room while they run away to gossip 
 over the Commune, and leave the work for you. 
 They let you sit at night with the sick, while they 
 sleep or steal down to the dance. They are very 
 generous, Diane." 
 
 "It is only that they know I love the work. 
 Until this time, I have never done my share. It is 
 kind that they do not taunt me with that. And 
 I have asked the privilege of caring for poor Leon. 
 He will take his bitter medicine from no other hand ; 
 he loves to have me touch him. I would rather care 
 for him than do any other thing." 
 
 "Leon is a dear little boy. But do you love to 
 care for Mere Maturin, who snarls at you like a 
 cross cat? Do you enjoy waiting on old Mere 
 Beuve, who rails at the Pere Cabet every minute 
 that you are there to hear ? Or Citoyenne Lucie ? 
 Or that poor baby of Hortense s?" 
 
 Diane was ordering the work upon her desk. 
 "I must see no difference, Madame," she whispered 
 low. "I must say to myself: These are my 
 sisters and my brothers. They can do no wrong/ 
 I must remember Mademoiselle ! Hark ! " 
 
 Rose sprang up; the two girls listened, awe 
 struck, amazed. Through the sweet autumn air 
 it pealed again, that note, silenced through so many 
 weeks of strife and hatred ; for the first time since the 
 
294 Diane 
 
 June night when the Commune had risen and dis 
 owned the rule of Pere Cabet, man for man; they 
 heard now the Phalanstery bell. 
 
 Before the breach its sound had meant the 
 summoning of a united Colony ; the wild hope came 
 that this peal might herald reconciliation. Yet be 
 neath its vibrant chime rolled a low sinister tone; 
 the moan of warning : the palpitating beat of fear. 
 
 Rose snatched her hat and her whip from the 
 table, while Diane thrust the documents into a 
 drawer and turned the key. Driven by unspoken 
 dread, they ran tripping and stumbling through 
 the vineyards and across the stubble-fields to the 
 Phalanstery. From door to door the women 
 huddled, in whispering groups; they turned, staring, 
 as the two girls fled past. Afterwards Rose re 
 membered, as one recalls an evil dream, how pallid 
 were those gaping faces, how stark those pointing 
 hands : how yellow and unreal the sunshine lay. 
 
 On the top step of the Phalanstery stood Adolphe 
 Gerard, leader of the Majority. His dark, boyish 
 face was drawn and gray; his eyes glittered. The 
 sheet of paper in his hands shook like the wind 
 blown twigs above him. At his side stood a great 
 osier tray, covered with white linen. 
 
 At the foot of the steps on his right were ranked 
 his partisans, shoulder to shoulder, a menacing 
 phalanx. Directly opposite stood another group, 
 massed defiantly, yet piteously few. Pere Cabet s 
 splendid head towered above the ring of his disciples ; 
 
Doom 295 
 
 lifted against his shoulder, Rose caught a glimpse 
 of a fair, shining head, a white petal of a hand 
 clasping the Master s neck : Petit Clef. 
 
 Adolphe moistened his dry lips ; he began to read, 
 slowly and huskily, from the sheet in his jerking 
 hands. The disciples nodded to one another in 
 derision; they shifted, glancing back at Pere Cabet. 
 Adolphe felt their silent gibe; by a mighty effort 
 he controlled himself and raised his voice. In all 
 that great, miserable crowd, there stood no man who 
 suffered as he suffered. He was acting as reason 
 and justice commanded; he represented, not him 
 self, but the rights of the majority; and he felt 
 himself a Judas, facing his treachery, yet powerless 
 to recant. 
 
 "Since our brothers, who now call themselves 
 Disciples, the adherents of the Pere Cabet, have 
 repudiated their duties in the fields and in the 
 shops, we, the majority, are resolved that those who 
 labour not shall eat not. We, therefore, proclaim 
 that these our brothers shall be given a share of 
 food which shall suffice only for the women and the 
 children of each household . We declare this sentence 
 unwillingly and with sorrow. We implore you, 
 resistant s, that you give way to our prayers and 
 spare us the pain of enforcing this most just and 
 most unhappy law. * 
 
 His voice broke and fell on the last syllables. He 
 crushed the paper in both cold hands, and turned 
 to await the decision of the Minority. 
 
29 6 Diane 
 
 There followed a curious, shuffling pause. 
 Adolphe, on his high place, won no glance ; the day 
 hung breathless on Pere Cabet s word. He did not 
 speak ; his face wore its high, far look ; the glory of 
 the martyr self-immolated shone from his gray 
 eyes. Finally, one near by plucked up courage and 
 touched his arm, with an inquiring gesture. Pere 
 Cabet glanced listlessly towards Adolphe, waiting 
 in tense silence on his word. His look carried 
 neither assent nor refusal; but the disciples inter 
 preted it as one of defiant acceptance of the terms. 
 
 They fell into line and stalked sullenly past the 
 steps. Adolphe snatched the linen from the tray 
 and gave to each man, as he passed, the share of 
 bread and meat apportioned to his family s needs. 
 His breath came in harsh sobs as he worked; the 
 sweat of agony beaded upon his lips. He could 
 more willingly have stabbed each man as he passed 
 by than lash him in the face with this supreme 
 affront. 
 
 Pere Cabet alone waited silent in his place. He 
 did not seem to see the reluctant movements, the 
 angry, puzzled faces. The wind tossed his thick, 
 white hair about his still, dreaming face ; his prophet 
 gaze was fixed on things remote and strange. Petit 
 Clef nestled tight against his arm. 
 
 Rose watched the men as they filed back, crowding 
 close about Pere Cabet. She neither pitied nor 
 wondered; she stood, an awe-struck witness, through 
 the last act of the great, inexorable tragedy. 
 
Doom 297 
 
 One disciple, childishly officious, and bent on 
 exasperating the Majority, laid back the napkin 
 covering his portion, and offered the food to Pere 
 Cabet. The men jostled to see; Adolphe leaned 
 forward, peering. Pere Cabet seemed to grasp 
 his wish but slowly, and with effort. Finally he 
 took the loaf in his hands ; then, as though the touch 
 of it betrayed for the first his vast humiliation, he 
 flung it on the stones at his feet. 
 
 It was the spark of riot. His supporters blinked 
 at him, open-mouthed ; there was a dreadful pause. 
 Then, as though his mad freak had struck off the 
 bonds of their fury, they rose at him in a rage of 
 exultation. They turned with shrieks and taunts 
 to defy the Majority, standing helpless and ap 
 palled. They rent the fair linen into shreds. They 
 trampled the bread beneath their feet. Their 
 tumultuous passion shamed while it terrified. 
 There was something worse than savage in their 
 ungoverned wrath. It was not a mere angry out 
 break; it was the deliberate casting-off of decency, 
 of honour, of self-control; the conscious return to 
 license and to brutal force. 
 
 Pere Cabet was as one stricken before their 
 frenzy. Twice he would have spoken, but the up 
 roar beat him down to silence. Petit Clef slid 
 from his relaxing arms, and clung to his knees ; Diane 
 broke from Rose s grasp, and ran to his side; he 
 did not hear her beseeching cry. 
 
 The Majority suddenly awoke from their stupor 
 
2g 8 Diane 
 
 of bewilderment. Hotly resentful, they would have 
 rushed upon their opponents and made good their 
 bitterness by blows ; but Adolphe s brave wit saved 
 the Commune from ignominy. He leaped down 
 the steps and faced his men ; his strong voice shrilled 
 above the clamour. 
 
 " Men of Icaria ! You who have taken Honour 
 for your flag ! Do not desert it now ! Leave these 
 defamers, these traitors, to vent their spite on the 
 bread which would have nourished them. Let 
 them find no defence. Return each to his labour, 
 and let there be silence among us. Let no man 
 breathe our common shame." 
 
 The Majority drew back, muttering; but Adolphe 
 had carried the day. A moment they demurred; 
 then, with high head and challenging glance of 
 scorn, each took up his tool, spade or hammer, axe 
 or knife, and trod sturdily away. Before they had 
 crossed the Phalanstery gardens, the Minority, 
 baffled and stunned by their contempt, had melted 
 away through the crowd. 
 
 Of the host which had thronged the court 
 yard, there remained but three. A white, 
 trembling girl, who knelt to clasp for her own 
 solace the child at her side; a wan old man, 
 who stood moveless upon the stairs. The sun 
 light flashed silver upon his brave, white head; 
 there was an awful patience in his eyes. The 
 anguish of the outcast leader, the grief of the 
 prophet unheeded, were written in that still, 
 
Doom 299 
 
 weary face. Yet its graved lines held neither 
 dread nor care. 
 
 It was a face of waiting. Its calm was the calm 
 of one who has laboured eagerly in his dim cell of 
 Time, striving to weave a tapestry which shall 
 excel all others ; who, bringing it into the clear light, 
 sees its threads rough and broken, its pattern 
 faulty and marred ; and numbed by this supreme and 
 blighting vision, faces passively the last, most 
 merciful stroke of Fate. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF LOSSES 
 
 "So thee departs to-morrow morning, Friend 
 Armand?" 
 
 "Pst, brother!" Citoyen Armand squatted on 
 his fresh-scoured door-stone. An old mahogany 
 chair lay on the greening bricks at his feet ; a heap 
 of fresh willow twigs, lissom as cords of silk, were 
 piled at his knee. He was binding them about the 
 carven arms and quaint heart-shaped back with 
 touches furtive and swift; his glimmering, narrow 
 old eyes peered constantly up the street. "This 
 chair was built by me for my gift of betrothal to my 
 Madeleine, fifty-one years ago, when we were 
 enfants. Madeleine knows well how to entreat; 
 when we have signed with the Commune, she has 
 persuaded the Pere Cabet that we are permitted to 
 retain this one treasure in our own abode. It has 
 cost us of the black looks and the hard words without 
 end from those not so favoured; but it has been a 
 joy perpetual. Now she and I are about to desert 
 the Commune; and it is the law that we may take 
 nothing with us, save the clothing on our backs and 
 twenty -five dollars, which is the share of each man 
 and wife from the treasury. Madeleine has wept 
 
 300 
 
An Account of Losses 301 
 
 of floods ; she has vowed that this chair shall go also, 
 even though she must fight her way with it to the 
 wharf. Myself, I have no mind for a brawl ; there 
 fore I bind it in osier and will weave twigs over it 
 until it shall appear as a basket. I will then carry 
 it, heaped with the fresh linen, to the house of 
 Madame Manderson, for Mademoiselle Rose. This 
 will waken no suspicions, none. But to-night, 
 when the Commune sleeps, I shall take that basket 
 to the ferry; the Captain will hide it for me 
 among the freight; and to-morrow, we three 
 Madeleine, I, and the basket will enter upon our 
 journey west. For we go forth to live our own life, 
 M sieu 1 Ami. No Commune shall shackle us 
 longer!" 
 
 "I thought thee joined the Commune to gain 
 liberty, friend." 
 
 " That is true, also. I was of the first to sign my 
 name on the Roll of Icaria. All my life had I 
 dreamed of a true freedom ; all my life had I longed 
 to follow the One Leader. I put away my work, 
 I left my Madeleine with her brother s people, I 
 joined the Avant-Garde of 1848. We were the 
 men who marched into Texas and fought all that 
 hideous summer to make a home for the thousands 
 who were to come and help us build the Perfect 
 State. We were starved, we were sun-smitten, we 
 were burnt out by fevers; only thirty of our sixty- 
 nine escaped alive to New Orleans. There we met 
 ship-load upon ship-load of men and women who had 
 
302 Diane 
 
 voyaged forth to meet us; then came the weeks of 
 dispute. The one would demand to return to 
 France. The other would force him to stay. At 
 last we agreed upon this place. M sieu, you know 
 not the meaning of the word joy as we know it. 
 The great steamer which brought us up the river 
 must stop forty miles to the south, because of the 
 ice. Packed in vast windrows it lay, gray and 
 crusted, roaring always with the voice of the tempest. 
 The air it was of a cold to wither. The world 
 blinded white, wherever you might spy; the frost 
 pierced even those great trees, and snapped them 
 as you would snap a twig; the forest echoed with 
 their dying groans. We carried the children 
 on our backs, we led our wives as best we might, 
 we laughed and sang and shouted. When night 
 came, we lodged the women and children in cabins, 
 and built for ourselves great fires and beds of leaves. 
 We had little food; we had much clothing, but not 
 of a warmth for this malignant air; we had many 
 sick. Yet what matter? We were as children, 
 happy through the gray day, happy through the 
 awful night. Cold could not sting us, hunger could 
 not daunt. We were as princes, entering upon our 
 heritage ; we stood at the gate of Paradise. 
 
 " Bien ! It was not so grand a Paradise when we 
 have gained it. For the first year we must sleep 
 all in the old mill, we must eat from planks set on 
 trestles on the threshing-floor. No man of us tasted 
 meat that twelve-month no, nor coffee, nor fair 
 
An Account of Losses 303 
 
 bread. Beans and black bread, such was our only 
 fare, save when we bartered osier baskets for a load 
 of potatoes or a sack of the yellow corn. We dressed 
 in those clothes which we had brought into the 
 Commune; we had no money to buy new. It 
 would make one to perish with laughter, to behold 
 us, labouring in our torn finery, like so many scare 
 crows ! Myself, I sowed wheat that spring, dressed 
 in the velvet breeches and the grand tailed coat 
 with the buttons of gold which my grandfather had 
 worn at the coronation of Louis the Eighteenth, 
 thirty years gone. They tripped me now and then, 
 those tails; but they did me one good turn. The 
 crows sat high in the trees and derided me; yet 
 not one of them dared pick up the grain which that 
 apparition had dropped. Then Mere de la Roche, 
 she who first cared for the children, must go about 
 her work in the brocades and the arched shoes of 
 silver, since that all her other garments are con 
 sumed by wear. She was a queen of women, the 
 Comtesse de la Roche ; to see her pace up and down 
 between the little cradles, dragging those splendid 
 robes, was to watch the mother of all the fairies. 
 And Thor6, who led the wood-choppers, wore sabots 
 and blouse, but on his curly head the high, white 
 hat of beaver, worn only by the judges and the men 
 of law ! And Traint6 Devoe, who managed to dress 
 as ouvrier completement, save that he must wear 
 the stockings of silk, all that remained to him! 
 Picture those long hose of silk, blue and rose and 
 
304 Diane 
 
 lilac colour, covered of embroideries and of arabesque, 
 worn with the shoes of birch wood, and the blouse of 
 linen ! Ah, but what matter ? We laboured each 
 for all. Life was poor, but it was all our own. Who 
 could take away? 
 
 "Soon we had enough, both for food and for 
 clothing. We built ourselves cottages, that each 
 family might live to itself. We broadened our 
 fields. We gave a year to raising the Phalanstery 
 here, and we rejoiced in each hour of the labour it 
 cost us. Our fame spread ; great men of your country 
 journeyed to see our Commune and to talk with the 
 Pre Cabet. But success was too big for us, M sieu. 
 It must be a brave man, a grand Commune, that 
 dares succeed. 
 
 "At first, it was jus* our little jealousies for the 
 Commune, that came between us. Melanie Torre" 
 had in her door-plot a grapevine and two pear-trees ; 
 one has suggested to her that the true Communist 
 would give all the fruit to the Institution, or else 
 destroy these temptations from the face of the 
 earth. Melanie laughed at the charge; great was 
 the shaking of heads. Myself, I have this chair; 
 not a montfo but I am charged with ill-faith to 
 Icaria, that I keep it. If one owned a flower, it 
 was scandal; if a chicken, there was war. To 
 each other, M sieu, we pretended that we were happy 
 only when we possessed all things equally; in our 
 own hearts we knew that we could never be happy 
 till we possessed each his own. 
 
An Account of Losses 305 
 
 "There are times, M sieu, when I think, That 
 which is lost, we have stolen from ourselves. Each 
 man of himself is thief. Who understands ? It is jus 
 a little hard, is it not so, that we must spend all this 
 life to learn how to live it ? That we must go forth, 
 old man and woman, with but clothes to cover us, 
 and money to buy our food for eight days ? That we 
 must go scorned Chut ! The Pere Cabet!" 
 
 He hustled the half-masked chair behind the 
 lilac hedge, and set busily at his weaving. 
 
 Pere Cabet came slowly down the street, leaning 
 on his great cane. Friend Barclay s words of 
 greeting stammered to silence. 
 
 This could not be the Master. The Pere Cabet 
 was always alert and gay, domineering, buoyant, 
 audacious. His very walk was confidence ; his voice 
 rang hope. Friend Barclay looked again and yet 
 again. It was with the shock that comes when we 
 look into a doomed face that he stepped aside to 
 make place for this wan old man, haggard and 
 staring, who thrust past him, never seeing the 
 offered hand. 
 
 "Good-day to thee, friend. And how is Diane?" 
 
 Pere Cabet s stumbling brain found its slow path 
 to answer. "I have not seen her all this long 
 day. She only works, works, cooking for the 
 sick. Ah, how she toils for these wretches most 
 ungrateful!" 
 
 "The people love her, friend. And the sick are 
 not ungrateful." 
 
306 Diane 
 
 " But I am the one who requires her ! Mine is the 
 real need." 
 
 The pitiful truth of it ! Friend Barclay spoke on 
 as he would have soothed a child. 
 
 " Let me go to the Infirmary and take her for an 
 hour s ride before sunset. She needs the change 
 and the air." 
 
 "As you will." Pere Cabet stood aside grudg 
 ingly. "But not for long. I must have her with 
 me before the night. I will not face another 
 darkness without knowing that she is safe and 
 near!" 
 
 Diane stood over a pot of charcoal, stirring a 
 bubbling broth. Her hair clung in tight rings about 
 her moist temples ; a lovely flame-pink glowed in her 
 cheek, but her eyes showed deep, weary shadows. 
 At his gentle insistence, she gave over the work to 
 one of the women standing by, and went with him ; 
 but through the drive he strove in vain to rouse her 
 from her dreary listlessness. He took a short cut 
 on the way back, which brought them past Madame 
 Manderson s cottage. As its trim white walls came 
 into view, Diane sat up eagerly; the colour flew to 
 her face. 
 
 "Oh, she is there! Mademoiselle Rose! Please 
 let me go in to see her. I must ! Perhaps did the 
 Pere Cabet tell you?" 
 
 "That thee will go with him to St. Louis, dear 
 child?" 
 
 "Yes, And soon, I may not see her again," 
 
An Account of Losses 307 
 
 "But the sun is already down, Diane. It is 
 later than I promised thy return. " 
 
 Diane was already gathering up her skirts to 
 clamber out. He stopped the horse, smiling at her 
 wilfulness. 
 
 "Be quick, Diane. Don t thee stop to chatter 
 secrets this time. I promise thee ll have another 
 hour together before thee goes." 
 
 Diane sped past Persis, who met her with open 
 arms and vociferous welcome, to the little room 
 where Rose now stayed. Madame Manderson had 
 invited her to remain as her guest during the Major s 
 absence in the East; and to his unbounded amaze 
 ment, she had accepted. It would be dull, she 
 explained to her puzzled parent; but the journey 
 would be hot and tedious, and of the two evils, one 
 might as well choose the lesser. So the Major had 
 yielded, after the fashion of the properly disciplined 
 father; and Rose had stayed, day after tranquil 
 day, in Madame Manderson s little parlour. She 
 wound yarn for Madame s hungry needles; she 
 read aloud to her from certain fine-typed magazines, 
 flimsily bound, illustrated by deplorable wood-cuts, 
 in which one beheld the same lovely damsel, hoop- 
 skirted and poke-bonneted, through an entire issue, 
 no matter whether the tale might be "Visits to an 
 Egyptian Harem," or "The Heiress of Raven- 
 hurst." There were serials in those magazines of 
 the mid-century, too; stories whimsical, pathetic, 
 adorable, written by an English gentleman named 
 
308 Diane 
 
 Dickens, who was said to have made for himself a 
 famous name despite his wretched rearing, even 
 in that Parnassus, London. True, Madame Mander- 
 son lifted delicate brows at some of the rather 
 ordinary people whom one met in his pages; but 
 Rose devoured them passionately. She was for 
 ever at her books, so Madame complained. It 
 was enough to wreck her eyesight and to blunt her 
 fine mind, such constant poring over trivial tales. 
 The way she read, plunged always in her book, 
 might have drowned Memory itself. 
 
 Rose s door stood open; Rose sat at the little 
 ivory-inlaid desk, her brown head bent over her 
 writing. Diane ran in with an eager loving cry; 
 then she stepped back, her lashes flickering with 
 hurt surprise. Rose had sprung up, flinging her 
 handkerchief over her half-written letter. Her 
 angry exclamation cut the younger girl like a lash. 
 All her swift, tender remonstrance could not quite 
 soothe the sting, though Diane declared her own 
 blame at entering unbidden, and put up still quiver 
 ing lips for Rose s kiss. The little affront was not 
 quite forgotten, even in the grave, whispered 
 conference which followed. 
 
 "You re not honestly going with him, Diane? I 
 just won t let you. Come, stay here with me till 
 Pere Cabet makes a place for you; then go, if you 
 must. But it would be so much safer and better " 
 
 " But it is not safe for him, to go alone. Do not 
 tempt me, dear Mademoiselle. It is my place." 
 
An Account of Losses 39 
 
 Rose hesitated; then the impetuous question 
 which had teased her for months broke from her 
 lips. " Diane, what claim has Pere Cabet on you ? 
 Why did he bring you here, of all places? How 
 did he happen to take charge of you in the beginning ? 
 Sometimes I believe it is all wrong, that he is making 
 pretence of his love for you, that he has no right " 
 
 "Who could question his right? Surely he has 
 earned it, by his goodness to me. Mademoiselle, 
 is it that you do not know how he has cared for me, 
 always? That he has been father and mother? 
 I am a waif, bereaved; he has put me with the 
 good Sisters; he has cherished me always. Truly, 
 I do not know why these things are so ; he has never 
 seen fit to tell me of my people, save that they 
 were men and women wise and good, and that I am 
 the last of all my blood. Often I wish that I might 
 know more, yet surely I may trust my faith to 
 him!" 
 
 "What does he plan to do, Diane?" 
 
 "He thinks that he can found a new Icaria, in 
 the South. Two hundred of the Citoyens have 
 promised to go with him; among them are some of 
 the most brilliant men of the Commune. Lacienne, 
 who wrote with the Pere Cabet, and helped him to 
 translate the Republic into French; Desprez, the 
 sculptor; Mortier, the physician; Gustav Troyer, 
 who designed the Phalanstery. That is a man, 
 Mademoiselle ! He spends his days in the fields ; 
 but he rises with the gray of dawn, that he may 
 
310 Diane 
 
 give the first two bright hours to his drawings. He 
 studied in Prague, forty years since. He has told 
 me how, when the days were short and the night 
 came before he could leave the shop, he would lie 
 on the hearth, his papers spread on the stones, and 
 draw his appointed task by firelight. Ah, the brave 
 soul ! And he loves the Commune as his life. 
 Ten thousand francs has he received for the portraits 
 which he has painted since he has become one of us ; 
 every sou has he placed in the common treasury." 
 
 "Mortier and Lacienne are talented men, too. 
 They deserve high praise. What sort of work will 
 Pere Cabet offer them in this new Icaria? Will 
 they be able to earn as they deserve ? Or must they 
 carry wood, and shoe horses, and dig fields, as they 
 have done here? Oh, Diane, I didn t mean to be 
 so cruel ! Don t, dear !" 
 
 " I am to keep his house for him," Diane went on, 
 presently. "For a time, we cannot share our 
 labours as we have done here. I must say good-bye 
 now, Mademoiselle. M sieu 1 Ami waits for me. 
 If you can, will you come and spend a little hour 
 with me before we go ? To-morrow I shall be in 
 the Library, where I am to pack the Pere Cabet s 
 manuscripts. I shall hope for you then. And 
 Mademoiselle," her pale cheek flared sudden crimson 
 in the waning light, "may I request one little 
 favour ? That you will say farewell for me to your 
 cousin, M sieu le Capitaine? And you will ask 
 him to forgive me my harsh words ? When I spoke 
 
An Account of Losses 311 
 
 them, that day of our great sorrow, I believed them; 
 I knew that he was wrong. Now I do not know. 
 Only I see that I dare not judge. He did much to 
 give me pleasure ; I wish to declare my gratitude as 
 well as to confess my fault." 
 
 Til not forget, Diane/ Rose listened patiently 
 to the ceremonious little speech. She walked un 
 steadily to the door with her; her fingers chilled 
 Diane s clasp. "Indeed, I ll come soon, dear. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 She went back to the little carven desk, and 
 lighted the candles in the slim bronze sconces at 
 either side. Then she turned back to the window. 
 The western sky was a laver of foaming gold ; the 
 trees stood out in spectral nakedness against the 
 glow. Below glimmered the waveless river; a 
 scimitar, cold and steely gray. Like a strange 
 weapon, flung from an alien sphere, a long black 
 arrowy wedge floated slowly past bank and thicket. 
 In mid-air its vast arms broadened, grew tenuous, 
 like dissolving mist; as shrouded by drifting veils 
 of incense, the sunset altar gleamed through the 
 cloud of eager wings. Away to the south it sped ; 
 the harsh, exultant clang of the myriad flock struck 
 a cry of farewell to Rose s ear. As the birds fled, 
 so fled her summer years. Their spring might come 
 again, blossom and star and dew; her own hand 
 must lock away her summer for all time. 
 
 The room brimmed with shadow. She took up 
 her letter and read over the last page by candle- 
 
312 Diane 
 
 light. The dim sconce mirror pictured her still, 
 wan face, her dreary eyes. 
 
 "We ve missed you a good deal, Bob, especially 
 those first few weeks. I wonder if they seemed as 
 long to you? Since father went to Washington to 
 report, I ve stayed with Madame Manderson 
 that is, when I haven t been up at the Commune 
 with Diane. Sydney Palmer went away in July. 
 To his plantations, I think; none of us have heard 
 from him. I m worried about Diane. The fusses 
 in that old Commune tire her so. Friend Barclay 
 has been helping the people by giving them work 
 in his orchards, and I imagine he has sent in food, 
 too, though I know neither Pere Cabet nor Diane 
 suspect that. Friend Barclay says that Pere 
 Cabet cannot live much longer. Father thinks she 
 should go back to France, but she won t hear of it. 
 She looks tired, and not very well. Madame 
 Manderson wants her, for all the time. So do I. 
 But there s no telling how it will all end. 
 
 "Friend Barclay said, to-day, to give you this 
 message, * Bread on the table. Fire on the hearth. 
 Open the door. 
 
 "I suppose he means he would be glad to see 
 you come back. So should I, though I think you ve 
 acted abominably, not to write to one of us. I dare 
 say you think it s odd enough for me to be writing 
 to you, after all the horrid things I said to you, 
 that day on the river. But we ve known each other 
 too long to make good enemies, Bob. So here are 
 
An Account of Losses 313 
 
 wishes for your health and safety though I don t 
 wish you success. And so good-bye. ROSE." 
 
 She took up the pen again with an unfaltering 
 hand: 
 
 "Diane was here just now; Friend Barclay 
 dragged her away from the kitchen you know, 
 she cooks for the sick people at the Commune and 
 brought her out for the ride. She goes with Pere 
 Cabet to St. Louis to-morrow; he hopes to found 
 another Commune there. I just don t know how 
 to let her go. She asked me to say good-bye to you, 
 for her, and to ask your forgiveness for what she 
 said to you, that day of the Commune rebellion. I 
 think you d forgive her if you could have heard 
 her ask it, Bob. 
 
 "Sydney Palmer was very good to her, all the 
 time after you went away. Somehow she hasn t 
 seemed to care for anything, though. We went on 
 the river once or twice, but even Sydney could see 
 that she didn t enjoy it. Perhaps she was afraid. 
 She used to love to go when you took us. She 
 never used to be afraid then. I know she misses 
 you, just as we do. 
 
 " Persis is going to the ferry, and I shall send this 
 to the post by her. When you re in the humour, 
 write a line to ROSE." 
 
 She sealed the dainty sheet, and ran with it to 
 the garden. Persis waited at the gate to receive 
 it; with the impudence of the petted servant, she 
 
3H Diane 
 
 read the address, then stroked Rose s cheek with a 
 velvet palm. Her eyes danced with teasing laughter, 
 but Rose did not see. She hurried back up the path, 
 her long skirts striking perfume from the thymy 
 border as she sped. Madame s sweet quaver sum 
 moned her from the arbour; she did not hear. 
 The little room was mercifully dark as she stumbled 
 in and locked the door. 
 
 To her bewilderment, Diane did not find Pere 
 Cabet waiting for her, when she reached the Com 
 mune. He had asked for her many times over 
 during the afternoon, so the women volubly ex 
 plained. He had seemed beset by an impatience 
 most vehement. At last he had taken his cap and 
 stick "Et pas son chapeau propre, Mademoiselle, 
 mais sa casquette d ouvrier!" and had gone forth, 
 probably in search of her. Ah, no, she must not 
 harass herself with presentiments. He went forth 
 often to take the air in solitude after a hard day, 
 was it not so ? 
 
 Diane swallowed the black bread and the grapes 
 which Th6rese set before her, then slipped away, 
 unnoticed in the hubbub of surmise and assurance. 
 Her heart was sick with heavy dread. It was 
 preposterous, she told herself valiantly, that she 
 should fear for him for the Pere Cabet, the wise, 
 the confident, the sane. And what outward dangers 
 could menace in these his own safe, tranquil fields? 
 The hoot of an owl might startle him ; the bark of a 
 
An Account of Losses 315 
 
 hunting fox might jar upon his reverie. There 
 could be nothing more. 
 
 Yet looming Terror hung at her flying feet. She 
 was deep in the fields now; the Commune lights, 
 faint stars on the twilight sky, were will-o -the-wisp 
 beacons, unpitying, remote. The corn-shocks, dim, 
 crouching giants, seemed to lean and clutch for her 
 as she fled past ; all the dry leaves huddled together, 
 whispering reproach. The road wound upward, 
 past outlying vineyards, then wavered and was lost, 
 a dim gray thread, in the gloom of unbroken forest. 
 
 She paused at the crest of the last long hill. 
 Behind her stretched the Commune fields, a dusky 
 camping-ground, file after file of black tents against 
 the darkling sky. Before her hovered the forest 
 shadow ; the very cloak of Fear. 
 
 Once before she had walked this road by night, 
 but not alone. Her arms had borne a showering 
 burden, rifled from bush and thicket, balmy-sweet. 
 She remembered the scent of the wild crab -apple, 
 pure as arbutus under snows, as one recalls a caress 
 ing tone. Channing s hand had guided her down 
 this rough path; Channing s voice had cheered her 
 serious dread of wolf and savage. He was so 
 strong, this grave M sieu le Capitaine ; his blue eyes 
 were so kind, his deep voice comforted, even though 
 his words might fail. In those days, it was as 
 though he stood before her, a brave wall, and 
 shielded her from every ordeal, every pain. He 
 was so big, so strong! Nothing could torture her 
 
316 Diane 
 
 while he was near. Until at last Ah ! He had 
 struck her with his own hand, he had broken her 
 heart, he had reviled her idol the Commune ! 
 
 She clenched her little teeth. Traitress! Yet 
 the cry had flown from her lips, the wail of her 
 grieving heart. " Return to me, M sieu le Capitaine ! 
 Return ! It is that I have need of you, oh, mon 
 ami!" 
 
 A long sigh breathed from the forest. It roused 
 her, quivering, to all her present fears. A mile 
 through the wood lay a small clearing ; there stood the 
 tiny new House of Our Lady, where Alexandre, son 
 to Paul and Angele, had been baptised. This walk 
 through the woods was a favourite stroll with Pere 
 Cabet; more than once, of a summer afternoon, 
 she had wandered up the cool, shadowed paths 
 with him. She had a fair knowledge of the road 
 by day. But her heart failed her at the thought 
 of treading its lonely silences by night. 
 
 " This will not do for a Lahautiere, Mademoiselle." 
 she told herself, sternly. " You must have courage, 
 not only for yourself, but for him. You must find 
 him, you must comfort him ah ! the poor Pere 
 Cabet!" 
 
 Sobs choked her. She brushed the tears from 
 her eyes, and started bravely on. 
 
 Now her grief and her care for the beloved old 
 man dulled her own selfish terrors. She made her 
 way steadily, guided half by sight, half by instinct, 
 through the enfolding night. Now and then she 
 
An Account of Losses 3*7 
 
 stumbled over a fallen branch ; once she fell heavily, 
 and lay for a moment bruised and trembling. The 
 terrors of darkness were near and real. Her heart 
 leaped at every night-bird s call, her breath failed 
 her at every stealthy rustle ; yet her mind bent more 
 and more upon the loved one whom she had come 
 to find. 
 
 The road turned abruptly, and wound along the 
 rim of a high bluff. Ah! There was the river 
 below, a pulseless sheet of gray. There glimmered 
 the lights of the Government fleet, across near the 
 Iowa shore. The chapel was only a few steps 
 farther down the hill. She caught the gleam of its 
 lights through the trees, and was swiftly warmed 
 and comforted. Though the Pere Cabet might not 
 be there, the good priest would surely help her to 
 find him. And if the priest was not in the chapel, 
 the Holy Mother herself would soothe and care for 
 her. Now all would be well. 
 
 She crept down the slope, treading lightly as 
 the breeze. A curious awe filled her little heart as 
 she knelt at the open door. It was a thing mys 
 terious, this shrine built deep in the woods, so far 
 from human dwelling! Its nearest neighbour was 
 the Commune, whose people were unbelievers, 
 almost without exception. Those few who, like 
 Angele, longed to return to their old faith, would 
 have to walk these miles of field and forest to 
 reach their shrine. Moreover, the greater part of 
 the road was a public highway ; they were likely to 
 
318 Diane 
 
 be seen by the disciples of the Pere Cabet, and 
 reported to him as apostates. For, as Diane knew 
 to her sorrow, there was nothing so grievous to 
 him as the thought that his people were turning 
 backward from the broad road of Reason, which he 
 he had opened to their feet, to walk again the 
 narrow, high-walled path of the Romish Church. 
 
 She slipped in timidly. The chapel seemed too 
 tiny to be real. It was smaller than the nuns* 
 oratory at the Convent, she thought, with a sigh. 
 Truly an elfin cloister, as Petit Clef had declared. 
 Alas, there was no one here ! Unless could that 
 be a voice from the confessional ? 
 
 The voice of the Pere Cabet ! 
 
 Anguish mastered her. Before the crucifix she 
 sank, her hands clenched and quivering, her heart 
 wrung with intolerable woe. Oh, that she might 
 solace him! That she might help to bear this 
 misery insupportable, which had beaten him back, 
 strong, confident rebel, to the feet of One whom he 
 had denied before all men ! 
 
 The old voice whispered on: its piteous account 
 of losses; its measureless renunciation. 
 
 "I confess to Almighty God, to the Blessed 
 Mary, ever Virgin, to blessed Michael the Arch 
 angel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the holy 
 Apostles, Peter and Paul, and to all the Saints, that 
 I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word and 
 deed, through my fault, through my fault, through 
 my most grievous fault. I have lived without 
 
An Account of Losses 319 
 
 Thee, O Thou God of my youth. I have builded my 
 house without Thine altar. I have shunned Thy 
 Holy Temple. I have profaned the Days of these 
 Thy Saints. I have taught those who lean upon 
 me and believe in me to sin as I have sinned. When 
 my sorrows grew greater than I could bear, I have 
 built this shrine to Thee in secret, that I might 
 worship to my consoling without the knowledge of 
 my people. Be it my shame that I would not 
 declare Thee before them, in the fear that they 
 might turn against me and destroy this Government 
 which is as the breath of my nostrils. Be it my 
 doom that I shall expiate my sins in purging flame, 
 Be it my hope that my griefs may atone for the 
 sins of these my children, my beloved. Have 
 mercy upon them, Thou, God Almighty. Have 
 mercy upon them, Mary, Mother, Ever-Blessed. 
 Intercede in pity for them, all ye Saints, ye who 
 have been tempted as they have been tempted, 
 who have fallen, as they have fallen, who have 
 been forgiven as they may be forgiven " 
 
 Diane staggered trembling from the chapel. 
 Blinded and choked in her agony, she could endure 
 to hear no more. 
 
 She crouched in the shadow without and waited 
 till the murmur within had ceased. Finally Pere 
 Cabet came down the aisle. He did not start 
 when she stepped into the bar of light from the 
 doorway and put out her hands to him. There was 
 a lovely radiance in his face. His eyes bore their 
 
320 Diane 
 
 high, calm look; he smiled into her despairing 
 gaze. 
 
 " It is that you have come to walk with me, Diane, 
 beloved ? " He took her face between his palms and 
 kissed it tenderly. "It is late for us to be so far 
 away. But we will clasp each other s hands, and 
 walk together safely, through the black night. We 
 are but children together, ma petite. We are both 
 beloved, we are both cherished, is it not so ? Come." 
 
 Hand in hand, in still accord, they crossed dark 
 hills and silent fields till they gained the lights of 
 home. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 DREAMS AND A WAKENING 
 
 "FALL inter line, there! Lively, now! How 
 many miles furder, Cap n Channing?" 
 
 "Nineteen, to Lawrence. We ought to reach 
 the river in time to make camp." 
 
 "We ll have to, that. Step along, boys. Whip 
 up, now!" 
 
 A laggard ox-cart trundled clumsily into line. A 
 volley of whip-cracking ran along the file, like the 
 explosion of an endless string of fire-crackers. The 
 last emigrant train of 56 started on its final 
 day of travel into the Promised Land. 
 
 Beside the leader s wagon rode Channing, sheeted 
 with dust from hat to spur. One hand rested, from 
 long habit, on the butt of his revolver, the other 
 lay on Winnie s satin neck. From time to time 
 Winnie turned and flung her dainty head, as though 
 she would cast the dreary outlook from her eyes. 
 For they rode through a burnt-out world. The 
 ridges which two months ago had tossed breast-high 
 with plumy green were scorched and blackened. 
 The prairie wind, once a wild, pure breath, was now 
 the breath of a furnace, parching, destroying. 
 Clouds of white, bitter dust enveloped the caravan. 
 
 321 
 
322 Diane 
 
 The sky was an ash-gray tent ; only a rim of brassy 
 orange at night and morning promised that, beyond 
 the heat and weariness, one dared to hope for the 
 glory of dawn, the peace of amber dusk. 
 
 Through these months, Channing had toiled as he 
 had never toiled before. The best of his time had 
 been spent as an emigrant guard; during the few 
 weeks which he could call his own, he had ploughed 
 and cleared a part of his Lawrence claim, and had 
 built a cabin which for size and splendour was the 
 marvel of his frontier neighbours. He had found 
 little joy in its making, although he took a boyish 
 satisfaction in selecting the highest knoll in his 
 beautiful hill-bound claim as its foundation. He 
 had put it up carefully, moreover. It was absurd, 
 he told himself impatiently, to take so much 
 pains with a house which no one but himself would 
 ever use. Yet sometimes he forgot himself, and 
 dreamed. To-day the dream was far more real 
 than the scorching prairie at his feet. 
 
 It was early dusk; the hour when crickets would 
 shrill at the door-stones, and long mists creep like 
 groping fingers through the willows that fringed the 
 stream below. He saw his cabin, bowered high in 
 honeysuckle and ghostly clematis; he watched his 
 own figure climb the last steep slope to the door, 
 with dog and gun. It was long past sundown, yet 
 roseate light blazed from every deep-set window, as 
 through the sunset glow were caught and prisoned 
 in those tiny panes. The door stood open, wide; 
 
Dreams and a Wakening 323 
 
 dark and clear against the gush of light from the 
 hearth beyond, a stately figure stood a quaint little 
 figure enough, whose wide-flowing lilac gown flushed 
 to rose in the dancing light, whose slender hands 
 outstretched 
 
 A blast of parching dust pelted his face like red- 
 hot gravel. Channing shook himself awake, and 
 looked back at the crawling train. Two drivers 
 were wrangling in bellows and shouts over right of 
 precedence in the line ; a child wailed dismally in the 
 nearest wagon, while the mother betrayed her own 
 homesickness by shrill demands for silence. This 
 was the real world, hot, clamorous, disheartening. 
 Dreams were well enough in their way, but they 
 should stop where they belonged between the 
 covers of a poet s books. The Kansas prairie was 
 no place for them. Moreover, it was no place for 
 her. 
 
 How the sunlight had flashed on her curly head 
 as she stepped from the boat that last day ! There 
 were gold streaks in her clouding lashes, too; one 
 noticed them always with a fresh surprise. With all 
 her queenly dignity, a thread of sylvan mischief ran 
 through her gravest mood, like the thread of gold 
 through her brown hair. At sight of her, one thought 
 of wild, shy things, too exquisite for human holding ; 
 a stem of pussy-willow buds, silver against the pale 
 March sky; the call of a mourning dove, deep 
 in the hazel brush; the scent of hillside sweet- 
 briar, drenched and storm-beaten, every rose-tipped 
 
324 Diane 
 
 leaf flashing white crystal. Ah, the smell of that 
 rain-swept thicket ! He need not close his eyes to 
 see the dip of the lovely slope, the gray ribbon of 
 willows, the great cool amber river beyond. And 
 green through the mist of the willows, her long 
 cloak, flowing free. And sweet through the purl 
 of the water, her laughter, faint and clear. 
 
 His was a homesickness of body as well as a home 
 sickness of mind. Soul and sense thirsted as with 
 a bodily thirst for the peace of that stainless, 
 tranquil world. He longed for the flowing silence 
 of broad ripening fields ; the pelt and plash of swift 
 midsummer hail; the glory of the unclouded tur 
 quoise sky. While he tramped his watch through 
 the darkness, he caught himself listening for the far 
 night sounds of home ; the wild, soft bark of a hunting 
 fox; the crash of a buck through low timber; the 
 scamper of a beaver, velvet -footed, upon the river 
 sands. In the white glare of the August nooning, 
 he dreamed the call of the shy quail-mother, faint 
 hearted Amazon, leading her huddled caravan 
 across the white dust desert of the road. Once or 
 twice he had caught one of those velvet-striped 
 atoms of terror; he remembered the smitten quiet 
 of the tiny body in his big palm, the panic pleading 
 in the jewel eyes ; the leap of relief as the brown dot 
 scuttled from his opening hand beneath a forest 
 of corn-stalks. He pursed his lips to whistle the 
 bob-white ; but the prairie dust stifled the note to a 
 tuneless chirp. And then the thrushes, those 
 
Dreams and a Wakening 325 
 
 rapturous choristers, linking in a chain of song the 
 earth and sky ! He would give a year for their 
 wakening twitter. The trill of a bluebird, even a 
 blue-jay s whistle, would be music. True, the 
 prairie grasses rustled full of birds, whirring up in 
 brown clouds beneath his horse s feet; but they 
 were harsh-voiced, rusty -coated, never the blithe 
 comrades of silver turf and willow. This was as it 
 should be. This charred waste was never the 
 place for them. And it could never be the place 
 for her. 
 
 So he would muse, day after day, night after 
 watching night, upon the home that he had left. 
 But he did not trust himself to think of the friends 
 behind. Rose, and the Major, Palmer and Friend 
 Barclay; and that was well. His heart was sore 
 when he remembered them. A man can steel 
 himself to endure reproach; the bravest stoic of us 
 all cringes before the supreme blow to be for 
 gotten. 
 
 In all these months he had heard no word from 
 home. He had written to Friend Barclay over and 
 over, without reply. He had swallowed his pride 
 and sent a short letter to the Major, telling of his 
 work and of his plans ; he had not dared to hope for 
 an acknowledgment; yet he knew himself disap 
 pointed when none came. Perhaps, had he known 
 that his letters, with those of many another wistful 
 pioneer, had served a border ruffian camp as pipe 
 spills, his grievance had not been so keen. 
 
326 Diane 
 
 Yet, had he sifted his thought, his heaviest care 
 was not for the man and woman of his blood, nor 
 for the friends of a life-time. He had chosen the 
 one wise way, he told himself obstinately. He had 
 laid hold of the plow ; he had no right to turn from 
 it again. The man who elects to share the fortunes 
 of a raw new country can swallow his cup of loss and 
 ill with a good grace; he cannot ask his dearly 
 beloved to drink with him. It was not right; it 
 was not just. The staring country would irk and 
 daunt her. He would be much away; she would 
 be grieved and lonely. The men and women 
 whom she would see were not of her class and kind. 
 It was absurd, it was cruel of him to think of 
 it. How dared he long for this right ? It was the 
 price he had paid for his principle; and principle 
 costs. 
 
 Life must be fuller, sweeter, for Diane than he 
 could ever make it. Her beauty must be richly 
 framed; her days must know joy and peace. For 
 very shame, he who cannot give must not ask. 
 And yet From time immemorial, Philosophy has 
 built her adamantine fortress, only to find it under 
 mined by Hope. 
 
 The last emigrant train of 56 lumbered peacefully 
 into Lawrence. Channing helped the tired men 
 and flurried women to make their camps for the 
 night. Then he rode up the hill to his own cabin, a 
 dark blot against the stars. He recalled his dream 
 with a whimsical shrug. No warm light shone 
 
Dreams and a Wakening 327 
 
 from its windows; the door yielded grudgingly to 
 his key. 
 
 He groped his way cautiously across the room, and 
 slid his hands over the deal table, in search of a 
 candlestick, but his fingers touched only the dust- 
 gritted wood. To be sure, he had lent his candle 
 stick to a disconsolate neighbour, on the day that he 
 had started to meet this caravan. There were no 
 candles in the cabin, either; he would have to go 
 back to camp and borrow one, unless ah ! 
 
 He set his teeth with a gasping exclamation ; the 
 blood went pounding through his heart. His 
 fingers had shut on a folded paper, smooth and thin. 
 
 He groped frantically through his pockets; not a 
 match remained. He dropped the letter and 
 fumbled through cupboards and boxes, flinging out 
 books and food and ammunition in mad disorder. 
 Neither matches nor steel could he find. Winnie 
 thrust in her deer-head with an aggrieved whimper ; 
 for once in his life, Channing was deaf to her hungry 
 plea. He sprang into the saddle and galloped back 
 towards the camp. He stopped the first wayfarer 
 with a fierce shout which caused that worthy to 
 rise in his stirrups with both hands lifted in a pose of 
 grandiose benediction which did not relax till 
 Channing had shrieked his demand for the fourth 
 time. "Matches, man, matches! Put your hands 
 down, you fool ! I m no bushwhacker. Give me 
 some matches and a candle, if you ve got any soul 
 in you, quick!" 
 
328 Diane 
 
 He snatched the coveted case and whirled 
 Winnie in her tracks with the same jerk. "I ll do 
 as much for you/ he called, in tardy and unheeded 
 gratitude. A bullet purred past his ear; another 
 shot clipped his boot-heel. 
 
 "Go on, Winnie," he chuckled, dropping flat on 
 her neck, as the third shot missed his hat -brim. 
 Wild boyish exultation thrilled him; he wanted to 
 shout, to cheer. The letter would be from home 
 home ! It might be Friend Barclay s belated 
 reply; it might be from Palmer. At any rate, it 
 would surely bring some news of the Commune. 
 
 He lit the candle with shaking fingers. He tore 
 the letter across in his frenzy to open it. 
 
 A clumsy skull and cross-bones stared at him 
 from the top; the message itself lurched in tipsy 
 capitals across the sheet. 
 
 "By Ordar of the Law and Ordar Men of Mo. you are 
 
 herby 
 
 WARNED. 
 You ar suspecced of being in cahoots, with J. Brown. 
 
 the outlaw. You ar Knone to be a Nigger 
 
 Stealer. and Abolitionist get Out We ar comming Soon, 
 to make a Clean Sweep" 
 
 There was no signature; but a thread of hemp, 
 tied through the lower edge, served as a grimly 
 humorous seal. 
 
 Channing looked at it dizzily for a few minutes. 
 His disappointment seemed to rise upon him in 
 engulfing waves. Presently he took Winnie to her 
 
Dreams and a "Wakening 329 
 
 stall and fed her carefully. Then he lit a fire on the 
 big hearth, still littered with the ashes of a month 
 ago, and threw the letter on the blazing sticks. His 
 eyes were bright with harsh, ruthless mirth at 
 his own foolery; his mouth shut in indomitable 
 lines. 
 
 He rose before daylight the next morning, and 
 went down to the camp. The town seethed in 
 uproarious confusion ; for a carrier had just galloped 
 in, shouting that a body of raiders was a few miles 
 behind, on the way to attack the settlement. 
 Lawrence was still fortified by the primitive earth 
 works which had been built the preceding year, a 
 series of circular mounds, perhaps seven feet in 
 height, connected by long lines of earth entrench 
 ments and rifle-pits. The citizens, as well as the 
 emigrants, were well armed; but there was no 
 organisation among them, and little training. They 
 had no leader; they had no plan of concerted action. 
 Despite their numbers, it was plain that a small body 
 of raiders, well drilled, would be able to sweep 
 everything before them. 
 
 Channing considered the state of things. He had 
 meant to spend the next few weeks in breaking up 
 his prairie farm and in making his cabin tight and 
 warm for the winter. It did not matter, though ; 
 there would be time enough for that when Indian 
 summer came. Meanwhile, the town needed what 
 help he could give. It was as well. 
 
 Afterwards, he looked back on those weeks as 
 
33 Diane 
 
 into a welter of toil. No one incident stood out dis 
 tinctly in his memory ; the days had slid like leaden 
 beads upon a string of sleep. It was one unbroken 
 round of labour, body and soul. He went to his 
 work in the gray morning, still numbed with heavy 
 slumber; he put down saw or chisel long enough to 
 swallow the coarse food provided at noon and at 
 night; when the last light failed, he dragged his 
 aching bones to the cleared space outside the earth 
 works, where the citizens held their military practice, 
 and spent hours by flickering torchlight, drilling the 
 tired emigrants. During the first fortnight, he 
 served a watch as one of the cavalry patrol, but as 
 the days went on and the threatened attack did not 
 occur, fewer men were told off for sentry duty. 
 His great strength responded magnificently to each 
 task; yet there were nights when he pitched forward, 
 dead asleep, on Winnie s neck, before she could 
 gallop the short mile from the town to his cabin. 
 
 He was not alone in his diligence. It was a 
 month of heroic labours. The men toiled like 
 fiends at the ploughing till the autumn storms drove 
 them to camp; there they spent every moment 
 snatched from their outdoor work on the rough- 
 carpentered chairs and bunks which were to furnish 
 their makeshift cabins for the winter. The women 
 did not stop with their appointed and traditional 
 duties. They cleaned rifles, they fed and watered 
 the animals; they helped to chink and plaster the 
 cabins by day, and ordered their tents or baked their 
 
Dreams and a Wakening 331 
 
 bread by torchlight. With all the haste and 
 weariness and strain, there was mirth and to spare 
 in the camp. High courage kindled high mood. 
 Dangers might beset each hour; but they had not 
 fought their way through the perils of their long 
 journey to lose hope now, when all that remained 
 for them to do was to hold the ground already 
 won. 
 
 By early November, their toil had wrought 
 miracles. Each family was provided with a cabin; 
 a mere shell of logs or plank, it is true, with roofing 
 of " shakes" broad, flat pieces of wood or bark 
 and rough board floors; but a home-nest, dear and 
 beautiful as only the work of their own hands 
 could be. The fields were ready for the sowing. 
 The entrenchments were raised and strengthened. 
 As the stress of haste abated, the emigrants grew 
 childishly jubilant. They played boisterous jokes 
 on each other ; they sang and shouted at their work, 
 they put aside their carpentry at night, and frolicked 
 instead. Channing watched their elation in silence. 
 For him. the lessening of the strain was no mercy. 
 Exhausted as he was, he dreaded the coming leisure ; 
 for with leisure would come memory. 
 
 Young Hurlburt rode into town often from his 
 neighbouring claim, with Harriet perched dimpling 
 behind him. They dragged Channing home with 
 them by main force on two momentous occasions; 
 the morning when their new hearth was to be chris 
 tened a wonderful hearth, indeed, faced with real 
 
332 Diane 
 
 brick, instead of the hard-packed earth trough 
 which held the sacred fire in other cabins; and 
 again on the evening of Harriet s twentieth birth 
 day. Their generous intent missed fire. Channing 
 did his best to follow their ecstatic lead; but his 
 was at best a flagging step. They showered him 
 with loving hospitalities whenever they remembered 
 their guest long enough to take their eyes from 
 each other ; but those moments were far between, and 
 it was with distinct relief that he took his departure. 
 Young Hurlburt was deeply injured by his guest s 
 lack of enthusiasm; Harriet, mystically wise, smiled 
 at her love s petulance, and refused to be aggrieved 
 when Channing inspected her cupboards with a lack 
 lustre eye and ate her festival cakes and cream with 
 callous unconcern. 
 
 "I am so glad we made him come/ she said, 
 dreamily, as Winnie and her rider vanished in the 
 dusk of the prairie. "I do like him so much, the 
 dear fellow. And it may help him to make up his 
 mind. One never knows " 
 
 "Indeed, one never knows!" snapped young 
 Hurlburt, slashing fiercely into the loaf of cake. 
 " I thought he was one of the finest men I d ever 
 met, so generous and so sympathetic, or I d never 
 have asked him here. What a blockhead he is, 
 anyway ! Why, I showed him the quilts you ve 
 made since we came here, and the brace you contrived 
 for holding the windows in when there s a storm, 
 and all your dried fruit, even, and he hadn t a blessed 
 
Dreams and a Wakening 333 
 
 word to say just stood there and gaped at it all, 
 the great chuck! His mare Winnie would have 
 had more manners." 
 
 Harriet turned and gazed at her husband. Her 
 brown eyes overflowed with a deep, beatific smile. 
 
 "Tom," said she, solemnly. "You don t know 
 how happy you make me. Sometimes I waken in 
 the night, and think how beautiful it all is, and 
 how different how miserable I d be, if I d made a 
 mistake and married a man with brains. It s the 
 luckiest thing in this world, dear, that you haven t 
 any " 
 
 "What!" Tom dropped the cake, and leaped 
 up, with his mouth full. Harriet made a wild 
 effort to escape, but a two-roomed cabin offers few 
 ambuscades. In the conflict which ensued, its 
 sieges, its repulses, its final surrender, Channing and 
 his woes were ingloriously forgotten. 
 
 Perhaps a week later, Harriet rode past his claim 
 on her way to fetch the mail. It was the day for 
 the stage ; no emigrant so hurried that he could not 
 pause long enough to go into town and hear the 
 news "from the States." There might be no 
 possibility of letters for him. No matter. His 
 neighbours would share with him every word, 
 precious as bar-gold, of the messages from home. 
 
 Channing, standing in his doorway, waved his 
 hat to her. She responded with the shrill question, 
 "Shall I bring your letters, too?" 
 
 Even at that distance, she fancied that he changed 
 
334 Diane 
 
 colour. Her clear brows knitted at his disclaim 
 ing shrug, his courteous, indifferent reply. She 
 brought his mail, however a roll of Eastern 
 journals, tightly corded, and two letters, which she 
 thrust into the package of papers for safe-keeping. 
 Among Tom s mail she noticed one document, the 
 duplicate of one of Channing s letters in every 
 particular. She opened it coolly; she laughed at it 
 pluckily. A fearsome skull and cross-bones were 
 drawn as heading; a string of hemp formed its only 
 signature. Another Warning. 
 
 She left Channing s parcel on the table in his 
 empty cabin, and rode on down the claim till she 
 met him, plowing with the affronted Winnie, at its 
 farthest edge. He looked up eagerly as she ap 
 proached; her frost of pique melted at the dull 
 shadows under his gray eyes, the steely lines around 
 his mouth. 
 
 "I brought you some mail, too," she cried. She 
 pushed the crisp brown curls away from her sweet, 
 flushed face, and leaned towards him with dancing 
 eyes. A roll of papers, and a letter, like this one, I 
 think for they re on the same paper, and written 
 in the same hand. Shall we yield, or shall we stay ? 
 Lead on, Macduff!" 
 
 Channing laughed with her. It was impossible 
 to be gloomy in her happy presence. "I ve had 
 several already," he returned, "and I still live." 
 
 "So have we. Our last one had nine misspelled 
 words in it. We ll wait, said Tom, till they learn 
 
Dreams and a Wakening 335 
 
 to spell half their Warning right; then we ll know 
 they re in deadly earnest. But there are ten blun 
 ders in this letter, so I think we ll not pack just yet." 
 
 She bent from her saddle to pat the disconsolate 
 Winnie, whose downfall in profession had em 
 bittered her spirit, then galloped away. 
 
 Channing kept on at his work. It threatened 
 rain, and this ploughing must be done before good 
 weather failed him. The magazines had been sent 
 in reply to an order which he had posted to Boston 
 six weeks since. They could wait until evening. 
 The letter would probably wait still longer. This 
 must be the fifth, he computed, with some amuse 
 ment. The Law and Order element must be 
 feverishly anxious to rid the Territory of his cor 
 rupting presence. 
 
 It was nearly night when he turned the last 
 furrow, and coaxed Winnie up the homeward hill. 
 The Indian summer of the morning had yielded 
 treacherously to a swift and biting chill. The 
 wind rose suddenly, a long, harsh, piercing wail; it 
 was so dark that Channing tripped against his own 
 door-stone, not knowing that he had reached his 
 cabin. 
 
 He bedded Winnie for the night, then ate his 
 supper, and settled down by the fire, lapped in the 
 double luxury of warmth and comradeship; for 
 the Liberator lay open upon his knee, and an armful 
 of uncut books and newspapers awaited his hand. 
 He read the newspapers, great flapping sheets that 
 
33 6 Diane 
 
 they were, from the three-inch strip of European 
 news in the upper left-hand corner of the front 
 page, to the advertisement of Bitters in the 
 lower right-hand corner of the last ; he browsed 
 deliciously through a fresh Atlantic, only two 
 months old; he fingered the clean books with 
 longing touches. There was a fat, paper-bound 
 novel, printed on the coarsest of paper, illustrated 
 amazingly, bearing on its modest title-page the 
 name of one Benjamin Titmarsh, and a thin volume 
 of poems, roughly bound, too, under the title 
 "Bells and Pomegranates," the work of a young 
 Mr. Browning, of London. He must not insist on 
 reading them to-night, he told himself sternly. It 
 would never do to swallow all his tidbits at one 
 gulp. There were plenty of lonely evenings to 
 come. 
 
 A whirl of sleet clashed on the window, like a 
 charge of elfin bayonets. He stood up, shaking him 
 self drowsily, and stooped to gather up his precious 
 papers. At the bottom of the pile lay the Warning, 
 still unopened. He picked it up, then dropped it as 
 though it scorched his fingers. Beneath it lay an 
 other folded sheet; lilac; scented; thin. The close, 
 dainty, handwriting waved and scintillated before 
 his eyes. 
 
 Rose s hand ! Rose s letter ! 
 
 He sat down again, and opened it, quietly. It 
 took him some time to read it. The words blinked 
 and flickered ; the cabin darkened and grew bright, 
 
Dreams and a Wakening 337 
 
 gloomed and blazed again, like the pulse of a re 
 volving beacon afar at sea. 
 
 "Sydney Palmer went away in July. To his 
 plantations, I think; none of us have heard/ 
 I m worried about Diane. She s lonely. 
 Friend Barclay says that Pere Cabet cannot live 
 much longer. Father thinks she should go back to 
 France, but she won t hear of it. She looks tired 
 and not very well. Madame Manderson wants 
 her, for all the time. So do I. But there s no 
 telling how it will all end. >: 
 
 Channing folded the fragrant sheet and put it 
 carefully into his pocket-book. He caught his 
 saddle-bags from their rack and packed them 
 swiftly. He made up a little parcel of food, he 
 cleaned and loaded his revolvers. His shadow 
 leaped monstrous from floor to ceiling; the man 
 himself seemed to broaden and grow tall. There 
 was a panther lightness in his long, springing step. 
 His blue eyes blazed darkly ; his hands shook as he 
 buckled on his heavy riding-clothes, and snatched 
 the tight -strapped blankets from the press. He 
 did not stop to put out his lamp. He forgot the 
 fire upon the hearth. The cabin door crashed 
 behind him as he strode out into the roaring night. 
 
 The wind pounced down upon him, shrieking 
 like a gigantic hawk; the sleet clawed and stung 
 him. He fought his way to the stable and saddled 
 Winnie. With the instinct of her race, the creature 
 rose to his high mood. She took the bridle without 
 
33 8 Diane 
 
 a whimper; she tucked her soft nose against his 
 shoulder for the moment s caress; then, as he 
 mounted, she sprang away down the slope, her 
 slim hoofs beating time to the thunder of his heart. 
 
 Open and fair by day, the prairie swells were 
 treacherous as quicksands by night. The long 
 grass tripped and snared. The prairie-dog villages 
 were so many death-traps. Channing urged Winnie 
 on without a thought of fear. For all that he 
 knew, he rode through a velvet parkway, cleared as 
 for a parade-ground beneath his horse s feet. 
 
 The months of hard self-control, of waiting, of 
 silence, were swept forth, futile barriers, on the 
 high tide of his passion. The stern duty which 
 had brought him here was a fading recollection. 
 The plans for the years to come had lapsed back 
 into formless clay. Memory and Hope and Being 
 fused into that one whispered name " Diane ! 
 Diane!" 
 
 " She has been lonely/" True. By his gray 
 days, his sleepless nights, he knew what her loneliness 
 had cost. The longing to soothe, to cheer, to 
 comfort, the passion to protect, urged him with 
 sharper thrust than the sting of his love itself. 
 There was Palmer what of Palmer? He could 
 give, give ; tinsel splendours, air-drawn rank. What 
 need had her pure beauty of his decking? What 
 honours that he might bring could lift her higher than 
 the pinnacle on which she stood by right of blood 
 she, his princess, his rose of all the world ? 
 
Dreams and a Wakening 339 
 
 Through these days, when he had thought himself 
 fulfilling his work of reason and of sacrifice, he had 
 gone chained and blinded, the vassal of a dream. 
 Now were the chains struck off, the dulled eyes un 
 sealed. The clock of Destiny had struck for him 
 once more. Now sounded the reveille of his soul. 
 
 The thoughts swept to him, broken, vague, as 
 borne on the gusts of the storm. Perhaps they 
 were not thoughts ; rather the low whisperings of the 
 instinct which urged him onwards through the night. 
 For he went not as the prudent suitor, the assured 
 claimant, fond and calm. As the primeval man 
 leaped forth to find the mate who wailed to him for 
 aid, he sped. No doubts could trammel, no fears 
 could balk. By every right of earth, by every hope 
 of Heaven, she was his. Rapturous, inexorable, 
 adoring, the eternal lover strode forth to claim his 
 own. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 TRIUMPH 
 
 THE Tennessee swung her bow alongside the 
 landing, and dropped her gang-plank, with a clash 
 of gongs and a clamour of chain. The passengers 
 on the upper deck elbowed forward for a glimpse 
 of the famous Temple, but forgot the intent in 
 delighted curiosity over the group which waited 
 on the little pier. They were like nothing so much 
 as an army of Noah s Ark dolls, declared one viva 
 cious damsel, flinging her lace scarf back over her 
 frilled and blossoming bonnet, to get a better view. 
 They huddled together, a solemn-eyed phalanx, 
 clutching great bundles, and hedged in by huge 
 osier baskets, packed to bursting. There was 
 something quaintly foreign in their coarse uniform 
 of jeans and flannel, their wooden shoes, their occa 
 sional bit of misplaced finery a piece of fur, a 
 lace, a jewel. There was something weird and 
 pathetic in their abject dependence on their leader, 
 who stood in the midst of a group of every-day 
 friends, blind to their woebegone glances, their 
 shuffling bewilderment. And such a leader ! 
 
 "He s a prince of the Empire, not a Noah," 
 declared the girl on the upper deck, shading her 
 
 340 
 
Triumph 341 
 
 eyes to stare at him with eager interest. Brave 
 in his quaint velvet cloak and snowy frills of old- 
 world fashion, yet wan and absent, he looked a 
 phantom prince, indeed, beside the ruddy old 
 neighbour in Quaker gray and demure broad-brim, 
 who had pushed his way to the front for a last hand 
 shake. Yet the eyes of all turned from the emigrants 
 and their puzzling commander to watch two girls, 
 who stood together, a little apart from the crowd. 
 Though there was no tang of frost in the mild 
 November air, they were both veiled, and muffled 
 in long cloaks, whose masking outlines piqued the 
 curiosity of the dullest. The taller of the two, a 
 stately figure in her trailing scarlet and velvet hood, 
 bent to the other and spoke swiftly and low. One 
 must stand close to catch the whispered words. 
 
 " And you ll be careful of yourself, Diane, dearest ? 
 You re to write to me every week, now remember. 
 And if anything goes wrong, you will go directly to 
 the Sisters at the Sacre Cceur. You have promised 
 me that, now, remember." 
 
 "I promise you, Mademoiselle." 
 
 "I just don t know how to let you go." Rose s 
 voice quivered. Her mother heart, sweetly dic 
 tatorial, devoted, insistent, conquered every other 
 instinct. "It s hard enough for you, but it s going 
 to leave me with nothing nothing ! Now, dear, 
 don t ! Are you sure you have the warm shawl that 
 Madame knitted for you, and the slippers? I do 
 hope Persis preserves won t spill all over everything. 
 
342 Diane 
 
 I had her put in some jelly, too. Remember, if 
 you re sick, or need me, I shall come, right away. 
 And now why, Sydney Palmer ! Where did you 
 drop from?" 
 
 Palmer, from his chair on the upper deck, had 
 watched the little scene, not dreaming that he 
 knew its actors, till Diane lifted her veil for Rose s 
 kiss. Two strides carried him down the steep 
 steps ; he leaped ashore with a shout. "Miss Diane ! 
 You re not going away! What on earth does it 
 mean ? " 
 
 Diane stepped back, her eyes widening. Her little 
 hand caught at her throat. " You, M sieu Palmer ! " 
 she faltered. "You are returned? And is it that 
 you bring me news of the Capitaine Channing? 
 Does he live ? Is he well ? " 
 
 For all her excitement, Rose felt a tingle of ad 
 miration. The boy faced the rebuff so manfully! 
 She had long since divined his secret. She alone 
 could guess how deep the sting of Diane s words 
 must be. His voice never wavered from its tone 
 of glad surprise ; he caught Diane s hands as though 
 the heart of her greeting were all for him. 
 
 " I haven t heard a word from him, Mademoiselle. 
 I m sorry. You see, I came back from the East 
 by way of the Great Lakes. I haven t had a 
 letter from anybody since I left the plantations; 
 and, of course, I ve not been anywhere near Kansas 
 Territory. But do tell me. Are you going away, 
 and to stay away?" 
 
Triumph 343 
 
 "Diane, you must go aboard. They re waiting 
 on you now, dear. I ll tell you all about it, Sydney." 
 
 "But, Mademoiselle!" Daring hope flashed into 
 Palmer s eyes. "Won t you let me come aboard 
 and talk with you till we reach the next landing? 
 That will be the Government fleet, and I was going 
 there, anyway. It s been so long since I have seen 
 you, and it may be a longer while before we meet 
 again." 
 
 Diane tried to answer courteously; but her pale 
 lips, her troubled eyes, spoke her true reply. 
 
 "No, no, I ll not come !" he interrupted, laughing. 
 " I can see that you do not want me. You ll be so 
 busy composing your first letter to Miss Rose, here, 
 that you will have no time for me. Permit me, 
 Mademoiselle. And now, good-bye. A joyful jour 
 ney to you, and a safe return !" 
 
 The great boat backed into mid-channel, with a 
 snarl of pent water and a roar of escaping steam. 
 Rose pushed her veil away and watched the group 
 on the lower deck till the river haze blurred the 
 faces from her sight. She turned then to speak to 
 Palmer. His eyes were still fixed on the boat, 
 intent and straining. The lines around his boyish 
 mouth made her turn away without a word. 
 
 Anxious and depressed as she was, the surprises 
 of the river journey were a perpetual delight to 
 Diane. She was too shy by nature to respond 
 easily to the advances of her fellow-passengers. 
 
344 Diane 
 
 They were most amiable, indeed; it was a thing 
 astonishing that they should turn from their way to 
 lavish such generous courtesies upon her, a stranger. 
 Yet she shrank away when the men, splendid 
 dandies in broadcloth and waistcoats of brocade, 
 doffed their swelling beavers and hovered about, 
 elbowing for the privilege of carrying her cloak, her 
 gloves, her chair. Her lips forgot even their few 
 stilted phrases of English when the women, plumed 
 and rustling, floated across the deck, under full sail, 
 to bend and caress her. One found always friends in 
 this kind America ; but when, out of all this smiling 
 world, one desires to see but two faces, one is, indeed, 
 lonely. 
 
 She preferred to sit for hours alone with Pere 
 Cabet, absorbed in the gliding drama of the shore. 
 There were the river towns, standing at every turn 
 and bend of the low, green banks; broad, scattered 
 villages barricaded by great stone warehouses 
 solid as medieval fortresses. These citizens adored 
 their river; so much was certain. At the first snort 
 of the whistle, each man dropped his work and 
 sped madly to the shore to see the boat come in. 
 The marvel of a steamer s landing was theirs three 
 times a day ; but to their eyes the bloom was never 
 rubbed from the miracle. There were the countless 
 private landings sometimes a mere heap of boards 
 on the bank surmounted by a signal light, with no 
 sign of life for miles about till the steamer headed 
 for the shore. Then there would appear, as by 
 
Triumph 345 
 
 magic, scores of woolly heads, popping up wildly 
 through the rent willow fringe, like figures in a 
 pantomime. The shore would of a sudden be 
 thronged with lumbering carts, piled high with 
 giant hogsheads of tobacco; droves of hogs and 
 sheep and cattle would plunge distractedly up and 
 down the narrow bank, scuttling in every direction 
 but the right one, while their exasperated drivers 
 vied with the mate in shrill commands and curses- 
 Diane s excitement rose to fever pitch on the last 
 afternoon, when three sheep, after leading the 
 roust ers a maddening chase, plunged from the 
 gang-plank, just as their enraged drivers thought 
 them safely cornered, and splashed beneath the 
 tumbling yellow water. 
 
 "After them, boys !" bellowed the mate. 
 
 Three rousters dropped off the boat before the 
 words were out of his mouth. Diane gasped- 
 There was a shout of laughter from the passengers, 
 as the three blacks disappeared, to bob to the 
 surface again almost in the same breath, each 
 gripping a soaked and squeaking victim. Diane 
 laughed aloud as they clambered aboard, every 
 black mouth a grinning cavern, and dropped the 
 sheep to scuffle for the hail of coins which rattled 
 down from the upper deck. " Voila, mon pere, mon 
 ami,* she cried, patting the old man s arm. He 
 had not seemed to see. 
 
 "Ah, la, la," he murmured, drowsily. Always he 
 sat quietly, these strange days, his eyes half -closed, 
 
346 Diane 
 
 his lips dim-smiling, as one who dreams. "Tiens- 
 vous tranquille, ma petite ! Presently the good 
 Sister will come, and release you from the harp for 
 to-day. Then you will take your doll, and you will 
 lead the Pere Cabet through the gardens, that he 
 may see the pigeons and the new little pigs, not so ? 
 Patience till your task is complete, Diane, my 
 treasure, my trust." 
 
 Diane leaned back in her chair. The great 
 golden river, the noble hills, sank and faded to ashen 
 dust before her eyes. 
 
 They fought their way ashore at the St. Louis 
 wharf that night, through tumult of shouts 
 and crash of hoofs that drowned the thunder of 
 the swift-rising storm. Pere Cabet, always the alert, 
 cool leader, stood back perplexed and helpless 
 before the confusion. His handful of followers, 
 aghast at the calamity of his bewilderment, huddled 
 back into dark corners, and clung to their precious 
 bundles in mortal panic. The women wept copi 
 ously. The men wrangled in shrill terror-smitten 
 voices, each one demanding that the other should 
 take the lead, while stewards and deck-hands stood 
 grinning, half in sympathy, half in amusement, at 
 the melee. 
 
 Diane looked wildly about her. The captain 
 was nowhere to be seen. The emigrants were 
 pushing and crowding on the lower deck, directly at 
 the foot of the main stairway, thus preventing the 
 passengers above from making their way off the 
 
Triumph 347 
 
 boat. Loud complaints at the delay already reached 
 her ears. Pere Cabet looked into her troubled eyes 
 with his dim, remembering smile. 
 
 "Patience, my little beloved," he said, with a 
 sigh. "The ordeal will not be for long. Soon the 
 Sister comes, to release you. And then " 
 
 Diane drew a long breath. Something stirred 
 and stung within her heart. The courage of a 
 blood that had been spilled for pledge and fealty at 
 Ivry and at Ramillies lit her pale cheeks. She slid 
 her little hand through Pere Cabet s arm to steady 
 him. She turned and faced the whining rabble 
 at her heels. 
 
 "Come, my brothers." Her voice rang stern and 
 sweet. "Let each man carry his own goods, and 
 let each family walk alone, in a group separate, 
 toute seule, that we may not become confused. 
 You, my friends," she swept her hand towards the 
 line of waiting negroes, "attach yourselves each to 
 a group, as they form, and carry for them that 
 which they cannot carry for themselves. The 
 Pere Cabet and I will lead you. No more tears t 
 mes enf ants ! Guard each his own ; so shall we 
 proceed with ease. Come!" 
 
 The emigrants hushed their excitement beneath 
 her gentle word, and obeyed her orders on the 
 moment. The negroes, catching the note of true 
 authority, fell into line, each with his load of plunder. 
 More than one passer-by stopped to watch the 
 fantastic procession as it wound through the noisy 
 
348 Diane 
 
 streets. The tall old man, his white hair falling 
 silken over the cape of his courtly mantle; the 
 blossom-child, with her brave lips, her dark, anxious 
 eyes; the file of tired men and women flanked on 
 either side by half -naked negroes, whose bare arms 
 and rolling eyeballs glittered as they struggled on 
 before the rising storm. 
 
 The big barrack of a house which was to serve as 
 their lodging for the first few days was cold and 
 comfortless, yet to their eyes it was a very fastness 
 of peace. Diane apportioned rooms and gave 
 directions for the work of the morrow. Then she 
 climbed the long stair to the little room which Pere 
 Cabet had chosen for his own. The rain dripped 
 from the fringes of her long, green mantle ; her hair 
 clung in wet, misty rings, shadowing the pearl 
 shadows of her face. 
 
 Pere Cabet crouched in a great carved chair at 
 the writing-table. A mass of documents lay open 
 before him. He was tumbling them over and over 
 with pallid, rambling hands. He muttered to 
 himself constantly, a piteous, imploring moan. 
 
 Diane stopped on the threshold ; the horror of it 
 all but quenched her spirit. Then he glanced up, 
 and the tide of her courage rose once more. Agony 
 was written deep in every line of that blanched 
 face; but it was the agony of reason. The calm 
 of a past forgot was his no longer. Again he 
 knew the tortures of hope deferred, the poison 
 of defeat. 
 
Triumph 349 
 
 "Behold, my little one." He spread a broad 
 parchment on the table. His eyes groped for 
 comfort in her own. "Here is the sketch of my 
 Commune, as I have always hoped to make it, my 
 vision, my ideal, dost thou see? Regard the plan; 
 it is as a vast wheel, a star, with farms and work 
 shops and mills raying from the Phalanstery as a 
 centre. Behold these broad streets; in my dreams 
 have I paced their shaded pavements till I know 
 each stone, each blossom by the way. Look at the 
 farms, each a world complete in itself, where parents 
 and children may work and frolic together, if it 
 pleases them not to come to the Phalanstery for 
 their diversion. Ah, my Phalanstery ! It was 
 not to be as was our real abode, a house of wood, 
 rough, perishable. It was to be of the fine stone, 
 carven like the fretted gold about your pearls. Its 
 doors were to be of the noble woods, all polished, 
 smooth as silver; its windows, great jewels. On its 
 high walls the oaths of the Commune were to stand 
 written in gold, undying garlands. It was to be 
 the soul, the essence of our Commune life. It has 
 been the palace of my dreams, all these years 
 unending. Truly it has been a dream-palace. 
 Never shall human hands make it real ! 
 
 " How I have toiled and studied and planned, all 
 these black years of my exile! How I have re 
 joiced when my release has come, and I may build 
 my hopes in wood and stone ! Why did it fail, 
 Diane ? Truly, I am but human ; I have the faults 
 
350 Diane 
 
 of all my race. But the Plan was divine. It held 
 no flaw. How could it fail ?" 
 
 A gust of rain hissed down the chimney. The 
 house jarred and quivered under the heaving 
 shoulder of the storm. 
 
 "And most of all to you, my heart s treasure, 
 have I failed." All Diane s kisses could not smother 
 the slow self-condemnation. "I have reared you 
 in obscurity, you, the princess of all the world. I 
 have torn you from the cloister that you loved, I 
 have cast you into this land most harsh and bitter. 
 I shall leave you here, orphan and alone, with none 
 to save. Father and mother, saints in Heaven, have 
 pity upon me! Forgive! I have done for your 
 beloved the uttermost that I knew. Blame not my 
 heart, but these my foolish hands." 
 
 "Pere Cabet, one thing you have promised me." 
 Diane knelt and folded his hands in hers. Her 
 eyes peered deep into his tortured face. "Always 
 you say you will tell me of my own people. Never 
 have I known of them, save that the good Sisters 
 keep for me the dresses and the jewels of my mother. 
 Even my name, de Lahautiere, carries no meaning 
 to me. You say that I am of noble blood, yet you 
 have taken me and nourished me as your own ; you 
 have cared for me as one cares for the poor, the 
 forsaken. Why is it so? Tell me all." 
 
 "It is but little, ma petite." The old voice sank 
 to a calmer note; the old hands fumbled tenderly 
 with the shining head on his knee. "Thy father 
 
Triumph 351 
 
 was Lucien Raoul-Marie, last of the Sieurs de 
 Lahautiere. It was upon their lands, their bounty, 
 that we had lived, I and my fathers, from generation 
 to generation. They were nobles of the old time, 
 of the true stamp, the rank that none of common 
 blood need ever hope to win. It was a de La 
 hautiere who saved the life of Richard, so tell the 
 old chroniclers, at the siege of Acre. Edouard, 
 heir to the line it was, who made of his body a 
 shield before Anne, his queen, when a mob of the 
 Fronde, those plumed fools, would have plucked her 
 from her carriage to tear her in pieces at the door 
 of her own palace. Augustin-Marie, thy grand 
 father it was, who died the death, sword in hand, on 
 the grand stair of the Tuileries. Francois , his 
 brother ah, what more? They were the bravest 
 of the brave. No man of them who failed to uphold 
 the pledge of his long line, Toujours fidele. 
 
 " Ah ! and they were merry, too, for joy is daughter 
 to courage. Always they lived as befitted the 
 friends of princes. By day their doors stood 
 grand ouvertes, wide, to whoever might pass by. 
 By night, the fishers might hear the music and be 
 hold the lights of the chateau through miles of rain. 
 Three hundred and sixty-five windows blazed in 
 that great pile. For, said Edouard, its builder, my 
 castle is my year. Within it, I must not forget the 
 light of a single day. Thus built he, and Chateau 
 de TAnn6e it remains, unto this hour. 
 
 "Then came the long tempest of the Revolution. 
 
352 Diane 
 
 When its tide went out, there lived only the Sieur 
 Lucien, exiled infant of twelve, and myself, Etienne. 
 No, I am not of thy kindred, my little one. But 
 as an infant I had sworn my loyalty to the house 
 of de Lahautiere ; never have I broken faith. Your 
 father s place it was to rule; mine, to serve. Thus 
 was it ordained by blood, and in right of blood lies 
 justice. 
 
 "Then came the great Napoleon. All those 
 years the Sieur Lucien fought with the allies, else 
 he waited, exile, at the door of his country, yet 
 might not venture within. Le Chateau de 1 Annee 
 was confiscate. The new nobility, the shop-made 
 dukes pah, the offal ! sprawled over his estates- 
 Nothing was left to him, save the jewels which had 
 been tied about his little neck when his nurse my 
 mother she was, petite had fled with him to 
 England. You wear them now, my treasure. Is it 
 that you have never known?" 
 
 He unclasped the string of gold beads from her 
 throat, and bent the toothed gold fastening gently 
 back and forth. It yielded readily. The enamel 
 cases fell in halves from the chain; a rope of great 
 topazes made a ribbon of flame and dew across the 
 yellowed manuscript. 
 
 "They are the talisman, my little one. They 
 have little of value, as the world counts, but priceless 
 are they to us who know. In five centuries, no 
 bride of the House has knelt at the altar without 
 this jewel at her throat. No chief of the blood has 
 
Triumph 353 
 
 gone to battle without this chain beneath his mail. 
 Alas for him, your father, their spell availed not. 
 Yet wear them always, for your pure life may 
 bring again their ancient charm. 
 
 " Bien ! At last he fell, that great Napoleon; and 
 the Sieur Lucien came back, to gather up the 
 shreds of his torn life. But he loved not the rule 
 of Louis the Drone; he went down into Spain, and 
 buried himself there, student, with his furnace, his 
 crucibles, for years. Meanwhile, I fought out my 
 own life, in Paris and in Corsica. And mine was no 
 tournament of roses, my little one. 
 
 "He was growing old, the Sieur Lucien. His 
 hair was silvered; his mouth was bitter. He was 
 eight and forty years old when he passed the Convent 
 of Our Lady one morning of April, and noticed a 
 young girl, the last of the line of demoiselles, who 
 started forth upon their daily promenade under the 
 guidance of the Sisters. She was a half -blown slip 
 of fifteen, thin and pale, with the black eyes, and 
 yellow hair, in thick braids to her knees ; she looked 
 up, frightened, and he saw her clearly. He went 
 back to his house a young man, straight and strong 
 and glorious. 
 
 " In four weeks more, they were wed. He fled 
 with her to France, but even there her kinsmen 
 pursued them. They were a house rich and mighty, 
 the intimes of King Ferdinand. At their demand, 
 heavy penance was put upon the Holy Sisters, for 
 their sin of negligence, that the Countess Diane 
 
354 Diane 
 
 had escaped. The King Louis Philippe himself 
 deigned to command the Sieur Lucien that his wife 
 should be yielded to her people. The Sieur Lucien 
 but laughed. The Countess? To look at her face 
 was to watch the sea at dawn. 
 
 " It was one year afterwards that a message came 
 for me, to meet the Sieur at Dijon. He was an old 
 man again, gray and bent. He sat with you, tiny 
 puppet, in his arms, and I knelt and laid my hands 
 beneath your own, and swore unto you my fealty 
 eternal. The Countess slept. Before you had 
 learned to lisp my name, the Sieur had followed 
 her. 
 
 " Ah, my beloved ! You and the Commune have 
 been my children. You have been the daughter of 
 my heart, but it has been my son. I have failed, I 
 have failed. But the Commune shall live again!" 
 He rose up, flushing, enraptured. The joy of the 
 seer triumphant flamed in his sunken eyes. "Go 
 you to rest, dear one, and leave me to my work. 
 I see my faults, I know now how I may undo them. 
 Sleep, dear child. You shall waken to see me 
 win at last. Once more I build my Commune. This 
 time, it shall conquer!" 
 
 Wrung with foreboding, Diane crept to her 
 attic corner, and sank into heavy sleep. She 
 awoke in the dusk of a stormy dawn, roused 
 by strange noises below; a shuffle of halting 
 feet on the bare staircase ; the murmur of hushed 
 voices. 
 
Triumph 355 
 
 She felt her way down the twisting stairs, dazed 
 and shivering. The emigrants stood huddled on 
 the landing outside Pere Cabet s door. They 
 turned to her instinctively, dumb as frightened 
 animals; their faces were like faces of cardboard 
 in the leaden light. Diane had a curious sense of 
 having lived this scene before. It was all familiar, 
 even to Th6rese s gasping whisper, the clutch of her 
 hard red hand. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, what can it mean? Always he 
 rises at the hour of five to work. Behold, it is now 
 seven, and I have rapped twice, yet he answers 
 not. What shall " 
 
 "Open the door, Valentin." 
 
 " But, Mademoiselle ! Reflect, how angry he 
 becomes when we disturb him! Never yet have I 
 dared " 
 
 "Open the door." 
 
 The crowd swayed back staring wildly from one 
 to another. Terror breathed upon the pulseless 
 air. 
 
 Diane gripped the heavy knob. For the moment, 
 the catch resisted; then the door swung slowly 
 inward. An icy air swept out to them; dawn and 
 candle-light contended in the great shadowy room. 
 
 Pere Cabet sat leaning forward on his desk, his 
 quill still shut in his hand, the precious document 
 outspread. His eyes were closed; yet the smile of 
 the prophet transfigured lit his gray, sleeping face. 
 
 "Ah, he has worked all night !" cried Diane, dis- 
 
35 6 Diane 
 
 tressed. "Waken, mon pere, mon ami! Do you 
 not hear?" 
 
 She bent to kiss him: strong hands snatched her 
 back. She turned upon Therese in proud anger; 
 her reproof died upon her lips. 
 
 The emigrants were sinking to their knees in the 
 doorway. Two women lay prone, their faces hidden 
 in their hands. 
 
 "Come away, heart s own." With arms strong 
 and tender, Th6rese caught the girl to her own 
 sobbing breast. "He will not listen, petite. He 
 will not hear, even your beloved voice. Come 
 away." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE HOUSE OF PEACE 
 
 SAINT MARTIN S summer veiled the hills in 
 gossamer haze, blue as the smoke of Indian camp- 
 fires, fading, far. Sister Bernardine s roses clung 
 brown and withered to their trellis ; but the trumpet - 
 creeper still rang its fiery challenge along the wall, 
 while lilacs and snowball, bewitched by the coaxing 
 sunlight, blossomed again, a faint, sweet echo of 
 Spring. Whereat Sister Bernadine scowled like an 
 aggrieved chipmunk, and ceased her pruning to 
 frown and shake her shears at them reproachfully. 
 
 "They are nossing but enfants, ces fleurs-la, 
 imbeciles!" she scolded, as she snipped the tallest 
 lavender plume from its stem. Voila, it grows 
 warm, the sun shines, therefore April returns, 
 they say. Let us go forth and rejoice/ After 
 w ich pouf ! M. le Frost seizes them and wrings 
 them down, comme cela. Observe, Mamzelle, it 
 is most rash to make one s spring before the last 
 leaf falls, is it not so?" 
 
 The bunch of keys bounced from her girdle with 
 the vehemence of her platitude. Diane stooped to 
 pick it up. 
 
 "A la bonne heure, my little one, how thin you 
 357 
 
35 8 Diane 
 
 grow ! And how tall ! Is it the black gown, tell me, 
 or is it that I myself am become so short and so fat ? 
 Regard , I cannot reach beyond your shoulder ! Is it 
 that I measure myself beside a young tree? But 
 how white you are, like my wax-berries! This 
 goes not, Mamzelle. We must paint these cheeks, 
 if they will not bloom." 
 
 Diane towered head and shoulders above the 
 dumpy little Sister. Through these weeks of grief 
 and pain she had grown as the hyacinth lifts its 
 blossom stalk, in darkness and in cold. The black 
 dress clung about her like a sheath. Her hands and 
 face were blanched to ivory. 
 
 "A-h-h, fi!" Sister Bernardine knelt to slide a 
 cunning hand over the sash of a cold-frame. " Behol 
 how this Toni Devreux has cheated me, monster 
 of ingratitude that he is. I, who have nursed his 
 sick wife, I who have interceded for him these 
 twenty times before the Superior! Thus does he 
 repay me with cracks ! cr-racks ! with chasms so 
 enormes that I may insert the thumb and the 
 finger, and pull up my violets by the roots, if I so 
 desire. And if I may do this, what may not M. le 
 Frost do? Behol him, loitering yonder, the mis 
 creant ! Come hither, Toni, thou soul unsaved, and 
 blush before thy work. Le voila!" 
 
 Diane turned away from the pell-mell dispute that 
 ensued, and sat down on the portico steps to rest. 
 She was easily tired, these days. Moreover, the 
 mere sight of this faded, sun-warmed garden was a 
 
The House of Peace 359 
 
 pleasure. Familiar sounds, cheerfully discordant, 
 floated down to her from the high, open windows. 
 On the floor above, the younger pupils, grave little 
 demoiselles in frilled pantalets and taut pigtails, 
 their plump legs cased with undeviating likeness in 
 white stockings and flat morocco sandals, chanted 
 their Hymne du Matin in rhythmic chirp, like a 
 chorus of industrious robins. A nun s voice rose 
 in gentle question from a neighbouring class 
 room. Above her head the convent doves strutted 
 and quavered and cooed, blown warriors in mail 
 of bronze and irised steel. The whine of a violin, 
 tormented by patient awkward fingers, came to her 
 ears, mercifully dulled by distance; now and then 
 the twang of a harpstring pierced arrowy through 
 the mesh of sound. 
 
 Diane leaned her cheek against the cool stone 
 balustrade. Her eyelids drooped in happy ac 
 quiescence. It was good to dream again. When 
 she closed her eyes to the staring new buildings 
 and the broad yellow river beyond, it was as though 
 she walked once again in her own dear home, that 
 ancient fortress-convent. The children s voices, 
 singing the songs of her babyhood, declared it; 
 the pigeons coo betrayed it. The smell of heaped 
 withering leaves, the pungent whiff of mint and rue 
 and pennyroyal from the herb borders swore to it, 
 by the very breath of home. Surely it was good 
 to dream again. And yet 
 
 And yet it was not quite the Convent of her child- 
 
360 Diane 
 
 hood. She was content here, assuredly. How 
 could she be anything else ? Since that gray terrible 
 morning, that day which she dared not remember, 
 when the Sisters had come and carried her away 
 with them, she had not known a lonely hour. They 
 had nursed her and petted her as one of their own. 
 It was as though she had known them always. In 
 these short weeks, she had learned to love them 
 dearly, every one, from the grave Mother to Sister 
 Nicolini, the plump * portress, curled up at her 
 knitting in the doorway. About them clung the 
 sweet familiar ways of Sister Margarethe and Sister 
 Ursula, tender mothers of her baby days. Their 
 smiles, their touch, spoke comfort. Certainly, 
 it was most peevish of her to own to this restlessness 
 which grew with each new day, this charing re 
 straint, this rasp of indecision. 
 
 Probably she had not enough to do. In the home 
 convent, one s days had been busy so busy ! 
 One. must attend not only to lessons and music 
 and stitchery. One was forever speeding to under 
 take some new delightful task. Perhaps it was 
 an altar-cloth, to be wrought in lilies and passion 
 flowers, the gift of the demoiselles to some struggling 
 congregation. Or it might be that Sister Hyacinthe 
 had been prevailed upon to teach an eager group 
 how to concoct some marvellous custard, some 
 ravishing glac6. Else Sister Aloysia called them 
 fluttering into the sewing-room, to spend a valorous 
 and martyred hour in mending their outgrown 
 
The House of Peace 361 
 
 garments to send to the parish poor. Life was full, 
 life was enthralling; one could never be spared. 
 And now? 
 
 She glanced at the pruning-basket at her feet. 
 Her mouth curled in questioning scorn. What 
 availed it that she should trot at Sister Bernardine s 
 heels the livelong morning, on a task which an 
 intelligent puppy could have performed with credit ? 
 Was this the furthest service that she, Diane, could 
 give ? 
 
 Yesterday she had spent the day painting forget- 
 me-nots on tiny vellum hearts, to be bestowed on 
 certain among the younger pupils as rewards of 
 merit. It was close, tedious work; somehow, when 
 she thought of Lucy Baggott, a meek and absent- 
 minded child, who had eaten the edges off her blue- 
 and-silver Merit before the Sister had finished the 
 presentation, and of Mamie Morgan rewarded for 
 staying always awake at prayers who had slid 
 her chill and slippery card down the back of the 
 small pigtail in front of her, to the black disgrace of 
 the victim, her golden day seemed lost. However, 
 one must not quarrel with an obvious duty. The 
 holy Sisters could not take the time for little blue 
 hearts or pruning. And yet 
 
 "Ah, bah, ingrate!" She sprang up and ran to 
 the Mother s cell. She must find work to do, she 
 told herself fiercely. That a Lahautiere should 
 deign to sit empty-handed to repine ! 
 
 The Mother met her in the doorway. Her grave 
 
362 Diane 
 
 eyes smiled down at Diane s obeisance; she laid 
 her strong hands on the girl s shoulders, and led her 
 into the little room. 
 
 "What is it, daughter? What perplexes you?" 
 
 A tell-tale pink burnt Diane s cheeks. "It is 
 nothing, Reverend Mother. Only I would wish 
 to be of service. I am but a burden." 
 
 "You are not strong enough to carry burdens yet. 
 Be patient. Your tasks will soon be assigned. 
 For the meanwhile, wait." 
 
 "But, Mother" Diane hesitated; it was a 
 momentous question "I am strong enough now 
 to plan what I am to do. I cannot stay here, 
 dependent upon your bounty. What do you ad 
 vise that I shall undertake? I can teach the 
 French and the Italian ; there must be many in this 
 great city who will wish to learn. Also I can em 
 broider, and I can give lessons upon the harp. 
 Is it not best that I go forth into the city to-morrow, 
 and search out those who would wish to be my 
 pupils? Surely it is time that I bestir myself." 
 
 The Mother sat down, folding her hands. Her 
 face, aged and deeply wrinkled, gleamed with the 
 ineffable purity won through years of self- 
 abnegation. Her lips were sweet with prayer; her 
 eyes caressed. Yet she spoke now not as the 
 loving Mother, but as the judge, calm, authoritative. 
 Diane listened, awed. 
 
 " Daughter, it is indeed time that we talked with 
 frankness of this matter. I would not grieve you 
 
The House of Peace 3 6 3 
 
 for the world. But I must tell you that you could 
 not support yourself in the way that you suggest. 
 There are few who would care for such lessons as 
 you could give. The embroidery and the sewing 
 would be little better. You have not strength 
 for that confining work. The world is not the 
 home for you, my little girl. It is a selfish, cruel 
 place. You have always been shielded. You can 
 not know." 
 
 Diane wondered. Had she not seen the world 
 through this long year at the Commune? And 
 had not its people cherished her and cared for her, 
 always? The Pere Cabet M sieu 1 Ami Made 
 moiselle Rose 
 
 " Therefore, you must remain with us, my daughter 
 until we can make certain plans for you." Her 
 swift glance read Diane s perplexity like a printed 
 page. "You are not tired of us, my daughter? 
 You would not wish to go?" 
 
 The tone went straight to Diane s heart. She 
 sprang up and threw herself on her knees by the 
 Mother, hiding her face in the folds of the coarse 
 serge habit. The Mother smiled; her hands slid 
 with hungry tenderness over the bright head upon 
 her knee. 
 
 " I would not leave you, Mother, but I cannot be 
 happy while others labour for me. And I have 
 no right to remain here none. If I were a novice, 
 it would be different. But I am only an interloper. 
 It is not just." 
 
364 Diane 
 
 A faint flush mounted to the Mother s withered 
 cheek. Her lips tightened; a new light kindled in 
 her brooding eyes. She spoke deliberately, picking 
 her words. Her voice rang with the tense note of 
 one who forces a crisis. 
 
 "Diane, child, I have often wondered, did the 
 Sisters at Orsay ever talk to you of the history of 
 our Order?" 
 
 " Often, Mother. It was most interesting. When 
 I was an infant, I have always thought, When 
 I am of the age of decision, I, too, shall become a 
 religieuse; I, too, shall nurse the sick, and teach 
 the little ones. Always it was my hope." 
 
 The Mother s hands trembled. 
 
 "One has many dreams in youth," she responded, 
 evenly. "Sometimes the old themselves dare to 
 hope, too. Since you came to us" she caught 
 her breath at Diane s upward glancing question, 
 then went steadily on "Since you came to us, I 
 have thought to myself, Here is a soul worthy of 
 the noblest work that a woman can do. She has 
 tact with the little ones; I have watched her share 
 their play. She has sympathy with the aged. I 
 have seen her put aside her own plans to cheer 
 them. She loves to care for the sick; she is willing 
 to give of her best to all that may need. Why 
 should she not give herself to the Great Work? 
 Why should she not confess herself, and live in 
 truth the Sister which she is already in thought? " 
 
 Diane pondered, wide-eyed. 
 
The House of Peace 365 
 
 Consider it , my daughter. The Mother stooped 
 and pressed her lips to the fair forehead. " Remem 
 ber, it must be your free choice. I would not force 
 you to walk in this blessed path. It is only that I 
 long to see you safe and happy. I would not see you 
 renounce the world, if you feel that your appointed 
 task lies beyond these walls. But I would have you 
 judge, and judge with thought and with prayer. I 
 must go now, my little girl. Peace be with you." 
 
 Diane sat in the narrow window. Outside, the 
 little demoiselles, released for the hour, ran and 
 shouted through the sunny garden. The doves 
 hurtled past, a silvery flight, to perch around 
 Sister Catherine, with her pan of meal. Shy 
 whispers and laughter rose from the bench beneath 
 her window, where two girlish Sisters sat gossiping, 
 hand in hand. Ah, it was all most dear and lovely. 
 The peace of it all allured her. Its renunciations 
 seemed trivial; its labours were a privilege. The 
 thought of tranquil years in this calm haven, spent 
 in the care of the sick to whom she delighted to 
 minister, with the children that she adored, urged 
 her like a beloved voice. Was it not best ? Was it 
 not easy to decide ? And yet 
 
 The Convent garden faded from her sight. She 
 looked upon the river instead, ablaze beneath the 
 western sky, a flood of shattered pearl. The light 
 lay in silvery flakes on each curl of the dimpled 
 water; Channing had leaned forward to brush away 
 the wild crab -apple petals caught in the lace of her 
 
366 Diane 
 
 purple flounces. What was it that he had said? 
 That the petals lay as the light lay, in showered 
 bloom? The words had slipped the leash of mem 
 ory; but his look remained, clear as his bodily self 
 before her eyes. She could see the flash in the blue 
 eyes bent upon her ; her heart leaped at the thrill of 
 his low, reverent voice. 
 
 She slid to her knees by the Mother s chair. 
 Ah, the peace, the calm which this life would give ! 
 Surely she was unworthy of this high calling; but 
 years and prayers would bring guidance, and each 
 day s duties would help to fit her for the days to 
 come. Her face sank in her folded arms. It was 
 best, it must be best. Why could she not decide? 
 The Mother approved it. And what else remained 
 for her to do? It was best, it must be best. Why 
 could she not cast out these sickening doubts, and 
 make her peaceful choice? 
 
 Sister Nicolini awoke and rubbed her eyes at 
 the third rap upon the half-open door. It was a 
 most unseemly hour for visitors at the Convent, she 
 grumbled, as she bade the stranger enter. More 
 over, this was a most unseemly guest. Young 
 men were never welcome visitants ; at this, the hour 
 of recreation, when the demoiselles were all fluttering 
 about the lawn, it was a thing inexcusable. He 
 would see the Reverend Mother? Ah, b en, she 
 would ascertain. The Reverend Mother was not 
 always willing to grant an interview to guests 
 unbidden. 
 
The House of Peace 367 
 
 The stranger was deaf to her petulance. This 
 was the more exasperating. Animal that he was, 
 he did not even perceive how his spurs were marring 
 the dark polished floor. His buckskin riding- 
 clothes were torn and stained ; his boots were caked 
 with clay to the knee. Under the tan of the prairie 
 sun, his face showed a sleepless pallor; the hand 
 which signed the card she brought was stiff and 
 tremulous. 
 
 Sister Nicolini shot a swift glance through the 
 window as she passed. The stranger s horse, a 
 beautiful sorrel, stood head down, exhausted, at 
 the gate. Even at that distance, she could see that 
 its heaving flanks were dabbled with yellow mud. 
 Monsieur had ridden up from St. Louis then, it 
 was evident. It had been a hard trip, and a hurried 
 one. This was interesting. She fumbled the card 
 in her bent, old fingers, and tried in vain to make 
 out the sprawling signature. 
 
 Alas, the demoiselles found it interesting, too. 
 The sight of a strange visitor had broken in upon 
 their innocent games like the fall of a meteor. 
 White legs twinkling, long braids streaming, they 
 swarmed to the Convent steps in a panic of curiosity. 
 Virtuous anger swelled Sister Nicolini s breast. How 
 lamentable that her office gave her no right to rebuke 
 them! "Silly goslings!" she sputtered, flourishing 
 her habit at them as she crossed the hall again. 
 
 "The Reverend Mother is engaged at her medita 
 tions. She can see no one," 
 
368 Diane 
 
 The stranger met her rebuff of voice and manner 
 with courteous unconcern. " Then I will ask you to 
 call the lady whom I came especially to see, 
 Mademoiselle de Lahautiere. Tell her that I shall 
 not trespass long upon her time." 
 
 Astonished at her own acquiescence, Sister Nico- 
 lini hobbled away. 
 
 "A strange man to see you, Mamzelle," she 
 whispered shrilly, in Diane s ear. "His name ah, 
 ne*gligente that I am, I have dropped the card in 
 the chapel, when I went to seek the Reverend 
 Mother. But it matters not. A most ordinary 
 person, in the suit of leather, all daubed with mud, 
 and the high boots. But do not talk with him 
 long, Mamzelle. It is not advised." 
 
 Diane went listlessly down the corridor. It 
 would be Trente, or else Valentin Saugier, come to 
 discuss with her the plans for the new Commune, 
 which they were planning to build at Cheltenham. 
 They had written to her of their schemes; they 
 had begged for her co-operation, on the ground 
 that she, knowing Pe"re Cabet s views, could help 
 greatly in carrying them out. Thus far she had 
 not replied to their letter. A sinking dread op 
 pressed her at the thought. How dared she urge 
 the continuation of a plan which her unwilling 
 reason knew could end only in disaster? Yet how 
 could she question his darling hopes, and so turn 
 traitor to her dearer father, the Pere Cabet ? 
 
 So she entered the room, pale, troubled, absent. 
 
The House of Peace 369 
 
 And for the moment the two stared at each other, 
 all unknowing. 
 
 Channing caught his breath. Could this wan, 
 drooping shape, shrouded in black from throat to 
 feet, be the blossom-child that he had left behind? 
 Awe and pity swept his heart. What mournful 
 truths those shadowed eyes had read ! What 
 bitter lessons those drawn lips could repeat ! 
 
 "Diane!" 
 
 Aghast, the girl drew back, wide-eyed and 
 trembling. He had seen the changes in her look; 
 he had not reckoned upon the shock for her of his 
 own altered face. This was not her cherished 
 enemy, the prince of her shy dreams; this lank 
 rider, tanned, unshaven, weary, whose eyes burned 
 as they rested upon her, whose grasp shut as steel 
 on her cold wrist. She looked up at him, piteously 
 questioning. But the repulse of her first shrinking 
 movement had daunted him beyond reassurance. 
 Hope faded from his eyes. He dropped her hand, 
 and stumbled through broken explanation. 
 
 "I had a letter from Rose, a fortnight ago. It 
 had been six weeks on the way. It told me of the 
 troubles of what has happened in the Commune. 
 I sent a reply to her by a carrier, asking where I 
 would find you in St. Louis, and I found the answer 
 waiting for me when I reached the city yesterday. 
 There was no steamer up the river till to-morrow, 
 so I rode up, without waiting for for your per 
 mission. I could not wait. Diane, why are you 
 
37 Diane 
 
 here? Where is Pere Cabet? Why does he not 
 care for you?" 
 
 She answered him with a look utterly forlorn. 
 
 "He has sent you here till the new Commune is 
 well under way? Or has he left you as he did 
 before, while he goes to make his experiments else 
 where?" 
 
 The scorn in his voice cut her like a lash. She 
 passed a trembling hand over the folds of her black 
 gown. 
 
 "Oh, Diane !" The truth smote down upon him 
 in sickening light. "I did not think I had not 
 heard. Forgive me, dear, can t you? Listen to 
 me, Diane. I must speak with you. I have come 
 to ask to beg you " 
 
 "M sieu is forgiven." Diane groped her way to 
 the door. The words came thick through her ashen 
 lips. " It avails nothing that we talk of these things. 
 M sieu is kind in that he has shown interest. There 
 remains nothing further that he can do." 
 
 Channing stepped in front of her and closed the 
 door. 
 
 " M sieu will add to his kindness by permitting me 
 to depart." 
 
 "Listen, Diane." He put her gently back into 
 a chair. His lips went white as her own. "You 
 must give me a hearing. I have cared for you 
 since that first day, the morning you came to the 
 Commune. Do you remember? I put you into 
 my boat, and I was clumsy, and it annoyed you 
 
The House of Peace 371 
 
 and I have always annoyed you. And I have always 
 loved you." 
 
 Diane listened, pulseless, silent. 
 
 11 1 hurt you that day that hideous Sunday, 
 when the Commune broke up. You despised me 
 then. I couldn t blame you. I was trying to help, 
 and I just made things worse. But if you ll let 
 me try again, Diane ! If you ll give me the right to 
 care, the right to atone " 
 
 Diane quivered beneath the supplication in his 
 face. But stronger in death than in life, the ghost 
 of the Commune arose between them, relentless, 
 inexorable. 
 
 "M sieu, as you say, you wounded me then. 
 Let it be forgotten. You tried to turn me against 
 the Pere Cabet, he who has shielded me through 
 my whole life. Let that be forgotten, also. And 
 let me go." 
 
 "No." Despairing passion rang in his pleading 
 voice. "Diane, you shall listen. I ve waited for 
 you all my life. I ve dreamed always of the woman 
 that you would be. You re all everything. Diane, 
 are you going to send me away with only the mem 
 ory of your anger? Won t you tell me, at least, 
 what you are planning to do? Can t you trust 
 me with some service for you?" 
 
 "I need nothing. The Sisters care for me now. 
 They will arrange my life for the future." 
 
 " No ! Not that, Diane ! Promise me, not that ! " 
 The agony in his cry caught at her heart. She 
 
37 2 Diane 
 
 faltered, groping for her reply. When the words 
 came, their lifeless tones gave forth no quiver of the 
 tumult raging within. 
 
 "It would be best. The Mother wishes it. I 
 have been with the Sisters all my life; I know well 
 what the black veil means. It is not the misery 
 you imagine, M sieu. It is a life quiet and serene. 
 Perhaps it has no great joys. Surely it has no 
 bitter sorrows. The blessed Sisters are never 
 unhappy. * 
 
 "Diane, could you try to find happiness with 
 me? Will you dearest?" 
 
 Her heart yielded within her. Yet the wraith 
 of her haunting grief arose and hushed the con 
 fession on her lips. 
 
 "I beg of you to go, M sieu." She fumbled at 
 the knob, blind in her tears; but Channing, stupefied 
 before his own anguish, had no eyes to see. " Return 
 to your work, to the friends who await you. Do 
 not think of me again. Adieu." 
 
 "Diane!" 
 
 She brushed past his pleading hands; it was as 
 though he touched a woman of snow. He followed 
 her into the corridor, but she fled before him to the 
 tiny chapel. He would have entered, unknowing, 
 but the carved door shut heavily behind her. It 
 was as though she fled into the heart of the mystic 
 Convent life. 
 
 The little demoiselles scuttled away like partridges 
 as he came down the stairs. They watched him 
 
The House of Peace 373 
 
 shyly from ambush of shrub and trellis, and sighed 
 for the unread romance as he rode away. 
 
 At dusk, the Mother mounted to Diane s room, 
 and entered, with noiseless step. The girl knelt 
 at her open window, frail silhouette against the 
 folding gloom. Her rosary lay on the sill; she 
 leaned her cheek on both clasped hands, locked as 
 though they hid something infinitely precious. 
 
 The elder woman stooped and passed her hands 
 beneath the girl s chin. She kissed the half-shut 
 lids, the pure, cold cheek. 
 
 "You have need of me, my daughter?" 
 
 Diane rose unsteadily and made her salute. 
 She did not unclasp her hands. " I do have need of 
 you, Reverend Mother. Truly, I think that I do 
 always need you." 
 
 The Mother caught the sigh in the low tranquil 
 words. She passed her arm about the girl ; together 
 they stood looking out upon the sweet shadowy 
 garden. The demoiselles pelted hither and thither 
 in the warm twilight, absorbed in a last joyful 
 game; their birdlike cries rose sweet and shrill. 
 Like dark glancing moths, half-seen, the Sisters 
 flitted through the dusky paths. Long scarfs of 
 mist trailed down the valley, dim incense before the 
 dying altar flame of the west. A steamer bell 
 tolled deep and clear, melodious as a far cathedral 
 chime; the river echo answered it, a long, faint 
 dreaming peal. 
 
 The woman secluded comes to possess, as a sixth 
 
374 Diane 
 
 sense, that second sight, discerning sympathy. 
 So, not knowing of the scene of the morning, the 
 Mother divined her unrest, yet did not try to soothe. 
 Life had not always been for her a Convent garden, 
 walled and rose -wreathed. Taught by her own 
 sorrow, she had learned the final lessons of her 
 ministry to wait ; to keep silence. 
 
 Yet as she looked at the face against her arm, her 
 eyes spoke what her lips dared not try to frame. 
 
 Ah, those mother-eyes ! Dark with the vision 
 of all sorrow; tender with the sharing of all pain; 
 wise with the understanding that anguished Sacrifice 
 alone grants as amends. A mother, indeed, in 
 every line of her pure face, in every gesture of her 
 hungry arms ; and yet a mother denied. 
 
 "You did not come to vespers, my daughter." 
 "I found myself very tired, Reverend Mother." 
 "The service was beautiful to-night. Sister 
 Teresa has trained the younger girls till they sing 
 like larks, each pouring out her little voice eagerly, 
 without waiting for the others. It was not so 
 when they began to learn the choruses. Do you 
 remember how rough their voices used to be, and 
 how they stumbled through the bars one after 
 another? It was as though they scampered down 
 a broken stairway. 
 
 "The summer loiters here, * she went on, after a 
 pause. "Think, it is late November, and the 
 honeysuckle still flowering ! And the spring hurries 
 back, like a frightened little school-girl, who dreads 
 
The House of Peace 375 
 
 that she may be tardy. Those peach-trees yonder 
 will all be rosy by March. I have picked violets 
 down in that warm hollow behind the syringa 
 hedge while the snow lay in patches on the lawn. 
 And the bluebirds come before the first crocus. 
 They will be tapping at your window for crumbs 
 by Candlemas morning." 
 
 The last light faded from ember cloud and mist- 
 thralled river. The Convent bells rang the hour 
 of silence; as though hushed beneath some guiltless 
 spell, the gay voices were stilled. Led by watchful 
 nuns, the demoiselles formed into two long lines, 
 and marched soberly to the dormitory, a glimmering 
 file of demure little ghosts. Presently their voices 
 rose again, softened by distance to the merest 
 fantasy of sound, in that most sweet and touching 
 chant, the Hymne de la Vierge. 
 
 "It is time that you slept, my daughter. So I 
 must leave you. Will you rest comfortably, do 
 you think?" 
 
 "Yes, Mother." 
 
 "You do not wish me to remain with you for a 
 while? There is nothing I can do ?" 
 
 "I need nothing, Mother. Indeed I am quite 
 well. Good-night." 
 
 The Superior kissed her lightly and turned to 
 go. Her face was furrowed in perplexing thought. 
 A sigh of baffled tenderness escaped her lips as she 
 passed the door. 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
376 Diane 
 
 She turned back, eagerly. "Yes, my child?* 
 
 " Mother, is it right to hold to that which one has 
 declared, even when one has come to disbelieve? 
 Is it that a vow remains always a vow? Must one 
 live as one s lips have promised to live, when the 
 heart denies the promise?" 
 
 The Superior drew back, dismayed. 
 
 "But you have taken no vows, my daughter. 
 Moreover, the Church will not permit that you 
 assume these most holy pledges until you are 
 willing to renounce all that your heart holds dear. 
 Surely you understand " 
 
 "I speak not of the veil." Diane came toward 
 her, her hands still shut tightly. "I mean but, 
 Mother, it becomes late, and I weary you. Will you 
 not kiss me and forget my foolish questions? I 
 am very childish to-night. Forgive me." 
 
 The Superior caught her to her heart in a passion 
 of love and pity, uncomprehending, boundless. 
 Diane lay silent beneath her kisses and her crooning 
 whispers. Her lashes flashed wet in the candle 
 light when the Mother put her down, at last; but 
 her face was calm, and her voice composed when 
 they whispered their last good-night. 
 
 She blew out her candle, and knelt again at her 
 open window, now a square of star-lit gray against 
 the darkness of the room. The lights in the great 
 dormitory flickered and sank; a cricket s cry, that 
 loneliest of lonely sounds to the wandering heart, 
 pierced upward through the night. A fitful wind 
 
The House of Peace 377 
 
 tossed and fumbled among the dead leaves below, 
 then rose wailing, as one who sought, and seeking 
 found but Despair. 
 
 Diane s hands relaxed; the treasures they held 
 fell on the sill, beside the unheeded rosary. Pere 
 Cabet s eyes smiled up at her from the locket which 
 he had tied about her little neck in the Sisters hall 
 at Orsay. She pressed her lips to its case, still 
 warmed by her loving clasp; but her hand kept 
 jealous guard of the bit of folded cardboard which 
 she had found, after long search, on the Chapel floor. 
 She needed no light, to see the face beloved; she 
 need not look to read the name beloved on the 
 crumpled sheet. 
 
 So she knelt in the warm dusk, rent between this 
 dumb, entreating love, this waiting, ruthless duty. 
 An older woman, accustomed to reason, would 
 have fought to convince herself of the justice of her 
 heart s demands. She would have panoplied her 
 self in the claims of primal instinct ; she would have 
 challenged obligation with destiny. Diane lay 
 passive before her altar. She did not know how 
 to judge. She did not try to pray. Only she 
 suffered, such pangs and thorns as only motherless 
 girlhood, faltering, bewildered, desolate, can know. 
 
 Channing rode back to St. Louis, heart-sick and 
 furious at his utter failure. He had not dared to 
 think that he would be welcome. He had even 
 nerved himself to meet reproach. But he was 
 
37 8 Diane 
 
 not armed for this baffling indifference, this mood 
 of still renunciation. He had been conquered for 
 the second time, he told himself angrily, by his 
 dread of grieving her. He had smothered the 
 passionate words which had burned his lips all his 
 long journey through. He had curbed glance and 
 touch; as he recalled the scene, he could remember 
 nothing which could even startle her, save the 
 unhappy mention of Pere Cabet. And even this 
 most miserable slip could not account for her stern 
 quiet, her face of snow. She hated him. He 
 might as well resign himself to that at once. And 
 Rose s letter no, surely Rose was not to blame. 
 Rose had seen what he had seen; she had believed 
 what he had dared to hope. It was all a reckless 
 dream at best. She had never cared. She could 
 not. He was a fool to beat himself longer against 
 this wall of certainty. 
 
 If only he had not betrayed his shock at sight 
 of her pale face, her sombre habit ! The pang of it 
 wrung him anew. He shuddered and clenched his 
 teeth ; the nails bit deep into his rigid palms. Where 
 had he loitered, coward that he was, while this slow 
 agony wrote its record upon her? That she should 
 suffer so ! His darling ! His Diane ! 
 
 Ah, she must care ! Such love as his would 
 draw its true requital, even from the sealed depths 
 of her maiden heart. He would go back to her 
 to-morrow. He would take her in his arms and 
 keep her there and comfort her against his heart. 
 
The House of Peace 379 
 
 His kisses should teach her lips to yield their pitiful 
 resolve. His tenderness should coax the shadows 
 from her dear eyes and warm her cheek to rose again. 
 From its chill shroud of weariness and grief, her 
 beauty should flush awake once more, lovely as 
 arbutus under snow. For she was his, unalterably. 
 Even her vows, her protests, should not avail to 
 save her from his love. 
 
 He drowsed in the saddle through the long 
 plodding ride by night. Now and then he woke at 
 a breath of wind across his face. It roused him, 
 keen and trembling, like a fancied caress. Soft 
 as the touch of her wind-blown hair, it came; 
 sweet as the fall of her shy hand in his. 
 
 At daybreak he stopped at a roadside tavern. 
 Winnie was plainly exhausted ; and despite the spur of 
 his excitement, he found himself giddy with fatigue. 
 He dozed for an hour in the dingy office before 
 ordering his breakfast. Afterwards he had a 
 blurred recollection of swift hands fumbling through 
 his pockets: of a sharp cry and the clatter of 
 retreating feet when he roused and spoke, too 
 numb with sleep to demand explanation. 
 
 Winnie was not fit for the trip back that morning, 
 so much was certain. He petted her remorsefully 
 for a few moments, then strolled through the 
 stables, looking first at one, then another, of the 
 horses which the tavern-keeper offered to lend him 
 for the day. Half a dozen men, guests of the 
 inn, and evidently a congenial party, lounged through 
 
380 Diane 
 
 the stables, shouting and joking in boisterous fun. 
 There was something queerly familiar, Channing 
 thought, in the faces of one or two of them ; probably 
 it was a baseless whim, suggested by their clothing, 
 the typical garb of the mounted emigrant of the day. 
 Once or twice he caught a glimpse of a blue sleeve 
 at the narrow window, a moment s sight of a red, 
 peering face. Probably they noticed his travel- 
 stained clothing and his characteristic prairie tan, 
 and were innocently curious. They stood crowded 
 in the doorway, still talking noisily, when he pushed 
 past them on his way back to the tavern. They 
 overlooked him a bit ostentatiously; he laughed at 
 his haunting instinct of caution. He had ridden 
 so long on a road where law was not, and prudence, 
 next to marksmanship, was the price of safety, that 
 his wary habit had grown to be second nature. 
 
 He was a little surprised to find three of them 
 hanging about the tavern steps, when he came out 
 to ride away. Their loud banter stopped when 
 he came in sight; they looked at each other oddly 
 askance, shamefaced, even. Channing glanced 
 around him as he crossed the gravelled yard. His 
 shoulders stiffened ; his hand shut over his revolver. 
 He reached the saddle in a flying leap, but his 
 pursuers were too quick for him. There was an 
 oath, a shot, and a wild clatter of hoofs as the 
 terrified horse dashed away down the road. 
 
 Channing sat up, bruised and sick. Blood 
 trickled from a slender cut over his temple ; sun and 
 
The House of Peace 381 
 
 trees and tavern revolved in fantastic confusion 
 before his eyes. The leader of the gang wrung the 
 revolver from his hand and proceeded to bandage 
 the cut on his forehead with clumsy care. The 
 other men stood looking on, passively interested. 
 One of them stooped and brushed the mud from 
 Channing s trousers with both horny palms. Chan- 
 ning had a weird sense of being an onlooker at some 
 insane play. 
 
 "Sorry we had to knock you down, son," said 
 the leader, amiably. "I had my writ here in my 
 pocket, all reg lar, but I saw you wasn t goin to 
 wait fer no manners, so I called to the boys to 
 pitch in. You re wanted up in Lee County on two 
 counts, an both of them stiff ones, too. The first 
 fer helpin run off that wench Celina, slave to Mr. 
 Ashby, of Lynchburg, on April loth; the second, 
 fer takin eight runaways across the river in a skiff 
 on the night of May iQth, an helpin them to 
 resist arrest at the same hour. Ya as, I m the 
 Lee County sheriff. Thought maybe you d seen 
 me afore, didn t ye? I was smooth-shaved then; 
 I ve growed all this beard sence, or I don t believe 
 I d hev my hands on ye now. No, Cap n, you don t 
 get yer gun back, not yet. You re too good a 
 shot, even when ye do aim wild ; you ve barked my 
 ear, as it is. Come along, now. The game s up." 
 
 The game was up. And what of Diane? What 
 of the half-formed resolve which even a day s 
 delay might crystallise into irrevocable decision? 
 
382 Diane 
 
 " I tell you, I won t go ! " Despairing rage blinded 
 him to the madness of rebellion. He jerked him 
 self free from the sheriff s grasp, and knocked the 
 revolver to the ground. The hostler was returning 
 to the stables with the captured horse. He 
 snatched the bridle from the man s hand and sprang 
 into the saddle before the posse could lay hands 
 upon him. The horse dashed forward madly 
 beneath the spur. Channing lay flat on the heaving 
 neck; the bullets purred past him like sleet of fire. 
 
 At the turn of the road, the horse stopped short, 
 then plunged forward with a scream. Channing s 
 feet were out of the stirrups on the instant, but 
 before he could spring, the horse lunged once more, 
 then toppled over to one side. Horse and rider 
 rolled over and over in the stone-paved ditch. 
 
 Channing struggled to free himself from the 
 tangling leathers; his limbs refused to move. The 
 world fell dark, flashed white, then faded to night 
 once more. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 ROSE 
 
 "WON T you come out in the skiff with me a 
 while, Miss Rose? It s mild as May. We won t 
 have many such afternoons in November." 
 
 "I don t believe I care to, Sydney." 
 
 "Go on, daughter. You won t have many more 
 afternoons here, either. I m going to pack you off 
 to Belhaven next week. You ought to see the 
 way those niggers are letting the place run down !" 
 The Major whirled about in his chair, suddenly 
 crimson with wrathful recollection. "I drove up 
 there from Arlington last week, just before I started 
 out here, without letting them know I was coming. 
 I ll wager their ears ache yet, after what I had to 
 say ! Pigs in the orchard, and a chicken-yard in 
 the south garden ! I hadn t the heart to go through 
 the house. Indeed, no, my dear, you ll not stay 
 here till I go back. Run along and get all the 
 pleasure you can out of your pet river. There s 
 precious little time left." 
 
 Rose picked up the half-written letter and tore 
 it into tiny shreds. " I suppose I had better go up 
 and see Madame Manderson," she said presently. 
 "She s been ill again, so Persis tells me. You d 
 
 383 
 
384 Diane 
 
 as soon take me there as anywhere, wouldn t you, 
 Sydney?" 
 
 Palmer shrugged his shoulders at her unflattering 
 acquiescence. "Just as you wish, surely. I m 
 yours to command. Probably we ll meet up with 
 that pert little sparrow, Petit Clef, and get our 
 fortunes told. The last time I went up the hills, 
 he was lying in the dead grass on that slope that 
 overlooks the big vineyards, mimicking a bob- 
 white on his flute. I never dreamed but that it 
 was a real bird; I decided it must be hurt, the 
 note was so high and peevish, so I sneaked towards 
 it through the grass, soft as you please, till I all 
 but stepped plump on the little scamp. He chuckled 
 through his flute when he saw my eyes open, I tell 
 you. Then he sat up and played for me; he 
 mimicked a fire-wing blackbird and a wren 
 till you d have believed you w r ere sitting on 
 the same branch with them. Pretty soon 
 his face lengthened out, and he put down his 
 flute, and began to prophesy. Tell you, it was 
 shivery !" 
 
 "What did he talk about?" Rose was suddenly 
 interested. 
 
 "Worst mess you ever dreamed of. He put his 
 head on one side, like a chickadee, and pointed to 
 the west, and said: 
 
 "Turn yourself, M sieu, that you shall face in 
 that direction, there, to the sunset, the river. 
 Is it that you have the good sense of smell ? Tiens, 
 
Rose 385 
 
 sniff that breeze, now. What is that odour, that 
 gray smell which rides upon the wind ? " 
 
 "The gray smell?" 
 
 "The gray smell. That s just what he said. I 
 sniffed obediently, but, of course, there was nothing 
 only a clean little whiff of the river and the 
 dried-out fodder-stacks, and I told him so. He 
 screwed up his face and considered. 
 
 * M sieu, you are as all your race, hounds without 
 noses/ he said, sweet as honey. Ashes! Can 
 you not smell them? Can you not see them, drift 
 ing, drifting? Thick on your clothes, like gray 
 snow? Thick on your hands, also? Ashes! " 
 
 "Kansas!" The word escaped Rose like a cry. 
 
 "Exactly. He meant the way those Emigrant 
 Aid towns have been sacked and burned the last 
 few weeks, you know. Most uncanny thing, to 
 hear him tell it. Where do you suppose he picked 
 it up? Then he swung his hand to the north. 
 
 "If it is that you cannot smell, M sieu le Lieu 
 tenant, perhaps it is that you can hear. Put your 
 head to the ground; by chance your ear may catch 
 the pulse of the thunder which is so soon to come. 
 
 " I put my head down, to humour his whim. Of 
 course I heard nothing but the rustle of the wind 
 in the dead vine-leaves. He tucked his chin on 
 his flute, and looked down at me. Scorn? His 
 mouth puckered like a green persimmon, his eyes 
 fairly shot sparks. 
 
 " Que c est lamentable ! he said, in his exasperat- 
 
386 Diane 
 
 ing little chirp. M sieu and his nation are doubly 
 handicapped. Is it possible that you feel not the 
 jar of those trampling feet? Can it be that you 
 hear not the sound of their coming, thousands upon 
 thousands? The march of the North, the 
 avenger ? 
 
 "Honestly, it shook me a little. And I had a 
 queer notion that the next would be something 
 weirder yet. He flourished his flute towards the 
 South. 
 
 " When they come, then will we see the gay 
 harvest yonder/ he said. If a squirrel could laugh, 
 it would laugh as he did all his little teeth set, 
 white as roaster kernels. But his eyes were sad 
 enough. Red brooks shall run, the country 
 through. Red wheat shall be cut down. Ah, the 
 brave wheat, that grew so joyfully ! And here 
 among us is the harvest a time of pride and rejoicing. 
 But there the fruits shall be garnered heavily, and 
 with tears/" 
 
 " Sydney, what could he mean ? Oh, I wish Diane 
 had not gone away ! He misses her so terribly, and 
 in his loneliness he conjures up all these unearthly 
 things, and broods over them. It s enough to drive 
 the little fellow mad. I don t know what will 
 become of him." 
 
 " Pooh ! Persis takes good care of him. You 
 needn t worry for that." Palmer leaned his head 
 on both hands with a long, shivering sigh. Unhappy 
 prescience darkened his boyish face. The remorse- 
 
Rose 387 
 
 less Question of his time fretted for its reply in his 
 locked lips, his perplexed dreary eyes. 
 
 "Somebody has given him one of those precious 
 Black Republican newspapers, and he has spelled 
 out a Yankee editorial!" snapped the Major, from 
 his desk. " You ll find those infernal sheets scattered 
 round everywhere. I ran across one on the quarter- 
 boat yesterday. Mulcahy s jaw dropped when he 
 saw me pick it up. It ll drop farther if I find any 
 more of them! The wretched, contemptible " 
 
 "Good-bye, father!" Rose stopped his bellig 
 erent lips with a kiss. She caught Palmer s hand 
 and ran with him to the lower deck. The echo 
 of the Major s tirade followed them, even as they 
 climbed into the Celandine. 
 
 All the valley lay smiling in its windless sleep. 
 Pale sunshine brooded the calm fields, and dappled 
 the hills with gleam and shade of tarnished gold. 
 The river flowed without a ripple, soundless, an 
 aureate flood; the very river of autumn, broad, 
 golden, teeming, rich with august fruition ; peaceful 
 as the year s fair afternoon. 
 
 The water glanced blue and silver beneath 
 Palmer s oar. His falling stroke tossed hollow 
 echoes from shore to shore. Rose leaned back and 
 watched him in silence. The autumn wind, sweet 
 as departing kisses, ruffled the black curls around 
 her cheeks, and dried the tears on her long lashes. 
 Memory cut to the quick as she looked at him. 
 The stoop and swing of his lithe body brought 
 
388 Diane 
 
 Charming back, his very self, clearly as though he 
 stood before her. How often they had rowed 
 together in the old days ! 
 
 Down the Potomac through the long June after 
 noons; along the crisping Chesapeake shores, while 
 the salt fog stung their eyelids, and the stars of 
 Annapolis shimmered dim as the stars that danced 
 in the mist above. Past the battlements of old 
 Fort Washington, to peer up at the birches, its lone 
 patient sentinels, to search the overgrown loopholes 
 for the great silent guns, which lay now dumb 
 before the salute of dawn, the fiery challenge of 
 sunset. It was all a world away, those jewelled 
 hours of summers dead. And only for the aged 
 are memories sweet. 
 
 " There comes Petit Clef now, and Persis, trailing 
 after him. How she does dote on the little scamp ! " 
 Palmer swung the boat inshore. Rose shook hands 
 with Persis, and stooped to kiss Petit Clef. He set 
 his teeth and bore the caress with a face of saintly 
 resignation, which could not hide the exultant 
 mischief sparkling from every feature. 
 
 "Moi, I have found at last how to rid myself of 
 this devotion most fatigant." he whispered, hopping 
 along close at Rose s elbow, while Persis followed 
 at a respectful distance. " By accident have I 
 discovered that of all things terreebl unto her, the 
 most effrayant are these beings innocent and 
 joyeuses, the little snakes of garters. I have 
 remarked at table that I do greatly admire them 
 
Rose 3 8 9 
 
 for their colour, which is as the throats of peacocks, 
 tout irisee, thereat she has shrieked with a voice 
 which made me to leap in my chair, and has over 
 turned the basin of milk which she was about to 
 set upon my plate. I am come to the rescue, being 
 calm; the Madame Manderson has rebuked her, for 
 her negligence, and has given of praise to me, 
 which is a thing unjust; but my inspiration is not 
 lost. Until to-day she has pursued me with an 
 adoration insufferable. To-day she permits me to 
 roam at my will, save at this hour, when she urges 
 me to return home, and to sleep. Sleep ! In 
 daylight, as though I wore still the swaddling- 
 clothes!" Petit Clef s small nose wrinkled in 
 unutterable scorn. " I go now, meekly ; but if she 
 shall demand to escort me longer, I produce my 
 weapon," he patted his pocket with a gesture of 
 horrid warning, "and you will behold her flee, as 
 flees the departing earthquake. We shall see ! " 
 
 "Do not be so naughty, Petit Clef. You know 
 she loves you." 
 
 "Ah, oui, vraiment!" Petit Clef shrugged his 
 tiny shoulders. "But love unsought turns to a 
 fagot too heavy for one s shoulders, even as the 
 elfin gold to bars of lead. Have you not learned 
 that, Mademoiselle the Rose?" 
 
 Rose smiled the while she winced beneath his 
 blithe, unconscious gibe. True. 
 
 Madame Manderson came graciously down the 
 path between the withered flower-beds to meet them. 
 
39 Diane 
 
 A lovely scarlet burned in the hollow of her soft 
 cheek; her eyes glowed like dark stars beneath the 
 deep lace hood with its long lappets caught with 
 pearls beneath her chin. The hands which she 
 held out to Rose were soft and cold as white rose- 
 petals. She greeted them both with charming, 
 formal welcome; only Persis knew how heavily she 
 leaned on that broad arm, how feeble were the 
 short, uneven steps which carried her back to the 
 house. 
 
 "You haven t been near me for so long, naughty 
 children ! And I have strange news for you," she 
 said, as she lay back in her great chair. The folds 
 of lace across her bosom thrilled with her quick 
 breathing; she spoke with a pretty insistence, like 
 an excited girl. Always there clung about her the 
 perfume of an ineffable girlhood, touching, adorable. 
 " I have had a letter from Diane. What was your 
 last news from her, Rose?" 
 
 "It was nearly two weeks ago, Madame. She 
 said that she was staying with the Sisters for a 
 while, and that they were very kind, and made her 
 feel as if she was at home again. I ve written over 
 and over since, but I can t get an answer from her. 
 Do tell us what she says." 
 
 " Then she did not tell you of Pere Cabet s death ? " 
 
 "Why, Madame!" 
 
 "It happened the same night that they reached 
 St. Louis. Therese sent for the Sisters directly, and 
 they took Diane home with them to St. Charles, and 
 
Rose 391 
 
 have kept her there ever since. She was ill at 
 first from the shock, too ill to write, and from the 
 way this letter runs, I can see that she thinks we 
 have heard all about it in the meantime. I wrote 
 to Valentin Saugier yesterday, and asked him to 
 tell me just how it had all happened. I shall not 
 ask Diane any questions. She need not be re 
 minded of her grief." 
 
 "But, Madame, she promised that she would 
 send for me, the minute she needed me!" 
 
 "But she was not able to send for you at first, 
 and since then the Sisters have cared for her. 
 Besides she may have dreaded seeing any one 
 who had known the Pere Cabet. We cannot know 
 all that this sorrow will mean to her. But I could 
 wish you were with her now." 
 
 "Oh, I ll go to her right away! The poor, poor 
 little lonely soul!" 
 
 "It is not that." Madame fumbled through her 
 reticule. "She is not unhappy with the Sisters. 
 She I think that they are planning to keep her 
 with them, always." 
 
 Palmer broke into an angry exclamation. Rose 
 started to her feet. 
 
 " Madame, she shan t think of it ! She s not the 
 girl for that life, never ! Oh, I won t have it so ! 
 It s just because she s been so unhappy since 
 Pere Cabet s death, and she imagines she ll find 
 comfort in that, the poor baby ! Then the Sisters 
 want her. Anybody would want her, for that 
 
392 Diane 
 
 matter. And they ve coaxed. I know just the 
 way they d do. Oh, she just shan t do it !" 
 
 "But, Rose " 
 
 " Yes, Madame, I know. She thinks it s the only 
 right, safe way. The Sisters brought her up, you 
 know. It s no wonder she turns to them when 
 she s so unhappy. But it it s different, now. 
 She has other things to reckon with. Father will 
 let me go to St. Louis on my way home, and I ll 
 just pick her up and take her on to Belhaven with 
 me for the winter. After that perhaps things 
 will work out." 
 
 Her voice sank suddenly. Madame Manderson 
 searched nervously through the bag again. Palmer 
 strode to the window and looked out. Each 
 turned aside to hide his secret thought. Yet had 
 they looked into the faces of one another, each 
 would have beheld his secret, written clear. 
 
 "That would be a wise plan. But read the 
 letter, Rose, dear." Madame laid the little violet 
 sheet on Rose s knee. Her voice shook with a new 
 note of poignant tenderness. 
 
 Rose glanced through the stilted opening sen 
 tences. The last page she read aloud, with steady 
 lips and slow, deep-flaming colour. 
 
 " Among my duties, these privileges that I do 
 dearly love, is that of decorating the chapel for 
 the service of vespers, that hour when our little 
 sisters, the pupils, sing as the choir. Upon the 
 afternoon of Tuesday, which is three days since, 
 
Rose 393 
 
 while I arrange the music, I am summoned to the 
 hall of waiting, where I am most amazed to behold 
 the Captain Channing. Bob wrote to me, Madame, 
 some time ago. I don t remember whether I told 
 you of it. He said he was going to St. Louis, so 
 I sent him word where to find Diane." 
 
 Madame nodded slightly. Her soft gaze rested 
 upon the girl in a look of proud understanding. 
 
 " He had ridden many long miles, and seemed 
 most weary from his journey. He expected to 
 return soon to the north upon the great boat of 
 steam. Then he will see you once more, dear, 
 dearest Madame. Myself, I envy him the honour 
 and the joy. Yet I am most fortunate and happy 
 here, with the kind Sisters, who do all things to give 
 me comfort. It is their wish that I remain with 
 them always. Also I begin to believe that it is 
 wisest for me, so to do. Perhaps it is well that I 
 have no ties of kindred, for thus are there none who 
 can be needed of me. Also I can enter upon my 
 work with a heart single and undivided. 
 
 " Their wish is that I shall begin immediately 
 upon my studies as a novice. My novitiate will 
 be hastened, because of my solitary estate ; within a 
 year s time, I shall be enabled to take the black veil. 
 I have not yet given to them reply, for I await your 
 counsel, and that of my Soeur Aloysia, she who has 
 cared for me while that I was yet enfant. She can 
 judge whether I am of a capacity and of a merit for 
 this most solemn privilege. Therefore, I beseech 
 
394 Diane 
 
 you also, dear Madame, that you tell to me what is 
 your wsh, your judgment, upon this decision, for 
 me so profound. 
 
 " I present to you my love most sincere, my 
 wishes for all happiness. 
 
 DIANE DE LAHAUTIERE. " 
 
 Rose put the letter back in Madame s lap. Her 
 face was very white. 
 
 "I shall go to her right away, Madame. The 
 Tennessee is due here at seven o clock; Sydney will 
 row me up to the landing. I won t lose another 
 minute. And I ll bring her straight back with me, 
 too. But Channing! What can it mean? That 
 letter was written a week ago, and we ve not had a 
 word nor a sign of him. Could she be mistaken? 
 Perhaps he meant that he was going on up the 
 Ohio, and so on to Washington. Or maybe he 
 was on his way North on the Missouri to his Kansas 
 claim. Surely he d be here by this time, unless 
 something has happened." 
 
 "I have tried in vain to understand it," said 
 Madame, a little wearily. "He must have spoken 
 of coming here; why else would she speak of his 
 seeing us? She must be very homesick, poor little 
 girl. It is good of you to think of going to her, my 
 Rose. But had you not best wait, till you can see 
 him, and learn what he thinks best?" 
 
 "But Channing isn t here, and I shan t wait till 
 he comes. It s too hazardous. Besides, I I m 
 
Rose 395 
 
 afraid for Charming, somehow, I don t know why. 
 Something must have happened." 
 
 "Something has happened, * said Palmer, from 
 the window. He turned and faced them defiantly. 
 A curious dusky pallour marred his keen young 
 face. Rose started at his low, hoarse tone. 
 
 " Mother told me about it yesterday. It was all 
 along of that trouble last May, you know, when 
 he helped Friend Barclay start those runaways 
 North. The authorities have been watching for 
 him ever since. They arrested him at a tavern 
 midway between St. Louis and St. Charles, on 
 Wednesday, the day after he saw Diane. He 
 resisted arrest, and they fired after him. They 
 didn t hit him, but they shot the horse from under 
 him, and he was pretty badly bruised in the fall. 
 His knee was hurt, and his head. I don t know 
 how seriously. They brought him up on the Jessie 
 Mack yesterday. He s in prison in that fortified 
 warehouse down at the Point now." 
 
 Rose staggered to her feet. Her pitiful secret 
 leaped its bounds in her sobbing cry. "Channing 
 hurt ! And you didn t tell me ! Oh, Sydney, how 
 could you! How could you!" 
 
 " I didn t know how to say it," blundered Palmer, 
 angry and remorseful. "I knew you d be so 
 grieved Rose, you can t go to him. They won t 
 let you inside the place, even. I know. I ve 
 tried. Besides, he doesn t want to see us he 
 wouldn t if he could." 
 
39 6 Diane 
 
 Rose turned on him, aflame. "I m going for 
 Diane," she flung at him, every word a sob. "I 
 know very well that Channing won t want to see 
 us. How could he ? Think of the way I reproached 
 him! Think of the way you dared to turn from 
 him!" 
 
 "But, Rose " 
 
 "Of course he was wrong. But he had a right 
 to believe as he pleased. And he had a right to 
 act as he pleased, too. I m proud of him, if he is a 
 criminal. He s my own cousin, anyhow. No, you 
 need not go with me!" She snatched herself from 
 his detaining arm. The tears streamed over her 
 hot cheeks. "I m going straight for Diane " 
 
 " I don t see what good that will do ! She can t 
 help, and his case is likely to hang on for months. 
 There s Friend Barclay, too, shut up with him, on 
 the same charge, and it s a serious charge, I can 
 tell you that. The penalties " 
 
 "What do I care for the penalties? I m going 
 oh, Sydney ! What have we done?" 
 
 The strain of the angry scene had taxed Madame 
 beyond her frail endurance. She lay back, ghost - 
 white, struggling for breath. 
 
 " I shall be better in a little, dear," she whispered, 
 when they had borne her to her own room and 
 laid her on the high -pillowed bed. A faint returning 
 colour tinted her lips and warmed her soft, cold 
 cheek. Her eyes shone with a grave, pure radiance ; 
 that welling light which glorifies the look of those who 
 
Rose 397 
 
 are but lately come into the world, and of those who 
 wait their peaceful hour to go. "Hurry, Rose, my 
 child. Bring Diane. Tell her that I need her, 
 dear. Say to her that since none of her own blood 
 remain, I am going to claim her as my own. And 
 tell her " the dark eyes wandered smiling to the 
 great, dim portrait, in its broad, golden frame, 
 guarded by crossed swords to that beloved face 
 which had watched with her the passing of these 
 steadfast waiting years "Tell her that, as she has 
 asked it, I would wish to give her my counsel." 
 
 A thread of a new moon traced its silver anaglyph 
 above the fading arras of the west. Night brooded 
 the naked trees, crowding close along the barren 
 shore; but the river hoarded every paling glimmer. 
 Moveless as marble it lay, a broad, gray, gleaming 
 coil; keen scintillations fleeted down its burnished 
 surface, like the ripple of light upon a sword. 
 
 "It is a thing unjust, most monstrous, that I go 
 not with you, Mademoiselle," proclaimed Petit Clef, 
 with sad reproach. He sat on the edge of the 
 steamer landing, and swung his feet out over the 
 edge, to the loud dismay of poor Per sis, who hovered 
 apprehensively near. His tiny body rocked as a 
 moth rocks on a yielding stalk; in the weird half- 
 light, one fancied that he balanced himself on 
 impalpable, swift-fanning wings. Yet the whine 
 in his small voice was essentially human. "You 
 know well that you need my protection. Also 
 
39 8 Diane 
 
 Diane longs to behold me. Why do you not take 
 me with you, and thus free me " he glanced 
 behind him and finished his sentence in French, with 
 a demoniac scowl "and free me from the body of 
 this death?" 
 
 "The boy is right," grumbled Major Faulkner. 
 He put a jealous arm about his daughter. The 
 Tennessee shot around the bend, a luminous ghost 
 ly pile, heralded with trumpet-torch of green and 
 red, her shadow-twin mirrored in checker of light 
 on the surface below. The trill of flute and violin 
 chimed in fantastic rhythm with the plash of the 
 sundered water. "I don t know what I m thinking 
 of, to let you go alone. Such nonsense ! Why 
 don t you write her to come up here at once, and 
 save yourself the trip? Come, now, do, and let 
 it go at that." 
 
 " She might not come for a letter, father." Rose s 
 voice was spent and toneless. Her eyes were 
 fixed on the dark, rough-hewn bulk, faintly visible, 
 at the southernmost rim of the Point. Palmer 
 followed her glance. His fine lips tightened. The 
 hand which had rested lightly on Petit Clef s 
 shoulder clutched now with a grip which made the 
 child wince away. 
 
 "I ll be very careful, dear. You know Madame 
 may not get well, and she wants her. We will 
 come back on the next boat. It won t be more 
 than a week, altogether; besides, the Captain will 
 take care of me, Good-bye," 
 
Rose 399 
 
 She slid from his grudging clasp, and hurried 
 lightly across the creaking stage. The boat scarcely 
 stopped; the big plank rose with a groan and a 
 shriek of grating cogs as she reached the deck. 
 
 She stood watching the figures ashore till the 
 river fog rolled between and hid them from her 
 sight. She was tired beyond words; yet a strange 
 new peace laid its touch of healing upon heart and 
 brain. Quietly, patiently, she went forth on her 
 solemn, exquisite errand to bring a light and a 
 comfort unto failing eyes; to sacrifice her own 
 beloved, unspoken hope upon the altar of another s 
 joy. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 THE CLOSING DOOR 
 
 ALL the cottage windows were flung wide to the 
 sweet waning afternoon, yet a low fire crackled on 
 Madame s hearth, and added its ripple and glow 
 to the glad quiet which filled the little house. 
 Petit Clef had scoured his woods the day before, 
 and had staggered home beneath heaped armfuls 
 of treasure. Ferns and wraiths of golden-rod, 
 frost-seared and pungent-sweet, nodded from the 
 tall vases on the mantel ; branches of mountain-ash 
 lit the high chimney-piece with clustered flame, 
 like berries of live coal. Petit Clef sat on the 
 ottoman at the foot of Madame s bed. He was 
 counting the bunch of violets on his knee, and 
 separating them into carefully numbered bunches. 
 Madame smiled at the furrows of stern computation 
 on his small forehead 
 
 " Petit Clef, do you feel quite sure that they will 
 come to-day ? Remember, we have had no word ; 
 and it would be too bad if your preparations should 
 all be lost." 
 
 "Trust Mademoiselle Rose for that; what she 
 proposes will be performed. Only I wish that I 
 might do my part as well. If Mesdames les Violettes 
 
 400 
 
The Closing Door 401 
 
 will be such fools as to mistake November for April, 
 I would that they had had enough of generosity to 
 make their blunder with the whole heart. Such 
 dwarfs, such makeshifts!" He cast one forlorn 
 atomy into the fire with a snarl of disgust. "Ah, 
 bah ! How am I to compose my bouquets d hon- 
 neur from these boiteuses ? I must have two four 
 seven eight, if I include myself. Eight bouquets 
 from thirty-seven violets! Infamous!" 
 "Eight ! Why so many, little man?" 
 " Eight are required, else some one must be neg 
 lected, Madame. One for Rose, one for Diane, one 
 also for M sieu le Capitaine, he who lies imprisoned, 
 and a bunch for M sieu Palmer, who goes free. 
 For yourself, the most beautiful spray of all; and I 
 may not forget Persis, even though I may not bribe 
 her to forget me." He grimaced towards the 
 kitchen. "Then there must be one also for the 
 Pere Cabet." 
 
 "Why, Petit Clef!" 
 
 "Would you have me neglect him, Madame?" 
 Madame wound the silken fringes of her scarf 
 through her slight fingers. This was the first 
 time that Petit Clef had spoken of the Master. 
 Stoical beyond his baby years, he had kept his 
 grief his own. Only Persis knew how he sobbed 
 into his pillow when he fancied the rest asleep. 
 
 She sighed faintly. "No, dear. But Captain 
 Channing do not tell Diane of his trouble when 
 she first arrives. She will be tired and excited as 
 
402 Diane 
 
 it is. And had you better show her the flowers for 
 Pere Cabet ? It might only pain her." 
 
 "Probably she will not understand. Women 
 seldom do." Petit Clef took the four pale blossoms, 
 and tucked them into a vase. "However, he 
 knows now, which is the main thing. Ah, Madame, 
 she comes! Behold her, my Diane!" 
 
 There was a roll of wheels, then Persis voice, 
 uplifted in noise of joyful greeting. Madame 
 raised herself high on her pillows to see. She 
 was not to wait for long. With the rush of a freed 
 bird, Diane sped into the room and into her waiting 
 arms. 
 
 "It is not yourself, my Diane," Petit Clef com 
 plained, when she had turned from Madame to 
 smother him in kisses. "Ah, no! You are not 
 my real princess. Your eyes are too big, and your 
 cheeks are too white. And that black gown, that 
 horror ! Go, put on your blossom dress, that blue 
 of the river in March, with the little rosebuds and 
 the collar of deceitful leaves upon it. Certainly, 
 you love us as well in that shroud, but how can we 
 love you? Go, Mademoiselle, je t en prie !" 
 
 Diane hesitated, and looked to Rose for judgment. 
 Since the hour of their first meeting, she had leaned 
 by instinct on Rose s moods. Through these last 
 hurtling days she had trusted every decision to her 
 wishes. Rose had swept down upon her at the 
 Convent and had carried her away without waiting 
 to hear her protests. The Sisters arguments had 
 
The Closing: Door 403 
 
 fallen upon deaf ears: the Mother s puzzled re 
 monstrance had met with no reply. Diane was not 
 without spirit, but she yielded with inexpressible 
 relief to the divine calm of resting on a stronger 
 will. She would go with Rose, to see Madame, and 
 to receive her counsel. After that, her life might 
 shape itself as it would. But until then, she would 
 have peace. 
 
 "Would it please you so very much, Petit Clef? 
 What say you, Rose?" 
 
 " Go and put it on, child. Indeed, I ll be thankful 
 to see you in something of your own. Put on the 
 shoes that go with it, too. Persis is going to give 
 us a wonderful tea, and she will be delighted if you 
 dress for it." 
 
 Joyously compliant, Diane ran away to her little 
 room, calling Persis to help her. A glance of under 
 standing passed between the two women. Petit 
 Clef arose and sauntered to the door, whistling softly. 
 But through his tune his forest-taught ear caught 
 their low whispered words. 
 
 "She asked for him, Madame, but I I couldn t 
 bear to tell her. Sydney thinks I don t know how 
 that crime is rated, nor how shameful the penalty 
 is. I do know. And it s hard enough for me to 
 bear it without telling Diane." 
 
 Madame drew Rose s hand against her cheek. 
 
 "Sydney came aboard the steamer at the Fort 
 Edwards landing and came up here with us. I 
 think Diane scarcely remembers him. She s been 
 
404 Diane 
 
 so sad about Pere Cabet and so excited about other 
 things that she forgets everything else. She asked 
 Sydney about Bob, too. Somehow of course, 
 Sydney can t be expected to know how things stand ; 
 he thinks Bob no better than a common criminal ; but 
 I was sorry for Sydney. It seemed to fret him so 
 when she asked. He muttered that he hadn t seen 
 him, and that he had not been around the boats. 
 Diane didn t say anything more, but Sydney is 
 blind if he couldn t read the disappointment in her 
 eyes. He tried to be nice to her; he didn t notice 
 how completely she disregarded everything that 
 he had to say. He even asked whether he might 
 come up for an hour to-night, and, of course, I said 
 yes, though I could see Diane was puzzled. So 
 was I, for that matter. I should think he d realise 
 by this time but Sydney always was slow to see 
 things." 
 
 Madame smiled, with closed eyes. One glance 
 at Palmer s flushed face had told her all the story. 
 From her dim chamber, she watched the quaint, 
 pathetic little play as the magician of old viewed 
 the world reflected in his sphere of crystal. 
 
 "I d not distress myself about him, Rose, child. 
 Those matters adjust themselves with time. Mean 
 while, I m thankful to have you both with me again. 
 Here is Diane, now. Here is our own little girl once 
 more !" 
 
 Diane danced in, young April, all doubtful 
 laughter and glad tears. Her long skirts swept and 
 
The Closing: Doof 405 
 
 swirled about her narrow feet in the arched green 
 shoes, powdered with tracery of silver; her bronze 
 hair ruffled in flying rings beneath the long, drooping 
 wreath of silken moss-rosebuds, whose crisp gauze 
 ribbons curled against her white, bare neck. Low 
 over the puffed transparent sleeves hung the collar 
 of deceitful leaves, as Petit Clef had demanded; a 
 bertha of rose leaves, cut from pale-green velvet, 
 veined and stemmed with stiff gilt thread, fringed 
 with tiny bobbing buds. She swept them a flowing 
 courtesy; her silken flounces sang like withered 
 leaves before the gale. 
 
 " Ah, joy ! " cried Petit Clef, enraptured. " Regard, 
 she has forgotten nothing, even to the miniature, 
 and the rope of golden beads. Behold, the little 
 roses which climb about the steps of your gown ; in 
 truth, no man would know that they are roses, 
 save that they are red and green; but who cares? 
 Also do I love that ladder of lace, built for the 
 roses to clamber on, when they weary of running 
 round and round. Ah, you are now our Diane, 
 stray Queen of Fairyland." 
 
 "Come to your tea, you poet, and stop your 
 flattery!" Rose snatched him up and carried him 
 struggling and laughing to the dining-room. He 
 blinked an impish eye at Diane, who hovered 
 close behind. 
 
 "You will serve for the feast of the eye, Made 
 moiselle," he called to her, with airy, exquisite 
 raillery. The note of devotion had vanished; 
 
406 Diane 
 
 mischief consummate lit his brown eyes. "But, 
 my Rose ah, my real Rose ! She sets forth the 
 feast of the heart." 
 
 They made a merry group, the three of them, 
 around the low polished table which Persis had 
 decked with all Madame s treasures of egg-shell and 
 silver, and heaped with every dainty that her 
 cunning hands could concoct. Their joy was all 
 the dearer that it trembled on the brink of Regret. 
 Diane s sweet eyes grew dark, her voice faltered, 
 when Persis pressed on her the grapes which she 
 knew had been plucked in the Commune vineyards. 
 Rose was feverishly gay ; yet she started, trembling, 
 at every sound. Petit Clef alone ate with peace and 
 appetite. From time to time he considered the 
 two with grave pity over his bowl of cream. As 
 suredly girls were all very well while the sun shone; 
 but when it came a day of storm prut ! they 
 folded up like morning-glories. It was regrettable. 
 One should felicitate one s self that one belonged 
 not to a sex so susceptible. 
 
 After tea Diane slipped back to Madame s bed 
 side. Rose strolled away down the hill to meet 
 Palmer; from the west window they had seen him 
 beach the Celandine and start upward on his long 
 climb to the house. Thus deserted, Petit Clef spent 
 a few minutes in teasing Persis, then clambered 
 into his pet hiding-place, a tall cedar, which stood 
 like a dark seneschal at the door. Two or three 
 branches had been cut out midway on one side, 
 
The Closing Doof 4 7 
 
 making a tiny space, roofed and walled by the 
 prickling aromatic spikes. When Petit Clef had 
 parted the tasselled branches and crept within he 
 might have been a belated robin, for all that eye 
 could see. 
 
 Here he sat playing softly on his flute, in breezy 
 mimicry of the twilight sounds around him; the 
 cheep of a cricket, frost-numbed yet cheery, in its 
 nest of withered leaves; the ebb and flow of Persis 
 crooning hymn; the fitful tinkle of bells, rising 
 faint and sweet as altar chimes from the lowland 
 pastures. Twice Persis came to the door and 
 called him ; the second time, the hoot of an owl from 
 the branch just above her head sent her scuttling 
 into the house with a shriek of terror at the ill- 
 omened note. Petit Clef smiled his smile of the 
 submissive cherub, and continued to sound his 
 eerie warning at judicious intervals. Presently the 
 witchery of coming night claimed him for its own. 
 He leaned back, blinking through pendulous branches 
 at the gray, dew-fleeced vineyards, the river, a 
 girdle of gold beneath the crouching hills. The 
 world grew very still. 
 
 The western sky flared radiant, yet early moon 
 light illumined Madame s chamber like pallid candle- 
 flames. Beneath its rays Diane s gay finery bleached 
 to finery of ashes. Even the long shawl of amber 
 crape, which wrapped Madame s frail shoulders, 
 faded to dusky rose. Its changing tones brought 
 out with sad distinctness the autumn message 
 
408 Diane 
 
 written upon her face. Even Diane s child eyes 
 must see and read. For her own part, Madame s 
 vision was yet clear and sure. The record of Diane s 
 pale cheek and saddened gaze proved that which 
 her heart had read through months long past. 
 
 So they talked, their arms about each other, as 
 women talk who trust each other with the trust of 
 mother and child. Behind them lay the deep 
 waters. Before them rolled still "a deeper Sea. 
 For this one little hour, they might stand face to 
 face, speak soul to soul, in safety and in peace. 
 
 "When Pere Cabet left you, my dear one no, 
 I will not let you talk of that. I know enough 
 from what Valentin wrote me. So you went then 
 to the Sisters? And you were ill, and they cared 
 for you most kindly? So much your letters have 
 said." 
 
 "They had the kindness of angels, Madame. It 
 seemed as though I was once more enfant, with 
 the dear Sisters who reared me." 
 
 " I felt sure that they would never fail you. But 
 was it always homelike, daughter? Was it all 
 contentment ? " 
 
 A tremour crossed Diane s calm lips. The hand 
 that enfolded Madame s grew cold. 
 
 "It was not all contentment, Madame. Doubt 
 less that was my own grievous fault. Perhaps my 
 sorrow was to blame. I did my part in so far as I 
 was permitted. But it seemed to me that I was 
 useless, a burden." 
 
The Closing Door 409 
 
 "And the work they gave you to do, Diane - 
 Was it helpful ? Was it necessary ? " 
 
 Diane drew back, hotly flushing at the treason 
 which her lips already formed. 
 
 " It was not my part to question the judgment of 
 our Mother, the Superieure," she whispered. "But 
 oh, Madame, I was lonely ! I wished to care for 
 the sick, to teach the children; they said that I 
 had not strength for these duties; they could not 
 see that what I desired was the right the right to 
 be useful. To live!" 
 
 Madame s eyes were dark stars. 
 
 " So you would not promise to enter upon a novi 
 tiate?" 
 
 Diane slid to her knees by the bed. Madame 
 drew the fair wreathed head against her cheek. 
 
 "Tell me all of it, dear darling. Do not try to 
 carry it alone." 
 
 The low confession reached her ear in heart -beats 
 rather than in syllables. 
 
 "Always they urged me, Madame, and always I 
 knew, in truth, that the cloister was my right and 
 fitting home. Only I held back, though I shamed 
 myself for my unrest ; for in my own heart I had not 
 content, though I could not find out why it should 
 be so. But when he came the Capitaine Channing 
 and talked with me I knew. 
 
 "He is heretic, I know that. But his words 
 carried truth, Madame. He told me that I knew 
 not life, and, being ignorant, I could not decide for 
 
410 Diane 
 
 myself, alone. He spoke of that new country 
 where he would go again to make his home; yet I 
 would not listen, for I felt that my evil discontent 
 awoke within me at his words. Then he spoke on 
 of other things. I would not stay to hear. I did 
 not dare. 
 
 "When he had gone, I went away alone, and 
 thought until I understood. These things are the 
 temptations which are sent upon us for our proving. 
 That is the testimony of all the holy Fathers. 
 That is the cross which every soul must bear before 
 it is fit for service. Therefore I have wished your 
 counsel, and for the desires of my Sceur Aloysia. 
 For, as he has said, of myself I cannot judge. And 
 if it is your desire and that of my most revered 
 Sister, I return to take up this work. For of 
 myself I cannot know." 
 
 Madame did not seem to hear her last low words. 
 
 " You say he talked of other things, dear. What 
 were they? Ah, darling, you need not tell it. I 
 know. I know!" 
 
 Presently she spoke again, her thin hands stroking 
 the face against her breast. 
 
 " Diane, when I was seventeen, at school with the 
 dear Sisters, I believed as you believe; that these 
 dreams which come to us unbidden are temptations, 
 sent for us to resist. So when my own hope came, 
 I thrust it away with all my might. I prayed for it 
 to be taken from me. I beat out my heart against 
 it like a foolish bird. I could not realise that I 
 
The Closing Door 411 
 
 was striving to crush out the best within me. I 
 could not know that my life was mine only until 
 the hour came for me to yield it to another. 
 
 " Dear, a woman s road is a long road. Some 
 women there are who can live out their days alone 
 and be content. They are not as you and I. There 
 are others who think love is a thing to buy and to 
 sell. With them, love stands for wealth and 
 splendour and high place. For us we do not 
 care. It may be a palace ; it may be a cabin. That 
 does not matter. But one thing we must have: 
 the joy of giving. Granted that, the rest of the 
 world may go. 
 
 "Oh, my little girl ! If I could only show you 
 what my own life has been, then you would see ! 
 Then you would understand ! Forty years, Diane, 
 we spent together, boy and girl, my love and I. 
 The sorrows came, yes ; but we learned to bear them 
 for each other, and that made them holy. We 
 had to face fear and anxiety and shame; but we 
 could brave them out together. Even now, while 
 I wait here, an old woman, dying, I am not lonely. 
 For I know that he waits, too." 
 
 The sweet voice sank and trailed away into 
 silence. 
 
 Diane raised her head and slipped gently from 
 Madame s relaxing arms. Moonlight overflowed 
 the little room. Beneath its limpid radiance, 
 Madame s face lay with close-shut eyes, as carved 
 in pearl. 
 
412 Diane 
 
 "I m very tired, Diane daughter." The words 
 came in whispers threaded upon a sigh. " I think 
 I ll sleep. You need not stay by me, dear. Good 
 night." 
 
 Diane drew the shawl away and laid her down 
 among the pillows. In her extremity of weariness, 
 she slept before the girl had finished arranging the 
 covering about her. 
 
 Diane sat down, folding the long crape shawl 
 about her bare throat. She shut her little hands 
 over the carved pomegranates on the low foot 
 board. Her eyes grew heavy with slow, anguished 
 tears. 
 
 The night was growing chill, even in this shielded 
 eyrie, so Petit Clef concluded. Moreover, it would 
 be diverting to tiptoe into the kitchen and rouse 
 Persis to frenzy with the whimper of a cat-bird 
 or a locust s clack. He drew himself together 
 cautiously and was about to scramble down, when 
 the click of the gate-latch flattened him tight and 
 silent as a tree -toad, against the limb. It was 
 Rose and Sydney Palmer. Assuredly they had 
 been long in coming, he remarked, with a grimace. 
 The moonlight dazzled from Palmer s epaulets; it 
 lit to diamond sparkles the streaks of dew on 
 Rose s black hair. 
 
 They stopped directly beneath the cedar. Petit 
 Clef beamed. How ravishing it would be to let go 
 the branch suddenly and drop plump upon the 
 
The Closing Door 413 
 
 haughty neck of H sieu le Lieutenant ! But Palm 
 er s first words stung him to tingling silence. 
 
 "So Hotter and Sam Riggs, the postmaster, 
 planned the whole scheme without telling anybody 
 else. They met me when I reached the boats this 
 afternoon, and laid the whole thing before me. 
 Courage? Yes, it took a good deal, just to come 
 to me and own up to their plans. They had every 
 reason to expect that I d expose them. That 
 would have meant they d have to leave the country 
 or else stand trial as aiders and abettors. That s 
 good as a penitentiary sentence, any day. Yes, 
 they re brave enough, if they are Yankees. 
 
 "We couldn t do a thing if it wasn t that the 
 jail is so ridiculously managed. You know it s 
 nothing but a stone warehouse, to begin with, 
 built for a trading-post away back in Indian times. 
 Oh, it s strong, but that s not the point. According 
 to law, Channing and Friend Barclay should be kept 
 in solitary confinement until time of trial. Instead 
 of that, they go around the building just as they 
 please, except that by night they are locked in the 
 big south half, where the furs used to be kept. Of 
 course, this is just what the men tell me, and they 
 may be all wrong about it. We ve got to take our 
 chances. 
 
 " Riggs and Hotter are to pretend drunkenness. 
 I am to march them down to the Point, and make 
 a great bluster to the deputy you know the 
 sheriff is away this week; that s another point our 
 
414 Diane 
 
 way and pretend that they are employe s of mine, 
 who need to be drawn and quartered for getting 
 tipsy on Government property. Privately, I ll 
 tell him that I want them given a rousing scare, but 
 no imprisonment. The sheriff himself has done 
 little favours like that for me before, and the deputy 
 will be only too glad to show his authority. He ll 
 read them a lecture that will make them quake in 
 their boots, and pack them off into the south half, 
 to sober down and think it over. There are no 
 prisoners at the Point now but Channing and Friend 
 Barclay. As to the guards, they ll lock up the 
 building and then go out on the old parade-ground 
 and swap yarns and smoke. It s their regular 
 programme. All but Jim Morrow. He s in the 
 scheme, and promises to hang around, ready for 
 orders." 
 
 " But how will you get them both away ? " 
 "I m coming to that. I ll sit and talk with the 
 deputy for half an hour, maybe ; that will give them 
 time to change clothes and to tell our men what to 
 do. Then I ll say that I guess my fellows have had 
 scare enough, and the deputy will send Morrow to 
 unlock the doors, simply because he s right at hand. 
 That s where the real risk lies. If he should happen 
 to send anybody else, or if Morrow gets chicken- 
 hearted and sneaks out but we ve got to take the 
 chances on that, too. As for the deputy, he s blind 
 as a bat by lamplight. He d never know the differ 
 ence if I brought out all four of them. 
 
The Closing: Door 415 
 
 "We re to walk off leisurely, through the parade- 
 ground, down to the river. The guards will see 
 that Morrow is along, and won t notice that my 
 men have grown a foot or two since I took them in. 
 Or, if they do they re most of them Black Repub 
 licans, anyway. The Celandine will be moored at 
 the bend, all ready. We ll row right up here. 
 With four of us to pull, it won t take long. We ll 
 go straight to the Phalanstery and hide there till 
 we hear the Mattie Lee whistle. She s due at this 
 landing a little after midnight. Then we ll go 
 aboard and drop off one by one, to dodge suspicion. 
 Channing at Davenport, Friend Barclay at Fair 
 Prairie, and Morrow at New Boston, probably. 
 For myself, I sent in my resignation to the Depart 
 ment to-day. And I m going home, to raise a 
 company to go out and fight for Kansas. I ve 
 hung back long enough. Those cursed Free-Soilers 
 may think they re getting a foothold, but we ll 
 show them!" 
 
 "So you re going to free two Abolitionists to 
 night, and then go out to fight them on their own 
 ground!" 
 
 "I can t help it, Rose." His boyish voice rang 
 harsh with sullen resolution. "Look at that old 
 man, old enough to be my grandfather, and a 
 gentleman, every inch of him born in Virginia, 
 too, he told me. Look at him, dragged into prison 
 like a common thief, just because he rowed a poor 
 devil of a nigger across the river ! Maybe it is the 
 
416 Diane 
 
 law of my country; but it s damned unfair. Then 
 there s Channing, your own cousin. I d think 
 you d want me to help him out, because he s a 
 relation of yours, no matter how you may despise 
 him for this underground business." 
 
 "I do." Rose s voice was the merest whisper. 
 
 "After all he s done for me, I d be a sneaking cur 
 if I couldn t be some use to him when my chance 
 comes. He did more to get me my Annapolis 
 appointment than all the rest put together, and he 
 persuaded the Secretary to give me this job, and 
 he never forgot me, even when he resigned himself. 
 He recommended me for his place, and that was as 
 good as giving me my promotion. Your father told 
 
 me so." 
 
 " Sydney, I m only too glad you re doing this for 
 Bob. You don t know you can t know how 
 glad. But there s some one else to be reckoned 
 with. Diane." 
 
 "Diane!" He breathed the little name like a 
 caress, then stepped back, flushing high in the moon 
 light. "Yes. I thought of her, too. But he must 
 not wait to see her now. He ll have to go straight 
 on, if he s to save his neck. After this blows over, 
 he can come back here to see her, if he thinks he has 
 to, or she oh, well, it makes no difference what 
 they do, when to-night s work is once out of the 
 way. But he mustn t risk anything now even 
 for her. 
 
 "She doesn t even know that he has been im- 
 
The Gosmg; Door 417 
 
 prisoned, and there s no need for her to hear of it 
 yet," he went on, presently. "If you want to 
 see him, take Persis and go on up to the Phalanstery, 
 and wait for us there. We ve told Friend Barclay s 
 wife about it; she will be there, too, with extra 
 clothing and food for them. No, now, Rose, don t 
 tell Diane. She " 
 
 "She d want to go with him, and if Channing 
 sees her if he even knows she s here at Madame s 
 we can t make him move one step without her. I 
 know that, Sydney. But wouldn t it be better for 
 both of them that very way?" 
 
 "To go away together, you mean? Why, it s 
 impossible ! What if Channing is seized ? And 
 how do you know that she cares for him like 
 that?" Indomitably generous though he might be, 
 he clutched still at his precious shred of hope, 
 childishly, fiercely. 
 
 " Sydney, haven t you heard her speak his name ? 
 Are you sc blind as all that? Can t you see? 1 
 
 Petit Clef shivered and tightened his hold upon 
 the branch. The rustle of snapping twigs broke 
 the grim pause which followed on Rose s words. 
 
 "I m going back now, Rose," said Palmer, 
 turning abruptly away. "It s time I met the men. 
 Eight was the hour, and it s nearly that now. 
 It s beginning to cloud over; that s lucky for us. 
 You go on to the Phalanstery or not, just as you 
 please. You are going? All right, then. Good 
 bye." 
 
4i 8 Diane 
 
 The door closed behind Rose as he strode away 
 down the hill. 
 
 Petit Clef pulled his collar up about his ears and 
 crouched motionless upon his branch. Rose had 
 gone to summon Persis, so he wisely conjectured. 
 He would wait until the two were safely out of the 
 way ; then he himself would take a hand in affairs. 
 To be sure, it was growing infamously cold ; but the 
 evening promised excitements which would warm 
 him to the marrow. 
 
 There was a flurry of whispers and a sound of 
 quick footsteps within. Presently two muffled 
 figures crept from the house and hurried up the 
 Commune road. Petit Clef nodded, acquiescent. 
 "The broad rocking vessel, that will be my Persis, 
 hastening before the storm, " he remarked to his 
 flute. "The sailboat, she so light and so trim 
 ah, my poor Mademoiselle the Rose !" 
 
 He slid to the ground and rubbed his stiffened 
 knees. Diane, still bowed in silence at Madame s 
 pillow, sprang to her feet and hurried out at the 
 first quaver of his bob-white cry. Her dread for 
 Madame s awakening flashed in her wide eyes, 
 thrilled in her warning whisper. 
 
 "Oh, quiet, Petit Clef! She sleeps. Do not 
 disturb her!" 
 
 " So ? That is very well, then. She will not miss 
 you, and Persis will return before she stands in need 
 of anything. Come, Mademoiselle. We go to see 
 the Captain Channing." 
 
The Closing Door 419 
 
 "The Capitaine Charming!" 
 
 " Assuredly, Mademoiselle. Why not? In the 
 days past he has come often to make his devoirs 
 unto us ; to visit him, that is the least that we can 
 do, now that he lies in prison and in shame." 
 
 "In prison!" 
 
 "Truly, yes, Mademoiselle. Is it that you have 
 no words of your own, that you must borrow mine ? 
 And how you shiver! Is it the dew upon your 
 sleeves of lace? Perhaps it is better that we do 
 not attempt to go." 
 
 " Petit Clef, I implore you that you do not torture 
 me. Have mercy and tell me, I who know nothing of 
 all this. What has happened? Where is the 
 Capitaine Channing?" 
 
 "The Capitaine Channing is held prisoner this 
 fortnight, at the Point, for this sin most heinous, 
 that he has aided a slave to go free. M sieu I 1 Ami 
 Barclay abides there with him, also. M sieu Palmer 
 is but this moment gone, to take them by ruse from 
 the jail and to bring them up the river in the Celan 
 dine. They will hide in the Phalanstery, until 
 the coming of the great boat of steam. Then they 
 will depart each for another place of hiding. Also 
 must M sieu Palmer flee with them; for he is 
 now criminal of the basest, in that he has rescued 
 his friend and broken this most reverend law. A 
 land indeed amusing, this brave America, where 
 honour makes itself a reproach, and he who is just 
 shall be called traitor. Voila this land of the free ! " 
 
420 Diane 
 
 "Come, Petit Clef." 
 
 " Come ? Where do we go, then, Mademoiselle ? " 
 
 "To meet the Capitaine Channing." 
 
 "Ah, la!" Petit Clef snapped his fingers at the 
 moon. "But that is impossible, Mademoiselle. 
 One cannot think of it. For truth, we might go to 
 the Phalanstery, and await " 
 
 "But he might not go there. The steamer may 
 arrive much earlier than they think. One can 
 never be assured. We will meet him at the Point 
 instead." 
 
 "But, Diane, the rapids!" 
 
 "The rapids ! Who dreads the rapids?" 
 
 "But we must cross them if we will reach the 
 channel that their boat must take. Even then we 
 might miss them in the fog. Behold, it rises already, 
 all murky -white. Can you not see, how it clouds 
 all the river? And then the danger of rocks, the 
 rough current, the cold ah, when the fog rises, it 
 pierces to the bone, even as seared that shirt of 
 magic woven for the poor M sieu Hercules. No, 
 no! Let it go!" 
 
 "Come, or I go alone." 
 
 "Behold, how I am powerless to convince!" 
 Petit Clef flung his hands abroad in eloquent 
 despair. His eyes snapped with triumph. " We go, 
 then. Toni s old skiff lies at the foot of the hill, 
 Diane. You can row, which is fortunate. Myself, 
 I have of skill with the rudder. Wind your shawl 
 about you, so, that it may shield that naked throat. 
 
The Closing Door 421 
 
 And your long cloak, my Diane ! Go on, I hasten to 
 fetch it." 
 
 She was already speeding down the hill, an airy 
 wraith in the moonlight, when he limped from the 
 house, dragging the long, red cloak. As she stooped 
 for him to throw it around her, he caught her 
 tightly about the neck. His cheek touched hers, 
 cool as wind-tossed apple-blossom. 
 
 "Mademoiselle!" There piped no mischief now 
 in that sweet child -voice. "Will you not kiss me 
 adieu? Have you no good-bye for your comrade, 
 my Diane?" 
 
 Surely he spoke truth. For this would be good 
 bye ! She trembled, stricken by vague terrors. The 
 world seemed to totter, to rend beneath her feet. 
 The coming years loomed as strange phantoms, 
 inexplicable, daunting. Behind her lay her girl 
 hood, sad and strange and dear. Before her opened 
 what unfathomable deeps ! Ah, the pity of it ! 
 The pity of his sad, prescient farewell ! 
 
 She knelt and clasped his tiny body as she had 
 taken him to her heart long months before. Child 
 and maiden kissed each other in silence, with full 
 hearts. It was as though they turned away together, 
 hand in hand, from the House of their old life, and 
 closed the door. 
 
 Toni s skiff rocked at its mooring beneath a 
 clump of willow. Petit Clef groped for the bow 
 line and held it ashore while she crept in, feeling 
 her way to the rower s seat with cautious steps. 
 
422 Diane 
 
 As he scrambled aboard, the boat slid off into deep 
 water, quietly as a drifting swan. The mists 
 streamed up and rolled upon them in billowy 
 translucence, thick and cold and soft as down, shot 
 through and through with thrusts of arrowy light. 
 The water purred beneath the bow; now and then 
 a gust of wind rent the endless sheet of fog into 
 smoke and shreds, revealing broad glistening patches, 
 now barred like a pigeon s breast with weird moon 
 lighted radiances, now waved and gleaming, a 
 palace floor, inlaid with mother of pearl. It was 
 as though they rowed through the heart of a vast 
 opal a world enchanted where sound was not and 
 vision grew but dull, but where touch and the 
 feeling of colour, like the pulse of far-away music, 
 more than fulfilled the work of the nobler senses, 
 now stunned and dim. 
 
 And ever nearer quavered the soft, swift flow of 
 the rapids, that throbbing, noiseless menace: that 
 whisper of deadly charm. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 THE RENDING OF THE VEIL 
 
 "COME, now, Robert. Thee must bestir thyself. 
 No time to lose." 
 
 Friend Barclay stood at his elbow, but his voice 
 sounded from illimitable distances to Channing s 
 heavy brain. He turned himself awkwardly from 
 the high-barred window. Slow embarrassment 
 flushed his gaunt, tired face. 
 
 "Bright as the moon is, I can t make out the 
 river at all, on account of this miserable fog," he 
 said, uncertainly. He clasped both hands over 
 the bruise which still marked his fall on the day 
 of his arrest, a fortnight since. "Between my 
 broken head and my stiff knee, I haven t sense 
 enough to know when I m beat. Do you suppose 
 we ll ever hear from that remonstrance of ours, 
 Friend Barclay? Or are we to rot here till the 
 Bill is repealed?" 
 
 " Be quiet, Robert. Don t thee know these men ? " 
 
 Channing brushed his hand over his eyes as though 
 to clear away the film of pain and torpor that 
 dimmed them. " Hotter ! And Sam Riggs ! What 
 on earth?" he cried. The sight of those familiar 
 faces roused him from his lethargy like a blow. 
 
 423 
 
424 Diane 
 
 "Whatever are you doing here? I thought you 
 were sharp enough to dodge the trap." 
 
 Hotter explained, in stumbling whispers. Chan- 
 ning heard him through without a word. Much 
 of the explanation was lost on his numbed wits; 
 but the hint of freedom kindled tumult through 
 his veins 
 
 He put on the jeans and the cowhide boots 
 which Riggs stripped off and flung to him in docile 
 silence. Friend Barclay and Hotter were com 
 pleting a like exchange at the other end of the room. 
 Their feverish chuckles, when Friend Barclay burst 
 one sleeve of Hotter s coat, in a frantic effort to 
 force it on, and stood forth at last, packed tight and 
 gasping, into a suit which made him look the corpu 
 lent scarecrow, seemed meet and sane. Why 
 should they not laugh, although they stood beneath 
 the outspread hand of ruin ? It was all a joke, surely. 
 There could be no rescue for them, the men who had 
 defied the nation. Everything stood against them. 
 The one had carried on his law-breaking deliberately 
 since early manhood, in the face of uncounted 
 warnings. The other had broken statutes which 
 he had sworn upon life and honour to maintain. It 
 was only a joke, and a poor one, at best. However 
 could that click be the rasp of a turning key ? 
 
 He limped forward, quivering with eagerness. 
 Then he drew back; his face grew dark with angry 
 disappointment. Behind the guard s square bulk 
 crowded Sydney Palmer, bright in his mocking 
 
The Rending of the Veil 425 
 
 uniform, bending his head to peer over Morrow s 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Come," he said, roughly. He caught Channing s 
 hand in a hard grip. "No time to lose, Captain. 
 Ready, Friend Barclay?" 
 
 Channing wrung his hand away. "Why should 
 we come ? " he retorted , in his half -delirium . We re 
 not your prisoners, Palmer. It s not time for a 
 court-martial." 
 
 "What the devil do you mean, Channing? I m 
 here to take you out. Didn t they tell Oh!" 
 Palmer caught a full sight of his worn, altered face. 
 Resentment died within him. 
 
 " Come along, old man. You re sick. You don t 
 understand. We ve fixed it up, all right. Just you 
 come with me." 
 
 "Then you ve bolted the service, too !" 
 
 Palmer s fists clenched. An ugly red surged to 
 his forehead. "Yes, I ve done just that," he 
 stammered, hoarsely. "I m a dirty traitor, like 
 all the rest of you, I ll be drummed out of the 
 service in a week. But you needn t be afraid to 
 shake hands. It s not you I m cheating. And 
 
 come on." 
 
 "But you men," Channing turned stupidly to 
 Riggs and Hotter. " You can t stay here ! You ll 
 be held for accomplices ! You " 
 
 "We ain t a goin ter stay no time," replied 
 Hotter, with a grin. "When that there green 
 deputy finds out how he s been fooled, d ye suppose 
 
426 Diane 
 
 he s goin ter keep us here ter prove it ? Not more 
 nor long nough ter have the screws taken outer 
 these here bars, so s we kin drop through thout 
 disturbin him. Go on, now, an* hold yer tongue. 
 Good luck!" 
 
 Palmer grasped him by the arm ; supported by his 
 hard grip, Channing stumbled down the long, 
 echoing corridor. No need for him to feign drunken 
 ness ! His limbs tottered for weakness ; the high 
 lamps circled in wheels of light before his dizzy 
 eyes. 
 
 They strolled with ostentatious leisure across 
 the parade-ground, and down the bank. Channing 
 ground his heel into the yielding turf ; the feel of it, 
 after the gritty prison-floor, the wash of the mist in 
 his face, the tang of the sweet, cold air, swept over 
 him in a wave of fearful joy. This was Freedom, 
 indeed ! But how soon might it vanish ! 
 
 Palmer helped him into the Celandine, and turned 
 to give Friend Barclay a hand. "Listen!" he 
 cried, and stopped short, appalled. Three shots 
 rang in quick succession from the Point. 
 
 " It may be somebody hunting, beyond the town," 
 said Friend Barclay. 
 
 "It s somebody hunting for us," snapped Mor 
 row. The misery of the man torn between con 
 science and duty grated in his voice. His face grew 
 pinched, his mouth shut hard. " If they make out 
 a boat with all four of us aboard her, they ll have 
 us in an hour, Mr. Palmer. Push her off with 
 
The Rending: of the Veil 427 
 
 Captain Channing, so long as he s lame. The rest 
 of us can swim for it." 
 
 Friend Barclay had already stripped off his 
 coat. Channing staggered to his feet in an agony 
 of protest, but Palmer caught the bow and sent the 
 skiff careening into mid-channel. 
 
 "The Phalanstery, mind, Channing, quick!" 
 he called low through a trumpet of his hands. 
 
 Before Channing could reach the oars, the night 
 had drawn its smother of mist between them. The 
 low bank and the hurrying group melted from his 
 sight. He drifted alone, swathed in the blanket of 
 the fog, bewildered as though he floated upon a 
 shoreless sea. 
 
 Then, as a blown flame quivers back to quiet, 
 calm reason declared itself once more. The craft 
 of the river, that subtlest art, awoke with the stoop 
 of his chest to the oar, the creak of the rowlocks. 
 He must be within three miles of the Commune, by 
 river calculation. He could make it in an hour, 
 unless he waited for the others, and that would be 
 little use. In this fog, they could never see the 
 Celandine, even although they swam within a boat- 
 length of her; and he dared not call. More than 
 likely, they would swim up-stream for some rods, 
 to cast the trail, then climb ashore and walk up the 
 beach till they were opposite the Commune, before 
 attempting to cross over. At best, this was a 
 treacherous strip of water, even for an expert 
 swimmer. The scattered boulders of the rapids 
 
428 Diane 
 
 forced one to wade and flounder by turns, while 
 quicksands made the Illinois channel a terror. 
 Decidedly, he must not try to wait. 
 
 He stooped to the oars; the Celandine shot for 
 ward beneath his stroke, docile as Winnie beneath 
 his urging hand. A dash of icy water struck his 
 cheek as the oar descended; he laughed out in 
 sudden ecstasy. Power awoke within him with 
 each sweep of his long-idle arms. The joy of 
 returning strength, the glory of his freedom, stormed 
 through him like thunderous music. The clock of 
 Opportunity had struck for him once more. The 
 golden hour was his, to win or to lose. 
 
 The water hissed against the boat ; the mist grew 
 thicker, a fine suspended rain. He must be nearing 
 the rapids ; that sixth sense which the river training 
 had bred in him felt the nearness of rock and eddy 
 before the ear could detect their lisping call. He 
 sounded cautiously, then made his way forward 
 more slowly, with oars scarce dipping. 
 
 A sudden flaw of wind tore the mist asunder, like 
 a slit curtain; through the wide rent, he saw the 
 arch of the Illinois shore, crested in stark trees, the 
 moon hung high in their tangled branches, as though 
 he peered at a waiting stage, set for its players. A 
 moment, and the mists rolled thick again; but the 
 view had given him his bearings. This was the 
 old mooring-place for the Government fleet, now at 
 anchor a mile below. Here he had worked with 
 Palmer, through that unforgettable spring. Up 
 
The Rending of the Veil 429 
 
 that rough hillside he had piloted more than one 
 dark, panting fugitive past the bare hills to shadow 
 ing woods and safety. Here he had spoken with 
 the Major, that last terrible morning. And here, 
 on an earlier, fairer day, he had brought her, brave 
 in her violet gown, lovely as the sky that shone to 
 honour her his Diane. 
 
 He picked his way on up the channel, his eyes 
 aflash, his body tense as steel. They might suppose, 
 Palmer and the rest, that he would slink away 
 meekly to Canada, now that the chance had been 
 given him; they would find themselves vastly mis 
 taken. He would meet them at the Phalanstery, 
 as they had directed, but only to say good-bye. 
 There would be a steamer down the river by early 
 morning. He would board it and go on to St. 
 Louis, thence to the Convent. This time, he 
 should not fail. Neither coldness nor protests should 
 drive him away till he had won. Diane should 
 yield to him to her own heart. He would 
 carry her back with him to the far, tiny home that 
 he had built for her, in love and hope and dread. 
 There they would be safe ; the slow law would trip 
 many times over the mesh of Territory jurisdiction 
 before it could reach a case like his. Its vengeance 
 would not be urged ; the deputy s disgrace would be 
 a shield. 
 
 This was the best, the only way. The scheme 
 had its dangers, yet in its very daring lay a measure 
 of safety. Once away from the Convent with Diane, 
 
43 Diane 
 
 they could join one of the provision trains which 
 still laboured up the northwest trails from St. 
 Louis, and ride under its protection till they reached 
 the Kansas boundary. It would be a hard journey 
 for her, he thought, with an ache of regret. But 
 so it must be. He dared not leave her behind. In 
 the tenderness which would encompass her, in the 
 gentle ministrations which would gild her days, 
 lay his bitterest dread. 
 
 Then the old fear of her indifference rose at him, 
 a gibing torment. He thrust it down. He would 
 not force her love. He would not urge her sacrifice. 
 But she must care. She had always cared. She 
 had waited all her short days for him, as he had 
 waited and searched and hoped for her. Only she 
 had not known. Now she should see the truth, 
 face to face and she would know. 
 
 How she had feared the rapids ! He groped now 
 through their seething maze, guiding the Celandine 
 deftly, with touches light as the sweeps of a brush 
 on canvas. The water boiled and gurgled, slapping 
 little jets of spray above the bow ; but the Celandine 
 slid past rock and eddy without a jar. He remem 
 bered how she had turned to him, her lips stiff with 
 fear, when the blast ordered for her salute had torn 
 the water from the channel, and shown the jagged 
 crust beneath. She had had to steady herself against 
 his arm while she spoke her graces to the Major. 
 Strange that her high, brave spirit should flinch 
 before so trivial a danger ! 
 
The Rending: of the Veil 43 * 
 
 He smiled, gravely tender. She had turned to 
 him in her need, and that was well. She should 
 turn to him now, for shielding, forever. And never 
 should she find him unheeding, no matter how 
 whimsical were her fears. If she were with him 
 now, kneeling at his side, her face uplifted, all moon 
 lit through the mist, lovelier far than her pale goddess 
 name ! He whispered it once more his litany 
 through these dark waiting days. " Diane ! 
 Diane!" 
 
 The wind veered to the north again with a sweep 
 that left the willows twittering. The mist rolled 
 back in billows of murky white; through the torn 
 palpitating rift, he looked straight down the 
 vista of racing water, dappled with patches 
 of foam, which marked the course of the 
 rapids. Fog arched and walled it; yet the 
 path of the rock flashed broad on the sight, as 
 clear as dawn. 
 
 And midway on this luminous path there rose a 
 dream. A reeling skiff, caught high on a tusk of 
 rock; the glint of a scarlet cloak, the shine of a 
 child s fair head the stoop and sway of a frail 
 body, wrung in its brave struggle to stand against 
 the fury of the surge. 
 
 Charming drove his oars to the hilt. The Celan 
 dine shot back into the boiling pool. Rasped and 
 buffeted, shipping water at every plunge, she fought 
 her way on down the gorge. He did not try to call. 
 He did not dare to pray. His dry lips could not 
 
43 2 Diane 
 
 move to form the one word that his heart beat out : 
 "Diane!" 
 
 The Celandine shuddered past the Turtle with a 
 rasp and a groan. The eddy below threw her like 
 a chip against the Hilt, where she hung, toppling 
 then pitched into the race with a shriek of tearing 
 plank: a gush of water seethed through her burst 
 side. 
 
 Channing ground his teeth. Diane stood not 
 twenty yards away, sharp in the moonlight, thrust 
 ing with all her feeble might, to push the skiff off 
 Turk s Head, on which it hung sideways, half- 
 submerged. Petit Clef was bailing manfully. By 
 a miracle they might keep afloat for another minute, 
 and then 
 
 The Celandine staggered through the whirlpool, 
 wounded to her death, but toiling on like a noble 
 breathing creature in the face of her doom. The 
 water sucked across Channing s feet. He flung off his 
 coat and braced himself for the plunge. It came 
 sooner than he expected. 
 
 Driven by one last fling of the oars, the Celandine 
 lurched to the edge of the whirlpool, then heeled and 
 sank without a ripple. As she tilted, he leaped 
 clear, and struck out. 
 
 The eddy snatched him by the heels and whirled 
 him round and round like a drifting plank. Tossed 
 and beaten, he floundered loose from its binding 
 circle, and threw himself into the channel. It was 
 no use to try to swim. The current pitched him 
 
The Rending of the Veil 433 
 
 on from boulder to boulder at race-horse speed. 
 For a moment his feet touched bottom. He stood 
 up, clasped to the knee in rushing water; his next 
 step carried him into a bottomless swirl. Now 
 wading, now floating, blinded and deafened in the 
 spray, he reached the eddy above Turk s Head. 
 
 "Diane! Stop pushing. Wait till I call, then 
 shove to the right as hard as you can. Do you 
 hear?" 
 
 "I hear, M sieu." In her supreme excitement, 
 this voice from the depths of the rapids brought no 
 surprise. 
 
 If there was yet time ! Channing swam and 
 floundered on, bruised and gasping. A red mist 
 slid before his eyes; his heart knocked, echoing loud. 
 
 Below Turk s Head lay a tossing reach of shallow 
 water. Midway its course, his feet touched flat 
 rock again. He trod water, rocking from side to 
 side, breast-deep. 
 
 "Now, Diane!" 
 
 She crouched in the stern and thrust to the 
 right with all her tense strength. The boat slid 
 free with a sickening lunge. As it pitched down 
 the gorge toward him, he caught at the stern and 
 was jerked on down-stream. 
 
 The water shut over his head again and again ; the 
 tow dragged his arms till his fingers were near to 
 breaking. Twice he was thrown against the side 
 with a force that turned him numb and faint. But 
 he kept his hold. 
 
434 Diane 
 
 The growl of the rapids sank to a throbbing moan. 
 They were still in rough water, but the jagged rock 
 was well behind. 
 
 "Pull for the Illinois shore, Diane. Petit Clef, 
 you bail for all you re worth. We ll make it, all 
 right." 
 
 They obeyed without reply. The mist was clos 
 ing down upon them, a dim canopy, as soft as a 
 gray moth plume. It threaded her crimson cloak 
 with diamond arabesque; it glistened in dewy 
 coronal on the boy s fair, shining head. 
 
 The skiff grated on the eastern beach. Channing 
 waded ashore, and dragged it high and dry, then 
 lifted out the child. 
 
 Petit Clef rubbed a velvet cheek against his own. 
 "This is my fault, M sieu, enticement, for I have 
 chosen the place where we shall cross the channel. 
 You are arrived on the moment precise, mon Saint 
 George. Myself, I commend you!" 
 
 He put him down and turned back for Diane. In 
 the pale light she waited, white, silent, downcast. 
 He lifted her ashore, then stood and looked at her, 
 mute. For his life, he could not speak, nor move 
 to touch her locked, soft hands. 
 
 Beneath his gaze, her pale face lifted, with 
 flicker of pitiful lashes, with quiver of pleading 
 mouth. As though his motionless lips implored 
 her, her hands unclasped, then dropped at her side 
 in irresistible surrender. Her lashes pointed dark 
 with tears. 
 
The Rending of the Veil 435 
 
 "Is it that I am forgiven, M sieu?" 
 
 He went to her slowly, as though he feared to 
 break the crystal of the miracle. She did not turn 
 from him. Only her fingers shut again, and to her 
 temples stormed the red of her sweet maiden shame. 
 He felt her trembling whisper against his heart. 
 
 "Therefore, am I forgiven, M sieu mon Capi- 
 taine?" 
 
 "We will go back to Madame, my Diane, and 
 bid them all good-bye. My darling, do you dare 
 to think I would leave you behind?" 
 
 " But for you the danger, my Robert ! " 
 
 Channing caught her closer, in the joy of his 
 name on her shy lips. "Danger, child? Who 
 cares? Friend Barclay shall marry us, just as he 
 married Heinrich and Minna, last summer. The 
 Mattie Lee touches here before daybreak ; we will go 
 down to St. Louis on her, then we will find another 
 steamer there, and go up to our own home in the 
 prairies, Diane. Think, dear! Say it. Our own!" 
 
 Diane s lips puckered valiantly ; but the hard -won 
 syllables were lost to hearing. 
 
 "But, Petit Clef, my beloved! Where is he?" 
 
 "Petit Clef, to be sure! I had forgotten that he 
 came with you." Channing whistled the Bob-white. 
 A softer trill answered him from the slope above. 
 
 " I make my devoirs to the other Diane," drawled 
 the child, with a flourish of his pipe, as Channing 
 tossed him to his shoulder, "My lady the moon 
 
43 6 Diane 
 
 may not be responsive, but she does me the grace 
 to remain in clear view. Come, Mademoiselle. 
 Once before we have climbed this hill, you in your 
 dress of purple, M sieu brave in his uniform, with 
 the epaulets aflash upon his shoulder. Myself, I 
 was most splendid of all, in the new suit of velvet, 
 which Th6rese has made for me. Do you remember ? 
 The little moon peeped out at us, so shy ! It was 
 that she feared to look upon our glory and be 
 dazzled, not so? And the apple-trees saluted us, 
 casting their petals that we might walk thereon, 
 as we went by. Behold us now, vagabonds! 
 You in your torn finery, M sieu soaked as any scare 
 crow! The little moon need not hide her eyes for 
 blinding now. Verily, times are changed." 
 
 Channing felt her fingers curl tighter in his own. 
 Verily, times were changed. 
 
 Madame lay high on her pillows, awaiting them, 
 assured in the foreword of her mother-heart. She 
 drew Diane home to her arms; she put out her 
 free hand for Channing s eager grasp. Ethereal 
 mischief sparkled through the benediction in her 
 gaze. 
 
 "My boy," she said, softly, "you ve fought a 
 good fight. But do you think that you can fill all 
 the parts that you have assumed? Can you be a 
 Commune and a Sisterhood, and a husband, too?" 
 
 Persis fled to the Phalanstery, to summon Rose, 
 who waited with the three already there. One by 
 one, to avoid all risk of notice, even in these hollow 
 
The Rending of the Veil 437 
 
 fields, they stole back to the house. Rose, white 
 and grave; Morrow and Palmer, sullen and tense 
 beneath the strain; Friend Barclay, serene as 
 though he trod the autumn hills to First Day 
 Meeting, and much disposed to chaff the younger 
 men for their fears. 
 
 "When thee s broken jail three times in one 
 year, as I ve done since January, thy knees won t 
 turn so weak at every snapping twig, Sydney/ he 
 said. "And as for thee, James, if thy conscience 
 pains thee so, thee d better hasten to the Point, 
 and tell the guards where to look for us. I 
 take no pleasure in my freedom if it wounds thy 
 better self." 
 
 He listened smiling to Channing s breathless 
 demand. "It s fortunate for thee two children 
 that I stretched my membership till it cracked, to 
 let myself accept this office. So thee wants my 
 advice ? It seems to me that thee s made thy plans 
 pretty fully without it. Leave decision to Felicia 
 Manderson. She is wise; her judgment should 
 suffice." 
 
 Petit Clef stood at Diane s side, and clutched her 
 wrist tightly through the short, quiet ceremony. 
 Her free hand held the thirty-seven precious violets, 
 those eight bouquets of honour, which he had 
 snatched from their vases, and crowded into her 
 grasp at the last moment ; but he saw, with jealous 
 wonder, that her fingers released the flowers to 
 twine about her chain of dull gold beads instead. 
 
438 Diane 
 
 Truly the beads were an heirloom, as all might 
 know; but what were the leavings of the dead 
 beside the gifts of the living? 
 
 The minutes sped on winged feet. But another 
 hour, and Rose and Diane, hand clasped in hand, 
 climbed down the shadowy hills once more to the 
 steamer-landing. The men followed close behind, 
 with Petit Clef balanced by turns, first on one 
 shoulder, then on another. Exhaustion lit strange 
 fires in his brown eyes ; his cheeks were hotly crimson. 
 But he had rebelled so passionately at the thought 
 of being left behind that both Diane and Rose had 
 interceded for his wish. 
 
 " The world goes too fast," he lamented to Palmer, 
 as the lights of the Mattie Lee flared spectral through 
 the mist. "One little hour ago was M sieu le 
 Capitaine prisoner, mis6rable. Behold him now, 
 elegant, arrayed in the fine clothing of M sieu 
 Palmer, bridegroom, envied of all ! Regard also 
 my Diane, who was but a day since so fatigued and 
 so triste. Look at her eyes of light, her step of the 
 crowned queen. Always with them, with these 
 others, does the world move. Why does it not 
 move for us also, M sieu? Wherefore is it always 
 for me the same?" 
 
 Palmer put him down. The pitiful question 
 stirred strange misgivings within him. Above the 
 voice of his grim disappointment, they called aloud 
 in his heart. The eternal struggle between belief 
 and judgment wrung him now as it was fated to 
 
The Rending of the Veil 439 
 
 wring him, tortured yet unyielding, through the 
 dark years to come. 
 
 The little landing jutted high, a black shelf above 
 the glancing night of flood and shadow. Diane and 
 Rose stood to one side, hand locked in steadfast 
 hand. There was nothing left to be spoken between 
 them. It was all said and done. For all her love, 
 Rose had no parting message. For all her trust, 
 Diane could frame no promise of farewell. The 
 future closed in upon their hearts. Its inexorable 
 certainties left no room for pledges of to-morrow. 
 
 To each her own hopes ; to each her memories and 
 her dreams. For Diane, the vision of the brimming 
 years to come; the years when she and Channing, 
 shoulder to shoulder, should meet the forces of 
 poverty and failure, and should conquer, ever 
 shoulder to shoulder; the years when they should 
 rear their home in that far, dark prairie, small and 
 poor and plain, yet a light unto the feet of them 
 that passed, a shelter and a temple. The years 
 when they should labour, hard pressed and sore at 
 heart, through the storm which must whelm the 
 country of their love. The autumn years of full 
 content, and peace, and joy. 
 
 For Rose no vision, alas! Final and bitterest 
 sacrifice, she had put aside her right to dream. 
 Yet, in her sweet bravery, she could be glad in the 
 gladness of another; and led by her most unselfish 
 love, she should come at last into her peace of 
 renunciation. 
 

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