n .:■ 
 
 
 enoRAViLLenA 
 
 Ana 
 
 RAV'-arpLDHAven RomARce 
 
 
 
/ I'BRARy 
 
(By the same author.) 
 
 RKAIv >PKOPIvK. 
 
 Comprising "A Spanish-American Engagement," "Bertram 
 Born," "Keepsakes," "Parsifal, Paul and Pauline," "Good- 
 bye TO Common Sense" and "Concha Casablanca." 
 
 The author has lightness of touch and, above all, true artistic feel- 
 ing. We are inclined to think that there are not more than two or 
 three people in this country who could have equaled Mr. Wilcox 
 in his first short sketch. "A Spanish-American Engagement" is a 
 gem. " Bertram Born" is a smgular conception and a character 
 such as Louis Stevenson might have thought of. Miss Rich is a 
 charming creation and her mother a typical American. " Parsifal, 
 Paul and Pauline" is a clever analysis of Wagner.— A^. Y. Ti7nes. 
 
 Very clever and diversified papers Two Spanish-American 
 
 sketches, which are both good and strikingly original. Yale College 
 has had its authors who have depicted its life in pleasant fiction, 
 but Mr. Wilcox is quite worthy to be associated with Willis and 
 "Ik. Marvel." — The Ch7irchman. 
 
 A rare little book. It may be a "light repast" that the author 
 (as he says) has provided, but it is served in faultless taste and with 
 an exquisite literary art. There are six distinct courses, and one 
 rises from the table refreshed, delighted, and eager for another 
 such charming entertainment.— //rtr^A'rrf Courant. 
 
 The author of " Real People" has a fine artistic sense, delicacy 
 of touch, keenness of perception, facility of expression and grace 
 of diction. — Albany Eventing Journal, 
 
 A great charm about the book is that while it is very bright, and 
 apparently designed for light reading, it contains a great deal that 
 is calculated to attract the attention of the most thoughtful.- 
 
 — Savannah Morning News. 
 
 In sketchy fashion he delineates individualities and then lets them 
 work out their details through their speech and acts, with the result 
 that we have the type as distinct and clear-cut as though we had 
 gained our acquaintance by wearisome microscopic work. 
 
 — Buffalo Express. 
 
 Studies of men and women which happily exhibit the author's 
 insight into human nature and general literary talent. There is a 
 snap and piquancy about one of them, "A Spanish-American En- 
 gagement," that is to be particularly remarked ; and the longest of 
 the stories, " Keepsakes,'' has grace, humor, and several scenes 
 which suggest the writer's talent for more extended work in 
 fiction. — The hidependent. 
 
 There is that in it which challenges attention and commands 
 respect. — Bziffalo Conunercial AdTertiser. 
 
 The title is fully justified by the lifelike presentation which is 
 made of the persons mtroduced. They are so described in general 
 and in detail that they actually live before xi&.— Troy 'Telegram. 
 
 Almost matchless character \)\c\.\ir&5.— Boston Home Jojirnal. 
 
 The "real people" whom one meets in these pages are ac- 
 quaintances wortn having. — Cambridge Tribune. 
 
 We are deeply in love with both Gloria and Concha.— ^(7j/^<7« Post. 
 
 " Keepsakes" is a notable production. Throughout this story 
 the author shows that he possesses the art of enthralling and 
 graphic description. Mr. Wilcox is happy in his method of depicting 
 character, and often makes a single sentence do the work of pages. 
 
 —Buffalo Courier. 
 
 16mo, cloth, $1.00. WMte, Stokes & AUen, 182 Fifth Ave., N. T. 
 
SENORA VILLENA 
 
 AND 
 
 Gray: An Oldhaven Romance 
 
 TIVO VOLUMES IN ONE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF ''REAL PEOPLE] 
 
 gtfa) gork 
 
 WHITE, STOKES & ALLEN 
 
 1887 
 
MAIS LIB. 
 
 Copyright, 1887, 
 By MARION WILCOX. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 PRESS OF TUTTtE MOREHOUSE A TAYLOR, NEW HAVEN. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 SENORA VILLENA : 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dr. Vincent and his Sevilla, . . . . i 
 
 Jos6 Maria Rodriguez, 9 
 
 Senora Villena, 20 
 
 Gloria, 34 
 
 Medina, 44 
 
 Monday. Act I, 53 
 
 Tuesday. Act II, 80 
 
 Wednesday. Act III, 102 
 
 Soir6e at Sevilla, 122 
 
 The Spanish Session, 148 
 
 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE: 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Preface, 3 
 
 Part I— By Mr. Penman, .... 7 
 
 Part II— By Mrs. Eaton, "7 
 
 Conclusion— By Mr. Penman, . . . .247 
 
 ■955- 
 
 463 
 
SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Erastro, el corazon que en alta parte 
 Es puesto por el hado, suerte 6 sino, 
 Quererle derribar por fuerza 6 arte, 
 O diligencia humana, es desatino. 
 
 — Cervantes : La Galatea 
 
DR. VINCENT AND HIS SE VILLA 
 
 A cada vuelta se mira 
 
 En los ojos de su amor, 
 
 Yen la luz de aquellos soles 
 
 Se le quema el corazon. — Zorrilla. 
 
 R. VINCENT and Gloria contin- 
 ued to live in New-York for sev- 
 eral years after their marriage. 
 For a time, that is to* say, the 
 mere fact that they were married to each 
 other was in itself sufficient, and it did 
 not occur to either of them to make an}^ 
 change. They lived in the indicative 
 mood, present tense, repeating to each 
 other '' I am, thou art, we are," and tak- 
 ing no thought of might, could, would or 
 should. 
 
 I like to think of them in the positive, 
 straight-forward, simple part of their con- 
 jugation, for their present was almost per- 
 fect. To him she was constantly an ex- 
 pression or express image of those hidden 
 thoughts and ideal strivings which he so 
 seldom dared to utter ; to her he was still 
 
2 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 transfigured by virtue of his having once 
 or twice dared for her sake to show the 
 depth and strength and beauty of his na- 
 ture. 
 
 After several years, however, they both 
 had a touch of the subjunctive. This is 
 how it came about : I give their conversa- 
 tion without changing one syllable. 
 
 At that time, it should be premised, 
 Gloria was not quite an invalid. 
 
 Gloria : Don't you think — somebody — 
 mamita, in fact — thought it might be bet- 
 ter — 
 
 Vincent : For him ? 
 
 Gloria : Him ! It may be her. It might 
 be better for it not to be in the city when 
 it first comes. 
 
 Vincent : Very true ; and we Avould be 
 happy in the country ourselves. 
 
 Nothing further was said at the time by 
 either. We know their habit of silence, 
 and can easily guess, by the tender and 
 dreamy expression of her face, in what 
 quarter Gloria's thoughts were busied. 
 As for Vincent, he was reflecting how his 
 own earliest association had been with the 
 country, in harmless freedom. 
 
 He also showed himself to be an ama- 
 teur in philosophy, of course : otherwise 
 
SEJ^ORA VILLENA J 
 
 he would not have been a modern man at 
 leisure. 
 
 "Whether it be true or not," he rea- 
 soned, "that a child imbibes the love of 
 beauty, and so a useful ambition, from 
 such surroundings, this at least is certain : 
 unless our boy enjoys flowers and all that 
 kind of thing soon after he is born, he will 
 never do it ; for after a while he will begin 
 to smoke." 
 
 So a transfer was agreed upon without 
 discussion, and they changed their resi- 
 dence to a town sometimes called Old- 
 haven in the vicinity of New-York. 
 
 Surely I may pass quickly over the 
 period of change, inasmuch as they them- 
 selves made little ado about it, and may 
 dismiss with a word, also, that season of 
 suspense and anxious expectation in which 
 their vocabulary was limited to I, thou, 
 we, he, she or it. 
 
 The close of this period was marked by 
 a burst of happiness which I should be 
 glad to describe if adequate description 
 were possible ; but the best experiences 
 of life are known only by their fruits. 
 This best experience will surely teach 
 one to pity, and it may inspire some gen- 
 ial work to which heart and brain con- 
 
4 SEJ^ORA VILLENA 
 
 tribute equally ; but I can only suggest 
 what it meant to Gloria and Vincent by 
 asking the reader to dwell upon the sig- 
 nificance of the following transposition of 
 pronouns, and the emphatic position of 
 the first : 
 
 He, thou, we, I. 
 
 But this list is not complete. I want to 
 show this family of three fully alive in the 
 perfect present ; and two pronouns, with 
 the infinite variety of action and suffering 
 which may follow them, are still wanting. 
 
 Let me devote a few sentences to the 
 pronouns you and they. 
 
 The house which Vincent bought in 
 Oldhaven was not one of those pitiful 
 wooden expedients which stand out-of- 
 doors in the cold, shivering, with noth- 
 ing over them. No : it was a substantial 
 structure of stone and brick, offering a 
 determined front to the elements. Unpre- 
 tentious and even rugged externally, with- 
 in it was secure. We desire an all-the- 
 year-round friendship with such a house ; 
 for its thick walls promise warmth in win- 
 ter and coolness in summer. The expres- 
 sion just used, '*a determined front," 
 might be misleading. I therefore hasten 
 to add a point of great importance. The 
 
SENORA VILLENA 5 
 
 sides of Dr. Vincent's dwelling were 
 neither less nor more attractive than the 
 front ; while the rear, vine-covered and 
 ornamented with balconies, was really 
 very pretty. 
 
 But after all the best thing about the 
 house was the garden — a pleasant, old- 
 fashioned place, Avith an abundance of 
 flowers and fruit trees and gravel-walks, 
 with box hedges, and arbors and a suffi- 
 cient lawn. 
 
 Unless I succeed in conveying the im- 
 pression that these are features of genuine 
 comfort, without one bit of affectation or 
 display, I miss my intention. The exact 
 amount of Vincent's income I do not 
 know ; but it was unquestionably much 
 more than enough to keep up this modest 
 style of living. What became of the sur- 
 plus ? If you have any acquaintance 
 among the poor of Oldhaven, you may 
 learn from them. 
 
 Perhaps it was the solid strength of the 
 walls of the house which gave to any per- 
 son visiting at Dr. Vincent's home a sense 
 of security and easy enjoyment; perhaps 
 it was the row of shade-trees, rising like a 
 leafy wall around the limits of the garden 
 and suggesting seclusion in pleasant com- 
 
6 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 pany ; perhaps it was the spirit of gener- 
 osity which a guest began to breathe in 
 with the air as soon as he arrived, thus 
 unconsciously, as the doctors say, " con- 
 tracting" generosity, and gaining the con- 
 viction that he had a right to his comforts 
 if he made giving his chief kixur}^ Per- 
 haps ; but I think not. I think it was 
 this : 
 
 Nobody could tell when Dr. Vincent 
 would play. It might be in season or out 
 of season. '' Where is our host ? " some- 
 one would ask, and Gloria would reply 
 that he had seemed rather quiet and 
 thoughtful, so she supposed that he must 
 have gone to the library. Suddenly an 
 exquisite breath of harmony would be 
 heard, at first so faint and uncertain that 
 it might have been from an ^Eolian harp, 
 and only the quickest ears would catch it. 
 But when this had grown into a strong 
 melody, all activities ceased throughout 
 the house. The music of Vincent's violin 
 was like the spell which bound the senti- 
 nel at the gate and the turnspit in the 
 kitchen of the castle of the Sleeping 
 Beauty. 
 
 Those of Vincent's friends who did not 
 allow for Gloria's influence thought it odd 
 
SES'ORA VILLENA 7 
 
 that this side of his nature should remain 
 a thing apart from his ordinary life. He 
 never referred to his music nor allowed 
 other people to refer to it. In manner he 
 was cheerful rather than serious, full of 
 delicate humor, not self-absorbed, but 
 ready with thoughtful attention and kind 
 service for his guests. 
 
 I think it was this music which made 
 the peculiarity of the place. 
 
 As for Gloria's influence, I beg to refer 
 you for further evidence of that to Vin- 
 cent's own speech and action as recorded 
 in the following pages ; but without delay 
 I must mention the tribute which her hus- 
 band paid to it and to her in naming their 
 home Sevilla. That was as though he had 
 said : Thanks to you, I have here the best 
 of all that is Spanish. 
 
 In Sevilla he gathered about himself 
 people who entertained him and each 
 other, not all of one kind, but those who 
 at the same time stimulated and set-off 
 one another. A company, he maintained, 
 should be selected as the dramatis personce 
 are chosen by the playwright — for the 
 sake of contrast and dramatic effect. We 
 might, therefore, go together to Sevilla at 
 almost any season, confidently expecting 
 
S SENORA VILLENA 
 
 to find there several people worth taking 
 a good look at ; but since June is a pleas- 
 ant month in the country, and since 
 senora Villena and the Medinas and 
 Teresa Diaz, all of whom we know,"^ 
 were there during ten days of last June, 
 let us choose that season. 
 
 Beside those who have been mentioned, 
 Jose Maria Rodriguez — not a Cuban, but 
 a Spaniard of the Spaniards, from old 
 Sevilla — was also there. 
 
 These people being together in a gar- 
 den in the pleasant month of June, either 
 mischief or fun was sure to ensue. 
 
 And now the present tense has been 
 completed by the addition of those peo- 
 ple whom Dr. Vincent could befriend, as 
 the poor, or entertain, as guests. Togeth- 
 er these make for him and for Gloria the 
 pronoun they. 
 
 And the you ? 
 
 You may be any one of the guests you 
 like. 
 
 * Characters in " Real People." 
 
JOSE MARIA RODRIGUEZ 
 
 NE morning Gloria and Teresa 
 were sitting together in an ar- 
 bor near the house. 
 
 The sisters had no doubt much 
 to say to each other, for they had been 
 together but once before since Gloria had 
 left New-York. Especially the married 
 sister had much to communicate. There 
 was, for instance, the inexhaustible sub- 
 ject of her American acquaintances and 
 her impressions of them, not to mention 
 her husband and the changes in his char- 
 acter since he, an American of English 
 descent, had married a Spaniard. Above 
 all, there was the superb baby to be dis- 
 cussed. 
 
 Instead of chatting, however, they were 
 quite silent for a long time, Gloria sew- 
 ing, Teresa dreaming with her hands 
 crossed. They both had the same subject 
 in mind, and both knew that very well. 
 Finally Gloria decided to come to the 
 point. 
 
lO - SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Gloria : What are you thinking of, little 
 sister ? 
 
 Teresa : Nothing at all, in truth. 
 
 Gloria: How long have you known 
 sefior Rodriguez? 
 
 Teresa: How long? I do not know 
 him. Have you forgotten the rules at 
 home? 
 
 Gloria : I do not forget. I remember : 
 and that is the very reason why I ask you 
 how long you have known him. If three 
 days, you may be safe still. 
 
 Teresa: You know it must be longer. 
 You know he is a business friend of papa 
 dear. 
 
 Gloria : If three months, you are in dan- 
 ger — and so is he. 
 
 Teresa (languidly): You think I am a 
 flirt still ? 
 
 Gloria : I know it. You have never 
 cared for any man more than a week, and 
 this Rodriguez you have had chances 
 enough to see — I have not forgotten how 
 we used to manage — ever since last Christ- 
 mas, when papa took him to the house to 
 dinner. 
 
 Teresa : You pretended not to know ! 
 
 Gloria : I know enough to suspect you, 
 and I have eyes to see that you are not 
 
SENORA VILLENA H 
 
 tired of him. But since you have known 
 him so long and are not yet tired of him, 
 it follows that he is the one exception, and 
 that you 
 
 Teresa : Hush ! 
 
 Gloria (looking up from her sewing): 
 What is it ? 
 
 Teresa : He is coming. Shut your eyes 
 once in a while, little sister. 
 
 From the window of his bed-room Rod- 
 riguez had seen the two ladies enter the 
 arbor. Being a man of the world, he did 
 not follow them immediately, but gave 
 them time to exchange confidences and 
 improved the interval by arranging his 
 plan of action and perfecting his toilet; 
 for in matters of dress and affairs of the 
 heart, Rodriguez was an artist. 
 
 The situation was less novel, and there- 
 fore less perplexing, to him than it would 
 have been to me or, I venture to say, to 
 the reader. Teresa had been so beautiful 
 and so languid the evening before that he 
 had lost at least half a night's sleep in con- 
 sequence. That sort of thing could not 
 be allowed to continue. It was impera- 
 tive that the proper revelation of his senti- 
 ments should be made before bed-time ; 
 but how? It must be an irresistible ap- 
 
12 SEIZOR A VI L LENA 
 
 peal, and yet he could not hope to see her 
 alone. But every one will admit that it is 
 more difficult to be irresistible in the pres- 
 ence of a third person. 
 
 Such obstacles stimulated the Span- 
 iard's desire and strengthened his resolu- 
 tion. The mirror which reflected a more 
 and more faultless toilet, reflected also a 
 more and more confident expression upon 
 the handsome face of Don Jose. His per- 
 son and his plan were ready for use when 
 Teresa cried, '' Hush ! He is coming." 
 
 Gloria greeted her guest cordially and, 
 when he had bowed low to her and then 
 to her sister, made him sit down beside her. 
 
 Gloria (secretly admiring his broad 
 shoulders and muscular neck, but not his 
 new coat) : We were just speaking about 
 you, sefior ; and that proves that you will 
 interest us most by telling us about your- 
 self. 
 
 Rodriguez : I must obey you, Mrs. Vin- 
 cent ; and the first thing I tell you is this : 
 I am most happy here in your house. I 
 am most happy. 
 
 Gloria : What a serious compliment ! I 
 shall acknowledge it when I believe it, 
 and I shall believe it when you stay with 
 us a very long time. 
 
SENORA VILLENA IJ 
 
 Rodriguez: Well, we are serious, we 
 Spaniards. I cannot help it. 
 
 Gloria : Serious ! You don't know what 
 the word means. 
 
 Rodriguez : I do not mean like the Amer- 
 icans : they are terrible ! But we are 
 more serious than you Cubans are, you 
 know, and so we miss one half the pleas- 
 ure of living". 
 
 Gloria : If the poor Cubans did not have 
 light hearts, what good thing would be 
 left them ? Spain w^ould take away their 
 right to laugh, and sell it for money 
 
 Teresa (interrupting to divert the con- 
 versation from the treacherous ground of 
 Cuba's oppression by Spain) : Is Sevilla, 
 your city, so lovely as I hear, senor ? 
 
 Rodriguez : It is like this place of your 
 sister, which is therefore well named, 
 senorita. It is charming. Even if you 
 were a stranger passing through its streets 
 you would say : there is no other city 
 which is a paradise. You would see 
 through the archway of each house a 
 beautiful court within, with flowering 
 plants and a fountain in the center, where 
 the family meet, and friends come, and 
 the most wonderful stories are told. Ah, 
 but it makes me sad, very sad, to think of 
 
14 SE^ORA VILLENA 
 
 this ; and I shall return never until I am 
 happy. 
 
 Teresa (with mild wonder) : You have 
 not been happy there ! 
 
 Rodriguez (leaning forward and speak- 
 ing earnestly): That I will tell you, to 
 you, seiiorita; and I have never told it 
 before. My father came to the United 
 States when a boy to go to school. Here 
 he remained two years. Among his mas- 
 ters in school was an old Spaniard who 
 taught music in the academy. He lived 
 just out of the town in a poor little cot- 
 tage with* his only child, Mercedes, who 
 was most beautiful. At this time she was 
 only twelve and my father he was sixteen. 
 Her father was poor, very poor, and had 
 only the money which he derived from 
 his lessons in town. He was evidently 
 one of those geniuses who never find an 
 audience — never ; for although he , com- 
 posed music, heavenly music, no one has 
 ever heard it, with the exception of my 
 father and the favored few who have 
 heard his daughter sing it after his death. 
 It was the love of music which drew these 
 three people together, and my father 
 spent almost all his spare time at the little 
 cottage, either playing the guitar or lis- 
 
SENORA VILLENA 15 
 
 tening to the old teacher's divine compo- 
 sitions. Then too they became very dear 
 to each other because they were all of one 
 race and all in a foreign land. It was 
 there, even then, that my father lost his 
 heart to Mercedes. He called her his lit- 
 tle Avife and made the master call him 
 " hijo mio " (my son). When the old musi- 
 cian would fall into melancholy, fearing 
 for his little daughter and wondering 
 what would become of her after his death, 
 then they would embrace and weep to- 
 gether, and my father would swear by all 
 the saints that Mercedes should never 
 want, that she should be his wife and that 
 he would cherish her above all things on 
 earth. Five years afterwards, while at 
 home in Sevilla, my father has received 
 news of the death of the master. He 
 went back to America and married Mer- 
 cedes ; then returned to Spain, where I 
 have been born and where he lived with 
 his beautiful wife in perfect happiness for 
 twelve years. 
 
 When Rodriguez had reached this point 
 in his story, his expression and manner 
 underwent a sudden transformation. He 
 had been addressing himself impartially 
 to Gloria and Teresa, receiving encour- 
 
l6 SEIZOR A VILLENA 
 
 agement from the former but scarcely a 
 mark of attention from the latter. Now 
 he collected all his forces for a magnetic 
 storm. 
 
 A moment before all three members of 
 the little group in the arbor had been con- 
 scious of the loveliness of the morning, 
 and in addition Gloria had been conscious 
 of her sewing and Teresa of the fragrance 
 of violets, which was as truly character- 
 istic of her person as indolence was char- 
 acteristic of her nature. Now Rodriguez 
 had secured the opportunity to speak as 
 his feeling prompted, and that was with 
 such passion that the sisters drew close 
 together and clasped each-other's hands. 
 
 He began to speak about his love for 
 his mother ; but Teresa read in his face 
 and heard in the tones of his voice a mes- 
 sage intended for herself alone. Then he 
 lavished upon his mother such praise as 
 the filial sentiment never suggests ; and 
 Teresa saw that he was studying his 
 description of the mother's perfections 
 from her own person. Finally he painted 
 such an enchanting picture of his mother's 
 ideal life, surrounded by all that is admir- 
 able in the birth-place and home of Span- 
 ish art, that Teresa lost her judgment in 
 
seNora villena 17 
 
 contemplation and did not notice that the 
 details of this picture were but copies of 
 her own well-known tastes and fancies. 
 
 Do not suppose from this that the pas- 
 sion of Rodriguez was artifice. The 
 slightest touch of sham would have 
 ruined everything, for it would have been 
 instantly detected. It was not artifice, 
 but art. And you may be sure that it 
 was not mere passionate warmth, but that 
 it was fire. I offer proof. 
 
 Teresa's eyes were dark, tender and 
 secret things — which I cannot call fea- 
 tures without conveying the false impres- 
 sion that anybody and everybody could 
 see them. Anybody and everybody could 
 see that they were large and dark, but 
 nothing more. Rodriguez himself had 
 never seen more than that ; but now, as 
 his story progressed, those dreamy eyes 
 became more and more brilliant, until 
 finally they were like flames. Warmth 
 may beget tenderness ; but flame answers 
 only to fire. 
 
 When Rodriguez saw that light kindled, 
 he was satisfied. In the presence of a 
 third person he had declared his passion, 
 had urged his suit in the most effective 
 manner, and had received encouragement. 
 
l8 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 That was enough. His artistic sense put 
 a period. 
 
 If he had continued to speak in this 
 strain his gladness would have showed 
 itself, Gloria would have noticed both 
 that and her sister's expression and would 
 have discovered the plot. The charm of 
 the situation would have been lost. It 
 cost a real but no apparent effort for him 
 to continue his story, as though that had 
 been from the first his only intention. He 
 did not dare to look at Teresa, but ad- 
 dressed himself exclusively to Gloria. 
 
 "When I was little more than ten years 
 old," he said, " my father was called sud- 
 denly to New York on business of great 
 importance. He did not take us with 
 him, alas ! It was the first separation. I 
 cannot bear to tell the great sorrow that 
 afterwards fell upon me. I had never 
 known anything but joy ; and while my 
 father was away my beautiful mother took 
 me closer than ever to herself, so that I 
 was very happy. . . . When he stepped 
 on land, my father, he found me dressed 
 in deep mourning. My mother whom I 
 adored had gone mad and died in four 
 days : and I saw it all. Do you wonder, 
 Mrs. Vincent, that the paradise called 
 
SEiVOJ^A VILLENA IQ 
 
 Sevilla was hateful to me until I had 
 learned that such things happen every- 
 where ?" 
 
 Gloria put out her hand, which Rod- 
 riguez took with profound respect, hold- 
 ing it for a moment in silence and then 
 raising it to his lips. So they became 
 friends. 
 
 Then the joy of a hopeful lover as- 
 serted itself and would no longer be con- 
 trolled. Rodriguez began to sing the 
 praise of his host and this new Sevilla 
 which he had founded ; and I verily be- 
 lieve that if he had thought of the new 
 baby-carriage he would have praised that 
 also. 
 
 " How extremely considerate of him," 
 Gloria thought, '' to give the conversation 
 a cheerful turn so promptly, after that 
 sad story." 
 
 But I dare not record what they said 
 after that, for they fell to discussing per- 
 fumes and perfumery. In that depart- 
 ment they were all three very learned 
 and strictly scientific, using terms which I 
 do not understand. 
 
SENORA VILLENA 
 
 URING the half-hour which Rod- 
 riguez, in his bachelor room, de- 
 voted to plans for the conquest 
 of one. Concha Casablanca Me- 
 dina, in her more sumptuous chamber, 
 made her customary preparation to win 
 pi-aise from all the world. 
 
 Medina had risen early, put on his stout- 
 est shoes, and joined Vincent in a morn- 
 ing walk to the post-office. He had bid- 
 den his wife good-bye as though setting 
 out upon a long and perilous journey. 
 The reader is invited to draw from this 
 circumstance his own conclusions as to 
 the time which had elapsed since that 
 Sunday afternoon when Miguel won 
 " pounds and pounds " of candy by help- 
 ing his merry aunt to a modest husband. 
 
 Concha had on a new dressing-sacque, 
 so she decided to take her morning cup of 
 coffee with senora Villena. 
 
 Cvip in hand she crossed the hall and 
 stood at her good friend's door and 
 knocked. 
 
SENORA VILLENA 21 
 
 " Caramba ! Com' quick in !" 
 
 Concha turned the knob and entered. 
 
 ''Oh ! 's jou, Conchita?" said the senora. 
 " Why jou knock ? I thought 's that leetle 
 moankey." 
 
 " What monkey, Coralie ?" 
 
 '' That leetle nayg-ro bo-ee, that leetle 
 moankey," she repeated impatiently. ''Jou 
 know, Conchita, he bringer the water, eh ?" 
 
 " No, I am not the little black boy in 
 buttons," said Concha. " But, good gra- 
 cious ! my dear, what is the matter with 
 you this morning ? You look so oddly." 
 
 Senora Villena had waked up with a 
 pain in her shoulder, and had immediately 
 begun to think over all the misdeeds and 
 frivolities of her life. She reached the 
 conclusion that she was an old woman, 
 and that the Lord had finally decided to 
 punish her. When Concha entered she 
 was dressed very plainly, her hair ar- 
 ranged not in her usual fashion of /7'ise 
 but drawn down almost over her ears. 
 Seated in a rocking-chair she swayed to 
 and fro as she replied : 
 
 " I teller jou, girl, I am now growing to 
 be an old, verie old, an' I must act myself 
 liker wong" (like one). " I dress me verie 
 plain, verie plain." 
 
22 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 '' Bah !" said Concha. '' Nothing of the 
 kind." She had seen her friend melan- 
 choly once or twice before. 
 
 '' But 1 mean it," persisted the senora. 
 " I mean it for sure. Yes, Conchita, Con- 
 chita !" 
 
 " Whom do you think I met just before 
 we left town — let me see, day before yes- 
 terday ? Whom do you think, Coralie ?" 
 Concha asked. 
 
 '' I don' know, my dear," said the 
 senora, indifferently. 
 
 " Well, guess. Someone you like," Con- 
 cha urged. 
 
 '' No, I cannot guess. I don' care." 
 
 '' That delightful Monsieur Lafitte," Con- 
 cha said ; " and he told me he saw you at 
 the theater last Wednesday night, and 
 that he had never seen you look so well. 
 He said you had a beautiful costume on, 
 and your diamonds were superb." 
 
 While Concha was speaking, a change 
 came gradually over the senora's woeful 
 face. For an instant she tried to resist it, 
 but in vain ; for her heart was very much 
 stronger than her head. The change stole 
 upward, lifting her chin perceptibly, then 
 drawing the corners of her mouth with it 
 on its way to her eyes, which it set dancing. 
 
SEIVORA VILLENA 23 
 
 " Don' say, Conchita mia I" she ex- 
 claimed " Caspita ! jou know, we had 
 splendid time. Here ! Susanne," (calling 
 her French maid from an adjoining room) 
 " com' fixer my hair ; taker this plain 
 dress ; bringer wong handsome." 
 
 She jumped up and, taking Concha by 
 the hand, continued : '' My dear, com'. I 
 show jou my new costume. We haver 
 partie to-night, no? — an' we invite Mon- 
 sieur Lafitte, an' I fixer myself superblie 
 for him." She snapped her fingers and 
 took several waltz-steps, singing " Les 
 femines, les feinmes. 
 
 '' Not to-night, Coralie," Concha sug- 
 gested. '' We will give that party when 
 we get back to the city." 
 
 Another change, this time instantane- 
 ous, in the senora's expression. She threw 
 herself into the nearest chair. '' Devilo 
 place in the coantry," she moaned. " No 
 fun, no gay ! Ah, Conchita, Conchita, I 
 am verie old woman ! Valgame Dios !" 
 Then, addressing her trim maid who had 
 brought in a gorgeous skirt, '' Taker that 
 away !" she cried. '* Don' be so fool, girl ! 
 Virgen santisima," she concluded, cross- 
 ing herself, *' Ora pro nobis !" 
 
 Concha was laughing so heartily at this 
 
24 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 parody of woe that she could scarcely 
 speak ; but her quick wit suggested 
 another expedient for overcoming the real 
 melancholy which, she knew, was hidden 
 beneath this grotesque display. 
 
 " Do you remember, Coralie," she said, 
 in a breathless way, " that time before I 
 was married, when you got me to write 
 invitations for you to Louis Diaz and 
 Escaso (the little beast !) and lots of others 
 to come to a soiree at your apartments?" 
 
 ''Toma! often enough," said the senora, 
 without interest. 
 
 '' But I mean that time — that particular 
 time," Concha said. ** On the appointed 
 evening I array myself, I go early to help 
 you receive, I find you dressed to go 
 out !" Here Concha began to act the 
 scene. ''You welcome me as though I 
 were unexpected. 
 
 "- ' How jou do, Conchita ?' you say. 
 
 '* ' Well, who has accepted ? Who is 
 coming ?' I ask. 
 
 '' ' Where, my dear ?' you say. 
 
 '' ' Wh3% here, to-night, of course,' I an- 
 swer. 
 
 '* ' Oh, my dear, 1 refuser the invita- 
 tions,' you are good enough to explain ; 
 by which you mean that at the last minute 
 
SENORA VILLENA 2^ 
 
 you have sent word to" everybody but me 
 not to come, as you prefer to go to the 
 theater !" 
 
 In spite of herself seilora Villena smiled 
 at Concha's perfect imitation of her accent 
 and manner. 
 
 " Well," Concha continued, "that showed 
 me that you prefer the theater to a soiree 
 at home." 
 
 " Why not ? 1 think yes," the senora 
 assented. 
 
 '' Ea, courage !" cried Concha, drawing 
 up a light table and, after wrapping a lace 
 handkerchief around her wrist, beginning 
 to "dance ballet with my fingers," in her 
 own phrase, upon it. Her fingers being 
 very white and tapering, ending in pointed 
 nails, which had just been polished to a 
 dazzling brightness, and the handkerchief 
 falling short of being a skirt, but still fall- 
 ing somewhat, — it was a pretty invocation 
 to the " Muse of the many twinkling 
 feet." 
 
 " Courage !" Concha repeated, making 
 all her fingers race from the sides of the 
 table to the edge nearest her auditor. 
 " Here comes the whole corps-de-ballet to 
 the foot-lights." She hummed a Spanish 
 dance and made the corps keep time with 
 
26 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 simple steps ; then, '' Here comes the pre- 
 miere danseuse,'' she said. The subordi- 
 nates disappeared, and from the back- 
 ground came her index and middle fingers 
 alone, whirling, spinning, pirouetting, now- 
 kneeling for applause, now defying criti- 
 cism in that right-angle position which 
 always suggests the question '' How ?" 
 and sometimes the disapproving ''Why?" 
 Next, her left hand ran out from the side- 
 scenes, and knelt for the first dancer to 
 mount and posture on his arm. '' That is 
 the maitre," said Concha ; '' he is very 
 strong." 
 
 " Brava ! Encore ! Otra vez !" cried the 
 senora, and drew a ring, one of many, 
 from her hand. '' Here, Conchita mia, 
 jou taker that." 
 
 '' I have no fingers at present, as you 
 have seen ; and anklets are not in fashion," 
 Concha laughingly replied. Then, to 
 drive the thought of giving from her 
 friend's mind, she quickly added : '' I tell 
 you what we will do. We will have a 
 play here." 
 
 " Eh ? What jou say, bebe ?" 
 
 '* I say, we will give a pla}^ here, at Dr. 
 Vincent's," Concha replied in a convinc- 
 ing tone. 
 
SE.VORA VI L LENA 27 
 
 " A play ! theater ! in this Old— I don' 
 know how you call — Oldhaven !" 
 
 " No, not in the town : right here where 
 we are." 
 
 '' Oh, bebe !" — in a reproachful voice. 
 '' Where the stage, eh ? Where the or- 
 chestre ?" 
 
 " I will take care for all that. Promise 
 to help me ! Will you promise ?" 
 
 The sefiora promised and believed : so 
 Concha was in for it. 
 
 That is how the idea started — in a 
 chance suggestion. 
 
 A most happ}^ chance, I shall always 
 think ; for the little play-seed fell into 
 rich, warm soil, when it took root immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 And the soil was favorable to this par- 
 'ticular seed rather than to any other. 
 Have you never noticed that the Spanish- 
 American has one passion and one talent : 
 the passion for observing manners and the 
 talent for imitation ? When we of Puritan 
 lineage win through plodding study and 
 bitter experience an uncommon knowl- 
 edge and appreciation of our fellow-men, 
 we call that knowledge and appreciation 
 by a name which the philosophers use — 
 '* insight ;" but the Spaniard is born a 
 
28 SEIVORA VILLENA 
 
 member of the Appreciative Union. I do 
 not think that great philosophers use or 
 that all great philosophers understand 
 that term. 
 
 I shall devote a number of pages to 
 showing how rapidly the little play-seed 
 grew in the mellow soil and the ' tropical 
 climate of an Appreciative Union. 
 
 First of all Concha went to seek Vin- 
 cent, and found him just returned with 
 Medina from that walk which the one 
 called a constitutional, and the other a 
 journey. 
 
 It took twenty words and twenty-five 
 gestures for Concha to state her intention 
 and convince both her host and her hus- 
 band of its feasibility. 
 
 Of course she did not stoop to details : 
 it is such a woman's prerogative to in- 
 spire, and it is the simple duty of all men 
 to execute for her. 
 
 The twenty-fifth gesture was the one 
 which convinced. her husband. She went 
 away with him and left Vincent thinking. 
 
 " It is not so easy," Vincent thought ; 
 " and it is not so hard. For me alone it 
 would be impossible ; for them Avithout 
 me — or somebody who has rules — it would 
 become grotesque. I am the stupid whom 
 
SES'ORA VILLENA 2Q 
 
 they need to check their extravagance now 
 and then. I am to them like the quantum 
 sufficit of heaviness which every genius 
 should have, to keep him from becoming a 
 crank. I am their ballast : that is all I am." 
 
 So he continued to charge himself with 
 stupidity ; and if it were not for the clev- 
 erness of his argument, the genuine con- 
 viction in his mind might raise a corres- 
 ponding belief in my own, as I watch him 
 now. 
 
 Presently his thoughts came back to the 
 matter proposed. 
 
 " It is only one step in advance," he 
 reasoned. '' It is after all only the natural 
 thing for them. Here they are — all born 
 appreciators, mimics, actors. They get 
 at the essence of the characters of people 
 by intuition ; they are forever acting the 
 history of some acquaintance, so that I 
 know their friends better than my own. 
 My wife even imitates me to my face, and 
 her imitation is more like me than I am. 
 Only one thing more is needed : to prune 
 the luxuriant growth of their fancies. 
 They think of too many things at once, 
 that's the trouble. If they come together 
 untrimmed, the}' will make a thicket and 
 not a garden." 
 
30 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Here Vincent began to walk up and 
 down the wide, cool hallway where Con- 
 cha had met him. He stared at the most 
 familiar objects, because he really was not 
 noticing them. 
 
 " Yes, one thing more is needed," he 
 said, half aloud : " They must have a com- 
 mon plan of action, of course. That is, 
 we must arrange a plot beforehand. But 
 we can manage that, easily enough." 
 
 His manner while he was considering 
 the question of the plot showed easy con- 
 fidence ; but presently he stopped before 
 a painting which he did not especially like. 
 
 *' By Jove ! another thing," he ex- 
 claimed aloud. '' Where ? If we use one 
 parlor for the stage and another for the 
 auditorium, I shall have to change that 
 mountain-scene. It would never do in 
 the parlor." 
 
 He had in fact made a false start. The 
 picture which he did not like represented 
 a mountain-side ; and, unconsciously in- 
 fluenced by that, he had planned a scene 
 in which Teresa, as a shepherdess, should 
 be climbing something and be in peril 
 somehow and be rescued by Rodriguez, 
 as sportsman, with one of Vincent's bird- 
 guns slung over his shoulder. 
 
seMra villena 31 
 
 " Pshaw ! What shall we use for the 
 stage ?" he repeated aloud. 
 
 '' That so, bo-ee !" a merry voice an- 
 swered ; and senora Villena, as she care- 
 fully descended the polished stairs, greet- 
 ed him with : '' Goo-morning ! That so ; 
 jes what I tell Concha. Where the 
 stage ?" 
 
 A good laugh blew away such light 
 first-thoughts as shepherdess and sports- 
 man ; but nothing more substantial offered 
 itself immediately to take their place. 
 
 After he had accompanied senora Vil- 
 lena into the garden, where he soon left 
 her with Gloria and the others, Vincent 
 went to his study. Little good that did 
 him. 
 
 He sat at his desk, pen in hand and 
 writing-pad before him, looking very seri- 
 ous and thinking about shepherdesses 
 dressed as queens or Japanese girls or 
 raving beauties, with sportsmen to match, 
 as kings or minstrels or rich old gentle 
 men. It was no use : he could not de- 
 ceive even himself. 
 
 More than ever persuaded that he was 
 stupid, he put down his pen and went out 
 to join his guests. 
 
 It was ten steps from the back piazza to 
 
32 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 the arbor, where they all were met. Vin- 
 cent took five steps toward them, and 
 then said : 
 
 " Here is the stage !" 
 
 Gloria saw him coming and arose ; Rod- 
 riguez, who was nearest, heard him and 
 turned around. 
 
 " Here is the stage — right here," Dr. 
 Vincent repeated. 
 
 Then explanations followed. Concha 
 broached her plan, and all applauded. 
 
 " It come to me like that^'' Vincent said ; 
 " I mean about the stage. Here we have 
 the very thing. This arbor in the center 
 
 . But let us begin at the beginning. 
 
 Scene : A garden in the rear of Vincent's 
 house. Right, a flight of steps and piazza. 
 Left, a tennis-ground and high stone wall 
 
 ''Where the wall? I don' see," senora 
 Villena interrupted. 
 
 '' There isn't any wall now," said Vin- 
 cent ; " but we will put something to an- 
 swer the same purpose. ' We can make so 
 much play out of a wall. To continue, 
 then : A high stone wall on the left. In 
 the background, flowers and shrubbery. 
 The interior of the arbor is visible to 
 spectators, but not from piazza." 
 
SENORA VILLENA JJ 
 
 " Who are the spectators ?" Medina 
 asked. 
 
 " Why, all of us who are not acting-, of 
 course," Concha explained. 
 
 " I could see you from where I was in 
 the arbor just now," Gloria objected. 
 
 " But, my dear," said Vincent, " if you 
 had been sitting on the other side, which 
 will do just as well for the play, you could 
 not have seen me, or I you." 
 
 " And you, sir, have the play ready ?" 
 asked Rodriguez. 
 
 "No," said Vincent, ''not yet; but I 
 begin to believe that the Avay to get it is 
 to keep my eyes open. And Medina, who 
 is a great poet, will help me over the hard 
 places." 
 
 So in appreciative unison they favored 
 the growth of this little dramatic plant 
 until luncheon time. 
 
 These things and others which are to 
 follow were said and done because senora 
 Villena woke with a pain in her shoulder. 
 
GLORIA 
 
 HEN they sat down to lunch, 
 Vincent found at his place a 
 sheet of blotting-paper, folded 
 like a napkin. 
 
 " What does this mean ?" he asked. 
 
 Gloria answered sweetly from her end 
 of the table : " Oh, you have become a 
 literary man so suddenly, my dear Caran- 
 gol " (her pet-name for him), " I fancied 
 you might prefer it to dry your lips." 
 
 " I have n't been able to write even the 
 first word yet, my dear," Vincent said ; 
 " so if you please I will take a napkin as 
 usual." 
 
 " Gloria, you are a meace !" Concha 
 cried. " I could bite you for being such a 
 sweet meace !" 
 
 " Excuse me, — what is that word 
 ' meace ' ?" asked Rodriguez. '' Is it Eng- 
 lish ? I believe not, for it seems from the 
 connection in which you use it to signify 
 so much that is complimentary." 
 
 " Not English ; no, indeed," said Con- 
 
SENORA VILLENA 35 
 
 cha. '' It is my own word, and yours, 
 seilor, if you like it." 
 
 '' I have thought," Medina ventured, 
 *' that ' meace ' took its m from mouse, its 
 ea from neat, and its ce from nice : so that 
 it meant a nice, neat, mouse." 
 
 Seiiora Villena clicked with her tongue 
 and shook her head impatiently. " Fly 
 from here on the second, straight !" she 
 commanded. *'Jou can spell, bo-ee, after 
 all? Don' say, bo-ee. Caramba !" 
 
 The theatrical exaggeration of scorn 
 with which this was delivered raised a 
 great laugh, which all found not less ap- 
 petizing than the first course of luncheon, 
 being served at that moment. 
 
 What was said for a brief space after 
 that, I do not record. It makes httle dif- 
 ference what one says between soup and 
 fish : everybody laughs instead of reply- 
 ing. 
 
 But in justice to Medina I must state 
 that he had had in mind a derivation for 
 the pet name, Carangol, which Gloria had 
 given her husband, and that he decided 
 not to make it public in that company, 
 which welcomed light-hearted humor, but 
 abhorred labored wit. 
 
 When they had reached that stage in 
 
36 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 the progress of the meal when appetite 
 lingers, but is patient, the conversation 
 became so general, so rapid in its move- 
 ment and so sudden in its changes, that if 
 I am to give even a small portion of it I 
 must not stop to describe attitudes or to 
 distinguish between '' he said " and '' he 
 exclaimed." 
 
 Concha : I think that Miss Kelt is beau- 
 tiful. Do you, senor ? 
 
 Rodriguez : She has beautiful hair. 
 
 Concha : You do not think her beautiful, 
 but you will not contradict me. 
 
 Rodriguez : Have you ever seen her 
 dance, senora? 
 
 Medina : Rodriguez means that she is 
 stiff. He is a polite Socrates, our friend 
 from Sevilla : he suggests his disagree- 
 ment in some fine, indirect way, and 
 makes us convince ourselves. 
 
 Teresa : Where did the Carters live 
 when you first knew them, my brother? 
 
 Vincent: In rooms in Fiftieth-street. 
 The rooms looked as though some one 
 had gone away, taking with him every- 
 thing he wanted ; but that was not Car- 
 ter's fault. 
 
 Gloria: Mrs. Carter's ? 
 
SEIZOR A VILLENA jy 
 
 Vincent : No : a rich old uncle's, who let 
 them remain poor. After his death Car- 
 ter moved out of town, and I don't know 
 of a pleasanter home than that he has now. 
 
 Sefiora Villena : Eh ? Mr. Carter is that 
 fonny fellow, no ? He hass call ' Don 
 Juan ' ' Mr. John,' no ? 
 
 Vmcent : He is more than funny : he is 
 fine. He notices things like this : When 
 he was poor he kept a school for children. 
 One day a little scholar, a boy of six years, 
 came running up to him, dancing with 
 delight, clapping his hands and crying : 
 ' Mother is dead ! I am so glad, for I am 
 going away into the country !' 
 
 Medina : I passed the famous Richard 
 Blake on the street several days ago. 
 
 Gloria : Indeed ! How was he looking ? 
 Did you speak to him ? 
 
 Medina : No, sefiora. He gave me, to 
 tell the truth, rather a surly nod — like this 
 (imitating). I did not care to speak to 
 him. But, on thinking it over, I decided 
 that he was not angry with me, or scorn- 
 ing me for some fault I was at the time 
 conscious of having committed. No ; 
 more probably his foot pained him, be- 
 cause his boot-maker had made a misfit, 
 
3^ SENORA VILLENA 
 
 because the boot-maker's son had taken 
 Blake's last to carve into an image of St. 
 Stephen, like the picture in his spelling- 
 book. Blake gave nie a surly nod because 
 Stephen was stoned. 
 
 Vincent : Ah, Medina, you are my man. 
 You are engaged. 
 
 Medina : For what ? 
 
 Vincent : To write our play. You can 
 wind the characters up in a plot with 
 complications reaching back to the Gar- 
 den of Eden. 
 
 Rodriguez : I have heard my English 
 friend Mr. Silverspoon speak of this 
 Blake. He has said that Mr. Blake is an 
 eccentric, and too serious, too earnest, but 
 a worthy man — oh, yes, very solide. And 
 his wife — charming ! 
 
 Teresa : Margery Blake ! Yes, she is 
 delicious. 
 
 Medijia : The idea of Jack Silverspoon 
 calling another man eccentric ! That is 
 too good. 
 
 Gloria (to Rodriguez) : Did the original 
 Mr. Silverspoon tell 3^ou Mr. Blake's 
 strange history, senor? 
 
 Rodriguez: No, sefiora, he has not. It 
 is true he once began ; but he very soon 
 thought of something different, and — you 
 
SENORA VI L LENA 39 
 
 know how he is — he forgot the story to 
 finish it. It is, I think, that Mr. Blake has 
 had a quarrel, or something so, with his 
 wife, no? 
 
 Gloria : A quarrel ? Not that, sefior ; 
 but he separated from her without quar- 
 reling — the cold-blooded wretch ! And 
 Margery behaved like an angel ! 
 
 Vinceyit : A rather frisky angel, my dear. 
 
 Seiiora Villena : What those things of 
 the steam-boat — na, na ! — how jou call? — 
 from the side of the steam-boat ? Peddles ? 
 
 Vincent : Paddle-wheels ? 
 
 Sefiora Villena : Tha's it, bo-ee ! Good 
 for him an' for her. Caramba! (filling in 
 the sense with vigorous gestures) I giver 
 them one good beating : no leetle — so ! — 
 liker that peddle-wheels. Tha' so : I do. 
 
 Gloria (to Rodriguez) : I am sorry you 
 did not make Mr. Silverspoon finish tell- 
 ing you, senor. He met the Blakes when 
 they were separated — that is, they were 
 together and yet separated. It was very 
 strange ; and the whole story is so roman- 
 tic. Mr. Silverspoon is an intimate friend 
 of the Carters, you know, and he met them 
 both at Mr. Carter's house. His acquaint- 
 ance began then, at the most interesting 
 time. 
 
40 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Rodriguez: I shall be glad that he has 
 not completed, senora, if you will there- 
 fore be so kind and tell me this history. 
 
 Gloria: I warn you beforehand that it 
 is not natural, like certain '' realistic" nov- 
 els, but surprising, like — like — 
 Medina : Like fact. 
 
 Rodriguez : I am prepared for the worst, 
 senora: I sometimes read the newspaper. 
 But excuse me for mentioning that in con- 
 nection with fact, senor, and with your 
 friends' experience, senora. 
 
 Gloria: Part of it did come out in the 
 papers, but not the best part. All of our 
 good friends here know from the hero and 
 heroine themselves 
 
 Vincent : Gloria ! you are my good an- 
 gel, as usual. 
 
 Gloria : What is it, Carangolito mio ? 
 
 Vincent : Why, the plot ! you have sug- 
 gested it. Don't you see? Scene: not 
 my garden, but Carter's. Persons repre- 
 sented : Mr. and Mrs. Carter, Blake and 
 Mrs. Blake, and Silverspoon. Rodriguez, 
 you know Jack best : you will do him 
 
 Teresa : To perfection. 
 
 Gloria: A doubtful compliment, httle 
 sister. 
 
 Vincent: Oh, Jack is a good fellow. 
 
SEiVORA VILLENA 41 
 
 Compare him with Professor Jump, for 
 instance. The professor is a fool who 
 pretends to be clever, while Silverspoon 
 is a clever man pretending to be a fool. 
 I can fancy Jack saying to him : Profes- 
 sor, I am your inferior and humble ser- 
 vant; for I am only a make-believe fool, 
 while you are the genuine article ! I al- 
 most wish, for the sake of the contrast, that 
 I could use the professor ; but after all 
 what a good contrast in Carter and Blake ! 
 Carter wears a holiday countenance from 
 the first of January to the thirty-first of 
 December ; Blake from the thirty-first of 
 December to the first of January. Now, 
 we need some other characters. Let me 
 see. There is Miss Kelt, for example. 
 
 Concha (smiling at Rodriguez) : Miss 
 Kelt has been pronounced stiff by a polite 
 Socrates. You may have ugly people on 
 the stage, Dr. Vincent, but not stiff ones 
 — never ! 
 
 Vincent : And, besides, she really was 
 not there, at Carter's. Let's stick to facts 
 pretty closely. I must get to work while 
 the enthusiasm lasts. Gloria, send my tea 
 to the library. 
 
 Gloria : Tea ! You will drink tea this 
 afternoon ? 
 
42 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Vincent : Well, you know I am not used 
 to this sort of thing, and perhaps a gentle 
 stimulant 
 
 Senora Villena (filling a glass with sher- 
 ry) : Here, bo-ee, jou drinker that. 
 
 Vincent pledged his guests in the sherry, 
 and then excused himself and went im- 
 mediately to his library. 
 
 The others sat at table until the middle 
 of the afternoon, the gentlemen smoking, 
 all telling stories, all laughing, all discuss- 
 ing opera bouffe and singing their favorite 
 passages. Finally Gloria put a guitar in 
 Medina's hands. 
 
 Meantime Vincent was seated at his 
 desk. His face was much less serious 
 than it had been in the morning, and the 
 writing-pad was being rapidly used up. 
 He wrote what he had seen, what he had 
 heard, and what he himself thought about 
 it all. 
 
 When Gloria had gone out to get the 
 guitar for Medina, she had sent *' that 
 leetle moankey " to the library with a cup 
 of tea and a very short note — in fact, three 
 words, scrawled in pencil on a half-sheet 
 of scented note-paper. 
 
 Those three words I cannot tell you, 
 for they were of a language which has no 
 
SENORA VILLENA 43 
 
 grammar. Vincent read them over sev- 
 eral times, and forgot to drink his tea un- 
 til it had become cold. 
 Gloria was a meace. 
 
MEDINA 
 
 AS Medina merely Concha's hus- 
 band — conjux, et prceterea nihil? 
 Careless observers have said 
 that he was that and nothing- 
 more ; but I fancy that if Ave note a few 
 characteristic acts we shall reach a some- 
 what different conchision. 
 
 When he composed a song- about Cuba 
 (or, more probably, he had in mind Puerto 
 Rico, his native island) he insisted in that 
 song that although his old home was, 
 like other localities, sometimes visited by 
 storm-wind and dull winter's night, 3^et 
 bathed in summer's warmth should mem- 
 ory hold it continually. So then, he was 
 an idealist. 
 
 When Miguel had asked him how much 
 candy his information about Concha's 
 preference was worth, Medina replied, 
 '' All the candy in the world " : a thor- 
 oughly ideal conception. 
 
 Now, the German idealists, — those who 
 have excellent taste in the matter of beer 
 
SEjVORA VILLENA 4^ 
 
 but cannot discriminate between senti^ 
 ment and sentimentalism, and those who 
 eat lemons in order to prolong a life of 
 destructive criticism — we know. We also 
 know the English idealist, who runs and 
 rows a great deal to expand his chest, who 
 reads Greek a httle and who calls himself 
 ill if his complexion is a shade less bril- 
 liant than his sister's. These types we all 
 know ; but w^hat is a Spanish idealist ? 
 
 Does the reader remember — or, better, 
 has he seen — that group of gentlemen 
 with coat-collars turned up, hugging the 
 stove in the office of the Spanish hotel ? 
 They have not what we call an object in 
 life : they have an enthusiasm, or nothing. 
 Medina was one of those before he saw 
 Concha. 
 
 '' I have known only one man whose life 
 was perfect," he used to say. '' That man 
 was a cobbler who lived near m}- planta- 
 tion in Puerto Rico. While he was at 
 work in his little shop he would sing. A 
 
 voice ! like Brignoli's (poor, dear 
 
 Brignoli !) The neighbors would flock 
 together to listen outside his window. 
 Managers of opera companies visiting the 
 island would hear about him and offer him 
 great sums : he paid no attention to them. 
 
46 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 I myself have proposed to give him 
 money for training his magnificent voice. 
 He replied : ' Senor, I sing because I am 
 at work. If you like to hear me, send me 
 your boots to mend.' I could get no 
 other answer. That cobbler was the one 
 happy man." 
 
 Since his marriage Medina had told 
 this anecdote only once. Then he said : 
 
 " I have known only two men whose 
 lives were perfect. One of these was a 
 cobbler and the other is myself." 
 
 He saw that this alteration spoiled the 
 story, and therefore ceased repeating it. 
 
 The enthusiasm awakened by Concha 
 had drawn him away from the stove, 
 inspired by her he had already achieved 
 more than some of us ever win through 
 steady pursuit of our '' object in life." 
 He had laid his hand upon happiness. 
 
 The idealist had found and gained his 
 ideal. 
 
 The Spanish idealist is the man who 
 seeks a woman like Concha. The class is 
 quite large. 
 
 Inspired by Concha he had written 
 much verse, and had even allowed some 
 of it to be printed in literary papers ; but 
 after an editor or compositor of one of 
 
SENORA VILLENA 47 
 
 these had changed his " darkness and the 
 rain," so that it read " hackmen in the rain" 
 he swore horribly and published nothing 
 further. None the less he was still stimu- 
 lated to the point of production by his wife 
 and continued to compose songs for her. 
 
 I do not wonder at his persistence, for 
 if she liked his new songs, accompanied 
 with those soft chords of the guitar which 
 are to the voice what cream is to food — 
 making almost anything good — she would 
 sing with him ; and if she did not like the 
 song she would go to him and, taking 
 away the guitar, would herself take its 
 place. That is criticism \vorth having. 
 
 It is plain that he was something more 
 than Concha's husband : he was also her 
 lover. 
 
 Vincent had been steadily at work. 
 Late into the night and again the next 
 morning, after his walk to the post-ofhce 
 which he never omitted, he had been 
 writing rapidly. In the afternoon of the 
 second day he called Medina to his aid. 
 
 '' You must help me assign the parts," 
 he said. 
 
 Medina : What ! You have written your 
 play without reference to the actors? 
 
4S SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Vincent : On the contrary, I have had 
 them in mind ; but there are some diffi- 
 culties. 
 
 Medina : For example ? 
 
 Vincejtt : For example, Silverspoon. Of 
 course Rodriguez must take that part 
 because he knows Jack best. But Silver- 
 spoon speaks such extreme English, while 
 Rodriguez has scarcely learned American, 
 and makes even that " walk Spanish." 
 
 Medina : Trust him to imitate or 
 
 couldn't you show by the spelling? 
 
 Vincent : I never could see the point of 
 misspelling English words to show that 
 the English do not pronounce them as we 
 do. 
 
 Medina : Perhaps not as a rule. Well, I 
 will go over the part with him. Have 
 you done Jack to the life ? 
 
 Vincent : Tried to. There's another 
 trouble : Jack has a way of jumping 
 around, you know ; and Rodriguez is dig- 
 nified. 
 
 Medina : Rodriguez is an athlete and 
 will be glad of the chance to show his 
 strength. 
 
 Vincent : Bravo ! Medina. You are 
 thorough enough to be a Scot. You 
 crack the very bones of a subject to get 
 
SE.yORA VILLENA 4^ 
 
 at its marrow. Then there's another 
 thing : Who can do Rose ? 
 
 Medina : Rose ? 
 
 Vincejit : Oh, don't you know ? Rose 
 was the nurse the Carters had at the time. 
 We couldn't leave her out : she was quite 
 an important character. Besides, their 
 baby was just about the age ours is now. 
 
 Medina : I don't quite see what to do 
 with Rose. Let me look at the manuscript. 
 
 They read the part together ; then 
 
 Vincent (with hesitation) : Do you think 
 Teresa 
 
 Medina: Teresa as an Irish servant girl ! 
 
 Vincent : But pretty, you know ; and 
 just by way of burlesque, I think she will 
 consent. 
 
 Medina : Teresa likes to surprise people 
 now and then. She reminds me of an 
 inactive volcano. Perhaps she will. 
 
 Vincent (walking to and fro in the 
 library) : Then comes the hardest ques- 
 tion. You know Carter's grouty old 
 neighbor — the mysterious old fellow ? 
 
 Medina: Certainly. Well? 
 
 Vincent : Well, you see, you are to be 
 Blake and Rodriguez to be Silverspoon 
 and I to be Carter : that uses up all the 
 men in the company. 
 
 4 
 
so SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Medina: But you have not provided 
 a part for seiiora Villena. She is a finished 
 actress : she will play the neighbor, al- 
 though he was a man. 
 
 Vincent: His being a man does not 
 trouble me, but he was old — that's the rub. 
 The senora will never submit to that. 
 It is too near the fact — to her the one ter- 
 rible fact, that so much of her natural 
 share of fun is in the past. 
 
 Medina : I will get your wife and Con- 
 cha to persuade her. 
 
 Medina found Gloria and Concha to- 
 gether on the piazza. When he had stated 
 the difficulty Concha began to laugh, and 
 to explain her merriment told them how 
 she had found senora Villena very melan- 
 choly, and how she had persuaded her 
 that she was not old by suggesting first a 
 soiree and then a play. 
 
 Gloria was thoughtful for an instant; 
 then she said : Concha, you go and talk to 
 Coralie. You can manage her best. 
 Senor 
 
 Mediria : Command me, senora. 
 
 Gloria: You come with me to direct 
 some envelopes. 
 
 The word soiree had been spoken : that 
 
SEiVORA VILLENA 51 
 
 was enough. Gloria said to herself : 
 '* Here is my chance to start something, 
 too — as well as Concha." Quiet and dainty 
 ladies are perhaps not jealous of a friend's 
 success, but they are certainly watchful. 
 
 So she and Medina wrote invitations 
 and addresses for half-an-hour. In select- 
 ing her guests she tried to follow out her 
 husband's idea of bringing together people 
 who would improve each other by con- 
 trast, but in addition to that she prepared 
 a surprise. 
 
 '' These three are to go out of town," 
 she said, handing Medina the envelopes. 
 " There are the stamps — in that little box 
 at your elbow. You must not tell anyone 
 that I have invited a single soul except 
 the Oldhaveners. Promise ! Now how 
 many have we done ? Twenty ? One 
 more, for Mr. and Mrs. Penman. There ! 
 A thousand thanks, senor. Now I will 
 send them off before Mr. Vincent comes 
 out." 
 
 The invitations were for Thursda}^ ev- 
 ening of the following week. Like the 
 wind, falling upon the placid surface of a 
 sheltered mirror-lake and troubling it for 
 a brief space, so these cards of invitation, 
 addressed in Medina's roundest hand, dis- 
 
S2 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 turbed the surface of society in Oldhaven, 
 which is a quiet town of the reflecting and 
 reflective order of towns. 
 
MONDA V 
 
 Tan imposible seria dejar de amarla, como hacer que 
 estas aguas no mojasen, ni el sol con sus peinados ca- 
 bellos no nos alumbrase. — Cervantes. » 
 
 Y eleven o'clock on Monday 
 morning everything was ready. 
 The roles had been learned, 
 the difficult passages rehearsed, 
 and the costumes prepared. Even the 
 weather had been ordered to correspond 
 with their intent, and a bright Monday 
 gave assurance of a bright week. 
 
 All that they had sent for had arrived, 
 except the audience. 
 
 '' Ca, no, I do not do that !" the senora 
 Villena had declared. ''Acter myself for 
 no public an' dresser me liker yentelman 
 for nobodie — for jes jou ! Caramba ! I 
 teller jou, no !" 
 
 But Vincent had scruples against invit- 
 ing mere acquaintances to look on while 
 the private history of friends was being 
 represented. 
 
 '' We don't need anyone beside our- 
 
54 SEK'ORA VILLENA 
 
 selves, my dear Coralie," Concha said. 
 " Suppose we should send out tickets 
 every time we talk about people we 
 know ! This is only a better way of 
 doing what we do so often for our own 
 amusement." 
 
 '' But of course I have invited my own 
 family," ^Gloria said; ''and they make 
 quite an audience in themselves." 
 
 '' Tha's right, beb6, jou doer that, or 
 they never forgive you — never!" cried 
 senora Villena, as usual failing to catch 
 the tense of the verb. 
 
 ''And they know the story already, so 
 there's no harm," said Vincent. 
 
 Before twelve o'clock these spectators 
 arrived from the station in two carriages. 
 Little Alfredo led the procession from the 
 front gate to the house ; next came fat 
 senora Diaz, trying in vain to check him 
 with hand and voice ; next came the still 
 fatter grandmother leaning on the arm of 
 cousin Louis, the musician. You see it 
 was very warm : therefore the mamita 
 had ventured out of doors. Last of all 
 came Isabelita Diaz rather pensively, 
 wishing that Manuel had become a mem- 
 ber of the family so that he might have 
 been invited. " Papa dear" had not mere- 
 
SE^ORA VILLENA S5 
 
 ly declined, but he had refused, to join the 
 party. 
 
 You should have heard the cries of joy 
 when these guests were welcomed at the 
 door, the gentlemen embracing each other 
 not less ardently than did the ladies : all 
 caressing, admiring, questioning together 
 — all except Fredo. He Avas standing on 
 a chair and making faces at *' that leetle 
 moankey." Fredo was completely fascin- 
 ated by the shining buttons and no less 
 shining black face of the serving boy. 
 When the mother and mamita went up 
 stairs he remained behind, and great was 
 his disappointment when buttons offered 
 to go away. Jumping down from the 
 chair, he seized him by the sleeve. 
 
 " Where are you going ?" he asked. 
 
 '' Mus' be goin' now," said the negro 
 impatiently. 
 
 ''Where?" 
 
 " Oh, sugar an' molasses pills !" But- 
 tons resented being treated like a strange 
 animal. 
 
 '' Sugaranmolassespill," Fredo repeated, 
 doubtfully. ''And where is that? Is it 
 far from here ?" Buttons disdained to 
 reply, and departed in a very stately 
 manner. 
 
S6 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 " Sugaranmolassespill," Fredo repeated 
 to himself, and then ran upstairs. '* Mam- 
 ma !" he cried, " what is sugaranmolasses- 
 pill ?" 
 
 " Eh ! What is that, Fredo ?" 
 
 " Sugaranmolassespill ! That black thing 
 said it. What does it mean ?" 
 
 Senora Diaz thoughtfully put her finger 
 to her lips, repeating : " Sugaranmolasses 
 — How you sa}^, Fredo?" 
 
 " Pill, pill, sugaranmolassespill !" 
 
 '' I don't know. We will go and ask the 
 mamita." 
 
 Together they went into an adjoining 
 room, where the mamita was resting after 
 the fatigue of her walk from the carriage 
 to the second story. 
 
 ''Mamita," said senora Diaz, ''Fredo 
 says the servant called him — How do you 
 say, Fredo ?" 
 
 " No, no, mamma, I will tell the mamita. 
 It was thus." With many gestures he de- 
 scribed the scene. 
 
 When he had pronounced the long 
 word, " Eh !" said the mamita, " say it 
 again more slowly." 
 
 Fredo repeated. 
 
 " I don't know. Molaspil ? Maybe it is 
 an animal." 
 
SENORA VILLENA 57 
 
 " It would seem to be a place," suggest- 
 ed senora Diaz. 
 
 '' I don't know, my dear, I am sure. I 
 fear that the servant has said some bad 
 words in English. Never say it again, 
 Alfredo. You may sit down, my daugh- 
 ter and grandson" — for they had remained 
 standing, as a mark of respect. 
 
 Towards the end of the afternoon these 
 five spectators were seated in comfortable 
 chairs, placed under a small maple-tree 
 and facing the arbor which has been men- 
 tioned, and prepared themselves to be 
 entertained by the seven actors. This 
 they did by consulting the following pro- 
 gramme : 
 
 QL[)c Neigl)bor. 
 
 A COMEDY IN THREE DAYS. 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Paul Carter. A Gentleman of Leisure. Dr. Vincent. 
 Gladys Carter. His Wife. Mrs. Vincent. 
 
 Richard Mason Blake. An Amateur Botanist. 
 
 Senor Medina. 
 Margery Blake. His Wife. Seiioia Medina. 
 
 Jack Silverspoon. An Eccentric English Artist, 
 
 Friend of Mr. and Mrs. Carter. Senor Rodriguez. 
 Rose. A Nurse. Senorita Teiesa Diaz. 
 
 Hole-in-the-Ground. The Neighbor. Senora Villcna. 
 
58 SEJVORA VILLENA 
 
 Scene : Garden in the rear of Carter's 
 house. In the center is an arbor. Right, 
 a flight of steps and piazza. Left, a high 
 stone wall — not a real stone wall, but a 
 very good imitation in wood. Between 
 arbor and wall, a lawn-tennis ground. In 
 the background, flowers and shrubbery. 
 The interior of arbor is visible from audi- 
 torium, that is, from the maple-tree, but 
 not from piazza. 
 
 A querulous voice is heard from behind 
 the wall, but no one is visible. Then an 
 ash-barrel is thrown over the wall. A 
 short silence. Then Neighbor looks over 
 the wall. 
 
 Neighbor : I be even with that Scotch- 
 man ! Caramba ! Somone coming ! 
 
 (Disappears.) 
 
 '' Mamita !" Alfredo cried. " Do you 
 see, eh, mamita ? The senora Villena, 
 with the hat of a man on, eh ?" 
 
 " Ssh !" said mamita. "- It is a play." 
 
 (Carter enters, in smoking-jacket and 
 slippers, with Blake, disguised as gardener.) 
 
 Carter : And here, you see, I keep my 
 rose-geraniums. I flatter myself that there 
 is not a finer lot of plants in the State. 
 
 Now, my man By the way, what's 
 
 your name? 
 
SE.VORA VILLENA jp 
 
 Blake : Schuldheiss, sir. • 
 
 Carter : " Schuld " what? 
 
 Blake : Schuldheiss, sir. 
 
 Carter (genially) : That will never do to 
 call you by. That is too long. What is 
 your first name ? 
 
 Blake : Karl, sir. 
 
 Carter : Good ! I'll call you Karl. Now 
 then, Karl, 3^ou understand the care of 
 fiowers perfectly, I suppose ? 
 
 Blake : Yes, sir, I ought to. I studied 
 
 with I mean I worked for the Herr 
 
 Professor of Botany at my home in Ger- 
 many. 
 
 Carter : It seems to me you speak Eng- 
 lish remarkably well for a German. How 
 long have you been in this country ? 
 
 Blake : Two years, sir ; but I studied 
 English at school. 
 
 Carter (aside, rubbing his hands) : This 
 is highly satisfactory. This is splendid. 
 He is trustworthy, hardworking, good- 
 natured, intelligent — extremely intelligent. 
 In a word he is a German. (Turning to 
 Blake. Aloud.) I am right glad I adver- 
 tised for a German, Karl. The last gar- 
 dener I had was a Scot, who kept the 
 place beautifully, to be sure ; but stingy ! 
 Why, he used to scold my wife 
 
6o SEJ^ORA VILLENA 
 
 Avhenever she picked a flower, and order 
 me off the grass ! But as for you, Karl — 
 I can read character. I am never deceived 
 by appearances. — You are trustworthy, 
 good-natured, intelligent 
 
 Blake: Sir! 
 
 Carter : Yes ; you need not try to deny 
 it. You are all that I asked for in my 
 advertisement. I can see it plainly. You 
 are intelligent 
 
 (Mrs. Carter [Gloria] comes out of 
 house. She stands on piazza, holding tele- 
 gram in hand.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Paul ! Paul ! she will be 
 here to-morrow ! 
 
 Carter : One moment, my dear. (To 
 Blake.) Now, to begin with, go to the 
 tool-house, get some twine and tie up the 
 carnations. 
 
 (Blake goes out behind arbor.) 
 
 Carter : Whom were you speaking 
 about, my dear ? 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Why, Margery Blake, of 
 course. Are you not glad she's coming ? 
 It will be such a good rest for her. I 
 wonder if she will be as handsome as she 
 was when we were at school together. 
 What a beast her husband must be. 
 
 Carter : I am glad your friend is com- 
 
SENORA VILLENA 6l 
 
 ing to stay with us. (Pauses and seems 
 thoughtful.) I wonder 
 
 Mrs. Carter (quickly) : I know ! I know 
 what you are going to say. You are 
 wondering if the poor thing has any hope 
 or spirit left in her. 
 
 Carter : No, not exactly that. I am 
 trying to imagine what Hole -in -the 
 Ground has thrown over the wall this 
 morning. 
 
 (Blake enters, bearing ash-barrel.) 
 
 Blake : I found this among the carna- 
 tions, sir. Several of them were crushed. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : What a shame ! If I were 
 in your place, Mr. Carter, I should em- 
 ploy a mounted policeman to protect us 
 from that old brute, that old bear ! 
 
 Carter : Tut, tut ! my dear. (To Blake.) 
 So, our agreeable neighbor has sent us an 
 ash-barrel this morning, has he ? You 
 must not mind little things like that, Karl. 
 Sometimes he testifies his affection by 
 the gift of a large bouquet of dock-weeds. 
 We have come to expect something of 
 that sort once or twice each day, and 
 really I fancy we should feel badly if our 
 neighbor's little attentions should be dis- 
 continued. The thing began when your 
 predecessor, the Scotch gardener, was 
 
62 SEXORA VILLENA 
 
 here ; and I guess he must have provoked 
 old Hole-in-the-Ground in some way. 
 
 Blake : What kind of a man is he, sir ? 
 
 Carter : People say he is a miser, and 
 some say he is crazy. But as we never 
 see him we don't believe he is a person at 
 all : so we call him Hole-in-the-Ground. 
 
 (Neighbor puts his head above wall and 
 shakes his fist at Carter, without being 
 seen. Carter puts arm around Mrs. Car- 
 ter's waist and draws her away. They 
 walk up and down stage, without paying 
 attention to Blake, during following con- 
 versation.) 
 
 Carter: It is the only imperfection in 
 our otherwise perfect happiness, isn't it, 
 Gladys ? — and we may afford to overlook 
 such a trifling annoyance, mayn't we, 
 dear ? 
 
 Mrs. Carter (doubtfully) : Perhaps we 
 may. 
 
 Carter : Yes, ours is certainly the ideal 
 existence. We have surrounded ourselves 
 with all those things which make life 
 beautiful. We have a comfortable house 
 
 Mrs. Carter : And you have your garden. 
 Carter: You share the benefit of that. 
 And you have your baby. 
 
SEA'ORA VILLENA 63 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Don't you share the bene- 
 fit of that ? 
 
 Carter (doubtfully) : Yes. (With con- 
 viction.) Yes, oh, yes ! And you have 
 me. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: And you have me, I am 
 sure ! 
 
 Carter : But to my mind the crowning 
 charm of our situation is that we live well 
 within our means, so that we can give 
 freely to those who need assistance. Ah ! 
 my dear, there's no pleasure equal to that 
 — to be able to give freely. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : That is the reason why I 
 keep a puddle for the robins to bathe in, 
 don't you see ? I give the poor robins a 
 free bath — give it freely. It is a great 
 pleasure. 
 
 Carter : I suspect you of making fun of 
 me. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Not at all! Think how 
 fortunate we are compared with poor 
 Margery Blake ! 
 
 (Blake, hearing this name, lets ash-bar- 
 rel fall.) 
 
 Blake (aside): What! 
 
 Carter : Are you sure, my dear, that 
 Mr. Blake is so much to blame in this 
 matter ? 
 
64 SEJVORA VILLENA 
 
 Mrs. Carter : You are never Avilling to 
 blame anybody, Paul ! I am out of pa- 
 tience with you ! If Mr. Blake is not to 
 blame, then of course she must be. Some- 
 body has done wrong ; and it is a great 
 wrong which separates husband from wife. 
 
 Carter : Perhaps not. It may be only a 
 great mistake. 
 
 (Blake sighs and takes up ash-barrel.) 
 
 Carter: Remember, my dear, we have 
 never met this Mr. Blake, and we have no 
 right to judge him without knowing the 
 man and hearing his side of the question. 
 Hello ! Here comes Silverspoon ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Here comes mamma's 
 boobly-pink-palms-precious-treasure ! 
 
 (Teresa, as Rose, in a snow-white apron 
 and a wonderfully crisp cap, comes for- 
 ward from background, pushing baby- 
 carriage, and Silverspoon [Rodriguez] 
 hastening after her.) 
 
 Silverspoon (speaking with strong Eng- 
 lish accent) : Maiden, stay ! Hasten not, 
 fair maid. (To baby.) Innocent creature, 
 will you have a flower? Oh, but you 
 must not eat it ! (To Rose.) Does the 
 baby eat flowers ? 
 
 Rose (aside, looking at Silverspoon) : 
 Ach, isn't he swate ! 
 
SEiSTORA VILLENA 65 
 
 (Silverspoon catches sight of ash-barrel 
 and grasps Carter's arm.) 
 
 Silverspoon : There's another ! 
 
 Carter : What do you mean ? 
 
 Silverspoon : I mean, my dear fellow, 
 what I mean ; and I say, there's another ! 
 
 Carter : An ash-barrel. What of it ? 
 
 Silverspoon : An ash-barrel, did you call 
 it? 
 
 Carter : Yes. 
 
 (Silverspoon goes up to ash-barrel and 
 looks at it with head on one side.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Quaint, antique, lovely, 
 odd ! How pleased the queen will be ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Why, Mr. Silverspoon, 
 what do you mean ? 
 
 Silverspoon : My dear Mrs. Carter, all 
 my life I have been trying, trying, — work- 
 ing, you understand — to think of some- 
 thing to present to my gracious sovereign 
 that would give her pleasure. I have 
 traveled almost the world over, vainly 
 seeking some curiosity worthy of her 
 royal highness, and have failed up to this 
 time. Worn out with travel in ancient 
 countries, I land here in America, and 
 behold ! I immediately find it. I tell 
 you, my dear sir, (to Carter) my fortune 
 is made ! But let me whisper it, for fear 
 
66 SEJ^ORA VILLENA 
 
 some roguish person might catch at the 
 idea and carry it out and so ruin my 
 hopes. I mean to make a collection of 
 ash-barrels and send them to the queen. 
 
 Carter-. And what will the queen do 
 with them ? 
 
 Silver spoon : Do with them ! What do 
 you think she will do them? Put apple 
 jelly in them ? Why, man, they will be 
 on exhibition at the Tower of London ! 
 
 Carter: Carry this 'thing of beauty* 
 over there, Karl, and set it against the 
 wall, where Mr. Silverspoon may see it 
 whenever he comes. 
 
 (Blake goes out as directed. Places 
 barrel against the wall at the left.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : I am so glad you are to be 
 on hand, Mr. Silverspoon, to help enter- 
 tain an unfortunate school friend of mine 
 who is coming to stay with us. Perhaps 
 you read in the papers something about 
 the separation of Mr. and Mrs. Richard 
 Blake of New-York. 
 
 Silverspoon : No, I have never read an 
 American newspaper since one of them 
 had the impertinence — the beastly assur- 
 ance — to make fun of a picture of mine, — 
 and a good picture, Mrs. Carter. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: I have no doubt of it — I 
 
SEmRA VILLENA 67 
 
 mean that the picture was charming. 
 Well, it is but right that you should know 
 about our expected guest. Let us sit 
 down, and Paul and I will tell you. 
 
 (They enter the arbor. Rose goes out, 
 glancing fondly at Silverspoon.) 
 
 Mf's. Carter: There were many guests 
 that evening. Cravats were white and 
 dresses were sleeveless. It was the last of 
 Mrs. Richard Blake's Wednesday evenings 
 at home. 
 
 Silverspoon : This is going to be interest- 
 ing. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Supper was served at 
 twelve o'clock. The supper-room was 
 large, but not too large to accommodate 
 the brilliant company of society people. 
 In the center was a round table of polished 
 oak. Twenty guests were seated at this, 
 and as many more at smaller tables 
 
 Carter (interrupting) : You see we have 
 the particulars from a person who was 
 present. Mrs. Blake was said to be the 
 most charming hostess in the world. 
 People came to enjoy her quite as much 
 as to enjoy the feast she provided. 
 
 Silverspoon : Of course. 
 
 Carter : No, not of course, for her sup- 
 pers were said to be something exquisite. 
 
68 SEJVORA VILLENA 
 
 Silverspoon : Let us fancy that we are 
 present. See the gleam and sparkle of 
 silver and crystal ; see that pyramid of 
 roses rising from a bed of violets ; see 
 those silent waiters, who, more efficient 
 than the genii of the Arabian Nights, will 
 bring you everything you desire without 
 putting you to the trouble of rubbing a 
 lamp or a ring. That is what makes such 
 an occasion memorable. For the time 
 every desire of which you are conscious 
 is being gratified. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : See Mrs. Blake, the host- 
 ess ! She is very young — scarcely more 
 than twenty ; she is gay ; if you have any 
 good point she will discover it and make 
 the most of it while you are at her house ; 
 she fascinates you by her self-confidence 
 and her confidence in you ; she collects 
 about herself the merriest spirits of the 
 metropolis, and lo ! when they are met she 
 is the merriest of them all ; she has black 
 eyes which see everj^thing and read 
 motives easily ; she thinks quickl}'- and 
 moves quickly, without fear of mistake ; 
 and if she does make a mistake, it passes 
 for something clever. 
 
 Silverspoon : Splendid ! And to think 
 
SEI^ORA VILLENA 6q 
 
 that she is going to be here ! Please go 
 on. What happened ? 
 
 Carter : One of the guests sprang to his 
 feet and called out : 'K toast ! My friends, 
 I propose a toast !' 
 
 Silvcrspoon : Let us play it out ! Here, 
 you, Carter, be Blake ; and Mrs. Carter, 
 be Mrs. Blake ; and I shall be the guests. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : But it is not a laughing 
 matter, Mr. Silverspoon. How can you 
 make light of anything so serious ? 
 
 Silverspoon : I ? Not for worlds ! My 
 dear madame, we will play it out seri- 
 ously. Now then, I am the guest propos- 
 ing the toast. (Rises.) Old friends' young 
 wives ! Their graces in this wine we^ — a — 
 we pledge ! (Applauds.) And now I am 
 the«other guests applauding. 
 
 Carter : As you suggest, the toast to 
 the ladies was greeted with loud applause, 
 and the guests all looked to Mr. Blake, 
 the host, to respond. We have never 
 seen Mr. Blake, but we have heard of him 
 as a very polished man — a wit and a 
 scholar, especially fond of botany, who 
 had spent most of his life abroad. 
 
 Silverspoon : What did Blake say ? 
 
 Carter : Not one word ! 
 
 Silverspoon : Beastly ! 
 
70 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Carter : This silence Avas like a wet 
 blanket. The company began to feel very 
 uncomfortably, and the gentleman who 
 had proposed the toast, trying to restore 
 the genial tone, cried : ' What ! Moody 
 to-night, Richard ! Riding a dark horse 
 — black care mounted behind you and 
 that sort of thing? Confess and receive 
 absolution. What is it ? Come, make a 
 clean breast and we'll forgive you.' But 
 this sally was a flat failure, and worse. 
 People shifted uneasily in their chairs. 
 Some looked down with nervous smiles, 
 others anxiously studied the face of their 
 host, who arose slowly and glared at the 
 unfortunate guest before beginning to 
 speak. 
 
 (Neighbor cautiously surveys the grpup 
 in arbor with expression of great interest in 
 what is being said. Silverspoon accom- 
 panies Carter's narrative with pantomime.) 
 
 Carter : Mr. Blake said : ' I shall tell you 
 why I do not respond to the toast which 
 has just been offered. Perhaps you no- 
 ticed' — here he pointed to his wine-glass 
 which was filled to the brim — ' that I did 
 not drink the health of old friends' young 
 wives. I did not, because my glass is 
 filled not with wine but with my books' — 
 
SE^ORA VILLENA 71 
 
 Silver Spoon : Eh ? 
 
 Carter : ' So is yours and yours and 
 yours,' continued Blake, calling the 
 guests by name ; ' and so are all your 
 glasses filled, and you are all drinking 
 my books to the health of my wife and 
 each others' wives and sweethearts !' 
 
 Mrs. Carter : His wife went up to him 
 and laid her hand on his arm. ' You are 
 not well, Richard,' she said ; but he con- 
 tinued without appearing to notice her : 
 ' You thought you were drinking port, 
 doctor, and you, madame, supposed that 
 to be champagne ; that is my Chaucer, sir, 
 and that is a set of Dumas, madame.' And 
 so he went on 
 
 Carter : Staring his guests in the face, 
 with diabolical frankness, like this : ' I am 
 sick of lying. I must speak the truth and 
 I can't make the truth distinct enough 
 to satisfy myself. I am ruined ! I have 
 pledged my library at last, and these 
 things are bought with it. I have no 
 longer the ability to amuse you. I have 
 therefore no longer any claim upon you 
 and you have no claim upon me. This is 
 brutal, but I mean it. Let us go our sev- 
 eral ways.' 
 
72 SENORA villena 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Ugh ! The brute ! Every 
 time I think of it it makes me furious ! 
 
 Carter: I must say for my part, I ad- 
 mire plain speaking like that — under the 
 circumstances. It is honest and down- 
 right. He said just what he meant and 
 left no room for misunderstanding. His 
 wife was ruining him by her extrava- 
 gance. He had warned her and pointed 
 out the consequences without effect. 
 What could he do ? He stopped short 
 before it was too late, left her enough for 
 her comfortable maintenance, and went 
 out to seek his fortune like a man, with- 
 out asking favors of anyone. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: And I say it was harsh 
 and cruel ! She was young, undeveloped, 
 totally without training or experience — 
 except for a short experience of frivolous 
 society. He ought at least to have given 
 her a longer trial. 
 
 Carter : Then it would have been too 
 late. She would have been reduced to 
 poverty. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : But 
 
 Carter: Excuse me, my dear, but I 
 really — it is evident that we cannot agree 
 on that subject — I really must see how 
 the new gardener is getting along. 
 
SENORA VILLENA 73 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Then I'll go with you. 
 Mr. Silverspoon, won't you accompany 
 us? 
 
 Silverspoon: Ah, thank you, thank you, 
 no. You see, my dear Mrs. Carter, there 
 might be another precious art-object com- 
 ing over the Avail, and I would not miss it 
 for the wealth of the Indies. 
 
 (Carter goes out. Silverspoon detains 
 Mrs. Carter.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Allow me one question, 
 Mrs. Carter. Is she pretty ? 
 
 Mrs. Carter : She was beautiful when I 
 last saw her. 
 
 Silverspoon: What has become of the 
 husband ? 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Nobody seems to know. 
 You will do your best to entertain the 
 poor thing, I am sure. We count upon 
 you. 
 
 Silverspoon : Never fear ! You will see 
 altogether too much of me, perhaps. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Impossible ! 
 
 (Mrs. Carter goes out.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Extraordinary and highly 
 interesting ! 
 
 (Takes out sketch-book from pocket and 
 begins to draw.) 
 
 Silverspoon : I suppose these people think 
 
74 SEIZOR A VILLENA 
 
 I am nothing but a fool Believe 111 
 
 just take advantage of being alone to have 
 a whiff. 
 
 (Fills and lights his pipe.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Now for my part I say 
 there's no such fool as your desperately 
 serious man— like that Blake they were 
 talking about, for instance. What an ass ! 
 I could have told him better. I'd have 
 told him about this pipe — how it was hot 
 at first, and when I smoked twice as often 
 as usual to correct that fault it became 
 bitter — and how I was about to give it up 
 when all of a sudden it became sweet. 
 Blake threw his pipe away instead of sea- 
 soning it. 
 
 (Mrs. Blake [Concha] in traveling cos- 
 tume, comes out on piazza. Standing 
 there, she looks about without perceiv- 
 ing Silverspoon. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : It would serve me right if 
 they were not at home. 
 
 (Comes down steps. Goes to arbor and 
 sees Silverspoon, who is holding pencil at 
 arm's length to measure the object which 
 he is sketching. Silverspoon rises and 
 bows.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake : I am looking for Mrs. Car- 
 ter. Are you, perhaps 
 
SEA^OJ^A VILLENA 75 
 
 Silverspooii : Mis. Carter is not here, 
 madame, but I am. 
 
 Mrs. Blake (cordially, putting out her 
 hand) : I am so glad to meet you. You 
 know Gladys and I were very intimate 
 and she has written me all about you, so 
 I feel as though we were old friends. 
 What a lovely home you have ! And I 
 
 suppose (Hesitates.) Have you any 
 
 children ? 
 
 Silverspooii (aside) : What can she mean ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Oh, yes : now I remember. 
 You have one. 
 
 Silverspooii (aside) : What can she mean ? 
 (Aloud) : Aw — you are the lady Mrs. Car- 
 ter was expecting ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake (astonished) : Yes. I came 
 to-day — a day sooner than I said — to give 
 you all a surprise. 
 
 Silverspooii : You have ! 
 
 Mrs. Blake : I hope Mrs. Carter is well. 
 Do you think she will be here soon ? 
 
 Silverspooii (collects sketching materials) : 
 Won't you sit down a moment and I'll go 
 and find her. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : How kind of you ! — Such 
 lovely weather 
 
 Silverspooii (at entrance to arbor) : Did 
 you say the weather was lovely ? Did 
 
76 SEiYORA VILLENA 
 
 you remark that the weather was fine? 
 Yes, lovely ! (Waves sketch-book wildly.) 
 It makes me feel like a child again at 
 home in England, running bareheaded 
 through the meadows. 
 
 (Mrs. Carter enters and stands laughing 
 at Silverspoon. Does not see Mrs. Blake, 
 who is in arbor.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Oh, how fresh the air is ! 
 See me ! Do I not look young, light and 
 happy ? (Springs into air.) See how gay 
 I am ! I am picking wild flowers ! Shall 
 I pick some for you, madame ? 
 
 Mrs. Carter : 'Madame!' (Hastens tow- 
 ards the arbor and sees Mrs. Blake.) Why, 
 Margery ! 
 
 (Mrs. Blake and Mrs. Carter embrace.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter (to Silverspoon) : What were 
 you doing ? 
 
 Silverspoon (very quietly) : Only trying 
 to entertain Mrs. Blake as you told me to. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: My dear child, where on 
 earth did you come from ? I am so glad 
 to see you. Do you know, we must have 
 misread your telegram, for we thought 
 you were coming to-morrow. Please ex- 
 cuse the mistake. You must be tired. 
 Come with me this instant and take off 
 your bonnet. I am so anxious for you to 
 
SEmi^A VILLENA 77 
 
 meet my husband. He will be here pres- 
 ently. He is at the other end of the gar- 
 den 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Who— is— this ? (Points to 
 Silverspoon.) 
 
 Silverspoon (bows) : Mr. Silverspoon, art- 
 ist. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Our friend, Mr. Silver- 
 spoon,— Mrs. Blake— Pray excuse me— I 
 judged from what I saw that you had 
 become acquainted. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: But— I— thought— //^/j:— was 
 — ^your husband. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Here he comes. 
 
 (Carter and Blake come in. Blake is 
 carrying ferns in pots. Puts them down 
 between arbor and piazza, and kneels with 
 back to arbor, to press earth about their 
 roots.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Paul ! Paul ! Come here ! 
 Here is Margery. 
 
 (Blake starts ; glances over his shoulder, 
 but does not see Mrs. Blake, who is still 
 in arbor. Mrs. Blake comes out from 
 arbor. She and Carter shake hands cor- 
 dially.) 
 
 Carter: Welcome to our home, Mrs 
 Blake ! 
 (Blake rises and turns around. Sees his 
 
78 SENORA vJlLENA 
 
 wife. Immediately turns his back and 
 busies himself about plants again.) 
 
 Blake (aside) : She here ! She will nev- 
 er know me in these clothes. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: I thought to surprise you, 
 Mr. Carter ; but I think I am the most 
 surprised person present, thanks to Mr. 
 Silverspoon. 
 
 Carter: What have you been up to. 
 Jack? 
 
 Silverspoon: Nothing. Only entertain- 
 ing Mrs. Blake by playing the fool. 
 
 Carter (laughs) : Sorry I was not here to 
 see, old man. 
 
 Mrs. Caj'ter : Now you must come right 
 into the house with me, Margery. I know 
 you must be fatigued, and meeting so 
 many people you never saw before is 
 
 (Mrs. Blake and Mrs. Carter pass from 
 arbor to piazza. As they pass the garden- 
 er, Mrs. Blake glances at him.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake (aside) : My husband ! 
 
 (Mrs. Blake and Mrs. Carter go into the 
 house. Carter crosses to speak to Blake. 
 Silverspoon is left standing alone by the 
 arbor.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Gad ! I hope the husband 
 will never come back. (Bows, to signify 
 that the first act is concluded ; then comes 
 
sej7oi^a villejva 79 
 
 forward to help Alfredo descend from the 
 lowest branch of the maple-tree, where 
 that young critic had climbed during the 
 performance, saying that he always pre- 
 ferred the gallery.) 
 
TUESDA Y 
 
 HEN, on the following day, the 
 five spectators had taken their 
 places, they saw Mrs. Carter 
 sewing in the arbor while Mr. 
 Carter and Mrs. Blake were playing ten- 
 nis — a game which Concha, in her own 
 character and upon her usual high heels, 
 had always scorned. 
 
 " In tennis-shoes Concha is completely 
 disguised," said cousin Louis, the musi- 
 cian. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Forty— fifteen ! 
 
 Carter : No. That was out ! 
 
 (A tennis ball, struck wildly, flies over 
 wall.) 
 
 Carter : Oh ! That was the very last ! 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Then I suppose we will 
 have to stop playing. Just when I was 
 sure of a game ! Have you not one more ? 
 
 Carter : Not a single one. Old Hole-in- 
 the-Ground has got them all finally. A 
 whole dozen this summer already ! 
 
SEiWRA villena 8i 
 
 Mrs. Blake (draws near to Carter. 
 Mysteriously) : Do you think he would 
 hear if I said something ? 
 
 Carter: No. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Then I won't say it. — Why 
 don't you go over after them ? 
 
 Carter : I have not strictly the right to. 
 That would be trespass ; and it is too 
 small a matter to quarrel about — the loss 
 of a few tennis-balls. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: You say you have never 
 seen him ? 
 
 Carter: Never distinctly or near at 
 hand. He is a mysterious person ; — lives 
 all alone — at least with a house-keeper as 
 old and almost as strange as himself — 
 goes and comes in the night 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Goes and comes ? 
 
 Carter : Goes out of town, I suppose, 
 and always at night. We see a liverj^ car- 
 riage at the door ; it drives away ; that is 
 all. A few days — sometimes a week or a 
 month — afterwards, he returns in the same 
 fashion. Otherwise I don't believe he 
 goes out at all. 
 
 (Mrs. Blake crosses tennis-court to wall, 
 where ash-barrel is still standing.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake : I Avant to look over. 
 
 Carter : Not for worlds ! 
 
32 SE^ORA VILLENA 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Why not ? 
 
 Carter (hesitating) : That would spoil all 
 the fun. The fact is, 1 enjoy this mystery 
 and would not dispel it for anything. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Please! (Insisting.) Please 
 help me up Mr. Silverspoon's 'thing of 
 beauty.' 
 
 Carter: Promise not to tell me what 
 you see ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Yes. 
 
 (Carter assists Mrs. Blake to mount ash- 
 barrel. Standing there she looks over 
 wall and makes signs to someone on other 
 side.) 
 
 Carter : What is it ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : I promised not to tell. It 
 is more mysterious than imagination can 
 picture. It is awful ! Help me down. 
 
 (Carter gives Mrs. Blake his hand. 
 They walk slowly towards arbor.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Have you really never seen 
 your neighbor's garden ? 
 
 Carter : Of course I have formerly ; 
 but not since Hole-in-the-Ground has lived 
 there. He took the place less than a year 
 ago — or, rather, it has always belonged to 
 him, I believe, but he had leased it ever 
 since we have lived here, and he only 
 returned last year. 
 
SENORA VILLENA 83 
 
 Mrs, Blake : I warn you not to try to 
 see him. Well, since we must stop play- 
 ing, I think I will sit with your wife. 
 
 Carter : And I'll go see about the plants. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Paul ! — I shall punish the 
 new gardener as a foe to my domestic 
 happiness if you spend all your time with 
 him. He must be an extraordinary per- 
 son. 
 
 Carter : Your observation hits the mark 
 as usual, my dear. He is a treasure ! So 
 intelligent ! He knows the botany by 
 heart. 
 
 (Carter goes towards background. Mrs. 
 Carter hastens after him.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : I hate myself ! I am ugly 
 and a perfect fiend ! 
 
 Carter : My dear ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter: You need not deny it. 
 That will not do any good. I have my 
 glass : I can see. Besides, I Avas brought 
 up to believe that I was the ugliest thing 
 in the universe. When I had dressed to 
 go out in the evening and tried my best 
 to look well, the first thing I'd hear from 
 my brothers when I came down stairs 
 would be this: — 'Gladys, you are a 
 fright !' 
 
 Carter : Excitement is extremely becom- 
 
84 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 ing to you, my dear. I can scarcely keep 
 my hands off you. This is my answer. 
 
 (Carter takes a small mirror from his 
 pocket and holds this before Mrs. Carter's 
 face. She dashes it to the ground.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : I might as well break it 
 that way as by looking into it ! 
 
 Carter: It is not broken. Look again. 
 You have good taste, child : you cannot 
 help admiring yourself. 
 
 (Carter holds glass before his wife's face 
 until the latter looks better pleased.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Promise not to speak to 
 Karl? 
 
 Carter : May I not watch him weed the 
 beets ? 
 
 (Carter goes out.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter (aside) : I must and I shall 
 and I will get rid of that Karl in one way 
 or another ! 
 
 (Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Blake seated to- 
 gether in arbor.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : My dear Margery, I have 
 an idea. It came to me just now, when I 
 was cutting down these skirts for Babel- 
 kins. See them. Aren't they pretty ? It 
 seems a shame to spoil them, and I hate 
 to put her into short clothes. She will 
 never be so cunning again. 
 
SEIZOR A VILLENA Ss 
 
 Mrs. Blake : They are exquisite, my 
 dear. Why don't you save them for 
 
 (Mrs. Carter puts her hand over Mrs. 
 Blake's mouth.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake : What is this famous idea ? 
 
 Mrs. Carter : You know what a nice 
 girl that nurse girl of mine is, — rather 
 green, perhaps, but decidedly pretty, — 
 and you hear what a nice man the gar- 
 dener is. Now, I have been thinking 
 what a splendid couple they would make. 
 So I've made up my mind that I am going 
 to throw them together as much as I can 
 and see whether I can't make a match. 
 Don't you think it is a charmingly roman- 
 tic idea ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : No ! Not at all ! Not in 
 the least degree ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Pray why not ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Why not ! Because I think 
 they are very ill suited indeed ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Why, Margery ! What do 
 you mean ? In what way are they ill 
 suited ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : In what way ! Why in every 
 
 way ! He is a thousand times The 
 
 idea is perfectly preposterous ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Well, Margery, I think 
 you talk without having any foundation 
 
86 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 for your remarks. Do you think she is 
 too nice for him ? Why, you don't know 
 how nice he is, Margery dear. You have 
 
 not seen so much of him 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Not seen so much of him ! 
 That makes no difference. Anybody could 
 see in one instant that he is a thousand 
 times too good for her ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter : The more you praise him, 
 the more I become convinced that I must 
 get him out of the way. You must see it 
 yourself, dear Margery. Paul is com- 
 pletely taken up with the man. I have no 
 benefit of my husband any longer ! Now, 
 if I can only make Karl spend the greater 
 
 part of his time in courting Rose 
 
 Mrs. Blake: The greater part of his 
 time courting Rose ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Why, yes, don't you see? 
 Mrs. Blake: I see that Mr. Carter would 
 be angry, and very likely would send poor 
 Karl away ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter : All the better, don't you 
 see ? I am sorry you disapprove, for I was 
 just about to send Rose with a message to 
 Karl. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : But your husband has just 
 gone to speak to him. Why did you not 
 send the message by him ? 
 
SENORA VILLENA 87 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Because, for one thing, I 
 did not want Paul to know that I had 
 given this order, and, as I was saying, I did 
 want to throw Karl and Rose together. 
 
 Mrs. Blake (majestically) : No, Gladys ! 
 Rather than place a poor, innocent young 
 girl in such an embarrassing position, I 
 will take the message myself. (Aside.) 
 Just the opportunity I have been waiting 
 for. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: How can you suggest 
 such a thing ? I cannot think of allowing 
 my guest to take so much trouble. I will 
 go. (Starts to go.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Gladys ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Margery ! 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Perhaps I am mistaken 
 about — about Karl. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Well ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake: If so, I should have op- 
 portunity to change my opinion. Let me 
 go and see him now. I will talk with 
 him, and if I find that he is only a supe- 
 rior gardener, — I am sure Rose is very 
 nice and I will help you to, — I will enter 
 into your plan. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : My dear Margery ! How 
 kind and good of you ! 
 
 Mrs. Blake : What is the message ? 
 
88 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Mrs. Carter : To remove that unsightly 
 ash-barrel. You see I do not want Paul 
 to know. He might insist on keeping it 
 — on Mr. Silverspoon's account. 
 
 Mrs. Blake (kisses her) : Very well, my 
 dear. (Going ; then turning back.) And, 
 Gladys, I can't make up my mind from 
 seeing him once, perhaps ; so you will 
 help me to see him as often as you can, 
 won't you ? 
 
 Mrs, Carter : Certainly. Now I must 
 go into the house to get a pattern. 
 
 (Mrs. Carter goes into house. As Mrs. 
 Blake goes towards background, Blake 
 comes forward with rake in his hand. 
 They meet. Blake turns aside. Mrs. 
 Blake stops.) 
 
 Blake (takes off his hat) : Can I do any- 
 thing for you. Miss ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Richard ! 
 
 Blake : Karl, Miss. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Karl, Mrs. Carter— begs 
 you to — to remove the ash-barrel. 
 
 Blake : All right. Miss. (Starts to go.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake : May I go with you, Ri 
 
 Karl? 
 
 (Blake goes across tennis-ground to 
 wall. Mrs. Blake follows. Blake puts 
 down rake and takes up ash-barrel.) 
 
SENORA VILLENA Sq 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Karl. 
 
 Blake (impatiently) : Well, Miss ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Let me carry this for you, 
 Karl ? 
 
 (Takes up rake.) 
 
 Blake (savagely) : Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Oh, Richard! Why do 
 you keep up this disguise with me ? I 
 thought the time for disguises had passed, 
 since you have let me see the whole bitter 
 truth. Can't you forgive me, Richard ? 
 
 Blake: I have forgiven you. I do not 
 even blame you. It was my own fault 
 that I did not restrain you. There is no 
 use of talking about it now. The fact 
 cannot be altered ; and it might be a 
 great deal worse. I left you sufficient 
 means to live at your ease — in the only 
 way you could live 
 
 (Mrs. Blake makes gesture of protest.) 
 
 Blake : As for me, I am content and 
 happy enough in this work. (Bitterly.) 
 You remember my old taste for horti- 
 culture. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Oh, forgive me, forgive 
 me, Richard ! You have not forgiven 
 me, or you would say that you love me. 
 You are cold, cold to me, because you 
 think only of my past folly. Believe me, 
 
go SEIZOR A VI L LENA 
 
 I had rather live in the most abject pov- 
 erty with you than in luxury without you. 
 Oh, you must believe me ! 
 
 Blake : I cannot believe that. No ; the 
 course I have taken is the only one for 
 3^our happiness and for my own. If I 
 should listen to you now, and try again to 
 meet your wishes, the old story would be 
 repeated. I am no longer able to satisfy 
 your demand for costly amusements. I 
 have left you enough for one : it is too lit- 
 tle for both of us. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Then let me be a servant 
 also ! Anything — I would do anything to 
 help you — husband ! 
 
 Blake : I do not believe it. 
 
 (Blake turns sharply and goes out. Mrs. 
 Blake, in great distress, leans against the 
 wall, covering her face with her hands. 
 Neighbor peers cautiously over wall. 
 Does not at first see Mrs. Blake. Then 
 coughs, to call her attention. Mrs. Blake, 
 startled, looks up.) 
 
 Neighbor : Hear every word of it. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : And you are ashamed ? 
 
 Neighbor : No. Ashamed ? No. 
 
 Mrs. Blake (going) : Then you are no 
 better than your reputation. 
 
 Neighbor : Perhapsly. Com' here. 
 
seMora villena gi 
 
 (Mrs. Blake pauses.) 
 
 Neighbor : Jou mean it ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Do I mean what ? 
 
 Neighbor : Want him back ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Yes, of course I desire to 
 be reconciled with my very own husband. 
 But what is that to you? What right 
 have you to interfere? 
 
 Neighbor : Jou do it. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Do what ? What shall I do ? 
 
 Neighbor : What jou say. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Descend to his level and 
 work as he does ? 
 
 Neighbor (nods vigorously) : Jes. Ser- 
 vant. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Do you mean to tell me 
 that I am really to go out to work as a 
 servant girl ? — Where ? 
 
 Neighbor : My house. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Ugh ! 
 
 Neighbor : Piece of advice. Ca, some- 
 bodie com' ! (Disappears.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Go to that house ? Never ! 
 I work as a servant ? (Looks at her hands. 
 Shrugs her shoulders. Then bitterly.) 
 What difference does it make whether my 
 hands are fine or not, if he does not care ! 
 (Sudden idea.) If I could make him jeal- 
 ous — (Another idea.) Silverspoon ! 
 
^2 SENORA VILLEiVA 
 
 (Mrs. Carter comes from house.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Well, Margery, what do 
 
 you think of him ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake (having Silverspoon in 
 mind) : He is a refreshing original. I 
 don't wonder that you are so fond of him. 
 
 (Mrs. Carter is offended.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Oh, forgive me, Gladys 
 dear ! I was thinking of something else. 
 Come, I will go into the house with you. 
 I know you have something to do, and 
 you must not make a stranger of me. 
 
 (Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Blake go into 
 house. Blake comes forward from back- 
 ground alone, working.) 
 
 Blake: How familiar everything here 
 seems ; yet it is impossible that I should 
 remember. I was only five or six years 
 old when I was taken aAva}^ ; and, besides, 
 most of the features of the scene must 
 have changed since that time. Of course 
 that ugly wall was not there, for this gar- 
 den was part of my father's estate. My 
 father ! — What a strange thing for a father 
 to do ! To let me remain in ignorance of 
 my parentage — supposing myself to be an 
 orphan — under the care of a guardian un- 
 til 1 became of age, and then to permit 
 me to travel about all over the world, for 
 
SENORA VILLENA QJ 
 
 years, supposing that I had no home ! 
 Incredible ! I should not believe it possi- 
 ble — if I did not know it to be true. And 
 all this time my father has been alive, liv- 
 ing alone, friendless, hating the world, and, 
 I fear, hated by the world, — kind to me 
 alone ; making himself a miser so that I 
 might have abundance. Now I return to 
 my birthplace, a ruined man, ashamed to 
 make myself or my wants known to my 
 father. Appeal to him now ! — He would 
 think that my necessity and not my affec- 
 tion led me to him. And then, such an 
 evil-tempered old gentleman he turns out 
 to be ! How would such a man receive me ? 
 I must wait, at least until I have learned 
 more about him. But yet, if he had not 
 always watched over me like a guardian 
 spirit, how could he have known the 
 moment of my need and sent me word in 
 the nick of time that he was living and 
 would welcome me at the old home ? 
 
 (Falls to work energetically ; then sud- 
 denly stops, as though struck by an idea.) 
 
 Blake : Is Margery's being here an acci- 
 dent or the work of that providence living 
 on the other side of the wall ? How did 
 it happen that the Carters invited her to 
 visit them at this particular time? The 
 
94 SEiWRA villena 
 
 thought of such a thing never entered my 
 head, or of course I should not have ap- 
 plied for this position. And yet I can't 
 say that I am altogether sorry. She will 
 naturally keep my secret, and in a few 
 days she will go away and leave me in 
 peace. If she stayed longer she'd drive 
 me crazy ! She fascinates me. In spite 
 of everything, I worship her ; and if she 
 should give me the least reason to hope 
 that she is capable of anything but frivol- 
 ity I was harsh with her yester- 
 day. 
 
 (Picks a bouquet.) 
 
 Blake : Some of her favorite flowers : 
 for that reason she will know they come 
 from me. I'll leave them here, where she 
 will find them. 
 
 (Puts flowers on bench in arbor. Mrs. 
 Blake and Silverspoon come out of house 
 and walk towards the arbor, the former 
 with small sewing-basket in her hand, the 
 latter with book and sketch-book.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Let us sit here, Mr. Silver- 
 spoon, and you may read aloud while I 
 embroider. 
 
 (Enters arbor, Silverspoon following. 
 Mrs. Blake opens her work and begins to 
 sew.) 
 
SENORA VILLENA pS 
 
 Silverspoon : No, I will not read aloud. 
 
 Mrs, Blake : What ? 
 
 Silverspoon : I say I will not read. 
 
 Mrs, Blake : Why ? 
 
 Silverspoon : Because I have something 
 much better to do. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Well, then, you may sketch 
 me if you like ; and if it is a good likeness 
 you may keep it. 
 
 Silverspoon /Do you mean it ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Most certainly. Am I sit- 
 ting right ? Pose me. 
 
 Silverspoon (takes up the bunch of flow- 
 ers) : Now please ptit down your em- 
 broidery and hold these flowers and 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Why, where did they 
 come from ? Heliotropes — my favorite 
 flower ! 
 
 Silverspoon (with a lofty air) : They were 
 sent me. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Sent to you ! 
 
 Silverspoon : I said so. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : For pity's sake, by whom ? 
 
 Silverspoon : I don't know, I am sure. 
 One of the many persons who admire me 
 intensely. But, my dear Mrs. Blake, al- 
 low me to pose you. Please don't pay 
 any attention to these flowers. I assure 
 you it is an every -day occurrence. 
 
g6 SEJ70RA VILLENA 
 
 Mrs. Blake: I do not believe they are 
 yours at all. Where did you find them ? 
 
 Silver spoon : ' Find them ' ! I tell you 
 they were sent to me. In fact, when I 
 heard you exclaim, I half accused you of 
 being the donor. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Dear Mr. Silverspoon, if 
 you tell me where you found them, I will 
 give you a boutonniere for yourself. 
 
 Silverspoon : And I tell you, my dear, 
 dear Mrs. Blake, that they were sent me. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: I don't believe it; and to 
 show you that I do not, I am going to 
 keep them all myself. 
 
 Silverspoon (shedding imaginary tears) : 
 Very well. If you rob me of my rights, I 
 shall try to bear it like a man. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Come ! Please pose me. 
 See how nice I look with these flowers — 
 so ! (Striking an attitude.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Charming ! If you will 
 only stand just so, I shall have you on 
 paper in about four minutes. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : How fearful that will be ! 
 I think I shall move. 
 
 Silverspoon : I beg of you, my dear Mrs. 
 Blake, do not move. If you stand so for 
 only five seconds longer, I will tell you 
 who sent you the flowers. 
 
SEI^ORA VILLENA p/ 
 
 Blake (looking up from his work, aside) : 
 What is the fool going to say ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake: So they were sent to me. 
 Oh, I know !— Mr. Carter? 
 
 Silverspoon : No, fair lady. It was I. 
 
 Blake: Oh! 
 
 (Silverspoon and Mrs. Blake look a- 
 round.) 
 
 Silverspoon: He must be ill, poor fel- 
 low. 
 
 Blake : Ah ! (Goes out.) 
 
 Mrs, Blake: Thank you, Mr. Silver- 
 spoon. I am glad to know who sent 
 them. Karl ! 
 
 (Blake turns back. Mrs. Blake goes to 
 him.) 
 
 Mrs, Blake : Karl, I am very anxious to 
 keep these a long while. What is the best 
 way to preserve them ? 
 
 Blake (gruffly): Don't keep them at 
 all! 
 
 Mrs, Blake : It is not a success ! I can't 
 flirt with Mr. Silverspoon ! 
 
 Blake : No, decidedly it is not a success. 
 
 Silverspoon : You cannot flirt with Mr. 
 Silverspoon ! I don't see why you need 
 tell the gardener ! 
 
 (Blake goes out.) 
 
 Silverspoon : What do you mean ? 
 
g8 SEmRA VILLENA 
 
 Mrs, Blake: I mean that I have been 
 trying my best to flirt with you and have 
 not succeeded. 
 
 Silver spoon : Is it my fault ? I am sorry. 
 Won't you try it again ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake: It would not do any good, 
 now that Karl has gone away. 
 
 Silverspoon : Karl ! The gardener ! In 
 Heaven's name, what has Karl to do with 
 it? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : I wanted to make him jeal- 
 ous, don't you know ? 
 
 Silverspoon: You wanted to make the 
 gardener jealous ! He ! Gardener ! Jeal- 
 ous — of me ! 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Yes, jealous — of you. Don't 
 you see ? 
 
 Silverspoon : Don't I see ? No, I confess 
 I do not see. I protest ! (Reflecting.) I 
 think I shall have to tell you a secret. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Do. 
 
 Silverspoon : I am not so much of a fool 
 as I appear. Sometimes I may be taken 
 seriously. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Oh, if you are serious you 
 must go away. Fly ! 
 
 Silverspoon : Really ? But 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Not one word ! Go ! 
 
 (Silverspoon goes out. Mrs. Blake goes 
 
SENORA VILLENA gg 
 
 quickly to the wall and throws the bou- 
 quet over.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Now I must go after them. 
 He sent me flowers. He does love me. 
 I will show him w^hat I can do ! And I 
 think a cap and apron will be very becom- 
 ing. 
 
 (Neighbor puts head above wall.) 
 
 Neighbor: Well? 
 
 Mrs, Blake : Well. 
 
 Neighbor : Jou going to do it ? 
 
 Mrs, Blake : Yes. Will you make me 
 work very hard ? 
 
 Neighbor : Verie hard. Oh, jes, verie 
 much ! 
 
 Mrs, Blake : I am coming, anyhow. 
 
 Neighbor : When ? 
 
 Mrs, Blake : This evening. 
 
 (Neighbor puts finger to his lips and 
 disappears. Mrs. Carter comes in.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Alone ! I thought I heard 
 you talking with someone. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Mr. Silverspoon has just 
 gone away. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Ah ! What a nice, sur- 
 prising man he is, is he not, Margery ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Very. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : How thoughtful you are 
 to-day, dear child. (Puts arm around 
 
lOO SEflORA VJLLENA 
 
 Mrs. Blake.) There, dear, don't think 
 about it. It will all come out right in 
 the end. Your husband will see his mis- 
 take 
 
 Mrs. Blake : My husband has not made 
 any mistake. It was all my own fault ! 
 
 Mrs, Carter: There, there, dear. Do 
 not think about it. The best way to dis- 
 pel one's own grief is to interest onesself 
 in plans for the happiness of others. For 
 instance. Rose and Karl — Have you made 
 up your mind to assist me to bring them 
 together ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Never ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter (reproachfully) : Why, Mar- 
 gery ! 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Karl is my husband ! Karl 
 is Richard Blake ! Karl is the most 
 shamefully abused and — abused and — 
 abused mortal ! And all by me ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Karl your husband ! What 
 is he doing here — in this disguise ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : I cannot imagine ; but this 
 I know, dear Gladys : instead of helping 
 you to bring Karl and Rose together, you 
 must help me to bring Karl and Margery 
 together. Oh, how clearly I see my mis- 
 take now ! What you have told me of 
 vour own happy life — so simple, so gener- 
 
SEmRA VILLENA lOI 
 
 ous, SO noble — is like a revelation to me. 
 It shows me my own folly and my own 
 selfishness. 
 
 (They enter the house.) 
 
 " Our Spanish women," said cousin 
 Louis, the musician, speaking w4th confi- 
 dence, as the only man in the audience, 
 "are frivolous in minor points, but in 
 matters of importance they are obedient 
 and dependent. Are there many such 
 untamed creatures — such little tyrants — 
 as this Margery Blake? I should think 
 the Americans who marry them could do 
 nothing afterwards." 
 
WEDNESDA Y 
 
 T the close of the second act 
 Rodriguez, going to his room 
 to dress for dinner, had passed 
 Medina in the hall. 
 '' Do you not think the audience a very 
 cold — a very unresponsive ?" he had asked. 
 " They have not thrown one thing at us." 
 '' Wait till to-morrow," Medina had said. 
 '' They are beginning to feel at home. 
 Being out-doors, they have not quite 
 known what to make of it. When they 
 feel the liberty of the theater, look out for 
 your head ! You deserve a broken one for 
 your cockney English and your capers." 
 It is perhaps necessary to explain that this 
 was a compliment. 
 
 The audience did feel at home when for 
 the third time they took their chairs under 
 the maple-tree. 
 
 (Silverspoon is seen walking alone up 
 and down the tennis-ground.) 
 
 Silverspoon : What a bore ! She has 
 
SES^ORA VILLENA lOJ 
 
 gone away, and gone away thinking me a 
 fool. Gad, but I caught it from her 3^es- 
 terday ! But I hadn't done anything. 
 Perhaps she doesn't like me because I 
 am near-sighted. And she went and told 
 the gardener — that w^as the worst of it. 
 This comes of being what people call 
 funny. And just look at that ! (Points 
 to ash-barrel.) Carter had that put back 
 for m}^ sake. He takes me seriously ! 
 
 (Mrs. Blake, dressed in cap and apron, 
 sitting on wall, throws an apple at him. 
 Silverspoon is startled, but does not look 
 around. Rose, carrying baby in her arms, 
 comes in, conceals herself behind the ar- 
 bor and observes them.) 
 
 Silverspoon : The old devil ! Firing ap- 
 ples at me — me — as though he did not 
 know my preference for ash-barrels ! 
 
 (Mrs. Blake throws another apple.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Hello ! Hello ! I say, back 
 there, if you don't stop that, Pll come and 
 — come and pull your nose off ! 
 
 (Silverspoon continues to walk. Anoth- 
 er apple. He turns angrily, sees Mrs. 
 Blake, and does not recognize her.) 
 
 Silverspoon (aside) : Oh ! Deuced good- 
 looking ! (Aloud.) Was it you who threw^ 
 the apples? I thought it was that old 
 
I04 SE^ORA VILLENA 
 
 d — that old gentleman who lives over 
 there. Pray forgive me for the language 
 I employed. 'If I had known it was you, 
 I would not have said I would pull your 
 nose off. No, indeed, not for worlds. 
 Your nose is very well where it is, and 
 you are not an old devil by any means. 
 
 (Mrs. Blake replies by gesture only.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Oh, I say, don't be too 
 rough on a fellow for a simple mistake. 
 Pray forgive me. 
 
 (Mrs. Blake repeats gesture.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Ah, I see ! Deaf and 
 dumb ! What a beauty ! What a splen- 
 did nose ! — it must be a great comfort to 
 you. If I did not know that Mrs. Blake 
 had gone away — I wish I were not as 
 blind as a bat ! She looks so much like 
 her that I must keep up the same flirta- 
 tion. (Takes out sketch-book.) I must 
 draw her — not draw her from the wall, 
 but on the wall. I must 
 
 (Begins to sketch her. She makes 
 gesture to stop him. He offers to put up 
 sketch-book. She nods and offers flower. 
 He takes it and puts it in button-hole.) 
 
 Silverspoon : How sweet of her ! Love- 
 ly creature ! 
 
 Rose (aside): Isn't he illegant ! 
 
seNora villena ios 
 
 (Mrs. Blake shakes her head violently 
 and makes motions.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Not for me ? Not for me ? 
 Ah, I know what I'll do. (Takes out 
 sketch-book and writes.) Not for me? 
 (Shows what he has written to her. She 
 nods.) 
 
 Silverspoon : For Mr. Carter ? (Writes 
 as before. She shakes her head and 
 makes gestures.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Does she mean sewing ? 
 Mrs. Carter ? (Writes as before. She 
 shakes her head.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Ah, I see. Stupid of me ! 
 That gesture means holding the baby, of 
 course. (Writes as before.) For Rose 
 and the baby ? No ! What is a poor fel- 
 low to do ? There's nobody left — except 
 Karl ! (Writes as before. She assents.) 
 Karl ? It isn't ! It cannot be ! The 
 beast ! That infernal gardener interferes 
 in every affair with the women that I be- 
 gin ! It will be so with the queen. When 
 I present those ash-barrels to her majesty, 
 Karl will be there to get all the credit 
 and all the smiles ! 
 
 (Gesture by Mrs. Blake.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Now what does she mean ? 
 Does she want to see the villain ? (Writes 
 
I06 SEiSrORA VILLENA 
 
 as before. She assents.) Just my luck ! 
 Well — (Sighs deeply. Exit.) 
 
 Mrs. Blake : How stupid men are ! How 
 they deceive themselves ! They swear 
 they adore us — and really fancy they do 
 — when it is not us at all ! Every hair of 
 our head is precious. (Puts hand to 
 head.) This style ten dollars ! The very 
 hem of our gown is sacred ; but a little 
 rouge and a few artificial freckles trans- 
 form us into servant girls ! 
 
 (Blake comes in with Silverspoon. Mrs. 
 Blake motions latter to retire. Silver- 
 spoon goes out, followed by Rose.) 
 
 Blake : Margery ! 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Sally, sir. 
 
 Blake : What do you mean ; and what 
 is the meaning of this peculiar costume ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake (imitating Blake's manner) : 
 The course I have taken is the only one 
 for your happiness and for my own. I 
 have left you in the enjoyment of your 
 chosen occupation. As for me, I am con- 
 tent and happy enough in this work. You 
 remember my old taste for — masquerades. 
 
 Blake : Explain ! Explain ! 
 
 Mrs. Blake (earnestly) : You said you 
 did not believe me capable of any sacri- 
 fice. I mean to prove to you that I am. 
 
seKtora villena 107 
 
 Would you do second work for me — for 
 my sake ? 
 
 Blake (laughs): No. 
 
 Mrs, Blake : Well ? 
 
 Blake : Margery, you are adorable ! 
 (Looks around.) There is nobody to see. 
 Jump down and I'll kiss you. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Oh, no ! I have not proved 
 it yet. That will take time ; and besides 
 
 Blake : And, besides, I am as poor as 
 ever. Is that what you were going to 
 say? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Nothing of the kind ! But 
 that reminds me — since you want to make 
 more money — I was sent with a message 
 from master. Master wants to know if 
 you can spare any time to work for him. 
 
 Blake : For him ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : For him. 
 
 Blake : Judging from what I have 
 heard, he must be a disagreeable person. 
 
 Mrs. Blake : Oh, we must not mind a 
 good beating once in a while. And just 
 think what fun we'll have ! While I am 
 scrubbing the kitchen floor, you will come 
 in with the potatoes — charming ! And 
 Saturday nights you will go out to the 
 drunk store and come home — delicious ! 
 
Io8 SEJ^ORA VILLENA 
 
 And when your garden-clothes get over- 
 ripe, what bliss to patch them ! 
 
 (Mrs. Blake disappears. Blake resumes 
 his work. Silverspoon enters, followed 
 by Rose ; and their by-play excites great 
 commotion among the audience. Cousin 
 Louis and Isabelita, watching Rodriguez, 
 clap their hands and shout '' Bravo ! Bra- 
 vo !" But the mother and mamita are 
 watching Teresa and their eyes are 
 stormy. " Ei ! What is the girl think- 
 ing about ! Can she not behave ! Shame ! 
 Oxte ! Teresa, Teresita !" they cry to each 
 other and to her.) 
 
 Silverspoon (aside) : Woe ! Shall I nev- 
 er escape from this torment? (Aloud.) 
 What do you mean by following me, 
 creature ? 
 
 Rose : Crater, indade ! It's mesel' as 
 knows the manin' uv a glance uv the oi, 
 loike, an' yersel' as has tould me a swate 
 sacret wid that same bright pair 
 
 Silverspoon : Sweet secret ! Oh ! 
 
 Rose : He gives a side glance and looks 
 down : look out ! as the poet says. 
 
 Silverspoon : Confusion and torments ! 
 
 Rose : Faith ! I saw ye an' yer thricks 
 wid writin' and talkin' tinder. (Imitates.) 
 ' What a beauty !' 
 
SENORA VILLENA lOg 
 
 " The Americans call those things * ser- 
 antsM The satire is just," shouted cousin 
 Louis. '' Brava, Teresa ! Bravo, Rodri- 
 
 guez !' 
 
 Silverspoon : What in tlie world can I 
 do? If I go that way (pointing to the 
 house) — the Carters will see me in this 
 ridiculous scrape. If I go |hat way 
 (pointing to the wall) she will have me 
 in a corner. If I take refuge in the 
 arbor she will surround me. I might set 
 my back against the wall and bid her defi- 
 ance — but no ! Hole-in-the-Ground would 
 be sure to hear. I would climb a tree — 
 but that would spoil my crease. Oh, what 
 shall I do ? 
 
 Rose : My ! how modest. Would it help 
 ye any ter see me on ther wall, shakin' 
 me hid an' movin' me hands loike her ? 
 There ! just hould on ter that (gives Sil- 
 verspoon the baby) whilst I climb. (Sit- 
 ting on wall.) Up I am, sur! Och ! hould 
 its hid up sthraight — the poor helpless 
 infant ! An' pull the skirts down ! Don't 
 ye go puttin' yer hand on ter the soft spot, 
 man aloive ! 
 
 Silverspoon : Heaven defend me ! What 
 shall I do ! Sound the fire-alarm ? Put 
 
no SENORA VILLENA 
 
 the baby in the ash-barrel ? Something 
 
 must be done, and quickly, too. My 
 
 good girl, please come down? 
 
 (Rose shakes her head and makes ges- 
 tures in imitation of Mrs. Blake. Mother 
 and mamita have decided that this is not 
 the place to say and do what Teresa's con- 
 duct calls for. They have also decided 
 what they will say and do to both Teresa 
 and Rodriguez at a more convenient 
 season. They are silent and terrible. Isa- 
 belita and Fredo are hysterical with 
 laughter. Cousin Louis is waving his 
 chair.) 
 
 Silver spoon : What ? I beg pardon, I 
 did not hear. There's a dear, good girl, 
 come down, come down ! 
 
 (Rose repeats gesture.) 
 
 Silverspoon (aside) : She expects me to 
 say something flattering : if it is what she 
 can't understand it will answer the pur- 
 pose quite as well. I must think up 
 some quotation. (Reflects a moment; then 
 quotes. "^ ' Spirit of merciful interpretation, 
 angel of forgiveness that hearkenest as if 
 forever to some sweet choir of far-off, fe- 
 male intercessions : do thou, angel that 
 hearkenest, do ye, choir that intercede, 
 join together to drive away that dark 
 
SEJ^ORA VILLENA ITI 
 
 spirit, born amid the gathering mists of 
 remorse, that strides after me in pursuit 
 from forgotten days, overhanging and 
 overshadowing my head.' 
 
 Cousin Louis sits down again. His 
 face wears an expression of grief. " Bah !" 
 says to he Isabelita, " that is not good. 
 That is strained, overdone ! Bah !" Isa- 
 belita nods assent. Only Fredo continues 
 to laugh. 
 
 In the midst of Silverspoon's apostro- 
 phe, Mr. and Mrs. Carter come in. Mrs. 
 Carter, about to start forward, is restrained 
 by Mr. Carter. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : My poor baby ! (Has- 
 tens to Silverspoon.) Rose ! — Mr. Silver- 
 spoon ! — Are you all crazy ? (Takes baby 
 from Silverspoon.) Mamma's poor, wee 
 one ! 
 
 Carter : What a pity to interrupt him, 
 my dear ! 
 
 Mrs Carter : ' Interrupt,' indeed ! Rose ! 
 
 Silverspoon : Pray, do not be angry with 
 her, Mrs. Carter. It was all my fault. 
 You see — you see — I — in fact, I wanted to 
 draw her, and I was speaking to her when 
 
112 SEmRA VILLENA 
 
 you came in in order to give her the right 
 expression, don't you know ? 
 
 Carter : The expression was admirable, 
 my boy, — especially of her feet. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : If you gentlemen think it 
 proper to joke about such conduct, I do 
 not I 
 
 (Carter holds the pocket-mirror before 
 Mrs. Carter's face.) 
 
 A'^^v (sobbing) : Please, ma'am 
 
 Silverspoon : I promise you, dear, dear 
 Mrs. Carter, it shall not occur again if I 
 can help it never ! 
 
 Carter : Come I let it pass this time, my 
 dear. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Well, then, I suppose I 
 must forgive you this time, Rose. Here ! 
 take baby and 
 
 (Mrs. Carter walks aside with Rose, giv- 
 ing instructions in an undertone. Isabel- 
 ita whispers to cousin Louis : " See what 
 a perfect actress Gloria is ! She under- 
 stands small points. Her mantilla is put 
 on unbecomingly, to show that she has 
 been in a temper.") 
 
 Carter (pokes Silverspoon in the ribs) : 
 Pretty girl, eh ? — You sly dog ! 
 
 Silverspoon : No ! Upon my word. This 
 was not that sort of thing at all ! 
 
SENORA VILLENA IIJ 
 
 Carter (incredulously) : Tut, tut, man ! 
 Tut, tut. 
 
 (Rose goes out with baby.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter: I am so lonely without 
 Margery ! It is something terrible ! 
 
 Silverspoon : Terrible ! I don't think I 
 quite understand where she is gone. 
 
 Carter : I don't think /quite understand 
 where she is gone. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Perhaps not. She was a 
 high-spirited girl ! 
 
 Silverspoon : Very ! Where did you say 
 — did I understand 
 
 Mrs. Carter : She seemed the one thing 
 needed to make our life here perfect bliss. 
 
 Silverspoon : She did ! 
 
 (Silverspoon goes to the arbor, takes 
 from his pocket a large poster, folded ; 
 unfolds this and fastens it to the arbor 
 with a pen-knife. On this poster is a vig- 
 orous sketch of Mrs. Blake and printed in 
 large letters, the following : 
 
 Strageb 0r Stokn! 
 
 FROM OUR MIDST, A CHARMING YOUNG PERSON. 
 FINDER WILL BE LIBERALLY REWARDED, AND NO QUES- 
 TIONS ASKED. 
 
 8 
 
tI4 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 It was the original poster, which Vin- 
 cent had begged of Carter when the lat- 
 ter had first told him the story.) 
 
 Carter: Come, my dear. Acknowledge 
 that our life is perfect bliss without Mrs. 
 Blake. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: What would you say if 
 you should lose Karl ? 
 
 Carter : Lose Karl ! What do you 
 mean ! Have you any reason to think 
 
 Karl ! What is this talk I hear ! 
 
 Are you dissatisfied with me ? 
 
 Blake: No, sir. 
 
 Carter : And you are willing to stay ? 
 
 Blake (with hesitation) : I shan't go be- 
 fore you agree to it. 
 
 Carter : Oh, well ; that is satisfactory, I 
 am sure. (To Mrs. Carter.) My dear, in- 
 stead of falling into the melancholy vein, 
 suppose we have a game of tennis. Oh, I 
 forgot ! There are no balls ! 
 
 (A number of tennis-balls thrown over 
 the wall. Fredo roars and rolls over on 
 the ground in his delight. The others 
 are patient.) 
 
 Silver spoon : A miracle ! Another won- 
 der ! In America they have snow-storms 
 in mid-summer, and each snow-flake is a 
 regulation tennis-ball ! 
 
SEJVORA VILLENA II5 
 
 Carter : Many thanks, neighbor ! 
 
 (Carter goes to arbor ; sees Silver- 
 spoon's poster and beckons Mrs. Carter.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Tear it down ! This is 
 going altogether too far ! 
 
 Carter : Ignore it, my dear. 
 
 (Mrs. Carter puts out her hand to tear 
 down the poster. Carter restrains her.) 
 
 Carter : Oh, no — ^ please ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter : There ! I know ! I have 
 always known that I was ugly and plain 
 and homel}^ and 
 
 (Carter puts mirror before her face.) 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Not very good-looking. 
 
 Carter: Here are the rackets. Now, 
 my dear, you and Jack 
 
 Silver spoon : Oh, I forgot ! 
 
 Mrs. Carter: Don't tell me that you 
 have an engagement. I won't consent to 
 give you up also ! 
 
 Silver spoon : No, I forgot to tell you. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : What ? 
 
 Silverspoon : There is a stunner over 
 there. 
 
 Carter : A stunner — over there ? 
 
 Silverspoon : A beauty. A lovely maiden 
 who sits on the wall and wants to see 
 Karl. 
 
 Carter : What ! Rose ? 
 
Il6 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Silverspoon : No ; another. She has 
 golden hair and the most exquisite nose ! 
 I started to converse with her, but she 
 would not have it and sent me awa}^ 
 There was only one trouble. 
 
 Carter: What? 
 
 Silverspoon: She was deaf. And one 
 other. 
 
 Mrs. Carter: What? 
 
 Silverspoon : She was dumb. Otherwise 
 charming-. 
 
 (Mrs. Blake comes in from piazza.) 
 
 Silverspoon : Here she is again ! (Hast- 
 ens up to her and takes out sketch-book.) 
 1 will w^rite it for you, poor thing. 
 
 Mrs. Blake: Poor thing yourself, sir. 
 (Drops a courtesy.) Master's compli- 
 ments to Mr. and Mrs. Carter, and he 
 is coming, ma'am. 
 
 Silverspoon : Another miracle ! 
 
 Carter: Wh}^ That is Mrs. Blake, or 
 
 Silverspoon : If it is Mrs. Blake, I 
 
 Mrs. Carter : Who is your master, my 
 good girl ? 
 
 Mrs. Blake : That I don't know, ma'am , 
 but here he comes himself, ma'am. 
 
 (Neighbor comes in. It is the first time 
 that senora Villena has put on her full 
 
SENORA VILLENA II7 
 
 costume, for previously she had shown 
 but her head and shoulders above the 
 wall. Now, she has avoided the indel- 
 icacy of dressing " liker yentleman " in 
 all respects by devising a rough coat with 
 skirts which reach to the top of her dainty 
 French shoes. In her right hand, brilliant 
 with diamond rings, — all she possesses be- 
 ing put on for the grand occasion — she 
 grasps a heavy, knotted stick. In her left 
 is a similar stick which she uses as a 
 crutch.) 
 
 Blake (aside) : My father ! Alas ! how 
 feeble and worn ! 
 
 The play could not go on for a time. 
 The senora's grave manner and ridiculous 
 costume; Medina's voice shaken on the 
 word "father" and breaking on "alas" — it 
 was too much. Actors and audience — 
 even mother and mamita — shouted and 
 screamed. 
 
 Neighbor (to the audience) : Don't be so 
 fool ! Jour servant, madame. Jour ser- 
 vant, yentlemen. 
 
 Carter: I am very glad to meet our 
 neighbor finally. 
 
 Mrs. Carter : We are very glad, indeed. 
 
II 8 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Silverspoon : Indeed. 
 
 Carter: Welcome back, Mrs. Blake ! 
 
 Silverspoon : It is Mrs. Blake ! If I had 
 known that it was you on the wall 
 
 Mrs. Blake (imitating Silverspoon) : 
 ' Deuced good-looking ! . . . . How sweet 
 of her ! .... Not for me? .... For 
 Karl ? .... It isn't !' 
 
 (Mrs. Carter leads neighbor to seat in 
 arbor.) 
 
 Carter: Why did you leave us so sud- 
 denly ? We were in despair. 
 
 (Mrs. Blake points to poster, — ''No 
 questions asked.") 
 
 Neighbor : Silence, friends ! Shut op, 
 bo-ee ! (To cousin Louis.) I shall ex- 
 explainer everything myself. I am man 
 of few Avords, but I do — I shall explainer 
 everything. 
 
 (Blake draws nearer. All very atten- 
 tive.) 
 
 Neighbor: Thirty -five year sago, I mar- 
 ry a beautiful wife. I lover her ! I lover 
 her ! We have wong chil'. Wen this 
 chir wass less than wong year, my wife 
 die, I can never say so before. Even 
 
 now the memory of that ca ! it maker 
 
 me sad. From that time I hate the world 
 an' see nobodie — not wong persong ! I 
 
SENORA VI L LENA II g 
 
 maker the rebellion from my soul an' my 
 heart with the good God an' man. An' 
 the most estranger thing wass this : that I 
 cannot bear to see that chil'. I hater him : 
 he reminder me too much of the mother. 
 After a few year 1 sender that bo-ee away 
 to a friend who taker good care of him an* 
 teller him I am dead, an' his mother too. 
 By-an'-by he grow to be a man, an' a fine 
 man — solide. He don' know, but all the 
 time I watcher him. Wen he wass marry, 
 I am there. I don' say nothing : nobodie 
 see me in that church. Wen I seer him 
 so happy, I wass crazy to embracer him ! 
 All the love I have had for the mother, I 
 giver that to him then. I want to taker 
 him home Avith me and keeper him always. 
 But I say. No ! Wat he would thinker of 
 me ? Wat he would thinker of me who 
 leaver him so, — who everyone hate ? I 
 cannot speaker to him. 
 
 Blake : Father ! 
 
 Carter : Karl ! 
 
 Silverspoon : The husband ! 
 
 Neighbor : Pay attengtion ! . . . Wen he 
 iss in trouble I sender to him, but he will 
 not com'. 
 
 Blake : And I was 
 
 Neighbor (imposing silence with a ges- 
 
T20 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 ture) : Then 1 have been sad for long 
 time, till I see this leetle girl (takes Mrs. 
 Blake's hand) — so sweet ! — in her cap an' 
 her apron. 
 
 Blake: And I was only restrained by 
 the fear lest you should think my pov- 
 erty, and not affection 
 
 Neighbor : Ca, let us finish this trouble, 
 this sadness, an' all be yolly ! Hurry op 
 an' haver good time ! 
 
 (Blake and Neighbor embrace. Neigh- 
 bor takes Mrs. Blake's hand and gives her 
 to Blake.) 
 
 Neighbor : Taker her an' be good bo-ee ! 
 Don' quarrel no more. Leaver happy. 
 (To Mr. and Mrs. Carter.) We be good 
 friends, no ? — an' to prover that 
 
 Mrs. Carter: We will have the wall 
 taken away. 
 
 Senora Villena's triumph was complete. 
 Everyone praised her, and Vincent thanked 
 her for saving the day and redeeming the 
 play. 
 
 " Have I done my part well ?" Teresa 
 asked her mother when they were alone 
 in the latter's room. '' It was so extrava- 
 gant ! But did you like my acting ?" 
 
SENORA VILLENA 121 
 
 " That was not acting : that was be- 
 havior," said the mother, very sternly. 
 
 Then Teresa was forced to tell how 
 Rodriguez had declared his passion in 
 Gloria's presence but without exciting her 
 suspicion. ''And I am sure," she con- 
 cluded, " that the burlesque this afternoon 
 was a complete blind, just because it was 
 so exaggerated. Nobody but you under- 
 stood me. He did not — I know that." 
 
 " But what he did in Gloria's presence, 
 my child, was done with grace and deli- 
 cacy." 
 
 '' Ah, darling little mother ! You can- 
 not expect me to equal him !" 
 
SOIREE AT SE VILLA 
 
 HE invitations which Medina 
 had addressed were for the day 
 following that on which the 
 play was finished. You may 
 know from this that Gloria was full of 
 fears. What if it should prove an anti- 
 climax ? 
 
 At half-past eight in the evening Vin- 
 cent, his hands clasped behind his back, 
 was walking up and down the brilliantly- 
 lighted, empty but expectant rooms of 
 the ground floor. Presently cousin Louis 
 came down stairs and joined him. 
 
 '' Well, our good host," said the latter, 
 
 *' I suppose they will be here Why ! 
 
 How is this ?" he asked, noticing that Vin- 
 cent was not in full dress. "You have 
 put on a morning coat since dinner?" 
 
 '' There will be one or two guests to 
 keep me company in this bad form, as you 
 will see," said Vincent. " Fm sorry; for 
 the rooms will be warm and this coat is 
 heavy. What do you think of those flow- 
 ers in the corner? Aren't they too close 
 
SEIZOR A VILLENA 12 J 
 
 together? I think I'll call the gardener" 
 
 Louis Diaz laughed. '' You remind me 
 of Carter," he said. "And, by the way, 
 did you not put a good deal of yourself 
 and your own traits into that character of 
 Paul Carter?" 
 
 ''But I know Carter," said Vincent, 
 '' and I set down what I knew. However, 
 on second thought, you are right," he cor- 
 rected himself ; " for I had to add some 
 points where my information was defec- 
 tive. I thought I reasoned out what was 
 probable for him and in him — the unknown 
 from the known ; but very likely, as 3^ou 
 say, I was only studying myself then. 
 His way of living is so like my own." 
 
 "■ Is his wife economical, as you repre- 
 sent her? I only know them socially — 
 not intimately." 
 
 '' There I confess I took a suggestion 
 from Gloria. Gloria is not exactly eco- 
 nomical, but — well, I will tell you what 
 she said to me the other day. We were 
 out shopping together and I offered to 
 give her a piece of jewelry which she 
 admired. 
 
 " 'Oh, I have that,' she said. 
 
 " ' You have it !' I said. ' Then what is 
 
124 SEJ^ORA VILLENA 
 
 it doing here in the shop ? Oh ! you have 
 
 ordered it and Mr. has neglected to 
 
 send it. Let me speak to him.' 
 
 " ' No, no,' she said, ' I would rather 
 have Mr. keep it for me.' 
 
 " 'And why ?' 
 
 '' ' Well, I saw it a good while ago and 
 asked the price. Then I saved up my 
 pocket-money until I had enough to buy 
 it. Then of course it belonged to me if I 
 wanted to go and get it ; but by that time 
 
 I thought I'd let Mr. keep it for me. 
 
 And I think so still.' " 
 
 " Hm !" said cousin Louis, critically. 
 
 " I am interested to know what will 
 become of that money she has saved up," 
 continued Vincent ; " and 1 have put more 
 than usual into her purse this week just to 
 see if she will let Mr. keep that brace- 
 let (it was a bracelet) when she has enough 
 and to spare." 
 
 The fair subject of their conversation 
 entered the parlors a moment later, and 
 soon the entire family were met. Then 
 the ladies put their hands upon each other 
 to adjust things, while the gentlemen, be- 
 ing unable to imagine the slightest change 
 for the better in such toilettes, applauded 
 uncritically. 
 
SEI^ORA VILLENA 125 
 
 Such a time is favorable for heariiipf 
 terms of endearment : and what a range is 
 given to expression by adding a few let- 
 ters at the end of a Spanish word ! If you 
 would tell how close is the union in a fam- 
 ily, what more can you say than this : A 
 Spanish father has been known to call his 
 baby " papa", while the baby was calling 
 its grandmother '' mamita" (little mother). 
 Both extremes of age are flattered and- 
 drawn as near together as possible. And 
 have you noticed that Isabelita, being the 
 oldest sister and unmarried — too old to be 
 unmarried, others beside herself have said, 
 — is always called little Isabel, Avhile the 
 youngest, Teresa, is named without dimin- 
 utive ? I do not mean that this is an in- 
 flexible rule. It is largely a question of 
 taste. Sefiora Villena's way, when not in 
 one of the rare fits of melancholy, was to 
 fancy that she herself and all her especial 
 friends had not outgrown the taste for 
 dolls. 
 
 '' An' that bebe," she was saying to 
 Gloria, " that bebe he is asleep so con- 
 ning." Suddenly her face expressed mor- 
 tal terror. " Bebe !" she cried, " there 
 are a mice in the wall !" 
 
 Gloria's ear had caught the same sound 
 
126 SEJ^ORA VILLENA 
 
 but interpreted it differently. '* Someone 
 is coming up the gravel walk. That is 
 what you hear," she said. 
 
 The first guests were arriving. 
 
 These proved to be monsieur and mad- 
 ame Dindome, who taught music, one 
 singing, the other the piano. They 
 brought with them their daughter Marie, 
 an exceedingly pretty girl with a fine 
 •voice, who kissed the hostess at least six 
 times, laughing continually at nothing, 
 speaking half English, half French, with 
 many antics which may have been natural 
 or may have been for the benefit of the 
 strange gentlemen present. Monsieur 
 Dindome wore a full-dress suit, with the 
 exception of a large flat shield-cravat 
 which hung down half-way to meet the 
 low-cut waistcoat, leaving a wide margin 
 of shirt-front. Upon his feet were cloth 
 gaiters. 
 
 When cousin Louis saw that cravat he 
 commended Vincent for putting on a 
 morning coat. 
 
 The next arrivals were Mr. and Mrs. 
 Horace Penman, and with them Miss 
 Slyme. They deserve more than a word 
 in passing, for Mr. Penman has often been 
 
SENORA VILLENA 12^ 
 
 pointed out to strangers as a typical Old- 
 havener. He was a tall, thin man of very 
 erect figure and grave countenance. He 
 had lived temperately and worked delib- 
 erately ; so that now, at sixty or sixty-five, 
 he was active and would cure a head- 
 ache by exercise rather than take medi- 
 cine. But he would tell you that he was 
 an old man. He was a lawyer with a 
 good practice — enough, at least, to keep 
 him from the bench. He was intensely 
 respectable. To those whom he had often 
 met and whose family history he knew, he 
 showed himself friendly or even cordial ; 
 but with recent or slight acquaintances 
 his manner was coldly indifferent. We 
 may take ourselves out of the class of 
 slight acquaintances and know the man's 
 real nature by dwelling for a moment 
 upon what he said to John Eaton, about 
 twenty years ago. 
 
 John Eaton, as Mr. Penman's most inti- 
 mate friend, had asked him why he did not 
 marry one of the Misses Slyme. Every- 
 body knew, he had said, that he had been 
 engaged to them, or one of them, for years. 
 
 '' That is it," Mr. Penman replied. 
 " Engaged to both of them ! 1 can't make 
 up my mind to prefer one to the other. 
 
128 SEI^ORA VILLENA 
 
 They are precisely alike and they are in- 
 separable. And certainly I cannot ask 
 them to settle it between themselves. 
 Each would draw back and say : ' After 
 you, dear sister.' ! 
 
 '' But even if that difficulty were re- 
 moved, I should hesitate to take this im- 
 portant step through fear of the disease." 
 
 " Disease !" echoed John Eaton. 
 
 " Yes, a disease which counts its victims 
 by thousands and hundreds of thousands. 
 Guess what it is from this description of its 
 symptoms : An active and public-spirited 
 young man becomes suddenly recluse in 
 his habits. From being an ornament to 
 society he becomes indifferent to the 
 charms of ladies and shuns parties of his 
 male friends. He is no longer elegant in 
 dress ; he is no longer a good fellow. His 
 enthusiasms and his idealism are gradu- 
 ally and surely converted into a hum- 
 drum anxiety for steady advancement and 
 safe investments. He keeps accounts at 
 home and allows himself just enough 
 pleasure and recreation to keep his health 
 good, he says. 
 
 '' Such are the first symptoms of this 
 disease. You smile and think these slight 
 matters ; but mark the awful intensity of 
 
SEJ^GRA VILLENA I2g 
 
 that which follows. In one short year 
 this young man disappears from view, — 
 at least he is never seen except when hur- 
 rying- between his home and his place of 
 business, his doctor's or his apothecary's. 
 He might almost as well be dead. His 
 face is haggard and unshaven ; his eyes are 
 heavy and seem unused to more light than 
 is admitted into the sick-room ; if one suc- 
 ceeds in stopping him on the street as he 
 flies along, he looks self-conscious, bashful, 
 timid, and quickly excuses himself on the 
 plea of engagement. 
 
 " His case would seem to be desperate. 
 But no : he recovers after a month some 
 of his old genial ways and happy looks. 
 His friends take courage, and hope all 
 may yet be well, — when, lo ! the same 
 symptoms reappear in the same order, the 
 crisis must again be passed, — and so on, 
 and so on, again and again perhaps." 
 
 " I can guess !" cried Eaton. '' It is the 
 devoted-husband disease." 
 
 '' Guessed, my friend," said Mr. Pen- 
 man ; '' and now you know all the reasons 
 why I postpone marriage." 
 
 He married Miss Gertrude Slyme two 
 years ago, but the sisters are still insepa- 
 rable and both happy in a quiet way. 
 
I30 . SEI^ORA VILLENA 
 
 Now we know more about Mr. Penman 
 than anyone else does, excepting his inti- 
 mates. 
 
 Again the door-bell rang, and Mr. and 
 Mrs. Green entered. Mr. Green came in 
 limping, and when asked the cause gave 
 the following explanation : 
 
 '* Nothing but a slight piece of careless- 
 ness on the part of one of my servants, in 
 leaving a dust-brush on the stairs. Mrs. 
 Green had gone down just before me, but 
 of course did not pick it up, as she could 
 not soil her hands with a household arti- 
 cle. Never mind : the bruise is slight. 
 Well, madam," he continued, addressing 
 his wife, " have you made up your mind 
 as yet ?" 
 
 '" About what, Mr. Green ?" 
 
 " As to whether you will go to England 
 with me next week." 
 
 "- Really I have not decided ; and I 
 think it improper to discuss family mat- 
 ters in public." 
 
 " M}^ dear Mrs. Green, you know my 
 principle. I will not quarrel at home. 
 Home is the place to be at peace. What 
 I say, when we disagree, I want every- 
 body to hear. Did I not inform you yes- 
 
SENORA VILLENA IJI 
 
 terday afternoon that you were to give 
 me your answer here at Mrs. Vincent's ? 
 If you do not decide by the time you have 
 finished drinking- that glass of lemonade 
 or punch, whichever it may be, I decide 
 for you." 
 
 While this dialogue was proceeding, 
 the assembled guests were silent, not 
 knowing whether it was jest or earnest. 
 Mr. Green walked away to the other side 
 of the room. After everybody had begun 
 to speak again he returned and, standing 
 at a short distance from Mrs. Green, said, 
 in a voice so loud as to call the general 
 attention : 
 
 '* Well, madam, have you made up your 
 mind?" 
 
 " Yes. I will go." 
 
 '' We sail on Wednesday," he said, and 
 then devoted himself to the rest of the 
 company. 
 
 Inasmuch as this episode has lifted the 
 domestic curtain, we may as well under- 
 stand the situation. 
 
 Mrs. Green, when still Miss Chester, 
 after being engaged several times came to 
 the conclusion that life was sad and that 
 she might never change her name. She 
 was of a frivolous disposition, inclined to 
 
132 SE^ORA V ILL EN A 
 
 be gay and passionately fond of society, in 
 which she had moved among the best 
 people. She was not pretty, but very 
 aristocratic in appearance. 
 
 Mr. Green had opened a successful 
 school for boys in Oldhaven. He was a 
 very religious and fairly learned man, un- 
 pretentious, and of a happ}', contented 
 nature, thinking little of the world outside 
 his own library. He was a just man, but 
 not stern. 
 
 Now, the back windows of his house 
 looked out upon the grounds of Miss 
 Chester's father. From the garden Miss 
 Chester heard him calling to the maid : 
 " Mary, be good enough to ask the cook 
 what vegetables she has for Professor 
 Green's dinner." 
 
 " How polite he is to his servants !" 
 Miss Chester said to herself ; and her 
 second thought was : ''Is he good-look- 
 ing?" 
 
 Soon afterwards she saw him at the 
 window. He Avas quite good-looking. 
 
 Once she saw him with a small basket 
 on his arm enter a hovel in the outskirts 
 of the town. " He is of a religious, chari- 
 table disposition," she said. 
 
 From that day Miss Chester arrayed 
 
SEiWRA villena 133 
 
 herself in a plain black, but becoming, 
 gown. She allowed herself but one orna- 
 ment : a huge black cross, hung by a silk 
 ribbon about her neck. She sang hymns 
 with the windows wide open and attended 
 church twice on Sunda3^s. She even did 
 the marketing for the household, and 
 each da}^ chanced to be at the market 
 when Mr. Green was making his pur- 
 chases. After discovering that he taught 
 in the Sunday school she also took a class. 
 At a teachers' meeting they became ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 " One so simple, domestic and relig- 
 ious," thought Mr. Green, " would make 
 a true helpmate." In an hour of blind- 
 ness he asked, and was given — he little 
 knew what. 
 
 Three weeks after their marriage Mrs. 
 Green laid aside the simple black gown 
 and the goodness. Once more she was a 
 gay society woman. Green was forced to 
 care for the house and lead as lonely a 
 life as before. As years went by he found 
 himself more and more successful, more 
 and more lonely : for the children of this 
 marriage were like the mother. In a word, 
 the just man became stern. 
 
 One day Mrs. Vincent, when calling on 
 
134 SEiVORA VILLENA 
 
 Mrs. Green, happened to meet Mr. Green 
 at the door. 
 
 " Is your wife at home, professor?" 
 
 After lifting his hat and ringing the 
 bell he answered : '' I really do not know, 
 madam, but will inquire." 
 
 When the servant appeared, " John," 
 he said, "is Mrs. Green at home?" 
 
 '* No, sir ; she has been in Saratoga for 
 a week." 
 
 Without evincing any surprise, Mr. 
 Green asked : *' Do you know when she 
 returns ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; this evening." 
 
 An ingenious method, this of Mr. 
 Green. He maintained peace at home by 
 adjusting all differences with his wife in 
 public. 
 
 But we must hasten to note other 
 guests, who now arrive so thick and fast* 
 that only a word can be given to each. 
 
 Miss Brown, who wore smoked glasses 
 and wrote for children's papers, came in 
 alone. Miss Reba Thomas, who read 
 humorous poems with a decided lisp, 
 came in with Miss Knox, who had a talent 
 for laughing. Mr. Donald Livingstone — 
 the elegant, the handsome, the wealthy 
 
SE^ORA VILLENA IJS 
 
 Mr. Livingstone, respected by everybody 
 present except Mr. Penman, who had his 
 suspicions — entered with dignity. I do 
 not remember who came for a time after 
 that : youngish men whom one distin- 
 guishes as good dancers or indifferent 
 dancers, and young ladies only remem- 
 bered as the young lady in pink, or the 
 young lady in white with pink. But what 
 would a party be without them ? 
 
 Last of all came, in response to the 
 three invitations which Gloria had secret- 
 ly sent out of town, Mr. and Mrs. Blake, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Carter and Mr. Silverspoon. 
 Silverspoon had made the trip from New- 
 York in company with the Blakes, and 
 they had found the Carters at the Elm 
 House when they reached Oldhaven. 
 
 Gloria and Medina, who alone had ex- 
 pected them, drew together and watched 
 the effect of the surprise upon the others. 
 
 " Look at your husband !" said Medina. 
 " An author confronted by the creatures 
 of his imagination, who demand to 
 know what right he had to make one good 
 and another evil — or, what is a great 
 deal worse, one interesting and the other 
 insipid." 
 
 " Look at senor Rodriguez !" said Glo- 
 
13^ SENORA villena 
 
 ria. " He thinks Mr. Silverspoon is his 
 own reflection walking out of a mirror. 
 And see ! Coralie has put out her hands 
 to ward him off, as though he were a 
 piece of furniture about to fall on her. 
 Mrs. Carter does not wear her hair so 
 high as I thought." 
 
 Medina laughed. " And I have no 
 doubt," he said, '' that Concha is compar- 
 ing the real Madame Margery with her 
 counterfeit of yesterday, and that Louis 
 Diaz is revising his judgment." 
 
 Not long afterward Teresa was saying 
 to her mother : '' How much sefior Rod- 
 riguez flattered Mr. Silverspoon !" 
 
 The mamita, who was seated behind 
 them in a great arm-chair, leaned forward 
 and said : '* That the Silverspoon ? Ah ! 
 His face very cross ; but his hands and 
 feet aristocratic — and his voice, also. Oh, 
 yes, he may be a gentleman." The mamita 
 prided herself upon knowing only Spanish 
 people. 
 
 Silverspoon became conscious that three 
 generations were looking at him with in- 
 terest, and came forward to pay his re- 
 spects to them. The mother and Teresa 
 greeted him cordially and gave him per- 
 
SEJ^ORA VILLENA I37 
 
 mission to sit with them ; but the mamita, 
 after acknowledging his bow politely 
 enough, secluded herself in her memories 
 and leaned farther back in her arm-chair. 
 
 On the opposite side of the same room 
 Rodriguez was standing by Mrs. Green. 
 
 " Who is that beautiful girl with the 
 dark eyes over there, — the one sitting 
 with two stout ladies ?" she asked him. 
 '* I have caught you looking in her direc- 
 tion once or twice, and I cannot blame 
 you." 
 
 '•That, Mrs. Green, is the senorita 
 Teresa Diaz, of New- York." 
 
 " You speak as though you knew her : 
 perhaps you can tell me about the thin 
 young man who is with them. I noticed 
 that she seemed very glad when he went 
 up to them." 
 
 '' Oh, yes, madame ; that is one of my 
 friends. He is a very successful artist." 
 
 " Is he engaged to the young lady ?" 
 
 Rodriguez looked for a moment at the 
 unconscious subjects of this dialogue be- 
 fore replying : '' I cannot tell you that, 
 madame." 
 
 Cousin Louis liked to corner men at 
 
I3S SENORA VILLENA 
 
 parties and converse with them. *' I pre- 
 fer to get the good of these affairs," he 
 would say, " by taking people at their 
 best. I talk with the men and I look at 
 the women." The truth was, he liked to 
 lead in conversation. 
 
 He and Mr. Penman were standing to- 
 gether. 
 
 " I think, sir, that I once heard you play 
 the piano in Boston," Mr. Penman was 
 saying. " The concert to which I refer 
 was excellent in its way, and especially 
 the soloist seemed to me to show much 
 skill. You must pardon me, as I am near- 
 sighted and I have a poor memory for 
 
 names, but I think let me see, it was 
 
 in December, five years ago." 
 
 '' I did play several times in Boston that 
 winter," said cousin Louis ; " and I should 
 be very happy to think that I gained your 
 approval. Ah ! perhaps we can fix the 
 occasion. What selections did I — or the 
 soloist, whoever he was — play that even- 
 ing?" 
 
 *' Hum," said Mr. Penman, taking off his 
 glasses and appearing to reflect. He 
 was a learned man, and accustomed to 
 being consulted as authority in the law 
 and general literature. I think, therefore. 
 
SENORA VILLENA IJp 
 
 that he hesitated to say " I don't know 
 music," not through affectation but 
 through force of habit. It took half a 
 minute to remember that he did not 
 know. 
 
 In less than half a minute cousin Louis 
 saw the point and changed the subject. 
 " Speaking of art matters," he said, '' re- 
 minds me of that English artist who came 
 in just now. Probably you have not met 
 him. No, not that gentleman : that is Mr. 
 Rodriguez. On the other side — there, 
 talking to Miss Diaz." 
 
 Mr. Penman put up his glasses and 
 looked steadily at Silverspoon. ''No, I 
 don't know him," he said. 
 
 It seemed to cousin Louis that the tone 
 in which this was said implied an addi- 
 tional, '' Don't care to ;" and he felt him- 
 self challenged to interest Mr. Penman. 
 
 ''Well," he continued, "there is a man 
 who is at the same time rude and very 
 refined. I say nothing of his rudeness, for 
 that is the first thing to strike a stranger ; 
 but I will give you an instance of his 
 refined way of putting things. When he 
 first came to New-York his taste was 
 offended by the generally filthy state of 
 the streets, and especially by the custom 
 
I40 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 of leaving barrels filled with ashes and all 
 sorts of rubbish on the sidewalks. But in 
 speaking to New-Yorkers, instead of open- 
 ly criticising, he called attention to the 
 disgraceful practice by pretending to ad- 
 mire these ash-barrels as art-objects ; and 
 he did this with so much humor that ' Mr. 
 Silverspoon's ash-barrel ' is become a syn- 
 onym for irony. And, by the way, this is 
 quite a coincidence ! Another man who 
 is much politer than Jack Silverspoon, and 
 who avoids expressing his disapproval 
 flatly, is the one you looked at first — there, 
 with some lady I do not know." 
 
 "• Mrs. Green," said Mr. Penman. 
 
 '' Now, he has this system in its perfec- 
 tion. You can see at a glance that he is a 
 strong-willed and hot-tempered man, this 
 Jose Rodriguez ; but he never contra- 
 dicts : he suggests his dissent in some 
 subtle way. If one is clever enough to 
 see and understand the suggestion, then 
 that is sufficient ; if one is not clever 
 enough, what good would contradiction 
 do such a person ? Rodriguez and Sil- 
 verspoon are great friends, and that may 
 explain their having the same practice." 
 
 '' Great friends ?" said Mr. Penman, in- 
 terrogativel3^ " They do not look it." 
 
SEA'ORA VILLENA 141 
 
 " I thought I must be mistaken," said 
 Louis, " but if you also notice a peculiar 
 expression — perhaps a hostile expression 
 — in Rodriguez's face, I think I can ac- 
 count for it." At that instant he saw 
 Silverspoon lean forward and in an un- 
 dertone say something to Teresa at which 
 she blushed and smiled, rewarding him 
 with a brilliant glance and a murmured 
 reply. 
 
 " The dark man looks decidedly hostile, 
 I should say," Mr. Penman observed. 
 
 With his usual rapidity of judgment 
 cousin Louis drew his conclusions and 
 decided upon his own course of action. 
 
 On the other side of the hall was a large 
 room which had been set apart for danc- 
 ing. Mr. Carter was there, chatting with 
 Mrs. Blake and passing comments upon 
 the dancers. 
 
 " There's an extraordinary couple !" 
 said Mrs. Blake. " Concha Medina en- 
 gaged in fascinating an old gentleman in 
 cloth gaiters. She takes the strangest 
 fancies !" 
 
 " I have met her partner before," said 
 Carter. " He isn't so old as he looks, I 
 fancy ; and as you see, he is a good dancer. 
 
142 SEJVORA VILLENA 
 
 He is a Frenchman — Dindon, Dindome, 
 or something like that. Quite a charac- 
 ter, they say." 
 
 "■ Suppose we see for ourselves. I will 
 call Concha, if I can catch her eye," said 
 Mrs. Blake ; and, presently succeeding in 
 this attempt. Concha joined them and pre- 
 sented Monsieur Dindome. 
 
 '' You will forgive my interrupting 
 your dance, my dear Concha," said Mrs. 
 Blake, feeling that some excuse was neces- 
 sary, ''when you hear what I have to tell 
 you. You know we have been seeing a 
 good deal of Jack Silverspoon lately." 
 
 '' Yes," said Concha, expectantly. 
 
 " Well, he confessed to me that at one 
 time he was quite attentive to Teresa Diaz." 
 
 " One of a thousand !" said Concha. 
 " If you want to surprise me, my dear, 
 mention somebody who has not been at- 
 tentive to Teresa." 
 
 " Monsieur Dindome, for instance." 
 
 " Pardon me, madame," said that gen- 
 tleman. " I haf observed her befo I haf 
 seen you " — including both the ladies in 
 an impressive flourish and bow. 
 
 Passing cousin Louis in the hall soon 
 afterward, Concha said : 
 
SENORA villena 143 
 
 "■ Something for a censor to enjoy ! Mr. 
 Silverspoon has been attentive to Teresa." 
 
 Cousin Louis was on his way to seek 
 Vincent. He found him engaged in com- 
 plimenting madame Dindome upon the 
 appearance of her daughter, Marie, and 
 congratulating Mrs. Penman and Miss 
 Slyme * upon the rugged health which 
 their husband and brother-in-law seemed 
 to enjoy. 
 
 Drawing him aside, he said earnestly: 
 " My dear friend, I have reason to fear 
 that there is trouble ahead." 
 
 " What ! Is the punch giving out ? No 
 wonder : such a warm evening. I will go 
 and order more." 
 
 " Not that. Have you noticed Rodri- 
 guez?" 
 
 " By Jove ! Thank you for reminding 
 me. I have been neglecting him. * Where 
 is he ? I shall introduce him to that pretty 
 little Marie Dindome." 
 
 ''And T go with you," said cousin Louis, 
 taking Vincent's arm. " Slowly, please. 
 I have something to say to you as we go." 
 
 Gloria had found opportunity for a short 
 confidential chat with Mrs. Blake. 
 
144 SEN'ORA villena 
 
 "And Richard is so sensitive and so 
 proud, my dear !" the latter was saying. 
 " He positively refused to be dependent 
 upon his father ; and, what do you think ! 
 he has begun to invent things — all sorts of 
 things for pulling up weeds without bend- 
 ing over, and then using them for I forget 
 what. He has even found a use for me. 
 He says I stimulate him (sometimes he 
 says irritate) to such a degree that he 
 invents something before he knows it. 
 He struck twelve the other day." 
 
 "Why, Margery, what do you mean?" 
 
 " Oh, that is his way of saying that he 
 has done his best, like a clock. You see, 
 I was in a temper, and he invented some- 
 thing which will make us rich again. I 
 do not exactly understand what it is ; but 
 Richard says everybody will want it." 
 
 " You must be very happy." 
 
 " Happy ! I am growing stout at the 
 mere thought of it ; and if this invention 
 succeeds, I fear I shall soon have an im- 
 pertinent figure." 
 
 Gloria rose, saying : " Now I must leave 
 you, Margery ; but promise me not to stir 
 for two minutes, and I will bring you a 
 charming gentleman." 
 
 " Whom ?" 
 
SEJ^ORA VILLENA 14s 
 
 " Senor Rodriguez." 
 
 As they walked arm in arm through the 
 rooms, cousin Louis told Vincent what he 
 had seen and what he thought about it. 
 
 "Has anyone beside yourself noticed 
 this?" Vincent asked. 
 
 '' Yes, Concha Medina." 
 
 ''In that case," said Vincent, ''there 
 must be something in it." 
 
 The object of their search was not in 
 the parlors, and they were about to pass 
 into the hall when Mrs. Green stopped 
 them. 
 
 "Dr. Vincent," she said, "if you see 
 that Spanish gentleman you introduced 
 to me please tell him I have something to 
 say to him, and I will be right here. He 
 left me quite abruptly to speak to that 
 gentleman who is engaged to Miss Diaz, 
 and then they went out together." 
 
 Vincent promised, and with Louis Diaz 
 walked rapidly through the hall and stood 
 in the doorw^ay. 
 
 Two men were near them on the piazza, 
 and appeared to be disputing some point. 
 
 " Not now," they heard one of the men 
 
 say in Silverspoon's voice ; " we must not 
 
 disturb the festivities. After they have 
 10 
 
146 SE^ORA VILLENA 
 
 all gone away we will leave together. 
 Alone ? — or would you prefer " 
 
 They did not hear the end of the sen- 
 tence ; for, with a common impulse, they 
 had stepped back into the hall. 
 
 '* The sort of thing," said Vincent, '' that 
 they would not like anybody to hear ; and 
 I am afraid it is a thing shameful to hear 
 and shameful to speak." 
 
 '' Oh, no ; the duel, as between gentle- 
 men, is not shameful," said cousin Louis. 
 
 At this moment Gloria met them. 
 
 '' I have been looking everywhere for 
 senor Rodriguez," she said. '' I want to 
 take him to Margery." 
 
 "And I have promised to take him to 
 Mrs. Green," said her husband. " Sup- 
 pose we stand here : the draught is pleas- 
 ant." 
 
 '' Poor martyr — in that heavy coat !" 
 
 ''Cousin Gloria," said Louis, ''if you 
 mean to stand here, I insist -upon getting 
 you a wrap." 
 
 " Mamita has one for me : ask her," said 
 Gloria ; then, when he was out of hearing : 
 " Carangol, I am trying to do all I can for 
 poor Rodriguez. Mamma found fault 
 with little Teresa for acting that absurd 
 part you made her take, and she has been 
 
SES'ORA VILLENA 14'j 
 
 SO ashamed that she has not looked at him 
 since. He does not understand — thinks 
 she has given him up — and feels dread- 
 fully : I can see it." 
 
 '' Oh ! oh !" said Vincent. '' Another 
 cause of war." 
 
 Fortunately he was not called upon to 
 explain this expression, for cousin Louis 
 returned with a lace shawl, while from 
 the piazza came Rodriguez and Silver- 
 spoon. 
 
 " Here you are at last !" cried Gloria. 
 ** Why, you both look as guilty as though 
 you had stolen away to have a cigar !" 
 She claimed Rodriguez for Mrs. Blake, 
 and took him away with her. 
 
 As soon as her back was turned, Vin- 
 cent laid his hand on Silverspoon's arm, 
 saying very earnestly : '' Don't do any- 
 thing unworthy of you — anything fool- 
 ish." 
 
 "And I tell you, my dear sir," said the 
 other, ''that I never felt more like it in 
 my life." 
 
THE SPANISH SESSION 
 
 En punto a cantar no cabe termino medio : 6 buen 
 cantar 6 buen callar, que quien canta bien, parece angel 
 que a Dios alaba, y quien canta mal, asnico que re- 
 buzna. — Trueba. 
 
 T was half-past two o'clock when 
 the last of the Oldhaven guests 
 took their departure. From 
 the lateness of the hour (almost 
 unprecedented in the annals of conserva- 
 tive Oldhaven society) I judge that they 
 had enjoyed themselves. The Carters, 
 the Blakes and Silverspoon had been pri- 
 vately commanded to remain. 
 
 " Because," Gloria had said to one, 
 " because ! — you shall see." To another 
 she had explained : " Now that the con- 
 versation and dancing and supper and 
 conversation and conversation are over, 
 let us have some fun." 
 
 '' The Spanish session will begin," Vin- 
 cent had said with marked emphasis to 
 Rodriguez ; "■ and you, senor, are at pres- 
 ent a member of my household — my fam- 
 
SEJVORA VILLENA 149 
 
 ily. If you acknowledge my authority 
 you must stay with us." 
 
 *' But, as I have assured you, sir, I have 
 made with Mr. Silverspoon an engage- 
 ment." 
 
 '^ Jack will stay also." 
 
 And so, at three o'clock, the Spanish 
 session began. 
 
 Not formally appointed, but" born to 
 rule such a company, sefiora Villena led 
 on merriment to madness among the 
 guests. She hurried to and fro, exhort- 
 ing and stimulating everybody to ** doer 
 something liker carnival." 
 
 It was like a carnival : friends calling 
 out to one another across the rooms, 
 everybody talking at once, dancing, laugh- 
 ing, singing, gesticulating. The very 
 spirit of extravagant fun was there, as 
 master of revels, directing the strangest 
 things to be done. Those estimable Old- 
 haven people who had gone could upon 
 occasion attain to cheerfulness ; but tem- 
 pers so tamed and disciplined as theirs 
 could not reach this pitch of harmless 
 revelry. 
 
 Tell you in detail what was done ? No, 
 I cannot : everything was done too quick- 
 ly. An instantaneous photograph ? Well, 
 
ISO SENORA VILLENA 
 
 perhaps if we seize the quietest instant 
 we may get an impression. 
 
 Exhausted by her efforts senora Villena 
 has thrown herself into a chair; but no, 
 not exhausted, for she is speaking with all 
 her usual animation to Concha, who is 
 offering her a glass of wine. 
 
 " Bebe, that Mr. Penyentleman he is 
 magnifique, superb, solide ! My dear, he 
 taker fancy to me !" 
 
 The trifle of disorder in Concha's cos- 
 tume makes her enchanting. 
 
 Cousin Louis is at the piano, improvis- 
 ing something like a devil's dance, but 
 glancing over his shoulder to make sure 
 that Rodriguez and Silverspoon have not 
 slipped out. 
 
 Gloria has given her hand to Rodri- 
 guez, and together they are trying to in- 
 vent new dance-steps to suit this music. 
 It is impossible, but their failure is a 
 pretty thing to watch. 
 
 So Teresa thinks ; but you could not 
 tell that she is looking at them. She ap- 
 pears to be listening to her mother's ad- 
 vice. 
 
 The mamita is clapping her hands to 
 encourage Gloria. The steps of that 
 dance are Spanish. 
 
 i 
 
SEJ^OJ^A VILLENA 151 
 
 Vincent is between Silverspoon and 
 Medina. The latter is saying : 
 
 ** Like some dry tobacco in a box on my 
 table. The box says, ' Always Moist.' I 
 keep it as a model lie." 
 
 At the same instant Silverspoon is say- 
 ing in his heart : " Mrs. Vincent has the 
 lost arms of Venus ; and she moves like a 
 flame." 
 
 The other figures are indistinct : that is, 
 I cannot remember. But I do remember 
 that an instant later senora Villena was on 
 her feet, and that her aide, Concha, was 
 throwing a handful of small candies at Mr. 
 Carter because he looked too quiet. Of 
 course no person has more than a general 
 idea of what happened for a while after 
 that. 
 
 But Vincent had it in mind to say a 
 few significant words to senora Diaz and 
 Teresa. He had never before interfered 
 in a matter of this kind; but here, he 
 reflected, was an obvious mistake and mis- 
 understanding drawing the most serious 
 consequences after it. There was no time 
 to be lost. Moreover he was himself (as 
 having assigned the part of Rose to 
 Teresa) the author of this misunderstand- 
 ing. With a view to making opportunity 
 
IS2 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 for saying what was needful, he said in an 
 undertone to Medina : " Now is the time 
 for that story you promised," and then 
 seated himself by senora Diaz. 
 
 Medina stepped out into the center of 
 the room and cried aloud, " Silence!" and 
 senora Villena repeated '' Silence !" and 
 others caught up the sound, so that 
 '' Silence ! Silence !" everyone cried in 
 mockery of the word. 
 
 When finally all Avere looking at him, 
 and only whispers and titters were heard, 
 Medina spoke. 
 
 '* My good friends and grown-up chil- 
 dren," he said, "our host has commanded 
 me to tell you a story in the Spanish style. 
 Some of you already know the originals 
 of the characters I shall introduce ; but if 
 you do not all feel, by the time I have 
 finished, that you know them, blame my 
 invention, and not the Spanish style. I 
 call it 
 
 ®cl)anba anb ^mabor 
 
 I 
 
 " ' Dona Carmen !' 
 
 '' ' What is the matter Avith you, sefior 
 Bozmediano ? Dios mio ! what has hap- 
 pened ?' 
 
SEIZOR A VILLENA I S3 
 
 " ' Ah, dear friend ! Give me some 
 claret with water, or I shall die !' 
 
 '* ' Instantly, senor .... Here, drink 
 the wine quickly ! Do not fear : it is the 
 good red Avine which you have always at 
 my apartment. And now tell me, what is 
 it?' 
 
 " ' Ah, dona Carmen, qu6 horror ! — 
 That girl !' 
 
 '' 'Ochanda?' 
 
 "■ * Yes, senora. I have met her! More 
 wine ! If I see her again, I die ! I am 
 coming up the stairs to my apartment 
 above ; as I pass your door I see her float- 
 ing down ; she looks at me — like this ! 
 Ave-Maria Purisima !' 
 
 " ' But she will not harm you — a great, 
 strong gentleman such as you.' 
 
 " ' Yes — I say, yes ! With her eyes ! I 
 know there is a devil in each of them ! 
 They flash fire ; they are two evil flames ! 
 I shall be scorched and shriveled and 
 burned to a crisp ! To-day I ran after a 
 humpback on Broadway and touched his 
 hump for good luck ; but it has done no 
 good ! That girl has looked at me !' 
 
 '' * Do you believe she is crazy ?' 
 
 *' ' I know it. She never speaks.' 
 
 " ' That is true. And she eats hardly 
 
IS4 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 anything, although our table is the best in 
 New- York — for a boarding-house.' 
 
 " * Ora pro nobis !' 
 
 " ' All this is true ; yet I do not believe 
 she is crazy.' 
 
 " ' A beautiful young girl who neither 
 speaks nor eats, and who paces the floor 
 of her room the whole day long — for I 
 hear her ! Of course she is mad !' 
 
 " ' Listen ! Three months ago she comes 
 here with her sister and brother-in-law, 
 the senor de Velasco. She has left behind 
 her in Habana her lover.' 
 
 '' ' Eh ? Ah !' 
 
 "■ ' She washes to return. She is not 
 allowed. She says to herself, I will ! She 
 refuses to enjoy ; to speak, to eat, to go to 
 the theater. She thinks they will be forced 
 to permit her to return to her lover. Is it 
 true ?' 
 
 '' ' Your wisdom, dona Carmen, is supe- 
 rior even to your wine : to praise it more 
 highly would be impossible .... But 
 where did she learn the evil eye ?' 
 
 '' ' Caramba ! Nothing of the kind. 
 You have lived too long in this cold city : 
 you have forgotten how Spanish eyes 
 look !' 
 
 ** * Impossible, senora ; for I have been 
 
SENORA VILLENA I55 
 
 your neighbor. And now . But let 
 
 me first make sure that she is not in the 
 hall. Adios, dona Carmen !' 
 
 " * Vaya usted con Dios, seiior Bozmedi- 
 ano.' 
 
 II 
 
 '* ' Senora de Velasco.' 
 
 *' ' Oh, senor don Amador !' 
 
 *' ' I come, senora, with the greatest re- 
 spect to request your permission to pay 
 my addresses to the senorita Ochanda, 
 your sister/ 
 
 '' ' Hum !' 
 
 '' ' I have already, as you are doubtless 
 aware, been so fortunate as to secure the 
 consent of your husband.' 
 
 <' ' Very true. He has told me.'. 
 
 *' * To you, senora, I present an especial 
 petition. I beg, not only for your con- 
 sent, but also for your assistance.' 
 
 '' ' I fear your attempt is a hopeless 
 one. But you *are the friend of my hus- 
 band, senor : tell me in what way I can 
 aid you.' 
 
 " ' A thousand thanks, senora ! Now 
 that I may count upon your good will, I 
 am confident of success ! 
 
 " ' Oh, as to my good-will, you might 
 
1^6 SENORA VILLENA 
 
 have anticipated that. To say nothing of 
 our friendship for you, the attentions of 
 that military gentleman who takes his 
 meals here have become annoying. We 
 know nothing about him, except that he 
 is an officer, a captain. What is his 
 name ?' 
 
 '* ' Brady. But he is not a real officer — 
 not a soldier. He is captain of a profes- 
 sional base-ball nine, and has taken board 
 here in order to learn the Spanish lan- 
 guage, his nine having an engagement to 
 play in Habana next year. I trust, senora, 
 that he has not made himself offensive in 
 any way !' 
 
 " ' Oh, no ! Pray do not look so fierce. 
 You alarm me ! What I said was merely 
 to intimate that we feel genuine anxiety 
 for our sister and would welcome the pro- 
 tecting friendship of someone in whom Ave 
 repose entire confidence. But have you 
 considered the difficulties ?' 
 
 '' ' Yes, seiiora.' 
 
 " ' That, in the first place, we took her 
 awa}^ from home in order to break off an 
 unfortunate attachment ?' 
 
 " * I am aware of that, senora.' 
 
 " ' That she resents our wise interfer- 
 ence and pines for the worthless fellow ?' 
 
SEi^ORA VILLENA IS? 
 
 " ' Yes, senora.' 
 
 '' 'That she attempts to force our com- 
 pliance with her childish whim by steadily 
 refusing to speak or eat or take part in 
 any entertainment ? She shocks even the 
 widow doiia Carmen, and frightens the fat 
 senor Bozmediano almost to death.' 
 
 '' ' 1 have been a sorrowful witness of all 
 that, senora ; still I am not without hope. 
 Pardon me if what I say is too direct and 
 blunt ; but since you have graciously 
 promised to assist me, it is but right that 
 I should plainly speak my mind. She 
 does not love the gentleman in Habana.' 
 
 " ' What makes you think so ?' 
 
 " ' When she has refused something 
 especially nice at table, 1 have read in her 
 expression the desire to eat it. When we 
 have been speaking together about some 
 fine bit of acting at the theater, I have 
 seen an eager look come into her face for 
 an instant.' 
 
 " ' She is shamming, you think ?' 
 
 " * I should prefer to have you tell me, 
 after I have added one other point. Gen- 
 uine love softens the disposition : now, 
 have you noticed more tenderness in her 
 manner since she formed this attachment, 
 or less than ever before ? — I mean of 
 
I5S SENORA VILLENA 
 
 course toward those who had not been in- 
 strumental in thwarting her.' 
 
 " ' Very much less.' 
 
 '' * Well, then . But I mast again 
 
 beg you to forgive my bluntness. Do 
 you not see that she makes a display of 
 her grief ? These are not the effects of 
 genuine love. What name would you 
 yourself give to it ?' 
 
 " ' Obstinacy.' 
 
 '' ' A word which I should not dare to 
 use in speaking of your sister, seiiora. 
 Now allow me to tell you my plan. It is 
 of course absolutely necessary that she 
 should let me speak to her and pay her 
 those little attentions which — without 
 which a woman's natural defenses protect 
 her heart completel}^' 
 
 " ' What can you do ! We have tried 
 everything — threats, surprises, her favor- 
 ite amusements. Nothing will move her 
 to speak.' 
 
 " ' Well, the passion to which you have 
 given a name is strong ; but the passion of 
 curiosity is still stronger. See, senora, 
 these envelopes ' 
 
 " ' What a large one !' 
 
 " ' That is the outside one. Within that 
 is one somewhat smaller, and then another 
 
SEJ^ORA VILLENA 1S9 
 
 still smaller, and so on. In all, there are 
 ten envelopes, one enclosed within another. 
 The last is quite small, as you may imagine. 
 Now the outside envelope is, as you see, 
 addressed to a friend of mine in San Fran- 
 cisco. When he opens it he will find 
 another, sealed, stamped, marked * confi- 
 dential ' and addressed to your sister in 
 your care. She opens this, only to find 
 enclosed a smaller envelope, sealed, 
 stamped, marked ' confidential ' and ad- 
 dressed to a friend of mine in Liverpool. 
 So, in course of time, she receives a letter 
 from Liverpool, in all respects similar to 
 that which had come from San Francisco, 
 except that the envelope is smaller, the 
 stamp and postmark foreign, and the- en- 
 closure another envelope addressed to a 
 friend of mine in Paris. And so on to the 
 last and innermost envelope, which, when 
 it finally is returned to her, after zig-zag- 
 ging across the water and the continent, 
 will be found to contain ' 
 
 '' ' What ?' 
 
 '' ' The envelopes are all sealed at pres- 
 ent, senora ; but when the time comes you 
 shall see.' 
 
 " * Oh, please tell me now !' 
 
 " * It is something which I cannot well 
 
l6o SEJ^ORA VILLENA 
 
 describe But I should have ex- 
 plained that I have five sets of envelopes 
 like this ; so arranged, however, that each 
 set follows a different and separate course. 
 Thus, one set begins, as I have told you, 
 at San Francisco, another at Dublin, and 
 so on ; while the innermost envelope of 
 one set will be forwarded from Sevilla, of 
 another, from Habana, and so on. She 
 will, therefore, receive one of these mys- 
 terious letters every day or two.' 
 
 '' 'And my part ! What am I to do?' 
 '' ' If you will be so kind, senora, see that 
 they are handed to her while we sit at 
 table.' " 
 
 III 
 
 " First Letter. 
 
 " Ochanda found it placed on the table 
 beside her napkin, glanced at the post- 
 mark ' New Orleans ' and at the unfamil- 
 iar handwriting, but did not open it. 
 
 '' Secoiid Letter. 
 
 '' When Ochanda took her place at table 
 on the following day, she found, in addi- 
 tion to the first letter which she had dis- 
 regarded, a second. She noticed that the 
 handwriting was the same, while the sec- 
 
SE^RA VILLENA l6l 
 
 ond bore the postmark ' London.' She 
 opened both of them. The first contained 
 an envelope, sealed, stamped, marked 
 ' confidential ' and addressed to M. Lafitte, 
 &c., Paris ; the enclosure of the second 
 was similar in all respects, save in its 
 being, addressed to Samuel Barnes, Esq., 
 San Francisco. She left them on the table 
 when she arose, after taking a few spoon- 
 fuls of soup. Her brother-in-law mailed 
 them. 
 
 '* The fat senor Bozmediano noticed that 
 don Amador had been gazing earnestly at 
 Ochanda, so when she had left the room 
 he said to him in a whisper : ' You also 
 fear that girl ; but never mind, she is gone 
 now, and we may enjoy our dinner !* 
 
 " Third Letter. 
 
 " Ochanda opened it, and finding only 
 an enclosure for * Herr Dr. Schmidt, Leip- 
 zig,' looked angry, and handed this to her 
 brother-in-law. 
 
 "■ Fourth Letter. 
 
 " This came from Sevilla ; and don Am- 
 ador saw those wonderful black eyes 
 
 sparkle. Ochanda herself posted the en- 
 11 
 
l62 SENORA VILLEJVA 
 
 closed envelope, leaving the house for 
 that purpose for the first time in several 
 weeks. 
 
 " Fifth Letter. 
 
 " Ochanda glanced at the postmark 
 ' Chicago ' and looked perplexed. That 
 evening she actually spoke to her sister. 
 * How long does it take to go from Sevilla 
 to Chicago ?' she asked ; and when her sis- 
 ter had told her, she looked more perplexed 
 than ever. When putting away some 
 linen, the sister found in Ochanda's bureau 
 a sheet of paper on which five names and 
 addresses were written. 
 
 " Sixth Letter. 
 
 " The sister said to Ochanda, * Little sis- 
 ter, will you have the goodness to explain 
 your receiving from all parts of the world 
 letters addressed in gentlemen's handwrit- 
 ing and marked confidential !' 
 
 " Seventh Letter. 
 
 " Again Ochanda spoke. ' Little sister,' 
 she asked, ' can you explain ?' 
 
SENORA VILLENA 163 
 
 '* Eighth Letter. 
 
 " Ochanda listened attentively while 
 don Amador described to her sister the 
 methods of an imaginary secret society of 
 dynamiters. Among other things he said : 
 *' It has branches or chapters in all civil- 
 ized countries, and of course these chap- 
 ters communicate with each other. But 
 in order to keep the membership secret, 
 an ingenious device is resorted to. Some 
 innocent person is selected to transmit 
 their reports, messages and explosives, 
 and of course this cat's-paw is changed 
 frequently enough to prevent all risk of 
 detection.' 
 
 " Ninth Letter. 
 
 "■ Ochanda was afraid to touch it, and 
 said to her brother-in-law : ' Will you 
 please open this for me ?' 
 
 " Tenth Letter. 
 
 *' It was passed around the table, for 
 everybody's inspection. Don Amador 
 studied the address long and earnestly. 
 
 '' ' Can you tell anything as to the 
 writer from the writing ?' the sister asked. 
 
1 64 SEJ^ORA VILLENA 
 
 " ' Yes : not with absolute certainty, but 
 — yes, I can tell his occupation and age.' 
 
 " ' What ?' Ochanda asked ; but imme- 
 diately added, ' Excuse me,' and left the 
 room. 
 
 '''Fifteenth Letter. 
 
 " Everyone in the house was given op- 
 portunity to wonder and to guess. 
 
 " ' If this continues,' said don Amador, 
 ' we shall all become Yankees.' 
 
 " Twentieth Letter. 
 
 " Ochanda had become, in a totally new 
 sense, the center of interest. Nobody 
 thought her insane, or even obstinate : the 
 thoughts of all had taken a new turn. 
 A more entertaining topic of conversa- 
 tion had been provided. What was to be 
 the conclusion of all this ? Who or what 
 was persecuting this innocent and charm- 
 ing young girl ? It was more exciting 
 than a play. 
 
 " ' The letters are rapidly decreasing in 
 size,' don Amador suggested : ' perhaps 
 they will soon disappear altogether.' 
 
 " Of all the boarders he was the most 
 fertile in suggestions and the most in- 
 genious in putting the mysterious case in 
 
seN-qra villena 165 
 
 new lights : so then, in importance he was 
 second only to Ochanda, and associated 
 with her in the minds of all. 
 
 '' In her mind, also ? Not yet, perhaps. 
 She had begun to act like other people, 
 probably because her thought-center was 
 shifted from Habana to the uncertain 
 source or sources of those letters. 
 
 IV 
 
 " ' Welcome to my apartment, senor 
 Bozmediano. Will you have some of the 
 red wine ?' 
 
 " * Ah, dona Carmen, dona Carmen ! 
 With you only do I feel safe and at ease 
 in this house.' 
 
 " ' It is scarcely polite to observe to a 
 lady — even to an old lady who has had a 
 husband who is with the angels — that you 
 feel safe in her company.' 
 
 " ' Ah, little Carmen, you know well 
 that my heart is wholly your own !' 
 
 " Bah ! If I had not money . Here 
 
 is the good wine, senor. Drink ! We are 
 too old to dispute.' 
 
 " ' Dispute, indeed ! Ah, no : we leave 
 that to the little don Amador and that 
 blood-thirsty young man from Habana. 
 Would that he had remained at home, 
 
l66 SEmRA VILLENA 
 
 that we might have some peace ! Ay Dios 
 mio ! he is terrible.' 
 
 " ' Never fear ! He will go home soon 
 enough.' 
 
 '' ' He will kill the little Amador first— 
 or some of us !' 
 
 *' ' Not he : he blusters and swaggers 
 too much !' 
 
 '' ' But who would have thought that 
 the little Amador himself had sent those 
 letters ? Now, how he contrived to be 
 here and to send letters from Sevilla and 
 San Francisco at the same time is what I 
 should like to know.' 
 
 '' ' Ca, Bozmediano, you are little better 
 than a fool ! It amazes me that I have 
 patience to receive your calls.' 
 
 " ' Dear little Carmen ! We are too old 
 to quarrel : give me therefore the least bit 
 more of the good claret.' 
 
 *' * In one point only you are sensible : 
 you drink the wholesome red wine. Boz- 
 mediano, I tell you, if ever you take to 
 drinking white wine, I put you out ! . . . 
 But it was truly odd that don Amador 
 should have addressed one of those letters 
 to the old lover of Ochanda, not knowing 
 that he was even acquainted with her. 
 He might at least have asked the man's 
 
SENORA VILLENA 167 
 
 name, since he knew it was someone in 
 Habana.' 
 
 " ' Oh, senora ! No, no, not the little 
 Amador. He is not inquisitive : he is a 
 gentleman.' 
 
 '' ' Bozmediano, when I think to put 
 you out, you say something which makes 
 me respect you .... And to think that 
 Ochanda forwarded that letter, and that 
 the scamp of a lover opened the little one 
 inside to see what stranger was writing to 
 his sweetheart ! And to think that he saw 
 something in the little last envelope which 
 
 made him very angry and that he 
 
 will tell nobody what it was ! I could 
 scream with disappointment !' 
 
 " ' Tell me this, little Carmen : How 
 does it happen that the other four little 
 envelopes which came last were quite 
 empty, while this one which fell into that 
 terrible man's hands contained something 
 so important ?' 
 
 " ' Tell me this, senor : Was it neces- 
 sary to put something in each of the last 
 envelopes ? Would the little don Amador 
 have to ask her five times — or give her 
 five things, whatever it was ? Caramba ! 
 I shall not sleep to-night for trying to 
 think what it could have been ! Can you 
 
l68 SENORA villena 
 
 not see that Ochanda is madly in love with 
 don Amador, and that his little finger is 
 worth the whole body of that blustering 
 rascal who opens confidential letters, and 
 does not tell what is in them ? He will 
 go back to Habana very quickly, I prom- 
 ise you — if, indeed, he has not run away 
 already .... But that message, that mes- 
 sage — or whatever it was — in the little 
 envelope ! The little Amador has told the 
 little Ochanda what it was : for see how 
 radiantly happy she is !' 
 
 " ' Then it must have been a question : 
 the one question which can produce such 
 a result' 
 
 " ' Oh, must have been ! — must have 
 been ! That is not enough : I need to 
 know what it was — not must have been !' 
 
 " ' It was — shall I tell you what it was ? 
 Ah, little Carmen, do you forget how 
 often I also have asked, implored ? Cruel 
 little Carmen !' 
 
 "■ * Ca, now I put you out !' " 
 
 While Medina had been speaking, Vin- 
 cent had improved the opportunity ; and 
 his timely suggestion to senora Diaz had 
 been, in substance, this : Both Gloria and I 
 
SEJSrORA VILLENA 169 
 
 have the highest esteem for Rodriguez. 
 To Teresa he had whispered : '' Rodriguez 
 thinks that he has offended you, and is 
 most unhappy in consequence." 
 
 Cousin Louis was still seated at the 
 piano, — a position which suggested his un- 
 questionable superiority in the matter of 
 music, and so lent authority to whatever 
 he might say, from the eminence of the 
 piano-stool, upon any matter which 
 chanced to be under discussion. 
 
 '' Your story about Spaniards," he said 
 when the applause which rewarded Me- 
 dina had subsided ; and then repeated 
 when he had secured attention, "j^our 
 story, Medina, suggests the experience 
 of a young Cuban in whom I am inter- 
 ested. He came to New- York about two 
 months ago, with the idea of seeking his 
 fortune. It was a crazy thing to do, for 
 he did not know a word of English ; but 
 there was no chance for him at home. 
 His father, an old friend of mine, lives 
 near Espiritu Santo. He is a planter: 
 you know the rest — ruined by the low 
 price of sugar. This boy had never seen 
 a city — not even Habana — until he was 
 eighteen years old. What do you call 
 such fellows in New England, Vincent? 
 
lyo SENORA VILLENA 
 
 Hayseeds? Well, he is the Cuban va- 
 riety of country lout. A perfect green- 
 horn ! He started out alone the other 
 day to buy a cravat, and walked along 
 the street, looking in the shop windows. 
 When he saw what he wanted he went 
 into the shop, took a clerk by the coat- 
 collar, led him out of the door and pointed 
 to the cravat which had struck his fancy. 
 After narrowly escaping arrest as a luna- 
 tic, he got the cravat, put it on in the 
 shop and then made his way to a restaur- 
 ant. The waiter brought him a long 
 printed bill of fare, of which he could 
 not read one word, but with assurance 
 he pointed to the first item. The waiter 
 nodded, went away and presently re- 
 turned with mock-turtle soup. *Ah, it is 
 not so difficult to get along in this coun- 
 try', thought Perico ; and when he had 
 finished his mock-turtle soup smiled at the 
 waiter and put his finger on the second 
 item of the menu. ' Very good, sir,' said 
 the waiter, and brought a dish of tomato 
 soup. Perico was hungry, and managed 
 to finish this also. ' Now for something 
 solid', he said to himself, pointing to the 
 third and fourth items. ' Very good in- 
 deed, sir !' said the waiter, and brought 
 
SENORA VILLENA J71 
 
 vegetable soup and ox-tail soup. Perico 
 would not let it appear that he had made 
 a mistake ; so tasted each of these. ' I 
 have begun at the liquid end of this list ', 
 Perico reflected ; ' but I cannot eat so 
 much as the Americans. I shall at once 
 call for the most substantial dish' — and he 
 pointed to the last item on the bill of fare. 
 In obedience to this command the waiter 
 brought him toothpicks." 
 
 '' Iss he a lean, or iss he a fat?" asked 
 senora Villena. 
 
 '* He belongs to the fat order : a big- 
 chested fellow with splendid physique," 
 answered cousin Louis ; and then ex- 
 plained, for the benefit of the Americans 
 present : '' We divide all Cubans who 
 come here into two classes. In one class 
 we put the smoke-dried, indifferent peo- 
 ple, who never amount to anything. 
 They are the lean — sometimes we call 
 them threads. In the other class we put 
 the wide-awake, strong, capable people. 
 They are the fat. The average American 
 thinks that there is only one class — the 
 class we call ' lean' — in all the West Indies. 
 You ask him, 'What is a West Indian?' 
 He answers, 'K Cuban'. 'And what is a 
 Cuban?' 'Oh, a yellow-skinned mortal 
 
172 SEiSfORA VILLENA 
 
 who inhales strong cigars before break- 
 fast'. But I have seen, even in Cuba, 
 such arms and chests as a professional 
 athlete might envy. This Perico is one 
 of that kind. He is a great, honest, sim- 
 ple-minded lad, with a neck like a bull — 
 and a voice I He has been begging me 
 piteously to train it for him ; but I do not 
 understand the voice. I know only this 
 instrument," — striking a chord on the 
 piano. 
 
 " The poor boy !" said Concha. '' Is his 
 voice really so fine ?" 
 
 " Magnificent possibilities !" exclaimed 
 cousin Louis. '' If he has a good master 
 now, we, for our part, shall have a Cuban 
 Brignoli in New-York. But without 
 training now, he will contract bad habits, 
 and that will be the end of it. He has no 
 money, and I, as you all know, am poor." 
 
 Gloria had drawn near to cousin Louis, 
 and was thoughtfully turning over a pile 
 of sheet-music on the piano. '' Play this 
 song of Gounod," she said, leaning over 
 his shoulder to put the music before him, 
 and as she did so asking in a whisper : 
 " Would two hundred dollars do any good 
 — to begin with ?" 
 
 In the same tone he answered : '' Quite 
 
SEJ^OFA VILLENA 173 
 
 enough", and then began to play the ac- 
 companiment to ^^ Ah ! si vous saviez\ 
 while Medina sang that exquisite entreaty 
 in a fashion to delight a musician but to 
 shock a linguist. Has there ever lived a 
 Spaniard who could pronounce French 
 correctly ? 
 
 Then he sang something of his own 
 composition which he called 
 
 ^ Serenabe to Nobob^ 
 
 She sleeps, she sleeps, my lady fair, 
 
 Yet ever in my sight ; 
 A throbbing star is in her hair 
 
 And her robe is the soft moonlight. 
 Dear, gentle winds that come and go. 
 
 Bear her my note of love ; 
 I am her servant here below 
 
 And she is my queen above. 
 
 Her fragrant breath is on my face. 
 
 Yet far awa)^ she seems ; 
 And though I'm held in her embrace, 
 
 I am not in her dreams. 
 Dear, gentle winds, that to and fro 
 
 Bear goblin, sprite and elf, 
 Be pleased to say, (she'll never know) 
 
 My love is the night itself ! 
 
 When this song was finished cousin 
 Louis swung around to face his audience 
 
174 SE^ORA VILLENA 
 
 and said, with a very happy light in his 
 eyes : '' My friends — and especially my 
 dear Vincent — if ever I am rich enough 
 to marry, I shall look for a wife who will 
 be content to economize in the matter of 
 bracelets in order to send a great melodi- 
 ous voice to speak of beauty to all men in 
 the chosen language of beauty." Only 
 Vincent and Gloria understood this refer- 
 ence to bracelets and realized that Perico 
 had found a patroness, but no one dared 
 to question : cousin Louis had spoken from 
 the piano-stool. 
 
 While Medina was singing Vincent 
 watched Teresa most narrowly. He saw 
 that she lifted her eyes to meet those of 
 Rodriguez ; he saw that Rodriguez con- 
 strued this as permission to approach her ; 
 he saw that senora Diaz did not disap- 
 prove. Going to the window he drew 
 aside the curtain, raised the sash and 
 threw the blinds wide open. 
 
 *' See !" he said. 
 
 " The dawn !" cried Concha. 
 
 The fragrant air of morning poured in 
 through the open window, bringing with 
 it that incomparable suggestion of the 
 young life of a summer's day. How 
 quickly they all responded to that pure 
 
S£A^OJ?M VILLENA 175 
 
 and tender suggestion, in silence drawing 
 together before the window and gazing 
 out upon the smooth lawn with its clus- 
 ters of bright flowers ! They heard the 
 leaves of the little maple-tree near the 
 arbor whispering as a gentle breeze 
 stirred them. A branch of honeysuckle, 
 heavy with dew and laden with bloom, 
 broke away from its fastening at the lintel 
 and, slowly swaying to and fro before 
 their faces, sank downward and lay out- 
 stretched on the turf. 
 
 Rodriguez and Teresa were standing 
 behind the mother. For an instant their 
 hands met. 
 
 Medina was the first to speak, uncon- 
 sciously trying to analyze the charm of the 
 scene. '^ There is not the broad sunshine 
 which we love," he said : '* there is also 
 not one shadow." 
 
 " Hush !" said senora Villena, her finger 
 at her lips. 
 
 '' Where is your husband ?" Mrs. Blake 
 asked Gloria, in a whisper. 
 
 "Calla, Hush!" the senora repeated. 
 " The leetle birds they begin to wake 
 op!" 
 
 No, these were not bird-voices, but 
 tones infinitely more sweet. We like to 
 
176 SENORA vtllena 
 
 deceive ourselves, and sometimes we ask 
 Nature to sympathize in our moods. 
 Nature has no heart but that which beats 
 in the breast of the man who loves her. 
 That silent company of men and women 
 who loved Nature heard her many voices, 
 warmed and made significant by the heart 
 which puts its own meaning into them. 
 Vincent's warm and generous heart or 
 that of the old violin ? — for such a violin is 
 no part of stockish nature : it has a heart, 
 put into it by its maker and kept alive 
 in it by generations of masters who have 
 told it their secrets in passionate confi- 
 dence. I cannot determine whether it 
 was the master or the violin which inter- 
 preted to them the thrill of dawn, for I 
 cannot separate such a master from such 
 an instrument. Ask cousin Louis : he is a 
 musician. 
 
 Cousin Louis ? He would not have 
 answered any question whatever then. 
 Even after this music ceased he heard 
 nothing else, he saw nothing at all. Al- 
 though Vincent had said to him before 
 leaving the room : " I put you in charge : 
 keep them in view !" he did not notice 
 that Rodriguez and Silverspoon had paid 
 their respects to the hostess and gone 
 
SEJ70RA VILLENA Z// 
 
 away together until Teresa put her hand 
 on his arm. 
 
 " Do you know why the senor is leav- 
 ing the house at this hour?" she asked. 
 
 '' Leaving ! How long ago ?" 
 
 ''An instant. He and Mr. Silverspoon 
 must be in the hall still." 
 
 Cousin Louis hurried out and found the 
 two gentlemen just passing out of the 
 front door. Waiting only to put on his 
 hat and throw a light coat over his should- 
 ers, he soon overtook them. He was con- 
 triving an apology for this intrusion when 
 Rodriguez turned an unmistakably happy 
 face upon him and exclaimed : 
 
 " I have wanted very much to see you, 
 senor, to ask your permission and assist- 
 ance in a certain matter. This is most 
 fortunate !" 
 
 '' My dear fellow, you do not need as- 
 sistance," said Silverspoon. " You should 
 have seen the look she gave me when I 
 praised you this evening." 
 
 " So that was what you were saying to 
 Teresa !" cousin Louis exclaimed. 
 
 '' Certainly. Won't you walk down to 
 the hotel with us?" Louis eagerly con- 
 sented ; so they locked arms and proceed- 
 ed together. 
 
 12 
 
178 SENORA villena 
 
 " I asked our friend Rodriguez to give 
 me a chance for a good quiet talk," Silver- 
 spoon began to say, after a moment of si- 
 lence ; but cousin Louis interrupted. 
 
 '' Yon asked him!'' he exclaimed. ''Oh, 
 I had not thought of that." 
 
 " Yes, I asked him. Why, what's up ?" 
 said the Englishman. 
 
 " Oh, nothing. Only I thought — no 
 matter now what I thought ! And then I 
 saw and heard several things to confirm 
 my suspicion — never mind what. And 
 certainly Rodriguez did look angry — but 
 let that pass. If you made the appoint- 
 ment with hwi, that changes the face of 
 matters." It occurred to cousin Louis 
 that Vincent would try not to laugh when 
 he should hear how he had been misled, 
 and the thought was annoying. 
 
 " Can't say I understand you alto- 
 gether," said Silverspoon ; '' but I fancy 
 my head is not so clear as it might be. I 
 have been spending the evening with 
 some friends. But on one subject I enter- 
 tain positive convictions. I am absolutely 
 sure that I am the happiest Englishman in 
 America. This is what I wanted to tell 
 you, Rodriguez ; and now that I have you 
 both by the arm so that you can't get 
 
SEmRA VILLENA lyg 
 
 away from me until I have finished, listen ! 
 One year ago, when I was at home, I 
 wrote a question on a bit of paper and 
 put it in the hand of the sweetest girl in 
 Warwickshire. Yesterday I got her an- 
 swer. Now I am going to tell you about 
 her until I am satisfied." 
 
 But I must not report what was said 
 about the sweetest girl in Warwickshire, 
 for Rodriguez's path to Teresa has been 
 cleared of fancied obstacles, and my pur- 
 pose has been to describe only those en- 
 tertainments which were planned in con- 
 sequence of senora Villena's having waked 
 one morning with a pain in her shoulder 
 
 THE END 
 
GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Not in Utopia, subterranean Fields, 
 
 Or some secreted Island, Heaven knows where ! 
 
 But in the very world, which is the world 
 
 Of all of us,— the place where in the end 
 
 We find our happiness, or not at all ! 
 
 — Wordsworth. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 There are to be found in Oldhaven two 
 types of character which can be studied 
 nowhere else, I think, to greater advantage. 
 One type is that of the self-respecting, 
 studious, yet easy-going townsman, whose 
 aspect is grave but who has nevertheless a 
 keen sense of the humorous and whimsical ; 
 who has conservative views upon every 
 subject ; whose muscles are exercised and 
 whose charities are dispensed with regu- 
 larity ; for although his circulation is slow, 
 his conscience is active. Such a man is 
 Mr. Horace Penman, who has been men- 
 tioned in the foregoing pages. Mr. Pen- 
 man dislikes foreigners, excepting those 
 whose acquaintance he has made. All 
 those whom he has met socially (as, for 
 example, Mrs. Vincent and her friends) he 
 finds charming ; but they, he persists in 
 believing, are exceptions to the rule. In 
 this the man's character comes out very 
 clearly ; for while his rule is narrow his 
 practice is liberal. His opinions in their 
 
4 PREFACE 
 
 severity bear the stamp of the law ; but he 
 will make, one at a time, so many equitable 
 distinctions that no person who knows him 
 well thinks him severe. The impression 
 which he makes upon slight acquaintance, 
 however, is commonly unfavorable. Mrs. 
 Rutherfurd Davenport, one of the prettiest 
 brides in Oldhaven, in the course of her 
 comments upon Mr. Penman said to me 
 the other day : " People who know a great 
 deal can't impart it, and yet they can let 
 people know that they know a great deal." 
 The second type is that of the woman 
 who is intellectual, but who has no regular 
 occupation for her mind. Her intellect- 
 uality is question of taste, not of profit. 
 She is therefore not thoroughly intellectual, 
 but retains in great measure the mere 
 womanly dependence and impulsiveness. 
 With a facility which is sometimes as- 
 tounding she captures the outposts of 
 various sciences and gets a reading know- 
 ledge of various languages ; but she is 
 herself never mastered and reduced to 
 habits of orderly thinking by the spirit of 
 genuine learning. She is a woman ; she is 
 also somewhat of a scholar ; but much 
 more woman than scholar. She is sur- 
 prising. Do not fancy that through any 
 
PREFACE J- 
 
 knowledge you may have of either women 
 or scholars you will be enabled to form an 
 idea of what she will do next. Such a 
 woman, but lifted by her beauty and social 
 influence above the bonnets of the class to 
 which she belongs, is Mrs. Winthrop Eaton. 
 These people, Mr. Penman and Mrs. 
 Eaton, have been in my mind for a long 
 time. Little by little they have told me 
 about themselves and about other people 
 whom they know. Little by little their 
 story has become so distinct that it now 
 seems part of my own experience ; but I 
 could not, if I tried, tell it in my own 
 words. Inevitably I should fall into their 
 manner of expression. It seems best, 
 therefore, that with this brief explanation 
 I should step back and let them in their 
 own fashion impart to you their several 
 and very different views of the same mat- 
 ter. 
 
Part I— By Mr. PENMAN 
 
 OSKAWASK IN THE YEAR 1855. 
 
 F the house is an apology for a 
 dwelling-place, at least it occu- 
 pies an humbly apologetic posi- 
 tion. A sandy hill-side slopes 
 down to a sluggish, weedy little stream, 
 and just beyond this stream stands the 
 house in question. 
 
 " ' After you, sir or madame,' says this 
 humble dwelling to the brook ; and so, 
 year after year, it has waited for the 
 stream to pass in front of it. At least I 
 can see no better reason why the dwelling 
 should stand in this boggy, low place." 
 
 Meditating in this fashion, I, Horace 
 Penman, paused for a moment before the 
 humble cottage at the foot of the sandy 
 hill and beside the weedy stream. 
 
 "What sort of man is the owner?" I 
 asked myself. " Has a traveler a fair pros- 
 pect of being received and "sheltered for 
 the night here ?" 
 
8 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 It was the 9th of November, in the year 
 1855. Night was drawing on, a storm 
 was gathering in the west and I knew that 
 the nearest tavern was ten miles distant. 
 
 I was on my way from Oldhaven to Bos- 
 ton, traveling, as was most agreeable in the 
 bracing air of late autumn, on horseback. 
 
 As the result of my reflections I dis- 
 mounted, threw the bridle over a picket 
 of the tumble-down fence separating the 
 front yard from the highway, and ad- 
 vanced toward the rambling, unpainted 
 house. As I placed my foot upon the 
 lower step, the door was opened before 
 me, and in the doorway stood a man of 
 middle age — a tall, lean figure, slouching 
 forward. Rusty, faded homespun trous- 
 ers, supported by a single suspender from 
 the left shoulder, heavy boots, coarse 
 shirt, open at the neck — such were the 
 garments of the man in the doorway. He 
 looked at me with a marked absence of 
 interest. 
 
 '' Good evening," I said. '' Could you 
 take me in for the night ?" 
 
 He shut a large jack-knife which he was 
 holding in his right hand and put it into 
 his pocket. This was done very slowly. 
 Then he examined a piece of soft pine 
 
MR, PENMAN'S VERSION Q 
 
 which he held in his left hand. This he 
 did very attentively. 
 
 " Good evening," I began to repeat, 
 raising my voice. 
 
 " Waal," drawled the person thus urged, 
 '' I don' know. I guess I'll go an' ask 
 Israel." 
 
 '* Jonathan !" piped a shrill voice from 
 within the house, '' Jonathan, ask the gen- 
 tleman to come in to the fire." 
 
 I did not wait for a second invitation, 
 but crossed the threshold and made the 
 best of my way in the direction indicated 
 by the shrill voice. 
 
 " Jonathan Slyme, I am surprised at you 
 for letting the gentleman stand in the 
 cold !" exclaimed a little woman whom I 
 found seated before an open wood fire. 
 
 " Why, Saray," supplicated her hus- 
 band, '' I was a-goin' ter ask him ter come 
 in. I jes kinder thought I might as well 
 ask Israel first." 
 
 A brief silence followed this remarlk. 
 Sarah and Jonathan looked at one another, 
 and the stranger glanced about the room. 
 
 The room was long and narrow and 
 low, scantily furnished with six or eight 
 rude chairs and an extension table which 
 was set with half-a-dozen plates and dishes 
 
lO GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 of different patterns. The bare floor was 
 very uneven. There were two curtainless 
 windows at the end nearest the highway, 
 and at each of these a young woman was 
 seated, bent over her sewing. The gen- 
 erous hearth, before which their mother 
 sat, was piled high with logs, great and 
 small, through which the bright flame was 
 climbing upward, curling about the ends 
 which showed marks of the axe, fastening 
 upon projecting bits of dried bark, leaping 
 from lower to upper, gaining the topmost 
 log, and then shooting straight upward in 
 spears of white light. Is there anyone 
 who doubts that this royal adornment 
 may supply the place of all those objects 
 with which we, now in the day of registers 
 and radiators, strive to beautify our rooms ? 
 
 " Israel is coming right back, and then 
 we can ask him, Jonathan," said Sarah. 
 " Sit down, sir. He is gone to fetch in 
 some more logs. He is the greatest hand 
 to make a fire !" 
 
 This was said with so much pride that I 
 saw my advantage in humoring her by 
 talking about this Israel, whoever he 
 might be. 
 
 " So, madame, have I to thank him for 
 this very agreeable blaze?" I asked, rub- 
 
MR, PENMAN'S VERSION II 
 
 bing my hands and holding them out 
 towards it with sincere appreciation. 
 
 "■ Yes, sir, my son Israel does everything 
 good that is done around here," she re- 
 plied, with a look of contempt directed 
 towards her unprosperous husband. He, 
 however, far from resenting this thrust, 
 nodded slowly several times, repeating : 
 " Yaas, I guess he dews pretty much all 
 the good as is done around here, in Oska- 
 wask," whereupon he leaned his rounded 
 shoulders against the mantel-shelf, thrust 
 his hand slowly into the depths of his 
 pocket and, after fumbling in a way which 
 showed that the object sought was one of 
 many things in that ample receptacle, pro- 
 duced the jack-knife, opened its single 
 large blade and fell to work upon the 
 piece of pine which he still held. 
 
 This seemed a favorable omen. He ac- 
 cepted the traveler's presence and turned 
 his attention again to the interrupted em- 
 ployment. It was clear enough to me now 
 that Jonathan accepted things as they were. 
 
 Such being the disposition of the nat- 
 ural head of this family it was evident 
 enough also why his house stood on the 
 edge of a marsh and not elsewhere : he 
 had found it there. 
 
12 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 That is not a very startling conclusion ; 
 but it was interesting- to me at the time 
 because it instructed me that, so far as 
 Jonathan was concerned, I might stay 
 over-night. 
 
 Yet it seemed to depend upon Israel 
 and Israel's decision. 
 
ISRAEL 
 
 EROES find safety in their very 
 fearlessness. Their reckless dis- 
 regard of caution carries all be- 
 fore them with a rush, and the 
 blow which was intended for their heads 
 falls upon some sluggish follower. So, at 
 least, those gentlemen, who from the se- 
 curity of their studies send forth descrip- 
 tions of heroic lives, have repeatedly as- 
 sured us. 
 
 But as for me, whose ambition it has 
 been to lead a happy life and not neces- 
 sarily an heroic one, I do not scruple to 
 acknowledge my obligation to the spirit 
 of caution which has constantly animated 
 me, as in the moment preceding the ap- 
 pearance of Israel. 
 
 After satisfying myself that no opposi- 
 tion was to be feared from the easy-going 
 Jonathan or the bright-eyed Mrs. Sarah, 
 I glanced again towards the young women 
 seated at the windows, to see if they 
 looked hospitably inclined and to secure 
 
 13 
 
14 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 their good-will, perhaps, through some lit- 
 tle courtesy. They were looking up, their 
 eyes fixed upon some object at the oppo- 
 site side of the room. I had barely time 
 to notice that they were decidedly pretty 
 and dressed exactly alike before a ringing 
 voice cried '' Hello !" at the back door. 
 The brisk little mother sprung from her 
 chair and threw the door wide open. 
 
 There stood a young man, bearing three 
 or four large white birch logs upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Going quickly to the hearth, he laid 
 dowm the heavy logs easily as though 
 they had been so many twigs, threw back 
 his shoulders and said : '' That will do for 
 to-night." Then, looking me full in the 
 face with a smile of perfect good-will, he 
 offered his hand, saying, '* I am glad to 
 see you, sir." 
 
 I was a little staggered by the confi- 
 dence and ease of the boy's bearing. This 
 did not prevent my seizing the offered 
 hand, however, — the first hand which had 
 been offered me in this house in which I 
 desired to be received as guest. I seized 
 the hand, Avhich was no larger than my 
 own, and tried to squeeze it. 
 
 Think of trying to squeeze Charles 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION IJ 
 
 XII's hand, or the Russian Peter's — hands 
 that crushed horseshoes ! The man who 
 offers such a hand to the world, the world 
 may hate, perhaps, but Avill surely respect. 
 Fortunately the younger man did not 
 return the pressure and crush me. So 
 then, I did not hate him, but respected his 
 physical superiority. 
 
 *' Israel," began the mother, '' this gen- 
 tleman wants us to keep him " 
 
 '' Over-night ?" 
 
 " Yes, my son, if you " 
 
 '' Of course," said Israel, with ready 
 decision, turning to the guest again. 
 '* You are welcome. You shall have my 
 own room." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, brother Israel ! We think 
 that he had better have ours, don't we, sis- 
 ter Grace ?" said one of the young women. 
 " Yes, we think brother Israel must not 
 be disturbed in the evening, don't we, sis- 
 ter Gertrude ?" assented the other. 
 
 " Pshaw !" said Israel, " I'll camp-out 
 here before the fire, as you know I like to 
 do. Grace and Gertrude, you may do 
 your part by bringing me a bolster and 
 blanket when the time comes. I shall 
 have the best of you all, here before the 
 fire, for it is going to storm like parson 
 
1 6 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Dewback denouncing slavery." Putting 
 an arm about each sister, he drew them 
 toward the window ; then catching sight 
 of my horse, he said : '' Come with me, 
 sir, and we will put him up." 
 
 Without waiting for me he went quickly 
 down to the gate and led the tired animal 
 in between two leafless lilac trees which 
 did sentinel duty at each post, between 
 the stumps of coarse flowers which skirted 
 the walk, to the front door. There I 
 joined him and together we led my horse 
 to a wood-shed (there being no better ac- 
 commodation) at the rear of the house. 
 
 When we returned, after performing 
 this duty, preparation for supper was be- 
 ing made : a generous supper, never to be 
 forgotten ! After all these years I could 
 tell you what we had, even to the several 
 varieties of pie, dressed with frills of paste 
 and ornamental patches upon their round, 
 upturned, homely faces. These are not 
 slight matters if one holds, with the Ger- 
 mans, that one is what one eats, or with 
 the French that he works well who eats 
 well. I remember also how the father 
 took his place behind his chair while the 
 others ranged themselves according to 
 dignity ; and how all stood while a formal 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 17 
 
 grace-before-meat was pronounced ; and 
 how Samuel entered without greeting me 
 and sat through the meal without uttering 
 one word. 
 
 Samuel was but a year or two younger 
 than Israel, and yet the brothers were in 
 appearance so unlike that at first I thought 
 it scarcely possible that they could be 
 children of the same parents. Both were 
 rather above middle size ; but while this 
 fact was noticeable in the case of Samuel, 
 whose narrow, sloping shoulders sug- 
 gested that he had grown beyond his 
 strength, Israel's figure was so perfectly 
 proportioned that an observer would need 
 to compare it with other objects in order 
 to determine whether it was tall or short. 
 
 There is a period of overflowing physi- 
 cal strength which visits some favored 
 persons before maturity sets in. Then the 
 great muscles, swelling beneath the skin 
 still soft and smooth as a woman's, seem 
 marvelous. Israel was one of these fav- 
 ored persons, and his strength made him 
 noble in every movement. 
 
 As for Samuel, he neither had nor de- 
 desired great muscles. To have had them 
 would have meant just so much more farm 
 work. 
 
1 8 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 The most striking difference was in the 
 coloring of the two young men. Samuel 
 had light, reddish hair and a sallow com- 
 plexion. Israel's hair was black and crisp, 
 his eyes well set, almost black and spark- 
 ling with vivacity, his cheek smooth, with 
 a ruddy-brown tint. On his right cheek 
 was a small mark of singular appearance. 
 Although too small to be disfiguring, it 
 had a clear outline suggesting some famil- 
 iar object — I could not at first think what. 
 
 While we were still at table the door 
 was opened and a woman entered. 
 
 '' Here comes Lilly," said the mother, 
 quickest to speak and quickest to act. 
 
 " Miss Lilly Lincoln," Israel explained, 
 as she came forward rather bashfully, not 
 having expected to find a stranger. 
 
 Well do I remember how poor Lilly 
 Lincoln looked as I saw her for the first 
 time, with her delicate, earnest, wistful 
 face and interesting eyes. How can a 
 climate, which produces no more gener- 
 ous beverage than cider, produce the in- 
 tense, passionate nature which looks out 
 from such eyes as Lilly Lincoln's? With 
 all our long winters and long sermons in- 
 culcating hatred of the flesh, there are 
 hearts beating as wildly, as quick to take 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION IQ 
 
 fire, as impetuous in their demand for 
 love, here in New England as any in An- 
 dalusia. We cannot boast of wine, women 
 and song ; but at least we have cider, 
 women and sermons. " Who does not love 
 wine, women and song, remains a fool his 
 whole life long," said Dr. Martin Luther. 
 
 The two sisters encircled their friend 
 with their arms and drew her towards the 
 fire. All arose from the table, as our re- 
 past was already finished. A glance full 
 of meaning was exchanged by Israel and 
 Lilly, while the parents accepted her 
 presence without comment, as that of a 
 familiar guest. Miss Gertrude introduced 
 me to the new comer. Miss Gertrude, it 
 is to be observed, because this slight cir- 
 cumstance bore precious fruit long after- 
 ward, had been my neighbor at table and 
 therefore felt better acquainted with me 
 than did her sister. 
 
 " Don't you think brother Israel looks 
 as though he would like her?" asked Miss 
 Grace. 
 
 " We do," murmured Miss Gertrude. 
 
 *^ Why, yes — yes indeed ; in fact anyone 
 must," I said, wishing that someone would 
 interrupt and so save me from the neces- 
 sity of concluding. 
 
20 GRA Y : AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 " We do," echoed Miss Grace ; *' and we 
 think he is a sweet fellow. He will be 
 twenty-one day after to-morrow," she 
 added. 
 
 During this naive conversation, which 
 somehow had the effect of making me feel 
 wonderfully at home, I was standing op- 
 posite Mrs. Slyme, who had resumed her 
 favorite corner by the fire-side. I noticed 
 in her bright, intelligent little face a new 
 expression — an expression of thoughtful 
 curiosity. . '' But, dear me," I said to my- 
 self, *'she is looking at the buttons on my 
 coat : they cannot be the occasion of that 
 expression." 
 
 While we were thus grouped about the 
 fire, the storm commenced to rage out- 
 side with such violence that Lilly was 
 not permitted to return to her home. 
 The sisters amiably disputed as to which 
 should enjoy the pleasure of sacrificing 
 her wish to have Lilly for bed-fellow, and 
 Israel suggested that they should solve 
 the difficulty by putting a bed for her in 
 the little room at the head of the stairs. 
 All this was discussed so affectionately ! 
 I wish that I could do justice to the fine 
 spirit which animated this group of four 
 young country people. I soon took occa- 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 21 
 
 sion to ask that I might be shown my 
 room, and Avas accordingly conducted 
 by Israel up a narrow, creaking stair- 
 case. 
 
 Israel's room was extremely simple, its 
 only ornaments being a bouquet of pressed 
 autumn leaves and dried grasses and one 
 picture. This last was the portrait of a 
 young man ; an oil painting, showing hon- 
 est work without much technical skill on 
 the part of the artist. At that time I 
 prided myself upon being a tolerably 
 good judge of painting, and examined it 
 closely. 
 
 " Why, it must be a hundred years old !" 
 I said. 
 
 "" It is almost that," said Israel. 
 
 '' But, if it were not for the evident age 
 of the painting, I would take oath that 
 you are the subject." 
 
 " It is my great-grandfather," he replied. 
 '* Here — when I hold the light to it, you 
 see the dress, almost faded out of sight. 
 Can you make out an old-fashioned lace 
 collar and embroidery there ? If he had 
 more than one coat like this, he must have 
 been a swell. It is clearly not myself, 
 although the resemblance of the face is 
 striking, even to this mark" — and he 
 
22 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 pointed out a spot on the right cheek 
 of his ancestor. 
 
 As he spoke, the right side of his own 
 face was turned to me, and I glanced 
 again at the curious mark which I had 
 before noticed. It seemed that at the 
 mention of the ancestor's blemish (for it 
 amounted to that in the portrait) this spot 
 on Israel's cheek became instantly more 
 distinct, and I was on the point of recog- 
 nizing the outlines of a minute spade, 
 when Israel turned to a substantial though 
 rude table on which lay a score or so of 
 books, 
 
 '' I am ashamed to speak of anything so 
 pitiful," said he, '' but such as it is, my 
 little library is at your service. I have 
 bought only such books as I could not 
 borrow from Mr. Dewback, our parson, 
 who is a college graduate and who fitted 
 me for college." 
 
 Now my admiration of this youth for 
 his beauty and strength had been at least 
 doubled, it must be confessed, through 
 the discovery that his great-grandfather 
 had worn linen and an embroidered coat. 
 The additional credit which was con- 
 ferred by this subsequent discovery, that 
 he possessed the elements of a solid educa- 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 2j 
 
 tion, was much less considerable. There- 
 fore, in expressing my thanks for the po- 
 lite offer, I turned over the leaves of one 
 or two volumes with only an assumed 
 interest, and soon resumed my scrutiny 
 of the portrait. 
 
 ''Your ancestor had less breadth of fore- 
 head," I commented, *' his upper lip is 
 slightly longer and his chin less strong 
 and firm" ; but, reflecting that my com- 
 parisons might seem too familiar, instead 
 of continuing, I asked Israel about this 
 ancestor. 
 
 ''Sit down, then," he suggested, "for it 
 is quite a long story ; or, better, stretch 
 yourself out on the bed, Mr. Penman." 
 
 I complied, and lying across the foot of 
 the bed and looking up at the portrait — 
 glancing now at it and again at the narra- 
 tor — heard the following account. 
 
I 
 
 THE ANCESTOR 
 
 HIS portrait which has excited 
 your interest," began Israel, '' I 
 found five years ago in the gar- 
 ret, in a corner, just above my 
 head as I stand now. The fall before I 
 had strung across some ears of sweet-corn 
 to dry for seed. When planting time 
 came, I went up to fetch that and some 
 other little things stowed away in the 
 same place. They were too many for me 
 to carry in my hands, so I picked up this 
 picture out of a heap of rubbish, not notic- 
 ing or caring what it was, to put the seeds 
 on. So I carried them down and out into 
 the long field." 
 
 Here Israel paused ; then walking up 
 and down the room and stopping each 
 time he passed the bed to see how I was 
 taking what he said, he continued : 
 
 " It was a bright, warm spring day and 
 I was fifteen ; so there were a good many 
 thoughts in my head besides about plant- 
 ing corn. But I need not remind you, sir, 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 2 J 
 
 that a boy of fifteen thinks all sorts of 
 things on a bright, warm spring morning. 
 He is just beginning to realize how much 
 larger the world is than his own home, 
 how many opinions there are different 
 from those in which he has been brought 
 up, and more than all he is just beginning 
 to feel a restlessness which he can't explain 
 even to himself : strange desires for free- 
 dom, for knowledge, for pleasures, for 
 possessions, and stranger, more torment- 
 ing desires which he cannot understand 
 because they are entirely unlike those he 
 has felt before." 
 
 " In a word, the boy of fifteen doesn't 
 understand himself and is most curious 
 about himself," I ventured. 
 
 '' Exactly that. So then, you know what 
 sort of questions I was asking myself and 
 you can understand my interest when I 
 had removed enough of the corn to see 
 myself." 
 
 '' How is that?" I asked, rather sleepily. 
 " Removed the corn to see yourself?" 
 
 '' When I had uncovered the picture, 
 that is. I saw before me my own face, 
 line for line ; only the lines were deeper, 
 stronger, and the face was my own face 
 matured. I saw myself matured. That 
 
26 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 was an answer to ni}^ questions because it 
 was a prophecy of my future." 
 
 " Your questions answered ? That is 
 better luck than most of us ever have. 
 You understood yourself after that ?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered very positively. 
 '' But I beg your pardon for the reference 
 to my own feelings. I need to explain 
 why this portrait seemed to me from the 
 first so valuable, — why I did not throw it 
 aside as others had done and stick to the 
 occupation of planting corn. 
 
 '' It is the only object Ave have left in the 
 family to connect us with the past, and the 
 wonder is that its frame had not been split 
 up for kindlings long before." 
 
 I shuddered at the mere suggestion of 
 such violence being offered to a sacred 
 relic. A horse-shoe which my own great- 
 grandfather had forged, had been gilded 
 and was prominently displa3"ed in the 
 Penman drawing-room in Oldhaven. 
 
 " I took it," Israel continued, '' to parson 
 Dewback, who is a mild, timid little man, 
 and in some respects is certainly a fool. 
 But he is, after all, very well-read and a 
 good deal of an antiquarian. He was de- 
 lighted beyond measure, of course, and 
 promised to find out all about the painting 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 2y 
 
 and its original if I would leave the old 
 thing with him for a month. This I con- 
 sented to most unwillingly, for I could not 
 bear to let the prophetic mirror in which 
 I seemed to see my own future go out of 
 my possession even for so short a time. 
 
 " One month later, at the very hour, I 
 presented myself before parson Dewback 
 and demanded my treasure together with 
 the promised history of my ancestor. 
 
 " ' Dear me ! Well, well !' the old gen- 
 tlemen exclaimed in confusion ; and I 
 feared he had forgotten his engagement. 
 But no : he went to his desk and fumbled 
 among a heap of papers, as ill-assorted and 
 disorderly as his own thoughts on immor- 
 tality. ' Well, well, well ! Now where 
 can it be ? Dear, dear, dear ! I do not 
 find it, my dear young friend. Perhaps it 
 is just as well.' 
 
 '' 'Oh, no, sir, please don't give it up. 
 Is this it ?' I asked, putting my hand on 
 what he had been writing when I entered. 
 
 " ' To be sure ! I had only just begun to 
 write it down ; but ' (with a bland smile) 
 ' I will tell the story to you. I will tell to 
 you the story of your — let me see, your 
 great-grandfather, who bore the extraor- 
 dinary name of Israel-for-Israel Slyme. 
 
28 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Sit down, my dear young friend, sit down 
 and listen.' 
 
 *' There was not another chair in the 
 room ; but I stood and listened none the 
 worse for that. 
 
 " The old parson's story was full of 
 windings and indirections. He began 
 with the statement that the name ' Israel- 
 for-Israel ' did not signify that my ances- 
 tor was a selfish man, seeking his own 
 interest at whatever cost to others. A 
 deeper and scriptural interpretation was 
 to be preferred, he said — this, namely : 
 * Israel-forTsrael ' is as much as to say, 
 The Lord's people are sufficient unto 
 themselves, and should not covet the pos- 
 sessions neither take on the manners and 
 customs of the children of this world. 
 
 '' Oh ! oh !" I deprecated, sitting bolt 
 upright. 
 
 Israel laughed so heartily that I felt the 
 bed vibrate and exclaimed : 
 
 " You do not approve parson Dewback's 
 interpretation of ' Israel-for-Israel.' Well, 
 I shall never say you are wrong. 
 
 " It seems probable that at the opening 
 of the Revolutionary War, Israel-for-Israel 
 Slyme was an adventurer, not attached to 
 the American cause by any sentiment of 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 2g 
 
 patriotism, for he apparently held no prop- 
 erty in any one of the States. Moreover 
 his conduct and traits of character of 
 which we have certain knowledge accord 
 with this supposition. 
 
 " He was neither religious nor indus- 
 trious ; so, in spite of his puritan name, he 
 was not a Puritan at heart. Quite the 
 contrary, in fact. He was a dandy in 
 dress, he w^as imperious and haughty in 
 manner. 
 
 " One of the traditions which parson 
 Dewback unearthed is therefore possibly 
 not without foundation. It is to the fol- 
 lowing effect : 
 
 " My ancestor was the second son of an 
 English bishop. He had led a wild life at 
 the University of Oxford, and so thorough- 
 ly disgraced himself afterwards that with 
 the full permission of his respectable 
 parent he fled» the country and changed 
 his name. 
 
 " Think of his coolly deciding, after he 
 had made up his mind to seek his fortune 
 in the rebellious colonies, to assume a 
 name suited to his new surroundings. The 
 son of an English bishop expressed the 
 opinion of the class he was quitting — their 
 opinion of dissenters generally, and most 
 
 14 
 
JO GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 of all the American dissenters, with whom 
 he was to identify himself — in the name of 
 Slyme. That must have been his first 
 thought. 
 
 " Then for a praenomen he chose what 
 expressed to himself yet concealed from 
 others his real intention in taking sides 
 with the colonists against those principles 
 which he had revered, if indeed he ever 
 genuinely revered anything — against alle- 
 giance to Church and King. ' Israel-for- 
 Israel ' meant to him, ' Myself for myself, 
 and the devil take these whining fanatics 
 after I get through using them for my 
 own purpose.' " 
 
 '' My dear sir," I interposed, now stand- 
 ing and quite forgetful of my fatigue. 
 " My dear sir ! This about your own 
 great-grandfather !" 
 
 '' I mean," said Israel, '* that he was an 
 adventurer like many others Avhose selfish 
 ambition was very serviceable to the just 
 and righteous cause of independence. That 
 is all I mean." 
 
 Perhaps Israel knew that the moral 
 character of his remote ancestor made no 
 difference to me, — who am, nevertheless, 
 personally an honest and honorable man, I 
 hope, and who love honesty and honor in 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION J I 
 
 my contemporaries. To how many of us 
 would it have made a difference ? Of 
 those who sincerely revere the memory of 
 Oliver Cromwell and in argument re-con- 
 demn Charles Stuart to death as a just 
 punishment visited upon a tyrant, how 
 many would prefer to derive their descent 
 from the Protector rather than from the 
 first Charles, King of England ? Our sen- 
 timent of aristocracy is in this plainly 
 distinct from our sense of morality. The 
 man of the world says to himself, The 
 world may be moved by either sentiment 
 —either superiority or goodness: I take 
 my choice. 
 
 Israel continued : " When, after Gates's 
 terrible defeat at Camden, Greene was 
 appointed to the command of our forces 
 in the South, my ancestor served under 
 him. 
 
 "This appointment of General Greene 
 seems to me to have been the turning 
 point in the war. From the moment 
 when those scattered forces, which with- 
 out a common plan of action had never- 
 theless held their .own against the British, 
 were placed in the hands of one resolute 
 soldier, as Greene certainly was, the issue 
 could no longer be doubtful. That Israel- 
 
32 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 for-Israel realized this fully at the time, I 
 do not assert. I simply mention the cir- 
 cumstance that he cast in his lot with the 
 Americans at this juncture. 
 
 " In the memorable retreat through the 
 Carolinas, he bore a part. In the battle 
 of Guilford, 15th March, 1781, he charged 
 with Washington's cavalry ; and an inci- 
 dent of that charge brings him forward in 
 a creditable manner. 
 
 " The brunt of this engagement was 
 borne, on the American side, by a regi- 
 ment of Marylanders. It was to support 
 this regiment that the charge was com- 
 manded. 
 
 '' The detachment of the British, thus 
 assailed, wavered ; but Stuart, who lead 
 them, succeeded in rallying his men and 
 himself sprang upon Captain Smith of the 
 Marylanders. ' The latter, parrying Stu- 
 art's small-sword with his left hand, 
 brought down his heavy sabre or his head 
 with such force that he cleaved him to the 
 spine. The next moment, wounded by a 
 musket-ball, he fell upon his antagonist. 
 Scarcely had he touched the body when 
 the soldier who had fired the shot also 
 fell across him,' struck down by the sabre 
 of Israel-for-Israel, who spurred all alone 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 33 
 
 among the guards. In an instant the rest 
 of the cavalry followed and the battle 
 would have been won, had it not been for 
 the artillery of Cornwallis, which now 
 opened upon friend and foe alike. 
 
 '' The field remained with the British 
 commander, and it was supposed that the 
 young cavalryman who had come to the 
 front at a critical moment had fallen in the 
 subsequent indiscriminate slaughter, for 
 he did not rejoin his company. 
 
 " But what seemed for the moment to 
 be a British victory, turned out to be in 
 effect defeat. Cornwallis had lost one- 
 fourth of his army and began a precipitate 
 retreat. 
 
 *' Cornw^allis retreating into South Caro- 
 lina, Greene followed him. 
 
 "After suffering another defeat at the 
 hands of Rawdon, Greene joined General 
 Marion, who had been pressing the siege 
 of Fort Motte. Here Israel-for-Israel, 
 who had joined Marion's command shortly 
 before, reappeared. 
 
 " Fort Motte fell. Israel-for-Israel again 
 served in Greene's command, was present 
 at the storming of Ninety-Six, at the dis- 
 graceful battle of Eutaw Springs and the 
 capture of Charleston, where he took the 
 
34 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 fever and retired to the bracing air of 
 New England to regain his health. 
 
 '' The convalescent had been faithfully 
 nursed by a certain Prudence Johnson, — 
 my great-grandmother. He married her 
 and through her secured this sterile farm 
 at Oskawask. 
 
 " During a relapse, Prudence Johnson 
 heard the sick man raving about hidden 
 treasures and Indians and a guardian of 
 the hoard — never once about the war 
 scenes in Avhich he had been an actor. 
 After his recovery he still brooded, and in 
 answer to his wife's repeated inquiries 
 finally told her that when the battle of 
 Guilford turned unfavorably to the Amer- 
 icans, he formed a sudden resolution to 
 join the band of partisans who supported 
 the invincible Marion. 
 
 '' The last reports received from Marion 
 indicated that he was about to raid in the 
 vicinity of Augusta. Taking this as his 
 objective point, my ancestor from the 
 very field of battle, alone and without a 
 guide and with little knowledge of the 
 country, struck off to the westward. 
 
 " Becoming involved in the spurs of the 
 Blue Ridge mountains, he lost himself 
 completely in their defiles. 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 35 
 
 '' Judging that it would be hopeless to 
 seek for a pass and fatal to abandon the 
 direct south-westerly course which he had 
 hitherto followed, he sacrificed his horse 
 and on foot undertook to climb the moun- 
 tains which rose before him. 
 
 " After a week of incredible hardship he 
 reached the southern boundary of this 
 rocky wall. There a landscape of perfect 
 beauty was unfolded before him. 
 
 " I ought to have said that his greatest 
 inconvenience w^as due to the fear of hos- 
 tile Indians, into whose hands he barely 
 escaped falling time and again. This 
 being the favorite hunting-ground of the 
 red men, it seems miraculous that he 
 could have passed through it unharmed. 
 Strangely enough, this last southern emi- 
 nence was entirely free from the red tor- 
 mentors. There was no game there, either. 
 
 '' Amazed by this circumstance, he as- 
 cended the highest point of the mountain 
 and looked about him. 
 
 " The mountain stood alone, separated 
 by a narrow valley from the general 
 range, which here trends north-east and 
 south-west. For five miles on either hand, 
 like a great wall, it stretched away with 
 an almost even elevation. 
 
J<5 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 " A mountain ten or twelve miles long, 
 three or four miles in width : he the only 
 human being there. 
 
 "The point where he stood dominated 
 the whole mountain, even as the mountain 
 itself, standing alone and as it were in 
 advance of the great army of peaks to 
 the northward, seemed to dominate them 
 all. 
 
 " Enjoying the security of this point and 
 impressed by the mystery of the great 
 silence, my ancestor rested here and 
 strengthened himself for the journey still 
 before him. Evidently the most difficult 
 portion of his journey was past ; for far 
 as the eye could see to the southward, 
 there stretched out a great plain, across 
 which he could make his way with com- 
 parative ease. 
 
 '' In the mystery of this great silence he 
 passed the night. Stretched upon the 
 bare rock he heard, or fancied he heard, 
 as the night fell and the sounds of the 
 woods ceased with the breeze which had 
 blown warm from the southern plain, — in 
 that more perfect stillness, with his face 
 pressed against the rock, he seemed to 
 hear in it, within it, beneath it, a faint 
 groaning and sighing, as though from a 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION J/ 
 
 spirit imprisoned within the heart of the 
 mountain. 
 
 " By the first light of the following- 
 morning he descended the mountain and 
 came upon a torrent which, issuing from a 
 cavern only a thousand feet or so below 
 the summit, fell in a slender column of 
 spray so far down in sheer descent that 
 the noise of its fall scarcely ascended to 
 its source. There even the voice of the 
 waters was hushed in the universal si- 
 lence." 
 
 " Is this a fairy-tale, my dear sir?" I ex- 
 claimed. " There is no sufficient explana- 
 tion, following your description, at least, 
 of a considerable supply of water at so 
 great an altitude." 
 
 '' I don't answer for a word of the 
 whole legend," Israel said, with a laugh. 
 " My authority is parson Dewback, and 
 I am using his own words, pretty nearly." 
 
 *' Go on, go on," I said ; " I accept it, 
 then, as you tell it." 
 
 Israel continued to walk up and down 
 the room with a certain leonine impa- 
 tience. As he passed before me, he looked 
 at me with a peculiar expression, half 
 searching, half mocking, and proceeded : 
 
 '• The first thing that struck my ances- 
 
38 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 tor was that this stream must be the issue 
 of an underground current which had 
 groaned and sighed to him through the 
 rock above. 
 
 " The next thing was, that the cavern 
 was much higher and broader than so 
 small a stream required for its passage,- 
 and that he might as well ascertain how 
 far it extended. 
 
 " He went in and up until he made sure 
 that it was growing larger instead of con- 
 tracting I say, think of looking 
 
 from this dark cave, from its utter dark- 
 ness, where the splashing and roaring wa- 
 ters sounded like the voices of a thousand 
 devils after the stillness outside, — looking 
 through a circular opening below one, 
 seeing through this opening, thousands of 
 feet below, the giant pines of the plain, in 
 size like blades of grass, standing on their 
 tops or seeming rather to be suspended 
 from a solid heaven ! There is nothing 
 about that in the story, but it occurs to 
 me. 
 
 '' Well, he noticed that the floor of the 
 cavern spread out to a considerable size, 
 that it was fairly even and covered with 
 gravel and small stones. 
 
 '' Having no light, he contented himself 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION JQ 
 
 with this for the time, filled his pockets 
 with loose bits from the floor and retraced 
 his steps. 
 
 "■ Arrived at the entrance, he emptied 
 his pockets. They contained " 
 
 Israel paused an instant before me, look- 
 ing down at me with a smile. 
 
 " They contained fragments of rich gold- 
 ore and the head of a stone implement, 
 like a rude hammer-head. That is all. 
 
 " When he thought to go back into the 
 cavern, he saw, seated within in the 
 shadow of the entrance, a gigantic figure, 
 apparently sleeping with head bowed up- 
 on his knees. He might have passed this 
 sleeping guardian without perceiving him, 
 for the motionless gray figure was like a 
 great fragment of granite. He might 
 have stolen in a second time without be- 
 ing perceived ; but he did not attempt it. 
 He said : ' That thing was not there when 
 I went in or when I came out ;' and he 
 confessed to his wife. Prudence, that he 
 was greatly terrified, because he had be- 
 lieved himself to be alone upon the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 "■ That is about all of the story as par- 
 son Dewback unearthed it. 
 
 " My great-grandfather served under 
 
40 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Marion and Greene until the termination 
 of the war in the South, as already re- 
 lated ; but that he understood the art of 
 peace as well as war is shown in this, that 
 he yielded to the curiosity of the wife of 
 his bosom, my great-grandmother. This 
 complaisance can, however, hardly be re- 
 garded as a mark of attachment ; for he 
 soon left her. He never ceased, so the 
 legend runs, after the subject had been 
 once broached,, to refer to this treasure in 
 the Carolinas. He was discontented at 
 home, and it was possibly a relief to my 
 great-grandmother when, after a few years, 
 he went away. He was never heard of 
 afterwards. 
 
 ''That is the end of Israel-for-Israel 
 Slyme. All that is left of him you have 
 seen, Mr. Penman : his descendants, who 
 have forgotten him and his portrait, res- 
 cued from the garret." 
 
 The story had been told half earnestly, 
 half flippantly. 1 knew that Israel must 
 be genuinel}^ interested, from the import- 
 ance which he attached to the portrait; 
 but he made no apparent effort to interest. 
 He seemed to be telling the story with a 
 view to finding out how it would impress 
 the listener. 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 41 
 
 The result was that this absence of 
 effort made the narrative all the more im- 
 pressive. I was affected in a manner 
 which will be described in the next chap- 
 ter. 
 
THE STORM 
 
 HEN Israel bade me good-night 
 and descended to his place by 
 the fire, I was not by any means 
 in the mood for sleep. 
 The storm, which had been holding 
 some of its forces in reserve for a final, 
 decisive attack, now advanced with a 
 mighty purpose to establish King Win- 
 ter in the bleak New England territory 
 and drive out or imprison every remain- 
 ing adherent of Summer. On it came 
 with a resistless charge, while the tall 
 trees bent before it, the free waters shiv- 
 ered beneath it and the submissive earth 
 shrivelled and chapped and hardened in 
 roughness. 
 
 Every form of life which the kindlier 
 season calls into being submitted. Only 
 man, who constructs and maintains about 
 himself a feeble imitation of the kindly 
 season, opposed i^esistance to the invader. 
 So then the great wind fell upon the 
 dwellings of men, tugged away at their 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 43 
 
 eaves to unroof them, battered against 
 their sides to level them with the ground, 
 and, with cunning not inferior to its 
 strength, insinuated itself between the 
 window-sashes, crept in through every 
 crevice, to steal away the very spirit of 
 resistance from the garrison within, while 
 the ice-crowned emperor of half the world 
 from without commanded, Surrender ! 
 
 At least once a year, even the staunch- 
 est son of New England is tempted to 
 yield. Why not surrender to this bitter, 
 tireless antagonist, and, withdrawing to 
 the generous southern country, live at 
 peace with the climate — not, as here, bare- 
 ly exist in spite of the climate ? 
 
 Traitorous thought ! When once this 
 suggestion has spoken distinctly within 
 the breast, our defenses are down. How 
 the icy wind then bites and rasps and 
 embitters ! How we hate everything and 
 everybody ; and especially, how the trem- 
 bling and creaking and groaning of an old 
 house, beset by the first terrible storm of 
 winter, is to us the language of our own 
 mutinous spirit. 
 
 S-s-vish ! — bang ! commanded the w4nd, 
 laying hold on both gables at once and 
 tugging away. 
 
44 GRA Y: AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 Oo-00-woe ! roared the old house through 
 its chimney. 
 
 '' Br-r-r-r," I chattered beneath several 
 blankets. '' I wonder if that questionable 
 ancient Slyme, whom the yellow fever 
 sent from the Carolinas to New England, 
 and the gold-fever took away from New 
 England to the Carolinas, ever slept in 
 this house. It looks old enough. It can 
 never outlast this generation, if indeed it 
 withstands this storm. One comfort is, 
 it's too late in the year for a cyclone or a 
 tornado." 
 
 Ziz-z-z-z — rei ! shrieked the storm wind, 
 tearing a shutter from its fastenings and 
 with it belaboring the wall near my head ; 
 then wrenching it entirely free and whirl- 
 ing it away like a leaf. 
 
 At the same instant there was a dull 
 rumbling sound of bricks falling within 
 the chimney. 
 
 This was too much for me. I went 
 across the bare floor to the mantel-piece 
 and lighted the tallow-dip ; then took a 
 long pull at a pocket flask, containing 
 spirits of matured virtue, and speedily 
 tumbled back into bed. 
 
 The candle illuminated with a flickering 
 light the portrait of Israel-for-Israel. 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 4$ 
 
 I was stouter-hearted now, owing to the 
 warmth which radiated, as it were, from 
 the stomach. 
 
 " I have never met a more interesting 
 person than this young fellow," I reflected. 
 " Such courtesy, such superiority, such 
 open-heartedness, such a pair of shoulders 
 — all these united in one person and that 
 one person a country lad on a puckertown 
 farm ! It is as incredible as a newspaper. 
 
 '' What impresses me most is his open- 
 heartedness. He speaks to me, an entire 
 stranger, with a freedom I could not use 
 until I had known a person intimately for 
 years. I suppose he does not know fear 
 in any of its forms. He barely glances at 
 me once and then welcomes me, gives up 
 his own room to me, with the air of an 
 hospitable lord. 
 
 '* I express a little interest in a picture : 
 that is enough for him. He tells me the 
 whole story to the end with artistic sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 "■ But this complaisance is so far re- 
 moved from servility that somehow every 
 service he renders increases my respect 
 for him. 
 
 " His open countenance discloses his 
 inmost thought." 
 
 16 
 
46 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Here I looked up at the portrait to con- 
 firm my judgment. 
 
 Strange ! There was no such genial 
 'look in the face before me. On the con- 
 trary, the resemblance of this old portrait 
 to the young man had disappeared. The 
 face upon the wall had lengthened, chang- 
 ing the whole expression and even the 
 shape of the features. There were still 
 the dark, crisp hair and vivacious eyes, 
 but the forehead stood out prominently 
 and was scarred by a deep, perpendicular 
 line. The eyes had retired cavernously 
 and the light in them was not dancing, 
 but a steady gleam. The nose was thinner 
 and slightly aquiline. The lips wore a sin- 
 ister, cruel expression. 
 
 " The lips !" I exclaimed. " I must 
 have been dreaming ! This ancient Slyme 
 wears heavy mustaches hiding his mouth 
 and a beard which covers the mark on his 
 cheek. I don't wonder he wants to hide 
 such an evil expression and such an awful 
 mark: a blood-red spade, that seems a 
 sore ready to burst. See ! It throbs like 
 a pulse, showing that it reaches to the 
 
 heart Fudge and nonsense ! I am, 
 
 with due respect to myself, either a fool 
 or an idiot. The old fellow hasn't a bit 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 4^ 
 
 more beard than the back of my hand. It 
 is a young, smooth, extremely handsome 
 face — the face of a fine gentleman. I 
 might as well put out the light and go to 
 sleep ; much better than making a fool of 
 myself over this preposterous Winter's 
 Tale." 
 
 The wind was wrestling with a second 
 window-blind as I, in consequence of this 
 resolution, slipped out of bed and was 
 about to extinguish the candle. 
 
 '' Good night," said I, holding the light 
 before the dark canvass and scrutinizing 
 the features more closely than ever be- 
 fore. 
 
 There it was, starting out from the dark- 
 ness, — the youthful, strong, aristocratic 
 face, with a minute mark upon the right 
 cheek. 
 
 " Good night, ancient vagabond !" I 
 said. 
 
 Either a disdainful expression passed 
 over the face and curled the lips of Israel- 
 for-Israel, or my flickering candle was at 
 fault. It can never be known which ; for 
 when I attempted to discover the source 
 and origin of such suggestions by a still 
 more searching examination, — this time 
 without all nonsense, — 
 
4S GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Bang, bang! the shutter thrashed against 
 the clapboards. 
 
 Ou-oo-oiif ! groaned the chimney. 
 
 And one sharp-shooting blast sped right 
 to the mark ; so that while the general 
 volley discharged by the storm passed by 
 harmlessly, this particular gust put out 
 my light and made the frame just before 
 my face rattle against the wall with the 
 hollow sound of old dead things. It 
 passed beneath my one garment and ran 
 like a cold hand over my body. 
 
 I shivered, whether with cold or fear, 
 threw my top-coat over my shoulders, 
 made a vain effort to pull the right boot 
 on the left foot and, failing in that, crept 
 in my stocking-feet down the stairs. 
 
 Reaching the foot of the staircase, I 
 noticed that a flood of light poured 
 through a wide crack in the warped door 
 out into the passage. Here I hesitated for 
 an instant. 
 
 Some random idea entering my head, or 
 perhaps only my habitual caution prompt- 
 ing me thereto, I did not either open the 
 door or knock at it without first recon- 
 noitering by means of this aperture, which 
 rendered a portion of the interior visible — 
 that is, by bending or stooping somewhat. 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 49 
 
 In this way I informed myself as to the 
 condition of things within. 
 
 Several fresh logs had been added to 
 the fire and the flame was devouring these 
 in the fierce draft with its eager tongue. 
 
 Seated before this and looking fixedly 
 into it sat Israel upon the floor — or rather 
 on a spread of some kind laid down upon 
 the floor. 
 
 He was fairly transfigured in this great 
 light, which made a glory around about 
 him. 
 
 Lying with her head pillowed upon his 
 knees, her face upturned towards his, her 
 almost girlish figure stretched out so that 
 the warmth poured over and covered her, 
 slept Lilly. 
 
 She was motionless in the deep sleep of 
 perfect contentment. 
 
 While I, spell-bound by the vision of 
 beautiful creatures — beautiful as gods in 
 this perfect naturalness — still bent over 
 and devoured with my eyes now his per- 
 fection, now hers, Israel turned his head 
 and looked down into the face of his com- 
 panion. 
 
 Was it possible? That very expression 
 of disdain which I had fancied that I had 
 caught upon the face of the portrait ! To 
 
so GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 see it upon the face of a lover whose mis- 
 tress was sleeping within his embrace ! 
 
 An exclamation escaped me. It was 
 only half uttered, half suppressed ; yet 
 like a flash the eyes of Israel were fastened 
 upon the door. 1 thought that such a 
 glance must discover me in my conceal- 
 ment. It seemed to pierce the very boards 
 of the partition. 
 
 But as a flash, so this glance ended, fell 
 upon the happy, upturned face of the 
 sleeper, then changed into a smile. He 
 muttered something — perhaps, ' It was 
 only the wind ' ; at least he looked again 
 into the fire and the glory of the fire was 
 again about his head and Lilly's form. 
 
 I stole noiselessly away. 
 
 Through half that night the storm raged 
 until the whole land submitted to fierce 
 King Winter. Within the old house, 
 which held its own against the invader, 
 save for the loss of several shutters and of 
 a brick or two from the chimney-top, some 
 of us rested sluggishly, one tossed about, 
 getting little rest, one saw his own 
 thoughts glowing in the wood coals, one 
 tender little lady slept in the security and 
 perfect peace of love. 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 5 1 
 
 Before dawn all was still, both within 
 and without the old walls. The sun rose 
 in a cloudless sky, and the morning smiled 
 — coldly, it is true, but yet it smiled. 
 
 It smiled upon me through the curtain- 
 less and shutterless window while I was 
 making a hasty toilet. It lighted up every 
 nook and corner of the stairway and pas- 
 sage, which had seemed so mysterious the 
 night before ; and as I descended I thought 
 how pitiful and plain and commonplace 
 every object there Avas, after all. 
 
 Mrs. Slyme and her two daughters were 
 bustling about in the kitchen. 
 
 "And where is Israel?" I asked, after 
 the greetings had been interchanged. 
 
 " Israel is gone with Lilly to 'tend her 
 home," said the mother. 
 
 '■'■ Yes, he does everything for her, 
 doesn't he sister?" said Grace. "And 
 father's down at the falls." 
 
 " Yes, father loves to go to the falls 
 whenever he can, doesn't he, sister?" said 
 Gertrude. 
 
 " Is it far to the falls ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Oh, no ; just at the bottom of the 
 garden." 
 
 " Just at the foot of the hill," chimed in 
 Grace. 
 
S2 GRA Y; AN OLDHA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 " Would it be asking too much of you 
 to show me the way?" I asked, addressing 
 myself to the last speaker. 
 
 Grace looked at Gertrude and Gertrude 
 looked at Grace. They were not to be 
 separated. 
 
 '' Perhaps you will both honor me " 
 
 I began. 
 
 "Run along, girls, and tell father to 
 come in to breakfast,'' cried Mrs. Slyme. 
 
 The young girls drew their shawls over 
 their heads and shoulders and started out, 
 their arms around each other. 
 
 I confessed to myself that they were 
 charming. Together they made one 
 charming person, with one will and one 
 heart, but four red cheeks and two pairs 
 of crimson lips. 
 
 Ah, but a young girl, dancing along a 
 path across the fields in the open air of a 
 bright November morning, who is not 
 pretty then ! Who ever heard of such 
 a thing ? Especially after my restless, 
 lonely night, I will surely not be blamed 
 for thinking them so. 
 
 The sisters leading, we followed the 
 course of the weedy stream, which itself 
 followed the windings of the sandy hill 
 until, suddenly turning away from this. 
 
MR, PENMAN'S VERSION S3 
 
 it made a dash towards the south, with 
 a display of spirit which surprised the 
 observer coming upon it from above. 
 Freeing itself by a single leap, it sped 
 along merrily, in active independence, as 
 far as one could see from this point. 
 
 At this point stood Jonathan Slyme. It 
 was too cold for him to be whittling ; but 
 with hands plunged into his deep pockets, 
 he was fumbling the wooden model that 
 we know, his horn-handled knife, and 
 whatever else those pockets contained. 
 
 He was looking first up and then down 
 the stream as the party of three ap- 
 proached — an occupation which he inter- 
 mitted for an instant in order to nod to 
 the stranger, without, however, address- 
 ing a single word to him. 
 
 The girls took possession of their father, 
 one holding each arm, and led him back 
 towards the house. 
 
 '' That there is the best place and the 
 easiest to make a mill-dam in this county," 
 drawled the man, speaking to anybody or 
 nobody, when about to pass through the 
 door. 
 
 * * ^ -Sf •?(• 4f 
 
 After a substantial breakfast, the entire 
 
54 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 family followed their departing- guest 
 down the front walk to the lilac trees. 
 
 Before mounting I put my hand into 
 my pocket, asking Jonathan Slyme : 
 '' How much do I owe for the lodging, 
 my friend ?" 
 
 '' Nawthing, sir." 
 
 But Mrs. Slyme came forward. 
 
 " If you will kindly give me one of the 
 buttons from your coat, sir " she sug- 
 gested. 
 
 I took out my pen-knife, thinking that 
 she had asked a very small return for the 
 service rendered me, and was deciding 
 which button I should sacrifice, when she 
 said : 
 
 *' I have the scissors right here, sir." 
 
1864.. 
 
 N the year 1864 I escaped from a 
 
 Southern prison. 
 
 In company with old sergeant 
 
 Ezekiel Perkins, without whose 
 aid I could not have either effected my 
 escape or survived the hardships of the 
 subsequent flight, I made my way through 
 the mountains of North Carolina towards 
 the Northern lines. 
 
 Pressing forward by night and lying 
 hidden during the day, we found our- 
 selves one morning just before daybreak 
 in the neighborhood of what appeared to 
 be a deserted and ruinous town. One 
 ugly brick edifice, with iron bars at the 
 the windows, was frightfully suggestive 
 of that abode of misery from which we 
 had escaped ; besides this there were half- 
 a-dozen shanties or hovels and the decay- 
 ing walls of what had once been a planter's 
 homestead. 
 
 This wretched, drear}^ place accorded 
 well with the condition of ragged, half- 
 
5<^ G/^AV: A AT OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 starved fugitives ; and our hunger gave 
 us boldness to remain near the edge of 
 the clearing about the town in the hope 
 of finding some opportunity to obtain 
 food. 
 
 There was no sign of life anywhere, 
 even after the sun rose, until finally from 
 one of the hovels crept forth a negro man, 
 almost destitute of clothing, who seated 
 himself at the threshold in the sunlight, 
 shutting himself up like a jack-knife. 
 We had recently learned only too well 
 what that position meant : it meant that 
 the black man was starving. 
 
 Without further hesitation we went for- 
 ward and questioned this representative 
 of the race in whose behalf a great war 
 was being waged. 
 
 He said that he had been a slave of 
 Colonel Owner, whose plantation lay a 
 few miles to the westward ; and then he 
 told about his master's death and about 
 Squire Lynch who had lived " over 
 yonder ", pointing to the ruinous mansion, 
 where no person had dared to dwell since 
 the blood-marks had been tracked up the 
 stairs. This he explained as well as he 
 could and said the place was called Amer- 
 icus City, although it was a cursed spot, 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION S7 
 
 and lately all the inhabitants, even the 
 prisoners who had been released from the 
 jail for that purpose, had gone away to 
 fight. 
 
 And the women ? 
 
 He did not know what had become of 
 them. 
 
 Again and again he besought the two 
 soldiers to give him bread, and he refused 
 to be persuaded that white men also could 
 be without food. 
 
 This inborn and ineradicable belief in 
 the superiority of white men moved the 
 good Perkins so that he forgot his own 
 condition and swore '' by the Etarnal " to 
 give that negro one good meal, if it took a 
 week. 
 
 It did take all of that day. 
 
 "Who is the nearest neighbor?" we 
 asked. 
 
 The negro pointed to a mountain which 
 rose just above the town. 
 
 " Come along !" cried Perkins, and 
 seized the negro by the arm. ''Come 
 along and we'll git ye somethin' ter eat !" 
 
 But the negro expressed all the terror 
 of which a human being is capable. His 
 eyes rolled until only the whites were vis- 
 ible ; his teeth chattered ; he shook all 
 
58 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 over as with a violent chill. Neither per- 
 suasion nor threats took any effect upon 
 him. He said that the Devil lived upon 
 that mountain ; he had rather die than go 
 there. 
 
 We left him in the power of that fear 
 and struck right through the woods, in 
 the direction indicated by " Caesar " (so 
 the negro gave his name). If a planter 
 lives here, we will soon come upon a road 
 leading to his house, we reasoned. But 
 no. On and on we went, the forest be- 
 coming only more wild, the trees larger 
 and the silence more oppressive. 
 
 We had begun to ascend the mountain. 
 
 ''We may as well go high enough to 
 get a view. Then we can surely see the 
 house," I suggested. 
 
 But higher and still higher upwards 
 we climbed without being able to look 
 off through the luxuriant foliage and rank 
 growth. 
 
 " I guess I might shin up this here and 
 take a look for that gol' durned house", 
 said Perkins, laying his hand upon the 
 trunk of an enormous magnolia tree. 
 
 '' I think I would not try", I answered, 
 pointing to a piece of rope, dangling from 
 the lowest limb and a small heap of bones 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION S9 
 
 below it. " That has a disagreeable 
 look." 
 
 Presently we were guided by the sound 
 of rushing waters and came upon a 
 beautiful Avild stream, tumbling down 
 the mountain side. The course of this 
 we followed upwards until finally we 
 were repaid with an extended prospect. 
 
 The whole country was spread out at 
 our feet. There was Americus City 
 itself, ''like a scurf-spot," said Perkins; 
 but no plantation or planter's house. 
 
 " Good day, gentle-men \ spoke a smooth, 
 velvety voice almost in our ears. 
 
 We turned quickly and filled with 
 sudden fear, as you may imagine ; but 
 only to find that the voice proceeded 
 from an inoffensive looking, tall, thin man, 
 very plainly but most neatly dressed in a 
 gray suit, wide-brimmed hat and stout 
 walking-shoes. He was very thin, that 
 was the only peculiar thing in his appear- 
 ance — except, of course, that he had ap- 
 peared at all. He was leaning against a 
 tree-trunk and when he saw that he had 
 secured the attention of the two soldiers 
 he lifted his hat politely and deferentially. 
 
 " Excuse the interruption, gentle-;;^^;/," 
 he continued, after the long pause in 
 
6o GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 which the startled fugitives had stared 
 at him in stupid amazement : '* I supposed 
 you might be looking for my masters 
 house." 
 
 Receiving no immediate answer, — for 
 this remark only added to the surprise 
 which he had already excited — he indi- 
 cated, by waving his hand, what he had 
 called his master's house. 
 
 There it was, surely enough, not far off ; 
 and yet it is scarcely surprising that we, 
 weary soldiers, whose eyes had either 
 been fastened upon the ground before 
 us, as we climbed the steep and difficult 
 way, or turned from the mountain, seek- 
 ing the plantation upon the plain below, — 
 it is not surprising that we had not noticed 
 this house, still somewhat above us. 
 
 Such a house ! If the largest forest 
 trees had fallen together in regular order, 
 their great trunks crossing and forming a 
 hollow square, upon which some skillful 
 workman had then fitted a sloping roof 
 with wide eaves, the result would have 
 been such a house. 
 
 Such a house ! It was in the forest and 
 of the forest. Externally the gigantic 
 logs were untrimmed, untouched, save 
 for being fitted together at the extremi- 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 6l 
 
 ties. The thing had been done with such 
 care that it seemed the work of chance. 
 Surely the storm wind made this house 
 and man onl}^ put the finishing touches. 
 
 Such a palace ! From without it ap- 
 peared rude; not a bit of cultivation 
 about it ; unbroken forest to its very 
 eaves. But within! — smooth and pol- 
 ished and shining floor and walls and 
 vaulted ceiling of the natural wood. Even 
 here art seemed to be held in check. 
 
 One enormous chamber, one vast fire- 
 place, one great window, filled with loz- 
 enge-shaped panes of glass, commanding 
 the southern view, the western end of the 
 cha^nber curtained off, as though for a 
 sleeping apartment, an assortment of fire- 
 arms, — bird-guns, rifles and revolvers — in 
 a case near the door, a generous table : 
 think what such a sight must have been to 
 two famished wanderers, who had tasted 
 nothing better than prison fare for months 
 and not a morsel, good or bad, for twenty- 
 four hours ! 
 
 That table was a sight never to be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 There were mountain trout, brown and 
 crisp ; there was a juicy leg of mutton, 
 smoking hot ; there was the incomparable 
 
62 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 ham, the sweet, mast-fed ham of the Caro- 
 linas ; there was a small mountain of 
 snowy bread and a dish of golden butter 
 next a pot of golden honey ; there were 
 fruits, especially grapes, in a kind of 
 woven basket and there were crystal 
 pitchers filled with richly-colored wines. 
 
 These things — which seem plain and 
 simple enough, being written down here 
 and read of us who have just risen from 
 or are just going to seat ourselves at a 
 similar table, — think how these viands, 
 placed upon a great round slab of polished 
 oak, must have charmed the eyes of starv- 
 ing men ! 
 
 '' My master's breakfast is prepared, as 
 you see, gent\Q-me7i. I expect him every 
 moment." 
 
 " Who is your master ?" I asked. 
 
 "Captain Johnson. Hark! there he 
 comes with the hounds, gent\e-me7i /'' said 
 the thin man in gray. 
 
 The two soldiers exchanged glances full 
 of meaning. 
 
 " ' Captain,' " I said. 
 
 ''Confed. captain," echoed Sergeant Per- 
 kins, in the same tone in which he might 
 have said, Confounded captain. " And 
 hounds," he added. 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 6 J 
 
 ** Captain Johnson will be delighted to 
 see you, gentle;/^^;?. He never allows 
 strangers to come here ; but friends, gen- 
 tlemen he knows, — it never happened be- 
 fore, because his hounds are very fierce, 
 splendid animals, gentlemen ! You will 
 appreciate them, gex\\\.einen. As I was 
 about to take the liberty to say, it never 
 happened before that friends of my master 
 came here ; but he will be delighted, no 
 doubt, none at all." 
 
 As the polite man in gray uttered this 
 in a bland, drawling tone, rubbing his 
 hands together and bowing repeatedly, 
 first to me and then to Sergeant Perkins, 
 there came into his lean and strongly- 
 marked face a certain sly and evil expres- 
 sion, not at all reassuring. 
 
 Companions in arms and in misfortune, 
 sergeant and lieutenant acted upon a com- 
 mon impulse in hastening from the house. 
 Then we heard, borne upon a gentle 
 breeze and mellowed by the distance, the 
 cry of a pack of hounds. We did not 
 cease to hasten, in fact we ran at full 
 speed, with many falls by the way but 
 fortunately w^ithout serious injury, down 
 the mountain side until we hoped we 
 were out of reach and knew we were 
 
64 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 out of breath. Then we fell upon the 
 earth and rested. 
 
 I had never aspired to the distinction of 
 being a very brave man (thus I reasoned, 
 within myself, while gasping for breath) ; 
 but Ezekiel Perkins was brave, as every- 
 body admitted. If anybody ever made 
 fun of me, Lieutenant Penman, for run- 
 ning away from the captain of ever so 
 many blood hounds, for vindication I 
 should simply refer the scoffer to Sergeant 
 Perkins. 
 
 Having settled this point satisfactorily, 
 my hollow stomach prompted the next 
 thought, which found utterance : 
 
 " Think of that ham, Perkins !" 
 
 " What can we do for pore Caesar?" the 
 other said, showing that his thoughts had 
 taken a very different turn, much to his 
 credit. 
 
 '' We might go back to the road and 
 follow it until we come to a house." 
 
 '' Ef they don't keep blood-hounds, all 
 right," he assented. 
 
 So we trudged along and did finally get 
 what we wanted. A large, squarely-built 
 man, who looked somewhat like a parson 
 and rather more like an hotel keeper, who 
 lived in a large square house, not only 
 
MR. PEiVMAN'S VERSION 63 
 
 gave to us but gave the best he had ; and 
 when we had eaten he added for our 
 journe}^ a large loaf and a jar of jelly. 
 
 He was disposed to enter into conversa- 
 tion, telling us that his name was Oldboy 
 and that if any person molested us were 
 to sa}^ that we knew him, when it would 
 immediately " be all right." But Ezekiel 
 Perkins was impatient, finished his meal 
 hastily and, seizing the loaf and the jelly, 
 started up. 
 
 '' Yes, we must be going, and we thank 
 you, sir, more than " I began. 
 
 '' Oh, that will be all right, I reckon ! 
 Remember, Oldboy is the name !" he in- 
 terrupted ; and he waved his hand to us 
 with quite a grand gesture as we turned 
 down the red-clay road. 
 
 We returned with all speed and with 
 lighter hearts to '' Americus City ;" but 
 when, late in the afternoon, we reached 
 that ill-fated town, its last inhabitant, 
 ''pore feller Caesar," as Ezekiel Perkins 
 said, with trouble and complaint and la- 
 ment in his rough voice, — " pore Caesar " 
 was dead. 
 
i882 
 
 R. and Mrs. Crosstrees occupy the 
 largest house fronting the Old- 
 haven green. True, their house 
 can not be called a strictly hand- 
 some one ; for in spite of its six or seven 
 stories piled one upon the other, and in 
 spite of its imposing ground-plan, which 
 gives the structure a solid and substantial 
 appearance, showing clearly that it was 
 built before the day of elevators or lifts ; 
 in spite of its thousands of panes of shin- 
 ing window glass, a red and white barber's 
 pole protruding from one corner and a 
 black and gilt sign, bearing the inscrip- 
 tion " T. R. Houser, Tailor," mar the 
 architectural effect. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Crosstrees are always '' at 
 home." No matter at what hour you 
 may see fit to call upon them — early morn- 
 ing, noon, midnight — always they are pre- 
 pared to receive yovi and indeed over- 
 joyed to entertain you. The longer you 
 stay, the better are they pleased. Com- 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 67 
 
 ing with or without introduction to them, 
 it makes no difference. Coming- singly or 
 with all the good friends you have in the 
 world, one and all will be given the free- 
 dom of the house and the table. Such 
 hospitality seems truly princely ; yet Mr. 
 and Mrs. Crosstrees are not even aristo- 
 crats. 
 
 Hospitality has been the mark and the 
 distinction of the upper classes through- 
 out the history of our race. Even in the 
 earliest times we find Hrothgar, the 
 treasure-giver, most praised as he dis- 
 penses hospitality in the high hall, Heorot, 
 while queen Waeltheow bears about cups 
 of mead to the guests. And yet Mr. and 
 Mrs. Crosstrees, the proprietors of so large 
 a hall, the tireless host and hostess of the 
 Elm House, are not even aristocrats. 
 
 " Perhaps that fact may be explained by 
 the manner in which they dispense hospi- 
 tality," someone suggests. 
 
 Dear sir, nothing could exceed their 
 fitness for this occupation. Their manner 
 is perfection itself. Even in person they 
 seem to have been designed by nature to 
 complement each other and together to 
 discharge every duty of the complete 
 host. Mr. Crosstrees is very large and 
 
68 GRA Y: AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 very stout — too large and too stout for the 
 smaller rooms of this great house ; but 
 in the vast dining hall, or in the hallway, 
 or expanding upon the broad sidewalk 
 before his hospitably wide front door, he 
 truly leaves nothing to be desired. He 
 occupies his house. No one could do it 
 better. But of course it is imperatively 
 necessary that such a house as this, in 
 order to be truly hospitable, should be 
 occupied by its host ; and accordingly 
 Mr. Crosstrees is proud and happy in the 
 thought that he does his duty and can not 
 help doing his duty, when he stands with 
 one puffy hand fumbling his heavy watch- 
 chain, which is drawn through the lowest 
 button-hole in that mountainous region of 
 his waistcoat, while with the other puffy 
 hand he draws out to their greatest length 
 his bushy side-whiskers in order to in- 
 crease by their addition his lateral extent, 
 bowing and smiling to every person who 
 comes in or passes out and equally ready 
 to exclaim genially that it is a fine day to 
 a guest who looks ruddy, or with a shud- 
 der to protest to a guest who looks 
 pinched that it is "bitter cold indeed, 
 sir !" 
 
 Mrs. Crosstrees does not occupy the 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION dp 
 
 house, nor is it even an easy matter to 
 find her in any one smallest corner of it 
 at a given time. She is a short, thin, 
 midge of a woman, who darts from gar- 
 ret to cellar, from front to rear, always 
 choosing narrow doors for her sudden and 
 noiseless exits and entrances, narrow and 
 dark passages for her going and coming ; 
 always pouncing upon some idling servant 
 girl and stinging her into a sense of duty, 
 doing wonders in wardrobes and pantries 
 and such small nooks, always active, 
 everywhere useful, seldom "seen. Mrs. 
 Crosstrees keeps the " Elm House." Sure- 
 ly no guest has just cause to complain of 
 an hotel thus occupied and kept by Mr. 
 and Mrs. Crosstrees. 
 
 One day, a few years ago, these good 
 people were in a most unusual situation, — 
 that is, in the same room, although it was 
 high noon. 
 
 This is a circumstance so exceptional 
 that it is to be observed at only one 
 period in the entire year. Merely to men- 
 tion it brings to our minds the conviction 
 that the dull season had settled heavily 
 down upon Oldhaven. The Elm House, 
 sensible of this condition of the town 
 generally, required so little occupying on 
 
70 GRA Y : AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 the part of its landlord, and so little 
 keeping on the part of its landlady, that 
 both of these efficient persons found their 
 occupations gone during a p.ortion of the 
 day, and improved the opportunity for see- 
 ing something of each other in a new light 
 — namely, the daylight. 
 
 It was, in fact, the middle of August. 
 The air was heavy and motionless. It 
 seemed to be laid upon the city and to 
 press down upon the spirits of men with 
 an intolerable weight. People had gone 
 away to the mountains, to the sea-shore, 
 to Europe. The Elm House guests were 
 to be found wherever the winds blow. 
 
 Although long experience had taught 
 them not to expect any person at this 
 season, and especially at this hour of the 
 day, yet Mr. and Mrs. Crosstrees were 
 occupying and keeping a room which 
 commanded a view of the approaches to 
 the front door of the Elm House from all 
 directions. From force of habit, it would 
 seem, Mrs. Crosstrees had out her pocket- 
 handkerchief and was flicking imaginary 
 particles of dust from the cover of a small 
 table which stood in the window ; while 
 Mr. Crosstrees stood upon the central 
 rose of the flowery carpet, bowing and 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 7 1 
 
 smiling at his helpmeet and observing 
 frequently that it was a very warm day. 
 
 '' It might be worse," spoke up the 
 little woman, when he had given utter- 
 ance to this sentiment for the seventh 
 time. 
 
 *' Very true, very true, my dear," he 
 rejoined with a beaming and responsive 
 expression ; continuing then, as though 
 she had said something further of a cheer- 
 ful nature, '' Yes, indeed : I hope so, in- 
 deed !" 
 
 " Crosstrees !" she cried in her biting 
 way. '' You are a-;^ — Why ! there's 
 someone knocking !" and she darted to 
 the door. 
 
 It was the hall-boy. '' Gelm'n down 
 stairs," he muttered. 
 
 '' A gentleman down stairs !" repeated 
 Mr. Crosstrees. "" And how did the gen- 
 tleman arrive, Sidney ? I have not seen 
 any gentleman drive up, or walk up, or 
 come up, I think." Nevertheless he did 
 follow the nimble hall-boy, bowing as he 
 went. 
 
 A very thin man, in rough traveling 
 suit and tall hat, stood at the office, enter- 
 ing his name in the register. Crosstrees 
 advanced to within a few feet of the 
 
72 GRA Y: AN OLDHA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 stranger, and then, striking his inevitable 
 attitude, said in his blandest tones : 
 
 '' Ah ! A very warm day, sir !" 
 
 The stranger completed the entry, 
 blotted it carefully, and laid down the 
 pen before answering. Then, without 
 turning his head, he replied : " Rather. 
 Can you give me rooms, Mr. Crosstrees ?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly, sir! When will 
 the other gentlemen arrive, sir ? — or per- 
 haps Madame — (here he read the name 
 over the stranger's shoulder)— perhaps 
 Madame Gray?" 
 
 " There are no other gentlemen ; but I 
 want two or three large rooms adjoining 
 — opening into one another, Mr. Crosstrees, 
 if you please." 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Gray. Undoubtedly, 
 sir !" cried the delighted landlord, before 
 whose mental vision a vista of unexpected 
 profits began to disclose itself. '' You can 
 be accommodated, sir, I should hope !" 
 Here he glanced again at the entry in the 
 register. '' From Oldhaven, sir ! You are 
 of our town? Now I flattered myself that 
 I had some acquaintance among the lead- 
 ing families, in the way of my business, 
 sir, but your name and your face are — 
 until this moment have been " 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 73 
 
 " 1 have not lived here before, Mr. 
 Crosstrees, my good sir," interrupted the 
 stranger in a very polite and insinuating 
 manner ; " but at present here I am and 
 here I mean to remain. That will not be 
 unpleasant to the good people of your 
 lovely city, I sincerely trust." 
 
 " Quite the contrary, quite the contrary : 
 most agreeable and flattering, Mr. Gray. 
 And permit me to say that you could not 
 have chosen a more favorable point to 
 alight and begin your acquaintance with 
 our town — our lovely city, as you say, — 
 than the Elm House. Here you will find 
 all the comforts — I think I may say it, sir, 
 for I ought to know — all the comforts, of 
 home ; and among the guests of the Elm 
 House you will meet many of our best 
 people, belonging to the most exclusive 
 circles. To be sure," he added with some 
 misgiving, " this is not exactly the most 
 favorable season. You happen in upon us 
 during the quiet season, Mr. Gray." This 
 was said in an indefinitely generous fashion, 
 as though to intimate that at other times 
 great crowds surged along the pavements 
 and a press of vehicles blocked the way 
 before the Elm House. 
 
 *' Never mind that," said the agreeable 
 
74 GRA Y: AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 Mr. Gray. *' This quiet season is most 
 suitable for my purpose, about which, by 
 the way, I should like to have a few words 
 with you, my good sir ; for I see that you 
 are a man of the world who understands 
 that it is for the advantage of his city to 
 encourage strangers to settle — strangers 
 who have a little money to invest, you 
 know. Eh ? Mr. Crosstrees, that helps 
 things along, I reckon, eh ?" 
 
 Thereupon Mr. Gray and Mr. Cross- 
 trees adjourned to the reading-room and 
 entered into a conversation in which the 
 latter became so absorbed that he was only 
 recalled to a realization of his other duties 
 by the entrance of the hall-boy, summon- 
 ing him to superintend the final prepara- 
 tions for dinner. This conversation we 
 shall not report in full ; for anyone who 
 desires may hear it word for word from 
 the worthy landlord's own lips. 
 
 It is not too much to say that it made a 
 tremendous impression upon Mr. Cross- 
 trees. This affable Mr. Gray ! How 
 modestly and genially he at first proceed- 
 ed to interest the listener in vivid descrip- 
 tions of travel and adventure, touching 
 upon the wonderful and beautiful cities 
 and palaces and hotels which he had seen 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 75 
 
 in all parts of the world, with such power 
 of word-painting that even the heavy- 
 witted Crosstrees seemed to see the glories 
 of Europe and Asia and Chicago and Cali- 
 fornia pass in review before his fascinated 
 gaze ! How deftly then he changed the 
 theme from himself, who had enjoyed all 
 these advantages, who knew all languages 
 and had conversed with all the magnates 
 and celebrities of the earth in their respec- 
 tive native tongues, — from himself, who 
 lived like a prince, requiring the best suite 
 of apartments and the best " turn out " to 
 be held for his exclusive use, to his 
 master ! 
 
 His master ! The attentive auditor 
 could not trust his ears. Surely he had 
 mistaken the word. But no : Mr. Gray 
 repeated the startling expression ; and if 
 he had shown himself an interesting talker 
 when the subject had been his own experi- 
 ences, how eloquent did he become in 
 praise of this master ! Surely, surely, 
 nothing in real-life had ever approached 
 the magnificence of this being whose fore- 
 runner and herald and humble servitor 
 Mr, Gray himself was. If Mr. Gray, sec- 
 retary to Donald Livingstone, Esquire, can 
 be satisfied with nothing less than the best 
 
76 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 rooms in the Elm House, what must Don- 
 ald Livingstone, Esquire, be, and where- 
 with can he be satisfied ? That was 
 indeed a question enticing Mr. Crosstrees' 
 imagination into unknown regions where 
 he felt unsafe and nothing seemed real. 
 
 One thing, however, was clear : Donald 
 Livingstone in his own good time was 
 coming to Oldhaven, and Oldhaveners 
 would some day awaken to the fact that 
 there was a great and good man in the 
 country whose existence they had hitherto 
 ignored. He was not merely a million- 
 aire. (Mr. Gray darkly hinted that per- 
 haps the most colossal fortunes were 
 those of which the existence was not even 
 suspected by the public. A careful finan- 
 cier, he suggested, might distribute his 
 securities so widely that only a few 
 millions would be found in any one 
 market.) Oh, no ; he was not merely 
 such a millionaire, but a person of mag- 
 nificent abilities, a clean record (Mr. Gray 
 did not intimate that "clean record" and 
 obscure past were equipollent terms), and 
 of a charming and commanding presence. 
 
 Donald Livingstone was about to return 
 to America after a prolonged absence and 
 much travel in forei2:n countries, where 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 77 
 
 he had devoted himself with all his vast 
 intellectual resources to the study of 
 various forms of society and government. 
 He was now intending to enter public 
 life in his native land, and had chosen 
 Oldhaven for his residence because the 
 reputation which that town bears for 
 learning and solid merit assured him that 
 he would find congenial spirits there. 
 This preference he accorded to Oldhaven 
 rather than to another American city, it 
 was most significantly added, notwith- 
 standing the fact that he had already an 
 enviable reputation as well as great social 
 and political influence elsewhere. His 
 business connections extended like a net- 
 work throughout the West, while in the 
 South he had enormous estates. 
 
 We can hardly censure our fleshy and 
 commonplace host for the simple delight 
 he took in this wondrous tale. As a sub- 
 stantial citizen he was, with good right, 
 concerned for the prosperity of his city, 
 which the coming of such a grand person- 
 age would greatly promote. He wanted 
 to believe that Donald Livingstone, Es- 
 quire, was the wealthiest and most excel- 
 lent of living men ; and which one of us 
 can afford to cast the first stone at a 
 
 17 
 
7S GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 decent fellow who believes what he wants 
 to believe ? 
 
 If Secretary Gray had in view certain 
 ends of his own when he thus favored his 
 host with a friendly exhibition of his con- 
 versational powers, he probably was grati- 
 fied with the result. The immediate con- 
 sequences were twofold : Mr. Crosstrees 
 trumpeted it with full cheeks. No person 
 in Oldhaven occupied a better position for 
 publishing- a bit of interesting news far 
 and wide. As proprietor of the most 
 popular hotel, and as habitually stationing 
 himself in its hallway or doorway in the 
 manner which has been noticed, the whole 
 population was, so to speak, within reach 
 of his voice. If we had a civic Fame, that 
 divinity . smiled, and bowed, and fumbled 
 its watch-chain hospitably and expansively 
 in the Elm House. So, then, every per- 
 son who had remained in Oldhaven 
 through the dull month of August knew 
 that a great and good man intended to 
 honor the town. If our publican Fame 
 uttered extravagances in this connection, 
 those of a skeptical turn ascribed so much 
 as they could not believe to Crosstrees' 
 human side and believed the rest. We 
 also wanted to believe the report, and did. 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION /p 
 
 The second consequence referred to was 
 that Crosstrees sought to show himself wor- 
 thy of the affability and condescension of 
 his guest by communicating to him every 
 bit of gossip, every morsel of local and pri- 
 vate history which his memory supplied. 
 Perhaps these disclosures formed a portion 
 of the contents of Secretary Gray's daily 
 letter to Donald Livingstone, Esquire. 
 
 But it will be readily assumed that 
 Secretary Gray's circle of acquaintances 
 rapidly increased, first of all, naturally, 
 among the boarders at the Elm House. 
 Crosstrees — or rather Mrs. Crosstrees — 
 furnished an excellent table, and even in 
 summer the large dining hall was quite 
 well filled with guests. It was a cool and 
 airy room furthermore. The gentlemen 
 had the habit of resting there after dinner, 
 and Crosstrees being always present and 
 addressing everybody in turn, serving as 
 a kind of introducer or chamberlain, the 
 conversation was apt to become quite 
 general. Under these circumstances, the 
 natural center of interest and attention 
 was the secretary of that semi-fabulous 
 personage who was to come. 
 
 I had been passing a few days in Oska- 
 wask, whither I had escorted my mother, 
 
8o GRA Y : AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 but returned to Oldhaven soon after 
 Gray's arrival. Several important cases of 
 which I had charge were set down for the 
 next term of court ; so I had no choice 
 about returning. But I found the house 
 very desolate (my dear father having died 
 three years before), and decided to shut it 
 up and live at the hotel during my 
 mother's absence. Accordingly, one 
 morning I entered the Elm House, and, 
 finding that breakfast was not yet served, 
 turned into the reading-room to have a 
 look at the '' Chronicle." 
 
 The various papers were laid in order 
 upon a large table in the center of the 
 room, but the " Chronicle" was not among 
 the number. Almost any other might 
 have answered the purpose as well, no 
 doubt ; but it had been my habit for many 
 years to read that particular newspaper 
 before breakfast or at breakfast, and it 
 seemed a rather irritating circumstance 
 that the ''Chronicle" should have been 
 selected from among so many by the only 
 other person in the reading-room. 
 
 For it was the '' Chronicle " — I recog- 
 nized it beyond a doubt — being held up 
 before the face of a man who sat in the 
 corner farthest from the window. 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 8 J 
 
 '' Is the fellow very short-sighted ? Is he 
 asleep?" I muttered, walking up and down 
 the length of the reading-room and tread- 
 ing rather more heavily than was my cus- 
 tom, for the purpose of rousing the sleeper, 
 or perhaps only because very small things 
 irritate one before breakfast. 
 
 '' Will he never finish ?" 
 
 At this instant the reader laid the paper 
 across his knees and looked at me. It was 
 a very mild and inoffensive glance ; yet I 
 was quite startled by the sudden answer 
 to my unspoken thought and by the face 
 itself. 
 
 Where had I seen that face before? — 
 When ? — An unpleasant suggestion in it ? 
 Yes. — Long while ago? Yes. — Oskawask? 
 Yes. First visit there ? The old portrait ? 
 Yes. — No, it couldn't be that: that was 
 like Israel. What then ? A most unpleas- 
 ant suggestion. Dogs ! Is it like a dog's 
 face? Not that, exactly. Dogs, though, 
 that was certain. Hounds — blood-hounds ! 
 The southern mountain ! The too polite 
 servant in gray. That is the very face ! 
 
 If I stared rudely, as I fear, at the 
 gentleman who sat in the corner most 
 distant from the window, at least that per- 
 son did not resent or appear conscious of 
 
82 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 such rudeness. He again held the paper 
 before his face and continued to read 
 for a moment ; then arose and advancing 
 towards me, offered me the " Chronicle " 
 in a very civil manner, saying, "Perhaps 
 you would like to look at this paper, sir." 
 
 " Perhaps I would," in my surprise I re- 
 peated, — surprised and startled even more 
 than I had been a moment before ; for 
 when he came forward and spoke, this 
 man seemed to be a total stranger, quite 
 unlike that drawling, servile man-in-gray 
 in several particulars. There were, to be 
 sure, the same sharp features and cavern- 
 ous eyes : the general outline of the face 
 also was the same : but these features were 
 less strongly marked than those indelibly 
 impressed upon my memory by the terror 
 and the humiliating flight down the moun- 
 tain side. This man was also not older — 
 perhaps even younger — than that one had 
 made the impression of being. 
 
 ''Confound that rascal," I said to m3^self. 
 " He has at any rate been punished by 
 growing into an old rascal by this time !" 
 
 Of course I sought to atone for my 
 rudeness, in staring at this stranger and 
 repeating his words, by showing him some 
 attention when we met in the dining-hall. 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 83 
 
 Among other things I took pleasure in 
 speaking at some length about John Eaton 
 and his adopted son Winthrop, when Gray 
 intimated that he knew somewhat, and de- 
 sired to learn more, of the young man's 
 strange history. 
 
 However, I saw this Gray only three or 
 four times at the Elm House table ; for on 
 the second day my mother returned quite 
 unexpectedly, and I of course resumed my 
 home life. 
 
 Less than a week after his arrival in 
 Oldhaven, Gray had purchased " the pala- 
 tial Hopkins residence" — so the local 
 papers informed us. Then, the lot upon 
 which this elegant house stood not being 
 large enough to accord with his notion of 
 his master's importance, he purchased also 
 the adjoining places, to the number of 
 eight, caused all buildings to be removed 
 therefrom — excepting one which he re- 
 served for a porter's lodge — and by means 
 of grading and turfing and adding serpen- 
 tine walks and other novelties, created 
 quite a little park in the center of the 
 town. 
 
 Next he fell to work upon the house it- 
 self, and, without attempting, as a less con- 
 siderate person might have done, to trans- 
 
84 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 form it into a German Schloss or a French 
 chateau — anything in fact which was for- 
 eign to its original design — , he evidently 
 realized that he had in hand one of the 
 best houses in the city, and succeeded so 
 well in perfecting all its appointments that 
 it became distinctly and indisputably 
 the very best house in the city. 
 
 All this work was done with such ad- 
 mirable rapidity, by means of a lavish 
 expenditure of money and the employ- 
 ment of a host of laborers, that admiration 
 for Gray infected all classes of Oldhaven's 
 citizens. He was looked upon as the real 
 millionaire, the real owner of this splendid 
 new place, the real friend of the laboring 
 men and the shop-keepers. Say what he 
 could, the good people who received so 
 large an amount of good money from 
 Gray would not believe, could not con- 
 ceive, that another stood above him and 
 commanded him. '' The man who pays 
 is master" : such was the lesson of their 
 daily lives. 
 
 When all preparations had been com- 
 pleted, Donald Livingstone arrived. 
 
 The sensation produced by this event 
 answered Gray's expectations and fully 
 rewarded his exertions. On the day fol- 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 8^ 
 
 lowing his arrival several important par- 
 ticulars were announced by everyone to 
 everybody : Mr. Livingstone was unmar- 
 ried ; he was apparently about fifty years 
 old ; he was a remarkably handsome man 
 with a full black beard. In the natural 
 course of events I saw this hero of the 
 hour : in fact he presented to me a letter 
 of introduction from a person of distinc- 
 tion. The interview, being brief and for- 
 mal, may be dismissed with few words. 
 Whereas I had anticipated little pleasure 
 from meeting this person, whom I had 
 feared I should find a showy and preten- 
 tious upstart fellow, I was on the contrary 
 charmed and delighted. 
 
OSKA WASK IN THE YEAR 1883 
 
 UR village street is beautifully 
 shaded : suppose we walk 
 down to the library, — unless 
 you prefer riding, Mr. Living- 
 stone ; in which case you have only to 
 speak the word, sir. Let me ring this 
 bell, and the carriage will be around in 
 less than five miutes, I can promise you. 
 Everything goes by the sound of a bell 
 here, sir, in Oskawask. A manufacturing 
 village, Mr. Livingstone : everything done 
 to the sound of a bell !" 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Slyme. If my friend 
 Mr. Penman is wilhng, we will walk 
 down." 
 
 " Let's walk, by all means, Samuel," said 
 the gentleman last named. 
 
 " Just as you say ; entirely at your ser- 
 vice, Mr. Livingstone. It is such a pleas- 
 ant morning — such a fine air stirring this 
 morning — it might be pleasant, as you 
 say. My habit is, as my brother-in-law 
 that is to be, Mr. Penman here, will tell 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION . 87 
 
 you, to ride to my office and from my 
 office. A plain manufacturing town, sir, 
 but we have our comforts." 
 
 " You are too modest by half, my dear 
 sir, permit me to say. Your own house 
 and grounds are charming, Mr. Sly me, — 
 charming. I enjoyed a little stroll about 
 the grounds before breakfast and looked 
 into the conservatories. This should be 
 called elegance and luxury: it is more 
 than comfort." 
 
 " Such commendation from you, Mr. 
 Livingstone, is gratifying, highly gratify- 
 ing." 
 
 '' I can't thank you enough, Mr. Pen- 
 man, for having introduced me here. You 
 should know, Mr. Sly me, that my interest 
 had been aroused by what I had heard 
 said about Oskawask ; and when I learned 
 that Mr. Penman had the pleasantest rela- 
 tions with the leading family here, I took 
 the liberty of requesting, him to introduce 
 me to you, sir." 
 
 " All the more flattering on that ac- 
 count, I am sure," said Samuel Slyme, 
 trying to appear less flattered than he 
 really was. 
 
 During the foregoing interchange of 
 compliments (I thought them very tire- 
 
88 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 some and was ashamed of Samuel's com- 
 pany manners) the three gentlemen had 
 sauntered away from the door of the new 
 and imposing, if somewhat too ornate, 
 Slyme mansion and now caught step as 
 they passed through the gate and turned 
 down Main-street. 
 
 '' How old is your village?" asked Liv- 
 ingstone. 
 
 " That depends," replied Samuel with 
 more assurance, although still nervously 
 conscious of the impression he was mak- 
 ing and desired to make. " In the six- 
 teenth century, its dwellings were circular 
 in form, about ten or twelve paces in cir- 
 cumference, made of logs split in half, 
 without any regularity of architecture 
 and covered with roofs of straw nicely 
 put on, — so at least an Italian — a Floren- 
 tine — what's his name ?" 
 
 " Verrazzano," I suggested, although 
 knowing that this hesitation was for effect. 
 
 " Verrazzano — that is it. Verrazzano, 
 writing in 1524, so described them." 
 
 '' That is, the dweUings in your town 
 were not so fine then as now, while the 
 trees, I presume, were even finer and 
 much more numerous," said Livingstone, 
 smiling. 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 89 
 
 " Exactly so, Mr. Livingstone. Capital, 
 sir !" assented Samuel, and then pursued 
 his theme : " Nothing remains of that an- 
 cient village except its name and an 
 abundance of arrow-heads and rude stone 
 implements, buried in the earth and 
 brought to light by subsoil plowing. 
 
 '' It was the capital of a tribe of In- 
 dians. 
 
 " Now the Indians and our ancestors 
 were too entirely different in very many 
 respects to live side by side." 
 
 " Ah, I see," said Livingstone. " It is 
 true that in our own day the African 
 savage has been domesticated, so to speak, 
 and while still but half domesticated, has 
 been made our political equal : but the 
 African was imported, and that makes the 
 difference." 
 
 Samuel Slyme rarely looked one full in 
 the face ; and after the last remark he 
 merely glanced at his distinguished guest 
 to see if he could be chaffing. Living- 
 stone however was apparently all earnest- 
 ness and attention. The manufacturer 
 continued : 
 
 '' I know almost nothing about the his- 
 tory of that older village. There is no 
 record except a very meager one. A 
 
pO GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 hundred years later than the Florentine's 
 visit, our ancestors surrounded the Indian 
 village and, after a fervent prayer offered 
 by their leader, the pious Straitcut, at- 
 tacked it with fire and sword. If any of 
 the inhabitants escaped, the historian is in 
 error ; for he says all perished." 
 
 ** Eloquently simple," observed Living- 
 stone blandly. " Quite like that famous 
 record in the Anglo-Saxon chronicle : 
 * An. 491. In this year ^lle and Cissa 
 besieged Andredesceaster, and slew all 
 that dwelt therein ; not even one Briton 
 was there left.' " 
 
 Samuel again raised his eyes to meet 
 the attentive gaze of the great man at his 
 side, but faltered and proceeded in some 
 confusion : 
 
 " As for the spirit in which this was 
 done, we have the evidence of our village 
 name. Our ancestors had determined to 
 call the new settlement, on the site of the 
 Indian fort, Mercy town, in recognition of 
 God's goodness in delivering the strong- 
 hold of the heathen into their hands ; 
 when their leader, who was as learned as 
 pious, explained that the Indian name, 
 Oskawaska, signified ' The town of the 
 children of the Great Spirit.' Wherefore 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 9 1 
 
 it seemed good to our ancestors to retain 
 the Indian designation. 
 
 " That is all we know of the history of 
 the older village ; so I can't tell you how 
 old it is, if you mean including that. 
 
 '' If you mean from the white-man's tak- 
 ing possession, I can't be much more ex- 
 plicit. It didn't deserve the name of 
 * town ' till long afterwards. The first set- 
 tlers must have been unprosperous, for the 
 new ' Town of the children of the Great 
 Spirit' did not grow. Probably only two 
 or three houses, or rude huts, and a few 
 acres, half cleared and unthrifty, were to 
 be found. It is mentioned but once in 
 the records of the Colonies, and that at a 
 time when every place, by the irresistible 
 force of circumstances, offered some gift 
 to the new-born nation, if any good thing 
 it possessed. During the Revolution, one 
 volunteer from Oskawask distinguished 
 himself in the battle of Guilford Court 
 House. His name was Slyme, sir. 
 
 " That is all I know about the history of 
 our village for two hundred years. 
 
 " Even its name was almost lost ; for, at 
 the beginning of the present century, the 
 citizens of Northbrook, ten miles from 
 here, called the wretched, decayed, tum- 
 
g2 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 ble-down place ' Puckertown,' in deris- 
 ion." 
 
 " Is it possible that the prosperity of 
 Oskawask is so recent, Mr. Slyme?" 
 
 " Nothing is impossible in America, Mr. 
 Livingstone, as you and I know, sir. 
 When this century was half used up, my 
 father's life had been more than half used 
 up in the hopeless struggle to win a liveli- 
 hood from this leachy soil. He was gray 
 and worn before his time and lived with 
 my mother and his grown-up sons in a 
 wretched little cottage which I shall take 
 pride in pointing out to you. But he was 
 a descendant of the Revolutionary soldier. 
 He would sit and brood through the long 
 evenings, trying to contrive some better- 
 ment for his large family. 
 
 " One evening a stranger applied to him 
 to be taken in for the night. One more 
 in the crowded little hut " 
 
 '' Oh ! Oh !" I objected ; but no matter; 
 " hut " sounded more story -like. 
 
 '* One more or less — it made no differ- 
 ence. He was received. 
 
 '* As this impoverished family sat about 
 the wood fire, the old lady — (I beg pardon, 
 sir; but the story has been told so often 
 that I fall into the habit of speaking as 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION pj 
 
 others do) — my good mother raised her 
 eyes from her sewing and looked intently 
 at the elegant coat worn by our guest. 
 
 " The next morning our guest went on 
 his way early. I remember it perfectly, — 
 how he stood at the gate ready to mount 
 his horse, and put his hand into his pocket. 
 
 '' ' How much do I owe you for the 
 lodging, my friend ?' he asked. 
 
 " * Nothing, sir,' said my father proudly. 
 
 " Then my mother stepped up, and said 
 she : 
 
 " ' Will you kindly give me one of the 
 buttons off of your coat ?' 
 
 " My father didn't like that. 
 
 " ' Oh, certainly !' said the stranger, and 
 took out his scissors " 
 
 " Knife," I suggested. 
 
 " Of course ! took out his knife. 
 
 " ' I have scissors right here, sir,' spoke 
 up my mother ; and before you could say 
 Jack Robinson she cut off a pocket but- 
 ton, where it didn't matter much, did it, 
 Horace .^" 
 
 '' Not at all, thank you," I absent- 
 mindedly replied. My thoughts had be- 
 gun to wander from this familiar tale. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Penman, you were the stran- 
 ger, then?" Livingstone courteously in- 
 
 1 8 
 
g4 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 quired ; and, receiving an affirmative 
 answer, continued : '' I congratulate you 
 upon your good fortune. It is your for- 
 tune, is it not, to be present when interest- 
 ing things happen ? And you certainly 
 have the happy faculty of enjoying and 
 appreciating them. But forgive me, Mr. 
 Slyme, and please continue the story." 
 
 ** Mr. Horace Penman mounted his 
 horse and rode away " 
 
 Livingstone interrupted with, " What 
 became of that horse, Mr. Penman?" 
 
 It was a rather odd question, but the 
 answer was given in good faith : " The 
 brute became so vicious from that day 
 that I had to sell him." 
 
 But Samuel Slyme was not the man to 
 be cheated out of a privilege. His story 
 " had an end as well as a beginning," he 
 said, with an effort to appear sprightly ; 
 and then continued : — 
 
 '' My father began to expostulate : 
 ' Why, really, Saray !' said he. But my 
 mother cut him short. 
 
 '' ' Jonathan,' she said, * see here. This 
 button that looks so fine is nothing but 
 wood covered with cloth. Dear me, I 
 can do that, and Grace and Gertrude can 
 help.' 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION gs 
 
 " Pretty soon my mother had the 
 neighbors in, to help cover buttons, and 
 my father, who was a natural born 
 mechanic, like all New Englanders, sold 
 his farm and put up a little mill to do 
 the same thing by water-power. 
 
 *' The business was profitable, sir, — 
 enormously profitable. The whole neigh- 
 borhood engaged in it, but my father had 
 the best patent, and they all had to fall in 
 line behind him. 
 
 " Then the war broke out. Half a 
 million of men to be furnished with 
 uniforms. My father got the contract 
 for cloth-covered buttons." 
 
 *' I never did quite understand that, 
 Samuel," I observed. " I was under the 
 impression that our soldiers were supplied 
 with metal buttons. Certainly all I ever 
 saw were metal." 
 
 " Horace," said the manufacturer, lay- 
 ing his hand on my arm, his manner 
 suddenly becoming almost unpleasantly 
 familiar and insinuating, " Horace, if our 
 gallant army did not use those buttons, — 
 I say, if those buttons were never used, 
 or, for that matter, never wanted — that 
 did not concern Slyme & Son, and it did 
 not concern the congressman from our 
 
gS GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 district, I guess. Those buttons were 
 made and sold at a rattling good figure 
 and paid for in mighty good money. 
 That's all it concerned us to know, wasn't 
 it ? What is the consequence, sir ?" 
 (Here the speaker became eloquent with- 
 out affectation, and pointed to the evi- 
 dences of prosperity which surrounded 
 him.) '•'■ The consequence is a magnificent 
 home industry ; two thousand laboring 
 men and women furnished with employ- 
 ment at a spot where two dozen couldn't 
 have got a living before ! That's what I 
 call out-and-ovit, uncompromising and 
 beneficent protection of American indus- 
 tries ! 
 
 " Yes, sir ! With that start the thing 
 went on growing. Mill hands flocked in 
 from all quarters. We began to make 
 our own cloth, and then we went on to 
 make almost everything. 
 
 " Look up and down this street, Mr. 
 Livingstone, sir ! The owners of these 
 comfortable houses owe their fortunes to 
 cloth-covered buttons ! 
 
 "■ This town is the creation of my father. 
 Even his critics acknowledge as much. 
 Such as it is, he made it and impressed 
 his character upon it, and fixed that char- 
 
MR, PENMAN'S VERSION 97 
 
 acter forever by his will. All the princi- 
 pal public institutions here — the library, 
 the academy, the — Oh, everything, — he 
 created by the provisions of his will, and 
 by the same will he regulates them to-day. 
 So the critics call it ' Willtown,' and say : 
 
 There was a man who owned a mill ; 
 And when he died he left a will. 
 The mill, I hear, is working still ; 
 The will, I fear, is working ill. 
 
 '' Foolish critics, Mr. Livingstone ! Sen- 
 timental vermin, sir, who pretend they 
 don't like to do everything factory -shape, 
 to the sound of a bell !" 
 
 " They might run away from your pro- 
 tected industry, and protect their idle- 
 ness in some more congenial clime," 
 Livingstone suggested. 
 
 '' ' Protect their idleness !' Ha ! Ha ! 
 Well put, Mr. Livingstone, sir !" said 
 Slyme, falling again into his nervously 
 polite manner. " But I promised that my 
 story should have an end, sir. Here it is. 
 ' How old is our village ?' — In one sense, 
 as old as the discovery of America ; in 
 another, as old as the Revolution ; in 
 another, as old as the cloth-covered but- 
 ton industry. But here we are at the 
 library. My father endowed that, sir." 
 
98 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 After early supper that evening the 
 same trio were smiling oftener and using 
 shorter sentences, for the sake of the 
 ladies, in the elegant new drawing-room 
 of the elegant new Slyme mansion. 
 
 The ladies. Misses Grace and Gertrude 
 Slyme, we need no introduction to, for 
 we have met them before, and in appear- 
 ance they have changed very little in the 
 last twenty-eight years. Twenty years 
 before they had been young ladies ; in 
 1883 they were still young ladies. They 
 had been too happy, in their own gentle 
 way, to grow old. They had not feared 
 the work of Time, nor peered into their 
 mirrors to discover signs of that de- 
 stroyer's yearly and daily and hourly 
 visits ; so that Time, finding them always 
 " cheerful without mirth," and quite un- 
 spoiled by '' mighty passions and so 
 forth," had really not harmed them, but 
 only added a trifle of roundness to their 
 figures and a grain of confidence to the 
 modest expression of their faces. 
 
 So at least I thought, and had been 
 thinking year after year. Is it not true 
 that the longer one is able to entertain a 
 conviction, the more likely that is to be 
 well grounded ? 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION Qp 
 
 Withdrawn somewhat from the blaze of 
 light which was emitted from the many 
 burners of the sparkling glass chandelier, 
 these 3' oung ladies and I were conversing 
 with that freedom and good understand- 
 ing which is the privilege of accepted, 
 requited, acknowledged and then thor- 
 oughly tested affection.. 
 
 For twenty years these young ladies 
 had continued to share and to reciprocate, 
 equally and impartially, the sentiments 
 and attentions of their lover. It would 
 be impossible to say whether they or I 
 cared less to know with certainty which 
 one would become Mrs. Penman when 
 the time came. 
 
 These three lovers (one has to use this 
 word to convey the proper idea, although 
 it is a shade too warm to convey the 
 exact idea in this case), now exchanging 
 confidences in an undertone, now listening 
 to or joining in the conversation which 
 was being kept up between the master of 
 the house and Mr. Livingstone, were 
 seated under the full-length portrait of 
 the deceased Jonathan Slyme. Samuel 
 stood with his back turned to the white 
 marble fireplace ; for, although there had 
 not been a fire in that particular grate for 
 
lOO GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 a month, it struck him as a genial-looking 
 position for the host to take up. Living- 
 stone sat in an easy-chair, facing him and 
 evidently much interested in what he was 
 saying. 
 
 " Your father left a large amount to the 
 school — or college, is it ? — I understood 
 you to say this morning." 
 
 '* A cool three hundred thousand, Mr. 
 Livingstone. Just so much taken out of 
 legitimate business. On educational top- 
 ics I entertain positive ideas, sir. I value 
 book-learning and appreciate the advan- 
 tage that an educated man has in many of 
 the walks of life over one wdio is unedu- 
 cated. Still, I believe that an}^ successful 
 business man is an educated man. He 
 may know nothing about Greek ; never- 
 theless he is a professor of his business. I 
 think a man who understands his trade, is 
 as much entitled to the title of professor as 
 a teacher in a college. The college profes- 
 sor could not build a sloop, a house, or a 
 steam engine if his life depended on it. 
 The great practical problem of life is, 
 how to get on. Any man who has solved 
 that problem is a professor. If I want to 
 consult anyone about financial matters, I 
 go to Professor Sharper, of the Mechanic's 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 10 1 
 
 bank ; if I want to learn anything about 
 chemistry, I go to Professor Litmus, of 
 the Slyme Seminary ; but when I want a 
 house built I talk it over with Professor 
 Sim Ferris, a negro, who can neither read 
 nor write, but understands his own busi- 
 ness thoroughly." 
 
 Grace leaned forward and in an under- 
 tone said to me : '* Tell us about our 
 sweet nephew." 
 
 " Yes, brother Horace, tell us about that 
 dear Winthrop Eaton," echoed Gertrude. 
 
 " Just think, brother Horace, he has not 
 been to see us for three months ; and he 
 knows we think he is a sweet fellow " 
 
 '' A sweet fellow," said Gertrude at the 
 same instant. Both speaking at once, in 
 this manner, the sweetness seemed very 
 sweet indeed. 
 
 It will be noticed that each of the ladies 
 addressed me as " brother." That was as 
 much as to say. When the time comes, 
 marry my sister Gertrude — or Grace, as 
 the case happened to be. Could anything 
 more considerate be imagined ? 
 
 '' We fear Winthrop's wife is a great 
 care to him," said Grace. 
 
 " Yes, we fear he married too young," 
 said Gertrude, with a sigh. 
 
I02 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Grace sighed also, and repeated, " too 
 young ;" and I added with conviction that 
 it was a shame, and that the reckless 
 young pair were being punished for their 
 improvident haste. 
 
 After uttering this rather harsh senti- 
 ment I paused, for my attention was 
 drawn to what the other two gentlemen 
 were saying. 
 
 '' Yes, I can readily understand that," 
 Livingstone observed. '' Your position 
 here is very exceptional. Oskawask is, in 
 effect, what the English call a * pocket 
 Borough,' — that is, you might use your 
 overwhelming influence here for political 
 purposes, if you saw fit.". 
 
 " Precisely, sir ! That is the case more 
 — er — more truly and really than I should 
 care to have everybody know. Between 
 you and me, Mr. Livingstone, I can defeat 
 or elect any man Avho is running for office 
 in this part of the State. The political 
 parties are pretty evenly balanced and the 
 vote is manageable. How much do you 
 suppose these naturalized factory -hands — 
 these thousands of Irish and Germans and 
 French and Italians — and what not — care 
 for party principles ? I needn't go into 
 the subject, sir, but I guess it's pretty 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION . lOJ 
 
 plain that if I get my back up and say — 
 in one way or another — using arguments 
 that they understand, sir, and the only 
 kind they do understand, because these 
 arguments touch their own pockets and 
 their own wages and they can buy meat 
 and beer with these arguments : — if I say, 
 Elect this man and bounce that man, I 
 
 guess the result will be according ! 
 
 Not that I have cared any to do it and not 
 
 that I do care ; but if I did ." He 
 
 left the sentence unfinished so that his 
 guest might fill in the blank with a series 
 of pleasing mental pictures : Samuel 
 Slyme, Esq., as Governor ; the same, as 
 Senator ; the same, as President. 
 
 '' Now that we are speaking so frankly, 
 as one man-of-the-world to another", re- 
 sponded Livingstone, " it simmers down 
 to this : that the man who controls the 
 manufacturing interests here, controls the 
 vote." 
 
 '' Exactly so, exactly so, Mr. Living- 
 stone. That's the fact nobody can get 
 around. I have worked hard in my life, 
 sir, and this is my reward. ' The laborer 
 is worthy of his hire,' I take it. I don't 
 know, I don't know," he continued, as 
 though a question not in the manufactur- 
 
I04 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 ing line was full of difficulty, " I don't 
 know but rU come forward myself one of 
 these days. I've been thinking it over 
 lately, and it seems high time I made 
 myself felt for all I'm worth — politically, 
 I mean. Who knows what ma}^ happen 
 if I wait too long ? I never had any fears 
 until I began to think of coming forward 
 myself. Who knows but these sneaking 
 politicians might contrive to steal my 
 rights ! One can never tell what they'll 
 be up to next. Why, lately there's been 
 a fellow here — a smooth-spoken fellow, 
 who went around among the workmen, 
 but wore good clothes and lived in style 
 himself — what was his name ? Brown ? 
 Gray ? Gray, that's it. I have my own 
 sources of information, Mr. Livingstone, 
 and I'd be willing to swear that that man 
 meant mischief. He was up to some- 
 thing, or why did he take so much in- 
 terest in my affairs and the way I stood 
 with the people here ? Besides, the man 
 looked like a snake." 
 
 '' Gray ?" I called across the room. 
 There was something in this description 
 which struck me. " Did you say his 
 name was Gra}^ Samuel ?" 
 
 '' Yes, we saw him," murmured Grace 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION IO3 
 
 at my side, ''and we thought he must 
 have cold hands, didn't we, sister?" 
 
 " By the way, Mr. Livingstone, where 
 is your Gray now ?" I inquired. '' I have 
 not seen him in Oldhaven lately." 
 
 '* I am sure I don't know," replied 
 Livingstone indifferently. '' He asked for 
 a little vacation ; and he has been doing 
 so much for me — getting my house ready 
 and all that, you know — that I let him off 
 willingly for a fortnight." 
 
 *' If he is connected with you in any 
 way, Mr. Livingstone, sir," said Samuel 
 hurriedly, " I beg your pardon and take 
 it all back, sir, I am sure." 
 
 ''No harm done," said Livingstone 
 rather coldly ; and then rising and stand- 
 ing before Samuel Slyme, who looked a 
 very poor figure in comparison, he con- 
 tinued : " If this person was my Gray, I 
 should not take anything said against him 
 as applying to myself in the remotest 
 degree." 
 
 Livingstone evidently understood the 
 man he had to deal with. If he had ex- 
 pressed the least regret for the annoyance 
 which his agent had caused the owner of 
 Oskawask, that local grandee would have 
 felt himself wronged. As it was, Samuel 
 
Io6 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Slyme again apologized for a fault he had 
 not committed, and, bringing the conver- 
 sation once more to the subject of his own 
 political aspirations, grew surprisingly 
 confidential in the course of the evening. 
 It was not an edifying conversation, but 
 for all that it seemed to interest Mr. Liv- 
 ingstone, who consented, after much 
 urging, to remain for a day or two in 
 order to examine the field thoroughly, 
 and so to advise more intelligently. 
 
|N the spring of 1885 Samuel 
 Slyme failed. 
 
 Oskawask was shaken as by 
 an earthquake ; all western Mas- 
 sachusetts sensibly trembled ; the country 
 at large and manufacturing circles abroad 
 were promptly informed of it. If the 
 love of notoriety is the passion of our age, 
 as very respectable observers gravely 
 assure us, then this was the hour of 
 Samuel's triumph. 
 
 Poor fellow ! he did not see it in that 
 light. To him it did not seem a brilliant 
 and sensational event : it was not to him 
 sufficiently sudden and unexpected for 
 that. Losses, losses, one after the other 
 during the two years since we last saw 
 him, — the sum of these losses seemed the 
 sum total of the event to him. 
 
 Such losses, — such besetting evil for- 
 tune, — surely no experienced and, if any- 
 thing, over-cautious manufacturer ever be- 
 fore had to contend against. Industries 
 
I08 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 the most meritorious, investments the 
 most approved, securities the most secure, 
 dissolved and became thin air the moment 
 he touched them. Banks failed, corres- 
 pondents forged and ran away, real-estate 
 depreciated, whichever way he turned. 
 
 '* I never had a bit of luck," said Samuel, 
 '' since I took to politics and since that 
 Gray set the ' hands ' against me." 
 
 " That was the time I brought Living- 
 stone here and introduced him to you," I 
 said, with vague misgiving. 
 
 '' Oh, Mr. Livingstone is another mat- 
 ter ! He has stood behind me all this 
 time and helped me. Why, do you know, 
 Horace, he must have almost ruined him- 
 self for me. He has bought all the clain^ 
 against me and holds them to-day. They 
 are not worth fifty cents on the dollar, 
 and he knows it; but instead of selling 
 out while my credit was good and he 
 could have got what he paid, he holds 
 them, sir, and never presses me !" 
 
 I did not dispute any part of this state- 
 ment nor attempt to warn the victim when 
 it was already too late. Before ever a 
 suggestion of these facts had come to me, 
 the thing had been done and the fact be- 
 come unalterable. It remained only to 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION lO^ 
 
 make the most of the alleged good dis- 
 position of Samuel's principal creditor 
 in order to save something from the 
 wreck. To this end I strove, and my 
 attempt was so far successful that Samuel 
 was appointed, by the directors of a new 
 company which was formed to carry on 
 the business of Slyme & Son, general 
 manager. President of the new company, 
 was Donald Livingstone, Esquire ; his 
 associates being various little great men 
 of the neighborhood whose connection 
 with the business was scarcely more than 
 nominal. 
 
 In the matter of this appointment, as in 
 all his public acts after the great failure 
 became known, Livingstone showed a 
 magnanimous spirit which won him praise 
 from all sides. The extent of the pecu- 
 niary sacrifice which he made in accepting 
 this arrangement was not concealed. That 
 brought him nothing but credit. The 
 readiness with which he came forward to 
 secure to thousands of operatives con- 
 tinued employment, won the hearts of the 
 poor and the hearts of the friends of the 
 poor, — that is to say, of everybody. His 
 was the reward of the man who is gener- 
 ous and prosperous. 
 
 19 
 
no GRA Y: AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 As for certain rumors, doubtless invent- 
 ed by malicious persons, about an appear- 
 ance of system and method in the suc- 
 cessive blows which had overturned the 
 house of Slyme & Son, as though they 
 could not have been the work of chance 
 but must have been planned by some 
 selfish and diabolical agency, these quickly 
 fell to the ground. Who could have found 
 his own advantage in such an attack ? 
 That was a question nobody could answer ; 
 and so rumor subsided. 
 
 In fact rumor had other material to feed 
 upon. It began to be whispered that, 
 far from there being less work done at the 
 mills under the new company, there was 
 to be more. The buildings were to be en- 
 larged ; new machinery had been ordered ; 
 an era of greater prosperity was to begin 
 in Oskawask. 
 
 Would Donald Livingstone consent to 
 exchange the ''Esquire" at the end of his 
 name for a " Senator " to be written 
 before it? He had only to say the 
 word. 
 
 But while it seemed well enough for 
 Samuel Slyme, the fallen duke of Oska- 
 wask, to accept service under the usurper, 
 I would not consent to see the sisters de- 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION III 
 
 pendent upon a dependent. Hence a 
 momentous decision. 
 
 After twenty years of more or less 
 active courtship, I resolved to marry the 
 sisters immediately. 
 
 Promptly, yet without unbecoming 
 haste, a month being allowed to elapse 
 between the announcement and the cere- 
 mony, this resolution was carried into 
 effect. 
 
 On the morning of a warm summer's day, 
 the front room on the second floor of a 
 small, aristocratic boarding house not far 
 from the Oldhaven green, was the scene 
 of confusion, — that is, so much confusion 
 as could be found in the apartments of 
 two quiet ladies. The ladies were array- 
 ing themselves for their wedding, which 
 was to take place before noon. The pro- 
 cess of decoration advanced impartially. 
 It is true that Gertrude's hair was done a 
 moment before Grace's ; but seeing this, 
 Gertrude would not allow her maid to 
 proceed to other matters before Grace's 
 maid had caught up. Then there was an 
 intermission of five minutes for the sisters 
 to intertwine arms and kiss each other 
 upon the cheek and throat and wherever 
 that could be done without disarranging 
 
112 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 things. And so on until all was fin- 
 ished. 
 
 Full half an hour before the appointed 
 time, these two sisters were waiting in the 
 parlor, caressing one another as well as 
 that can be done in tight new sleeves, and 
 patiently expecting the few invited guests. 
 These arrived duly and all drove together 
 to the pretty Episcopal church. That was 
 surely a friendly way to do such a thing. 
 
 All entering the church together, Ave 
 proceeded at once to the altar. Mr. Win- 
 throp Eaton, Mr. Samuel Slyme and I 
 were the only gentlemen present. The 
 ladies were, Mrs. Eaton and the heroines 
 of the occasion. During the service the 
 two sisters, dressed in gowns which were 
 exactly alike, stood so near together that 
 one could not tell which was the bride. 
 • When I repeated : " I, Horace, take 
 thee, Gertrude," Mrs. Eaton added in a 
 loud whisper : '' And Grace " — whereat 
 we all laughed. 
 
 After the ceremony all repaired to Mrs. 
 Eaton's house to breakfast. 
 
 ''Where are" you going?" asked Win- 
 throp. 
 
 " Nowhere !" 
 
 But Mrs. Eaton insisted that the happy 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION II 3 
 
 pair should go away for at least twenty- 
 four hours ; and after much persuasion we 
 consented. 
 
 On the following day we returned, and 
 then started off on a sensible wedding-trip, 
 taking Grace with us. After a very pleas- 
 ant journey we returned and settled down. 
 How cheerful my old home became ! 
 Both Grace and Gertrude continued, and 
 to this day continue (the heavens be 
 praised !) to call me "brother." 
 
 Through this marriage I came to be 
 very intimately connected with VVinthrop 
 Eaton, whose name has been several times 
 mentioned in the foregoing pages. He is 
 the son of Israel Slyme and Lilly Lincoln, 
 and was adopted and brought up by John 
 Eaton. John Eaton was, until his death 
 in 1873, my dear friend. Now family ties 
 were added to the bond of old acquain- 
 tance, Winthrop being Gertrude's nephew. 
 His father, Israel, had deserted his family 
 immediately after my first visit at Oska- 
 wask, and his fate has remained a m3'stery 
 to this day. 
 
 I say that his fate remains a mystery ; 
 but Mrs. Winthrop Eaton has maintained 
 the contrary, as the reader will presently 
 see. 
 
114 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 The foregoing chapters were originally 
 written at Mrs. Eaton's request. She as- 
 sured me that it had become of vital im- 
 portance to her and to her husband that 
 the mystery above referred to should be 
 cleared up, laid great stress upon the un- 
 deniable resemblance between Donald Liv- 
 ingstone and her husband, and urged me, 
 as the oldest family friend, to set down 
 what I knew from my own experience 
 about Israel and Mr. Livingstone. That I 
 accordingly did, without addition or dimi- 
 nution. 
 
 Mrs. Eaton, I should observe here, is a 
 woman of singular beauty and unnatural 
 intellectual brilliancy. Her father was 
 the Rev. James Addison, an Episcopal 
 minister, settled in a small town near Old- 
 haven. Winthrop met her at an age when 
 he should have had no thought of mar- 
 riage, was completely fascinated, and with 
 improvident haste took her to live with 
 him at " Westwood." 
 
 Of all the pretty places in the neighbor- 
 hood of Oldhaven, *' Westwood " is, in my 
 opinion, the most charming. Be pleased 
 to imagine the gently sloping hill-side, 
 from all points of which the view ranges 
 over a cultivated plain, in the foreground 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION II 5 
 
 broken here and there by comfortable Kt- 
 tle houses and by the course of a small 
 river with wooded banks ; while far away 
 the towers and steeples and loftier build- 
 ings of the city display their summits 
 above the leafy covering of elm trees, like 
 an architectural crop just beginning to 
 spring up and promising to grow into a 
 town in the course of a summer. 
 
 This hill-side Winthrop Eaton called his 
 '' farm ;" and one of the chief allurements 
 of the place was that he did treat it as a 
 farm. Not fine and pretentious and meant 
 for show, like a villa, it was generous and 
 homelike and meant for use and comforta- 
 ble living. Yet with exquisite taste Win- 
 throp had known how to add touches of 
 art, where these would serve to heighten 
 the charm of naturalness. The house it- 
 self, built of warm-colored, brown stones 
 which had been selected from that abun- 
 dant supply which the fields of '' West- 
 wood " afforded, vine-covered and sur- 
 rounded by wide verandas, was not the 
 least agreeable feature in the lafidscape. 
 
 But, in spite of its southern exposure, 
 there was always a shadow covering every 
 foot of the territory of " Westwood." 
 Winthrop had inherited it from the good- 
 
Il6 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 natured John Eaton with that encum- 
 brance which good-nature is so prone to 
 inflict — debt. 
 
 Another shadow was there also, for 
 which John Eaton was in no way responsi- 
 ble. The old portrait of Israel-for-Israel 
 hung in the library. It was the visible 
 reminder of a family disgrace ; none the 
 less Winthrop valued it, because it was 
 said to resemble his father, Israel, whom 
 he had never seen. 
 
 Such was the home from which young 
 Winthrop Eaton was striving to lift the 
 double shadow of debt and of disgrace 
 when he married Miss Addison. Since 
 that event the husband has been a plod- 
 ding worker and the wife one of the lead- 
 ers of Oldhaven society, famous for her 
 eccentricity. 
 
 Mrs. Eaton's request was for facts con- 
 cerning Israel and Livingstone which had 
 fallen within my own experience and ob- 
 servation. Having stated these, my task 
 is ended. 
 
Part II.— By Mrs. WINTHROP EATON 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 T my urgent request Mr. Hor- 
 ace Penman consented to write 
 down his personal recollections 
 of my husband's father, Israel 
 Slyme, as he used to be called, or Donald 
 Livingstone, as he is to-day called. I 
 have just read those recollections and I 
 am greatly disappointed. 
 
 Horace Penman is a dear, good old 
 gentleman, and I have as much respect 
 for him as for anyone ; but he has a fool- 
 ish dislike for putting two and two to- 
 gether. He has restricted himself to the 
 bare facts, and declined to draw the obvi- 
 ous conclusions. He has even refused to 
 avail himself of information derived from 
 trustworthy persons — from his wife, from 
 Winthrop's foster-father, John Eaton, and 
 others — as though fearing to trust any- 
 thing except his own immediate observa- 
 tion. It might almost seem that he has 
 
II 8 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 it in mind to shake my belief in the iden- 
 tity of Israel and Livingstone. But if I 
 had not one atom of proof, I should know 
 what this monster of selfishness really is. 
 Can I not read his story in his face ? 
 
 As for its being wiser not to stir up the 
 past, as Mr. Penman suggested \/hen I 
 first consulted him, that is a good rvile for 
 those who are happy in the present ; but 
 how can I, with this burning sense of 
 wrong, remain silent ? 
 
 The whole course of his wickedness is 
 wonderfully clear to me. I can hardly 
 explain to myself this distinctness ; and 
 yet I could as easily doubt what I know 
 of my own life as doubt any portion or 
 particular of Israel's life, written by reve- 
 lation upon my brain. 
 
 My poor husband ! Proud, sensitive, 
 noble Winthrop ! He has pledged his life 
 to redeem the faults of others, while I — I 
 myself am a chief cause of his suffering. 
 I added the burden of my ungoverned 
 ambition and of my exactions to the load 
 which he was staggering under. That I 
 cannot change. My impulses I cannot 
 control ; but I shall compel Donald Living- 
 stone to be just to his own flesh and blood. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION Up 
 
 In the year 1855, an hour or so before 
 Mr. Penman rode away from Oskawask, 
 Lilly Lincoln and Israel were walking 
 across the fields toward the home of the 
 former. Both were in the highest spirits : 
 Lilly, as she herself said, in a perfect gale, 
 Israel singing with a great, booming 
 voice. 
 
 So they went, hand in hand, until they 
 could no longer be seen from the house. 
 Then Lilly's gayety passed all bounds. 
 She danced in little circles about Israel, 
 seizing him every now and then by the 
 hand, and kissing it a thousand times ; 
 then, throwing this away and hanging 
 about his neck, she kissed his cheeks and 
 eyes— too light-hearted to touch his lips 
 with her own. 
 
 As for this favored young man, he felt 
 through and through him those thrills of 
 love consummated, intoxicating every 
 sense ; that devouring passion of the heart 
 after every sense has been gratified ; the 
 glory and happiness of possession — not 
 the hunger of a lover, but the far more 
 perfect and universal passion of the ac- 
 knowledged master and lord. 
 
 Gloria ! sang the young man's heart, 
 while he drank of the being of this woman 
 
I20 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 transfigured by love ; while he drank in 
 the delicious after-storm air as in great 
 draughts of sparkling wine ; while he felt 
 tingling at his finger-tips and racing 
 through his arteries the abundant streams 
 of a strong young life, now perfect, now 
 blessed and complete. 
 
 They were at the brow of a hill, or 
 rather the side of a vale, which was still 
 dark and cold, being unvisited by the sun 
 as yet : still dark and cold below, where a 
 very tiny tributar}^ of the weedy stream 
 trickled in crystal purity beneath leafless 
 laurel bushes. 
 
 The path was narrow and steep and 
 rough, but Lilly danced down it, whirling 
 around recklessly, her little hands lifted 
 above his head, her eyes flashing, her 
 cheeks flushed with exquisite pink, and 
 one splendid lock of golden hair, escaped 
 from confinement, falling like a serpent 
 across her shoulder and into her bosom. 
 
 With all this wild motion, she yet kept 
 very close to Israel. Her warm breath 
 was on his cheek and her clasped hands 
 were ready to descend about his neck 
 when her foot dashed against a projecting 
 point of stone and she fell backwards. 
 But, quick as thought Israel had seized 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 121 
 
 her, terrified but unhurt, and catching her 
 up to him and so holding her, the poor 
 little throbbing heart pressed against his 
 own, bearing her easily, he rushed on- 
 ward down the path. 
 
 It seemed to her that they were falling 
 down, down, locked in each other's em- 
 brace ; and she closed her eyes and her 
 heart suddenly ceased beating as she 
 awaited the end of their descent — the 
 terrible instant when they should lie 
 crushed and mangled in the bed of the 
 little stream. 
 
 The swift motion ceased, and yet she 
 felt no pain. Timidly she opened her 
 eyes and saw that she was still in her 
 lover's arms, and that he was looking 
 down into her face with a smile. 
 
 " Why, you are pale, my child !" he 
 exclaimed. '' Did it hurt your foot?" 
 
 She looked with a shudder from him to 
 the steep path along which they had 
 flown. Then her eyes fell upon the un- 
 polluted waters within reach of her hand. 
 
 " Will you have some water?" he asked. 
 
 Lilly only shook her head for reply, 
 pressing close to him with all her 
 strength. Then she said : 
 
 '' Take me to live with you. Do not 
 
122 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 take me home. Away from you I am 
 dead. O, take me, take me !" 
 
 " Are you not happy, dearest Lilly ? 
 Are you not happy as it is?" 
 
 She put her hands upon his mouth and 
 pushed his head back until she could look 
 into his face. Then, with her whole soul 
 shining through her entreating eyes, and 
 her voice vibrating strangely, she cried : 
 
 '' Take me ! Take me ! Take me ! Are 
 you not my husband ?" 
 
 *' Yes ; in the matter of love for you, I 
 am certainly your husband. What do 
 you mean by this ? A moment ago you 
 were as happy as you should always be. 
 What has changed you, little one ?" 
 
 " You love me?" 
 
 " Yes : have I not told you so many 
 times?" 
 
 " Then that is enough. Then am I not 
 your wife?" — putting her cheek against 
 his. '' Call me wife !" 
 
 " Darling little lady, am I not kind to 
 you ? Do you not love me f " 
 
 " Oh !" — so reproachfully, yet so ten- 
 derly spoken. No one who conceives 
 how that was uttered will judge harshly 
 poor little Lilly's self-sacrifice. '' You do 
 love me, Israel. I have never doubted it. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 1 23 
 
 It would be wicked — it would be a sin to 
 doubt that. You did not mean to ask me 
 — what I thought you asked. You know 
 — you must know. Oh, my husband, 
 think — or, rather, do not think — what a 
 creature I should be if I had not done all 
 because I worshipped you — because I 
 adore you. You are m}^ god. I have no 
 will but your will. What you say has 
 taken the place of God's word to me, 
 because I have no life apart from you. 
 Forgive me if I have loved you too 
 much !" 
 
 Lilly's eyes were streaming and her 
 speech, low and rapid, poured out as 
 naturally as her tears. 
 
 This incense of her blind adoration 
 ascended to the nostrils of her god, and 
 'must have been grateful to his sense ; for 
 Israel held her so strictly bound in his 
 arms that this tender worshiper gasped 
 for breath. 
 
 For a moment both were happy, yet 
 not in the same way. 
 
 Then Lilly made a great effort and 
 cheered her heart, and smiled at him 
 through her tears. Her happiness came 
 over her as a flood of light and warmth. 
 
 " My Superbness ! — Oh, I must take 
 
124 GRA Y: AN OLDHA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 satisfaction, gorgeous being, — my saint !" 
 And she seized his face almost fiercely 
 and bit his cheek just above the peculiar 
 little mark. " There ! — Poor face, did it 
 hurt you ?" Then she covered every fea- 
 ture with quick, burning kisses, returning 
 with preference to the birth-mark. 
 
 But, Lilly, do you notice that this mark 
 almost vanishes now ? It is so faint that 
 one could scarcely see it. There must be 
 magic in your kisses. 
 
 Thus Lilly appealed to Israel's love, not 
 without effect ; yet he did not answer 
 according to her wish. 
 
 Then she called up past scenes of pleas- 
 ure, into which we dare not intrude, — in 
 which, as Israel recalled them also, she 
 seemed to him a flower quite unlike the 
 lily, yet more than ever desirable. 
 
 Thus she appealed to his selfishness, 
 without realizing that for this the oppor- 
 tunity had passed and her advantage had 
 been sacrificed. 
 
 The birthmark showed very distinctly 
 again, but this she could not notice, for as 
 a last appeal she hid her face in his bosom 
 and whispered something — a secret fear- 
 fully kept even from him until that mo- 
 ment. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 12^ 
 
 No man born of woman but has at least 
 an impulse of pity for that condition. 
 Israel kissed her tenderly and promised : 
 " I shall openly acknowledge our mar- 
 riage to-morrow, Lilly, so surely as I am 
 here to do it." 
 
 Thereupon she became radiantly happy. 
 '' ' So surely as you are here !' Why, 
 nothing can happen to you, my magnifi- 
 cence. To-morrow ! I — Oh, 1 shall be so 
 proud ! . . . . Oh, my husband, is it pos- 
 sible ? Tell me I am not dreaming. Tell 
 me I shall always be close, next to you — 
 
 always What Avill you call me? 
 
 Say it ! Call me How thoughtful 
 
 and sad you are, sweet face ! . . . . Israel ! 
 Are you angry with me, darling? Are 
 you angry with me for being so happy ?" 
 
 But she could not conquer his dark 
 humor, and they finished the way in 
 silence. 
 
 Returning alone, Israel paused in the 
 glen where they had rested together, real- 
 izing how free he was without her. 
 
 "Why, I could as easily run up that 
 path alone as down it with her," he mut- 
 tered. '' If she were only a different 
 nature, the question might change. If she 
 were helpful, or even independent. — But 
 
 20 
 
126 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 how can I carry her with me in my race 
 against the world for the first place in the 
 world ? Perhaps I might do that and yet 
 win. I will not acknowledge that there 
 is anything I can not do. But after I had 
 
 won, she Oh, she would not be a 
 
 companion for me. When I am all that I 
 feel myself able to become, she will re- 
 main little Lilly Lincoln. I can make 
 myself what I please ; but she would not, 
 could not, change. The more perfect and 
 complete my success, the wider would 
 grow the breach between us. She would 
 be only more and more, as time went on, 
 an incumbrance. No ! The woman fit to 
 share my whole life does not exist. For 
 this part of it, Lilly : and it is true, as she 
 said, that she has added to my happiness 
 in this part. For the next ten, twenty 
 years, no person, woman or man, can share 
 my life or know my thoughts. As for 
 Lilly — why, she would be unhappy if 1 
 kept from her my secret thoughts, and if 
 she knew my secrets they would kill her. 
 No, I say, no ! After these ten or twenty 
 
 years of struggle ? Why,, then, a 
 
 woman born to the station to which I 
 shall have fought my way. Then some 
 princess who is now unborn, who shall be 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 12^ 
 
 then fresh and exquisite as Lilly is now — 
 from whom 1 may draw a new life : for I 
 shall be world-worn and tired then. Why 
 then I shall begin to live ! Everything 
 near me then shall be, must be, sparkling 
 and young, to warm me again. Lilly at 
 that time? Lilly would be forty — faded 
 — a poor, faded lily — a stranger to my 
 heart, yet holding by right the first place 
 in my life. Lilly would point backwards 
 with constant reminder to my needy, 
 hateful past. She would remind me of 
 how much more ? Of what I had done ? 
 No one shall know that ! But then I shall 
 need to forget. Then I shall begin to 
 become what I should be now, if I had 
 not been born in a hovel. I curse it, and 
 it shall be cursed. Curse these fools — 
 these country simpletons ! Here is a 
 great big world with men in it, and 
 sparrows, and toads. And I have a few 
 years of life, and my whole nature cries 
 out for all the good things that the earth 
 has, and that is the first law of my nature. 
 And these fools would hold me to them — 
 to a rocky farm — to a living death. My 
 few years of life given to this groveling 
 misery ! That would be disobedience to 
 the first law of my being : so great a sin 
 
128 GRA Y : AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 that no other — that all others together 
 could not equal it. 
 
 " They want me, because they love me. 
 I do not love them. That is the plain 
 truth told to myself. 
 
 ''They love me because I am nobler 
 than they. I can not stay with them for 
 the same reason. 
 
 " They have done all they could for me. 
 I must leave them now." 
 
 And then his thoughts came back to 
 Lilly and he started up. 
 
 " I must be away before to-morrow," 
 he concluded; and he ran up the steep 
 path, for the pleasure which the exertion 
 gave him. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 EFORE twelve o'clock that 
 night, Israel was on his way. 
 After a few minutes of rapid 
 walking he passed the Lincoln 
 house. He had neither thought of avoid- 
 ing this nor preferred the road which led 
 past the home of Lilly. Simply, he was 
 on his way. 
 
 As for Lilly at this hour, we can be sure 
 of only one or two things. She was not 
 asleep, she was very happy, and in the 
 silence she kept whispering to herself, 
 " To-morrow, to-morrow," until with a joy- 
 ful throb she began to say, and never tired 
 of saying, " To-day, to-day he will take me 
 to live with him." 
 
 So then Israel Slyme came of age in the 
 grand air, on the highway, marching swift- 
 ly through the night towards the south. 
 
 * ^ 7f -Jf 4f * 
 
 Twelve hours later, when the sun stood 
 directly above his head, and he had begun 
 to reflect that there were some warm 
 
IJO GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 noons in November, Israel arrived at the 
 foot of a long hill. Here the road 
 branched, one way leading over the hill 
 and another, equally traveled, skirting its 
 base. A sign-post stood at the crossways, 
 but its inscription was quite obliterated. 
 
 He was about to take the upper road 
 when a farmer, driving a team of spirited 
 young horses harnessed to an open wagon, 
 overtook him. This farmer turned off 
 into the lower road. 
 
 "Helloa! Is that the way to Old- 
 haven?" cried Israel. 
 
 " Yaas, I'm going ter Oldhaven. Air 
 ye bound in that direction ?" 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 '' Whoa, Nelly ! whoa, Bob ! Git in an' 
 I guess I'll give ye a lift ez fur ez ye go." 
 
 The offer was gladly accepted. 
 
 " Come fur to-day ?" 
 
 '' Fifty miles." 
 
 " Whew ! And whar' from ?" 
 
 " From jail," said Israel. 
 
 " Why, ye don't look ter me like that 
 sort of feller. Ye would kiver up that 
 spot outer your cheek, ef ye was 'fraid of 
 bein' recognized. Whar did ye say yer 
 was goin' ter ?" 
 
 '' Into the ground." 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION IJI 
 
 '' I guess you're kinder facetious, aint 
 ye ? An' what might yer name be ?" 
 
 ''James Johnson." 
 
 " Thunder ! Ye don't say, now. Why, 
 my wife's folks' name's Johnson, from up 
 Massachusetts way. Oskawask is the 
 name of the place. Ye don't happen ter 
 have heard of that, perhaps." 
 
 " Yes, I have been through the town." 
 
 '' Dew tell ! An' whar did ye say ye 
 was goin' ?" 
 
 '' I told you I came from jail and that I 
 was going into the ground ; but I did not 
 know that your wife's name was Johnson, 
 or I'd have been more explicit. Now then 
 — but first let me ask if I shall have a 
 chance to get dinner anywhere on the 
 road." 
 
 " Air ye hungry ?" 
 
 "Asa wolf." 
 
 " It dews seem as though my woman 
 put up something for me." 
 
 " Oh, I don't want to take your dinner." 
 
 '' Whoa, Bob ! who-up, Nelly there !" 
 cried the farmer. When the wagon was 
 brought to a stand-still, he said angrily : 
 '' Ef I aint good enough fer ye to eat 
 with me, James Johnson, and fer me ter 
 eat with you, why, good-bye to ye." 
 
132 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Israel burst into a laugh. " In that 
 case," he said, "you'd lose the story that 
 I am about to tell, and I'd lose my dinner. 
 Drive on, man ; and if I eat more than my 
 share, remember I've had fifty miles for 
 appetizer." 
 
 " You air a likely hand to do a day's 
 work," said the farmer, measuring Israel 
 with his eyes, " but I guess there's enough 
 for both on us" — and he started up his 
 team again. 
 
 " Well then, Mr. Perkins—" 
 
 '' That beats all ! I disremember that I 
 told you my name is Perkins !" 
 
 " Ezekiel Perkins, isn't it ?" 
 
 '' Ezekiel H. Perkins, that's my name. I 
 don't know ez I've any call ter be ashamed 
 on it. But how on airth did ye come ter 
 know ?" 
 
 It was quite natural that Israel, who had 
 passed his life among the few families of 
 Oskawask, should know whom Kate John- 
 son had married and should have heard 
 from the old parents at home all about 
 their prosperous son-in-law in Connecti- 
 cut ; but Israel had in mind a little experi- 
 ment to test the intelligence of the man 
 beside him. To carry out this experiment 
 he deviated from the plain truth. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION I 33 
 
 " I was asking the way a piece back — a 
 couple of miles or so, I guess," he replied, 
 falling into the dialect of his companion, 
 ^' and an old woman with one eye told me 
 as Ezekiel Perkins drove down to Old- 
 haven carrying chickens and eggs to the 
 market, every Saturday, behind the best 
 team of horses in the county ; and if I 
 would wait for him, he'd give me a lift and 
 never leave the straight road. So when I 
 saw your horses, I made sure it was you, 
 Mr. Perkins." 
 
 " That was like enough old Betsey 
 Turnbull," said the farmer. " Waal, they 
 air a likely team enough. I raised 'em 
 myself from colts. Nellie is eight and 
 Bob he is nigh outer seven year old. Git 
 up, there. Steady, old gal" — putting the 
 team on their mettle. 
 
 So Israel had uttered a lie, seasoned 
 with a little flattery, and was believed 
 without further question. 
 
 Pursuing his experiment he continued : 
 
 *' Now for the story : — There has been a 
 gold mine in the possession of my family 
 for three generations " 
 
 " A gold mine ! Why ye don't look ter 
 me like that kind of a dandy." 
 
 " Just so. I have been kept out of my 
 
134 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 rights : kept in bondage, out of my lawful 
 inheritance. That's what I meant by say- 
 ing I came from jail." 
 
 " Whar might this gold mine lie ?" 
 
 ** South of Washington." 
 
 ''That might be the Gulf of Mexico or 
 South Ameriky." 
 
 " Exactly what T have always said my- 
 self. I agree with you entirely." This 
 answer staggered the good farmer, who 
 did not quite catch the drift. Then Israel 
 continued : 
 
 '' That's where I am going. My great- 
 grandfather is there and I expect to find 
 him. Didn't I say I was going into the 
 ground? That is what I meant. I am 
 going into a gold mine and when I come 
 out I shall be rich enough to buy the 
 whole State of Connecticut." 
 
 " See here, young James Johnson, I like 
 funnin' and I like fooling, but you suit me 
 too gol durned well." 
 
 So Israel told the truth, as well as he 
 understood it, and was not believed. 
 
 But inasmuch as the results of the ex- 
 periment were not at variance with his 
 previous experience, he did not reflect 
 upon the false judgment of the world, 
 but plied his new acquaintance with min- 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 135 
 
 gled falsehood and truth, according to the 
 caprice of his overflowing humor. The 
 fact is, Israel was fairly intoxicated by the 
 freedom of his situation and the infinite 
 prospect of adventure which stretched 
 out before his mental vision. 
 
 It is to be observed, however, that even 
 this which seemed reckless humor proved 
 serviceable to his interests ; for Ezekiel 
 Perkins not only shared a substantial lunch 
 with our young adventurer, but felt him- 
 self greatly honored by the other's conde- 
 scension in praising the cold meats. So 
 far indeed did this manner of Israel's ac- 
 complished the purpose for which it had 
 been assumed, or rather permitted to show 
 itself, that before sunset Ezekiel Perkins 
 pronounced his companion to be an amaz- 
 ingly entertaining young fellow who knew 
 a thing or two if only he could stop jok- 
 ing long enough to show it. 
 
 The sun was setting when they drew up 
 on the brow of a hill from which the 
 waters of Long Island Sound were visible. 
 
 '' Thar is Oldhaven," said the farmer, 
 '' and a right pretty town it is, an' no mis- 
 take." 
 
 There indeed lay the town at their feet, 
 spreading out as it chose, like a great vil- 
 
I 30 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 lage rather than a city, — not crowding its 
 inhabitants in upper stories for lack of 
 ground-room, but occupying only a small 
 portion of the generous plain which lay 
 between the encircling hills and the sea. 
 
 Israel sprung from the wagon. 
 
 '' Good-bye !" 
 
 '' Ain't ye goin' inter the town ?" 
 
 '' Rather walk, thank you." 
 
 "■ Er — how long ye say ye stop here ?" 
 
 " Long enough to get money to con- 
 tinue my journey." 
 
 '' And whar then?" 
 
 " To my gold mine, I told you." 
 
 '' Did ye say yer grandfather stopped 
 down thar in the ground ?" 
 
 " Great-grandfather, to be exact." 
 
 '* Waal, take care on yerself. Don't ye 
 stop down thar in the same way. Say," 
 (with hesitation), '' I know yer foolin' about 
 gold mines, but I guess I'd kinder like ter 
 hear from ye sometimes, that yer all 
 right." 
 
 '' You'll hear from me again, don't you 
 be afraid." 
 
 '' Waal," said the farmer, with a kindly 
 light in his grey eyes, and leaning out to 
 shake Israel by the hand, *' waal, I guess 
 it'll be a right smart while before I furgit 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION I 37 
 
 ye. Git along, Nellie, ol' gal !" — and he 
 drove off, leaving Israel standing beside 
 the road. 
 
 Perkins did not forget this encounter, 
 for he told Horace Penman of it when 
 they were serving together in the war. 
 It was after their adventure on the inhos- 
 pitable mountain, from which they were 
 driven by blood-hounds ; and Perkins be- 
 gan by saying that the name of Captain 
 Johnson reminded him of a young fellow 
 whom he had met nine or ten years be- 
 fore. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 ROM the point where Israel 
 stood, the view is beautiful. 
 That faint, irregular line on the 
 southern horizon is Long Island, 
 thirty miles away. Nearer is a splendid 
 sea, — its waters crisping and curling be- 
 neath the November breeze ; then a har- 
 bor with its fleet of white-winged oyster- 
 boats ; then the wide salt meadows, dotted 
 over with hayricks, following the course 
 of two small rivers far inland ; then the 
 generous plain for shaded streets to lead 
 across, for pleasure-gardens and for mar- 
 ket-gardens — a comfortable dwelling-place 
 for men ; then the rampart of hills, enclos- 
 ing and protecting the territory of Old- 
 haven and^marking it off as a thing apart, 
 peculiar and superior. 
 
 Standing out prominently from this wall 
 of hills, two cliffs guard the town from the 
 east and from the west. Not high enough 
 to be^, grand, these ''Rocks," as they are 
 called, are nevertheless suggestive and in- 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION IJQ 
 
 teresting. They are the final effort of the 
 Green Mountain range, and descendants 
 of Mansfield and Camel's Hump in remote 
 Vermont. They are not mere upstarts 
 from the vulgar plain, therefore. They 
 point with pride to their noble kindred. 
 
 Why had Israel chosen to alight from 
 the wagon and to enter the town alone ? 
 For a very simple reason. He did not 
 know where he should apply for work, 
 and was unwilling that anyone, even a 
 chance acquaintance, should be witness of 
 his indecision. It was his way to act with 
 decision, as though there could be no 
 doubt or question about what he did. He 
 knew that this confidence was contagious, 
 communicating itself to others, leading 
 them to repose unbounded confidence in 
 his powers. He was quite logical, there- 
 fore, in affecting more than usual assur- 
 ance of manner when really inwardly per- 
 plexed. 
 
 Observe him closely now, while he is 
 off his guard, alone in a country road. 
 We may now catch a glimpse of the 
 natural man. What do we see ? 
 
 We see a fine-looking young fellow walk- 
 ing slowly along beside a stone wall. 
 Every few minutes he takes a large stone 
 
I40 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 from the wall and casts it across the road 
 — a great distance to put so heavy a stone. 
 He seems to have nothing to do and much 
 strength to spare. 
 
 That is a distinct and simple picture ; 
 but no more distinct to me than is every 
 scene which I shall describe. What do I 
 care for evidence to prove these things ? 
 
 Israel must have assisted in the con- 
 struction of many such barriers on the 
 farm in Oskawask ; for it required skill as 
 well as strength to cast the heavy stones 
 to the very place designed. One heavier 
 piece, however, fell short by several feet. 
 Thereat Israel was provoked, and select- 
 ing a smooth boulder twice the size of its 
 predecessor, raised this to his shoulder 
 and cast it so fairly that it alighted upon 
 the very top of the opposite wall, carrying 
 away several large pieces from that and 
 making a breach. 
 
 *' Bravo ! Well put, sir !" cried a friendly 
 voice. " Well put, indeed !" — and John 
 Eaton, his face beaming with delight, has- 
 tened up to Israel. '' I have been watch- 
 ing you for some time. I suppose I ought 
 to apologize for that. Taking my after- 
 noon walk across the fields, you know. It 
 so happened that 1 could hardly help 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 14I 
 
 seeing you. That was a magnificent effort, 
 that last !" 
 
 ''Is this your fence, sir, that I have been 
 pulling to pieces?" asked Israel, bluntly. 
 
 '' Oh, no harm done ! Magnificently put ! 
 Let me see, fifty, sixty feet at the very 
 least ; and a stone I should not care to 
 lift !" He looked up into Israel's face with 
 childlike admiration. 
 
 Israel pointed across the road to the 
 breach in the wall. "■ The more power one 
 puts into that sort of work, the worse for 
 everybody," he said. 
 
 '* But if you had the humor for con- 
 structing instead of destroying, what an 
 amount of fencing you could do in a 
 day !" 
 
 " You have stone-fencing to be done ?" 
 asked the young fellow, quickly. 
 
 "A mile or more. This is my place, 
 which I am trying to get into good shape. 
 See — " John Eaton put his hand on Israel's 
 arm and pointed. "" I own from where we 
 stand to the top of that farther hill. Mill- 
 ions of rocks ! The place has never been 
 properly improved." 
 
 " How much will you pay by the yard 
 
 for fencing ?" 
 
 A shilling, and furnish the team," replied 
 21 
 
142 GRA Y: AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 Mr. Eaton, trying to make this sound 
 business-like. 
 
 '' I will do some of it for you." 
 
 " You !" cried John Eaton in amaze- 
 ment. " Well, well, I am in luck. The 
 unexpected happens. Come, come with 
 me before you change your mind." So he 
 led Israel across the fields to his home, 
 chatting gayly all the way. 
 
 Did he charm Israel by the refinement 
 and gentleness of his manner ? 
 
 I know what kind of a man John Eaton 
 was. I know this from what my husband, 
 who was his ward, and Horace Penman, 
 who was his bosom friend, have told me. 
 Winthrop loved him more than he loves 
 me, and Mr. Penman says that in the 
 course of his long life he has never met 
 another character so noble. In Oldhaven 
 he was little known ; for although his 
 name stood in the catalogue of the uni- 
 versity as '' Professor of Anglo-Saxon", his 
 duties in that connection were slight, and 
 he was rarely seen in the town, except as 
 driving to or from the library in an old- 
 fashioned carriage with shining brass trim- 
 mings. On such occasions the multitude 
 of books to be returned or to be taken 
 away, almost filling the interior of this 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 1 43 
 
 stately vehicle, might well have raised a 
 doubt in the minds of onlookers as to 
 whether the center of learning was the 
 college or '' Westwood." 
 
 As for his manners, John Eaton was one 
 of those Americans who imagine the man- 
 ner of cultivated foreigners to be perfec- 
 tion itself, and who place this ideal before 
 them as a model. They are therefore 
 striving, not to be English or French or 
 Italian, but to be perfect. Amiable illu- 
 sion ! 
 
 Did he charm Israel by the refinement 
 and gentleness of his manner? I shall 
 answer that question presently. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 O then, Israel fell to hauling and 
 piling stones — an occupation into 
 which he put all his heart and 
 all his strength, knowing that 
 every rod of fence constructed meant so 
 many miles of his southward journey made 
 easy and swift. 
 
 As for John Eaton, he took his morning 
 cigar in the fresh air, watching Israel's 
 progress with silent delight ; and in the 
 afternoon left his books — even the transla- 
 tion of Beowulf which he was making — 
 to study the great muscles of this young 
 giant's bared forearm and throat. 
 
 '' There !" he would say to himself. 
 " There is the explanation of those incred- 
 ible feats recorded of the northern hero. 
 Beowulf SAvims five days through the icy 
 sea, tracks foul spirits to their den beneath 
 the water. Impossible ? Why no. Here 
 am I now, shivering under my warm over- 
 coat while that young fellow welcomes 
 the keen air to his bared breast. He is a 
 step backwards tOAvard the noble past. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 14S 
 
 He is a connecting link between ourselves 
 and the heroes. I am giving my life to 
 the study of heroic lives — to the depiction 
 of inspiring careers in quaint language. 
 Alas ! I have given it away. It is too 
 late now for me to change. But I was not 
 made of heroic stuff. I may at least try 
 to be great enough to admire that which 
 I am myself not able to become, and to 
 admire without envy. God help me ! 
 .... I could love a man with such a 
 chest as that." 
 
 Then the good gentleman would per- 
 haps speak a few kind, modest words to 
 Israel, (calling him James Johnson, for 
 Israel had retained this alias,) or forget 
 himself completely in the absorbing inter- 
 est of a great question which had occu- 
 pied his mind for a year. 
 
 "A long period of gestation," he would 
 admit. " I must soon be delivered of this 
 happy thought which I know is some- 
 where in my brain, and which, when it 
 issues, will reconcile the harsh expressions 
 of the ancient original with the refine- 
 ments of modern taste." 
 
 He was in search of a measure which 
 would suit the great Old English poem, 
 and yet be musical. 
 
14^ GRA Y: AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 One afternoon when this whimsical 
 question was fairly burning within him, he 
 came up and stood by his hired man. 
 Strangely enough, it seemed to him that 
 if Israel should open his mouth to speak, 
 his first words would contain the answer. 
 He looked long and earnestly at the youth, 
 so that Israel smiled, but said nothing and 
 continued his work without a pause. 
 Then John Eaton walked aside, and the 
 solution which had seemed ready to come 
 to him became again only a faint possi- 
 bility. Then he turned back and passed 
 by Israel : again the answer almost at- 
 tained, — a throbbing at his ears which, 
 if he could quite catch it, would be the 
 accents of the long-sought rhythm, — a 
 wavering line before his eyes, that was 
 almost a perfect verse. Then, when he 
 had passed the silent workman, the old 
 vacancy and impossibility. 
 
 '' Why this," said he to himself, " this 
 is the children's game of ' Hot and Cold'. 
 I am nearer the idea when I am near 
 Johnson." And he returned to him, say- 
 ing : ''My dear man, would it be asking too 
 much of you to come to me when you are 
 rested this evening, — to come to me in my 
 study ? I have something to read to you." 
 
MRS. EAION'S VERSION 147 
 
 Of course Israel assented. 
 
 The same evening Israel entered the 
 study, — a large room almost destitute of 
 furniture ; red curtains drawn close ; not 
 a picture upon the walls, or other decora- 
 tive object to be seen save, above the 
 simple fire-place, a bronze statuette of the 
 Venus of Melos. The entire center of the 
 room was filled by a table, so large that 
 one could scarcely reach objects placed 
 farthest from its circumference. There 
 was a litter of papers and books upon this 
 table. 
 
 John Eaton asked Israel to sit before 
 the fire and, in order to make him feel at 
 home, spoke first about the study. 
 
 '' This room," he said, '' is for earnest 
 thought ; and I, who am by nature prone 
 to rambling fancies, have removed from it 
 every object the sight of which might 
 tempt my mind to wander away from the 
 subject I have placed before me. Concen- 
 tration: that is the Avatchword of my 
 sanctum. To encourage myself in con- 
 centration, 1 banish whatever suggests the 
 outside world or its inhabitants. Even 
 books I am not using I will not have here. 
 
 " When I first took up my quarters here, 
 1 was less strict. Then I allowed myself 
 
14S GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 one picture at a time, — as the Japanese 
 do, who you know, however many works 
 of pictorial art they may possess, enjoy 
 these one at a time, keeping the others 
 rolled up and put away. But soon I 
 found that in this way I was destroying 
 my relish for my entire collection. 1 
 noticed that after a week or so each 
 picture in turn began to seem inferior." 
 
 " Did you try landscapes ?" asked Israel. 
 
 " No : my windows are my landscapes. 
 The prospect from these being so fine, 
 I have never felt a need for landscape 
 painting. The lack in my household is 
 the lack of society, of friendly men and 
 women and children. So 1 have peopled 
 it with creatures of art, — representations 
 of human beings who become familiar 
 and endeared to me little by little and do 
 very well in the place of real people. 
 
 ''But as I was saying, the pictures 
 which pleased me most in other rooms of 
 the house for some mysterious reason lost 
 their charm quickly when exhibited here." 
 
 " Was this copy of the Venus standing 
 here at that time?" Israel asked. 
 
 *' Yes. I never will be separated from 
 that. I bought it years ago in Rome ; 
 and how many of my better impulses have 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 149 
 
 been inspired by its perfections I hardly 
 dare assert. My opinion would sound 
 extravagant." 
 
 Israel suggested that the contrast with 
 this Venus spoiled modern pictures. 
 
 John was thoughtful for a moment and 
 then beamed upon him, saying, " You are 
 right." 
 
 Then the simple-minded John Eaton 
 exclaimed : ^* Now we are students to- 
 gether, you and I ; for we have considered 
 a nice question in criticism and you have 
 helped me out of the difficulty. You have 
 the master-key, taste, — an inborn love of 
 the best. I thought I could not be mis- 
 taken. Do you know, now I feel that you 
 have a perfect right, even in my study. I 
 feel that you are at home here. The same 
 quality, I trust, will make you feel at ease 
 with me." 
 
 This was said in an appealing, modest 
 way, which won a polite response from the 
 younger man. 
 
 " I am quite at ease with you, sir ; but I 
 attributed that to your cordiality rather 
 than to any merit in myself." 
 
 " Now let me tell you why I asked you 
 to come to me this evening, — that is, if 
 you are not tired." 
 
ISO GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 " Not a bit, sir. On the contrary, I am 
 eager to hear." 
 
 Thereupon John Eaton took up from 
 the table a small volume neatly bound in 
 black. It was the copy of Beowulf which 
 Winthrop still treasures for his foster- 
 father's sake, and from which 1 have 
 gained some knowledge of the poem. 
 
 "■ I have had my translation bound in 
 with the text, page for page, line for line, 
 as you see it," said Eaton. " But, dear 
 me ! 1 have not told you what it is." 
 
 He handed the book to Israel and 
 leaned back in his chair, crossing his 
 knees with the evident intention of begin- 
 ning deliberately. 
 
 '' It is a story, a very old story, — yet 
 you may find in it if you choose the story 
 of yourself." 
 
 " Of my future, perhaps," said Israel. 
 *' There is nothing interesting or worth 
 telling in what I have done up to this 
 time." 
 
 '' May-be, may -be. I do not read the 
 stars or the lines of the hand ; but I love 
 to forecast the future of young people. 
 If you had lived in the time long gone by, 
 when Beowulf lived, you would have 
 been like him ; and if Beowulf were alive 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 15 1 
 
 to-day, 1 think he would look like you, my 
 dear Johnson." 
 
 " So this is the Anglo-Saxon poem of 
 Beowulf ?" said Israel, opening the volume. 
 
 "• You know it? You have read it?" 
 
 " No. But in the history of English 
 literature I studied, there was an account 
 which interested me of the single manu- 
 script — of the ninth century, was it not ? — 
 in which the poem exists." 
 
 John Eaton leaned forward and spoke 
 eagerly : " Yes, a single manuscript, in 
 part illegible, contains this precious relic 
 of antiquity. I studied that long and 
 zealously in the British Museum, making 
 my text from it. The time seemed to fly 
 in this congenial occupation, which trans- 
 ported my spirit to remotest ages when 
 the figures of men were godlike and the 
 ambitions of the greatest were noble and 
 simple. Those were happy days. It 
 seemed to me then that the words of the 
 original yielded their meaning so easily 
 that it would have been profanation to 
 tamper with them, to put our flimsy 
 modern forms of speech in their place, to 
 translate. But I have changed my mind 
 in that respect. If only the antique 
 thought could be interpreted to our 
 
152 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 understanding in the right way ; if the 
 most noble of our modern words could be 
 cast into a form of verse preserving the 
 movement of the original, yet musical 
 according to our taste, that would be 
 grand ! Why, even for educational pur- 
 poses, there is more of real value to be 
 learned from this poem than from a dozen 
 dry-as-dust histories of Old Germany and 
 Old England ! 
 
 " I have for the last ten or twelve 
 months been trying to hit upon just the 
 right metrical form in which to cast my 
 translation. As you see it there, in the 
 book you hold, it is literal, — line for line, 
 word for word, so far as possible. 
 
 " I want to read you a few of the best 
 passages, and I will sketch the story up to 
 the point where they begin. 
 
 " Hrothgar was king of the Danes, and his kinsmen 
 gladly obeyed him inasmuch as he had fortune in war, 
 honor in battle. 
 
 " It came into his mind that he would command his 
 subjects to construct a great mead-hall, in which he 
 might feast and distribute treasures to young and to 
 old and dispense hospitality. 
 
 " In time all was ready. The hall towered aloft, high 
 and long, the greatest and most splendid building of 
 those days. Hrothgar called its name Heorot. 
 
 " Together with his thegns he feasted within, distrib- 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 153 
 
 uted gifts and listened to the sound of the harp and the 
 clear song of the gleeman. 
 
 " But a mighty demon who abode in darkness began 
 to devise treacherous assaults. This grim stranger was 
 called Grendel, who ruled the moors, the fen and the 
 fastness. 
 
 " After the night had come, Grendel went out to attack 
 the high house ; found therein a company of nobles 
 sleeping after the banquet. He took thirty of these and 
 with this feast of corpses fared home. 
 
 " The next night he inflicted a yet greater death-woe. 
 So did he war against right until the best of houses 
 stood empty and deserted. 
 
 " Twelve winters' tide the Danes endured his violence ; 
 therefore it became widely known that Grendel warred 
 against Hrothgar. 
 
 "This report was carried by traveling gleeman across 
 the strait to the Swedish Goths. Among these Goths 
 lived the strongest of mankind, Beowulf. 
 
 " Beowulf ordered that a ship should be made ready, 
 chose fourteen companions and set sail. He offered 
 his service to Hrothgar, 
 
 "The distressed king gladly accepted this offer and 
 departed out of the hall with his company of Danes. 
 He stationed a guard against Grendel ; but Beowulf 
 would trust neither to these nor to his own followers, 
 but to his own proud might. Then he doffed his iron 
 corselet, the helm from his head, and gave his sword to 
 a serving man, bidding him guard the war-trappings. 
 
 " Spoke then the hero certain bold words before he 
 ascended the bed : ' I do not count myself weaker in 
 battle or warlike deeds than does Grendel count himself. 
 Therefore I wish not to slay him with the sword. He 
 has no advantage of weapons. If he dare seek me, 
 then the wise God shall award glory even as to him it 
 seems meet. 
 
154 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 " Bowed himself then the valorous : the pillow 
 received his face. Round about him many a keen 
 sea-fighter bent to his rest within the hall. Not one 
 of them thought that he should thence seek his beloved 
 land again. 
 
 "The shade-wanderer came, advancing in murky 
 night. The spear-men who should have defended the 
 aniler-crowned house slept, — all save one. 
 
 " From the moor came Grendel advancing under 
 misty cliffs : God's ire he bore. The wicked enemy 
 of the human race meant to seize upon some one in the 
 high hall ; strode under the clouds until he full well 
 perceived the guest-house, the gold hall, variegated 
 with golden plates. That was not the first time that he 
 had sought Hrothgar's home ; but in the days of his 
 life he never found a sturdier man. To the building 
 came then the joyless creature. The door soon gave 
 way, although fastened with forged bands, so soon as 
 he touched it with his hand. The plotter of evil dashed 
 open the building's entrance, for he was enraged. 
 
 " Quickly after that the fiend trod on the checkered 
 floor, moving in wrathful mood. From his eye shot a 
 hateful gleam, likest a fiame. He saw in the building 
 many men, a band of friends sleeping together, a num- 
 ber of kinsmen-warriors : then his heart laughed. The 
 accursed being thought that ere the day came he would 
 sever each one's life from the body ; for in him was 
 aroused the hope of a full feast. 
 
 " The wretch thought not to delay, but quickly seized 
 the nearest, a sleeping warrior, tore him at unawares, 
 devoured his fiesh, drank his streaming blood, greedily 
 swallowed bite after bite. Soon had he feasted upon 
 every morsel of the lifeless one. 
 
 " Forth he stepped nearer ; laid hands upon the stout- 
 hearted Beowulf as he lay upon his bed. The enemy 
 reached out against him with his hands. But Beowulf 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION I 55 
 
 quickly seized the menacing one and leaned upon his 
 arm. 
 
 "The author of evils soon discovered that he had not 
 met upon this mid-earth in another man stronger hand- 
 grip. He became fearful in mind and soul : none the 
 more could he escape. 
 
 " He fain would have fled to his lurking place and 
 haunt of devils. The good hero bethought him then of 
 his promise, stood upright and grappled him fast. The 
 giant's fingers burst as he strove outwards. The earl 
 stepped in front of him. 
 
 "That was an evil excursion, when this mischievous 
 spirit went to Heorot, dinned the lordly hall : All the 
 Danes who dwelt in the city had their ale spilled. 
 
 " Wrathful were both the struggling mighty chiefs. 
 The building resounded. Then was it great wonder 
 that the guest-hall withstood the war-beasts : but it was 
 fast within and without with iron bands, forged with 
 workmanlike care. 
 
 " Then from its prop was wrenched many a gold- 
 adorned mead bench, where the enemies fought. Little 
 had the wise men of the Danes thought that ever any 
 man could by force break it asunder, the goodly and 
 horn-decked hall, — unless arms of flame should swallow 
 it in smoke. 
 
 " Strange clamor arose. Direful fear seized upon 
 the Danes, every man of them, — of those who from the 
 wall hearkened to the outcry : the enemy of God sing- 
 ing his frightful lay, his cry of defeat, — the thrall of hell 
 bewailing his wound. 
 
 " He who was strongest of men in that day of this 
 life held him too fast. The protector of earls would 
 not for anything leave the murderous guest alive, nor 
 did he deem his life useful to any people. 
 
 "Then many of Beowulf's earls brandished their 
 swords and would have shielded the life of their lord 
 
15^ GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 and renowned chief, if so they might. The brave sons 
 of strife, when they attacked Grendel and thought to 
 hew him and seek his soul, knew not that the choicest 
 blade in the world could take no effect upon the mighty 
 plague : for he had spelled him against victorious 
 weapons. 
 
 " Yet his life-parting must be wretched and the lone 
 spirit journey afar into the power of fiends ; for he 
 who had been mirthful only as he framed many 
 treacheries against mankind discovered now that his 
 body would not follow him, but the bold Goth held 
 him by the hand. Each was loathed by the other. 
 
 " Bodily pain awaited the grisly wretch ; on his 
 shoulder appeared a mortal wound ; his sinews sprang 
 apart, the bone-casings burst. To Beowulf was allotted 
 the honor of the conflict. 
 
 " Sick unto death fled Grendel under the moor-cliffs, 
 to seek his joyless dwelling. He knew only too well 
 that his life's end was come, the measure of his days. 
 
 " After the deadly struggle, the wish of all the Danes 
 had been accomplished. He who came from afar, wise 
 and stout-hearted, had cleansed Hrothgar's hall, — had 
 freed it from assault. Heorot was filled with friends." 
 
 Here John Eaton paused ; for he sud- 
 denly bethovight himself that, carried away 
 by his enthusiasm for the poem, he was 
 giving more than a mere sketch of its plot. 
 His voice had grown sonorous, and his 
 face expressed the force of his subject 
 while he recited the story. The gentle 
 scholar was fairl}^ transformed. Then 
 with a sudden change of tone he added : 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 157 
 
 "■ And so forth and so on, my dear John- 
 son. It, is a tale of the glory of conflict, 
 leadership. Beowulf is grand because he 
 is the strongest and leads." 
 
 '' What was the fate of the hero?" asked 
 Israel. 
 
 '' After other noble exploits," said Eaton, 
 '' Beowulf was made king of the Goths. 
 He ruled th'e people well for fifty years. 
 Then a fire dragon began to lay waste the 
 land. Beowulf slays the dragon, but is 
 himself mortally wounded. That is per- 
 fect art, because it is necessary. No 
 other termination of such a career would 
 be artistic. What would we have ? The 
 hero struggles nobly throughout his life 
 and perishes in the arms of victory. A 
 hero is not a god, to conquer always." 
 
 " Then a hero's character is imperfect, 
 and his end is tragical ?" 
 
 '' Yes : in the very nature of things." 
 
 '' But the hero is supposed to be the 
 highest type of manhood." 
 
 " Yes : I love to read about them, and 
 
 so to pass in their companionship, as it 
 
 were, the hours which other men employ 
 
 in social pleasure, because they are so 
 
 much nobler than the men of to-day." 
 
 '' There are no heroes then to-day ?" 
 22 
 
IS8 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 " That I am not willing to say ; but I 
 know none." 
 
 '' I know none of the kind you describe. 
 But is there not a higher t}- pe possible to- 
 day ? Are there to-day no Beowulfs with- 
 out the tragical chapter, — who triumph 
 from first to last, — who overcome the 
 fire-dragon without being scathed ? That 
 would be still more admirable, would it 
 not?" 
 
 '* Ye-es," replied John Eaton, doubtfully. 
 " That might be more admirable. But 
 then there would be no saci-ifice ; and the 
 element of self-sacrifice is necessary to the 
 conception of a hero. Why, a man always 
 successful would be selfish. Take away 
 the element of self-sacrifice from your hero 
 and there remains a devil !" 
 
 '' Then it follows," said Israel very quiet- 
 ly, '' that there is a more admirable type 
 than hero, — namely, devil : not an inferior 
 devil, like Grendel, but a clever devil, 
 superior to the hero and unscathed by the 
 dragon. Let us give the new t3^pe a name : 
 The Devil of Selfishness." 
 
 '* But," said John Eaton, much perplexed, 
 " but that is an ideal unattainable by mor- 
 tals ; for mortal man cannot always suc- 
 ceed, always combat for his own selfish 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 1^9 
 
 cause and be always victorious and saved 
 harmless." 
 
 " Cannot !" cried Israel scornfully. " Can- 
 not? Until his powers fail and together 
 with his powers desire ceases, and so the 
 whole story is perfectly rounded off, — no 
 tragedy, no defeat ? A man can assert 
 himself so long as he desires that and then 
 cease to exist ! From what you yourself 
 say, Mr. Eaton, this seems a more perfect 
 ideal than that of the hero. For instance, 
 this would be the tone of such a life : Suc- 
 cess, gladness, assurance of superiority — 
 everywhere and at all times, as in this pas- 
 sage ": — 
 
 (He opened the volume of Beowulf and 
 read, wilfully misreading John Eaton's 
 translation.) 
 
 " Then from the moor came, under the mist-cliffs, 
 Grendel striding, scorning the wrath of God " 
 
 " Stop ! stop !" cried Eaton, springing 
 from his chair and evincing the wildest ex- 
 citement. '' Read those lines again ! Wait 
 one moment, till I get paper"; and with a 
 trembling hand he seized a pen, dipped 
 the wrong end into the ink bottle, flung it 
 away and snatched up another. " Now, 
 now, read those lines again, please. For- 
 
l6o GRA Y : AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 give me, but read quickly ! Oh, no ! never 
 mind. lean remember them. How could 
 I ever forget ? 
 
 Then from the moor came, under the mist-cliffs, 
 Grendel striding, scorning — no, bearing — the wrath of 
 God." 
 
 John Eaton wrote down the words in 
 sprawling, irregular characters ; then, with 
 the energy of delight, seized Israel's hands 
 and wrung them, beaming the while into 
 his face through tears of joy. 
 
 " That is it, — the lost metre ! A happy 
 inspiration has revealed the secret. You 
 have given me what I have sought so long 
 and vainly !" 
 
 Israel was one of those players who 
 know when to stop. He had won largely 
 in two casts, — in the suggestion about the 
 Venus and in discovering the metre — so 
 he pocketed his winnings, as it were, and 
 while admiration was still lighting the 
 eyes of his master, took his leave and re- 
 tired to his room. 
 
 These were Israel's thoughts, and this 
 is the answer to the question at the end of 
 the preceding chapter : 
 
 " This man John Eaton is more of a fool 
 than I am. His ambition is more extrava- 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION l6l 
 
 gant than my own, because, as anyone 
 ought to see at a glance, that old fossil of 
 a poem has no music in it. It is his mine : 
 and there is no gold in his mine but what 
 he takes in himself. 
 
 '' Even if he should succeed, what good 
 would it do him ? His world is the past ; 
 and dead men cannot return to praise him. 
 He does not care for the praise, as he 
 could not support the criticism, of these 
 degenerate times, as he calls our own 
 times. He is pure, unselfish, enthusiastic, 
 elevated, trustful : that is to say, he is an 
 old fool." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 N the second Sunday of his stay 
 at '' Westwood," Israel became 
 restless. The almost feverish 
 work of the week being followed 
 by a day of complete rest, the change was 
 too sudden. Accordingly he strolled out, 
 intending to see something of the town. 
 
 He walked across-country towards East 
 Rock, meaning to return from that point 
 through the streets. Coming to the ridge 
 along which ran Tutor's Lane, he turned 
 to follow this wood-road. 
 
 There are not even now any dwelling- 
 houses at this point ; but thirty years ago 
 the road was much more wild and much 
 less frequented. 
 
 Israel was walking along rapidly, saying 
 to himself : " My service is ended. I 
 have enough now, putting what I have 
 earned with what I brought with me, to 
 take me to the end of my journey. Yes, 
 to-morrow I shall go, without warning 
 that simpleton, John Eaton. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 163 
 
 " At last 1 am free ! I am perfectly free 
 now for the first time in my life ; for I 
 have the means to do what I will, and there 
 is nobody hanging about my neck." 
 
 A piercing shriek, a cry of mingled joy 
 and terror, seemed to proceed from the 
 earth itself just behind him. Israel turn- 
 ed sharply about. There, a few feet from 
 the edge of the road, a woman was crouch- 
 ed upon the ground. 
 
 Lilly! 
 
 The woman was trembling so that she 
 could not rise or speak. Her face was 
 deadly pale, her eyes like those of a wound- 
 ed animal. 
 
 Israel stood looking down at her, — at 
 her stained dress and disordered hair, at 
 the dark lines under her eyes, at her white, 
 quivering lips. Then he said : 
 
 '' Lilly, what are you doing here ?" 
 
 '' Oh, come to me !" she moaned. ^' Don't 
 you see me ?" 
 
 At first Lilly was too overjoyed to think 
 of anything except the recovered lover. 
 
 At length Israel compelled her to ex- 
 plain. Then she told of the sorrowful 
 birthday in Oskawask : how she had wait- 
 
164 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 ed for his coming, and finally the sisters, 
 dear Grace and Gertrude, had come, think- 
 ing Lilly might know where he was ; how 
 she had then gone back with them to 
 Israel's home. 
 
 '' And, oh, my darling husband ! there 
 we sat, four helpless women (for even 
 your mother seemed helpless) and waited. 
 Worthless, weak women, who must wait 
 and suffer ! How I wished I could be a 
 man then !" • 
 
 " You had father and Samuel," inter- 
 posed Israel. 
 
 " Yes, but your father went down to the 
 falls, and back and forth between the falls 
 and the house : that was all. Samuel went 
 about his work as usual : he has no heart ! 
 Oh, I mean a man, like you, my superb- 
 ness ! . . . We waited all through the day 
 until evening ; then your mother rose 
 and with a little sob which broke my heart, 
 she is so cheerful and brave usually, she 
 put away the " — (Lilly herself sobbed) 
 *' the presents for your birthday. ... Is 
 this you ? Really, truly you ?" 
 
 Words failed her, and she clung to him 
 in order to assure herself of this possession, 
 this precious fact. Her face was hidden, 
 pressed against his breast. As for his face, 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION idj 
 
 which she could not see, can you conceive 
 the expression of disgust rendering a 
 beautiful face perfectly ugly ? 
 
 As though she had drawn force and 
 confidence from him, Lilly continued : 
 
 '' Then the others went about their work 
 again ; but I waited and waited, day after 
 day, until all hope was gone. No, not 
 that ; for when I began to despair I began 
 to hope again. I saw that it would kill 
 me to give up hope. ... I resolved to 
 find you, and set out alone. I took the 
 southern road because your thoughts al- 
 ways took that direction. I inquired as I 
 went. The first day there was no trace." 
 
 it will be remembered that Israel made 
 this portion of the way by night. 
 
 " The next day I was about to give up 
 
 and try another direction, when?" 
 
 here Lilly began to laugh and grow 
 radiantly happy as she recalled the first 
 encouragement — '' I met a milkman, who 
 said that on the very da}^, you know, 
 Friday, he had been stopped in the early 
 morning by a young fellow who asked for 
 a drink of milk and offered to pay for it. 
 And he said he had — I mean, you had — a 
 mark on your cheek. Do you see ! Even 
 he knew you were magnificent ! 
 
1 66 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 '' So I went forward until I came to the 
 foot of a long hill, where I took the wrong 
 road." 
 
 " Was there a sign-post at the cross- 
 roads ?" Israel asked. 
 
 " Yes, with nothing on it but names of 
 people and hearts and darts carved in it," 
 laughed Lilly. 
 
 It was there that Israel had been over- 
 taken by the farmer. Lilly had had no 
 such good fortune, but had toiled up over 
 the hill only to find that she had come 
 miles out of the way and in consequence 
 must take a road which enters Oldhaven 
 from the north-east. 
 
 She had met expenses on the road with 
 the little money saved up for her wedding. 
 Her last stopping place was a few miles 
 from town. " On the other side of that hill," 
 she said, pointing to Mill Rock. She had 
 been so weak and ill in the morning that 
 she could not stir ; but in the afternoon 
 had mustered strength enough to come 
 so far. Here she had been resting when 
 she had seen Israel pass, and cried out. 
 
 '' My darling little lady, you have done 
 all this for me !" exclaimed Israel ; and by 
 that one sentence Lilly felt more than 
 rewarded for all. 
 
MRS. EATON* S VERSION l6y 
 
 Then he soothed her, tellmg her that he 
 had been earning money for her ; that this 
 was necessary in order that they might be 
 married ; that he had not told her his in- 
 tention lest she should have refused her 
 consent. 
 
 Then he persuaded her to return to the 
 house, on the farther side of the Rock, 
 from which she had just come. 
 
 '' Of course 1 can let you stay there 
 until to-morrow only, — no longer than 
 that, — my dear little wife," he said, gayly. 
 " Meantime I look up a nice place for you 
 near where I am working. . . . Listen : I 
 have enough now to provide a little cot- 
 tage, with only two or three rooms to be 
 sure, but all the better. You cannot be 
 out of my sight when I come home from 
 work in the evening. It will be some dis- 
 tance from town, for I have not much, you 
 know, — but all the better : we shall have 
 no neighbors to interrupt us, and if you 
 feel lonely, you can just put on your 
 things and run over to watch me at work. 
 That will be good for your cheeks, my 
 dear, which are rather pale to-day ; and 
 after a little while you will not be lonely 
 
 even when I am gone ." 
 
 See that red brand on his face ! 
 
1 68 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 It was such a lonely road that Israel did 
 not hesitate to carry her in his arms part 
 of the way ; and when he left her near the 
 house on Second Lake, she was entirely 
 trustful. 
 
 The next day, Monday, Lilly waited 
 vainly until late in the afternoon. Then 
 an idea occurred to her which made her 
 hurriedly don her wraps and start out into 
 the cold air. 
 
 " He must have meant that I was to 
 meet him there, where we met yesterday," 
 she said to herself. 
 
 In her eagerness, she almost flew along 
 the road. 
 
 '' He will be waiting : he may be angry," 
 she thought. 
 
 Poor Lilly ! She stood alone, waiting 
 by the stone at the roadside until it grew 
 dark. 
 
 Then she returned alone, with a woeful 
 heaviness at her heart. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 ILLY LINCOLN was by no 
 
 means a helpless person, with- 
 out energy or resources in her- 
 self. The blind passion and com- 
 plete self-surrender with which she had 
 attached herself to Israel are not to be 
 mistaken for evidences of weakness ; for 
 indeed, in this matter of loving, it is 
 oftener the small and weak natures which 
 hesitate, deliberate and are wise in their 
 own interests. 
 
 After the first shock of her disappoint- 
 ment, she began to realize that there might 
 be some siniple and natural explanation of 
 Israel's not appearing at the appointed 
 spot in Tutor's Lane. It had occurred to 
 her immediately, as already suggested, 
 that her lover might even have waited for 
 her there until his patience was exhausted, 
 while she, through a misunderstanding, 
 had been expecting him at the farm-house 
 on Second Lake. This explanation she 
 clung to, because it seemed to make all 
 the fault her own. 
 
I70 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 " Or, if that is not it," she reasoned, 
 " he may have met with some accident. 
 Handling those heavy stones I have 
 always heard is very dangerous. Oh, if 
 he should be suffering away from me !" 
 
 She recalled also that charming picture 
 of domestic happiness which Israel had 
 painted in words that seemed to her more 
 glowing than the brightest colors of a 
 New England sunset. 
 
 So then, after a little, she had conquered 
 whatever bitterness or misery at first 
 entered her breast ; and if any doubt or 
 mistrust of Israel applied at the door of 
 her heart, she would not admit it or even 
 listen to it. She was a proud little woman 
 in her own way. Love and doubt could 
 not dwell together in her nature. 
 
 Israel was either justly angry with her 
 or he was in need of her. That he had 
 deserted her was quite unthinkable. Of 
 course she must search for him and find 
 him. 
 
 But he had not told her for whom he 
 was working : how should she set about 
 finding him ? 
 
 This is what she did : she went right 
 into the center of the town to inquire 
 for Mr. Penman. He had been in Oska- 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION IJI 
 
 wask the night before Israel's first disap- 
 pearance : there might be some connec- 
 tion between the two occurrences. He 
 might even have persuaded Israel to seek 
 his fortune in Oldhaven. 
 
 This thought made her pause. How 
 she would hate him if that were true ! 
 
 But after all, he was the sole person 
 whom she knew in all this strange town, 
 even by name. And then, too, he had 
 looked and spoken kindly that evening. 
 Surely he could not have been so wicked. 
 No, she Avould not believe it. 
 
 On little Lilly went, trying hard to look 
 very courageously, and painfully conscious 
 of the rustic and unfashionable dress she 
 wore as she passed in front of those sub- 
 stantial residences — which seemed to her 
 palaces — in the better part of the city. 
 
 " Will Israel be ashamed of me here 
 among all these fine people ?" she asked 
 herself. 
 
 On she went beneath that beautiful 
 Gothic arch of elms on Temple-street until 
 she came to the green. 
 
 She had a vague notion that upon arriv- 
 ing at the very center of the city she 
 would find one house much larger and 
 more splendid than all the rest, and there 
 
172 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Mr. Penman would live. He had seemed 
 to her so much finer than the neighbors in 
 Oskawask, when he was riding- through 
 on his way to Boston and when Israel had 
 given up his own room to this stranger, 
 that Lilly naturally thought he would be 
 finer and grander than all the inhabitants 
 here also. 
 
 At the green, however, the largest build- 
 ings were evidently not dwelling-houses. 
 On one side were chiefly shops and hotels ; 
 on another a row of brick factories or jails, 
 she thought ; then iiiany churches and 
 residences, among which she could not 
 decide upon the probable home of Mr. 
 Penman. 
 
 Wandering about with indecision for a 
 time, she finally mustered courage to 
 address a workman — one of many who, as 
 the custom then was, were idling upon 
 the corner of Church and Chapel streets, 
 waiting to be employed. Their rough 
 dress was more familiar to Lilly, who 
 feared to stop any of the fine gentlemen 
 who passed and, with a woman's instinct 
 in such matters, never dreamed of appeal- 
 ing to one of her own sex. 
 
 *' Can you tell me where Mr. Penman 
 lives?" she inquired. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION IJJ 
 
 The man thus addressed was a brutal, 
 stupid German, who stared at her pretty 
 face upturned towards his and made a 
 motion to put his grimy hand on her 
 shoulder. 
 
 She was about to turn and fly when a 
 middle-aged gentleman walked up to the 
 crowd of workmen and said : 
 
 " I want to hire two men by the week 
 to work for me on my place. They must 
 be strong fellows, for the work is heavy ; 
 but I am ready to pay you well and feed 
 you well. Which of you understands 
 fence-building?" 
 
 Something in this gentleman's voice or 
 manner informed Lilly that she could 
 speak to him without fear, so she turned 
 to him repeating her question : 
 
 " Can you tell me where Mr. Penman 
 lives, sir ?" 
 
 The German crowded her aside and 
 took off his cap deferentially before the 
 gentleman. 
 
 '' Mein Herr — " he began. 
 
 "What do you want?" the gentleman 
 demanded. 
 
 '' To work, gnad'ger Herr." 
 
 "• Don't you see the young lady has 
 spoken to me ? Stand aside !" 
 
 23 
 
174 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 The churl slunk away, casting an angry 
 look upon Lilly, to whom the gentleman 
 then spoke in the most kincll}^ amiable 
 way. 
 
 " Did you ask for Mr. Penman — Horace 
 Penman — child ? Why yes, he lives but a 
 few steps from here. I will accompany 
 you." 
 
 '' Oh, no, sir ! Don't take that trouble," 
 said Lilly, secretly hoping that he would, 
 however, for she felt wonderfully well 
 with this stranger. 
 
 " In one instant," he continued ; " as 
 soon as I have arranged with these men," 
 — and he chose two from among the appli- 
 cants, directing these to come to West- 
 wood ; then joined Lilly and walked with 
 her, smiling and chatting, along one of the 
 diagonal paths of the green. 
 
 Horace Penman and he were old friends, 
 he explained. He never came into town 
 without visiting him and had been on the 
 point of going there when she spoke. Mr. 
 Penman had been away for a fortnight 
 and had just returned. They would surely 
 find him at the house with his parents this 
 first morning. 
 
 A sense of security, of peace and quiet 
 happiness seemed to proceed from this 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 173 
 
 man and entered gratefully into the over- 
 taxed spirit of his companion. 
 
 When they reached Mr. Penman's house 
 on Temple street, Lilly found that it was 
 one she had passed without suspicion. It 
 was a plain, humble, wooden structure, in 
 general appearance much like the New 
 England farm-house, — one of many such 
 scattered throughout this city and, to- 
 gether with the abundance of trees, giving 
 to the whole the appearance of a large 
 village. There was a narrow strip of lawn 
 between the house and the street. In the 
 rear was a deep, old-fashioned garden. 
 
 There were two sufficient reasons Avhy 
 Mr. Penman, with his aged parents, lived 
 in so modest a mansion. 
 
 First, this house, standing upon this very 
 spot, had been inhabited by three genera- 
 tions of Penmen, Horace A., Horace B., 
 and now plain Horace. It Avould have 
 been unbecoming in the present represen- 
 tative if he had let the property pass into 
 strange hands. 
 
 The second reason, which may appear 
 sufficient in itself, was this : The third 
 Horace was, at that time, not independent 
 in money matters. A rising young lawyer 
 of good reputation, his clientage was still 
 
176 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 somewhat restricted ; and there being 
 several persons whose claims upon his 
 extremely moderate income seemed to 
 him equal or superior to his own claim, he 
 was only too happy to be able to keep up 
 the old family home, to offer its shelter, as 
 had been the custom of his father and 
 grandfather, to relatives visiting the city, 
 and in a word to maintain that unambitious 
 style of living, neither shrinking from 
 accustomed expenses nor inviting new 
 ones, which prevailed among the older 
 families. 
 
 They found Mr. Penman at home, being 
 treated for a severe cold contracted dur- 
 ing his horse-back excursion to Boston. 
 Lilly's kind guide was most solicitous 
 about his friend's health. Mr. Penman 
 reassured him and promised to be out in a 
 day or two at farthest. 
 
 " Then you must come to see me, my 
 dear Horace !" cried the other. '' Come 
 the very first day you feel up to it. I 
 have something important in a literary 
 way to communicate. I have found, or 
 rather a happy chance has revealed to me, 
 the proper metre of Beowulf. It is grand ; 
 and the manner in which it was discovered 
 is most singular and interesting. I owe it 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 177 
 
 all to a young man named Johnson 
 
 but I must not keep you now. Come as 
 soon as you can !" 
 
 He took leave of Lilly with especial 
 courtesy and, as he passed down the 
 street, turned to wave his hand to Mr. 
 Penman, who stood at the window watch- 
 ing him. 
 
 Lilly had begun to fear that she was for- 
 gotten when Mr. Penman crossed the 
 room to where she was sitting and placed 
 himself in front of her. 
 
 "Well, Miss Lincoln," he said, ''what 
 can I do for you ?" 
 
 This had an inifriendly sound to Lilly ; 
 but she answered with praiseworthy firm- 
 ness : 
 
 " I came to ask your assistance, sir ; but 
 I fear I intrude, and " 
 
 "Pray don't be offended. Miss Lincoln," 
 Mr. Penman hastened to interpose. " I 
 did not speak your name just now because 
 a lawyer can never know why people 
 come to him, and it occurred to me that 
 perhaps you might not care to have it 
 mentioned before a stranger. How are 
 they all at Oskawask, and especially, how 
 is the son, Israel ?" 
 
 Lilly told her story very simply and 
 
178 GRA Y : AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 concluded by asking Mr. Penman's aid to 
 find Israel. 
 
 At a loss for something better to say or 
 to do, Mr. Penman rubbed his hands to- 
 gether and repeated that well-worn formu- 
 la, " We will see what can be done ; we 
 will see what is to be done." Then he 
 tried to imagine what John Eaton would 
 do under like circumstances ; for the case 
 seemed one of peculiar delicacy. Perhaps 
 in this way he came upon a suggestion 
 which seemed at least a good beginning. 
 
 " You can be of great service to me, Miss 
 Lincoln," he said, "if you will take my 
 place with my parents while I go out in 
 this matter." 
 
 " Oh, do you think they would like it ?" 
 
 " I am sure they will," — and he went out 
 of the room, presently returning with a 
 tall lady of slight, erect figure, whose 
 sweet face was framed by snow-white 
 curls. 
 
 '' Mother," said he, " this is Miss Lincoln, 
 — one of those who were so kind to me in 
 Oskawask, you know. I wrote you about 
 it, don't you remember?" 
 
 Mrs. Penman blushed as she took Lilly's 
 hand, thanking her for the imputed hos- 
 pitality. Her son thought there was noth- 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION IJQ 
 
 ing SO lovely in the world as these girlish 
 blushes upon his aged mother's cheeks : 
 but then, Mr. Penman had not up to this 
 time ever had any other sweetheart than 
 his mother. 
 
 Then Lilly was taken to see the old 
 father, whose infirmities seldom allowed 
 him to quit the sitting room on the second 
 floor. Both these parents were delighted 
 with the pretty young country maiden, 
 who was accordingly left in their care — 
 or they in her's, as you choose to look at 
 it. 
 
 Mr. Penman was so extremely interested 
 in the matter that he could not remain 
 indoors, but, regardless of his doctor's 
 injunction, wrapped and bundled himself 
 warmly and went out to search for Israel, 
 wondering at the same time what he 
 should do with such a young Hercules 
 even if he succeeded in finding him. 
 Towards night he returned without hav- 
 ing accomplished anything further than 
 the restoration of his own health, for the 
 hard exercise in heavy clothing cured his 
 cold. 
 
 The following day he went to see John 
 Eaton and told him Lilly's story. 
 
 *' Now I thought the moment she spoke 
 
l8o GRA Y : AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 to me that there was something most in- 
 teresting in her sad young face !" cried 
 John Eaton. " But, dear me, I am always 
 imagining a romance for each new person 
 I meet. For instance that James Johnson, 
 who was working for me but a few days 
 ago : my dear Penman, nothing, positively 
 nothing, is impossible in connection with 
 that young man. How I wish he had re- 
 mained so that you might see him !" 
 
 '' The most hopeless feature of this case,'' 
 Mr. Penman continued, giving no heed to 
 what his friend had said, "• is that the man 
 who has betrayed and deserted this poor 
 girl cannot be frightened or coerced into 
 doing his duty by her. If we succeed in 
 laying hands upon him, he will resist and 
 make a bad matter worse." And then he 
 confessed how deep an impression the 
 young Israel had made upon him, that 
 evening in Oskawask, concluding with a 
 description of the beautiful, proud face. 
 
 John Eaton had become very thought- 
 ful. '' I promised to tell you about the 
 wonderful discovery of a new metre for 
 Beowulf," he said, "and this is the right 
 time." He spoke of the superhuman 
 strength and noble bearing which had 
 distinguished the adventurer and made 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION l8l 
 
 him seem a person peculiarly fitted to 
 enter into the spirit of daring adventure 
 so powerfully expressed in the old poem. 
 '' Well, then," he added gravely, " your 
 description of his appearance leaves no 
 room for doubt. Your Israel and my 
 Johnson are one and the same person." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 ATIGUE, exposure and excite- 
 ment had their natural effect 
 upon Lilly : she fell sick. 
 
 At one time she thought her- 
 self dying, and evidently had a great 
 weight upon her mind. Mr. Penman 
 strove to comfort her, and offered to re- 
 new his efforts to find Israel ; but she 
 smiled at this and said : 
 
 '' He will come. If only I could go out 
 to meet him in Tutor's Lane !" 
 
 Mr. Penman notified the family at Oska- 
 Avask of Lilty's sickness. They wished her 
 to return to them ; but she would not con- 
 sent to leave Oldhaven, where, as she per- 
 sisted in believing, she was to meet Israel. 
 
 These formal letters were the beginning 
 of an interesting correspondence, of occa- 
 sional visits and many passages of friend- 
 ship, in the course of which Mr. Penman 
 began to have a tender feeling for one or 
 both of the sisters, Grace and Gertrude. 
 
 It is to be noted that a great change was 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 1 83 
 
 coming over the Slyme family. Fortune, 
 which had averted its face throughout 
 several generations, began now to smile 
 upon them. The explanation of this change 
 has been given by Mr. Penman. They were 
 beginning to feel quite prosperous and in 
 the spring there was talk of damming the 
 weedy stream and putting up a small mill 
 immediately. These were happy days for 
 Jonathan Slyme, days of plodding indus- 
 try for Samuel, days of subdued grief for 
 the sisters, who mourned their brother and 
 their friend. As for Mrs. Sarah, she 
 directed everything and inspirited every- 
 body as usual. 
 
 So winter and spring passed and sum- 
 mer arrived. 
 
 One day towards the end of June, Mr. 
 Penman heard that John Eaton's only son 
 had died in Havana. He took occasion 
 soon afterwards to drive out to " West- 
 wood," in order to express to that dear 
 friend his heartfelt sympathy. 
 
 John Eaton gave to the conversation 
 which ensued a somewhat unforeseen 
 turn. 
 
 " How soon is the child expected ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 '' Very soon." 
 
1 84 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 " Would Madame Lilly consent to my 
 adopting it, think you ?" 
 
 " Yes : but under the circumstances she 
 is hardly to be consulted." Mr. Penman 
 told of her strange fancy about meeting 
 Israel at a certain spot in Tutor's Lane, 
 and of her earnest desire and futile efforts 
 to go thither each afternoon — a thing quite 
 impossible now, of course. Her mind was 
 undoubtedly affected, he said, although her 
 disposition remained wonderfully sweet. 
 
 John Eaton discussed the probable char- 
 acter of the expected. " If he should com- 
 bine the father's strength and brilliant 
 mind with the mother's heart and dis- 
 position, what a noble fellow that would 
 make !" he cried. 
 
 There remained one doubt to vitiate the 
 whole assumption. " How do you know," 
 Mr. Penman asked, '' how do you know 
 that it will be a boy ?" 
 
 John Eaton's countenance fell. '' It must 
 be," he said ; and Horace Penman saw 
 that his friend was thinking of the lost 
 son, who had never been much comfort to 
 his parents nor had ever returned his fath- 
 er's deep love. 
 
 Therefore Mr. Penman suggested no 
 further difficulties or doubts when his 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION l8S 
 
 friend proceeded to sketch the possibility 
 of training such a rich nature and bringing 
 forth excellent fruit. 
 
 Shortly after this conversation a male 
 child was born. 
 
 The young mother's love for this child 
 was something wonderful to behold. It 
 was an eager, fierce love. She could not 
 endure any other person's touching the 
 little stranger in pink or taking him from 
 her even for a moment. The dear old 
 Mrs. Penman shook her grey head over 
 such conduct. '' It is not natural," she 
 said. 
 
 Mr. Penrpan, for his part, saw with grief 
 that the good result he had hoped from 
 Lilly's confinement had not been realized. 
 On the contrary, symptoms which alarmed 
 him became daily more apparent. Lilly 
 would hold the child pressed close against 
 her face and speak to it by the hour, 
 quite forgetful of any other presence. At 
 such times she would utter thoughts which 
 a woman hides at the bottom of her heart, 
 speaking as though to her lover. Who- 
 ever chanced to be near then would tiptoe 
 away, leaving her alone with sacred joys. 
 
 Often she would look up if one spoke to 
 her and explain mildly : " It is not mine 
 
1 86 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 but for a little while. I must give it back 
 to its father, you see. So I am loving it 
 and telling it all I can while it is here." 
 
 No one guessed the real state of poor 
 Lilly's mind but Mr. Penman, who could 
 not bear to add this anxiety to his mother's 
 cares ; for which reason Mr. Penman under- 
 took himself to watch her and save her 
 from harm when his other occupations left 
 him free, — that is, of course, after doctor 
 and nurse had taken their departure. 
 
 It was with this thought uppermost in 
 his mind that he hurried home one even- 
 ing in July. The mother met him in the 
 hallway, looking pale and agitated. 
 
 " Mrs. Lilly has gone out," she said. 
 '' I do not know where. 1 went upstairs 
 to your father and when I came down 
 again — about an hour ago — she was miss- 
 ing. I did not know whether to send for 
 you. Oh, I fear it will do her much harm 
 to go out now !" 
 
 *' And the boy ?" Mr. Penman asked 
 quickly. 
 
 ''She must have taken it with her." 
 
 " Tell David to follow me in the buggy, 
 dear mother, right out Tutor's Lane." 
 
 It was plain enough. Mr. Penman felt 
 almost relieved that what he knew must 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION iSy 
 
 come sometime had occurred when the 
 air was so mild that Lilly and her child 
 would probably take no harm from ex- 
 posure to it. Without hesitation he bent 
 his steps towards Tutor's Lane, confidently 
 expecting to find her waiting for Israel at 
 the appointed place. 
 
 Quite far out on the road he met her 
 returning alone, her arms hanging free at 
 her side, a divine resignation glorifying 
 her pale, pure face. She smiled at Mr. 
 Penman, saying : 
 
 " He will be happy now ! He will take 
 baby first and after a while, when he has 
 money enough, you know, he will come to 
 meet me there. Oh, it is not far ! I can 
 easily walk out each evening until he 
 comes. And then I shall have them both 
 together. I pray God it may not be long, 
 sir, before he comes." 
 
 Mr. Penman told her to walk on slowly 
 until she should meet the carriage and 
 then drive home. He himself pressed 
 forward and found the child asleep, nicely 
 wrapped in the shawl which Lilly had 
 worn when she came to Oldhaven, by the 
 well-known rock near the roadway. He 
 took up this pitiful little bundle and car- 
 ried it by the nearest way to John Eaton at 
 
1 88 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 " Westwood," — retracing thus the course 
 which Israel had taken on that memorable 
 Sunday afternoon in November. 
 
 It was his intention to leave the child 
 with this kind friend only upon condition 
 that Lilly's delusion should continue and 
 she should be happy in the sacrifice. That 
 proved to be the case. Lilly continued 
 until her death to be an inmate of the 
 Penman home. She was very pale and 
 quiet and always wore a mysterious smile, 
 as though she knew her thoughts were 
 strange and that something wonderful 
 beyond belief was in store for her, which 
 no one else should hear about until the 
 time came. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 When the south wind, in May days, 
 With a net of shining haze 
 Silvers the horizon wall, 
 And, with softness touching all, 
 Tints the human countenance 
 With a color of romance — Emerson. 
 
 |0W gloriously Spring comes to 
 the southern mountains ! 
 
 How lofty are these moun- 
 tains ; yet timbered to their very 
 summits, rich in the flora of every clime, 
 rich in clear waters, in mineral springs, — 
 the source of noble rivers which run from 
 them into the Atlantic and the Gulf of 
 Mexico. 
 
 This was the delectable land of the 
 Indian tribes, their terrestrial paradise, 
 their happy hunting ground. 
 
 Those living here before the arrival of 
 the white adventurers had mastered a 
 certain science of government, together 
 with some of the arts of civilization. They 
 were the proud masters of all the neigh- 
 boring tribes. 
 
I go GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 But they were driven out by the white 
 man and their lands thrown open to set- 
 tlers, who poured in from the adjoining 
 States. 
 
 These whites were vagabond fellows, 
 welcoming an opportunity to live without 
 tilling the soil, coming with long, heavy 
 rifles and without hoes or plows. 
 
 The game which the Indians had pre- 
 served was exterminated by these ruth- 
 less, improvident scamps. 
 
 Now the old haunts of the deer are 
 invaded by half wild swine and lean kine 
 giving watery milk ; and the white men 
 eat dirt. 
 
 See these cabins of unhewn logs, partly 
 chinked with red clay. One room serves 
 for the entire family and oftentimes for 
 three generations, — tenants enough to 
 clear a few acres of land (leaving large 
 stumps), to scratch the surface and plant it. 
 
 They are not exactly a rough set, but in 
 their own phraseology a '' low-down " set ; 
 not actively vicious, but they lack little of 
 being nasty. They have parsons : scamps, 
 
 except the man J , who goes dirty and 
 
 hunts down converts as the local curs 
 hunt woodchucks. They have doctors of 
 medicine : these accuse each other of mal- 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION IQI 
 
 practice and themselves stand convicted 
 of ignorance. Illicit stills are everywhere. 
 They hardly recognize such a thing as 
 virtue in women. Faugh ! 
 
 A few of the aboriginal lords are left, 
 and these live where the waters divide, — 
 where the streams flow, some to the east 
 and some to the west. 
 
 Living together in a little village, these 
 have degenerated and become much like 
 the '' white trash ;" yet they still keep a 
 few of the old customs, — enough to make 
 them superior to their destroyers : they 
 are frugal, temperate and silent. 
 
 Here is the source of one of the rivers 
 emptying into the Atlantic Ocean : a single 
 shaft of spray, falling at once two hundred 
 feet over a brown cliff, softened with tufts 
 of grasses and flowers. Wooded walls of 
 a narrow valley enclose this perfect picture. 
 A pair of hawks circling above cast twin 
 shadows which course in swift silence 
 over sunny bank and silvery waters. 
 
 Here is the Indian village. Enter it. * 
 It seems deserted, for the inhabitants are 
 all assembled in one central building to 
 witness a wedding. 
 
 The spectators are ranged in a circle 
 about a young man and maiden. All 
 
1^2 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 stand, except the venerable chief, who is 
 seated near the bride and groom. 
 
 All are silent. The chief makes a ges- 
 ture, full of dignity ; and then the young 
 man speaks : 
 
 " I promise to supply our household 
 with game." 
 
 The young woman rejoins : 
 
 " I promise to supply our household 
 with bread." 
 
 This traditional formula, uttered in the 
 native language, defines the duties of man 
 and wife. 
 
 A murmur of assent comes from the 
 spectators. 
 
 Then the chief arises, takes from the 
 shoulders of the bride the blanket of many 
 colors which she wears, while the bride- 
 groom lays off his own, equally gay. 
 
 For a moment they stand thus, un- 
 clothed but unabashed, because they are 
 without blemish. 
 
 Again the murmur of assent from the 
 spectators. 
 
 Then the chief places the maiden's 
 blanket upon the shoulders of the man 
 and the man's upon the maiden. 
 
 In this manner the contract of marriage 
 is symbolized and evidenced. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION igj 
 
 Then the chief, with a gesture of dis- 
 missal, seats himself again. The cere- 
 mony is complete and the assembly dis- 
 solved. 
 
 One of the spectators and the chieftain 
 remain. 
 
 The latter deserves a few words descrip- 
 tion. He is an enormous man, — almost a 
 giant — still erect and powerful, although 
 evidently very old. 
 
 His feature are massive, ugly and yet 
 fascinating ; his eyes small, deeply set 
 and lustreless; nose broad; mouth firm, 
 with thin lips ; chin and jaw square, strong 
 and too prominent ; complexion colored 
 and marked like alligator-skin. Such 
 features in a white man would indicate 
 brutality ; but this Indian is wise and just. 
 
 The other man, who, riding-whip in 
 hand, now advances to interrogate the 
 taciturn chief, needs no further descrip- 
 tion. It is Israel. 
 
 *' Is there gold in these mountains ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 '' Where?" 
 
 " Everywhere." 
 
 " But not these wretched washings, that 
 pay no better than hoeing corn. A gold 
 mine ?" 
 
ig4 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 " What is mine f 
 
 '' Much gold together in one place." 
 
 A long pause before the answer comes : 
 *' Only in one place much gold — cursed !" 
 
 '' Cursed ?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 Israel produces a tobacco-pouch and 
 offers it to the chief, who gravely accepts 
 it and gives his own in return. The pipe 
 of peace has not yet burned out. 
 
 They sit opposite one another and 
 smoke in silence. At length Israel begins 
 again : 
 
 '' More about this gold." 
 
 The chief tells of a mighty prince, lord 
 of the Blue Mountain, who had once ruled 
 all the world. He was grand and wise 
 and rich — richer than all other men north 
 or south. 
 
 '' What was his wealth ?" 
 
 The Indian, being at a loss for the Eng- 
 lish word, thrust his hand into his pocket 
 and took out a magnificent specimen of 
 mica, saying : 
 
 " This, one ; gold, two." 
 
 " Ah ! he was rich in both mica and 
 gold, but thought most of the mica," 
 Israel explained. 
 
 The report was brought to this prince 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 195 
 
 by young men of a subject tribe dwelling 
 to the southward, that pale-faced strangers 
 had come to them in ships, which they at 
 first supposed to be sea-monsters. Moved 
 by curiosity, the Indians had flocked in 
 great numbers to the shore. 
 
 Then the white-faced stranger had taken 
 two, a man and a woman, to the ships, 
 dressed them and let them go free. 
 
 The king of the country, learning how 
 generously the man and woman had 
 been dealt with, sent fifty of his people, 
 bearing gifts. Then the white strangers 
 visited him and he received them hospita- 
 bly. 
 
 But these treacherous strangers invited 
 the Indians to visit their ships. When the 
 vessels were crowded with these innocent 
 people, they sailed away and never re- 
 turned, taking children from parents and 
 husbands from wives. 
 
 Then the lord of the Blue Mountain, 
 when he had heard these tidings, declared 
 that the prophecy had been accomplished ; 
 that a curse had fallen upon himself, his 
 home and his treasure ; that this pale- 
 faced stranger was the great enemy whose 
 coming had been foretold by their wise 
 men. 
 
19^ GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 ' The white men,' he said, ' are greedy 
 for the yellow metal, which we hold infe- 
 rior to mica, but which is their god. 
 
 * Upon us the curse will fall most heavily 
 because our mountain is the great source 
 of gold for all this region. The enemy 
 will be drawn hither, lusting after this, and 
 we must finally yield : so runs the pro- 
 phecy. 
 
 ' Cursed is this spot, formxcrly so blest. 
 Its blessing has become its curse. Go, 
 my children, leave me alone to guard our 
 riches, to drink alone the curse of the 
 place, to become like the poisonous weed 
 that grows upon the grave of the mur- 
 derer. Our treasure is our murderer and 
 this spot is cursed by the overthrow of a 
 mighty people.' 
 
 So he sat there and would speak no 
 more nor raise his eyes from the ground. 
 And the people were afraid and left him 
 desolate. 
 
 A few were faithful and would not go ; 
 but these he did not greet neither answer 
 their greeting. These sat also in silence, 
 gazing off towards the great waters, where 
 their foe was, until they saw their prince 
 arise and lift his eyes to the sky and speak 
 with the Great Spirit. Then he looked 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION Ip7 
 
 for the last time upon his servants and 
 went into the cavern. 
 
 *' What cavern?" cried Israel. 
 
 His treasure-house upon the Blue Moun- 
 tain. 
 
 Those waiting without presently heard a 
 sound as of moaning within the bosom of 
 the mountain, and this grew into a mighty 
 noise and a torrent burst forth, rushing 
 out from the cavern and leaping down the 
 mountain-side. But the cave had always 
 been dry, save for a little spring of sweet 
 waters. 
 
 They who saw this miracle cried : '■ The 
 curse has indeed fallen upon us ;' and they 
 ran fearfully away. 
 
 One, who was the prince's son, ventured 
 to return ; but the cavern was no more to 
 be found. Only a great and angry torrent 
 burst continually from the mountain-side. 
 
 " What has become of the descendants ?" 
 
 The old chief pointed westward. 
 
 *' What became of the prince?" 
 
 " He is there." 
 
 - Where ?" 
 
 "■ In. the cave, seated, looking down." 
 
 " Where is the Blue Mountain ?" 
 
 The chief pointed to the south-east. 
 " Where the high peaks sink into the 
 
ig8 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 bosom of the plain, the last, alone. No 
 man lives there. No man knows." 
 
 When Israel is about to ride out of the 
 village, a young Indian maiden who had 
 been present at the wedding, springs from 
 the bushes near where he has tied his 
 horse, looks upon him with the expression 
 of a wild animal in love, tears off a piece 
 of shining mica from a string of such rude 
 ornaments worn around her neck and fall- 
 ing down to her dark breasts, hands this to 
 him and, when he tries to seize her, slips 
 away with the nimbleness of a squirrel, 
 and he hears her laugh coming back 
 through the thicket. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 UST beyond the northern bound- 
 ary of South Carolina, the Blue 
 Ridge Mountains rise quite ab- 
 ruptly to an imposing height. 
 Far as the eye can see to the southward, 
 a vast pine forest covei's the undulating 
 country, traversed by streams flowing to 
 the south-east : a land of foxes and snakes 
 — few men. 
 
 Yet here and there human habitations 
 are to be seen. The visitor wonders why 
 they are located in such a desert ; but the 
 natives do not wonder or even think, — 
 they only '' 'low." 
 
 Offering a striking contrast to such un- 
 profitable acres, the bottom-lands along the 
 river-courses are extremely fertile. Unfor- 
 tunately these bottoms are narrow and the 
 market for their produce very distant ; 
 nevertheless planting on a considerable 
 scale has been done there by men of wealth 
 and a certain kind of energy. These plant- 
 ers formed a small class, distinctly supe- 
 
200 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 rior to the '' white trash " described in the 
 foregoing chapter and referred to in the 
 last paragraph. 
 
 Five of these planters met one afternoon 
 in July, at the house of one of their num- 
 ber. Inasmuch as they had the intention 
 of founding a city, it is but right that their 
 names and honors should be recorded 
 without delay. 
 
 Dr. Curesome was a very thin man, 
 smoking his pipe and drinking incessantly 
 and referring to his wife as authority for 
 every statement. 
 
 Dr. Oldboy was a theorist. He had a 
 theory for everything in heaven and upon 
 the earth. Furthermore, he was a fight- 
 ing, gaming parson. He was public-spirit- 
 ed and he did what he pleased. It is told 
 of him that when he thought the neighbor- 
 hood needed a Sunda)^ -school, he put up a 
 notice in the local post-office to the follow- 
 effect : Sunday-school at Dr. Oldboj^'s 
 house next Sunday morning. Every per- 
 son attending will receive five cents. C. 
 D. Oldboy. 
 
 Col. Owner was a polite, ease-loving, 
 generous Southerner, with cordial man- 
 ners and many noble traits of character. 
 
 '' Billy " Miller was local politician, 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 201 
 
 banker, postmaster, surveyor and whisky- 
 dealer. 
 
 These gentlemen, all well-dressed, were 
 seated on the veranda of Squire Lynch's 
 house. They wxre smoking, drinking 
 mint-julep and playing poker. 
 
 Squire Lynch was 'smoking, drinking 
 mint-julep and looking on over Col. Own- 
 er's shoulder. 
 
 Half-a-dozen negro boys, slaves and 
 body-servants of these gentlemen, were 
 standing within call. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the squire, "it is for 
 you to say, but I reckon we might stop 
 with this deal. You began, Billy," — ad- 
 dressing the colonel's left-hand neighbor 
 — ''so that makes it all square, I expect." 
 
 " I reckon I'll go out," said Curesome. 
 
 " Five," said Oldboy. 
 
 " Raise you twenty," said Owner. 
 
 " See your twenty -five," said Miller. 
 
 " Not yet," said Oldboy. " There's your 
 twenty-five and twenty more." 
 
 " There are your twenty and I raise you 
 the limit," spoke the colonel, betraying 
 some excitement. 
 
 " I'm not afraid of you, Owner," said 
 Miller, " but the parson's the devil. I 
 reckon I'll go out too." 
 
202 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 " Trust me for the limit. Four fours," 
 said the Rev. Oldboy. 
 
 '* Take in the pile, my friend," said the 
 colonel. " Caesar, you dog, another !" 
 
 The boy thus addressed was a genuine 
 African with a flat nose and nostrils so dis- 
 tended that they were like a pair of dark 
 eye-glasses perched upon his protruding 
 upper lip. He sprang forward and, took 
 away the colonel's tumbler to refill it. 
 
 Col. Owner pushed back his chair and 
 cleared his throat. " Now, gentlemen, for 
 larger game," he said. '' One win, all win 
 in this enterprise. You are sure there's 
 no doubt about setting off a new county, 
 Bill ?" 
 
 " Not the least. I have it straight from 
 the Governor's secretary, colonel." 
 
 " And the appropriation for the court- 
 house and jail?" 
 
 ''AH right, colonel." 
 
 " And the railroad to run through here ?" 
 
 Dr. Oldboy's hands were thrust into his 
 well-filled pockets. With great satisfaction 
 he answered : 
 
 "The petition and the subscription-list 
 are drawn up in the most satisfactory 
 manner. I did it myself. There can be 
 no question about the result, sir, — none. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 203 
 
 Why, sir, there must be a line of railroad 
 connecting the great ports and commercial 
 cities of the South with the grain and cat- 
 tle markets of the West. Where else can 
 it pass, sir, but by the foot of these moun- 
 tains ? Farther to the north it could not 
 run, sir. There is no pass through these 
 mountains ; and as for going farther south, 
 that is sheer folly. But wait " — and he 
 produced a folded paper, tied with red 
 tape and inscribed " Americus City." " I 
 have set forth the reasons and arguments 
 at length, and perspicuously here. This " 
 — laying the paper upon the table — " this 
 is entitled to convince our legislators." 
 
 " Regular as pig-tracks," said Miller, ap- 
 provingly. 
 
 " My wife shakes her head over it," put 
 in Dr. Curesome ; then, catching a smile 
 on his neighbor's face, he added quickly : 
 " But I reckon I rule the roost." 
 
 Col. Owner burst into a hearty laugh. 
 " Eh, Curesome ! The best part of the 
 popvilation in our southern country wears 
 petticoats, I reckon, eh ? Now then, gen- 
 tlemen, here is the plan of ' Americus 
 City,' — streets laid out, public squares, 
 rows of trees, building lots numbered. 
 Take a pencil and each put his name on as 
 
204 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 many lots as he wants. I will take the 
 rest." 
 
 '' How much shall we say for a town 
 lot?" asked Oldboy, deliberatively. 
 
 " Five hundred dollars at the very least." 
 
 '' Well, the land is only worth two dol- 
 lars an acre," ventured Curesome. 
 
 Everybody looked at him scornfully. 
 
 " Five hundred dollars, that's the figure. 
 It sounds handsome," said Miller. '' I 
 reckon I'll take this and this and this." 
 
 " Suppose we let it go round and take 
 one at a time," put in Oldboy. '' I mark 
 this corner lot." 
 
 '' My wife — I mean, I don't see what 
 good it will do if we don't get anyone else 
 to come in," observed Curesome with dif- 
 fidence. 
 
 '' What harm ?" asked Miller. 
 
 '' It will make a grand impression and 
 bring us lots of capitalists," said the fluent 
 Oldboy. 
 
 '' In fact that's all damned nonsense of 
 
 yours, Curesome, " began Squire 
 
 Lynch. 
 
 *' Sir !" cried the little man, starting to 
 his feet, his eyes flashing and all diffidence 
 at an end. 
 
 "Come, gentlemen both, let us leave 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 20S 
 
 abusive language to the Yankees, who em- 
 ploy such terms because they are afraid to 
 fight. You didn't mean that, squire, did 
 you now?" The speaker was Col. Owner. 
 
 '' For a fact I did not and I beg your 
 pardon. Shake my hand and take a drink 
 with me, neighbor," said Lynch. 
 
 The fire-eating but henpecked Curesome 
 allowed his ruffled feathers to subside and 
 proposed a toast : 
 
 " Well, here's to our city ! May her 
 
 citizens be many and her citizens be 
 
 many. I reckon that's about all there is 
 to be said." 
 
 At this moment the attention of all was 
 drawn to an approaching horseman. 
 
 '' I bet a coon it's Red Jones ! No : it's 
 nobody that lives around here," the Squire 
 said, judicially. 
 
 A stalwart young man, much sunburned, 
 drew rein at the gate, lifted his hat and 
 asked politely, '' Have I the honor to 
 speak to Squire Lynch ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, that is, my name is Lynch. 
 
 Won't you alight?" 
 
 " I bet five dollars he'll join our scheme," 
 said Oldboy. 
 
 " I take that," said Curesome. 
 
 The stranger came forward. '' Squire 
 
 25 
 
206 GRAY: AN' OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Lynch," said he, ''my name is James 
 Johnson." 
 
 *' Glad to see you, Captain Johnson. 
 This is Col. Owner, Dr. Oldboy, Dr. 
 Curesome and Squire Miller. Have a 
 seat, sir." 
 
 '' Squire Lynch," began Israel, after 
 saluting the other gentlemen as they were 
 introduced, " I have heard that there was 
 a prospect of building up a town here; 
 and as I was intending to make a small in- 
 vestment in lands somewhere in this neigh- 
 borhood, I decided to ride over and talk 
 with you about it, — that is, of course, at 
 your leisure. I see you are engaged at 
 present, and " 
 
 " You have come at the most favorable 
 moment, sir — Capt. Johnson," Dr. Oldboy 
 interrupted, with a greedy look in his face. 
 '' You could not have come at a better 
 time, sir ! The gentlemen present are all 
 promoters of this grand enterprise which 
 is destined to transform the face of the 
 surrounding country. You see here, sir, 
 in these few gentlemen, the wealth, the 
 aristocrac3^ the talent and the energy of 
 this entire region represented. What 
 should engage the attention of such gen- 
 tlemen, I ask ? What, but an undertaking 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 207 
 
 which will convert the wilderness into a 
 lovely garden, where thousands of their 
 fellow-beings will live happily and pros- 
 perously." 
 
 Curesome folded a five-dollar bill and 
 handed it to Oldboy. 
 
 '' Such was the theme of our conversa- 
 tion at the very moment of your arrival, 
 Captain Johnson ; and now let us proceed 
 to unfold the plan in all its details." 
 
 The six men drew up around the table, 
 from which cards and poker-chips had 
 been removed and, with the assistance of 
 various papers spread out before them 
 and the untiring imagination of Oldboy, in 
 less than one hour had constructed a thriv- 
 ing city, with busy shops and shaded 
 avenues, elegant residences, palatial hotels 
 — yielding a princely revenue to the 
 originators of all this prosperity. Israel 
 entered into the scheme Avith evident 
 enthusiasm. He led the van in extrava- 
 gant proposals, so that even Oldboy found 
 himself outdone in his own specialty. 
 
 But the latter was saving himself for one 
 crowning effort. 
 
 After he had made sure that '' Captain " 
 Johnson was fairly caught and a share of 
 his '' small investment " ready to drop into 
 
2o8 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 his, Oldboy's, pocket, he pointed to the 
 mountain with the attitude of an orator 
 approaching his climax. 
 
 " One thing, gentlemen," he said im- 
 pressively, " one thing, which I venture 
 to assert will be the grandest and most 
 unique feature of the future Americus 
 City. Look there, sirs ! Captain John- 
 son, look at that, sir !" 
 
 It certainly was a beautiful sight, the 
 near mountain-side, covered with enor- 
 mous forest trees, and it was to Israel a 
 strange sight ; for although very near at 
 hand, it was blue, as distant mountains 
 commonly are. 
 
 Then also it seemed to stand alone, inde- 
 pendently of the general range, and to be 
 more lofty and more regular in outline. 
 This symmetrical appearance was height- 
 ened by a white line, as though drawn 
 from a point near the summit perpendicu- 
 larly to the base. Dr. Oldboy's long fore- 
 finger indicated this peculiar white line. 
 
 " See that magnificent and unequaled 
 cascade, gentlemen ! What does that 
 mean to us ? It means, not merely an 
 object which will draw lovers of the 
 beautiful from all quarters of the earth as 
 soon as its existence becomes published 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 2og 
 
 abroad, and our railroad is put through, 
 but it means, here, right here, within a rod 
 of where we stand at this instant, if we 
 choose to have it here, a fountain ! Such 
 a fountain as the world has never seen — 
 three hundred feet high, sirs! Why not? 
 Nothing to do but to lay pipes from the 
 source of that cascade : that is all. Three 
 hundred feet ? — Five hundred ! Three 
 thousand ! As much pressure as the pipes 
 will stand — that is the only limit ! I have 
 sometimes desired, gentlemen, to go 
 abroad to see the Leaning Tower ; but 
 never, if it be possible for us to enjoy such 
 wonders as this fountain at Americus 
 City !" 
 
 The orator paused to note the effect of 
 this effort. '' Captain " Johnson seemed 
 deeply impressed. His gaze was fixed 
 upon the mountain. 
 
 '' Is this Blue Mountain ?" he asked. 
 
 '' Yes, captain." 
 
 " Then the proposed site of Americus 
 City will be a portion of the Blue Moun- 
 tain ; for this foot-hill must be regarded 
 as part of the mountain." 
 
 The five Southerners exchanged signifi- 
 cant glances. 
 
 '' I have heard very unfavorable reports 
 
210 GRA Y: AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 about the Blue Mountain," Israel con- 
 tinued. " Is the climate bad ?" 
 
 "As for climate," cried Oldboy, ''did 
 you never hear of the ' thermal belt,' Cap- 
 tain Johnson ? No ? That is perhaps the 
 most wonderful thing of all. Why, sir, 
 there is a band or strip or belt of this moun- 
 tain, say one thousand feet in width and six 
 or eight miles long, in which there is never 
 any frost. It is distinctly warmer, sir, per- 
 ceptibly warmer than the land above or 
 below. So much is this the case, that I 
 have seen, after a snow storm, the ground 
 white above and below and this * thermal 
 belt ' just as dark and warm as ever." 
 Here he appealed to his companions, who 
 all assented and seemed deeply inter- 
 ested.' 
 
 " Of course I do not mean that it is 
 never cold in this belt ; but it is warmer, 
 a great deal warmer, than anywhere else 
 around here, and one thing is certain : 
 there never has been a killing spring-frost 
 in the thermal belt in the forty years that 
 I have lived here. Spring flowers come 
 out there weeks before they do at the foot 
 of the mountain or any place fifty miles 
 south of that. 
 
 '' Now, my theory is, that some peculiar 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 211 
 
 quality in the soil itself on that portion of 
 the mountain produces these effects. One 
 thing is sure, and that is that the climate 
 there in the thermal belt is magnificent. 
 
 '' Think of this, Captain Johnson : 
 peaches ! Peaches, sir, the great fruit- 
 crop of the South, yearly suffer untold 
 losses from spring frosts. But there you 
 have, sir, eight miles long and one fifth of 
 a mile wide, the best spot in America, an 
 area which should, and undoubtedly will, 
 be planted thick with the choicest peach 
 trees — a perfectly sure crop, because there 
 is no danger from frosts ! So much for 
 the climate. Captain Johnson." 
 
 '' If the Blue Mountain is so fertile and 
 all that, why is it uninhabited ?" asked 
 Israel. 
 
 *' Exactly what my wife says !" Dr. 
 Curesome involuntarily exclaimed. *' Some- 
 thing ails it." 
 
 " Fiddle-dee ! We will prove the con- 
 trary," cried Oldboy. '' But since the 
 subject has come up. Captain Johnson, let 
 us grant that there are foolish stories told 
 about this mountain. Let us look the 
 facts in the face, sir, and see what they 
 amount to. Nothing, sir. Mere idle talk ! 
 
 " The facts are these : At the end of 
 
212 GRA Y: AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 the last century, one man claimed the 
 whole mountain as his own private prop- 
 erty under a grant from the State. No- 
 body knew anything about him, — who he 
 was or where he came from. He lived all 
 alone and never had dealings with a soul." 
 
 '' Did anybody ever try to deal with 
 him ?" asked Curesome, rather sulkily. 
 
 " No, sir ; and that was natural enough. 
 There was plenty of land unoccupied ; 
 and this old man, besides his claim of 
 right, threatened to protect himself against 
 encroachment." 
 
 " Did anybody ever hear of this old 
 man's dying?" continued Curesome. 
 
 " I can't say as they did. He attained a 
 great age, Captain Johnson, and that does 
 not look like a bad climate, I should 
 think. No : this old man — a — disappeared, 
 at any rate. Now my theory is that he 
 went away." 
 
 Perhaps because there was nothing 
 startling in this theory, Oldboy paused to 
 let it have all the effect it could. 
 
 Curesome, Miller, Lynch and Owner 
 shook their heads. 
 
 '' An old man like that doesn't go away 
 until he goes into the ground," said 
 Lynch. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 21 J 
 
 Curesome asked : '' How about Jem 
 Davis, who moved up onto the mountain- 
 side after that ? He and his whole family 
 died mighty sudden." 
 
 '' Milk-sick, sir !" replied Oldboy. " Un- 
 doubtedly they died from milk-sick, which 
 is common enough among the mountains, 
 but which this man, coming from the low 
 country, did not know how to guard 
 against." And then the unconquerable 
 Oldboy explained for Israel's benefit that 
 '* milk-sick " was a disease which cattle 
 contracted if they were not kept-up at 
 the proper times, and which rendered 
 their milk poisonous. 
 
 " I don't believe it was milk-sick. I 
 have lived too near this cursed mountain 
 and too long already. I never had any 
 luck sence I came here," objected Squire 
 Lynch. 
 
 Oldboy had worked himself up to fever 
 heat in his defense of the scheme. Now 
 he turned threateningly upon Lynch and 
 his voice trembled with excitement as he 
 cried : 
 
 " You are a " 
 
 " Stop, Oldboy ! VVhy,^ what are you 
 thinking about, Lynch ? I propose, gen- 
 tlemen, that we adjourn for to-day. Old- 
 
214 GRA Y: AN OLDHA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 boy, you ride with me. I want you to try 
 some Madeira wine which I have just re- 
 ceived from Charleston." With these 
 words Colonel Owner separated the two 
 angry men and the session of founders 
 stood adjourned. 
 
 Israel remained with Squire Lynch, who 
 was hospitality personified. 
 
 Israel had seen enough. 
 
 It was evident that the scheme would 
 fall through of itself if these five movers 
 in it should come to blows. 
 
 Meantime, the doubts which he himself 
 had suggested would retard it. 
 
 He decided that the scheme must not 
 only fail, but with such terrible emphasis 
 fail, that no one ever again would attempt 
 to dwell near the Blue Mountain and spy 
 his going out and coming in. 
 
 " I don't know what I may have to do ; 
 but I certainly do not care to be watched," 
 said Israel. 
 
 As for these five planters, he saw evi- 
 dence enough, of their hot temper and law- 
 less spirit. Living in this remote district, 
 they were almost beyond reach of the law, 
 whether to be defended by it or punished 
 by it. As a natural consequence, each 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 2IJ 
 
 strong man took the law into his own 
 hands and not ^infrequently made himself 
 judge, jury and executioner in his own 
 cause. 
 
 Israel decided, therefore, to make them 
 exterminate themselves, by setting one 
 against another. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 N accordance with the hospitable 
 custom of the country, Captain 
 Johnson had received warm and 
 cordial invitations to visit at the 
 houses in the neighborhood. These invi- 
 tations he promptly availed himself of and 
 entered into the fox-hunting or poker par- 
 ties with that spirit which always dis- 
 tinguished him. 
 
 His companion in all excursions was a 
 son of his host, Dal Lynch, — a young fel- 
 low who was looked upon as a scapegrace, 
 even by this graceless community. 
 
 Dal Lynch and Israel being thus thrown 
 constantly together, the impulsive young 
 Southerner disclosed his secrets, especially 
 his secret griefs, to Israel as to the only 
 respectable person who showed him kind- 
 ness. The boy was only wild, — not bad- 
 hearted. 
 
 It so happened, about three weeks after 
 the scene last described, that Israel let fall 
 a careless, bantering suggestion. Dal had 
 told him that he was in great need of a 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 21'j 
 
 considerable sum of money for a partic- 
 ular purpose. (Dai's purposes were not 
 always mentionable.) He must have it, 
 he said, and the old man had refused him. 
 '' You know that all I have with me is 
 promised for this land-speculation," said 
 Israel. '' But, cheer up, man ! Why 
 don't you gamble for it ? That's the way 
 Billy Miller gets his pocket-mone}^" 
 
 " I can't take the risk. I have no luck." 
 ''Then take the money without risk," 
 said Israel. '' Colonel Owner won al- 
 most a thousand dollars to-day at draw- 
 poker. It was the biggest haul of the 
 season and your father lost more than any 
 one else. Take that. What difference it 
 makes whether you take money from 
 another man because you hold a higher 
 card, or because you are stronger or 
 cleverer than he, I can't see for the life of 
 me. But seriously, Dal, 3^ou people living 
 out here in the country ought to be more 
 careful about locking up your doors and 
 windows at night. I should be willing to 
 take that purse from Owner's room this 
 very night myself, just for the fun of the 
 thing — and of course laugh with him 
 about it to-morrow." And then he went 
 on speaking about indifferent matters. 
 
2l8 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 A day or two afterwards, Israel and 
 Dal, with rifles and dogs, were tramping 
 over White Oak Hill. They had been 
 shooting squirrels and Israel's game bag 
 was quite well filled ; but Dal appeared to 
 take no interest, although he was usu- 
 ally a keen sportsman and a crack shot. 
 He was drinking at short intervals from a 
 large pocket-flask containing the villain- 
 ous corn-whisky called " Mountain Dew." 
 
 " What's up, Dal ?" cried Israel. " You're 
 as melancholy as Dr. Curesome at home !" 
 
 The young Southerner leaned upon his 
 long rifle and replied with a husky voice : 
 
 *' I reckon I've drank too much to shoot 
 straight to-day, captain. I — I — sit down : 
 I want to talk to you." 
 
 Israel complied and Dal proceeded : 
 
 *' That money burns my pocket." 
 
 '' What money, Dal ?" 
 
 " You said you could take Owner's cash 
 out of his bed-room." 
 
 '' I was joking, Dal : that you know 
 very well," said Israel, sternly. 
 
 '' I did it," said Dal Lynch. 
 
 " What ! you took Owner's money ?" 
 
 '' Yes, I stole it and it burns in my 
 pocket, I tell you !" groaned Dal. '* What 
 shall I do ?" 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 2IQ 
 
 '' Give it back," said Israel promptly. 
 
 " You know I can't do that. I dursn't." 
 
 '* Then I have nothing more to say." 
 
 " But they'll be coming ! I believe 
 they'll be there when we get home." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 '■' All the neighbors. Owner will get 
 them all together and come after me !" 
 
 *^ How does he know you did it ?" 
 
 " He sent word to everybody this morn- 
 ing that he'd been robbed and to come 
 and help him catch the burglar, only not 
 to father. He must suspect me." 
 
 '' The squire and the colonel had a 
 quarrel yesterday. That's probably the 
 reason why he didn't send to your house," 
 Israel suggested. 
 
 "Do you think so?" said Dal, greatly 
 relieved. " What would you do if you 
 was me ?" 
 
 " I am not you." 
 
 " Oh, help a fellow, Captain Johnson ! 
 What shall I do ?" 
 
 " I have told you already. If you can't 
 do that, go straight to Colonel Owner 
 and offer your services." 
 
 " What ! Run right in his way ?" 
 
 " That will look as though you were 
 innocent. Then when the affair has blown 
 
220 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 over, you can give the money back in 
 some other way." 
 
 With drunken, foolish gratitude Dal 
 thanked Israel ; then made the best of his 
 way to the stable, saddled his horse and 
 rode to Colonel Owner's plantation. 
 
 Very naturally the colonel's suspicion 
 was aroused by this unprecedented dis- 
 play of zeal for justice, on the part of a 
 notorious scapegrace. He therefore ques- 
 tioned Dal, and receiving incoherent, 
 evasive answers, ordered a negro to 
 search his person. 
 
 Dal resisted, and in the struggle his 
 light jacket was torn from his back ; he 
 escaped, rode wildly back to his father's 
 house ; several of the stolen bills were 
 found in the pocket of his jacket. 
 
 Owner collected his neighbors. Cure- 
 some, Oldboy and Miller ; with these and 
 his male slaves, all armed, rode up before 
 Squire Lynch's mansion and demanded 
 the culprit. 
 
 Squire Lynch appeared on the thresh- 
 old. His face was very pale and he held 
 a shot-gun in his hand. 
 
 '' Don't you come any nearer, gentle- 
 men !" he said. 
 
 Colonel Owner raised his rifle to his 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 221 
 
 shoulder ; but Israel stood in front of his 
 host to screen him. 
 
 " Stand aside, Captain Johnson ! We 
 don't mean any harm to you," commanded 
 Oldboy. 
 
 " This is hardly a fair fight," said Israel, 
 coolly. 
 
 Squire Lynch used the opportunity 
 which this diversion gave him, to raise 
 his gun and fire. 
 
 Colonel Owner fell forward upon his 
 horse's neck. That startled animal dashed 
 away down the red-clay road, dragging 
 his mortally-wounded master, whose foot 
 was caught in the stirrup. There was a 
 stampede of the negroes. 
 
 Before Lynch could enter the house. 
 Miller took deliberate aim and shot him 
 through the breast. The squire's life- 
 blood stained his own threshold. That 
 was the end of his bad luck near the Blue 
 Mountain. 
 
 Then Oldboy, Miller and Curesome 
 rushed into the house, tracking blood up 
 the stairs, and seized Dal Lynch. Fear of 
 death was written on the boy's face ; yet, 
 as he was being hurried out, he caught 
 sight of Israel and cried : 
 
 " If I had done what you tole me " 
 
 26 
 
222 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 They took him away into the forest on 
 the mountain-side. Where justice is un- 
 certain, punishments are excessive. 
 
 Israel's preparations had been made in 
 advance, and he now in turn mounted his 
 horse and rode away from the ill-starred 
 house. 
 
 The subsequent history of " Americus 
 City " may be given in a very few words. 
 
 After the death of Owner and Lynch, 
 Oldboy came to the front, laid out streets 
 and pressed the enterprise as well as he 
 could. A large brick jail was erected 
 upon the central square ; but nothing 
 further was accomplished. 
 
 No " citizens " offered themselves. The 
 place had acquired an evil name. 
 
 To-day it is as Horace Penman saw it. 
 Squire Lynch's house is a dismal ruin, and 
 only three or four wretched hovels, occu- 
 pied by still more wretched, shiftless folk 
 (enough however to supply the jail with 
 an occasional prisoner) mark the spot and 
 offend the eye. 
 
 As for the railway, the war came to 
 postpone industrial projects ; and after the 
 war came a new generation of legislators 
 who had never interested themselves in 
 this route. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 223 
 
 As for the surviving projectors, Miller 
 had been killed while fighting bravely at 
 the head of his regiment, at the battle of 
 
 Bull Run, by a sergeant of Company , 
 
 Connecticut volunteers. This sergeant's 
 name was Ezekiel H. Perkins. Mr. Pen- 
 man was first-lieutenant in the same com- 
 pany. Oldboy and Curesome had lost 
 their wealth in losing their slaves. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 LITTLE-USED road, a mere 
 ''track," led from Americus to 
 the foot of the Blue Mountain. 
 There it turned aside, turned to 
 the westward, as though to avoid crossing 
 unhallowed territory. 
 
 Israel followed this road to the turning 
 and there, unaffected by those scruples 
 which had actuated other travelers, struck 
 right through the woods toward the sum- 
 mit. 
 
 At the base of the mountain were pine, 
 gum and oak trees — pines predominating. 
 Further up the slope these gave place to 
 a magnificent growth in which deciduous 
 trees were the more numerous. 
 
 The fauna also changed. During the 
 first fifteen or twenty minutes of ascent, 
 there was an abundance of animal life. 
 Rabbits, lizards, snakes, birds of all kinds, 
 startled by this intruder, sprang or crawl- 
 ed or flew away before him. Above, all 
 became silent. Either such creatures as 
 
MRS. EA TON'S VERSION 22^ 
 
 these were not there, or they were hidden 
 and did not show themselves. • 
 
 But the most notable change was in the 
 character of the soil and undergrowth. 
 Red clay and white sand, white sand and 
 red clay, — bare, save here and there a tuft 
 of spear-grass — had been the story. Now a 
 dark, rich mould gave nourishment to 
 flourishing rhododendrons and laurels and 
 azaleas and columbine. Vines clad the 
 stately trunks of giant trees with soft ver- 
 dure, — vines like great cables, like threads 
 of silk, like a mistress, strangling with her 
 passions and exactions yet caressing with 
 the tendrils of her pretty graces. 
 
 This change from barrenness to fertility 
 became more marked at one point. It was 
 not as though a line had been drawn or a 
 wall raised between a garden and a desert 
 — the transition was less sharply marked 
 than that — yet at this point Israel said : 
 Here begins the peculiarity of this moun- 
 tain. Below this there is nothing good for 
 me. 
 
 Then he became conscious of a great 
 heat and heaviness in the air. This effect 
 might be due partly to the absence of the 
 sounds of animal life and to the dense 
 foliage, intercepting all motion of a breeze ; 
 
226 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 but not entirely to these causes. The 
 warmth seemed to steal or steam out from 
 the black earth, — to proceed from the 
 mountain itself in part and not merely 
 from the sun. 
 
 Israel advanced through this semi-tropi- 
 cal belt until he arrived at its upper 
 boundary. Here the line of verdure was 
 even more distinctly marked, contrasting 
 strangely with the scant and hardy growth 
 which clothed the bleak rocks of the windy 
 summit. 
 
 " So then," he said, '' this famous ' ther- 
 mal-belt ' stretches along the whole moun- 
 tain side, girdling it, naturally enough. It 
 is the result of reflection from the south- 
 ern plain, the direct rays of the sun and 
 protection from northern winds : these 
 three combined. No mystery about it 
 whatever. . . . And yet the place does 
 seem more than naturally quiet and more 
 than naturally hot." 
 
 Through the more practicable upper 
 spaces above the thermal belt, with that 
 lightness of heart which rewards the 
 mountain-climber when he reaches the 
 purer, rarer atmosphere on the heights, 
 Israel made his way joyfully. He had 
 planned his course so as to reach the falls 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 227 
 
 at the foot of the first cascade, and already 
 the sound of rushing waters came to his 
 ears through the stillness. 
 
 '' Now here," said he, pausing and look- 
 ing down upon the great forest which 
 stretched away to meet the horizon, "if 
 one were a hermit, here would be a good 
 spot for a house." 
 
 " I 'lowed it wor pretty nigh right," said 
 someone close behind him. 
 
 Israel turned like a flash in the direction 
 from which the voice proceeded and cock- 
 ed his gun. 
 
 *' Don't shoot, stranger, don't yer now. 
 I 'low there's plenty ter eat outer this 
 mounting Avithout yer eatin' me." This 
 was said in a persuasive, wheedling 
 way. 
 
 The speaker was the type of the North 
 Carolina mountaineer, but with all the 
 characteristics exaggerated. His body 
 was even longer and leaner, his trousers 
 scarcely occupied by his thin shanks, his 
 shoulders even more slouched, his face 
 more sallow and more expressionless, his 
 hat-brim wider. At the same time there 
 was a certain sly, observant look scarce 
 perceptible in his eyes, as he leaned against 
 the half-decayed trunk of an oak tree and 
 
228 GRA Y: AN OLDHA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 waited for Israel to recover from his sur- 
 prise. 
 
 He looked as though he would willingly 
 Avait and observe for a hundred years. 
 
 " How did I pass you by without seeing 
 you ?" Israel demanded. 
 
 " I 'lowed ye wor studyin' about some- 
 thing mighty earnest." 
 
 " 1 thought there was no one on the 
 mountain." 
 
 '' I live hyah." 
 
 " How long ?" 
 
 " I disremember." 
 
 ''Oh, come! About how long?" cried 
 Israel, raising his voice. 
 
 " Waal, sence ye wor hyah before" 
 
 " I have never been here before." 
 
 That sly look in the mountaineer's eyes 
 became more distinct as he explained : 
 "■ Ye come from yon side, 'tother side, 
 over the top of this mounting." 
 
 " Bah ! I tell you I never saw you be- 
 fore in my life." 
 
 "• Ye wouldn't hev seen me this time ef 
 I hedn't spoke," the mountaineer said ; 
 then adding : '' An' I wouldn't hev spoke 
 ef I hedn't knowed ye by that thar mark 
 outer yer cheek." 
 
 Israel controlled his anger sufficiently 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 22g 
 
 to ask : '' How long ago was it that you 
 saw me?" 
 
 '' I tol' you I disremember. Erbout sixty 
 or eighty year, 'peers ter me." 
 
 ''Craz}^" said Israel, half aloud; then 
 contemptuously : '' Next time I pass, don't 
 you dodge behind trees. Just let me hear 
 you speak, or I may shoot you like a rab- 
 bit !" 
 
 So Israel turned on his heel and walked 
 away towards the falls. 
 
 He arrived at the foot of the first cas- 
 cade, as he had intended. Standing there 
 and looking up, he could see how the 
 water poured over the cliff, at first in a 
 solid mass, then was torn into shreds, then 
 these into drops, and these drops subdivid- 
 ed into fine spray. It fell so softly and 
 was so tempting ! He put off his clothes 
 and stood under this bath ; then plunged 
 into the deep pool which received all the 
 water and held it for a moment, whirling 
 around and foaming, before it took the 
 second leap downwards. 
 
 Emerging from this delicious bath, he 
 saw through the rank growth the roof of 
 a building within stone's-throw. 
 
 He could scarcely trust his eyes. 
 
 '' That was not there a moment ago !" 
 
2SO GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 he exclaimed. '' But, pshaw ! I passed that 
 crazy beast of a mountaineer without see- 
 ing him : why not fail to discover a house ? 
 I don't recognize myself in this. . . . But 
 I am no worse than my ancestor with his 
 story of a sleeping figure in the cave, who 
 had not been there when he went in." 
 
 In a moment he was dressed ; then he 
 forced his way through the tangled under- 
 brush to the house. 
 
 This might have dropped from above or 
 sprung up from the soil ; for there was no 
 clearing about it. It was built of unhewn 
 logs, like the trunks of the surrounding 
 trees except for being laid horizontally. 
 
 The mountaineer sat in the doorway, 
 waiting and observing as before. 
 
 Israel went straight up to him and told 
 him that, as he meant to pass a few days 
 on the mountain, for the sake of the game 
 which he supposed must be very abund- 
 ant, he would be glad of this shelter. 
 
 He neither would have consented to re- 
 ceive, nor did he receive, a refusal. 
 
 Such was the spirit in which this strange 
 association of Israel with the mountaineer 
 began : the former contemptuous and 
 domineering, the latter watchful and ap- 
 parently passive. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 23 1 
 
 But in the course of the very first day 
 there came a change. It is our privilege 
 to follow this change both in its outward 
 manifestations and as a secret growth 
 within the minds of the two actors. 
 
 In the course of the first day which 
 they spent together, Israel began to take 
 an inexplicable interest in this uncouth 
 companion. When he had ascended the 
 mountain, his mind had been filled with 
 one thought and one desire — to find the 
 ancient mine ; now, in spite of himself, 
 this man claimed a share in his thoughts 
 and desires. 
 
 Israel was as quick to form determina- 
 tions as he was resolute in executing them. 
 No sooner, therefore, had he realized the 
 fact just noted than he decided that this 
 man's presence was not purely accidental. 
 Presently he acknowledged to himself that 
 this interest in the personality of an unat- 
 tractive being was absorbing into itself 
 his eagerness to possess the treasure. 
 Then he saw that this man was to be his 
 instrument or agent. 
 
 We may quietly reason this out and find 
 that his conclusion was theoreticall}^ just ; 
 but Israel's inference was immediate, he 
 trusted it and acted upon it. 
 
232 GRAY: AM OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 In this connection it is to be noted also 
 that the mountaineer did not remain en- 
 tirely passive. 
 
 There is apparently a sentiment of hos- 
 pitality, and at least a very slight sense of 
 the duties of a host which cannot be eradi- 
 cated from the breast of that social animal, 
 Man. 
 
 This recluse, then, showed an unexpect- 
 ed promptness in calling Israel's attention 
 to the sights of the mountain. He began 
 to tell his guest that this climate and soil 
 were especially favorable to one variety 
 of fruit which was, indeed, produced else- 
 where, but nowhere in such perfection. 
 A single, but especially fine and beautiful, 
 specimen was now to be seen. Would 
 Israel like to go a short distance to enjoy 
 it? 
 
 The two went together down the moun- 
 tain to the lower boundary of the thermal 
 belt. There grew a superb magnolia tree, 
 towering above its fellows and conspicu- 
 ous from afar, with its dome of dark green, 
 glossy leaves, '' thick inlaid " with great 
 starry flowers whose fragrance made the 
 still air heavy with sweetness. 
 
 '' Thar, outer yon side, 'tother side," 
 drawled the guide. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 2JJ 
 
 Israel's curiosity was thoroughly arous- 
 ed and he went alone to the farther side 
 of the magnolia, while the mountaineer 
 stood watching him. 
 
 There, close before his face, hanging 
 from a blossom-laden branch of the mag- 
 nolia, was the body of Dal Lynch. 
 
 " Ernother one is a-ripening onter this 
 mounting," said Israel's host. 
 
 But the mountaineer did not allow his 
 hospitable cares to interrupt habitual oc- 
 cupations. So, for instance, Israel observ- 
 ed him heaping dried leaves and twigs 
 upon a large ant-hill, swarming with these 
 busy workers ; then kindling this nicely 
 laid fire and watching the destruction of 
 the ant-community with silent satisfaction. 
 
 Upon inquiring the cause of this pro- 
 ceeding, Israel learned that his host de- 
 voted a large portion of each day to the 
 extermination of animals of all kinds. He 
 hoped in time to enjoy a rare pleasure in 
 being the only remaining living creature 
 upon the Blue Mountain. 
 
 Israel gave him the name Guardian from 
 the following circumstance: 
 
 He had the habit of sitting where the 
 
 stream issues from the mountain side, 
 
 sitting motionless, muttering to himself, 
 
234 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 but refusing to speak to Israel when at 
 that spot. 
 
 Israel recalled the legend heard from 
 the Indian chief and began to invest this 
 homely figure with a web of romance. 
 There was a certain majesty in the Guar- 
 dian's bearing while he sat there so quietly. 
 If this was lent him by his surroundings, 
 at least it was borrowed majesty, and not 
 something meaner. 
 
 This impression Israel tried to laugh at 
 in order to cure the fancy by laughing. 
 
 " The source of this stream of sparkling 
 water," he said, speaking to himself, "is 
 perchance that fountain of immortal youth 
 which the first adventurers who came to 
 America believed in so firmly. This dried- 
 up nondescript is then all that is left of 
 the last Indian Prince, or say a disguise 
 which he has assumed for my amusement. 
 Has he put away my ancestor — (Curesome 
 says he did not die)^stowed him aw^ay in 
 the cave somewhere ? That would be a 
 happy thought ! The old gentleman would 
 wish to die, yet find himself kept pro- 
 vokingly young by the virtue of this 
 fountain !" 
 
 But the laugh was not very merry and 
 the fancy remained in all its force. Here 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 2JS 
 
 was a new sensation for Israel. This 
 being, in his inscrutableness and savage 
 independence, was the first he had ever 
 met whom he must acknowledge to be in 
 any sense superior to himself. This feel- 
 ing was quite as unbearable as was the 
 restraint imposed by the presence of the 
 mountaineer at the very point where 
 Israel's long search was to terminate. He 
 was in the way and must be removed. 
 
 And yet it seemed that he would in 
 some manner aid Israel to discover the 
 treasure. How? How could he be at 
 the same time an obnoxious impediment 
 and the very agent of the discovery ? 
 
 " Very simply," Israel replied to his 
 own question. '' The discovery is bound 
 together with his death." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 HITS it seemed to Israel that as 
 the inconvenience of the Guar- 
 dian's presence increased and be- 
 came oppressive, a certain fear- 
 ful suggestion became more distinct, took 
 definite shape in his mind and insisted 
 upon being felt and heard at all times. 
 
 The image of death was everywhere — 
 in the stillness of this desolated forest, in 
 the ambiguous words as in the long fits of 
 silence of this man of the Blue Mountain. 
 It became familiar, and it was no longer 
 shocking when it had become quite fa- 
 miliar. 
 
 Was this mysterious being deliberately 
 educating Israel to become his murderer? 
 Whether with design or by accident, 
 everything he said or did contributed to 
 the murderous resolve steadily growing in 
 Israel's breast. 
 
 Of course our adventurer attempted, at 
 first by indirect methods and then by 
 direct questions, to obtain the desired in- 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 2jy 
 
 formation. In this effort he was foiled by 
 the irritating, stupid silence of his host, 
 who affected not to understand his ques- 
 tions. 
 
 Meantime he searched for the legendary 
 entrance to the mine, with as little success. 
 
 It could not be the present issue of the 
 stream, for here the stream filled the cavity 
 from which it proceeded. 
 
 He conjectured that the underground 
 current had changed its bed and examined 
 the rocks above, below and to a distance 
 on either side of the present cascade. 
 
 Diligence and persuasion failing, Israel 
 resolved to try the effect of terror upon 
 the mountaineer. 
 
 It was plain to him that his own life 
 depended upon success in this one effort. 
 The fate which had overtaken every crea- 
 ture who had come within the influence 
 of the mountain, or some deadly spirit 
 ruling the territory of the mountain, he 
 felt was drawing near to himself. 
 
 His spirit became feverish and he was 
 haunted by strange fancies. Among these 
 the most persistent was that his ancestor 
 had lacked courage and strength to over- 
 come the Guardian and had remained as 
 his thrall upon the Blue Mountain. 
 
 27 
 
238 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 So then one day Israel addressed the 
 Guardian who was sitting absorbed in 
 thought at the source of the torrent. 
 Receiving no answer, he seized him by the 
 throat and threatened to wring his neck. 
 
 Still no answer. 
 
 Then, wild with passion and stung with 
 disappointment, he raised his tormentor 
 bodily above his head and dashed him to 
 the earth again. 
 
 The mountaineer lay motionless, but his 
 eyes were open and his lips moved. 
 
 Israel bent over him, clutched him with 
 his right hand and with his left pointed 
 over the cliff. 
 
 " Tell me what I need to know, or " 
 
 A terrible gesture filled out the sense. 
 
 Then the Guardian said, but without 
 fear, that there was a great treasure very 
 near to them ; even as there is such treas- 
 ure everywhere that men live. There was 
 a great curse, he said, resting upon the 
 possessor thereof, — so fearful a curse that 
 its possession could not advantage any 
 person who retained human affections. 
 By a single act of true generosity the 
 hoard would be sacrificed and lost forever. 
 
 He further said that Israel was not yet 
 worthy to possess it, inasmuch as he had 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 2JQ 
 
 still some generosity in his nature. Was 
 Israel ready to commit murder deliberately 
 in order to gain the secret of the treasure ? 
 
 " Whom should I murder?" 
 
 Anyone standing in his way. 
 
 '' Oh, that is not necessary ! There's 
 plenty to eat on this mountain without my 
 eating you, as you yourself said." 
 
 The Guardian looked at him long and 
 earnestly ; then his head sunk upon his 
 breast and he would speak no more nor 
 raise his eyes from the ground. 
 
 '' ' Deliberately', you dismal fool !" cried 
 Israel. " ' Deliberately' ! You would have 
 me do the thing deliberately, my fine 
 mummy, my excellent petrified prince ! I 
 know a gayly worth two of your deliber- 
 atelies. Wait here for me, my lean and 
 drawling bag of bones!" With that he 
 descended to the cabin, shouting aloud 
 whatever came into his mind, for the in- 
 formation of the silent man above. 
 
 '* I am going for the spade. That will 
 do for both purposes. Jem Davis' spade ! 
 You told me how he came to settle on 
 this mountain with his wife and children 
 and buried them all with this spade a few 
 days afterwards. Then he died on the 
 last mound and you took the spade. Here 
 
240 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 it is. Yes, it is strong and will do for both 
 uses ! 
 
 '' Here I am. Look up ! No ? Have 
 you anything more to say ? Take your 
 own time. There's no hurry. ' Deliber- 
 ately', you know. That was rather a fine 
 word for a stupid who can't even answer 
 when he's spoken to. 
 
 ''You do not answer? Well then 
 
 Understand that I am not angry or in the 
 least excited. If you object to the way I 
 propose to do it, please say so now. No ? 
 Well then " 
 
 The spade descended swiftly upon the 
 bowed head. Once only. 
 
 Half its work was done. 
 
 The other half required more time. 
 
 Israel drove the spade into the loose 
 gravel which evidently had been brought 
 by the swift current from within the 
 mountain. Below this stratum he found a 
 sufficient depth of earth only in one spot, 
 immediately below a huge boulder form- 
 ing one side of the aperture which gave 
 passage to the torrent. 
 
 '' Sit there, old earth-worm", he shouted, 
 propping the body against this boulder, as 
 he had so often seen the Guardian place 
 himself. " Sit there and watch me build a 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 241 
 
 snug little house for you. It shall fit you 
 as a snail-shell fits the snail." And he 
 fell to work with the spade, still laughing 
 and speaking to the dead mountaineer as 
 though the latter could hear and see. 
 
 " There now ! There is room for your 
 empty head. . . . And that will do for 
 your spindle shanks. . . . One more spade- 
 ful for your knob and two for your heels. 
 . . . So" — measuring with his eye the limp 
 figure and the narrow trench he had ex- 
 cavated — " That will fit you better than 
 your skin and last you longer. In you 
 go" — throwing the body into the grave 
 and beginning to cover it with earth. 
 
 Only the face remained uncovered when 
 Israel paused in the work and leaning 
 upon his spade once more questioned his 
 victim, who seemed no more inscrutable 
 now in death than he had been in life. 
 
 " Last chance, old toad, before I shut 
 you up for good and all ! Will you answer 
 now ?" 
 
 The loosened earth was stirred as though 
 the dead man had essayed to rise. Then 
 the figure sunk as in a quicksand ; the 
 countenance with its staring eyes disap- 
 peared beneath the water which now burst 
 through the walls of the grave and filled 
 
242 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 it to the brim ; there was a grinding, 
 rumbling sound above. 
 
 Israel sprang aside not an instant too 
 soon. 
 
 The great boulder beneath which the 
 trench had been dug, thus undermined and 
 deprived of part of its support, broke away 
 from the mountain-side and dashed over the 
 cliff, followed by a shower of smaller stones. 
 
 Israel's wild gayety passed all bounds 
 as he watched the course of the avalanche, 
 which carried away the cabin and stormed 
 forwards, downwards, mowing a great 
 swath through the forest until, far below, 
 its rage was spent and all grew still where 
 that gigantic magnolia which bore such 
 awful fruit lifted its pyramid of dark leaves 
 and starry flowers high above the neigh- 
 boring trees. 
 
 He laughed and shouted and waved his 
 arms, encouraging its progress ; crying 
 that at last he was alone, that not a sign 
 of life remained upon the mountain and 
 that now the fiend himself dare not come 
 between him and the thing he sought. 
 
 Then suddenly it flashed through his 
 brain that he had expected the discovery 
 to be immediately connected with the 
 Guardian's death. 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 243 
 
 He faced about and saw that the grave 
 was covered by debris and that, where the 
 boulder had been, a low and narrow open- 
 ing gave admission to a gloomy passage 
 which seemed to lead inward towards the 
 heart of the mountain. 
 
 He sprang forward quickly, as though 
 fearing it might close again before he 
 could reach it. 
 
 Along the bed of the swift stream, the 
 current tugging at his feet to force him 
 back, over the slippery rocks, through the 
 darkness, he rushed along upwards, in- 
 wards, shouting above the noise of the 
 torrent a challenge to all the devils to stop 
 him if they could. 
 
 Then he reached a point where the 
 stream ceased to be turbulent. It glided 
 along with a pleasant murmur, while the 
 cavern seemed to Israel to become a vast 
 chamber through which his voice echoed ; 
 and in reply to his shouting, near voices 
 called back and distant whispers repeated 
 the tone again and again. 
 
 '* Helloa ! Israel-for-Israel !" he shout- 
 ed. 
 
 " Hi, Israel-for-Israel ! Ho, Israel-for- 
 Israel ! Israel! — srail ! ael ! Hi — ael ! 
 
 el ! Hi — Ho ! Heigho !" shouted 
 
244 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 and laughed and murmured and sighed 
 a chorus of voices, near and distant. 
 
 '' Israel-for-Israel !" he shouted again 
 with all the force of his lungs. " Here am 
 I, Israel !" 
 
 " I ! I ! I ! I ! I !" repeated the chorus, 
 in a thousand mocking tones. 
 
 " Yes, I !" he cried again. " As often as 
 
 I choose, I ! I ! Come and see and 
 
 bring a light from h — , some of you !" 
 
 " Here is a lantern, master !" — This voice 
 was not an echo. Someone was standing 
 close beside Israel and holding a miner's 
 lantern in his hand. Its feeble light dis- 
 closed features at the same time familiar 
 and strange : they were those of the 
 mountaineer ; they were those of the old 
 portrait ; they were the features of Gray. 
 Their expression was smiling and servile, 
 and the voice in which this being continued 
 to speak was servile. 
 
 " Don't harm me, master ; don't you 
 now," he pleaded. " See here, master !" 
 — He held the lantern nearer to the wall 
 of the cavern, which reflected its light 
 from a myriad points with a rich, yellow 
 gleam. 
 
 ''Gold! gold! — mine and yours," he 
 cried ; " for I am your servant, to gerve 
 
MRS. EATON'S VERSION 24S 
 
 you in all things. Here, master, and 
 everywhere, I am your servant !" 
 
 Only the voices of the cavern replied. 
 Dreadful voices, that will not cease to 
 echo night and day in my mind ! 
 
 Thus began the association of Israel 
 with Gray. Up to this point, every im- 
 portant act in Israel's evil life is as clear 
 to me as though I had been an eye-witness 
 throughout ; but from this point onward 
 all is indistinct and uncertain. How could 
 it be otherwise ? When selfish strength is 
 joined to diabolical cunning — that un- 
 dying spirit of darkness which will serve 
 anyone who has conquered the last gener- 
 ous impulse — what hope to trace its 
 course ? That wrong which Strength has 
 done. Cunning has concealed. 
 
Conclusion— By Mr. PENMAN 
 
 O WARDS the end of March last, 
 I received a note from Mrs. 
 Eaton requesting me to arrange 
 an interview at my office be- 
 tween herself and Livingstone. I did not 
 feel at liberty to refuse, and no doubt I 
 was moved by curiosity and a desire to be 
 present at a meeting so novel in character. 
 
 The interview was accordingly arranged 
 for the thirty -first. 
 
 At half-past two o'clock in the afternoon 
 of that day Mrs. Winthrop Eaton entered 
 her old adviser's private office. She had 
 of late showed distressing signs of failing 
 health, and now as she came in I noticed, 
 more than ever before, lines of suffering 
 about her eyes and mouth. But these 
 vanished in the bright smile which lighted 
 up her whole face as she came forward 
 and took the easy chair by the grate, 
 saying : 
 
 ** Many thanks for your prompt obe- 
 dience, Mr. Penman." 
 
248 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Then, with an instantaneous change of 
 tone, manner and expression, she continued 
 to speak, as though recurring to a train of 
 thought which had been interrupted by 
 her entrance. 
 
 *' He has proved," she said, ''that a man 
 may do as much evil as he chooses, pro- 
 vided he does it through agents and 
 screens himself behind them, and yet 
 escape punishment entirely. He has 
 proved that the wages of sin is not death, 
 but wealth, power, position, the smiles of 
 honest women and the respect of honest 
 men." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Eaton," I said anxiously, 
 ''you do not feel well." 
 
 " Do not say that — not that !" she ex- 
 claimed. " This is what I mean : Israel 
 Slyme, or James Johnson, has taken a new 
 name, and now calls himself Donald Liv- 
 ingstone !" 
 
 This assertion she had repeatedly made 
 to me in almost the same terms ; I thought 
 it best, however, to urge the objections to 
 this view once more, and said : 
 
 " But, my dear madame, Livingstone 
 comes of an old and prominent family, as 
 you know ; and he was born in Paris while 
 his parents were traveling abroad " 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 24g 
 
 '* Yes," she interrupted, with sarcastic 
 emphasis ; " and both parents soon after- 
 ward died — very opportunely — and the 
 child was brought up by an uncle Andso- 
 forth and an aunt Andsoon, who are also 
 dead. It is a most ingenious story, — so 
 ingenious that I have not been able to 
 prove absolutely that it is untrue, but only 
 that it is extremely improbable. Even if 
 I could, it is not Livingstone's invention, 
 but Gray's." 
 
 *' But young Israel had such a remark- 
 able face that I am sure I should recognize 
 him, even after these thirty years." 
 
 '* Not necessarily. Thirty years ago his 
 face was unformed. His coloring and 
 expression and other things which have 
 changed with time were what you would 
 naturally have noticed then." 
 
 '' But Israel had a peculiar birthmark on 
 his cheek " 
 
 " Which is covered by a scar, and that 
 scar almost hidden by his beard. But we 
 need not disprove anything ! We have 
 only to confront him with the facts. 
 Hardened as he is, he will betray himself 
 in some manner !" 
 
 '' But," I objected, '' such things do not 
 happen in these days — such adventures as 
 
2SO GRA Y; AN OLDHA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 you think Israel has had. Besides, Liv- 
 ingstone's own account of the manner in 
 which he gained his wealth is satisfactory, 
 or nearly so. He was in California, looking 
 for an opportunity to make an investment 
 in lands. He stumbled upon a deserted 
 town, which he bought for a mere song. 
 It was a great piece of luck. The site 
 had been well chosen, but the project- 
 ors lacked ' push ' to carry out what they 
 had begun. Besides, the entire State of 
 California was at that period so attract- 
 ive a field for enterprise that this one 
 undertaking had been, naturally enough, 
 abandoned when it proved to be difficult. 
 He found by trial that the difficulties 
 were largely imaginary. That was the 
 beginning of his great prosperity." 
 
 '' Oh, don't you see," she exclaimed, 
 *' that this story is a mere invention, sug- 
 gested by his actual experience at Ameri- 
 cus Cit}^ ? It is true that he bought lands 
 in California ; but he did not go there 
 until seven years after he left Oskawask, 
 and then his purchases showed him to be 
 already enormously wealthy. When you 
 and Perkins were driven from the Blue 
 Mountain by blood-hounds, Gray told you 
 that his master, Captain Johnson, had just 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 2JI 
 
 returned from the West. That fixes the 
 date of his California speculations." 
 
 A few minutes before three o'clock Liv- 
 ingstone, grave and gracious as usual, 
 entered my office, Mrs. Eaton took no 
 notice of his polite bow, but continued to 
 speak as though he had been present dur- 
 ing the foregoing conversation. She ad- 
 dressed herself to him, instead of to me — 
 that was the only difference. She told him 
 that her husband was in great distress. 
 He was earning, she said, scarcely enough 
 to keep a roof over their heads, and he 
 was earning that by efforts beyond mor- 
 tal strength. He was killing himself by 
 degrees. 
 
 This communication she made with 
 such suddenness and force that Living- 
 stone did not venture to interrupt her ; 
 and she concluded with a demand, rather 
 than a request, for a large sum of money. 
 At that point he found opportunity to 
 explain that he was not unacquainted with 
 Winthrop's embarrassment ; that he had 
 felt privileged by his affectionate inti- 
 macy with her husband to offer him assist- 
 ance, but that the offer had been most 
 positivel}^ refused. 
 
2^2 GRAY: AN OLDHAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 I say that Livingstone found oppor- 
 tunity to make this explanation ; but that 
 statement is not accurate. Mrs. Eaton 
 appeared scarcely to note what he was 
 saying. When Livingstone referred to 
 her husband's refusal, she rose from her 
 chair and walked quickly up and down 
 the room several times. I looked at her 
 appealingly, but she ignored my presence. 
 
 Livingstone also stood up and began to 
 say that Winthrop's rejection of his pro- 
 posal should not prevent his serving her 
 in any way in his power. She paid no 
 heed to this, so he ceased speaking, and 
 we were all three silent for a minute or 
 two. 
 
 Then she came and stood before Living- 
 stone. Looking fixedly at him, with the 
 strangest expression I ever saw on mortal 
 face, she asked : 
 
 -Why?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said. 
 
 " Why did he refuse?" 
 
 " On the ground," Livingstone answered, 
 " that he could give me no security for 
 the loan, and that his pride would suffer 
 if he accepted such a favor from me, upon 
 whom, he said, he had no claim." 
 
 " No claim !" she echoed ; and then 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 2^^ 
 
 with inconceivable extravagance and fiery 
 eloquence she charged him with being no 
 less than the most abominable among men. 
 
 She said that he offered the revolting 
 spectacle of a brother lifting himself up 
 by the ruin of his own family and stand- 
 ing conspicuously upon the ruins to pose 
 before the world as a benefactor and 
 friend of the poor. She protested against 
 the course which he had been pursuing 
 with reference to his son, Winthrop, say- 
 ing that he had exposed him to dangers 
 which would have corrupted the heart 
 and ruined the career of any less pure and 
 sturdy nature. 
 
 As though utterly at a loss to under- 
 stand her, Livingstone asked : " For what 
 purpose have I done this ?" 
 
 " I shall tell you why you have done 
 this thing," she replied. " Inasmuch as 
 Winthrop is your son, he is part of your- 
 self. To just that extent you include him 
 in your self-love. But only a portion of 
 his nature is derived from you. His share 
 of noble impulses keeps you out of posses- 
 sion. If you could destroy the mother's 
 nature in him, your empire over him 
 would become complete." 
 
 " Very ingenious and perfectly logical. 
 
2^4 GRAY: AN OLD HAVEN ROMANCE 
 
 Receive my congratulations upon this 
 reasoning, Mrs. Eaton," he said. '' But— 
 forgive me if I press the question — to 
 what end all this elaborate and trouble- 
 some preparation? What do I mean to 
 do with your husband finally?" 
 
 " Mr. Livingstone," she replied, " I 
 know more of your past life than you 
 imagine, perhaps. I know and can prove 
 by what crooked paths you have come to 
 your present position. Do not misunder- 
 stand me," she added, noticing that the 
 cynical smile on Livingstone's face 
 changed to a slight frown. " I do not 
 mean to threaten you with exposure. I 
 wish to be perfectly fair and open in my 
 dealings with you and I make no pre- 
 tense of being able to injure you seriously. 
 You have covered your tracks so well, 
 you have shifted responsibility so dex- 
 terously, that it would be difficult if not 
 impossible for anyone to prove in a court 
 of law, or to prove to the satisfaction of 
 the public, which sees and admires only 
 
 your success, that you are what you 
 
 are. I will not stoop to calling hard 
 names. You have not hesitated to use 
 unlawful and detestable methods, — but 
 indirectly, paying others to run the risks 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION ^55 
 
 for you and leaving them to their punish- 
 ment when detected. This you have 
 done, not through cowardice, but know- 
 ing that it was the one path by which you 
 could advance always in security. You 
 are no coward : you would have acted 
 for yourself if that had been necessary or 
 best for your interests. In one case it did 
 become necessary, and then you stained 
 your own hand so deeply " 
 
 " Here is my hand," Livingstone inter- 
 rupted, drawing off a glove and holding 
 out the right, white and shapely, but evi- 
 dently very powerful. '' What stain is 
 there on my hand ?" 
 
 " I promised myself not to use harsh 
 terms," said Mrs. Eaton, watching him 
 narrowly. " The man — the victim — was 
 alone, friendless, a hated recluse. I shall 
 not tell you the facts exactly, but I shall 
 suggest them." She began to pace the 
 floor as she spoke, still, however, keeping 
 Livingstone in view. 
 
 At first the latter displayed only cour- 
 teous attention ; but as the narrative pro- 
 gressed, when the mountaineer was de- 
 scribed, and that horrible fruit which grew 
 upon the Blue Mountain, and the curse 
 with which the possessor of the hoard 
 
2S6 GRA Y: AN OLDHA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 must be cursed, Livingstone appeared to 
 find in her words a significance at least 
 equal to that which they had in the mind 
 of the speaker. As I watched him it seem- 
 ed to me that, whereas he had at first de- 
 sired to appear attentive, he now desired 
 to conceal the extent and intensity of his 
 interest in what she was saying. Finally, 
 when Mrs. Eaton had traced the work of 
 the mountaineer, calling him by all his 
 names in turn — mountaineer, guardian, 
 Israel-for-Israel, Gray — and showing how 
 he had trained the young adventurer to 
 commit murder ; when she had shown 
 the treasure-way opened above a grave, 
 and the danger which Israel himself es- 
 caped gaining in force as it rushed onward 
 in an avalanche of desolation and ruin ; 
 when she spoke then of those mocking 
 voices that would not cease to mock and 
 scoff in the cavern, Livingstone took sev- 
 eral steps toward me, his eyes threaten- 
 ing, his whole figure shaken with stormy 
 passion. 
 
 " I hold you responsible for this, Mr. Pen- 
 man !" he cried ; but then he checked him- 
 self. It was the most sudden transforma- 
 tion conceivable. An instant afterward 
 there was not a trace of emotion in his 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 257 
 
 demeanor. Taking out his watch, " Ex- 
 cuse me for noticing the hour," he said. 
 " Ah ! it is later than I supposed ; but I 
 am only sorry to be obliged to end my 
 call now. Many thanks for your enter- 
 taining conversation, Mrs. Eaton. I have 
 never, upon my word, been so genuinely 
 interested. You have made me forget 
 time and place and myself, even ! But in- 
 deed you noticed how your invention 
 carried me away. When you speak like 
 that, madame, one believes that fiction is 
 reality, and puts himself in the place of 
 the creatures of your imagination." 
 
 A baffled, despairing look had come into 
 Mrs. Eaton's white face, and she was 
 trembling so that I feared she would fall ; 
 but with a final effort she replied : " I 
 did, indeed, feel much complimented by 
 your outburst. It was evidently spon- 
 taneous and natural." 
 
 No sooner had Livingstone gone out 
 than Mrs. Eaton's courage and strength 
 gave place to terror and exhaustion. I 
 did what I could to cheer her, but soon 
 found that she paid no heed to my words 
 and that her condition was rapidly becom- 
 ing more and more distressing. I made 
 haste, therefore, to convey her to "■ West- 
 
2S8 GRA Y: AN OLDHA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 wood," where I left her in the care of her 
 husband and returned alone to Oldhaven. 
 
 If my life were not nearing its close — 
 even if I had before me many years — I 
 should never be able to forget the thoughts 
 which filled my mind as I hastened home- 
 ward. The scene which I had just wit- 
 nessed had stirred the fountain of mem- 
 ory to its depths, and things long hidden 
 rose to the surface. Every incident, of 
 which I had ever had knowledge, in the 
 lives of those people who have figured in 
 this history, came back to me then. The 
 whole course of their lives was distinct in 
 my mind ; and yet the extravagant and 
 supernatural elements which poor Mrs. 
 Eaton's diseased fancy had introduced 
 seemed not less real, but even more real, 
 than the commonplace portions of their 
 experience. It seemed to me that her 
 version of the story of Israel was valuable, 
 not merely as the photograph of her own 
 mind when trembling on the verge of in- 
 sanity ; but that if she had deliberately 
 chosen to express by way of allegory the 
 essential and central realities of such a 
 nature as Israel's, she could not have done 
 it more significantly ; that even if she had 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 2^g 
 
 misrepresented Livingstone, the individual, 
 she had not misrepresented either the class 
 of adventurers with which she identified 
 him or that spirit of self-seeking which 
 seems to me (an old and timorous Old- 
 havener) the cancer in our national body ; 
 that her feverish imagination had created, 
 in the character of Israel, something more 
 real than any individual : a personified 
 national tendency. She had spoken truth, 
 1 admitted to myself ; but a truth which 
 sanity refuses to see. The man of sane 
 mind is content with partial knowledge of 
 his associates, and does not seek to discov- 
 er the awful secrets and the possibilities of 
 evil which are veiled by a respectable exte- 
 rior. But the veil of discretion had been 
 lifted by the terrible accusation which I 
 had just heard, and for the moment I also 
 believed that the real Livingstone and the 
 real Gray were Beowulf and Grendel — 
 strength and diabolical cunning working 
 together, as Israel had asserted that they 
 might. The real Gray, I said to myself as 
 I drove homeward through the darkness, 
 is not the efficient servant, whose manners 
 are perfect and whose practices are secret. 
 The real Gray is what Mrs. Eaton de- 
 scribed : the undying guardian of the 
 
26o GRA Y: AN OLDHA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 hoard, serving in order to retain posses- 
 sion, — the actual owner, whoever may be 
 the temporary possessor, of great wealth 
 employed for selfish purposes. 
 
 At the date of this writing, Mrs. Eaton 
 is still confined in a private asylum ; but 
 her physicians report great improvement 
 and promise speedy restoration to health 
 and reason. 
 
 What is the plain and literal truth in re- 
 lation to Livingstone ? I do not know ; 
 for I am incapable of professing to know 
 anything which is not susceptible of posi- 
 tive proof. It seems to me that credence 
 given to that which is not thus suscepti- 
 ble of proof savors of a form of insanity 
 similar to that from which poor Mrs. 
 Eaton is now suffering. But I should like 
 to suggest one or two lines of thought 
 which I myself have pursued in reasoning 
 upon this question. They are these : 
 
 Unless Mrs. Eaton had some items of 
 information which she has never imparted 
 to me, it is probable that the suggestion 
 of the murder originated and was- elabor- 
 ated in her own mind. What I had told 
 her about Americus City, the resemblance 
 between the man whom we saw on the 
 
MR. PENMAN'S VERSION 261 
 
 mountain and Gray, the name Johnson, 
 the physical peculiarities of the mountain 
 itself — these particulars would hardly have 
 been shaped and combined into such a 
 story unless the germ of the suggestion 
 had been in her own nature. Our opin- 
 ions of others reflect our own essential 
 character. It is an awful thought that the 
 germ of murderous impulse is hidden in 
 every heart — even beneath the tenderest 
 and purest bosom. Hiiniani nihil a me 
 alienum puto. 
 
 That instinct which leads one back to 
 one's early home, in the desire to end life 
 where it was begun, would account for 
 Livingstone's return, if he is the lost Israel 
 Slyme ; but he certainly would not have 
 returned to his old home without first de- 
 stroying every trace of his course which 
 could lead to his identification. If, there- 
 fore, he is the same individual, no person 
 will ever know it. If Mrs. Eaton had ap- 
 pealed to him as a stranger or mere ac- 
 quaintance, he would doubtless have re- 
 sponded according to her wish ; for it is 
 not a generous act when Mr. Livingstone 
 gives. It involves no sacrifice. But she 
 compelled him to refuse her demand when 
 she claimed it as of right. To have given 
 
262 GRA Y: AN OLD HA VEN ROMANCE 
 
 after that accusation would have been to 
 plead guilty. 
 
 But Livingstone interests me less than 
 Gray. Israel, or Livingstone, will die and 
 carry with him his secrets into the grave. 
 Gray — the real Gray — will not die. 
 
 THE END.