35? eilcn Inep fetrfc. 
 
 THE STORY OF MARGARET KENT. New Edi 
 tion. 16010,^1.25; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 SONS AND DAUGHTERS. i2mo, $1.50; paper, 
 50 cents. 
 
 QUEEN MONEY. A Novel. New Edition. i6mo, 
 $1.25; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 BETTER TIMES. Stories. 12010,^1.50. 
 A MIDSUMMER MADNESS. i6mo, $1.35. 
 
 A LESSON IN LOVE. i6mo, $1.00; paper, 50 
 
 cents. 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF EVE. i2mo, $ 1.50. 
 WALFORD. i6mo, $1.25. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY, 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK.
 
 WALFORD 
 
 BY 
 
 ELLEN OLNEY KIRK 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE STORY OF MARGARET KENT," "SONS AND DAUGHTERS, 
 "QUEEN MONEY," ETC. 
 
 ' A little child, a limber elf, 
 Singing, dancing to itself ; 
 A fairy thing with red, round cheeks, 
 That always finds, and never seeks. " 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
 
 W3 
 
 Copyright, 1890, 
 BY ELLEN OLNEY KIRK. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Tilt Riverside Pnst, Cambridge, Mast., U. S. A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.
 
 To 
 MY MOTHER
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. EVELYN i 
 
 II. LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD 17 
 
 III. THE SEARCH 36 
 
 IV. MADAM VAN'S WILL 47 
 
 V. " HERE I AND SORROW SIT " 60 
 
 VI. ROGER REXFORD 68 
 
 VII. AMY STANDISH 89 
 
 VIII. FELIX GOODEVE 104 
 
 IX. MOTHER AND SON 113 
 
 X. SPENCER 124 
 
 XI. THE KEY-NOTE is STRUCK 150 
 
 XII. NEWS 166 
 
 XIII. BESSY 180 
 
 XIV. FELIX MAKES LOVE 188 
 
 XV. MRS. GOODEVE'S EASTER PARTY 211 
 
 XVI. THE GIFT OF GOD 235 
 
 XVII. THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY . . . 245 
 
 XVIII. THE DIVINE FEMININE 267 
 
 XIX. DOUBTS 283 
 
 XX. EVELYN AND REXFORD LONG 294 
 
 XXI. A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST 321 
 
 XXII. ALONZO SLOPER'S LOST ILLUSIONS 340 
 
 XXIII. HUSBAND AND WIFE 347 
 
 XXIV. REX GOES TO WALFORD 362 
 
 XXV. AMY SENDS FOR FELIX 374 
 
 XXVI. ALONZO SLOPER'S GREAT OPPORTUNITY . . . 389 
 
 XXVII. FATE CUTS THE KNOT 407 
 
 XXVIII. AFTER LIFE'S FITFUL FEVER 42 l 
 
 XXIX. RESTITUTION 425
 
 WALFORD. 
 
 "A little child, a limber elf 
 Singing, dancing to itself, 
 A fairy thing, with red round cheeks, 
 That always finds and never seeks." 
 
 I. 
 
 EVELYN. 
 
 IT was a saying with Walford people that Mrs. Rex- 
 ford was jealous of the sun that shone and the winds 
 which blew on her little daughter. It is certain that 
 she liked to perform every possible service for the child 
 with her own hands, felt aggrieved at the briefest sep 
 aration, and could not endure to miss the least of the 
 wise utterances which issued, at times somewhat mys 
 tically, from the baby lips. 
 
 One day in October Evelyn was solacing herself for 
 the prospect of a long, uncongenial afternoon without 
 the child, by herself dressing Bessy for a visit to her 
 godmother. Each button, each knot of ribbon, was an 
 apology for a snatched kiss, sudden, swift, and tender 
 as a lover's. Although Bessy was now almost three 
 years old the miracle was always fresh to the young 
 mother ; the upward glance of the child's blue eyes, 
 the arch or wistful smile, the veins on the temples, the
 
 2 WALFORD. 
 
 soft whiteness of the throat, the curve of the round 
 shoulders, the dimples on the knees, stirred the insa 
 tiable maternal instinct to possess, to enfold, to guard. 
 Such caresses were so much a part of the daily phe 
 nomena of Bessy's little life that she accepted them 
 with the same resignation as the infliction of hooks, 
 buttons, and pins. Meanwhile a flash of sunlight 
 across the mirror was a wonder to watch, and the buzz 
 ing of a fly on the window-pane stirred some recollec 
 tion, and she babbled on to herself about a bee in a 
 morning-glory. The bee was eating honey, such a 
 greedy, hungry bee he forgot to finish his meal in due 
 season, and the morning-glory, keeping hospitably open 
 as long as it might, finally could keep open no longer, 
 so shut up, imprisoning its visitor in its corolla. 
 
 " And the bee called ' Buzz, buzz, buzz,' " said the 
 child. " Bessy could hear him say ' Buzz, buzz, buzz,' 
 all inside the morn' glory." 
 
 " What did Bessy do ? " asked Evelyn. 
 
 " Buzz, buzz, buzz," repeated the child from the 
 depths of reverie. " Buzz, buzz, buzz." 
 
 The idea of the bee humming in the shut flower-cup 
 was evidently something to linger over. So Evelyn 
 carried on the story. 
 
 " Bessy heard the bee, and called, ' Where is the 
 buzz, buzz, mamma ? ' She put her little hand on the 
 morning-glory all shut up and gone to sleep, and felt 
 the bee inside. Then Bessy gave a loud cry, papa 
 came, opened the morning-glory, and out flew the bee 
 and went home to his mamma. So glad." 
 
 "So glad," murmured Bessy, with a dreamy smile. 
 
 " Mamma's little girl will be glad to come home to 
 night," said Evelyn. " Bessy must not get shut up in 
 a morning-glory."
 
 EVELYN. 3 
 
 " Buzz, buzz, buzz," repeated Bessy, perhaps with 
 some straggling idea that the bee's experience might 
 be worth undertaking. 
 
 " How much does Bessy love mamma ? " demanded 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " Mor 'n tongue c'n tell," responded the little maid, 
 with cheerful indifference. 
 
 Ten minutes later Evelyn was leaning over the gate, 
 watching Bessy go down Walford main street with 
 Jenny, the bright-faced English nurse. Fido, the old 
 collie dog, stood beside his mistress, looking yearn 
 ingly up into her face and uttering a feeble complaint 
 that he was not permitted to follow. 
 
 " No, Fido, no," said Evelyn. " You 're too old, 
 you 're getting far too old. Poor fellow ! I 'm sorry 
 for you. But Madam Van does not want you, she 
 does not want me either, she only wants our precious 
 baby." 
 
 It was the twenty-fourth day of October, but the sun 
 was warm, the air soft, and the mellow autumnal tints still 
 showed a gemlike delicacy and brilliancy. The beauty 
 of the world seemed to Evelyn wholly wasted since 
 Bessy would not be at home until sunset. She walked 
 up the lawn followed by Fido, and when they reached 
 his kennel she chained him lest he should contrive to 
 slip away and follow the child. He submitted, but did 
 not at first lie down, and looked pleadingly into her face ; 
 then, as Evelyn shook her head, he stretched himself out 
 with a deep sigh, while his eyes followed her as she 
 went to the flower-beds to pick some chrysanthemums. 
 " Poor old Fido," she said to the dog as she passed 
 him again. She too felt lonely, smitten ; a limb lopped 
 off, a dull ache at her heart. " Perhaps Roger will go
 
 4 WALFORD. 
 
 to ride with me," she said to herself, and went to the 
 gate once more to see if he were coming. There he 
 was ! She flew down the street to meet him. Walford 
 people regarded Mrs. Rexford as the embodiment of 
 whim, caprice, and fastidiousness. Thus there was 
 nothing phenomenal in the glimpse of domestic life 
 she now offered to the public, putting up her face to 
 be kissed, then strolling back to the house with her 
 hand on her husband's arm, looking, as was her way, 
 happy, proud, above the world. 
 
 Roger Rexford watched her approach with a bright 
 ening aspect. He was in no soft mood, and his habit 
 in these days was reserved and rather taciturn, but his 
 delight in his wife's beauty was almost more passionate 
 than it had been when he married her four years before. 
 She wore to-day a gown of some white woolen material, 
 with a collar and cuffs of black velvet, so simply made 
 that not a line of her figure was lost. The sun shone 
 on her chestnut hair, burnishing it into reddish gold. 
 Her complexion was like the inner leaves of a blush 
 rose, and her brown eyes were full of a pure, wonderful 
 brilliance. 
 
 " Where 's Bessy? " he inquired. 
 
 " It is Thursday, she has gone to Madam Van," 
 said Evelyn. " I hate Mondays and Thursdays." 
 
 Roger laughed. " You do begrudge poor aunt Lizzy 
 a sight of that child." 
 
 " Of course I do," said Evelyn. " Particularly when 
 aunt Lizzy not only wants Bessy all the time, but dic 
 tates, finds fault, and above all does everything she can 
 to spoil her. I do want my own baby to my own self. 
 Roger, I have an idea ! Why should we not spend this 
 winter in New York ? "
 
 EVELYN. 5 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " How am I to get away 
 from this treadmill ? " 
 
 " Mr. Spencer will be here," said Evelyn, ready to 
 insist on a scheme born of a momentary fancy. " Be 
 sides, you have partners. I am sure that in your 
 father's day the works used to run themselves from 
 October till May." 
 
 " The times are different," said Roger, rather curtly. 
 " There is no chance of my getting a holiday." 
 
 They had entered the house and presently sat down 
 to a half-lunch, half -dinner, which was their midday 
 meal. 
 
 " I have heard," said Evelyn, her mind still running 
 on the scheme she had proposed, " that men become 
 bound up in their business, that money-making is an 
 infatuation whHi grows like any other. *5ut when we 
 were married, Roger, you did not expect to devote all 
 your life to the works." 
 
 " You know exactly as much about my business as 
 Bessy does," Roger observed. 
 
 " I know as much as this," said Evelyn, archly, "that 
 you think of nothing else and care for nothing else." 
 
 " I take it," he retorted, " that the difference between 
 a man and a woman is that she is always thinking 
 about what she likes to do, whether she must do it or 
 must not do it ; while a man is obliged to consider 
 what he must do, whether he likes it or not." 
 
 There was a hint of savageness in his tone, and Eve 
 lyn's eyes dilated with surprise. 
 
 " Men say such clever things about us," she replied, 
 "but I don't think that clever things are invariably true." 
 She was silent for a moment, evidently turning his words 
 over in her mind ; then she went on : "And it seems to
 
 6 WALFORD. 
 
 me that we women accept grievous burdens and com 
 plain of them very little. There is hardly a woman in 
 Walford who does what she wants to do : she simply 
 does what she can." 
 
 Roger was amused by her evident desire to argue se 
 riously on his pettish outburst. He was sorry he had 
 spoken roughly, but he considered that his wife was 
 criticising, almost judging him. Few men like to live 
 with their critics and judges, and more than most men 
 Roger was jealous of any one's dictation. 
 
 " My dear," said he, smiling, " you are the sweetest 
 woman in the world and by all odds the most beautiful, 
 and certainly you ought to bear no burdens. You 
 should have married a millionaire, had a house in New 
 York, fronting on the Park, a cottage at Newport, trips 
 to Europe and " 
 
 She sprang up, ran round the table, and nestled 
 against him. " Don't say such things. Don't fancy I 
 had any such meaning in my mind," she murmured, 
 putting her cheek to his. " You know that I am per 
 fectly happy, indeed, sometimes when I have you 
 and Bessy within reach I feel almost too happy ! It 
 frightens me." 
 
 He kissed her, pushed the soft curls off her forehead, 
 and sighed. 
 
 " I must go," said he. 
 
 " I was in hopes we could have a ride this after 
 noon," she ventured. 
 
 " It is out of the question. I myself feel ridden." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Black care is on the crupper, and I have got to go 
 her pace." 
 
 Evelyn looked at him with apprehension.
 
 EVELYN 7 
 
 " Do you mean that business is bad ? " 
 
 " Is business ever anything else, nowadays ? " 
 
 " Has anything new happened ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no. The same old story. Don't talk 
 about it. I hate any mention of it at home. By the 
 way, Rex is here. He can ride with you." 
 
 " Rex here ! How nice ! I suppose he is at Mrs. 
 Goodeve's ? " 
 
 " Yes. He told me to tell you he was coming to see 
 you. I '11 send him word that you want a ride. Just 
 put out my things for him. Lewis shall bring the horses 
 round by half-past two." 
 
 When, half an hour later, Evelyn ran down the stairs 
 in her habit she found Rexford Long waiting for her. 
 He was a friend older even than her husband, and it 
 was indeed through Long that the two had met. Eve 
 lyn had been an orphan from an early age, and had 
 lived with her mother's uncle, who was at the head of 
 the publishing house of the Synnots, in which Rexford 
 Long had a position. He had been a good friend to 
 the young and lonely girl, and she was cordially fond 
 of him. She was especially glad to see him to-day 
 when she experienced a longing for companionship, 
 felt a beat of her pulses and a desire for expression, 
 expansion, action, beyond what Walford possibilities 
 offered. Evelyn was a little afraid of trespassing on 
 her husband's patience, but Long never counted with 
 her as a man to be propitiated, humored, made much 
 of. Roger Rexford always knew definitely what he 
 himself wished and what he considered best for his 
 wife. Evelyn had sometimes put out her hand, expect 
 ing to find his clasping hers with eagerness to carry 
 out her wishes, and had instead encountered a check
 
 8 WALFORD. 
 
 which brought sudden blinding tears of disappointment. 
 But she never felt the least hesitation in assuming 
 that Rexford Long was ready to do exactly what she 
 asked of him. She talked to him with more freedom 
 than to her husband, and on a wider range of subjects, 
 counting on his insight and sympathy even when her 
 revelations were not only feminine and foolish but in 
 dividual to herself. Physically the two cousins were 
 very different : Roger having fine proportions, with a 
 square head solidly put upon a powerful pair of shoul 
 ders, a profusion of dark brown hair, fine eyes of blu 
 ish gray, a heavy mustache shading a firm mouth ; 
 altogether he was an unusually handsome man ; while 
 Rex was too slender for his height, had a rather ugly 
 but speaking face, hair so fine and soft as to appear 
 scanty, and a mere line of blond mustache on his 
 upper lip. Then in manner Roger was impressive and 
 occasionally imperious, while Long, although his tone 
 with his intimates could take on a caressing sweetness, 
 was too quiet and rarely asserted himself. He was a 
 better listener than talker, and neither by word nor look 
 let out his secrets easily. 
 
 " Let us go to High Rock," said Evelyn, as they 
 turned out of the gate. " I long to get on high ground. 
 Oh, Rex, I am so thankful you are here. I wanted 
 somebody to talk to. Don't you remember Eugenie 
 de Gue'rin's saying, ' Everything is green, everything is 
 in bloom : all the air has a breath of flowers. How 
 beautiful it is ! I will go out ! No, I should be alone, 
 and all this beauty when one is alone is nothing ' ? " 
 
 " Alone," Long repeated in a tone half of irony. 
 They were ambling their horses along the main street 
 of Walford, and Evelyn was nodding and waving her
 
 EVELYN. 9 
 
 hand to men at the doors of shops and stores, and ma 
 trons and girls at windows. Walford was always an 
 active place, but to-day showed an unusual stir ; all the 
 farmers and their wives for miles about seemed to have 
 come to town ; there were heavily loaded vans, carts, 
 wagons, and chaises ; the merchants were selling over 
 their counters ; but in the midst of all the movement 
 and bustle every one was ready to be observant of all 
 that could happen before his eyes, and the moment 
 Evelyn's trim figure was recognized on one of " Roger 
 Rexford's bays " (for in Walford one knows not only 
 his neighbors but his neighbors' dogs and horses) and 
 Rexford Long's on the other, there was a general sus 
 pension of private and personal interests until the riders 
 had passed by, and had turned in at Mrs. Goodeve's 
 open gate. 
 
 " Oh, there you are," said Mrs. Goodeve, coming out 
 into the porc"h. " I hoped I should have a glimpse of 
 you." 
 
 It was a large, generously built house, belonging to 
 Walford's best period, and Mrs. Goodeve, a tall, hand 
 some woman of fifty or more, made up a part of the 
 impression of hospitality which belonged to the whole 
 aspect of the place. 
 
 " We are going to High Rock," said Evelyn. " It is 
 such a pleasure to feel the horse under one. As soon 
 as we are out of the street, we shall gallop, mayn't 
 we, Rex ? I long to drink in the wind." 
 
 " I am glad you have got Rex to look after you," re 
 turned Mrs. Goodeve. " Rex is a useful fellow. I Ve 
 been telling him he ought to marry, but perhaps we 
 could not spare him." 
 
 " Indeed, Rex must not marry," said Evelyn. " When
 
 10 WALFOKD. 
 
 a man marries, his troubles begin. Look at Roger 
 buried in his business. Look at your husband in a 
 morass of manuscripts. There is no telling what sort 
 of a monster Rex would turn out if he had a wife and 
 children. What do you suppose it is in married life 
 which makes a misanthrope of a man ? Is it bills ? 
 Or is it that, having got what he wants, man delights 
 not him nor woman either ? No. I want Rex to be 
 happy and not to lose his illusions. I insist that he 
 shall not many." 
 
 " I thought you were planning that he should marry 
 your sister Amy," suggested Mrs. Goodeve, enjoying 
 the younger woman's smiles and laughter, her bright 
 eyes, the symmetry of her figure. She considered Eve 
 lyn a bewitching, half-spoiled child. 
 
 " No, indeed, Rex shall not marry Amy. Roger says 
 her idea of life is that everybody shall keep in a con 
 tinual state of perspiration. Besides, Amy has made 
 up her mind never to marry. She considers men a 
 great interruption and clog to the best ambitions of 
 women. Rex couldn't live up to Amy's ideas. Possi 
 bly in twenty years or so, I may allow him to marry 
 Bessy, but nobody else." 
 
 " I have got a son of my own whom I am saving 
 up for Bessy," said Mrs. Goodeve. " Well, good-by ! 
 Take care of yourselves." 
 
 The horses had been pawing restlessly, and now, 
 with a wave of the hand from Rex and a blown kiss from 
 the tips of Evelyn's fingers, there was a sharp pull at 
 each bridle and the animals set off at a good pace. 
 They turned at the next corner, and leaving the village 
 behind Evelyn had the gallop she was longing for. It 
 was not until they were toiling up Stony Hill that she
 
 EVELYN. II 
 
 drew rein again. As they reached this part of the 
 road the outline of the low mountains which surround 
 Walford became clear and distinct, and it could be seen 
 that the village lay as it were in the centre of a huge 
 saucer, which sloped upward to a jagged ruin of domes 
 and serrated ledges. The afternoon sun was flooding 
 the whole landscape : it was still the early autumn 
 sunshine, which seemed to saturate the foliage and 
 burn in every leaf instead of glinting off and keeping 
 itself remote and alien as is the way of November sun 
 light. It had been a calm, dry season, and the leaves 
 had decayed slowly. A few hours of rain and wind 
 would scatter them, but to-day they hung out their 
 gorgeous banners with almost a summer-like luxuriance 
 and amplitude. The chestnuts showed a pale gold, the 
 hickories a rich russet, the oaks a dull, burnished red. 
 Evelyn had a quick eye, and she caught a glimpse of 
 each fringed ruff of the hazels, each scarlet hip of wild- 
 rose along the hedgerows. In this rarely traversed 
 region nature had been despoiled of but few of her sum 
 mer treasures. Dense bowers of clematis were still over 
 hung with the feathery carpels where once the starry 
 masses of flowers had been. Bittersweet trailed in 
 and out, its seed vessels ready to burst at the first hard 
 frost. The hawthorn and buckthorn had been visited 
 by flocks of migrating birds, who had providently left 
 an ample store of berries for their return. Barberries 
 were heavy with the fruit which would soon ripen into 
 flame. Frost-grapes displayed their clusters. Some 
 broad cymes of scarlet berries like waxen beads, and 
 others of lustrous purple, rpused Evelyn's curiosity, and 
 she at once assailed Long with questions about their 
 names and uses.
 
 12 WALFORD. 
 
 " I want Bessy to know everything she sees," she ex 
 plained. " A child is learning all the time, and she 
 may as well learn facts as foolish false substitutes for 
 facts." 
 
 Long had a habit of answering all Evelyn's questions, 
 whether about botany or social economy. He had first 
 met her as a school-girl of fifteen, and it had seemed to 
 him a promising scheme to interest her in himself, to 
 teach her to depend on him and love him. For the 
 next two years he had coached her, directed her read 
 ing, had a care for her music, and had been indeed 
 the most stimulating of all the influences which were 
 forming her. Then when she was seventeen Roger 
 Rexford encountered her. The two instantly fell in 
 love, and a year later they were married. 
 
 Probably Roger suspected that he was snatching the 
 honors of victory from the man who had toiled for 
 them, but the idea had never occurred to Evelyn that 
 Long's devotion meant more than kindness to an am 
 bitious schoolgirl whom he liked to drill in his favorite 
 studies. Long himself was no egoist, and many things 
 in the universe appeared to him more important than 
 his own private happiness, for example, Evelyn's 
 welfare. He still watched over her jealously, for he was 
 frequently at Walford. It had troubled him that she 
 had spoken to-day of feeling lonely. It seemed to him, 
 who was actually one of the loneliest of men, that Eve 
 lyn was surrounded by a care, a tenderness, a worship, 
 which filled and answered all need of companionship ; 
 and, besides, she had multitudes of friends and was 
 flattered and caressed by all the world. 
 
 However, as they rode on he decided that her words 
 had meant nothing deeper than some momentary im-
 
 EVELYN. 13 
 
 patience. As they climbed the hill her spirit as well 
 seemed to open into wider horizons and to gain fresh 
 lights. She found wonderful beauty in the rows of 
 stacked corn, with golden pumpkins scattered here and 
 there among the yellow stubble ; the glowing colors of 
 the tier upon tier of wooded hills satisfied her eye : she 
 liked the fruity smell in the air, occasionally emphasized 
 by a clear, cool whiff from a cider-press beside some 
 stream. By the time they had reached High Rock, the 
 air had grown clearer, and the distances were swept free 
 of haze. For miles away the mountain outlines rose 
 distinct, each ledge sharply defined. East Rock had 
 lost its blue and stood up steep and rugged, while the 
 chain to the north looked as if almost within reach. 
 Towards the east the horizon was extended for many 
 miles, and spires rose out of remote towns and villages. 
 Here and there sparkled a watercourse, and, listening, 
 they heard a sound like that of breakers on a beach. 
 
 " It comes from Roaring Brook," observed Evelyn. 
 " When it sounds so loud, it is sure to rain. The wind 
 has gone to the east, I fancy. The air is actually 
 keen." 
 
 " The afternoons are short now," said Long. " The 
 sun is almost down." 
 
 "We must go back at once," exclaimed Evelyn, 
 startled. " I told Jenny she must not keep Bessy out a 
 moment after the sun had set." 
 
 They began the descent at once, and as long as they 
 were compelled to walk their horses Evelyn talked 
 about Bessy, pouring out a recital of the child's droll 
 sayings and doings. Along with the story of her hap 
 piness came the young mother's rebellions. 
 
 "It seemed very natural," she said, "to name Bessy
 
 14 WALFORD. 
 
 after Madam Van when she desired it. She is a rich, 
 childless old woman, and it was a pathetic sort of plea 
 which it would have seemed an inhumanity to disre 
 gard. But I did not know that I was giving up half 
 my own child. Nothing satisfies Madam Van. I send 
 Bessy to her every Monday and Thursday, but that is 
 not enough. Whenever Roger and I go away, I leave 
 Bessy in her charge. Last summer she kept the child 
 five weeks, and I supposed such a concession would 
 make her more reasonable. On the contrary, appetite 
 came with eating. Having had Bessy for five weeks, 
 she now wants her all the time." 
 
 " Don't begrudge poor aunt Lizzy a little joy this 
 side of eternity," said Long. " She is sure to leave 
 Bessy all she has." 
 
 " That is where the sting comes in," returned Evelyn. 
 " Roger constantly tries to pacify me with that argu 
 ment, and it makes me ashamed. I hate to have him 
 seem not disinterested, bending himself double to con 
 form to her whims. I don't want her money." 
 
 " Roger may see the advantage of it more clearly." 
 
 Evelyn made a little grimace. " I was accusing 
 Roger at luncheon of caring for nothing but money- 
 making," she exclaimed. 
 
 "I am afraid it is not making money that he has 
 a chance to care about," observed Long with a shrug. 
 " What he has to bear is losing money." 
 
 " Losing money ?" repeated Evelyn. "I asked him 
 if anything new had happened, and he said it was only 
 the same old story." 
 
 " There has been over-production, the markets are 
 glutted. There have been failures, and there are panic 
 prices. Everybody has grown timid, there is general
 
 EVELYN. 15 
 
 stagnation, and unless something happens, why, I 
 am afraid something will happen." 
 
 Evelyn experienced a sharp pang of remorse for hav 
 ing seemed for a single moment to be lacking in sym 
 pathy. Her mind, with tense realistic energy, took in 
 a full sense of her husband's position, and a wave of 
 unutterable longing to be everything to him in any 
 possible emergency rose and broke, as it were, leaving 
 tears in her eyes. 
 
 " You know," she said to Long with a half sob, 
 " Roger will never tell me anything that can possibly 
 pain me. He wants to bear all himself; there was 
 never anybody so noble, so generous, so great." 
 
 " Roger is a strong man." 
 
 " Oh, he is. Let us ride fast ; I want to get home." 
 
 The sun would not be down for a quarter of an hour, 
 but at this moment it vanished behind a long, low pur 
 ple cloud lifting up the edges into an intolerable radi 
 ance. Instantly the air grew sharper. The horses 
 felt the goad of a longing to reach their stables and 
 their supper, and they settled into a free, bold stride 
 flank by flank almost as close as if they we're in harness. 
 The mountains all about took on a dark indigo blue 
 and loomed up like sentinels. Just before it was to 
 sink below the horizon the sun emerged, and for three 
 minutes shone brilliantly, lighting up every fold of 
 color on the wooded hills, the stubble of the fields, the 
 piles of corn-ears, the hips and haws in the hedgerows, 
 the thistle-down in air. Then it sank, and the glorious 
 light was seen only in the clouds, which looked for a 
 time like mountains on fire. In turn they too faded, 
 passed over, and vanished. The low western horizon 
 still glowed with a delicate salmon color tinged with
 
 1 6 WALFORD. 
 
 rose, deepest when the sun disappeared, and fading 
 upwards. This gradually dimmed. At one stride 
 came the dark. When they reached the house Eve 
 lyn was too impatient to wait for Long to dismount 
 to help her. She flung herself down. 
 
 " Bessy ? " she called. " Bessy ! Is not Bessy at 
 home yet ? "
 
 II. 
 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 
 
 IT was just one o'clock when Jenny, holding Bessy 
 Rexford tightly by the hand, turned the corner, and, 
 leaving the main street of the village behind, they 
 reached a quiet part of Walford, commanding a view 
 of the Quinnipiac River, beyond which pretty stream rose 
 an undulating country, stretching to high, wooded hills. 
 Pursuing this road they soon came to the high gate of 
 Madam Van Polanen's place, abbreviated by Walford 
 people into " Madam Van's." The house, set off by 
 many gables and bay-windows, stood far back from the 
 street, surrounded by lawns and gardens bordered by 
 shrubberies full of dim nooks and recesses, the haunt 
 in summer of innumerable birds. The side lawn, slop 
 ing toward the west, ran down to the water-side, for 
 the little river cut through the estate, forming just here 
 a broad basin. Where the stream entered and left this 
 miniature lake large willows bending over each bank 
 interlaced their branches and almost closed the vista. 
 Towards the farther shore grew all sorts of aquatic 
 plants, and to-day among the broad lily leaves and 
 pads myriads of late insects were skimming and dart 
 ing, sending up bubbles and ripples which broke the 
 clear, sunshiny mirror into a thousand lines. A drowsy 
 breath of sweetness and a soft sound of flowing water 
 were wafted up together. Bessy uttered a cry of delight,
 
 1 8 WALFORD. 
 
 and said that she was going down to the river to sail a 
 boat. 
 
 " Your mamma said you must not go near the river, 
 Bessy," said Jenny with decision. " Don't you remem 
 ber you promised your mamma, Bessy ? " 
 
 The child first looked meditative, as if examining her 
 conscience ; then said, with Spartan firmness : 
 
 " Bessy go near the water ? No ! " 
 
 They were within the tall iron gates. The glass 
 doors of the house opened upon a veranda from which 
 a flight of wide steps descended to the graveled path. 
 Sitting inside in full view was an old lady in a wheel 
 chair, and the moment child and nurse had reached 
 the foot of the steps, at her orders a man came out, 
 nodded to Jenny with a swift, admiring glance from his 
 black, velvety eyes, and lifting Bessy, much against her 
 will and although her sturdy legs and arms fought him 
 all the way, he carried her up and did not set her down 
 until he reached the hall. 
 
 The child shook herself free with angry scorn of the 
 Italian servant. 
 
 " Bessy like Nino ? " she screamed with indignation. 
 " No ! No ! " 
 
 Nino smiled darkly, shrugged his shoulders, and re 
 treated, while Madam Van Polanen covered the little 
 one with kisses. Madam Van regarded most spectacles 
 with a grim humor, and it always amused her to ob 
 serve the child's hatred of the Italian. 
 
 "Why does not Bessy like Nino ? " she asked. 
 
 The child gave her a full, candid glance out of her 
 blue eyes, and seemed to consider ; then waiving the 
 question, said cheerfully, " Bessy likes gamma." 
 
 " Nino," said Madam Van, "wheel us into the dining- 
 room."
 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 19 
 
 A delicate dinner awaited the little guest. Bessy sat 
 in a high chair opposite the old lady, and it was evident 
 that the child's tastes had been catered to from the 
 white soup to the cream ice which was moulded in the 
 form of a bird. Nino waited on the table assiduously, 
 and constantly received orders to mince Miss Bessy's 
 chicken, to give her more marmalade, to fill her mug, 
 and the worse the grace with which he performed these 
 menial services and the more repugnance Bessy showed 
 to his proximity, the better Madam Van seemed to 
 be pleased. It was well understood in both households 
 that Nino was jealous of Madam Van's little favorite. 
 He was an Italian, not of the sunny sort, but petulant, 
 jealous, fantastic in his requirements in any matter 
 which touched his dignity. He hated to be considered 
 a servant ; he had entered the service of Baron Van 
 Polanen, madam's third husband, as courier, but as 
 Van Polanen's health declined had gradually assumed 
 the duties of nurse and valet. Since Madam Van Po 
 lanen became a widow Nino had held an anomalous 
 position, dividing the functions of nurse, companion, 
 and butler. 
 
 Madam Van was by this time seventy-six years of 
 age. She had passed a varied life in different parts of 
 the world, and among other hazardous adventures had 
 married three times. Her first husband was John Rex- 
 ford, the brother of Roger Rexford's father and of 
 Long's mother. He was the founder of the Rexford 
 Manufacturing Company, and left his widow a large 
 fortune. Her second experience of marriage was of the 
 briefest, her husband being killed by a railway acci 
 dent while they were on their wedding journey. Lastly 
 she married Baron Van Polanen, a Dutch gentleman,
 
 20 IVALFORD. 
 
 somewhat her junior, whom she met in Italy. He was 
 an amateur in several arts, and with him she was very 
 happy. But Van Polanen, always delicate, finally be 
 came a hopeless invalid, and his wife brought him back 
 to her old home in Walford, where he died about nine 
 years before the opening of our story. From the mo 
 ment of his death she declined from the vigorous health 
 and tireless energy of middle life into an infirm old 
 woman. When a little daughter came to her nephew 
 Roger, she asked that it should be named after her. 
 The only child born of Madam Van's three marriages 
 had been a Rexford. The little creature had lived but 
 five months, but had remained an imperishable memory, 
 and the lonely old woman seemed to have transferred all 
 her pent-up passion of motherhood to Evelyn Rexford's 
 little girl. From the time of Bessy's birth there had 
 existed a singular jealousy between the mother and the 
 great aunt. Each longed for exclusive possession, each 
 felt defrauded by the other's claims, and each felt that 
 the other was victorious in the conflict. Roger had, 
 however, never permitted his wife to oppose Madam 
 Van's imperious demands concerning the child. It 
 was well known that the latter had made her will, leav 
 ing the bulk of her property to Bessy, and it was a 
 simple matter of justice that the child should brighten 
 the remaining fragment of her life. 
 
 More than once in Bessy's short existence she had 
 been left with Madam Van for a month or more while 
 Roger and his wife went on a journey. Days enjoyed 
 by the desolate old woman, looked forward to, and ten 
 derly remembered ! To have the little one's last sleepy 
 kisses at twilight, to be able to watch the cherub face 
 on the pillow, the pale gold of the hair, the peach
 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 21 
 
 bloom of the skin, the crimson of the dewy lips, the 
 whole night through if she liked, that was a compen 
 sation which counterbalanced a long monotony of des 
 olate griefs. Her arms ached for the child's embraces ; 
 her lips hungered for her kisses. It was an obstinate 
 grievance that Evelyn Rexford came back, claimed her 
 little girl, and would permit her to leave home but a 
 few short hours twice a week. 
 
 Dinner removed, Madam Van was left to the un 
 spoiled enjoyment of her visitor. Nino was not allowed 
 to go beyond call, being summoned periodically to wind 
 up an animated toy, to put a peripatetic doll in motion, 
 to set out Noah's Ark, to wheel the invalid chair into 
 a new place, to draw up or lower the window-shades. 
 He had for years been essential to Madam Van's 
 comfort, and she missed him if he were not about 
 her. She allowed him to discuss subjects as if on an 
 equal footing, even to dictate to her ; but he never 
 sat down in her presence, and she took a high, brusque 
 tone in issuing her commands to him, not unfrequently 
 giving him a downright scolding which he accepted 
 with the grimaces of a rebellious child. Yet when oc 
 casionally he got into a dangerous temper she evinced 
 unwearied anxiety to propitiate him, even when he 
 slighted her and neglected his duties. She herself had 
 a temper, and perhaps appreciated the force of charac 
 ter which actuated temper in others. She enjoyed pit 
 ting Bessy against Nino, and Nino against Bessy, ad 
 miring the easy disdain with which the child met his 
 advances, and feeling diverted by his shrug and ges 
 ture of indifference when she knew him to be consumed 
 by pique and envy. 
 
 With all these fillips to intercourse, the afternoon
 
 22 WALFORD. 
 
 soon waned. The sun declined, the air seemed to 
 Madam Van to grow chilly. She was tired, and her 
 spirits ebbed at the thought of losing Bessy. She had 
 gone back to the red couch where she spent the greater 
 part of her time, and ordered Nino to put the tiger-skin 
 over her. 
 
 " Tell Bessy about little Red Riding-hood," said the 
 child, clambering up beside Madam Van. This story 
 was their frequent entertainment, for the tiger's head 
 with fierce, snarling mouth and sharp fangs easily took 
 the part of the wolf to the baby mind, filling her with 
 shuddering delight and terror. An air of intelligence 
 and intense seriousness was apparent in the little crea 
 ture as she listened. Not a smile touched lips or eyes. 
 The narrative after being twice repeated assumed a 
 dramatic form, Bessy taking the part of Red Riding- 
 hood, while Madam Van personated the wolf. 
 
 " Gamma, what big eyes you 've got ! " 
 
 "The better to see you, my dear." 
 
 " Gamma, what big ears you 've got ! " 
 
 " The better to hear you, my dear." 
 
 " Gamma, what a big mouth you 've got ! '' 
 
 " The better TO EAT YOU, my dear." 
 
 The tiger's head bristled up at this point and played 
 an important role in the catastrophe. 
 
 Jenny was already standing at the door with the 
 child's white cashmere cloak and muslin cap. Nino 
 was out of sight, but he was, in fact, holding the hand 
 of the pretty nurse, and talking to her in a low tone 
 while this diversion was going on. Madam Van was, 
 however, far from suspecting that Nino had a love 
 affair, and now, while the two were exchanging whispers 
 and glances, she was gazing insatiably at the little girl, 
 dreading to part with her.
 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 23 
 
 "Please, madam," Jenny now interposed, "Mrs. 
 Rexford said Miss Bessy must be at home by sunset." 
 
 " Oh, my sweetest one, must you go ? " said Madam 
 Van. "Ask mamma to let you come to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes, Bessy '11 turn to-morrow," said the child, 
 sleepily submitting to the close folding embrace. 
 
 Jenny approached with the wraps. 
 
 " Is that all your mistress provided for her little girl 
 this cold weather ? " said Madam Van, sharply. " Nino, 
 go out and see how the thermometer is." 
 
 Nino obeyed, and coming back, said that the mer 
 cury stood at fifty-four ; that the wind had gone to the 
 east. 
 
 Nothing pleased Madam Van better than convicting 
 Evelyn of some neglect towards her child. 
 
 " That is a summer garment," she said. " It is en 
 tirely too thin for this time of the year. Nino, bring 
 me the box which came by express yesterday." 
 
 He produced the box, and at her further order drew 
 forth a little seal-skin coat and cap. They had been 
 intended, Madam Van remarked, for the child's Christ 
 mas present, but they were clearly required for the 
 chilly night. The long coat was buttoned over the 
 frock of embroidered lawn ; the cap was drawn on the 
 pale gold hair. Still, this was not enough. " Nino," 
 said Madam Van, " go to my dressing-room and get 
 the lace scarf lying on the table." 
 
 Nino lounged off with a clearly perceptible shrug, 
 and brought back a square of Valenciennes lace, fine as 
 a cobweb. This Madam Van tied about the tender 
 little throat which no harsh wind must be permitted to 
 touch. 
 . All these delays could not make the parting less
 
 24 WALFOKD. 
 
 inevitable. Jenny led the child away, and, left alone, 
 Madam Van huddled forlornly on the lounge, hiding 
 her face in her hands. 
 
 "If madam has no objection," said Nino, " I will go 
 to the post-office. Phoebe will answer the bell." 
 
 Madam Van made an impatient movement which the 
 man took for assent. He told one of the maids that 
 he was sent to the post-office, and leaving the house 
 he lounged slowly down the walk to the kitchen gate, 
 which he closed behind him with deliberation. Once 
 on the street he glanced up and down, saw no one, and 
 ran swiftly along the path screened by the high hedge, 
 until he came to a gap in the fence. He crawled 
 through this and was again in the grounds, but at a 
 point far below the house and near the river. Although 
 well out of sight of the windows his precautions did 
 not relax. Every shrub, every trailing bough helped 
 to hide him until he reached the willows which grew on 
 the banks of the stream, their great roots jutting out 
 and overhanging the water. Here he swung himself 
 across, and, gaining the opposite shore, he ran rapidly 
 up the meadow to the bridge, and with the ease of long 
 habit, clambered up the side, jumped over the rail, and 
 found Jenny waiting for him. Bessy was sitting on 
 the planks with a pile of pebbles which the nurse had 
 picked up for her, and was talking and singing to her 
 self, evidently finding entertainment of a high order in 
 throwing the stones through the lattice-work of the par 
 apet into the water. Nino drew Jenny away from her 
 charge, and at once began a voluble discourse about 
 certain grievances for which he demanded her sym 
 pathy. He had been trying to influence Madam Van 
 of late, and had received a repulse which had made
 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 2$ 
 
 him savage. The doctor had told her she must win 
 ter in a warm climate, and Nino had attempted to per 
 suade her to go to Italy. The only answer she had 
 vouchsafed was that she should never leave Walford 
 again, but that if he was anxious to get back to his 
 beloved country, all he had to do was to give a month's 
 warning and go. 
 
 " As if I were her servant," cried Nino shrilly, " like 
 the maids in the kitchen, or the gardener in the stable." 
 
 He bemoaned his fate in having exiled himself from 
 Italy ; he had made the sacrifice for a sentiment ; he re 
 signed his country from a magnanimous sentiment to 
 ward Baron Van Polanen, whom all the world had loved. 
 The baron had said, " I need you, Nino, but I shall not 
 need you long." So, sundering all the ties of national 
 ity and of kinship, Nino had followed the baron to this 
 wretched place, this wilderness, this desert, this abomi 
 nation of desolation. The baron had lived two years; 
 then, when he was about to die, he observed, " Madam 
 will reward you for your faithful services to me, Nino." 
 Madam, becoming a widow, said, " You will not desert 
 me, Nino. Whom have I left but you ? " Thus always 
 the victim of his own generous impulses, Nino had 
 stayed on. He had remained nine years, in the bloom 
 of his youth, the flower of his middle life, and now, 
 when he alluded to his deprivations, when he uttered a 
 faint aspiration for a sight of his own country, he was 
 told that he could go if he gave a month's warning ! 
 He, a man of education, of culture, who knew the arts, 
 who could speak nine languages, who had been the 
 daily companion, almost the bosom friend, of the high 
 est aristocrats ! He, who had carried the purse of a 
 Russian prince, mapped out the tour, ordered the meals,
 
 26 WALFORD. 
 
 and instructed with his inexhaustible fund of anecdotes 
 all the prince's party ! For him to be buried in an 
 American village like Walford, a place which contained, 
 it might be said, not an inhabitant with whom he had 
 anything in common, the sacrifice was monstrous ! 
 It was incredible, by the saints ; it was impossible ! 
 
 Jenny listened with a mingling of feelings in which 
 sympathy with her lover had to struggle with fears lest 
 the root of his desire to go back to his own country 
 might be devotion to some old sweetheart waiting for 
 him there. Nino was twenty years older than the bright 
 English nurse, but there were times when he made 
 love to her with all the warmth and passion her ro 
 mantic heart craved. Once on the subject of his 
 wrongs, however, he kept the lover a little too much in 
 reserve. At the least stab to his vanity he seemed to 
 swell in stature ; he puffed up with importance, and 
 exacted the tribute of flattery and devotion which at 
 other times he was willing himself to pay. Accord 
 ingly, Jenny, although conscious of her own wounded 
 sensibilities, tried to soothe him with endearments. 
 
 " And madam will die one of these days," she added, 
 " and she will leave you a lot of money." 
 
 " That baby will inherit everything," Nino responded, 
 with a tragic gesture towards the place where the child 
 had been standing throwing stones into the water. 
 "Madam said to me only to-day, 'She is to have all 
 that I possess.' " 
 
 " She did not mean everything" interposed Jenny 
 soothingly. " I have heard Mr. and Mrs. Rexford say a 
 dozen times that you were sure to get some money 
 from Madam Van. You have only to be patient, Nino. 
 It will all come out right."
 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 2J 
 
 " She may well do something for me," exclaimed 
 Nino. " I have sacrificed everything for her. She has 
 had all my service for thirteen years. I have been like 
 her son, and if she is not grateful I shall have wasted 
 my life. I am no longer young. I am forty-three, my 
 poor Jenny ; you will have an old husband if she does 
 not die soon. And I sometimes think she means to 
 live forever. Why does she want to live ? What 
 pleasure does she get out of life ? She says that child, 
 that lump of flesh, that little machine of tyranny is all 
 the comfort she has on earth. A proud little doll, 
 whose foot she plants on my neck until sometimes I 
 long to cry out, ' I am not a ' " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Jenny. " There comes a carriage. 
 Here, Bessy ! Nino, turn away, you look so fierce ; 
 seem to be looking in the water." 
 
 A covered buggy, rapidly driven, crossed the bridge 
 at this moment going towards the west, for this was in 
 deed Westbury Turnpike bridge. When the interrup 
 tion was over, Jenny, looking into her lover's face, told 
 him he must smile at her, and with a true woman's 
 pleasure in the signs of her power she beguiled him 
 into some show of fondness. 
 
 " You are sure you love me, Nino," she said. 
 
 " If I did not love you, I should love no one but my 
 self," Nino responded tragically. 
 
 He was evidently in no mood for further concession, 
 and Jenny with some pique drew back and said : 
 
 " I ought to have been at home long ago. I shall 
 get a scolding, and all on your account, Nino. The 
 sun has set. Come, Bessy, mamma will be looking for 
 you." 
 
 " We are both under the thumb of that child," said
 
 28 WALFORD. 
 
 Nino. "It is Bessy here, Bessy there, Bessy every 
 where. I hear nothing from morning until night ex 
 cept ' Bessy.' I sometimes wish she was dead." 
 
 " Oh, Nino, dear, you 're cross to-night," said Jenny. 
 " Come up a little later and I '11 meet you out at the gate. 
 We must go now. Come, Bessy. Why, where is she ? 
 Bessy, Bessy, come this moment. You 're very naughty. 
 Don't dare to be playing me any tricks. It 's getting 
 dark." Jenny, half incensed, called from one side of 
 the bridge and then from the other, at first softly and 
 then at the top of her lungs. No soft voice answered, 
 no little figure was visible. A moment before it had 
 seemed to Jenny to be just sunset ; now all along the 
 banks of the river night had descended like a curtain. 
 At the west the yellow sky showed above the long white 
 highway rising gradually to the hills. Everywhere else 
 the trees shut out the landscape. 
 
 " If madam had n't put that brown coat on her I 
 might find her better," said Jenny. " I can always see 
 her little white frock. She is just up the road, per 
 haps, or do you think she could have gone back to 
 madam ? " 
 
 " I do not know ; I cannot think," said Nino, bewil 
 dered. " I did not see her go off the bridge. You 
 called her when the carriage came ; do you feel sure 
 she was there ? " 
 
 " Sure ! I supposed she was close by me," said Jenny. 
 " I 'm thinking she got tired and has run on, and I '11 
 overtake her. But you '11 go back to Madam Van's, 
 Nino." 
 
 They were staring into each other's faces, vague 
 ideas of the answers they must find for possible repri 
 mand forming in their minds.
 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 2Q 
 
 " Go on, Jenny," said Nino sharply. " It is late. 
 Perhaps she has sat down somewhere and fallen 
 asleep." 
 
 Apprehensions began to swarm. Each felt the neces 
 sity of haste, and they parted at once, Jenny to run on 
 towards home and Nino to search the grounds. A 
 thought striking him, he called Jenny back that he 
 might if possible elicit something definite as to the 
 time she last saw the child. Jenny, with worse terrors 
 assailing her each moment, found it a difficult matter to 
 be sure of anything. 
 
 " Was it before or after the carriage went by that 
 you saw her ? " Nino said. " We must both be sure." 
 
 " It was just before," said Jenny with instant convic 
 tion. " Oh, Nino, you don't think they Ve stolen her ? " 
 
 " Stolen her ? " repeated Nino contemptuously. 
 " People want to get rid of children, not to run off 
 with them. Now, then, go on. You will overtake her." 
 
 One fear did not, could not enter their minds, namely, 
 that Bessy might have fallen from the bridge into .the 
 water. This was a private bridge built many years be 
 fore by John Rexford in order to open a short cut to 
 Westbury Turnpike. The structure spanned the river 
 crossing the entire narrow roadway, and the high 
 fences on each side ran up the incline and joined the 
 parapet. The rail of the latter was higher than the 
 head of the child, and the supports were filled in with 
 fine lattice-work. 
 
 Three gates opened into Madam Van Polanen's 
 place, which stood on a corner. Nino ran first to 
 one about a hundred feet above the river, which was a 
 sort of door cut in the high board fence that screened 
 this side of the grounds. It was with some relief that
 
 30 WALFORD. 
 
 he found it closed, bolted, and padlocked. Evidently 
 Bessy could not have crept in at that entrance. He 
 then went to the heavy iron gates in front of the house. 
 They also were shut, and, being so massive as not to be 
 easily handled even by a tall person, for the child to 
 have opened them would have been an utter impossi 
 bility. The third was the little back gate by which he 
 had left the grounds. That was so far away from the 
 bridge as to be out of the question. In all probability 
 Bessy did not know of its existence. It was clearly a 
 matter beyond dispute that she had not come back to 
 Madam Van's. Doubtless Jenny had found her long 
 before this. Yet in spite of this clear conviction Nino 
 was goaded by the necessity of looking all over the 
 place. He went down to the river, where the water 
 had grown black and rippled on with gurgles and mur 
 murs, and made his teeth chatter with a thousand name 
 less horrors. He peered into the shrubberies, and 
 almost swooned when once his invading touch disturbed 
 a flock of sparrows that flew out with cries and then 
 settled into the nearest thicket. 
 
 He could stand no more such ordeals. He went in 
 doors. Phoebe was lighting the lamps in the vesti 
 bule. 
 
 " Sure now, something has happened," she said, 
 the moment her eyes fell on him. 
 
 " I do not understand," said Nino. 
 
 "You look as if you had seen a ghost. You are 
 pale and your eyes are big." 
 
 " I have seen no ghosts in all my life," said Nino. 
 
 " Where are the letters and papers ? " demanded 
 Phcebe." 
 
 "The mail has not come in. The train is late," said
 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 31 
 
 Nino. He walked past the girl, tiptoed along the hall, 
 and looked in at the open door of Madam Van's room. 
 There was no light, except from the fire, which tinged 
 the ceiling with a vermilion flush, and gave an added 
 gleam to the white hair and the clearly-cut features of 
 the woman on the lounge. 
 
 " Nino," she called, " is that you ? " 
 
 " Yes, madam." 
 
 " You were gone a long time." 
 
 " The train was late." 
 
 " Did you see anything more of Jenny and the 
 child ? " 
 
 " They went home by the other road," said Nino. 
 " How should I have seen them ? " Something in his 
 voice sounded to her quick ears like intense exaspera 
 tion. 
 
 " Nino ! " she exclaimed, suddenly sitting up and 
 shaking her forefinger at him, " you are jealous of 
 that dear little girl ; you hate her ; you are ready to do 
 her some mischief. I should be afraid to leave her 
 alone with you." 
 
 Already strung to his highest note, every nerve feel 
 ing the strain of suspense, Nino uttered a cry. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " said Madam Van, startled. 
 
 " You accuse me of horrible things," he exclaimed. 
 " You make me out a murderer." 
 
 " It is your own evil conscience which accuses you," 
 said Madam Van. She uttered a peevish moan. 
 " How violent you are ! " she muttered. " You have 
 given me a turn ; lay me down. Take the upper pillow 
 away. I want to lie flat on my back." 
 
 He was used to lifting her, and now adjusted her 
 cushions, and settled her anew with the utmost gentle 
 ness.
 
 32 WALFORD. 
 
 "You can be good, Nino," she murmured after a 
 time. "You might be a great comfort to me if only 
 you were not so jealous of Bessy." 
 
 " Shall I light the candles, madam ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes, light the candles." 
 
 He was glad to expend his nervousness in some labor. 
 When the room was lighted, however, and she saw his 
 face, she was startled. His look seemed to suggest a 
 dangerous mood. She observed that he kicked aside 
 every obstruction in his way as he went from window 
 to window to close the shutters, and when he drew 
 the curtains he twitched them with a roughness which 
 twice tore off their rings. 
 
 " Nino ! " she called, " come here." He approached 
 her slowly and reluctantly. " Nino," she said with 
 energy, " you are a fool, an utter fool." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "Madam has often told 
 me so." 
 
 " Well, lay it to heart. What are 3 r ou jealous of that 
 child for ? I have got enough for her and for you. If 
 you are a faithful friend to me and to her as long as I 
 live you will find after I am dead that I have left you 
 enough to take you back to Italy, and allow you to live 
 in comfort with a little house and garden and vineyard 
 of your own." 
 
 She expected to see the cloud roll off his face at this 
 definite realization of his clearly defined hopes, but to 
 her surprise the contraction of his brow and the wild- 
 ness of his eyes seemed to be intensified. 
 
 " Of course," she went on, smitten by a desire to talk 
 about Bessy, " I shall leave the greater part of my 
 property to the child. I should adopt her if her 
 mother was not in the way. I don't see," she added
 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 33 
 
 querulously, " why a healthy young woman like Evelyn 
 Rexford should not have a baby a year as they did in 
 my time. If she had two or three other children she 
 would not begrudge me Bessy." 
 
 Nino had been listening with some semblance of atten 
 tion, but now gave a violent start and, turning, seemed 
 to be straining his ears to catch some distant sound. 
 
 "What is it? " she demanded nervously. 
 
 " A person is at the door," he faltered, and some 
 thing indescribable in his face of shock and alarm 
 startled her. " I will go and see what it is," he said, 
 and at once ran out of the room. 
 
 Left alone, the old woman was overpowered by a 
 vague terror. Twice she made an effort to touch the 
 bell which lay within easy reach, but found herself 
 unable to lift a finger. A confused sound of different 
 voices gave evidence that all the servants had gath 
 ered ; distant doors in all parts of the house were 
 opened and shut violently ; heavy feet went up and 
 down the stairs. Now and then a deep groan was 
 audible, and again a sharp exclamation. Twice it 
 seemed to Madam Van that she heard Bessy's name 
 called. She herself tried to shriek, but no sound came 
 to her lips. Her senses were no longer clear. She 
 heard nothing except her own heart-throbs. She could 
 not tell how much time had passed when gradually she 
 became aware that somebody was in the room, and, 
 opening her eyes, they fell on Nino who was kneeling 
 beside her on the floor. His face was ghastly, his eyes 
 frightened and dilated. 
 
 " What has happened ? " she said, by a desperate 
 effort. 
 
 " Oh, madam, oh, madam," he whimpered, " I had
 
 34 WALFORD. 
 
 nothing to do with it. By the wounds of Christ I am 
 in no fault." 
 
 "What has happened? It is something about 
 Bessy." 
 
 " She is lost," said Nino. As he spoke his voice 
 broke into sobs, he threw himself prone on the floor, 
 and cried with the abandonment of a child. 
 
 " Lost ? What do you mean ? " Her stifling appre 
 hension of some strange and undefined catastrophe 
 could not take in the foolish possibility of Bessy's 
 being lost. She called Phcebe, who came in followed 
 by the Rexfords' cook and housemaid, and between 
 them all the story was told. Jenny, on her way home, 
 had turned to look at a passing carriage, when all at 
 once she missed the little girl whom she had supposed 
 to be close beside her. She took it for granted Bessy 
 had hurried on, and expected, if she did not overtake 
 her, to find her at the house. When Jenny heard that 
 nobody had seen her she had gone into violent hys 
 terics. Mr. Rexford had arrived at the same time and 
 had at once sent Lewis and the cook back to find 
 Bessy. They had looked through the house here, and 
 the men were searching all through the grounds and up 
 and down the streets with lanterns. 
 
 " Preposterous ! Ridiculous ! " shrieked Madam Van. 
 " Nino, get up this instant or I '11 have you taken away 
 to an insane asylum. Go and find Bessy Rexford. 
 You know perfectly well where she is. I read in your 
 eyes that you have done something to her. But no, 
 no, no ! " she exclaimed, seeing the horrified expression 
 she had brought to the faces of the women ; " I don't 
 mean that, Nino. You are as harmless as a mosquito. 
 You never could have had the wit to do anything.
 
 LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD. 35 
 
 The child is hiding somewhere, just for mischief. She 
 is full of pranks. She has fallen and hurt herself. 
 She has lain down on a stone and gone to sleep. She 
 was heavy with sleepiness before she went away. The 
 idea of a child being lost here in Walford ! Under 
 one's very eyes ! It is a world of fools ! Go, every 
 one of you, find Bessy Rexford and bring her to me. 
 Don't give her to her mother, a giddy, spoiled thing 
 who takes no care of her. I '11 keep the child in fu 
 ture. Go, I say, don't stand gaping at me. If you do 
 not bring me back that child, Nino, you shall never 
 have a penny of mine. Go, I say, go, go ! " She was 
 sitting up, waving her hands excitedly ; her eyes were 
 glittering ; a faint color had risen to her cheeks ; her 
 thin white hair had fallen, and floated about her face. 
 Every member of the household knew better than to 
 waste a word in expostulation while she was in this 
 mood. Nino gathered himself up and crawled out, not 
 once raising his eyes, and the women followed him.
 
 III. 
 
 THE SEARCH. 
 
 AT the same moment Evelyn Rexford who had 
 been for half an hour trying to obey her husband, who 
 bade her sit with the nurse and try to gain a con 
 nected story of what had happened was herself set 
 ting out to seek Bessy. She had gained little from 
 Jenny except the admission that she was on Westbury 
 bridge when she first missed her charge, and this sug 
 gestion of the river had filled Evelyn with horror. 
 She could no longer waste time in listening. The news 
 had been kept from her until the last moment. At 
 her call as she rode up to the house Roger had run out, 
 led her in and up to her room, when he had told her 
 that Madam Van had kept Bessy to tea. It was not 
 until the sound of Jenny's sobs and lamentations 
 reached her ears that she was permitted to know what 
 had happened, and even then she had gathered little 
 beyond the idea that Jenny had come home and left 
 the child at her godmother's. It was only when she 
 sat in the deserted house beside the girl whose hyster 
 ical outbursts alternated with fits of unconsciousness, 
 that the grim reality fairly dawned upon the young 
 mother. With the first kindling of her imagination 
 that somewhere out in the darkness and cold her baby 
 was perhaps weeping and calling for her, Evelyn 
 seized a hat and cloak hanging in the hall, and was 
 about to leave the house.
 
 THE SEARCH. 37 
 
 " Where are you going, Mrs. Rexford ? " a voice 
 asked out of the darkness the moment she opened the 
 door. 
 
 "Oh, is it you, Mr. Spencer?" she said. "I am 
 going to look for Bessy. I am getting worried about 
 her." 
 
 " We are all troubled about her," said Spencer, an 
 active, bright-eyed young man, who was the superinten 
 dent at the works. " Here are Mr. Peck and Mr. 
 Mumford, Mrs. Rexford. They have come to ask a few 
 questions about the child." 
 
 Evelyn felt impatient of the interruption, but as the 
 three men had entered the hall, she was forced back 
 step by step into the lighted parlor, whither they fol 
 lowed her, closing first one door, and then the other. 
 Mr. Mumford, a short, stout, dark-complexioned man, 
 with a deep, husky voice, was the deputy - sheriff of 
 Walford. Mr. Peck was chief constable, and, as if by 
 law of opposites, he was slight, thin, and pale, with a 
 pair of prominent blue eyes. He was a little over 
 powered by the occasion, and stood looking at Mrs. 
 Rexford, hat in hand, raising himself on his tiptoes, 
 and breathing loudly through his nostrils. 
 
 " What is it ? " whispered Evelyn, looking from one 
 to the other of the group. 
 
 " There are some very singular circumstances about 
 this disappearance," observed Mr. Peck in a high voice. 
 " I may say they are unusual." 
 
 " I call it mysterious, very mysterious, indeed," said 
 Mr. Mumford in his deep bass. 
 
 Evelyn turned to Spencer and put her hand on his 
 arm. 
 
 "Tell me what they mean,'' she said imploringly. 
 " Why do they come here ? "
 
 38 WALFORD. 
 
 " They want to ask a few questions," said Spencer. 
 " Mr. Rexford is telegraphing everywhere, and there 
 are certain details " 
 
 " Telegraphing ? Telegraphing about my child ? " 
 
 " It is necessary to know, it is even important," said 
 Mr. Peck, rising on the tips of his toes and sniffing 
 loudly, " how the little girl was dressed." 
 
 Spencer had led Evelyn to a sofa and forced her to 
 sit down. It seemed to him that she was fainting. 
 " Try to remember how she was dressed," he said with 
 gentle persistence. 
 
 " She had on a white embroidered frock, a white 
 cashmere coat, and a muslin cap," said Evelyn. 
 
 " All in white, pure white," observed Mr. Peck, sen 
 timentally. " I should have expected it of Mrs. Rex- 
 ford." 
 
 Evelyn looked up in Spencer's face, her own pale 
 and drawn. 
 
 " What do they think has happened to her ? " she 
 faltered. 
 
 "The girl said the last she saw of her was just 
 before a carriage, rapidly driven, crossed Westbury 
 bridge." 
 
 " Oh, the river, the river ! " cried Evelyn, and rose to 
 her feet. 
 
 " Don't be afraid of the river," said Spencer reassur 
 ingly. " She could not have fallen into the river. The 
 railing is too high for her to have clambered over it, 
 and the lattice-work is too close for her to have got 
 through it. There is no way for her to have got into 
 the river except through Madam Van's grounds, and 
 both gates were tightly shut. The little one near the 
 bridge was locked by five o'clock, Birdsey says. I
 
 THE SEARCH. 39 
 
 must go back and tell your husband how she was 
 dressed. Mr. Long has already gone to Westbury. 
 Try to be patient, Mrs. Rexford. You had better wait 
 here, you had, indeed. She may be brought in at any 
 moment." 
 
 Spencer went out at once. Evelyn was so bewil 
 dered that her thoughts could not fasten upon the full 
 meaning of his words and the imperious instinct again 
 welled up to go and look for Bessy herself. But Mr. 
 Peck and Mr. Mumford hemmed her in. 
 
 " I should like," said Mr. Mumford, in his preternat 
 ural bass, " to put a few questions." 
 
 " There are some very singular circumstances con 
 nected with the affair," said Mr. Peck, sniffing loudly 
 between each word. 
 
 Evelyn looked from one to the other of the men like 
 a creature at bay. 
 
 " If you have anything to say," she cried, " say it. 
 Why should you waste time in this way ? " 
 
 " My wish is," said Mr. Peck, " to ascertain, if possi 
 ble, what character your nurse has in general main 
 tained in your family." 
 
 " She is a good girl," said Evelyn coldly. 
 
 " You have trusted her ? " 
 
 " I have trusted her." 
 
 " I should also like to ask," continued Mr. Peck, 
 " that is, to inquire what your opinion is of Madam 
 Van Polanen's Italian man ? " 
 
 " I can't wait," said Evelyn forcibly. " Nino ? 
 Nino is a silly, spoiled creature, worn out attending to 
 an old woman full of whims. I must go. Tell me 
 what you want. I can't stay any longer." 
 
 "We wish," said Mr. Mumford, "to see the nurse."
 
 40 WALFORD. 
 
 " She is in the laundry, lying on the lounge," said 
 Evelyn. 
 
 She opened the door, made a gesture towards the 
 rear of the house, then, as if fleeing for her life, she 
 herself ran out into the darkness. It was something 
 gained to be clear of the two officials who had op 
 pressed her like a nightmare. The logic and reason of 
 their untimely visit she could not even waste a thought 
 on. In fact, at this moment she seemed to understand 
 nothing ; straight-minded and clear-headed as she usu 
 ally was, eager to know the truth and reality of things, 
 and to face them, she now stood still one moment 
 and tried to decide what course to pursue. She re 
 membered that she had some hours before chained 
 Fido to prevent his following Bessy. The first thing 
 to be done was to loose him, for he was devoted to his 
 little mistress, and old and worn out although he had 
 lately become, he possessed astonishing sagacity in fol 
 lowing the child anywhere. Evelyn went to his ken 
 nel, but found it empty ; either he had been unfastened 
 or he had slipped his collar. She ran out of the gate 
 and down the street alone. Her only thought now was 
 that she must painfully traverse every inch of ground 
 which Bessy could have gone over between her house 
 and Madam Van's. The moon, just past its full, had 
 risen and began to light up the skies. The blurred 
 outlines of trees and bushes cleared every moment. 
 Along the village street the lamps burned brightly. 
 Evelyn turned down the alley to the river road, her 
 eyes searching everywhere for the gleam of Bessy's 
 white raiment. Where any shadow fell she crouched 
 close to the ground, feeling the whole place over. Ar 
 rived at Madam Van's gate, she remembered some-
 
 THE SEARCH. 41 
 
 body's mention of Westbury bridge and crept down the 
 narrow road to it. It was not enough to cross it and 
 recross it once, twice, thrice. To satisfy herself that 
 Bessy could not have clambered over the rail or through 
 the lattice-work, she needed painfully to go over all 
 the intersections, cutting and bruising her hands. And 
 she tried the high board fence on each side of the road 
 to discover if there were any gap which would have 
 permitted the child to enter the open meadow to the 
 north opposite* Madam Van Polanen's grounds. She 
 had not known of the existence of the little gate, and 
 when she now came upon it to find it wide open, as 
 if this were a corroboration of her worst fears, she ut 
 tered a loud wail. Some nameless terror seemed to 
 strike at her very life. She did not define it to her 
 self, but stood just inside the gate staring down the 
 lawn into the blackness which hung over the river 
 where, as yet, no ray of the moon penetrated. Again 
 that deadly presentiment, that feeling of stark, staring 
 horror crept over her, chilling her to the very marrow. 
 She had to fight it off like a physical enemy. She 
 asserted herself against her dread. 
 
 " I remember now," she said aloud, " Mr. Spencer 
 said that Birdsey had locked this gate." 
 
 This effort to reason in face of the emergency helped 
 her. Hitherto she had been acting by instinct ; now 
 she tried to reinforce her powers of mind by summon 
 ing all sorts of fancies and suggestions. She believed 
 she was thinking coherently and sensibly. She remem 
 bered how many times Madam Van had said that she 
 wanted to keep Bessy and let her grow up in this house 
 and play over this place. Her mind could fasten on 
 nothing so probable as that the wicked old woman was
 
 42 IVALFORD. 
 
 detaining the child and hiding her away from her 
 mother. 
 
 Evelyn ran up the lawn with a surge of passion, a 
 beat of intense anger all through her arteries. The 
 door of the house stood wide open, for none of the 
 servants had thought of ordinary precautions in the 
 general excitement. Evelyn walked straight in at the 
 side entrance, through the hall, and entered the room 
 where the old woman had been for an hour watching 
 alone, waiting for news to cheer her or to bring a cli 
 max to her misery. This blank of expectation seemed 
 to be terribly filled up as she saw Evelyn come towards 
 her like a fate. 
 
 " Oh, Bessy is dead, then ! " she cried with mourn 
 ful eagerness. " She is dead. I felt it. I knew it." 
 
 " Dead ?" faltered Evelyn, shrinking and cowering. 
 " What do you mean ? " She crept towards Madam 
 Van, trying to resummon her resolution. " Aunt 
 Lizzy," she said beseechingly, " you know where Bessy 
 is. I am certain that she is hidden somewhere here. 
 You always wanted her and now you are keeping her 
 from me." 
 
 " I keep her from you ? " said Madam Van. " Eve 
 lyn, you have gone mad ! You look as if your brain 
 were unhinged." They gazed at each other a moment 
 in silence. " If I could but know she was alive and 
 well," continued the older woman, with suppressed ve 
 hemence, " I should be content never to see the little 
 dear face again." She broke into deep, tearless sobs 
 which seemed to rend her from head to foot. 
 
 Evelyn pressed a palm to each temple. " Where is 
 she, then ? " she asked abruptly. " It came over me 
 that you might have kept her. Where is she, then ?
 
 THE SEARCH. 43 
 
 Father in Heaven, where is my child ? " Her voice 
 had risen into a shriek as facts again pressed upon her 
 inexorably. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " said Madam Van. " See that dog ! 
 Is it your dog ? " 
 
 For as if at the sound of Evelyn's call a huge collie 
 had dashed into the room, and with a joyous bark and 
 wagging tail began to paw his mistress' gown to gain 
 her attention. She looked down, half impatient at the 
 interruption. 
 
 " What has he got in his mouth ? " said Madam Van. 
 
 Mechanically Evelyn stooped and tried to draw 
 something from the animal's closely locked jaws. 
 
 " Let go, Fido, let go," she said, and after repeated 
 soft urgings she made him relinquish his grip upon 
 what she at first took for a handkerchief, but which on 
 examination proved to be the torn half of a Valen 
 ciennes lace scarf. 
 
 " See," said Evelyn, holding it listlessly toward 
 Madam Van Polanen, who snatched it with a faint ex 
 clamation, examined it, then with a trembling finger 
 pointed to the jagged end. 
 
 " I put it on Bessy's neck," she faltered. 
 
 " To-night, you put it on Bessy's neck ? " said 
 Evelyn, as if experiencing a half comfort in establishing 
 some clear link between her and the child. 
 
 " But who tore it in two ? " whispered Madam Van, 
 impressing into her words a meaning to freeze the 
 blood. 
 
 Evelyn had not fully relinquished her hold on the 
 lace, and now, as madam sank back on her pillow re 
 laxed and trembling, she carried the scarf to the light, 
 while Fido stood by panting feebly, wagging his tail,
 
 44 WALFORD. 
 
 and looking up eagerly as if awaiting commendation or 
 perhaps some action on Evelyn's part. 
 
 " Who tore it ? " she repeated, as if trying to follow 
 out the undefined dread expressed by Madam Van's 
 words. She tried to supply the link between the 
 jagged scarf and the soft little neck it had protected. 
 She could not think consecutively. The persistent 
 thought came again, " Where can she be ? " She was 
 pulsing and palpitating from head to foot. She went 
 back to Madam Van's couch. " To think," she gasped, 
 " that at this moment my little darling may be reach 
 ing out to me, may be calling for me." 
 
 A sharp cry came from the old woman. The im 
 pression from the words burned into her consciousness. 
 For a few moments there was no sound except of stifled 
 sobs. 
 
 Madam Van, in spite of her age, had the fine ear of 
 a greyhound. After a time she lifted her finger. 
 
 " There comes your husband," she said. " He brings 
 news." 
 
 In another moment Roger Rexford was in the room. 
 He had been searching for Evelyn, and at sight of her 
 he held open his arms, and she tottered towards him 
 and clung to him with a convulsive cry. He folded 
 her close. 
 
 " Roger," said Madam Van, breaking imperiously 
 upon this scene, " suppose you tell me if there is any 
 news." 
 
 He lifted his head. 
 
 " Rex has telegraphed from Westbury that a man 
 and woman, the latter carrying a sleeping child, took 
 the 6.14 train." 
 
 " It may have been any child. How was she 
 dressed ? "
 
 THE SEARCH. 45 
 
 " Just as Bessy was, in white from head to foot.' 1 
 
 " Bessy was in seal-skin," said Madam Van. " I put 
 a new coat and cap on her." 
 
 Evelyn uttered a groan. " I looked for something 
 white," she murmured in an agonized voice. " I was 
 sure she was in white. I may have missed her, I 
 may have passed her by." 
 
 Roger clasped his wife's face between his two hands : 
 he tried gently to explain that the moment Jenny 
 brought news the child was missing half a dozen men 
 had searched every inch of the road, every part of 
 these grounds, even the river itself, by the aid of lan 
 terns. Finding no trace of her, the only reasonable 
 hypothesis seemed to be that Bessy, having wandered 
 away from Jenny, had been picked up by some person 
 or persons unknown, and at once carried off to some 
 point, probably Westbury. 
 
 He impressed his listeners. He rarely talked idly, 
 and when he offered an explanation it was always clear 
 and seemed to be founded on facts and clear logic. 
 
 " But now that you tell me Bessy was dressed in 
 dark clothes," he added, "it is fortunate that I have 
 had another clue followed up. It seemed safest to let 
 nothing escape. I heard from Chauncey that a man 
 and woman, leading a little girl of about three years 
 old, dressed in brown, took the 5.58 up train." 
 
 " That was Bessy," said Madam Van with convic 
 tion. " Offer a reward, telegraph it everywhere, a 
 thousand, five thousand, ten thousand, twenty thousand 
 dollars, anything to get her out of the clutches of those 
 vampires before they kill her. Roger, look at that lace 
 scarf, it is mine. I put it on Bessy's neck. The dog 
 brought in this fragment of it. He picked it up on the
 
 46 ll'ALFOKD. 
 
 road, no doubt. That man and woman whipped it off 
 her neck, tore it in two and gagged her, there is not 
 the least doubt of it ! They gagged her with the other 
 half to stifle her cries." 
 
 Evelyn was at the end of her strength. She slipped 
 from her husband's arms to the floor.
 
 IV. 
 
 MADAM VAN'S WILL. 
 
 No coroner's inquest and no trial by jury gathers 
 particulars, sifts evidence, and balances probabilities as 
 does a group of village loungers at the post-office or on 
 the platform of the railway station. And when, a fort 
 night after Bessy Rexford's disappearance, no clue had 
 been followed up to any result, Walford public opinion 
 was far from being favorable to the sagacity of the 
 chief parties who had set the detectives in operation. 
 It is proverbially an easier task to ask questions than 
 to answer them, and not a few wiseacres put queries 
 which staggered every hearer. For example : Why was 
 it Nino, the Italian, if he had had nothing to do with the 
 child's disappearance, came in that evening looking, as 
 the girl Phoebe said, " white as a sheet? " Where had 
 the collie Fido found the lace scarf ? By what sort of 
 strange coincidence was it that the dog died a few 
 hours later, and was next morning found cold and stiff 
 on Madam Van's porch ? 
 
 Public opinion had long been averse to Nino, the 
 like of whom had never before been seen in the New 
 England village, and who was beyond not only Wal 
 ford experience but Walford imagination : a mixture 
 of man and lady's maid, who carried the old woman 
 about in his arms and obeyed her least whim, yet as 
 sumed fantastic airs of superiority to every one else he
 
 48 WALFORD. 
 
 came across. He was handsome, according to some 
 feminine critics ; but men declared him hideously ugly. 
 Very odd stories were told of him : that he played the 
 guitar and sang, Heaven knows what more. 
 
 Circumstances for a time looked black for Nino. 
 Mr. Peck had felt it his duty to arrest him, at eight 
 o'clock on the evening Bessy was lost ; but then at mid 
 night, as both he and Mr. Mumford were quite worn 
 out, they let him go, thanking God they were "rid of a 
 knave," and majestically bidding him be ready to be 
 taken up again as soon as they found any evidence 
 against him. It was impossible to discover any evi 
 dence except that he had told lies and exhibited signs 
 of abject cowardice. For example, he had said that 
 he had been at the post-office, on the evening of the 
 twenty-fourth, and that the mail was late. He had 
 not been at the post-office and the train had not been 
 late. He had declared he had not seen Jenny and the 
 child after they left the house. Jenny herself falsified 
 him on this point. It was she who came finally to her 
 lover's rescue and made it clear that he was in no wise 
 concerned in the catastrophe. The shock had pros 
 trated the girl, and it was not until a fortnight had 
 passed that Dr. Cowdry declared her well enough to 
 give her testimony. She then confessed that she had 
 for a year been betrothed to Nino, but that he insisted 
 their engagement should be kept a secret, as he was 
 afraid of rousing Madam Van's displeasure. On that 
 last day he had told Jenny he wanted a chance to 
 talk to her, and asked her to go down to the bridge 
 and wait for him there. It had been their habit to 
 meet in this place, which was quiet, rarely intruded 
 upon, and safe for the child, who loved the water.
 
 MADAM f'AA n S WILL. 49 
 
 Jenny said that she had left the house at five minutes 
 past five by the hall clock ; the sun was still some dis 
 tance above the horizon ; she went out of the little gate 
 which opened into the road near the bridge. She was 
 sure that she closed it after her. She picked up her 
 apron full of stones as they walked on, and gave them 
 to Bessy to fling through the lattice-work into the 
 water. Nino reached the bridge a moment later. He 
 at once began talking earnestly, and she was interested 
 in what he said ; but she felt certain the child was 
 close beside her the greater part of the time. She 
 called to her when she heard the carriage, but received 
 no answer, and the moment the carriage had passed 
 discovered that Bessy had vanished. No amount of 
 cross - examination could shake Jenny's statement. 
 She had left the house at five minutes past five ; the 
 sun was well above the horizon, the side gate was 
 unlocked, and going through it she closed it behind 
 her. 
 
 Birdsey, the gardener, had testified that he entered 
 the grounds by this same side gate, which he found 
 wide open, just as the sun was setting. Looking at 
 his watch it was not quite five o'clock. As his regular 
 custom was, he padlocked the gate and kept the key in 
 his pocket until an hour or more later, when he opened 
 it for the convenience of the men who were searching 
 the grounds. This evidence clashed slightly with 
 Jenny's, but as Birdsey confessed that he had been to 
 the Woodbine and taken two glasses of beer there, his 
 accuracy was not to be relied on. Naturally, men who 
 befuddled themselves daily, and never had a clear idea 
 whether the luminary in the heavens was the sun or 
 moon, had a fellow-feeling for Birdsey, and declared
 
 50 WALFORD. 
 
 that two glasses of beer cleared rather than obscured 
 the perceptions, while a girl going to meet her lover had 
 no sense of time or place. There was a close cross- 
 examination on the subject of this little side gate, but 
 it was felt to be time wasted on an unimportant detail 
 not worth all this circumstantial evidence. It was 
 not probable that the child would have wandered 
 back into the grounds. Had she done so, she would 
 not have got into the river. Had she fallen into the 
 river there must have been struggles and cries. Had 
 she been drowned, her body would instantly have been 
 discovered, for the river was searched at once, and 
 next day, and for many days after was dredged and 
 sounded inch by inch for half a mile upstream and two 
 miles below to the dam. The summer had been dry, 
 and the stream, always shallow, contained very little 
 water. It was proved beyond all cavil that Bessy had 
 not been drowned. 
 
 The presumption was that she had exhausted the pile 
 of stones Jenny had given her, and then had gone back 
 to the road to pick up more. While loitering here out 
 of sight for the alder bushes would have hidden her 
 from Jenny she had been seized, gagged, and borne 
 off. Whether the covered buggy which crossed the 
 bridge carried her away, or whether she had been 
 taken in a different direction, was a question yet to be 
 answered. The dog Fido had held the only clue, and in 
 the excitement of the evening this had been irreparably 
 lost. Where did he find the fragment of the lace 
 scarf ? Doubtless had any one bidden the sagacious 
 collie, " Go find Bessy," he would have led the way to 
 the precise spot where he came upon this clear trace of 
 the child. Strange to say the old dog was next morn-
 
 MADAM VAN'S WILL. 5 I 
 
 ing stretched out stark and stiff on Madam Van's 
 porch. Some wiseacres, as we have remarked, pre 
 tended to find more than met the eye in the sudden 
 death of so important a witness. However, no signs 
 of violence could be discovered upon the animal. He 
 was known to be sixteen years of age, and had long 
 been feeble. Probably excited by the commotion and 
 hearing Bessy's name called on every side, he had con 
 trived to break his chain and follow the search. This 
 had been the expiring flicker of the old strength ; his 
 zeal had killed him, and the only thing to be regretted 
 was that the secret of the lace scarf had died with him. 
 The fifteenth day after the little girl's disappearance 
 came a striking confirmation of the theory that she had 
 been stolen. A small wad of lace was picked up by 
 some children playing in a bed of leaves by the road 
 side, near the railway station in Chauncey, a large 
 manufacturing town, five miles to the east of Walford. 
 Two experienced detectives engaged in working up the 
 case were ready to turn everything to account ; after 
 following up a dozen false trails, here at last was a val 
 uable clue. The lace proved to be the missing half 
 of Madam Van's Valenciennes scarf, which she had 
 tied round Bessy's neck. It was now impossible for 
 even the most skeptical to doubt that the little girl 
 had been picked up, the scarf snatched off, torn in two, 
 and half of it thrust into her mouth to stifle her cries. 
 As they approached Chauncey, having by this time 
 frightened Bessy into silence, perhaps overpowered her 
 by a drug, they had dispensed with the gag, which had 
 been thrown away, or more probably dropped by 
 some carelessness. Nothing could well be more clear 
 and circumstantial than the story up to this point. If
 
 52 WALt'ORD. 
 
 some shook their heads and declared oracularly that 
 the closest chain of evidence is no stronger than the 
 weakest link, and that a mistaken judgment on the least 
 detail may upset the conclusions of the most cogent rea 
 soning, they were asked to provide some better theory. 
 It is true that Mr. Peck and his deputy, Mr. Mumford, 
 found it embarrassing to answer inquiries as to why 
 that man and that woman and that child had not been 
 found on the train when, on its arrival at Springfield, it 
 had been searched by the police. 
 
 " There are a great many very mysterious circum 
 stances connected with the whole affair, I might almost 
 say peculiar," was Mr. Peck's stereotyped answer, as 
 he impressively rose on his toes. 
 
 "And if," put in Mumford, "if you wake up in the 
 morning and find there has been a burglary in your 
 house, do you go searching high and low for the thieves, 
 expecting to find them close by ? No, you don't ; you 
 feel sure they have taken pains to get out of the way." 
 
 This illustration, it was conceded, gave the gist of 
 the matter. Naturally, the people who carried off the 
 child had not left their own safety to the chapter of 
 chances, and waited to be overtaken. A fox knows 
 how to brush over his own tracks. The true course to 
 pursue was to make it desirable for the thieves to give 
 up the child. All were agreed on that point. If Bessy 
 were still alive she was worth more than any amount of 
 money. The mother's life had been in jeopardy ever 
 since the child was lost : it still hung on a thread, and 
 all the doctors could say was that she had youth and a 
 good constitution on her side. As for Madam Van 
 Polanen, it soon became clear that she was never to 
 rally from the shock. A reward of a thousand dollars
 
 MADAM VAN'S WILL. 53 
 
 had at once been offered for the safe return of Bessy 
 Rexford. In a fortnight the amount was raised to five 
 thousand, and a month later to ten thousand. This 
 inducement was held out for any information concern 
 ing the whereabouts of the child. 
 
 Before now, winter, always a hard season for Madam 
 Van Polanen, had set in. This year the first chill 
 shook her like a leaf. She shivered and shuddered 
 perpetually. Nino was always with her ; he heaped up 
 fires and brought wraps. She had scarcely addressed 
 a word to him since the night of Bessy's disappearance, 
 but her eyes often met his with a silent question which 
 he always understood and always suffered from, and 
 sometimes answered by his characteristic gesture, turn 
 ing both palms outward. She never put it into words 
 until the night before her death, which came early in 
 the New Year. For ten days she had been painfully 
 weak, kept alive seemingly by powerful cordials and 
 hot applications. Nino had nursed her with a jealous 
 attention which had excluded even Phoebe from bear 
 ing any share of the watch. Madam Van had dozed 
 almost constantly, and could hardly be roused from a 
 heavy slumberous state in which she seemed always to 
 be seeing visions and dreaming dreams. This night 
 she awoke suddenly in a bright, alert mood, and, find 
 ing the man bending over her, she said with a glint of 
 the old humor in her eye : 
 
 "Nino, what do you expect to get for all your 
 pains ? " 
 
 " Nothing, nothing the least in the world," he re 
 plied. " Once madam felt kindly towards me, but that 
 is over." 
 
 She stretched out a little skinny hand which fastened
 
 54 WALFORD. 
 
 like a claw on his arm. " Nino," she said shrilly, " what 
 became of Bessy Rexford ? " 
 
 " She was carried off. All the world says she was 
 carried off," answered Nino, with his quiet gesture. 
 
 "Nino," Madam Van pursued in a voice fine and 
 clear as an accusing conscience, " you had something 
 to do with the affair." 
 
 Her glittering eyes searched his face. 
 
 " Madam," said he, with a sort of pathetic dignity, 
 "before the saints in Heaven, before the Blessed 
 Mother, before the Holy Child, I am wholly innocent." 
 
 " Nino," she said in a suppressed, suffering voice, 
 " it is borne in upon me that you know what became of 
 Bessy." 
 
 Again he made a gesture as if throwing off the accu 
 sation. 
 
 " It is in your eyes," she persisted. " It has been 
 in your eyes ever since that night. You have never 
 looked at me in the same way that you looked before." 
 
 He shook his head mournfully. 
 
 " Your great fault used to be your vanity," she went 
 on. " If the wind struck your nose you were afraid 
 it meant something derogatory to your dignity. You 
 were always trying to impress people that you were a 
 nobleman in disguise. You suffered if you were told 
 to bring in the coal-scuttle. In one hour you were 
 changed. You have become a different man. Now 
 what changed you in the twinkling of an eye ? You 
 may as well tell me. In a few days I shall know every 
 thing. I am going to die. If there is another world 
 I shall either find Bessy holding out her little arms 
 to greet me, or the Almighty will impart some of His 
 knowledge nnd let me see where she is on earth.''
 
 MADAM VAN'S WILL. 55 
 
 " You will find out that I am innocent, madam," said 
 Nino, shaken with emotion. " You may discover that 
 I have been timid, afraid of my own shadow, but you 
 will never discover that I have done wrong to anything 
 alive." 
 
 She gazed at him steadily. " But I see it in your 
 eyes," she muttered. " You have not a good con 
 science." 
 
 " Madam," he said, " I will tell you everything." 
 
 "Yes, tell me everything," she said sharply, then 
 blanched as if afraid of the revelation she had invoked. 
 But he began a long rambling recital about his ancient 
 jealousy of Bessy, his envy of her privileges, his fenr 
 lest her enticing childish beauty should utterly rob him 
 of Madam Van's love. Then, too, the child's every 
 whim had been humored, her least caprice became the 
 law of the household, while he was repressed, scolded, 
 thwarted, and his ambitions ridiculed. He had so often 
 said to himself that he wished something would happen 
 to the little girl, said it without any real malice, or 
 any clear meaning, that when the event came to 
 pass, he was frightened out of his wits at seeing his 
 maledictions bear result ; he was filled with bitter re 
 pentance. He cried out with sobs and tears that he 
 would not have injured a hair of that little head to 
 gain a kingdom for himself. 
 
 Madam Van listened while Nino tried to prove by 
 incontestable arguments that he had everything to lose 
 and nothing to gain by his ill-will, and that he was 
 aware of it, and that Jenny was trying to put him in a 
 good humor about the child at the very moment she 
 disappeared. 
 
 "What were you and Jenny talking about that night 
 on the bridge ? " madam inquired coldly.
 
 56 WALFORD. 
 
 " I was telling her I wanted to go back to Italy," an 
 swered Nino. 
 
 " Did you expect to take her with you ? " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. " It was a dream it 
 was a homesick dream," said he. " It came and went. 
 How could I take her to Italy ? " 
 
 "When did you see Jenny last? " madam went on. 
 
 He put out both hands. " Oh, weeks and months. I 
 count time no more," he said. 
 
 " Where is she ? " 
 
 "She is in New York." 
 
 " They sent her away from the Rexfords." 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " Does she write to you ? " 
 
 " She has written." 
 
 " Do you write to her ? " 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 " I remember, you were always a lady-killer. I sup 
 pose she made love to you like the rest of them. Are 
 you anxious to marry her ? " 
 
 "I have no heart for woman," sighed Nino. "I 
 am a mee-ser-a-ble man, of many sorrows. And she she 
 is a good girl, but she reminds me -of- what- 1 '-want 
 -to- forget." 
 
 " You want to forget, you want to forget," cried 
 Madam Van shrilly. " I knew there was something 
 you were hiding." 
 
 Nino shook his head and made a gesture as if wash 
 ing his hands of the matter. Madam Van lay very quiet 
 the rest of the night, evidently brooding over some 
 thought. Her eyes did not close. Early next day she 
 directed that Squire Graves, the lawyer, should be sent 
 for, but when he reached the house it was already too
 
 MADAM VAN'S WILL. 57 
 
 late. Madam Van Polanen had been partly dressed 
 and bolstered up in bed to receive him, then had lost 
 consciousness. She had in fact suffered a slight stroke 
 of paralysis. It was at first believed that she might 
 rally, but later in the day a second came, and she died 
 the following morning at daybreak. 
 
 Roger Rexford had been with her from the time of 
 her last seizure, also Mrs. Goodeve. Evelyn was still 
 very ill. Madam Van Polanen had made many wills, 
 Squire Graves said. The last had been drawn the pre 
 ceding July, and she had added important codicils four 
 weeks after Bessy Rexford was lost. The lawyer re 
 quested that the two nephews of Madam Van's first 
 husband, that is, Roger Rexford and Rexford Long, 
 should be present at the reading of the will ; also Gio 
 vanni Reni, the Italian, the servants in the house, and 
 Mr. and Mrs. Orrin Goodeve, to represent their son, 
 Felix. 
 
 The chief provisions of the main instrument were as 
 follows : Madam Van Polanen bequeathed a thousand 
 dollars to each of certain charities which she had lib 
 erally endowed years before at the time of Baron Van 
 Polanen's death, and in his name. Her house, its fur 
 niture, its grounds adjoining were given to her first 
 husband's nephew, Roger Rexford. Three quarters 
 of her entire estate, both real and personal, were left 
 to Roger Rexford in trust for his daughter, Elizabeth 
 Hazard, until she married or came of age. In the event 
 of the child's dying before she came of age or married, 
 these three quarters of the estate, real and personal, 
 
 passed to the college of surgery of University 
 
 to be used as a perpetual endowment for a Children's 
 Hospital.
 
 58 W A WORD. 
 
 This will was dated the July before, and as the law 
 yer explained, although signed and witnessed, left a 
 considerable sum of money unappropriated. Madam 
 Van Polanen had remarked to him at the time, " I have 
 not yet made up my mind what to give to my man Nino, 
 or to Rexford Long." She had once showed him some 
 memoranda she had jotted down, but had added that she 
 did not intend to die just yet, so preferred to think over 
 the matter. That was shortly before the child was lost. 
 Later when he was sent for she had produced this 
 memorandum, torn it into bits, and put it in the fire. 
 He had then received her directions for these codicils, 
 which had been signed and sealed the twenty-second 
 of November. 
 
 To Rexford Long she left without reservation the 
 sum of ten thousand dollars. 
 
 In case that the death of Elizabeth Hazard Rexford 
 was clearly proved, the testator, as bound by the fore 
 going instrument, gave, devised, and bequeathed three 
 quarters of her whole estate, both real and personal, to 
 found the Children's Hospital under the trusteeship of 
 
 the college of surgery of University. Her present 
 
 place of residence, the house, the furniture, and the 
 lands adjoining, were to be transferred absolutely, 
 in consideration of his generous services, to Roger 
 Rexford. 
 
 If, however, within two years from the date of her 
 disappearance, Elizabeth Hazard Rexford should be 
 restored to her parents in sound health and intellect, 
 Roger Rexford was, as in the previous instrument, ap 
 pointed trustee of the whole estate until his daughter 
 married or came of age, when the entire property was 
 to pass into her exclusive possession.
 
 MADAM VAN'S WILL. 59 
 
 "Also," the codicil proceeded, " in the event of Eliza 
 beth Hazard Rexford's being restored in sound health 
 and intellect to her parents before October 24, 18 , I 
 direct my executors to pay to my companion, servant, 
 and friend, Giovanni Reni, the sum of fifteen thousand 
 dollars, free of legacy duty, for his faithful services to 
 my husband, Baron Hugo Van Polanen, and to my 
 self." 
 
 Many small sums were bequeathed without reserva 
 tion to each servant in the household, and to numerous 
 outside dependents on Madam Van's bounty. The 
 estate was to be settled within three years from the date 
 of her death, and Roger Rexford and Felix Goodeve 
 were appointed executors.
 
 V. 
 
 "HERE i AND SORROW SIT." 
 
 WHILE Evelyn Rexford's life for many weeks was 
 hanging in the balance, two women watched over her, 
 feeling, even while they tried every expedient to save 
 her, that if she came back to renewed consciousness 
 she came back to torture ; that death offered at least 
 deliverance and peace. They almost dreaded to see 
 her again taking up her pilgrimage, creeping on bruised 
 and aching knees to a new Calvary, for the sacrifice 
 had only begun. 
 
 One of these watchers was Mrs. Goodeve and the 
 other Evelyn's sister, Amy Standish. The two had 
 been orphaned in their infancy, and having but a 
 scanty inheritance had been separated ; Evelyn to be 
 brought up by her maternal uncle and Amy by her 
 father's father. They had occasionally spent a sum 
 mer together, but the intimate link of sisterhood which 
 use and habit make had had no chance to form. They 
 had always loved, admired, and wondered at each 
 other. Amy was fourteen months the elder, and the 
 years Evelyn had spent in married life she had de 
 voted to study in England and on the continent of 
 Europe, where she had taken degrees we shall not ven 
 ture to name, lest our readers should compel her to live 
 up to them in the face of Walford hindrances and pri 
 vations. Her grandfather had for several years resided
 
 "HERE I AND SORROW SIT." 6 1 
 
 with her abroad, promoting x all her wishes, but died 
 while she was at Leipsic, leaving her, if not a great for 
 tune, enough money to secure her independence. For 
 the past six months she had been devoting herself to a 
 study of life among the poor in New York. She had 
 found so much that appealed to her sympathies and 
 energies that it had not been easy to decide what should 
 be taken and what left in the way of work and duty. 
 What she wanted was a sharp grapple with the verita 
 ble facts of human misery. She had become absorbed 
 in her labors, but at the first news of her sister's sore 
 loss had come to Walford. She was a skillful nurse, 
 having spent several vacations in a training school for 
 nurses. Thus she was able to take the responsibility 
 of a critical illness which left Evelyn's powers of life 
 at their lowest ebb and demanded unerring skill com 
 bined with swift insight and tenderest sympathy. The 
 doctors told Roger Rexford that Miss Standish's nurs 
 ing had saved her sister. Mrs. Goodeve, who was 
 used to helpless folk, who knew not their right hand 
 from their left, regarded the girl as a revelation from 
 heaven that a new dispensation had dawned for women. 
 Amy had thrown herself into these duties with in 
 tense energy, also with clear knowledge, but above all 
 with a sudden passion of sympathy. Her actuating 
 principle had hitherto been to live in close relation to 
 the absolute facts of life. She was a clever, many-sided 
 girl : had written essays on the problems which con 
 front modern society, and had reviewed books in the 
 line most interesting to her. Whatever man has known 
 or done she longed to know and to do. But we may best 
 express her, perhaps, by remarking that, besides being 
 a clever girl, she was a remarkably pretty one. She did
 
 62 ll'ALfi'ORD. 
 
 not resemble her sister except in an instantaneousness 
 of smile and vibrating sympathetic ardor of glance. 
 Evelyn was fair enough to be called a blonde ; Amy 
 had a delicate, imperious face with hair and eyes of the 
 darkest, and a pale, olive skin. In repose one admired 
 her features like those of a cameo finely cut, but she 
 was rarely in repose. The moment she was dominated 
 by an idea, and she was always dominated by some 
 ideas, she flashed and glowed with a distinct pur 
 pose. If events pleased her, she expanded into life 
 and charm, mirth and tenderness ; when she was not 
 suited her eyes seemed to hold lightnings in reserve 
 which flashed dangerously on an opposer. But even 
 her frown could not repel ; rather, it piqued and fasci 
 nated. She was of a pretty figure, slim as a nymph, 
 and with an airy movement : " swift as a huntress " 
 had been said of her. 
 
 Amy had never seen her little niece. What repre 
 sented the child to her mind as she watched Evelyn 
 was the subtracted capacity of this stricken one to 
 gather strength. The shock which the loss of Bessy 
 entailed had given almost the first intimation that Eve 
 lyn was, in a way again to become a mother. It was 
 hard to tell, whether she herself had any clear know 
 ledge that a freshly budding life had been cut off with 
 Bessy's ; that she was thus doubly desolated. By the 
 time of Madam Van Polanen's death Evelyn had been 
 pronounced out of actual danger : all apparently 
 needed was that she should be nourished and stimu 
 lated back to life. The ebb of strength was, however, 
 followed by no flow ; her faculties seemed to be held in 
 suspense ; each function waited until the heart, flutter 
 ing like a candle in the wind, should decide whether
 
 "HERE I AND SORROW SIT." 63 
 
 to take up its tasks or throw them off forever. She 
 lay in her bed like a waxen image, staring at the ceil 
 ing, and apparently taking no notice of her surround 
 ings. When her husband asked her if she knew him, she 
 would reply with a half smile, " Oh, yes, I know you are 
 Roger." And if Amy pressed the same inquiry upon 
 her she said, " Why, of course, it is Amy. Why should 
 I not know my own sister ? I am not out of my mind." 
 But she answered only urgent demands upon her con 
 sciousness. She kept an unchanging face and seemed 
 to have no thoughts. She accepted nourishment, but 
 after a few teaspoonfuls threw her head on her pillow, 
 refusing to take more. Her pulse did not gather vol 
 ume ; and in truth what was at first regarded as a hopeful 
 convalescence soon excited almost more apprehension 
 than the most critical period of sharply defined danger. 
 
 " She must be roused," said Amy to Mrs. Goodeve. 
 "The intellect does not act. She needs to use her 
 reason and to see the importance of rallying her 
 powers." 
 
 " We must not rouse her too suddenly," said Mrs. 
 Goodeve. " It is Heaven's mercy which keeps her from 
 remembering too much." 
 
 " But she does not gain," said Amy. " She will have 
 to suffer sharply, and then perhaps she will be able to 
 adjust her mind to these altered conditions. She has 
 lost her child, but she has her husband, she has me. 
 Women have such griefs to bear all the time, and they 
 bear them with resignation." 
 
 " If the poor girl could only have gone on and had 
 her baby," said Mrs. Goodeve. "There is nothing 
 like a new baby for comforting a mother." 
 
 Mrs. Goodeve was the woman to whom beyond all
 
 64 WAI. FORD. 
 
 others in Walford every one looked for advice, and for 
 her to be in doubt, hesitate, go forward and back, and 
 urge delays, showed that she was afraid of adopting 
 ready-made panaceas. She was a woman of fifty-four, 
 of unusual height, with a commanding figure, and a 
 face so expressive, so lofty and noble, she might have 
 inspired awe had she not been so wholly permeated 
 with sweetness. Her clear gray eyes seemed to look 
 into the very heart of the mystery ; her lips had a lov 
 able curve ; her smile was serenity and peace. But 
 when she folded Evelyn's hands in hers, and looked 
 into the soft, pale face, in spite of all her strength and 
 insight, she knew not what to say except, "God is 
 good, Evelyn. Believe me, God is good." 
 
 The stricken creature smiled back at her and mur 
 mured, "Yes, Aunt Laura." That was all. No hint 
 of what was going on in the brain ; no suggestion of 
 curiosity, alarm, hope, or dread. 
 
 " She must be roused," Dr. Cowdry began presently 
 to say, half irritated at being compelled to come upon 
 Amy's ground. " She loses instead of gaining. She 
 must be roused." 
 
 By this time, Mrs. Goodeve, urged to action, saw light. 
 
 " Leave her to me," she said. " I will rouse her." 
 
 She went out and returned presently with little Rose 
 Martin, the child of a neighbor who had sometimes 
 played with Bessy. 
 
 Evelyn lay with closed eyes when Mrs. Goodeve ap 
 proached the bed and lifted the little girl to the pillow. 
 
 "Evelyn," she said, "here is little Rose come to 
 see you." 
 
 Evelyn opened her eyes and stared at the sudden 
 apparition of a bright little face peering into hers. A
 
 "HERE I AND SORROW 6Y7." 65 
 
 flicker of something resembling color came to her 
 cheeks ; then she paled, a shiver ran over her, and she 
 made a gesture as if the child was to be taken away. 
 
 " Bessy loves her very much, you know," said Mrs. 
 Goodeve, pressing the soft cheek against Evelyn's and 
 folding the little arms about her neck. 
 
 " I cannot ! I cannot ! J cannot ! " gasped Evelyn. 
 A fit of shuddering shook her from head to foot ; tears 
 began to stream from her eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Goodeve sent Rose away ; coming back, she 
 closed the door, and sitting down on the bed, drew 
 Evelyn into her arms. 
 
 " Dear child," she said, " since Bessy is not here to 
 be a comfort, I thought you might like to see little 
 Rose." 
 
 Evelyn was convulsed with sobs. 
 
 " Bessy is dead, I suppose," she faltered. 
 
 " We do not believe that she is dead. Great rewards 
 have been offered ; and half a dozen times your husband 
 has heard of children who might be yours, and has 
 gone off sometimes hundreds of miles to see them. 
 Your little darling has not been found yet, but she will 
 be. I do feel almost certain that you will have her in 
 your arms again. Some time, sooner or later, she will 
 be brought back. I want you to try to get well, Eve 
 lyn, so that when she does come, you may be ready to 
 welcome her." 
 
 Evelyn seemed to drink in this assurance as if it 
 were a cordial, and from that hour she improved slowly. 
 
 Day by day Mrs. Goodeve would bring Bessy's 
 things to her, toys, clothes, shoes, little torn books, 
 and Evelyn would put one article after another to her 
 cheek and lie thus for hours, tears welling from her
 
 66 WALFORD. 
 
 eyes. If anybody approached her she looked up with 
 painful eagerness to read the expression of the face. 
 When she saw Roger she would ask, " Any news ? " 
 "No, dear, no news yet," he would say cheerily. 
 
 When she began to sit up she still seemed to find a 
 sort of satisfaction in surrounding herself with every 
 thing which could remind hdr of Bessy. She arranged 
 and rearranged all the little playthings as if to put 
 them in their most attractive shape. 
 
 Amy Standish, looking on at this dumb show of 
 preparation for the child's return, dreaded the awaken 
 ing from such delusions. "I can't help thinking you 
 did wrong," she observed to Mrs. Goodeve, "to per 
 suade Evelyn she will have Bessy back again." 
 
 " I wanted her to live," said Mrs. Goodeve. " She 
 had to have something to live for." 
 
 " But it becomes, week by week, more and more an 
 utterly irrational hope." 
 
 " An irrational hope is better than none," Mrs. Good- 
 eve replied. 
 
 " It is dreadful to see her wasting her time in this 
 way," said Amy. 
 
 " What could the poor child do ? " 
 
 " One' can always learn a new language, or a new 
 science." 
 
 "She is learning a new language, a new science," 
 returned Mrs. Goodeve. " You may learn them, too, one 
 of these days, my dear." 
 
 " It seems to me that one should accept the facts of 
 life," persisted Amy. 
 
 " What facts do you know ? You are a lucky girl if 
 you know many. I have a husband and three children. 
 I hope and believe that all are alive and well at this
 
 "HERE I AND SORROW SIT." 6/ 
 
 moment. I can, by five minutes' walk, ascertain Mr. 
 Goodeve's condition. He is pretty sure to be tearing 
 his hair because he cannot put his hand on the right 
 manuscript. But my daughter is hundreds of miles 
 away ; my son Orrin is in Chicago, and my son Felix 
 is in Colorado. I have to take it on trust that these 
 dear ones are to be restored to me. I have to comfort 
 myself by thinking that they cannot be where God is 
 not. So I feel as if Evelyn ought to be free to gather 
 what comfort she may. Her child is somewhere." 
 
 It was June when Evelyn first sat up ; it was autumn 
 before she could leave her room. All the second long, 
 cruel winter she sat day after day in the vacant nursery, 
 dressing her little girl's dolls, setting out little tables 
 with china tea-sets, pasting pictures in books. That 
 is, she used her feeble strength in these occupations ; 
 then, when it was spent, she threw herself clown and 
 wept.
 
 VI. 
 
 ROGER REXFORD. 
 
 MADAM VAN POLANEN'S will was generally considered 
 to be a singular document a regular woman's will, 
 which promised, tantalized and denied in a breath. 
 Had there been needy heirs-at-law it must have found 
 contestants, but there were absolutely no heirs-at-la\v. 
 Even Roger Rexford and his cousin were only nephews 
 of her first husband, who had left his fortune to her 
 without restrictions. 
 
 Ever since his father's death, some six years before, 
 Roger Rexford had been Madam Van Polanen's man 
 of business. She had herself disliked all responsibility 
 about investments, and had blindly intrusted all her 
 affairs to her nephew, as through her brother-in-law's 
 life she had imposed them on him. 
 
 Roger Rexford was not, as his father had been, a 
 prudent, far-sighted man, but he would not have been 
 willing to confess it. His quarrel with destiny was 
 that he had always been hurried by events, tyrannized 
 over by some pressing need. He was never able to be 
 himself. At the time of his aunt's death, with his child 
 strangely snatched away and his wife's life hanging by 
 a thread, it was a galling mortification that he must 
 needs be feverishly anxious to know the provisions of 
 the will ; that it was a vital matter to him that he 
 should be appointed executor. He breathed freely only
 
 ROGER REXFORD. 69 
 
 when he found that for the present, at least, affairs were 
 left in his hands. Felix Goodeve would not for some 
 ntonths be ready to come East, and by the time this 
 coadjutor appeared, affairs were likely to be on a better 
 footing. 
 
 A strange fatality seemed to Roger to have attended 
 his business career ; and it was his unique misfortune 
 that his troubles began a week after his marriage and 
 had thwarted and limited him ever since. He had con 
 fided his embarrassments to no one ; the mask had 
 grown with his face, and he looked to all the world a 
 calm, strong, imperturbable man, with deep feelings 
 which he resolutely held in reserve. He had been pas 
 sionately enamored of his young wife, but had never 
 been free to give himself up fully to his domestic life. 
 
 To love and to dream of love ; to feel her heart 
 beating and her brain developing ; to study, to divine, 
 to understand her husband, was the sole thought of the 
 eighteen-year-old bride. Roger realized only too keenly 
 the discords and dissonances of his own moods. His 
 thoughts were preoccupied with his unspoken appre 
 hensions, his impatience, his suspense. He was 
 tortured by the delays with which his crying needs 
 were answered and the over-haste with which events 
 progressed when they led towards disaster. At the 
 time Roger succeeded to his father's interests in the 
 Rexford Manufacturing Company, business had for 
 years been buoyant, and every enterprise had floated. 
 John Rexford had founded the concern more than half 
 a century before, at a period when he had almost no 
 competitors, and when railroad interests were extending 
 all iron industries. He had soon contrived to heap up 
 riches for himself. After his early death his younger
 
 70 
 
 brother, Roger, and Orrin Goodeve took his place in 
 the company. Neither of these new managers was a 
 pushing business man, and their policy, although safe, 
 had been timid. Both disliked the aggressive methods 
 which stimulate and at the same time keep a tight grip 
 on trade. Thus the Rexford Manufacturing Company 
 soon lost the monopoly it had enjoyed in John's time. 
 Until the death of his father Roger had had the control 
 of the Western branch of the concern. When he suc 
 ceeded to his father's position he came to Wai ford with 
 a clear determination to initiate a new policy ; to seize 
 every advantage the situation could offer and turn it to 
 his own interest. His father's and Orrin Goodeve's sys 
 tem he believed to have been over-cautious and short 
 sighted. He wanted a new company with fresh blood 
 in it, a new administration of affairs, new buildings, 
 and new machinery. He had his way. The Rexford 
 interests were not only larger than the Goodeve, but 
 the Rexfords had always been the working members of 
 the firm. John Rexford had left the plant, machinery, 
 business, and good-will to his brother, who already had 
 a considerable capital in the company, and all these 
 became his son's. Orrin Goodeve had never been an 
 active business man, and after the death of Roger Rex 
 ford, senior, declined into a mere silent partner. Mr. 
 Lowry, also a partner who held a fair amount of stock, 
 pleaded infirmities of age and rarely appeared at the 
 office, saying that so long as he received his dividends 
 promptly he had no reason for interference. Orrin 
 Goodeve, junior, became manager of the Western branch 
 of the works. Thus Roger, without any dangerous usur 
 pations, had been as well able to carry out his views 
 as if he had owned every share represented in the
 
 ROGER REXFORD. Jl 
 
 books. He congratulated himself on his almost irre 
 sponsible position. He felt sure of his capacity, and 
 declared himself willing to make the success of his in 
 novations the measure of his intellect and the tally of 
 his powers, a dangerous vaunt. For six months all 
 progressed fairly then he married, and his ill-luck be 
 gan. He had enlarged the concern when he might 
 have better contracted it. The conditions of trade be 
 came unfavorable and had so remained ever since. All 
 these four years Roger had found himself bound hand 
 and foot in knots which no skill could undo and which 
 had constantly to be cut at any sacrifice. His talent for 
 bold and skillful combinations remained useless, and 
 his clever methods of domination had been exerted, not 
 in leading his subordinates to victory, but in keeping 
 them from murmuring against the possibility of defeat. 
 
 And the chief trouble was that he stood absolutely 
 alone : to confess his position was to admit his incom 
 petence ; not somehow to coin money was to be obliged 
 to have old Mr. Lowry come prying into his affairs. 
 Roger had appointed himself the role of a strong man 
 armed at all points. If not strong he was at least 
 bold in devices. We have said that he had been for 
 six years Madam Van Polanen's man of business. 
 Every six months he had presented a statement which 
 she had signed without even glancing over it. More 
 than once when she was in good humor, she had re 
 marked, " It is all yours ; that is, it will soon be all 
 yours in trust for Bessy." 
 
 In these years of unexampled financial depression 
 the temptation had been irresistible to use this money 
 in his hands to tide over successive embarrassments. 
 It was, of course, a mere temporary expedient to cover
 
 72 IV A I. FORD. 
 
 the expenses of the new buildings and the new machin 
 ery. He would have denied indignantly that his in 
 tegrity or his sagacity was at fault ; the worst that any 
 body could say, he told himself, was that his methods 
 were unbusinesslike. Let only those who have been 
 tempted and have stood firm against the solicitations 
 of makeshifts which promise the happiest results call 
 Roger by the worst names. Although he would not 
 admit to himself that it was fraud, he hated his own 
 course. The longer it went on the baser it seemed to 
 him. More than once he tried to free himself by some 
 lucky speculation, and more than once he lost heavily. 
 
 He had never breathed a word to his wife of his real 
 troubles. In his theory, what a woman loves in a man 
 is not his confession of fatigue, hunger, and thirst, but 
 his health, power, energy. He was, besides, always 
 looking forward to the time when his lavish output 
 should bring in golden returns. He still remained invin 
 cible in the belief that he had been born under a lucky 
 star and that any adverse fortune was a mere accident. 
 It is, nevertheless, a curious fact in human experience 
 that what we regard as accidental and casual, the result 
 of circumstances which might easily have been avoided, 
 is apt to remain in some shape the law of our existence 
 from its beginning to its close. 
 
 We can see that with such a state of affairs it was 
 essential that Roger should be appointed executor of 
 his aunt's will. This had come to pass. Unless, how 
 ever, his child should be restored and thus be able to 
 inherit, in two years the entire property, except the 
 Walford house, would pass out of his hands, and he 
 would stand on a perilous margin. 
 
 When he had carefully followed up every clue to the
 
 ROGER REXEORD. 73 
 
 possible fate of his child and offered great rewards for 
 her recovery, it would have been his logical decision 
 that she was dead. He could see no reason why, if 
 Bessy still lived, she should not, with such inducements 
 offered, gladly be given up. The ordeal had been 
 cruel, and he soon grew to hate the half-vistas which 
 hope opened to the mind only to disappoint and ex 
 haust it. In his secret heart he longed to know that 
 somewhere on this wide earth a grave had closed over 
 his little bright-haired one. He loved her, and that 
 certainty alone could quiet the fang of apprehension, 
 ready to bite venomously and poison days and nights. 
 Having once caught sight of the spectre which con 
 fronted him if he believed his little girl to be in the 
 hands of unscrupulous people, he wanted to rid himself 
 of such a terror by denying that she could possibly be 
 alive. 
 
 One afternoon late in the May succeeding Madam 
 Van's death, Roger was sitting in his office when Henry 
 Spencer, the superintendent of the works, came in. In 
 the absence of working partners Roger had thrown not 
 a little responsibility on this ambitious young fellow, 
 who, during the past six months especially, had made 
 himself more and more useful, until he held a position 
 which could hardly have been fixed within any definite 
 limits. He had now returned from a trip to New Jer 
 sey, whither Roger had sent him to look up a child 
 whom a detective had traced to a remote place. It was 
 but one of the many fruitless quests which had been 
 undertaken ever since the event of the preceding au 
 tumn. 
 
 Roger sat at his desk with his head on his hands 
 when Spencer came in. They exchanged the briefest
 
 74 
 
 greetings, and then the superintendent remarked, " Of 
 course you got my despatch." 
 
 " It came last evening. I knew all the time there 
 was nothing to be gained by the journey. She is dead ; 
 it is borne in upon me that she is dead." 
 
 " I would n't say that," said Spencer, straightening 
 himself against the door he had closed behind him. 
 
 " You would want to say it yourself if you were in my 
 place," said Roger with irritation. " This damnable 
 uncertainty " 
 
 "Is better than a damnable certainty," said Spencer. 
 
 " I don't at all agree with you." 
 
 " It seems to me clear. If the child is found, a large 
 property is left at your entire disposal ; if she is not 
 found, it must be handed over to a lynx-eyed set of 
 trustees." 
 
 Roger uttered an exclamation of disgust. 
 
 " I certainly do not wish to go on believing that 
 Bessy is alive," he said sharply, " because her return 
 might be profitable to me." 
 
 "That was not what I meant," Spencer returned 
 smoothly. " If I do not express my sympathy with 
 your feelings it is only that here we are in the habit of 
 looking at everything from a business point of view. 
 That will of Madam Van Polanen's is the most galling 
 instrument that ever was drawn. If the child is re 
 stored, you have everything ; if not," 
 
 " I know the terms of the will qui{e as well as you 
 can," said Roger curtly. 
 
 " All I want to say is that the child must be found." 
 
 Roger sprang up. " Spencer," he said in a deep 
 voice, " it is the wildest chimasra to believe that she is 
 still alive. We have to nurse the poor mother's hopes, 
 but we, as men, must look the situation in the face."
 
 ROGER REX FORD. 75 
 
 "The facts are all in favor of her being alive," said 
 Spencer. " I tell you, Mr. Rexford, she is alive ; the 
 thing is, to find her." 
 
 "The thing is, to find her, no doubt," said Roger. 
 
 The superintendent turned into the outer office, and 
 then exchanging a word or two here and there with 
 the half-dozen men at the desks, he went on into the 
 whirr and dust-cloud of the works to make his after 
 noon round. Roger, sitting at his desk, brooded over 
 Spencer's allusion to his affairs, wondering if it were his 
 own uneasy conscience which had for a moment startled 
 him with a suspicion that his secrets were not wholly 
 his own. It was hardly possible that Spencer could 
 have spoken except in a general way about the embar 
 rassment of losing Madam Van's money. But if things 
 drifted on as they seemed at present to be drifting noth 
 ing mattered. He could at least be sure of Spencer's 
 faithfulness, his quick understanding. The young fellow 
 had been a protege of Mrs. Goodeve's, and at her request 
 had been taken into the office when but eleven years old. 
 He had been advanced from one position to another with 
 a rapidity which did credit to his quick-witted intelli 
 gence. No one could help admiring the boy who, in spite 
 of every drawback, had continued to study doggedly in 
 his hours outside his business and now at twenty-seven 
 was fairly well educated. The Rexford Manufacturing 
 Company might count on an absolutely canine fidelity 
 from Spencer, for his interests were bound up in theirs, 
 and as they succeeded or failed, he was likely to succeed 
 or fail. He was ambitious. Walford was his world ; he 
 had mapped out the territory he was to conquer. 
 
 Walford is a thriving town lying in the hollow of in 
 tersecting ranges of high hills, or mountains as they
 
 76 WALFORD. 
 
 are called, in the mid region of Northern Connecticut. 
 It is a busy place ; it feels its own life, and is not a little 
 given to glorifying its own importance in the universe. 
 Its inhabitants are the reverse of cosmopolitan. They 
 believe in Walford ; they are the mainspring of Walford 
 prosperity, and every inhabitant likes to measure his ca 
 pacity by the vastness of Walford enterprise. No Wal 
 ford man can be unimportant. He vindicates his claims 
 to consideration by showing a bustling interest in larger 
 men, by a definite knowledge of everybody else's affairs. 
 In these respects the least is bigger than the greatest. 
 The Rexfords had always been useful to the town ; in 
 deed, John Rexford had developed the place from a 
 sleepy village, with a stage-coach plying between New 
 Haven and Hartford, into a thriving centre on the 
 direct line of transportation. Roger Rexford was now 
 one of the most important citizens, and he had often 
 felt as if his public responsibility was so much better 
 recognized than his individual liberty that he was the 
 mere chattel of the town. Probably, Spencer, in seem 
 ing to dictate his course, was merely using Walford 
 off-hand and downright ways of speech. 
 
 We have said that Spencer had been a prote'ge' of 
 Mrs. Goodeve's. In those days Orrin Goodeve, senior, 
 had been one of the acting partners. But both he and 
 his wife were very rich people, at least for a country 
 place ; and as soon as his old colleagues died and re 
 tired, Mr. Goodeve made up his mind no longer to en 
 dure the uncongenial duties of office or counting-room. 
 He had better work to accomplish before he should be 
 called hence. He had always been a studious man, 
 and of late years had been writing a history of the 
 Connecticut Colony under Sir Edmund Andros, having
 
 ROGER REXFORD. fj 
 
 found some authentic documents which threw a flood 
 of light upon the charter conspiracy. It was Mr. Good- 
 eve's delight to bury himself in his study, surrounded 
 by his books of reference, folios, maps, the first manu 
 script of his own work, his second type-written version, 
 his third copy with the addenda, notes, modifications, 
 and amplifications. There was such a fatal superabun 
 dance of material that the work had by this time 
 usurped the whole large library. It covered two desks, 
 the secretary, and the davenport. The centre table 
 groaned under huge quartos ; the table in the south win 
 dow was taken possesion of by manuscripts, and three 
 or four little stands trembled beneath the weight of con 
 flicting authorities on the great subject. The lounge 
 had long since become a mere receptable for books of 
 reference, lying open, or turned down on their faces ; 
 every chair was usurped by a volume or a bundle of pa 
 pers. The greater part of Mr. Goodeve's time was spent 
 in walking from one bundle of manuscripts to another, 
 with nervous, outspread hands ; for these treasure- 
 houses overflowed each into the other, so that when he 
 wanted to put his hand on the Massachusetts Colony he 
 took up the Connecticut Colony instead. At such times 
 it was his habit to emerge and search through the rooms 
 for his wife, putting his hand to his forehead, as was his' 
 way when puzzled. 
 
 " Well, dear, what is it ? " Mrs. Goodeve would ask. 
 
 " I was thinking," the historian would murmur dream 
 ily, looking about the room covetously at the sight of 
 so many unoccupied pieces of furniture, " that if I had 
 a light table it would be an easier matter to know just 
 where to put my hand down when I want a thing." 
 
 Not to have answered any human being's least claim
 
 78 WALFORD. 
 
 upon her would have seemed to Mrs. Goodeve a waste 
 of her most precious privilege. Walford people do not, 
 as a rule, illustrate their descriptions of people by clas 
 sical allusions, but still they had a clear conception of 
 large goddess-like qualities in Mrs. Goodeve. She was 
 like Juno, Ceres, Pomona ; she was a giver, a dis 
 penser, an unfailing source. Bounty overflowed from 
 her. She gladly found tables for her husband ; she 
 contrived all sorts of receptacles for his precious manu 
 scripts. Although she was the soul of order, too, she 
 bore with the confusion of the library. If the room 
 ever knew broom, duster, or mop, Mr. Goodeve was 
 unaware of the intruding angel, which he would have 
 believed to be an angel of destruction. 
 
 The Goodeve house stood on the main street in Wal 
 ford. It was built of brick, in a solid, old-fashioned 
 way, and presented a wide, high facade to the street, 
 with a square porch in the centre ; and the great oaken 
 door, made with a hatch, was decorated with an enor 
 mous brass knocker. On the north side the house was 
 only one room deep ; on the south side it ran back to 
 the depth of eight rooms. In the middl'e was the din 
 ing-room, with a door opening directly upon the garden. 
 In Mrs. Goodeve's garden every flower that one loves 
 'grew in such profusion that, although she cut bouquets 
 from morning until night, blossoms seemed always to 
 run riot over the place. The first crocuses and snow 
 drops were always seen there, peeping out of the rich 
 mould ; daffodils, jonquils, hyacinths, tulips, narcissi and 
 primroses ; Maypinks, crown imperial, iris, and lilies ; 
 until chrysanthemums rounded off the floral year. One 
 might quote Homer in describing the Goodeve place : 
 " There grew tall trees blossoming, pear-trees and pome-
 
 ROGER REXFURD. 79 
 
 granates, and apple-trees, with bright fruit, and sweet 
 figs and olives in their bloom. The fruit of these trees 
 never perisheth, neither faileth, winter and summer, en 
 during through all the year. Evermore the West Wind 
 blowing brings some fruit to Lirth and ripens others. 
 Pear upon pear waxes old, and apple on apple, yea, 
 and cluster ripens upon cluster of the grape, and fig 
 upon fig." Making due allowance for the rigors of 
 New England latitudes, this may answer for a picture of 
 the Goodeve orchards and gardens ; and what store of 
 good things climate denied was made up by the per 
 ennial plenty inside the house. 
 
 Mrs. Goodeve kept two capable women and two men, 
 but with no object of indulging any love of ease on her 
 own part. Thrice a week, summer and winter, she rose 
 at dawn and swept every room on the ground floor with 
 her own hands. She experienced an actual aesthetic 
 pleasure in cleanliness, and liked to prove by know 
 ledge, and not by faith, that things were clean. Twice a 
 week she spent an entire morning in the kitchen, baking 
 bread of all sorts, rusks, puddings, cakes, pies ; above 
 all, "cookies," in quantity like stars in the Milky Way, 
 made of every delicious compound, with currants, with 
 caraway seeds, with ginger, with cinnamon, and with 
 citron, cut, too, into every shape, some like stars, 
 flowers, birds, others simple and round as Giotto's O. 
 Every child in Walford knew the taste of Mrs. Goodeve's 
 cookies, and made errands to her house to secure a 
 pocketful of them, bringing her wild flowers, honey 
 suckle-apples, berries, and nuts. A steady stream of 
 men, women, and children flowed through the Goodeve 
 place from morning till night, and not one went away 
 empty-handed. She provided, it might have seemed,
 
 8O WALFORD. 
 
 for half Walford. Yet her ways were frugal as well as 
 large. Waste was abhorrent to her. There was noth 
 ing which had not its use. In her creed no gown could 
 be said to be worn out until it had been turned at least 
 twice, and to buy a material which could not be used on 
 both sides was, to her thinking, wicked unthrift. Ready- 
 made clothing she held to be an apology for indolence, 
 an excuse for living from hand to mouth. She liked 
 intrinsic worth, durability, permanence. She carefully 
 preserved all that had been bequeathed to her, and 
 liked to feel that she could pass it on to her successors 
 in almost as good a shape as she had received it. 
 
 Rexford Long's father had been Mrs. Goodeve's half- 
 brother, while his mother was the sister of John and 
 Roger Rexford. Ties of family, of sympathy, and of 
 long neighborly habit connected the Rexfords and the 
 Goodeves, and both families had for generations been 
 identified with Walford. Orrin Goodeve had been taken 
 into John Rexford's company as soon as he was through 
 college. Indeed, the Rexford Manufacturing Company 
 had been from its start a sort of family trust. If the 
 enterprise could not be said to have founded the family 
 fortunes, it had at least solidified and quadrupled them. 
 All Walford was proud of the staunch concern, founded, 
 as they declared, " on a rock." The Rexfords enjoyed 
 the highest reputation as financiers ; an almost unique 
 prosperity had attended them, one after another, 
 throughout their careers. It was a great piece of good 
 fortune to secure a position for a boy in the works, and 
 it had always been an object to choose recruits care 
 fully. It was felt that Mrs. Goodeve stretched her in 
 fluence a trifle when she asked Roger Rexford, senior, 
 to give Henry Spencer a place. She was interested in
 
 ROGER REX FORD. 8 1 
 
 his mother, and the boy was a bright fellow. " Too 
 clever by half," was the verdict after two or three slight 
 deviations from the established code, more than one of 
 which might have cost Spencer his place if Felix Good- 
 eve had not taken the blame upon himself. 
 
 Spencer was, however, too intelligent to go on mak 
 ing mistakes which he saw would spoil his whole future. 
 He had an aptitude not only for ideas, but for applying 
 his ideas to life, and, as we have said, he soon justified 
 the choice of his patroness by making himself indispen 
 sable at the works, and especially to Roger Rexford. 
 
 One day, about a fortnight after the interview which 
 we have recounted in the beginning of this chapter, 
 Roger was sitting at his desk writing letters when he 
 heard some one enter the door behind him, and 
 asked, 
 
 " That you, Spencer ? " 
 
 "No, sir," was the answer, in a voice and accent so 
 startling and unexpected that Roger turned sharply and 
 said sternly : 
 
 " Nino Reni ! What are you doing in Walford ? I 
 told you I wished never to set eyes on you again." 
 
 " I know that you said it," replied the Italian with 
 pathetic dignity. " But a man in a passion speaks 
 words which he regrets. I hoped you had come to feel 
 that you had done me injustice." 
 
 Roger had been looking over his shoulder at his 
 visitor, who stood behind him. "Come round here," 
 he said briefly, and Nino with his soft, slow movement 
 crept round the desk and stood by the window with 
 the full light on his face. Roger looked at the man 
 with keen, curious eyes. He had grown thin ; his face 
 was sallow and showed deep lines. His hair, formerly
 
 82 WALFORD. 
 
 jet black, had become streaked with gray, and his soft, 
 velvety eyes looked larger in their orbits. 
 
 "I don't think I was unjust to you, Nino," said 
 Roger. " Naturally I was indignant. My child would 
 be safe at home in her mother's arms if you had not 
 been making love secretly to my servant, a young girl, 
 twenty years your junior." 
 
 Nino made a gesture with both hands. 
 
 " I was an exile," he said gently. " She cared for 
 me ; no one else cared for me. I accepted her free 
 offering." 
 
 " That is all very well. I have blamed myself far 
 more than I have blamed you. It seems strange to me 
 now that we could have trusted the child out of our own 
 sight. But I have no wish to discuss the subjefcr. 
 What is your business here ? " 
 
 " I came to say good-by," said Nino. " I am going 
 back to Italy. I have engaged with a party of Ameri 
 cans going to Europe for the summer." 
 
 " Oh, you want me to give you a character." 
 
 Nino made a magnificent gesture. 
 
 " I have credentials the most distinguished," he 
 said. "I have letters and papers from an English 
 duchess." 
 
 " I am glad you have found a good position," said 
 Roger. "Americans are no longer as dependent on 
 couriers as they were twenty or thirty years ago." 
 
 Nino shrugged his shoulders as if his ability to se 
 cure a place was easily beyond question. " I came, 
 Mr. Rexford," he said, in his plaintive way, "to ask a 
 favor." 
 
 " Very well. Speak out." 
 
 As Roger gave this sharp command he observed that
 
 ROGER KEXFORD. 83 
 
 his visitor's face changed. The light went out of his 
 eyes ; they became opaque ; the lines about his mouth 
 deepened. 
 
 " I want to say this," said Nino with singular inten 
 sity. " I did the child no harm. I swear it before the 
 Blessed Virgin. I did her no harm. We had talked. 
 Madam had made me angry and I was telling Jenny. 
 The child was one minute close beside us, talking, 
 singing to herself ; then we turned and she was not 
 there." 
 
 "Look here, Nino," said Roger, "you don't quite 
 understand me. Had I supposed for one instant that 
 you had touched a hair of my little girl's head, do you 
 think you would be going free to-day ? If the law could 
 not have interfered and taken care of you, I should 
 have taken your punishment into my own hands." 
 
 Devoid of ruddy tints although the Italian's face 
 already was, he blanched at these words and the stern 
 glance which accompanied them, until he looked like a 
 piece of parchment. 
 
 "But Madam believed it," he said petulantly. "That 
 is why she did not give me the money." 
 
 Roger was silent for a moment, then observed, 
 " She was very old ; she was terribly broken after the 
 thing happened, and that suspicion was a part of her 
 malady. I told her I had sifted the whole matter to 
 the extent of my ability, and that I could not find a 
 grain of real evidence against you." 
 
 "I was frightened when the child vanished," said 
 Nino, "because I I had been jealous, and everybody 
 knew it. Madam had eyes and heart only for her. 
 She made me, her friend, her companion, her son, 
 a mere servant. It cut me deep. I was loud in my
 
 84 WALFORD. 
 
 complaints, but I never could have done that accursed 
 thing. They say we Italians are revengeful, but I am 
 not revengeful. I hate trouble, I like an easy con 
 science. I " 
 
 "Enough of this," said Roger. "You would have 
 been a fiend incarnate if you had thought of doing 
 the child harm. What favor were you going to ask of 
 me ? " V. 
 
 " It is about Madam's legacy." 
 
 " You get nothing, nothing at all, unless the child is 
 restored in a little more than a year's time," said Roger 
 impatiently. 
 
 " I know. When the lawyer read out the will, it was 
 as if I heard Madam say, ' Nino, you know where Bessy 
 is. Bring her back and you shall have the fifteen thou 
 sand dollars to buy the little house and vineyard you 
 want near Sorrento.' " 
 
 " The blow had affected her mind," said Roger 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " But she had left me no money by the will she made 
 in the summer." 
 
 " She had spoken about it to Mr. Graves, and in 
 former wills which were destroyed she had left you in 
 one five thousand and in another eight thousand dol 
 lars. She said to me once that she paid you good 
 wages, and that you ought to have laid up a compe 
 tence." 
 
 " She gave me fifty dollars a month," said Nino. 
 "For thirteen years I had this and all expenses paid. 
 She knew that I sent it to my father and my mother at 
 Sorrento. Now," he went on with an eloquent gesture, 
 " I have no money to send to my father and mother ; 
 they are suffering. I go to work, to aid them. I shall
 
 ROGER REXFORD. 85 
 
 have no more money except my wages, unless the child 
 is found." He gave a swift glance into Roger's eye. 
 
 " Every possible measure has been taken," said 
 Roger, feeling a terrible depression. " But it all seems 
 wasted effort." 
 
 " Nothing is done in a day," said Nino impressively, 
 and in a reassuring vein. "The time will come." 
 
 Something crafty in the man's look and tone startled 
 Roger. He had felt irritated by Nino's persistence in 
 harping upon a subject which had become simply per 
 turbing and hopeless, but now he was roused by a 
 sudden sharp suspicion. He sprang up, ran round 
 his office table, and seized Nino by the throat. 
 
 "You villain!" he exclaimed; "I believe you do 
 know something about the matter. You were in league 
 with the thieves who carried her off." He shook the 
 man as if he would have throttled him. At sight of 
 the ghastly pallor and chattering teeth Roger's mood 
 changed and his clutch relaxed. " What did you 
 mean ? " he demanded. 
 
 " I meant nothing," said Nino shrinking and cower 
 ing. 
 
 "Why did you say the time will come?" thundered 
 Roger. 
 
 " I meant perhaps, who can tell ? who knows ? I 
 have not mastered the language," faltered Nino. " I 
 hope it, that is all I am sure of. I have nothing else 
 to hope. I know nobody in this country. I have not 
 a friend. I want to go back to Italy and live among 
 my own people." 
 
 Roger gave him an impatient glance while he poured 
 out these incoherent asseverations. They were of no 
 effect, for Roger would never have accepted the man's
 
 86 . WALFOKD. 
 
 unsupported testimony on any subject. But he had 
 sifted every jot and tittle of available evidence against 
 the Italian, and was convinced that he had been only 
 accidentally concerned in Bessy's disappearance. 
 
 " What is it you want of me ? " he said, feeling that 
 he had foolishly allowed himself to be carried away. 
 
 " Just this," gasped Nino, clutching at the desk and 
 looking half dead from fright. " I want to feel sure 
 that even if I am out of the country, I shall not lose 
 Madam's legacy, that is, if the little girl is brought 
 back." 
 
 " You need have no fears on that account," said 
 Roger. 
 
 " But I will leave an address that I may be found," 
 said Nino. He fumbled in his pocket, and brought out 
 a scrap of paper with a printed heading. 
 
 "Pietro Bianchi, Pearl Street, New York," Roger 
 read out ; then added, " You just told me you had no 
 friends in this country." 
 
 " He is not a friend ; I have seen him once. It is 
 this Bianchi who sent my money to my parents. He is 
 a banker. He can communicate with my people ; they 
 will know where I am." 
 
 Roger had made a memorandum in his diary, and 
 turning to the address-book which lay on his desk he 
 entered it there as well. 
 
 "There it is secure, in case of accident," said he. 
 Then as a new idea struck him he went to the door, 
 opened ft, and called across the row of desks, " Spen 
 cer, are you there ?" 
 
 Spencer entered at once, nodded at Nino with no air 
 of being surprised at seeing hiui, and waited with an air 
 of interest.
 
 ROGER REXFORD. 8/ 
 
 " I may as well say before you, Spencer," said Roger, 
 "that here is Giovanni Reni, who intends to go back 
 to Italy. In case of his ever inheriting under Madam 
 Van Polanen's will, he may be communicated with 
 through Pietro Bianchi, Pearl Street, New York City. I 
 have made a note of these facts in my address-book 
 under this date. Are you satisfied ? " he asked, turn 
 ing to Nino. 
 
 Nino made a broad, expansive gesture. 
 
 "Very well, then, good-day, I wish you all the luck in 
 the world." Without looking again at his visitor Roger 
 resumed his work, and did not raise his head until the 
 door had closed. Glancing about him then he saw that 
 Spencer had apparently left the room with the Italian. 
 He did not see the superintendent again for some 
 hours ; then happening to meet him he asked : 
 
 " Did the fellow say anything to you, Spencer ? " 
 
 " He seemed anxious to get away ; inquired about 
 trains." 
 
 " I wish I had asked him what he has been doing 
 during the past few months," said Roger. " I wonder 
 if he has seen Jenny." 
 
 " Franklin and Davis say that Jenny went to Eng 
 land in January. I dare say they have had an eye on 
 Nino," said Spencer. 
 
 " For a moment," observed Roger meditatively, " I 
 actually was under the conviction that he knew some 
 thing about the affair. But it was a mere passing 
 thought. He is innocent. I know men, and he is not 
 the sort of man to do more than talk and bluster." 
 
 " He wants his money badly," said Spencer, in a tone 
 of peculiar significance. 
 
 " Did he tell you so ? "
 
 88 WALFOKD. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I thought you said he only spoke about the trains." 
 
 " There was nothing in particular," said Spencer. 
 " Of course I made a few remarks. It would be very 
 profitable to him if the child came back." 
 
 " You are always harping on that string," said Roger 
 impatiently. " It would be very profitable to me, but 
 that does not alter the facts of the case." 
 
 " I know if I were Giovanni Reni," pursued Spencer 
 with a little laugh, " I would find the child if " 
 
 " Stop it ! " said Roger. There were clear signs of 
 anger on his face, and Spencer desisted.
 
 VII. 
 
 AMY STANDISH. 
 
 WHEN Amy had come to Walford she had supposed 
 that she was to answer only her sister's temporary need ; 
 but weeks had run into months and months into sea 
 sons, and there could, for a long time yet, be no pos 
 sibility of her leaving the little New England town and 
 resuming her work. 
 
 She had tried not to be impatient. She said to her 
 self that she was working with nature and must be con 
 tent to take nature's own time. The mother's heart 
 was almost broken : that was no mere sentimental state 
 ment, but a plain fact. Amy herself might be able to 
 reason that the loss of a child ought not to be a cause 
 of hopeless grief. Statistics prove that only half the 
 children born into the world live to come to maturity, 
 and even with this regular diminution of their numbers, 
 many philosophers grumble over the dangerous increase 
 of population. Still Amy realized that statistics, even 
 precepts and exhortations, were not yet to be thought 
 of in Evelyn's case. She carefully chose books to read 
 to her which might be useful, it is true. She talked, 
 too, about the urgent interests of real life. Even when 
 she sang to her she tried to infuse into her music some 
 thing beyond the passion and pain of hopeless regret. 
 
 She acknowledged that all these sisterly efforts were 
 so far of no use. But perhaps it seemed to Evelyn a
 
 QO WALFOKD. 
 
 treason to accept any thought or occupation which sep 
 arated her from the memory of Bessy. 
 
 There was, besides, a serious complication in the way 
 of Evelyn's recovery. This was a trouble of the eyes, 
 at first considered unimportant. It began with an ab 
 horrence of light, and on searching for the cause the 
 doctors discovered severe inflammation ; this was not 
 necessarily dangerous to the sight, but, under the in 
 cessant irritation of tears, it soon became acute. 
 
 While Evelyn lay on the lounge possessed by some 
 fresh shivering of doubt and fear, or in the evening in 
 her bed restless and starting and with no hope of going 
 to sleep, Amy would draw a thick screen between the 
 lamp and the white face with its burning eyes, and read 
 on for hours till Roger came in. 
 
 " Thanks, sister," Evelyn would say ; " you are very 
 good to me." 
 
 " You are not good to us," Amy would answer, " else 
 you would try to listen and not cry. It is wicked for 
 you to cry." 
 
 " I know," said Evelyn. " The doctor tells me I shall 
 lose my sight if I go on crying. I try not to cry, but " 
 
 From Evelyn's few distracted words they all realized 
 that she knew not how to repress tears. In the pleasant 
 weather she had wept, remembering ; when the snows 
 came down, when the March winds blew, she had wept, 
 remembering ; at the thought of the first crocus, the 
 little rifts and cracks of the upheaved flower-beds into 
 which the child had once peered curiously, awaiting 
 miracles, she was all tears. Bessy had so loved every 
 thing, babbled of everything : snows, sheets of rain, 
 plashing showers with rainbows in the east, breaking 
 clouds, the sun, flowers, everything with wings that 
 darted, skimmed, flew, between earth and sky.
 
 AMY STANDISlf. 91 
 
 " Is not my loss as much as yours, Evelyn ? " Roger 
 would say sometimes when she sobbed all this misery 
 out on his breast. " A father loves his child as well as 
 a mother can, yet I cannot give myself up to grief." 
 
 At such words Evelyn was assailed by a realization 
 of her own weakness and selfishness. She tried to take 
 up some occupation, but any use of her eyes was for 
 bidden. She endeavored to go about the house in the 
 old way, but every nook was full of cruel reminders, 
 and she flew back to the solitude of her own room or of 
 the nursery where there could be no fresh shocks of 
 feeling. 
 
 Rexford Long came to Walford occasionally, and it 
 was he who could do most for the unhappy mother 
 sitting in the nursery with Bessy's things around her. 
 
 " I can talk to you, Rex," she said to him one day, 
 " but I do not dare say anything nowadays to Roger, 
 or to Amy. Amy is like Mrs. Chick; she wants me to 
 make an effort. She tries to induce me to talk French 
 and German with her. She reads aloud to me. I know 
 Wordsworth's ' Ode to Duty ' by heart, and also ' Rabbi 
 Ben Ezra.' " 
 
 " So Amy reads Browning to you," said Rex with the 
 flicker of a smile in his eyes. 
 
 " Oh yes, she goes on and over the verse : 
 
 " ' Then, welcome each rebuff 
 
 That turns earth's smoothness rough, 
 
 Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go ! 
 
 Be our joys three parts pain ! 
 
 Strive and hold cheap the strain ; 
 
 Learn, nor account the pang ; dare, never grudge the throe ! ' " 
 
 Evelyn repeated the lines with some spirit, then added 
 with a little soft laugh, " I sometimes long to give back 
 to her
 
 92 WALFORD. 
 
 " ' Irks care the crop-full bird ? Frets doubt the maw-crammed 
 beast ? ' 
 
 if only one could mouth it ! I wonder if Browning knew 
 he was only repeating Job, and for the worse. Job says, 
 4 Doth the wild ass bray when he hath grass, or loweth 
 the ox over his fodder ? ' ' 
 
 Then came tears again. 
 
 " You see, Rex," she went on presently, " they don't 
 know how much I have lost, how little I have left to 
 live on. Mrs. Goodeve, she knows ; but a girl does not 
 know, and a man cannot know. One begins to love 
 a child, to love it with an ache and a longing, for 
 months before it is born. One day, a little while before 
 Bessy came, I stopped and spoke to a woman who was 
 carrying a wee baby, and as I happened to make a ges 
 ture towards the child its little hand twined round my 
 finger. I could not get the idea of that little hand out 
 of my head. I used to dream that a baby was holding 
 my finger, and when I woke up I felt as if. unless I had 
 that little hand in mine that minute, I should die of 
 the longing for it. Then once I saw an engraving at 
 Madam Van's of one of Correggio's pictures of a sleep 
 ing baby ; the moment my eye fell on it I was so happy 
 I wanted to stay and look at it always. When I had to 
 turn to speak to people the wrench hurt me. I kept 
 making little errands back, to stare at the tender curves 
 of the little dear body, the legs, the arms, the round 
 face. Madam Van, she was a clever old creature, 
 she found me out, and said, 4 Here, take it home with 
 you I ' It hangs in my bedroom now, but I should n't 
 dare look at it even if I could see with my poor blind 
 eyes. A mother's love is made up of such foolishness 
 and tenderness : it is a yearning to touch, to hold, to
 
 AMY STANDISlf. 93 
 
 minister to. She feels more than she can explain of it. 
 Don't you know they say that when a man loses his 
 arm or his leg, the nerve still throbs at timesj he 
 dreams of the lost limb being there, and it causes him 
 suffering." 
 
 Long said nothing. What was there to say ? 
 
 " Do I bore you, Rex ? " she asked after a time. " It 
 is so easy to talk to you, and I never minded boring 
 you as I mind boring Roger." 
 
 " You cannot bore Roger. Don't accuse him of lack 
 of sympathy." 
 
 " He gets very impatient with me at times," Evelyn 
 murmured. 
 
 " Because he feels how important it is for you to put 
 away your sorrow and regain your health. Roger loved 
 his child, but he loves you better. Love has jealous 
 distinctions. It must hurt him now to see that you 
 have never held him first, that you loved Bessy better." 
 
 Evelyn put her hand to her forehead. ' Don't ac 
 cuse me of loving anybody better than my husband." 
 
 " You have him left, yet you are most unhappy, most 
 miserable ! " 
 
 Evelyn stretched out her hand and touched Rex's 
 arm. Her face had a strange, troubled look. 
 
 " I love Roger," she whispered, " but Bessy is so 
 little, so tender. Anything could hurt her. She needs 
 warm clothes of all sorts, she outgrows her things 
 so quickly, and who - can - tell - if " A violent shiv 
 ering seized her. Flinging her head down on the arm 
 of the sofa she burst into terrible sobs. 
 
 It was easy enough for Rex to gather a clear sugges 
 tion of her state of mind from these few distracted 
 words. Who could give her comfort while her imag-
 
 94 WALFORD. 
 
 ination shrank back in fear from the phantoms it cre 
 ated ? It might be easy for any one else to accept the 
 mystery, to say that there could be no clue to the un 
 knowable, but Evelyn could not rest while her soul was 
 blurred and troubled by these sudden terrors, these 
 involuntary convulsions of anguish. While the uncer 
 tainty lasted, the grief, the conflict, the unvoiced re 
 gret, the bitter complaint, the restless presentiments, 
 unrealized dreams, and vague sufferings must go on. 
 What wonder if the mind fed morbidly upon itself ? 
 What wonder if tears were never far from the eyes ? 
 
 Amy could not help being profoundly moved by the 
 tragedy of her sister's sorrow, but we must not blame 
 her if she could not enter into the mother's feelings, 
 even if she sometimes looked on at this changeless 
 sorrow with a sensation of stupefying ennui. Amy ab 
 horred emptiness, negation. The young blood was stir 
 ring in her veins with a longing for movement, action, 
 and the excitement of the congenial work from which she 
 was cut off. Evelyn divined this, and begged her sister 
 not to stay in the unnaturally darkened rooms to which 
 she was condemned, but to go out, find companions, oc 
 cupation, and interests of some kind or another. Thus 
 set free, Amy soon threw herself into energetic action. 
 She established clubs, a cooking and a nursing school ; 
 she was introduced by Mrs. Goodeve to all the latter's 
 prote'ge's, and undertook in particular to regenerate the 
 fanu'ly of a ne'er-do-well, named Sam Porter. 
 
 It was through her more public enterprises that she 
 first found out how practically useful Henry Spencer 
 could make himself. She had necessarily seen him 
 more or less intimately ever since she came to Walford, 
 and had gradually come to associate his animated and
 
 AMY STANDISH. 95 
 
 rather handsome face, with its bright gray eyes and 
 clearly cut features, his crisp, short hair, his well-knit, 
 alert figure, with practical help, and a wonderful execu 
 tive ability in carrying out all her schemes. Like all ar 
 dent enthusiasts, Amy had suffered from the torturing 
 delays and hindrances caused by the indolence and the 
 apathy of her coadjutors, and she now found something 
 miraculous in the ease with which difficulties could be 
 smoothed away so that she was free to spend her 
 strength on her prime objects. 
 
 She was gratefully anxious to do something in return 
 for Spencer's good services, and when she discovered 
 that he had taught himself to read French and German, 
 but could not speak either language, she offered to help 
 him. This intercourse soon became a chief interest in 
 Amy's present life. He was candid with her ; he de 
 scribed his career of struggle ; his determination while 
 a mere boy to overcome circumstances, not to be igno 
 rant and not to be inferior. Amy was clear-sighted, and 
 she saw in Spencer a man of average faculties, but im 
 mense abilities for turning to account every talent he 
 possessed, indefatigable in labor, and capable of any 
 practical effort. His mother had died when he was 
 sixteen, and fighting his way, inch by inch, he had 
 missed more fortunate people's opportunities to look at 
 the finer and better side of life. The poetic, the philo 
 sophic, and, in particular, the highest moral sense was 
 deficient in him, she argued, and here she could help 
 him. From the literature these French and German 
 studies opened up, useful lessons might be gleaned. 
 
 There was many a debateable ground between the 
 two intellects, but their widely differing individualities 
 gave a clear zest to discussion. The instinct which
 
 96 WALFORD. 
 
 with Spencer had shaped every effort had been born of 
 hunger, thirst, greed, covetousness, the desire not to be 
 looked down upon by his fellow-men, but to possess all 
 they had in their power. Amy, on tjie other hand, to 
 whom everything had come easily, longed to atone for 
 her privileges of wealth and culture by sharing them 
 with the poorest. For Spencer not to have dined on 
 twelve courses and drunk Chambertin and Tokay when 
 other men had satisfied their hunger and thirst so ex 
 pensively, was to have a definite ambition ; he meant 
 some day to do the same. Amy had more than once 
 been ready to declare, when she saw depths of poverty 
 and degradation of human misery, that she would never 
 know luxury or joy again. She had had to silence these 
 casuistries of conscience, or to deaden them by the 
 conviction that she needed to be strong and happy 
 in order to have courage for action ; that to carry out 
 the work she had appointed for herself, she must ac 
 cept human conditions in a simple and childlike spirit, 
 disregarding differences, and putting her belief in a 
 Providence which allows reparation and progression. 
 
 Amy might have been called a socialist, while Spen 
 cer was, in all his views, prejudices, and ambitions, a 
 stiff aristocrat. She saw in him all sorts of false ten 
 dencies which she longed to straighten. An experience 
 like his ought to have broadened instead of narrowing 
 him. He had suffered ; he ought to have understood 
 the pain of the world. She plunged deep into the 
 vortex of argument. She was carried away. Her heart 
 beat, her eyes flashed. In her involuntary abandon 
 ment to her theme, the hint of austerity, the frequent 
 touch of hoar-frost in her manner, melted. Such topics 
 may seem impersonal, but when a young man and a
 
 AMY STANDISH. 97 
 
 young woman talk together on any subject it will suffice 
 to interpret one to the other with more or less com 
 pleteness. Spencer was dazzled, more than dazzled, 
 he was charmed. He saw himself in most attractive 
 colors at these signs that she singled him out and dis 
 tinguished him. 
 
 Amy would have considered it a horrible caricature 
 of her feminine privilege, had she been told that the 
 effect her soft, persuasive eloquence had upon Spencer 
 was to show her beauty in new lights, now flashing 
 upon him like a jewel, now withheld, just long enough 
 to make him long for it. Beginning with the attitude 
 of a Juno, she was sure soon to melt and glow, turning 
 to him in an appeal which was directed to his intellect, 
 but instead only touched his emotions. 
 
 She had more than once told Spencer that he was 
 deficient in imagination, and she little suspected to 
 what flights she instigated the fancy she had called 
 limited by sordid and practical considerations. Amy 
 had received two offers of marriage, one from a cousin 
 and the other from an English professor, but it might 
 be said that she had never had a lover. She regarded 
 her cousin Dick as a hobbledehoy, and the professor as 
 an academical abstraction. She had besides identified 
 herself with a work which detached her from the in 
 terests and hopes which other women hold dear. She 
 wished to help Spencer, and probably found him a 
 trifle more piquant than the Porters, for example, on 
 whom she spent far more pains and more actual 
 thought. Spencer gave her a sense of mental freedom 
 which enabled her to discuss all subjects with verve, 
 while the Porters irritated and hindered her. Spencer 
 was everything the Porters were not energetic, ambi-
 
 98 WALFORD. 
 
 tious, and self-respecting ; but her self-imposed thrall- 
 dom to the necessities of the Porters occupied not a 
 little of her time. Sam Porter was a hopelessly incom 
 petent man, who had made his outlook in life all the 
 more hopeless by marrying an incorrigible slattern. 
 Mrs. Porter, who had four children under the age of 
 five, and another momentarily expected, could hardly 
 be expected to profit by the educational privileges 
 which Amy's sewing and cooking schools held out ; 
 accordingly, Amy sewed for her, cooked for her, nursed 
 for her, and when the baby came, promised to stand 
 with Mrs. Goodeve to support the father, who was, for 
 the first time, to be sponsor to his offspring. 
 
 Amy hated a shirk, and Sam Porter was a shirk. He 
 had in early life been taught to read, but by disuse of 
 his intellectual powers reading had become one of his 
 lost arts. He bore the deprivation philosophically. 
 He was humble-minded, and liked to reflect that he 
 was only Sam Porter, and that what he did was of no 
 consequence. To make people discontented with their 
 own inferiority was to Amy the first essential of any 
 hopeful work. She labored hard to show Sam, as by a 
 flash of lightning, how poor he was, how dirty, above 
 all how densely ignorant, hoping that in some moment 
 of irresistible intuition of the joys of a promised land 
 he would begin to improve. Her initiative step must 
 be to invest him with the responsibilities of a parent. 
 This was his first-born son, the other four children were 
 daughters, and he should stand godfather to the boy 
 and read the responses in the service. By this time 
 Sam regarded his benefactress much as he looked upon 
 the weather, something which had to be borne, and 
 which, in spite of buffetings, freezings and meltings,
 
 AMY STANDISH. 99 
 
 lightnings and thunderbolts, occasionally brought inter 
 vals of blue sky and sunshine. Ever since the boy's 
 birth Amy had been drilling Sam in the responses in 
 the baptismal service, and it had been with some 
 pleased surprise that he discovered that the letters, 
 particularly the capitals, were not so unfamiliar as he 
 had supposed, and that after a week's incessant practice 
 he could get through his portion, partly by the aid of 
 his eye and partly by dint of memory, to his own ad 
 miration. 
 
 The baptism was to take place in the middle of the 
 afternoon service the first Sunday in April. From early 
 morning Amy had been at work in the Porter house 
 hold. If order had been evolved out of chaos, it was 
 not the divine, grandiose, cosmogonic order of which 
 she had dreamed, but the compulsory order which comes 
 from a sharp tussle with each and every detail. How 
 ever, at half-past three o'clock Amy had marshaled her 
 forces to the vestry-room, where they were to wait and 
 be joined by Mrs. Goodeve. Mrs. Porter looked very 
 pretty in a suit of Amy's clothes. The baby was in 
 spotless cambric and fast asleep in its mother's arms. 
 Sam was astonishingly well-dressed, well -washed, 
 clipped, shaven, with a broad smile on his lips; and the 
 two eldest children, who were to swell the procession on 
 this great family occasion, were fittingly arrayed; and 
 Amy had done it all. 
 
 But the task had been no light one, and a fever 
 made up of impatience, disillusion, and indignation, 
 had burned in Amy's veins all day. With all her sweet 
 charity, her boundless benevolence, it was painfully 
 irksome to her to have to deal with stupid, incompe 
 tent people. Could she but have shed a few tears, the
 
 IOO WALFOKD. 
 
 nervous tension might have relaxed, but as it was, it 
 reached its crisis when on entering the vestry, instead 
 of finding an ark of refuge in Mrs. Goodeve, she came 
 upon a tall, broad-shouldered young man. 
 
 "Is this Miss Standish?" he said to her. "I am 
 Felix Goodeve. My mother sends her very particular 
 love. My father is not well to-day and she dislikes to 
 leave him. Accordingly she asked me to become her 
 substitute and help Sam out. I have helped Sam out 
 before at a pinch, have n't I, Sam ? " 
 
 " I beg you will not interfere with the service to-day," 
 said Amy peiulantly. 
 
 " I thought I was to hold the child, name it, make 
 the responses, and bring it up in the way it should go," 
 said Felix. "Tell me, however, exactly what I am to 
 do, and I will do it or perish miserably." 
 
 There was a gleam of mischief in the young man's 
 face which Amy resented. 
 
 " Please do nothing, nothing at all except to walk 
 up the aisle to the font," she said with some haughti 
 ness. " I particularly request that you will not help 
 in the responses. Samuel is to take the whole duty on 
 himself, and any interruption might put him out." 
 
 " Very well," said Felix. " I am to be absolutely 
 dumb." 
 
 "Absolutely," said Amy coldly. "If you will walk 
 on we will follow." 
 
 Felix marched in, and held the eyes of the congre 
 gation for five minutes until Amy, leading a shrinking 
 and cowering girl by each hand, followed by Mrs. 
 Porter with the baby, and Sam with his prayer-book, 
 took their places below the chancel steps. 
 
 Mr. Neal, a mild young priest with a melodious,
 
 AMY STANDISH. IOI 
 
 melancholy voice, began the service at once. Sam, it 
 was evident, was doing his best to follow the clergyman 
 conscientiously, but was at some disadvantage, and 
 unless Amy had twice or thrice reminded him to kneel 
 or to rise, he might have missed the minor details of 
 the function. Amy had informed Mr. Neal that Sam 
 was to be the chief and only real sponsor, and there 
 fore when he began pleadingly, 
 
 " Dearly beloved, ye have brought this child here to 
 be baptized," the full weight of the exhortation was 
 addressed to Sam, who, with his eyes glued to the 
 prayer-book, was toiling manfully after the clergyman. 
 
 " I demand, therefore," said Mr. Neal, and here 
 Amy with a touch upon Sam's arm directed his atten 
 tion to the exact place where he was to find the re 
 sponses, and then stepped back a few paces. 
 
 " I demand therefore," said Mr. Neal, " Dost thou, 
 in the name of this child, renounce the devil and all his 
 works, the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all 
 covetous desires of the same, and the sinful desires of 
 the flesh, so that thou wilt not follow, nor be led by 
 them ? " 
 
 The priest paused and waited for the response, but 
 no response came. Sam's eyes were fastened on his 
 book, his features were working, his lips opened and 
 shut, but no word issued. Amy knew the signs j the 
 action of his mind and of his tongue were both a little 
 stubborn, but the answer would be forthcoming in an 
 other moment. She might have prompted him, but 
 was conscious that Felix Goodeve was looking into her 
 face with eyes widened by amused interrogation, and 
 a quick current of indignation ran through her at the 
 incredible impertinence of this stranger's being in the
 
 102 WALFORD. 
 
 place at all. As he continued to gaze at her, she 
 turned upon him fiercely with a shake of her head. 
 Felix at once put his prayer-book in his pocket, folded 
 his arms, and withdrew half a dozen steps. 
 
 By this time the pause had grown long, and Mrs. 
 Porter herself nudged Sam. He nodded with an air of 
 understanding the whole subject and disliking any in 
 terference. His eyes gleamed and his features worked, 
 still no syllable came. 
 
 Mr. Neal was much perplexed : he liked precedents, 
 and felt this situation to be without precedent. He 
 grew nervous, and all he could do was to go on to the 
 next question. 
 
 " Dost thou believe all the articles of the Christian 
 Faith as contained in the Apostles' Creed ? " 
 
 "I renounce them -all," said Sam at the top of his 
 lungs, " and - by - God's - help - will - endeavor - not 
 to - follow, - nor - be - led - by - them." 
 
 It was a terrible moment to Amy. The whole church 
 seemed to be swimming round. She heard Felix 
 Goodeve say in a deep, full voice, " I do," and she 
 could bear no more. She retreated to the vestry, and 
 sat down blinded by tears. It had certainly been a 
 most miserable performance. She was as a rule exempt 
 from the dread of ridicule, but she had a clear perspec 
 tive of Mr. Felix Goodeve's thoughts regarding her im- 
 periousness and self-assertion, for his eyes had a glint 
 which suggested that the comic side of things was far 
 from being lost on him. She had heard a good deal of 
 the young man from Mrs. Goodeve, of whom she had 
 grown very fond. She had expected to like him, and 
 regretted to find him so detestable. He had come like 
 a thief in the night, apparently. She sat with her hand
 
 AMY STANDISH. 103 
 
 over her eyes through the short afternoon discourse 
 endeavoring to tranquilize her nerves, and when at the 
 benediction she mechanically rose, she saw that he had 
 entered the vestry by way of the chapel and was stand 
 ing near her. His presence had to be endured through 
 the hymn and prayer. 
 
 " I am sorry your trouble was not better rewarded," 
 he said, approaching her as the congregation rose inside 
 with a rustle and began to stream out. " I took the 
 Porters home. Sam is immensely proud of the way he 
 stood up to the parson, as he expresses it. Pray don't 
 undeceive him, Miss Standish." 
 
 " He as an incorrrigible shirk," said Amy. " He has 
 been drilled for weeks in his part " She finished 
 with a gesture of angry disdain. 
 
 " He was like a balky gun," said Felix, " primed and 
 loaded, but takes its own time and goes off at an awk 
 ward moment. Don't lay it to heart, Miss Standish. 
 Personally I feel grateful to Sam. I shall have such a 
 good story to tell my mother." 
 
 " If you have no feeling of the sacredness of " she 
 began. 
 
 " Don't make me out a scoffer and an infidel," put in 
 Felix, "at least until you have tried and tested me. I 
 am going to walk home with you, if you will permit 
 me." 
 
 " Many thanks," said Miss Standish with all the 
 grandeur of which she was capable, "but I see Mr. 
 Spencer, and I wished particularly to ask him a ques 
 tion ; so I must beg you to excuse me." 
 
 And not a little to the surprise of Felix Goodeve, she 
 singled out the one individual in Walford whom he 
 really disliked and walked away with him.
 
 VIII. 
 
 FELIX GOODEVE. 
 
 THE postoffice at Walford was, so to speak, the club, 
 the exchange, the forum. The chief mail of the day 
 came in towards evening, and a full half hour before the 
 time a group of men was seen to gather, not with im 
 patience, but with the air of generous leisure which 
 belongs to lookers-on in Vienna or in Walford. They 
 dropped into chairs and benches by the fire in winter, 
 and in summer sat on the bench outside. Personal in 
 terest in the contents of the mail-bag they had little or 
 none. Letters to their womankind were accepted with 
 a shrug, and indifferently consigned to their pockets 
 with a suggestion of being buried in at least temporary 
 oblivion. They glanced at the newspapers, and greeted 
 the news of the world with an air of having predicted 
 it from the beginning. One or two among them were 
 used to pose as wise men : their verdicts were final. 
 No subject was too great, and at the same time nothing 
 was too trivial, for discussion. 
 
 The Monday evening following the incident in the 
 last chapter the usual group had gathered at the post- 
 office, and were talking about the late cold snap which 
 had cut off the hopes of an early spring by nipping 
 buds and killing all the new-born lambs on the moun 
 tain farms. 
 
 " I 've allus heerd," observed Caleb Wooden in his
 
 FELIX GOOD EVE. 105 
 
 high, piping voice, " that when March comes in like a 
 lion it goes out like a lamb, but this year it come in 
 like a lion and went out like the devil, and took all the 
 lambs with it." 
 
 " There 's no truth in proverbs," said Mr. John 
 Weeks. " It is said a peck of dust in March is worth 
 a king's ransom, but I don't think the inhabitants of 
 Walford set any particular store } on the bushels and 
 bushels of dust which go flying up and down betwixt 
 the Baptist and Presbyterian meeting-houses. And it 
 often is so in March." 
 
 " I see that sister o' Mrs. Rexford's a-strugglin' agin 
 the blarst," observed Ben Wooden. " She 's the neat 
 est-footed woman in Walford." 
 
 " Yet it 's said she 's a blue-stocking," observed Mr. 
 Weeks, "and has been to all the colleges in Europe and 
 taken more honors than could be counted. She could 
 be a lawyer, or a doctor, or anything she liked to be." 
 
 " Instead of which she comes here nursin' her sister, 
 which is a sensibler thing to do," said Ben Wooden. 
 
 " I myself don't want no female doctors and no fe 
 male lawyers," piped Caleb. " Women are useful in 
 their place." 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt," said Mr. Weeks with mag 
 nanimity. " Women are a curious sex, now," he added, 
 as if the subject loomed before him inexhaustibly. 
 
 " Curious is the word," said David Coe emphatically. 
 " They 're curious in themselves and curiouser still in the 
 effect they have on a man's ideas. Now if I 'm a work- 
 in' for a man, I go straight along : ef he says anythin' 
 out o' reason, why I 1 know my own trade; and ef he 
 hain't no common sense, why /have an' he sees it. But 
 a woman is always expectin' a carpenter can contrive
 
 IO6 IVAI.l-'OHD. 
 
 to do what can't be done. A man may think that two 
 and two make five, even six, but you can show him he 's 
 wrong. Now a woman ez likely ez not expects that two 
 and two makes a hundred and fifty, ef not, why then it 
 ought to and somebody is wrong. Then the female 
 mind jumps at conclusions. Just for example : I was a 
 doin' odd jobs over at Mrs. Lowry's, and came to re- 
 pairin' her little boy',s rabbit-house. As it happened, a 
 hen had managed to make a nest in the hutch and laid 
 three eggs in it. Mrs. Lowry, who was standin' by 
 givin' me directions, looked at me with eyes as big as 
 saucers when I found the nest. 'Why,' says she, 'I 
 never heard before ez rabbits laid eggs.' Now that 
 just shows the operations of the feminine mind." 
 
 " It '11 be a queer world when women get the upper 
 hand o' things generally," said Dennis Bristol reflec 
 tively. " They say that time 's fast approaching." 
 
 " Who says as woman is a goin' to get the upper 
 hand o' things ? " inquired Caleb Wooden skeptically. 
 
 " You read it everywhere," said Bristol authorita 
 tively. " And if you keep your eyes open, you '11 see 
 that there 's no place where they 're not creeping in. 
 Every man has a weakness for a woman ; I suppose 
 it 's the result of long habit. So when she puts her 
 foot down, he is charitably inclined, stands aside, and 
 yields. I have n't heard of a woman managing a rail 
 road yet, but she runs factories, publishes papers ; she 
 is a lawyer, a doctor, a minister; she keeps store, 
 teaches school, writes books ; is postmaster, school com 
 mittee. In short, she seems ambitious to do everything 
 that man has ever done, and she 1 will do it, sooner or 
 later." 
 
 " You don't really suppose," struck in Caleb Wood-
 
 FELIX GOOD EVE. 1 07 
 
 en's shrill voice, " that here, here in Walford, women 
 will ever run factories, publish papers, be postmasters, 
 and keep store ? " 
 
 " The indications all point that way," said Bristol, 
 with an air of scientific accuracy. " There 's hardly a 
 store in town that has n't got a girl perched up on a 
 stool." 
 
 " I never thought of it before," observed Mr. Weeks ; 
 "it is so." 
 
 "What I want to be clear about," said Caleb sol 
 emnly, " is what this thing leads to." 
 
 " It seems to me easy enough to predict what it will 
 lead to," said Bristol. 
 
 " What '11 become of us men ? " asked Caleb, show 
 ing unmistakable signs of apprehension. 
 
 "You've kept bees, hain't you?" asked Bristol 
 gravely. 
 
 " Why, yes." 
 
 " Did you ever see many bees of the masculine per 
 suasion cluttering up the hive ? " 
 
 " That 's a fact, they do die off," said Caleb with an 
 expression of profound astonishment. " But then," he 
 added hastily as if to escape the fate appointed for his 
 sex by irrefutable logic, " we are not insects." 
 
 Dr. Cowdry had come in for his mail, and, attracted 
 by the fire, approached to warm his stiffened fingers, 
 nodding to one man after another of the group. 
 
 " Any news, doctor ? " inquired Mr. Weeks. 
 
 " Well, no, no particular news." 
 
 " Much sickness ? " 
 
 " A good deal of sickness in different parts of the 
 town, but no very bad cases just at present." 
 
 " I heerd," said Caleb Wooden, " that some New
 
 IO8 WAI. FORD. 
 
 York doctors had been up to look at Mrs. Rexford's 
 eyes." 
 
 " It seemed best to have a specialist, as she does 
 not improve," said Dr. Cowdry, " so Dr. Light came to 
 day." 
 
 " What did he say ? " 
 
 " He says she must not cry any more ; that she is 
 worn out," said Dr. Cowdry dryly. 
 
 "Tears won't bring the child back," observed Caleb. 
 
 " Nothing so unreasonable as a woman's tears," said 
 David Coe. 
 
 " Dr. Light ordered a course of treatment," said Dr. 
 Cowdry, " but he says the nerves are at fault, and that 
 she needs a quiet mind, to get well. He told Mr. Rex- 
 ford he had better take his wife to Europe. That 's the 
 fashionable remedy, but it would not answer here. Of 
 course Roger Rexford can't go, and I doubt if she 
 would go. There is hardly a week when there is not a 
 report of a child's being found somewhere who might 
 turn out to be Bessy. It will be so as long as the re 
 ward is offered. I tell him he had better give up ad 
 vertising a temptation to thieves and liars. I wish with 
 all my heart we knew for certain that Bessy Rexford 
 is dead. Then the trouble would come to an end. 
 As it is, it has to be lived through every day. There can 
 be no relief from it. Nothing can be settled. It's a 
 horrible state of things for a delicate woman, and unless 
 the child is found I am afraid nothing can save the 
 mother." 
 
 " Bessy Rexford '11 never be found now," said Caleb 
 Wooden oracularly. " They did n't go the right way 
 to work. They lost time they " 
 
 " I consider there is a good chance of the child's
 
 FELIX GOODEVE. 1 09 
 
 being found," said Dr. Cowdry irritably, and with a curt 
 good-night he went out. 
 
 " It is a very singular case," said Caleb. " As my 
 wife was a-sayin' yesterday, the Lord is above all ; so we 
 know that dispensations is sent. And when we reflect 
 they are not sent to you or to me, but to people who set 
 themselves up, as it were, an' purtend to be better than 
 their neighbors, why, it is pretty clear what is thought 
 on high of such pride an' vanity." 
 
 " I never accused Mrs. Rexford of setting herself 
 up," said Bristol. " If there was ever a woman in 
 Walford ready with a smile and a word it used to be 
 Mrs. Rexford." 
 
 " Not another woman in Walford rode horses," Caleb 
 insisted. " She kep' three girls to do her work, an' one 
 of 'em was tricked out in a white cap an' apron to 
 look after the child. Nobody else in Walford ever put 
 on such airs, and such judgments as have come upon 
 Mrs. Rexford never happened to anybody else." 
 
 " I Ve heard," timidly ventured a man named Gideon 
 Finch, who had hitherto sat silent but deeply attentive, 
 " that it 's their way at the Rexfords. to change their 
 plates every time they take a fresh helping o' victuals." 
 
 " Knives and forks too," said Caleb in corroboration ; 
 "so my wife says. Such people may flourish for a 
 season." 
 
 " But I should hate to think that pretty creetur was 
 goin' to be blind," said Ben Wooden. 
 
 People had been coming and going, and there had been 
 a momentary lull in the conversation while inquiry was 
 made at the boxes ; observant eyes had noted the num 
 ber of letters allotted to each; then when the outer 
 door clanged again the talk went on as if it had not
 
 1 10 WALFORD, 
 
 been interrupted. But at this moment a young man 
 entered, at whom each one stared in eager curiosity. 
 
 " Felix Goodeve ! " Dennis Bristol ejaculated, and as 
 if the others had only waited for somebody to take the 
 initiative, each repeated the name in every variety of 
 intonation and pressed forward to shake hands with 
 the new-comer, who returned the greetings warmly : 
 
 " How are you, Caleb ? I heard your voice in the 
 street ; it drew me as 't were a nightingale. Ben, too, 
 I 'm glad to see Ben. How do you do, Mr. Weeks ? 
 You have not grown a day older, nor you, Dennis Bris 
 tol. When I used to gcTto school to you I supposed 
 you were a hundred, but now I see we are much the 
 same age. There is nothing like sitting solidly down 
 in Walford and not allowing one's self to be bullied by 
 the outside world, if a man wants to keep young." 
 
 "Now, you've grown older, Felix," said Caleb 
 Wooden, admiringly. 
 
 "Older! I should think so," said the young man. 
 " Life does not stand still out in Colorado, nor is it all 
 beds of roses and amaranthine bowers." 
 
 " I hear you have found silver on your uncle's lands," 
 observed Bristol. " They say there 's no end of min 
 eral wealth in a part of the tract you have been least 
 hopeful about." 
 
 " Many a man's heart has been broken by finding a 
 vein of ore," said Felix philosophically. "We don't 
 intend to break ours. The fight has been to hold our 
 own. Things had got a little mixed, and there were 
 other parties who wanted to ' prospect.' " 
 
 " How do you manage ? " 
 
 " We reestablish the survey, and next we stake our 
 boundaries," said Felix. " Then up jumps a fellow
 
 FELIX GOOD EVE. Ill 
 
 and says, ' This is my claim.' ' You '11 have a lively 
 time getting me off it,' I answer. ' Do you know who 
 I am ? ' he asks. ' No, and don't want to,' say I. ' I 'm 
 Mountain Tim, they call the Invincible. I 've killed 
 my sixteen men easy, and I '11 just trouble you to va 
 cate.' ' Do you t kno\v who I am ? ' I thunder back. 
 ' I 'm Felix Goodeve, the Colorado Terror, with a record 
 of twenty-five, and you will make the twenty-sixth un 
 less you skip in ten seconds.' And he skips," added 
 Felix with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "You don't really mean, now," began Mr. Weeks 
 deprecatingly , " you don't actually intend we should 
 understand that " 
 
 " That I 've killed anybody ? No. I never had to," 
 said Felix. " You see I am tall and I am broad. I 
 rise up slowly, and by the time I reach my full height 
 and look down on my adversary he is apt to wilt." 
 
 Something in the young man's appearance made this 
 account of himself plausible. But the secret of his 
 strength lay probably as much in his glance and the 
 charm of his smile as in his muscle. He had grown 
 up in Walford, and every man of them knew every 
 scrape of the boy whose love of fun had sometimes 
 done him more mischief than his talents had done him 
 good. They assailed him with questions. When had 
 he come ? Had he come back to Walford to stay ? 
 Had he decided to settle down ? Had he got a wife ? 
 Was he going to get a wife ? 
 
 " I reached Walford at sunset Saturday night," said 
 Felix. " I meant to have stopped a week in Chicago, 
 but once started, I wanted to see my mother, and I 
 could n't wait. When I saw the river here and the 
 valley and the hills and the evening sky beyond, I
 
 112 WALhORD. 
 
 made up my mind I had come home to stay, never to 
 go away any more. Everything I left behind, the noise, 
 the hubbub, the smoke, the stamping and crushing 
 mills, the smelting works, the sluicing and washing and 
 turning earth inside out, seems like a horrible night 
 mare. I like this better. I have not got any wife, not 
 a single one. Going to have one ? Of course, I 'm 
 going to have one, without loss of time. I 'm going to 
 marry all the prettiest girls in Walford. That is the 
 way we do things in Utah." 
 
 *' Saw you in church yesterday," put in Mr. Weeks 
 with a chuckle. 
 
 " Teaching Sam Porter to deny the Apostles' Creed 
 and all the articles of the Christian faith," said Dennis 
 Bristol. 
 
 They all began talking about Miss Standish, Miss 
 Standish's enterprises, Miss Standish's inexhaustible 
 patience with the Porters. From this topic they went 
 on to Henry Spencer, whose affairs roused a critical 
 spirit in those he had passed and left behind in his up 
 ward path. They told Felix that Alonzo Sloper was 
 everywhere bragging that his daughter was to marry 
 Spencer, but that the young man himself was running 
 after Miss Standish. From these topics they passed to 
 the Rexford troubles, and every man had his theory 
 concerning little Bessy's disappearance to impart to the 
 new-comer. 
 
 Felix had been little in Walford for the past ten 
 years, but it was easy to see that the man had not out 
 grown the boy who had been in touch with every in 
 terest in the place. He was Felix Goodeve still, they 
 all said to each other after he had left them ; experi 
 ence had not tamed him, success had not spoiled him, 
 and he had kept his heart in the right place.
 
 IX. 
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 " You are twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight, years 
 old, Felix," said Mrs. Goodeve. " That is not very 
 young." 
 
 " I don't consider it altogether kind of you to throw 
 my old age in my teeth," Felix retorted. 
 
 " But you said that you were too young to marry." 
 
 " Perhaps, after all, the difficulty is that I am too old." 
 
 " A man should not live for himself alone," said 
 Mrs. Goodeve. " He should feel that he belongs to 
 the state and to the world, above all that he belongs to 
 some sweet woman, who without him, as he without her, 
 misses all that is best in existence. Should you not 
 like to have a nice little home where you could settle 
 down and find out what you liked best and needed 
 most, and share it all with some lovely young wife who 
 adored you and lived for you ? " 
 
 " Should n't I just ! " said Felix, with a twinkle in his 
 eye. 
 
 " Can it be possible you have never thought of any 
 woman ? " Mrs. Goodeve proceeded. She was sitting at 
 her work-table in the " middle-room," repairing some of 
 the garments her son had brought home, and perhaps 
 the thriftless way in which good flannel and linen had 
 gone to waste for lack of a stitch in time lent earnest-
 
 1 14 WALFORD. 
 
 ness to her views on the undesirability of man's living 
 alone in the world. 
 
 " Never thought of any woman ! " repeated Felix as 
 if with indignation ; " I never think of anything else." 
 
 " Do you mean to say you have beep in love and 
 never told me about it ? " 
 
 " Well, perhaps not what you would call actually in 
 love," said Felix, " but I 've seen some very taking 
 women." 
 
 " Not probably in Colorado." 
 
 " Oh, yes, in Colorado and Montana," said Felix. 
 " There was Kitty Macdougal. She ran a ranch, and 
 raised I can't begin to say how many thousand Jiead of 
 cattle. She had an army of cowboys, whom she kept 
 in order like a drill sergeant. You should have seen 
 her riding a fiery mustang. She never used a side 
 saddle." 
 
 " Do you wish me to understand that you were in 
 timately acquainted with this woman ? " asked Mrs. 
 Goodeve, with some asperity. 
 
 " Well, rather," Felix returned imperturbably. " She 
 bought a few hundred acres of me, and naturally I saw 
 a good deal of her. Besides, ' Kitty's Ranch,' as it is 
 called in that region, was a general rendezvous. She 
 was a handsome woman : bright red cheeks, plump, 
 cheerful, always with a smile on her face. She always 
 reminded me a little of you, mother." 
 
 " Thank you. The way you describe her is not 
 exactly my notion of myself. The least imaginative 
 woman has an ideal. But no matter, go on. What 
 became of Miss Kitty Macdougal ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Kitty Macdougal. She was a widow per 
 haps several widows in one. All went on smoothly
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 1 15 
 
 until some of her cowboys got into bad company and 
 were fleeced by some gamblers over at Eagle's Brook. 
 This roused Kitty's ire. She mounted her mustang, rode 
 over to Eagle's Brook followed by her cowboys, and 
 entering the gambling den she covered the dealer and 
 banker each with a six-shooter and demanded the money 
 they had won of her men. The gamblers flung up their 
 hands, confessed the cheat, and offered to refund. In 
 fact, they were trembling for their lives, as the cowboys 
 had brought ropes and threatened to lynch the rascals. 
 Kitty saved their lives, took all the money into her own 
 possession, and the sharpers were chased out of Eagle's 
 Brook without a cent in their pockets." 
 
 " She is evidently a woman of executive ability," re 
 marked Mrs. Goodeve, feeling that something must be 
 conceded. " Still, I should not like to have her for a 
 daughter-in-law." 
 
 " I was afraid you might object," said Felix, " so I 
 never asked her to marry me. Besides, just at that time 
 I had to go to Idaho, and I fell in with the Kansas 
 Nightingale." 
 
 " What was the Kansas nightingale ? " 
 
 " It was a remarkably handsome young woman, so 
 handsome and captivating I could have sat and smiled 
 at her for a week. Her name was Isabel Prince, or so 
 she said. She had a voice like a bugle. You should 
 have heard her sing ' Annie Laurie.' The unlucky 
 thing about her was that she had a temper." 
 
 " Did she fall out with you ? " 
 
 " Fortunately it was another man she fell out with. 
 He attempted to criticise her singing, and she shot him 
 dead." 
 
 "Felix Goodeve! You don't mean to say you ever 
 had anything to do with a woman who killed a man ! "
 
 Il6 WALFORD. 
 
 " My dearest mother, you don't begin to realize the 
 capabilities of your sex for taking care of themselves. 
 You are cribbed, limited by a conventional two-inch 
 rule. You consider that a woman is a tender flower, 
 an exotic. Once I was going from Fair Gulch to 
 Evan's Dam in a stage-coach, which carried only one 
 other passengtr, the prettiest woman I ever saw in my 
 life, with a soft, sad smile and beautiful gazelle-like 
 eyes. She was well-dressed, too, and talked capitally. 
 I had not seen an attractive woman for six months, and 
 I was charmed, charmed ? I was fascinated, carried 
 away, bewitched. She was going on, and nothing but 
 the direst necessity could have forced me to leave her 
 at Evan's Dam, except that I had been sent for to stop 
 some trouble at the mines, so was compelled to bid her 
 adieu. I told her how heart-broken I was, and she 
 gave me a tender glance and a sweet, sad little half 
 smile, and confessed that she, too, was sorry. ' Be 
 sides,' I went on chivalrously, 'it's a rough region 
 you 're coming to ; I hate to think of your being alone 
 and unprotected. Don't you feel a little timid ? ' At 
 this she whipped a pair of revolvers out of her pocket 
 and put one at her right hand and the other at her 
 left. ' No, sir-ee,' she replied. ' I 'm not afraid. I 
 know how to take care of myself, you bet. I 'm a crack 
 shot." 
 
 " You got over your sentimental regrets at leaving 
 her, I hope." 
 
 " She was a deliciously pretty woman, nevertheless. 
 You must not be prejudiced. You see you have not 
 had to battle with a hard world. You ought to feel for 
 unluckier women. While I was coming East last week, 1 
 fell in with a handsome young creature, who confided to
 
 MOTHER AND SON. II? 
 
 me that she was going home to Missouri to get a di 
 vorce. She added that she had twice before obtained 
 a divorce, and in each case had married within twenty- 
 four hours after the decree was granted. I politely 
 remarked that I could easily predict the same result 
 would happen the third time. She gave me a soul- 
 stirring glance, and said with a clear note of regret in 
 her voice that no, there was nobody now, and she did 
 not feel sure what her family would think of her break 
 ing off with her present husband without having first 
 secured another." 
 
 " What did you say to her ? " 
 
 " What could a fellow say except that he was at her 
 disposal ? " 
 
 " Felix, you did not say that ? " 
 
 " Well, no, you were at the end of my journey, so 
 I put on a stiff upper lip and resisted temptation." 
 
 Mrs. Goodeve had dropped her work, and was look 
 ing at her son with a mingling of pride and anxiety. 
 
 " I never realized before what I meant when I prayed 
 for all who travel by land or water," she said devoutly. 
 " I feel all the more keenly that you must have a good 
 little wife." 
 
 Felix leaned towards his mother and kissed her. 
 
 " Find me just such a woman as you are," said he, 
 " and I '11 marry her." 
 
 " We are too much alike. There ought to be a little 
 incompatibility between husband and wife. Suppose I 
 was just like your father." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " 
 
 " There is Mrs. Root. She is modest, economical, 
 and never feels that she deserves a new dress or bon 
 net, and her husband is also modest and economical
 
 Il8 WAI. FORD. 
 
 and never has the grace to insist that she shall be 
 well dressed, so the poor woman never makes a decent 
 appearance. You see they are too compatible. Then 
 there are the Porters, also of one mind in a house, 
 both lazy shirks, both putting off everything until the 
 morrow." 
 
 " You have convinced me," remarked Felix. " I am 
 big, disorderly, extravagant, say more in a minute than 
 I can stand to in a month, accordingly I require a 
 diminutive, neat, thrifty, precise woman, who holds her 
 tongue from one year's end to the other." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," said Mrs. Goodeve anx 
 iously. " What kind of a woman do you like best in 
 your secret heart ? " 
 
 " One exactly like my mother." 
 
 " I mean next best, you flatterer ! " 
 
 " Next best ? I fancy that must be a clinging, help 
 less, pretty creature." 
 
 " No tyrant on earth so despotic as a clinging, help 
 less, pretty creature." 
 
 " Then I won't marry one. I don't want a tyrant. I 
 prefer to do the tyrannizing. I crave softness, infinite 
 sweetness, in a woman." 
 
 Mrs. Goodeve looked at her son with eyes widened 
 by speculation. 
 
 "Felix," she asked, "how do you like Miss Stan- 
 dish?" 
 
 " Can't bear her," said Felix. 
 
 " Oh, don't say that." 
 
 "Never in all my life was I snubbed, browbeaten, 
 trodden upon, as I have been by that girl 1 " 
 
 " It was unlucky that you saw her first when she was 
 put out by the Porters. Confess, at least, that she is 
 handsome."
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 1 19 
 
 " No doubt of that," said Felix. He jumped up and 
 strode about as if excited. " The question to my mind 
 would be whether such good looks could redeem her 
 temper, or whether such a temper would spoil her good 
 looks." 
 
 " I have known her eighteen months, and I am in 
 love with her." 
 
 " I have known her a week, so you cannot expect me 
 to be in love with her," said Felix, resuming his seat. 
 " If she were like Mrs. Rexford, now, that might be an 
 easy matter." 
 
 " Amy is not like Evelyn," said Mrs. Goodeve 
 thoughtfully, " but she is just as sweet and just as wo 
 manly. She is fond of children, not alone the clean, 
 prettily-dressed ones, but of dirty, ragged little crea 
 tures, whom she delights to take hold of, wash, comb, 
 smooth out, and make happy with a toy or a bit of 
 candy." 
 
 " Poor things ! " said Felix, with a mischievous 
 glance. " I know she rubs their noses the wrong way 
 when she washes their faces." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind. She is born with an irre 
 sistible knack. You should have seen her go into 
 Jimmy McCann's house one day. She and I were out 
 together and met the seven McCann children all in a 
 string, and one of them asked her for a penny. ' I '11 
 give each one of you a penny,' said Amy, ' if you will 
 go home and wash your faces.' They trooped off on 
 the instant, serious as could be, and we followed to see 
 what would come of it. We found them entreating 
 their mother to give them a basin and water and a 
 towel. Mrs. McCann was scolding them for the fine 
 airs they were putting on when we appeared. She com-
 
 I2O WALFORD. 
 
 plained to us of the trouble she had in keeping them 
 clean. ' Now, Mrs. McCann,' said Amy, ' let me show 
 you how to manage.' She found a basin, and she her 
 self scrubbed the basin, then managed to provide some 
 thing for a towel. She did not content herself with 
 washing the children's faces; she cleaned them from 
 head to foot. Then she insisted just to show Mrs. 
 McCann how easy it was on making the Irish stew 
 herself, setting the table, and making ready for Jimmy 
 to come home. Jimmy McCann enjoyed his dinner 
 so much that he insisted on his wife's going to the 
 cooking -school, and the children's chief delight ever 
 since has been to show Amy how clean and shining 
 their faces are." 
 
 Felix had listened intently. " How does she happen 
 to know Henry Spencer so well ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, that troubles me. For after all it is the mer 
 est accident. She undertook to teach him French and 
 German and other things." 
 
 " Yes, other things, no doubt of that. Spencer treads 
 on air when he is with her. It is amazing to come 
 back and find him the elegant individual he has turned 
 out. Is Miss Standish going to marry him ? " 
 
 " Marry him ? Never. Besides, Henry Spencer has 
 been engaged to Leo Sloper for years," said Mrs. Good- 
 eve. " I should like Amy to know the fact, but it was 
 confided to me as a profound secret. She would be in 
 dignant if I told her she was monopolizing a man who 
 ought to be wrapped up in another girl." 
 
 "Ought to be, perhaps, but he is actually wrapped 
 up in Miss Standish, just as she is in him." 
 
 "I tell you, Felix, she only thinks of helping him. 
 She is run away with by the idea of giving every
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 121 
 
 person a chance to live out his or her life," said Mrs. 
 Goodeve, with a note of indignation. " She longs to 
 regenerate the human race, to have mankind begin 
 over again." 
 
 " So she experiments on Spencer." 
 
 " Ah, that rankles, evidently." 
 
 "Nonsense." 
 
 " I only wish it might rankle. I only wish it might 
 go far enough to make you jealous. I hate to see Amy 
 making a mistake and running the risk of enduring a 
 sharp mortification one of these days. I should be de 
 lighted if you would cut away the ground from beneath 
 Henry Spencer's feet, take his place with her, make 
 yourself useful and " 
 
 " I should be sorry if I could shrink into any place 
 which he had been able to fill satisfactorily." 
 
 " I call that conceit." 
 
 " I call it innate consciousness of superiority." 
 
 " Show your superiority by pleasing Amy Standish 
 better than he does," said Mrs. Goodeve. " I don't 
 care about the sort of superiority which has to be ac 
 cepted at the owner's valuation. I like the world's 
 stamp of success on men." 
 
 It was plain to Mrs. Goodeve that from the moment 
 the conversation turned on Amy Standish her son had 
 shown not only an intense interest, but a sort of physi 
 cal disquiet. He was again striding about restlessly. 
 After a short pause he turned, and looking at his mother 
 with an air of taking in fresh bearings of the situation 
 with lightning-like rapidity, he said, 
 
 " You say he is really engaged to the Sloper girl ? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 He was silent a moment ; then he burst out : "If
 
 1 22 WALFOKD. 
 
 it were anybody in the world except Henry Spencer I 
 might like to try a tilt with him. I should like to 
 see if there is any softness in that proud girl. But I 
 can't put myself in competition with that fellow." He 
 flushed as he spoke, the light in his eyes deepened, 
 and his lips quivered. He made the tour of the room, 
 then, returning, pulled a chair close to his mother, and 
 in a soft voice, as if continuing the same subject, said, 
 " Mother, do you suppose there is any chance of little 
 Bessy Rexford's being found ? Roger told me yesterday 
 he had not given up the '.jope yet." 
 
 " I have not given up the hope," said Mrs. Goodeve. 
 " Still, I sometimes feel nowadays that perhaps we have 
 killed Evelyn between us by making her believe there 
 is a chance of Bessy's being alive." 
 
 "Oh, poor girl !" said Felix. Tears had started to 
 his eyes. " It is bitter, it is beyond words. I remem 
 ber when Roger brought her home to Walford. She 
 changed all my thoughts of woman in a moment. When 
 you took me to call on her, she wore a white dress with 
 pink ribbons. Then you invited her here to tea, and 
 she came in blue, azure blue, and she had on little blue 
 kid slippers and blue stockings. I used to lie awake 
 nights and try to decide whether, if ever I had a wife, 
 I should prefer she should wear white with pink rib 
 bons or pale blue. When I remembered how the rose- 
 colored ribbons matched the color on Mrs. Rexford's 
 cheeks, I wanted the white and pink. But then when 
 it came over me how the blue silk stockings fitted over 
 the insteps and ankles, I was ready to choose the blue." 
 
 " Upon my word ! " 
 
 "And now she is stricken, childless, and almost blind." 
 He started up. " Mother," he exclaimed, " I feel as if
 
 MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 I longed to set out and search the world over for that 
 child." 
 
 " Plenty of us have felt the same way," said Mrs. 
 Goodeve. They sat silent, their thoughts narrowed 
 down to the problem of poor Evelyn.
 
 X. 
 
 SPENCER. 
 
 A MAN cannot always remember that the race he runs 
 is for life and not a mile heat. Spencer had at an early 
 age made up his mind to choose only the friends who 
 were in a position to help him on in his career, yet he 
 had been so inconsistent as to make love to a girl with 
 neither money nor family. He could only justify his 
 weakness by arguing that he had never pledged himself 
 irrevocably, and thus might easily break off the entan 
 glement if he found it inconvenient. What he had felt 
 when he made his conditional promise was that if he 
 were ever in a position to support a wife he wanted to 
 marry the prettiest girl in Walford, and at that time he 
 thought his most fastidious demands answered by Miss 
 Leo Sloper. 
 
 Her name was Leonora, but " Leo " better suited the 
 sprightly aspect of the young lady. She had a daz- 
 zlingly white skin, a brilliant color on cheeks and lips, 
 bright hair of reddish gold, and finely cut features of 
 what had in the days of his infatuation seemed to 
 Spencer the purest patrician type. Her hands were 
 small and white as if cut in alabaster, her slight figure 
 was pretty and graceful. Then, too, a saucy, aggressive 
 quality characterized every article of dress Miss Sloper 
 put on. Her hats, her ribbons, her muffs, her tippets.
 
 SPENCER. 125 
 
 her clasps and buckles, the bangles on her wrist, the 
 very heels of her boots, seemed as it were to rankle in 
 the imaginations of her admirers. Her hats and bon 
 nets were invariably surmounted by birds ; the head 
 of some animal set off her muff ; the boa round her 
 throat suggested a sinuous creature itself coiled there. 
 Some people are repelled by such savage ornaments, 
 but to Leo these trophies seemed naturally to belong to 
 beauty. She had heard of a woman whose ball-gown 
 was decorated by two hundred dead canary birds, and 
 the idea had not a little charm for her, only as blue 
 was her favorite color she would have preferred that 
 the sacrifice should be a flock of jays. 
 
 The circumstances of her family were depressing, but 
 Leo had never been depressed. " I will rise above 
 them all," she had always said to herself, with a toss of 
 her pretty head, when she encountered any rebuff from 
 her more prosperous neighbors. The dull present was 
 merely a stupid experience, to be endured until some 
 great piece of good fortune should fall into her lap. 
 The moment she met Henry Spencer she recognized 
 the man whose alchemy was to convert her dull lead 
 into gold, her cravings into substance. 
 
 Even when Spencer had been most ready to commit 
 himself unalterably to Leo, he had shuddered at the 
 thought of her family. Many a lover has plaintively 
 asked, like the enamored swain in the old ballad : 
 
 " Can such folks the parents be 
 Of such a girl as Sally ? " 
 
 Mr. Alonzo Sloper, did not, it is true, imitate Sally's 
 father, make cabbage-nets, and cry them in the street. 
 We regret to explain, he did nothing so creditable. For
 
 126 WALFOKD. 
 
 many a year he had been on the downhill side of life. 
 The descent had been no steep one, rather an easy de 
 cline from what was half failure at the beginning. Still 
 Leo inherited her aspirations from her father, who had 
 lost one position after another from his habits of tip 
 pling, and now looked forward with irrepressible hope 
 fulness to the triumph of certain cherished communistic 
 ideas. " The present system of society is a failure," he 
 was in the habit of saying, as he fastened his coat over 
 his fat paunch by the one remaining button, "but we 
 shall live to see a better state of things." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Sloper had no aspirations, unless perhaps 
 an unvoiced longing sometimes thrilled her to be over 
 and done with a world which had brought her only 
 trouble. Her whole look suggested a half lethargy of 
 despair and impotence. She was thin, colorless, and 
 dispirited, not only in face but in figure. Since her 
 early married life she had never been seen to wear any 
 new article of apparel. It was a Walford conundrum 
 where she could have found such a succession of faded 
 and shabby gowns. Not, however, that she was often 
 seen : she never lifted the latch of her own gate, and if 
 a neighbor came into her house she fled precipitately 
 and sat on the back steps until the visit was over. 
 Fugitive glimpses of the hard-working woman hanging 
 up clothes on the line, carrying buckets of water or 
 armfuls of wood, were all that Walford people gained 
 of Mrs. Sloper. She was nevertheless respected even 
 more than pitied. Not even the narrowest of bigots 
 was inclined to refuse her the Kingdom of Heaven, she 
 had had such an unhappy time on earth. 
 
 " Mother is so old-fashioned," was Leo's phrase. 
 There can be no doubt that the young lady herself was
 
 SPENCER. 127 
 
 of the very newest fashion. She and Spencer had first 
 met at a picnic given by Mrs. Goodeve at Compounce 
 Pond. She had duly followed up the acquaintance, 
 and soon the tumble-down house seemed to expect, 
 watch, and wait for Spencer. He could not keep away 
 from it. " Heavens and earth," he used to say to him 
 self when he encountered red-nosed, fuddled old Sloper, 
 anxious to discuss socialism, of which he was a zealous 
 apostle, "what a father!" And when in far reaches 
 and dim vistas he caught sight of Mrs. Sloper's be 
 draggled calico, he would murmur, " What a mother ! " 
 
 The poverty, the unthrift, the meagre possibilities of 
 such an existence revolted him, yet he was at first moved 
 to admiration at the buoyancy with which Leo escaped 
 from the inferiority of her position. He hated and 
 scorned poverty : he knew too well what it was. He saw 
 in her something of his own spirit which made her ready 
 to defy and overcome disadvantages. Although Spen 
 cer was a fly with a lively presentiment of the dangers 
 lurking in the pretty parlors of spiders, he had pres 
 ently found himself caught. He insisted that there 
 should be no positive engagement, saying with most 
 unlover-like decision that he could not be in a position 
 to marry for five years at least. Leo had bewitched him, 
 yet he was never wholly satisfied about the wisdom of 
 his decision. After he had seen Miss Standish Leo's 
 imperfections, hitherto vague, became more sharply 
 defined. A demon of discontent started to life in his 
 brain as soon as he was brought in contact with a girl 
 of such widely differing characteristics. 
 
 Amy had tried to correct Spencer's false ideas and 
 tendencies, little knowing what a twist she was giving 
 to what had hitherto been cherished ideals. He had
 
 1 28 WALFORD. 
 
 once considered Leo miraculously pretty : she now 
 appeared to him doll-like and inane; he had fondly 
 believed that she dressed well : it now became evident 
 that she chose what women of taste have a quick in 
 stinct to avoid. He had credited her with a sprightly 
 wit : how crude she now showed herself, how trivial, 
 above all, how flippant ! 
 
 When the half-gods go, the gods appear. Spencer 
 knew very well with whom he was in love now. Had 
 he been free, Amy must soon have awakened to the 
 fact that she had thrown a fire-brand into dry fuel. 
 As it was, he kept down every show of ardor with an 
 iron resolution. He had triumph enough for the present 
 in the conviction that Miss Stanclish appreciated him 
 at his true value. Events must take their course. He 
 knew how to wait. " I have resolved to run when I 
 can, to walk when I cannot run, and to creep when I 
 cannot walk," might have been said to be his motto. 
 The civilized man, according to his creed, is civilized 
 because he knows how to conceal the ferocity of his 
 appetite. He toys with knives and forks instead of 
 snatching at and tearing his food ; he keeps his hands 
 from picking and stealing ; he pays compliments to a 
 woman, listens admiringly to her most faulty logic, even 
 goes on his knees to her, when his instinct would be 
 to carry her off and impose a grate and veil on her. 
 Spencer was incapable of understanding that a hungry 
 man may be patient of restraints, that a man in love 
 may be humble and disinterested, that a poor man does 
 not long to get at his neighbor's strong box. 
 
 But laws and conventionalities do exist, and Spencer 
 knew how to obey. He veiled the gleam of his bold 
 bright eyes before Amy, although he intended to marry
 
 SPENCER. 1 29 
 
 her as soon as he was safe from Leo Spencer. Some 
 how matters would adjust themselves. Everybody 
 knows that until a man is actually married everything 
 in his lot is conditional. When he had told Leo he 
 should like to make her Mrs. Henry Spencer, he had 
 not seen Miss Standish. He was enormously grateful 
 to the latter for offering him new sensations and fresh 
 capacities. Although he had seen her intimately, he had 
 not yet mastered the whole secret, could not fully decide 
 whether she were absolutely candid and in earnest or 
 trying to impress him. He liked to believe that she 
 was subtle and something of a coquette. She stirred 
 his perceptions, and represented for him the acme of 
 civilization. He was eager to attain new refinements. 
 
 It had piqued Spencer's vanity not a little that Miss 
 Standish showed a clear preference for his society after 
 Felix Goodeve came back to Walford. He had dreaded 
 this young man's return. The two had grown up to 
 gether, and had not a few memories in common, some 
 of which humbled Spencer to the dust. The Goodeves 
 had been his own and his mother's benefactors. Felix 
 had been little at home for more than ten years. He 
 had gone through a course at Harvard, and at the law 
 school. Then, soon after he entered a law-office, his 
 uncle had died, leaving Mrs. Goodeve a large property 
 in Colorado and Montana, which for a time at least re 
 quired vigilant supervision. Accordingly her youngest 
 son had gone West. 
 
 Felix, as we have seen, did not like Spencer. Still, it 
 was necessary that a representative of the Goodeve in 
 terests, himself a partner in the Rexford Manufacturing 
 Company, should meet the superintendent every day, 
 confer with him, go about the shops with him, look over
 
 1 30 WALFORD. 
 
 the books, and, putting away any private feeling and 
 prepossession, look at affairs calmly, and find out why 
 Rexford's was making no money, had made no money 
 for three years. 
 
 " You have plenty of orders," he said to Spencer. 
 " You are working full time. Yet you don't make a 
 cent." 
 
 "That 's just where business is," said Spencer. 
 
 "What is it ? Competition ? " 
 
 "Yes, it's competition. There's too much enter 
 prise in the world now too much supply, too little 
 demand. High-priced materials and low-priced manu 
 factures are the fashion, and there 's no profit." 
 
 " I don't understand it," said Felix. 
 
 " I do," said Spencer almost savagely. " We ought 
 to be reducing wages, but we don't dare do it. There 
 has been talk among the men of an increase instead. 
 They believe that everything is going on swimmingly. 
 They don't realize that since the enormous expense of 
 new buildings and machinery we have never yet got 
 fairly to work." 
 
 " I don't like the situation at all," said Felix. His 
 voice was quick, his accent peremptory, his eye clear, 
 and his whole countenance wore an expression of in 
 dignation. 
 
 " Who does ? " returned Spencer drily. " The only 
 consolation is that most manufacturers stand just where 
 we stand, accepting the least possible margin of profit, 
 content if they can keep good feeling among their men 
 and good credit abroad. There has been over-produc 
 tion. All the markets are glutted, and we have got to 
 wait for reaction." 
 
 " It is simply a case of standing out against a siege, 
 I should say," said Felix.
 
 SPENCER. 131 
 
 " I have sometimes felt this last year as if it were 
 more like a man in a marsh who, when he finds his 
 footing sinking under him, jumps to the next bog, gain 
 ing a temporary safety, even though it, in its turn, will 
 shortly sink under him." 
 
 " What can help us ? " asked Felix. 
 
 " Nothing but time and opportunity." 
 
 " Not money ? " 
 
 Spencer shook his head. " Such matters are outside 
 of my jurisdiction," he said. " As it is, I often feel 
 that I am assuming powers not my own. Mr. Rexford 
 has been terribly preoccupied with his private griefs." 
 
 " There is something I have a little curiosity about," 
 said Felix. He had folded his arms, and leaning on 
 the table, bent a square penetrating glance upon Spen 
 cer. " I understand the terms of Madam Van Polanen's 
 will," he said deliberately. " Next October, unless the 
 child has been found meantime, which begins to seem 
 improbable, her money all goes to build a hospital. 
 Will the loss touch Rexford's ? " 
 
 Spencer's eyes wavered a moment, then fell. " Tell 
 me everything you know about it," said Felix. " It will 
 be better. We Goodeves have got a heavy stake in this 
 concern." 
 
 " I know you have," Spencer replied smoothly. " As 
 far as I know Madam Van Polanen sold out when the 
 new company was formed. I am sure her name is 
 not on the books. I don't see how her estate can be 
 mixed up with the affairs of the company." 
 
 This evasive answer carried no weight, still it gave 
 Felix relief. His intercourse with Spencer had cleared 
 his mind of many of his former impressions ; the super 
 intendent had seemed candid, acute, with no reticence,
 
 132 W A WORD. 
 
 or equivocations on doubtful points. Any suspense 
 would be ended in a few months, and it was as well to 
 accept patiently the trying conditions. Since action 
 must be postponed, it was best to suspend decisive 
 conviction, and he did not trouble even his mother with 
 his perplexities. In old days the Rexford Manufactur 
 ing Company had been managed very differently, and 
 Felix confessed to himself that possibly what at present 
 seemed lacking were merely the solemnities of self-im 
 portance of the old-fashioned president and board of 
 managers, the hearings, auditings, and resolutions at 
 the monthly meetings, all of which had been conducted 
 with a ponderous gravity impressive to his youthful 
 mind. Mr. Goodeve and Mr. Lowry, the two survivors 
 of the old state of things, never entered the works now 
 adays. At present it was a one-man power. 
 
 " Mr. Lowry says he always has a fresh touch of 
 rheumatism if he comes into the place, and I suppose 
 your father gets more amusement out of his history 
 than he does out of the business," Roger Rexford said 
 to Felix when the latter alluded to these changes. 
 
 " I don't know about amusement," said P'elix. " He 
 is in the clutches of his Idea, and I fear his Idea is too 
 much for him. It swells out like the genie released 
 from the bottle. He wants to get it compressed into 
 three volumes, but let him condense, abridge, cut down, 
 and erase, he nas still enough for seven. Who, he asks 
 plaintively, is likely to buy a history of the Connecti 
 cut Colony in seven volumes ? " 
 
 " I wanted to get him to come here one day each 
 week," said Roger. " But he said the noise of the 
 machinery made his head ache. Then he tried to look 
 in the first Monday in each month, but even that was 
 too much of an effort."
 
 . SPENCER. 133 
 
 "The Goodeves don't like practical matters. My 
 Uncle John was telling me what a tax business is," said 
 Felix. " He feels that he is driven to death. An old 
 friend came and asked him to become a director in an 
 insurance company. ' But I know nothing about the 
 duties or the methods of an insurance company,' said 
 Uncle John. ' That is exactly what we want,' replied 
 his friend ; ' you have no prepossessions, no preju 
 dices. We do not like innovations and new ideas. We 
 desire to go on in the old way.' ' But I know nothing 
 about the old way,' said my uncle. 'It is very simple. 
 We have a business-meeting once a month.' ' I hate 
 business - meetings,' said Uncle John ; ' they bore me 
 to death. I gave up my place on two boards because 
 every month I had to sit three hours at business-meet 
 ings, and I could not stand it.' ' But then,' said the 
 other, ' our business-meetings only last ten or fifteen 
 minutes. The last one was something out of the com 
 mon and ran to twenty, but that shall not happen 
 again.' 'Do you mean to say,' said -my uncle, 'that 
 you take all the pains to attend a meeting once a month 
 which is over in a quarter of an hour ? ' ' Oh, afterwards 
 we dine.' ' Oh, the directors dine together ! ' ' Yes, 
 we dine, and that is, in point of fact, the chief object 
 of our meetings.' ' I suppose, then,' put in Uncle John, 
 ' that all the business is performed by committees. I 
 detest committees. They always put me on committees 
 and I have to do all the work.' ' We have only one 
 committee,' said the man, ' and we call that the com 
 mittee on furnishing.' ' A committee on furnishing,' 
 said Uncle John, ' furnishing what ? ' ' They furnish 
 the wines.' ' Oh,' said Uncle John, ' they furnish the 
 wines ! ' "
 
 1 34 WALFORD. . 
 
 " That is your Uncle John Goodeve in Philadelphia. 
 He became a director, no doubt." 
 
 " Yes, but he complains of the dinners, they are so 
 long. He says it takes him two days to get over one 
 of them." 
 
 " I should like to change places with him for a 
 year," said Roger gloomily, without a glint of answer 
 ing humor. 
 
 Felix spent half his time at the works. Roger gave 
 him a little office next his own, and the two men, 
 thrown together in this way, became, if not intimate, 
 used to each other. Felix had to a certain degree 
 known Roger all his life, and was not slow to detect 
 the absence of just the attributes he had believed to be 
 characteristic of him, that is, a habit of quick decision, 
 boldness in conceiving plans, and steady persistence in 
 executing them. The apathy and inaptitude for affairs 
 which Roger now displayed could easily be ascribed 
 to the uncertainty, grief, and apprehension which the 
 loss of the child had brought upon him. He evidently 
 leaned on Spencer, and spared himself trouble in all 
 ways. The superintendent, Felix was ready to admit, 
 proved himself acute and zealous, but there was a 
 certain commonness of mind and tone about him, a 
 want of dignity in his conduct of affairs, an insensibility 
 to the higher aspects and finer responsibilities of busi 
 ness, which, Felix believed, must lower the standing of 
 the company. 
 
 " I wish, Mr. Rexford," Felix said to him one day, 
 " that you would take your wife and go to Europe for 
 six months." 
 
 Roger turned his chair round and faced Felix. 
 
 " What for ? " he asked. " Not but that it is the 
 advice everybody gives me."
 
 SPEAKER. 135 
 
 "You both require a complete change." 
 
 " No doubt of that," said Roger. His face and tone 
 expressed a peculiar bitterness. " How could I get 
 away? " 
 
 " Spencer is efficient, and I will do what I can." 
 
 "You don't understand," said Roger. " We have to 
 eat, drink, sleep, read the newspapers, and talk of indif 
 ferent matters, but we are living through a crisis not 
 ended yet. Sometimes Evelyn brightens up in the 
 evening and makes me almost merry. I go to bed in 
 tolerable spirits and to sleep, then waking up suddenly 
 I find that my wife has gone from my side. I follow 
 her ; I know only too well where she is, she is crouch 
 ing among Bessy's things, crying as if her heart would 
 break, and murmuring, ' Oh, my lamb, my little tender 
 white lamb, my angel, she is alone, only four years old 
 and alone somewhere, no father, no mother.' " He 
 broke off almost more at the sight of Felix's emotion 
 than his own. " Don't, don't ! " he said. " I ought not 
 to have disclosed the skeleton in my house, but there 
 it is." 
 
 " It is killing your wife." 
 
 " Don't I see that ? " said Roger. " That she is los 
 ing her sight is at least no fiction imposed by my 
 dread." 
 
 " A change will do her good." 
 
 Roger had risen and gone to the open window, and 
 now sat down on the ledge. 
 
 " The battle is here," he said. " Here and here only 
 it has got to be fought out. I begin to feel that we 
 are beaten. When all is lost, then we can crawl away 
 somewhere out of sight." 
 
 " You have stopped advertising a reward, I see."
 
 1 36 WALFOKD. 
 
 "Yes, the detectives advised it." 
 
 " They are still at work ? " 
 
 " At work, yes ; I have news every day of some sort. 
 I lie awake half the night waiting for the morning to 
 come, eager to have my breakfast, reach my office, and 
 find my letters. Who knows what they may contain ? 
 Every time a telegram comes in fate seems to be knock 
 ing at the door. When the chances of the morning are 
 passed I look forward to the evening mail. Then I 
 breathe only in the thought that night will be over and 
 daylight break." 
 
 Felix shrewdly guessed that some carking financial 
 anxieties lent a sting to Roger Rexford's suspense. 
 No plummet could reach the bottom of such a sea of 
 trouble. Felix did not again try to sound it. He en 
 deavored instead to meet the emergency by showing a 
 faith, a cordial optimism, a fixed belief in some better 
 state of things, and here he found himself working 
 shoulder to shoulder with Spencer, who was doing his 
 best to sustain Roger and keep his hope alive that 
 some news of the little girl would shortly come. 
 
 Felix found his prejudices against the superintendent 
 dropping one by one. It was evident that the latter 
 kept himself in touch with whatever was moving the 
 men, and used his influence wisely. One day he over 
 heard this conversation between Spencer and O'Noole, 
 the foreman in the foundry. 
 
 "I suppose," said Spencer, "you would n't mind my 
 dropping in." 
 
 " Any man 's free to come," returned O'Noole, " but 
 it's a workingmen's club, not a sort of gilt edge 
 workingmen's club, but the rale article." 
 
 "I am a workingman myself," said Spencer, "and
 
 SPENCER. 137 
 
 by no means a gilt-edged specimen. I Ve been below 
 the poorest of you, and if I have risen it is because I 
 have been willing to work harder than any of you. 
 I '11 go to-night and see what you are talking about." 
 
 "To-night will be a foine time," said O'Noole. " Be- 
 resky is going to spake." 
 
 Spencer laughed good-naturedly. " I thought you 
 said you were all workingmen. Beresky is not a work- 
 ingman. He is a talking-man. I don't believe he 
 has earned a week's wages in twenty years." 
 
 " He 's above that sort of thing," said O'Noole. 
 " He 's got the gift." 
 
 "The gift of the gab," said Spencer. O'Noole passed 
 on, and he turned to Felix. " Don't you want to hear 
 a fiery socialist ? " he asked. " I like to know how the 
 pulse of the world beats." 
 
 Felix assented, and at eight o'clock that evening 
 found himself at Chester's Hall. It was a warm summer 
 night, and it might have seemed as if any sort of idle 
 ness out-of-doors would have been preferable to being 
 pent up in the unfragrant room with its flaring lights 
 and stifling atmosphere. Some thirty men had gath 
 ered, and were sitting about on the benches in cos 
 tumes and attitudes suggesting a desire for all the 
 comfort attainable under such circumstances. There 
 were O'Noole, Harley, Davidson, Cook, Macdonald, 
 and MacBean, six of the very best men from Rexford's. 
 There were also O'Fee, Chattus, and Dufour, from 
 Flaxman's, with other men strangers to Felix. He ob 
 served that Spencer was in the front row within a few 
 feet of the speaker, and close beside him sat Mr. 
 Alonzo Sloper. This was a somewhat unusual conjunc 
 tion, since Spencer disliked the father of Miss Leo in a
 
 1 38 WALFORD. 
 
 way almost out of proportion to his offenses. Perhaps 
 Mr. Sloper had of late missed the society of his son-in- 
 law elect, and now was making up for his deprivation 
 by establishing himself at Spencer's elbow. In spite of 
 Mr. Sloper's heavy crimson cheeks, his purple nose and 
 his dull, bleared eyes, he evinced a peculiar elation at 
 being in such good company. Disregarding the warmth 
 of the evening, he had buttoned his coat, and while he 
 sat listening to the speaker assumed a critical and judi 
 cial air, holding his head a little on one side and 
 seeming to weigh every word. 
 
 Beresky, the orator, was mounted on the platform, 
 and as Felix entered had advanced to the extreme edge 
 and with shrill vehemence seemed to be directing an 
 indictment against Spencer himself. 
 
 " It is a zystem of ex-teur-mi-na-tion against the poor 
 man," he was saying. "The reech man zays, 'I will 
 pind him hand and foot, I will make him a zlave. 
 He zall have no land, the land pelongs to me.' But 
 no matter. If the poor man had land he would have 
 no time to gultivate it. The poor man has no time for 
 anyting exzept to make the reech man more reech and 
 more powerful. The poor man moost work or he moost 
 starve. He cannot peg, the laws are against pegging. 
 He moost lif without a ped to lie town upon. If he 
 goes to zleep in the streets or in the fields unter the 
 overarching tome of heafen, he is arrested as a tramp. 
 What can the poor wretch do? Noting exzept to zay to 
 the reech man, ' I haf strength, I haf intelligence, I 
 haf ampition : tak all these and gif me in return a 
 morzel of pread to eat and a place to zleep.' " 
 
 Beresky was a small man, with masses of fine dark 
 hair, matted, tangled, and unkempt, shaggy eyebrows
 
 SPENCER. 1 39 
 
 and whiskers. His eyes were small, deep-set, and of 
 startling brilliancy. He spoke with a strong foreign 
 accent, which served rather to give each utterance 
 clearness and deliberation than to make his meaning 
 indistinct. He frequently gesticulated, and seemed at 
 times to be stirring up the fount of his own passion. 
 
 " And in offering his work," he went on, " he has to 
 gome into gompetition with other men as poor, as un 
 happy as himzelf. The reech man zays, ' I moost have 
 workmen at the lowest price.' The man with a wife 
 and chiltren has too many mouths to zupport. ' I 
 can't haf you,' zays the reech man. The next one has 
 only a wife. 'One too many,' teclares the reech man, 
 and so he takes the third, who is childless, who has no 
 home, no hope of private joys. What are those who 
 are turned off to do ? If they peg, they are arrested ; if 
 they steal, they are put in prison ; if they murter, they 
 are hanged." 
 
 As if conscious of having staggered his audience, 
 Beresky paused, still keeping his eyes on the superin 
 tendent from Rexford's. 
 
 " Is the subject open for debate ? " asked Spencer. 
 
 " Any man is free to speak," said O'Noole. " That 's 
 a rule of the club, if a man jaws at us, we can jaw 
 back again." 
 
 " I should like to put one question to the speaker," 
 said Spencer. " He does not make it clear to me 
 whether he is talking about some system of things in 
 Europe or in Walford." 
 
 " I am talking apout zoziety eferywhere," said Be 
 resky. " There is no more real freedom for the poor 
 man in America than in Europe. The reech ride in 
 their carriages and the poor starve."
 
 140 WALFOA'D. 
 
 " I should like to have Mr. Beresky made aware that 
 he is addressing land-owners," said Spencer. " Here 
 are O'Noole and O'Fee, each of them with a neat house 
 and an acre or more of ground. Both have gardens, 
 where they find time to raise the best vegetables in 
 Walford. There is Harley, also a land-owner, and 
 MacBean " 
 
 Mr. Sloper had risen to his feet, and turning to 
 Spencer, said in a husky voice with a raised forefinger : 
 
 " But the poor land-owner has taxes to pay. He 
 helps the rich man to pay his taxes." At this point his 
 forefinger happened to come in contact with his neigh 
 bor's shoulder, at which, with a look of haughty disgust, 
 Spencer moved to the extreme end of the bench. Mr. 
 Sloper, somewhat disconcerted, looked over at O'Noole 
 with a fatuous smile and inquired, " What was I say 
 ing?" 
 
 " You were talking about the disadvantages of work- 
 ingmen, sure," said O'Noole. This pregnant hint at 
 once loosed the floodgates of Mr. Sloper's eloquence. 
 
 " It is an ex-tra-or-di-nary spectacle," he 'began, 
 " how a man may spend his whole life in hard work 
 and still, as society is now constituted, make no pro 
 vision for his family. And why ? It is because it is in 
 the interest of the capitalist that the poor man shall 
 never get rich. Everybody else gets rich except the 
 poor man. The grocer, he lays up a fortune, he 
 trades on our necessities. The tailor, because we feel 
 the cold and cannot make spectacles of ourselves, he 
 gets rich. If a hail-storm comes and breaks our win 
 dow the glazier get rich. If our houses burn down 
 the carpenters and masons get rich. The doctors get 
 rich because we are sick. Lawyers get rich because 
 we have lawsuits. Even ministers of the gospel "
 
 SPENCER. 141 
 
 At this point the speaker's wavering glance encoun 
 tered that of Mr. Beresky, who regarded his rival with 
 a smile of such ferocity that Mr. Sloper's mind again 
 wandered, and he lost the thread of his discourse. 
 Oblivious of Spencer's rebuff he moved towards him, 
 and nudging him with the affectionate intimacy war 
 ranted by their close relations, he said in a voice in 
 tended to be inaudible, " What was I saying ? I forget 
 what I was saying." 
 
 Spencer seemed neither to hear nor to see the fud 
 dled speaker, whose irrepressibly hopeful gaze trans 
 ferred itself to some one in the next row, who happened 
 to be Felix Goodeve. 
 
 " I think, Mr. Sloper," said Felix, " you were re 
 marking you would now bring your remarks to a close 
 and allow the lecturer to proceed." 
 
 " That was it," said Mr. Sloper magnanimously and 
 grandiloquently, " I will now bring my remarks to a 
 close and allow the orator of the evening to continue 
 his discourse." 
 
 Beresky took instant advantage of his opportunity. 
 He attacked commerce and trade, which robbed society 
 at every point, buying up raw material, governing both 
 production and consumption by raising and lowering 
 prices, taking away the poor man's opportunity of ob 
 taining the least answers to his needs until the price of 
 manufacture, waste, carriage, and handling are added 
 to the original cost. 
 
 " He is repeating my very words," cried Mr. Sloper, 
 beaming. 
 
 Beresky glared at the interruption, and went on to 
 say that the worth of an article no longer consists in its 
 own intrinsic value, nor in its value to the consumer,
 
 142 WALFORD. 
 
 but is determined by the requirements of the manufac 
 turer and trader, who have often thrown cargoes of grain 
 and fruit into the sea rather than have the market 
 glutted and the poor man afforded an opportunity to 
 buy at a price within his reach. Then, too, while the 
 poor man is compelled to pay cash, manufacturers and 
 traders carry on their affairs not on their capital, but 
 by means of bills and credit to any extent. Thus power 
 is put into the rich man's hands, wholly incommensu 
 rable with his actual capital, to protect himself by con 
 trolling markets and fixing prices. All this comes out 
 of the pocket of the humble consumer. 
 
 Beresky, believing that he was at last in his saddle 
 with too firm a seat to be ousted, was flinging out both 
 hands with a gesture preparatory to a higher flight of 
 eloquence, when a fresh interruption came. The night 
 was warm, and the audience was growing restless of 
 these glittering generalities. 
 
 " I say," said Mr. O'Noole, looking up at the speaker 
 in a friendly way, "what we want to know is how to 
 cure these abuses." 
 
 " I will tell you how I gured them," answered Be 
 resky with his fierce dry smile. " Zeventeen years ago 
 I walked out of a cursed fountry where I had peen 
 trotten unter foot, and haf not called any prutal cap 
 italist my master since." 
 
 "But then you've got money to live on," suggested 
 MacBean. 
 
 " I haf not a tollar in the world laid up," shrieked 
 Beresky. " The first time I went on a strike was twenty 
 years ago. There was a reduction of wages. It came 
 at a time when my young wife was in ped with her zec- 
 ond child. She lay shifering, with not plankets enough
 
 SPENCER. 143 
 
 to keep her warm, no good food to nourish her, no 
 tender nursing. It was a time, if efer, when she needed 
 all the money I could earn for her. Yet I felt it was 
 my duty to go out, and I deed go out. We stayed "out 
 for seex monts, and we fought like tigers inch by inch 
 for terms, and we g9t them." 
 
 " What became of your wife ? " demanded little 
 O'Fee. 
 
 " She deed all she could. She turned her face to the 
 wall and died. Her baby died first." 
 
 " You let her die," said Felix Goodeve with indigna 
 tion. " I would have worked for ten cents a day, if I 
 could have got no more. I 'd have begged. I 'd 
 have " 
 
 " She died for want of proper care and food," said 
 Beresky, with tragic emphasis. " Was it my fault ? 
 There are times when the interests of humanity are 
 paramount to the interests of the intivitual. He moost 
 do his duty and leaf the gonsequences to God. A 
 workingman must link not only of himself but of his 
 prothers. An injury to one is an injury to all. Be 
 cause some of you here in Walford are gomfortable and 
 happy, you must not forget that there are men who love 
 gomfort and happiness as dearly as you can love them, 
 who have no gomfort and no happiness, only pitter, 
 purning wrongs which they look to you to avenge." 
 
 Spencer had begun to show signs of being roused. 
 
 " Wait a moment," said he, jumping up. " I want 
 to ask O'Noole and MacBean a question. They are 
 prosperous ; they have houses, wives, children, and the 
 respect of all good citizens in Walford ; they have, I 
 believe with all my heart and soul, no reason for dis 
 content against their employers. Do they consider
 
 144 WALFORD. 
 
 that they are bound to be in sympathy with fanatical 
 anarchists in other parts of the world ? " 
 
 " We are all brothers, sure, we workingmen," said 
 O'Noole. 
 
 "An injury to one is an injury to all," said Michael 
 MacCann. " The workingmen is one body, what you 
 feel in one extremity you suffer in the the the 
 other extremity." 
 
 " Do you mean," said Spencer dryly, " that if a man 
 in Chicago has no dinner you go hungry? " 
 
 O'Noole rubbed his forehead, feeling a trifle puzzled. 
 
 " That 's a confounding of things," observed Mac- 
 Bean. 
 
 " A man has his duty to do," said Spencer, " and he 
 has to answer before earthly tribunals and before the 
 bar of heaven for not doing his duty, not my duty, not 
 your duty, but his own individual duty. No man on 
 earth can perform the duty of another man. Each 
 makes his own fate here, and earns his own reward and 
 own punishment hereafter." 
 
 Spencer was becoming excited. It had been evident 
 that Beresky's arguments had impressed some of the 
 men from Rexford's, and a quick current of irritation 
 ran through the superintendent's nerves. 
 
 " I tell you," he proceeded, " what each of you have 
 to do is to lead a good, honest life, have a wife and 
 children to love, and try faithfully to make some little 
 corner of God's earth a nest of peace for those who 
 depend on you. Having done so much you are above 
 the world. No man can do more, be he king, emperor, 
 or capitalist." 
 
 " The Saviour of men died for the world," put in 
 Beresky. " He might easily have gontinued to live on
 
 SPENCER. 145 
 
 gomfortably with enough to eat and trink. But He 
 chose to die instead, and who shall zay we haf not peen 
 petter for his martyrdom ?" 
 
 Spencer could hardly control himself. 
 
 " He compares himself to the Saviour of men," he 
 cried. " He let his wife and her baby die for lack of 
 the necessities he should have provided. What be 
 came of your eldest child ? " he asked, sharply turning 
 on Beresky. 
 
 " She was zent to the workhouse. I know not 
 whether she is alife or tead," replied Beresky, who had 
 his pleasure in these signs of Spencer's perturbation. 
 
 " You have heard Mr. Beresky's story, my friends," 
 said Spencer ; " now I want you to listen to mine. He 
 compares himself to the Saviour, but go into the heart 
 of the matter and you will see that it was his wife who 
 paid the forfeit, not Beresky. ! want to tell you about 
 myself. You probably know, all of you, that my father 
 was a young man of good family in Hartford, who 
 came here and set up a law practice. He died four 
 years after marrying my mother, who was a poor girl 
 without home or friends. My father died I might 
 better say, he drank himself to death. I don't remem 
 ber him. My first recollections are of crying when my 
 mother went out to sew. She was apt to take my sis 
 ter Jenny with her, and I dreaded to be left alone. But 
 I soon came to understand that we were dependent 
 upon my mother's daily absence, that we were poor, 
 and that she earned every crust I ate. Little Jenny 
 had always been sickly, and as 1 got older my mother 
 used to put her under my charge. I felt very proud of 
 having the little sister to take care of. She faded away 
 before my eyes, but I knew not what the change meant,
 
 146 WALFORD. 
 
 and used to enjoy the thought that she was so weak 
 I must give her sips of milk every half hour by the 
 clock. I was eight years old when she died. After I 
 was alone with my mother, it became more clear to me 
 how miserable it all was, how hard she had to work, 
 how tired she felt, what a longing for rest. One day 
 Mrs. Goodeve said to me, ' Henry, you 're getting to 
 be a big boy. You will soon be able to help your 
 mother.' After that, I used to put it in my prayers, 
 ' Oh, God, let me grow up and earn money for mother." 
 I began earning money when I was ten years old ; by 
 the time I was twelve I had a place at Rexford's, and 
 when I was thirteen we were well enough off for my 
 mother to stay at home, henceforth, as long as she lived ; 
 and she stayed at home, and did as little or as much as 
 she chose. It is the only pride I have, it is the best 
 joy I have ever had or shall have, that for four years 
 before my mother's death I earned every dollar for her 
 support." 
 
 Spencer had been carried to that elevation of soul 
 where his usual objects in life dwindled, and ordinary 
 considerations of reserve and almost of shame for his 
 beginnings vanished. It was for him almost a sublime 
 moment, one of those rare chances in life when feel 
 ing rises to its highest flood marks. The pity is that 
 reaction from a sublime moment is apt to offer em 
 barrassments. 
 
 He had carried his audience, except possibly Beresky, 
 along with him. Especially he had moved Mr. Sloper, 
 all whose paternal instincts were awakened. The tears 
 were running down his heavy purple cheeks. Spencer 
 was his dear Leo's betrothed husband. The young 
 man had spoken nobly. The story he had related was
 
 SPENCER. 147 
 
 most pathetic. A young man who worked so well for 
 his mother ought to be encouraged to go on and work 
 for his wife's father. Such thoughts, oozing out of Mr. 
 Sloper's rich fount of sentiment and emotion, were a 
 call to action. He pulled himself up on his feet, and, 
 fastening his moist hand on Spencer's shoulder said in 
 a voice broken with agitation : 
 
 " Gentlemen, this is my son. Gentlemen, my own 
 son : " and he bowed right and left. 
 
 "Let go my shoulder!" said Spencer with intense 
 exasperation. " Confound you, what do you mean by 
 such a statement ? " 
 
 Mr. Sloper gazed at him at first as if incredulous 
 that any rebuff could be intended, then, his features 
 broadening into a smile, " No disrespect intended to 
 your mother, none whatever, my dear boy," he said in 
 his ponderous voice. " All I meant to intimate, gentle 
 men, is that Mr. Spencer is engaged to marry my 
 daughter, Leonora. A noble girl, if I may say it, the 
 most beautiful girl in Walford, and well worthy of him. 
 I am proud of my son, gentlemen, I am proud of my 
 daughter, I am proud of them both. Pardon the pride 
 of a fond old man." 
 
 He looked at Spencer for some confirmatory glance 
 of affection, but meeting none gave him a half pathetic 
 and half haughty bow, nodded to the grinning groups 
 about, and made his way along the aisle and out the 
 door. 
 
 It was the signal for the breaking up of the club. 
 Felix, turning to Spencer, asked him if he were going 
 home, and the two went down the hall together. Every 
 phrase of his speech was echoing through Spencer's 
 mind, rousing sensations of rankling shame ; he was not
 
 148 WALFORD. 
 
 at all satisfied that he had not made a complete fool of 
 himself. He could not trust himself to think of Sloper 
 at all. He was in a fury with him and with Leo, and 
 was ready enough to believe that it was a conspiracy to 
 mortify him, or perhaps rather to fasten chains on him 
 he could never break. As they left the building he 
 gave a tentative glance at Felix, and their eyes met. 
 Felix laughed. He had been not a little moved by 
 Spencer's words, but when he thought of Mr. Sloper's 
 tears he laughed. 
 
 " You seem to be amused," said Spencer tartly. 
 
 " One might as well be amused by that maudlin ass," 
 said Felix. " His nonsense served its purpose, how 
 ever, and broke up the meeting in good-humor. I 
 don't like that tricky anarchist. I was glad you cir 
 cumvented him and had the last word." 
 
 "They are all asses," said Spencer, "insensible to 
 reason and a weak prey to sophistical arguments. It 
 seems to them all a pleasure to destroy what others 
 have given their lives to build up. They do not recog 
 nize the laws on which their own existence depends, but 
 invoke forces which bring about confusion and chaos. 
 
 D them all, I say. There 's not one among them 
 
 who would stand true to us if we suggested a reduction 
 of wages." 
 
 They had walked along the street together, and at 
 this point their roads diverged. " Good-night," said 
 Spencer, hurrying off. 
 
 " Wait a minute," said Felix. He put out his hand. 
 " I am glad I was there," he said, with peculiar 
 sweetness. " We were boys together, Harry. I 'm 
 glad to have you turning out so well. You do credit to 
 Walford. I shall tell my mother what you said to-night.
 
 SPENCER. 149 
 
 I look up to a man who, taken unawares, and speak 
 ing out of his heart, rings true, now you rang true" 
 Spencer's cheeks stung with the blush which came in 
 the darkness. He knew now that Felix remembered 
 something he had hoped forgotten. He wrung the 
 proffered hand, gasped his thanks, then strode off into 
 the encompassing gloom.
 
 XI. 
 
 THE KEY-NOTE IS STRUCK. 
 
 To applaud a man for showing noble instincts is 
 perhaps to show that he has surpassed our belief in 
 him. Hence, when Felix Goodeve observed that for 
 some days after the incident at the workingmen's club 
 Spencer's manner was touched with acerbity, he was 
 ready to confess that the superintendent might well 
 be indignant at having hitherto been rated below his 
 deserts. It had been not one but many recollections 
 of their boyhood which had tinged all Felix's impres 
 sions of Spencer ; but this was the one most deeply 
 bitten into his memory : 
 
 One rainy Saturday, when both lads were about thir 
 teen, Felix had gone over to the works, and after stroll 
 ing through the various departments, talking with the 
 operatives and even trying his hand at the machinery, 
 he had passed into the counting-room to watch George 
 Lowry, who was getting ready to pay the men their 
 week's wages. Henry Spencer was coming and going 
 from the office with slips of paper which required to be 
 certified, and while he waited he and Felix played 
 about, talked, and discussed the amount probably con 
 tained in the rolls of money. By some accident, as a 
 fresh bag was opened a heap of loose coin was sud 
 denly scattered over counter and floor. Felix scram 
 bled to help pick up the pieces and replace them before
 
 THE KEY-NOTE IS STRUCK. 151 
 
 Lowry. It was all accomplished in the twinkling of 
 an eye. Henry Spencer had been called away the 
 very moment the coins fell, but Felix had happened to 
 see that two silver dollars had rolled exactly under 
 the boy's hand, so that without a change of muscles his 
 fingers had closed upon them. Felix experienced a 
 sensation of blank horror, and stood turning hot and 
 cold, wondering if he ought to speak or to be silent. 
 More than once he had taken upon himself the blame 
 for some merely boyish prank of Spencer's, but this 
 touched the very foundations of things. George Lowry, 
 fastening with the vulpine instinct of an expert teller 
 upon the deficit, eyed Felix and saw the trouble on his 
 face. 
 
 " You little rascal ! " said he. " Give me those two 
 dollars you pocketed." 
 
 Felix stood irresolute. His heart swelled. It was 
 a terrible moment. Then he remembered he had two 
 silver dollars in his pocket. It was his birthday, and 
 his mother had given them to him. He drew them out 
 and flung them down with a quivering lip. 
 
 " Of course I knew it was a joke," said George. 
 " But if it had been Henry Spencer, it might have been 
 a pretty dangerous joke for him. Never play tricks 
 where money is concerned, Felix. The way a man 
 treats money touches his whole character." 
 
 " I didn't want your money," said Felix, indignantly. 
 
 " I know very well your father's son is not in need 
 of money," said George. " But remember what I tell 
 you : never joke about money ; it 's dangerous." - 
 
 Henry Spencer had returned while this dialogue was 
 going on, but apparently paid no attention to it. Af 
 terwards when the two encountered face to face Felix
 
 I 5 2 WALFORD. 
 
 eyed the other with a scorn which told even on Spen 
 cer's callous nerves. The lads never again played to 
 gether. Felix never alluded to what had happened. 
 Now, after hearing Spencer's story of the yoke he had 
 borne in his youth, he was ready to forgive the crime, 
 if it were a crime and no mere boyish peccadillo, the 
 result of a momentary instinct repented afterwards and 
 possibly atoned for. 
 
 Like all people of vivid imagination, Felix was now 
 inclined to make all possible reparation; indeed, to 
 put Spencer on a pedestal. Unluckily, Spencer himself 
 was at some trouble to dispel illusions. 
 
 One day when Roger Rexford was absent Felix was 
 sitting in his office writing, when Spencer entered and 
 closed the door behind him. 
 
 " Mr. Goodeve," he said without preamble, " I wish 
 to put a question, which you may answer or not, as you 
 think best." 
 
 Felix looked up in some surprise at the curt tone. 
 
 " Ask your question," he replied, with a quizzical 
 movement of his eyebrows, "then I can tell better 
 about the danger of committing myself." 
 
 " You may consider it an intrusion on your personal 
 liberty," Spencer pursued, " for me to inquire into your 
 proceedings ; you may say that you are the best 
 judge of what is fair and honorable ; you may " 
 
 " Is it as bad as that ? " said Felix, throwing himself 
 back in his chair and clutching at his hair with a look 
 of comic bewilderment. 
 
 " I don't care to be laughed at," returned Spencer 
 in a quick, irritated way. " There has been too much 
 of that already." 
 
 " I 'm serious. I 'm a yawning grave," said Felix.
 
 THE KEY-NOTE IS STRUCK. 153 
 
 " Come, put in your grievance, and let 's bury it for 
 good and all." 
 
 " I wish to inquire," said Spencer, the blood rushing 
 to his face, "whether you told Miss Standish what 
 happened the other night." . 
 
 " I don't understand what you allude to," said Felix. 
 " What happened ? " 
 
 " You know very well what happened," said Spencer, 
 as if stung. " You were laughing about it as we came 
 out of the club together." 
 
 " Oh, that tipsy old loafer ! " exclaimed Felix, staring 
 at Spencer. After a moment's silence he added, " Do 
 you mean to ask me if I told Miss Standish about 
 Sloper's interrupting the meeting ? " Spencer's eyes 
 met his a moment, then shifted their direction. It was 
 as quick a glance as well might be. It lasted no longer 
 than a flash of lightning, but it illuminated everything 
 as a flash of lightning can. " Possibly you allude to 
 his announcement of your engagement to his daugh 
 ter," Felix went on, with an ironical glance. 
 
 "I see," said Spencer, "that you have told her all 
 about it. I saw it in her face. I will say frankly, Mr. 
 Felix Goodeve, that I don't call it fair." His voice 
 was low, but his face had grown white to the lips and 
 his eyes burned. 
 
 Felix looked back at him with his head on one side 
 and the same half smile. 
 
 " Is it true, then ? " he inquired blandly. " Are you 
 engaged to Miss Sloper ? Is it my duty to congratu 
 late you ? " 
 
 " No ! " thundered Spencer as if in a terrible rage, 
 and turning on his heel he strode out of the office, 
 banging the door behind him.
 
 154 WALFORD. 
 
 It was Felix's nature to be contemptuous of accusa* 
 tion. To have told anything regarding any man alive 
 which could put him in a false light would have been 
 an abhorrent action to him. Certainly Miss Standish 
 was the last person to whom he would have breathed a 
 syllable damaging to Spencer. It had not seemed 
 worth while to resent the imputation put upon himself. 
 Spencer evidently had made a bad tangle of his love- 
 affairs. It was clear he was engaged, or had been 
 engaged, to poor little Leo. How about Miss Stan- 
 dish ? It had always seemed incredible to Felix that a 
 girl of that beauty, that elegance, that fire, should care 
 for Spencer. But she talked with him, listened to 
 him, all with a glow apparently born of sympathetic 
 companionship. Evidently she was not a girl to care 
 for the inferences outsiders might draw as to such an 
 intimacy. If she thought of such considerations at all, 
 she would pique herself on despising them. Certainly, 
 so far as appearances went, she was offering Spencer 
 every sort of encouragement. The possible preference 
 of such a charming woman might easily make any man 
 totter in his allegiance to a mere Leo Sloper. No 
 doubt it was a trying situation, and it was not worth 
 while to condemn Spencer until one knew the whole 
 story. Felix smiled to himself, recollecting the burst of 
 impotent rage just exhibited. Reflecting on what had 
 happened, he now blamed himself for not having made 
 it clear that Miss Standish probably knew nothing of 
 what had taken place. It would be a pity if that young 
 lady were to be brought to task for offenses she had 
 never committed. 
 
 He jumped up, opened the door, and called, " By 
 the way, Spencer."
 
 THE KEY-NOTE IS STRUCK. 155 
 
 Spencer, however, was not to be seen ; and after in 
 quiring where he was likely to be found, Felix walked 
 through the outside office into the packing-room, and 
 thence, crossing a little bridge, entered one of the 
 upper workshops, where he found the superintendent 
 discussing some matter with MacBean. He turned as 
 Felix approached, and looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 " I simply wished to say, Spencer," said Felix, 
 " that I ought not to have let you carry away a wrong 
 impression. I have never spoken of the incident you 
 alluded to." 
 
 Spencer had dropped his glance to the floor. He 
 was ashamed of his irritation and sore at heart, and felt 
 at a loss what to say. 
 
 " You understand me ? " Felix proceeded. 
 
 Spencer for an instant looked up. " All right," he 
 said curtly. " Thank you." 
 
 Felix walked on, and descending the stairs, turned 
 into the main building, encountering the whirr, roar, and 
 tick-tack of ceaseless belts, pulleys, wheels, hammers, 
 and saws. He felt no disposition to go back to his 
 desk. He had experienced a sudden disenchantment, 
 which he could hardly have defined. He wanted to 
 worry the thing off. The machinery seemed to make 
 him feel giddy. He passed on into the foundry, where 
 the moulds were ready for the casting, and men were 
 testing the melted iron, which sent forth myriads of 
 fiery sparks as they poured it out. He stood for a few 
 moments watching the great crane travel up and down 
 with its huge ladle, which took up the molten mass and 
 carried it the length of the place. Then, thinking 
 to himself he might as well get outside this thrice- 
 heated furnace, he issued by a little back door at the
 
 156 W A WORD. 
 
 very rear of the works, and came into an ugly quad 
 rangle heaped with slag, broken bits of machinery, and 
 grindstones. A clear intention now began to take the 
 place of his listless wanderings up and down. He 
 crossed the quadrangle, skirted a long row of low out 
 buildings, and then, passing round the further end, 
 found himself on a bank just above a meadow which 
 sloped to the banks of the little river. He jumped the 
 fence, struck the footpath and followed it. Every inch 
 of this region was familiar. Memories buzzed about 
 him like bees. He looked across the middle distance 
 to the " rye lot," alive to-day with the activities of the 
 summer harvesting; to the hills beyond, from behind 
 which floated up the same soft white clouds he had 
 pondered over as a boy, wondering about their whence 
 and whither : why sometimes they came out of the west 
 like a fleet of white swans floating joyously until they 
 vanished in the eastern horizon, then again changing 
 into a black and lowering phalanx, holding thunders 
 and lightnings in their depths. All the tract beyond the 
 river had been in old days mysterious, romantic, weird ; 
 the region of possible wild happenings. There was 
 "Wolf Hill," a name to shudder at. As a youngster he 
 had had a passion for going to the " Spring lot," where 
 a source bubbled out of white sands on the hillside in 
 a basin set in a margin of fine grass, the earliest to dis 
 close the beautiful secret that spring was at hand. Here 
 he used to find the first blossoms of the liverwort. He 
 could not have told why of all flowers he loved the 
 liverwort best. The secret of our tenderness sometimes 
 lies in the love we give things, and not in what they 
 give us. But he could remember his deep sense of the 
 ethereal sweetness of the flower, of how he had more
 
 THE KEY-NOTE IS STRUCK. 157 
 
 than once thrown himself down on the ground and 
 kissed the pure petals while his heart beat. There had 
 been a clump of white violets which he had cherished 
 the secret of. Year after year, he had stolen to the 
 corner of the snake fence where they grew, and when he 
 saw that the lovely shy creatures were still there, had 
 smiled and nodded like a miser at his hoarded gold. 
 
 Why did he remember these things now when he was 
 a big overgrown fellow, with duties to perform in the 
 world? It was because he felt a little sore, inclined to 
 ramp and fret and fume, and say that he was a fool 
 never to be quiet and sensible like other men, but to 
 put the whole of his heart into things which in return 
 only tormented him. Spencer's apparent appropriation 
 of Miss Standish had perhaps disgusted and disheart 
 ened him. Felix was not in general in the habit of com 
 plaining of life. He knew that men hate and love be 
 yond reason, and go to strange lengths to gratify their 
 feelings. He had often reflected upon this tendency of 
 humanity. But yet it was a curious fact that he him 
 self should have come home to Walford to be smitten 
 on the instant by a blind attachment, which was all on 
 his own side with no possibility of return. In a general 
 way a one-sided passion might not have been altogether 
 unheroic. There is something grand, something touch 
 ing, in disinterestedly loving a woman, giving all and 
 asking nothing in return. But to be in love with a girl 
 who liked, who even tolerated Spencer was a nuisance. 
 He wished at the moment he had never seen Amy Stan- 
 dish, and determined to put her out of his head. 
 
 He paused on the brink of the Quinnipiac as he 
 reached it, with the old boyish thirst to plunge into its 
 cool depths. It was just here he had learned to swim.
 
 158 WALFORD. 
 
 In those days the river had seemed to him very wide 
 and very deep ; there had been one pool of incredible 
 depth, where the water, even in summer, came almost 
 up to his shoulders. The Quinnipiac was the Indian 
 name and meant " winding stream," and indeed it had 
 a way of turning so as never to let you see where it \vas 
 going, vanishing round a corner, as it were, and beckon 
 ing you. Felix obeyed its call and followed. All was 
 mute as a dream except for the soft eddying of the cur 
 rent. A great elm-tree on the bank waved luxuriantly 
 over the shining water, each branch and twig and leaf 
 looking down at its own glorified reflection. Here and 
 there were lush growths of bulrushes, cat-tails, and iris. 
 In one spot the bed of the stream widened, and broad 
 leaves of water-lilies floated with their closed buds 
 pressing upwards, which the first rays of to-morrow's 
 sun would open into white flowers with golden centres 
 and a breath like honey. He liked the soft tinkle of 
 the river, the subdued insect hum, the general rustle 
 and murmur. He did not wish to turn away from it, 
 but he had reached Westbury Turnpike bridge which 
 spanned the water, and was obliged to clamber up and 
 cross the road before he could again strike the bank on 
 the other side where the stream meandered through 
 the Van Polanen place, now vacant except for Birdsey 
 the gardener. 
 
 Felix had enough of the boy about him to choose the 
 hardest way of getting over the obstacle. He found 
 a crevice in the stone pier where he could plant one 
 foot, then caught hold of the corbels, swung himself 
 towards the centre of the arch, put his foot on the 
 trestlework, and was about to make a flying leap over 
 the parapet when an unexpected vision startled him.
 
 THE KEY-NOTE IS STRUCK. 159 
 
 The very face he had been trying to dismiss from his 
 memory suddenly peered at him over the railing. He 
 almost lost his balance. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Goodeve ! " said Amy Standish. She con 
 trived to catch his hand, and leaning down flung her 
 arm round his neck, and held him with all her strength 
 until he could reestablish his footing and vault over 
 the balustrade. 
 
 He did not speak at first, but his cheeks glowed and 
 his eyes burned as he looked at her. 
 
 " I startled you as you were making a flying leap," 
 said Amy, with the smile which as we have said pos 
 sessed not a little witchery. " Even professional acro 
 bats sometimes come to grief." 
 
 " I am out of practice, to say nothing of being a 
 heavier weight than I used to be," replied Felix. "I 
 am very grateful for your helping hand." 
 
 " I am very proud if I actually did help you," said 
 Amy. 
 
 Words did not come to him easily ; she observed 
 with surprise a trembling of his lip. He had been 
 thinking with a sort of bitterness of her dislike to him, 
 and his mind had run on a dozen instances when she 
 had been at pains to show her preference for Spencer. 
 Then suddenly he had had that wonderful face with its 
 splendid startled eyes almost pressed to his ; her warm, 
 close clasp had sustained him resolutely. His whole 
 being was suffused by a perception of the sweetness of 
 the chance which had befallen him. And here she was 
 still, close beside him, and for a wonder smiling. It 
 was enough simply to look at her. She was dressed 
 in sheer white, with a broad-brimmed hat, round which 
 a mass of transparent white gauze was wound.
 
 160 WALFORD. 
 
 " You know," she said to him almost in a whisper, 
 " this was the place where Bessy was seen last. I come 
 here sometimes to think about it all." 
 
 " She was there, just where you are standing," said 
 Felix. 
 
 " Yes, just here, throwing stones through this fret 
 work. Did you ever see the child, Mr. Goodeve ? " 
 
 " When she'was six months old." He took off his 
 hat and looked up. " Oh, God, let me see her again ! " 
 he said suddenly and startlingly. It struck Amy that 
 she had never before heard a passionate prayer. " I 
 wish I had been here at the time," he went on. "Of 
 course, it is mere presumption on my part, but I have 
 always felt that something must have been left undone. 
 How is Mrs. Rexford ? " 
 
 " She droops. This warm weather is trying to her." 
 
 " If she were my wife, do you know what I would 
 do ? " said Felix. " I would have a yacht, and we 
 would sail away into the north." 
 
 " She could not be on deck ; she could not bear the 
 light," said Amy practically. 
 
 " All day long, then, she should lie in her berth and 
 sleep, or if she were awake I would read and talk to 
 her. Towards sunset I would carry her on deck, it 
 is so beautiful on the water then. She should have a 
 luxurious chair, and lie stretched out at her ease with 
 pillows, wraps, and rugs, not to feel a breath of chill. 
 She could eat in that air. I would provide all sorts of 
 nourishing things. I am sure she would revive." 
 
 " She could not forget," said Amy sharply and re 
 gretfully. 
 
 " If she were my wife," said Felix forcibly, " I should 
 be first with her. Bessy would have been our child.
 
 THE KEY-NOTE IS STRUCK. l6l 
 
 She would have had me before the little girl came. 
 There can be nothing on earth like the love between 
 husband and wife. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 He was so fervently in earnest that Amy, although 
 she had been half inclined to smile, answered with 
 equal seriousness, 
 
 " It has sometimes seemed to me that the natural 
 ties are the strongest." 
 
 " Natural ties ? " he repeated. He looked at her 
 questioningly. " Oh, you mean that marriage is ac 
 cidental, provisional, not a tie of blood." He mused 
 over the idea a moment, then remarked, "I always 
 took it for granted that I should love my wife better 
 than forty thousand mothers, but perhaps I could not. 
 I adore my mother, I simply adore her." 
 
 " And she adores you," said Amy. 
 
 " She loves me quite as well as I deserve," said Felix. 
 " She knows I would do anything to please her. Were 
 you ever at Pere la Chaise ? And did you see an in 
 scription from a pious son to his mother ? It struck 
 me powerfully. I have said over to myself a thousand 
 times, ' Dors en paix, oh ma mere, ton fils t'obeira tou- 
 jours.' " 
 
 Amy's glance rested on him with an expression he 
 had never before seen on her face. A thought struck 
 him. 
 
 " I wonder if it bores you having me here," he ex 
 claimed. 
 
 Her jetty lashes first went down, then were raised, 
 she was laughing. 
 
 " I don't wonder you believe I am a disagreeable 
 person," she said. She went a step nearer and held 
 out her hand. " Could n't you forgive me all my mis 
 deeds ? " she asked half mischievously.
 
 1 62 WALFORD. 
 
 " Very easily," said Felix, coloring furiously and barely 
 touching the little fingers she put into his hand, for he 
 was so glad he felt afraid of crushing them. " Why 
 could we not walk on ? " he asked, as if in a hurry to 
 get away from more personal subjects. " We can go 
 up this road, turn into the fields, and then strike the 
 woods. Did you ever go through these woods in the 
 afternoon and see the light on Wolcott mountains ? " 
 
 " No. Is it fine ? " 
 
 " When I come to die, if the glory of heaven were to 
 shine down on me it could not easily be brighter than 
 the light I used to see on Wolcott mountains," he said. 
 "Where did you live as a child, Miss Standish ? " 
 
 " Chiefly in New York. We traveled in the sum 
 mer." 
 
 " W T hat a pity ! You had no chance to strike roots." 
 
 " I consider myself a very deeply-rooted person." 
 
 " How can any one have roots who has not lived a 
 large part of his or her life in the country ? " persisted 
 Felix. " You remember that George Eliot says a hu 
 man life should be well rooted in some spot of a native 
 land, where it may get the love of tender kinship for 
 the face of earth, for the labors man goes forth to, for 
 the sounds and accents which haunt it, for whatever 
 will give that early home a familiar, unmistakable dif 
 ference amidst the future widening of knowledge, a 
 spot where the definiteness of early memories may be 
 enwrought with affection, and kindly acquaintance with 
 all neighbors, even to the dogs and donkeys, may be 
 come a sweet habit of the blood." 
 
 " It is a pity to see Orion only over chimney pots," 
 said Amy. " I confess so much. Still, I like the city, 
 and I do not like the country, particularly a village."
 
 THE KEY-NOTE IS STRUCK. 163 
 
 " Yet you are a philanthropist, have humanitarian 
 schemes. Don't you realize that what makes the hope 
 less problem of city misery is that the wretched people 
 you are trying to benefit live in the city? A city is a 
 disease on the face of the earth : there may be costly 
 forms of mitigation for it, but no cure." 
 
 They had gone up the road, and now, leaving the 
 glare and dust of the highway, turned into a field 
 at the right where oats were ripening, these July days. 
 They walked single file along a narrow foot-path un 
 der the shade of a stone wall overrun with blackberry 
 vines. He was leading the way, but now looked back' 
 at her over his shoulder, and she tried to read his 
 glance, wondering if he were in earnest. 
 
 " The city kills life, intellect, and soul," he pro 
 ceeded, with a half twinkle in his eye. " There is no 
 vitality, hence no possibility of any originality in peo 
 ple who have always lived in a city. The world's work 
 is done, and always has been done, by people who have 
 stored up energy and force in country living and coun 
 try thinking. Even the money makers, the great finan 
 ciers, are country born and bred ; so with inventors, 
 scientists, mechanicians. Of course, every one admits 
 that everything worth doing in art has been done by 
 men who found their inspiration in early rural life. 
 For actual knowledge of the world one must have lived 
 in a village, for nowhere else does one have a chance 
 fully to know other people, their habits, ways, idiosyn 
 crasies. The novelists who have written out of expe 
 rience and not out of phrase-books have always had a 
 treasure-house of early associations in some country 
 neighborhood. For example, the germ of all George 
 Eliot's best work lay in the incidents and impressions 
 of her rural life as a child."
 
 164 WALFORD. 
 
 " She happened to have lived in the country," said 
 Amy. 
 
 " Happened ! " repeated Felix. " Don't you see that 
 nature is inevitably and irresistibly behind all great 
 art ? Your city life sharpens, narrows, concentrates, 
 exhausts. It makes critics and useful mediocrities." 
 
 Amy listened, half vexed and half amused. She was 
 accustomed to be serious herself and to impose a role 
 of high seriousness on others. She could not feel cer 
 tain that the theories he was advancing were not a mere 
 challenge, and if he were not in earnest she did not 
 'wish to waste her own earnestness in the desert, for 
 without being moved her mind did not work easily. 
 She tried to think of some clever illustration which 
 should disclose the fallacy of the views he was putting 
 forth as if incontrovertible, but was afraid of uttering 
 a mere platitude. 
 
 "The city stimulates," she said, presently. "One 
 feels as if one's heart were beating and one's life were 
 worthily expanded." 
 
 " It spends itself on trivialities. The quietest life is 
 the best preparation for great events, the best back 
 ground for the most varied and beautiful not to say 
 worthy thinking." 
 
 " I cannot agree with you at all," said Amy, who 
 began to feel that she must assert herself. 
 
 " That is simply because you have not thought about 
 it," said Felix. " Ponder the matter and you will see 
 that country life has always furnished the wellspring 
 of character, intellect, morality, philosophy, religion, 
 and, of course, art. Provinciality gives the key-note of 
 all genius." 
 
 They had reached the end of the field, and at the 
 stile he paused. " You are laughing at me," she said.
 
 THE KEY-NOTE IS STRUCK. 165 
 
 " Do you suppose I am content to feel you are long 
 ing to be back in the city at this moment ? " he said, 
 pointing to the scene behind her. The warm breeze 
 was swaying the grain, imparting to the ears a perpet 
 ual motion like a ripple in a calm sea, seeming to 
 multiply the beams of light, which took by turns radi 
 ations of gold and palest green. " I want you to be 
 happy here," he said, in a half-aggrieved tone. " I hate 
 to think you dislike Walford when you are doing so 
 much good. So much order, energy, light, helpfulness, 
 come out of you, I want you to have something in re 
 turn." 
 
 His look and tone were so friendly and caressing that 
 she smiled back at him. 
 
 " You want to go on with your work among the poor 
 people in New York," Felix proceeded, " when the best 
 service you can possibly render them is to bring them 
 here. So many foolish Walford men and women have 
 gone off to cities to make a fortune, sought for work 
 and found none, despaired, and come to grief alto 
 gether. The tide has been sweeping out of New Eng 
 land for years, and the right thing to do is to try to turn 
 it back." 
 
 "You give me an idea," said Amy. 
 
 They crossed the stile and entered the woods.
 
 XII. 
 
 NEWS. 
 
 THE summer had passed. It was the first of Sep 
 tember. Rexford Long, the " literary man " of the 
 great firm of Synnots, book publishers, had had his 
 holiday and was again at his desk hard at work one 
 day, when the card of his cousin, Roger Rexford, was 
 brought to him. 
 
 He directed that his visitor should be ushered into a 
 little room upstairs which he kept for himself, and 
 presently the two cousins were face to face. Long 
 looked at the other in silence for a moment, then said, 
 " Something has happened." 
 
 " The same that has happened over and over again," 
 returned Roger. " I am going to Chicago to see a 
 child whom Orrin Goodeve, junior, believes to be 
 Bessy. I dare say it is another cheat." But as he 
 spoke the color rose to his face and the tears to his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Has Orrin seen her ? " 
 
 " Yes. A Mrs. Lorenz, who has charge of the little 
 girl, took her to see him. Read what he says for your 
 self." 
 
 Long was white to the lips ; his hands trembled so 
 that he could hardly take the extended sheet. The 
 letter ran thus :
 
 NEWS. 167 
 
 CHICAGO, August 27. 
 
 DEAR ROGER, I hope I am not holding out false 
 hopes, but I honestly believe the child I wired you 
 about is your Bessy. I have seen her twice since. I 
 have questioned the woman closely, and have looked 
 into her antecedents. Her neighbors substantiate her 
 story, that is, they remember that her husband brought 
 the little girl to the house six months ago. Her name 
 is Susan Lorenz ; she is English, was formerly a house 
 maid or waitress in New York. She married Bernard 
 Lorenz, a journeyman plumber, and they came West 
 two years ago, after living at Fair Haven, Connecticut, 
 since their marriage. They left Bernard's sister Bertha 
 behind them there. Six months ago this Bertha be 
 came insane, and Lorenz went to Fair Haven to look 
 after her and her effects. When he returned to Chi 
 cago he brought this child, about whom he seemed dis 
 inclined to speak. Mrs. Lorenz had an idea for some 
 time that she was Bertha's own daughter. But Lorenz 
 now and then dropped a word or two about the little 
 girl's being worth the pains of looking after, and 
 once he said that if he were not afraid of getting into 
 trouble, he might have a, fortune for keeping her. Just 
 after this he was killed in a gas explosion. His death, 
 which occurred last April, left his widow destitute, 
 with three children of her own. Mrs. Lorenz was one 
 day complaining to a neighbor about the expense this 
 adopted child would be to her, and she told what her 
 husband had said about a fortune. The neighbor sug 
 gested that some time before a child had been lost in 
 New England and enormous rewards had been offered 
 for her. This statement led Mrs. Lorenz to make in 
 quiries, and she was directed to me. I have, as I say,
 
 l68 WAl.FORD. 
 
 seen the child twice. I should take her to be about 
 four years old. She has very bright golden hair, blue 
 eyes, good features, and a particularly white skin. Her 
 resemblance to your wife would have struck me, even if 
 I had met her casually. She speaks very fluently but 
 not very distinctly, her English, I should say, showing 
 traces of a foreign accent at times. I questioned her, 
 asked if she remembered her mother. She said she 
 walked with her mamma in the garden. I inquired who 
 else was there. She answered at once, Jenny, Nino, 
 and Fido, the big dog. 
 
 My own impressions must go for what they are 
 worth. Of course you must see the child. And, by 
 the by, look up this Bertha Lorenz in Fair Haven. She 
 was an operative in a silk-mill. She had also lived out 
 as a servant. She was always, her sister-in-law affirms, 
 a very excitable woman, and had a terrible grudge 
 against rich people. 
 
 Long had not read this without many an exclama 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " he said now, " I do believe she is 
 found." 
 
 " Don't talk about it. I try not even to think about 
 it," said Roger. " I am off for Chicago in two hours, 
 and must have something to eat first." 
 
 " Have you found out anything about Bertha 
 Lorenz ? " 
 
 " She died in the State Insane Asylum six weeks 
 ago," said Roger. " I am having her antecedents 
 looked up." 
 
 " Of course you have not said anything to Evelyn." 
 
 " Oh, no. If if there is any news, Rex, I wish
 
 NEWS. 169 
 
 you would go to Walford and prepare her. I would 
 rather feel that you are there. You will be careful of 
 her, and She is used to you." 
 
 " You will telegraph as soon as " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 They went out together and tried to eat a meal, but 
 Roger was too tremulous to utter a syllable. Long 
 took him to the cars, went on the train with him, and 
 sat by his side until it moved. Then they wrung 
 hands silently as if it were for a hopeless parting. 
 
 Within forty-eight hours, Long, sick with suspense, 
 received this dispatch : " I start this evening with 
 Bessy. I do not see that any one can find a shadow 
 of doubt. Go to Walford." 
 
 Long slept at Mrs. Goodeve's that night. The fol 
 lowing morning at eight o'clock he was at the Rexfords'. 
 He sent up a note to Amy asking her to come down 
 quietly without letting Evelyn know that he was there. 
 
 She descended almost on the instant, entering the 
 library where he was waiting, a little pale and flurried. 
 
 " You have brought some news," she said, without 
 any form of greeting. 
 
 " Good news, I hope and pray good news." 
 
 " Bessy is found ? " 
 
 " It seems as if we might say so. Roger has tele 
 graphed that he feels that there can be no doubt." 
 
 " Oh, thank God ! " said Amy, " thank God ! " She 
 caught her breath painfully ; tears were running down 
 her face, but she smiled at him. " Roger sent you to 
 tell Evelyn ? " He nodded. " Is he bringing Bessy 
 home ? " she asked. 
 
 "They started last night." This absolute definite- 
 ness when there had been such cruel obscurity was
 
 1 70 WALh'OKD. 
 
 hard to take in. They stared at each other, finding it 
 almost incredible. 
 
 " Don't let us be too sure," he exclaimed, feeling 
 with sudden anguish of soul that they might possibly 
 be laying up retributions for themselves. " Until Eve 
 lyn sees the child I shall not venture to rest on the 
 certainty." 
 
 Amy raised her hand. " I hear her moving about 
 her rooms." 
 
 The thought of Evelyn's present solitude, the empti 
 ness, the chilling void of her life, had suddenly to be 
 measured against the great boon offered. She was so 
 fragile nowadays it seemed as if too violent a surge of 
 any sort of emotion might kill her. Amy was used to 
 trusting her own powers, but she shrank back in this 
 emergency and left everything to Long. She felt that 
 she was too eager, too precipitate ; she longed to hide her 
 self. He had to school her to the task even of meeting 
 her sister as if nothing had happened. Evelyn must 
 come down, eat her breakfast, gain the full courage 
 and serenity which the day gives, before she was told 
 what was to happen. 
 
 Even while they were settling their plans Evelyn was 
 on the stairs. Long braced himself with a kind of 
 agony as he went out to meet her. He stood without 
 uttering a word, watching her descend. She wore a 
 shade over her eyes, and came down slowly, holding by 
 the baluster almost as if she were totally blind. She 
 had on a loose gown of white cashmere, and a fleecy 
 shawl was wrapped about her shoulders. She looked as 
 pale as her dress ; still he observed that her lips were 
 smiling. 
 
 " Who is that ? " she said, catching sight of a
 
 NEWS. I /I 
 
 man's figure at the foot of the staircase. Her foot 
 slipped as she spoke, and she would have fallen had he 
 not caught her in his arms. " Oh, you dear old Rex ! " 
 she exclaimed. " I thought for a moment it was Roger. 
 Where did you come from ? " 
 
 " I stayed all night with Aunt Laura," said Long. 
 " I told her I should breakfast with you. I heard that 
 Roger was away." 
 
 " Yes ; he rushed off suddenly on business. He is 
 away so much," Evelyn said, with a little sigh. " I am 
 so glad you have come, Rex." Amy advanced and 
 kissed her. " Well, dear, is breakfast ready ? " Evelyn 
 asked. 
 
 Amy replied that she had rung for breakfast, and 
 they sat down at table, Evelyn in her place behind 
 the cups and saucers. She leaned both elbows on the 
 table and rested her chin on her two palms. Both 
 Long and Amy watched her with a pang, she looked 
 so frail ; the little wrists and fingers were so thin, the 
 veins about her transparent temples were so blue. 
 
 " Nobody asks me how I am," she said in a voice 
 just touched with petulance, " but I feel better to-day 
 than I have felt for a long, long time." 
 
 " I observed you were smiling," said Long. " I am 
 glad." 
 
 " Eat a good breakfast, dear," put in Amy. 
 
 " I don't feel very hungry," said Evelyn. "You see," 
 she added, turning to Long, " I have had a dream, 
 such a wonderful dream." 
 
 " Are you going to tell it ? " 
 
 " If I can. But don't you know, it is never easy to 
 get hold of a dream. When you think you have it all 
 the substance vanishes, it turns into a cloud, as the 
 old goddesses used to."
 
 172 WALFOKD. 
 
 " Let us have even the cloud of it," said Long. 
 
 " I felt eager to tell it ; that was why I got up early, 
 dressed and came down by myself. And when I mis 
 took you for Roger I thought how nice that he had 
 come back in time to hear it. However, I'm not sure, 
 Rex," Evelyn said, with a touch of her old archness, 
 " but that I like you better for an audience. Roger is 
 forever thinking about something else when I talk to 
 him. Now you must both of you listen." She 
 made an imperative gesture, then began with anima 
 tion : "The first distinct impression I recall is that I 
 was sitting on a hillside, and all the world about me 
 was so beautiful I felt steeped in an intense happiness. 
 I could see far away into wide distances, and the vast 
 horizons were, oh, so lovely ! The sun shone, the sky 
 was of a heavenly color, and the whole visible universe 
 seemed revealed to my perceptions, as if I had never 
 before realized just how beautiful the world was. All 
 at once the thought crossed my mind that this must be 
 the Italian sky and atmosphere. I said aloud, as it 
 seemed, ' Oh, I always wanted so much to be in Italy,' 
 and again I was stirred all through with a sense of keen 
 joy in being alive, in seeing and feeling. I realized 
 too that I must improve this wonderful opportunity and 
 watch and study and drink the meaning of it all in. 
 There was enough to look at, although at first there 
 was nothing save sky, atmosphere, horizons, and the 
 wide empty hillside. All at once my solitude was 
 broken. From everywhere round about girdling me 
 in I saw odd, beautiful little beings approaching. You 
 know how it is in dreams. These creatures were partly 
 like children and partly like birds, cherubs perhaps, and 
 each bore in its hand a censer which it swung to and
 
 NEWS. 173 
 
 fro. ' How odd it is ! ' I said within myself. ' But 
 I suppose it is one of the customs of the country.' 
 I was singularly interested. They came nearer and 
 nearer. At first it was an exquisite pleasure to see 
 them close, then I began to divine that they somehow 
 threatened me. A pang darted through my bliss. I 
 suddenly realized that what it meant was that I was to 
 die. And oh, the idea brought such an anguish ! I 
 recognized the summons which told that body and soul 
 were to be wrenched apart. I cried out, ' Oh, I do not 
 want to die. I am so young, the world is so beautiful. 
 I never knew before how beautiful it is. It is such a 
 waste when I have lived only twenty-four years to have 
 the rest of my threescore and ten buried up away from 
 the sunshine and light.' For a minute I seemed to 
 struggle as against a physical enemy. But all at once, 
 as if a strong compelling hand were laid on me, I gave 
 up. My impulse changed. I said, ' Oh, perhaps it is 
 best. I was a happy child and have been a happy 
 woman. The world is so full of pain and trouble; per 
 haps I have had my full share of happiness, if I had 
 more it might not be good for me. Let it all go.' 
 Absolutely resigned, I seemed to float up into the air, 
 and there midway I rested and looked down on the spot 
 where I had been sitting. And looking down, I saw, 
 I saw, as it were, the other half of me sinking into 
 earth, and as it sank these little cherubs I told you 
 about waved their censers, and even while they waved 
 them bright little flowers sprang up and covered the 
 place." 
 
 She paused, smiling. " What do you think of that ? " 
 she asked, and when nobody answered she went on : 
 " Why, what is the matter ? Are you laughing or cry 
 ing?"
 
 1 74 WALFORD. 
 
 For the ideas the dream suggested coming into colli 
 sion with the excitement felt both by Long and Amy 
 had roused a feeling almost too poignant. " Oh, don't 
 cry," said Evelyn. " What is there to cry about ? It 
 made me feel happier than I have been for a long, long 
 time." She did not go on to say that as she lay in her 
 bed, moved as she had never been moved before by 
 a presentiment of her individual lot, she had suddenly 
 recognized Death as the great benefactor of mortals : 
 the ender of hard tasks, the dispenser of rest. And 
 since Death was sure to come, since she had only a 
 few years to spend, she said to herself, she must try 
 not to spend them in vain, as she had lately been 
 doing. 
 
 " I '11 tell you the rest by-and-by," she added, with 
 a little nod. " Now, eat your breakfast." She tried to 
 put hot water in the coffee-cups and laughed at her 
 failure. She could see nothing clearly near at hand, 
 she explained. This horrible stuff Dr. Cowdry put 
 into her eyes every day might be doing good, perhaps 
 they ached less, but she was actually blind. She told 
 about Dr. Johnson's sightless old friend, Mrs. Wil 
 liams, who used to make tea for his visitors and was 
 accused by some over-fastidious people of putting her 
 finger into the cups to feel if they were full. 
 
 She was once more the old Evelyn, bubbling over 
 with talk, far-darting fancies answering one another in 
 her mind. She laughed at Amy, told Long stories 
 about her activities, her plans for regenerating society, 
 and when Amy sat quiet with not a word only grew 
 saucier. Long's silence seemed nothing particular; 
 Evelyn had always been used to his silences. 
 
 The moment they rose, she went to the window.
 
 NEWS. 175 
 
 The clouds hung low, and a soft, dripping rain was 
 falling steadily. 
 
 " I wish it had been a pleasant day," she said. " I 
 would ask you to take me out to drive, Rex. I feel 
 like going into the air." 
 
 " You certainly are better, Evelyn," he answered. 
 He had followed her into the bay-window, and she 
 turned about and faced him. 
 
 " I have made' up my mind," she said, " that I will 
 be better. I have worn everybody out. I have been 
 horribly selfish." 
 
 " Come into the library and sit down for a while," 
 said Long. 
 
 He led her in, placed her in a chair before the open 
 wood fire, then went back and shut the door. 
 
 " Rex," exclaimed Evelyn, as he advanced towards 
 her again, speaking in a voice which vibrated in an 
 swer to some strong inward emotion, " my dream had 
 two meanings for me. It helped to bury my dead. I 
 had never buried Bessy before. Now I feel as if I 
 could say to myself, ' Bessy is dead.' We must all die, 
 and her little day was appointed to end soon. She 
 had a happy time ; it was too short for her to have 
 gone deep into life. She was saved much pain. If 
 what they tell is true she is with the Saviour who said, 
 ' Suffer little children to come unto me.' And if 
 Heaven does really exist, and our visions of it are not 
 mere dreams, how happy she must be ! Yes, Rex, I 
 have given her up at last. Death no longer seems 
 such an enemy." 
 
 Long laid his hand on hers. 
 
 " I dare say my old sorrow will come back," she 
 went on with a sudden agitation of all her features,
 
 176 WALFORD. 
 
 " and that I shall wake up with a feeling of vacancy 
 and emptiness, but hereafter I intend to conquer it." 
 
 " I am glad you feel strong," said Rex. " I want 
 you to be wise and sensible. If you bear your grief 
 so nobly, who can tell but that it may be turned into 
 joy?" 
 
 His voice sank toward the end, took a thrilling 
 characteristic note which always touched her. 
 
 " Joy ? " she repeated. " Amy would say you ought 
 not to talk about joy ; she says we are not put here to 
 be happy." 
 
 " Nevertheless I want you to be very happy," said 
 Rex. He was bending down towards her, still pressing 
 a hand on hers. She began to feel stirred by a sense 
 of something in his words beyond the words them 
 selves. She observed that his voice was full of emo 
 tion and his breath came quickly and unevenly. She 
 tore off the shade from her eyes and looked at him ; 
 seeing nothing clearly, she made a gesture as if to 
 brush away cobwebs. 
 
 "Evelyn," he. said, "be strong and calm." 
 
 She rose up slowly, putting a hand on each of his 
 arms. 
 
 " Rex, tell me," she whispered, a flush coming to her 
 face. 
 
 " I had a telegram from Roger yesterday afternoon," 
 said Rex. 
 
 " Has he found Bessy ? " 
 
 " He has found a child exactly like Bessy. He is 
 bringing her home." 
 
 " Is it Bessy? You would n't tell me if it were not 
 Bessy." 
 
 " He thinks, he fully believes, it is Bessy."
 
 NEWS. 177 
 
 " He does not feel sure ? " she asked in a suffocated 
 voice. 
 
 " It seems best that the decision should be left to 
 you. You would know in an instant." 
 
 " Know ? I should think so." She seemed to be 
 struggling for breath. " When am I to see her ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " If Roger is not here to-night, he will surely come 
 to-morrow." 
 
 She turned with a blind motion, feeling for the chair 
 she had left. As he guided her to it he observed that 
 her hands had grown cold. 
 
 " I have been too abrupt," said he. 
 
 "Oh, no." 
 
 " Can you bear it, dear child ? " 
 
 She turned her face towards him with the old frank, 
 bright smile. 
 
 " One can bear joy." 
 
 " Don't believe too implicitly. It is almost two 
 years, and children resemble each other; besides " 
 
 " Let me have a moment to hope, to believe once 
 more." 
 
 She sat as if tranquil, her hands crossed in her lap. 
 Long opened the door and called Amy, who came in, 
 and the sisters kissed each other. 
 
 " You are perfectly drenched with tears, Amy," said 
 Evelyn. " I am not crying at all. I feel as if I could 
 never cry again. And that may do my eyes good," 
 she added with a little laugh, " for the trouble was the 
 tears would come, and when they came they cut like 
 knives." 
 
 She sat for an hour or more as if plunged in pleasant 
 reverie. Then the brain, at first stupefied, roused 
 itself, cleared away the mists, and began to work.
 
 1 78 WALFOKD. 
 
 " Rex," she called, " where did they find her ? " 
 
 " In Chicago." 
 
 " How did they find her ? " 
 
 He told her every detail with which he was ac 
 quainted. She listened eagerly, putting question after 
 question in logical order. When there came a hiatus 
 which his knowledge could not fill up, she was quiet, 
 reflected for a time, then bridged the chasm by some 
 conjectural hypothesis. Her mind was actively at work 
 in a world of new ideas which it was trying to assimilate. 
 At first Rex had seemed a radiant angel, who had come 
 out of the darkness with a clear message for her. Now 
 she began to remember that he had suggested a doubt, 
 had implored her not to believe too implicitly, as if 
 there might be a half truth and a half falsehood. It 
 had been sweet to have even a transient taste of the 
 sweetness of the fountain, but oh, the unspeakable bit 
 terness of going back to the thirsty desert ! She felt 
 roused to an alarmed resistance of his fears. She 
 pressed question upon question upon him as if to dis 
 cover what was behind the phantoms he conjured up. 
 She wanted facts and realities. It was a clear help to 
 have Mrs. Goodeve come in, to listen to her large, rea 
 sonable speech and feel the warm grasp of her hand. 
 
 Evelyn clung to her. " Do you believe it ? " she 
 whispered. 
 
 " Believe it ? " said Mrs. Goodeve, " Of course I 
 believe it. Roger Rexford would not allow himself to 
 be imposed upon, and he is not likely to bring home 
 any child but his own. My son, Orrin, writes that she 
 is the perfect image of you. What is there to doubt 
 about it ? We have been looking, hoping, and expect 
 ing that Bessy would be found and brought back, and 
 now she is coining. When you have her in your arms
 
 NEWS. 1/9 
 
 again, some of us will be ready to sit for the rest of 
 our lives folding our hands in content and thankful 
 ness. God is good, his mercy endureth forever." 
 
 Evelyn looked up. " Yes," she said in a piercing tone. 
 " He is good." She had said she should never cry 
 again, but to feel Mrs. Goodeve's warm clasp stirred 
 the fount of tears. 
 
 " Such a night as we had ! " said Mrs. Goodeve. 
 " Rex came at ten o'clock. Felix was almost wild with 
 delight. I don't believe he went to bed at all. I 
 heard voices at three o'clock and looked into Rex's 
 room. Felix was sitting on the side of his bed, and 
 they were talking. Rex evidently had had no chance to 
 put out his light or close his eyes. I rebuked Felix, 
 and he shouted at me, ' Night was not made for slum 
 ber.' " 
 
 Evelyn pressed her hands to her temples. 
 
 " If I only knew, if I only dared to feel sure," she 
 murmured. 
 
 " Have you got her things ready ? " inquired Mrs. 
 Goodeve. 
 
 " No," said Evelyn, startled. 
 
 " It is noon now and I think they will be here at 
 6:42. Let us go up-stairs and see what we can do. 
 The crib must be ready, and the bath and the clothes. 
 Do you suppose she will have outgrown everything you 
 have in the house?" 
 
 Evelyn turned to Mrs. Goodeve with an indescriba 
 ble gesture ; it told of a passion of gratitude. They 
 went up-stairs together, and it was easy to see in the 
 young mother the reemergence of something long re 
 pressed, the satisfaction of a yearning which had 
 gnawed like hunger.
 
 XIII. 
 
 BESSY. 
 
 FELIX GOODEVE met Roger Rexford at the train 
 that evening. 
 
 " How is my wife ? " the latter asked. 
 
 " She is taking it very well," said Felix. " This is 
 the little girl, is it ? " He lifted her and kissed her. 
 He did not put her down, but carried her in his arms 
 as he and Roger walked along the street together in 
 silence. 
 
 Rexford Long stood holding the door open as they 
 entered the gate. " Where is Evelyn ? " asked Roger. 
 
 "Waiting in the library." 
 
 Felix put the child on her feet, and the three men set 
 to work to loosen the wrap, and remove the hat and 
 coat. Not one of them uttered a word, but each gazed 
 in smiling admiration at the little creature thus dis 
 closed. Long's eyes met Roger's, and the two gripped 
 hands. It was surely Bessy and none other, their look 
 said. She was a trifle taller and a trifle thinner than of 
 old, but here was the same beautiful head, with masses 
 of golden hair in large, loose rings, curling away from 
 brow and temple ; the same satin white skin, red lips, 
 and tender little throat. The orbits of the blue eyes 
 looked larger and the pupils were dilated. She was 
 evidently frightened, and looked from one to the other 
 as if seeking a refuge.
 
 BESSY. l8l 
 
 Roger led her into the middle of the empty library, 
 then dropped her hand, stepped back into the door 
 way, and waited. The little girl stood perfectly still, 
 looking about her ; the smile died out of her face and 
 she uttered a sort of sob. Evelyn at the last moment 
 had hidden behind the window-curtain. This little 
 note of grief went to her heart. She flung back the 
 drapery and stood disclosed ; she and the little girl 
 were face to face. There was another moment's utter 
 silence, then the child took a step forward and said in 
 a soft voice, " Mamma, mamma." 
 
 " Bessy, Bessy, Bessy ! " said Evelyn. She flung her 
 self on her knees, opened her arms, and the little crea 
 ture ran into them and clung tightly to her. " My 
 baby, my baby ! " Evelyn gasped, rocking the child to 
 and fro. " My baby, my baby, my precious one ! " 
 
 She kissed passionately the hair, the eyes, the mouth, 
 the temples, the little throat. " You are my Bessy," 
 she cried, holding her out at arm's length and gazing 
 at her. " I did not feel sure till now." She rubbed 
 her eyes as if to clear their blurred vision. " It 's 
 Bessy's hair," she said, an exquisite smile breaking all 
 over her face. She looked round as if in triumph. 
 " I 've got a lock of it up-stairs ; I '11 show it to you." 
 Then she turned back, and half holding the child to her 
 and half pressing her away to get her into focus, she 
 murmured, " And the eyes, the eyes ! My precious 
 baby ! Kiss me. Kiss me again. Oh, I Ve got you 
 back ! Oh, thank God ! Oh, my God, I thank Thee ! 
 It always seemed to me that Heaven could not be so 
 cruel." Her voice had broken and died away in gasps 
 and sobs, and the little one joined her in loud weep 
 ing. Then, as if startled by the child's grief, Evelyn
 
 1 82 WALFORD. 
 
 checked her own, laid her cheek against the tearful 
 one on her breast, and said : " What makes you cry, 
 Bessy ? " 
 
 " I like to cly," said the little girl. 
 
 " Who am I ? Did you ever see me before ? " 
 
 " You are mamma," said the child. 
 
 " You darling ! How do you know I 'm mamma ? " 
 
 " Oh, I know," she said with a little nod. 
 
 " How do you know ? Where did you ever see me 
 before ? " 
 
 The child was looking up with round peach-like 
 cheeks, her blue eyes full of mischief and delight. 
 
 " I know," she said. 
 
 " Who else was there ? " 
 
 " Jenny and Fido. Mamma said, ' Poor old Fido.' " 
 
 " It 's Bessy," cried Evelyn sharply, with a new touch 
 in her voice. She turned round to the group at the 
 door. There were Amy, Roger, Long, Mrs. Goodeve, 
 and Felix. "Don't you hear?" she said, starting to 
 her feet ; " she said it just in my way, ' Poor old Fido.' " 
 She seemed for the first time to remember that her 
 husband had come. She went to him and looked into 
 his face. " It is Bessy," she whispered to him. "You 
 feel sure it is our Bessy ? " 
 
 "Dearest wife, of course it 's Bessy," said Roger. 
 
 "There is just a little difference," Evelyn murmured. 
 " It is in the voice, I fancy. But don't you think it 
 could be easily accounted for ? " 
 
 " It would be strange if there was not some decided 
 difference," said Roger. " She is two years older." 
 
 Evelyn went wistfully up to Long. 
 
 " Rex, you think it is Bessy, don't you ? " 
 
 "I am certain of it."
 
 BESSY. 183 
 
 " She kisses me more warmly than Bessy used to," 
 whispered Evelyn. " Of old, she was a half indifferent 
 little creature. But of course then she had me all the 
 time ; I quite wore her out. It would not be strange, 
 would it, if she had grown more affectionate ? " 
 
 " No, indeed." 
 
 " Amy, you never saw Bessy before, so you are no 
 good, nor you, Felix Goodeve," said Evelyn, passing 
 them with a little wave of her hand and going up to 
 Mrs. Goodeve, who had taken the child on her knee. 
 " Aunt Laura, you are sure it is Bessy, are n't you ? " 
 she cried, peering into her face with an expression of 
 mingled longing and compunction. 
 
 " Of course it is Bessy," said Mrs. Goodeve. 
 
 " I 'm Bessy ! Of course I 'm Bessy," said the child 
 gleefully. 
 
 " Of course she is Bessy," said Mrs. Goodeve. " What 
 other child ever had such hair or such a cherub face ? 
 It is indescribable how exactly it is Bessy." 
 
 Amy had followed Evelyn, and kneeling at Mrs. 
 Goodeve's feet looked up at the little girl, moved by the 
 wonder and the mystery of the miracle. All the rest 
 lessness, all the pain, the wild and impotent longings, 
 the cruel defeat, were ended here. This little child, who 
 had been dead and was alive again, lost and was found, 
 offered a new dispensation. 
 
 " She certainly looks like you, Evelyn," Amy ex 
 claimed. " I wish you could see her as I see her." 
 
 " I can see her," said Evelyn. Her voice broke into 
 a half sob, half laugh. " She has grown prettier." She 
 too was kneeling at the child's feet, gazing up. She 
 took the little hands in hers and felt them all over. She 
 spanned the little ankles and legs. These slight tokens
 
 1 84 WALFOKD. 
 
 of uncertainty, these timid approaches, these tremulous 
 touches, showed not doubt, but the profound need of 
 her soul for an absolute belief. On the verge of de 
 cision everything once more trembled in the balance. 
 Hope and faith Muttered one instant before folding their 
 wings. 
 
 Nobody except Mrs. Goodeve quite understood the 
 conflict. 
 
 " You don't quite dare let yourself go, Evelyn," she 
 said gently. " You can't take it all in. Don't be afraid 
 to love her. At any rate, she is a motherless baby ; she 
 needs to be warmed in your breast and fed from your 
 cup." 
 
 Evelyn gathered the little creature into her arms, 
 then had a momentary reaction ; a last doubt had as 
 sailed her. But at Mrs. Goodeve's quiet assurance she 
 felt herself transported into a luminous world, all hap 
 piness, as if after stumbling in darkness she had 
 come into effulgent day. The tense chords of feeling 
 snapped again. She burst into tears. Bessy pressed 
 her little finger against her mother's cheek. 
 
 " Don't cly, mamma," she said. " Bessy does n't 
 want to cly." 
 
 This touch of comfort, combined with something im 
 perative in the childish behest, stirred her tenderness 
 even while it amused her. 
 
 "We will not cry, Bessy," she said, struggling with 
 her agitation. " We will be sensible. We will eat our 
 supper. Bessy wants some bread and milk. Think of 
 my not feeding her." She rose with the little one in 
 her arms. 
 
 " Let me carry her," said Long. 
 
 ' No, not to-night."
 
 BESSY. 185 
 
 " She is too heavy for you." 
 
 " She is not heavy," said Evelyn. " She used to be 
 such a solid little creature. I do not believe she has 
 been well fed." 
 
 She bore the child rapidly down the hall. In a niche 
 opposite the front door, over a fireplace little used, was 
 fastened the mounted head of a caribou that Roger 
 Rexford had shot years before. As Evelyn swept past 
 it with the little girl in her arms, she suddenly checked 
 herself, pointed to the object, and asked, " Bessy, what 
 is that ? " 
 
 Bessy nodded, smiled, and stretched out her hand : 
 " Caballoo." 
 
 Evelyn turned back triumphantly, " Did you hear it ? " 
 she called in the old ringing voice. " That is exactly 
 what she used to call it." 
 
 The whole group watched her as she gave Bessy the 
 hot bread and milk. As each mouthful was offered 
 Bessy smiled and gazed into the face on a line with 
 hers. She soon began to show besides supreme hap 
 piness an air of sleepy satisfaction. Presently she 
 shook her head at the proffered mouthful, made a little 
 gesture to have the bowl put away, and transferred her 
 full gaze to her mother, as if that sight alone offered full 
 sustenance. 
 
 " She is sleepy," murmured Evelyn with an air of in 
 tense indrawn content. " I shall carry her off and put 
 her to bed." 
 
 She refused all aid, would allow no one to go 
 up-stairs with her. Even while they were ascending 
 Bessy's eyes closed, and by the time Evelyn was in the 
 chair before the fire in her own ' room she was fast 
 asleep. A maid brought a bath of warm water. Evelyn
 
 1 86 WALFORD. 
 
 wanted no lookers-on. After all, this was the crucial 
 test. She had said to Mrs. Goodeve that day that there 
 could be but one Bessy in all the world, no other baby 
 had been like her born without spot or blemish on the 
 lily skin. Ever since she first clasped the child she 
 had experienced a passionate yearning to have the little 
 round moist body open to her sight and touch. She 
 drew off the clothes ; garment by garment she flung 
 them aside. Bessy should wear them no more. She 
 knew it was her own child : her heart could not go out 
 with this irrepressible love to any other woman's child. 
 Yet she trembled and quaked as she laid bare the neck 
 and shoulders, and disclosed the faint bud of the 
 breasts, the round trunk, the supple arms and legs. 
 
 It was Bessy, her own perfect first-born. There 
 could no longer be any possibility of a mistake. God 
 alone knows what Evelyn felt as she sat before the fire 
 rocking her baby. We must not pry with conjecture 
 into that mystery of joy, of repossession. 
 
 Roger Rexford, waiting outside, after a time heard 
 a soft lullaby, a lullaby he knew. He opened the door 
 and looked in. Evelyn was putting Bessy in the crib. 
 " May I come ? " he asked. 
 
 She flung her arms round her husband. 
 
 " I 'm horribly selfish," she cried. " But, Roger, I 'm 
 so happy, I 'm so happy. It is our baby, our baby 
 back again in her own crib. Look at her." 
 
 He bent over the little bed. Bessy had half waked 
 as she was laid on the pillow, but now was fast asleep 
 once more, her hair ruffled, her cheeks flushed, her lips 
 apart. 
 
 Roger bent down' and kissed her. 
 
 " Thank God," he said. " It seems now as if she
 
 BESSY. IS/ 
 
 had never been away. How did we live through that 
 terrible time ? " 
 
 Evelyn clung to him, weeping. " Roger," she said, 
 " when I was bringing her up-stairs I said to myself, ' If 
 it should turn out not to be Bessy after all, I will tell 
 no one, I will keep it a secret.' For it seemed to me 
 to lose this little soft creature out of my arms would 
 drive me wild." 
 
 " But it is Bessy ; you need not make any pretense. 
 And you must not cry any more. Give up those fool 
 ish, foolish tears, and your eyes will get well." 
 
 Mrs. Goodeve came in, followed by the others. 
 Evelyn went up to each, to Rexford Long, and Felix 
 as well as the two women, and kissed each in turn. 
 
 " Good friends, best friends," she said, " I am so 
 happy ! Come and look at Bessy.'' She stood press 
 ing her clasped hands to her breast for a moment in 
 silence, then burst out : " I cannot speak of what it is 
 to me. It is beyond description. All I want is to be 
 silent and to feel it."
 
 XIV. 
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 
 
 " COME and live with me, Bessy," said Felix Good- 
 eve, " and I will give you a white pony with a mane 
 like silk, and a cherry-tree full of blossoms which will 
 turn into plums that will melt in your mouth." 
 
 "No," replied Bessy; "I like to live with my 
 mamma." 
 
 " But I will give you nineteen chickens just out of 
 the shell," Felix went on, "each as yellow as a canary 
 bird, with a little black spot on the top of its head and 
 ten toes exactly like what you have got yourself.'' 
 
 " Can I take them up in my own hands ? " demanded 
 Bessy. 
 
 " I don't feel sure about that," said Felix. " But I Ml 
 give you a star and the moon, and we will light them 
 up every evening. And then you shall have a bright, 
 golden sun, and each morning we will set it in the east, 
 and send it spinning up the sky till it falls down in the 
 west at night clean tired out." 
 
 " I 've got a sun and moon of my own," said Bessy, 
 " and stars, too, heaps of stars." 
 
 It was now about eight months since Bessy had 
 come into her kingdom. Events had moved on a little. 
 Roger Rexford had given up his place on Walford 
 main street and had brought his family to the house 
 John Rexford had built, where his widow, Madam Van
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 189 
 
 Polanen, had died. Evelyn was very happy in making 
 the change. This was such a pretty house for Bessy 
 to grow up in. Madam Van had always said that she 
 wanted Bessy's childhood and youth spent here. 
 There were such pleasant nooks to play in ; so many 
 windows opened upon flower-beds and shrubberies ; 
 the glimpses of the river were so picturesque, and the 
 far reaches beyond all so restful. The garden was just 
 such a garden as one loves ; then each of the three 
 lawns was delightful in its way, especially the west one, 
 sloping down to the river bank. Thus Bessy was able 
 to retort to Felix Goodeve when he cunningly set forth 
 his temptations : 
 
 " We have got a wiver, and a wobin's nest in a tree, 
 and mamma says that next week four little birds will 
 come." 
 
 Bessy was by this time reestablished in actual life. 
 She was no longer regarded as a changeling, a fairy 
 child. At first Walford people had examined her cu 
 riously, questioning her about her jecollections as if to 
 establish some fresh proof of identity. All admitted 
 that it was Bessy Rexford, the duplicate in miniature of 
 Evelyn except for the eyes, which were like her father's. 
 But every one wished to have a logical account of all 
 her experience ; to understand the reason and the 
 method of her being carried off. Nothing clear had 
 been elicited concerning Bertha Lorenz's connection 
 with the child, although some of her fellow-operatives 
 at the mills remembered that they had seen a little girl 
 with the woman on Sundays. 
 
 The vague ache of longing somehow to throw light 
 on that black interval of absence had, however, died out 
 gradually and naturally. For a time, when inquiries
 
 190 WALf-ORD. 
 
 were pressed upon Bessy it was evident that she was 
 straining some sense to grasp ideas which she only 
 caught by snatches as they came and went in her mind. 
 More than once, at some suggestion, she seemed to be 
 listening as if to master some vaguely heard sound, 
 then again put out her hand as if to lay hold of 
 something half seen. 
 
 A striking incident was connected with the Rexfords' 
 removal to the old place. They had come in at Christ 
 mas, leaving their own household goods behind them, 
 and entering into possession of Madam Van Polanen's. 
 The house had been cleaned, fires had been lighted, 
 but no changes had yet been made, and they found the 
 aspect of the rooms so familiar they were half haunted 
 by the presentiment that the former mistress would be 
 wheeled in by Nino, take her place on the red lounge, 
 and draw the tiger-skin over her. It was this tiger- 
 skin which instantly attracted Bessy's attention, and 
 the evidence thus given of her clear recollection of 
 old times made Evelyn feel that it needed only a clear 
 hint to have the temporary oblivion removed, and the 
 whole current of memory regain its full sweep. 
 
 For the child ran to the tiger-skin as if remembering 
 a familiar friend. " Mamma," she called imperiously, 
 " come and play Red Riding-hood. " 
 
 "How do you play Red Riding-hood?" Evelyn 
 asked startled. 
 
 Bessy instructed her as to every detail. She was to 
 lie down on the lounge, and she herself would say, 
 
 " Gamma, what big eyes you 've got ! " 
 
 Then the answer should come, "The better to see 
 you, my dear." 
 
 " Gamma, what big ears you 've got ! "
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 191 
 
 " The better to hear you, my dear." 
 
 " Gamma, what big teeth you 've got ! " 
 
 " The better to eat you, my dear ! " 
 
 While rehearsing this drama, Bessy, strongly excited, 
 seemed momentarily in absolute possession of her past 
 self. However, it proved to be like other efforts of 
 memory, an instantaneous flash which fell only on one 
 association ; the rest was left in darkness. Yet she 
 had played at Little Red Riding -hood so many times 
 in this room with Madam Van for a fellow-actor, there 
 was something startling, almost uncanny, in the swift 
 and unerring feat of memory. More than once it ap 
 peared to Evelyn as if Bessy actually remembered more 
 than she was willing to make an effort to tell. She 
 would say, "I know," and then stop tantalizingly, while 
 only her expressive features showed that there was 
 more behind. And occasionally there had been a hint 
 of the child's having a troubled consciousness of past 
 pain and disaster, and that she disliked questions 
 which roused dim images of what she still half recalled, 
 and wholly dreaded. But it was not long before her 
 little stock of memories began to be utterly swept 
 away. For four or five months, when prompted, she 
 would speak of Jenny, of Nino, of Fido, of Madam 
 Van, with startling clearness. But it could be seen 
 that her hold upon these old associations gradually 
 slackened, and by this April her mind could hardly be 
 stirred into activity concerning past events and people. 
 Evidently her present happiness was swallowing up 
 lesser joys as the ocean swallows up rivulets. She was 
 a charming child, full of energy, full of swift, indomi 
 table impulses, changeable as the wind, at once shy and 
 bold, tenacious and capricious. She had a bright
 
 1 92 WALFORD. 
 
 intellect, with more than a touch of humor, was by 
 turns sensible and paradoxical, but wore always the air 
 of being desperately in earnest. In spite of the little 
 creature's merry imperious ways, her inclination to 
 put her foot upon everybody's neck, and regard all the 
 world as mere auxiliaries and subsidiaries to carry out 
 her whimsical behests, she had a touch of morbid 
 ness about her mother. It was not easy to separate 
 her from Evelyn, and she was never so well contented 
 as when limited to Evelyn's quiet rooms. She liked 
 Mrs. Goodeve and Felix, and was especially fond of 
 Rexford Long. Of her father she sometimes showed 
 signs of jealousy, as if she feared that Evelyn loved 
 him better than her covetous little self. Amy Standish 
 was not one of her absolute favorites. Amy taught her 
 all sorts of things, insisted on her being good, above 
 all resolutely took her away from her mother for some 
 hours each day, for Evelyn's health was far from satis 
 factory, and she still needed watchful care. 
 
 Amy had been hard at work all winter. It was now 
 her idea to take a house, put in plain furniture, and two 
 sensible motherly women to make a home for a dozen 
 delicate, tired seamstresses from New York during the 
 summer. Mrs. Goodeve had suggested that an empty 
 house which she herself owned might answer the pur 
 pose, and had offered it rent free, and Felix had come 
 this morning to take Amy to look at it. 
 
 " Bessy is to go with us," Amy remarked, as she en 
 tered dressed to go out. " Evelyn is lying down, and 
 says that the walk will be good for Bessy." 
 
 " I don't like to go to walk," said Bessy. " I like 
 the pony cart." 
 
 " No matter what you like," said Amy sweetly. " You
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 193 
 
 are to walk with us, and mamma says you must be a 
 good girl." 
 
 " I shall be naughty all the time," declared Bessy. 
 " I shall say don't, and sha'n't, and won't, and that I 
 hate being good. I shall be velly naughty, velly 
 naughty, indeed." 
 
 " Don't you know what I do to naughty little girls ? " 
 asked Felix. 
 
 Bessy's eyes danced with eagerness. " I '11 be 
 dreadfully naughty and then you '11 do it, won't you? 
 Please say you '11 do it." 
 
 " Just wait till we are on top of the hill," said Felix. 
 
 But what latent naughtiness there might be in Bessy 
 died a natural death in the pure, clear air out of doors. 
 It was an April morning, with a brisk west wind which 
 drove before it masses of white clouds, which later in 
 the day might grow black and heavy and bring showers. 
 The girdle of mountains surrounding Walford showed 
 purple and violet, and the uplands toward the north 
 were chased with flying shadows. Occasionally the 
 sun was obscured, then burst out with fresh warmth 
 and brightness. Everything seemed alive and full of 
 joy. Bessy had the two dogs with her, Nix, a snowy 
 Pomeranian, a present from Felix Goodeve, and Sir 
 Walter, a beautiful Gordon setter that Long had given 
 Evelyn after Fido's death. Bessy sang at the top of 
 her voice. She ran hither and thither, followed by the 
 dogs, keeping always in advance. If she lingered a 
 moment the others instinctively paused and waited for 
 her. It showed the vibration of the old note of terror 
 that Evelyn, at the last moment, when Bessy was to be 
 taken out, clutched at the one who was to accompany 
 her, and said in an anxious voice, " Don't lose sight of 
 her."
 
 194 WALFOKD. 
 
 They took an unfrequented street, bordered by pleas 
 ant houses with gardens, just beginning to show signs 
 of the spade and *the rake. Felix Goodeve stopped at 
 each fence to exchange a word with the man or woman 
 who was sure to be out sweeping the yard with a broom 
 of twigs, planting the garden, or at least superintending 
 somebody's labors. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Carrington," he said to an old woman 
 who sat on a porch watching a man who was trans 
 planting lettuce, " you keep up your garden." 
 
 "Yes, we keep it up after a sort o' fashion," she re 
 turned. " Mr. Carrington he says every year he don't 
 want a garden. He says every bean we raise costs a 
 dollar, and every pea-pod two dollars. But I tell him 
 I like a garden, that I can't get along without a gar 
 den, and when we get so 'tarnal poor we have to' use 
 an oil stove and can't afford to raise our own vege 
 tables, I want to go to the town-house, but till then, I 
 want a real fire and a garden." 
 
 Some of the trees still looked bare, but others had 
 their downy leaves tumbling out of the buds. 
 
 " Everything is growing and blooming, Mr. Clark," 
 Felix called to an old man planting beans, inch by inch, 
 in a long double drill. 
 
 " Yes, sir, it 's my happy time of year," said the 
 planter, rising up slowly and leaning on his hoe. " It 
 does me good to get them there beans in the ground, 
 and I say to myself, ' In two months I '11 be a-pulling 
 'em, and a-stringing 'em, and a-snapping 'em, and my 
 wife will boil 'em, and we '11 have 'em every day for 
 dinner for a month.' There 's no pleasure like it, sir. 
 But to-morrow I mean to get corn in. I know it 's 
 early, but there 's allus a chance of good weather, and
 
 FELIX A1AKES LOVE. 195 
 
 the earlier it gets started the sooner we can have suc 
 cotash. It makes me feel as if things were alive again 
 when I can get seeds into the ground." 
 
 Amy's beautiful dark eyes were full of amusement 
 and sympathy as they met Felix's glance. She began 
 to tell him, conscious that she had once undervalued 
 the privileges of village life, that she understood nowa 
 days that there was no satisfaction like that of getting 
 at the facts of existence, and that where " oats, peas, 
 beans, and barley grow," the elementary facts of exist 
 ence are more palpable than in cities where everything 
 has to be accepted ready-made. Felix had been away 
 the greater part of the winter, and now she had a sat 
 isfaction in letting him into the secret of her summer 
 plans. For the germ of her present enterprise lay 
 in something he had said .to her once, that every 
 city charity ought to have its rural outlet ; that the 
 greatest mercy to thousands of wretched people would 
 be simply to lift them out of the crowded streets and 
 tenements and drop them down among grass and trees. 
 She entertained a suspicion, which was almost a cer 
 tainty, that Felix himself was behind his mother's 
 generous offer of the house they were going to see. 
 Thus she was to-day frank and trustful. There had 
 been times when she believed that he was laughing at 
 her, drawing her out because he considered her theories 
 irresistibly amusing; but now she frankly and joy 
 ously confided all her plans for the " Summer Rest." 
 
 " Do you understand it all ? " she asked, finally paus 
 ing, with a consciousness that she had hardly given him 
 time to utter a word. 
 
 " I understand a little," Felix returned. " There are 
 only half a dozen men in the world good enough fully 
 to understand you, and they could n't."
 
 196 WAI. FORD. 
 
 " I don't know precisely what you mean," said Amy. 
 
 " I know exactly what I mean," he retorted. " Amy, 
 you are a lovely woman. You take such infinite pains 
 for others. You seem never to think of yourself. 
 There is not a trace of selfishness in you, nor of co 
 quetry." 
 
 " It is very good of you to praise me," said Amy. 
 " I used to think you did not like me." They were en 
 tering the g-:te, and she turned and gave him her hand, 
 which he grasped warmly. 
 
 " To tell the truth," she went on, " I am better worth 
 liking now than when I first came to Walford. It 
 seemed such a poor answer to all my dreams of doing 
 some good in the world, to settle down here, cut short 
 my career, and have my energies fall useless. I was 
 narrowed down to one special outlook. Humanitarian 
 views ought to quicken insight and sympathy, but I am 
 afraid they reach so far that they become just a little 
 abstract. They blur one's vision for the sacred little 
 duties and tendernesses near at hand. One generalizes, 
 one wants to grasp the full scheme, and is impatient 
 of the obstacles and interruptions which belong to 
 family life. Mr. Goodeve, I want to tell you that I 
 have improved, widened. Evelyn has done me good, 
 your mother has done me good, and you you have 
 done me good.". 
 
 Felix, still holding her hand, looked down into her 
 face with an air of not being fully satisfied with what 
 his eyes saw or his ears heard. 
 
 He did not try to answer at the moment. He had 
 the key of the house ; so he dropped her hand, turned, 
 went up to the porch, and admitted Amy, Bessy, and 
 the two dogs. The shutters were already open, and he
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 197 
 
 proceeded to fling wide the windows and let the mild 
 breeze into the disused rooms. Bessy found the place 
 full of echoes, and shouted at them as she ran up and 
 down. 
 
 " Bessy, dear," said Amy, taking out her note-book, 
 for she had come to accomplish specific purposes, 
 " don't make such a noise." 
 
 " I don't make the noise, Aunt Amy," Bessy replied. 
 " It makes itself." 
 
 " Whisper, then listen, and perhaps it will whisper 
 back." 
 
 Bessy fell to whispering, but with the dogs looking 
 wistfully into her face and requesting some form of 
 amusement, she soon managed to find other means of 
 dispelling tedium. 
 
 No sooner had Amy's plan shaped itself in her mind 
 than she busied herself with exact calculations regard 
 ing every piece of furniture which must be bought, 
 and a hundred ingenious minor arrangements for the 
 comfort of the little home. There was one room with 
 two windows opening towards the east, and another 
 towards the north, through which a wide expanse of 
 country lay visible, which she chose for the dining- 
 room. A square alcove lay between it and the kitchen, 
 and for this she began instantly to contrive a miracu 
 lous arrangement of safes and cupboards over which 
 she exhibited purely feminine rapture. Felix had never 
 before seen her in just this mood, which invested her 
 with fresh lights and enchanting prettinesses. 
 
 A plaintive voice broke into their discussion of 
 shelves. 
 
 " I wish I can have a match to light him wiz." 
 
 Amy turned. "Bessy," she called serenely, "don't 
 put poor Nix into the fireplace."
 
 198 WALFORD. 
 
 " What can I put into the fireplace, then ? " de 
 manded Bessy, altogether at a loss. " There is n't any 
 wood." 
 
 " My dear Bessy, you must not at any rate put Nix 
 into the fireplace. He is a dear little dog." 
 
 " I wish I can have a match to light him wiz," mused 
 Bessy, studying the effect of the unhappy Nix trem 
 bling inside the grate. 
 
 " Don't be naughty, dear." 
 
 " I 'm going to be velly naughty, velly naughty, in 
 deed," said Bessy cheerfully. She ran up to Felix. 
 " What do you do to 'ittle girls when they get velly 
 naughty? " she inquired with lively curiosity. 
 
 " This is what I do," Felix returned gravely, and 
 catching her up he set her on his shoulder. Bessy 
 screamed with delight. She could touch the ceiling 
 with her hand, and she was triumphant besides at the 
 wistful glances the dogs gave her, finding her so hope 
 lessly out of reach. Amy went on investigating her 
 pantry with a speculative eye, trying to think of every 
 possible deficiency. She was filling the little blank 
 book in her hand with notes. At each fresh quandary 
 she pursed up her lips and seemed to try to frown, but 
 the way her dark lashes drooped along her cheek and 
 her chin dropped on her breast seemed to Felix to 
 offer fresh opportunities for studying the sweet, clear 
 beauty of each feature. 
 
 " I think," she said, turning to him, " there is space 
 for a table in the dining-room accommodating fifteen 
 or sixteen people." 
 
 Felix was recalled from certain dreams and hopes of 
 his own to his companion's very different calculations 
 and contrivances. He paced the room, still holding
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 199 
 
 Bessy on his shoulder, and declared its size to be 
 fourteen feet by sixteen. 
 
 " I don't think you could seat more than a dozen," 
 he observed. 
 
 " Perhaps two or three of the girls will be inclined to 
 keep quiet in their bedrooms," said Amy, yearning to 
 enfold the largest possible brood under her wings. She 
 led the way up-stairs, finding each moment some 
 fresh demand upon all her energies. The bedrooms 
 were especially attractive, each with an outlook into 
 what to jaded city eyes was likely to seem a paradise. 
 Amy ran about with a quick little thrill of pleasure which 
 probably communicated itself to her companion, for his 
 look was both glowing and restless. She had found 
 his suggestions of practical value, and now appealed to 
 him at every turn to show her the way out of some 
 difficulty. Hers was to be not only the swift prescience 
 of the brain, but the cunning of the right arm and the 
 industry of the fingers. She herself, she declared, 
 would fit up all these many bedrooms in chintz, 
 chintz was so bright and so neat ; each room should 
 have a different pattern. The walls too should be 
 freshly papered, as well as the ceilings, in tints at once 
 fresh, cool, and pretty. By this time, at Bessy's in 
 stance, Felix had set Bessy down, and he stood listen 
 ing to Amy with such a fire in his eyes that she said, 
 " What are you thinking about ? " 
 
 " I am thinking," said Felix deliberately, " that if 
 you take such pains for a set of working-girls whom 
 you never saw in your life, what would you do for a 
 husband and children ? " She did not answer. " Are 
 you angry with me, Amy ? " he asked. 
 
 She glanced at him, ready to flash out some half
 
 200 WALFOKD. 
 
 pettish rejoinder, but his face startled her. It was 
 illuminated as if from some joy within. 
 
 Bessy, meanwhile, whose energies were as inexhaus 
 tible as her aunt's, with less chance for outlet, had 
 dragged the unlucky Nix almost to the top of the sill of 
 the open second-story window as if with the intention 
 of casting the animal down. 
 
 ".Bessy," Amy cried indignantly, "you must not 
 throw Nix out of the window ! " 
 
 " What can I frow out the window then ? " retorted 
 Bessy. 
 
 " You must not throw Nix out." 
 
 " May I frow Sir Waller out the window ? " 
 
 "Certainly not," said Felix. "I see that I shall 
 have to do the very worst thing I know how to do to 
 naughty little girls." 
 
 " I 'm velly naughty," returned Bessy, " velly naughty, 
 indeed." 
 
 " Here, then," said Felix, " I shall shut you up." 
 
 He lifted the child, and with one sweep deposited 
 her inside a large closet they had just been investiga 
 ting, which was lighted by a small high window well out 
 of reach. The dogs rushed after their little mistress, 
 and shutting all three inside, Felix turned the key in 
 the door and went back to Amy. She was laughing, 
 but there was a little embarrassment in her glance as 
 she met his eyes. 
 
 He stood a few seconds mute, his lips trembling, 
 but a smile of rare sweetness and indulgence in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Amy," he said, " I ask you to be my wife." He 
 put a hand on each of her shoulders and drew her to 
 him.
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 2OI 
 
 She looked back at him startled or defiant. Yet it 
 seemed to him she wavered. For a moment he was 
 ready to think that his eager arms might draw her 
 closer yet. But she put up her hand with a com 
 pelling gesture. " Let me go, Mr. Goodeve," she said. 
 " You ought not to say such a thing to me. I ought 
 not to have permitted it." 
 
 He did not quite release her. He clasped one hand 
 and his gaze enwrapped her. " It is the only speech * 
 which rises to my lips," said he. " So far as I know 
 no man has ever said such a thing to you before, and 
 so far as I believe and dare hope no man has a right 
 to say it. But I have a right, I love you, I have 
 loved you from the very first moment we met." 
 
 She trembled ; she was blushing from pride or shy 
 ness ; the blood rose to her cheeks in waves, each 
 mounting higher and higher. Her eyes had fallen, and 
 he could only see the lids. 
 
 " Look up, Amy," he said, in a soft controlling voice. 
 
 She compelled herself to raise her glance and meet 
 his look, which was at once tender and stern. He was 
 strongly moved, and was putting a powerful restraint 
 upon himself. 
 
 " You do not understand me in the least," she said 
 steadily. " It is dreadful to me to have to explain my 
 self. I feel as if I had done wrong. You speak as if 
 I looked forward to marriage. I am not looking for 
 ward to marriage. I do not expect ever to marry." 
 
 " It is the unexpected which happens," he said, 
 laughing, as he bent forward with entreaty in his face, 
 trying once more to take the hand she had withdrawn. 
 She retreated a few steps. 
 
 " Aunt Amy," said a little voice from the closet.
 
 202 WALFORD. 
 
 " Well, dear ? " 
 
 "Don't speak to me, I 'm being put in the closet." 
 
 " Have you got through being naughty ? " 
 
 " No. I 'm dwef-fully naughty, and Sir Waller is 
 naughty, and Nix is naughty." 
 
 " Then I think the closet is a very good place for all 
 three of you." 
 
 " Don't speak to me," said Bessy, and relapsed into 
 'silence. 
 
 Amy's swift retreat had not intimidated Felix. He 
 took a step nearer. 
 
 " Why are you afraid of me ? " he demanded. 
 " Surely you are not angry ? " 
 
 " A little angry. I do not consider that you quite 
 do me justice." 
 
 " Justice ? Good heavens ! " murmured Felix. " Why, 
 Amy, I love you. Do you know what it means when 
 I say that 1 love you ? Why, simply that from the 
 crown of your lovely head to the soles of your little feet 
 I worship you I " 
 
 " That sounds excessively foolish, Mr. Goodeve," 
 put in Amy, with energy. " I had hoped, I had be 
 lieved that no man would ever dare address such words 
 to me." 
 
 " Foolish ? You don't half begin to understand my 
 folly," returned Felix, nothing daunted. " That is 
 merely the beginning, the cornerstone, something for 
 you to trample on. There is a whole lofty superstruc 
 ture on top of that. You say I do not do you justice. 
 I revere you, I admire you, I delight in you. You are 
 learned, you are clever, sometimes you are brilliant, you 
 are full of resources and ingenuity. And if I began to 
 talk about your goodness, I should weep. As it is, 1 am
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 203 
 
 near weeping. It is no light matter to me that I love 
 you. And even if I seem presumptuous, I am not pre 
 sumptuous. All the more that you are clever and wise 
 and full of a thousand ingenious devices, I believe that 
 you need me to spare you, to keep you from wasting 
 youself, to separate you from what is unworthy and dull 
 and tedious. I want to take care of you, too." 
 
 She had turned red and pale by turns under his 
 flood of words. Moved, too, by the magnetism of his 
 glance, she tried to shut herself away from it. She put 
 up her hands to her face. 
 
 " I despise myself," she burst out. " I never de 
 spised myself in this way before. It is all so new, so 
 unexpected." 
 
 " New, unexpected ? " he repeated. " It is not new 
 or unexpected to me. Do you remember that day last 
 summer at the bridge ? I had it all in my heart, then ; 
 indeed, it was on my tongue to utter, but I felt it was 
 too soon. I have tried to be patient, to wait. It has 
 helped me to wait to remember the touch of your arm 
 round my neck that day. Tell me I need wait no 
 more, for events hurry me a little. I have to start for 
 Colorado to-morrow." 
 
 She was angry with herself for feeling on the verge of 
 tears. It was the first time she had ever seen a man 
 carried out of himself by feeling for her. He was pale, 
 his eyes were shining, his whole face showed that he 
 was in passionate suspense. She wished to say that 
 there was no place in her life for love and marriage, 
 but she could frame no words. He kept coming every 
 moment nearer her, and she trembled. 
 
 " Amy," he said, " I can return in three months. Let 
 me come back and marry you."
 
 204 WALFORD. 
 
 ' "Oh, no, no, no ! " she said, in absolute terror of him 
 and the power he held over her. " I cannot marry 
 you. I shall marry no one. I have other wishes, 
 other thoughts." 
 
 Felix suddenly experienced a conviction that he 
 must not press her too far. He went back to the win 
 dow and leaned against the casement. "I wish you 
 would tell me," he said in a soft, wheedling tone, " why 
 you do not like me ? I suppose it is because I seem 
 a big reckless schoolboy to you." 
 
 " It is not that I dislike you, exactly," said Amy, 
 tremulously. " It is that I do not intend to marry 
 anybody. I insist on retaining my freedom, my inde 
 pendence." 
 
 " You have a theory that no woman needs a master." 
 
 " I shall never have a master," said Amy, rallying 
 a little malice to her smile and looking at him half- 
 mutinously. 
 
 " Every woman ought to have a master," Felix ob 
 served, "just as every man ought to have a mistress. 
 I will not be a tyrant, Amy. Marry me, and you will 
 say that you never before knew what freedom was, 
 what it was to be throned. You shall govern me, heart 
 and soul. You shall find me faithful, helpful. I can 
 aid you, I am taller, broader than you, stronger and 
 more enduring. I can at least save you fatigue and 
 vexation. You told me just now that you had devel 
 oped. You don't know yet what possibilities are within 
 you. We only advance as our hearts grow tenderer, 
 our feelings warmer, our brains quicker, our knowledge 
 broader. As a single woman you cannot be what you 
 will become as my wife. Don't call me too bold, when 
 I tell you your real career is to belong to me. The
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 205 
 
 germ of complete sympathy is in both of us. I could 
 not feel toward you as I do if you were indifferent. 
 You may not know yet that you can love me, but give 
 me a chance and you will." 
 
 " No, no, no ! " said Amy, with a tone and look as if 
 trying to free herself from shackles which hung a weight 
 upon her heart and tongue. 
 
 He went up to her and took her hand. " I will not 
 trouble you any more now," he said. " It is not quite 
 a manly thing to make love to an unwilling woman. I 
 ask one favor of you. Let yourself think of me a little. 
 When you wake in the morning, for example, and lie 
 looking at the curtains waving in the breeze ; when 
 you hear a thrush singing ; when you are picking flow 
 ers, you have to be thinking of something, think 
 of me." 
 
 " I have so many other things to think of, Mr. Good- 
 eve," said Amy, with an irrepressible smile. 
 
 " Surely you need not be eternally thinking of whether 
 those working girls prefer pink or blue chintz in their 
 rooms," said Felix. " I have got a thousand things to 
 think about, some of which bother me not a little. A 
 new vein has been struck in an old mine which prom 
 ises to be important ; a rascal in Montana has set up 
 a claim to some of my mother's land ; one of our 
 mills is burned down and must be rebuilt without loss 
 of time. But I. assure you you will not be crowded 
 out of my mind. I shall not forget even that- little - 
 white - ruffle - about your throat." His eyes softened 
 dangerously. 
 
 " We must go home," Amy exclaimed abruptly. " It 
 is of no use, Mr. Goodeve. I ought not to have let 
 you say so much. I feel that you misunderstand "
 
 206 WALFORD. 
 
 There was a half twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "I feel as if I understood perfectly," he said. "I 
 think it is you who do not quite comprehend." 
 
 For half a moment she stood irresolute, as if sum 
 moning decision to answer him, then with a little 
 petulant movement of her head said, " We must go 
 home. Come, Bessy. Please let her out, Mr. Good- 
 eve." 
 
 "I had forgotten all about the child," said he. He 
 unlocked the door, and was about to throw it open, 
 when he discovered that it was bolted on the inside. 
 
 " Come, Bessy," said he, " I will let you out now." 
 
 " I don't want to be let out," answered Bessy. 
 
 " Oh, yes, come now. Why did you bolt the door ? 
 We are going home." 
 
 "I am going to stay here all by myself," said Bessy. 
 
 "I want you, Bessy," Amy struck in. "I '11 kiss you 
 three times if you will come out." 
 
 " No," Bessy returned cheerfully ; " don't want to 
 come out." 
 
 Felix and Amy looked at each other, repressing 
 their laughter. 
 
 " I '11 give you the little gold elephant on my watch- 
 chain that you asked me for," said Amy. 
 
 " Sha'n't come out." 
 
 " I '11 give you two little cakes with icing on top and 
 seeds inside," pleaded Amy. " I saw Nora making 
 some beauties." 
 
 " I 've got some in my pocket," returned Bessy un 
 expectedly. " Nora, gave me six to have a dog-party 
 with." 
 
 Since the garrison was victualed, the matter began to 
 look more serious.
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 2O/ 
 
 " I 'm going to New York," said Felix, " and I did 
 think of buying Bessy a beautiful doll." 
 
 " How big ? " asked Bessy, with a shade of interest 
 in her voice. 
 
 " As big as Bessy is." 
 
 " Will she open and shut her eyes ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And will she cry ? " 
 
 " A big, loud cry." 
 
 "What else ? " demanded Bessy. 
 
 " What else do you want ? " said Felix, at the end of 
 his resources. 
 
 " She must have some clothes," said Bessy. 
 
 " Oh, yes, a sky-blue satin dress with spangles." 
 
 " What is spaggles ? " 
 
 " Spaggles is stars like what you see up in the sky 
 at night," explained Felix. 
 
 " Real live stars ? ' 
 
 " Yes, real live stars. Now come out." 
 
 The inner bolt was withdrawn. The last crumb of the 
 last cake had been devoured, and Bessy emerged with 
 the dogs, jubilant. Felix let the rest of the party go 
 on while he stayed behind to lock the house. For five 
 minutes he leaned against one of the pillars of the 
 porch thinking over what had happened. He could see 
 the slight, pretty figure of the girl in her gray gown 
 show against the sky as she stood on the edge of the 
 hill. Had she rejected him ? Must he feel sore and 
 grieved and cut off from all he wanted in life ? With 
 lightning-like rapidity his mind seized a dozen points 
 in her words and manner which seemed favorable. 
 She had trembled, smiled, sighed ; as he held her hand, 
 it had seemed to nestle in his. He had taken her by
 
 208 WALFORD. 
 
 surprise, but need a man grieve that he himself awakes 
 his Eve to the morning breath of passion? He deter 
 mined to be happy. Why not ? since not to be happy 
 was to be so miserable. When he overtook Amy he 
 was in the highest spirits. He rolled Bessy down the 
 steep grassy banks, he set the dogs chasing each other 
 in circles, he seemed, like them, to be working off a 
 superabundance of energy. 
 
 " You are evidently very happy," Amy said, letting 
 her eyes rest on him for a moment and smiling. 
 
 " Why should I not be happy ? " he retorted. " I 
 am with you, and I hope. You have not told me I 
 must not hope, and I am certain you will not be so cruel. 
 Look at the clouds how swiftly they come, like ships, 
 ay, ' like the winged ships.' Don't you long to float ? 
 See that bird ! How it whirls through the air ! I feel 
 as if I too could dart into the blue." 
 
 "You are not a bird," said Amy dully; "don't try 
 to fly." 
 
 " Amy," he said passionately, " all the world is so 
 joyous, the season is so young, so smiling. In a 
 few days the trees will all be in bloom. See the tufts 
 of violets in the grass. How can you help longing to 
 be happy ? " 
 
 She put her hand on his arm. His own instantly 
 closed over it. A deep flush suffused his face. 
 
 " I must tell you something," she said hurriedly, and 
 there was an expression of trouble, of compunction in 
 her face. " It was cowardly in me not to have told 
 you when you first spoke. The reason I withheld it 
 was that I feared you would attach importance to what 
 meant in fact nothing particular." 
 
 He looked at her intently, his mind evidently being
 
 FELIX MAKES LOVE. 2CK) 
 
 in conjecture as to what lay behind this preamble. 
 " Surely," he said incredulously, the flush fading from 
 his face, " you are not engaged to another man ? " 
 
 " No, not engaged," she said. Her eyes fell, and a 
 crimson flush burned on her cheeks. " I have no in 
 tention of marrying any one," she went on. " I have 
 always disliked the idea of marriage. I it is simply 
 this I wish to say: I have promised, in case I ever 
 change my mind, to to " 
 
 Let her struggle as she might, she could not com 
 mand herself to finish the sentence. The color ebbed 
 from her face. 
 
 " You have promised to marry another man ? " he 
 said, observing her quick breathing, her pallid features 
 full of an expression of suffering, although the eyes 
 were veiled by the lids. 
 
 " Yes," she said, in a voice he hardly recognized. 
 
 " How long has this been going on ? " he inquired, 
 going by a swift jealous instinct of divination straight 
 to the truth, incredible although it appeared to him. 
 
 " Since last summer." She was evidently contend 
 ing with some feeling which made the effort of confi 
 dence a penance. " I prefer to be perfectly frank with 
 you," she added, her voice sinking to a mere thread. 
 " It was to Mr. Henry Spencer I made the promise." 
 
 Felix did not speak, and the silence pressed heavily 
 upon her. He had lifted his hand from hers, but un 
 consciously she still clasped his arm. " I felt that I 
 owed it to you to tell you," she said, in a voice she 
 could not command, " but at the same time it means 
 nothing, nothing. I shall never marry." 
 
 " Do not say that," he answered. His tone made 
 her look up at him.
 
 2IO WALFORD. 
 
 " Oh, you are very angry with me, Mr. Goodeve ! " 
 she exclaimed mournfully. 
 
 " No, not angry." 
 
 Bessy came up at this instant. " It wains," she 
 cried, "it wains. There came a big drop on my 
 hand. It wains, Aunt Amy." 
 
 And in fact, an April shower came pattering down 
 out of a cloud which had but just obscured the sun. 
 Behind loomed up darker and more threatening masses, 
 and the general aspect of things urged haste. Never 
 was call to action more willingly obeyed. Felix and 
 Amy each seized one of Bessy's eagerly outstretched 
 hands, and they scudded down the hill and along the 
 streets. By the time they reached the house the cloud 
 momentarily parted and a shaft of sunlight struck 
 through, lighting up the falling rain and the spar 
 kling drops on the soft tender foliage into a lovely 
 iridescence, and the lawn and garden took on a look of 
 swift luxuriant growth, as if an enchanter's wand had 
 changed bud into leaf and blossom in the twinkling of 
 an eye. 
 
 Amy made some remark upon the sudden flash of 
 sunlight on the willows and a flicker on the ripples of 
 the little river, but all Felix said was : 
 
 " I will then bid you good-by, Miss Standish. I 
 start early to-morrow." 
 
 " Your mother invited me to her high tea to-night," 
 returned Amy, embarrassed. " Perhaps it will be bet 
 ter if you take her my excuses." 
 
 " Surely not," said he. " I forgot the tea-party. My 
 mother will have no idea of what has happened. I beg 
 you to come." 
 
 " If you think best," said Amy, " I will go."
 
 XV. 
 
 MRS. GOODEVE'S EASTER PARTY. 
 
 IT was, in fact, the night of Mrs. Goodeve's annual 
 Easter party, to which all Walford was invited. The 
 festivities were to begin at half-past six, when about 
 twenty people sat down to an ample " high tea," and at 
 eight the evening company would assemble, all to be 
 provided with a hearty supper at ten o'clock. 
 
 " I should have parties every month if it did not 
 make your father unhappy," Mrs. Goodeve often said 
 to Felix. 
 
 Mr. Goodeve was indeed wholly wretched at the 
 thought of being interrupted in his favorite pursuits. 
 It was an ordeal to put on his best coat at six o'clock, 
 with nothing to do except to fidget about the parlor 
 until the guests arrived, guests whom it was neces 
 sary to talk to, listen to, seem to be interested in. 
 
 " I don't quite see, Laura," he now said, as he walked 
 about pulling down his cuffs, " why this is necessary. 
 Nobody else in Walford does it. It sets a bad ex 
 ample. Your mother," he added, turning to Felix, " is 
 never happy unless she is upsetting the house. I hear 
 her about in the morning and lie in my bed and groan. 
 There is always something going on, house-cleaning, 
 entertaining, something." 
 
 " It amuses her, father," said Felix, " so no matter if 
 it is death to us. She will have her own way."
 
 212 WALFORD. 
 
 " I never had my own way in my life," said Mrs. 
 Goodeve in high good humor. " There are a thousand 
 things I long to do, Orrin; then I think of how you 
 will groan over them, and refrain. Felix, when I 
 die, please tell your father all the things I have re 
 nounced on his account parties, summer journeys, a 
 trip to Europe, a constant succession of visitors." 
 
 " Better not," said Felix. " He may consider him 
 self lucky to be delivered from such dangers, and will 
 put requiescat in pace on your tombstone." 
 
 " Laura," said Mr. Goodeve in a hollow voice, " I 
 will not have Mrs. Neal sit by me. I will try to bear 
 anything else, but not that. The last time she was here 
 she informed me that the story about the Charter Oak 
 in Hartford was mere legend, mere myth." 
 
 " That was because you do not believe in her lost 
 tribes," said Mrs. Goodeve. " Felix, you must take 
 Mrs. Neal out, and be sure that you listen to every 
 thing she says. I will give Amy Stan dish to your 
 father ; that may make him forget how unhappy he is." 
 
 " Is Miss Standish sound on the Charter Oak ques 
 tion ? " inquired Felix. " She has got subjects of her 
 own. She might insist on his accepting her fetiches." 
 
 " One can at least always look at Miss Standish," 
 said Mr. Goodeve, a trifle mollified. " So long as a 
 woman is young one does not mind her hobby so much." 
 
 " One almost likes it, does n't one, Felix ? " put in 
 Mrs. Goodeve saucily. 
 
 Felix quoted : 
 
 " ' One loves a baby face with violets there, 
 Violets instead of laurels in the hair." " 
 
 He was hard hit, but was anxious that his mother 
 should gain no hint of his disappointment. His heart
 
 MRS. GOOD EVE'S EASTER PARTY. 21 3 
 
 had received a blow, and his pride was hurt as well. 
 To be balked in his passion was a bitter grief which 
 he had not begun to measure ; what he felt to-night 
 was the rankling offense of having his enemy preferred 
 before him. Amy's statement that her relations to 
 Spencer amounted to " nothing in particular " was a 
 childishness to smile at. Nobody knew better than 
 Spencer how to insert a wedge into any place he found 
 it convenient to enter. While Felix had walked beside 
 Amy in the April shower, Bessy monopolizing the talk 
 with a long and incomprehensible narrative about " Sir 
 Waller" and Nix, the passion of his mood wrestled 
 itself out against his imperious self-control, and his first 
 rush of indignation soon gave way to a feeling of alarm. 
 He felt like vehemently imploring the girl to cut her 
 self loose from a man who had more than once proved 
 tricky and self-seeking. But a complication of feelings 
 rendered such candor impossible. " She must have 
 loved him before she could have committed herself to 
 him in such a way," he said to himself ; " and if she 
 loves him, why, then that settles the matter." 
 
 It was his last night in Walford for six months, at 
 least. Perhaps it might turn out that never again in 
 all his life should he see Amy Standish. He realized 
 now that he had thrown away his opportunity with her. 
 He had at first had a sense of rebuff, and he had held 
 aloof, or if thrown with her he had shown himself boy 
 ish, trivial, reckless. No doubt she had learned to hold 
 him cheap, for he had never tried to prove to her that 
 from the moment they met, beyond the admiration she 
 inspired, she had given him a living idea and hope. 
 Had he acted all this lost time on a sincere inten 
 tion to show himself at his best, subordinated his
 
 214 WALFORD. 
 
 follies to the great task of winning her, might he not at 
 least have had an equal chance with Spencer? \\hat 
 she had affirmed and reaffirmed about her disinclina 
 tion to marry, he did not regard. Until he fell madly in 
 love with her, he had had no wish to marry. He pre 
 ferred she should have as little premeditation on such 
 subjects as possible. Nobody who once met her eyes 
 and smile could suspect her of being hopelessly cold. 
 
 Perhaps some lurking vanity, some youthful petu 
 lance, was at the root of Felix's desire to so appear be 
 fore Amy this last evening that she should remember 
 him. To begin with, he came down in evening dress, 
 although evening dress was far from being rigorously 
 compelled in Walford parties. His mother was glad 
 of the attention. He was a handsome young fellow, 
 and she laid it to his trim clothes that he looked paler, 
 thinner, more eager, eyes, nostrils, and lips more reso 
 lute and alert, than usual. When his eye fell on Amy 
 Standish she blushed vividly. Evelyn and Roger had 
 stayed at home, and it had been no light ordeal for her 
 to enter the room alone. Felix was talking to the Neals 
 as she came in. Evelyn had chosen her gown, which 
 was of soft, shining gray. There was a shimmer of cool 
 ness about her until she went out to the table, and tak 
 ing up the branch of pink roses at her place put them 
 in her bodice. It was at this moment that she met 
 the eyes of Felix, who was in the centre of the table on 
 the opposite side. 
 
 Mrs. Goodeve's hospitality was grandly open-handed. 
 It was an experience to put guests into good humor 
 simply to sit down at her board. She abhorred trivial 
 economies when she spread her table and invited her 
 neighbors to partake. Mr. Neal, the Episcopal clergy-
 
 MRS. GOODKVE'S EASTER PARTY. 21$ 
 
 man, had come with his mother. Dr. Cutler, the Con 
 gregational divine, and Mr. Robinson, the Baptist min 
 ister, had their wives with them. Mrs. Goodeve, though 
 a church-woman to the core, was not narrow. Dr. 
 Cowdry, the old-school physician, and Mrs. Cowdry 
 were there, also Dr. Knight, the homeopathist. There 
 were the two lawyers, and the Flaxmans and Joneses, 
 rival manufacturers. The hostess could look down her 
 long board and reflect that she had brought together 
 the wolf to dwell with the lamb, and the leopard to 
 lie down with the kid, and the calf with the lion, in a 
 millennium of good cheer. In spite, however, of such 
 generous breadth of intention, the practical effort was 
 narrowing as far as general conversation was concerned. 
 Each one of the three ministers had his own word to 
 say and his own blow to strike ; each was so much in 
 the habit of making his ideas converge to one point, 
 exhorting and admonishing his followers to avoid the 
 heresies of the neighboring churches, it would have 
 seemed hardly consistent to exchange even obvious 
 remarks on the weather with men to agree with whom 
 might be a dangerous concession. 
 
 Dr. Cutler, being twice the age of the other clergy 
 men, had been requested to ask a blessing on the feast, 
 and performed his part with such zeal and unction that 
 Mr. Neal, merely as a simple act of loyalty to his church, 
 felt impelled to remark impressively on top of his faint 
 " Amen," that after a long and rigorous Lent the late 
 Easter had ushered in a most beautiful Easter-tide. 
 
 " Easter-tide ? " repeated Mr. Robinson, with a swift 
 snort of astonishment, as if he found the phrase obnox 
 ious. The Baptist minister had stubbly yellow hair, 
 which stood up aggressively, and an alert glance, which
 
 2l6 WALFORD. 
 
 seemed to offer battle to gentle, pensive Mr. Neal. 
 Mrs. Neal, the mother, was of a different stamp from 
 her son. She loved a fray. She was a large-boned 
 woman, of strikingly intellectual appearance ; her spec 
 tacles helped to give her a bland serenity of aspect 
 from which nothing could move her. She now turned 
 full upon her adversary, her glasses looming like two 
 moons. 
 
 "Perhaps, Mr. Robinson," she remarked, with an air 
 of benignant pity, " you are unacquainted with our 
 church festivals. It seems strange to us that all the 
 world should not know that our Lord is risen." 
 
 Felix instantly flung himself, as it were, between the 
 two. 
 
 " I always thought I should like to spend Easter in 
 Russia," he remarked, before the Baptist could take up 
 this challenge. " There, you know, Mr. Robinson, you 
 say to every one you come across, ' The Lord is risen,' 
 and the reply comes, ' He is risen, indeed.' Then as 
 you walk down the street you must kiss every woman 
 you meet. Absolutely compelled to do it, you know." 
 
 " What law compels you ? " asked Mr. Robinson 
 seriously. 
 
 "I know what would compel me," retorted Felix: 
 "the law of irresistible inclination." 
 
 " That is, you mean, if they were young and pretty," 
 said Dr. Cutler leniently. " Now, the question is, 
 whether there would not be a general turnout of the 
 elderly and ugly ones on Easter mornings. I should 
 like to see the experiment tried." 
 
 Mr. Neal was an ascetic besides being a celibate, 
 and Mr. Robinson a bigot and zealot. Both regarded 
 the plump, well-fed, self-satisfied doctor of divinity with 
 a stony glare.
 
 MRS. GOODEV&S EASTER PARTY. 
 
 " As soon as Mr. Neal will introduce the custom," 
 said Felix, in a mood to push the least joke to its limit, 
 "you and I, Dr. Cutler, will walk down Walford street 
 Easter morning arm in arm." 
 
 " Extremes meet," rejoined Dr. Cutler. " You shall 
 kiss the ugly old women, and I the pretty girls." 
 
 " Dr. Cutler ! " said his wife, in a voice of admoni 
 tion from far down the table. 
 
 " Oh, you will never fall to my lot, Mrs. Cutler," put 
 in Felix gayly. " The doctor has looked out for him 
 self." 
 
 The note of warning had not, however, fallen on a 
 careless ear. Dr. Cutler knew that he was sometimes 
 carried away by high spirits, so he checked himself be 
 fore he should give too much ground to his adver 
 saries, and turned to his neighbor, who happened to 
 be Miss Standish, and began to inquire about her en 
 terprises. Felix also saw rebuke in his mother's eye, 
 and realized that he was somehow failing in perform 
 ance of his duty. He remembered that he had prom 
 ised to devote himself to Mrs. Neal, who now sat silent, 
 chin in air, and with a clear intimation of displeasure 
 in her countenance. He felt that he had lost ground 
 with her by his flippancy ; so he tried to rekindle her 
 respect by taking up some congenial theme. He in 
 quired if she had written anything of late ; he asked 
 what books she had been reading ; he put on so re 
 spectful and admiring a manner, he seemed so eager 
 for her answers, he led her so adroitly into congenial 
 paths, that she was presently in the highest good hu 
 mor and ready to discourse. She had two favorite 
 topics, one of which was the Walford Book Club, and 
 the other the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel. Felix held
 
 2l8 WALFORD. 
 
 her as long as possible to the first theme, on which he 
 betrayed a curiosity apparently insatiable. " What are 
 the hundred favorite books ? " he inquired. " What 
 proportion of novels are taken out to solid works ? " 
 " Who is the favorite author ? " Let him ring the 
 changes on these valuable and interesting statistics as 
 he might, the topic was finally exhausted, and she dis 
 missed it summarily, justly considering that a young 
 man so ardent in pursuit of knowledge ought to fasten 
 upon some essential, vital facts on a subject of real 
 importance. Accordingly, she began to talk about the 
 lost tribes, solving the problem of their disappearance 
 not only theoretically but practically, distributing them 
 widely over the face of the earth. The tribe of Dan 
 she was especially well acquainted with ; there could 
 be no doubt that they had crossed Europe by land, 
 having, indeed, marked every pause made on their 
 route by a lasting monument. 
 
 " A monument ? " repeated Felix, thinking of the 
 crosses erected to mark the passing of Queen Eleanor. 
 
 " When I say a monument," observed Mrs. Neal, 
 with awful majesty of glance, as if defying him to make 
 light of her facts, " I mean something enduring, some 
 thing more lasting than brass." 
 
 " More lasting than brass ? " echoed Felix. " What 
 is that ? " 
 
 " I mean in a philological sense," said Mrs. Neal, 
 "or perhaps I might use the word etymological. You 
 can trace the course of the tribe of Dan simply by 
 putting your finger on the map of Europe and following 
 the names of rivers, towns, and cities." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " 
 
 "It is," Mrs. Neal affirmed triumphantly. "After
 
 MRS. GOO DEWS EASTER PARTY. 2IQ 
 
 leaving Asia, first they crossed the Don (that is, the 
 Dan), next the Donetz (that is, the Danetz), then the 
 D^nieper, afterwards the Daniester ; reaching the Dan 
 ube they followed it up to its source, founded D<fnmark, 
 of course originally Denmark, and finally Amsterdam 
 (that is, Amsterdam)." 
 
 " You certainly make it as clear as light," Said Felix. 
 " Such facts are absolutely incontrovertible. Let me 
 see : first the Dan, next the Donetz, the Danieper, the 
 Daniester, the Danube, Danmark, Amsterdam. It is a 
 liberal education." His eyes with a suggestion of 
 laughter in them encountered those of Miss Standish, 
 when she instantly turned hers away. " They showed 
 capital judgment, to say nothing of a fine etymological 
 sense, in dropping their names like milestones all along 
 the route. I hate the mysterious ways of so many of 
 those early peoples, leaving nothing but carvings on shin- 
 bones and flint, and runic circles, and kitchen-middens 
 for us to puzzle over." 
 
 " How interesting to pierce the very heart of the 
 mystery of far-off ages by the ray of modern scientific 
 interpretation ! " said Mrs. Neal. 
 
 " Oh, very, very much so, indeed," Felix murmured 
 fervently. " By the by, Mrs. Neal, I once met an In 
 dian chief, one of the Navajos, who told me his peo 
 ple were descended from one of the lost tribes of 
 Israel." 
 
 ''Is it possible ! " exclaimed Mrs. Neal, flushing with 
 eagerness to find herself on the track of a new discov 
 ery. "That is profoundly interesting, not to say of the 
 highest practical importance. It has been suggested 
 that one of the tribes wandered over Asia and crossed 
 Behring Straits, but I never before heard any precise
 
 220 WALFORD. 
 
 facts on the subject. You don't mind my making use 
 of this ? " 
 
 " Oh, not in the least," said Felix. 
 
 "Had this Indian chief any archaeological proofs, 
 any any totems, for example," inquired Mrs. Neal, 
 who liked to be scientifically accurate, "which put his 
 statement beyond the possible cavil of skeptics ? " 
 
 " He said a Presbyterian missionary told him he was 
 descended from one of the lost tribes," said Felix, 
 looking at Dr. Cutler. 
 
 Dr. Cutler's eyes did not twinkle in return. He was 
 bristling with antagonism. 
 
 " Such speculations," he interposed in a portentous 
 voice, " belong in general to the " 
 
 " Doctor," interposed Felix, once more flinging him 
 self, as it were, bodily between the two combatants, 
 " what was the story about old Deacon Niles going to 
 you and telling you he did not quite like two or three 
 points of doctrine in your morning's discourse ? ' Who 
 cares ? ' you replied, turning around and buttoning up 
 your coat. ' Who cares ? ' ' 
 
 Everybody at the table laughed, and Felix, finding 
 general conversation full of snares, monopolized it by 
 telling old Walford stories. There had been another 
 deacon, Deacon Walkley, who was in the habit of test 
 ing the orthodoxy of all he met by saying, " I hope, 
 sir, you believe in everlasting damnation ? " and Dr. 
 Cutler's reply to him had been, " Oh, certainly ; I hope 
 some people will be everlastingly damned." 
 
 Dr. Cutler did not like these sayings of his repeated, 
 particularly before his present wife, whom they ante 
 dated. But Felix went on, rasping and excoriating not 
 only him but Dr. Cowdry, Mr. Robinson, and even
 
 MRS. GOOD EVE'S EASTER PARTY. 221 
 
 gentle Mr. Neal. The latter had once had to suffer ad 
 monishment from his bishop and brethren on account 
 of extreme ritualistic tendencies. A committee of Low 
 Churchmen called to see him and were shown into his 
 vacant study, where, as it happened, a pair of dumb 
 bells happened to be thrown down carelessly in full 
 sight in the shape of a Greek cross. One of the cler 
 gymen, who did not happen to know the use of dumb 
 bells, and who had an especial horror of Puseyite 
 practices, looked at this symbol in affright. " Do you 
 suppose," he gasped, "that that is what he does it 
 with ? " Felix next proceeded to tell how in old days 
 Mr. Neal, when he preached a sermon, first summoned 
 all the evidence against his theory or dogma, and then 
 proceeded to topple it over by irrefutable arguments. 
 On one occasion, when discoursing at Christmas upon 
 the Nativity, he first adduced all the Arian and Socin- 
 ian objections to the divinity of the Saviour, with such 
 telling effect that old General Peabody and his wife 
 rose and stamped out of church, believing that Mr. 
 Neal had turned Unitarian, if not wholly infidel. This 
 story, which tickled Doctor Cutler, and even brought a 
 grim smile to Mr. Robinson's wooden face, Felix 
 capped by relating that General Peabody had been a 
 Scotch Presbyterian, but having married an ardent 
 Episcopalian for his fourth wife, attended church with 
 her for ten years after their marriage, then, waxing old, 
 declared it was time he took thought for his soul, so 
 used to hobble off alone to hear Doctor Cutler. " Only 
 just in time," Felix added gravely : " the general only 
 lived three months after he made the change." 
 
 By this time the meal was concluded, and Mrs. Good- 
 eve led her guests into the parlors, where the evening 
 company soon began to assemble.
 
 222 WALFO^D. 
 
 Henry Spencer was one of the first to come, and he 
 found his way at once to the side of Miss Standish. 
 It was a relief to Amy that Felix Goodeve was nowhere 
 to be seen. For let her struggle as she might to sum 
 mon all her power of self-command, she felt perplexed 
 and confused. She had believed in her own dignity 
 and in her own prudence. She suddenly found herself 
 in a position both inconsistent and absurd. She wished 
 that she had not made that foolish confession to Felix 
 Goodeve ; but how ridiculous that she should have 
 had a confession to offer ! Her cheeks burned as she 
 reflected on the impression it must have created in 
 his mind. While she listened to him at table she had 
 understood his mood. He had felt skeptical, defiant, 
 reckless, his will all astray, his mind delighting in any 
 thing which promised a moment's lightening of the 
 weight on his heart and brain. 
 
 She herself felt but one desire, which was to free her 
 self from this present tangle. Felix was going away ; 
 that was well, and it must be easy to put herself upon a 
 safe footing with Spencer, who had, it is true, made 
 none of the passionate protestations of this other lover, 
 but whom she now began, after receiving this fuller 
 revelation of the possibilities of feeling, almost to dread. 
 
 Thus her glance fell somewhat coldly on the superin 
 tendent as he approached ; but many a time before he 
 had disarmed her of her indifference, and he could, he 
 felt, soon interest her now. He had been performing 
 certain commissions for her, and in a succinct easy 
 way gave the results of his efforts. It was a relief to 
 Amy to have something definite to fix her thoughts 
 upon, for her own mind to-night seemed bare of con 
 versational resources. But all at once, while Spencer
 
 MRS. GOOD EVE'S EASTER PARTY. 22$ 
 
 was talking, she saw him look up with an air of surprise, 
 while he flushed darkly. His thoughts wandered, he 
 lost the thread of what he was narrating, and in another 
 moment, murmuring something about a promise to Mrs. 
 Goodeve to take a hand at whist, he rose and left her. 
 
 Amy, sitting in the bay-window, had scarcely noticed 
 that the room had filled, but now as she turned she 
 saw that all Waiford was gathered. Her glance fell on 
 a girl sitting at a little distance who was looking at her 
 so intently that she believed they must somewhere 
 have met, although she could not remember the face. 
 She inclined her head slightly, at which overture the 
 young lady bridled as if at a liberty. Amy turned to 
 Mrs. Cowdry, who sat near, and inquired who the 
 stranger was. 
 
 " Miss Leonora Sloper," said Mrs. Cowdry, with a 
 half smile. " Did you never see her before ? " 
 
 " I do not remember her," said Amy. She rose as 
 she spoke, glad to escape this sustained and apparently 
 hostile scrutiny, and obeying Mrs. Goodeve's invitation 
 went to the piano. 
 
 Poor little Leo had long been anxious to meet Miss 
 Standish. Only recently had she heard that her old 
 lover was apparently bound up in this stranger. Leo 
 had known, it is true, that her own love-affair was not 
 prospering. Spencer's tactics had been to let his con 
 nection with the Sloper family dwindle and die out. 
 He had made no decided break, although he had for a 
 long time been in a bad humor whenever he met Leo. 
 Hers had indeed been the dreariest of dreary tasks, 
 that of remembering days of joy when misery is at 
 hand. Once he had admired everything she said, did, 
 or wore ; had liked to be at her side adoring and con-
 
 224 WALFORD. 
 
 fiding. Leo was too sure of her own charms, too 
 wholly confirmed in feminine illusions, to be certain at 
 first what the change meant. He found fault with her 
 hats, with the buttons on her jackets, with the shrill 
 quality of her voice, with the over-vivid color of her new 
 dress. But his deepest displeasure was roused by her 
 father's imprudence and bad taste in blurting out the 
 news of their engagement at the club, an engagement, 
 Spencer asserted, which only existed by reason of its 
 being unknown ; the moment it was talked about, it 
 could only do him harm. Leo, secure in her own at 
 tractions, did not at first lose heart, and had considered 
 this waning and waxing necessary phases of courtship. 
 She accepted the necessity of silence and mystery in her 
 love-affair, and did her best to pacify her blustering 
 father, who " lacked advancement," and wanted the 
 family prosperity assured by his daughter's speedy 
 marriage. Alonzo was in fact only too ready to go about 
 breathing vengeance against Spencer unless he came 
 to the house frequently. 
 
 Leo was the last person in Walford to hear of her 
 lover's attentions to Miss Standish. Ever since this 
 news reached her she had wished to find out the truth 
 of it. When Mrs. Goodeve invited her to the Easter 
 party she realized that here was a unique opportunity 
 of which she must make the most. She intended 
 in the first place to outshine Miss Standish, next to 
 show all Walford that Spencer was her own possession. 
 But the triumphant flutter of the anxious little heart 
 changed to a throb of foreboding, when she saw his 
 look and manner as he sat beside the cold, quiet, distin 
 guished looking girl. It is true that the moment he 
 caught sight of Leo he fled as before a spectre. But this
 
 MRS. GOODEVFS EASTER PARTY. 22$ 
 
 was by no means the effect Leo wished to produce. 
 The party instead of offering the enchantment of tri 
 umph was flat and dull. Mr. Robinson, her pastor, 
 said to her in surprise, " What, you here, Leo ? That 
 is very kind of Mrs. Goodeve." Mrs. Robinson found 
 fault with her for not attending the sewing-society, and 
 told her she was absurdly over-dressed. Not that Leo 
 believed the truth of the latter statement : she was in 
 pale blue and nothing could easily have shaken her 
 clear consciousness of a becoming toilette. 
 
 The party progressed after the fashion of parties. 
 Miss Standish had a sweet well-trained mezzo-soprano 
 voice and sang every ballad that she was asked for. 
 The evening soon passed and was crowned by a sup 
 per. Miss Standish was taken out by Dr. Cowdry, 
 one of the admiring group about her. Everything 
 came easy to Miss Standish. By this time Leo was 
 eagerly anxious to transfer her silent grievance to fight 
 ing-ground. Such haughty success ought to be made 
 to endure its penalty. She studied how best to snatch 
 the honors of victory from this over-victorious young 
 lady. But everybody swept past Leo, leaving her 
 stranded above high tide as it were, and she would not 
 have been led in at all except for Felix Goodeve, who 
 returned to the parlors, looked about, and catching 
 sight of the girl, carried her to the supper-room with 
 hearty good-will. 
 
 " Where shall I put you ? " he inquired. 
 
 " There is a place by Miss Standish," said Leo, res 
 olute in seizing her advantage. 
 
 Felix, even if a little startled by the suggestion, saw 
 no reason why he should not act upon it. The chair 
 beside Amy happened to be empty at the moment,
 
 226 WALFORD. 
 
 because half a dozen elderly men were playfully con 
 tending for it. All drew back as soon as Leo claimed 
 it with a toss of her pretty blonde head. Felix tried to 
 divine her every possible requisition and then, saunter 
 ing out of the supper-room, first went to the front door 
 and looked out at the moon toiling through billows of 
 snowy clouds, then, coming back, entered his father's 
 study. The room was not open to the company and 
 was but dimly lighted. He sat down with a sigh of 
 relief, glad to rest after playing a tiresome part. He 
 could not get Amy out of his thoughts. She seemed 
 tangibly, visibly, before him. When she put the roses 
 on her breast he had felt their beauty and her beauty 
 like flame ; it burned him. Yet it was not all pain. It 
 was at least a pain worth all other joys simply to love 
 her. He closed his eyes as if the more vividly to be 
 dominated by the idea of her, and lost himself in a 
 long reverie. He was roused by a whiff of rose-odor, 
 and looking up saw the object of his thoughts within 
 three feet of him. She had entered, followed by Miss 
 Leo Sloper, who had closed the door behind her. Nei 
 ther girl had seen Felix. Amy, looking back at her 
 companion, said very gently, 
 
 " I assure you I am most happy to listen to anything 
 you have to say." 
 
 " Do you know who I am ? " Leo asked, holding her 
 pretty auburn head high in air. 
 
 " I was told that you were Miss Sloper," Amy re 
 plied. 
 
 " Did you hear anything more about me ? " de 
 manded Leo. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I am the betrothed of Harry Spencer," said Leo, fir 
 ing her gun without useless preliminaries.
 
 MA'S. GOODEVE'S EASTER PARTY. 22/ 
 
 By this time Felix was on his feet. 
 
 "I beg pardon," he said. "I was sitting here when 
 you came in. I will go away instantly." And giving 
 no opportunity for a reply he left the room by an 
 opposite door from that by which they had entered. 
 
 Leo was not ill-pleased to have had a spectator of 
 her triumph, but, as if fearing that this interruption 
 might have blunted the force of her announcement, she 
 reiterated, 
 
 " I am the betrothed of Harry Spencer." 
 
 Amy looked bewildered. " Do you mean Mr. Spen 
 cer, the superintendent of the Rexford Manufacturing 
 Company ? " she asked. 
 
 " I do," said Leo. " I mean the same Harry Spen 
 cer to whom you have been teaching French and Ger 
 man, whom you have kept dancing attendance on you, 
 to whom you were talking when I came in to-night, and 
 who ran away at sight of me. I thought," added Leo, 
 with a tinkling little laugh, " you perhaps needed to be 
 told that all Walford did not belong to you, and that 
 other people had some rights." 
 
 It was in the tone and manner with which the words 
 were spoken where lay their sting. There was saucy 
 effrontery in the uplifted chin, in the insultingly arti 
 ficial laugh. It seemed to Amy an impossible conde 
 scension to reply to accusations so belittling. She con 
 tinued to stand in the same attitude of expectation, 
 although what had at first been a languid acquiescence 
 had become in reality an alarmed sense that a displeas 
 ing ordeal was to be endured. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Leo with another shrill laugh, "you 
 don't believe me. See this ring on my finger ; it is my 
 engagement ring, it has his initials and mine inside.
 
 228 WALFORD. 
 
 This pin in my hair with the Rhine-stone was Harry's 
 last Christmas present, these ear-rings he gave me a 
 year ago." 
 
 " I am quite willing to accept your word," said Amy 
 with the same exquisite politeness. In spite of her 
 outward calmness her mind was busy on the probabili 
 ties of the affair. She disliked Leo, yet was inclined to 
 exaggerate her prettiness. It had probably been an 
 early mistake of Spencer's long since repented of, if 
 he had entangled himself with the girl. She was in 
 clined to pity him, perhaps to forgive him for retreat 
 ing in time from a position so inconsistent with all his 
 ambitions, with all his better knowledge. This pretty, 
 petty creature represented to Amy all that she wanted 
 her sex to rise above. She belonged to the sort of wo 
 men who cramp and thwart every generous aspiration 
 in men, and demand that their caprices shall be accepted 
 for laws, and their wishes for facts. 
 
 " Do you wish me to speak to Mr. Spencer ? " asked 
 Amy. 
 
 " No, I do not," said Leo with decision. "If you tell 
 Harry what I have said I shall think that you are more 
 heartless, more unkind than I do now." Here her 
 voice failed her, and she was obliged to conquer some 
 emotion before she could resume. " He never thought 
 of any one except me before you came. He used to 
 say no girl in Walford could compare with me. But 
 you are richer than I am ; you have more to spend on 
 your clothes ; he looks up to you because you belong 
 to the Rexfords. I suppose he thinks he may be a 
 partner at the Works if he marries you. But I don't 
 think it is fair," she broke out with feverish eagerness. 
 " Suppose I were married to him, you would n't dare
 
 MRS. GOODBYE'S EASTER PARTY. 229 
 
 have it said you were running after him, and where is 
 the real difference ? Everybody speaks of your being 
 high-minded, of your doing so much good to the poor. 
 But I say to myself, ' She is n't high-minded, she only 
 wants to get herself talked about and have all the 
 beaux she wants.' " 
 
 Oppressed, suffocated by this torrent of accusations 
 which brought up all sorts of hopeless, confused, sick 
 ening convictions that she had been acting the one 
 part which she had believed impossible to her, Amy 
 stood looking at the girl, wondering what poisoned 
 arrow she would next let fly. Instinctively, as a sim 
 ple relief from the heat of the blushes which had risen 
 to her face, she unfolded the fan of gray plumes which 
 she carried in her hand and began languidly to wave it. 
 Thus standing at gaze, she looked to Leo the image of 
 triumphant beauty. 
 
 What she experienced, however, was a timid distress, 
 a doubt. 
 
 "Is this all you have to say to me, Miss Sloper? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " I should like to ask one question," said Leo, with 
 a biting accent. " Do you promise to answer it ? " 
 
 Amy suspended the waving of her fan a moment, 
 then said, " Ask any question you like." 
 
 " But I want you to promise to answer and to an 
 swer truly." 
 
 " I am not in the habit of answering questions 
 falsely." 
 
 " Have you promised to marry Harry Spencer ? " 
 Leo demanded in a low, clear voice, bending forward 
 as if to read the face of her rival. 
 
 It was a moment of horrible humiliation to Amy.
 
 230 IVALFOKD. 
 
 She had been striving after what was noblest and best 
 in a woman's career, and yet now found herself in the 
 meshes which embarrass a vulgar coquette. To answer 
 truly was to put herself in a hopelessly false position ; 
 to evade, equivocate, was actually less of a falsehood. 
 But what an ignominy it was to say in a low voice, with 
 an air of intense repugnance : 
 
 " I intend never to marry, not Mr. Spencer, or 
 any other man." 
 
 "Then you ought to be all the more ashamed of 
 yourself," said Leo. She instinctively divined the 
 haughty reticence of the girl, and such proud reserve 
 coming into contact with her own self-abasing revela 
 tions, gave her a fresh, vengeful desire to humiliate 
 Amy and make her suffer some equal mortification. 
 She did not believe the statement that Amy did not 
 intend to marry ; in fact, at the moment she found 
 nothing tangible in life except the scorn of this elegant, 
 handsome girl looking down upon her as she waved the 
 gray ostrich plumes. She was furious with her mingled 
 shame and resentment. She had a desire to scream 
 out her rage, but her mood was too chaotic, too inco 
 herent to find any single current of expression. Amy 
 had abstained from giving a single peg to hang argu 
 ment upon ; her attitude had been simply that of proud 
 negation. But at this moment she stretched out her 
 arm with a slight gesture as if about to speak. Leo 
 parried it with a counter-movement of her hand ; then 
 as if this act were too simple she struck at the fan and 
 knocked it on the floor. 
 
 " You are a horrid, mean thing, and ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself," she ejaculated. 
 
 Having thus freed herself by explicit action, Leo
 
 MRS. GOOD EVE'S EASTER PARTY. 2$ I 
 
 darted away. Amy, left alone, stood feeling utter stupe 
 faction at what had befallen her. She was only con 
 scious of the sting of certain of her accuser's phrases 
 which bit themselves deeper and deeper into her per 
 ceptions. She felt a sudden dizzy need of something 
 to turn to which should sustain her. She tottered two 
 steps towards the easy chair and as she moved trod on 
 her fan. She lifted it, and seeing in its shattered 
 plumes the dear sign of the girl's violence, she began 
 to shiver and tremble. 
 
 " What has happened ? " said an anxious voice near 
 her. Felix Goodeve had been lingering outside, and 
 when he saw Leo running away had again entered the 
 library. He had been sure that Amy was enduring a 
 very unpleasant quarter of an hour, but now he was 
 startled at her violent agitation. Her eyes were full of 
 tears, her lips were quivering; she looked up at him 
 like some lovely, hurt thing which runs to shelter. 
 
 " Oh, it is you," she said, with intense relief as if she 
 had dreaded some new enemy. 
 
 He flung his arm round her and she clung to him. 
 It was an experience hardly longer than a thought, but 
 one which answered at the instant her imperious need 
 of shelter and comfort. 
 
 " I am so foolish," she murmured with a sob. " But 
 no one was ever so insulting, so rough, to me before." 
 
 She withdrew from his arms and now stood three 
 steps away trembling. Felix brought a chair for her. 
 
 " Sit down," he said, and she obeyed him. 
 
 " I heard what Miss Sloper said," he observed in a 
 calm, deliberate voice. " I do not myself believe that 
 her statement was true. I once heard Spencer indig 
 nantly deny that he was engaged to her."
 
 232 WALFORD. 
 
 It was natural that his chief thought should concern 
 Amy's feelings on being told that her lover was bound 
 to another woman. Her ideas were colored by her own 
 impressions of Miss Sloper. She hardly thought of 
 Spencer at all. 
 
 " I did not believe it in the least," she said. " She 
 is so unlike all that he cares for. Oh, how terrible she 
 was ! I long to go away from Walford and never see 
 the place again ! I feel humiliated, as if I milst hide 
 myself." 
 
 He drew in his lips and forebore to reply for a mo 
 ment. Her words seemed to make it unmistakable 
 that she held Spencer dear and found it impossible to 
 believe he could play an unworthy part. He had to 
 make a quick call upon his own forbearance to say 
 nothing at such a juncture to injure the chances of his 
 rival. 
 
 "Vanity has turned that little girl's head," he re 
 turned, bringing another chair and sitting down beside 
 her. " My mother invited her because she is always 
 kind to Leo, and feels sorry for her." He was looking 
 eagerly into Amy's face, perhaps trying to find there 
 something more of the weakness which had for that one 
 moment made her feel the need of him. Her eyelashes 
 were still wet with tears, and she looked up at him 
 mutely and wonderingly, as a frightened child might do. 
 He felt as if he ought to re-assure her. " My mother's 
 Easter party has not been a success," he went on ; "I 
 tried to keep the conversation going while we sat at 
 table, but when I came out, my mother said to me, ' A 
 pretty figure you have cut, laughing at all my guests.' 
 Poor Mr. Neal had told her he was going home ; his 
 feelings were so hurt at having been held up to ridicule
 
 MRS. GOOD EVE'S EASTER PARTY. 233 
 
 before the other parsons. I had to go down on my 
 knees before Mr. Neal and swear by all I hold precious 
 that I intended nothing derogatory. Intended any 
 thing ? I should rather think not. I was simply eager 
 to have it all over. Amy, " his hand closed on hers, 
 he leaned closer and looked into her face with passion 
 ate entreaty, "I was so unhappy. I am so unhappy, 
 unless " 
 
 He experienced a flutter of hope for a moment ; the 
 color rushed to her face and her eyes dropped. But if 
 there were anything left of her momentary weakness it 
 passed. She looked up and he saw that he was not to 
 prevail. There was a new resolution in her look. 
 
 "Forgive me," she said, "you are going away to 
 morrow and you will have a chance to forget me too. 
 I did wrong just now," she went on with a candid look, 
 " it seems to me that I am always doing wrong, but 
 I" 
 
 " Do you mean when you showed for an instant that 
 you trusted me ? " he asked again bending towards her. 
 
 She started away evidently with a heart - leap of 
 terror. 
 
 " It was simply, " she faltered, " simply as if 
 you were Evelyn, or your mother." 
 
 " Oh, Amy," he said, " oh, Amy ! That is just a 
 little cruel. But understand that I am not your sister, 
 Evelyn, nor am I even my mother. It was I you clung 
 to, Amy, and it is I who will remember it. You say I 
 shall have a chance to forget you. You don't know 
 who or what I am when you say I shall forget you." 
 His arm clasped her. " Amy," he whispered, " I must 
 kiss you once before I go." 
 
 He did snatch two kisses ; that is, once his lips
 
 234 WALFORD. 
 
 grazed her cheek and the second time her hair. She 
 had started up, eluding his embrace, and an indignant 
 remonstrance was just about to issue from her lips 
 when another voice broke the silence. 
 
 " This is the scene of my labors," said Mr. Goodeve, 
 throwing wide the portal of his sanctuary. " That en 
 tire side of the room, Mr. Flaxman, is lined with vol 
 umes relating to the New England colonies, a history 
 of endurance, of lofty endeavor, of sustained high in 
 tention rarely equaled and never surpassed in human 
 history. This book-case is filled with my authorities 
 establishing the facts of Sir Edmund Andres's tyranny, 
 a oh, I beg pardon, oh, why, it is Miss Standish 
 and Felix ! Felix, what in the world are you doing 
 here ! I hope you have not meddled with any of my 
 manuscripts."
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE GIFT OF GOD. 
 
 IT had been early in September when Bessy came 
 back ; late in the following May, Evelyn had a second 
 child, a little son whom she called Theodore. She 
 named the baby before its birth ; it was to be Theodore 
 or Theodora, Gift of God. In all her life Evelyn had 
 never been so happy as in these three quarters of a year, 
 and she tried to give expression to her sense of this 
 new peace which passed all understanding. It is true 
 that sometimes after the little girl came back Evelyn 
 dreamed of the pain of the old wound, and waking with 
 that spent anguish upon her, could only be soothed by 
 clasping Bessy in her arms all the rest of the night. 
 Mother and child were never far apart. Tricksy sprite 
 as Bessy could be, full of droll naughtinesses, whims, 
 and vagaries, when she was with Evelyn she seemed to 
 need her mother as much as her mother needed her. 
 It was indeed as if during that long absence, a whole 
 river of love had been checked in both hearts, and now, 
 released, it carried everything before it. Bessy was a 
 beautiful, earnest-looking child ; the little cherub face 
 was set in a golden glory of hair ; her eyes were a bril 
 liant blue, her scarlet lips were at once mobile and 
 decided ; there was a charming curve to the upper one. 
 She had a thousand pretty movements, a gift of elo 
 quent expression, a touch of humor and a dramatic
 
 236 WALFORD. 
 
 instinct. She could be imperious, but when she turned 
 to Evelyn to offer some little show of love, the child 
 seemed to feel a surging of the heart, an inexpressible 
 yearning which nothing but a passionate enfolding of 
 her mother's arms could answer. 
 
 All this time Evelyn's partial loss of sight had had its 
 compensation in giving her the amplest leisure to de 
 vote to Bessy. It pleased her to pretend to be de 
 pendent upon her little daughter. There had been times 
 when, groping in darkness, she had been mocked by 
 the silence and emptiness. Now she could always clasp 
 this round tender form, be answered by these clinging 
 kisses. They had had a happy springtime, finding nov 
 elty and charm in exploring the lawns and gardens 
 about the Van Polanen place, driving along quiet 
 country roads, and green cart-paths, and lanes full of 
 startled birds. 
 
 Then late in May little Theodore came. 
 
 Evelyn was lying placid and happy among the snow- 
 white draperies of her bed, when, after two days' exile, 
 Roger brought Bessy in, and lifted her that she might 
 kiss her mother's lips and eyes. Bessy's glance was 
 instantly riveted by the sleeping mite of a human being 
 lying in a crumple of lace on a pillow. " What is 
 that ? " she inquired. 
 
 "Bessy, that is your dear little baby brother," said 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " What is a dear little baby brother ? " demanded 
 Bessy aghast. 
 
 " Don't you see ? He is a beautiful little boy." 
 
 " But what am I to do with him ? " 
 
 " Only just love him, love him with all your heart." 
 
 " He breathes," murmured Bessy more and more
 
 THE GMT OF COD. 2$? 
 
 startled. Theodore opened his eyes and uttered a soft 
 wail. " Oh, I don't think I like baby brothers," she 
 exclaimed retreating. 
 
 Nevertheless, the new-comer possessed some fascina 
 tion, and she returned again and again to study him. 
 
 " He is so little, mamma," she would say tenderly, 
 " littler than Felise." Felise was the huge doll which 
 Felix Goodeve had sent her. " He has such beautiful 
 little hands and he takes hold of my ringers." 
 
 " He knows that you are his sister," said Evelyn. 
 " One of these days when he gets bigger you and he 
 will have all sorts of good times playing together." 
 
 " Will baby brother grow bigger, mamma ? " 
 
 " Oh dear, yes. He will grow every day. When next 
 spring comes he will be running round on his feet just 
 as you do." 
 
 Bessy found the thought of such development utterly 
 incomprehensible. 
 
 " Why, Bessy," said Evelyn, "once you were just such 
 an atom as he is, and lay on a pillow and sucked your 
 thumb and slept from morning until night." 
 
 Bessy turned to her mother, all the brilliant color and 
 roundness fading from her cheeks ; a pathetic depth 
 showed in her eyes and her lips quivered. 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! " she cried as if in pain. 
 
 "What is it, dear?" 
 
 " Will he have to be carried off from you, mamma ? " 
 
 " Oh, my darling, no." 
 
 " They carried me off," said Bessy shuddering and 
 trembling, as if seeing threatening apparitions rise. 
 " Oh, don't let them carry him off." 
 
 Her words and her tone shook Evelyn from head to 
 foot.
 
 238 WALFORD. 
 
 " We will never let him go out of our sight," she 
 said, with a spasm of the old terror. 
 
 " I '11 take care of dear little baby brother," said 
 Bessy, and from this time a new link of feeling bound 
 her to the little insensible creature sleeping and feeding 
 and wailing by turns. 
 
 " It is hard to tell," Evelyn said to her husband, as 
 he was sitting with her one evening when the baby was 
 about a month old, " how much of Bessy's idea of being 
 away is memory and how much simply comes from the 
 questions we have pressed upon her." 
 
 " She remembered a good deal at first," said Roger. 
 
 " If I could only know what happened from the very 
 moment of our missing her," said Evelyn. 
 
 " Never satisfied with the enough," said Roger, tak 
 ing up his wife's hand and kissing it. " Always de 
 manding the too much. Now I feel comparatively in 
 different about it all, I am so content to have her back, 
 to have you better, to have my boy." 
 
 "A conviction comes over me at times," pursued Ev 
 elyn, " that she must have gone through some tremen 
 dous ordeal, something which developed a faculty not 
 in her before. She is so intense, she has such a power 
 of loving. And sometimes she says things I can hardly 
 recognize as belonging to our old little Bessy's possi 
 bilities. She is immensely clever." 
 
 " Why should she not be ? " said Roger. " You at 
 least, are not an idiot, and positive genius has some 
 times been developed in children of parents compara 
 tively commonplace. You never seem to remember, 
 Evelyn, that Bessy was growing, and learning, and 
 developing, day by day all those twenty-two months. 
 You apparently expected she was coming back to you
 
 THE GIFT OF GOD. 239 
 
 precisely the same little thing of two years and three 
 quarters who went away." 
 
 " She had not grown very much. I fancy she was 
 not well fed. Oh, to think that she may even have 
 been ill-used." 
 
 " Don't think of it. Let those two terrible years drop 
 into the sea of oblivion," said Roger with feeling. " It 
 is enough to know that she has come back. To both 
 of us her return was the talisman of deliverance from 
 every sort of torture. You never considered one as 
 pect of the case, Evelyn," Roger went on, yielding to 
 his glowing, expansive mood ; " you never realized that 
 Bessy's being lost or found meant for me either finan 
 cial ruin, or ease and security. Of course such sordid 
 practical considerations had only a feather's weight in 
 the balance against real feeling. But all the same, every 
 day and hour while Bessy was away, the sword hung 
 over me, and I looked up and trembled." 
 
 Evelyn was lying on the lounge in her room, daintily 
 arrayed in cambric and lace. The light was screened, 
 but Roger's eyes used to the gloom could see how lovely, 
 youthful, effulgent with happiness she was, and he also 
 discovered that his words made her glance at him won- 
 deringly. He reached out for her hand, wishing that 
 he had not touched upon this theme, and clasping it he 
 bent over her with a word of endearment. She smiled 
 back at him, but it was evident that she was ponder 
 ing his words, and that certain facts with which she 
 was acquainted but had never looked at from this new 
 poiflt of view now for the first time gathered force and 
 application. 
 
 " You mean that you were in danger of losing Madam 
 Van's money," she said.
 
 240 WALFORD. 
 
 "Of course I mean that," said Roger lightly. "It 
 makes some difference whether you are guardian of a 
 property amounting to at least one hundred and fifty 
 thousand dollars, or whether you have to hand it over 
 to a lynx-eyed set of trustees." 
 
 "Do you mean that it made any difference in the 
 business ? " asked Evelyn uneasily. 
 
 " Now that the danger is past, I may as well tell you 
 that if Bessy had not come back, I should have been 
 routed, horse, foot and dragoons." He took an easy 
 tone and laughed as he spoke, yet she was conscious of 
 an excitement and exultation in him. 
 
 " I wish," she said with a thrill in her voice, " that 
 we had not profited by Bessy's return. I wish it had 
 been the other way, that her being restored made 
 us poor to the end of our days." 
 
 " That is very pretty for you to say," said Roger with 
 a quick laugh. " Women, who sit at home and never 
 know what 's taxes, have leisure for fine sentiments. 
 Why, dear Evelyn ! Do you suppose I care about my 
 self ? What do I get out of Madam Van's money? Do 
 I demand personal luxury and self-indulgence ? All 
 that I care for is peace of mind, the strength which en 
 ables me to look men in the face, feeling that I can 
 meet my obligations, that I may do my duty by the work 
 people. What I lived through, foreseeing calamity, yet 
 feeling unable to avoid it, no woman can have any idea 
 of. I suffered in meeting men in the street, I went out 
 of my way to avoid the groups at the corner and the 
 post-office. I was bereaved of my child, that ^vas 
 part of it, but there was more behind, the feeling 
 that they would presently be criticizing and blaming me 
 for mismanagement, for ruining what had been a great
 
 THE GIFT OF COD. 241 
 
 business, for trailing the honest name of Rexford in the 
 mire. Don't you remember that I sometimes passed 
 whole days at the works, sending home for my luncheon ? 
 Dearest, my comfort even in you was spoiled. I was 
 too harassed and irritable to meet you with the sym 
 pathy you needed. There was nothing in life for me 
 save a confused sense of trouble, suspense, danger, 
 failure. I went through mechanical operations and 
 took apathetic rest ; there was no help for me none, 
 tempted of the devil as I was. I felt like a whipped 
 dog, and it seemed to me I looked like one." 
 
 " Oh, Roger, I knew nothing of all this. I was self 
 ishly engrossed in my own sorrow ! " 
 
 " Let it all go," said Roger with energy. " I wish 
 never again to think of that time. Now that I am 
 backed by Madam Van's money, I have no apprehen 
 sions. Besides, we are doing fairly well now ; trade is 
 looking up." 
 
 " The money actually belongs to Bessy ? " asked 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " When she marries or comes of age, yes. Both of 
 those are tolerably remote contingencies. Until then I 
 am executor and trustee." 
 
 " Suppose that Bessy were to die," said Evelyn. 
 
 " How can you speak of such a hideous possibility ! " 
 returned Roger with indignation. 
 
 " I want to understand. If Bessy were to die before 
 she comes of age the money would all go for the chil 
 dren's hospital ; you would simply have this place." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " I wish it were different," said Evelyn with energy. 
 " I hate to think we are using Bessy's money." 
 
 "/wish I had not broached the subject," retorted
 
 242 WALFORD. 
 
 Roger. "I wish I had held my tongue. Heaven 
 knows I generally mean to bear my troubles in silence, 
 and impose none of them upon you. I know that a 
 woman is capable of nervous panic, particularly when 
 no panic is called for. Now that I have a joyous sense 
 of relief, feeling that my fight is ended and that I have 
 won the battle, it seemed natural to turn to you for 
 sympathy." 
 
 " But have you won it ? " asked Evelyn. " As I un 
 derstand it, instead of holding Bessy's money in trust 
 for her, it is drawn upon for your business, subject to 
 risks of all sorts. Suppose real disaster should after 
 all overtake you. Where would the money be then ? " 
 
 " Never marry a woman who understands arithmetic, 
 or at least who thinks she does," said Roger, laughing 
 and looking up to the ceiling as if addressing some 
 invisible audience. " A little knowledge is a danger 
 ous thing to your sex, Evelyn. You do not really grasp 
 the meaning of what you are talking about." 
 
 " Felix Goodeve is your coexecutor, is he not ? " she 
 asked with peculiar eagerness. 
 
 " He is." 
 
 " Does he approve of your management ? " 
 
 " Of course he approves," said Roger curtly. 
 
 " Don't be vexed with me for asking. All I want to 
 be sure of is that Bessy's fortune is wisely guarded, 
 put out of jeopardy. It seems as if it ought to be in 
 creasing every month and every year, so that by the 
 time it comes to her it will be doubled or trebled." 
 
 " You are covetous as a miser for your daughter. I 
 assure you that I intend her money shall be doubled 
 and trebled, even quadrupled," said Roger. " Do you 
 doubt my honesty or my capacity ? There was a time
 
 THE GIFT OF GOD. 243 
 
 when you used to look up to your husband and believe 
 in him, Evelyn ; I regret that you have apparently tried 
 him in the balance and found him wanting." 
 
 She took his hand in hers, and kissed it passionately 
 on the palm, then laid her cheek against it lovingly. 
 
 " I have not lost my faith," she said humbly, " I 
 know that you are wise and strong, incapable of selfish 
 ness, incapable of even a thought that is not noble and 
 brave. I suppose the truth is, I have been shut up so 
 long, I have grown morbid. After all, if I am to accept 
 anybody's generosity, why should it not be Bessy's? 
 Only she gives me so much in other ways I should like 
 to feel that in material things I could be bountiful to 
 her." 
 
 " Don't be morbid," said Roger. " Get well, be sen 
 sible, be happy." 
 
 " I am getting well ; I feel stronger every day. And, 
 Roger, my eyes are better ; I am not sure but that I 
 shall see just as well as ever again. I feel no pain, 
 now." 
 
 " All the doctors said that as soon as you were over 
 this, you would be just as well as you ever were in your 
 life," said Roger tranquilly. He gathered her to his 
 arms, in a burst of passionate fondness for the pretty 
 creature. 
 
 "As soon as I get well," Evelyn murmured, "you 
 will see, Roger, that I have improved. I don't know 
 exactly what I believe about special providences. It 
 does not seem to me as if God could have robbed me 
 of Bessy for a time, in order to strengthen and develop 
 my character, but however it may be, I intend that my 
 loss shall have strengthened and developed me. I am 
 going to be a better woman, a better wife than I was 
 before."
 
 244 WALFORD. 
 
 '" Don't develop, don't strengthen, don't be better," 
 said Roger. " You have always been divinely perfect. 
 An abnormal development seems to signify to a woman 
 that she shall think crudely and fanatically on subjects 
 which do not concern her. My requirements of a wife 
 are very simple. I like her to have beautiful clear eyes 
 which look lovingly into mine, mirroring her whole spot 
 less soul ; arms to embrace me, and a kind tender breast 
 to rest my head upon. You know I have always told 
 you that a wife should be a pillow." 
 
 " But, Roger, it does seem to me that to be married 
 means that husband and wife shall help one another, 
 have joint aspirations, act together for the same ends. 
 I don't think you quite do me justice. I am not clever 
 like Amy " 
 
 " I consider you far cleverer than Amy. In fact, you 
 are the wise woman men have looked for since the be 
 ginning and only I have found. Now you have talked 
 enough. There comes the nurse, and so, good-night." 
 
 " I was going to say," said Evelyn, " that although I 
 am not clever, yet God has given me an atom of intui 
 tion which is part of me and nothing can rob me of. I 
 want you to believe in* it, trust it, and help me to un 
 derstand everything." 
 
 "I believe in it devoutly," said Roger, laughing. 
 " Now, good-night."
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY. 
 
 ROGER acknowledged to himself that he had erred 
 in judgment in taking his wife into his confidence con 
 cerning a dangerous crisis in his affairs, which, once 
 bridged over, he himself longed to forget. He had 
 spoken on a momentary impulse born of his joy in sit 
 ting beside Evelyn, feeling that she was rapidly regain 
 ing her old strength, that Bessy was asleep in the next 
 room, and that his first-born son lay in the crib close 
 at hand. This was reprieve after a long and torturing 
 ordeal, and he exulted with the joy of a man who, after 
 being galled by a weight, is free, and rushes towards 
 his goal. He had dragged his chain a long time and 
 had hated it. It had never suited his temper to be at 
 the mercy of events ; he longed to control them. He 
 detested makeshifts, temporary expedients. Now, for 
 the first time since his marriage, he could say to himself 
 that he stood at the helm of his own affairs, accoun 
 table to no one. He intended at last to show the world 
 what was in him. He abhorred regrets, useless repen 
 tances ; his creed was, to seize present advantages and 
 push them to success. 
 
 What a mistake, then, to have summoned up the 
 ghost of his old troubles to vex Evelyn's joy ! It had 
 wounded him that her first thought had not been one 
 of gratitude for his shielding her from his intense but
 
 246 WALFORD. 
 
 carefully hidden anxieties, but rather of apprehension 
 for the safety of Bessy's money. It was a thoroughly 
 womanish and illogical idea that there ought to be no 
 complications at all, that instead of his trusteeship 
 offering him solid advantages, it ought to be his disin 
 terested privilege to put the entire sum of the child's 
 inheritance into a safety fund where it should lie at 
 compound interest, enriching the directors, and the di 
 rectors alone, until she should marry or come of age. 
 
 Still, Evelyn's unpractical nature was a part of her 
 charm for him. He liked her large interpretation of 
 the obligations of life. Utopian schemes yielding beau 
 tiful results, independent of processes, suited a woman 
 better than a clear knowledge of the evil in the world, 
 which cramps, thwarts, and makes impossible half the 
 good one would like to do if one could. He wished 
 he had not disturbed her, put nervous fancies into her 
 head and set her to thinking. 
 
 Walford people said to each other that Roger Rex- 
 ford was a changed man since his little girl had come 
 back. Not one, except, possibly, Felix Goodeve, had 
 divined the enormous difference which lay between 
 having Bessy and losing her. Men had felt a strong 
 sympathy for Roger when they saw him ill at ease, re 
 signing his old prominence in town affairs, avoiding 
 even the every -day salutations of life-long friends. 
 Now, when he seemed glad and proud to meet all Wal 
 ford face to face, it was readily comprehended how the 
 loss of his child had for two years taken the heart out 
 of the man. Roger had always been one to whom all 
 sorts of public duties and honors came naturally. He 
 easily took command ; he made himself felt; whenever 
 a leader was needed he was the one to turn to. He
 
 THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY. 247 
 
 had courage, and he had training, and could do with 
 facility what was a task to different men. 
 
 In that dreary interval when the perplexities of his 
 position had seemed so utterly maddening and hopeless, 
 Roger had been so impatient of certain minor details 
 in the business that he had thrust away all questions 
 concerning them, willing to have Spencer choose, de 
 cide, and carry out whatever course seemed best. Now 
 adays, when Roger was again in command, it annoyed 
 him to find that his subordinate was jealously guarding 
 all these powers with which he had momentarily been 
 entrusted, and showed the utmost reluctance to part 
 with them. He seemed to have the idea that he had 
 naturally succeeded to the management on account of 
 his special and brilliant talents. His persistent conceit 
 at first amused Roger, but soon irritated him. 
 
 " One would suppose you would be glad to have mat 
 ters smoothed out," Roger had remarked on one occa 
 sion. " Hereafter I propose to take charge of every 
 thing that goes on inside the office, and you can confine 
 yourself to your own department." 
 
 " The fact is," said Spencer, " I have kept all the 
 wires in my own hands so long, I feel as if nobody else 
 knew how to work them." 
 
 Roger lifted his eyebrows and shrugged his shoul 
 ders. He was habitually deliberate ; and for a time he 
 made no reply. After a pause he said, 
 
 " Certainly, your energy and zeal are worthy of all 
 praise, but I was not aware that you had ever held all 
 the wires in your own hands. You were of great help 
 to me at a time when I was paralyzed by doubt, when 
 I seemed to be simply living from day to day. I shall 
 not forget how faithfully you stood by me."
 
 248 WALFORD. 
 
 Something in Spencer's look made Roger expect a 
 rejoinder. He had flushed, and his lips worked. No 
 words came, however. Hitherto, Roger's whole atten 
 tion had been concentrated on the necessities of his 
 own position, and Spencer had seemed to him a mere 
 puppet carrying out his will. But from this time he 
 became aware of a change in the superintendent, or 
 at least of his own quickened consciousness regarding 
 what might be going on in Spencer's brain, evidently 
 busy with thoughts which he seldom uttered. He 
 worked with a feverish energy ; there seemed to be no 
 bounds to his capacity for work. There was no call for 
 such intense zeal, and it began to make Roger uncom 
 fortable. Just at this time, as it happened, a chance 
 remark of Evelyn's to her sister opened up a subject 
 for conjecture. 
 
 " Amy, dear," she had said, " it is to be hoped that 
 Mr. Spencer fully understands that your sole mission 
 in the world is to regenerate society, and that you be 
 gan with him simply because he was a corner which 
 needed reforming. A man sometimes has the pre 
 sumption to believe, you know, that a girl takes an in 
 terest in him as an individual." 
 
 Amy had given some light retort, but her cheeks had 
 burned, and it was evident that Evelyn's speech rankled. 
 The latter had confided to her husband her fears that 
 Amy had roused expectations in Spencer she was far 
 from being ready to fulfill. A few days later, Orrin 
 Goodeve, junior, who was at the head of the Western 
 branch of the Rexford Manufacturing Company, wrote 
 to Roger, saying that he wished to take his wife to Eu 
 rope for six months, and asking if one of the Walford 
 men could not come out and fill his place temporarily.
 
 THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY. 249 
 
 This seemed to Roger a most favorable opportunity for 
 disposing of Spencer. He confessed to himself that 
 he was sick of the man and of his conceit, which ob 
 truded itself in a hundred different ways. Roger had 
 never liked partners. " He that hath partners hath 
 masters," was a tenet in his business creed, and odd to 
 say there was something masterful about Spencer. In 
 short, he made Roger nervous ; he was in the way, and 
 it would be a relief to get rid of him. Then, too, if 
 there were any absurd complication between him and 
 Amy Standish, absence would cut the knot. 
 
 It was on an afternoon early in July that Roger ad 
 dressed Spencer on the subject of sending him to Chi 
 cago. It had been an oppressively hot morning, but 
 early in the afternoon clouds had risen, a breath of 
 cooler wind blew intermittently, and occasionally a 
 rumble of low thunder sounded from behind the hills 
 in the west. He had told Spencer he wanted to speak 
 to him at four o'clock, and as he sat between the wide 
 open windows in his office which commanded a full 
 view to the north and west he felt an exhilaration from 
 the rising storm. 
 
 Exactly at four o'clock the superintendent came in, 
 looking, in spite of the heat of the morning and his 
 own incessant occupation, neat and well dressed ; as 
 Roger observed to himself, " as much of a dandy as a 
 man could be in the dust and grime of a machine-shop." 
 His eyes were intensely bright and his whole face 
 showed animation. He evidently expected something. 
 Roger began at once, " Spencer, here is a rare chance 
 for you," and he read out a part of Orrin Goodeve's 
 letter, then went on to explain the duties to be under 
 taken in Chicago. His salary would be increased, and
 
 2$O WALFORD. 
 
 the position, even if of more responsibility, would be 
 one of more ease and consideration. Besides, every 
 young man liked the West, Roger remarked ; Walford 
 was likely to seem a cramped place after he had had a 
 little experience of a large city. 
 
 " I dare say," returned Spencer dryly, " but I prefer 
 to stay in Walford." 
 
 "That seems to me a mistake," said Roger. "I 
 think you had better reconsider." 
 
 " I know what I want," said Spencer quietly, " and 
 going away from Walford is not what I want." 
 
 " What is it you want ? " asked Roger, his voice just 
 touched with acerbity. 
 
 " I want," answered Spencer abruptly, " to marry 
 Miss Standish." 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed Roger. He raised his 
 head and stared at the superintendent as if incredulous. 
 " That is quite a different matter." 
 
 "I know it is," said Spencer coolly. "When you 
 told me to come in to-day at four o'clock, I was just 
 about to ask you if I could speak to you." 
 
 " Very well, speak on. What else have you to say ? " 
 
 "Only this : I wish to marry Miss Standish." 
 
 " Have you told her your wishes ? " 
 
 " I told her more than a year ago." 
 
 "What answer did she make ? " 
 
 "That she did not intend to marry." 
 
 "Well," said Roger, "I should suppose that ended 
 the matter." His tone was light, and there was some 
 thing almost quizzical in the way he elevated his eye 
 brows. 
 
 " Do you mean that you are against it? " asked Spen 
 cer, his eyes suddenly emitting a spark.
 
 THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY. 25 I 
 
 " Against it ? Against you marrying Miss Standish ? 
 I never in my life supposed until this moment that 
 there was any idea of such a thing. Miss Standish is 
 my wife's sister. She is not a young girl, but a woman 
 of twenty-five or six, with mature views, and actuated 
 by some idea of making a career for herself. If ever 
 a girl was capable of answering a man's proposal of 
 marriage it is she, and you tell me that she refused you." 
 
 " No, she did not refuse me," said Spencer doggedly. 
 " She gave me a sort of promise." 
 
 " A sort of promise to marry you ? " 
 
 " She said she would marry nobody else, that she 
 expected never to marry, but she finally yielded so far 
 as to say that if she ever did marry she would marry 
 me." 
 
 " But she intends never to marry. Mrs. Rexford, who 
 ought to understand her own sister, says that she is 
 certain that Miss Standish will be Miss Standish to the 
 end." 
 
 " I do not feel sure of that," said Spencer. 
 
 " It is impossible to predict what will happen," ob 
 served Roger ; " but I should say it looked rather hope 
 less for you." He bent a straight, square glance upon 
 the other. " Spencer," said he, " I do not often listen 
 to gossip, but I have been told you were engaged to 
 Sloper's daughter." 
 
 " That 's a Walford lie," said Spencer angrily. " I 
 am not engaged to her. It may be that rumor which 
 is influencing Miss Standish. She wishes to take back 
 her promise to marry me." 
 
 " I do not see that she ever promised to marry you." 
 
 " She said if she ever did marry, she would marry 
 me."
 
 "What sort of a promise is that? It is better not 
 only for herself but for you to end such an absurdity." 
 
 " I decline to have it ended. Such a promise was 
 trying and unsatisfactory to me, but it was better than 
 nothing. Much as I wish her to marry me, I am not 
 insisting upon it. All I insist on is, that she shall 
 marry no one else." 
 
 " She is not thinking of marrying anybody else." 
 
 " I hope not, I hope not," said Spencer. Some 
 thing in his look and tone gave Roger a desire to order 
 him out of the room. He did not, however, act on his 
 impulse, and Spencer went on impressively, "I wish, 
 Mr. Rexford, you would speak a good word for me to 
 Miss Standish. I expect you to give me a chance with 
 her." 
 
 Roger could hardly understand how he accepted the 
 embassy. There was nothing to captivate him in the 
 idea of having Spencer for a brother-in-law. It seemed 
 to him, indeed, arrant presumption for the superinten 
 dent, who had risen by gradual steps from the most 
 inferior position, to think of gaining Amy. But he 
 had always, like Faulconbridge, shown " a mounting 
 spirit," and had hitherto succeeded so well in all he 
 undertook that his vanity misled him. 
 
 Roger had felt all through their interview that what 
 was required was that he should give Spencer a hint 
 that he was overstepping bounds ; that his love affairs 
 in no wise concerned the Rexford Manufacturing Com 
 pany and had better be kept distinct. Why had he not 
 set the conceited puppy right ? Roger asked himself 
 when left alone. What mean desire to propitiate the 
 man had compelled him to assent to his request that 
 he should speak to Amy ?
 
 THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY. 253 
 
 The fact was, Roger dejectedly confessed to his own 
 heart, he somehow had been afraid to refuse. After a 
 man has once trembled, the old dread continues to vi 
 brate to the end. When Spencer looked at him Roger 
 was conscious of a strong, cold will behind the superin 
 tendent's words. Spencer was not talking idly ; he had 
 something with which to substantiate the justice of his 
 demand. Evidently he had got hold of some little 
 coign of vantage. Roger recalled certain indications 
 he had once given of knowledge that Madam Van Po- 
 lanen's money was involved in the concern. Even if 
 that was the case such suspicions could amount to 
 nothing. Since Roger was full trustee any little irregu 
 larities in his management of the property, past, pres 
 ent, and future, were his own affair. No, Roger said to 
 himself, he had been trembling at a fiction of his own 
 imagining. It was a mere survival of the old terror, 
 he had so long felt that he must run away from some 
 thing that he still had the instinct to dread and flee. 
 He was anxious to end the suspense, and although he 
 had told Spencer he would speak to Amy sometime 
 within a fortnight, it was in fact only three days after 
 the interview we have described that he looked up from 
 his desk late one afternoon, as Spencer came in with a 
 memorandum, and said : " Just shut the door. I may 
 as well tell you that I spoke to Miss Standish as you 
 wished, and she has put the whole matter beyond 
 doubt. She will never marry you." 
 
 Spencer's face grew black. 
 
 " Look here, Spencer," said Roger, " you must make 
 up your mind not only that she is out of the question, 
 but that what you call her promise to you was a mere 
 polite concession to your importunities. She says you
 
 254 WALFORD. 
 
 urged her so strongly that she felt worn out, that no 
 thing seemed to matter ; accordingly she accepted the 
 formula of words you offered, which she considered of 
 little or no meaning, never intending that they should 
 arouse any definite hope of yours. She regrets having 
 been so inconsiderate, but she insists upon having her 
 freedom." 
 
 " She wants to marry Felix Goodeve," said Spencer 
 between his closed teeth. 
 
 " Nonsense." 
 
 "Look here, Mr. Rexford," said Spencer, with en 
 ergy, "you must be on my side." 
 
 " On your side ? " 
 
 " Did you advise her to marry me ? " 
 
 " I gave no advice whatever." 
 
 " Should you be perfectly willing to have her marry 
 me?" 
 
 " I should never think of opposing it. She is a free 
 agent." 
 
 " But you don't advise it," said Spencer. 
 
 " I hardly understand your right to cross-examine me. 
 I may say this. Miss Standish has enjoyed every ad 
 vantage of education, has lived everywhere, has studied 
 as few girls have studied. She was adopted by her 
 paternal grandfather, who left her all his money. She 
 can live anywhere and do anything she chooses to un 
 dertake. She has the best connections, and with her 
 beauty could make a brilliant marriage if she had not 
 chosen to take up these humanitarian fads. Her com 
 ing here was, you might say, an accident ; she answered 
 her sister's dire need. Thus Walford is a mere episode 
 in her career. My wife will soon be well, and her sister 
 is likely to go away at any time. However, she is one
 
 THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY. 255 
 
 of the new-fashioned sort of women of whom I do not 
 like to predict anything. They want to make over the 
 world, and would do it without loss of time if they could 
 only make the sun rise in the west and set in the east 
 and the seasons go backward." 
 
 " She probably considers," said Spencer, with new 
 determination in his look, " that I shall limit her career. 
 She sees that I am a mere subordinate, that I have no 
 capital. I live on a small salary, I am tied to a post. 
 But, Mr. Rexford, you may tell her that although I am 
 not a rich man to-day, nor shall be to-morrow, yet the 
 time will come when I shall be a rich man." 
 
 " That does not touch the root of the matter," said 
 Roger. 
 
 Spencer's face showed at first a slight quiver of the 
 lips, betraying an internal spasm of excitement held 
 well under control. Now all at once he seemed to 
 throw aside a veil. The color rushed to his temples 
 and his eyes blazed. 
 
 " Mr. Rexford," said he, " when are you going to 
 take me into partnership ? " 
 
 "Oh, that is what you have got into your head," 
 exclaimed Roger. 
 
 " Well, why not ? " said Spencer doggedly. " I have 
 been tried and tested. I have never failed. You are 
 under some obligations to me " 
 
 " I confess all that, but if you look back at your own 
 rapid advancement " 
 
 " I want that to be a stepping-stone to a real posi 
 tion." 
 
 " Rome was not built in a day," said Roger. " Better 
 be slow and sure." 
 
 " I might ask," retorted Spencer, " where you would
 
 256 WALFORD. 
 
 be now, if everybody had taken ' slow and sure ' for a 
 motto." 
 
 " I don't know what you allude to," said Roger, with 
 the old cold clutch at his consciousness that some 
 threat was behind Spencer's pertinacity. 
 
 "Who always told you that the little girl would be 
 found ? " said Spencer. " Who insisted that she must 
 be found, so that you need not have to give up Madam 
 Van's money ? " 
 
 " I remember you were always harping on what was 
 to me a most painful subject." 
 
 " A painful subject ? I should think so. Where 
 would the Rexford Manufacturing Company be to-day, 
 or at any rate where would you be, Mr. Rexford, if all 
 that estate had to be passed over to a different set of 
 trustees ? " 
 
 Roger held an impassive face, never flinching, but 
 made no reply. 
 
 " Do you suppose I did not know just how you 
 stood ? " said Spencer. " Did you think I was blind to 
 all that had gone on ? " 
 
 " What insolent accusations are you bringing up 
 against me ? " said Roger, with a glance which was not 
 tender. " I am strangely patient not to throw you out 
 of the window." 
 
 " You are strangely patient because you are well 
 aware that you are under strange obligations to me," 
 persisted Spencer, flushed and excited. 
 
 " Once for all : what obligations do you mean ? " 
 
 " You have got your little girl back, and you are in 
 possession of all that old woman's money." 
 
 " I was not aware that you restored my child to me. 
 What had you to do with it ? "
 
 THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY. 257 
 
 " Not quite so much as one or two other people, it is 
 true," replied Spencer. He seemed irresolute whether 
 to go on or stop short. Roger waited a moment, then 
 said : 
 
 " Orrin Goodeve, junior, wrote to me from Chicago. 
 I did not even show you his letter ; as it chanced there 
 was no time. You knew nothing of what had taken 
 place, until I myself told you I had found Bessy and 
 brought her home. I recall your expression, your very 
 words of joyful surprise." 
 
 " It had been I, and I alone, who insisted that the 
 child must be found, who told you that you could not 
 afford to give her up as irrevocably lost," said Spencer 
 significantly. 
 
 " Why do you keep harping on that ? " 
 
 " Now, Mr. Rexford, do you mean to say," said 
 Spencer, with quiet deliberation, " that you did not 
 understand it was all a put-up job ? " 
 
 All the color faded out of Roger's face, leaving him 
 gray and lifeless. " What craze have you got into your 
 head ? " he gasped. 
 
 " Do you actually suppose that little girl at your 
 house is your own child ? " 
 
 " My child ? Of course she is my child. What 
 earthly doubt could there be ? She answered every sort 
 of test. From the moment I took her in my arms she 
 felt that she knew me. She said 'mamma' when her 
 eyes first fell on her mother. But that was little or no 
 thing. She had a thousand little tricks, sayings, habits, 
 which had always been our Bessy's instinctive and indi 
 vidual traits. She had little phrases which she uttered 
 in her mother's very tones. There were some very curi 
 ous and striking coincidences which not only satisfied
 
 WALFORD. 
 
 ourselves but the Goodeves, my cousin Rexford Long, 
 all who saw Bessy. No one has ever thought for a mo 
 ment that there could be any doubt, and beyond all 
 other doubts there was the most jealous and suspicious 
 of all, the mother's. She recognized Bessy as her 
 own child." 
 
 "Oh, I know," said Spencer. He smiled. " It was 
 a cleverly executed trick and took everyone in, but I 
 never exactly believed, Mr. Rexford, that you were 
 taken in." 
 
 " What trick was possible ? " said Roger indignantly. 
 
 "Don't you see it was that Italian fellow, Nino, who 
 was behind it all ? " 
 
 Roger's hand went up to his head as if he were 
 dizzy. 
 
 " Nino ? " he repeated dully, " Giovanni Reni ? " 
 
 " He was here, you remember, Mr. Rexford. \Yell, 
 three months or so afterwards he wrote to me, asking 
 for pictures of yourself and Mrs. Rexford. I did not 
 mention the matter, but sent them. After that I felt 
 sure something was going on and was likely to happen. 
 I did not know from which corner of the horizon the 
 lightning would come, but was sure it would come 
 sooner or later." The haggard gleam of Roger's eyes 
 startled Spencer. " Of course," he went on, " I don't 
 know absolutely about all this. I have not seen Nino 
 since he was here. Then we had a little talk, and 
 he said it seemed as if the child could be found, and 
 she ought to be found. I agreed with him. I should 
 be willing to wager a good deal that he and the nurse- 
 girl, Jenny, looked up a little girl resembling your lost 
 Bessy and trained her." 
 
 "Trained her? " muttered Roger, in a husky voice.
 
 THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY. 2 $9 
 
 He started up as if under the impulse of an electric 
 shock. " Trained her ? " he repeated again, and put 
 up his hand as if to ward off some danger. Everything 
 in the office seemed to be circling round him. If 
 Spencer had not caught hold of him and supported him 
 to the seat he had left, he must have fallen heavily to 
 the floor. He lay huddled together in the chair, his jaw 
 dropped, his face like that of a corpse. Spencer, who 
 had not foreseen the effect of his words, was absolutely 
 frightened. For a few moments it seemed to him that 
 he had killed the man. He dashed into the outside 
 office for help, forgetting that the six o'clock whistle 
 had sounded ten minutes before, and that the place was 
 emptied for the night except for the watchman. He 
 called loudly, but no one answered. Returning, he 
 sprinkled water frantically into the face of the fainting 
 man. 
 
 Roger had not, however, fully lost consciousness. 
 Presently he moaned, lifted his hand and shook off 
 Spencer's eager clasp. Then with a blind movement 
 he rose and tried to cross the room, but his gait was 
 like that of a drunken man. He grasped at the table 
 and fell across it with another deep groan. 
 
 " Oh, sir, I am sorry, I am ashamed," Spencer fal 
 tered. " I did not intend to hurt you like this. I had 
 taken it for granted you entertained some suspicions. 
 The points of difference between the two children were 
 to my eyes more striking than the similarity. This one 
 is slighter than Bessy, and fairer. It was to me the most 
 natural thing in the world that you should have been 
 willing to take another child. It did no one any harm, 
 and it accomplished a world of good. I said to myself 
 that Roger Rexford was a wise man and would alter 
 events to please himself."
 
 26o WALFORD. 
 
 But he could not tell whether he was speaking to ears 
 that took in his words. Roger lay across the table and 
 did not move. Spencer was at his wits' end. The idea 
 suddenly crossed his mind that possibly the stricken 
 man had risen to go to the closet by the fire-place, and 
 that he probably kept stimulants there. He opened the 
 little door, reached the shelves and found several bottles, 
 one of which contained brandy. He forced a small 
 glassful upon Roger, who after the first swallow raised 
 his head and drank off the whole. Spencer watched 
 him with a mute eagerness to offer some further help, 
 but Roger would accept no more. After a time, he 
 staggered back to his chair and sat there stony and 
 rigid, like a corpse galvanized to life. Although he had 
 almost fainted, thought had not been suspended, and his 
 mind had fastened with an obstinate clutch on certain 
 doubts of his own which had kept him in suspense 
 until the ordeal was over and Evelyn had declared that 
 Bessy was her own child. There had been certain dis 
 crepancies in Mrs. Lorenz' story ; the hiatus between 
 Bessy's disappearance from Walford and her appear 
 ance in Chicago had never been filled up. No ade 
 quate cause for stealing the child had been supplied ; 
 it could only be supposed that Bertha Lorenz had 
 already been insane when she committed the act. Of 
 the child's likeness to Bessy there could be no doubt, 
 but it was a flattered likeness. What had after all 
 puzzled him most had always been that she could have 
 remembered so clearly, so accurately ; could have re 
 produced so unerringly little phrases familiar to them 
 all, when she had, for almost two years, been not only 
 among strangers, but among people of a different class. 
 Evelyn had more than once triumphantly adduced
 
 THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY. 26 1 
 
 some little confirmatory instance of Bessy's clear re 
 membrance of her teachings of table manners. It had 
 seemed to him a singular fact that these trifling niceties 
 should have been retained among surroundings where 
 fastidious requirements could not easily be met. Still, 
 it is impossible to be certain just how much any child 
 knows and remembers and how long it remembers, and 
 it was unprofitable to study Bessy's freaks of memory. 
 Thus he had not allowed himself to think about these 
 phenomena nor encouraged Evelyn to talk them over. 
 All the doubts which had ever drifted across his mind 
 had now returned with obstinate reality. 
 
 " Spencer," he exclaimed, after a long silence, " can 
 you swear to the truth of what you have said ? " 
 
 " No, I cannot." 
 
 " Then you are the devil, the very devil, to have 
 spoiled all our happiness with this horrible doubt." 
 
 Spencer's self-command had vanished ; he spoke 
 with agitation. 
 
 " Mr. Rexford," he said, " I wish to heaven I had 
 not spoken. On my word and honor, had I supposed 
 you did not see into the trick I should have held my 
 tongue. I am sure I should, although I spoke in a 
 passion. I took it for granted you looked the facts in 
 the face, examined them and made the best of them as 
 a man should. The loss of the little girl was killing 
 Mrs. Rexford. Everybody said she was dying. Dr. 
 Cowdry declared, in spite of all the New York ocu 
 lists said about her eyes, that what ailed them was her 
 anaemic condition, that her heart had no proper action, 
 that a breath would carry her off. Some miracle had 
 to be performed for your wife's sake. The very finger 
 of God's providence seemed to be in it that she was 
 half blind when the child came."
 
 262 WALFORD. 
 
 Roger made a gesture as if to repel a hideous sugges 
 tion, but Spencer, driven on by a wish to justify himself, 
 continued : 
 
 "To Rexford & Company, it was salvation to get the 
 child back. Great interests were at stake. Besides, it 
 would have been a cruel wrong to have John Rexford's 
 money alienated from Walford and from the works 
 where it was made. The whole thing was an unmixed 
 good." 
 
 " If you knew how your accursed sophistical argu 
 ments sounded in my ears you would " 
 
 " But, Mr. Rexford, I want you to feel that no harm 
 has been done, quite the reverse." 
 
 " Then my God ! let the subject rest." 
 
 " It shall," said Spencer, awed by the expression in 
 the other's face. 
 
 The silence which ensued was hard to bear, for every 
 moment it pressed upon Spencer that he had wrought 
 irretrievable mischief. He wished with all his heart he 
 could put back the clock of time an hour, leave the words 
 which had for weeks been burning in his heart still 
 unuttered, and allow Roger Rexford to drift on blind 
 and secure in his haughty self-belief. The effect of this 
 disclosure seemed so wholly incommensurable with his 
 motive in making it that Spencer could not recover from 
 a sort of fright, as if he had started an engine of de 
 struction by simply putting his ringer on some unim 
 portant screw. 
 
 After a time Roger said in a deep, stern voice : 
 " How many people know of this? How many besides 
 you and Nino and Jenny and that Mrs. Lorenz? How 
 many in Walford ? " 
 
 "Not one, I feel sure of that. I have been almost
 
 THE IMMORTALS NETER DESCEND SINGLY. 263 
 
 surprised that so far as I know there has never been a 
 doubt expressed," replied Spencer eagerly. 
 
 Roger felt himself thrown back into the old fluctua 
 tions of feeling, at once perturbing and hopeless. 
 
 " If this is not my child, what became of Bessy ? " he 
 asked, his mind feeling out the old tracks of thought he 
 had supposed closed up by certainty. " Do you know 
 what became of Bessy ? You seem to be omniscient." 
 
 " I know nothing about it, nothing," faltered Spencer. 
 
 " Nor do you know anything about any of the ac 
 cursed business. You have simply gone to work with 
 devilish craft to make mischief. I would rather have 
 died, I would rather have died a hundred times over 
 than have heard this thing," said Roger with a look and 
 tone which again moved Spencer to the very soul. 
 
 " Oh, sir, I am sorry," he faltered with genuine hu 
 mility. 
 
 " Don't be sorry," retorted Roger with irony. " You 
 wanted to get me into your power. I have seen for 
 some time that you were holding a dagger in reserve ; 
 it was this. Go on, make everything perfectly clear. 
 What is your price ? What do you expect to make out 
 of your suspicions ? " 
 
 " I see what you are thinking," said Spencer, with a 
 momentary genuine self-abasement. " You believe me 
 to be a villain. I confess I was angry ; it seemed to 
 me you took a tone as if Then, besides, I have 
 always hoped to be your partner." 
 
 " You evidently intend to take any position you 
 choose," said Roger, still with biting irony. " If what 
 you say is true, I am completely in the meshes. I don't 
 know exactly what sort of a criminal I am, but there 
 has been a crime committed and I am the gainer by it."
 
 264 ll'Al.FOKD. 
 
 " You are not a criminal, you are riot in any meshes," 
 said Spencer, laying his hand on Roger's, with an im 
 ploring look. It cut him grievously to be accused of 
 intentions he hardly knew how to repudiate. '* No 
 wrong has been done, but if some splitter of straws 
 could call it a sort of crime, it was not you who had 
 anything to do with it. I ask for nothing which does 
 not belong to the natural process of my advancement. 
 I want to be a partner. I always hoped to be one of 
 
 Rexford & Company. I want to marry Miss Standish. 
 j " 
 
 Roger started and flung off Spencer's hand as if stung. 
 
 44 1 am not a villain and I am not a schemer," said 
 Spencer reddening. 44 1 will never allude to the subject 
 again. I am not so little of a man that I cannot under 
 stand how it touches you at every point. I wish I had 
 not spoken. I may be wrong ; the child may be Bessy 
 after all. I confess the idea was in my mind, from the 
 moment I heard about Madam Van's will, that she held 
 out a damnable temptation to Nino. Not a penny un 
 less the child was found, and then, fifteen thousand 
 dollars. I said to myself then, if I were that Italian 
 fellow I 'd find the child, or some child. In a world 
 swarming with children there must be somewhere a 
 child like Bessy." 
 
 Roger's face showed that Spencer's words carried 
 weight in some direction. 44 It was a big bait," he said. 
 " I had other anxieties at the time and thought little 
 about it. When I was sending the money to him last 
 autumn, it crossed my mind that it was a singular cir 
 cumstance that events in which he had no practical 
 concern should yet have done so much for him." 
 
 '* You heard from him after you sent the money ? " 
 
 "Yes; the legacy was paid over by our consul at
 
 THE IMMORTALS NEVER DESCEND SINGLY. 26$ 
 
 Naples. I had the official receipt, and besides that, I 
 received a few lines from Nino himself expressing his 
 gratitude for the money and his pleasure that my 
 daughter was restored." Roger mused a moment. "I 
 suppose the best way will be to go over there and look 
 him up." 
 
 " What good would that do ? " 
 
 " It would settle the matter. I can't live in this state 
 of mind." 
 
 "I don't believe you could find the man if you 
 searched Italy over," said Spencer, with decision. " He 
 would suppose you were after his money and would 
 hide himself. Surely you would not spoil your wife's 
 peace of mind again. Everything is going on as well 
 as it need be. Simply put this suspicion out of your 
 thoughts and let it all be as if I had never spoken." 
 
 "Easily said." 
 
 "It was a mistake of judgment on my part." 
 
 " You were sure to have done it sooner or later," 
 said Roger dryly. " It was the sword of Damocles over 
 me, and you meant it should fall." 
 
 " Our success or failure is identical," said Spencer. 
 " What you gain I gain, what you lose I lose. After 
 all, since we have to work shoulder to shoulder, is it 
 not better that each of us should have a clear mutual 
 comprehension of facts than to be watching, measur 
 ing, and studying what is in each other's mind ? " 
 
 " You see into things, Spencer," said Roger, wearily. 
 "You have eaten of the fruit of knowledge of good 
 and evil. I feel beaten. I think this has killed me. 
 I see nothing, I understand nothing. I have no grasp." 
 
 Spencer was stung by what he considered to be irony. 
 His idea of Roger Rexford had shifted many times 
 during this interview. Of old he had credited him with
 
 2t'6 WALFORD. 
 
 boldness and sagacity, a determination to protect his 
 own interests at all hazards, no matter how dangerous 
 a game he played. He could do wrong, not driff.ng 
 weakly into a false position, but knowing that he was 
 doing wrong, looking at facts squarely, nothing daunted 
 by the worst of them. Seen in these new lights, Roger 
 Rexford had many a weakness. He had accepted the 
 little girl as if miracles happened every day. Spencer, 
 himself, skeptical and incredulous of anything out of 
 the usual, with a vulpine instinct for fastening instantly 
 on a limping argument, could not comprehend that 
 Roger had rested for a moment with certainty on the 
 belief that Bessy was his child. The cool looker-on 
 had failed to realize how great the bribe had been, and 
 how magically it had silenced all doubt. He had made 
 a mistake, possibly a mistake which would affect his 
 own chances. He could not yet predict what would 
 happen. It was evident that Roger was at present in a 
 mood of deep, dreary self-abasement, for which Spencer 
 could see no adequate cause. 
 
 " How do you suppose," Roger said, rising, " that I 
 am to go home and face my family, seeing everything I 
 love tainted by this lie ? " 
 
 " Don't talk so," said Spencer, disturbed. " Kicking 
 against the pricks is unremunerative. I 'd be hopeful. 
 Nothing I have said alters the real outside facts of 
 your life." 
 
 What Spencer could not quite grasp in the other's 
 character was the fact that Roger had always had an ideal 
 aim, that of being a good man, sound and sweet all 
 through. The tragedy of his career so far had consisted 
 in the perpetual opposition between his real ambitions 
 and his performances, his expectations and his results, 
 his outside pretensions and his intrinsic failure.
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE DIVINE FEMININE. 
 
 SOME writer, in discussing social evolution, argues 
 that the worst enemy women will have to contend with, 
 in their struggle towards a life of higher and more 
 altruistic aims than those which have in general gov 
 erned their sex, is likely to be that " Divine Feminine " 
 in themselves, which must remain a force not calculable 
 in its influence nor in the machinery it sets in motion. 
 
 Amy Standish, however, in spite of her unusual 
 mental equipment, perhaps for the very reason that 
 she had had a tolerably thorough scientific education, 
 and could, at a glance, class various human instincts 
 as vestiges of early savage life, survivals of animism 
 and the like, had not paid a great deal of attention to 
 what is elementary and indestructible in human beings. 
 When Spencer had made love to her, he had done it in 
 a roundabout fashion, putting the feasibility of their 
 marriage on a practical basis. He had not made her 
 feel that the acceptance of his suit made a turning 
 point in her life, but simply that he was indispensable 
 to her in carrying out the details of her various schemes, 
 and that she could not afford to lose his practical help. 
 
 Such a marriage, even to a woman of the most ad 
 vanced ideas, ought to seem a fact in the line of prog 
 ress, not of decline. Felix Goodeve had taken a very 
 different tone. " Your destiny is to belong to me," he
 
 268 WALFOKD. 
 
 had affirmed, and he had seemed to be urged by an in 
 tense, a vital need of her, herself. And as he uttered 
 these words his tone and look had shaken her as she 
 had never before in her life been shaken ; they had 
 been over-masterful, but their meaning had penetrated 
 her heart and intellect alike with the life, the light, 
 the stir of fresh sensations and new powers. She had 
 had her own pleasure in this experience ; when her 
 mind lingered over some of his words and looks and 
 phrases, she understood better than before how a wo 
 man's intellect is subtly colored by the generations who 
 have preceded her and have been subservient to men. 
 This was a clear gain, for half the meaning of human 
 history escapes our grasp, without our clear recognition 
 of the fact that men have exerted an irresistible influ 
 ence upon women, an influence, indeed, almost hypnotic. 
 Mr. Casaubon, it may be remembered, when he found 
 himself hopelessly wooden and without a thrill in the 
 presence of his lovely Dorothea, concluded that the 
 poets had enormously exaggerated the force of mascu 
 line passion. Amy, on the other hand, suddenly awak 
 ened to the truth of the story the poets had been tell 
 ing ever since the beginning of the world. It was quite 
 within the domain of clearly proved phenomena that 
 Eve should say to Adam, " God is thy law, thou mine," 
 and Miranda to Ferdinand, "To be your fellow you may 
 deny me ; but I ? 11 be your servant whether you will or 
 no." 
 
 Felix Goodeve had left Walford the morning after his 
 mother's Easter party. Then followed several weeks 
 in which Amy's anxiety concerning Evelyn again rose 
 to fever-pitch, and indeed, it was June before she was 
 free to go about the place in her usual way. All this
 
 THE DIVINE FEMININE. 269 
 
 time she had endeavored to put away from her mind 
 the disagreeable thought of Miss Sloper. It had been 
 easy to say that the girl was tasteless and indiscreet, 
 that she had shown herself vulgar and impertinent. 
 It would have been no difficult matter to despise her, 
 but hitherto Amy had not expected that humanity 
 should attain an ideal standard before she accepted 
 it, loved it, and offered herself to it. Indeed, humani 
 tarians who insist that ugly, stupid, lazy, and wrong- 
 headed people shall rectify their intellects and their 
 dispositions before they receive sympathy and toler 
 ance will be likely to find few objects for their efforts 
 to be expended upon. Had Miss Sloper been a shop 
 girl, a seamstress, or a hard-worked young mother, her 
 saucy manner would not have repelled Amy, who would 
 have looked through mere outside foibles to grasp the 
 needs of a living, breathing fellow-creature. What 
 made this experience irritating was that she felt humili 
 ated at having been obliged to evade and equivocate, 
 and even then not to be able to free herself from the 
 hopeless tangle. For a time it was pleasanter to put 
 away the thought of Miss Sloper, and postpone deci 
 sion as to her possible duty in the matter. Her old 
 theories did not seem to cover present exigencies. 
 Amy had to confess that she had acted thoughtlessly. 
 Evelyn had once said to her, " Amy, dear, it might be 
 safer if your missionary zeal should take the form of 
 interest in married men and their wives, particularly 
 their wives." Somehow Evelyn always had happy in 
 tuitions, an easy insight into natural processes. Amy 
 had enjoyed helping Spencer, who was so eager to im 
 prove. Now and then it had occurred to her that the 
 emphasis of his appreciation of her services seemed to
 
 2/O WALFORD. 
 
 fall in the wrong place, alighting on what was trivial 
 and unimportant, for example, when he had in a glow 
 of gratitude asked her to marry him. Such a request 
 came from old-fashioned habits of erroneous thinking. 
 When she tried to make his mistake clear to him, he 
 proved so logically that his sole object was to keep 
 near her, to be of use to her, he was so patient, so 
 meek, so discreet in avoiding any disturbing phrase, he 
 insisted so eloquently that it would do no harm if she 
 would show her friendship for him by promising to 
 marry him if she ever made up her mind to marry, that 
 she had yielded finally on a sudden impulse not to be 
 outdone in magnanimity. This had happened shortly 
 after Felix Goodeve's advent in Walford. 
 
 It was, of course, a foolish, inconsequent admission. 
 " I have no intention of marrying," she had wished to 
 declare. " I particularly wish never to marry. Thus 
 it makes no difference when I promise to. marry you if 
 I should ever change my mind, for under no possible 
 conjunction of circumstances shall I ever marry." It 
 was an act not unlike a man's putting his name to his 
 friend's note. The signature is a mere matter of form ; 
 still, many an indorser has had his night's sleep spoiled 
 by the thought that he has possibly laid up trouble for 
 himself. 
 
 Amy had more than once felt uneasy when Spencer's 
 manner reminded her that he had wishes which con 
 cerned her intimately. Not that he ever ventured far 
 enough to deserve rebuff. He had appointed a role 
 for himself, to give all and claim nothing ; but in 
 resigning small claims he made it clear that he longed 
 to demand much. In taking his teave of her he would 
 sometimes stand for a moment letting his eyes devour
 
 THE DIVINE FEMININE. 2/1 
 
 her ; if she gave him her hand he relinquished it 
 grudgingly. Finally, she flamed out in open rebellion, 
 and, as Spencer had told Roger Rexford, demanded 
 that he should let her take back her illogical promise. 
 He declined to give up his vantage ground, and, as we 
 have seen, endeavored to gain a powerful auxiliary to 
 his cause by sending her brother-in-law to her. 
 
 One day, shortly after the conversation in the pre 
 ceding chapter, Spencer was electrified by Roger Rex- 
 ford's bringing him a message from Miss Standish, 
 asking him to call at the house that evening. Roger 
 made no comment and gave not even a glance ; he 
 vouchsafed few words and few looks in these days. He 
 was in a bitter mood, rehearsing to himself his endless 
 grievances, that he had always to submit to events 
 brought about by some malign power he could not con 
 trol, that he was never able without risk of perdition 
 to give a turn to the wheel and arrest it, all he had 
 to do was to lie down and be ground beneath it. 
 
 Spencer had recovered his buoyancy by this time, 
 and, realizing that Roger Rexford's gloom was some 
 thing time would dispel, was busy with his own plans. 
 He was stirred by an irrational hope that Amy had been 
 brought over to his views ; at least, some advantage 
 must come from this chance of meeting her. He reached 
 the house just before sunset, and being told that Miss 
 Standish was walking somewhere about the grounds 
 he volunteered to go out and find her. He thought 
 he saw a gleam of her white gown near the river, so 
 descended the lawn. It was only a reflection in the 
 water. The little stream had taken on color from the 
 clouds, and rippled on, a sinuous fluctuating track of 
 rose and flame. Amy was not there. He stood for a
 
 2/2 WALFORD. 
 
 moment looking up and down the banks, noting the 
 swaying of the branches of the willows dipping into the 
 water, and rising and falling with its motion. She was 
 likely to be in the garden, he said to himself ; so, as 
 cending the slope and skirting the shrubberies, he went 
 round the house. 
 
 Here he came upon her. She was looking at the 
 primroses. They were banked against a hedge of 
 laurels and rhododendrons, and for the past hour had 
 been getting ready to open. She was gazing so in 
 tently that she did not observe Spencer's approach. A 
 beam from the sinking sun touched her face and set off 
 its contour with the gem-like color with which Millet 
 invested the outlines of his peasant-girl in the Angelus. 
 The sun dropped and left her pale. At the same 
 moment a visible tremor shook the buds of the prim 
 roses ; the outer petals unfolded, the calyx in another 
 instant burst its sheath and the full blossom expanded 
 its lovely yellow corolla. Not one, but a hundred flow 
 ers had come out as by the stroke of a magician's wand. 
 
 What Spencer saw, however, was the smile which 
 illumined the girl's face. She turned as if eager to 
 share the charm of the moment with some one, and 
 when her eye fell on him she exclaimed : 
 
 " Did you see them open ? " 
 
 " I only saw you." 
 
 " But watch," she said, " the others will come out in 
 another instant. Look ! Is it not exquisite ? Is it not 
 a miracle ? You can actually hear the petals part ! And 
 is not the fragrance delicious ? Almost like jessamine. 
 To-morrow night I must beg my sister to let me keep 
 Bessy up to see them. She delights in flowers, and I 
 wonder why it is that night blossoms are always so
 
 THE DIVINE FEMIA'INE. 2/3 
 
 beautiful. Did you ever see the cereus unclose ? It 
 begins to palpitate in the afternoon, but the great white 
 and golden heart of the blossom is not all out until 
 towards midnight. Oh, they are so superb ! Nature 
 is so various and so beautiful. She can give us such 
 loveliness, such happiness, and yet human' life remains 
 so ugly and so unhappy." 
 
 These words had burst out as if she spoke not to 
 Spencer, but in excited revery. " Why is it," she went 
 on, " that nature does not lift people out of their in 
 difference and stolidity? I want people to be just as 
 happy and perfect as these flowers." 
 
 " You are," said Spencer. At the same moment he 
 picked half a dozen of the lovely pale yellow blossoms 
 and laid them against her braids. 
 
 She gave a little cry. 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed, " how heartless to pick them ! " 
 She retreated a step or two and the spray fell to the 
 ground. She experienced not a little indignation, but 
 what she chiefly showed was a richer glow, a more bril 
 liant glance and an attitude more full of life. 
 
 " Will you not accept my poor flowers ? " he asked. 
 
 " I never wear flowers," she said. 
 
 " They would become you. I wanted to see the prim 
 roses against your hair, then I could have looked at 
 them." 
 
 " There come the moths," she said, kindling anew. 
 "They are the great humming-bird moths. See how 
 they poise, with just the flutter of the humming-birds' 
 wings." 
 
 " I too am a moth, drawn by the sweetness and rich 
 ness of a marvelous flower," Spencer remarked fer 
 vently.
 
 274 WALFORD. 
 
 "If you knew, Mr. Spencer," said Amy, "how un 
 called for I find that tone of yours, how offensive in 
 the light of what happened yesterday." 
 
 " What has happened ? " said Spencer, startled. 
 
 " I asked my brother to tell you I wanted to see 
 you," said Amy. "It seemed to me best to be entirely 
 frank with you." 
 
 He looked up at her with a burning anxiety. 
 
 " Let us walk down the garden path," she said ; " or 
 should you prefer to go inside ? " 
 
 " Let us walk down the path," he replied. " The 
 night is beautiful, although I confess the beauty of the 
 world has lately meant nothing except to remind me 
 that you were once more kind than you are now." 
 
 Her eyes looked as if she were ready to flash forth 
 some rejoinder, but after a minute's pause she said, 
 
 "I had a visitor yesterday, Mr. Spencer; can you 
 guess who it was ? " 
 
 The blood rushed to his face. " No," he replied, but 
 he was thinking of Leo. 
 
 " It was Mr. Alonzo Sloper," said Amy, with a demure 
 glance at Spencer, which brought a deeper flush to his 
 cheek. 
 
 " Mr. Alonzo Sloper," he repeated, as if the name 
 was indifferent to him. " He is one of the old Walford 
 characters. Did he amuse you ? " 
 
 " A little, by his ponderous politeness and his so 
 lemnities of self-importance," said Amy. " But he came 
 not in peace but in war." They had been moving 
 along the broad graveled path bordered with closely 
 clipped miniature hedges of box, and had now reached 
 a bed of foxgloves, when Amy stopped short and stood 
 still, looking down. " He came," she went on hurriedly.
 
 THE DIVINE FEMININE. 2?$ 
 
 for she knew that she was imposing a painful ordeal 
 upon her companion, "to tell me that you had long 
 been engaged to his daughter. He believed that I was 
 exerting some influence which made you unfaithful to 
 her. He had heard that I was to marry you, Mr. 
 Spencer. I could only assure him that it was not the 
 case ; that I was not engaged to marry you ; that I in 
 tended never to marry at all ; that 1 had heard nothing 
 about the engagement he alluded to, but that I felt cer 
 tain, having seen you and known you ever since I had 
 been in Walford, that you would always fulfill your duty 
 to the uttermost." 
 
 Spencer was shaken by an anger which hardly per 
 mitted him to speak coherently. 
 
 "It is a lie," he exclaimed. "It is a conspiracy, 
 it is blackmail. I am not engaged to her I " 
 
 Amy was startled by the black wrath visible in his 
 face. She had always seen him so cool, so smooth, so 
 wholly the master of himself ; this did not seem like the 
 same man. 
 
 " Do not be angry," she interposed softly. " There 
 is evidently some mistake, for for I saw the daugh 
 ter herself to-day." 
 
 He made a gesture as if he had lost all power of self- 
 command ; he was about to speak, then stamped his 
 heel into the gravel, and, dropping his eyes to the 
 ground, stood like a man who held a guard upon him 
 self, not daring to move hand or foot. 
 
 " I have been to see her," said Amy in a quiet, even 
 voice. " I had met her once before, and as our inter 
 view then was unsatisfactory, I had often had it in my 
 mind to call upon her. I went to-day. I intend to see 
 her very often. Perhaps I may help her. She is an
 
 2/6 IVALFORD. 
 
 ardent little creature, eager for life. She has had little 
 chance so far ; but, Mr. Spencer, I do think she is very 
 interesting in her way." 
 
 Spencer had been wholly taken by surprise. He had 
 rehearsed many possible parts which might be offered 
 him in the coming interview, but this especial role had 
 not been one of them. All this past year he had been 
 piling up wrath against Mr. Alonzo Sloper, whom he had 
 begun to look upon as his evil genius. Being a man 
 of generous leisure Mr. Sloper had grown ubiquitous. 
 He had a habit of looking in at the works with a bunch 
 of flowers, which he would intrust to one of the clerks 
 in the down-stairs office "for Mr. Spencer, with Miss 
 Leo Sloper's compliments ; and would he be sure to 
 come to tea that evening at half past six o'clock ? " 
 Now and then Alonzo would sit down, and, while he 
 waited for Spencer to appear, would converse affably 
 with anyone who would listen on the subject of the 
 young man's engagement to his daughter. In fact, 
 Spencer had of late been obliged to brace himself 
 against a possible encounter, in any and every place, 
 with the red-nosed, purple-cheeked toper, who greeted 
 him with maudlin reminders that his dear Leo was sit 
 ting at home playing the part of Mariana with a per 
 petual refrain of "He cometh not." Spencer had 
 learned to parry these thrusts with apparent good 
 nature, but the effrontery of. Mr. Sloper in intruding 
 upon Miss Standish passed the limits not only of expe 
 rience but of imagination. This was too much. He 
 said to himself that his patience with the Slopers was 
 at an end ; his account with them must be settled. 
 His present task, however, was to make it clear to 
 Amy that he had been slandered.
 
 THE DIVINE FEMININE. 277 
 
 He had regained his hold upon himself. " I wish," 
 he said in a quick, earnest way, " you would forgive my 
 outburst. If you knew just how exasperating it was to 
 me to think of that tipsy wretch troubling you with his 
 drunken nonsense, you whom I wish to throne high out 
 of reach of all annoyance, you would overlook my vio 
 lence. I have never been engaged to Leo Sloper. I 
 swear before heaven I have never for one moment been 
 engaged to her." 
 
 " Like Ophelia, then," said Amy, "she was the more 
 deceived, for evidently you made her believe you loved 
 her." 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Spencer in a tone of genuine 
 feeling. " I am the last person in the world to go 
 forward and back, but something must be allowed a 
 man in the way of selection and choice ; he must have 
 some opportunity to apply a test. When I first met Leo 
 she attracted me. I was lonely. I was young, after 
 my hard, sordid laboring days, I needed some relief. 
 I hoped I should find in her something congenial. I 
 was soon undeceived. However, it is an ungracious 
 statement for a man to make, that he discovers blemishes 
 and imperfections in a girl. My acquaintance had been 
 purely experimental ; if it was misunderstood I cannot 
 blame myself for her mistake. Leo naturally wishes to 
 marry and escape from such a home. But, Miss Stan- 
 dish, I never promised to marry her." 
 
 By this time the golden and rosy light in the sky had 
 changed to violet, and that in its turn had faded into 
 gray. It was now late dusk; still, looking in his face 
 she could clearly see that his expression was full of 
 candor, just dashed with scorn. She could readily' be 
 lieve him, for well she knew from her experience among
 
 2/8 WALFORD. 
 
 girls that half their waking thoughts are taken up with 
 groundless hopes about some possible lover, ecstasies 
 of sweet imaginings over the recollection of a kindly 
 glance or a lingering pressure of the hand, with infinite 
 capacity of flattering interpretation. Very likely Leo 
 had allowed her imagination to run away with her 
 judgment, and had let her heart instead of her ears 
 listen when he spoke. After a moment's pause he pro 
 ceeded. 
 
 " All the effect she had upon my heart, Miss Stan- 
 dish, was to teach it what it demanded ; it asked for a 
 nobler woman." 
 
 " I think Leo could easily develop into all you 
 wish," Amy made haste to say. " She has so far had 
 the scantiest opportunities. I am going to teach her all 
 sorts of things, Mr. Spencer. She is to come to me 
 every day for two or three hours. She has a sweet 
 little voice and I shall try to train it ; and she is won 
 derfully clever with her hands. I fancy she can both 
 design and color creditably after a little instruction. 
 She has had to depend upon herself, and her manner 
 has grown perhaps a trifle aggressive ; but all these tri 
 fling faults will easily correct themselves. She touched 
 me very much. At first she was proud and reluctant, 
 but when she realized that I was actually her friend, 
 not a rival, but a sister, a helper, she turned to me in a 
 way which went to my very heart. I can do a great 
 deal for her. I am going to do all I can, and for her 
 mother too. I saw Mrs. Sloper, and talked with her. 
 She had run away from the house, but Bessy was with 
 me, and she went after the poor timid woman and made 
 her acquaintance. Bessy seems to win her heart. She 
 showed us her flowers ; she is fond of flowers, and
 
 THE DIVINE FEMININE. 2/9 
 
 that was a link of sympathy. It is one of those cases 
 when a little outside help can do a great deal of good. 
 I am only sorry I have lost so much time. But I mean 
 to accomplish miracles." She had spoken very softly, 
 in a quick, ardent way, looking all the time into the 
 face of her companion, who had shown that he was not 
 a little restless, had bitten his lips and averted his eyes. 
 She now gathered herself up for a final appeal. " Mr. 
 Spencer," she said in a tone of caressing sweetness, 
 " you said that Leo at first attracted you. I am sure 
 that she will deepen and fix the impression she made 
 first. It is a great deal for a man to have taken pos 
 session of a girl's whole soul and heart as you have 
 taken possession of hers. Her feeling for you is an 
 immense stimulus, a mainspring of " 
 
 Spencer started as if struck a blow. " Do you mean," 
 he said in a voice choked with some emotion, "that 
 you are kindly undertaking to develop Miss Leo Spen 
 cer's artistic capabilities on my account ? Perhaps 
 you have promised me to her as a sort of medal, Miss 
 Standish. I assure you, you are altogether mistaken 
 if you suppose that it would ever make the slightest 
 difference to me whether she paints, sings, or speaks 
 all the languages." His voice had cleared and he 
 spoke with strong sarcastic emphasis. " I admire your 
 generous impulse," he went on, " your disinterestedness 
 and magnanimity are of the loftiest description. I only 
 regret that they are to be wasted on Alonzo Sloper's 
 daughter." 
 
 " I don't think it is fair to judge Leo by her father, 
 Mr. Spencer," said Amy. " She is a sweet, bright, in 
 nocent young girl ; she would make you a " 
 
 "Heavens and earth! " cried Spencer, flinging up both
 
 2 SO WALFORD. 
 
 arms as if in a frenzy, " you are talking to a man with 
 aspirations far above Miss Leo Sloper. She is nothing 
 to me. She never can be anything to me. It seems 
 to me the very extremity of cruelty, Miss Standish, 
 for you, who know perfectly well how every thought of 
 mine has been given to a far different object, to sug 
 gest the idea of my caring for that girl. Asking for 
 bread and getting a stone in its place is nothing to it ; 
 it is invoking an angel and having the foul fiend rise 
 in its place." 
 
 Amy stood aghast at the havoc she had created. 
 She began to fear that she had meddled mischievously. 
 It would have given her such complete satisfaction to 
 have arranged Spencer's future life for him ; but instead 
 she had hurt his pride ; worse than that she had given 
 his vanity a cruel stab. His violence frightened her ; 
 and in miserable doubt what to say or do next, she 
 moved on and sat down on the steps of the arbor. 
 
 He followed her. 
 
 " You hate me, you despise me," he said with emo 
 tion. 
 
 " I do not hate you, I do not despise you," she said, 
 gently. 
 
 ' You know that I worship you, that I wish to marry 
 you, that I have had no other thought since the first 
 moment I saw you, yet you count my feelings as no 
 thing. You dismiss me as a presumptuous fool who 
 asks too much, and must be satisfied with what he can 
 get, that is, with a Leo Sloper " 
 
 She shuddered and turned away with a gesture which 
 seemed like an entreaty that he should not continue the 
 subject. 
 
 " Please answer one question," he said pleadingly.
 
 THE DIVINE FEMININE. 281 
 
 " Do you want to get me out of the way because you 
 have different plans for yourself ? " 
 
 " I do not understand you," she said coldly. 
 
 " Unless you are engaged to another man," he per 
 sisted, "why may I not remain your friend? If I 
 could be absolutely sure that you are not thinking of 
 marrying " 
 
 " If you knew how I hate the idea of what you sug 
 gest," Amy burst out petulantly, "you would not of 
 fend me in that way." 
 
 " I will offend you no more," cried Spencer, with a 
 great effort of magnanimity. " If I have stepped over 
 the bounds you appointed, it was only that I was tor 
 tured, jealous, that I dreaded lest the sweetness you 
 withheld from me was given to " 
 
 She had risen. 
 
 " I warned you not to offend me in that way," she 
 said almost fiercely. " I am cold," she added, shiver 
 ing. " I must go in. I bid you good night." 
 
 She swept past him. He did not attempt to follow 
 her, but sat watching the tall, slim figure swiftly ascend 
 the garden walk. It paused one moment before the 
 primroses, then faded into the surrounding darkness. 
 His mind was busy thinking over what had been said 
 and not said between them. He felt as if he had at 
 least partly succeeded in reestablishing himself with 
 her, and he continued to sit looking up at the blinking, 
 mocking stars and devising the best means of keeping 
 some hold upon her. 
 
 Amy herself was experiencing a sensation of defeat. 
 She had acted injudiciously : she was always acting 
 injudiciously. She could not understand how she had 
 allowed her interview with Mr. Spencer to take such an
 
 282 WALFORD. 
 
 absurd course when she had a hundred specific things 
 to say, not one of which she had fairly uttered. She 
 looked up at the stars ; and as she looked she seemed 
 suddenly to have an instinct that she need not always 
 feel the impatience, the uneasiness, the disappointment 
 she had experienced of late. A longing for happiness 
 assailed her. She did not put into words what happi 
 ness might be, although she had often defined the con 
 ditions. This sudden effervescence of the soul, this 
 desire to love and to understand and to be loved and 
 to be understood, was new.
 
 XIX. 
 
 DOUBTS. 
 
 ONE Sunday afternoon Evelyn lay on the lounge in 
 her room resting. She had dozed a little, but had not 
 actually slept. It was one of those midsummer days 
 when the jubilant robins sing from dawn till past sun 
 set, and the moment she lost consciousness a fresh 
 carol from out-of-doors gurgling forth from some swell 
 ing little throat was certain to rouse her. She did not 
 begrudge the birds their burst of rapture. She lay, 
 her eyes closed, feeling blessed and happy ; and they 
 voiced her own mood. She had not been asleep, she 
 was certain she had not been asleep, when a slight 
 sound in the room startled her. Glancing towards the 
 open windows, she saw that her husband had come in 
 and was sitting there with Bessy standing between his 
 knees. He held the little face between his two hands 
 and was looking into her eyes intently with a peculiar 
 moody expression. Then all at once he pushed the 
 child away, started to his feet, and at the same time 
 flung up his hand as though in extremity of physical or 
 mental pain, then brought it down, striking his forehead 
 with a gesture which suggested impotent despair. 
 
 Evelyn had raised herself on the lounge. 
 
 " What is it ? " she faltered, hardly sure whether she 
 was awake or dreaming. 
 
 " What is what ? " returned Roger in his usual voice.
 
 284 WALFORD. 
 
 He came to the lounge and sat down in a chair beside 
 her. "You have had a long nap," he said. 
 
 "I don't think I have been asleep," returned Evelyn, 
 gazing at him in astonishment. "What was it you 
 were doing to Bessy ? " 
 
 " Doing to Bessy ? What should I do to Bessy ? " 
 said Roger lightly. " She wanted to give you some 
 roses and I was afraid she might disturb you." 
 
 Evelyn held out her arms to the little girl, who ran 
 into them. " I brought you nine roses, mamma," she 
 exclaimed, " nine red roses, and I brought you a 
 hundred million kisses." 
 
 Evelyn had been sharply startled and could not re 
 cover from her impression that her husband had been 
 rough to Bessy, but did not like to utter the accusation. 
 She continued to gaze from one to the other question- 
 ingly. 
 
 "You have evidently been dreaming," said Roger 
 soothingly. 
 
 "No, I was not dreaming," said Evelyn. " I opened 
 my eyes and I saw you staring into Bessy's face, then 
 you jumped up and made a gesture as if you were ap 
 pealing to heaven." 
 
 " Oh, good gracious ! " said Roger. " What a thing 
 it is to have an imagination." 
 
 " It was not my imagination ! " 
 
 "Don't have nerves; don't have fancies," he said 
 uneasily. Evelyn, when her first impression of the in 
 cident died away, began to tell herself it was possible 
 she had been dreaming. Or if she had not been 
 dreaming she could account for it in some other way. 
 Roger had not been in his usual spirits of late ; he had 
 not slept well, and explained that he was thinking about
 
 DOUBTS. 285 
 
 business matters, that he should probably find it 
 necessary, since Orrin Goodeve was to spend six 
 months abroad, to go to Chicago himself. Evelyn's 
 conjectures might thus be plausibly answered, and she 
 could account for his moodiness and lack of spirit by 
 his sorrow at leaving home. Still, in spite of all these 
 reasonable hypotheses, she could not forget the expres 
 sion he had worn as he stared haggardly at Bessy's 
 face. What did it mean, what could it mean, except 
 that he wished to find something there to answer his 
 need? Why should he repulse her with anger? Evelyn 
 was by this time almost her old self. Bessy was per 
 petually beside her as she went about full of interests 
 and energies, and the child's endless pretty ways, her 
 incessant chatter about every thought which passed 
 through her active little brain brightened the whole 
 household. 
 
 It gave Evelyn pain to observe that Roger was not 
 happy with them. It seemed as if, instead, he wandered 
 joyless, having no solaces, no consolations ; even pre 
 ferring a chilling solitude to their companionship. 
 
 " Roger, you are not well," Evelyn would say, cling 
 ing to him. 
 
 " I am perfectly well," he answered. 
 
 " Are you happy ? " 
 
 " Who is happy in this world ? " he would reply. 
 " That is, except you and Bessy." 
 
 Then Evelyn said to him, startled, " Roger, how gray 
 your hair has grown ! It has changed in a fortnight." 
 
 " You are getting back your eyes," he replied, " and 
 are beginning to find out what an old fellow I am. For 
 two years you have seen nothing to speak of; your 
 fancy has made me out young, blithe, and good-look-
 
 286 WALFOKD. 
 
 " It was losing Bessy that made you grow old," said 
 Evelyn, with a sharp pang of conviction that it had been 
 Roger and not herself who had tasted the misery of the 
 cruel experience, and felt not in imagination but in fact 
 the sharp thorn of care. 
 
 "Yes, that cut deep," said Roger. " After a man is 
 thirty he does not get over an experience in a day." 
 
 And yet, Evelyn said to herself, she had recovered 
 from it. Only by the strongest effort of mind could she 
 now realize that she had once been ready to accept the 
 fact that Bessy was dead. All these thoughts had passed 
 over her and were gone, utterly swept away by the de 
 mands of the new life. If Roger too could only begin 
 again afresh, put away that sadness of remembrance, 
 that unquenchable regret, and partake of this actual, 
 satisfying happiness. Why could he not ? Had he any 
 doubt ? The intellect, subtle although it is, must have 
 something tangible to work on. 
 
 One rainy day, when Roger came in, he found 
 that Evelyn had been occupying herself by collecting 
 all the pictures that had ever been taken of Bessy from 
 the time she was born and had ranged them together 
 with a view to comparison. There were several show 
 ing her as a mere baby, then a beautiful colored life- 
 size portrait made when she was two years old, a 
 carte de visite finished only a month before she was 
 lost, and several which had been taken since her re 
 turn. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " Roger asked sharply. 
 
 Evelyn looked up with an excited face. 
 
 " I was comparing the late and early pictures of 
 Bessy," she replied. " See how unlike they are." 
 
 "They are no more unlike than two pictures of your-
 
 DOUBTS. 287 
 
 self taken within one year might be," said Roger with 
 strange vehemence. " It is the most unusual thing in 
 the world for one photograph to look like another. 
 Photography more often caricatures than gives a real 
 impression of a face." 
 
 His tone was rough and his face showed agitation ; 
 Evelyn looked at him with curiosity. 
 
 " That picture taken when she was two years old is 
 exactly what she is to-day," Roger pursued, pointing to 
 it and then to the child. 
 
 "Yes," said Evelyn, "I was thinking it is more like 
 her than the photographs which have just come home." 
 
 Roger sank down with the look of a man who ex 
 periences unexpected relief, yet whose nerves are still 
 quivering from the ordeal he has passed through. 
 
 "You are never satisfied, it seems to me," he said in 
 a tone of suppressed irritation. " You always want too 
 much ; you never have enough." 
 
 Evelyn bundled all the smaller photographs together, 
 and put them in the drawer, and restored the large 
 one to its nail on the wall. 
 
 " Having you and Bessy and Theodore, I have 
 enough," she said archly ; and she began to tell stories 
 about Bessy, whom some neighbor had tried to lure into 
 her house on promise of showing her their baby. 
 
 "I Ve got a baby myself," Bessy had returned 
 with some haughtiness. Roger listened ungladdened. 
 Indeed, his feeling nowadays was that he could 
 never know pleasure again. He had for one moment 
 dreaded lest Evelyn should be prying into the secret ; 
 lest she too had begun to mistrust that after all this 
 Bessy was not her Bessy. Then his sickening fear had 
 passed, and he had wondered he could even momen-
 
 288 WALFORD. 
 
 tarily have entertained it. He was growing eager to 
 leave Walford, feeling that life among familiar scenes 
 and people had become only an experience of ingenious 
 lying. Away from this daily, hourly call upon his self- 
 command he hoped that he might re-gather his forces 
 and be able to look upon his position coolly. He was 
 yet to find out that the moment he was at a distance, he 
 would be haunted by a fear lest something should be 
 taking place in his absence; that some horrible sus 
 picion begotten and nourished in silence and conceal 
 ment might suddenly leap forth and disclose the real 
 facts. There had been one resource open to Roger Rex- 
 ford after Spencer's communication. He might have 
 thrown up the game, declaring he would be no party to 
 a fraud ; he might have challenged the opinion of all 
 the world as to Bessy's identity. Evidence could 
 somehow, somewhere, have been found which would 
 have made the matter clear. At times, in half delirious 
 visions, as he lay sleepless at night on his pillow, he had 
 been urged to this disclosure. It seemed the easiest way 
 out of the trouble ; it would divide the misery among 
 others, he would not have to bear everything alone as he 
 had borne it so long. Evelyn was stronger now, and 
 she could accept her share. More than once he had 
 risen in the morning with a resolution to take direct 
 measures for bringing the whole story to light. But by 
 the time he had dressed, eaten breakfast, met his fam 
 ily and set out for his office, the spectre which had 
 pursued him had become a feverish fancy of the night. 
 He saw too clearly the fatal consequences of disclo 
 sures. The present situation held definite advantages, 
 and it would be mere selfish cowardice to throw up the 
 game. If there were strength, safety or comfort in
 
 DOUBTS. 289 
 
 truth he might have been glad enough to establish the 
 truth. But the only hope for himself, for Evelyn, for 
 Bessy, lay in this falsehood, which after all might be no 
 falsehood at all. He was at times conscious of a som 
 bre heroism in accepting his position and making the 
 best of things. 
 
 He had at first recoiled from Spencer, ready to loathe 
 the idea that they were actually confederates in a crime. 
 But that feeling soon died away ; the gap and chasm 
 closed, and Roger found a certain comfort in their in 
 tercourse. It is always a relief when one is suffering 
 to have one's sufferings understood. Evelyn might put 
 her cheek against her husband's, look into his eyes and 
 plead with him to dismiss his regrets and be happy, 
 but such consolations only intensified his sense of iso 
 lation. Anxiety and alarm had sucked all the sweet 
 ness out of her caresses and had put a sting in their 
 place. He was always afraid that her quick brain was 
 busy constructing reasons for his apathy and gloom. 
 In Spencer's society there was a sure relief. Spencer 
 knew that he was wretched, understood just why he 
 was wretched, and had respect for the stupefied be 
 wilderment which comes upon all of us mortals when 
 we see the catastrophe which might quite logically have 
 overtaken some less worthy person by some inexplica 
 ble perversity of fortune fasten its deadly fang upon 
 our own lives. Half of Roger's present misery came 
 from the conviction that it was cruelly unjust that he 
 should be thus smitten, that he should suffer pain. 
 
 Spencer made no more false moves ; he was adroit 
 and full of tact. He had wished as delicately as possi 
 ble to rouse Roger Rexford to a sense of obligation, 
 and so far his course had been as effective as he him-
 
 290 WALFORD. 
 
 self could desire. His salary had been doubled ; he 
 had been made manager of the works with full powers 
 in the absence of Roger Rexford, who would spend the 
 greater part of the next few months in Chicago. He 
 * was not yet a partner ; still, even that ambition might 
 be gratified when the present agreement expired. 
 
 But his love-affair was not advancing so fortunately. 
 Miss Standish had given his vanity a cruel blow. It 
 was a relief to his feelings for a few days to call the 
 Slopers individually and collectively by every unflatter 
 ing epithet he could devise. His sentiments towards 
 Leo and her father had acquired a keen edge. He had 
 never supposed that old Sloper possessed the requi 
 site wit to mature a plan for turning the situation and 
 making Miss Standish herself his auxiliary, and to dis 
 cover craft in an adversary he had hitherto despised 
 as an inert lump of clay did not make Spencer more 
 charitable. It was time that Alonzo Sloper should be 
 taught a lesson, and Spencer laid his plans and arranged 
 his moves with deliberate malice. He held a mortgage 
 on the Sloper place. It had been running for many 
 years, and had come into his hands at a time when the 
 original holder was about to foreclose. Spencer had 
 settled all claims, and the deed had been made over to 
 himself. He had done this to avert catastrophe from 
 Leo, who was at that time dear to him. Still, the mort 
 gage was well covered by the property and was a fairly 
 good investment, so he argued, making light of his gen 
 erosity. Certainly the fact of his holding this lien 
 ought to give him the whip-hand on Sloper, and Spen 
 cer now set to work to prove that he was master of the 
 situation. 
 
 It was characteristic of him that being able to
 
 DOUBTS. 291 
 
 expend his wrath upon the Slopers enabled him to see 
 Amy's conduct in a better light. He realized her fever 
 of compassion for anyone in suffering. It was like her 
 to show the loftiest magnanimity for a weaker rival. 
 He was soon ready to believe that her coldness pro- 
 ceded from her belief that he was in honor bound to 
 Leo Sloper. When his vanity ceased to tingle, he 
 owned a tantalizing charm in the attitude she had as 
 sumed. Her belief in his docility was so naive as to be 
 amusing. He had always piqued himself on the ease 
 with which he had established an intimacy with the 
 proud, reserved girl, and he now reinstated his self-be 
 lief by recalling clear signs of her preference. She had 
 always been somewhat of an enigma to him, and this 
 touch of purely feminine jealousy gave him the key to 
 a thousand little haughtinesses, caprices and touches of 
 charming disdain. In what an entrancing light it dis 
 closed her feelings for him when she pretended to step 
 back and put Leo in her place ! " No, indeed, my 
 beauty, not yet. I know a trick worth two of that." 
 So ran Spencer's thoughts when he revolved Amy's 
 compassionate effort to sacrifice herself. 
 
 He was, however, too busy a man in these days to 
 give himself up to making love. Pleasanter matters 
 would settle themselves ; meanwhile he was getting 
 ready to inflict some form of punishment on Alonzo 
 Sloper. 
 
 There was an infinity of legitimate business to be 
 transacted for Roger Rexford as he came and went. 
 Spencer was pushing on certain schemes which were to 
 result to everyone's advantage. He had for years been 
 studying the practical workings of the Rexford Manu 
 facturing Company and had views to offer. In old
 
 292 WALFORD. 
 
 days it had been simply a matter of course to make 
 a steady ten per cent, year in and year out, which in 
 prosperous times was doubled and sometimes trebled. 
 The business had then been carefully managed, and 
 they surpassed all competing manufacturers in equip 
 ment. In spite of Roger Rexford's expensive outlay 
 in machinery a few years before, there was still much 
 that remained to be done. Spencer had knowledge of 
 a new invention which could be secured and would be 
 of the utmost advantage. He had a sure instinct in 
 winding his way into the citadel, and he soon brought 
 over all opposition, at least, bore it down with a high 
 hand. 
 
 Such success restored his glow of self-approval. A 
 man with a strong grip upon his business was sure to 
 have his way. He was certainly justified in believing 
 that he must by this time seem to Roger Rexford a 
 most desirable brother-in-law. He confided to him the 
 whole story of his love-affairs, with such reservations as 
 seemed most consistent. 
 
 Roger Rexford listened, saying little in return, gen 
 erally sitting motionless, with eyes fixed on the ceiling. 
 When Spencer resolved to show that Amy had been 
 kind to him, and went on telling over one little sign of 
 preference after another, Roger might change his posi 
 tion slightly, but never expressed incredulity. Once 
 when Spencer made definite demands upon his fraternal 
 co-operation, insisting that he should talk over the 
 matter again with Amy and this time urge her consent 
 to Spencer's proposals, Roger at first stared with eyes 
 which seemed ready to express some strong feeling. 
 Then he shrugged his shoulders and consented. He 
 was ready to assent to anything in these days, not from
 
 DOUBTS. 293 
 
 love of action but from abhorrence of making an effort 
 to think. His chief consciousness was a vague desire 
 that time should pass. The world seemed phantasmal 
 and unsubstantial ; he had no real impulses, no vital 
 wishes ; all he wanted was to have the suspense over.
 
 XX. 
 
 EVELYN AND REXFORD LONG. 
 
 REXFORD LONG usually spent part of August and 
 September in Walford at the Goodeves', varying his 
 long stay there by short visits to the Rexfords. This 
 year he had especially looked forward to seeing Roger's 
 wife, once more happy with her two children. 
 
 He seemed to find a new Evelyn ; an Evelyn who had 
 suddenly become a woman. She had grown handsome ; 
 her manner had attained an equipoise it had never be 
 fore shown. She had lost her old impatience, her 
 once impetuous haste, her self-assertive willfulness. 
 She was in good health ; the alarming weakness in her 
 eyes had been gradually overcome. Everything in her 
 condition was at last normal. Long admired her devel 
 opment, physical and mental, and said to himself she was 
 turning out just the woman her well-wishers might have 
 hoped for. In his own heart he sighed a little for the 
 girl ; not only the girl he had known before Roger 
 Rexford knew her, but the girl who had for four years 
 remained unspoiled by marriage, with charming pretti- 
 ness, sudden hauteurs, frowns and blushes, wishes un 
 reasonable and infinite, each of which must be granted 
 on the instant ; at one time easily led, at another rebel 
 lious and headstrong, but always beautiful, always lova 
 ble, always bewitching. 
 
 " Evelyn has improved," Mrs. Goodeve confided to
 
 EVELYN AND REXFORD LONG. 2)$ 
 
 Long one day, " but sometimes I long for my old 
 Evelyn." 
 
 " Is it Amy who has influenced her ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Perhaps, a little. But you could hardly expect that 
 after that long struggle Evelyn would come out just as 
 young as she went in." 
 
 Long found many things in Walford changed, his 
 cousin Roger, like everything else. Roger came and 
 went ; sometimes staying at home three days and then 
 going away for a week, again in Walford but a day and 
 a night. He was no doubt absorbed in his business ; 
 important changes were in progress. Long told him 
 self that perhaps the trouble was that he liked to come 
 back to the place and find events standing still. In old 
 times the summer holidays had been full of picnics and 
 excursions. Nobody seemed to have anything to do 
 except to take long drives to all the mountains and 
 lakes within reach, eat salads, patties and cakes, and 
 return by moonlight. Of course, for two years the joy 
 of existence had been at a low ebb, but he had expected 
 that the old pleasures would now renew themselves, 
 and he was inclined to attribute the change to Amy's in 
 tense and diversified energies. Mrs. Goodeve still had 
 picnics, it is true, but now they were for the working- 
 girls ; and much against his inclination Long was obliged 
 to give a lecture on botany after the refection was over. 
 No more sitting on rocks in idle talk, bringing up old 
 reminiscences, talking of new books and old, making 
 jokes, seizing the spirit of the hour. They took their 
 pleasure sadly nowadays ; there was a strain on ener 
 gies which of old it would have been a relief to let lie 
 dormant. There was always some scheme for amus 
 ing the working-girls. Once it was kings who had to
 
 296 WALFORD. 
 
 be amused by their subjects, but the world is turned 
 upside down. Amy had a stereopticon, and Long was 
 called upon to lecture on the English Lakes, Paris and 
 Switzerland, in order to describe the set of plates in 
 which the young philanthropist had invested for the 
 benefit of the factory operatives and seamstresses. 
 Long, never in love with the sound of his own voice, 
 found it difficult to keep his courage up to the point 
 of taking the platform. Then the instrument thwarted 
 and depressed him at every turn, refusing obstinately to 
 work at the right moment, always coming up limping 
 with a view of what he had been blandly describing 
 a quarter of an hour before. 
 
 However, the weeks passed, and mid-September 
 came all too soon for Long. The month had come in 
 cold and rainy, and pleasant weather had seemed to be 
 over ; then the storms cleared and there ensued a 
 stretch of perfectly beautiful days. Flowers budded 
 again and blossomed in a riotous late summer luxuri 
 ance ; there was a sweet disorder about the gardens and 
 hedges ; a scent of fruit was in the air ; the horizons 
 showed an indescribable richness of atmosphere. 
 
 One morning Long was at the Rexfords', and he and 
 Amy and Bessy were wandering about the place look 
 ing at the ripening fruit. As they walked under the 
 trellises it was pleasant to look up and see the grapes 
 hanging between the great transparent leaves. One 
 vine held up half a dozen bunches fully ripe, which 
 showed almost black against the blue sky. Bessy 
 longed for them and she and Amy went off to find the 
 gardener and bid him bring a ladder. Meanwhile Eve 
 lyn sat down on a bench and Long took a place beside 
 her. A bee buzzed by them and a bird flew past and 
 looked at them both.
 
 EVELYN AND REX FORD LONG. 297 
 
 " It is pleasant," said Long ; " but I have to go 
 away." 
 
 " When ? " asked Evelyn as if startled. 
 
 " I must be in New York next Monday ; perhaps I 
 can stay until Sunday night." 
 
 " Every day," murmured Evelyn, with a sudden change 
 of features, " I have said to myself, ' To-morrow I must 
 have a talk with Rex.' Now it must really be to-mor 
 row." 
 
 Long had a sudden vivid impression that there had 
 been a veil between them all these weeks, and that at 
 last it was down. He seemed to see her for the first 
 time face to face. 
 
 " Can you not speak now ? " he asked, feeling as if 
 he could not endure any suspense. This was his old 
 Evelyn, with supplication in her face. 
 
 " No; not now, not here," she said with decision. " I 
 want to be certain that no one will interrupt or overhear 
 us. To-morrow morning I will take the children up to 
 Wolf Hill. You will find me by the brook under the 
 hickory trees." 
 
 "I will be there." 
 
 " Rex," she murmured with a quivering lip, " I sup 
 pose one goes on trusting what one trusted in first. 
 You have never disappointed me. There is no one like 
 you, no one. I have been afraid of making a mis 
 take in speaking to you, but I might make worse mis 
 takes if I kept silent." 
 
 His sudden impatience had passed. He suffered in 
 stead a curious shrinking from the ordeal she was to 
 impose. 
 
 Birdsey brought the ladder and put it against the side 
 of the arbor, remarking doubtfully that his weight was
 
 298 WALFORD. 
 
 too much for the trellis. He looked at Long as if pro 
 posing that he should go up and pick the grapes, and 
 the latter mounted with alacrity, glad to escape from 
 the necessity of rinding words to say to Evelyn and 
 Amy. The latter had given him a basket, a cord and a 
 knife, and after he had cut the ripest bunches, he care 
 fully lowered the precious basket to the ground lest 
 the grapes should be crushed. He heard voices and 
 laughter beneath him, but did not listen ; he wondered 
 that Evelyn could seem to be making merry. He for 
 got that he had to descend, and sat staring blankly at 
 the sky, feeling as if human misery reached out to its 
 illimitable span. He had been happy until Evelyn had 
 spoken, but it was a meaningless happiness ; a breath 
 had killed it. 
 
 " Come down, Uncle Rex," cried Bessy. " Come 
 down and eat the grapes." 
 
 Then there was a fresh burst of laughter. They had 
 been playing him a trick. All three, Evelyn, Amy and 
 Bessy, had dragged the ladder away. " The grapes are 
 delicious," they called to him. " Unless you come they 
 will all be eaten up." 
 
 Their mirth seemed so far off it could not reach him 
 nor gladden him ; their little joys made the depths of 
 his trouble apparent to him. However, he defeated 
 their merry malice by sliding down the pillar, and 
 claimed his share of the grapes. 
 
 He found the day endless. Let him try as he might 
 to master, at least suspend, his curiosity, it was impossi 
 ble to exclude the rushing train of conjectures which 
 followed Evelyn's words. All the probabilities pointed to 
 Roger as the source of trouble. Rex now confessed to 
 himself that his mind had been more or less busy about
 
 EVELYN AND REXFORD LONG. 299 
 
 his cousin all through this visit. " There is something 
 wrong about R"oger," he had said to himself more than 
 once. Now that he tried to define what he had seen 
 he found that there was a jarring pain in giving clear 
 shape to what he had all the time dreaded. He had ob 
 served a change in Roger's manner ; he was impatient 
 of small talk, his eye wavered, he had grown indifferent 
 to trifling niceties of behavior regarding which he had 
 formerly been punctilious. These were mere unimpor 
 tant details, but twice Long had gone to the office and 
 found Roger in a condition which showed plainly that he 
 had been drinking. Once, it is true, he had explained 
 the presence of a bottle on the table by saying that he 
 was trying to deaden a neuralgic pain in his jaw. 
 
 Then Long had been startled to see Spencer's su 
 premacy at the works. He had besides heard not a 
 little talk of the young fellow among Walford people, 
 who enjoyed calling him a " beggar on horseback," and 
 leaving his end to be inferred. 
 
 It seemed to Long that if Evelyn's revelation were to 
 hinge on the fact of her husband's deterioration and 
 his subserviency to this ambitious young fellow who was 
 perhaps playing on Roger's weaknesses, he must be 
 ready with arguments to convince her she misjudged, 
 saw things in a false light. Long felt that he had 
 borne much ; he could not bear to hear that Evelyn was 
 not perfectly contented with her husband. 
 
 He had always looked up to Roger, who was four 
 years older than himself, and who at school and college 
 had dazzled him with a trick of easy superiority. Long 
 had had a lonely boyhood, and it had been delightful 
 to be admitted into the luxurious Rexford household 
 where Roger had been the petted and only child. Long
 
 300 WALFORD. 
 
 recognized in himself a capacity for steady, faithful work, 
 but mistrusted his faculty for getting what he wanted 
 out of life. Roger had always been able to allow himself 
 all the advantages of deliberate selection and fastidious 
 choice. When he had said, " I am going to marry 
 Evelyn Standish, " Long had faced the ordeal and felt 
 that he ought to have expected it. Roger had trusted 
 Long incredibly since his marriage ; trusted him with 
 the blind, implicit belief which has made hounds of 
 some men and heroes of others. Long had sometimes 
 bitten his lip in a half rage to see how he was trusted. 
 He did not call himself fine names. He hoped and 
 prayed that Evelyn would never tell him Roger was not 
 a good husband to her. He had never tried to love 
 Evelyn less ; life contained nothing for him unless he 
 loved her. 
 
 He slept at Mrs. Goodeve's that night, told her he 
 wanted to take a long tramp across country to Wol- 
 cott, and set off next morning while the sun was still 
 low. He had always liked long walks to the hills, and 
 Mrs. Goodeve gave him an early breakfast, talking vig 
 orously about her son all the while. She had always 
 wanted Felix to marry, she declared ; she had almost 
 made up her mind at one time that he had fallen in 
 love with Amy Standish, but here he was writing her 
 descriptions of every woman he met in Montana, some 
 times even inclosing photographs, and putting the 
 question beneath, " How would she do as a daughter-in- 
 law, eh ? " Mrs. Goodeve's apprehension lest her son 
 should not marry seemed rapidly to be turning into 
 a lively dread lest he should. But she was not so 
 blind that she did not see the reflection of trouble in 
 her nephew's face. He looked as if he had not slept,
 
 EVELYN AND REXFORD LONG. 301 
 
 and after he had set out she said to herself that per 
 haps she had bungled, and perhaps he was himself in 
 love with Amy Standish. 
 
 Meanwhile Long was walking toward the west with 
 great strides. He had little joy that day in the opal 
 morning lights with refractions of loveliest color from 
 every drop of dew, every tint of a flower, every wing of a 
 bird that flew. Yet he was glad that the sun shone ; 
 when he crossed the little river he thought within himself 
 that Evelyn would follow his steps later, and he hoped 
 she would have time and heart to watch the stream 
 twisting and twirling through the green meadows, the lily 
 leaves and rushes swaying with its ripples. For him 
 self, an odd jumble of past, present and future was 
 running through his mind. He expected nothing for 
 himself, he hoped nothing for himself. He had learned 
 the negations of a reasonable despair. What inter 
 ested him in life was thinking about Evelyn. Thus the 
 pretty pastoral sights, the cows standing knee-deep in 
 the water switching their tails, or gathering in the 
 shady corner of the pasture, the shadows trembling and 
 quivering, the young birds fluttering from bough to 
 ground and from ground to bough, the luxuriant tangle 
 of golden-rod and aster, butterfly-weed and cardinal 
 flowers were simply sights which Evelyn would be sure 
 to like. He wanted the pleasant show of things for 
 her. Nature had intended her for feeling and diffus 
 ing joy. She ought to have a life in which what was 
 deepest and sweetest went on forever, shifting into 
 combinations lovely and always more lovely. 
 
 He walked towards the west until it was ten o'clock, 
 then, as if mechanically, turned and walked due east. 
 He knew his bearings, and at a quarter before eleven
 
 302 WALFORD. 
 
 emerged from the woods and struck into a cart-path 
 which traversed a stretch of rough uncultivated land 
 cleared years before, then given over to blueberries 
 and hazels. As soon as he was outside the woods he 
 discovered that it was a day of intense heat and of 
 blinding light. The sky was less blue than opal, and 
 in lieu of ordinary yellow sunlight. the eye was con 
 scious of iridescent scintillations; the whole atmosphere 
 seemed to give out radiance and invested all the dis 
 tances with a gem-like quality of color. 
 
 "It is so warm, she has probably decided not to 
 come," Long said to himself, hardly knowing whether 
 the absence would give him most disappointment or 
 relief. 
 
 But Evelyn was waiting for him at the rendezvous. 
 He saw her in another moment waving her parasol. 
 In spite of the distance he could see her clearly, for 
 to-day not only colors but contours were sharply and 
 luminously defined. She was sitting on the rocks 
 under the clump of hickory trees, and made the riveting 
 point of a picture limned with the delicate and vivid 
 touches a Madrazo might have given it. Long could 
 hardly have explained why instead of striding forward 
 he suddenly loitered, raising his eyes persistently to the 
 skies, as if scanning the signs of the weather, stopping 
 even to note a bunch of blue gentians behind a rock, its 
 fringes just beginning to show. Was it that his dread 
 of Evelyn's possible revelations had returned ? 
 
 Bessy had been sitting beside her mother, but now 
 ran forward with rapturous greeting, took his hand and 
 pulled him rapidly towards the group under the trees. 
 
 " Have you got lunch enough for Uncle Rex, mam 
 ma ? " she asked.
 
 EVELYN AND REXFORD LONG. 303 
 
 Evelyn smiled and nodded as they approached. She 
 had brought both children, and the little Theodore lay 
 fast asleep in his carriage, which was drawn up close 
 beside her. She wore a wide-brimmed hat, a white 
 cambric drej> made like a child's frock and belted by 
 a blue ribbon. She had thrown herself down, half re 
 clining against a higher rock behind. Both her trim 
 feet were visible, planted on a sort of footstool below 
 her. She reminded Long of the time when she was a 
 schoolgirl. The heat had flushed her and her eyes 
 seemed half asleep. She looked very youthful, and a 
 child's seriousness of aspect was apparent in her eyes 
 and lips. She made no salutation, only looked at him 
 steadily; but as he came nearer her face suddenly 
 broke into a smile. 
 
 "Rex," she said, "how slow you are! I should 
 know you were not in love with me by the way you ap 
 proach. What Frenchwoman was it who lived at the 
 corner of an open square and had a lover who used to 
 go and see her every day ? She observed that while 
 his feeling was fresh he used to cross the square diago 
 nally, but after a time he used to walk around the full 
 distance. ' Ah,' she said, ' I see it is all over.' " 
 
 Long sat down on the rock at her feet. 
 
 " Don't talk about Frenchwomen and their lovers, 
 Evelyn," said he. 
 
 " I beg pardon," she returned with a slight shrug. 
 " Roger has always told me I made the most dreadful 
 speeches. Once he flung down a dish-cover out of our 
 best dinner-service to hide one of my enormities." 
 
 Rex had been oppressed as by a nightmare, but sud 
 denly seemed to wake up and find out that he was 
 dreaming. This little note of petulance in her voice
 
 304 WALFORD. 
 
 was so natural, so characteristic, he laughed. " You 
 ought to provide him with inexpensive china to smash," 
 said he. " I like your enfant terrible speeches. I prefer 
 to feel that you have not the least idea that there is any 
 thing evil in the world." 
 
 She straightened herself up. " I wish I had not," 
 she said, in a weary voice. " I hate evil. I like to 
 feel happy. I want to wake up in the morning and say 
 to myself, ' Oh, another day ! ' and feel as if I had 
 wings to soar into the blue. This morning as I lay in 
 my bed there was a flutter of the curtain ; the leaves 
 played across the patches of sunlight and made beau 
 tiful arabesques of shadow. It was one of those morn 
 ings when everything is alive ; Sidney Lanier expressed 
 it when he wrote, ' The little green leaves would not 
 leave me alone in my sleep.' Such mornings used to be 
 an invitation to jump up and run out-of-doors into the 
 garden to see what flowers had come out, in fact I 
 used to feel myself open like a flower expanding petal 
 by petal. This morning I just covered up my head 
 and tried to shut it all out." 
 
 She became conscious that Bessy was standing be 
 fore her. 
 
 " Mamma," she said, " please tell me how Princess 
 Margaretta got off that tree ! " 
 
 " What tree, darling ? " 
 
 "Don't you remember?" said Bessy with indigna 
 tion. " She had gone up the tree because the squirrel 
 told her she might, but when she got up the squirrel 
 jumped on the next tree and laughed at her, and then 
 the Princess saw that there was a pelican sitting on 
 one of the branches making a bed for its young, and it 
 asked the Princess "
 
 EVELYN AND REXFORD LONG. 305 
 
 "Oh, I remember," said Evelyn, going back to the 
 story she was telling to while away the time until Rex 
 should come. " The pelican asked the princess for the 
 feathers on her hat, and she gave the feathers on her hat, 
 and then for her silk fichu and then she gave up her silk 
 fichu, but then the pelican demanded her China silk 
 gown, and the princess said, ' No, one must draw a line 
 somewhere ! ' The pelican thought so too, and was 
 about to give the Princess a scratch with its bill, but 
 Margaretta was too quick. She ran out to the end of 
 the bough, which broke down with her weight and 
 touched a lily leaf, and the princess jumped upon this 
 lily leaf and it floated down stream. That is all. Now 
 go and play with the dogs, make them walk through 
 the water and cool their feet." 
 
 Bessy ran to the little stream, a mere rivulet now, 
 but which, as might be seen from the rocks and boul 
 ders along its course, had gathered volume in many a 
 freshet. Rex took a few steps down the bank with the 
 child, then went back to Evelyn. He could not tell 
 how serious her trouble was. There was a soft child 
 ishness about her which made him hope that she had 
 been merely fanciful the day before. 
 
 " Rex, I do feel so unhappy nowadays when I wake 
 up," she said with a trembling lip. 
 
 " I think Roger ought to have sent Spencer out West, 
 and himself have stayed in Walford," said Rex. 
 
 " I arn happier when Roger is away than when he is 
 here," Evelyn said in a clear, low voice. " Is it not 
 dreadful ? It is a relief nowadays when I feel that I 
 am not to see him." 
 
 Rex had sat down, but at this he started up. " Eve 
 lyn," he said in a tone of horror, " don't say it ! Don't
 
 306 WALFORD. 
 
 think it, but above all do not utter it. Our spoken 
 words make a bond for us ; we try to keep to them. 
 Roger is your husband. Whatever trouble has come 
 between you, you love him and he worships you." 
 
 " I used to love him and he used to love me. But 
 nowadays I am as certain as if I could read every feel 
 ing of his heart that he is just as glad to escape from 
 me as I am to escape from him." 
 
 " Mamma," cried Bessy gleefully, " hear the water 
 in my shoes. It goes glump, glump, glump." 
 
 Evelyn's words had not come easily but rather as if 
 they grated and wounded her; she had looked round 
 fearfully as she uttered them and Bessy's voice startled 
 her. 
 
 The child had at first ordered the dogs through the 
 brook ; then, when they did not obey her, she set them 
 an heroic example and herself walked through the three 
 inches of water, followed by them, and thus backwards 
 and forwards until she was conscious of carrying a 
 heavy weight on her feet. 
 
 "They go glump, glump, glump!" said Bessy, and it 
 was not hard to distinguish the sound of the water in 
 the low shoes. 
 
 " Bessy, why did you go into the water ? " said Eve 
 lyn. 
 
 " You said I can put Sir Waller and Nix in the wa 
 ters, to cool their feet, and they did not know how to 
 go in unless I showed them the way. My feet was hot 
 too ; now my feet is cool, Sir Waller's feet is cool, and 
 Nix' feet is cool. They is muddy too." 
 
 "Take off your shoes and stockings, Bessy," said 
 Evelyn, " and lay them in the sun to dry. Come here 
 and I will do it for you."
 
 EVELYN AND REX FORD LONG. 307 
 
 Bessy approached with large, serious eyes. 
 
 " Is I naughty ? " she asked. " Is I velly naughty ? " 
 
 " I hope you did not mean to be naughty," said Eve 
 lyn. " Next time ask me just what you are to do." 
 
 She pulled the soaked shoes and stockings off the 
 chubby feet and legs, at which Bessy looked with in 
 tense satisfaction. 
 
 " Now I can go walk through the brook, mamma," 
 she said. 
 
 " Don't you want to eat your lunch ? " 
 
 " I wish I can have my lunch. I 'm velly hungry." 
 
 " Take it across the brook and sit down in the shade 
 and eat it." 
 
 " All by myself ? " 
 
 " Take the dogs with you." 
 
 " May I give some to Nix and Sir Waller ? ' 
 
 " If you have more than you want." 
 
 " Am I to walk through the brook, mamma ? " 
 
 " If you like. Or Uncle Rex will jump you over the 
 brook. There are two oak trees, and you will find 
 acorns on the ground. They say fairies use the acorn- 
 cups for plates and saucers." 
 
 " I wish I can have a fairy, a live fairy to play with, 
 mamma. 
 
 " Set a table for the fairies, and perhaps they will 
 come." 
 
 Rex took the child across the brook and established 
 her with her lunch basket beneath the trees. A dog 
 crouched with bright expectant eyes on each side of 
 her, maintaining an air of rigid attention which Bessy 
 could but feel was not wholly disinterested. She began 
 to lecture them on their manners. Evelyn rose, lifted 
 the veil for a moment from the sleeping boy, then went
 
 308 WALFORD. 
 
 back to her seat just as Rex returned. They could 
 hear Bessy gurgling with laughter as the do^s en 
 croached more and more upon her, Sir Waller putting 
 an imploring paw on her arm and Nix jumping up and 
 licking her face. 
 
 " Mamma," cried the child, " I wish Uncle Rex can 
 keep the dogs while I eat my lunch. I am afraid to 
 open the basket." 
 
 u Take out a little bit of bread and butter for each 
 and throw it very far off for them," said Evelyn. 
 
 Rex sat down, his look fixed on Evelyn ; he had a 
 dread of words, he was afraid to define the impression 
 she had given him. 
 
 " Something has come between you and Roger," 
 he said, after a little time, " some trifling misunder 
 standing which a candid explanation will remove. Can 
 it be that he is jealous of your love for Bessy ? " 
 
 " Rex," said Evelyn with a quick sigh, " J had won 
 dered if you suspected anything about her." 
 
 " About his jealousy of her ? " 
 
 She put her hand on his arm. " Do you still believe 
 that she is my own child ? " she asked in a whisper. 
 
 " Why, of course." 
 
 " She is not," said Evelyn. " She is not my child at 
 all." 
 
 Rex felt as if overpowered by a stupor. 
 
 " You know this, and do not dare tell Roger ? " he 
 said, gazing at her with a feeling of hopeless despair. 
 
 " He knows it. He hates the sight of the child. It 
 was the knowledge of that which made all my suspi 
 cions come back." 
 
 A sharp spasm of pain had darted through Long 
 as he listened. He had thought of everything since
 
 EVELYN AND REXFORD LONG. 309 
 
 yesterday which would come between Roger and his 
 wife, but he had not thought of this. In the surprise 
 of the moment all he could do was to thrust away the 
 horror, to deny it. 
 
 " Evelyn," he said, as if with resentment, " are you 
 speaking from clear knowledge, or from some ghastly 
 morbid doubt which you ought to dismiss ? I had be 
 lieved you were so happy in Bessy, " his voice, in spite 
 of its stern note, broke, " the sweetest, brightest 
 little girl that was ever born. It cuts me very deep to 
 think of your shutting her away from your heart." 
 
 " I am not shutting her out of my heart," said Eve 
 lyn with quivering lips, while a great tear rolled from 
 under her lowered eyelids. "If she were my own 
 Bessy, I could not love her better than I love her. I 
 should have died if she had not come. If I gave life 
 to my own Bessy, this Bessy gave me back my life. 
 Oh, I love her, you need not doubt that. Still, if I had 
 died it would have been better." 
 
 "Evelyn," said Long, his whole being shaken with 
 passionate repugnance at the idea, " you are wrong ; I 
 am certain you are laboring under a mistake. You have 
 got hold of some theory which is mere smoke, vapor, 
 illusion." 
 
 " I forgot that you did not understand. I always feel 
 as if I were made of glass and you could see through 
 me," said Evelyn. " Rex, when Bessy came, you know 
 I was half blind ; there had been such pain in my eyes 
 that for months I had had atropia put in every day. I 
 could not see her quite plainly. There she was, a 
 lovely little fair creature with golden hair, a white skin, 
 blue eyes and a sweet little mouth, just like Bessy, and 
 yet, when I first heard her voice, it was not Bessy. But
 
 310 
 
 she was so beautiful, so sweet, so winning, she kissed 
 me so hungrily, she clung to me so longingly, I turned to 
 her with a sighing sense of rest, I forgot my doubts. 
 It was like being held up by the everlasting arms. It 
 was easy to explain any little difference. Every one 
 was certain it was Bessy ; and oh, Rex, the peace, the 
 blessed comfort of it ; the fun, the little gushes of laugh 
 ter, the bubbling talk, the play, the caresses, the kisses, 
 the something to love, to live for, to hang over, to 
 wake up in the morning for! It was, I felt it in 
 every fibre of my being, it was a gift from God. I 
 asked no more, I was happy. I was happy all the fall, 
 all the winter, all the spring ; indeed, I could be happy 
 now, if " 
 
 " Evelyn, when did your mind first begin to rest on 
 the possibility that she was not Bessy ? " asked Long, 
 interrupting, for he was harrowed to the soul by these 
 tormenting suggestions. He wanted facts. 
 
 " After Theodore was born," said Evelyn, " my eyes 
 were clear, although for a time I could not bear much 
 light. But Roger had got used to my being blind, and 
 he did not realize that I was so used to the dark room 
 I could see as well as if it were bright. One day I saw 
 him looking into Bessy's face ; when he turned away 
 his expression startled me very much. Then I noticed 
 that he avoided her, would not kiss her if he could help 
 it, and if he had to speak to her, something came into 
 bis voice I had only heard before when he was dis 
 pleased. By this time I was well. I could use my 
 eyes like other people, and I could see that the darling 
 was not my Bessy, not my Bessy at all." Her voice was 
 choked as she uttered these words. She looked at 
 Long with beseeching earnestness. He did not speak, 
 only gazed back at her intently.
 
 EVELYN AND REX FORD LONG. 311 
 
 "Children, that is, fair-haired, blue-eyed, round- 
 cheeked children, look a good deal alike," she went 
 on. " My Bessy had a bright little head ; this Bessy has 
 a bright little head, with A golden (tory round it. Hut 
 underneath my Bessy's hair was a paler brown tint, and 
 I had always known that it would all grow dark ; her 
 eyebrows and eyelashes were darker than this Bessy's. 
 This Bessy's hair is deep gold all through, and her eye 
 lashes and eyebrows are the same color. My Bessy's 
 eyes were a grayish blue at times ; this Bessy's eyes 
 are always blue, there is never a glint of gray in them. 
 Then this Bessy is just a wee bit fairer than my Bessy ; 
 in fact, she is a more beautiful child. She is the very 
 perfection of the same type." 
 
 There was a slight pause. 
 
 " You don't seem to reflect that she had two years to 
 develop in," Long said, then. He was undergoing a 
 contest of feeling, and spoke with a strong assertion of 
 conviction, not only against her arguments, but against 
 shadowy doubts which had come up only to be ban 
 ished from his own mind, but which now reasserted 
 themselves. 
 
 " I have reflected," said Evelyn quietly. 
 
 " How could you explain the fact that she remem 
 bered you ? There were all sorts of coincidences " 
 
 " I know," said Evelyn, significantly. 
 
 Rex uttered a groan. 
 
 " Why not be content, Evelyn ? " he said aloud, with 
 a feeling of desperation. "Grant that it is all as you 
 say, that a mother has instincts beyond knowledge 
 accept the idea that she is not your own child, yet the 
 fact remains that she is a gift from God sent in the 
 place of your child. You must not forget that these
 
 3 1 2 WALFORD. 
 
 doubts and hesitations may cost many people their 
 whole life's happiness." 
 
 " I grant it all," said Evelyn in a low voice. " I have 
 told you I love her. She has filled up the void. I 
 can say, ' If I am bereaved of my own child, I am 
 bereaved.' The sting of it is gone. I could be happy 
 with this Bessy, perfectly happy if only " 
 
 She looked into his face, and he was startled by the 
 intensity of her glance and the expression of painful 
 resolution about her lips. It was evident that she suf 
 fered in speaking. Her words came as if forced from 
 her. 
 
 " If only," she went on, " I need not fear that Roger 
 planned it all to get back Bessy that he might keep 
 Madam Van's money." 
 
 " Evelyn ! " cried Long, starting as if he had been 
 pierced by a sharp weapon. 
 
 " He told me," murmured Evelyn in a dull, hopeless 
 voice, " that unless he could have kept Madam Van's 
 money he must have been ruined. He said he had 
 been bound hand and foot ; nothing else could have 
 extricated him. He said he had been tempted of the 
 devil, that was his very phrase." 
 
 Long had started up. " Great God ! " he burst out. 
 " What you say is abominable ! A woman thinks it 
 nothing to strike a blow at a man's honor." 
 
 An indignant cry came from the other side of the 
 brook. 
 
 " Mamma, Sir Waller has eaten my cake ! He 
 snatched it out of my hand and gobbled it up." 
 
 " Ah, poor Bessy ! Never mind ! Take another 
 cake ! " 
 
 " Mamma," in still intense wrath, " Nix has stealed 
 two cakes out of my basket."
 
 EVELYN AND REX FORD LONG. 313 
 
 " Naughty Nix ! What bad, bad dogs ! " 
 
 " What shall I do to them, mamma ? " 
 
 " Make them sit down, and talk to them and tell 
 them how greedy they are." 
 
 Bessy had laid hold of her basket, and for security 
 was holding it high above her head. 
 
 "Sit down, Sir Waller," said she. "Sit down, sit 
 down, I say ! I won't have any more disobelience. Sit 
 down, I say ; you is a bad wicked dog, Sir Waller, and 
 Nix is badder and wickeder. It is velly bad manners 
 to snatch cakes out of people's hands, but to go to a 
 basket and steal, that is a thief, a velly mean thief. 
 It was my lunch, my lunch to eat all myself. It was 
 not too much for me, but I would have given you a 
 little bit." 
 
 Rex was pacing the turf. He was full of intense 
 resentment towards Evelyn, resentment of a truly mas 
 culine sort ; she had offended that sense of loyalty to 
 the ties of blood which has often made a man more 
 willing to doubt his wife's honor than the word of his 
 mother and sisters. In part, too, it was a feeling that 
 it was the old story of Psyche sacrificing everything in 
 life to gratify her curiosity. 
 
 The pity of it ! The blind folly of it ! Evelyn knew 
 not what she was doing. She had dashed down a 
 beautiful crystal vase, the only one for her in all the 
 earth ; it could never be replaced, never be repaired. 
 It held, too, her elixir of life. 
 
 She could read his thoughts. 
 
 " You are angry with me, Rex," she said. 
 
 " What you have said strikes at the root of every 
 thing." 
 
 " Do you suppose I do not know that ? Am I
 
 314 WALFORD. 
 
 happy in believing it, in telling you of it? Do you 
 suppose I am eager to believe that Roger can do 
 wrong ? What have I left if I have no faith in Roger ? 
 One might say I had the children, but not even chil 
 dren are enough when Why, Rex, it was only a little 
 while ago that if Roger opened his arms to me it 
 seemed as if heaven came down. Trouble ended, love 
 was enough. I am not like Amy ; Amy says a woman 
 need not be dependent, but I am dependent. I need 
 to be loved ; I like to feel a warm glowing sense that I 
 am beloved. I see nothing in life worth having except 
 giving one's self wholly, I like to spend myself and 
 be spent in the service of those I love. When I love 
 everybody and everything it fills my heart and over 
 flows my eyes and lips. I don't know how to be cold 
 and guarded." 
 
 They looked at each other in silence. Rex dared 
 not speak. He had never known trouble until now. 
 
 " When I married Roger," Evelyn went on, " I loved 
 him so well that I do believe if he had come to me and 
 proposed something wicked, told me his welfare was 
 at stake unless he committed a crime, I should have 
 stood by him and said, ' Whatever you ask is right. I 
 love you through everything. Lead me to heaven and 
 I will love you there, lead me to hell and I will love you 
 there as well ! ' It used to seem to me that that alone 
 was love. I hate half gifts which one takes back, I 
 hate half surrender. I like to feel myself in the hollow 
 of his hand." 
 
 Another scream from across the brook. 
 
 " Mamma, Sir Waller has got my last cake." 
 
 " Never mind, dear. He enjoyed it more than you 
 could."
 
 EVELYN AND REX FORD LONG. 315 
 
 " But what am /to eat, mamma ? " 
 
 " We shall be going home to dinner presently." 
 
 "But I 's so hungry, mamma, I 's velly hungry in 
 deed." 
 
 Rex suddenly thrust his hands into the pocket of his 
 jacket, and drew forth a paper full of sandwiches which 
 Mrs. Goodeve had given him when he set out. 
 
 " May Bessy have these ? " he asked Evelyn. 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 He leaped across the brook, and lifted the child to 
 the broad low branch of the oak. 
 
 " Now," said he, " eat those, Bessy, and make the 
 dogs as miserable as you like. You can say, ' Sir Wal 
 ler, do you love sandwiches ? Then see me eat them.' " 
 
 He went slowly back to Evelyn. He felt under the 
 baleful coercion of something not destiny, but which 
 might easily assume the power of destiny. He was 
 thinking of Roger's confession to his wife that Madame 
 Van's money had been essential to him. What could 
 he have meant by making such a fatal admission ? 
 
 " Evelyn," said Rex the moment he was within hear 
 ing, " I cannot help feeling that you misunderstood 
 Roger. It is not easy for a woman to grasp business 
 secrets. But say he did tell you that unless he could 
 have kept Aunt Lizzy's money he would have been 
 ruined, be careful how you judge him. You don't 
 realize his responsibilities. He has had a hard time 
 for years ; on all sides there have been hidden threats 
 and masked vexations which he has had to be prepared 
 for. What he meant was doubtless that he had hy 
 pothecated some of Aunt Lizzy's money, that is, tempo 
 rarily pledged it to maintain his credit. I cannot quite 
 understand the necessity for such a sacrifice, for the
 
 3l6 WALFORD. 
 
 Goodeves are rich enough to bolster up forty com 
 panies. But then there are complications in business 
 which no outsider can grasp the meaning of." 
 
 " Don't you see a change in Roger ? " demanded 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " He has been absorbed in his business, he has had 
 to look after the Western branch " 
 
 " Do you see no other change in him ? " 
 
 " Don't ask me," said Long. " I believe in Roger ; 
 I must believe in him. I know no man who has had so 
 serious and noble a purpose in life, and it has been 
 galling to him to fall below his ambitions. His posi 
 tion has been a trying one, neither you nor I can 
 know how trying." 
 
 " He has always shut me out from his business per 
 plexities," said Evelyn. "The moment he has trouble 
 he separates himself from me." 
 
 " Have you told him your suspicions? " 
 
 " Not in words. I do not think I need to tell him." 
 
 " You have shown him that you are not happy ? " 
 
 A little sob burst from her breast, the first sign of 
 uncontrollable emotion she had shown. 
 
 " Once," she faltered, " I fell a-crying. He did not 
 ask me what was the matter, he only patted my head 
 and went out of the room. I believe that he realizes 
 that I have discovered the whole story. That is what 
 makes it so horrible for me to see that he loves better 
 to be away than at home. I feel as if perhaps I ought 
 to take the children and go somewhere out of his sight. 
 He will be at home to-morrow, and when I think of it, 
 I wish, I wish that he need not find me here." 
 
 As she spoke with passionate abandon she encoun 
 tered Long's gaze. Involuntarily she uttered a little
 
 EVELYN AND REX FORD LONG. 317 
 
 cry and stretched out her hand to touch his. " Rex," 
 she said in a despairing tone, " I have made you un 
 happy." 
 
 "Yes," he said, "you have made me terribly un 
 happy." 
 
 He had been standing before her and looking down 
 at her ; now he turned away with a dizzy gesture. 
 
 " You always helped me, Rex," she said tremulously. 
 " Help me now ; I wanted to tell you everything. As I 
 said yesterday, you are like nobody else." 
 
 Her words calmed him. He hardly understood the 
 whirlwind of feeling which had swept over him. It had 
 its root in pity for her, perhaps, but it was a sort of 
 angry horror he had felt. But her simple and confid 
 ing manner brought back his senses. 
 
 " You wish me to tell you exactly what I think ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 "Exactly," she answered. 
 
 " It seems to me you are in great danger," he said 
 quietly. " I had hoped you were safe from such dan 
 gers, Evelyn. But perhaps every soul has once to take 
 its choice. Look forward and see which way is success 
 for you and which is failure, which is safety and which 
 is perdition." 
 
 "That is just what I have not seemed able to see." 
 
 " When you come to die," Long went on gently, 
 " suppose you have it to remember that at a trying 
 time in your husband's life you withdrew your love, 
 your belief, your companionship from him, that you 
 condemned him on suspicion, became his accuser, 
 would that thought bring you comfort?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " When you come to die suppose you can say to
 
 3 1 8 WALFORD. 
 
 yourself, ' I did all I could. For a time it seemed 
 doubtful whether I could ever be happy again, but I 
 waited, I neglected no duty of my own.' " 
 
 She looked up at him with a strange wistful expres 
 sion. 
 
 " You consider I have nothing to do except to go 
 on," she said, " silencing my doubts and waiting for 
 Roger to come back to his old self ? " 
 
 " I want you to remember that he is your husband, 
 Evelyn. He is your husband, bound to you indis. 
 solubly. Neither of you could live apart from the 
 other." He paused a moment, then went on : " Act 
 ing promptly is so very easy. Thinking and judging 
 wisely are so very difficult. You may destroy in a 
 minute what a whole life-time cannot reconstruct." 
 
 " But, but the money, is it not wrong to " Eve 
 lyn faltered out so much, then was silent. 
 
 " There are all kinds of evil in the world," said 
 Long ; " what I want is to feel sure that you commit 
 none." He spoke almost with sternness, and she looked 
 at him in sorrowful surprise, feeling as if, since Rex 
 blamed her, all things were slipping from her. 
 
 " You evidently have a bad opinion of me," she said 
 timidly. 
 
 " Oh, Evelyn, dear child," he said. The cold, far 
 away look he had summoned left his face ; the color 
 flashed back. She was breathing quickly and biting her 
 lower lip ; there was a pleading look in her eyes. 
 " Dear child," he said again, ' I don't dare tell you 
 just what I feel. Trust me. I cannot decide on 
 anything, cannot make up my mind about anything to 
 day. Don't speak of this again, don't think of it again, 
 unless you tell Roger. There ought to be no silences, 
 no secrets, between husband and wife."
 
 EVELYN AND REX FORD LONG. 319 
 
 " I want to be sure of one thing, Rex," said Evelyn, 
 with emotion ; " that is, that you don't like me less for 
 telling you all this." 
 
 " I 've got a trick of liking you, Evelyn. I could not 
 get over it easily. But you have startled me. You 
 have not at all convinced me. I want you to forget all 
 your hallucinations. A fixed idea may become a fate 
 by being brooded over. As to Bessy, I constantly 
 seem to see you yourself looking out of her eyes, laugh 
 ing in her laughs and speaking in her voice." 
 
 " Where is the child ? " said Evelyn. 
 
 There had indeed been a long silence on the other 
 side of the brook, and one might have wondered what it 
 portended had not the eager gaze of the two dogs, as 
 they sat on their haunches looking up into the branches, 
 shown that their little mistress was there. She was no 
 longer in sight, however, but little by little had crept up 
 into the body of the oak tree. 
 
 " Bessy, Bessy," called Evelyn. No answer came. 
 " Speak to me this minute, Bessy." 
 
 " I am a squirrel, mamma ; squirrels can't talk." 
 
 " Come down this instant." 
 
 " I 'm a squirrel and am going to live here all by my 
 self." 
 
 " We shall go home to dinner then. You can live on 
 acorns." 
 
 " What is to be for dinner, mamma ? " 
 
 " Soup and lamb chops." 
 
 "What else?" 
 
 " Corn and beans and cauliflower." 
 
 " What else, mamma ? " 
 
 " Strawberry marmalade." 
 
 " On bread and butter ? "
 
 320 WALFORD. 
 
 " An inch thick ; and a peach." 
 
 " A peach all by myself ? " 
 
 "Two peaches all to yourself." 
 
 " I '11 come down," said Bessy; but in spite of the 
 easy promise, descending safely was too hard a task, 
 and Long had to help her.
 
 XXI. 
 
 A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST. 
 
 REXFORD LONG stood not upon the order of his 
 going away from Walford, but went at once, saying 
 both to Mrs. Goodeve and to Evelyn Rexford that he 
 hoped soon to return. He did not wish to meet his 
 cousin Roger, at least until he himself was more calm, 
 until he had thought over Evelyn's revelations dispas 
 sionately ; that is, if he ever could regard anything 
 which concerned Evelyn dispassionately. What she 
 had said about Bessy's identity had after all made a 
 very slight impression. It was an hallucination of 
 Evelyn's. She had lived on retrospects and fears so 
 long that her love for the child was all the time quiv 
 ering into alarm and doubt. 
 
 Something was wrong about Roger, no doubt of that. 
 What was it ? Could it be that the Rexford Manufac 
 turing Company was coming to grief ? Roger did not 
 stand alone ; the riches were not merely his. All the 
 Goodeves were involved with him in the fortunes of 
 the concern, and the Goodeves were prospering in 
 every kind of way. No, it seemed to Long impossible 
 that money troubles should be behind Roger's moodi- 
 ness, his restlessness, his avoidance of his family. 
 When Evelyn had said that her husband seemed always 
 eager to get away, Long himself recalled Roger's man 
 ner as he came and went. When he had returned
 
 322 WALFORD. 
 
 after a brief absence he was in an eager mood, some 
 times showing even high spirits, then they ebbed, 
 leaving him heavy and lifeless, and he was only anxious 
 to start off again, displaying a feverish desire to be on 
 the move. 
 
 His symptoms were those of a man who is unable to 
 maintain his recognized supremacy among familiar 
 friends, and longs to be where no demands are made 
 upon him. His eyes showed that he brooded over 
 thoughts of which he never spoke. He had seemed 
 not to care to talk ; had no interest in politics or in 
 any question of the hour. Seeing him absent-minded 
 Long had taken it for granted that he was thinking 
 about some problem connected with the new machin 
 ery, so after a few attempts to bring him into the cir 
 cle of talk had left him alone. In the light of Evelyn's 
 words, how wide the distance loomed between Roger 
 and his nearest and dearest ! Long's thoughts going 
 forward and back took on a singular vividness. He now 
 believed that even before Evelyn's confession of what 
 was wrong between her and her husband, he himself 
 had experienced an indefinable sense of distance, an 
 ominous hint of a deep gulf fixed between his cousin 
 and the world about him. 
 
 What did the difference in Roger point to except to 
 some secret hidden sin ? Had Roger become a drunk 
 ard ? It seemed to Long incredible that the strong, 
 healthy man could succumb to any vice. Yet he knew 
 that men as strong physically and mentally had become 
 victims not only to the alcohol, but the chloral and 
 morphine habit. Long brought himself with a shudder 
 and a tingling sense of shame to study up the scien 
 tific diagnosis of such cases. The more he studied
 
 A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST. 323 
 
 and the more he recalled trifling incidents of his inter 
 course with his cousin, the more he was convinced 
 that some detestable habit of self-indulgence was be 
 hind the change in him. 
 
 It was the harder for Long because his old pain had 
 returned. It smarted like an old reopened wound. It 
 was not only Roger, his cousin, whom he was suspect 
 ing and prying out, it was Evelyn's husband, the 
 man to whom he had resigned the girl he loved, whom 
 he had himself wanted to make happy. She had not 
 needed to tell Long that she had once worshiped her 
 husband. He had known it as we only know what we 
 are obliged to measure by the contrast between the 
 emptiness which is the sole answer to our great craving 
 need and the full boon freely granted to another. He 
 had experienced something almost like anger while 
 Evelyn was telling him how lonely, how hopeless she 
 was. Afterwards reflecting more calmly on the matter, 
 thinking of her treasures of love ready to be spent yet 
 left unopened, the fountain of feeling lost in a desert, 
 Long had a painful and intolerable sense of the irony 
 of life. 
 
 He could recall his first visit to the Rexfords' after 
 their marriage. Bessy was a cooing, laughing baby of 
 five months old. The season was early summer. Eve 
 lyn used to come down to breakfast in white embroi 
 dered gowns, her chestnut hair falling over her shoulders 
 in a great braid tied with a blue ribbon, her face fresh 
 as a newly-opened rose. She was sure to be bubbling 
 over with talk, every word, glance, and smile aimed at 
 her husband, each suggestive of a thousand intimate 
 sacred happinesses, associations, and hopes. Before 
 this spectacle of married joy Long's trouble died a
 
 324 WALFORD. 
 
 natural death. In this clear reality that Evelyn was 
 contented lay not only the sanction of heaven upon 
 her marriage, but an imperative behest to himself. He 
 experienced no shrinking, no jealous irritation. Evi 
 dently Evelyn had been made for Roger and Roger for 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " And besides," he added whimsically in mental argu 
 ment, " I never could have stood it to be married to Eve 
 lyn. I should have gone stark, staring mad with joy." 
 
 Roger took his bliss more easily. He was fond of 
 the pretty creature. It was natural for him always to 
 claim the first place and let others fall into subser 
 vience. It is for bachelors to find a profound and 
 mystical beauty in a relation which soon becomes a 
 simple, everyday affair to the married man. Long had 
 sometimes been ready to resent a certain matter-of- 
 factness in Evelyn's husband. The idea of the girl he 
 had loved, dreamed of, longed for, never possessed, was 
 as fresh to Long as it had been years before. And to 
 be compelled to reflect that she was not as happy as 
 be had believed, that she had found only the mirage of 
 a joy which had left her more thirsty and craving than 
 before, was not only a sorrow, but a sorrow which con 
 tained an arrow with a poisoned sting. 
 
 Brooding on these ideas and memories, with some 
 different intentions each day, starting to and fro be 
 tween the detached and formless results of his per 
 petual thinking, Long passed three weeks in town with 
 out making up his mind on any point. He had a half 
 expectation that nothing would happen to make the 
 whole situation clearer, and at the same time a shudder 
 ing dread of anything new happening. Events seemed 
 hurrying towards him, and he felt the need of being
 
 A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST. 325 
 
 prepared. But who could tell how to be ready for 
 accidents as incalculable as the settling of thistle-down ? 
 
 Long's premonition that something would occur to 
 make his way clearer was answered, but in a way 
 wholly unlocked for. He had been out on a business 
 errand one day, and coming back, heard that a foreign- 
 looking man had called to see him, and finding him 
 absent had inquired his place of residence. 
 
 " A foreign-looking man," said Long, half-puzzled, 
 but his thoughts reverting to certain Germans who had 
 at odd times made translations or executed other stray 
 literary jobs for the Synnots. " Why should he want 
 to go to my rooms ? " 
 
 He thought no more about the matter, dined at a 
 restaurant, and did not go to Sidney Place, where he 
 lived, until nine o'clock. Entering the house, then, 
 he was met by the announcement that a visitor had 
 been for three hours awaiting his return. He was now 
 sitting in a small reception room, and Long turned 
 into it. 
 
 The light was not bright, and when a tall, slim man 
 of dark complexion rose and bowed, there was nothing 
 distinguishable about his appearance. 
 
 " You do not remember me, Mr. Long," he said, in 
 a peculiar melancholy voice which struck Rex as fa 
 miliar. There was little or no foreign accent, but the 
 intonation suggested a habit of other languages. 
 
 " Have I ever met you ? " Long asked. 
 
 " I was in the service of your aunt, Madam Van Po- 
 lanen." 
 
 "Oh, the courier Giovanni Reni," said Long, 
 sharply startled. "Of course, I remember you per 
 fectly."
 
 326 WALFORD. 
 
 Nino made a gesture with both hands and bowed. 
 
 "Mr. Rexford told me you were living in Italy," said 
 Long. 
 
 Nino assented with a brief shrug. "You have an 
 apartment here ? " he asked, and Long was conscious 
 of his awkwardness in keeping the man talking here 
 within reach of all the ears in the house. He led the 
 way up-stairs, followed by Nino, ushered him in, turned 
 up the lights, poked the fire and drew chairs ; at first 
 without anything more definite in his mind than a feel 
 ing of blank surprise. Then he began to have a pre 
 sentiment of something disagreeable, but his mental 
 processes were like the vague fluctuations of a dream. 
 
 " I remember hearing of you at the time you re 
 ceived Madam Van Polanen's legacy," he finally ob 
 served in order to break the silence, and the words 
 brought a sudden pressure of dread. Nino did not 
 answer except by gesture, and Long added, as if to gain 
 confirmation of some doubtful facts, " Of course you 
 are in full possession of the money." 
 
 " I have the money," said Nino in a plaintive voice. 
 Long had told him to sit down, but he stood leaning 
 against a high secretary, which was at the left of the 
 fireplace. 
 
 "Have you any family?" inquired Long, himself 
 sitting down. 
 
 " I have a wife," the man replied in his drawling, 
 monotonous voice ; " I have a little son ; besides, my 
 father still lives." 
 
 " And now you have come back to America," said 
 Long, looking at the Italian, with a quick mental ob 
 servation that he had grown ten years older in looks 
 since they met last. The black hair was streaked with 
 white, and there were deep lines on the face.
 
 A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST. 327 
 
 " When one has lived in a country, and when one 
 has known people in a country," said Nino, " a part of 
 one's life is there. I was not happy in America. I 
 was glad to get away from America, but all the same 
 the old thoughts follow ; the old recollections, they 
 drag like chains." 
 
 There was something singularly impressive in the 
 man's intonation and emphasis to Long, who had been 
 for weeks in a state of keen sensitiveness and nervous 
 apprehension. 
 
 " Mr. Long," Nino went on, fixing his dark, melan 
 choly eyes on the other's face, " have you been to Wai- 
 ford since since the child was found ? " 
 
 There was a flash of emotion across his features 
 which was answered by a gleam in the other face. 
 Then both men suddenly grew pale. 
 
 "Yes," Long answered by an effort. 
 
 " They are happy ? " Nino asked. " Mrs. Rexford 
 is glad to have the little girl again ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Rexford is very well now and happy," said 
 Long. "Bessy is as she always was, a beautiful, bright 
 little creature. There is also a son now, a fine fellow 
 of four months old or more. Quite a little family." 
 
 "Ah," said Nino, with his gesture. He was silent a 
 moment, then resumed, "I too am a parent. There 
 is nothing in the world that speaks to the heart of a 
 man like his own child." He took a step towards 
 Long. " I have come all the way from Italy," he said, 
 " to tell you something." 
 
 It was some momentous revelation, Rex felt certain 
 of that ; but his dread could take no shape ; he still sat 
 as if in a stupor. 
 
 " You are a friend of the family," Nino went on.
 
 328 WALFORD. 
 
 "You are a silent man, a just man, a wise man. I 
 have come to end a long deception. I want peace of 
 mind." 
 
 Rex had a dream-like sense that he had known be 
 fore that all this was to happen, that he was to receive 
 some revelation which would verify any wild conjecture 
 of Evelyn's. He tried to assert himself against the 
 conviction, but the man fascinated him ; his eyes 
 burned with a melancholy fire, and although there was 
 something theatrical about his deliberation, his em 
 phasis, as if he had carefully rehearsed his words, it 
 would not have been easy to believe that he was not 
 now speaking out of an overcharged heart. 
 
 " I wanted my legacy, and I have my legacy ; but 
 money is not everything," said Nino, with a gesture 
 which seemed to pile wrath and scorn on his riches. 
 " It gives a man indeed more leisure to remember, it 
 gives him more to dread. It may furnish him food 
 to eat, but it cannot bring appetite ; it may provide a 
 bed, but it cannot make him sleep at night ; it cannot 
 make his heart leap up in pure joy at the voice of his 
 child." 
 
 An idea returned to Long's mind with such force 
 that he felt it like an electric shock. He remembered 
 the vague suspicion which had rested on the Italian at 
 the time of Bessy's disappearance. 
 
 " No," he said with a marked change of tone, " not 
 if he has a bad conscience, not if he has committed a 
 crime in order to get hold of the money." 
 
 "I have committed no crime," said Nino signifi 
 cantly. " I have done no wrong to any man. I have 
 prevented a wrong. I have made many people happy." 
 
 " You said you had come to tell me something,"
 
 A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST. 329 
 
 said Long, suspicion and repugnance rising strongly 
 within him. " Let me hear it at once. I begin to 
 guess what it is disturbs you. Out with it. It con 
 cerns " but it was hard to frame his conviction in 
 words. 
 
 Nino also shrank, there was a visible tremulous- 
 ness about his whole figure. 
 
 " It concerns Bessy Rexford," said Long in a deep 
 voice. " I mean the child who was carried off." 
 
 " She was not carried off," said Nino ; his face was 
 ghastly. 
 
 " What happened to her ? " 
 
 "You must promise to do me no harm if I tell you," 
 faltered Nino in an agony of terror. His whole aspect 
 was changed ; he had been plucking at his hair and it 
 now hung in disordered locks about his gaunt, yellow 
 face, and he shook as if in an ague. 
 
 " Surely," said Long in a strange voice, " you did 
 not murder her." 
 
 " I did not hurt a hair of her head," muttered Nino. 
 " I would not have done it. I could not have done it. 
 I did, I did a strange thing because I was mortally 
 afraid of madam's saying it was my fault, but do not 
 suspect " 
 
 " I suspect nothing," said Long. " Speak out. You 
 are driving me mad." 
 
 "Will you promise that when I have told you my 
 story I may go away safe and unharmed ? " 
 
 " I promise sacredly ; but tell me this instant, tell me 
 the exact truth, what happened to Bessy ? " 
 
 " She was drowned." 
 
 " Drowned ? Where was she drowned ? " 
 
 " In the river."
 
 330 ll'ALFOKD. 
 
 " She fell in ? " 
 
 " I will tell you all I know," said Nino. ' I was on 
 the bridge with Jenny. We were talking. I was an 
 gry. I was carried out of myself. She forgot Bessy. 
 Then all at once it grew darker ! Where was the 
 child ? She was not to be found." 
 
 " And where was she ? " 
 
 " I know no more than you. She had been close 
 beside us flinging stones into the water ; then a carriage 
 passed and she was not there. She could not have 
 fallen off the bridge. There was no place up or down 
 the slope of ground to the bridge where she could 
 get at the water. I told Jenny she had gone home. 
 I tried to believe it, but I was trembling all over. I 
 thought to myself. If madam asks, ' Where is the little 
 girl ? ' what am I to say ? I thought perhaps she had 
 gone back to the house. I tried both gates, and both 
 were shut. She could not have got in, I said to my 
 self. Yet I ran everywhere, down to the river, I 
 looked into the shrubberies. I called her name softly 
 all over. Then, saying to myself, ' Of course, she is at 
 home j Jenny has found her by this time ; ' I tried to 
 be calm. I went back to the house. But my heart 
 was bursting. Every minute was like an hour. If 
 anything had happened I knew that madam would 
 blame me. She had said to me once. ' You are jealous 
 of that child, and you Italians are so revengeful that 
 I sometimes feel as if it were not safe to let you stay 
 here. You look at Bessy sometimes as if you wanted 
 to do her a mischief.' Madam had an eye like a lash. 
 a tongue like a stiletto. She made a coward of me. 
 So when the news came in that the child was lost I 
 was like a man under sentence of death. MY knees
 
 A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST. 331 
 
 were like water ; I fell on the floor, I groaned, I cried, 
 I was like one bereft of his senses. Madam ordered 
 me to get up and go find the child. I went out. 
 Everybody questioned me as if I were a criminal. Men 
 were going up and down with lanterns and searching 
 the river in a boat. I started to go with them. Then 
 the constables came and said that Jenny had talked 
 about a carriage ; had said that the people in the car 
 riage had carried a child off. When that came back to 
 my mind, I answered, ' Yes, that is it ; brigands must 
 have carried off the little girl that they might get a re 
 ward.' When I said this the constables arrested me, took 
 me to the town hall and locked me up until midnight. 
 Then I was let to go. Mr. Rexford and you yourself, 
 Mr. Long, gave me a good character. Everybody could 
 see it was all a stupid mistake. I have a soft heart, I 
 could do no one any harm. I had been frantic with my 
 fear, that is all. My mind went forward and back. I 
 said first one thing and then another. I was out of my 
 head ; but it was cruel, it was unjust, to suspicion me, 
 to " 
 
 " For God's sake, go on," said Long. " Never mind 
 anything except the story you have got to tell." 
 
 Nino pushed back his hair from his wet forehead. 
 "Yes, I have got a story to tell," he said under his 
 breath. 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 " I came back to the house at midnight. Everything 
 was quiet. I did not try the door. There was a way 
 of getting in from the side porch. I climbed up, entered, 
 went to bed. My room was in the west gable, looking 
 over the river. All the others slept on the east side of 
 the house. The wind had come up and roared in the
 
 332 WALFORD. 
 
 trees and made strange noises which did not let me 
 rest. After a time it seemed to me I heard something 
 besides the wind ; a little cry, not exactly a child's cry, 
 but with all those fancies in my mind, I could think 
 of nothing but a child. It frightened me. At first I 
 got up and looked out, but all was still. I went back 
 and covered up my head ; I tried not to hear it, but the 
 more I tried not to hear it, the more it seemed to cut 
 into my very heart and soul. My hair stood on end, 
 my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. It seemed 
 to me something was in the room with me. I could 
 not stay there. I rose and dressed myself. I went 
 down the top stairs to the window in the hall ; I got out 
 and slid down the pillar that I had climbed up. I was 
 on the lawn, the lawn towards the river. The 
 moonlight was very bright. Though the storm of wind 
 shook the trees, there were only a few clouds, and they 
 shone too, and helped to make it as light as day. At 
 first I thought the sound was not there, then all at 
 once it came again ; it rose from the river. I tried to 
 get up my courage, but that voice froze my blood. I 
 wanted to go and see what it was, but my legs bent 
 under me. I could only get down and crawl on my 
 hands and knees. As I got near the water, Fido came 
 running up to me." 
 
 " The Rexfords' old dog, Fido ? " 
 
 " Yes. He was wet, he had been in the water. 
 He was panting, he was worn out, he looked up in my 
 face and made that same cry. Then he ran back to 
 wards the river and stopped, then looked at .me, wag 
 ging his tail, and cried again. I knew at last what it 
 was." 
 
 " Bessy was in the water ! "
 
 A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST. 333 
 
 " She was in the water. It was just where the great 
 roots of the willows bend over and the water runs far 
 under the bank. She was caught there. Fido was 
 trying to get her out, but he could not. It was I who 
 drew her out and laid her on the grass." 
 
 Long had started up with an attitude, as if trying to 
 ward off something threatening. 
 
 " She was dead ? " he said. 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, she was dead." 
 
 " Drowned ? " 
 
 " Drowned." 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " said Long, pierced to the heart. 
 He flung up both arms as if to stay the descending 
 rod. " Oh, merciful God ! " he muttered, " must this 
 be borne ? " The old pang bit him afresh. He saw 
 that little dear face, the yellow hair, the tireless little 
 frame. " It seems to me," he said under his breath, 
 "this will kill me." He walked to and fro, striking 
 his clenched fists against his temples. Suddenly he 
 turned. "What did you do with her?" he asked in 
 a tone of awe. 
 
 " She lay there," said Nino, the tears running down 
 his face, " and the moon shone on her. Everything 
 was dripping wet, the little seal-skin coat madam had 
 put on her, the little hood, but nothing out of order 
 except half the lace scarf ; the end of that was in her 
 teeth. I drew it out. I somehow put it in my pocket. 
 While I sat there looking at her, I heard the town 
 clock strike four. It would soon be light, I said to 
 myself, and I trembled more and more. Mr. Long, 
 you cannot think how I suffered. I am not a brave 
 man. I whispered to myself they would say I had 
 done it, and it seemed to me, driven wild by fear, that
 
 334 WALFORD. 
 
 I had done it. I knew that I had not hurt a hair of 
 her head, yet I understood how a murderer feels, seeing 
 his innocent victim." He paused and looked at Long, 
 who gazed back at him dumb, then asked again : 
 
 " What did you do with her ? " 
 
 " I buried her." 
 
 " Why did you not give the alarm ? Why did you 
 not let us all know ? " 
 
 Nino made a despairing gesture. " Why did I not ? 
 A day later I would have done anything to have acted 
 differently. At the time I was afraid. I was in the 
 clutches of a terror." 
 
 " Where did you bury her ? " asked Long dully. 
 
 " Among the rhododendrons close by the river. The 
 gardener had been setting out shrubs that day. The 
 ground was not hard to work. I had my own tools, for 
 I sometimes took care of the vines. I dug deep as 
 deep as I had strength for and laid her down. By 
 the time I had covered her up, the sky was half rosy, 
 half yellow. When I saw the new day I sat down and 
 covered my face." 
 
 " Is this story true ? " 
 
 " As true as the wounds of Christ." 
 
 " The gardener must have seen the traces of your 
 work ? " 
 
 " The wind brought down the leaves, the whole 
 ground was covered, and soon the rain came." 
 
 Long's mind fastened on all his recollections of that 
 fateful night, which had always remained clear as fire 
 works in the darkness. 
 
 " The gate must have been opened ; she must have 
 wandered back and got into the grounds before Birdsey 
 shut it," he said.
 
 A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST, 335 
 
 Nino shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I know nothing," he said. 
 
 Little disjointed incidents which had never been 
 quite explained came up to be fitted into this outline 
 of bare inexorable facts. 
 
 " What happened to Fido ? " he asked. " Did you 
 kill him ? " 
 
 " No. I would not have killed him. I kill no living 
 thing," said Nino. " When I had pulled the child out 
 of the water he was frantic with joy ; he jumped up 
 and licked my face, then lay down and I saw him wag 
 his tail as if he were glad. Then I thought of him no 
 more for a time. When my work was done and I 
 looked about to see that I had left nothing, I found 
 that he lay stretched out in the same way, but dead. I 
 carried him round the house and put him on the east 
 porch." 
 
 Everything had happened by chance, Long said to 
 himself; no prudence, no wisdom, no foresight had 
 been of any use. The little maid had wandered back ; 
 she had taken a misstep on the river's brim and that 
 was the end of it all. 
 
 " How about the half of the lace scarf ? " he asked. 
 " Did you throw it among the leaves over by Chauncey 
 station ? " 
 
 " I must do something with it," said Nino depreca- 
 tingly. 
 
 " You coward, you black miserable coward ! " said 
 Long, a storm of anger and disgust and grief shaking 
 him from head to foot, as all the complications, all the 
 far-reaching consequences not yet ended, forced them 
 selves upon his mind. " If. you could only have told 
 the truth, it might have been borne. The truth can 
 always be borne."
 
 336 WALtORD. 
 
 " You can say nothing to me I have not many times 
 said to myself," said Nino plaintively. " When I found 
 the dog running backwards and forwards between me 
 and the water, why did I not shriek out and bring the 
 whole household ? It was because my nerves were up 
 set. I felt that madam would have me punished. She 
 would say I had thrown the child into the water. I 
 have always been timid. My heart goes down if I see 
 an angry glance. Then besides, I was afraid of going 
 to prison. Once I was in prison for three months ; it 
 was for nothing. I was not at fault, a little quarrel 
 about a girl. But it robbed me of courage " 
 
 Long was not listening. He had thrown himself 
 into his chair again and sat bending forward, his elbows 
 on his knees, his chin in his hands. Now that he knew 
 what had happened in the past, the facts of the present 
 asserted themselves. 
 
 " This was the Bessy who was lost," he said, after a 
 time. " Do you know anything about the Bessy who 
 was found ? " 
 
 He lifted his head and looked at Nino. The proba 
 bility seemed to him slight that Nino knew anything 
 about the substitution of one child for the other, but 
 the essential motive was there. It was in favor of the 
 Italian's own ends that the Rexfords' little girl should 
 come back. 
 
 Nino looked back at him with his little gesture. 
 
 " You have guessed it," he said. 
 
 "Guessed it! "said Long bitterly. "I might easily 
 guess that you were at the root of all mischief. The 
 child we believed to have been carried off was lying in 
 her little grave almost under our feet. You could not 
 have the legacy unless she came back. I see it all."
 
 A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST. 337 
 
 " It was the best thing for the mother," said Nino 
 eagerly, " to have something in place of her child. It 
 was not alone the money ; Jenny felt always that she 
 had been forgetful, that she was at fault." 
 
 "Jenny!" 
 
 " Jenny has been my wife for two years and more," 
 said Nino quietly. He was beginning to recover from 
 the horror of his own recital. He pushed back his 
 hair from his forehead and looked less than before like 
 a lost spirit wandering unconsoled. 
 
 " Whose child is it ? " said Long hopelessly. 
 
 Nino shrugged his shoulders. " She was with the holy 
 sisters in Montreal. She is an orphan. We adopted 
 her. It was not easy to find a child like Bessy." 
 
 " You went about looking for a child resembling 
 Bessy ? " said Long, under the pressure of an impotent 
 rage and exasperation which made it almost impossible 
 for him to speak. 
 
 " It was not only the face and the hair," said Nino, 
 "but she must be a little princess. She was smaller, 
 she was younger than Bessy ; but we fed her well and 
 she grew. She was a very fine child ; she was more 
 beautiful than the other Bessy, she had more wit," 
 Nino went on, expanding with his subject and evidently 
 feeling a pride in his protegee. " She was quick to 
 learn. Jenny remembered all Mrs. Rexford's ways." 
 
 Long could fill up any gap the woro^s left. He re 
 membered the quick-witted English nurse. She had 
 taught the child phrases, intonations, even tricks of 
 tenderness and fashions of caresses such as had been 
 common between Evelyn and her first-born. The twig 
 had been flexible to the resolute touch ; no lopping, 
 no pruning had been necessary. A little heart longing
 
 338 WALFORD. 
 
 for love and a little brain stuffed full of images of a 
 mother ; then an eager gush of feeling as she clasped 
 somebody who seemed to be all she had remembered 
 and hoped for. 
 
 " Tell me one thing, Nino," said Long gently. " Tell 
 me the absolute truth. Did Roger Rexford know any 
 thing about this conspiracy ? " 
 
 " I do not believe it," said Nino. " Mr. Spencer 
 Mr. Spencer knew." * 
 
 " Mr. Spencer ? " 
 
 " He must have known," Nino went on. " It was he 
 who said to me, ' That child ought to be found. I 
 know if I had a handsome legacy depending upon it, I 
 would find the child.' " 
 
 " Spencer 1 " repeated Long in dismay. He had tried 
 to keep his grasp on the hope that Roger knew nothing 
 about the matter ; but Spencer's name troubled him ; 
 he felt a new involvement, a new complication. 
 
 " It was Mr. Spencer who sent me Mrs. Rexford's 
 picture," said Nino. 
 
 Long drew out his watch. It was midnight. 
 
 " I want to think everything over," he said with 
 decision. " Come to me to-morrow morning at eight 
 o'clock. I can stand no more now. Tell me just one 
 thing, that I may see it more clearly. Who was the 
 Mrs. Lorenz who had the child in Chicago ? " 
 
 " She is a cojisin of Jenny's," said Nino. " All that 
 she told was true, that is, it was in a way true. Her 
 husband had died and her husband's sister had died." 
 
 Their eyes met. " Now," said Nino, " I have told 
 you my story, Mr. Long." 
 
 " There are many questions I have yet to ask," said 
 Long.
 
 A VOICE OUT OF THE PAST. 339 
 
 " To-morrow," said Nino. He made a low bow, 
 almost a salaam, and went out at once. 
 
 Long, left alone, paced the floor for hours. Mentally 
 surrounded by the past again, he tried to reconstruct 
 events by the light of these abhorrent discoveries he 
 had at first longed to conjure back into the darkness. 
 There were still many doubtful points which he longed 
 to clear up, and he felt too impatient for his next inter 
 view with Nino to be able to sleep. 
 
 At breakfast, the following morning, however, this 
 note was handed him. 
 
 " When you receive this, Mr. Long, I shall be far out 
 at sea. I am to sail at daybreak. GIOVANNI RENI."
 
 XXII. 
 
 ALONZO SLOPER'S LOST ILLUSIONS. 
 
 MR. AI-ONZO SLOPER had found some mild excite 
 ment all this past year in trying to worry out Spencer's 
 patience, arguing that when the young man could no 
 longer bear the incessant mortification, he was sure to 
 come back to Leo and marry her out of hand. It gave 
 Mr. Sloper occupation ; his life had long been aimless, 
 and it was something to have a daily errand to take him 
 out in search of his daughter's lover, also a topic of 
 conversation which never failed to interest him as he sat 
 fuddling himself at Barker's. This latter process was 
 habitual with him, and had been for at least ten years. 
 Drinking five or six times a day is not a good prepara 
 tion for clear thinking, and Mr. Sloper's thoughts were 
 seldom or never entirely clear. They were, however, 
 persistent. Day after day, for months, he had spent 
 afternoons and evenings in telling his convives at Bar 
 ker's that his daughter, by all odds the prettiest girl in 
 Walford, was engaged to Harry Spencer, who was on 
 the very top of the climbing wave in the Rexford Manu 
 facturing Company, and was certain before long to be 
 an important member of the concern. Mr. Sloper was 
 dimly aware of the fact that his unsupported words did 
 not carry weight ; accordingly he would substantiate his 
 statement by giving all sorts of details. He reported 
 imaginary conversations between Spencer and himself
 
 ALONZO SLOPE R'S LOST ILLUSIONS. 341 
 
 in which his son-in-law elect was urging the bride to fix 
 the day, which he, like the wise and prudent parent 
 that he was, insisted should be postponed. He de 
 scribed the presents the ardent'young fellow brought to 
 Leo. Mr. Sloper was, in fact, a man of imagination, and 
 it had been his unique consolation to press his fancy 
 into active service and compel it to lighten the heavy 
 facts of his life. He felt the need of some horizon. His 
 way was to go to Barker's, order his favorite beverage, 
 drain it off, settle himself squarely, puff himself up, 
 pass his hand through his hair, and begin to tell about 
 what he should do when his daughter was married to 
 Spencer. " Silver and gold have I none," he remarked 
 that he had said to his son-in-law, " but such as I have 
 give I thee," and that Spencer had replied that he 
 would rather have Leo without a dower than a queen 
 on her throne with a whole treasury of gold and silver. 
 
 Mr. Sloper had, to sustain him in the delivery of 
 these pathetic confidences, which sometimes roused 
 derision in his hearers, the heroic feeling that he was 
 performing his duty. If the conversation he reported 
 had not taken place, it ought to have taken place. 
 Nothing is accomplished in the world without some 
 effort, he said to himself, and it was under the stimulus 
 of this conviction that he had gone to see Miss Stan- 
 dish. 
 
 He was immensely pleased at first with the results 
 of this effort. Miss Standish came to his house and at 
 once made, as Mr. Sloper touchingly remarked to his 
 cronies, " a bosom-friend of Leo." Leo was to learn 
 everything, preparatory of course to her marriage with 
 Spencer. For all the talk in Walford about Spencer's 
 attentions to Miss Standish was mere gossip.
 
 342 WALt'ORD. 
 
 However, Mr. Sloper's Alnaschar-visions could not 
 continue. He was soon to discover that he had made 
 a false move. 
 
 The next time he went to the works to take a mes 
 sage to Spencer from his daughter, he was invited to go 
 into the new manager's private room. He entered with 
 his head up, his mien proud, as a man should who is 
 the prospective father-in-law of a very magnificent 
 three-tailed bashaw. 
 
 He emerged half an hour later, quite chop-fallen. 
 He had tasted in that interview more unalloyed misery 
 than had ever come to him in all his life before. Spen 
 cer knew the man he was addressing, realized that his 
 intellect could only be reached by words which cleaved 
 through the layers of vanity, arrogance, and folly. 
 Mr. Sloper was the dupe of his own exaggerations ; his 
 dreams mounted to his head, and he had passed the 
 chief part of his life in a state of double intoxication. 
 
 Spencer intended to make his meaning clear, and he 
 succeeded. Every word he had uttered cut like a 
 lash. He would not allow his visitor to enjoy a single 
 advantage to be gained from the situation. Some peo 
 ple take the platform easily, and Mr. Sloper was one of 
 them. Had Spencer permitted him to voice his own 
 despair and weep over his own pathos it might have 
 been safer. As it was, he was not allowed to utter a 
 syllable. After Spencer had poured out his wrath and 
 scorn, and had disowned utterly his engagement to 
 Leo, he drew from his desk the mortgage he held 
 against the Sloper estate, and reminded his debtor that 
 he was heavily in arrears for interest, and that if he 
 ever again uttered a syllable in Walford concerning any 
 fancied obligation of his towards Leo, the mortgage
 
 ALONZO SLOPEFS LOST ILLUSIONS. 343 
 
 should be foreclosed by the swiftest processes of the 
 law. After thus defining his position and his inten 
 tions, he ordered his visitor out as he would a dog. 
 
 It was a most unpleasant experience for Mr. Sloper. 
 He had gone in in a beautiful and trustful spirit ; he 
 came out with all his buoyancy of feeling crushed out 
 of him. As a rule, when facts had been unpleasant 
 he had accepted them only conditionally, reserving to 
 himself the privilege of altering them a little when he 
 should talk them over. Now he seemed to have no 
 power to change anything. Every word Spenser had 
 uttered pressed upon him hard and relentless, enforced 
 by a glance of the eye and a stiffening of the lips which 
 had an unmistakable meaning. Mr. Sloper left the 
 works with his head between his shoulders as if he were 
 breasting a storm. He was utterly miserable and cast 
 down. It was a melancholy sight to see him sitting at 
 Barker's crushed, hopeless, beaten, afraid of the sound 
 of his own voice. If he uttered a word aloud the 
 threatening apparition of Spencer seemed to rise and 
 freeze him into silence. 
 
 Nevertheless, in a month's time, rinding himself still 
 alive and his house still over his head, Mr. Sloper be 
 gan to rally. His daughter had taken up her new oc 
 cupations with eagerness, and her good spirits diffused 
 pleasantness into her home relations. Mr. Sloper felt 
 that he had been too much depressed. His fault al 
 ways was that he was too sensitive ; it was clearly his 
 duty to take a more hopeful view. What had cut him 
 deepest in Spencer's tirade was the young man's un 
 stinted expression of scorn of himself ; the declaration 
 that he would not marry an angel out of heaven who 
 happened to be old Sloper's daughter. After having
 
 344 WALFOKD. 
 
 so long paraded Spencer's attachment to himself, and 
 given instances of the tribute of complete deference 
 the lover of Leo paid to his future father-in-law, it was 
 bitter to be undeceived. Alonzo for a time almost 
 had a suspicion that he actually was a discreditable old 
 toper. 
 
 However, such lack of self-belief showed an abnor 
 mal, unhealthy condition in Mr. Sloper. Truth and an 
 India rubber ball when crushed to earth will rise again, 
 and Mr. Sloper rebounded against humiliation. Six 
 weeks after Spencer had ordered him out of his office, 
 he had begun to forget the lesson he had learned when 
 quailing before the young man's cold, resolute bearing. 
 He had resumed all his old habits and was bragging 
 away, as before, about his daughter and Spencer, em 
 broidering his canvas a little by an account of the 
 splendid quarters the new manager had shown him at 
 the works. 
 
 Perhaps he believed that Spencer would know no 
 thing of what went on at Barker's ; but Spencer had be 
 gun to feel eager to get rid of the Slopers. It annoyed 
 him to hear of Leo's being taken under Miss Standish's 
 patronage ; more than once of late he had encountered 
 the young girl, who had treated him with a light, airy 
 disdain which, laughable although it was, yet stung. 
 Spencer, in fact, nowhere found the satisfaction which 
 ought to belong to his improved fortunes. He had 
 received more ironical congratulations on his ascen 
 dency at the works than sincere expressions of pleasure 
 in his success. Miss Standish was in a measure 
 alienated. There was rumored talk of a general strike 
 among Walford machinists for fewer hours and higher 
 wages, and altogether Spencer's was no bed of roses.
 
 ALONZO SLOPER'S LOST ILLUSIONS. 345 
 
 He began to attribute everything he found not to his 
 mind to the influence of the Slopers. He was sur 
 prised at himself for having been indifferent to the ab 
 surd rumors they had set afloat. These new suscepti 
 bilities gave him uneasy presentiments, and he chafed 
 over the least sign that he had in any way lost his old 
 supremacy among the men at the works or among his 
 friends in Walford. 
 
 Thus, when he heard, as he was certain to hear, that 
 Mr. Sloper was again talking about his daughter's love 
 affair, Spencer felt ready for cool and calculating ac 
 tion. A notice was served upon Sloper next day that 
 he must at once pay up the overdue interest on his 
 mortgage, or foreclosure would ensue. The creditor 
 took no pains to repeat his former incisive statement 
 that he would have no damaging talk go on about 
 himself. It was by process of law that Mr. Sloper 
 was this time to be penetrated by the realities of the 
 case. He could only feel again that he had made a 
 terribly false move and done worlds of harm. Before, 
 he had been stunned by a terror of Spencer, and had 
 deprecated his anger. But now he had a fit of blind 
 rage against the man who was putting the screws on 
 him. He was in a way afraid of Spencer still ; but 
 brooding over his wrongs, real and imaginary, his tem 
 per grew fierce, and he began to think of some sort of 
 safe revenge he could take upon the upstart who was 
 having it all his own way in Walford. 
 
 He sat moody and dull nowadays over his cups, and 
 his thoughts, instead of expanding in loose talk, nar 
 rowed down to an endless iteration of a wish to do 
 something to spite Spencer. He wanted to disgrace 
 him, to ruin him, but did not know how, and the mad-
 
 WALFORD. 
 
 dening impotence of his unsatisfied rage against the 
 man he had once loved, warmed in his bosom, and 
 fed from his cup, made him very dangerous. If he 
 could have convicted Spencer of stealing, of defalcation, 
 of some crime, that would at first have contented him- 
 Having no means in his power of fastening such accu 
 sations upon him, he thought of some way of taking 
 revenge upon him by beating him, even killing him. 
 He felt that it might be enjoyable to hold Spencer's 
 life in his hand, as it were, perhaps see him on his 
 knees begging for mercy. These dreams were not 
 without charm, but they made him quake and tremble, 
 and he would reach out for another glass of whiskey. 
 But not even that could make him feel fully equal to 
 getting the upper hand of Spencer physically. Mr. 
 Sloper confessed to himself that his nerves were worn 
 to fiddle-strings by struggle of thought and perturba 
 tion of mind. 
 
 As he thought of Spencer standing in his room at 
 the works feeling himself every inch master of the 
 whole place, Sloper said to himself it might be a pleas 
 ing climax of such puffed-up pride and consequence if 
 he were to be trapped in his own office, burned up or 
 blown up. It was not easy for Sloper to get hold of a 
 clear sequence of ideas, but all the processes necessary 
 to this result seemed simple. Spencer was frequently 
 in his office until eleven o'clock at night. His light 
 could be seen, and he himself could be recognized 
 coming out and going home towards midnight.
 
 XXIII. 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 A MAN must live, and if he has to bear a burden, he 
 can fit his neck to the yoke, or the yoke to his neck, 
 and so go on his way. Thus Roger Rexford began 
 after a time to feel that he might somehow rearrange 
 his life. One's ambitions alter or are at least modified 
 by circumstances. One may begin by wishing to be 
 brave, honest, upright, true to the core, with perfection 
 in the inward parts, and may finally settle down into 
 the belief that after all it does very well if one keeps a 
 brave front to the world, and plays the cards that are 
 dealt out as skillfully as one may. " The good and the 
 evil lie down together, the earth covers them and there 
 is no difference," Roger often said to himself. 
 
 As weeks and months went on, he no longer looked 
 to the horizon for the coming storm. For a while after 
 Spencer's disclosures, he had lived only in his fears. 
 The lie imposed upon Evelyn, upon all the world, seemed 
 to him so palpable that he expected the very stones must 
 cry out. All summer, as he came and went, he watched 
 for some sign that the imposition was discovered ; then, 
 finding none, his dread died away. There had been 
 moments when it had seemed just possible that Evelyn 
 shared his doubts concerning Bessy, but as autumn 
 advanced this apprehension died a natural death. 
 Evelyn was as transparent as crystal, and it was clearly
 
 348 WALFOKD. 
 
 impossible that she could have kept such a secret to 
 herself. Her actions were invariably the product not 
 of logical reflection, but of intuition and impulse. She 
 had never had a definite intention without betraying it. 
 The secret of her charm for him had always been 
 largely in her simplicity and directness. No bribe 
 could have kept her silent, he believed, if she ever 
 mistrusted Bessy's identity. When, then, he saw the 
 two together, linked by the closest tenderness, talk 
 bubbling, laughter gushing forth, caresses intertwining, 
 he gave up that haunting apprehension, feeling certain 
 that if Evelyn had the faintest mistrust no glamour 
 could make Bessy's beautiful little face lovely to her. 
 
 If, for a time, he had seen a change in his wife, had 
 been conscious of a question in her glances which 
 probed heart and conscience, he now attributed it to a 
 fault in himself of which he was but too conscious. 
 Suspense, frustrated hope, the mean degradations which 
 had been forced upon him, had had their effect. If he 
 had drugged himself, it had been from no weak yielding 
 to any cravings of appetite. But a woman could little 
 understand the depressing struggle he had gone through. 
 He had been worn out, and knew of but one way to 
 secure relief. Now that his nerves were calmer he 
 hoped to be able to regain his self-command. 
 
 Spencer's improvements had by this time been prac 
 tically tested in the works. He had planned largely, 
 and so far, it seemed as if he had planned wisely. But 
 a man spurred by a sharp personal ambition to make 
 himself rich is an object for general criticism, envy and 
 detraction. Walford people found something ques 
 tionable in his fitness for a place which had been held 
 by Rexfords and Goodeves. Then, too, there were evil
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 349 
 
 predictions for an upstart who, not content with busi 
 ness methods by which better men than himself had 
 contentedly made hundreds and thousands, set out in 
 larger operations, bid for wider fields and planned 
 to realize tens of thousands. Spencer was conscious 
 that he was not popular in Walford just now, but he 
 maintained an even course, kept himself well in hand, 
 betrayed no sense of having risen in the world, was 
 punctual, zealous, absorbed, and showed no change of 
 tone either to his equals or his inferiors. He still knew 
 more about every department in the works than the 
 head of it, and the web of tangled details had no per 
 plexity for him. There were apprehensions of a strike, 
 but there was likely to be no trouble between master 
 and men. 
 
 " I think of taking a little holiday. You can get 
 along without me," Roger said to Spencer in October, 
 and Spencer assented, saying that it might be better 
 not to go to any great distance until they knew better 
 if a strike were coming. 
 
 Roger wanted to take his wife away from Walford 
 for a time. He himself required a change, and Evelyn 
 was certain to be grateful for a little experience else 
 where. Settled in New York for a few months, with 
 common occupations and interests, he could summon 
 back the old lover-like habits which he was but too 
 conscious he had lost. Evelyn had of late found him 
 careless, and had brought herself to accept a sort of 
 coldness and dullness between them which was very 
 far from being her ideal of married life. 
 
 He told her one evening when they were alone 
 together that they might as well go to New York to 
 spend the winter. He expected to see a bright answer-
 
 35O WALFORD. 
 
 ing glance. To his surprise she did not look up, but 
 dropping the work she held she clasped her hands in 
 her lap. 
 
 " Don't you want to go ? " he asked. 
 
 She murmured something inaudible about liking 
 Walford best. "Besides," she added with sudden 
 eagerness, as if grasping at a substantial reason, " Amy 
 is here." 
 
 " Amy can stay and keep the house if she likes," 
 said Roger, " or she can go with us." 
 
 Evelyn looked disturbed ; she bit her lip ; she began 
 phrase after phrase, but could not finish any of them. 
 
 " Don't you want to go away with your husband ? " 
 demanded Roger, trying to read these signs but gaining 
 no clear impression. " You used always to be begging 
 me to take you away." 
 
 " I have grown older, more settled," Evelyn faltered. 
 
 " I could not command the money or the time then," 
 said Roger, with an effort at lightness. " Now, every 
 thing is more easy." 
 
 She said nothing, but although she sat apparently 
 passive he saw signs of rebellion in her. 
 
 " I do not understand you at all," he broke out. " It 
 is as if you no longer loved me." 
 
 " No longer loved you ! " she stammered. She turned 
 and their eyes met. She looked as if convicted, caught 
 in the act. 
 
 " You loved me once," said he. "You promised to 
 love me always. You took me for better, for worse, 
 for richer, for poorer." 
 
 She laughed slightly ; she flung up her head in a way 
 she meant to be arch. 
 
 " Tell me in what wifely duties I fail," she said. " I 
 like to know my faults."
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 351 
 
 " You fail in no duty," said Roger, fixing a deep 
 glance upon her. " You are like the good wife in 
 scripture." 
 
 He spoke in a melancholy tone, rose and paced the 
 room for a few minutes, then returned to his chair. 
 
 " Evelyn," he said gently, " come here." 
 
 She looked at him in surprise, then, meeting his com 
 pelling gaze, she rose and went towards him as if 
 coerced beyond her will. He smiled at her as at a 
 lovely child as she approached him, and when she was 
 within reach he caught her hand, drew her to his 
 knee and put his arm about her. 
 
 Her color came and went. She was like a girl of 
 sixteen with a bridegroom she had never seen. 
 
 He held her close a moment, her face turned towards 
 him, bending all the time that straight persistent gaze 
 into her eyes. Every moment she grew more shy ; her 
 breath shortened ; her color ebbed and did not return ; 
 she seemed on the verge of tears. He released her, 
 leaned back in his chair, dropped his chin on his breast 
 and covered his eyes with his hands. 
 
 " You do not love me," he said in a low voice. " I 
 am not sure that that is all. I believe you hate me." 
 
 Although she felt herself dismissed, she continued 
 timidly to perch on his knee in heavy-hearted silence. 
 Then, when he seemed to shrink back from her, she 
 hesitatingly crept to a little distance and sat down. 
 
 He raised his head. " Evelyn," he said sternly, 
 " what has come between us ? " 
 
 She shivered and turned her face wearily away. 
 
 " Is it another man ? Do you love somebody else ? " 
 
 " No," she said petulantly. 
 
 " It is not so very long ago," he said in a deep,
 
 352 WALFORD. 
 
 strange voice, "when if I opened my arms you ran 
 into them gladly. You were always asking me if I 
 loved you. Love me, love me, love me ! was your in 
 cessant demand." 
 
 She gave a little cry as if pierced. 
 
 " Do you taunt me with it ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Taunt you with loving me ? For being hungry for 
 my love ? It was my right. It is my right, and a man 
 may claim his right. You are my wife. Why are you 
 cold to me ? " 
 
 His persistence began to tell on Evelyn. Instead of 
 a danger to be avoided, full confession began to seem 
 a temptation. The habit of loving, joyful obedience 
 was strong in her ; no self-questioning could make it 
 right to withhold her thoughts from her husband. Then 
 it was possible, it was just possible, as Rex had told 
 her, that she was laboring under a mistake. 
 
 She sprang up again, and slowly, inch by inch, went 
 nearer to him. He could read a new impulse in the 
 vividness of her glance, but this time he did not put 
 out his hand to draw her towards him. 
 
 " I used to love you, Roger," she began in a soft, 
 clear voice. " I am not ashamed to confess that I loved 
 you with all my heart. From the first moment I saw 
 you, you seemed to me stronger than other men. You 
 domineered a little. You asked more of me than any 
 body had ever asked of me, and I loved to feel your 
 strong will over me. I liked to be under your foot, for 
 I said to myself that you were not alone stronger, but 
 you were wiser, better than I was. I trusted absolutely 
 that you knew what was best for me. I do believe, 
 Roger, if you had pushed me over a precipice, I should 
 have said that I ought to go over the precipice."
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 353 
 
 But even while she poured forth this revelation of 
 passionate feeling, he did not venture on a look or a 
 caress, although she was standing close beside him. 
 
 " But you no longer love me," he said coldly. 
 
 " I want to love you." 
 
 " But you do not. There is the pith of the matter. 
 You hate me instead. What have I done ? " 
 
 " Do you guess nothing, Roger ? Do your thoughts 
 give you no name for symptoms of change in me ? " 
 
 " I want your accusations. What have I done ? " 
 
 She looked at him, her face blanching. 
 
 " Tell me," he said imperiously. " I want a definite 
 charge." 
 
 She made a convulsive effort to speak, but no voice 
 came ; another struggle, and she faltered in a stifled 
 voice, 
 
 " You wanted Madam Van's money." 
 
 " Evelyn ! " He stared at her in blank surprise. 
 
 " You you " she began, but the words froze on 
 her lips. 
 
 " Go on," he said in a strange voice and with a 
 strange glance. 
 
 " The child," she whispered ; "you got another child 
 to put in Bessy's place." 
 
 He cowered as if under a physical blow ; he pressed 
 his hands against his eyes as if to ward off the sight of 
 some stark, staring horror. 
 
 " You do not deny it," she said, in a spent, stifled 
 voice. " You wanted Madam Van's money. You knew 
 that Bessy was not our child, but as I was half blind, " 
 she broke off. 
 
 Then followed a long silence. He sat huddled to 
 gether like a man in some deadly extremity of bodily
 
 354 WALFORD. 
 
 pain. A strange awe and terror came over Evelyn. 
 He seemed to be saying something ; she could detect 
 an indistinguishable thread of whisper, and leaning 
 close she heard him mutter, 
 
 " This is my wife. God pity me ! This is my wife ! " 
 
 Had he shrieked out his denunciation it could not 
 so have jarred and distressed her. This voice of woe 
 wrung from some deep-seated source of anguish pierced 
 all her sensibilities. A moment before she had had a 
 terribly distinct vision of her own grievance. Now, 
 she saw nothing, except the clear fact of her own dis 
 loyalty. Having spoken out, no longer being under 
 compulsion to speak, to end the suspense, she saw her 
 self in a new light. Scruples long dominated by her 
 own ever-recurring dread asserted themselves. Rex- 
 ford Long had warned her to beware of a fixed idea 
 which would become a fate by being brooded over. He 
 might well have warned her. With what true and loyal 
 feeling Rex had combated her treason ! She felt, as 
 she had never felt before, the hideousness of her hav 
 ing pained him with the story. But all that was no 
 thing compared with this horrible deed. She saw the 
 strong man suffer before her eyes and felt as if she had 
 killed him. 
 
 She threw herself on her knees beside him. 
 
 " Roger," she said, " tell me it is not true, and I will 
 never have a doubt again." 
 
 He answered nothing. 
 
 " If I have done you wrong I will expiate it in any 
 way you appoint," she gasped between her sobs. " I 
 will go away. I will die. I feel indeed that I ought 
 not to live " 
 
 He did not seem to hear her.
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 355 
 
 She twined her arms ^oout him, with all her strength 
 drew his face down to hers, caressing and fondling him. 
 But let her lay his cheek against hers as she might, let 
 her even meet his eyes, she did not seem to reach him. 
 Something separated them more hopeless than any dis 
 tance. She tried to explain, to argue, to justify her 
 self, but it was like trying to drive a nail of wax. 
 
 Amy had been out, but returned, bringing with her 
 a breath of the frosty air outside. As she entered, 
 Roger rose without a word and went into his library. 
 Evelyn met her sister with what serenity she could 
 command. She saw her husband no more that night, 
 and for many days afterwards he came and went with 
 out a word, almost without a glance towards her. 
 The silence chilled Evelyn ; his self-command smote 
 her mercilessly. He sat at table talking on indiffer 
 ent subjects ; he sat between his wife and her sister, 
 sometimes reading aloud. How strong he was, how 
 sure of himself, how indestructible his poise, his proud 
 reserve ! How weak a woman was in comparison ! 
 At how few points she is actually in touch with a 
 man ! She has her little vantage-ground ; she moves 
 his heart, rouses his tenderness, but let her step one 
 foot over her appointed boundary and she is in a 
 hostile territory ; his pride, his intellect, his will are 
 all in arms and warn her off the yet un conquered 
 province. 
 
 Thus ran Evelyn's thoughts in these days, with shame 
 and regret and yearning, dimly descrying how pre 
 sumptuous she had been and how utterly she had failed. 
 She understood now what Rexford Long had meant in 
 saying, " Remember, Evelyn, he is your husband 
 your husband. Don't let yourself think evil of any one
 
 356 WALFORD. 
 
 so near to you. You have get to stand at his side al 
 ways, not apart from him, choosing your own way, but 
 at his side." 
 
 If she opened a book the same lesson spoke from 
 the pointed page. Odd, detached sentences conned 
 from great writers years before asserted themselves in 
 her memory. One was 
 
 " Think much 
 
 Before this sin be sinned, before thy dearest 
 Thou turn to deadliest foe." 
 
 Had she made an implacable enemy of her husband ? 
 she asked herself with fantastic repentance, with gro 
 tesque and horrible misgivings of conscience. It is 
 not the wrong done us, but the wrong we do, which 
 haunts us and makes our days and nights hopelessly 
 miserable. Through Roger's apparent calmness she 
 saw, as through a veil, the bitterness of his disap 
 pointed, disenchanted soul. 
 
 She had heard the question discussed as to whether 
 a woman owes a higher allegiance to her husband or to 
 her children. Now that she herself had been so per 
 fidious, she could reflect that her first duty was to her 
 husband. Nobody can help loving a child ; that is 
 pure instinct. The little creature reaches towards its 
 mother so helplessly, so imploringly, she must give 
 herself wholly in return ; that is sheer happiness, no 
 duty at all. But a husband ! there is a bond, a sacred 
 obligation ; she has promised to endure the stress of 
 life with him. What falsity, what ingratitude she had 
 shown ! Her memories of what Roger had been to 
 her in old happy days, her swift conviction that what 
 had lately distressed her had been her own fault, all 
 combined to give her an intense horror of this alienation.
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 357 
 
 One day when he entered the house she waylaid him, 
 took his arm and went with him into the library. 
 
 " I can't live this way any longer," she said to him. 
 
 He looked at her with the same cold composure he 
 had worn of late, but answered nothing. 
 " I wish you would listen to me, Roger," she went 
 on. " I do not ask you to forgive me. I have offended 
 too deeply for that. I ought never to be forgiven. 
 Still you must forgive me enough to let me say one 
 thing to you." 
 
 "I am ready to hear anything you wish to say," he 
 replied calmly. " Say on." 
 
 She looked up at him with a swelling heart out of 
 which came a sob. " I cannot say anything when you 
 look at me like that, as if you were made of marble. I 
 may not deserve forgiveness, but, nevertheless, I can't 
 go on living unless you do forgive me. You must for 
 give me. That is all I wanted to say. I thought I had 
 something to explain, but let it all pass, let it all go. 
 Forget that I did not believe in you, Roger; I do believe 
 in you. Take me back. It kills me to have you so cold. 
 Show me you have forgotten and forgiven. Set me a 
 hard task, something difficult, something that needs all 
 my strength, only " 
 
 He took her in his arms and caressed her. 
 
 " Oh, I forgive you, Evelyn," said he. " Poor child, 
 you have had a hard time. God knows when I married 
 you, I meant to make you a proud and happy woman, 
 but fate has been against me. I wish I could die and 
 set you free of me." 
 
 " How horrible of you to say that ! " cried Evelyn 
 clinging to him. " You do not forgive me, or you would 
 not have such a thought. You are remembering how
 
 358 WALFORD. 
 
 cruel I was, how selfish, how ungrateful ! You are 
 treating me, not as if I were your wife, but somebody 
 accidentally in your way, that you can take or leave as 
 you choose. I know it is all my fault. I know that I 
 have not been a good wife of late, but that does not 
 after all make me less your own wife." 
 
 He looked down at her and pushed the little curls 
 off her forehead. 
 
 " Yes, you are my wife, Evelyn," he said, " we can 
 not get over that. I may not be worthy of you ; that 
 is your misfortune and my fault, but it does not alter 
 facts. So long as I live no other man can kiss your 
 lips or look into your eyes like this." 
 
 She smiled back at him, her whole face illuminated 
 with sudden gladness. 
 
 " But if a man may not surrender himself to his wife 
 and rely on her comprehension and mercy as on his 
 God's, she is not his true wife," he went on, and his 
 tone and look made her tremble. 
 
 " Oh, Roger," she exclaimed, " trust me. Tell me 
 everything. That is, if you choose, tell me everything. 
 If you like best to be silent, then say not a word. Only 
 believe that henceforth always, through everything, I 
 am here, ready, waiting, believing, knowing with all 
 my heart and soul that you are strong and brave and 
 good. I never will doubt you again." 
 
 He was moved. 
 
 " Look here, Evelyn," he said with a husky voice, 
 " I have no strength to say more than this now ; besides, 
 I am not a man who indulges in confession and re 
 pentance. I only want to justify your faith in me to a 
 certain degree. If wrong has been done, it was not of 
 my contriving ; if there is anything false in the situa-
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 359 
 
 tion, it was forced upon me. I have been at the mercy 
 of circumstances which held me in their meshes ; and 
 let no one who has not known how I have struggled, 
 and who has not himself struggled in the same way, 
 judge me." 
 
 " That was what Rex said," murmured Evelyn. 
 
 " Rex ? " Roger exclaimed in a different tone. 
 " What did Rex say ? " 
 
 " He said you had had heavy responsibilities, cares, 
 anxieties, that what seemed inconsistent in your " 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you told Rexford Long 
 your infernal suspicions of me?" 
 
 He pushed her off and held her at arm's length, 
 looking at her while his face flushed and darkened. 
 
 " Yes," said Evelyn, growing white to the lips. 
 
 " Told him you believed I had substituted a child for 
 Bessy in order to get hold of Aunt Lizzy's money?" 
 He shook her as he spoke. 
 
 " Yes." She looked at him imploringly. " I always 
 did tell Rex everything, you know," she said in a pitiful 
 voice. " And I was very lonely, very unhappy. You 
 were away, and " 
 
 " Rex was here. I see." He spoke with sharp, bit 
 ter irony. " What did he say to your story ? " 
 
 " He did not believe it ; he told me I was under 
 some hallucination." 
 
 " What else did he say ? " 
 
 " That he was certain you were incapable of doing 
 wrong." 
 
 "Noble, magnanimous Rex ! What else ? " 
 
 " I do not remember," she faltered, feeling as if some 
 threat, some accusation lay behind her husband's 
 ironical smile.
 
 360 WALFOKD. 
 
 " I congratulate you on your bad memory," said 
 Roger. " It might be inconvenient to tell me all he 
 said to comfort you." 
 
 " He did not comfort me ! He was angry, horrified 
 at me ! " she cried out sharply. 
 
 " Not comfort you ? " said Roger, with a short, bitter 
 laugh. " How disappointed you must have been ! 
 That was remiss of Rex. He did not play up to the 
 part you had assigned him. I always knew he was 
 poor-spirited, hesitated to call his soul his own, but I 
 should have supposed the tamest man in the world 
 could rise to the occasion when a wife complains to 
 him of her husband." 
 
 She gazed at him with startled, dilated eyes. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," she said uneasily. 
 " But if you intend to impute anything evil to Rex, you 
 are wrong. He was true to you that day, true as steel." 
 
 " Little you know just what his feeling is about me. 
 He is eaten up by jealousy. He has been head over 
 ears in love with you for years. When I told him I was 
 going to marry you he sat all night in his room, staring 
 at the wall. I looked in twice, but he was like a man 
 in a trance and saw and heard nothing. He has never 
 got over it. He has felt robbed and despoiled ever 
 since." 
 
 She uttered an exclamation, perhaps to arrest further 
 speech, but he went on. " ' Beware of long absences 
 and long silences,' they say," Roger pursued in a 
 low, even voice, but with his face showing a white heat 
 of anger, " but I did suppose my wife was a woman I 
 could trust." 
 
 She looked back at him hopelessly, but said no 
 thing.
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 361 
 
 " I might have known I ought to have known," he 
 went on. " I remember how you kissed him the night 
 Bessy came home." 
 
 She gazed at him, her thin nostril swelling, her lips 
 just curled, a look in her eyes 'as if she were about to 
 retort, but she did not at first move or speak. After 
 a little silence she said, with perfect self-control, 
 " You did not mean that, Roger. I don't think you 
 have meant any of this. You do not distrust me. You 
 do not distrust Rex, it is only " 
 
 " It is only that I forbid your speaking to Rex hence 
 forth except in my presence," said Roger firmly. " I 'm 
 sick of having him put before me ; I '11 not have it." 
 
 He flung himself into his chair before his desk, 
 leaned forward and buried his head in his arms. A 
 miserable silence ensued. Evelyn had not let herself 
 take in the outrage his words had implied. She felt 
 only for Roger : his attitude, his averted face, his whole 
 expression of suffering tormented her. She knelt down 
 before him and clasped her hands on his knees. After 
 a time her presence, her touch, her unspoken entreaty 
 all made themselves felt. He raised his head and 
 looked down at her. Their eyes met. 
 
 " Poor little Evelyn ! " he said gently. " I 'm sorry 
 for you. It is all a tangle. I don't see my way out." 
 
 He leaned down and kissed the parted lips, then 
 resolutely rose, as if putting the whole subject away, 
 and resumed his usual demeanor.
 
 XXIV. 
 
 REX GOES TO WALFORD. 
 
 ALL these weeks Rexford Long had been irresolute 
 as to which way lay his duty. The question of abso 
 lute right or wrong in the matter about Bessy, he had 
 not attempted to grapple with. He wished only to 
 avert suffering. 
 
 He at last decided to go to Walford ; once on the 
 scene he might better be able to judge about the 
 course he ought to pursue. He reached Mrs. Good- 
 eve's late one evening, and next morning at ten o'clock 
 went to see Evelyn. He intended to have a talk with 
 Roger, but first he wished to feel the pulse of events 
 and know what had been happening. He came upon 
 her and the two children as soon as he turned into the 
 grounds. She was carrying Theodore in her arms ; and 
 Bessy in a scarlet fez and red dress, with her hair in a 
 golden glory about her head, had a rake in her hands 
 and was gathering the dead leaves into heaps. The 
 dogs considered her occupation an effort for their own 
 amusement and dashed about her with a glad exuber 
 ance of life. The sight smote Long with a vivid sug 
 gestion of what Nino had described as happening on 
 this very spot. He had visions of a still little figure 
 lying on the bank, and his eyes sought the spot shud- 
 deringly. He was indeed so strongly dominated by 
 what was going on in his own mind that he was compara-
 
 REX GOES TO WALFORD. 363 
 
 lively unobservant of Evelyn. He did not see that she 
 gave a start as she recognized him, flushed painfully 
 and for a moment seemed reluctant to advance. 
 
 " Here I am," he said, holding out his hand. " I 
 told you I should come back." 
 
 She uttered some form of greeting, held up Theo 
 dore for his admiration, and called Bessy. He took 
 the little girl in his arms and kissed her, then turned 
 back to Evelyn and looked closely into her face. 
 
 " You are not well ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Oh yes, I am well." 
 
 " Is anything wrong ? " 
 
 "Oh no, oh no." 
 
 " How is Roger ? Is he at home ? " 
 
 " He is at the works. Go and see him," said Eve 
 lyn, and as she spoke a little spot of red came into 
 each cheek. " Go and see him, and perhaps he will 
 ask you to come back and lunch with us." 
 
 "You will not ask me to stay, then," said Long with 
 a half laugh. 
 
 "No," she said with a slight trembling of the lower 
 lip, " I shall not ask you to stay." 
 
 " Have I offended you, Evelyn ? " 
 
 " No ! Oh no ! " she said, with a glance upwards and 
 a half smile. 
 
 " Roger is angry." 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " You have told him what you told me in the summer," 
 he said, with swift divination. 
 
 She nodded again. 
 
 " He knows too that you told me." 
 
 "Yes," she murmured. 
 
 " It is reasonable for him to be angry," said Long.
 
 364 WALFOKD. 
 
 " You mean that I ought not to have told you," fal 
 tered Evelyn. " I see now how wrong it was, but then 
 I felt that it was perfectly natural, inevitable that I 
 should tell you. I could not have told Amy, I could 
 not have told Mrs. Goodeve, but I turned to you, 
 you have always been like my brother." 
 
 " I know, I know," said Long hurriedly. He had 
 dropped his glance to the ground. " I will go and see 
 Roger," he said. " Probably I shall come back later." 
 
 As he turned, Bessy came up and begged him to 
 stay, and when he said he was in a hurry, she fell to 
 prolonged weeping. 
 
 " Don't cry, Bessy," said Rex. 
 
 " I must cry, I like to cry," she returned with a 
 loud wail. 
 
 " What are you crying about ? " 
 
 " Oh, lots of things, whole heaps of things." 
 
 " What is one ? " 
 
 " First, the wind blows the leaves up and down and 
 all over," said Bessy indignantly. " It is just as if they 
 were alive, they will not keep still a minute. Then 
 if I get a pile of them and try to bury Sir Waller and 
 Nix like the Babes in the Wood, they won't be dead, 
 they jump up and scatter them all about. And 
 then then you go away." 
 
 " That is not worth crying about. Don't cry. Happy 
 little girls should n't cry." 
 
 " Who ought to cry then ? " said Bessy, with remorse 
 less logic. " Dogs don't cry, and you don't cry, and 
 mamma don't cry." 
 
 "Theodore cries sometimes," suggested Evelyn. 
 
 "He cries because he don't know any better," said 
 Bessy with disdain. " I cry because 1 like to cry. I am 
 going to cry velly hard indeed."
 
 REX GOES TO WALFORD. 365 
 
 But by the time Rex reached the gate and looked 
 back, Bessy was laughing more loudly than she had 
 cried, and had evidently prevailed upon her mother 
 and Theodore to play the part of Babes in the Wood. 
 Rex went rapidly on to the works, but although his 
 thoughts might well have turned with some apprehen 
 sion to his coming interview with Roger, they lingered 
 persistently upon this encounter with Evelyn. She had 
 been dressed in dark tweeds, and the contrast of the 
 heavy rough material had given added delicacy and even 
 fragility to her face. She had never in his remem 
 brance looked younger. He counted her age on his 
 ringers ; she was fifteen when he first knew her, accord 
 ingly was not yet quite twenty-five. Something pa 
 thetic in the expression of her eyes and lips cut him to 
 the heart. She was patient, and he remembered her so 
 impetuous ; she seemed to him half hopeless, and it 
 was impossible to conceive of Evelyn as anything but 
 hopeful : to think of that bright young creature at the 
 end of her joys darkened the universe for him. 
 
 Thus busy in conjectures he was in Roger Rexford's 
 presence before he had thought of what he wished to 
 say to him. Roger happened to be for a moment in the 
 counting-room speaking to Spencer, and the two cou 
 sins shook hands with a sufficient show of cordiality 
 before the new manager and the half-dozen men at the 
 desks. 
 
 " Did you wish to see me ? " Roger inquired. 
 
 " If you are at leisure." 
 
 " Come into my office," the other returned, and led 
 the way in and shut the door. 
 
 The moment the two were alone, the smiling mask 
 dropped from Roger's face.
 
 366 WALFOKD. 
 
 " I did not know you were In Walford," said he. 
 " How long have you been here ? " 
 
 " I came last night." 
 
 "You evidently are a man of leisure," said Roger 
 offensively. 
 
 " Evidently you are not," observed Long. " I can go 
 away." 
 
 " Have you been at my house ? " demanded Roger. 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " You saw my wife ? " 
 
 " For a few moments." 
 
 " Please to absent yourself from my house in future," 
 said Roger. " If time hangs heavily on your hands 
 waste it elsewhere than beneath my roof. There is a 
 fatal facility about men like you, you creep in in 
 sidiously." 
 
 "You evidently wish to insult me, Roger," said 
 Long. " So be it. I have, in my time, borne some 
 things for old affection and old habit, but there is a 
 limit. I have had a long patience with you. You are 
 angry now and not quite yourself, bui before I go I 
 will say simply that you have no cause to be angry 
 with me." 
 
 Roger's face had darkened, the veins on his fore 
 head stood out, his lips were set. He spoke thickly. 
 
 " It is hardly worth while for you to come and tell 
 me I need not be angry with you, as if I should take 
 the trouble to be jealous. As for your long patience 
 with me, I should say it was the other way. You may 
 imagine that I have not known all the time exactly how 
 you regard my wife." 
 
 " As a saint ; as the purest and loveliest woman on 
 earth," said Long, his eyes fixed on his cousin as if his 
 condition were something to study curiously.
 
 REX GOES TO WALFORD. 367 
 
 "No thanks to you if she is a saint," said Roger. 
 " Her indifference is a sure safeguard. She never 
 cared for you. Of course, the moment I first saw you 
 with her I knew that you were in love with her, but 
 she had never thought of you." 
 
 " I am well aware of that." 
 
 " If she has turned to you, if she has seemed to de 
 pend on you," Roger pursued with a look and tone of 
 bitter scorn, " it is with the same feeling with which she 
 would call a tame spaniel. She has never regarded 
 you otherwise." 
 
 " I expect nothing else. I wish nothing e'lse," said 
 Long. 
 
 "Yet you talk of a long patience with me, when I 
 have been such an easy-going husband as to allow you 
 to sit and walk and ride with her ; to spin fine-drawn 
 prettinesses of talk ; to discuss books, music. It saved 
 me trouble. That sort of lap-dog trick belongs to men 
 like you. A different sort of man feels that a woman is 
 a pretty thing to humor when it suits his convenience, 
 but to whom it is pedantry to talk sense, and from 
 whom he no more expects it than thistles from grapes. 
 I have let you go on ; I have put up with your presence 
 in my house in season and out of season, but everything 
 finally reaches its climax and comes to an end, and by 
 ! my patience is at last worn out." 
 
 " So is mine," said Long. " I will go." 
 
 He moved away without another glance. He found 
 the door bolted, and while he was fumbling at the catch 
 Roger called " Rex ? " 
 
 Long turned. " Well, say on." 
 
 He saw that his cousin had thrown himself into a 
 chair.
 
 368 WALFORD. 
 
 " I was a brute," he said, in a tone of dejection. " I 
 was tempted of the devil." 
 
 " I know you were. I was more sorry for you than 
 hurt," said Long. "It makes no particular difference to 
 me that you pour out the wildest folly, but I don't like 
 the signs and indications. A child could see that you 
 had been drinking, Roger. It is an abominable pity." 
 
 Long had turned on his steps, drawn a chair to the 
 office table opposite Roger, and the two looked at each 
 other. 
 
 " I don't often take anything in the morning," said 
 Roger, " but I found myself confoundedly nervous." 
 
 " Nervous about what ? What is going wrong with 
 you ? " 
 
 " Everything," said Roger moodily. " Nothing ever 
 goes right with me. Nothing has ever gone right with 
 me. It has been a simple progression from bad to 
 worse." 
 
 " Do you mean business, or do you allude to your 
 private affairs ? " 
 
 " It is all of a piece," said Roger, in a tone of utter 
 despondency. 
 
 " I thought trade was booming." 
 
 " That is just my usual luck. Spencer was just tell- 
 ,ing me when you came in that a strike is ordered all 
 through this region. Our men will go out with the rest 
 next Tuesday." 
 
 " How does Spencer happen to know ? " 
 
 " He has a finger in every pie." 
 
 " Will it hurt you ? " 
 
 " That remains to be seen. We cannot pay more 
 wages, and that is what they are after. For myself, I 
 don't care," Roger pursued with heat. " I 'm sick of
 
 REX GOES TO IVALFORD. 369 
 
 the Rexford Manufacturing Company. Every man has 
 his Russian campaign, and this is mine, only it has 
 lasted seven years. For all I shall object, they may 
 bujn up the works, bury the entire plant deep in ruins. 
 This place simply represents to me what I hate. I 
 sold my soul for this infernal fraud and have never en 
 joyed a moment's freedom since. If I go away I am 
 dragging a chain ; if I stay here I look up at a sword 
 hanging over me. Let them do their worst, I say. I 
 have had no luck out of it and expect none." 
 
 The tone and look as much as the words deepened 
 Long's impression that Roger was half out of his mind. 
 
 " I cannot believe your men are likely to go to any 
 extremes," said he. " When I used to be here as a 
 boy, I thought them no end of good fellows. It seemed 
 all like one family." 
 
 " They will have to do as they are bid," said Roger, 
 with contemptuous emphasis. " They are under orders. 
 Beresky is managing the strike, Spencer says. He is 
 an out-and-outer. Let them begin at Rexford's, and 
 tear the whole place down, I say, then perhaps I can 
 get away and be free to breathe again." 
 
 " I wish you would be frank. Don't exaggerate. 
 Tell me how you stand." 
 
 " How I stand ? Unpleasantly near the edge of the 
 precipice, and there I 've stood for years." 
 
 " I don't ask for metaphors. Just give me a few 
 facts." 
 
 " Oh, facts ! " Roger pounded his clenched fist down 
 on the table. " I can't look facts in the face ; they 
 would strike me dead." 
 
 " I see how it is," said Rex. " You try to avoid un 
 pleasant thoughts. You stupefy yourself to get away
 
 3/0 WALFORD. 
 
 from the possibility of grasping actualities. I used to 
 think, Roger, you were a brave man ; you 've got 
 strength in you somewhere. I want you to get hold of 
 yourself. Free confession is good for the soul. Tell 
 me the whole story." 
 
 "The whole story ? " said Roger uneasily. " There 
 is no whole story." His cousin's kind, quiet glance 
 and friendly tone began to tell upon him. His feeling 
 that dogged endurance was necessary and that he must 
 give way to no feebler instincts changed. There was 
 clear sympathy in Long's manner, and he was suddenly 
 smitten by a wish to yield to the comfort of it. But 
 his mind was heavy, confused, inert. It fastened only 
 on far-off thoughts and speculations ; the near seemed 
 distant, and the distant seemed near. 
 
 " Rex," he burst out suddenly, after a pause in which 
 he had tried to grasp vanishing clews of thought and 
 intention, " do you remember your class poem ? " 
 
 " Well, yes," said Long. " What makes you think of 
 that ? " 
 
 " It suddenly came into my head how you looked 
 when you delivered it. It impressed me then. I have 
 always remembered it. The subject was the famous 
 simile of the eagle stricken to death by an arrow fea 
 thered with one of his own plumes. You said that was 
 the fate of most men. What ruined mortals was born 
 with them, was part of them ; grew with their growth 
 and strengthened with their strength. I suppose you 
 spoke out of fancy, not out of experience, but there is 
 something in it. At least, my career proves it." 
 
 Long gazed at him" expecting he would explain his 
 meaning, but Roger sat drumming on the table, his 
 restless eyes glancing from one object to another.
 
 REX GOES TO WALFORD. 3/1 
 
 " I don't quite understand your allusion," said Rex. 
 
 " My allusion to what ? " 
 
 " To the simile of the eagle killed by his own 
 plume." 
 
 " It is ambition that has killed me," said Roger with 
 a short, bitter laugh, " the belief that I had more 
 brains than other men, greater powers of combination, 
 and a knack of succeeding in all I undertook. Rex," 
 he leaned across the table and touched his cousin's 
 arm, "I had not been married forty-eight hours be 
 fore I heard of the failure of a firm in New York by 
 which I lost forty thousand dollars. I say / lost it. 
 There were circumstances, in short, I did not wish 
 to saddle it on the company, for it had been a private 
 venture of my own. I have never recovered from it. 
 Since then I have always had something to dread, some 
 thing to hide. It opened a gulf between me and safety 
 and honor, and all I had in the world has been flung 
 into it." 
 
 " But, Roger," interposed Long, "you have partners ; 
 you have never had to stand alone." 
 
 " Partners ! " said Roger, "I 've forked over divi 
 dends that cut me in two simply in order to keep Lowry 
 from coming near me. I was determined not to be dic 
 tated to by a couple of mummies. After my father's 
 death I got the control of the company and determined 
 to keep it. And I had every right to keep it," Roger 
 proceeded, throwing back his head in his old, proud, 
 resolute way. " I should have been a millionaire to-day 
 if the fates had not been against me. Rex," he cried 
 out with anguish, " why is it that I have had disaster 
 after disaster? Have I sinned against the .law of 
 heaven and thus have to endure the penalty ? "
 
 372 WALFORD. 
 
 " Roger," said Rex, " I would not talk about fate. 
 What we sow we reap, no doubt of that. Siy you were 
 ambitious, say you were impatient of dictation, wanted 
 to initiate a new policy in the concern and make your 
 self a rich man in a few years ; say you went into pri 
 vate speculations and lost money which you had no 
 right to lose, and you have said enough to make it clear 
 that you had to pay a penalty. But I cannot believe 
 that financially you have ever stood in a position where 
 you could not undo what you had done, retrieve your 
 credit, and build up your house anew." 
 
 Roger seemed about to speak, then evidently changed 
 his mind, set his lips, and remained silent. Long was in 
 doubt what to say and what to leave unsaid. His 
 cousin had put it wholly out of his power to allude to 
 Evelyn or even to Bessy. That subject was ended. 
 Long felt indeed at the moment that he wished never 
 to see Evelyn again. Thus he felt all the natural out 
 lets of advice and remonstrance closed against him. 
 
 " For one thing," he proceeded, ending the pause, 
 " work with your partners. Don't trust yourself alone. 
 Partners may be hinderers, but it is sometimes useful 
 to be hindered. When the evil one wants to tempt 
 any one he leads him into a solitude." 
 
 " Rex, you sometimes say a true thing," said Roger. 
 
 " Orrin Goodeve is in Europe, but Felix could come 
 home and go into things with you." 
 
 " I 'm not alone nowadays," said Roger pointing his 
 thumb over his shoulder. " Spencer is here." 
 
 "I know he is," said Long. "You had better get 
 Felix Goodeve back." 
 
 " I don't care how things go," said Roger impatiently. 
 " My heart is not in it, nor my conscience nowadays. 
 I 'm callous. My only desire is to have done with it."
 
 REX GOES TO WALEORD. 373 
 
 A knock came at the door. 
 
 " That 's Spencer, I suppose," said Roger, drawing 
 out his watch. " Come in." Spencer entered. " Are 
 the men here ? I '11 be there in a moment. How is it, 
 Rex ? How long are you to be in Walford ? " 
 
 " I shall take the 2.30 train," said Rex. 
 
 " Flaxman and some of the other manufacturers meet 
 here, so I must go now. We are to talk over the situa 
 tion." 
 
 " I hope some measures will be taken to avert the 
 strike." 
 
 " It is sure to come sooner or later. Let it come, I 
 say. It may cut some of the knots I have found in- 
 solvable. Well, good-by, Rex." 
 
 Deep, yearning emotion showed in his face as he met 
 his cousin's glance. He gave a quick, short sigh. 
 
 " You 've known me a good many years, old fellow," 
 he said. " Remember that I am harassed, besieged, 
 tempted of the devil. I am not master of my acts. 
 Good-by." 
 
 " Good-by, Roger," said Long, and the two parted 
 with a grasp of the hand.
 
 XXV. 
 
 AMY SENDS FOR FELIX. 
 
 Miss STANDISH and Mrs. Goodeve encountered in 
 the street one day towards the end of November, and 
 Amy turned and walked with the latter towards her 
 house. 
 
 " Will you come in ? " Mrs. Goodeve asked as they 
 paused at the gate. 
 
 " Yes," said Amy, brightening beautifully. " I had 
 been thinking of paying you a visit to-day." 
 
 Mrs. Goodeve ushered the girl in, feeling very proud 
 of her. " I am going to make you take off your hat 
 and wrap," she said. "You shall go up to my room 
 and sit down with me while I sew, just, my dear," 
 here she kissed her, "as if you were my daughter." 
 
 "You have one daughter," said Amy. 
 
 " I have two ; my daughter Edith, and then Mary, 
 Orrin's wife. When Felix marries, I shall have three 
 daughters." 
 
 They had gone up-stairs, and Mrs. Goodeve estab 
 lished her visitor opposite her at her work-table. A 
 bright fire burned on the hearth, and the room was 
 besides full of sunlight. Amy sank into the deep-cush 
 ioned easy-chair, with a somewhat heightened color. 
 
 " Is he going to be married ? " she asked, trying to 
 glance unconcernedly at her hostess, but failing, she 
 lowered her eyes and her foot tapped the floor.
 
 AMY SENDS FOR FELIX. 375 
 
 Who, Felix ? He talks a good deal about it," 
 said Mrs.Goodeve. She opened a box which stood on 
 the table and produced a dozen or more photographs. 
 " See these," she went on, handing them, one by one, 
 to Amy. 
 
 They were all pictures of women, most of them 
 handsome, not a few possessing remarkable good looks. 
 There was one of a Spanish type who sat a horse mag 
 nificently ; another had an exuberance of golden hair. 
 Each card bore some inscription. Beneath the portrait 
 of the equestrian was written " Mrs. Felix Goodeve, 
 Hem." On two or three of them was the question, 
 " How should you like her for a daughter-in-law ? " and 
 others were inscribed, " Waiting for your approval." 
 
 "Who are they ?" asked Amy in dismay. 
 
 " I hardly know who they are," said Mrs. Goodeve. 
 " Every week or so Felix sends me one. You see, I 
 have been for some time anxious that he should marry, 
 and I suppose the poor boy is looking for a wife." 
 
 " He seems to have plenty of opportunity for choice," 
 said Amy, flushing crimson. " And they are all very 
 good-looking." 
 
 " To tell you the truth, my dear," said Mrs. Goodeve, 
 confidentially, " I don't like any of them. I should be 
 absolutely unhappy if Felix were to bring any single 
 one of them home to me. I don't know, Amy, what 
 you think of my boy. It may be a mother's partiality, 
 but I feel as if he were worth a woman's falling in love 
 with. I believe, too, that he deserves a good wife. I 
 am a little ambitious for him. I want him to marry a 
 really sweet girl, a charming girl. I should hate to 
 feel that he had not used his right of choice, that his 
 . real heart had not spoken ; that he had simply taken
 
 376 WALl-OKD. 
 
 up with somebody because he was tired and dispirited, 
 wanted somebody to make things seem home-like, or 
 because she had made up her mind to marry him. Still, 
 I dare say that some of these are very bright girls. 
 Now, for example, what do you think of this dark-com 
 plexioned one on horseback ? You see he actually calls 
 her Mrs. Felix Goodeve. I am not sure but that she 
 looks a little like you." 
 
 " I am not nearly so good-looking," said Amy, in a 
 white heat of indignation. 
 
 " You have a sweeter and a nobler face," returned 
 Mrs. Goodeve. " I do not like this young woman's 
 attitude. I should not like her to turn my boyls head." 
 
 " I feel sure, Mrs. Goodeve, he would turn it away 
 from her." 
 
 Felix's mother put the pictures aside, and began to 
 talk to Amy. She spoke of her son, and told a great 
 many little traits in his character ; she illustrated them 
 with anecdotes, and finally took out a bundle of his 
 letters and read them aloud. Felix wrote very good 
 letters ; he had swift perceptions, described well, made 
 rapid summaries, had a quick sense of the comic, and 
 an aerial freedom of allusion to everything which was 
 going on, at home and abroad. Occasionally he said, 
 " Tell me about Miss Standish, what she is doing 
 nowadays." 
 
 When the letters were ended, Amy rose to go. As she 
 put on her wide-brimmed hat, she looked at Mrs. Good- 
 eve with so lovely a color, such bright eyes and such a 
 soft smile that the latter said, suddenly drawing the 
 girl to her : 
 
 " Oh, my dear, you are such a beauty ! " 
 
 " Is that the best thing you can say for me ? " asked 
 Amy, with a swift caress.
 
 AMY SENDS FOR FELIX. 377 
 
 " I like girls to be pretty ; I think that is partly what 
 they are for," said Mrs. Goodeve. " But, Amy, I con 
 sider you simply perfect." 
 
 Amy, with a hand on each arm of the older woman, 
 stood looking up into her face. 
 
 " Mrs. Goodeve," she said softly, " I came to ask 
 you something." 
 
 " Ask me this moment." 
 
 " It is just a little hard to ask." 
 
 " I '11 give you anything I have in the world, my 
 dear." 
 
 " I wish your son would come home." 
 
 " My dear, I have two sons." 
 
 " I mean Felix," said Amy. 
 
 " Oh, you mean Felix. Shall I write and tell him 
 that you wish he would come home ? " 
 
 " Please do." 
 
 " Shall I give him any reason ? " 
 
 " I don't think you need." 
 
 " I shall just say then that Amy Standish wants him 
 to come back to Walford." 
 . " Yes." 
 
 " Shall I give him any promise ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Perhaps he will take it as a promise ; perhaps you 
 are binding yourself to something. Men can be very 
 foolishly illogical, but they are given to very clear 
 deductions where the girl they are in love with is con 
 cerned." 
 
 Amy put her arms around Mrs. Goodeve's neck and 
 looked into her face. 
 
 " Perhaps," she said, half laughing and half crying, 
 " he has got over it."
 
 378 WALFORD. 
 
 " No, I do not think he has got over it," said Mrs. 
 Goodeve. 
 
 Amy said no more. The two kissed each other, and 
 the girl went her way, hardly knowing what forces had 
 guided her irresistibly towards sending for Felix. But 
 she had many a time remembered how once at her 
 need she had stretched out her hand and found 
 strength in him, and now, if he could come, it would be 
 comfort and gain. 
 
 " He can be here in two or three weeks, I suppose," 
 she said to herself. It was something to have a whole 
 fortnight to make up her mind exactly how to meet 
 him. The moment she had committed herself a reac 
 tion of feeling set in. She longed to take back her 
 words. What had she meant, what had she wished ? 
 Mrs. Goodeve had observed that men could on occa 
 sion be very logical. Amy told herself, hanging her 
 head and blushing with shame, that she felt hopelessly 
 illogical. She wanted to see Felix, and had been ready 
 to say that she was indifferent to consequences. But 
 then she had not defined what the consequences might 
 be. 
 
 A Benedict might observe with a touch of humor 
 that when he .once declared he should die a bachelor 
 he had not supposed he should live to be married, but 
 Amy knew not how to carry off her inconsistency hu 
 morously. Perhaps, too, Felix had by this time changed 
 his mind, and she had vivid hurried images of the wo 
 men whose pictures she had seen. It began to appear 
 the very height of presumption and absurdity for her to 
 have counted so assuredly upon his being in the same 
 state of mind as on that April day seven or eight 
 months before.
 
 AMY SENDS FOR FELIX. 379 
 
 It was on the fifth morning after she had made her 
 request to Mrs. Goodeve that Amy was sitting over the 
 fire in the library, pondering the situation which, day 
 by day, now became more trying to her. She was med 
 itating some means of arresting the letter now on its 
 way ; failing that, she was thinking of flight, when she 
 heard a voice in the hall saying, " I want to see your 
 sister Amy first." At the same instant Evelyn's arch 
 face appeared at the portiere ; she ushered some one 
 in, then closed the door. 
 
 Amy looked up, and her heart gave a great leap. She 
 rose, although she felt unable to stand. It was Felix. 
 
 He was already close beside her ; he had taken her 
 hand. 
 
 " You sent for me," he said. 
 
 " I did not suppose you could be here for a fort 
 night yet," she faltered. 
 
 " Am I too soon ? Did I come too swiftly? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Don't you want to see me after all ? " 
 
 " I counted the days it would take a letter to reach 
 you," she murmured, by turns pale as death and con 
 sumed with blushes, unable to lift her eyes, " and I 
 supposed you could not possibly receive it until the day 
 after to-morrow, possibly not until Monday." 
 
 He still held her hand, and now, looking down into 
 her face with a flush and a smile on his own, and with 
 a half-sigh, too, born we will not say of what sweet 
 impatience, he lifted it, put it to his cheek, his temple, 
 his eyes, for a moment against his lips. Even then he 
 did not let it go, but pressed it to his breast. 
 
 " There is such an invention as the telegraph," he 
 remarked.
 
 380 WALFORD. 
 
 " Did Mrs. Goodeve telegraph you to come ? " said 
 Amy aghast. " I never supposed such things could 
 be telegraphed." 
 
 " Such things are what a telegraph is for. Bad news 
 travels fast enough, no matter how slowly it goes. I 
 came on the instant, Amy, that I heard you had asked 
 for me. Here I am." 
 
 She looked up. What she saw in his eyes reassured 
 her. Their glance might well have puzzled and tor 
 mented ; they might have laughed at her, triumphed 
 over her, half-threatened her ; instead they were friendly, 
 caressing, joyous. 
 
 " Yes, I see you," she said. 
 
 " You are sure you wanted me to come ? " 
 
 " Absolutely sure." 
 
 " Tell me are you glad to see me." 
 
 " Yes. I am glad. Things are going badly. I felt 
 as if you might put them right." 
 
 " What things are going badly ? " 
 
 " Sit down," she said, attempting to draw her hand 
 from him. " We will talk matters over." 
 
 "I am afraid to let go my clasp lest you should 
 vanish into space," he said. 
 
 Their eyes met a moment. 
 
 " You don't mean to send me away again ? " he said. 
 
 " I know that you are a busy man," she returned. 
 " Felix, I hope you found it convenient to come." 
 
 " I found it most particularly convenient to come 
 when you invited me." 
 
 " I hope you wanted to come." 
 
 " Did n't I just ? " 
 
 " You remembered me ? " 
 
 " Well, rather."
 
 AMY SENDS FOR FELIX. 381 
 
 " But I saw all those photographs you sent your 
 mother." 
 
 " Oh, did you ? " The old twinkle was in his eye. 
 " Are the originals very particular friends of yours? " 
 " Not all. Half of them I never set eyes on." 
 " Sit down, and I will tell you why I needed you." 
 He led her to the sofa, established her there and 
 himself leaned over the arm and looked into her face. 
 " Business first," said he. " What is it? " 
 He had, it seemed to her, grown older. He was at 
 least thinner, and some of the boyishness had gone 
 out of his face, which had gained in expression. He 
 looked so kind, so strong, so ready, that she gazed at 
 him with a sudden evaporation of all her doubts and 
 dilemmas. 
 
 She put her hand on his coat-sleeve a moment. 
 " By the way," she asked, " did I tell you I was glad 
 to see you ? " 
 
 " Not so eloquently as I should like to have you tell 
 me," said he. " Not altogether so sweetly as I fully 
 intend that you shall tell me when we have a little 
 leisure." 
 
 " You see," she exclaimed, " I have felt such a long 
 ing to put out my hand and find a friend, a real friend." 
 " Here he is. What shall he do for you ? " 
 " Have you heard that the strike has begun ? " 
 " It was the first news that greeted me. I think 
 there is no occasion for alarm. I know Walford men, 
 and I cannot believe there will be any real trouble." 
 " It was not that sort of trouble I dreaded." 
 "No. Had it anything to do with Spencer ? " 
 She nodded. " Roger has been here, pressing me to 
 accept him."
 
 382 WALFORD. 
 
 " Roger Rexford ? " 
 
 "More than that," whispered Amy; "Mr. Spencer 
 has told me that he has it in his power to ruin Roger ; 
 that the safest way for us all is for me to marry him." 
 
 " Oh, the scoundrel ! " Felix drew himself to his full 
 height a moment and seemed to reflect. " Tell me 
 exactly how you stand with Spencer," he said then, 
 " that is, if you are willing." 
 
 "I told you how it was last spring," she said. 
 
 " Have matters remained unchanged? " 
 
 " No." She looked up at him with a half smile. 
 " Please sit down," she said. " You look so tall so 
 far off as if " He had taken a seat at the end 
 of the sofa, and she slid towards him. " Don't be an 
 gry," she whispered. 
 
 " Well, no, not raging, not furious. Go on ; tell me 
 everything." 
 
 " When I first came to Walford," she said, " I felt 
 anxious to help Mr. Spencer. He interested me. It 
 was not for a long time that it ever occurred to me he 
 could could " 
 
 " Fall in love with you ; but I will answer for him 
 that he did the first moment he laid eyes on you," said 
 Felix. " The impertinent puppy. I long to get hold 
 of him." 
 
 " I don't think he is very much in love with me," she 
 said eagerly. " I am sure I should have suspected it 
 if he had deeply and truly cared." 
 
 " Come now, did you not know / was in love with 
 you from the time we met in the vestry to baptize Sam 
 Porter's baby ? " 
 
 She looked at him as if trying to remember. 
 
 "That was different," she said with a little nod. "I
 
 AMY SENDS FOR FELIX. 383 
 
 was always, as it were, conscious of you. But I never 
 thought of anybody's being in love. In love ! I hated 
 the phrase ! Indeed I hate it now." 
 
 " What 's in a name ? " said Felix. " Call it natural 
 selection if that sounds more scientific, call it a blind 
 principle of evolution if that is better, only only 
 accept the clear hypothesis that the moment a man 
 looks at you, Amy, the most beautiful domestic ideas 
 begin to form in his mind, he However, we are at 
 present discussing matters of business. I want to be 
 rid of that upstart, Spencer. Just as I left Eagle's 
 Creek there was a man named Leary who wanted to 
 get hold of a certain Colonel Noble. Colonel Noble 
 equally wanted to get hold of Leary ; each had started 
 out after the other with a couple of revolvers and a 
 bowie-knife, but they went in opposite directions. That 
 is the way Spencer and I have felt about each other ; 
 we want to get hold of each other bad ; but there has 
 hitherto been a certain inconvenience in meeting face 
 to face." 
 
 " I don't want you to be angry with Mr. Spencer," 
 said Amy earnestly. " It was really all my fault. It 
 never occurred to me I had encouraged him, until he 
 began to talk about my marrying him. It seemed to 
 me absolute nonsense. When I finally promised to 
 marry him if I ever married anybody," she went on 
 with a sort of childish petulance, " it was as if I said 
 ' If I ever go to live in the moon I will marry you.' " 
 
 Felix's bright glance was fixed on her. He said 
 nothing. 
 
 " I knew that human beings cannot live in the moon," 
 she proceeded, as if anxious to establish her premises 
 irrefutably. " And I was also certain that under no
 
 384 WALFOKD. 
 
 circumstances should I be willing to marry anybody." 
 He caught her hand and detained it. 
 
 " Of course I was wrong," she said, with admirable 
 candor. 
 
 " Of course you were absurd," said Felix. 
 
 " I had told him, over and over again, nothing could 
 ever induce me to marry," she went on, "and finally I 
 only yielded because it seemed not to matter in the 
 least." They looked at each other like two children in 
 doubt. " Last June," she proceeded, " I took back my 
 promise. I told him I must be free." 
 
 " Last June ? " repeated Felix. " Why did you not 
 send for me then ? " 
 
 As she felt the sweetness of his smile and under 
 stood the sudden gladness in his voice, she felt wholly 
 dominated, but she forced herself to go on. 
 
 "Mr. Spencer said," she continued, "that I could 
 not take back my promise. He insists that " 
 
 " Amy," Felix burst out, " don't think again about 
 that fellow. I will settle him. I was ready to tell you 
 last spring that I could free you from him ; but I could 
 - not - help - fearing - you - liked - him - a little." 
 
 " Liked him ? " She looked up with a sort of shud 
 der. " I never really liked him. Now I detest him." 
 
 " He has troubled you ? " 
 
 " He has persisted. He still parsists, and as I said 
 before, he seems to threaten that he can ruin Roger. 
 And Roger is not himself; there is a strange reckless 
 ness about him ; and Evelyn is not happy ; and, Felix, 
 I sent for you." 
 
 She raised her eyes ; there were tears in them. 
 
 "Don't think of Spencer again," said Felix. "Oh, 
 my poor little girl, to realize that you have been suffer-
 
 AMY SENDS FOR FELIX. 385 
 
 ing annoyance from that cur, while I stayed away eat 
 ing my heart out in jealous pain and grief when I 
 might have been here looking after you. Come now, 
 is there any more trouble ? " 
 
 " There are a good many little troubles in these great 
 ones." 
 
 " I must go find out what is going on," said Felix, 
 " only first there is just one little matter I should like 
 to settle." 
 
 She saw a glimmer of a smile in his eyes. 
 
 " I suppose," he went on demurely, " we are en 
 gaged." 
 
 " Oh, is that important ? " she tried to answer archly, 
 but the thrill of feeling which stirred her under his 
 clasp and glance ran into her speech. 
 
 " No, not between you and me, of course," said Fe 
 lix. " But outsiders are always curious. My mother, 
 for example, will be anxious to know if we are engaged. 
 I suppose I may as well tell her that we are." 
 
 " I fancy she will know without asking," said Amy.
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ALONZO SLOPER'S GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 As Amy had told Felix, the strike had begun. Flax- 
 man's men had taken the initial step, and gradually all 
 the manufacturers in Walford had had to shut down. 
 At Rexford's a few of the steel workers were still in 
 their usual places. These were Walford men, New 
 Englanders, who did not belong to any trade-league and 
 who resented any jurisdiction outside of Rexford & 
 Company. Whether this nucleus would have the effect 
 of drawing to itself all the better elements among the 
 mass of men now tasting the sweets of liberty and in 
 action at the street corners and in the saloons, or 
 whether it would become a source of danger to Rex- 
 ford's remained to be seen. So far, the whistles 
 sounded in their usual way, and one of the tall chim 
 neys still belched out columns of smoke to the sky. 
 
 When Felix Goodeve arrived on the scene, he found 
 Roger Rexford and Spencer sitting in their office as if 
 things were going on as usual. The men he had met 
 in the streets had greeted him with enthusiastic good 
 nature, and it was hard to believe that any serious 
 danger was brewing. But Roger and Spencer both 
 rose with a look of such surprise as he came in, that it 
 was not easy to decide whether to put a construction 
 upon their dismay unflattering to himself, or to impute 
 it to the state of affairs in general.
 
 ALONZO SLOP EX'S GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 387 
 
 Felix told them his mother had desired him to come 
 home and he had arrived apparently in the nick of 
 time. He sat down, asked for an enumeration of the 
 existing complications and listened, while Spencer, who 
 had quickly regained his equipoise, gave himself free 
 play in setting forth the situation, which he was in 
 clined to consider a grave one. He had a mind of a 
 far-reaching order, and was quick to perceive the ad 
 vantage of having one of the Goodeves to depend on 
 in these straits. Spencer said that Flaxman's men had 
 begun the mischief ; they were chiefly foreigners ; not 
 a few of them were of the fiery haranguing sort, and 
 they had led their followers on from place to place, 
 stopping work and gaining adherents. But when they 
 came to Rexford's they found only part of the men 
 ready to join them. The older ones, of a sturdier sort, 
 had ordered out the strikers and kept on at their posts, 
 influencing all that they could to stay with them. The 
 advantage of this, Spencer considered doubtful. It 
 made those who had gone out suspicious and resentful. 
 There were already threats that the men would be 
 hindered from continuing their work, and his advice 
 was, that the place should be shut up until some terms 
 were agreed upon. 
 
 Roger, feeling sure that his side would have an ad 
 herent in Felix, confessed that he differed widely from 
 Spencer. Their own men who had gone out made no 
 threats, and he believed in them sufficiently to feel sure 
 they would stand by Rexford's if it came to having a 
 choice thrust upon them. They were run away with by 
 the novelty of the situation, but they would soon see that 
 this system of war against old and tried employers was 
 fatal from every point of view. Americans and Ameri-
 
 388 WALFORD. 
 
 canized men did not like to be dictated to by a man 
 like Beresky, whom they would heartily despise a little 
 later, when they saw what his teachings led to. In a day 
 or two, the worst elements in the mob would get upper 
 most ; somebody would fall to and break somebody 
 else's head. By that time the men who were good for 
 anything would have got sick of this aimless Donny- 
 brook fair enterprise and would be glad enough to come 
 back. Hence the imperative necessity of standing by 
 the employees who still stood by him. He would keep 
 Rexford's whistles going so long as one man kept his 
 place. 
 
 " That is what exasperates the fellows who are out," 
 said Spencer. " Suppose they make a nasty riot and 
 come and burn down the works. They are sure to do 
 something before they get through." 
 
 " I mean to trust to my own judgment in this mat 
 ter," said Roger. 
 
 " Trusting to your own judgment has got you into 
 trouble before now," remarked Spencer, whose irrita 
 tion was growing every moment. " When it is just too 
 late, you will give way and wish you had taken my ad 
 vice, as you have done before now." 
 
 " I ought to know something about our men," said 
 Roger. 
 
 " You never knew anything about a mob in all your 
 respectable life," retorted Spencer. 
 
 " What do you think, Goodeve ? " inquired Roger, 
 feeling the need of an auxiliary. 
 
 " I am with you," returned Felix, briefly. " It seems 
 to me that Mr. Spencer is frightened." 
 
 " I am not at all frightened," said Spencer with some 
 bluster. " But I have watched the trouble take shape 
 and gather force before my eyes."
 
 ALONZO SLOPER'S GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 389 
 
 " However," said Felix, " it is the company's affair, 
 and luckily you are still outside the risks of the Rex- 
 ford Manufacturing Company, Mr. Spencer." 
 
 " I 've had plenty of the responsibility, sir," replied 
 Spencer. 
 
 " Plenty," said Felix, with a decisive nod. " I ad 
 mit all that. You have had plenty of the responsi 
 bility." 
 
 " You seem to speak as if I had had too much," said 
 Spencer, with exasperation. " If the Rexford Manu 
 facturing Company has had an interval of success of 
 late, it has to thank me for it." 
 
 " You have apparently brought us to this," said 
 Felix, " which is almost too good a pace." 
 
 Spencer laughed, but his laugh suggested no amuse 
 ment. 
 
 "You mean, evidently, Mr. Goodeve," said he, "to 
 show me that it is not my business to meddle. Inter 
 fering with other people's folly is always thankless 
 work." 
 
 " Exactly. I advise you to wash your hands of us," 
 said Felix. " You and I will stick by the old concern, 
 Roger. We are brothers. I have not told you yet, 
 but I have the honor to be engaged to Miss Standish. 
 Thus our interests are incorporated, identical, indi 
 vidual, one and the same. We will live or die, sink 
 or swim, together." 
 
 Felix had made this announcement lightly, as if it 
 were nothing particular, and looked at neither of his 
 auditors. There was a moment's silence; then Roger 
 said : 
 
 " I am utterly taken by surprise. How long has this 
 been going on ? "
 
 390 WALFORD. 
 
 " As far as I am concerned," said Felix, " I am quite 
 willing to say it has been going on ever since we met. 
 It is only lately, however, that Miss Standish has made 
 up her mind that it was within the limits of possibility 
 for her to accept any man." 
 
 Spencer uttered some inarticulate sound. He had 
 turned pale at Felix's first announcement, but now 
 grew positively ghastly and seemed to be struggling to 
 assert himself against some insuperable obstacle. 
 
 " Did you speak ? " asked Felix, looking at him with 
 a stern glance, and the other quailed before it. His 
 eyes seemed to sink beneath his brows ; his whole face 
 shrunk. It would have been some satisfaction if he 
 could have brazened out the situation and established 
 some claim over Miss Standish at least to have made 
 a parade of indifference. He could do neither. He 
 knew by instinct that Felix had been made aware of 
 all the means he had taken to influence the girl he co 
 veted. He had felt, even while he used them, that he 
 was acting a cold-blooded, mean, dishonorable part, 
 and now he dreaded lest he should be taken to task for 
 it. He could bear no more. He flung himself out of 
 the office, turned into his own, and sat down, feeling as 
 if physically shattered. Tears actually gushed from 
 his eyes, as he sat feeling helpless and beaten. It was 
 not at first that the worthlessness of his dreams, the 
 nothingness of his chimeras, broke sadly on his mind ; 
 but that he felt the degradation and misery of being 
 spoken to like a cur who had stolen a cake. He pitied 
 himself; he felt the old bitterness, which he had thought 
 forever swallowed, rise again in his throat, and realized 
 that there are some shames which last all one's life and 
 assert themselves against the boldest and cleverest de-
 
 ALONZO SLOPERS GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 391 
 
 vices. He seemed to feel himself again the little ill- 
 fed, undersized lad he had been on entering Rexford's ; 
 glad to fetch and carry like a dog, snapping, too, like a 
 dog at anything which satisfied hunger or thirst, and 
 finally tamed and developed by the example of some 
 thing nobler into a better boy, indeed a promising boy, 
 with the makings of a man in him. He hated Felix 
 Goodeve with unquenchable rancor as he remembered 
 how he had spoken and how he had looked. He had 
 not been in any degree authorized to come back thou 
 sands of miles and walk into Rexford's, as if he was 
 easily master of everything, and assert his own views. 
 The very absence of authorization made the insult ran 
 kle deeper in Spencer's breast, since he was so instantly 
 made to feel that he was superfluous ; he, who had of 
 late been counting with assurance on being the one im 
 portant man in the company. Stung, dejected, hope 
 less, Spencer, for a time, as he sat overwhelmed by the 
 conflux of opposing thoughts and emotions within him, 
 was ready to hope that the worst the strikers could in 
 flict upon the works would come to pass. It seemed 
 as if he could not go on existing, while other men were 
 happy and prosperous. He thought of Felix Goodeve, 
 flushed and smiling, as he announced his engagement 
 to Miss Standish, and as his imagination suggested 
 what must have taken place between the two, how the 
 sweetness which had only mocked himself had been 
 freely yielded to this lover, how instead of eternally 
 denying she must now have been complying, a muffled 
 cry of anguish again burst from his breast. He jumped 
 up and strode about the room, striking his forehead 
 with his clenched fists. Distracted, shuddering, he 
 felt as if his anger must find some outlet ; he longed to
 
 392 WALFORD. 
 
 have somebody or something at his mercy. Nothing, 
 it seemed to him, except crushing and trampling upon 
 something, could be an antidote to the rage and disgust 
 and bitterness which swelled his heart. He pounded 
 his fist upon the table and made it ring with his blows ; 
 he smashed a chair against the fireplace ; then, as the 
 echoes of his violence came back, he felt as if his own 
 folly mocked and derided him. He began to expe 
 rience a reaction, and instead of wishing that the strik 
 ers might come on and burn the place, annihilate Felix 
 Goodeve at a breath, inflict indignity upon Roger Rex- 
 ford, he began to look at the situation more sanely, and 
 to reflect that such excesses were sure to be his own 
 destruction. 
 
 He had spent the hour from twelve to one in brood 
 ing over his troubles. Looking out of his window he 
 could see Roger Rexford and Felix Goodeve talking 
 with the men who were eating their dinners in the 
 quadrangle. It showed Spencer's deep-rooted instinct 
 of belief in and homage toward Felix Goodeve, that, 
 bitter although his personal feelings were against the 
 man, his presence yet helped to lighten the situa 
 tion. It was likely to promote good feeling and check 
 trouble. Instead of, as before, devising punishments 
 and tortures for Felix, Spencer now began to think 
 how he might be turned to account. His nerves had 
 had their paroxysm, and now reason began to assume 
 its usual sway. His ruling passion had always been 
 to make the most of whatever opportunity presented 
 itself; in spite of his ambitious dreams he had always 
 lived in close relations to facts, generally finding them 
 pliant to his will. He was no man to fight windmills, 
 or to measure himself against obstacles that he was
 
 ALOA'ZO SLOPER'S GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 393 
 
 powerless to overcome. He had heroically combated 
 his poverty and insignificance, and by means of zeal, 
 patience, obstinacy, and cunning had advanced miracu 
 lously ; but he had never demanded what he considered 
 impossibilities. Even when he had fallen in love with 
 Miss Standish, she had, as he believed, given him great 
 encouragement ; thinking over each detail of his inter 
 views with her with unwearied satisfaction, repeating 
 her words to him and dwelling on her looks, it had 
 always been easy to decide that she was interested in 
 him. No shadow of a doubt was possible that he was 
 right in claiming all she would yield him. He had not 
 been the sport of illusions ; he had not been presump 
 tuous. He had simply made up his mind to lose no 
 thing by not putting out his hand to seize it. 
 
 He tried to put away all thoughts of Amy. It made 
 him grind his teeth to think, with a rage of impotent 
 longing, how she had used him. Words he had uttered 
 in his infatuation, exaggerations of speech and action 
 permissible to happy lovers, but absurd when they dis 
 close the far sweep of curve a man's imagination can 
 take, when he does not accept palpable and existing 
 facts, came back to his memory and overpowered him 
 with shame and confusion. And now she was en 
 gaged to Felix Goodeve, and he hated her. It was 
 characteristic of her blundering feminine logic that she 
 should airily deny the possibility of marriage and dis 
 miss such relations to the region of the impossible, 
 then find it convenient after all to have a husband, and 
 affirm all she had hitherto denied. 
 
 Now that the tide of his confidence had ebbed Spen 
 cer felt that he had always grazed bottom, had always 
 had to go warily ; but this conviction did not make him
 
 394 WALFORD. 
 
 more contented to accept the sight of Felix Goodeve 
 sailing into port with all his canvas set, having met the 
 flood which bears men on to success. 
 
 However, all disappointment about his love affairs 
 must be set aside for the present ; feelings must be 
 subordinate to facts. Spencer decided to postpone any 
 personal action. Felix Goodeve had suggested that he 
 was badly frightened, and that as he had no per 
 sonal risks, he might easily cut and run to a place of 
 safety. This was beastly ingratitude ; but, after all, 
 Spencer said to himself, he was glad he had no more at 
 stake. He felt an awe of the unmanageable force of 
 the mob. Since others assumed the responsibility, let 
 them have all the responsibility. He himself could 
 decide on no better plan of action than silently to re 
 sume his usual afternoon work. He would suggest 
 nothing, invent no schemes, but listen and watch, ab 
 sorb all that he might, and use his knowledge at the 
 right moment. Accordingly he took half-a-dozen let 
 ters which had arrived that morning, and went to 
 Roger Rexford for instructions, precisely as if nothing 
 had happened between them. Felix Goodeve was still 
 sitting in the office. 
 
 " You had better wait until to-morrow before writ 
 ing, Spencer," Roger said. " Either things will be bet 
 ter to-morrow, or they will be worse. The situation 
 begins to resolve itself. At Flaxman's they are glad 
 to have a quiet interval to take stock and settle affairs 
 generally ; they are willing that the strikers should 
 hold out till the first of January; but at Jones's they 
 are pushed with work, have orders to fill by December 
 fifteenth, or they will lose confoundedly." 
 
 " You have had news," remarked Spencer.
 
 ALONZO SLOPEFS GREAl^ OPPORTUNITY. 395 
 
 " Goodeve went out," said Roger. " He asked our 
 men what they were striking for; that we had always 
 been willing to make prices right. They replied they 
 did not like our keeping the non-union men." 
 
 Spencer's face lighted up, but he refrained from say 
 ing, " I told you that was the mainspring of trouble." 
 What he did observe was, " The leaders will want to 
 put the screw on Jones." 
 
 " Of course. Sit down, won't you ? " 
 
 Roger saw something to pity in Spencer's pinched 
 white face, which showed traces of the struggle he had 
 gone through. Even Felix was sorry for the man, 
 whose whole aspect expressed the fact that he had lost 
 the exultant feeling he had lately enjoyed and acknow 
 ledged himself beaten ; and he at once included him in 
 their conversation. Abashed by such politeness, Spen 
 cer felt his ease and self-possession desert him. His 
 usually intelligent judgment seemed to lose all its force 
 the moment he tried to express himself : and to his 
 mortification he found his remarks, which fell wide of 
 the mark, accepted as if they were worth consideration. 
 He would rather have met the scorn and contempt 
 shown him three hours before. As it was, he looked 
 about him uneasily, and was glad of a chance afforded 
 him for escape. 
 
 It is a truism that each of us flourishes at the expense 
 of another. Felix Goodeve, with the thrilling and 
 delicious certainty at his heart that, in spite of the 
 tedious and dispiriting interval of trouble, he still had 
 won Amy, tried hard not to show his triumph over 
 Spencer, who had had to bear disenchantment and 
 failure. It was easy enough to perceive, however, that 
 the happy lover was secretly exulting with the joy of a
 
 396 WALFORD. 
 
 man who after long waiting gains what he has striven 
 for. Spencer was glad to get away. It did not occur 
 to him, as he struggled with his offended pride, that he 
 himself had inflicted pangs more cruel than those which 
 he now suffered. He was soon to be reminded of it. 
 
 He had himself suggested that he should go down to 
 see Jones and talk matters over with him. He had 
 heard that the strikers were on the main street, in and 
 about Chester's. Nothing could be easier than taking 
 the other road to the Corner, which would enable him 
 to reach Jones' without any encounter. As soon as he 
 was outside the works, and beyond the buzz and thud 
 of the machinery still in operation, he could hear the 
 sound of high-pitched voices and shouts. Evidently 
 somebody had been making a speech in the open air, and 
 had gained applause. It was a calm, late November 
 afternoon ; the placid, far-off sky showed that the In 
 dian summer still had a day or two to reign. The hills 
 lying about Walford were touched with haze, and a 
 mellow atmosphere harmonized all the brown and sere 
 herbage which still lingered. No scene could be more 
 peaceful ; but the moment he was alone, Spencer was 
 conscious &i nothing but irritation. The sound of the 
 excited voices brought back his alarms of the morning, 
 when the strikers visited the works and only moved on 
 because at the moment some errand called them else 
 where. For a time he had been so galled by his own 
 crowd of stinging, exasperating thoughts that he had 
 almost forgotten other difficulties and dangers. But 
 no sooner had he heard that babel of confused voices 
 than he once more felt the oppression of the stormy 
 and passion-laden atmosphere which hung over Wal 
 ford.
 
 ALOi\ZO SLOFEFS GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 397 
 
 He strode on, anxious to gain shelter. He had cast 
 about in his mind for a peg on which to hang a plausi 
 ble reason for getting away from Felix Goodeve ; but 
 now that he realized the danger of being out alone, he 
 wished he had not come. There are dangers and 
 dangers ; it was unpleasant to meet Felix Goodeve's 
 look, good-natured but slightly disdainful ; but clearly 
 such an ordeal was easier to bear than having to con 
 tend with the electric and fevered currents which ran 
 through the veins of a crowd of dangerous men, breath 
 ing fire and vengeance. For it was not reassuring to 
 hear at intervals a shout sometimes inarticulate, then 
 again defining itself into some clear exclamation like, 
 "Goon!" " Give it to 'em !" " Hit 'em agin! " The air 
 was so quiet, it carried vibrations of sound to a great 
 distance ; that was Spencer's way of reassuring himself. 
 But evidently something was going on, and it was no 
 thing in the way of good. He distinctly heard a drum 
 and a fife playing ; then there came a hush. 
 
 As he turned a corner, a sudden clamor broke out ; 
 and just too late he discovered that he had inadver 
 tently turned towards at least a score of men, advancing 
 by twos and threes, or breaking their ranks by falling 
 into groups of half-a-dozen. At the sight^ Spencer 
 looked about him uneasily, as if hoping for some means 
 of passing them, or at least retreating from them un 
 seen. Then submitting to the inevitable, and feeling 
 himself at their mercy, he slightly slackened his pace 
 and tried to meet them with dignity. 
 
 He had at first supposed it to be the advance guard 
 of the mob he dreaded. Thus it was with a sensation 
 of relief that he recognized in this detachment a group 
 of loafers, no doubt summarily ejected from the better
 
 398 WALt-ORD. 
 
 class of strikers, who had, so far, principles to act up to 
 and work to do. The column was headed by Alonzo 
 Sloper and Sam Porter walking arm-in-arm, followed 
 by McCann, Green, Simms and Cole, congenial spirits 
 all. The remainder of the party was composed of riff 
 raff, chiefly boys, eager for some share in what was 
 going oil. Alonzo and his followers had had a great 
 deal to make them happy all day ; no work to do, all 
 they wanted to eat, and far more than they needed 
 to drink ; all at the expense of higher powers who 
 called this sort of picnic a righteous cause, swore by it, 
 and preached a crusade. 
 
 Not that it offered a wholly new experience to Alonzo 
 Sloper ; indeed, it was the career he had been embarked 
 on for years, but only now with high intentions and a 
 lofty sense of doing his whole duty. Hitherto, this 
 course of conduct had met with reprobation. To-day, 
 he felt like an apostle. 
 
 When Spencer perceived what sort of foe he was to 
 encounter, he was annoyed, but felt that he could at 
 least dismiss his fears. He knew very well what stuff 
 these men were made of. He failed to realize the 
 inner tempest of crushed hopes, the consciousness of 
 unavenged insults, which had of late been swaying 
 Alonzo Sloper. Nor did he recognize the fact that the 
 present opportunity added flame to fuel ; nor that 
 Alonzo had all day experienced a burning anxiety to 
 lead on his followers to achieve some heroic exploit. 
 Catching sight of Spencer he called authoritatively, 
 " Halt ! " and bringing himself up heavily, he inter 
 posed a solid obstacle to the advancing corps, which 
 tumbled back unsteadily. He also offered a barrier to 
 the man who was approaching.
 
 ALONZO SLOPER'S GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 399 
 
 " Stand," said Alonzo, thrilled with a sense of power, 
 his purple face assuming a deeper dye. 
 
 " What do you mean ? Get out of my way," said 
 Spencer angrily. He carried a light cane, and he tried 
 to parry the ponderous arm which was stretched across 
 the sidewalk. 
 
 " No, Mr. Spencer," said Sloper magisterially, " I 
 shall not get out of your way. Take care, boys, that 
 he does not cut and run. Block up his lines of retreat. 
 I have got a few questions to put to this gentleman." 
 
 "You are drunk," said Spencer with unutterable dis 
 gust. " You are all drunk. Sam Porter, I 'm sorry to 
 see you in such bad company. I' thought better of 
 you." 
 
 " Bad company ! " said Alonzo Sloper, swelling with 
 offended dignity, and feeling that he must not lose sight 
 of the great principles which actuated him. " We 're 
 a band of brothers. An injury to one of us is an injury 
 to all ; we are " 
 
 " Shut up your nonsense," said Spencer. "Let me 
 pass." 
 
 " Not yet," said Mr. Sloper, enough of a strategist to 
 perceive that the other was by this time quite at his 
 mercy, being completely hemmed in by the crowd. " I 
 am going to ask you a few questions, Mr. Harry 
 Spencer, which I want you to answer before witnesses. 
 When are you going to marry my daughter ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Spencer," called Michael McCann, whom 
 Spencer had turned out of Rexford's six months be 
 fore, " when are you goin' to marry Miss Leo 
 Sloper ? " 
 
 The whole crowd took up the cry jeeringly, " When 
 are you going to marry Miss Leo Sloper ? "
 
 4OO WALFORD. 
 
 "You may well ask it of him, gentlemen," said 
 Alonzo plaintively. " He swore to be a husband to 
 her, a son to me. There's no sacrifice I haven't 
 made for him. But now he turns round and wants 
 to sell my own home from over my head." 
 
 " The villain ! " shouted McCann. " That 's the way 
 he gets on in the world, usin' us when he finds it con- 
 vanient, and then dismissin' us to perdition, the heart 
 less, perjured raskill that he is ! " 
 
 " It 's a shame," said Green. " Such a pretty girl, 
 too." 
 
 " A lady, if there ever was one," said Mr. Sloper. 
 " Nothing in my house was ever good enough for her." 
 
 Meanwhile, Spencer, humiliated and disgusted by, this 
 treatment, was anything but passive under it. He ap 
 pealed to each man in turn ; then, met by jeers, called 
 them individually and collectively every name he could 
 think of. Twice he tried to make a dash and escape 
 from the trap, but each time met wily opponents who 
 detained him, tripped him up and laughed at him. 
 
 " I '11 not be treated so," he cried, lashed into fury, 
 and began using his fists. His efforts were wholly in 
 effective, since, whichever way he wheeled about, he met 
 half-a-dozen adversaries. " Let me go. You have no 
 right to keep me here. Let me go." 
 
 " Not until you promise to marry Miss Leo Sloper," 
 said one of the boys. 
 
 " And be a son to Alonzo's old age, ye black in- 
 grate ! " put in McCann. 
 
 Not a few changes were rung on this theme. It 
 seemed to Spencer, indeed, as if the air were thick with 
 swiftly flying arrows, which came from every direc 
 tion threatening to pierce him. Angry, maddened, and
 
 ALONZO SLOPER'S GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 401 
 
 desperate, he struck out again, with the intention of 
 breaking down his enemies and rushing over them. 
 
 " He 's dangerous, the desateful dog ! " cried Mc- 
 Cann. " Walt, you know the trick ; just let him down 
 aisy. Be affable, don't hurt him, we don't want no 
 felonies." 
 
 A cry of triumph went up as Spencer was laid flat in 
 the dust. 
 
 " Don't ye move a hand or foot, Mr. Spencer," said 
 McCann. " We 've got ye now an' we intend to kape 
 you. It was you struck the first blow. Twinty men '11 
 swear to that " 
 
 " Nonsense," put in Green. " What do you want to 
 do with him ? Let him go, and a good riddance." 
 
 " Not yet," said McCann. " Not till he has expiated 
 some of his sins. Why not tie him hand and foot ? " 
 
 " Who wants him ? " argued Green, not loving a fray 
 as well as McCann did. 
 
 " I '11 tell you who wants him," spoke up one of the 
 crowd. " Miss Leo Sloper wants him bad. Let's take 
 him to her." 
 
 This suggestion was received with cheers. It suited 
 even Alonzo, who recognized the poetic justice of such 
 a revenge. The others chuckled with delight at the 
 novel idea of carrying a man by force to the feet of his 
 true sweetheart. 
 
 "You 'd better kape quiet," said McCann, as Spencer 
 struggled again and again, and tried to rise in spite of 
 the odds overmastering him. " You 're a drivin' us to 
 violence, sure. I tell you it 's you yourself as is makin' 
 us tie you. It 's lambs we are. It 's only your own 
 good we 're after, Mr. Spencer. That '11 do, boys, 
 that '11 do. Now lift him, lift him high and sure, like a 
 basket of eggs."
 
 402 WALFORD. 
 
 Just as the victim felt the ground drop from beneath 
 him, as he bounded into air, there came a diversion. 
 A whirl of dust, a rumble, and a pony-cart stopped 
 within three feet of the crowd, and the men laid down 
 the burden. 
 
 " What is it ? " cried a clear, fresh voice. " What 
 are you men doing ? Is anybody hurt ? " 
 
 " Nobody at all, at all," said McCann. " It is just 
 simply a sloight accident, an' we '11 rimedy it without 
 loss of toime. You 'd best drive on, Miss. We might 
 scare your horse." 
 
 " What has happened ? " demanded Miss Standish, 
 for it was she who, with Bessy Rexford beside her, had 
 come upon the scene. " Mr. Sloper, I beg you to tell 
 me who is on the ground ? If there has really been an 
 accident, I could take the hurt man home." 
 
 " He is simply a dangerous individual that we nre 
 bindin' over to kape the pace," said Michael. " He 
 was for assaultin' us." 
 
 " Mr. Sloper," persisted Amy, " I appeal to you. 
 Who is it ? " 
 
 " Miss Standish," said Alonzo, raising his heavy arm 
 with an impressive gesture, " this is a m-m-movement 
 of a united b-b-brotherhood." 
 
 "Sam Porter!" cried Amy authoritatively, her eye 
 fastening on her special protege, who had been skulking 
 behind the group, hoping that his presence might not 
 be detected. " Come here this instant ! " Sam tottered 
 along the gutter towards his benefactress, in a man 
 ner which suggested that he was at the end of his 
 strength. 
 
 " Oh, Sam ! " said Amy in a voice with a sob in it. 
 " You 've been drinking again, and your two dear little
 
 ALONZO SLOPER'S GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 403 
 
 children sick at home with scarlet fever and your poor 
 wife quite worn out with trouble ! " 
 
 He had brought himself to the wheel of the carriage, 
 and fixing his glassy eye on Amy, he swayed about for 
 a few moments silently ; then, seizing an idea, he said 
 with intense solemnity : 
 
 " You may think I 've been drinking, Miss Standish, 
 but appearances is often deceitful ; it's me feelings that 
 overcome me." 
 
 Having thus cleared himself of the accusation, with 
 a view perhaps to showing the mastery of his finer sen 
 timents, he sat down in a loose heap on the curb-stone. 
 
 " Get up, Sam, and go home," said Amy reproach 
 fully. 
 
 " Get up this minute ! " put in Bessy, who was thrilled 
 with excitement. " I won't have any disobelience ! " 
 
 Spencer, meanwhile, had been torn in two by conflict 
 ing feelings. He was afraid of the men, who had grown 
 rougher and more brutal each moment, but his first im 
 pulse had been to dread even more having Miss Stan- 
 dish a witness of his discomfiture. When he recognized 
 her voice, he said within himself that he would rather 
 die than that she should come to his aid and extricate 
 him from this ignominious position. But there was an 
 unaffected reality about his discomfort which had by 
 this time quieted his scruple of pride or vanity, and 
 now he called with all the force of his lungs : 
 
 " Miss Standish, Miss Standish, it is I ! Make them 
 let me go. They have bound me hand and foot." 
 
 " Who is it ? " said Amy, horror-stricken. She stood 
 up whip in hand and spoke imperiously. 
 
 " It 's jist nobody at all, Miss," said McCann. 
 
 " Mr. Sloper," said Amy, " I insist that you shall let
 
 404 WALFORD. 
 
 the man go at once. Who is it ? I seem to know the 
 voice." 
 
 " It 's the voice of a perjured villain who is gettin' 
 his just deserts, sure," said McCann, for Alonzo Sloper 
 stood regarding the young lady in a dazed sort of way, 
 struck dumb between a sense of the high principles he 
 was contending for and a chivalrous feeling that Miss 
 Standish ought to be obeyed. 
 
 Bessy had flown to the rescue. She had clambered 
 out of the dog-cart, and, with an imperious gesture 
 motioning aside the crowd clustered about their victim, 
 had gained the side of the prostrate man, who lay livid 
 and gasping. 
 
 " Aunt Amy," she said, " it 's Mr. Spencer ! " 
 
 " Mr. Spencer ! " echoed Amy. 
 
 " He is tied up," said Bessy indignantly. She turned 
 to the group, who had fallen off and were looking on 
 grinning. " Untie him ! " she ordered, stamping her 
 foot. " It is very naughty of you to tie him up in that 
 way. Let him go this minute ! " 
 
 The men obeyed orders, laughing, cutting the cords 
 with looks and gestures of amusement and contempt, 
 which Spencer felt like a slap on the face. He was unable 
 to resent their impertinence, or to thank his deliverer. 
 He was exhausted with his tussle and with his still 
 unspent fury, and could hardly move. When he did 
 contrive by Bessy's help to rise to his feet, and stood 
 up choking with shame and wrath, he made a sorry 
 spectacle. His clothes were torn ; his hair was matted 
 with dust ; his face, by turns ashy gray and crimson, 
 was begrimed with clay and mire. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Spencer," murmured Amy, " this is dread 
 ful ! What were they doing to you ? "
 
 ALONZO SLOPE PS GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 405 
 
 " We was simply havin' our bit o' fun, Miss," said 
 McCann. " He 's not hurt. He loikes it. We was 
 practessin' on him, jist in order to show what we could 
 do when our blood gets up. We was avingin' the cause 
 of his lady-love too. We was goin' to carry him to 
 Miss Leo Sloper. He 's goin' to be a man hencefor 
 ward and marry Miss Leo Sloper as he ought to ha' 
 done long ago, an' be a son to Alonzo in his old age. 
 But since you insist on it, we '11 let him go." 
 
 Bessy had led Spencer up to the dog-cart. 
 
 " Get up behind," said Amy to him in a low voice, 
 as she lifted the child to her seat. Spencer, white as 
 chalk, his knees breaking under him and a roaring in 
 his head which deafened and blinded him, clambered 
 up gratefully. "Sam Porter," pursued Amy, "I shall 
 take you home to your wife. Get up and sit beside 
 Mr. Spencer. I am ashamed of you." 
 
 Sam looked up and smiled vacantly. 
 
 " Can't," said he, " can't do it, Miss Standish. Very 
 partic'lar reasons. I Ve struck. They would n't let me 
 go back. If I was to be cut in two I 'd have to stay 
 out as long as I 'm bid." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Amy. " You must do what I bid 
 you. Mr. McCann, just put Sam Porter up." 
 
 " Come this minute ! " Bessy struck in. " I won't 
 have any disobelience ! " 
 
 The men burst into a roar of applause as Amy drove 
 away, with the two men huddled on the back seat of the 
 dog-cart. 
 
 " God ha' mercy on us, " said McCann, " but a mere 
 man can't stand up against a woman ! " 
 
 " It was an unfort'nate int'ruption," said Alonzo, who 
 under the influence of his conflicting emotions found
 
 406 WALFORD. 
 
 himself hopelessly fuddled. He felt that a good op 
 portunity had slipped out of his hands. His great 
 opportunities had always been of a slippery description. 
 A tear rose to his eye and ran down his crimson cheek. 
 " We '11 do it next time," said McCann, consolingly.
 
 XXVII. 
 
 FATE CUTS THE KNOT. 
 
 " SURELY, Roger, you are not going out again to 
 night," Evelyn said anxiously, as she saw her husband 
 looking for the second time at his watch. 
 
 " I must be at the office at half-past eight." 
 
 " But why ? " 
 
 " Felix and I have talked the matter over," said 
 Roger, " and we have decided that it will be best for 
 us to stay there, to-night. There are four watchmen, 
 and we are to watch the watchmen." 
 
 He laughed as he spoke, but Evelyn was not con 
 vinced or reassured. 
 
 " Do you expect the strikers to go there ? " she asked. 
 
 " No," said Roger. " It is not at all probable. Still, 
 we have decided to stay. I shall relieve Felix, and he 
 can spend an hour or two with Amy ; then he will join 
 me and we shall take turns of sleeping on the lounge. 
 You need have no apprehension, Evelyn. To begin 
 with, the men are not likely to come near us ; and if 
 they should come they are not at all violent. According 
 to Amy, a little child can lead them." 
 
 The two were sitting together in the library. The 
 trouble among the men had roused Roger's slumbering 
 forces, and he had been for the past three days almost 
 his old self. The weary, moody expression had left his 
 face ; his eyes were clear, his motions were more alert.
 
 408 WALFORD. 
 
 It seemed to Evelyn, indeed, that the old Roger had 
 come back. She hardly realized that it was danger 
 which had been a summons to his best powers. She 
 was ready to believe that all her efforts to restore happi 
 ness and peace between them were to be answered. She 
 had resolutely put aside every thought of late, except of 
 pleasing Roger. What other duty existed ? What other 
 duty so palpable could exist ? One might have believed 
 that she was trying to make her husband fall in love 
 with her over again. She had put on toilets to please 
 him ; had met him at the door, hung about him, 
 swiftly divined his every need. If he looked up from 
 any occupation with a seeming wish, she flew to him 
 eagerly demanding what it was. Amy was delighted 
 with her sister, whom she now saw almost for the first 
 time bright, arch, and gay, talking without monotony, 
 with many delicate and shrewd observations, phrases 
 which suggested witticisms, and looks and tones to kin 
 dle joy. It had pained the girl, sometimes, to see Roger 
 turn his eyes on his wife with a long stare as if he won 
 dered at her, for at such a sign of coldness Evelyn's 
 face would change ; she seemed to be trying not to 
 weep, and more than once a tear trembled on the lashes 
 of her brown eyes. In general, however, Roger had 
 been, even if quiet, at least gentle and considerate. 
 He was preoccupied, and had made it clear that he was 
 preoccupied. If Evelyn felt at times that her small 
 feminine efforts had no charm or cheer for him, that 
 perhaps they stung his loneliness and despair, that the 
 joys she offered were no release, only made his apathy 
 the clearer to him, she had not relaxed her effort to 
 please him, and for these three days she at last found 
 an answer in his glance, in his words, and in his caress 
 ing touch.
 
 FATE CUTS THE A NOT. 409 
 
 " I must go," Roger said, with a laugh. " You must 
 reflect that Amy wants to see Felix. How long do you 
 suppose she has been in love with him, Evelyn ? " 
 
 " She confessed to me that it had been going on a 
 long time, but that at first she did not understand the 
 feeling nor investigate its origin," said Evelyn lightly. 
 " It is now classified. She knows precisely what its in 
 gredients are composed of. She never expected to be 
 in love, because she had never supposed that there was 
 on the face of the earth a man like Felix. She says he 
 is so wholly unlike other men ; and when I laughed and 
 told her I never saw anybody so much in love in all my 
 life as she is, she said quite soberly that it was because 
 he was stronger, sweeter, wiser, and dearer than the 
 poor creatures other girls had to take up with. She says 
 there is something absolutely wonderful in the effect he 
 has on her; when he came in and took her hand to-day, 
 she felt as if she had escaped earthquake or shipwreck, 
 and henceforth could be happy and grateful simply to 
 sit looking at him and reflecting that he would hence 
 forth take care of her." 
 
 Roger had risen. He sighed instead of answering 
 Evelyn's laugh. He drew her to him. " Poor little 
 wife," said he, " that was not the sort of husband you 
 were so lucky as to get." 
 
 " I love my husband with all my heart," she said, 
 soberly. 
 
 " Well, I think you do," he answered. " You love 
 him far better than he has seemed to deserve." He 
 was silent a moment, then added, " I like Felix. Sit 
 ting side by side with him to-day, and taking counsel 
 together as we did, I could not help saying to myself, 
 ' As soon as we are out of this mess I will tell this 
 good sensible fellow the whole story of my troubles.' "
 
 4IO WALFORD. 
 
 Their eyes met ; there came a flash of something 
 like joy from hers. 
 
 " Evelyn, keep me to it," he said. " Don't let me 
 fall below my good resolution." 
 
 " I will try to do all I can," she said softly. 
 
 " I don't wonder you have a little doubt of me." 
 
 " No, I have no doubt," she said. " I am so glad you 
 thought of telling him. That will be best." 
 
 " If daylight can shine through the blackness, it shall 
 shine through," said Roger. "We will not mind any 
 consequences, Evelyn ? " 
 
 " No," she said, and something in her uplifted eyes 
 showed that she was forbidding tears, glad tears of re 
 lief and hope. 
 
 " Then, perhaps," said Roger, " we can begin once 
 more to live." 
 
 She put her arms round his neck and let all the soft 
 Hood of her tenderness sweep over him. The caresses 
 unnerved him. He kissed the soft, beseeching face, 
 then put it away. 
 
 " I must go," he said. 
 
 " Oh, do not go. I beg you not to go," she pleaded. 
 
 "You don't think of Amy, Evelyn. You don't re 
 flect what it is to be just engaged with none of the 
 bloom rubbed off the sweetness of it." 
 
 As he spoke it was evident that a new idea suddenly 
 entered his mind. He crossed the room to a cabinet, 
 unlocked a drawer, and took out a pair of pistols. 
 
 The sight brought Evelyn a clearer realization of 
 what was going on outside, in the streets of Walford. 
 She uttered a little cry and again implored him not to 
 go out ; he could send for Felix ; it was best for them 
 both to be here. Something terrible was sure to hap 
 pen at the works.
 
 FATE CUTS THE KNOT. 411 
 
 He was looking the weapons over with an experi 
 enced eye. 
 
 " I have not the faintest idea that there will be any 
 need of using them," he said. " Certainly I do not in 
 tend to shoot anybody, and I hardly think any man in 
 Walford will try to shoot me. But it is better to have 
 them with me in case of emergency." 
 
 As he spoke she was conscious that he was a strong 
 man and could face danger without nervous panic. 
 She admired him. He was absorbed in the immediate 
 facts of his position, which required all his prevision 
 and all his energy. The real significance of the con 
 trast between his state of mind and hers at that moment 
 lay in the fact not that he was strong while she was 
 weak, but that a subtle stirring of conscience made her 
 shrink from flying to him for refuge. She gave a con 
 vulsive sob. 
 
 "What is it?" he said, startled, raising his eyes from 
 the pistols. He was thinking to himself that the action 
 of the catch of one of them was too easy. 
 
 " I don't know," she replied. " It is only that you 
 seem so far off ; that I want to speak to you, yet cannot 
 make you hear ; that I want to reach you, but my arms 
 are too short." 
 
 He smiled, put the weapons in his pocket and came 
 towards her. He was moved ; her words seemed to 
 make it clear that she loved him, just as she had always 
 loved him. He spoke, however, with perfect self-com 
 mand. 
 
 " The pistols frightened you," said he. " Women al 
 ways suspect that fire-arms will go off of themselves. 
 I supposed you would be glad to know I had them 
 with me, and that I know how to use them. Come
 
 412 V/ALFOKD. 
 
 now, goocl-by. Of course, you will give Felix some 
 supper when he comes in ; nectar and ambrosia are not 
 enough for such a big fellow." 
 
 He drew his wife to him and kissed her. 
 
 " I don't see," he said, with the flicker of a smile on 
 his grave, handsome face, " that we are, after all, so 
 very far from each other." 
 
 She flashed from tears to laughter one moment, as 
 she nestled against him, but his mood deepened instead 
 of lightened. Perhaps, even while he spoke, he was 
 not free from some foreboding, and even her beautiful 
 upturned face could not hinder rushing images of 
 possible violence and trouble to come. He kissed her 
 passionately again and again ; then, refusing to let her 
 go even into the hall with him, he shut the door of the 
 library upon her, took his hat and overcoat and went 
 out alone. 
 
 The moment he was outside, Lewis, the coachman, 
 and Birdsey, the gardener, came up to him with O'Fee, 
 who was telling them the news. He had been on the 
 street, where Beresky was haranguing the men and they 
 were talking back at him. 
 
 " You can't hear yourself spake," said O'Fee, " an' 
 me privit imprisshin is that the min is all tired to death 
 of talkin', and longs to begin fightin'." 
 
 " Whom do they want to fight ? " said Roger. " Each 
 other, I suppose. Two-thirds of them have been drink 
 ing too much and feel quarrelsome." 
 
 "They are all talkin' of the dimonstrashin against 
 Mr. Spincer," said O'Fee. "The min who was in it 
 are proud and consequenshil as if it was a foine act 
 they was guilty of. They had 'im down in the dust an' 
 quoite at their mercy. An' they loiked the feelin' of 't.
 
 FATE CUTS THE KNOT. 413 
 
 They 're simply a hungerin' an' a thirstin' to rub some 
 body else in the moire." 
 
 Birdsey and Lewis both had some testimony to the 
 effect that the crowd was lively and mischievous and, 
 if not bent on actually dangerous enterprise, would be 
 only too glad to have something occur which should 
 give the necessary spark of fire to their inflammable 
 impulse. 
 
 Roger spoke reassuringly to the three men. O'Fee 
 was Birdsey's brother-in-law, and was to stay on the 
 place for the night. Roger gave explicit directions 
 what they should say and do, if the rioters appeared to 
 be coming in their direction. Then he walked rapidly 
 on to his office, at the works, where Felix Goodeve was 
 waiting, with more or less impatience, to be relieved. 
 
 " Suppose, Felix," Roger said to him as he was about 
 to leave the office, " you should stop at the station and 
 telegraph to Rex Long to come up if he can. Rex has 
 helped me out of many a trouble, and he will be glad 
 to stand by us now." 
 
 Then Roger was left alone. There were two watch 
 men inside the works and two outside, each of whom 
 was ordered to report every half hour to McDougal, 
 who was in charge of the main building. Roger had 
 spoken to Jimmy McCann, the brother of Michael, as 
 he came in. Jimmy had the front patrol. He had told 
 Roger that no danger was to be apprehended that night, 
 at all events. He had heard that next day, if the steel- 
 cutters came back to their work, the strikers would 
 march in and order them to suspend, and that then, if 
 they did not obey, there might be a show of violence. 
 
 Roger sat down and thought over what was likely to 
 happen on the morrow, and what this show of violence
 
 414 WALFORD. 
 
 might prove to mean. He remembered his pistols, took 
 them out of his pocket, loaded them carefully, and laid 
 them on his table, putting a newspaper over them lest 
 they should have too threatening an aspect, if anybody 
 came in. 
 
 The office was brightly lighted, and Felix had been 
 passing the time in reading. Roger felt no inclination 
 even to glance at the evening papers, but sat, his hands 
 thrust into his pockets and his gaze fixed on the floor. 
 He was still conscious of the deep emotion Evelyn's 
 tenderness had roused in him. Half his feeling had at 
 first been pain, but now he experienced a sensation of 
 comfort ; some trouble seemed to lift from his heart. 
 It was evident that her love had survived all the strain 
 put upon it. Of late he had constantly said to himself 
 with half-bitter irony, " Poor little soul, she is trying 
 to do her duty." But after all she loved him with the 
 same love which had vibrated from the beginning. 
 
 And he reflected that they were both young. He was 
 thirty-five and she ten years and more younger. They 
 had a long life before them, and they might as well try 
 to get happiness out of it. He realized now that he had 
 made a mistake in believing that he must stand alone. 
 He had not after all stood alone, but had had Spencer, 
 who had constantly given him rotten planks to mend 
 the bridge which he must pass in order to get over his 
 difficulties. He must take his pride in his two hands, 
 get the better of it and ask counsel of Felix Goodeve 
 and Rexford Long. The complications in his position 
 were tortuous, but they were not necessarily hopeless 
 if he had strong backers. It would be an abhorrent 
 ordeal ; it would be like undergoing some physical 
 operation of which the pain is frightful and the danger
 
 FATE CUTS THE KNOT. 415 
 
 appalling. Still, not a day passes that men, and women 
 too, do not nerve themselves to bear what freezes flesh 
 and blood with terror to think of ; later, when the disease 
 which has been poisoning their fount of life is arrested, 
 they are ready to speak of the experience as something 
 to rejoice over. He, too, must somewhere within him 
 have the requisite force which should enable him to 
 brace himself up and bear the agony of confession 
 which would cut his manhood in two. Yet afterwards 
 he could live again and be able to think of something 
 besides the humiliation of being found out 
 
 " Then I shall begin once more to live," he muttered 
 to himself. But even while he planned a way of escape 
 from his long bondage, a way wise, honorable, and easy 
 for himself, his nerves began to betray him. He felt 
 restless, ill at ease ; fresh difficulties and dangers con 
 fronted him. He began to say to himself that this 
 would happen, and the other thing must come to pass. 
 The possibilities contingent upon a clear illumination 
 of the dark and devious places of his life seemed to open 
 like lightnings out of the black heavens, flashing upon 
 him like flames, making him quiver under the whip-lash 
 of fire they wielded. He knew how he could suffer 
 under these goads ; he had borne them only too often. 
 It would not do for him to become unmanned and 
 trembling to-night. Just to restore his self-command, 
 to afford himself relief from the oppressions and anxie 
 ties which must be postponed until the present danger 
 was passed, he went to the closet and poured out a 
 few drops of a liquid which, he well knew, could soothe 
 needless disquiet and suspend the ache of over-vivid 
 thought. By this time it was half-past nine. He lay 
 down on the lounge, thinking it as well to rest until 
 there should be some summons to action.
 
 416 WALFORD. 
 
 It was ten minutes later that Jimmy McCann, walk 
 ing up and down outside, saw a small squad of men 
 coming up the street. They halted at the corner, some 
 two hundred feet below his beat. 
 
 " Who be 's ye ? " he called out. 
 
 " Hist!" said* a familiar voice, and a figure familiar 
 even in gloom started out from the group. 
 
 " Is that you, Mike ? " called Jimmy. " An' what, I 
 should like to be informed, are ye doin' round these 
 primises ? " 
 
 " What are ye doin' yerself ? " returned Michael Mc 
 Cann. " You 'd much better be afther j'inin' yer frinds." 
 
 " As soon as I find bitter frinds, I '11 be afther 
 j'inin' them," said Jimmy. " I '11 be lavin' off sarvin' 
 me inimies. I 'm waitin' to secure the very bist advan 
 tages, sure." 
 
 Jimmy had by this time approached the group, which 
 he found to consist of his brother, Alonzo Sloper, and 
 half-a-dozen others. 
 
 " Ye 're kapin' watch ? " asked Michael. " I see a 
 light in the wurruks. Is anybody there ? " 
 
 " An' why not ? " said Jimmy. 
 
 " Who is it ? " demanded Michael. 
 
 " Who should it be thin ? " said Jimmy, who felt his 
 own importance and knew that it was not well at any 
 time for a man to part too easily with all he knows. 
 
 " Is it Mr. Henry Spencer ? " inquired Alonzo Sloper 
 in an anxious- voice. 
 
 " Why should n't it be Mr. Henry Spencer ? " said 
 Jimmy. " He 's the manager of the wurruks an' often 
 writes letters till midnight in the office." 
 
 "We want to spake to Mr. Henry Spencer," said 
 Michael.
 
 FATE CUTS THE KNOT. 417 
 
 " Spake away," said Jimmy. 
 
 " Can we go in and find him ? " 
 
 " Net if I 'm 'round," returned Jimmy. " Me orders 
 is impiritive. I am to walk up and down here, ask any 
 man who comes what his business is and report him to 
 Mr. McDougal inside." 
 
 " What is Mr. McDougal doing inside ? " 
 
 " Mr. McDougal walks up and down the main build- 
 in'," said Jimmy, " and every half hour he comes out 
 to the office door, calls me an' asks what 's up." 
 
 " Mr. Sloper is after wishin' most particular to spake 
 to Mr. Spencer," explained Michael. 
 
 " What about ? " demanded Jimmy, feeling that he 
 was the pivot on which great events turned. " Mr. 
 Spencer has got nothing to do with the stroike." 
 
 " This is n't about the stroike. It 's private business. 
 It 's a breach of promise case, an' he wants to addriss 
 a word of admonition to the raskill who has been triflin' 
 with his daughter's affictions. Could n't ye arrange it 
 for us, Jimmy, to let us in quietly ? " 
 
 " No, I could n't," said Jimmy. " I 've had me im 
 piritive orders, an' I am a man who does his duty." 
 
 " Nobody better. But ef ye could go in an' kape old 
 McDougal in conversation for five minutes while we 
 cript up the office stairs ? " 
 
 " Nothin' of the sort," returned Jimmy, chuckling. 
 " I Ve got me honor an' me conscience." 
 
 "An' what are ye goin' to do with thim vallooables ? " 
 inquired Michael, with fine irony. 
 
 " It 's toime Mr. McDougal was comin' to the door of 
 the office," said Jimmy, drily, "an' accordingly I shall 
 go to the door of the office an' report." 
 
 " An' what shall ye report ? "
 
 41 8 WALFORD. 
 
 " That all 's as still as a mouse," said Jimmy. " I 
 shouldn't take up his attintion with troiflin' interrup 
 tions loike these." 
 
 " An' what shall ye do thin ? " 
 
 " Walk to the other ind of me beat, sure, as me duty 
 is," said Jimmy. 
 
 This plan he followed out to the letter. He reported 
 to McDougal that all was tranquil then, turning on his 
 beat, walked as far to the north of the works as the 
 group of men had been lurking in the shadows to the 
 south. It was a neat trick to allow them to believe 
 they had Mr. Spencer within reach. They would soon 
 find out their mistake, and the humor of the situation 
 was far from being lost upon Jimmy. Meanwhile 
 Michael McCann and Alonzo Sloper, followed by the 
 others, had moved noiselessly on towards the doorway 
 of the works. They had listened to McDougal's brief 
 colloquy with Jimmy, then waited, until five minutes 
 later they heard the Scotchman's voice at the other 
 side of the building. Michael felt that it was now safe 
 to attempt their enterprise. Ever since the afternoon 
 they had been reveling in recollections of their triumph 
 over Spencer, and had been swearing at each other for 
 allowing their victim to escape. Mr. Sloper, with tears 
 in his eyes, had recounted his wrongs, that is, as long 
 as he retained the power to utter coherent words. By 
 this time, he was speechless ; but a dull arabesque of 
 expectation still kept awake the heavy tissues of his 
 brain, and he was eager to see Michael again handling 
 the enemy and getting a little fun out of him. All 
 sorts of rumors were afloat, one being that Spencer was 
 to have them all arrested on the morrow. It needed 
 just this challenge to make Michael eager for the fray.
 
 FATE CUTS THE KNOT. 419 
 
 Alonzo declared that Mr. Spencer was always at the 
 works in the evening ; so they had come. 
 
 Michael tried the outer door, which was, as he ex 
 pected, bolted. He knew the place and remembered 
 the low window at the side. Two bars of iron protected 
 it, but he was a powerful fellow, and soon wrenched 
 them out of the board. In another instant he was in 
 side, had unfastened the bolts, and unlocked the door. 
 
 " Softly, softly," said he as he opened it. " None of 
 yer trampin' here. Stale up like ye was shod in vel 
 vet." 
 
 He himself led the way up the broad, shallow stairs. 
 The office door was open, the light shone out, and 
 the hush of the place roused a half apprehension. 
 Michael began to wish himself through the business, 
 but it was too late to retreat. He pushed forward 
 Alonzo Sloper, who was shaking like a jelly. 
 
 Roger Rexford still lay on the lounge, half conscious 
 and half dozing, in a mood for seeing visions and 
 dreaming dreams. He had a confused sense that some 
 one had entered, but was reluctant to rouse himself. 
 Coerced, however, by a vague, gathering sense of the 
 necessity for being up and alert, he asked, 
 
 " Is that you, Felix ? " 
 
 " Why, it 's Mr. Rexford ! " was the exclamation 
 which brought him to himself, at least roused him to 
 the point of starting to his feet, to gaze horror-stricken 
 at what seemed to him a threatening band of men steal 
 ing towards him. 
 
 " You rascals ! you scoundrels ! " he cried, with a 
 swift movement towards the table, to get hold of his 
 pistols. 
 
 The intruders understood the gesture ; they wheeled
 
 420 WALFORD. 
 
 about, getting in each other's way. There was a sort 
 of scuffle. Alonzo Sloper fell down in sheer fright and 
 cried aloud for help ; the table was overturned. At the 
 same instant a pistol shot rang out keen and sharp. 
 
 The. alarm was general. Within five minutes all the 
 watchmen about the building had gathered. McDougal 
 was the first to enter. The office was empty except for 
 the master of it, who lay across a chair just as he had 
 fallen, with a bullet through his temple, dead.
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 AFTER LIFE'S FITFUL FEVER. 
 
 IT was not clearly known for some little time after 
 ward just how Roger Rexford had been killed. It was 
 at first supposed that some one of the strikers had been 
 the murderer, and a thrill of horror and execration of 
 such a deed ran through the whole body of men who 
 had gone out. 
 
 The next morning, every man who belonged to the 
 works was in his place. All Walford loved Roger 
 Rexford, had known him from his birth and was proud 
 of him, and now mourned him. To this day, when the 
 final act of the tragedy is talked over among the men 
 who gather at the post-office and street corners, not a 
 few of them are heard to declare solemnly that the real 
 truth of Roger Rexford's death had never been told ; 
 that nobody had plucked out the heart of the mystery. 
 For it was not reasonable to suppose that an all-round 
 man like Roger Rexford, calm, strong, sure of himself 
 and of his influence on all who approached him, should 
 have been killed in a scuffle by a chance bullet from his 
 own exploded pistol. 
 
 Yet, had Roger Rexford himself foreseen just how he 
 was to die, he would have said it was but the final knot 
 in the tangled skein of his life, that it ended the miser 
 able web in just the way he might have expected. It 
 had for years been his grievance that he was always at
 
 422 W A WORD. 
 
 the mercy of accident, of events set in motion by no 
 adequate cause. He had felt himself borne round and 
 round in the eddies of a whirlpool ; had had to submit 
 to whatever happened ; had never, by any chance, been 
 able to choose his own path, or use his intellect in 
 shaping circumstances to his own will. 
 
 Rexford Long had received the telegram which Felix 
 Goodeve had sent at Roger's request, and was in Wai- 
 ford next day, before he had heard the news of what 
 had happened. Rex had said to himself a few weeks 
 before that he should probably never see the place 
 again nor Evelyn ; yet here he was. 
 f When he was once more face to face with his cousin, 
 Roger was lying on his side and looked as if asleep. 
 He had been in life a handsome man ; in death he was 
 singularly beautiful. 
 
 If anything rankled in Long's memory it was for 
 given. A wave of love and pity broke over him as he 
 stood and gazed. This was a man who had begun 
 with lofty dreams, who had conceived great enterprises, 
 sure of his strength to carry them out. Let others 
 who had with equal ambition schemed, then bravely 
 borne the full strain and stress and fully executed, 
 judge him for his failure ; Long felt that he himself 
 had known in all his life nothing but selfish ease, com 
 pared with the man who lay before him with a look on 
 his face as if quaffing thirstily of the long-craved boon 
 of rest. 
 
 Both Long and Felix Goodeve had months before 
 them of arduous work in following up the clews of the 
 labyrinth of mismanagement Roger's affairs disclosed, 
 but there was never a word uttered by either in dis 
 praise of the dead master of Rexford's.
 
 AFTER LIFE'S FITFUL FEVER. 423 
 
 " There is no need of Evelyn's knowing," Felix had 
 remarked to Long. 
 
 " I wanted to say to you that somehow we must con 
 trive that she shall never know," Rex had answered. 
 
 " What Madam Van left must be given to the hos 
 pital," Felix added. 
 
 "Every cent of it," said Rex. "When Evelyn is 
 stronger that will be her first wish." 
 
 The blow had for the time crushed Evelyn. Her 
 mind had been rushing with impetuous current towards 
 every possibility of change at the very moment that her 
 husband was brought in dead. 
 
 He had parted with her in a way which had allowed 
 her to miss little of his old tenderness. That final em 
 brace had rent her in two, but it had renewed the old 
 inward bond of love. She sat by Roger all that night, 
 and memory took her back to the time of perfect trust 
 when Roger's very presence had made her happy. Such 
 a surge of sweet poignant recollections broke over her, 
 as she watched, that they helped her to evade the impla 
 cable reality of the present. The marble-like rigidity 
 did not repel her. The yearning she felt to be once 
 more all she had ever been to her husband was enough 
 almost to turn dust into sentient flesh and blood. 
 
 Indeed, to most of us the shock of death of a dear 
 one brings with it a wonderfully vivid sense of the old 
 life at its fullest. Voices speak again ; the sound of 
 happy laughter comes back ; old memories rise and 
 make past joys thrill and vibrate anew. 
 
 It was only when Evelyn was separated from her 
 husband that she realized the inexorableness of the 
 parting, and as she realized it all motive seemed to slip 
 from her. " Try to live," everybody said ; but it must
 
 424 WALFOKD. 
 
 be, she felt, a perfidy Jo the dead to live on ; to put one 
 foot before the other ; to appoint any sort of goal for 
 herself. The outward symbols which served to express 
 that the tie which had made her outward identity was 
 broken brought a new train of thought. Happy mem 
 ories had had their time while Roger was yet within 
 reach. Now that he was remote, forever silent, bitter 
 recollections asserted themselves with cruel force and 
 threatened to exclude everything else. Heart-cutting 
 thoughts of her alienation from him came. She felt 
 again the horror of his recoil when instead of a trusting 
 wife he had found an accuser. She said to herself that 
 she had been wicked, and her irredeemable offense 
 weighed upon her. 
 
 This was the darkness that Evelyn sat in for days. 
 She saw no ray of light through it. Her boy was 
 brought to her and taken away ; Bessy's prattle and 
 caresses fell on deaf ears and unanswering lips. She 
 dared to know no solace. Anything which could 
 suggest that she had a Hfe of her own to lead with 
 fresh interests, hopes, and consolations was a vision from 
 which she turned shudderingly away. 
 
 Then all at once Bessy sickened with scarlet fever.
 
 XXIX. 
 
 RESTITUTION. 
 
 Two of the Porter children had been very ill of scar 
 let fever at the time that Amy brought their father 
 home in the dog-cart ; Bessy, it was to be presumed, 
 had thus taken the infection. 
 
 For the first five days the case promised to be of the 
 mildest character. It was, however, the first ailment 
 the little girl had ever been known to have, and the 
 slight illness roused a painful revolution of feeling in 
 Evelyn. Her whole mind was tinged by presentiments 
 of danger. Since her husband's death she had seemed 
 to lookers-on to be stunned. The rush of thoughts 
 within had made her feel dead to outside impressions, 
 and if she experienced any personal longing it was to 
 nestle, bruised and desolated as she was, into some quiet 
 place and have everything ended. But the moment 
 Amy told her that Bessy had symptoms of scarlatina 
 she rose with a great cry. She gathered the child into 
 her arms, and seemed to be defying an enemy. Not 
 even the light aspect of the disease reassured her. 
 Mrs. Goodeve and Amy, looking on, could hardly fathom 
 the meaning of Evelyn's deadly terror. Although for 
 the sake of her baby she tried to save her strength, it 
 was a wrench like that of parting body and soul for her 
 to separate herself from Bessy. It was a bitter anguish 
 for her to resign the least of a nurse's duties to Amy.
 
 426 WAI.FORD. 
 
 Bessy herself enjoyed the first few days of her ill 
 ness. There was clear comfort in being made much of 
 by her mother, who had of late kept apart ; she liked to 
 be held in Evelyn's arms, to listen to soft, cooing lulla 
 bies, to be fed with milk and broth, and promised jel 
 lies, poached eggs, and chickens, as soon as she should 
 be well enough. 
 
 But the fifth day the child's eyes showed a change ; 
 there was a slight wandering of mind, and towards 
 night convulsions. Evelyn was shut out of the room. 
 
 " Take care of her," Amy said to Felix. " She is 
 almost out of her mind. She frightens me more than 
 Bessy's case does. She must not come into the room 
 again until the child is better." 
 
 Felix carried Evelyn down-stairs. Rexford Long 
 was sitting there in anguished suspense, and he rose and 
 helped to lead her in. 
 
 " She is dying," Evelyn said to him jn a hard, dry 
 voice. " From the first I knew that she must die. It is 
 of no use. They are trying all sorts of remedies and 
 there are three doctors. But she is dying all the same. 
 Nothing can save her. She was certain to die." 
 
 The two men had put her into a chair. They could 
 only gaze at her helplessly. Each felt that he should 
 never have known that it was Evelyn's face looking up 
 at them. The features were distorted with anguish. 
 
 " Dr. Co wdry declares that many a child has been far 
 worse and pulled through," said Felix. "Come now, 
 my mother tells me Bessy is as likely to live as to 
 die." 
 
 "You see they don't know," Evelyn whispered. 
 "We have broken man's laws and God's laws. Her 
 death will put things right. Besides, our sin finds us 
 out ; the guilty must suffer."
 
 RESTITUTION. 427 
 
 " You are not guilty, Evelyn," said Long, his heart 
 quaking with hers, in presentiment. 
 
 " I am guilty," she said in a voice born of pain. " I 
 have known for months that she was not really my 
 own Bessy, and that all that money ought to have gone 
 to the children's hospital. It is being visited on me 
 now. Her death will put things right. We would not 
 do our duty, and now it is being done for us." 
 
 " Evelyn," said Long, " Felix and I have talked over 
 that matter about Madam Van's will. I told him you 
 had more than a grain of doubt about Bessy's identity, 
 and he said at once that the thing to do was to give up 
 the money. It is going to be done. It is already being 
 done. Now it shall be done at once." 
 
 " You see," said Felix, " we did not like to throw 
 any suspicion upon the dear little creature's belonging 
 to us. Now, don't you see, this illness offers an occa 
 sion. Madam Van's property shall go to the hospital 
 as your thank-offering for her recovery." 
 
 " Can it go ? Can it be paid over ? " asked Evelyn, 
 with evident doubt. " I was afraid some of it had been 
 used." 
 
 " It shall be paid over, principal and interest," said 
 Felix. " It is going to be paid over. When I found 
 out that you had had such a cause of trouble, I told 
 Rex that the legal dilemma should no longer exist. We 
 are all one family. I want to look at Bessy without a 
 doubt that she is in her rightful place." 
 
 " If the money could go where it belongs," faltered 
 Evelyn in a pitiful voice, " perhaps I might hope. Oh, 
 let it go. Sell this place, sell everything. That last 
 night Roger told me that he was going to have day 
 light in his affairs, and asked if I should be willing to
 
 428 WALFORD. 
 
 \ 
 
 take the consequences. Perhaps he meant whether I 
 should mind being poorer. I would rather be poor. I 
 should be glad to be poor, if I could only have 
 Bessy " She started up. " Some one is on the stairs," 
 she whispered. 
 
 It was Dr. Cowdry. He brought the news that the 
 child had come safely out of the paroxysm. It had 
 been caused by a slight complication, which he trusted 
 and believed was removed. Even if it should return, 
 Miss Standish understood very well how to treat it. 
 
 Evelyn accepted this reprieve like a direct sign from 
 heaven. She was no longer pierced by the presenti 
 ment that Bessy's life was to pay the forfeit of the 
 wrong others had done. 
 
 The child soon surmounted the dangers of the dis 
 ease. Evelyn had the whole winter to devote to the 
 task of nursing her, and bringing her back to complete 
 health. The money was given over, nobody except 
 Felix Goodeve and Rexford Long were ever to know 
 at what sacrifice, for the children's hospital as a 
 thank-offering. 
 
 Evelyn saw nothing in her husband's course which 
 any one could blame. He too had wished the property 
 to belong to its rightful owners. She never ceased to 
 condemn herself for having, in ignorance of the prob 
 lems which confronted him, been arrogant, unjust and 
 cruel. There must always remain that little sting at 
 her heart. But she believes that before the end came 
 he had forgiven and reinstated her. 
 
 Felix and Amy were quietly married the following 
 Easter. They have continued to live in Walford, for 
 Felix is at the head of the Rexford Manufacturing
 
 RESTITUTION. 429 
 
 Company. Amy's activities have widened, not nar 
 rowed ; the fire of her soul has not lessened, but has 
 turned into tenderness and self-abnegation. For she 
 still believes that her happiness is something excep 
 tional. She finds perpetual comfort in her husband, 
 although she sometimes says, "Felix, I never feel abso 
 lutely sure you are not laughing at me, ever so little." 
 
 " I laugh that I may not cry," he returns, " for I 'm 
 so running over with pride in you and joy in you." 
 
 Spencer, cruelly humiliated and hopelessly defeated 
 in all his dearest objects as for the time he had felt 
 himself to be, was destined nevertheless to re-trick his 
 beams. He had had some very curious and unplea 
 sant sensations, while he believed himself to be in dan 
 ger ; and for a long time afterwards the experience 
 humbled him. Roger Rexford's death gave a terrible 
 shock to his sensibilities ; all the more because it was, 
 after a little investigation, discovered that the men who 
 broke into the works were in search of himself. Spen 
 cer thus could not help realizing with a shudder what 
 might have been his own fate. Roger's death deprived 
 him of his best friend, and he was at first in despair 
 about his own future. The Goodeves, however, were 
 always staunch friends and did not easily let go their 
 grip upon any one who had shown any signs of faithful 
 ness. And Spencer had been, in many ways, faithful. 
 Felix had a talk with him. Spencer had been a little run 
 away with by his belief in his own surpassing cleverness, 
 also by an ambition which events had relentlessly 
 curbed. When he was offered a good place in the 
 Western branch, he now accepted it gratefully. He was 
 glad to leave Walford. It may, however, be of interest 
 to relate, that eighteen months later he returned, and
 
 430 WALFOKD. 
 
 happening to encounter Miss Leo Sloper, he found her 
 so pretty, so much developed, so exactly what he ad 
 mired, that he at once returned to his old allegiance. 
 Mrs. Felix Goodeve had done all she could for Leo, 
 who had also done all she could for herself. Alonzo 
 Sloper had by this time paid the penalty of his consis 
 tent habits of dissipation, and had been cut off in the 
 very vigor of his middle age. His nerves had, it is to 
 be feared, been shaken by the terrible accident which 
 ended the Walford strike, and henceforth it was his way, 
 whenever the painful recollection rose to his thoughts, 
 to reach out his shaking hand for a fresh glass of some 
 thing to reassure him. 
 
 And do we need to say any more of Evelyn ? She is 
 living with her two children in the place by the river, 
 and if not completely happy, it is because along with a 
 feeling of complete happiness comes a pang of convic 
 tion that perhaps she ought not to be too happy. She 
 keeps very busy, for Bessy's mind grows with her 
 growth and strengthens with her strength, and her activi 
 ties are boundless. Evelyn endeavors to hold a loving 
 curb over the bright little girl ; she tries to teach both 
 children, although Theodore is still too young to take 
 to philosophy, that we must choose always to do 
 what we know to be exactly right ; that pleasure is 
 nothing, that rewards are nothing, so long as it is our 
 own narrow advantage we seek ; that we must be true, 
 and honest, and open, and pure of heart, and each day 
 let God's own sunlight shine through our most hidden 
 thoughts. 
 
 Rexford Long is often in Walford. He has never 
 yet spoken a word of love to Evelyn. The three years
 
 RESTITUTION. 431 
 
 of her mourning for Roger will soon be over, and then, 
 he tells himself, he may dare to end the long silence. 
 But he also tells himself that he dares hope nothing ; 
 that it is a bliss beyond his deserts to think of gaining 
 Evelyn for a nearer relation, and that rather than cause 
 her a moment's pain he would go on lonely to the end. 
 Yet all the time he is impatient, perhaps the more so 
 that Evelyn is sometimes a little shy of him, for she re 
 members, she cannot help remembering, certain 
 words of Roger's. Felix Goodeve looks on with an 
 occasional twinkle of the eye when he sees the two to 
 gether, but all he has ever said on the subject was 
 when he asked Rex if he had ever told Evelyn the story 
 of her own little Bessy's end. 
 
 "No, not yet," Rex had answered. "I sometimes 
 feel as if I never should dare to tell her." 
 
 Felix put his hand on his cousin's shoulder : 
 
 "Yes," he said, softly. "Years hence, perhaps, when 
 Evelyn has been your own wife a long time, and when 
 she is perfectly happy again, tell her. By that day it 
 will be rest and peace for her to know. For she must 
 often wonder about it." 
 
 Rex turned all colors as Felix said this, but did not 
 answer. Perhaps such encouragement made him all the 
 more impatient for the appointed limit to be reached. 
 Then he will speak, and speak, we can fancy, quiet, 
 silent fellow although he is, with an eloquence born of 
 his long repression. It is not probable that Evelyn will 
 hear him without a shock of strong emotion; without 
 cruel pain and a feeling of repugnance. For the mem 
 ory will return, with cruel vividness, of those words 
 which hurt her long ago, to which this full confession 
 will give a meaning they did not at first hold ; her
 
 432 WALFORD. 
 
 husband's jealousy of Rex will seem to her a prohibi 
 tion. With the first imperious force of her conviction 
 that she ought always to be true to Roger, she will per 
 haps send Rex away, almost with bitter words. But she 
 knows well, even by this time, that she cannot live with 
 out him ; that she depends at every turn upon his de 
 cision, his companionship. Her children love him so 
 well, they will be his avengers. If he goes away at her 
 bidding with sorrow he is likely to return in joy. 
 
 Evelyn is not a woman of theories. She only feels 
 strong in the strength and security of her affections. 
 With all our love for her absolute consistency of char 
 acter from first to last, we can imagine her saying some 
 time, perhaps years, hence : 
 
 " I see it all now, Rex. I always loved you, that is, 
 with the real love of* my life. I was a child when I 
 married Roger." 
 
 And Bessy ? Shall we say anything more of her ? 
 The gift for the hospital went in her name and Madam 
 Van's. She has, as it were, expiated the unconscious 
 offense of her happy little life. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 Date Due
 
 A 001 384189 5