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38 j> C. panforfc 
 
 THE LIGHTED LAMP. A Novel. Crown 8vo, $1.50. 
 JOHN PERCYFIELD. A Novel. Crown 8vo, $ 1.50. 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF GOOD FORTUNE. AN ESSAY 
 IN MORALS. Crown 8vo, $1.30, net; postpaid. 
 
 EDUCATION AND THE LARGER LIFE. Crown 8vo, 
 $1.30, net; postpaid. 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 BY C. HANFOKD HENDEKSON 
 
 Author of John Percyfield, etc. 
 
 "The universe belongs to him who 
 loves, who wills, who prays; but he 
 must love, he must will, he must pray." 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 (OTbe ttiterjtftie prcstf 
 1908 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. FATE INTERVENES 1 
 
 II. AT SEA .. . . . f . . . 16 
 
 III. UNDER THE STARS . . . . . . . .34 
 
 IV. THE PASS OF LLANBERIS . . . . 50 
 V. IN THE CLOUDS 77 
 
 VI. THE OPEN ROAD 91 
 
 VII. ADRIFT . . . . . . . . .113 
 
 VIII. AT YORK MINSTER . . ... .134 
 
 IX. ROBERT S LOVE-LETTER . . . . .158 
 
 X. INWARD VOYAGES ....... 174 
 
 XI. NEW ENVIRONMENTS. . . . . . . 190 
 
 XII. PAULINE. . . . . . . . .211 
 
 XIII. ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION . . . 236 
 
 XIV. GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 254 
 
 XV. THE UNEXPECTED . . . . . . 273 
 
 XVI. COCUMELLA . . . . . . . .290 
 
 XVII. OLD ACQUAINTANCES BECOME NEW FRIENDS . . 308 
 
 XVIII. ALICIA . 331 
 
 XIX. ROBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION . . . . 360 
 
 XX. THE NAKED HORSEMAN . . . . .383 
 
 XXI. SAPPHO S FINAL JUDGMENT . . . . . 404 
 
 vii 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 FATE INTERVENES 
 
 AT thirty-four, Robert Pendexter had not done anything, 
 and nothing had happened to him. He passed as a good 
 man, but this was rather a negative reputation, for he 
 had never been put to any severe test. He passed as a 
 useful man, but this was because the standard of useful 
 ness had never been critically examined. He passed for a 
 companionable man, but this was among persons who were 
 socially not exacting. 
 
 Had one told the plain truth about Robert, one would 
 have said that he was commonplace, that he was inoffen 
 sive, and that he was asleep. If Robert had died, then, at 
 thirty-four, he would have been temperately mourned by 
 a small group of friends, but not even his nearest and 
 least indifferent relative, his Aunt Matilda Pendexter, 
 would have thought of writing an obituary notice of him 
 for the " Evening Transcript." Robert would have passed 
 on, one more amorphous, unchiseled soul, to the waiting- 
 hall of souls. But Robert did not die at thirty-four, and 
 shortly after he had reached that birthday, something did 
 happen. Indeed, two things happened. Either one of them 
 alone would hardly have affected the outer current of 
 Robert s life, but coming as they did in conjunction, as 
 our astronomical friends would say, Robert was brought 
 to a sharp turn in the road which carried him into regions 
 
 1 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 and adventures quite undreamed of before. In the first 
 place, Robert lost his health, as he himself phrased it ; and 
 in the second place, his Aunt Matilda Pendexter suddenly 
 died and left him heir to a property which yielded a trifle 
 over six thousand a year. 
 
 As I have said, neither event alone would have shaken 
 Eobert out of the ordinary. Had he merely lost his health, 
 his New England conscience would have kept him at his 
 clerk s desk in Doane Street, and the coffee and spice 
 trade would have known him to the end. Had he merely 
 fallen heir to his Aunt Matilda s tidy little fortune, he 
 would perhaps have moved his bachelor quarters from 
 Pinckney Street to the Back Bay ; would have dressed a 
 little better ; would have done his shopping on Boylston 
 Street instead of Washington ; would have been consid 
 erably more charitable; and would perhaps have flown 
 farther afield during his annual two weeks vacation. But 
 that would have been all. For the rest, he would have 
 remained a junior clerk until he got to be a senior clerk, 
 and a senior clerk until he got to be a junior partner, and 
 a junior partner until he got to be a senior partner, and a 
 senior partner until he died of ennui. But coming as they 
 did, at the same moment, the loss of his health and the 
 unexpected acquisition of an income, even Robert s well- 
 established inertia was powerless to keep him in quite the 
 same rut. The income was ample, it was five times 
 what he had ever received from Messrs. Watson and 
 Reed, Coffee and Spice Merchants, and it would have 
 seemed to Robert like flying in the face of Providence 
 not to have used a part of this income to go in search of 
 the thing that was lost. 
 
 2 
 
FATE INTERVENES 
 
 In reality, Robert had lost far less than he thought he 
 had. By no courtesy could he be said to have possessed 
 so fair and sound an article as health during the past 
 dozen years; not, indeed, since he had come into business 
 relations with Messrs. Watson and Reed. What had really 
 happened now was that the long hours and bad air and 
 dull life had begun to show marked effects, and a spell 
 of east wind and night-work combined had precipitated 
 a genuine nervous breakdown. Robert would have been 
 vastly surprised had you pointed out to him that this 
 breakdown, instead of being the dire misfortune which he 
 pictured it to be, was in reality the one piece of good luck 
 that had befallen him in Doane Street. Quite unknown 
 to himself, he was really a valuable person to Messrs. 
 Watson and Reed. For the past four years, indeed, he 
 had been in imminent danger of a junior partnership. 
 Just now the times were good, and it was cheaper to keep 
 Robert on a clerk s salary than to make him even a very 
 junior partner. But had profits diminished, or had Robert 
 seemed restive in his clerkship, the older men were quite 
 prepared to add his name to their own, and to make the 
 firm Watson, Reed, and Pendexter. To Robert himself this 
 would have seemed high success. Both Mr. Watson and 
 Mr. Reed regarded the matter quite as good as settled, 
 for to both, Robert seemed too docile and too little adven 
 turous ever to break away from the toils of the coffee and 
 spice trade. 
 
 But these amiable plans were all destined to be upset, 
 and this, not because of the breakdown and not because 
 of the legacy, but solely, as I have said, because they hap 
 pened to fall in conjunction. 
 
 3 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Mr. Watson was away at the time, and perhaps that 
 also had something to do with it. He would never have 
 given up so useful a person as Robert without a pretty 
 stiff fight, for Mr. Watson was made of sterner stuff than 
 Mr. Reed, and could argue with power when his own inter 
 ests were concerned. The less redoubtable Mr. Reed was 
 at home, but too busy, and too irritated by the amount of 
 extra work that fell on his own shoulders, to go to see 
 Robert personally. It is true that he sent around to Pinck- 
 ney Street every day to inquire how the sick man fared, 
 but the attention was too impersonal and too obviously 
 perfunctory to make any impression upon even so little 
 exacting a person as Robert. To do Mr. Reed justice, he 
 did not know about the legacy, and regarded Robert s 
 absence as temporary. Robert was too inexperienced to 
 understand just how profoundly Messrs. Watson and Reed 
 were exploiting his youth for their own profit, and much 
 too amiable to wish them any harm ; but in reality they 
 both came to a bad end, they both remained in Doane 
 Street. 
 
 It was now the first of September. Robert had been ill 
 for ten days, and was just beginning to get downstairs 
 again, and to take very short and rather forlorn little 
 walks in the Public Garden. On one of these occasions, 
 he managed to get to the doctor s office on Marlborough 
 Street, but so pale and weak that Dr. Cheney did at once 
 what he had meant to do all along. He forbade Robert s 
 return to Doane Street on pain of very dreadful things 
 happening to him, and ordered him in peremptory fashion 
 to get out of town for at least a year. Then he added, 
 almost roughly, " If you know how to play, for Heaven s 
 
 4 
 
FATE INTERVENES 
 
 sake, man, do it ! There s nothing the matter with you 
 but too much work." 
 
 Robert was still too weak to travel immediately, so Dr. 
 Cheney suggested a sea-trip, with Europe at the end. It 
 was quite useless for Robert to resist. Almost before he 
 knew it, the masterful doctor had telephoned down to the 
 steamship company and bespoken a berth on the Republic, 
 Boston to Liverpool. She was to sail on the 7th. Mean 
 while Robert was ordered to eat all he could, to take a short 
 walk every morning in the Garden, and in the afternoon to 
 drive for an hour or two in a rubber-tired victoria that the 
 doctor promised to select himself at Kenny and Clark s. 
 Moreover, the doctor wrote out Robert s resignation from 
 Watson and Reed s, and made it so emphatic that even Mr. 
 Watson, when he came home, did not venture to protest. 
 
 Robert was one of those methodical persons whose clothes 
 and whose affairs are always in proper order. Beyond pay 
 ing his landlady, buying a steamer rug, making out the 
 necessary cheque for the steamship company, and provid 
 ing himself with a letter of credit from State Street, he 
 had little to do to prepare for this unexpected, and for 
 him quite unheard-of adventure. In spite of the doctor s 
 contrary orders, Robert did write a few brief notes. He 
 had to tell the cousins at Bolton that he was going away, 
 and explain to them that he was too ill to get out and bid 
 them good-by in person. Little as he ever went there, 
 Bolton was still his home. Then he had to write notes to 
 the few friends to whom his going away would be of any 
 interest. One of these notes was to Stephen Morse, a young 
 lawyer whom he had known slightly at King s Chapel, and 
 with whom he had been associated in one or two church 
 
 5 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 matters. It had the immediate effect of bringing Stephen 
 around to Robert s boarding-house. 
 
 Stephen was a much more robust person than Robert. 
 He had already grown a little bald, was distinctly putting 
 on flesh, and had the general air of being in line for a 
 judgeship. He was younger than liobert by at least six 
 years, but when the two were together, it was always 
 Stephen that you turned to first, either to salute or to con 
 sult, for he seemed the more mature, really the older of 
 the two. Just why he had taken such a fancy to so shy and 
 unimpressive a man as Robert, it would have puzzled 
 Robert to say, and perhaps even Stephen himself. But 
 that he had taken a great fancy to him was quite evident 
 to all who saw them together. On this particular afternoon 
 in early September, Stephen came racing up the stairs, 
 two steps at a time, and burst into Robert s shabby little 
 room without so much as knocking. Robert was lying 
 down, and looked very frail and delicate. He started to 
 rise when Stephen appeared. " Don t get up ! " commanded 
 Stephen. " Don t stir, or I 11 go right away ! " 
 
 Robert sank back on the pillow and held out his hand, 
 smiling. " That would be too bad," he said, " when I m 
 so glad to see you." 
 
 Stephen took the outstretched hand, his gentle manner 
 and voice in curious contrast with his almost boisterous 
 words. "Why in thunder didn t you send for me, old 
 man ? " he demanded. " I did n t even know you were sick. 
 I have n t seen you for a week or so, but I thought you 
 were off on your vacation. I ve been so all-fired busy my 
 self, I had n t a chance to look you up. You don t play 
 fair, little Pen. By Jove, you don t ! " 
 
 6 
 
FATE INTERVENES 
 
 It always touched Robert deeply to have Stephen call 
 him " little Pen." Stephen was the only one of his few 
 friends who cared enough for him to have a nickname for 
 him. Robert put out his hand shyly and laid it on Ste 
 phen s. " I thought I d be well everyday," he explained; 
 " I had no notion that I was really sick." 
 
 " And you re actually going away for a whole year ? " 
 asked Stephen, incredulously. " You are n t giving Wat 
 son and Reed the go-by, are you? " 
 
 Robert nodded. " Yes," he said, " I ve pulled out of 
 Doane Street for good and all ! " It gave him great plea 
 sure to announce this, for Stephen, of State Street, was 
 disposed to say rather disparaging things of the men and 
 doings in Doane Street. 
 
 "Whew! " cried Stephen. "That is news. Where on 
 earth are you going ? Not to your cousins out at Bolton ? " 
 
 "No," answered Robert, " I am not going out to Boltou. 
 I am off on a much longer journey than that ! " 
 
 The thought flashed through Stephen s mind that per 
 haps Robert meant that he was going to die. He gazed at 
 his friend apprehensively. Robert caught the look and 
 divined its meaning. " No," he said, smiling, " I m not 
 going to die, at least not yet. I am going to Europe ! 
 
 " To Europe ! " echoed Stephen, eagerly. " By all that s 
 good, not on the Canadian, next Wednesday ? " 
 
 "No," said Robert, "on the Republic, on Thursday. 
 But why did you say the Canadian ? Do you know any 
 one going on her ? " 
 
 "I was going on her, myself," replied Stephen. " Don 
 ald Fergusson and I are booked for her, but we 11 just 
 have to shift over to the Republic, that s all. It will be 
 
 7 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 easy enough. They are all about empty at this time of year. 
 But, say, that s the greatest luck on earth ! Let s shake 
 on it." 
 
 Robert s face flushed with pleasure. " How good you 
 are ! " he said. " Now, I shall want to go. I ve been rather 
 dreading it." 
 
 " I don t wonder," answered Stephen. " Those doctors 
 are brutes, anyhow ! They let a man get as sick as he can 
 get without throwing up the sponge, and then they send 
 him off, all alone, anywhere on God s earth, and expect 
 him to get well, just because they tell him to ! By gum, 
 I d like to give them some of their own medicine." 
 
 " I can t let you say anything against Dr. Cheney," 
 protested Robert. "He s been awfully good to me. He is 
 almost as kind as you are. But will you tell me, please, 
 how you happen to be going to Europe and who Donald 
 Fergusson is?" 
 
 "Sure. I happen to be going to Europe because I 
 happen to want to ! " 
 
 Both laughed. "An excellent reason," said Robert. 
 "But what does the old man say about it? " 
 
 " Bigelow ? Oh, he s really very decent about it. He 
 says to go if I must, but not to let it be over four weeks. 
 That means that I shall stay five or six." 
 
 " The longer the better," cried Robert, in a cheerier 
 voice than had been his for some weeks. "Now tell me 
 about Donald Fergusson. Who is he?" 
 
 "You ought to know without any telling," answered 
 Stephen, enthusiastically. " Where are your eyes ? Don t 
 you read the magazines ? Donald is in most every one of 
 them. He is the coming poet of America. The big guns 
 
 8 
 
FATE INTERVENES 
 
 all say so. And a mighty nice lad into the bargain. We 
 roomed together at Cambridge my senior year, and all the 
 time I was in the Law School. Donald s all right, really 
 a ripping good fellow. And he 11 be glad to have you join 
 us. He s to stay over a year." 
 
 " You think I won t be a gooseberry ? " Robert ques 
 tioned doubtfully. 
 
 "A gooseberry?" said Stephen. "I don t know what 
 you mean. But if you mean a fellow that s in the way, I 
 am sure you won t. You and Donald will get on famously." 
 
 44 Has he been over before ? " asked Robert. 
 
 44 No, never. It will mean a lot for him. He has a whole 
 year s leave of absence, the lucky dog ! " 
 
 44 A whole year s leave of absence," Robert repeated. 
 44 Leave of absence from what, writing poetry ? " 
 
 44 Donald Fergusson ! " exclaimed Stephen. 44 Well, I 
 should say not ! He wants the year so as to write more 
 poetry. He s the year off from his school. He teaches 
 down South. You did n t suppose he lived on his poetry, 
 did you, and was going to Europe on his royalties ? " And 
 Stephen laughed incredulously. 
 
 44 1 did n t know," Robert answered simply ; 44 1 thought 
 perhaps he had an income, and could do as he pleased." 
 
 Then he flushed a little, for having an income and doing 
 as he pleased was still so novel a sensation in his own case, 
 that the mere mention of a similar possibility for another 
 man seemed a bit like boasting. 
 
 Stephen dispelled the feeling in an instant by saying 
 quite brusquely, 44 No more income than you have. He 
 works for what he has." 
 
 Robert would have much preferred to let the matter 
 
 9 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 drop there, but his New England conscience made him add 
 rather uncomfortably, " But I have an income, you know ; 
 I don t work any longer for what I have." Robert said 
 this quite humbly, almost as if ashamed of the fact. 
 
 "You are a sly one," said Stephen, in surprise, and 
 looking Robert over as if he appeared for the first time 
 in quite a new light. "A capitalist incognito, and passing 
 yourself off for an honest workingman! I like that! What 
 ever possessed you to stay down in that old hole in Doane 
 Street all these years ? " 
 
 " I had to make my living then," said Robert. " Now I 
 don t. My Aunt Matilda left me most of her property, and 
 now I have enough to live on, really more than enough." 
 
 Stephen had been looking out of the window. He came 
 back to the bed, and said without any trace of the old 
 banter, " I congratulate you, little Pen. To be as young as 
 you are ; to have the wolf bought off pretty permanently ; 
 to have the world before you, at your beck and call, so to 
 speak, you ought to do great things. What a chance ! " 
 
 Robert answered very earnestly, " I don t know, Stephen. 
 It s all so new, and the last few days I ve felt so low in 
 my mind. I really don t know. Perhaps I m better fitted 
 for Doane Street than I am for a bigger world. I m not 
 clever, you know. I ve never had a college education. In 
 deed, I haven t had much of any education at all. I am 
 just a coffee and spice clerk laid on the shelf awhile. It 
 may be too late to make anything else out of me." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! " cried Stephen. " You don t 
 know what you can do, and sick folks are pretty poor 
 judges anyway. Now I m perfectly well, and being of a 
 sound and disposing mind, as we make the testator say in 
 
 10 
 
FATE INTERVENES 
 
 his will, I should affirm that on the whole you re a pretty 
 nice sort of boy. And I don t think you re dull, little Pen, 
 really I don t ! I 11 bet a big apple you make something 
 out of it." 
 
 " I hope so," said Robert. His earnestness arrested 
 Stephen s attention, and made him see how deeply Robert 
 was moved by this complete upheaval in his old life. 
 
 Just then there came a knock at the door. It was simply 
 the new steamer rug from Hovey s, but it was a fortunate 
 interruption, for it set the friends to talking about the 
 practical matters connected with their trip. Stephen, as 
 the more experienced traveler, had many suggestions to 
 make, and he was careful to steer the conversation away 
 from all serious subjects. When he finally left, he had the 
 satisfaction of seeing that Robert was immensely cheered 
 up. Stephen would much have liked to possess six thou 
 sand a year. But he was level-headed, and knew that before 
 long he would be making more than that himself. He was 
 also honest, and so he knew that meanwhile he would 
 rather be Stephen without it than Robert with it. 
 
 On Thursday afternoon a shabby one-horse cab made 
 its way through Charlestown to the steamer pier. A small 
 steamer trunk was perched somewhat precariously on the 
 box, alongside the driver. Inside the cab, a suit-case, an 
 umbrella, a loose overcoat, and a shawl-strap containing 
 the new steamer rug divided the space somewhat unequally 
 with the one passenger, a delicate man huddled up in the 
 corner, and looking both disturbed and excited. It was 
 a great event for Mr. Robert Pendexter to be going to 
 Europe. It was not the prospective voyage which excited 
 him, novel as that promised to be, but the break with 
 
 11 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 his old life, which it emphasized in so pronounced a 
 fashion. 
 
 Robert was going away without a return ticket, some 
 thing which, so far as he could remember, had never 
 happened before in all his life. He had resisted the allure 
 ments set forth by the clerk at the steamship office, and 
 declined a homeward passage at ten per cent reduction. 
 When the clerk insinuated that Robert was throwing 
 away eight dollars, just throwing it away, Robert felt 
 himself that he was rapidly falling into the extravagant 
 ways of the wealthy. He was even a little disturbed that 
 this potential loss of eight good dollars gave him such 
 slight concern. He reflected uncomfortably that his Aunt 
 Matilda Pendexter would have considered that he was 
 already squandering his substance in riotous living. He 
 had even hesitated a moment and turned back, but it was 
 too late. The clerk was already booking another passenger, 
 and had quite lost interest in Robert and his eight dollars. 
 
 These and many other equally trivial things went chasing 
 through Robert s brain as he jolted over the rough cobble 
 stones of Charlestown. He had all the frugal habits of 
 our social class, and very suddenly, without any interme 
 diate training, he found himself a member of a totally 
 different class. He felt a little ill at ease, and yet, on the 
 whole, he liked the taste of the new order of things. It 
 is quite astonishing what a difference six thousand a 
 year clear income makes in a man s outlook. Even the 
 fact of riding in a cab was still enough of a novelty to 
 come in for part of Robert s thought. He fell to wonder 
 ing what the cabman would charge him, and chided him 
 self a little for not asking in advance. 
 
 12 
 
FATE INTERVENES 
 
 It occurred to him rather whimsically that Dennis 
 Sullivan, the office boy at Watson and Reed s, would 
 quite open his eyes to see the late clerk riding along so 
 unconcernedly in a cab, and booked for Liverpool, first 
 cabin. Then he suddenly remembered that Dennis him 
 self was pale and overworked. His conscience clutched 
 him uncomfortably. He seemed to be shaking off this old 
 world of work in altogether too light-hearted a fashion. A 
 multitude of disturbing pictures began marching through 
 his excited brain. He was ashamed that he had felt so 
 little grieved over his Aunt Matilda s death. For a mo 
 ment he quite despised himself as a mercenary, mean- 
 spirited fellow, who had probably been waiting all along 
 for dead man s shoes. His sense of accuracy Robert had 
 been the most accurate of Watson and Reed s clerks 
 corrected the thought and made it read dead woman s 
 shoes. This correction aroused his latent sense of humor, 
 and suggested a comparison between his own good-sized 
 walking-shoes and his Aunt Matilda s old-fashioned elastic 
 gaiters. The spell of self-abasement was quite broken. 
 An excessive conscience has indeed this saving grace 
 about it, that when it presses matters much too far, it puts 
 one on the defensive, and an aroused self-esteem pushes 
 the pendulum back to the vertical, perhaps, in retali 
 ation, a little beyond it. 
 
 In his heart, Robert well knew that, living or dead, he 
 had never really cared for his aunt. In a flood of exces 
 sive honesty, he admitted to himself that she had been a 
 mean, narrow-minded old woman, and that even this leav 
 ing of the greater part of her fortune to him was probably 
 a mere whim, and not any token of affection. But now 
 
 13 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 the pendulum had gone too far. Robert felt himself an 
 ungenerous, ungrateful fellow to be remembering the 
 faults of the dead. He recalled many little occasions when 
 his aunt, in her own peculiar and narrow way, had never 
 theless shown that she was genuinely fond of him. 
 
 Robert s mind, it will be seen, was traveling in a dreary 
 circle. It was fortunate that the sights and sounds outside 
 the cab began to take on a distinctly nautical character. 
 They attracted Robert s attention and carried him out of 
 himself. 
 
 The shabby little cab made its way among a tangle of 
 other cabs, express wagons, florists glass-sided vehicles, 
 and groups of people who seemed by their entire indiffer 
 ence to everything in the way of horseflesh fairly to invoke 
 being run over. But nothing untoward happened. The 
 cab finally drew up at the foot of a narrow and very 
 steep gang-plank, the tide was nearing the flood, and 
 Robert and his belongings passed up to the deck of the 
 great steamer, and then down to state-room number 68. 
 
 Robert had never been on an ocean steamer before. 
 He was so interested in all the little contrivances that he 
 quite forgot how tired he was. The cabin seemed to him 
 comfort itself, the beds a little narrow, to be sure, but 
 everything so commodious that he felt again the luxuri- 
 ousness of the assuredly wealthy. Having the cabin to 
 himself he took as a matter of course, too inexperienced 
 to know that such privacy is sheer good luck for those 
 who pay only eighty dollars passage-money. The whole 
 thing appealed to his sense of order. He was the old 
 methodical Robert of the counting-room, and not yet the 
 intrepid voyager on new and untried spiritual seas. 
 
 14 
 
FATE INTERVENES 
 
 Stephen and Donald Fergusson had not yet come on 
 board, but Robert was too delighted with a sense of his 
 own snugness to miss them. He fairly gloated over his 
 little cabin. The steamer trunk just fitted under the lower 
 berth. The suit-case just occupied the cane seat near the 
 door. Umbrella, hat, and overcoat went promptly into the 
 small wardrobe. Only the rug remained. In a moment 
 the strap was unfastened, the rug spread out on the sofa, 
 and Robert sat in his tiny domain as pleased as a child 
 in his first playhouse. 
 
 According to the parish register at Bolton, Robert was 
 now thirty-four, but in reality he was still extremely 
 young. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 AT SEA 
 
 IT was the second day out, and eleven o clock in the 
 morning. Robert was on the upper deck, comfortably 
 established in his steamer chair, and literally basking 
 in the sun. It was his first appearance on deck. He 
 had been in his bunk all the day before ; not seasick, 
 as he assured the lawyer and the poet whenever they 
 looked in upon him, but only lazy. Curiously, Robert 
 spoke the truth ; for seasickness, as we all know, belongs 
 to that growing list of matters about which even per 
 sons who are ordinarily truthful feel at perfect liberty 
 to lie. 
 
 Robert had not been seasick. He had simply felt the 
 reaction of all the excitement of getting off, and had been 
 too weak and ill to get up. He had slept practically all 
 day, and to his own great surprise, practically all night. 
 He had not known such splendid sleep for many months. 
 The sea had been smooth enough to allow the port-hole to 
 be open. The salt air and the gentle rocking motion of 
 the big ship had soothed Robert inexpressibly, and had 
 already done more to cure him than could a whole month 
 of dismal little walks in the Public Garden. His eyes 
 were bright, and his cheeks were tinged with faint color. 
 As he sat there in his steamer chair drinking in the good 
 air and sunshine, he seemed so little like an invalid that 
 several of the deck-trotters looked him over a second time 
 as they passed recurrently before his chair, and wondered 
 
 16 
 
AT SEA 
 
 why they had not noticed such a nice-looking young fel 
 low the day before. 
 
 A couple of young girls making their first little journey 
 into the world, and unconsciously bent upon finding ro 
 mance in everything, voted Robert handsome, and from 
 that passed on to finding him mysterious. Before the day 
 ended, they had tried to seek out his name on the pas 
 senger list. In point of fact they hit upon the wrong 
 name, that of a portly, middle-aged stockbroker, who was 
 neither handsome nor mysterious, but as the young girls 
 never found out the difference, it mattered nothing and 
 romance suffered no jolt. 
 
 Robert, meanwhile, quite unconscious of the fact that 
 he was attracting even the least little bit of attention in 
 the world, was aware only of a general sense of well-being 
 that amounted to a positive pleasure. He did not take 
 the trouble to analyze its source. Had the ghost of his 
 Aunt Matilda Pendexter demanded an account, he could 
 have given none. Whether the fattening of his hitherto 
 attenuated pocket-book, or the gentle flow of renewed 
 vitality in his veins, or the pleasant novelty of the situa 
 tion was responsible for his contentment, he neither knew 
 nor cared. The one thing that really mattered was that 
 he felt life to be good. For once, the inexorable con 
 science of the Pendexters was taking a vacation. 
 
 When the deck steward came around shortly after 
 eleven with his tray of adamantine china cups and adaman 
 tine china plates, Robert drank his bouillon as if it had 
 been nectar, and nibbled at the hardtack with as much 
 satisfaction as the gods are supposed to extract from the 
 consumption of ambrosia. 
 
 17 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 The three friends were sitting in a row. For once Ste 
 phen was not dominant. By some subtle change either in 
 destiny or temperament Robert was unconsciously recog 
 nized as the centre of the party. Stephen sat on one side 
 and Donald on the other. There was something undeni 
 ably comfortable in watching the world when one had a 
 friend on each side to act as a buffer. Robert would have 
 been somewhat amused had you put it to him in just that 
 way, but in reality his sense of well-being was considerably 
 heightened by this enveloping sense of friendliness. It 
 was such a welcome contrast to his old feeling of being 
 quite alone in the world. 
 
 Beyond Stephen stretched a long line of steamer chairs 
 filled with men, women, and children, mostly women. 
 Beyond Donald stretched another long line of steamer 
 chairs filled with other men, women, and children, 
 mostly women. Whatever activities they had been up to 
 before coming on board, or whatever they planned to be 
 doing as soon as they should land, now made scant differ 
 ence. A mantle of momentary similarity had settled over 
 the entire line. It was too contented to be called ennui. 
 It was rather that sense of suspended occupation which 
 makes of an ocean voyage a veritable parenthesis of simi 
 larity between very dissimilar activities. It is true that 
 one gentleman was known to be in the writing-room pro 
 ducing reams of scrawling manuscript, but it was spoken 
 of as something quite abnormal, and by the more experi 
 enced travelers was even regarded as reprehensible, for it 
 seemed to cast some slight reflection upon the prevailing 
 idleness. 
 
 It could hardly be said that any of the passengers were 
 
 18 
 
AT SEA 
 
 thinking. Robert s thoughts, at any rate, were far from 
 profound. They dwelt for the moment upon the bouillon 
 he was drinking. It struck him as odd that he should be 
 eating again at eleven when he had only breakfasted at 
 nine. "What do they call it?" he asked, turning to Ste 
 phen, " lunch or luncheon ? " 
 
 " Well," replied Stephen, with the air of delivering a 
 final judgment, " as a lawyer, I should say that, the meal 
 being now in progress, it ought to be called lunch-on. " 
 
 "Hang such puns," cried Donald. "And I ll bet you 
 cribbed it anyhow." 
 
 " No, I did n t," retorted Stephen. " It just came to me, 
 as you poets would say, like a shaft of light, on the spur 
 of the moment ! " 
 
 " We should say nothing of the sort," objected Donald. 
 " Not, at any rate, in describing such an effort." 
 
 But Robert was in the grip of what Donald afterwards 
 came to recognize and to name as the demon of literalness, 
 and was bent on pursuing the subject to the bitter end. 
 " What is the difference, anyway, between lunch and 
 luncheon ? " he persisted. 
 
 " Well, if you must know," murmured Stephen, with 
 the air of imparting a confidence, " on land, the difference 
 is about one dollar and a quarter ; at sea, it is precisely 
 two hours ! " 
 
 " Well, that s a clean steal, out and out," said Donald. 
 " I 11 wager you got that out of the Transcript, and at 
 least four years ago ! " 
 
 " Only half of it," replied Stephen, imperturbably, 
 "and last week. The other half was another shaft, and 
 also immediate." 
 
 19 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Robert was still naive enough to find some amusement 
 in this rather obvious play of words. It all came so quickly 
 and so easily that he felt somehow that his two friends 
 must be cleverer than he. He wondered momentarily 
 whether they could have made good against Mr. Watson, 
 or even against Mr. Reed, two heavy wits, who commonly 
 triumphed over their junior clerks by a process which 
 any one less good-natured than Robert would have called 
 bullying. 
 
 Robert glanced down the long line of steamer-chairs 
 beyond Donald, idly wondering whether all the others 
 were as comfortable and happy as he. He had had little 
 opportunity for studying his fellow passengers, and even 
 now the opportunity was very slight, for most of them 
 were lost in books, or hidden in veils, or wrapped in slum 
 ber. One young girl, like himself, had leaned forward to 
 study this linear display of humanity, and caught Robert s 
 eye. There was something funny in the spectacle, and, 
 almost without meaning to do it, she sent Robert a quick 
 little smile of amused appreciation. It was such a frank 
 and pleasant smile that Robert naturally smiled back. The 
 girl quickly looked away, and evidently thought no more 
 about it. But to Robert it was something of an adventure, 
 and he found it difficult to keep his eyes from that part 
 of the line. 
 
 Donald had been quick to see the whole affair, and was 
 bent upon getting some fun out of it. " An eye for pretty 
 girls, I see," he chuckled, "and most excellent taste. But 
 I should n t have suspected it of our demure little Pen ! " 
 
 "Girl!" snorted Stephen; "she s thirty, if she s a 
 day." 
 
 20 
 
AT SEA 
 
 "Wrong again," said Donald, confidently. "I ll allow 
 twenty-five, but not another year. And all women are girls 
 until they re married or get to be old maids." 
 
 " Do you know who she is? " asked Eobert. 
 
 " I know perfectly," answered Donald, in the same low 
 voice. " She is a Boston school-teacher." 
 
 "How do you know that? " said Robert, incredulously. 
 
 " Anybody with two eyes in his head could see that," 
 retorted Donald, lightly. " She carries a bag ; she wears 
 spectacles ; and she does not believe half she s told ! " 
 
 " You see more than I do." 
 
 " Naturally ! You have no imagination, poor man," said 
 the poet, compassionately. " The bag is downstairs in her 
 state-room. The spectacles are in her pocket. Her disbe 
 lief shows itself in the beautiful curve of her eyebrows." 
 
 " What a dreadful person you are ! " laughed Robert. 
 " I suppose you even know the lady s name." 
 
 " Certainly. It is Miss Smith." 
 
 Robert was rapidly falling in with the spirit of banter, 
 and added quickly, " Which means that you don t know 
 anything about it." 
 
 " Which means that I don t know anything about it," 
 repeated Donald, in his lazy fashion. " But why not take 
 an occasional excursion into the unknown? Why stay 
 always anchored in the Bay of Facts ? " 
 
 Robert was quite willing to essay such excursions, but 
 as yet he did it clumsily. He would keep on the same 
 tack too long, and never seemed to know when to port 
 the helm. This was maddening to Donald. He himself 
 touched lightly upon all subjects, and let them go with the 
 same ease before any one could possibly tire of them. But 
 
 21 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 he resolved to keep good-natured, for, in spite of Robert s 
 limitations, Donald had taken rather a fancy to him. More 
 over, Robert s awkwardness was forgivable, for it was the 
 frank awkwardness of a boy. When he was tickled intel 
 lectually, he believed, like a boy, that he could go on being 
 tickled somewhat indefinitely by the same stimulus. His 
 next remark was quite in line : " I suppose that mau over 
 there in the atrocious ulster is Mr. Smith." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," said Donald, amused at Robert s tire 
 some persistence. "And the small boy howling because 
 he is not allowed to have another biscuit is Master Smith. 
 We shall be meeting the Smith family all over Europe." 
 
 Stephen apparently had not been listening, but he 
 leaned over as soon as Donald stopped speaking, and said 
 with the air of finality that made his friends so sure of 
 the judgeship, " And sometimes, my hearties, we shall be 
 of the same family, even we, and to more discerning per 
 sons we 11 be the Messrs. Smith. But you are wrong about 
 the lady. She is not from Boston, and she is not a school 
 teacher. She is a girl from the golden West, an heiress 
 from Saskatchewan, for why otherwise that hair like 
 ripened wheat and the eyes like prairie skies ! " 
 
 " Hear, hear! " cried Donald, mockingly. " The judge is 
 falling into poesy ! " 
 
 Just then the rumor got abroad that a ship could be seen 
 on the port side. The greater number of passengers rushed 
 over to the deserted deck to catch a glimpse of her, our 
 three young friends among the number. But it proved a 
 false alarm. All that could be seen was the shimmering 
 gray of the sea against the darker gray of the sky. No 
 white sail or dark smoke-stack disturbed the unbroken 
 
 22 
 
AT SEA 
 
 horizon. To Robert and Stephen it seemed a sharply pen 
 ciled straight line against the deeper ocean of air. To the 
 more imaginative Donald, and perhaps also to " Miss 
 Smith," since she remained after the others had gone, it 
 appeared not as a prosaic straight line, but as a magnifi 
 cent earth curve separating the partly known from the 
 wholly unknown. 
 
 Robert did not return to his chair. Yielding to Stephen s 
 brotherly advice, he went down to his state-room, and took 
 another nap to such good purpose that, when he reappeared 
 at luncheon, two hours later, he had apparently pulled 
 himself up one more rung on the ladder of health. Donald 
 found himself watching Robert. It was as if new life were 
 stirring in what Donald had taken at first to be rather 
 dull clay. Robert grasped so eagerly at the simplest 
 pleasures that Donald, a born lotos-eater, found himself 
 exclaiming softly, " It s pathetic. The poor fellow must 
 have been half starved ! " 
 
 By some common impulse, all the passengers took an 
 after-luncheon constitutional on the upper deck. The decks 
 were so unusually wide that the three friends could easily 
 walk abreast, even though the current of promenaders 
 surged in both directions. By an equally common im 
 pulse, the constitutional died away, and our young friends 
 found themselves with an afternoon on their hands. With 
 the experience of an old voyager, Stephen proposed shuffle- 
 board, and immediately went in search of the necessary 
 apparatus. It was in charge of a veteran tar, who had 
 long since withdrawn his eye from nautical matters to 
 bestow it upon human concerns, and notably, at the end 
 of the voyage, upon that midway plaisance in the garb of 
 
 23 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 the traveling public which is the recognized home of the 
 coin of the realm. Future prospects seeming good, the 
 Veteran Tar bravely bestirred himself, and soon had 
 the needed cage chalked out on the deck. The eight cir 
 cular pieces of wood marked plus were neatly ranged on 
 one side of the field, while the eight marked zero ranged 
 up on the other. The young men were each armed with 
 the necessary shuffle-push, and apparently all was ready. 
 
 It suddenly occurred to Stephen that they needed an 
 other player. " Oh, bother," he exclaimed, " we ought to 
 have a fourth, so we could play sides. It s a lot more 
 fun." 
 
 The Veteran Tar was much too discreet to offer. There 
 was no other possible fourth to overhear the remark except 
 Miss Smith. She was just then doing what she promised 
 herself should be the last round in her post-luncheon con 
 stitutional, and had turned a corner around one of the 
 deck-houses just in time to hear Stephen s remark. Alicia 
 dearly wanted the exercise, so she stopped and said in her 
 frank, clear voice, " I should be glad to serve as fourth, 
 if I may." 
 
 The young men had not seen Alicia, and were naturally 
 taken by surprise at hearing this voice out of the empy 
 rean. They quickly recovered themselves, however, and as 
 quickly touched their caps. Robert s was white, and very 
 correct, the others declared, as they had themselves thought 
 lessly bought prosaic blue caps. The three exclaimed in 
 chorus : 
 
 " That would be very nice." 
 
 " Sure, we would like it." 
 
 "Oh, please do!" 
 
 24 
 
AT SEA 
 
 How much Alicia understood of this mild babel it would 
 be difficult to say, but she easily gathered that the noise 
 meant assent, and was looking about for a shuffle-push. 
 Stephen promptly handed her his. " Please take this," he 
 said, and then disposed of the question of sides and of 
 introductions by adroitly adding, " Perhaps you will be 
 kind enough to play with Mr. Pendexter. Mr. Fergusson 
 and I will put up our prettiest game against you." 
 
 Kobert rose to the occasion by saying quickly, " That 
 would be very nice." Then, remembering that Stephen s 
 name had not been mentioned, he added, " Mr. Morse has 
 played before, and evidently thinks that he can beat us." 
 
 It had not occurred to any one to ask whether Alicia 
 had ever played before. She quickly assented to the ar 
 rangement, expressing herself, however, more by her smile 
 and her manner than by any specific words. She rather 
 appreciated the cleverness with which the men had intro 
 duced themselves without appearing to do so, and she was 
 careful to connect the right name with the righ : man. 
 Either unconsciously or from intention, Alicia refrained 
 from mentioning her own name. Stephen was not satisfied 
 with the omission, and after they had placed themselves to 
 begin the game, asked with the persuasive courtesy of a 
 lawyer, " And may we ask, Madam, what might be your 
 own name?" 
 
 Alicia was stooping over to put her first shot, and so no 
 one could see her eyes and know whether they twinkled or 
 not. She answered in the same clear, frank voice, " Shall 
 I say as the Quaker did ? It might be Smith, but happily 
 it is n t!" 
 
 Robert colored and laughed awkwardly. Donald tried 
 
 25 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 to look as if he had not heard the remark. But Stephen 
 answered with a blandness just a trifle overdone, " I m 
 glad that it is n t Smith. That is rather a commonplace 
 name, is n t it ? " 
 
 In spite of this small passage at arms, Alicia still 
 omitted to mention her name, and our young friends had to 
 content themselves during the rest of the voyage by refer 
 ring to her in thought and speech as " Miss Smith." The 
 omission was not caused this second time by intention, 
 but merely by the fact that just then Alicia put her first 
 shot, and as she succeeded in landing a counter very neatly 
 in the ten-place, she was justified in regarding her achieve 
 ment as for the moment more important than her name. 
 She turned to Robert and said in her bright way, " Do 
 you see, Mr. Pendexter, how well I ve started off ? " 
 
 The suspicion floated simultaneously through the minds 
 of the three friends that very probably Alicia had played 
 shuffle-board before. Thus challenged, both Stephen and 
 Donald played their very best. But Alicia and Robert also 
 played their best. Which was the better playing, one 
 need not speculate upon, but certainly Alicia and Robert 
 happened to make their plays fall in with the motion 
 of the ship, and so gain the greater count. When they 
 finally stopped playing, the games stood two to one in their 
 favor. 
 
 While Stephen and Donald were helping the Veteran 
 Tar put away the things, Alicia and Robert drew over to 
 the railing and stood talking about the game. " It s good 
 exercise. We must play again," Alicia was saying. Then 
 she turned impulsively towards the sky and sea, and added 
 with an intensity that fairly startled Robert, " And yet, 
 
 26 
 
AT SEA 
 
 in the presence of two such immensities, it is odd that one 
 should be in the mood for any game ! " 
 
 Robert followed her gaze towards the impenetrable gray 
 wall of the northern sky, and when he looked around 
 again, Alicia had gone. 
 
 " She s good fun, all right," said Stephen, " whatever 
 her name may be." 
 
 " But how awkward about the name! " lamented Robert. 
 " How could she have heard our talk this morning ? " 
 
 " I m not sure that she did hear it," was Donald s 
 comfortable suggestion. " It may have been a mere coinci 
 dence. But of course it may be that she has awfully sharp 
 ears." 
 
 Stephen ignored their conjectures, and gave the judicial 
 opinion that it was a mere coincidence. 
 
 " Well," said Donald, " I d give a new penny to know ! " 
 
 "But I ve just told you!" Stephen s tone assumed 
 severity. 
 
 " All the same," protested Donald, " I d give a new 
 penny to know." 
 
 " Well, whether she heard or not," continued Stephen, 
 " she played like a Scandinavian goddess. But I 11 give 
 up about her age. Donald may have put it too high, or I 
 may have put it too low. You never can tell about these 
 very blonde people. They may be twenty or they may be 
 forty ! But there s one thing sure, my hearties. In point 
 of experience, she s grandmother to all of us." 
 
 " As we don t know a blessed thing about her," said Don 
 ald, " we re free to make up any tale we please. To little 
 Pen she shall be the Princess Beautiful; to Stephen she 
 shall be the wife of Thor ; to me she shall be an enigma. 
 
 27 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 And each man s tale is as good as any other man s, for 
 we re equally ignorant. We re all in the same boat." 
 
 " Do you still think she s from Saskatchewan ? " asked 
 Robert. 
 
 " With such manners, and so sure of herself ! " ex 
 claimed Stephen. " Not on your life, little Pen. She s 
 from Boston, or Philadelphia, or some other very respect 
 able place. And it s not her first crossing, either ! A girl 
 from the wheat-fields could n t have butted into the game 
 that way and not made it seem a little bit flirtatious. 
 Miss Smith gave me the impression that the game was 
 hers, and that she had graciously allowed us to join in. 
 Did you observe the way she led off without being urged, 
 or even asked ? " 
 
 " It was a woman s right to do that," suggested Donald. 
 
 " Precisely," cried Stephen, in triumph. " But only a 
 very well-bred woman is so sure of her rights that she just 
 claims them without making any fuss. And for my part, 
 I don t believe that Miss Smith will know any of us, not 
 even little Pen, except on the top deck and within hailing 
 distance of the Veteran Tar." 
 
 The three friends took a little stroll on the deck, and 
 then Stephen, the kind tyrant, marched Robert off to his 
 bunk for another rest. Again Robert tasted of that won 
 derfully restoring sea-sleep. At six, the room steward 
 brought hot water and suggested that it was time to dress 
 for dinner. His manner was too mild, however, to make 
 any impression upon a man so steeped in sleep. The final 
 bugle found Robert still in his bunk. Stephen stuck his 
 head in the door to say that he and Donald were ready 
 for dinner, but would willingly wait until Robert dressed. 
 
 28 
 
AT SEA 
 
 Robert would hear of nothing of the sort, so Stephen took 
 himself off, casually bidding Robert to put on his best bib 
 and tucker. 
 
 Robert jumped up and dressed hurriedly. It was to be 
 his first appearance at dinner. He got into his best suit, 
 a black cutaway coat with waistcoat to match and gray 
 trousers bordering on lavender. He had chosen a bright 
 red tie, and so attired of a week-day, felt very much dressed 
 up. It was the suit he wore to church, and was indeed the 
 only one he owned in addition to the sack suit in gray 
 that he wore at all other times. Robert started for the 
 dining-saloon with the pleasant consciousness that he was 
 well dressed. He noticed that several of the stewards looked 
 at him rather curiously as they passed him in the corridors, 
 but he took this as a silent tribute to his elegant appear 
 ance. Once inside the saloon, Robert s complaisance gave 
 way to consternation. Nearly all the other men had on 
 evening clothes, and showed an expanse of white linen that 
 seemed to make light of the more sombre part of their 
 attire. Most of them had white ties. The women were still 
 more gorgeous. Many of them wore low-necked gowns and 
 some had short sleeves. The display of jewels was almost 
 dazzling. To Robert s unsophisticated eye, it seemed as if 
 they must be going to a party, and a very grand one, at 
 that. When he reached his own table, he found that 
 Stephen and Donald were attired like the rest. It flashed 
 over Robert that this was what was meant by dressing for 
 dinner. He had not been given to dining out, and in his 
 simple boarding-house world, it was not the custom for 
 junior clerks to own evening clothes. The Sunday cutaway 
 served for all festive occasions as well. Stephen and Don- 
 
 29 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 aid covered his embarrassment as best they could by allu 
 sions to the seven sleepers and what not. But their efforts 
 availed little. Poor Robert felt upset and uncomfortable. 
 And when he reflected that he had not only made a mis 
 take to-night, but would have to go on making it for at 
 least five nights more, wild plans began to form themselves 
 of going to bed hereafter at six and having his dinner 
 served in his state-room. 
 
 It seemed to Robert that everybody looked their disap 
 proval, from the captain and ship s officers down through 
 the long line of passengers to the very stewards. One 
 Englishwoman who sat at the captain s table, and was sup 
 posed to own a title, lifted her tortoise-shell lorgnette and 
 regarded Robert quite as she might have looked at a new 
 variety of animal. Robert caught the look. Instead of 
 being the traditional last straw, however, it proved his 
 salvation, for it aroused his sense of humor. " I may look 
 out of place," he thought, much comforted, " but at any 
 rate, I don t look as ridiculous as you do ! " And after that, 
 he not only stood the ordeal of the dinner, but even enjoyed 
 the meal. 
 
 In reality, if poor Robert could only have known it, his 
 flaming red tie brought out the color in his cheeks, and 
 made him look singularly wholesome and handsome. People 
 were looking at him, partly in surprise, it is true, but also 
 partly in admiration. Donald had a poet s instinct for 
 beauty, and his eyes kept wandering towards Robert, while 
 he murmured to himself, " Give him time, and our little 
 spice clerk will be stunning, fairly stunning ! " 
 
 The dinner finally came to an end. Stephen and Donald 
 went up to the smoking-room for their cigars and coffee. 
 
 30 
 
AT SEA 
 
 Robert declined their cordial invitation to be of the party. 
 He decided to take a few turns on deck, and get back to 
 his bunk at the early hour prescribed by Dr. Cheney. In 
 the companionway Robert ran across Alicia. He would 
 hardly have known her, however, had she not given him a 
 friendly nod, for she, too, had emerged from the chrysalis 
 stage and put on the butterfly. She wore a low-neck black 
 lace gown, which would have been rather sombre for so 
 young a woman had it not been relieved by her own radi 
 ant person, and by a curiously beautiful jewel which hung 
 suspended by a slender gold chain about her neck. Robert 
 nodded and went on to his state-room. He tried to conjure 
 up some term which would describe Alicia. When he com 
 pared her to such beauties as had from time to time wan 
 dered into his Pinckney Street world, he found himself 
 quite at a loss. He did not know Alicia s type, but at least 
 he knew that it was different from theirs. Donald could 
 have supplied the missing term. He, too, had caught a 
 glimpse of Alicia in her dinner-gown, and had told him 
 self, and afterwards Stephen, that she possessed, in a marked 
 degree, distinction ; and for Donald this meant that he 
 could say nothing more flattering. 
 
 Robert got his overcoat and cap, and walked furiously 
 around the upper deck. His old rebellious mood swept 
 over him. It made him hot to think of the people who had 
 probably laughed at him at dinner. It seemed to him a 
 monstrous thing that in this larger world in which he so 
 unexpectedly found himself, the social prescriptions should 
 be so tyrannous. He was not thinking very coherently, but 
 he had a vague idea that he should not like to dress for 
 dinner every night, and that if he did do it, he should 
 
 31 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 probably not do it right. Then there came the still more 
 dispiriting reflection that doubtless there were other social 
 matters which were just as tyrannous, and that he knew 
 nothing about, in fact that he could know nothing about 
 until, by contravening them, he would learn in the valley of 
 humiliation. When Robert thought of his immense igno 
 rance, he wondered whether it would not have been better 
 for him to have stopped in Doane Street, and got back his 
 health by the liberal use of cod-liver oil and horseback 
 exercise. Dr. Cheney had mentioned neither of these 
 sources of health, but Robert had once known a man for 
 whom they had been prescribed, and as they were both ex 
 pensive, he had a confused notion that they must also be 
 effective. 
 
 When Robert was quite at his lowest, he noticed Alicia, 
 wrapped in a long opera cloak and leaning against the 
 railing. She was absorbed in her two immensities, now 
 merged into one, the black, impenetrable mystery of the 
 night. It did not occur to Robert that Alicia had prob 
 ably chosen to be alone, nor did he notice that her lips 
 were moving in some voiceless meditation or prayer. He 
 rushed up to her and said, with a boyish impulse which 
 amused her in spite of its quite unwarranted intrusion 
 upon a vastly different mood, " Don t you think it s a 
 useless bother to dress for dinner every night ? Don t it 
 bother you, now, honest ? " 
 
 Alicia smiled. " You know that women are supposed to 
 care for dress," she said quietly. 
 
 " Oh, yes," exclaimed Robert, impatiently. " But if you 
 were a man. How would you dress, if you were a man ? " 
 
 Alicia looked at Robert and hesitated a moment. Then 
 
 32 
 
AT SEA 
 
 she answered quite simply : "If I were a man, I think I 
 should dress in any way that made me least conspicuous." 
 
 Robert did not entirely understand the reply, but he 
 had a quick intuition of remoteness, as if the voice had 
 come to him from a long distance out in space. He said 
 " Good-night " abruptly, and hurried down to his state 
 room. 
 
 Alicia frowned. Then she dismissed Robert entirely 
 from her thoughts and went on with her meditation. Half 
 an hour later, when she joined Mrs. Costello, she had 
 quite forgotten the matter, and spoke only of the beauty 
 and mystery of the night. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 UNDER THE STARS 
 
 FOR the next two or three days Robert had the feeling 
 that somehow life was very full. It was not that anything 
 remarkable happened. Outwardly it was rather a restricted 
 life. Although the Republic was such a large boat, the 
 first-class passengers had all their quarters amidships, 
 and really enjoyed less sweep than on smaller boats of 
 the older type. It was the price they had to pay for the 
 lessened motion. 
 
 Robert ate and slept and talked and walked, and all 
 of these, it seemed to him, he did prodigiously, and on 
 a scale which only a week before would have appeared to 
 him to be fairly extravagant. What his Aunt Matilda 
 Pendexter would have thought of all this self-indulgence, 
 Robert did not allow himself to ask. Even he was almost 
 frightened to find how much he liked the idleness, and 
 what an undoubtedly comfortable feeling the unaccus 
 tomed luxuriousness of his present life gave him. To get 
 up when he pleased, to do what he liked all day, to take 
 a whole hour for luncheon if the talk made it seem worth 
 while, to sleep whenever he felt inclined, to read books in 
 the morning, to play shuffle-board of an afternoon, even 
 to wear the despised cutaway coat of a week-day, were all 
 too novel and too much of a contrast to the alternating 
 monotony of Doane Street and Pinckney Street, not to 
 force themselves oddly and frequently upon his attention. 
 The other passengers seemed to take all these things for 
 
 34 
 
UNDER THE STARS 
 
 granted, and to be for the most part unaware that there 
 was a more humdrum, work-a-day aspect to life. They 
 would probably have failed to understand the source of 
 Robert s buoyant pleasure quite as completely as Robert 
 himself failed to comprehend their own daily customs and 
 modes of thought. We must, of course, except the ro 
 mantic school-girls. As we have seen, they had already 
 sensed some mystery in Robert without being at all able 
 to define or name it. 
 
 It was this violent contrast between the life which he 
 had just thrown over and the larger life which he could 
 not yet be said to have put on, that really constituted the 
 chief element in Robert s pleasure. It was also the source 
 of considerable pain, for at any moment, quite without 
 warning, some small circumstance would come up, trifling 
 enough in itself, but still sufficient to make Robert per 
 ceive that the others were to the manner born, while he 
 was essentially an outsider. At times he rejoiced that he 
 was, for he felt that, after all, he was freer than they. But 
 it was still a world of very mixed values. More frequently 
 Robert regarded himself as an interloper, without any 
 clear right to move among them on equal terms. He had the 
 disagreeable feeling that he was sailing under false colors. 
 
 Stephen found Robert increasingly interesting, and 
 Donald found him less and less tiresome, but neither of 
 them quite divined the source of Robert s heightened 
 alertness. Having always moved, themselves, in this larger 
 world, they could not realize the effect of being suddenly 
 introduced into it from a totally different world, and of 
 being introduced, as it were, without any preparatory ves 
 tibule. Even the poet s lively imagination, capable as it 
 
 35 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 was of making tremendous excursions into the unknown, 
 could not quite fathom this particular depth in the Bay 
 of Facts. 
 
 But real as these minor currents in Robert s daily 
 steamer life were, they quite merged themselves and got 
 lost in the mightier physical current now sweeping over 
 him, the current of awakened life. The idleness, the long 
 hours of sleep, the abundant food, the wealth of sun and 
 air, the excellent companionship, were just what Robert 
 needed, much more than cod-liver oil and lonely horse 
 back exercise. He responded in a way that would have 
 done Dr. Cheney s heart good. Even Stephen, witnessing 
 this daily miracle of renewed life, felt constrained formally 
 and judicially to withdraw his own harsh judgment against 
 the doctor for packing Robert off from Boston in such 
 apparently casual fashion. 
 
 As the tide of life rose higher, Robert quickly relin 
 quished his semi-invalid habits. Instead of going to bed 
 before nine, he got to staying up until ten, and finally 
 even until eleven. Fortunately the weather was warm, 
 and sea-life at its best. Robert began to feel the enchant 
 ment of the sea, and gradually, as he grew accustomed to 
 it, the still more wonderful enchantment of the night. He 
 sat out on deck, exulting in the sensation of rushing through 
 void spaces to meet unknown worlds. The mystery of 
 the night, a mystery which one feels most keenly at sea, 
 or on the desert or the mountain-top, came to Robert as 
 a novel experience. In Pinckney Street he had never 
 really felt the night. He had felt the darkness and the 
 gloom, had been blinded by the sharp points of the elec 
 tric lights, had been conscious of liking the twilight hours 
 
 36 
 
UNDER THE STARS 
 
 because they meant release from Doane Street ; but of the 
 night as a whole, its mystery, its enlightening darkness 
 when the soul is thrown in upon itself in the wonderful 
 silence of a sleeping creation, Robert had really had no 
 taste. It became for him a time of physical excitement. 
 When he could, he escaped from the others, and sought 
 out some spot farthest removed from all the steamer s 
 sounds and light. It was the easier to do this, because 
 Stephen and Donald always went for a smoke directly 
 after dinner, and fell into the way of supposing that Rob 
 ert was already in his bunk when at last they sauntered 
 out for a final promenade. But even the poet never took 
 more than a few short turns on deck, for both he and Ste 
 phen felt, without ever expressing it, that dinner-clothes 
 and the after-dinner mood went better with sound and 
 light and jollity than with deserted decks and the solemn 
 stillness of the night. 
 
 One evening, however, when the voyage was nearing its 
 end, and Robert s invalidism had become more and more 
 of a fiction, Stephen insisted that Robert should join them 
 in the smoking-room. Robert tried to beg off. He had 
 almost a child s dislike of tobacco-smoke, and a strong re 
 pugnance, which his Aunt Matilda Pendexter would have 
 considered most proper, for all bar-room odors and scenes. 
 Stephen would not hear of it, however, for it had got 
 noised abroad that a particularly good story was to be told 
 that night, and he urged, with some show of logic, that 
 an ocean voyage would hardly be a complete experience 
 without at least one evening in the smoking-room. 
 
 The three friends went up directly from the dinner- 
 table, and established themselves in a cosy corner where 
 
 37 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 they could see and hear all that was going on. The room 
 filled up earlier than usual. There were comfortable, well- 
 fed, worldly-looking men, in glossy dinner-coats and im 
 maculate linen. There were keen, experienced, worldly 
 women, who wore their beautiful gowns quite as a matter 
 of course, almost contemptuously indeed, and altogether 
 without that conscious air of being in holiday attire which 
 among the women of Robert s acquaintance commonly 
 spoiled such effect as they might otherwise have achieved. 
 Robert was somewhat dismayed to see so many women in 
 what was manifestly nothing but a floating bar-room, but 
 they themselves were so completely unshocked that Robert 
 felt disposed to count his own feeling a probable prejudice. 
 That Alicia was there made it at least respectable. Aside 
 from the odors of stale beer and stale tobacco smoke, it 
 seemed to Robert to be on the whole a comfortable, pleas 
 ant world, and he quite entered into the spirit of the scene. 
 Everybody seemed talking at once, and Robert found him 
 self wondering what would have been the result if all the 
 lips sealed from speech by cigar or cigarette had added 
 their share to the existing babel. Presently, however, there 
 was a partial lull, the half silence of expectation, and it 
 was evident that the time for story-telling had arrived. 
 
 By a common impulse, all eyes were turned towards 
 one corner, to an old sailor sitting nonchalantly in one of 
 the big armchairs. He was puffing away at an old pipe, 
 his legs were crossed, and though he occupied the centre 
 of the stage, so to speak, he appeared wholly unconcerned. 
 Our young friends were surprised to recognize in him the 
 Veteran Tar, the chalker of diagrams and keeper of scores 
 on the upper deck. But something had happened to the 
 
 38 
 
UNDER THE STARS 
 
 old man. Instead of being the subservient mariner of their 
 afternoon games, he had on a just perceptible swagger, 
 and the unmistakable air of being quite as good as any 
 body. 
 
 " They ve filled him up with grog, all right," said Ste 
 phen, " or he d never face the music in that style. It 11 
 be more fun than a goat to hear him yarn." 
 
 "Do you suppose it really happened?" asked Robert, 
 as soon as the tale was ended, and the applause had some 
 what subsided. 
 
 " Lord, no," answered Stephen. " The old fool made 
 up every word of it." 
 
 " Hold on," broke in Donald, " don t let the Judge per 
 vert your literary taste, little Pen. The Veteran Tar has 
 a fine imagination, which is more than I can say for you 
 two. He s an artist, a poet, a creator, almost a genius ! " 
 
 " Oh, tommy-rot ! " exclaimed Stephen. " Cut out your 
 hot air. It s time for little Pen to go to bed. Let s have 
 a night-cap." 
 
 As Stephen spoke, he beckoned to a waiter, and both 
 Stephen and Donald gave their orders. 
 
 The waiter vanished before Stephen had time to turn 
 to Robert. " What will you have, little Pen ? " he asked. 
 " Better take something good and plain, nothing so fancy 
 as the poet indulges in." 
 
 "I?" answered Robert. "Nothing at all. I sleep too 
 much as it is. I don t need a night-cap." 
 
 "Oh, you d better," persisted Stephen. "Just to learn 
 how to order it when you get to some town where the 
 water s bad. Better try a plain whiskey and soda." 
 
 When the waiter returned, Robert ordered a plain 
 
 39 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 whiskey and soda. It was the first time that he had ever 
 done such a thing, and it made him feel exceedingly worldly. 
 
 It was now the last night out. The Republic was ex 
 pected to make Liverpool some time the following morn 
 ing. The ocean had become less lonely. The number of 
 vessels had greatly increased, and made the waters seem 
 almost populous. There were little coastwise steamers 
 puffing about at all angles, and with the air of the highest 
 importance; ocean tramps, apathetic and ungainly, bound 
 for the four quarters of the globe ; fishing boats and sailing 
 vessels of all possible sorts and conditions, apparently 
 headed for no particular haven, but bent only upon getting 
 in the way. 
 
 On board the Republic, there was that unmistakable 
 feeling of approaching port. Stephen sniffed it in the 
 air. Even Robert and Donald, making their first cross 
 ing, sensed the difference. In mid-ocean there had been 
 an astonishing amount of comradeship, and a still more 
 astonishing amount of self-revelations. Confidences that 
 ordinarily would have been warranted only by a life 
 long friendship were offered with comparative freedom 
 to almost entire strangers. It is one of the curious pheno 
 mena of the sea. 
 
 But now the land attitude was beginning to reassert 
 itself. The old prudential reserve was coming back in full 
 force. In some cases the pendulum swung absurdly far 
 the other way. In place of the larger and more gracious 
 humanity there came a rigid primness that chilled the air 
 and made the very food seem cold. The last dinner had 
 been eaten. It is always a less successful function on 
 English than on Continental steamers, but to-night it was 
 
 40 
 
UNDER THE STARS 
 
 less successful than ever. Each Englishman, conscious of 
 having let himself go just a little bit in mid-ocean, was 
 now making conscientious efforts to atone for his friendli 
 ness. The method adopted to achieve this genial end was 
 commonly the same. It consisted in looking extremely re 
 mote and self-centred, and in implying, as far as manner 
 could do it, that any advances during the earlier part of 
 the voyage had been a regrettable mistake, and wholly the 
 fault of the other man. The result of this widespread 
 effort was a settled gloom. There were, of course, oases in 
 this desert of respectability. There were groups of Ameri 
 cans still so human and so untouched by Anglican man 
 ners that they were not abashed at being cheerful. There 
 were non-insular Europeans who continued to be commu 
 nicative and well-bred. At the table of our three young 
 friends, the other seven passengers were either English, or 
 else Colonials who rapidly recovered their dullness the 
 nearer home they got. The odds against even a passable 
 dinner had been rather heavy. But Stephen had declined 
 to be depressed. He was even more hilarious than usual. 
 He made pun after pun, and some of them not so bad, 
 and capped one good story with another. But the line 
 had been drawn, and none but his compatriots allowed 
 themselves to be amused. 
 
 The effect on Donald was somewhat different. No de 
 tail of the situation escaped him. It struck him as so deli 
 cious, the obvious effort of Stephen, the obvious resistance 
 of the islanders, that he chuckled audibly from the soup 
 through to the dessert. His own contributions to this grim 
 feast had been only occasional, but they put poor Robert 
 on pins and needles, for only their subtlety kept them 
 
 41 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 from being impossible. Robert could not help enjoying 
 these thrusts. He liked their cleverness and their auda 
 city. But at the same time he felt highly uncomfortable, 
 and sat through the meal in awkward silence. He was 
 conscious of giggling when he meant only to smile. At 
 last the dinner had dragged itself to an end and the dining- 
 saloon emptied with almost an audible sigh of relief. The 
 stewards, Robert remembered, had looked even more 
 bored than usual. 
 
 The three friends were now on deck again, and cosily 
 established in their steamer chairs. Stephen and Donald 
 had for once omitted their after-dinner smoke. The fresh 
 air, the renewed presence of the immensities, the un 
 troubled procession of the stars, seemed to restore all things 
 to their accustomed poise. The three friends had placed 
 their chairs well forward, where the lights, in deference 
 to the lookout on the bridge, had either been covered up 
 or extinguished. The soft swish of the water against the 
 vessel s side was the only thing that was heard. The air 
 brushing past their faces with its pleasant suggestion of 
 on-rush was the only thing that was felt. The tranquillity 
 of the stars was the only thing that was seen. Other dark 
 figures sat all around them, silent but not unfriendly. The 
 sea and the night held them all under their joint spell. 
 
 Stephen was the first to speak : " I say, Pen, what s the 
 use of having a poet along if he can t speak up at such a 
 moment as this ? Donald, my boy, it s up to you. Give 
 us a bit of verse about the sea, or the night, or both, or 
 either, or neither. Minstrel, ahoy, time up ! " 
 
 Without any hesitation, and in a richer and more 
 vibrant voice than Robert had ever heard him use before, 
 
 42 
 
UNDER THE STARS 
 
 Donald repeated some lines of his own, " An Invocation 
 to the Sea." 
 
 When Donald ceased speaking there was a silence for 
 some moments. Stephen was the first to break it : " A 
 pretty tune, minstrel, and bravely sung. Good Unitarian 
 doctrine, too. But the rhyming is a bit obvious for me. 
 Give us something from one of the senior poets." 
 
 " All right, old man," said Donald, without any resent 
 ment. He thought for a moment, and then repeated those 
 beautiful lines of Matthew Arnold, beginning : 
 
 " Weary of myself, and sick of asking 
 What I am, and what I ought to be, 
 At this vessel s prow I stand, which bears me 
 Forwards, forwards, o er the starlit sea." 
 
 When Donald finished, both Stephen and Robert 
 thanked him heartily, and Stephen, who seemed to know 
 the whole poem by heart, softly repeated the final lines, 
 
 " Resolve to be thyself ; and know that he 
 Who finds himself, loses his misery ! " 
 
 " Do give us another, Donald," said Robert, earnestly. 
 
 "It s the Judge s turn," answered Donald, lightly. 
 " Come, Stephen, something good, original or otherwise." 
 
 Quite simply, and with a depth of feeling that astonished 
 Robert, Stephen gave a beautiful sonnet of Shakespeare s 
 that touches upon the sea. 
 
 Donald would gladly have had the recital stop here, for 
 he felt that they had touched high- water mark, but Rob 
 ert, whose inability to let go of things at the flood we have 
 already remarked, begged Stephen for one more poem, 
 urging that Donald had given two. 
 
 " I would willingly, little Pen," said Stephen, with the 
 
 43 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 caressing air that he always threw into the "little Pen," 
 " but really I can t think of any that would be appro 
 priate." 
 
 Robert s persistence was more fortunate than common, 
 for a voice from one of the neighboring chairs spoke up 
 quickly. " If you will allow me to act as substitute, I will 
 try to recall a poem that perhaps you and your friends 
 may enjoy." It was a woman s voice, very clear and curi 
 ously high-pitched. It seemed to come not from any part 
 of her anatomy, but literally from some region quite above 
 her. It was not only higher than the tones of ordinary con 
 versation, but it seemed to Robert higher than the tones 
 of any conceivable conversation. And yet it pleased. In 
 addition to its musical quality, it spoke of long years of 
 cultivation. It was distinctly artificial, but as distinctly 
 justified by its own excellence. Robert had never heard 
 such a voice, and for the moment was so taken up with its 
 quality that he forgot to make any reply. Stephen spoke 
 for them all : " Thank you very much. We should be 
 delighted if you would." 
 
 None of the friends knew precisely which chair had 
 spoken, nor could they be quite sure even later, for the 
 darkness had deepened and wrapped them all in its friendly 
 mantle. Without prelude of any kind, the voice repeated 
 Emerson s lines on the sea-shore, the ones beginning 
 
 " I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea 
 Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come ? " 
 
 The effect was intangible, remote, impersonal, for the 
 voice never dropped its pitch, never lost its air of coming 
 down to them from above. 
 
 Robert was not given to reading poetry, and this was 
 
 44 
 
UNDER THE STARS 
 
 a new experience for him. He thanked the voice very 
 genuinely, and begged for still one more selection. The 
 lady said pleasantly, " Yes, if you wish"; and after a mo 
 ment s pause she added, "Let us take something from 
 Mrs. Browning." She chose " Mother and Poet," the poem 
 ending with the lines : 
 
 " Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east, 
 And one of them shot in the west by the sea. 
 Both ! both my boys ! If in keeping the feast 
 You want a great song for your Italy free, 
 Let none look at me ! " 
 
 The effect was even more striking than in the case of 
 Emerson s lines, for now it was a woman who was speak 
 ing. The artificial, high-pitched voice easily simulated a 
 mother s grief, and lost itself in a lament that was half 
 sob, half wail. When the recital ended, not only the three 
 friends, but also a chorus of muffled figures expressed 
 their thanks. One woman got up hastily and went inside. 
 When she opened the door of the companionway, and 
 stood for a moment in the blinding light, both Stephen 
 and Robert noticed that she was dressed in black. 
 
 By common consent a long silence fell upon the com 
 pany. Only the swish of the water at the steamer s side 
 and the tramp of the officer on the bridge interrupted 
 the quiet. One by one the company melted away. The 
 Veteran Tar noiselessly folded up the steamer chairs and 
 put the forgotten rugs in neat piles on the long sofa in 
 the companionway. Still the three friends sat on. Robert 
 had got slept up, and remained on deck partly out of 
 pure pleasure in the night, and partly because he wanted 
 to hold back the ending of the voyage just as long as pos- 
 
 45 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 sible. Stephen and Donald were busy with their own 
 thoughts. Presently Robert sighed. 
 
 "What s up, Pen?" asked Stephen. "Did Sappho 
 make you sniffle over your dead sons, too?" 
 
 " No, I was not thinking about Sappho, if you mean 
 the lady with the remarkable voice. I was thinking how 
 sorry I am to have the voyage end. Don t you wish it 
 could go on forever?" 
 
 " Lord, no," answered Stephen, briskly. " It s good 
 enough fun while it lasts, but seven days are enough for 
 me, and I could get on with five. I shall skip down the 
 gang-plank to-morrow without a tear in my throat or a 
 sob in my eye ! " 
 
 Robert was already feeling homesick for the steamer 
 and a bit afraid of the big, untried world of Europe. He 
 only smiled at Stephen s way of putting it, and went on 
 rather gloomily : " Some people say that the voyage is the 
 best part of a European trip anyway." 
 
 " Don t you believe it, little one. 4 People say a lot of 
 things that are n t so ! That s all laziness. It s all right 
 as a preface, especially when there are three of you, and 
 Miss Smith and Sappho are along, to say nothing of the 
 Veteran Tar. But it s only a preface, a foretaste, a vesti 
 bule, an introduction, a preparation, an antechamber, a 
 prefix, an appetizer " 
 
 " Hold on ! " cried Donald. " We catch your meaning. 
 Continue with the thought." 
 
 " Well," said Stephen, somewhat out of breath, " I was 
 merely going to say that since the voyage is a necessary 
 part of the business, it is well enough to make the best of 
 it ; but it s a sleep and a forgetting, compared to Europe 
 
 46 
 
UNDER THE STARS 
 
 itself. Europe is the real thing. To-morrow we shall begin 
 to live ! " 
 
 Stephen s enthusiasm was contagious, but in spite of it 
 Robert continued to feel skeptical, and especially when he 
 thought of the lonely days after Stephen had gone home, 
 and Donald had settled down to his studies and verse- 
 making in Berlin. It seemed wiser to change the subject, 
 so he asked, " Did you find out which one was Sappho ? " 
 
 " Not I," answered Stephen. " The voice came from 
 such a bunch of womankind that for the life of me I 
 could n t tell which one perpetrated it. I meant to watch 
 and hear them say good-night to one another, but some 
 how I did n t. They got off before I knew it." 
 
 "And for a very good reason," put in Donald: "it s 
 hard to watch and sleep at the same time." 
 
 "Asleep your grandmother," retorted Stephen. "I 
 did n t take so much as forty winks." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but at any rate you snored ! " 
 
 "Snored!" cried Stephen. "How horrible! How un 
 mannerly to snore in the presence of Sappho! I should 
 rather have slept!" 
 
 " Don t be disturbed," continued Donald. "She d prob 
 ably gone before you got really tuned up." 
 
 44 For this bit of comfort, I thank you ! " replied 
 Stephen, with mock humility. " My self-respect is saved." 
 
 " It was a beautiful voice," said Robert. 
 
 " It was more than that," cried Donald. " It was dis 
 tinguished." 
 
 "Don t you know anything about her?" persisted 
 Robert, turning to Stephen. " I thought you lawyers 
 knew everything." 
 
 47 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " We do. You are quite right, little innocent. We do. 
 We know everything and everybody and every place. If 
 I were on the stand, now, I should say as a pretty sure 
 guess that Sappho is from Boston, for no woman from 
 any other place on earth could have such a voice. In the 
 second place, that she is cultivated up to the last notch 
 and quite regardless of expense. In the third place, that 
 in point of age, she is anywheres between twenty and 
 eighty. But that don t signify, for Boston women never 
 grow old. And in the fourth place, that to know her 
 would be, as Somebody-or-Other said about Somebody-or- 
 Other, a liberal education." 
 
 " Doubtless Pen will recognize her," suggested Donald. 
 
 "Doubtless," repeated Stephen, dryly " by her voice." 
 
 " I shall certainly try," declared Robert ; and after a 
 little he added, " I must go downstairs now and pack up. 
 Have you two packed yet ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Stephen, promptly. 
 
 " Are n t you going to to-night ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Stephen, in the same voice. 
 " I never pack until the very last moment." 
 
 " What a miserable way of doing," was Robert s com 
 ment, as it would have been his Aunt Matilda Pen- 
 dexter s ; " you might get left." 
 
 " Perfectly true," assented Stephen, solemnly. " I 
 might get left. But then you people who pack up so far 
 ahead of time always do get left. You re mortally sure to 
 want something at the very bottom of your trunk as soon 
 as you get locked and strapped. And aside from this de 
 plorable certainty, you re all unsettled and adrift several 
 hours before you need to be ! Take the advice of an old 
 
 48 
 
UNDER THE STARS 
 
 traveler, and don t touch a thing until you feel our goodly 
 ship tugging at her anchor alongside of Victoria Pier, 
 Liverpool." 
 
 "What it is to travel with a philosopher!" cried 
 Donald. 
 
 " And with a poet ! " put in Robert. 
 
 " And with little Pen ! " added Stephen, rising and 
 pulling both men out of their chairs, and marching them 
 off to bed. 
 
 Whereupon the Veteran Tar performed his final func 
 tions in disposing of chairs and rugs, and went off to the 
 fo castle, chuckling, but whether with his passengers, or 
 at them, it would be difficult to say. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 IT may have been the dull day, or his regret at leaving 
 the steamer, or it may have been that Liverpool is really 
 not a beautiful place, but for some reason Robert s first 
 impressions of Europe were distinctly, even sadly, disap 
 pointing. In spite of Stephen s radical theories about pack 
 ing, Robert had all his things in trunk and suit-case very 
 early the next morning, and was up on deck long before 
 the others appeared. He was uncomfortably anxious not 
 to lose anything. With returning health, the active con 
 science of the Pendexters was beginning to resume its 
 normal functions. It had entire possession of Robert as he 
 paced the upper deck alone in the moist grayness of early 
 morning. Whatever may have been their sins of omission 
 and commission, there was probably not a more conscience- 
 smitten voyager than he among all the hundreds who made 
 up the passengers and crew of the Republic. Had his Aunt 
 Matilda Pendexter been there in the flesh, she could hardly 
 have lashed him more successfully, or more unmercifully. 
 Robert s main charge against himself was that he had 
 been idle and frivolous ; that he had quite let himself go, 
 in fact, and had been altogether unworthy of his oppor 
 tunities. He could not honestly accuse himself of any active 
 wrong-doing, but it was the sins of omission that stared 
 him in the face. Robert quite ignored the fact, now that he 
 felt so much stronger, that he was really berating an in 
 valid for not doing the things that a well man might per- 
 
 50 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 haps have done to advantage. He thought with genuine 
 self-reproach of all the instructive facts he had meant to 
 gather when he first came on board. He had gathered none 
 of them. He had not been down to see the machinery, or 
 learned how many tons of coal per day the boilers con 
 sumed. He had not visited the steerage and talked with 
 the returning emigrants about their experiences in Amer 
 ica. He had not been up in the chart-room and learned 
 the details of their particular route. Having originally mis 
 taken the chief steward for the captain, he had never since 
 got straightened out about the ship s officers. He had failed 
 to learn the signal-code, or even the funnels and flags of 
 the different trans- Atlantic lines. He had seen one of the 
 officers fumbling with an instrument that somebody said 
 was a sextant, but he hadn t troubled himself to learn 
 how it worked. He could n t have told his Aunt Matilda 
 how many eggs they consumed during the voyage, or how 
 many pounds of butter, not even whether they carried the 
 chickens alive or in cold storage. These facts would have 
 interested the old lady much more than the Veteran Tar s 
 story. 
 
 In fact, as Robert told himself bitterly, he now knew 
 just as much about running a ship as when he first came 
 on board, and that was nothing at all. 
 
 It was too late now to redeem himself. In a vain effort 
 to make amends, Robert found himself counting the masts 
 and the smoke-stacks and the life-boats, and indeed every 
 thing else in sight whose multiplicity laid it open to the 
 counting process. Where he could not count and measure, 
 he guessed and estimated. 
 
 It was while engaged in this informing operation that 
 
 51 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Robert heard a brisk step coming along the deck. He 
 turned in the expectation of seeing either Stephen or Don 
 ald. But it was Alicia. She bade him a cheery good- 
 morning, and passed on without any apparent thought of 
 his joining her. Robert had had quite enough of his own 
 company, however, and jumped at this chance of bettering 
 it. With a quickness that would not have been possible to 
 him a week before, he asked if he might not walk with 
 her. Alicia slackened her pace enough for Robert to catch 
 up to her easily. She showed neither pleasure nor annoy 
 ance at the company thus thrust upon her. She turned her 
 face toward Robert and said in the cheery, impersonal 
 way that he had come to know, but not to understand, 
 "If you wish to, certainly." 
 
 Robert replied rather feebly that he did wish to. Alicia 
 resumed her former pace, and the two were soon walk 
 ing up and down the deck at a speed which did much 
 to restore Robert s circulation and bowl over his con 
 science. 
 
 Robert had had a number of encounters with Alicia 
 since their introductory games of shuffle-board. These en 
 counters had seemed on the face of them friendly, even 
 intimate, and our young school-girl friends, making their 
 first little journey into the world, had easily and rapidly 
 enmeshed the two in a charming romance. Even Stephen 
 had noticed Robert s evident interest in Alicia, and with 
 characteristic judicial mind had wondered whether it would 
 be suitable. But the man and woman pacing the deck to 
 gether in such a brisk, business-like way were in reality 
 very remote from each other. Robert had not seen as much 
 of Alicia as he wanted to. This was due partly to her 
 
 52 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 many occupations, and partly to his own lack of social 
 skill. Just why he wanted to see more of her, it would 
 have been difficult for him to say, for he always came 
 away from such meetings as they had feeling baffled and 
 puzzled, feeling, in fact, that they had not touched on a 
 single point. Sometimes Robert was angry at Alicia, some 
 times at himself; but being, like all the Pendexters, 
 uncompromisingly honest, he was commonly angry with 
 himself. He had to acknowledge that while Alicia s world 
 was a totally undiscovered world to him, his own meagre, 
 inexperienced self must spread out before her like an open, 
 unilluminated scroll. And this was the last day of the 
 voyage! Robert had said that he wanted to walk with 
 Alicia, but now that they were really in motion, side by 
 side, he had the same intuition of remoteness, and had 
 nothing to say. It fell to Alicia to begin the talk. She did 
 it in so leisurely a fashion, and so naturally, that Robert 
 had at least the consolation of believing that she had failed 
 to notice his own awkwardness. 
 
 Alicia always turned her face brightly toward the per 
 son to whom she spoke, even if it were only the Veteran 
 Tar. Stephen said that it was a trick. Donald, on the 
 contrary, maintained that it was the outer and visible 
 sign of an inner and spiritual directness. Robert did not 
 analyze it, but he knew enough to realize that, whether 
 trick or sign, it was wholly impersonal. 
 
 Alicia s first remark was the obvious question : " Did I 
 interrupt some pleasant train of thought when I came 
 along and broke in on you ? " 
 
 Robert s impulse was to assure Alicia that she had not 
 broken in on him, but he refrained, knowing that it would 
 
 53 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 only add to the remoteness, and answered the simple 
 truth: "It wasn t a pleasant train of thought. I was 
 scolding myself ! " 
 
 Alicia looked at Robert quickly to see if he were in 
 earnest, and then made rejoinder in the same cheery 
 voice : " Were you really, that is very unprofitable." 
 
 " But you don t know what I was scolding myself 
 about," protested Robert, " or how much I needed it ! " 
 
 "Nevertheless," replied Alicia, "it is very unprofit 
 able to be scolding any one, even one s self." 
 
 " Do you honestly think so ? " asked Robert, in sur 
 prise. "That is quite different from the Pendexter tra 
 ditions. You know I lived with my aunt before I went 
 into Boston. She would have said that it was very im 
 proving to think over all you d done during the whole 
 day, every detail of it, you know, and then throw it up to 
 yourself, all the bad and improper things you d done, 
 just throw it up to yourself, without making any excuses 
 at all. It s not a comfortable process, I 11 own, but it 
 must do you a lot of good." 
 
 " Because it s uncomfortable ? " asked Alicia, a shade 
 of amusement in her voice. 
 
 " Not exactly that," Robert answered ; " but so you 11 
 be so ashamed of yourself you won t do it again." 
 
 " It seems to me a great waste of time to recall your 
 faults," said Alicia, " and another waste of time to feel 
 sorry for them." 
 
 " Probably that s because you have n t any faults to 
 recall or feel sorry for," Robert suggested. 
 
 Alicia ignored the remark as completely as if it had 
 never been made, and added impersonally, " I suppose 
 
 54 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 it is the difference between the Western and the Eastern 
 point of view." 
 
 "The Pendexters are not Westerners," said Robert, 
 quickly ; " they have always lived in Massachusetts, that 
 is, since early colonial days." 
 
 For a moment Alicia did not follow this abrupt jump. 
 Then she said, a little impatiently : " Oh, I see what you 
 mean. But I did n t mean that. I meant the difference 
 between our Western World, Europe and America, and 
 the Far East, Arabia and Persia and India." 
 
 Robert was considerably chagrined at his clumsiness, 
 but reflected that it only added one more to a tolerably 
 long list of similar mistakes. He hurried to ask, " What 
 would you say is the difference between the Western and 
 the Eastern point of view ? " 
 
 Alicia, apparently, made no movement, but Robert was 
 instantly aware that he had made another mistake. This 
 perplexing lady sometimes asked questions herself, in 
 rather a casual way, it is true, but though she had of 
 course never put it into words, Robert felt it quite as 
 keenly as if she had shouted it at him, that nothing could 
 have been less to her liking than an interrogative style of 
 conversation. It would have been vastly better if he had 
 simply said, " I think I don t know the Eastern point of 
 view." Then, had she wanted to, she could have enlight 
 ened him. Robert saw all this in a flash, but the same 
 kindly intuition which gave him this insight did not go 
 farther and show him why any one should object to the 
 hard-and-fast questioning which forms so prominent an 
 element in the conversational method of New England. 
 At Bolton, Robert s aunts and uncles and cousins fairly 
 
 55 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 peppered him with questions, when he went up there on 
 a visit, and his only escape had been the Yankee device 
 of answering one question by another. 
 
 Alicia replied, quite without irritation, but more as 
 if she were thinking aloud than talking to any one in 
 particular: "You evidently know the Western point 
 of view, yours and your aunt s. Our Eastern attitude 
 is different. We believe that one ought not to criticise 
 persons " 
 
 " My aunt would have said that too, though she would n t 
 for worlds have practiced it ! " broke in Robert. 
 
 " Ah, yes, but you did n t catch the whole spirit of this 
 self-restraint. An Eastern thinker is as courteous to himself 
 as he is to other persons. He does not criticise himself. 
 He makes his mistakes and gains his knowledge. He for 
 gets the one and profits by the other. And so he grows 
 wise. It is the only path ! " 
 
 " Do you know," said Robert, " that my aunt would 
 have thought such a doctrine simply dreadful, and I m 
 afraid that I do, too. It leaves no room for repentance. 
 Without that, I don t see how one can grow better." 
 
 In his eagerness, Robert s voice had become a trifle 
 excited, and he felt rebuked when Alicia answered, even 
 more quietly than her wont, " It is not a question for argu 
 ment. It is a matter for feeling, for perception. I should 
 not be willing to defend the oriental point of view in any 
 controversial way. Indeed, I seldom speak of these things. 
 But to be quite fair, I must add that this self-conscious, 
 Western repentance seems to me to be either morbidness, 
 or mere phrasing, and to bear little sound fruit. In the 
 East, on the contrary, repentance is not self-conscious. It 
 
 50 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 is not even thought of as meritorious, at least not in India. 
 It is an actual thing, a result made necessary by the larger 
 knowledge that brings the larger vision. Don t you see 
 how such a view of life produces a wholly different breed 
 of man, less petty, less contemptibly conscious of his own 
 faults and virtues, more cosmic, more worthy of love 
 and adoration? For myself, I much prefer an uncon 
 scious sinner with his face turned towards Heaven to all 
 your introspective, self-conscious saints glancing fearfully 
 towards Hades ! " 
 
 Alicia spoke with such quiet intensity that Robert felt 
 his breath taken away and could only say rather feebly, 
 " Oh, do you really feel so ? " 
 
 " I do, indeed," Alicia answered, smiling at her own 
 heat and at poor Robert s bewilderment. " Only I ought, 
 perhaps, to add, lest you misunderstand me, that in my 
 own view of good and evil, the unconscious, devoted soul, 
 turning by a divine instinct towards the light, is really 
 the saint, and your sickly, self-conscious, morbidly re 
 pentant soul, seeing nothing bigger than his own little 
 qualities, is really the sinner ! " 
 
 Robert did not wholly follow Alicia s thought, but he 
 felt that she had been at some pains to present a new 
 point of view, and had been genuinely kind, so he said 
 with a simplicity which always showed him at his best, 
 " Thank you many times. I shall think over what you 
 have said." 
 
 " Do," answered Alicia, with equal sincerity. 
 
 The bugle sounded for breakfast while Alicia was speak 
 ing, so she added, " This is quite dreadful, to have dis 
 cussed such great matters before breakfast, before one s 
 
 57 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 coffee, but perhaps it s better to have done it audibly 
 than merely to have scolded one s self." 
 
 Robert laughed, and followed Alicia towards the com- 
 panionway. When they reached the door, Alicia, by some 
 impulse which rather puzzled her afterwards, held out 
 her hand to Robert. " Good-by," she said, somewhat less 
 impersonally than her custom ; "I shall hardly be seeing 
 you again." 
 
 " Not on the steamer, I m afraid," Robert answered, 
 " but I hope some time on land." He was going to ask 
 her address, but the current of hungry deck-trotters had 
 already swept her out of hearing, and all he got was a 
 smile and a nod. 
 
 As Robert made his way towards his own table, he re 
 flected that he did not even know Miss Smith s right 
 name, and he doubted, with a little feeling of dismay, 
 whether after all they could ever have been friends, for 
 they seemed to live in such totally different worlds. 
 
 It was about ten when the Republic made her pier, and 
 the gang-plank completed the connection between America 
 and Europe. Donald had followed Stephen s advice so lit 
 erally that he was not yet packed up, and his two friends 
 had to wait for him on the upper deck. Stephen, in spite 
 of his contrary theories, was orderliness itself. By some 
 happy faculty he always wore precisely the right thing, 
 and all his belongings fell into precisely the right sort of 
 receptacles. To Robert these belongings seemed trouble- 
 somely multitudinous, a trunk, a hat-box, a suit-case, a 
 toilet bag, a shawl-strap, an umbrella, a cane, but he 
 had to confess that each was perfect of its kind. He knew, 
 too, from his frequent visits to his friend s state-room, that 
 
 58 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 inside these several receptacles were numerous miniature 
 bags and cases for all sorts of toilet articles, collars and 
 cuffs, handkerchiefs, gloves, patent leather shoes, and also 
 that inside Stephen s pockets was a similar array of card- 
 cases, wallets, silver match-boxes, cigarette cases, and the 
 like. Robert had never known any one quite so completely 
 fitted out. It made his own outfit seem more than modest. 
 As Robert could not associate this completeness with any 
 plentiful supply of money, he put it down, in Stephen s 
 case, as the orderly attitude of the legal mind. 
 
 Donald s luggage was equally characteristic. It con 
 sisted of one small steamer trunk, which showed unmis 
 takable signs of decrepitude from having habitually had 
 to carry much more than it was intended to carry. It 
 bulged, top, bottom, and sides. Donald s present difficulty 
 was not due to any over-nicety in his ideas of packing, but 
 solely to his inability to get all his possessions into the 
 one small trunk and still fasten the lock. In despair, he 
 had tumbled everything out on the floor, and started all 
 over again. It was at this juncture that Stephen joined 
 Robert on the upper deck. They stood watching the other 
 passengers as they crowded down the gang-plank and flut 
 tered about the pier. Robert was too much interested to 
 feel any impatience at their own delay. He scanned the 
 faces eagerly. 
 
 " Well," said Stephen, " are you able to pick her out ? " 
 
 " No ; I don t see anything of her." 
 
 " See ! " echoed Stephen. " It s not a question of 
 seeing, but of hearing. We are evidently thinking of 
 different people. I don t mean Miss Smith, I mean 
 Sappho." 
 
 59 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Robert chose to ignore the thrust and said simply, " I 
 don t think we shall see either of them again." 
 
 " As one of them we can t be said to have seen at all 
 yet, your language lacks accuracy." 
 
 " Quite right," admitted Robert ; " but be merciful. 
 We have n t all been to the Law School." 
 
 " By Jove, that s so," answered Stephen, as if the re 
 mark were sufficiently novel to deserve attention, " and 
 mighty lucky it is for the legal pocket-book. Do you 
 know, little Pen, that law is getting to be more and more 
 a question of English, and less and less a question of 
 statutes?" 
 
 At last Donald joined them, and announced that the 
 feat had been accomplished, and that his trunk was on its 
 way to the customs. 
 
 Stephen groaned, and asked if that meant the necessity 
 for another feat. 
 
 " No," said Donald, blandly, " I tied a rope around my 
 poor little trunk, tied it very elaborately, you know, and 
 I 11 look so innocent that the customs gentles will never 
 have the heart to ask me to untie it." 
 
 " If that s your little game, you d better get Pen to 
 work it. That feat of yours, by the way, is too time-con 
 suming to be repeated. Do you know what we shall do, 
 my hearties, when our feet first touch British soil?" 
 
 " We shall fall on our knees," cried Donald, dramati 
 cally, " and kiss the dirt of the beloved mother country ! " 
 
 " We shall do nothing of the sort, unless we strike a 
 banana skin," Stephen declared emphatically, " and it 
 won t be necessary. The dirt will kiss you, especially the 
 smoke. No, my children, like good Americans, we shall 
 
 60 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 first go shopping. Being proud and stylish, we will buy 
 a kit for the poet, a kit big enough to hold the overflow 
 and enable us occasionally to make the train we started 
 out for ! " 
 
 It was not such a bad plan, for Liverpool has little to 
 offer beyond the trains for getting away. Robert felt the 
 plan to be rather frivolous, but on the whole pleasurable, 
 especially as he did not have the agony of the selection. 
 Donald was for taking the first kit they saw, but Stephen 
 was fastidious, and dragged them around to at least half a 
 dozen shops before he allowed a purchase. Even then, he 
 looked at the ungainly kit so ruefully that Donald, quite 
 ignoring the fact that the ungainliness was to be his 
 own possession, began humming, " Alas, poor kitty, lend 
 her your pity. She had reached seven, and never called 
 pretty." 
 
 In the early afternoon, when they found themselves 
 down at Chester, Robert s enthusiasm quite returned. It 
 was his first glimpse of a walled town and of an English 
 cathedral. Even the gloomy Grosvenor Inn, tucked away 
 under its shadowing arcade, came in for his approval. 
 Before dinner, the three friends had gone the complete 
 round of the walls, up and down, around towers, over 
 arched gates, across the gaps, and had done the cathedral 
 so thoroughly that even Robert was satisfied. His Aunt 
 Matilda Pendexter could have found no fault with him. 
 He had traced every architectural period, Early English, 
 Perpendicular, Debased Gothic, and as far as the fact- 
 loving Baedeker could inform him, knew every date con 
 nected with the building. 
 
 It is easy to grow enthusiastic over Chester. In the first 
 
 61 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 place, it is really quaint and beautiful. In the second 
 place, one commonly goes there from Liverpool. In addi 
 tion to this, the sun was shining bravely on this particu 
 lar afternoon, and Eobert saw town, walls, and cathedral 
 in the late afternoon light. The long, slanting shadows 
 lent a touch of mystery, and the penetrating sunbeams 
 brought out all the warmth in the old red standstone, and 
 all the coolness in the abundant greenery. 
 
 Robert s heart sang within him. This was the Europe 
 that he had dreamed about ! He wondered why he had 
 regretted leaving the steamer. He did not know that in 
 all the world there is no walk quite so delightful as the 
 first real walk one takes after a long voyage. 
 
 Stephen had been in Chester before. He enjoyed it in 
 his own thorough, quiet way, but most of all he enjoyed 
 seeing Robert and Donald enjoy it : Robert in his consci 
 entious, New England fashion, over-regardful of detail 
 and statistics, Donald with a poet s sensuous indifference to 
 all but general and striking impressions. Stephen, as the 
 most experienced traveler, made the plans. It was Friday 
 evening, and thinking that a quiet Sunday would be good 
 for his two friends, he had arranged to remain in Chester 
 until Monday and then go north to the Lake District. 
 Donald, in his lazy, happy-go-lucky way, was entirely 
 acquiescent. But Robert, the erstwhile invalid, was now 
 the alert, intelligent tourist, bent on seeing everything 
 that was to be seen. By the help of his inseparable guide 
 book, he had discovered how near they were to the glories 
 of North Wales. With a sagacity that quite astonished 
 Stephen, Robert drew up a complete plan, showing how 
 they could make a rapid descent upon Wales, capture two 
 
 62 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 days of the best Welsh scenery, and still start for Winder- 
 mere on Monday afternoon. It was eminently character 
 istic that what pleased Robert most in the proposed expe 
 dition was the fact that it would be so much extra, an 
 out-and-out gift of the gods, and could be had without 
 cutting anything else out. Stephen called this Yankee-like, 
 and Donald said it was thrifty beyond belief, but no 
 amount of friendly ridicule could lessen Robert s satis 
 faction. 
 
 So it happened that Saturday found the three friends 
 making their way westward as fast as the afternoon ex 
 press would carry them, along the rocky coast to the wild 
 headlands that overlook Anglesea, and then, with a wide 
 sweep to the south and east, up to Llanberis. It was five 
 o clock when they reached the little hamlet and started 
 on foot up the six-mile road that leads to the Pass. The 
 sense of being in a foreign country was greatly heightened 
 by the strange Welsh language that now met them on all 
 sides. The Welsh Sunday began at sundown", and as it 
 was the time of the great religious revival which recently 
 swept over Wales, the spectacle of three young men tramp 
 ing so manifestly for pleasure called forth looks and even 
 words of disapproval. 
 
 The road soon emerged from the village and skirted the 
 gigantic stone quarries which bring profit and ugliness 
 to the lower part of the valley. In time these, too, were 
 passed. The narrow, grayish ribbon of road wound up and 
 up through the stony, unfertile Pass until it lost itself 
 against the sky between the sombre outlines of the dark 
 masses of mountain. Robert had seen beautiful scenery at 
 home, but none that seemed so near and intimate as this, 
 
 63 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 so much a part of himself. As the friends mounted higher, 
 the sunset glories grew more and more masterful. The 
 earth melted into a gray monochrome, and the sky was 
 everything. When occasionally they turned and looked 
 back of them, they caught glimpses of a shimmering island, 
 and beyond it, of the western sea. 
 
 There was little talking. Each, in his own way, walked 
 alone with Nature. 
 
 It was almost dark when they reached the summit of 
 the Pass. At the very top, just where the road spills over 
 to the east, they found a picturesque white-walled inn. 
 Robert had never seen an inn that he liked quite so much. 
 It was so high up, at the very crest of the Pass, and yet 
 it nestled low against the earth, the picture of homely 
 comfort. He liked the name, too, Gorphwysfa Inn, for 
 it suggested new and unknown worlds. It was the sort of 
 a place where one might expect something to happen. The 
 friends pushed open the door and walked in. They found 
 themselves in a low hall, now quite deserted, but amazingly 
 comfortable-looking. A fire of sea coals blazed and sput 
 tered on the hearth. They could see the outlines of vacant 
 chairs, while from various parts of the room, from tables, 
 walls, and mantel-shelf, came the glimmer of highly bur 
 nished copper. Robert and Donald gave exclamations of 
 delight, and even the undemonstrative Stephen allowed 
 himself a grunt of satisfaction. 
 
 " I wonder where all the people are," said Robert. 
 
 " Did you cross on a British steamer, or did you not ? " 
 asked Donald, with assumed severity. 
 
 " I certainly did." 
 
 " And don t you know where the people are ? " 
 
 64 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 "No," answered Robert, wondering if he were hope 
 lessly stupid. 
 
 " At this sacred hour," said Donald, oracularly, " every 
 mother s son of them has a little tin pitcher marked 4 Hot 
 Water before him, and is dressing for that solemn occa 
 sion known as dinner." 
 
 Stephen, meanwhile, had been investigating the darker 
 corners of the hall in the hope of establishing communica 
 tions with the proprietor. He stumbled, and almost fell, 
 over a motley collection of shoes, at least a score of pairs 
 stretched out in a double row. " Do you see those shoes ? " 
 he demanded, as he recovered his balance. 
 
 " Some of them," said Robert, peering into the gloom. 
 " How funny ! Do you suppose we ve got into a shoe 
 maker s shop ? " 
 
 " Worse than that, little Pen. Far worse than that ! " 
 
 " A lunatic asylum ? " Donald proposed cheerfully. 
 
 " Still worse, sonny. Those shoes mark my words ! 
 mean that the inn is full, and that there are no beds for 
 the gallant Americans." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! " exclaimed Robert and Donald 
 in concert, for this possibility had never occurred to them. 
 
 Their exclamations brought a housemaid from what 
 appeared to be a luminous hole in the wall, but which was 
 in reality merely a door leading into the lighted tap-room ; 
 and she in turn brought a brisk little woman heralded as 
 the proprietress of the establishment. 
 
 Stephen s surmise was dismally accurate, not a vacant 
 room remained. He got some satisfaction out of it, as a 
 triumph of sound inductive reasoning, but the others failed 
 to share it. 
 
 65 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 There was one room with two beds in it, the licensed 
 victualer finally remembered, a room that two gentlemen 
 had written for early in the week. She was only to keep 
 it for them until eight o clock. The Americans might 
 have dinner if they liked, and see if the other gentlemen 
 turned up. 
 
 Robert was minded to ask what would happen to them 
 if the others did turn up, for the point seemed to him im 
 portant, but Stephen discreetly headed him off by promptly 
 accepting the offer. " If we have dinner here," he con 
 fided to the others, " it will be one point gained, and it will 
 be up to the bright-eyed licensed victualer to make some 
 provision for us. Also, my hearties, if we dont have 
 dinner here, where will we have it ? " 
 
 The three friends sat down rather disconsolately, some 
 of the cheeriness of the room having subtly melted away. 
 As became guests whose welcome was not yet assured, 
 they sat in the gloom surrounding the walls, and left the 
 easy chairs in front of the fire for those who had a better 
 right to them. It might be added that the conversation 
 was not very lively. 
 
 Presently another luminous hole appeared in a distant 
 corner of the room, this time an opened door into what 
 seemed to be a private parlor. A young woman in a pretty 
 dinner-gown made her way over the rows of shoes, and 
 took one of the chairs in front of the fire. She was fol 
 lowed by a small boy of thirteen or fourteen, who seemed 
 mostly legs and arms, but as he came nearer the fire he 
 showed a bright little face, with a freckled snub nose and 
 a pair of eyes that fairly danced. He also was dressed for 
 dinner. He wore an Eton jacket and broad linen collar, 
 
 66 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 but they did not disguise the fact that he was an American. 
 As the young woman sat down, she said, without looking 
 around, " Billy, do tell father to stop reading and come 
 and enjoy the fire." 
 
 Billy skipped back into the parlor to deliver her 
 message. 
 
 Meanwhile our three young friends had risen, and re 
 mained standing until the young woman had seated her 
 self. Then they all sat down. The young woman had not 
 seen them as she entered the hall, her whole attention 
 being given to the fire. The slight noise attracted her 
 notice. She looked up quickly and caught sight of Stephen 
 sitting in the gloom on one side of the fireplace. She 
 glanced over at the other side, and saw Donald ; then a 
 little further, and saw Robert. With a droll motion of 
 her head, she turned quite around to see if there were 
 any more men. She had thought the room empty, but 
 strange young men seemed appearing on all sides. 
 
 Robert laughed a quiet little boyish laugh that would 
 have been reassuring, had the young woman been fright 
 ened. "No," he said, in answer to her inquiring look, 
 " there are no more of us, just the three. I hope we 
 did n t startle you." 
 
 " Not at all," she answered calmly. " I was only sur 
 prised. But where did you all come from ? " 
 
 As her glance took in Stephen last, he answered quickly, 
 " That depends on how much time your question covers. 
 We came from Llanberis Village, or from Chester, or from 
 Liverpool, or from Boston, just as you please." 
 
 "I knew you were Americans. But how did you get 
 here?" 
 
 67 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " We walked," answered Donald, as the young woman s 
 glance happened to turn in his direction. " We walked 
 eighteen miles from Llanberis Village, our heads in the 
 sunset, our feet on a grayish white wriggly thing that 
 seemed to crawl up the Pass like a great serpent." 
 
 Billy had now returned from his errand, and was star 
 ing, open-mouthed, at the strangers. " But it s only six 
 miles to Llanberis," he burst in. " Pauline and I walked 
 there this afternoon, and back again, too." 
 
 " True," said Donald, gravely, " but you seem to have 
 forgotten your arithmetic, Billy. There were three of us, 
 so that made eighteen." 
 
 " Humph," answered Billy ; " that s an Irish way of 
 counting ! " 
 
 Pauline ignored this tangle of dimensions and said to no 
 one in particular, " Is n t this the dearest place ? We ve 
 been here a week, and I should like to stay indefinitely, 
 but we ve promised Billy to take him to the Lakes before 
 he goes back to school." 
 
 " It s quaint enough, all right," Stephen answered ; 
 " but whether we like it or not will depend upon circum 
 stances." 
 
 " Upon circumstances ? " repeated Pauline. " Do you 
 mean your dinner ? That will be good. Or do you mean 
 the weather to-morrow? That will be cloudy. Billy and 
 I are going to the top of Snowdon, though. Whatever 
 comes, we re bound to say good-by to it, rain or shine." 
 
 " Neither the dinner nor the weather troubles ws," an 
 swered Stephen ; " our happiness depends upon whether 
 we get any beds to sleep on. Your fair licensed victualer 
 does n t know yet whether she can keep us overnight." 
 
 68 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 " And won t know until eight o clock," put in Robert. 
 
 Pauline turned to her brother. "Do you hear that, 
 Billy ? These men have no place to sleep. I ve said all 
 along that we are taking more room than our share. You 
 must sleep in the parlor and let these men have your 
 room." She turned to our three young friends and ex 
 plained : " It has a double bed in it, and a sofa, so perhaps 
 you can manage." 
 
 The friends protested that they could not think of such 
 an intrusion, but Pauline disposed of their objections with 
 out so much as considering them. She turned once more 
 to her small brother. " Is your room in order, Billy? " 
 Billy nodded " then take these men in at once. They 
 may want to get ready for dinner." 
 
 Billy proved a willing host. He was on his feet in an 
 instant, but before he led the way, he turned to Donald 
 and said slyly, " It s a long distance to my room, you 
 know, awful long distance." 
 
 "Is it?" asked Donald, in surprise. "The inn looked 
 small enough from the outside." 
 
 " But there are four of us to go it, you know. Remem 
 ber your arithmetic ! " and Billy shouted with laughter. 
 
 " Don t be so pert, Billy," said Pauline. But Donald 
 protested that he had brought it on himself. 
 
 Our three young friends had very little material with 
 which to improve their appearance, but when at last they 
 came out to dinner, with their glowing faces, carefully 
 arranged hair, fresh collars and neckties, and thoroughly 
 brushed clothes, they looked very fit, in spite of the absence 
 of dinner-coats. The other guests had already assembled. 
 The Marshalls sat at the long centre table, Pauline at the 
 
 69 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 end, with Billy on her left, and Mr. Marshall next to Billy. 
 The three places on her right had been reserved for the 
 Americans. Stephen arranged the seating quite unselfishly, 
 placing Robert next to Pauline, then Donald, and then 
 himself. Pauline presented them collectively to her father, 
 and each man in bowing supplied his own name, "Mr. 
 Pendexter " " Donald Fergusson " " Morse," and 
 each did it characteristically. 
 
 The British guests looked somewhat shocked at this 
 rapid familiarity ; that is, all except a few who had been 
 out in India and the colonies. 
 
 Billy was grinning from ear to ear, and, with the horri 
 ble tenacity which small boys show for any pleasantry that 
 they clearly comprehend, remarked, as soon as they were 
 seated, " It was n t so far to the dining-room as it was to 
 my room, was it ? Only three fourths of the way ! " 
 
 Donald looked as if he would let small boys severely 
 alone in the future, but Stephen headed off any further 
 arithmetic by saying that it is always a short distance to 
 the dining-room, when one is hungry. 
 
 " Pauline likes Americans," remarked Billy. 
 
 " Certainly I do," answered Pauline, without the least 
 shade of embarrassment. " You do, too." 
 
 Meanwhile Robert was meeting an experience, perhaps 
 the one foreshadowed when he entered the inn. His en 
 counter with Pauline in the firelight had put them at once 
 upon the friendliest terms, but until now he had not really 
 seen her. And what he saw produced upon him a novel 
 impression. Robert had a well-developed dislike for women 
 in general. His cousins at Bolton, nice as they were, 
 frankly bored him. The women who passed in and out at 
 
 70 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 Pinckney Street were commonly either plain or coquet 
 tish. They belonged unmistakably to his own class. They 
 were the sort of women whom junior clerks in the spice 
 trade most commonly meet and most commonly marry. 
 But instead of arousing any desire on Robert s part, 
 they had filled him with an aversion which he easily 
 transferred to women as a whole. He had reached thirty- 
 four without the slightest shadow of a love affair. He 
 even failed to understand the remark when Donald as 
 sured him quite seriously that he ought to be heartily 
 ashamed of himself to confess to such a deplorable lack 
 of temperament. 
 
 Robert belonged to that rather large company of per 
 sons whose circumstances place them in one social group, 
 while an ill-defined undercurrent of instincts and intui 
 tions keeps them forever aliens in their own class. Such 
 persons are peculiarly open to that half-conversion and 
 half-transference to another class which constitute one of 
 the hopeful tragedies of life. 
 
 Robert was a thorough-going old bachelor. Old bache 
 lors are supposed, by their women friends at least, to 
 possess a fund of sentimentality hidden away somewhere 
 in their nature, which needs only to be touched by the 
 right person to manifest itself either sublimely or ridicu 
 lously. But Robert was as devoid of sentimentality as 
 any human being well could be. The nearest approach to 
 a romance in the whole of his prosaic life was his grow 
 ing affection for Stephen, and that had been called out 
 solely by Stephen s outspoken liking for him. Robert s 
 interest in Alicia was devoid of even the color of ro 
 mance. Could they have understood it, those young 
 
 71 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 school-girls on the steamer, making their first little jour 
 ney into the world, they would have been quite bowled 
 over with disappointment at the failure of romance to 
 touch the whole of life. Robert had never felt so keen an 
 interest in any woman as he had in Alicia, but it was not 
 in Alicia as a woman, as a possible object of love, hardly 
 even of friendship. It was wholly because some blind in 
 stinct completely as he failed to understand Alicia 
 told him that her way of life was different from his own, 
 and immeasurably better. A keen spiritual hunger made 
 him reach out to Alicia as the guardian of an inner light, 
 which, if he too could only see, would also be a guide to 
 him. 
 
 In meeting Pauline, Robert met a woman for whom he 
 was quite unprepared. She belonged to a type wholly un 
 known to him. It was not that Pauline was remarkable, 
 unless it is remarkable to be free from all those qualities 
 and affectations which in the Pinckney Street women 
 offended so sensitive a person as Robert. Pauline was un 
 spoiled, just a healthy, natural, American girl in the early 
 twenties. She was as little self-conscious as Billy himself, 
 and quite devoid of any desire to attract men or repel 
 them. It would sound odd to speak of Pauline s beauty. 
 What she possessed would better be described as good 
 looks, much the same sort of good looks that healthy out 
 door boys have. To-night Pauline s good looks were at 
 their best. She was dressed in a simple cashmere gown of 
 light lavender, with a touch of embroidery of a somewhat 
 darker shade. The sleeves extended only to the elbows, 
 while the waist of the gown ended above in a circular, 
 embroidered ruffle at a sufficient distance below the throat 
 
 72 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 to allow the strong neck and head to rise out of it like 
 some sturdy flower. Pauline s hair was drawn back from 
 her temples in a loose curve, and gathered into the sim 
 plest possible coil at the back of her head. She wore no 
 jewelry of any kind. 
 
 Pauline had finished her soup, and sat with both hands 
 resting idly on the table. 
 
 As Robert sat down, he took in all the simple details 
 of this new type of woman in one long, inclusive glance. 
 And then something happened to him. He felt confused 
 and awkward, even ashamed. Never before had he wanted 
 to touch a woman, but now, as he drew up his chair to 
 the table, a swift, imperious desire came over him to seize 
 the strong, shapely hand lying there before him and to 
 cover it with kisses. The color flew into his face, for it 
 seemed to him that Pauline must know, and that such a 
 feeling on his part was a great liberty, in fact distinctly 
 improper. In the firelit hall, he had been wholly unem 
 barrassed, had been the first to speak, indeed, but now he 
 found it almost impossible to say a word. As the occu 
 pant of the seat of honor, at Pauline s right hand, he felt 
 that he must at least make the effort, and also that the 
 remark, whatever it might be, must be addressed to her. 
 He said rather lamely, " How did you know that we were 
 Americans?" 
 
 The remark proved happier than he could have hoped, 
 for Stephen at once joined in : " That s what I want to 
 know, too. We hadn t spoken. Our English friends 
 always say that our voices give us away; that we speak 
 through our noses. And you couldn t have really seen 
 us, coming as you did from such a light room into 
 
 73 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 such a dark one. How did you know, or was it only a 
 guess?" 
 
 " No, it was n t a guess," said Pauline, answering both 
 men at once, and openly pleased to be surrounded once 
 more with her compatriots. " I really knew, honor bright. 
 How did I know ? Let me see. Oh, I remember. It was 
 because you all stood up." 
 
 " But you did n t see us, or even hear us," persisted 
 Stephen. " You only heard us sit down." 
 
 Pauline laughed as unaffectedly as Billy himself. " I 
 would have been a stupid, would I not, if I had n t known 
 that you must have stood up together, if you all flopped 
 down together ? You could hardly have been standing up 
 against the wall when Billy and I came in. It would have 
 been too silly ! " 
 
 " That s good inductive reasoning, all right," Stephen 
 replied, so lightly that it did not sound patronizing. 
 
 "Wouldn t Englishmen have stood up? " asked Kobert, 
 with real interest. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no," Pauline answered ; "not even if they 
 had been sitting in front of the fire." 
 
 " They re an unmannerly set of beggars," announced 
 Donald, unconcernedly, quite unconscious that at least 
 four of the nationality under discussion were looking at 
 him with raised eyebrows. " It s a wonder that they don t 
 learn some manners, when so many Americans come over 
 here every year." 
 
 " But they re really not unmannerly, you know," Paul 
 ine said hurriedly. " It s only that they have a different 
 standard. Englishmen always do what I don t expect 
 them to do, and generally fail to do what I expect. My 
 
 74 
 
THE PASS OF LLANBERIS 
 
 father says it s only the difference in the national 
 standard." 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Donald, composedly. " It s the key 
 that one needs. I 11 suggest it to Mr. Baedeker. He 
 might publish it in his guide-book right after the table of 
 money, Key to English Manners. It would strengthen 
 the Anglo-American alliance immensely." 
 
 " Turn about is only fair play," suggested Stephen. " I 
 fancy they would have to put in our own guide-books a 
 key to American manners" ; and then he added, solely for 
 the purpose of getting the poet on safer ground, " Did 
 I understand you to say, Miss Marshall, that you know 
 the country hereabouts ? Perhaps you can advise us on the 
 Snowdon trip." 
 
 Meanwhile the two strange gentlemen had arrived, and 
 the indebtedness of our three young friends to Pauline was 
 complete and absolute. The licensed victualer was cut 
 ting up cold joints at a side table. This, in fact, was her 
 usual occupation. She was rather pleased than otherwise 
 that these troublesome, outspoken young gentlemen would 
 have to move on. When she learned that the Marshalls 
 had arranged to take them in, she could offer no objec 
 tion, for a family that engages four rooms for three per 
 sons and does n t scrutinize the extras is not to be lightly 
 offended. 
 
 The other guests seemed very much afraid of getting 
 acquainted with one another, and went to their rooms 
 directly after dinner. This left the big hall, with its cheery 
 fire and glimmering copper, wholly to the Americans. 
 Billy fastened himself to Donald, and insisted that they 
 two should sit on the settle. In spite of his dinner reso- 
 
 75 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 lution, it ended by Donald s giving up his whole evening 
 to Billy. The little fellow snuggled up to him comfortably 
 and listened to one story after another. Robert had won 
 dered how Donald could ever be a good teacher, he was 
 such a careless, happy-go-lucky fellow. When he saw him 
 with Billy, he understood. 
 
 The others sat in a group before the fire. Stephen and 
 Pauline did most of the talking, Mr. Marshall throwing 
 in an occasional word. Poor Eobert was fast losing the 
 power of speech. He sat where he could watch Pauline. 
 He felt that he ought not to do it, that it was a perfectly 
 shameless thing to do, but nothing short of a bandage 
 over his eyes could have kept him from it. No one seemed 
 to notice it, Pauline least of all. Before they separated 
 for the night, it was arranged that the next day Pauline 
 and Billy should take the three friends to the top of 
 Snowdon. Mr. Marshall said that he would see them well 
 on their way, but would hardly go to the top. 
 
 Robert did not sleep as well that night as he had been 
 sleeping on the Republic. Like all people who open their 
 eyes more than once during the night, he fancied that he 
 had not slept at all. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 IN THE CLOUDS 
 
 PAULINE S prediction came true. On Sunday, Snowdon 
 was under a heavy cap of cloud. At times this mantle 
 swept down the sides of the mountain in giant folds that 
 completely surrounded the little inn. At other moments 
 varying currents of air tossed the clouds aside and sent 
 them in great billows down the Pass of Llanberis, per 
 mitting an outlook towards Capel Curig. Then the clouds 
 would surge back again, engulfing the inn in one vague 
 sea of grayness. A few moments later, the deluge of cloud 
 would spill over to the eastward, and allow a momentary 
 glimpse of the narrow, snake-like road that leads down the 
 Pass towards the sea. 
 
 Robert was quite miserable with apprehension, and 
 ashamed that he should be miserable. He knew Stephen 
 too well to believe that any amount of cloud would keep 
 him from attempting the ascent ; and he knew himself too 
 well to believe that he would brave the ridicule and obvi 
 ous interpretation, should he himself remain at the inn. It 
 did not occur to him for a moment that Mr. Marshall 
 would allow Pauline and Billy to venture up the moun 
 tain on such a day, and especially as they had both been 
 on the top twice during the past week. But Robert did not 
 know the temper of the Marshall family, or the way that 
 perfect health makes light of obstacles. Pauline came to 
 breakfast evidently equipped for the enterprise, and wholly 
 free from any doubts in regard to her day s plan. Even 
 
 77 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Mr. Marshall had on knickerbockers. Billy was always in 
 walking attire. 
 
 Robert felt a thrill of admiration, not only for Pauline, 
 but for the whole family. In his old world at Bolton, both 
 the men and the women, but especially the women, were 
 easily deterred from carrying out their plans by even 
 trivial obstacles. It had always been a heart-rending mat 
 ter to get his aunt off to Boston. She usually planned to 
 go on a Monday, that being bargain day at the depart 
 ment stores. But the household were happy indeed if they 
 got her off by Wednesday or Thursday. Taking his cue 
 from the people around him, Robert had always allowed 
 circumstances to triumph over the human will. None of 
 his own plans were made with any degree of assurance. 
 There was always a large peradventure in them, due in 
 part to the habit of his class, and in part to his own lack 
 of robust health. Robert felt the difference between him 
 self and the Marshalls, just as he had felt the difference 
 between himself and Alicia. But as yet it had not occurred 
 to him that he could close the gap. The present result was 
 a sense of confusion and a distinct feeling of inferiority. 
 It was perhaps the secret of Robert s great admiration for 
 Stephen that Stephen belonged to this dominant class, and 
 allowed circumstances to interfere with his plans only when 
 he was absolutely forced to do so. When this happened, 
 Stephen never complained. He accepted the inevitable 
 with much better grace than Robert did. Stephen exercised 
 his will when there was a chance for success ; Robert ex 
 ercised his when there was no chance. This one difference 
 in quality meant a tremendous difference in the daily work 
 ing out of their characters. Stephen s fondness for Robert 
 
 78 
 
IN THE CLOUDS 
 
 was partly due to Robert s rare innocence and lovableness, 
 but partly also to his weakness. Stephen s instinct as a 
 lawyer was the higher one of protecting and defending. 
 His single-minded devotion to the law was due in large 
 measure to his apprehension of law as an instrument of 
 right. Earlier in the centuries Stephen would have been a 
 crusader or a knight-errant. Fallen upon the present, he 
 was a lawyer. Without analyzing his feeling, he was con 
 scious all the time of a desire to protect Robert, to shield 
 him. What he wanted to protect and shield him against, 
 he never got so far as to say. Had he done so, he would 
 perhaps have been the first to recognize its hopelessness, 
 for in effect what he wanted to do was to protect Robert 
 from his own past, to shield him from his heredity, and 
 that the gods themselves could hardly have done. 
 
 But Robert s frame of mind as he came down to break 
 fast at Gorphwysfa Inn was far from analytic. When he 
 found Pauline dressed for the expedition, his immediate 
 sense was one of relief. This soon melted into a lively sense 
 of pleasure. Pauline seemed charged with health and good 
 spirits, and radiated them in all directions with the utmost 
 unconsciousness and impartiality. If Robert and Billy got 
 more than their share, it was due solely to their nearness 
 to the source, and to the operation of what Stephen hu 
 morously called the law of inverse squares. The gentleman 
 who had chafed under Donald s remarks the preceding 
 evening did not appear at the breakfast-table. Donald was 
 amiability itself. He liked gray days. The prospect of five 
 or six hours walk in the clouds filled him with elation. 
 This morning he was wholly the poet, and would not have 
 quarreled with any number of British Philistines. 
 
 79 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 The party got started about ten. Billy took complete 
 possession of Donald. But it was easy to metamorphose 
 Billy into a sprite of the mist and fit him into the mood. 
 It would have been impossible magic to make Billy serve 
 as a cloud angel, for the freckled, snub-nosed little face, 
 with its dancing, unquenchable eyes, was far too mischiev 
 ous for any angelic role, and made him a much better model 
 for imp or sprite. Billy circled around the party, never 
 completely lost in the mist, but putting on various grades 
 of unreality as the indistinctness varied. But the centre 
 of his orbit remained Donald. Mr. Marshall went with 
 them on the lower trail as far as the old copper works, and 
 along the desolate causeway that skirts the tarn. When 
 the trail turned to the right, and shot up with amazing 
 perpendicularity into the heart of the clouds, Mr. Marshall 
 turned back. Occupied as he was with his own unaccus 
 tomed thoughts and feelings, Robert still had room for 
 surprise at Mr. Marshall s matter-of-fact leave-taking. 
 Robert had never known a father who would have allowed 
 his children to go on such an expedition in such weather, 
 much less have seen them off with this delightful absence of 
 precautions. Mr. Marshall burdened them with no warn 
 ings against either precipices or colds. He took the suc 
 cess of the expedition as a foregone conclusion, and told 
 them good-by with the same light-heartedness that he would 
 have wished them good-night. All he said was, "Keep 
 your head, Pauline. Look after Billy." 
 
 The young people stood for a minute watching the 
 retreating figure ; but it was soon lost in the mist. They 
 themselves had climbed but a few feet, but they seemed 
 hanging in mid-air, against the sides of almost perpen- 
 
 80 
 
IN THE CLOUDS 
 
 dicular rock. Billy and Donald constituted an advance 
 party, whose company was too intermittent to count for 
 much. This reduced the party of major interest to three, 
 Pauline, Robert, and Stephen. The girl was by all odds 
 the best mountaineer of the three. Robert and Stephen 
 had started out with the amiable intention of being very 
 helpful to Pauline, and of showing her their high appre 
 ciation of the honor she had done them in intrusting her 
 self to their care. It soon became evident, however, that 
 Pauline needed no such help. Far from leaning on any one, 
 she had wisely intrusted herself to her own superb care. 
 
 Both men realized at the same moment the futility of 
 their good intentions, and laughed aloud. Pauline laughed 
 too, for even without knowing what had gone before, the 
 scene was amusing in itself. Pauline stood some distance 
 above them, unfatigued and unpalpitating, waiting for her 
 two knights to catch their breath and come up to her. 
 Stephen s tendency to weight made rapid climbing quite 
 out of the question, and even moderate climbing attended 
 with some puffing and blowing. Robert was all right as 
 to wind, but Doane Street had given little exercise to the 
 muscles used in mountain climbing. Though he would not 
 have confessed it for worlds, he had continued and very 
 serious doubts as to whether he should ever be able to 
 reach the top. Pauline made no comment. It was not so 
 much any conscious reasoning as an instinct of courtesy 
 that made her slacken her pace, and quite unostentatiously 
 ignore their disabilities. She excused her own superior 
 facility by explaining that she and Billy had practically 
 spent the whole summer climbing among the Scotch moun 
 tains. Even with these concessions, it was a very hard 
 
 81 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 climb for both men. In spite of their good company, they 
 were audibly relieved when their own precipitous trail 
 joined the broader path from Llanberis village, and they 
 could travel at a less palpitating grade along the sharp 
 ridge that led to the summit. They rounded the tiny rail 
 way shed and the half frightened looking little hotel, and 
 came out on the rocky platform which constitutes the 
 highest point in England and Wales. 
 
 Billy and Donald were already in possession, Billy flat 
 on his stomach, peering over the edge into the shimmering 
 abyss, Donald hugging his knees and rocking to and fro 
 in an ecstasy of delight. Pauline quickly dropped along 
 side of Billy, settling herself in comfortable tailor fashion, 
 her hands in her lap. Robert and Stephen disposed of 
 themselves much more slowly and less gracefully. Looking 
 at the group, one would have said that there were three 
 children of nature and two outsiders. 
 
 The top of Snowdon was in the sunlight, but all around 
 them stretched an almost unbroken mass of white cloud, 
 with here and there the black summit of some ambitious 
 peak emerging like a tiny island. The billows of this vast 
 cloud ocean were more enormous and more fantastic than 
 any into which even tropical cyclone had ever been able 
 to lash the heavier sea. These great sun-flecked biUows 
 surged about them with an elemental force that threat 
 ened either to annihilate them, or to turn them into gods. 
 Donald was visibly exultant, Billy curious, Pauline and 
 Stephen quiescent, and Robert alternately elated and 
 overawed. 
 
 For a time none of them spoke, Pauline, Donald, and 
 Billy because it did not occur to them; Stephen and 
 
 82 
 
IN THE CLOUDS 
 
 Robert because they felt that any comment would be an 
 interruption. 
 
 Stephen was the first to speak. " By Jove, little Pen, 
 this is mighty fine, is n t it ? I don t know what s under 
 all this whipped cream, and I don t much care. It s good 
 fun just as it is." 
 
 " All the same," piped up Billy, " I wish it would dry 
 up and blow away, for it s nicer when you see over to 
 Ireland!" 
 
 " Peace, earth-born spirit," commanded Donald, partly 
 in earnest and partly in fun ; " why wish for earth when 
 you already have Heaven ? There s only one thing that 
 could beat this, and that would be a jolly big storm, thun 
 der and lightning, wind blowing great guns, drenching 
 rain, rocks aquiver, all nature cowed and trembling, and 
 only man open-eyed and unafraid! " 
 
 Billy edged up a little closer to his strange friend. He 
 did not quite understand this heroic mood, but he liked 
 Donald the better for it. 
 
 Pauline had listened, and seemed to be weighing the 
 situation. She glanced around the complete sweep of the 
 horizon and said presently, " This is all you will get to 
 day just clouds. It s all right for Billy and me, for we 
 had the view when we were here before. I am sorry for 
 you, though. I do wish you could see both. It s not much 
 to see Ireland, for it s too far off, just a faint blue line 
 against the sky. But the near view is worth while, 
 mountains, valleys, coast, you could almost fancy you 
 were up in a balloon." 
 
 Robert was torn between conflicting emotions. He 
 would have been perfectly happy in any event, for he 
 
 83 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 cared more for the foreground than for any possible scen 
 ery that might lie beyond. But the Pendexter thrift made 
 him feel that after coming so far and climbing so high, he 
 ought to get more than just clouds. At Bolton the expe 
 dition would be regarded as a failure. 
 
 Meanwhile the clouds took on a grayish tinge. The 
 mountain-climbers began to be conscious that instead of 
 looking at the clouds, they were looking through them. 
 The sun paled and went out like a snuffed candle. They 
 found themselves sitting on dull gray rocks in a moist 
 gray mist, and realized that it was time to go home. 
 
 Billy announced that he meant to go very fast, for he 
 was devoured with hunger. Robert was rather surprised 
 that any one should be hungry at such a time, and still 
 more surprised when Pauline agreed with Billy. But the 
 fact did not strike him as ominous. 
 
 Whatever Pauline said seemed wonderful to Robert, 
 but equally wonderful were her unembarrassed silences. 
 Robert was not yet accustomed to this easier and more 
 natural world in which people talked or refrained from 
 talking without any feeling of constraint. In his own 
 world it was not considered manners to allow the flow of 
 conversation a moment s rest. Talk was treated like a 
 ball, which must be kept forever tossing from one to an 
 other. Other things being equal, the most vigorous player 
 was counted the greatest social success. Robert was too 
 shy always to live up to this exacting theory, but at least 
 he knew his duty. Whenever a conversational breach 
 occurred, he was to jump into the breach. 
 
 To take people simply, to be just one s natural, serene 
 self in company, or at home, or quite alone, was a social 
 
 84 
 
IN THE CLOUDS 
 
 conception too little strenuous to satisfy the Pendexter 
 conscience. As a result, social intercourse, instead of 
 being a welcome element in daily life, like walking or eat 
 ing or reading, was so pronounced a strain that even the 
 strongest members of the family could not sustain it for 
 any great length of time. Whatever the occasion, the 
 Pendexters were always in dress uniform and on parade. 
 
 But here was a distinctly new way of handling the mat 
 ter. Pauline was never in dress uniform and never on 
 parade. She would have worn exactly what she had on, 
 and done exactly what she was doing, and said practically 
 exactly what she was saying, had our three young friends 
 been at the Antipodes, and Billy her only companion. 
 Stephen regarded this simplicity of Pauline s as merely 
 natural breeding, but was too much accustomed to it to 
 wonder, and much too well informed to regard it as unique 
 and individual. To Eobert, however, Pauline was not a 
 type. She was a wonderful individual, a woman whose 
 unique quality entitled her to worship. Consequently 
 Robert worshiped, and with an intensity of devotion of 
 which in Doane Street or Pinckney Street he would never 
 have believed himself capable. 
 
 The mist and darkness deepened as the descent pro 
 gressed. It became difficult to follow the trail, especially 
 when they struck off to the left and skirted the desolate 
 tarn, on the high ridge separating it from the Pass. Paul 
 ine showed no alarm, not even when they got off the trail 
 altogether and wasted considerable time in finding it again. 
 The only sign she gave of sensing any possible danger was 
 in telling Billy to keep within sight. Robert s regard for 
 the small boy went up considerably when he observed that 
 
 85 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Billy did what he was told without any protest or grum 
 bling. 
 
 To add to their difficulty, the trail itself grew indistinct. 
 Sometimes it quite lost itself in rocky wastes or still more 
 perplexing bits of pasture. It was growing perceptibly 
 darker. Robert was not in the least worried. Pauline 
 and his friends were still in sight, and whatever fate befell 
 one would probably befall all. In reality he felt more 
 sorry for Mr. Marshall than he did for any one of them 
 selves. He knew precisely in what a fever of anxiety he 
 should be himself, if he were at the inn and the others, or 
 even just Stephen and Donald, out on the mountain. 
 
 Finally the party lost the trail altogether, and it became 
 a mere waste of time looking for it. They were in the 
 midst of a stretch of rocky pasture, which for the moment 
 constituted the whole of their visible world. Stephen sug 
 gested a council of war. As a matter of fact, this resolved 
 itself into a discussion of the situation by Pauline and 
 Billy, while the others listened. It was shortly agreed that 
 Pauline should lead, while Billy, as independent critic, 
 should sing out whenever he thought that she was going 
 wrong. Pauline s confidence communicated itself to all the 
 rest, and the party was soon moving down the mountain 
 with more speed and assurance than when on the trail 
 itself. Pauline s method was very simple. It consisted in 
 keeping on the highest part of the ridge, and whenever it 
 forked, taking the left-hand spur leading down towards 
 the Pass. This order of march once established, no fur 
 ther doubts were expressed, or even felt, and the talk went 
 on much as before. 
 
 Billy was the first to catch sight of a grayish white 
 
 86 
 
IN THE CLOUDS 
 
 thread in the mist below them, and to announce it as the 
 road leading from Llanberis Village to the summit of the 
 Pass. It still took some pretty rough climbing to get to 
 it, for the gray mist was closing down upon them more 
 and more completely, and they had literally to feel their 
 way. They came out rather lower down than Pauline an 
 ticipated, and had to climb up the Pass something over 
 half a mile before they reached the inn. But by con 
 trast, walking on the smooth white road was so very easy 
 that the rest of the journey seemed a veritable luxury. 
 
 At the inn the lights were already lighted, and, glimmer 
 ing through the mist, expressed a hearty welcome. Rob 
 ert was thoroughly tired, and he rather fancied that Ste 
 phen and Donald felt the same ; but Pauline and Billy 
 seemed as fresh as when they started out. As they came 
 into the hall, Billy announced that he meant to eat a tre 
 mendous dinner. A fire of sea coals blazed on the hearth. 
 The coppers gleamed in the firelight. A double row of 
 boots and shoes lumbered up one side of the room. It was 
 much the same cheery scene that our three young friends 
 had entered upon the night before, but so much had hap 
 pened in the interval that it seemed, to one of them at 
 least, that a week or a month had passed. 
 
 Pauline and the three friends dropped into chairs before 
 the fire, while Billy ran off to tell Mr. Marshall that they 
 had returned. Robert fully expected Billy to bring them 
 word that Mr. Marshall was out hunting them with men 
 and lanterns and brandy flasks, but to his surprise, father 
 and son soon joined them, hand in hand. Mr. Marshall 
 expressed no anxiety over their late returning, and did not 
 chide them for stopping so long at the top. The only sign 
 
 87 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 he gave was in stooping over and kissing Pauline, and in 
 keeping hold of Billy s hand. 
 
 Kobert could not help contrasting this welcome with the 
 one his Aunt Matilda Pendexter would have proffered 
 under similar circumstances. He could easily fancy that 
 her mixed upbraidings for their carelessness and her au 
 dible self-pity for her own anxiety would have made the 
 time until dinner tolerably uncomfortable. He recalled 
 a cold, wintry afternoon when he and his cousins had been 
 up at Bare Hill Pond skating, and had got home a little 
 later than they expected. Miss Pendexter, as she herself 
 expressed it, was in a state. She was in layers, alter 
 nately worried and cross: worried lest some harm had 
 really befallen them, and cross because they had given her 
 cause for worriment. Robert remembered especially that 
 Miss Pendexter had been far more put out with him than 
 with his cousins. He thought, at the time, that this was 
 because she regarded him as the leader of the expedition 
 and more responsible than the girls. She had made it 
 seem light-minded enough in them, but almost inexcusable 
 in him. It flashed over Robert, as he sat there in the 
 cheerful firelight at Gorphwysfa, that perhaps the greater 
 anger measured the greater affection, and that perhaps the 
 willing of the major part of her fortune to him had, after 
 all, been a matter of genuine sentiment, and not mere 
 caprice. 
 
 Robert had seldom known what it was to be thoroughly 
 and wholesomely tired out physically. He had often been 
 weary unto death over figures and accounts recording op 
 erations in the spice trade, too weary to eat or sleep. But 
 to be tired out physically was almost a new experience. 
 
 88 
 
IN THE CLOUDS 
 
 As he sat there in a comfortable chair before the fire, it 
 struck him as the most delightful sensation in the world, 
 just to be tired bodily and to be resting. His thoughts 
 seemed to be particularly alert, and to be skipping about 
 with extraordinary nimbleness. 
 
 Eobert should, by all counts, have been listening, for 
 Pauline was giving her father a lively account of the day s 
 happenings. But he was not listening. He was conscious 
 of pleasure in the sound of her voice, but he was not tak 
 ing in what she was saying. The coal-fire and the hearth 
 at Gorphwysfa did not in any way resemble the wood-fire 
 and the brick hearth in his aunt s prim sitting-room at 
 Bolton, but almost perversely the one evoked a picture of 
 the other. Against the altogether foreign background of 
 Pauline s voice flitted the shadowy figure of his aunt and 
 the still substantial figures of his three cousins. Robert 
 wondered, with a mixture of amusement and sobriety, 
 whether, given anything of a chance, the Bolton cousins 
 could ever have become girls somewhat more like Pauline. 
 It never occurred to him that they could ever have been 
 her equal, Pauline was unique, but the question was 
 whether, if they had really had a chance, they might have 
 come say within speaking distance of her. It brought a 
 new tenderness into his recollection of the cousins. Then 
 the thought came to Robert for the first time since he 
 had inherited his aunt s fortune, whether these inexperi 
 enced, badly dressed little cousins had not just as much 
 right to their aunt s property as he, or even more right. 
 They had lived with her, cared for her, entertained her, 
 above all, had put up with her day after day, while he, 
 the heir-apparent, as it turned out, had given her only an 
 
 89 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 occasional holiday, and rather grudgingly at that. And 
 now he had the bulk of his aunt s fortune, something over 
 six thousand a year, while the girls had the ancient square 
 house at Bolton, the rocky acres, and about a thousand 
 a year apiece. Robert had accepted this unequal favor of 
 fortune quite without question. To-night he was asking 
 himself whether it were just. The thought brought him 
 up with such a start that involuntarily he leaned forward 
 in his chair. Pauline took it that he wanted to add a 
 touch to her own narrative, and paused expectantly, but 
 Robert had nothing to say. 
 
 The three friends had meant to walk on to Bettws-y- 
 Coed that night, and so reach Chester early in the morn 
 ing. Such a plan was now impossible. It would have been 
 thrown over anyway on the chance that the Marshalls 
 might join them if they waited until Monday morning. 
 The mere possibility made Robert happy. It seemed to 
 him that fate had been astonishingly kind. His sense of 
 undeserved good fortune deepened immeasurably when it 
 turned out at dinner that the Marshalls had definitely 
 decided to join them not only for the morrow s walk, but 
 also for the Lake trip. Billy had been promised a week 
 on Windermere before being assigned for the winter to 
 the advanced institution of learning at Abbotsholme. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 MONDAY proved to be an ideal day. Every vestige of 
 cloud had disappeared. The sun shone from a warm blue 
 sky upon an earth that seemed, out of sheer gratitude, to 
 be smiling back. The white walls of Gorphwysfa were 
 glistening in the strong light. The licensed victualer had 
 stuck a flower in her hair. The maids had on particularly 
 spotless caps and aprons. It was still only the third week 
 in September, and the scant shrubbery was not yet touched 
 by frost. About the world at large there was an air of 
 irrepressible cheer. 
 
 Robert came out a little while before the others, his 
 heart fairly singing with the joy of life. Billy was already 
 in possession of the bench outside the door. He was 
 whistling, and swinging his legs in unison with the tune. 
 He looked up, hoping that it was Donald, but the morning 
 was too good, and his own mood too expansive, to allow 
 any disappointment when he saw that it was only Robert. 
 
 44 Good-morning, Mr. Pendexter," he called out. " I say, 
 is n t this a jolly morning for our walk ? Don t you wish 
 you were up on top of Snowdon this very minute ? I do. 
 Want a seat ? " Billy threw out any number of questions, 
 but these were to be taken as mere expressions of opinion, 
 and called for no reply unless, by special emphasis or 
 otherwise, a specific answer was demanded. 
 
 Robert sat down on the bench alongside of Billy. "A 
 perfect morning," he replied. " But I d rather be here 
 
 91 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 than on Snowdon. I feel a growing interest in my break 
 fast." 
 
 " It s bang-up that you and Mr. Donald and Mr. Morse 
 are going with us. Pauline 11 be pleased, too. She likes 
 Americans better than Britishers. She says so." 
 
 "I m glad she does," Robert answered, feeling that he 
 ought to head Billy off in some way, but not quite knowing 
 how to do it. 
 
 " She d be an awful duffer, you know, if she did n t," 
 continued Billy, imperturbably, looking at the question 
 wholly from Pauline s point of view. "I guess I just 
 would n t speak to her if she went and married a Britisher. 
 There was a man up in Edinburgh " 
 
 " Billy," said Robert, resolutely, " how are you going 
 to carry your luggage to Bettws-y-Coed ? " 
 
 Billy was easily diverted, and took up the less alluring 
 topic of conversation with equal enthusiasm. " Oh, dad s 
 going to have a cart to carry the things. It 11 go long 
 with us all the way." 
 
 " That s good," said Robert. " Then your sister can 
 ride too, if she gets tired." 
 
 " Pauline get tired ! " exclaimed Billy, contemptuously. 
 "You don t know Pauline. Pauline never gets tired. 
 Why, Pauline can outwalk dad ; she can even outwalk 
 me, and I m a boy. If anybody gets played out and has 
 to ride, it 11 be dad." 
 
 " Or Billy ? " suggested Robert, laughing. 
 
 " I shan t ride," said Billy, stoutly ; and then added, as 
 an afterthought, " Not unless Mr. Donald does." 
 
 " Then I think you ll probably not ride." 
 
 A few moments later, Donald came out with Stephen, 
 
 92 
 
THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 and was immediately appealed to as to whether he meant 
 to ride any of the distance to The Royal Oak. As he de 
 clared that he meant to walk every inch of the way, Billy 
 was equally strenuous in thinking that even on an unex 
 citing wagon-road, walking was much ahead of riding. He 
 had never been quite sure of it before. Pauline and Mr. 
 Marshall now appeared, and they all went in to breakfast 
 together. 
 
 By nine they were on the road, the six walkers ahead, 
 and the high cart piled full of luggage crawling after 
 them. As the road was broad, and few other travelers 
 astir, our friends took up no particular order of march. 
 Billy, of course, stuck pretty close to Donald, but this 
 merely meant that Donald was the centre of Billy s gyra 
 tions. Billy was almost the incarnation of perpetual mo 
 tion. On such a walk as this, he covered at least twice 
 the distance made by the others. 
 
 Down the Pass to Pen-y-Gweyd, the party moved in a 
 group, too much taken up with the beauty of the morning 
 and the exhilaration of rapid movement to put together 
 any very connected conversation. As the road approached 
 Capel Curig and lost its distinctively mountain charac 
 ter, nature grew less insistent, and human nature came 
 more into evidence. Stephen and Mr. Marshall fell into 
 a discussion of American politics and finance ; while 
 Pauline Donald on one side and Robert on the other 
 became the centre of rambling talk that swept from 
 one end of the earth to the other. When they reached 
 that well-known point in the road where you get the 
 famous view of Snowdon, a delicious breeze sprang up, 
 and as they turned to look at the mountain, swept through 
 
 93 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 their lungs like a current of new life. Donald began 
 repeating Whitman s " Song of the Koad." It was pleas 
 ant to hear him, for he seemed not to be quoting or 
 reciting, but merely talking in a rude verse, whose un- 
 cramped measure fitted in well with the sweep of their 
 surroundings. " I like it all," said Donald, when he had 
 finished. " Even the jolty parts. I m sorry we live so 
 much indoors. I think that s what s the matter with us 
 now. We do dull, stupid things just to make money, 
 when we d much better be making verses. We get ner 
 vous and blue for mere lack of fresh air, and end by 
 thinking that the world s going to the bow-wows, when 
 only we ourselves are ! Sometimes I think I 11 be a 
 tramp, or a gypsy, or a cow-boy, or a cab-driver, or even 
 a policeman, for they are our only philosophers." 
 
 " What are you going to Berlin for, then, a place 
 where the sun hardly ever shines in winter, and the lamps 
 are lighted at three o clock ? " demanded Pauline. " You d 
 much better be going to Italy or Egypt or India, where 
 you could live outdoors all the time." 
 
 " That s just it," answered Donald, vigorously. " It s 
 the perversity of fate, just a horrid trick, the kind that Des 
 tiny is always playing us, unless we stand out against her." 
 
 " Why don t you stand out against her, then ? " asked 
 Pauline. " It s silly to do things you don t want to. 
 What are you going to Berlin for, if you don t like the 
 sort of life that Berlin stands for ? As I remember Ber 
 lin, it s a better place to study all sorts of dry things 
 than it is to write poetry in." 
 
 " It s a bum place," put in Billy, whose erratic orbit 
 brought him for a moment within hearing of the word. 
 
 94 
 
THE OPEN KOAD 
 
 " A knock-down question that, why I am going to 
 Berlin," answered Donald. " I guess it s just because I m 
 a miserable coward ! " 
 
 Donald spoke so earnestly that both Pauline and Robert 
 looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 "Now you re talking in riddles," Pauline said. "I 
 never do it myself, but I always thought it must be 
 awfully brave to want to do one thing and deliberately 
 go and do something else. I d really like to know why 
 you re a miserable coward, would n t you, Mr. Pen- 
 dexter?" 
 
 Robert said that he would. 
 
 " Yes, I am," reiterated Donald. " I m just a miser 
 able coward, like most other men. I like to live outdoors 
 and moon around and write verses. And instead of that, 
 I teach German in a swell preparatory school the lan 
 guage and literature, if you please to a parcel of chaps 
 who don t care a rap about either. And I ve come abroad 
 to study, not for the joy of it, mind you, but mainly that 
 the headmaster can announce to his mammas and papas 
 that I m straight from headquarters, the genuine article, 
 and can give their young hopefuls the simon-pure Aus- 
 sprache." 
 
 Donald spoke lightly, but there was an unmistakable 
 touch of bitterness in his words. Robert was at once all 
 sympathy, but Pauline took the common-sense point of 
 view. " Well, it s worth while to teach boys German, 
 isn t it?" she asked. "It s a good thing for them to 
 know. And if you pretend to do it at all, you ought to 
 do it well, and give them the right accent. I should just 
 hate a teacher who taught me things that were n t so. 
 
 95 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Where s the cowardice in preparing to do your work 
 well ? I really don t see what you re driving at." 
 
 " Dear lady," said Donald, more gently and reasonably, 
 " if I loved to teach, it would be different. But I don t. 
 I hate it ! And yet I go on doing it. That s why I m a 
 coward ! " 
 
 " I must be very stupid," Pauline replied, laughing in 
 her frank, boyish way; "but you have n t told us yet just 
 why you are so reprehensible. Must poets always be 
 obscure ? If you don t like to teach and still go on doing 
 it, I think you re awfully foolish, but that s all I make 
 out of it. If you do it well, thoroughly well, you know, 
 in spite of your dislike, it seems to me, on the whole, 
 rather heroic. Do you guess his riddle, Mr. Pendexter ? " 
 
 Robert answered that he did n t, and that he was the 
 more at sea, the more Donald talked. Robert rather liked 
 to have Pauline appeal to him in this way. 
 
 " I m much encouraged, mes amis" cried Donald, 
 gayly. " I see that I am growing very cultivated. The 
 more I say, the less I m understood. It s a sure sign of 
 culture. The dear headmaster would raise my salary at 
 once if he could only hear you little ones talk." 
 
 Pauline once more turned to Robert. " It s quite hope 
 less, Mr. Pendexter. I ve asked Mr. Fergusson three 
 separate and distinct times why he is a coward, a miser 
 able coward, remember, and he won t tell, or he can t 
 tell, or he s ashamed to tell. Please do you ask him to 
 inform us in such plain and simple English that, feeble 
 and unpoetic as we are, we can really understand him." 
 
 Robert responded in the same gay spirit. " Mr. Donald 
 Fergusson, poet and schoolmaster, will you please tell us 
 
 96 
 
THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 why you are a miserable coward ? Miss Pauline Marshall, 
 of Indianapolis, wants to know. And I, Robert Pendexter, 
 of Boston and Bolton, nobody in particular, also want to 
 know. And will you please tell us in straight English that 
 one or both of us can understand." 
 
 Robert s voice was never loud, but it was clear, and had 
 amazing carrying power. It evidently reached Stephen, for 
 he turned around and remarked dryly, " You d better not. 
 By advice of counsel. Fee, ten dollars," and went on 
 talking with Mr. Marshall about the currency and the 
 need of greater elasticity. 
 
 " But one must always heed a lady ! " said Donald, gal 
 lantly. " I m a coward, mes amis, because I have to earn 
 my living, and being too lazy to get out and hustle for 
 it, I stay indoors and teach, just because it s the easiest 
 way and the laziest way to butter my bread. And I m 
 miserable, not because I m a coward, not a bit of it, but 
 because I m such an unlucky dog that I know it. That s 
 plain enough, in all conscience, and it s gospel truth, 
 every word of it." 
 
 " If it is the truth," said Pauline, vigorously, " you just 
 deserve to be miserable, much more miserable than you 
 seem to be ! If / were a man, I would n t work just for 
 money, any more than I would fly. I should do exactly 
 what I wanted to do, outdoors or indoors, and I rather 
 think I should have butter on my bread, too. But if I 
 could n t, I would eat it dry ! " 
 
 "There speaks my better angel!" exclaimed Donald, 
 with the most impersonal enthusiasm. " That s what the 
 poet in me says, whenever I think of the interminable 
 mammas and papas, and then I m tempted to turn trouba- 
 
 97 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 dour and wander through sunny lands. But nevertheless, 
 behold the tragedy, I go to Berlin ! " 
 
 It was always difficult to know whether Donald were 
 really in earnest, and Robert found himself adrift on 
 strange seas. He had supposed it a piece of great good 
 luck that Donald had this year s leave of absence, and also 
 that Donald himself so regarded it. Stephen had said that 
 the year off was for the purpose of writing more poetry. 
 More puzzling still was Pauline s attitude. Donald might 
 be merely trifling, but she, at any rate, was always in 
 downright earnest. And here, in all seriousness, she was 
 treating money as a matter of very second-rate importance, 
 she who seemed from her clothes and general mode of life 
 always to have had enough of it. Robert wondered if she 
 would feel the same about money, and esteem it so lightly, 
 if she had ever had to live on a clerkship of twelve hun 
 dred a year. 
 
 There had been a silence for some moments, when Paul 
 ine said, in a tone of conviction, " Well, it is a tragedy, 
 but you deserve it! Perhaps Berlin will cure you, and 
 you 11 go home a free man. That s the most cheerful view 
 to take of the situation, is n t it?" 
 
 Robert looked at Pauline in amazement. He himself 
 would never have ventured to talk to Donald, or indeed to 
 any one else, with such frankness ; and here Pauline, who 
 hardly knew the man, was speaking not only with amazing 
 frankness, but also without the least show of consciousness 
 that it was not the most natural thing in the world to say 
 just what one thought. Robert was genuinely puzzled. 
 He had been brought up to think that good fortune meant 
 money. There were other things of course, like health and 
 
THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 education and travel, and that remote good, salvation, 
 which came to decent people when they died. But up to 
 the final catastrophe, it was money which acted as the sole 
 purveyor of the feast, and even at death, the last will and 
 testament, properly made out and duly charitable, was a 
 substantial part of one s cosmic credentials. 
 
 At Bolton, this gospel had been well rubbed into Robert. 
 His Aunt Matilda Pendexter never failed to tell him that 
 he must be frugal and thrifty and industrious, and that 
 then he would succeed. And to succeed meant to get 
 money. At Doane Street, it would have been grotesque in 
 the extreme to suppose that such an ill-assorted and uncon 
 genial group of persons could have been induced to come 
 together, day by day and month by month, for any less 
 weighty reason. From this sweeping charge, Robert had to 
 except Dennis Sullivan. The Irish boy had the least money, 
 but he seemed to be the most human of them all. He 
 really cared for the others, even for Messrs. Watson and 
 Reed, whose manners had two sides, a smooth one for cus 
 tomers and a rough one for subordinates. In Pinckney 
 Street, again, it was lack of money that was made to ac 
 count for all the shabbiness of that very shabby quarter, 
 the shabbiness of outlook as well as of possessions. To 
 Robert himself, money had been the open sesame of a 
 very dull world into a world whose bigness and brightness 
 he was only just beginning to discover. 
 
 Robert had half learned the lesson of not asking direct 
 questions through his slight intercourse with Alicia, and 
 theoretically, at least, had accepted it as part of the stand 
 ard for his readjusted behavior. But here was an issue 
 in which he was too genuinely interested to let the sub- 
 
 99 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 ject drop, even if he had to do violence to the new canon. 
 " If you don t mind, Miss Marshall," he said, " I should 
 like very much to know what you think a man ought to 
 do?" 
 
 " Dear me, I don t mind in the least," answered Paul 
 ine, promptly. " But all I can tell you is what I should 
 do myself, if I were a man." 
 
 " That s just what I want to know," Robert replied, 
 thankful, however, that Pauline was not a man. 
 
 " Well, in the first place, I 11 tell you what I would n t 
 be. I wouldn t be an artist of any sort or kind, that is, 
 a painter, or a writer, or a musician, not for worlds! " 
 
 Robert opened his eyes very wide. He himself would 
 have given his right hand to be a poet. " Why not ? " he 
 demanded eagerly. 
 
 " Because they re a sickly lot," Pauline answered, with 
 an amusing air of conviction. " I d be a man first and 
 last and always, and not a poor, driveling creature pluck 
 ing at his sensations the whole livelong time, and throwing 
 them into the market just as fast as he can get hold of 
 them!" 
 
 " Whew ! " cried Donald; " what an insufferable world 
 it would be, without pictures, or books, or music ! " 
 
 " I did n t say I would do without these things," Pauline 
 protested. " I only said that I would n t be one of those 
 professional factories that do nothing but turn such things 
 out. I should like to paint a picture or write a book, or 
 put together something new in music, if I were not too 
 stupid, but I d want to do it in a big way, just because I 
 had to, and not keep on repeating myself until I became 
 a chromo factory, or a typewriter, or a Swiss music-box." 
 
 100 
 
THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 " You re a most abandoned heretic," said Donald ; 
 "but do go on. What else wouldn t you be, not for 
 worlds ? " 
 
 Pauline made a wry face at this return of her own 
 phrase, but went on, more in answer to Robert than to 
 Donald : " Then I would n t be a doctor, for 1 hate sick 
 people, especially people who get sick through their own 
 fault, and then when you have them patched up, go right 
 away and get sick again. And I wouldn t be a lawyer 
 because I hate quarrelsome people " 
 
 " How s that, Stephen ? " cried Donald ; " Miss Marshall 
 says she would n t be a lawyer because she hates quarrel 
 some people ! But she does n t say whether she means that 
 the lawyers themselves are quarrelsome, or that their 
 clients are." 
 
 Stephen was growing a little weary of the subject of 
 American finance, especially as he and Mr. Marshall 
 could not agree upon the matter of the currency, and was 
 therefore glad to be drawn into the conversation of the 
 younger people. 
 
 " It would n t be polite to ask her point-blank, since 
 she s not on the witness-stand," he said promptly, " but 
 I 11 take her up on either count. In the first place, you 
 must know, my children, that lawyers are the salt of the 
 earth" 
 
 " And have long since lost their savor," put in Pauline, 
 quietly. 
 
 Stephen laughed in his characteristic wriggling way, 
 that always made one feel that he was hugging himself 
 with the sheer pleasure of it. " That s one on me, all 
 right," he admitted heartily. " I 11 start again. Lawyers 
 
 101 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 are not quarrelsome. They hate quarrels, and they do their 
 best to prevent quarrels. They have the look of fighting- 
 machines, I 11 admit that, and sometimes they re 
 called into pretty hot action. But they are like the army 
 and navy, the greatest promoters of peace on earth. Our 
 own President says so, vide Congressional Record, 
 volume so-and-so, page so-and-so " 
 
 * About lawyers, or about the army and navy ? " asked 
 Donald. 
 
 " I don t just recollect," Stephen answered. " I think he 
 was speaking about the army and navy. But to continue. 
 If it were not for the lawyers, people would grow to be 
 so quarrelsome that there would be no living in the house 
 with them ! " 
 
 " That would be just what I want," interrupted Paul 
 ine, " for then we could live outdoors with them." 
 
 " Verdict for the plaintiff," sang out Stephen. " All the 
 same, the defendant will appeal the case to the upper court 
 and go on practicing." 
 
 " What about the ministry ? " asked Robert, whose New 
 England traditions made him regard the parish minister 
 as a person much to be looked up to. " Would you be a 
 minister, Miss Marshall ? " 
 
 "Never! " Pauline cried emphatically . "Not for world s/" 
 she added, glancing at Donald. 
 
 " Not even for the other world ? " suggested Stephen. 
 
 " Not even for the other world," Pauline replied, " for I 
 don t believe in it." 
 
 " You don t believe in the other world ? " Robert asked, 
 quite aghast. "You don t believe surely that when you 
 die, you just go out like a snuffed candle, do you?" 
 
 102 
 
THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 " Yes, I do," Pauline answered. " Does that seem to 
 you so very horrible ? " 
 
 " Yes, it does. It makes things seem so hopeless." 
 
 " I don t find them hopeless," Pauline replied. " On the 
 contrary, I find things very much to my taste just as they 
 are. Of course, I don t say that there may not be another 
 world after this one, perhaps many of them, but I should n t 
 be willing to preach it, for it may not be so. In fact, I 
 shouldn t be willing to preach it anyhow. I think the 
 preaching, like the painting and all the other things, ought 
 to be incidental, just a part of our natural daily life. Not 
 so much preaching, you know, as just doing the right thing 
 without saying anything about it. I couldn t make my 
 salt at preaching, for I should always say the same thing, 
 and when people had heard my one sermon, they would n t 
 go on paying to hear it over and over again." 
 
 "What would you say in your one sermon?" asked 
 Robert, eagerly anxious to fill up the gap that seemed 
 yawning between Pauline and himself. 
 
 Pauline stretched out her hands in happy imitation of 
 the attitude of exhortation, and exclaimed, " I should say, 
 My brethren and my sisteren, be big, just be big ! And 
 to-morrow, be a little bigger ! And the next time I should 
 say precisely the same thing." 
 
 " A mighty good sermon," commented Stephen. " You 
 don t have to be a minister to say that, or to have a pulpit 
 to say it in. But it s only fair to add, though, that your 
 modern minister is not so much a preacher as an organizer 
 of social work, a man set apart to look after the more ideal 
 interests of society." 
 
 " That s just it ! " said Pauline, quickly. " I should n t 
 103 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 want to be a man set apart for anything whatever. I should 
 want to be a part of the ideal interest, and not the boss, 
 not even if I could wear a frock coat and a top hat and a 
 white tie all the time ! " 
 
 Robert was puzzled. Stephen was delighted, for here 
 was an honest sinner after his own heart. Donald was 
 merely amused. Billy did n t know what they were all 
 talking about. They all laughed, after the stupid manner 
 of grown-ups, when there was nothing in sight to laugh at, 
 and so Billy in disgust had carried off his father as the 
 least incomprehensible companion of the lot. 
 
 It was Donald who summed up the situation : " Miss 
 Marshall would n t work for money, and she would n t be 
 a painter, or a writer, or a musician. And she would n t 
 be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a clergyman. There is only 
 one thing left. Like your humble servant, she would be 
 a pedagogue, only learned ! " 
 
 " Would you be a teacher, Miss Marshall, if you were 
 a man?" asked Robert, with renewed interest. 
 
 Pauline held up her hands in protest. " You make me 
 feel as if I were a school-girl again, and trying to pass 
 an examination, you hurl so many questions at me. Yes, 
 I would be a teacher, but only as I would be the other 
 things, just by the way, you know. I would n t teach in a 
 school-room for anything, unless I had to. I d teach in 
 my own home, my children, if I had any and my 
 wife, if she d let me ! " 
 
 " You perceive that Mademoiselle knows the sex," put 
 in Donald. " She adds the one necessary condition." 
 
 Pauline ignored the thrust, and continued : " But I 
 would n t teach even them unless I got paid for it ! " 
 
 104 
 
THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 " How mercenary ! " ejaculated Donald, while Robert 
 pricked up his ears. 
 
 " I did n t say in what coin," Pauline hastened to add, 
 in her own defense. " I would only teach them if they 
 would teach me in return." 
 
 " You need n t be afraid," said Donald, with the air of 
 one who knew. " If you had a lot of small boys to look 
 after, they d teach you and no mistake, more than you 
 could ever teach them. And though it s only hearsay, I 
 understand that wives like nothing better than to instruct 
 and discipline their husbands." 
 
 " Don t be discouraged from taking unto yourself a 
 wife by anything that Donald may say," put in Stephen, 
 in his judicial manner ; " that is, supposing you were a 
 man. It s well known so I need n t hesitate to mention 
 it that Donald writes sonnets to half a dozen maidens 
 in the same month, and is only deterred from saying Wilt 
 thou ? by the overwhelming I might say insurmount 
 able difficulty of choosing one and throwing over the 
 other five. Donald would be a settled married man, and 
 pushing a perambulator in some quiet suburb, were only 
 the other fair charmers away." 
 
 " That s just the point I was trying to make against 
 all your poets and writers," said Pauline. " They are so 
 busy studying their emotions, and blowing bubbles with 
 them, and recording them with due regard to literary 
 style, that no big emotion ever takes possession of them 
 and sweeps them off their feet into real happiness." 
 
 " Stung again, Donald ! " cried Stephen. " You re up 
 against a tough proposition when you throw gibes at 
 American girls." 
 
 105 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " I did n t mean to be personal," protested Pauline. 
 " Forgive me, Mr. Fergusson, if I seemed to be." 
 
 Donald laughed good-naturedly. " I am getting it rather 
 hard, but doubtless I deserve it. If Stephen ever falls in 
 love, he will throw his judicial habits into the waste-paper 
 basket, and elope in a very whirlwind of passion." 
 
 " That I will," assented Stephen, cheerfully. " Just as 
 soon as I find the right girl, and especially if there are 
 any dangerous rivals in sight. But meanwhile, if I might 
 suggest such a thing, we have wandered pretty far from the 
 point at issue, and that is the momentous question as to 
 what Miss Pauline Marshall would do, were she a man, 
 and called upon to make his or her own living. With rare 
 skill it has been brought out what Miss Marshall would 
 not do. It still remains to learn what she would do. And 
 if I understand the situation aright, unless this disclosure 
 is clearly made before we reach The Royal Oak, Mr. 
 Robert Pendexter will be quite unable to eat a mouthful 
 of luncheon." 
 
 Donald looked at his friend in mock admiration. " What 
 it is to have a great mind ! So much better, dear Miss 
 Marshall, than mere emotions." 
 
 Pauline was not to be trapped again. " Speaking in 
 general," she said, with smiling caution, " very much 
 better! It s left to me to rescue Mr. Pendexter and 
 disclose what I would do if I were a man. I wish I 
 were ! " 
 
 " As far as I can see," Stephen suggested, " there are 
 only three things left to you, unless you wanted to be a 
 mere manual laborer and work in a ditch or a factory. 
 You could be a business man, or a farmer, or you could 
 
 106 
 
THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 be a coupon-clipper, like that favorite of fortune, our 
 friend, Mr. Pendexter." 
 
 Robert winced a little at this reference to himself, but 
 Pauline seemed not to notice it. 
 
 " Rather stupid alternatives," she said. " I should n t 
 want to be any of them, neither a business man, nor a 
 farmer, and I could n t be a coupon-clipper." 
 
 "Why not?" asked Robert. 
 
 " Well, for one thing," Pauline answered, " as I would n t 
 work for money in the first instance, I should n t be able 
 to buy anything that would bear a crop of coupons, would 
 I now?" 
 
 "No," admitted Robert; "but suppose some one left 
 them to you, that is, investments that would bring you in 
 enough money to live on, what then ? " Robert meant 
 to be wholly impersonal, but the vivacity of his manner 
 made it clear that he was really asking judgment on his 
 own case. 
 
 Pauline chose to ignore this aspect of the problem, 
 and answered without hesitation, " That would never sat 
 isfy me. Men can t all be coupon-clippers. It would n t be 
 a possible scheme for all people to live on incomes. Some 
 body must do the work, must keep the pot boiling, must 
 make the food and shelter and clothes. I should want 
 to do a man s share along with the rest. I would n t work 
 for money, but I would work for bread and butter." 
 
 Stephen shook his head as if he were greatly shocked, 
 and said with assumed gravity, " I fear me that you are a 
 wicked socialist, and will corrupt our young friend, Mr. 
 Pendexter." 
 
 " I don t know what a socialist is," Pauline answered, 
 107 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " and I don t believe that you do. I never met anybody 
 that did. But all the same, I ve said just what I mean." 
 Pauline threw back her shoulders and drew in a long 
 breath of the good air. 
 
 " I quite believe that you Ve said what you mean," 
 Stephen replied, " or at least that you mean what you Ve 
 said. But you have n t told us yet how you d make your 
 bread and butter, if you declined the old and popular 
 route via money. Mr. Pendexter s luncheon is still in 
 jeopardy." 
 
 " I d find a way," said Pauline, confidently. " For one 
 thing, I d live in the country in a big, plain house with 
 plenty of land around it." 
 
 "But where would you get it?" persisted Stephen. 
 " All persons can t have such estates." 
 
 " I d accept as much as that from my grandfather," 
 Pauline answered. " The world is not new, just beginning. 
 Our ancestors have done a lot of good work, into which 
 we come by a very natural inheritance. I could accept 
 such a home from the past with clear conscience. And if 
 it was n t forthcoming, I d make enough money to buy 
 the home for myself. There are plenty of them, not in 
 fashionable localities, perhaps, or even in very convenient 
 localities. But they could be made beautiful, and that 
 would be enough, would n t it?" 
 
 " I suppose so," Stephen replied, with a slight shrug 
 of his shoulders. "But how would you support such a 
 home, when you had it ? how pay the butcher, the baker, 
 the candlestick-maker, buy clothes for the kids and send 
 them to school, pay the cook, the chamber-maid, the 
 waitress, the stable-boy, the hired man, to say nothing 
 
 108 
 
THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 of new bonnets for Madame and occasional jaunts to 
 Europe?" 
 
 Pauline laughed at the overwhelming list of expendi 
 tures. " You don t frighten me one little bit. We should 
 never for a moment consent to such extravagance. We 
 should do most of our own work, raise most of our own 
 food, make most of our own clothes, teach the children 
 ourselves until they got too big for us, and when we did 
 need things that cost money, I d work for them in any 
 way I could." 
 
 " That would be working for money," said Robert. 
 
 " Oh, no, it would n t," Pauline protested ; " only for 
 money en route to the things we actually needed, and 
 never beyond that." 
 
 " It would keep you pretty busy to carry through 
 such a program," suggested Stephen, " for you would lose 
 the benefit of the division of labor. But the weakest part 
 in the whole scheme seems to me that when all is done 
 and said, I can t see for the life of me that you re getting 
 anywhere. What s the purpose in such a life ? Where 
 does civilization come in, and progress? What should you 
 say you were aiming at ? How could you justify such a 
 life ? People would say that you were n t taking your 
 part in the great struggle for existence, that you were 
 playing while the rest were working. How could you 
 answer them ? Where would you turn up at the end of 
 it all?" 
 
 Robert listened eagerly for Pauline s answers. Stephen 
 had voiced his own doubts, and had done it more clearly 
 than he could have hoped to do it for himself. The Pen- 
 dexter conscience was appalled at the picture of such 
 
 109 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 unabashed and irresponsible happiness. Pauline, in turn, 
 was amused at their earnestness. Their position was quite 
 as incomprehensible to her as her position was to them. 
 She found it difficult to answer them, not because answers 
 from her point of view were not forthcoming, but because 
 they seemed to be speaking a different language. 
 
 " Listen," she said, puckering up her forehead in the 
 effort to be more than commonly lucid, and incidentally 
 making Robert think her more charming than ever. 
 "You see most people work for money, even poets. 
 They think they are working for the good things money 
 will buy. They all begin that way, except the out-and-out 
 misers. But money can be hoarded, that s the bother 
 with it. So people put off buying the good thing, and 
 hoard up their money to buy something better. It gets to 
 be a habit. Even Billy does it, though he knows father 
 will give him everything he wants. This goes on and on 
 until the money comes to be looked upon as being itself 
 the good thing, and you have what you have. If I were a 
 man, I shouldn t work for money, I should work for 
 leisure, and more and more of it. You can t hoard leisure. 
 You must spend it just as fast as it conies. And that means 
 life, to-day now this minute always. Can t you 
 see that the one good thing is to live! One can ask 
 nothing beyond that ! " 
 
 Robert was naturally stirred at this outburst, for Pauline 
 was magnificent in her enthusiasm. Stephen looked at the 
 girl in momentary admiration, but was still above all else 
 the lawyer. " That s all very well," he said ; " but what 
 would you do with your leisure? One must get somewhere 
 with one s life. How would you justify yourself to others? " 
 
 110 
 
THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 " Justify myself to others ! " Pauline fairly blazed 
 " I d never do such a degrading thing. No human being 
 has a right to call me to account, even to question me. 
 I should n t attempt to justify myself, even to myself. 
 And as for the point of it, you miss it all, if you are 
 forever trying to get somewhere with your life. It s enough 
 to live. That s what I d do with my leisure, spend it 
 greedily on life, just live. I d sit in the sun and do 
 nothing, if I wanted to ! There s plenty to do with leisure, 
 if you re not trying all the time to trade it off for money. 
 I ve just told you that I am one of those people who are 
 not sure of another life. But I want it tremendously in 
 order to have more leisure, leisure not for getting some 
 where, but just to spend. I d love my wife and children, 
 read the books I want to read, eat the fruit in my orchard, 
 pick the flowers in my garden, bathe in the brook, wander 
 on the hill-tops, ride in the valley, lie on my back in the 
 moonlight, hear songs and music, keep Thanksgiving Day 
 every day in the year, be a friend worth having. I d 
 taste life to the full, to the very f ull. That s what I d 
 do if I were a man ! " 
 
 " And being a woman ? " Stephen asked, with interest. 
 
 " I shall do what I can ! " said Pauline, more quietly. 
 
 " And when you came to die, what then ? " asked 
 Robert, almost involuntarily. It seemed to him, even as 
 he spoke, as if his Aunt Matilda Pendexter had put the 
 question, and not he himself. 
 
 There was something almost scornful in Pauline s an 
 swer. " When I came to die ? Well, for one thing, I 
 should n t be a coward. I should n t say I was glad to go 
 unless the life spark were really quite spent. In that case, 
 
 111 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 I should go because I had to, and without asking a ques 
 tion. I can take the unknown on trust ! " 
 
 " It seems to me" said Stephen, with the air of the 
 judgeship strong upon him, " that it s just as well you 
 are a woman and will have a husband to manage the 
 finances. The only way to have leisure in this mixed-up 
 world of ours is to have some one else finger the pocket- 
 book, either a husband or an ancestor, and to have them 
 do it to a pretty lively quickstep." 
 
 Pauline laughed, and Robert thought what a very beau 
 tiful world it would be if only Pauline would take a hus 
 band. The color mounted into his cheeks, and when at 
 last they all marched into The Royal Oak, at Bettws-y- 
 Coed, Robert looked the least tired of the party. For the 
 moment, all the vexed problems of the road slipped out of 
 his mind, quite lost in the one blissful fact that he loved 
 Pauline, and that he knew it. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 ADRIFT 
 
 ON the following evening our three young friends and the 
 Marshalls found themselves established at Bowness in a 
 hostelry which for some not easily discernible reason called 
 itself Old England. But it offered fairly pleasant rooms, 
 and a garden which stretched down to the shore of Win- 
 dermere. 
 
 The three young men had gathered up their traps at 
 Chester, and, once more in Liverpool, had snatched a 
 moment at the tailor s, while the Marshalls drove to the 
 banker s and attended to their own errands. Robert was 
 measured for the first evening suit he had ever owned in 
 his life, and quite without protest had allowed Stephen 
 to get him in for an extra five pounds on an additional 
 dinner-coat. Stephen added a figured waistcoat to a 
 wardrobe already more than abundant. Donald, with the 
 frugality of those living on their capital, waited until they 
 got to the haberdasher s, and contented himself with one 
 new necktie. 
 
 By afternoon the coats were ready to try on, and the 
 finished garments were promised for the following after 
 noon, to be sent by express to Bowness. Stephen man 
 aged the trunks so adroitly that none of them arrived at 
 the hotel that evening, and all three men were obliged to 
 appear at dinner in their traveling-clothes. The other 
 guests at Old England stared less than usual at this 
 
 113 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 unorthodox dress, since even Englishmen walking through 
 the Lake District with no luggage beyond a knapsack 
 were commonly reduced to similar straits. Pauline ap 
 peared in a fresh costume, so beautiful in its simplicity 
 that it made the more elaborate gowns of the other women 
 look worn and faded, and set the women themselves to 
 wondering, with some little irritation, how these American 
 girls managed to look so pretty on practically nothing at 
 all. 
 
 Pauline herself was radiant. Liverpool and the dismal 
 coal country that lies between it and the Lakes had filled 
 her pagan soul with gloom, and made her feel, in spite of 
 the comfort of a first-class railway carriage, that she was 
 being slowly suffocated. Robert had watched her with 
 interest. He was conscious of a little falling off in his own 
 spirits, due to the depressing clouds of coal smoke that 
 hung like a pall over the sooty towns and villages ; but he 
 had put it all down to the fact that it carried him mo 
 mentarily back to the gloom of Doane Street. But his own 
 moods were rapidly becoming mere reflections of Pauline s. 
 As far as he personally was concerned, he would have been 
 happy in a coal mine itself, if only Pauline had been there 
 with him. As it was, he had felt a personal grievance 
 against the whole landscape for the simple reason that 
 it weighed on Pauline and cast a temporary shadow over 
 her superb spirits. 
 
 But at Bowness all dull spirits and all grievances com 
 pletely disappeared. The sun was shining through an 
 atmosphere devoid of coal dust ; the children looked clean 
 and happy ; the earth spread out before them like a favored 
 garden where soot and smoke and ugliness found no home. 
 
 114 
 
ADRIFT 
 
 They had driven down to the lake, and to the hospitality 
 of Old England, on top of a coach that suggested nothing 
 so much as a mere perch in space. But it was a perch that 
 rushed through the sweet air, past quaint shops and trim 
 villas, country lanes and homelike cottages, with all the 
 eagerness of their own spirits. 
 
 Robert had the unspeakable good fortune to sit next to 
 Pauline. When they caught their first glimpse of the lake, 
 it was already sunset. The smooth waters and the green 
 hills that surrounded them were bathed in a golden light 
 that brought out their own proper color, and yet fused 
 them into one dream-like unity. Robert touched Pauline s 
 hand. He did it so impulsively that no prim New Eng 
 land ancestor had time to inhibit the movement. Pauline s 
 hand, like his own, was ungloved. The quick contact, the 
 almost imperceptible pressure that he allowed himself, sent 
 a thrill through Robert that made him forget the sunset, 
 and for the moment remember only Pauline. 
 
 Pauline accepted the movement as simply as if it had 
 been an exclamation of wonder. She turned towards 
 Robert and answered him quite as if he had put some 
 question. " It is fine, is n t it? Now I am alive again. I 
 wish I could live here always." 
 
 " Windermere s a regular corker," chimed in Billy ; and 
 then, his patriotism coming to the front, he added judi 
 ciously, " It s most as pretty as Lake Asquam." 
 
 " It s prettier, you little bigot," said Stephen, almost 
 harshly. 
 
 " What s a bigot ? " asked Billy, appealing rather to 
 Donald than to Stephen. " If I m a little bigot, I d like 
 to know what it means." 
 
 115 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " Sound principle," murmured Stephen. " The proper 
 study of mankind is man." 
 
 Donald answered rather more lucidly. " A bigot, sonny, 
 is a fellow that gets such a tight grip on the truth that it 
 screws his eyes fast shut, and he can t tell what he s got 
 hold of." 
 
 Billy looked bewildered a moment, but got out of the 
 difficulty by speedily remarking, " Well, I guess I m not 
 a bigot, then, for / never shut my eyes unless I m fast 
 asleep. Do I, Pauline ? " 
 
 u I suppose not," the girl answered. 
 
 Robert had withdrawn his hand. The sunset colors 
 were already beginning to fade, and Robert was dimly 
 conscious that his own elation was fading with them. He 
 had seemed just for a moment to have come so near Paul 
 ine, and then he had suddenly become conscious that in 
 reality he had not come near her at all. Robert had still 
 to learn that until it is returned, love is a pain, a bewil 
 derment, a fancy ; that love is like quarreling, it takes 
 two to make it complete. 
 
 It was a curious part of Robert s present emotional 
 state that he had never really asked himself whether by 
 any chance Pauline could seriously care for him, or even 
 in some future hour of good fortune could be induced to 
 care for him. It was probably just as well that he never 
 put the question. He had such a poor opinion of him 
 self that he would have answered it overwhelmingly in 
 the negative. Certainly no detail of remembrance could 
 bring to mind a single incident in which Pauline had 
 expressed the smallest preference for him or for his com 
 pany. She had accepted all three young men as pleasant 
 
 116 
 
ADRIFT 
 
 additions to their own limited party, and had shown a 
 frank enjoyment which allowed no personal illusions on 
 the part of any of them. 
 
 At dinner, however, all Robert s momentary depressions 
 and doubts were lost in the general sense of good-fellow 
 ship which pervaded the party. They sat much as they 
 did at Gorphwysfa, except that they now had a table to 
 themselves, and Billy, having captured Donald, had him 
 on his left, while Mr. Marshall sat at the end of the table, 
 opposite Pauline. Robert sat at her right, and practically 
 had the girl all to himself, for the party divided itself quite 
 naturally into pairs. Stephen and Mr. Marshall, once off 
 the dangerous subject of the currency, got on together fa 
 mously. Billy monopolized Donald, not by any explicit 
 permission, but at least without protest, as Donald found 
 Pauline too little complex for his own taste, too much of 
 " a natural history girl," as he himself phrased it ; and 
 Mr. Marshall, with his absorption in affairs, quite frankly 
 bored him. 
 
 Robert had met too few people socially to have acquired 
 the analytical habit. Being decidedly negative himself, 
 he liked everybody who was at all nice to him ; and Mr. 
 Marshall and Pauline and Billy, all having been nice to 
 him in a genuine, impersonal way, he liked them all, and 
 Pauline he loved, or fancied that he loved, which, for per 
 sons not particularly skilled in introspective analysis, is 
 very much the same thing. Under the influence of this 
 feeling, Robert quite let himself go. Instead of the shy, 
 silent creature of Pinckney Street circles, he was rapidly 
 becoming a more interesting and attractive man. Pauline 
 was deepening what the steamer life had begun. How 
 
 117 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 rapidly Robert was blossoming, he himself was least of all 
 aware, for by the happy law of such encounters, the more 
 conscious he became of Pauline, and the more engrossed 
 in her large personality, the less conscious he grew of him 
 self, and the less paralyzed by a sense of his own limi 
 tations. Robert found it easy to talk to Pauline, much 
 easier than it had been to talk to Alicia, and Pauline 
 found it easy to talk to Robert. There was nothing par 
 ticularly edifying in their talk. The worldly wise would 
 certainly not have thought it worth reporting or preserv 
 ing. They talked much as two children might have talked, 
 occasionally about themselves and their own nai ve experi 
 ments in life, but generally about outdoor matters and the 
 surface of things. There were no deep waters in this talk, 
 no subtle meanings and pleasant intellectual surprises. 
 As a matter of fact, it lacked the touch of fancy and the 
 unexpected turnings in the road that made the talk be 
 tween Donald and Billy seem quite worth while ; or even 
 the practical common-sense that gave to Stephen and Mr. 
 Marshall the air of being veritable Solons in the world of 
 affairs. And yet of the three, the talk between Robert 
 and Pauline was the most significant. It would be hard 
 to say whether it was doing anything in particular for 
 Pauline, since so much in the contemporaneous lives of 
 women puts on significance, or puts it off, wholly in the 
 light of subsequent events. In the case of Robert, how 
 ever, it was unwrapping some of the outer layers of the 
 many that still enfolded his spirit. Robert was being 
 educated, for after all has been said and done, education 
 is merely the unfolding of the human spirit, and culture 
 the perfecting of the spirit. 
 
 118 
 
ADRIFT 
 
 As the other three men were smokers, and Robert was 
 not, it was quite natural for him to accompany Pauline 
 when she withdrew from the dining-room, and quite as 
 natural for them to select the garden rather than the ill- 
 furnished drawing-room. It is quite possible that the talk 
 might have lost its full-bodied flowing current, and re 
 duced itself to rather pitiable trickling, had not Pauline, 
 in her blunt, wholesome way, proposed that it stop alto 
 gether, and that they simply enjoy the moonlight and the 
 lake. So it happened that they silently walked up and 
 down the gravel paths, or sat for a few moments at a time 
 on the benches near the pier. For Pauline, nothing existed 
 but the night : not the night in all the mystery of its 
 spiritual suggestion ; not the immensity, the impenetrable 
 wonder, that it was to Alicia, but simply the physical, de 
 licious night, with all its coolness and quiet. Robert was 
 not a part of her experience. He might have been Billy 
 or her father, or he might even not have been there at all : 
 Pauline s sensations would have been precisely the same. 
 She was practically unconscious of his presence beyond 
 the trivial fact that his being there saved her from any 
 concern on the part of her father or any bothersome curi 
 osity on the part of strangers. 
 
 But with Robert the case was quite reversed. For him, 
 nothing existed but Pauline. The night was wholly casual, 
 the unessential setting of a drama so absorbing as to leave 
 no room for scenery or stage directions. Had Pauline been 
 a veritable coquette, and bent on winning Robert most 
 completely and in the least possible time, she could not 
 have chosen a better or more effective method than just 
 this silence in a moon -smitten garden on the banks of 
 
 119 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Windermere. In reality Robert was not exploring Pauline 
 or Windermere. He was exploring the wonderful recesses 
 in the unknown depths of his own heart. 
 
 Pauline s superb health, which showed even in the moon 
 light, her commanding good looks, the beauty of her simple 
 dress, all took complete possession of Eobert. Her very 
 silence added to the enchantment. Had she spoken, it 
 would have been sensibly and to the point, but the silence 
 allowed a spiritual quality, a touch of Heaven, that her 
 talk could never have given. Robert s imagination had 
 not been so well exploited as Donald s. It had been treated, 
 indeed, rather as an intruder than as a welcome guest. But 
 it was awakening, and just now was very active. One by 
 one, Robert s heated imagination was investing Pauline 
 with every endowment, with every charm, until she stood 
 before him incomparable, unique, a very goddess. Even 
 the dizzy height of her pedestal did not strike Robert as 
 unreasonable. In the morning, in her absence, he might 
 have seen. But not to-night. Her presence, which acted 
 upon him as the magnet does on unresisting iron ; her 
 silence, which allowed him quite undisturbed to endow her 
 with every quality that he most worshiped ; the incon 
 stant moon, which seems bent upon evoking unquiet tides 
 in the hearts of men as well as in the unstable sea, all 
 joined their potencies, and this new Robert of a month s 
 creating was madly in love. Could the self-conscious spice 
 clerk of Doane Street have looked down upon Windermere 
 that night, he would have gazed with open-eyed astonish 
 ment upon these unsuspected depths of feeling. But there 
 was no such spectator. Even the Puritan ancestors were 
 absent. For once, Robert was wholesomely and thoroughly 
 
 120 
 
ADRIFT 
 
 unconscious of himself. For it is curiously true that in 
 that supreme tide of egotism, when love reaches its crest, 
 the human heart throws off its littleness, and becomes one 
 with the object of its desire. 
 
 Had Robert been the fortunate owner of a castle on the 
 far side of the lake, had he had a staunch boat and some 
 trusty retainers at command, he would have carried off 
 Pauline bodily, and claimed her by right of possession for 
 his very own. Nor would it have occurred to him in his 
 present exalted mood to doubt that Pauline, whatever her 
 maidenly resistance might have been, would have shared 
 his supreme emotion, and have gone with him with joy in 
 her heart. 
 
 As a matter of fact, they walked silently along the well- 
 groomed gravel paths. They made the appropriate turns, 
 the necessary retracements. Had it not been for the ban 
 of silence, this intense, absorbing drama going on in Robert s 
 soul would have found voice, and all the white heat of it 
 would have been poured into Pauline s ears. But as it was, 
 she heard nothing, not even with the inward ear of the 
 spirit, and Robert s emotion, too fine and too intense ever 
 quite to repeat itself, spent its force vainly like some unfelt 
 storm upon a shoreless sea. And Pauline, being, as Donald 
 had put it to himself, " a natural history girl," perceived 
 no drama, no flood-tide of emotion, no spiritual crisis in 
 their two lives. What she saw, in so far as she saw Robert 
 at all, was a slight, eager man, alive with a strange vitality 
 which she did not fathom, and agreeable chiefly because 
 he was not disagreeable. She caught no glint of the in 
 dwelling spirit holding out eager hands towards her spirit, 
 and ready to serve and cherish her in this world and the 
 
 121 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 next. And so it proved a passion in the desert, a white 
 light to one of them, but not to the other ; an abiding light 
 to neither. 
 
 It was not Pauline s fault. She had been untouched, not 
 because she declined to be, but for the more fundamental 
 reason that she was wholly unconscious that any appeal 
 had been made. No intuition, no woman s prescience, spoke 
 to her of deep emotion. It was quite the same as if Robert 
 had been dreaming of stocks and bonds, or wondering how 
 his new evening suit would become him. 
 
 Nor was it quite Robert s fault. He had not ignored this 
 deep cry of nature, or slighted it, or even put it off. Speech 
 had trembled on his lips. But he had waited, in fine defer 
 ence, until Pauline should exhaust her mood of silence. 
 Had she spoken a word, made so much as one exclamation 
 of delight at the beauty of the night, one audible comment, 
 however trivial, the flood-gates would have opened, and 
 Robert would have poured out his heart before her. It is 
 doubtful whether even Pauline, with all her poise, could 
 have withstood the passionate torrent of avowal which a 
 more psychical person, one more sensitive to the voices of 
 the air, would have felt impending, could scarcely have 
 failed to feel impending, and by some adroit command 
 of the situation would either have averted or invited. But 
 it so chanced if there be such a thing as chance in this 
 intelligent, purpose-saturated universe of ours that Paul 
 ine spoke no word, not at least until the others had joined 
 them, and the situation, once so freighted with possibilities, 
 flattened out into a lost opportunity. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, Pauline went up to bed, and this 
 evening, when fate had appeared to be so wide awake, she 
 
 122 
 
ADRIFT 
 
 remembered solely because the moon had been at the full, 
 and the air had been so genial that she had been able to 
 stay out-of-doors instead of being cooped up in a stuffy 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Robert was much too excited to think of sleep. He 
 kept Stephen and Donald up until midnight, and not 
 until they had all three pulled out to the middle of the 
 lake, and seen the night from that superb vantage-ground, 
 would he consent to go upstairs. 
 
 Stephen wondered for a moment if anything had hap 
 pened. But when he recalled Pauline s unmistakable calm, 
 and the wholly conventional good-night between herself 
 and Robert, he put it down to the general waking up 
 which was manifestly taking place in the erstwhile drab 
 little spice clerk. Donald s insight extended no farther. 
 Not being minded to write sonnets to Pauline himself, it 
 never occurred to him that any one else should be falling 
 in love with her. 
 
 Robert went to bed without any consciousness that the 
 great moment had passed. To him it seemed merely de 
 layed. As he grew calmer, he came to think it fortunate 
 that Pauline had not broken the spell of silence. He knew, 
 of course, that, the spell once broken, he would have poured 
 out all his love in one overwhelming torrent. Once more 
 away from Pauline, and able in the long, sleepless watches 
 of the night to think out the matter with tolerable clear 
 ness, he began for the first time to ask himself quite seri 
 ously just where Pauline stood, and what reason he could 
 have to think that she either cared for him, or would even 
 come to care. Being so honest about himself that he was 
 almost dishonest, he saw with pitiless clearness that he 
 
 123 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 had very little to offer a girl of Pauline s temperament, 
 one who had always had everything of the best, and who, 
 in the matter of lovers as well, had a perfect right to 
 demand the best. In the heat of his passion, Robert 
 would have dared everything since he would have been 
 unconscious that he was daring anything. He would 
 have felt that Pauline could not help but respond. So 
 overmastering an emotion could not have left the girl 
 unmoved. 
 
 But now in the quiet, the flood in his great emotion 
 had ebbed, and he believed that he saw things in a truer 
 light. He persuaded himself to believe that it would have 
 been mere madness to have spoken to Pauline, a prema 
 ture ruining of all his hopes. 
 
 As far as Robert could evolve any plan out of the 
 present emotional chaos, he resolved to keep a very strong 
 hand on himself, to utter no word, to suffer no look, to 
 permit no act, that could be construed, even by the judi 
 cially minded Stephen, to be an approach to wooing 
 Pauline. He would keep himself as near Pauline as pos 
 sible, he would stand ready to serve, he would fall in with 
 every mood, in a word, he would wait. And some day, 
 when the moment seemed ripe, he would speak out. Mean 
 while Pauline was not to know. She was not to be both 
 ered with having to think of him as a lover. Perhaps 
 the tragedy in this little rehearsal was in this last touch. 
 Robert need not have given himself all this constructive 
 work. He might have made his own role much less exact 
 ing and less subtle. It would have been equally effective. 
 The last thing that Pauline temperamentally could do 
 was just this, to read the inner meaning in another soul. 
 
 124 
 
ADRIFT 
 
 Robert need not have spun these gossamer webs for her 
 protection. In Pauline herself were adequate curtains of 
 more solid tissue. There was something deeply pathetic in 
 Robert s purpose to protect Pauline from a situation which 
 did not exist, and which, without some radical change in 
 the girl s make-up, could never arise. 
 
 It was almost morning when Robert finally fell asleep. 
 He slept so late that when, at last, he went downstairs, 
 the others had breakfasted and were taking a short row 
 on the lake. 
 
 The stay at Bowness lasted for a week. As the whole 
 excursion, so far as the Marshalls were concerned, was 
 primarily an outing for Billy before his withdrawal from 
 general society into the instructive atmosphere of Abbots- 
 holme, he was allowed to shape the general plans. No 
 better cicerone could have been found, for Billy, being 
 an extremely active small person, elected to visit all the 
 places of interest, major and minor, within a day s jour 
 ney of Bowness. It is doubtful whether even American 
 tourists ever saw so much of the Lake District before 
 within the same space of time. The weather aided and 
 abetted Billy s laudable desire to see everything. Seldom 
 had such glorious weather been known. Instead of the 
 disheartening downpour which commonly makes life on 
 Windermere a scarcely intermittent shower-bath, the sun 
 graciously shone on five out of the seven days, and even 
 on the dull days the showers were far enough apart not 
 to interfere seriously with more important human under 
 takings. Local comment on the weather threatened, how 
 ever, to become almost as much of a nuisance as rain itself. 
 The Americans, accustomed to accept good weather as 
 
 125 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 their proper share and portion, and bad weather as an 
 unmannerly interruption, basked in the phenomenal sun 
 shine as a matter of pure right ; but not so the lake- 
 dwellers. All, with one accord, boatmen, coach-drivers, 
 innkeepers, gentry, and British tourists, were so struck 
 with the weather that they could talk of nothing else, and 
 quite forgot to look at the tenderly beautiful scenery 
 which all this flood of sunshine so charmingly revealed. 
 
 The effect of the Lake District upon our six friends 
 was characteristic in the extreme. To Stephen and Mr. 
 Marshall the lakes, hills, running waters, mountains, crags, 
 fells, and vales were not individual and distinct elements 
 of pleasure. Rather, they all fused into one shifting scene, 
 pleasant enough in its way, but really of quite secondary 
 importance, and valuable chiefly as an agreeable setting 
 for more interesting human affairs, not so much human 
 romances and passions as land tenures and economic 
 achievements. To Donald and therefore by reflection to 
 Billy, whose boyish materialism was sometimes transfigured 
 by a touch of imagination and fancy into something more 
 fluid, the whole country-side was holy ground ; holy not 
 only because of its own beauty and inherent, unescapable 
 poetry, but holy because on this very ground the poets 
 had walked among men. Donald tiptoed about, his hat in 
 his hand, and, metaphorically speaking, his shoes from off 
 his feet. He had an unaccountable way of standing per 
 fectly still for several minutes, seeing the things that only 
 poets can see, and making mental photographs that were 
 afterwards to march in stately procession through the 
 chambers of his soul as he read Coleridge and Wordsworth. 
 At other times, Donald would drop on his knees, and quite 
 
 126 
 
ADRIFT 
 
 forget the rest of the party until the particular mood was 
 satisfied. 
 
 Billy, awed by Donald s reverence, came to the private 
 conclusion that poets were not such rum fellows after all, 
 and even determined to dip into several whose very names 
 had been made obnoxious to him by his last English teacher. 
 But this good resolution not oxen themselves could have 
 dragged out of him. 
 
 Upon Pauline and Robert, the magic of this English 
 paradise acted with what they supposed to be precisely the 
 same effect, but in reality with effects that were wholly 
 dissimilar. Such a mistake, common enough to all of us, 
 was inevitable in their case. Pauline, quite blind to the 
 more sensitive and psychic side of Robert s nature, sup 
 posed that he and all the rest of the party, with the possi 
 ble exception of Donald, experienced precisely what she 
 experienced, a delightful accession of physical enthusi 
 asm, due to the big beauty of surrounding nature, the in 
 toxicating air, the constant and healthful exercise. For the 
 world of things, the large aspects of nature, mountains, 
 sky, sea, she had an almost passionate attachment. For 
 the world of persons, she had a sound instinct of gregari- 
 ousness, but except for Billy and her father, no personal 
 feeling warmer than a friendly indifference. She liked our 
 three young friends collectively much better than she did 
 individually. As Pauline looked out upon the world of 
 persons, she had to acknowledge to herself that, on the 
 whole, the most of them were not so well-conditioned as 
 she was. It was a purely natural history judgment, and 
 involved no sense of self-righteousness, but it did give to 
 her general attitude its one sophistication, a touch of con- 
 
 127 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 tempt for persons smaller and less adequate than herself. 
 It was also at the root of her one absorbing sentiment, 
 her worship of bigness. In spite of its physical vastness, it 
 was really a limited world in which Pauline lived, a world 
 which seemed to present the whole of truth, nakedly 
 and without evasions, but which in reality offered only a 
 windy, uninhabited solitude. 
 
 And yet Pauline herself was far from being the unin 
 teresting creature that Donald in his over-hasty judg 
 ment had soon put her down to be. She was not a person 
 for a discriminating, highly-sensitive poet like himself to 
 write sonnets to, but her point of view, as far as it went, 
 was distinctly wholesome. And then always there was the 
 possibility which no poet should lose sight of that 
 some great day the divine fire might descend and, touch 
 ing the sleeping soul, rouse it into a magnificent activity, 
 the more magnificent, perhaps, for reason of its long, re 
 freshing sleep. That Robert should have believed that in 
 the present Pauline he had already found a kindred soul 
 was absurd, if absurd at all, only in the most objective way. 
 The blindest and most inexperienced of lovers, Robert 
 was worshiping a being as unlike the real Pauline in all 
 essential qualities as the self he wanted to be was unlike 
 the self he was. The initial attraction had been physical. 
 In spite of the fineness of Robert s own nature, he could 
 scarcely be said to have explored Pauline s soul and fallen 
 in love with that, when her soul, being still in the hall of 
 sleep, was not yet open to exploration. Nor could he quite 
 be said to have fallen in love with her body. It was rather 
 her wholesomeness, her bigness, her vitality. Robert s 
 own vitality was constitutionally low. In the first flush of 
 
 128 
 
ADRIFT 
 
 returning health he had come to look upon vitality as 
 worshipful. Pauline seemed the very embodiment of it. 
 Robert s own daily round had been petty and narrow. The 
 sweep of Pauline s days seemed to him magnificent. He 
 had been dimly conscious in his intercourse with Stephen 
 and Donald that somehow he himself had missed life and 
 had been putting up with a poor substitute. How irrevo 
 cable this missing had been, he could not, happily for his 
 own courage, quite realize. He lightly put aside his thirty- 
 four years and believed that all things were still possible. 
 His week on the Republic had taught him new values. 
 Pauline, apparently, had always known them, had always 
 possessed them, had always been wholesome and big and 
 vital. 
 
 To Robert, with his aroused feelings and new standards, 
 Pauline seemed the incarnation of the larger life. He could 
 no more help loving her than he could escape the hundred 
 and one reactions which grew out of the whole wonderful 
 experience that had come to him since the break with his 
 old life. 
 
 The feeling for Pauline once aroused, it was inevitable 
 that Robert, idealist and dreamer as well as coffee and 
 spice clerk, should build up a fictitious Pauline, not only 
 possessed of the wholesomeness and bigness and vitality 
 which he knew himself to be deficient in, but also of those 
 sensibilities of the spirit which through inheritance and 
 suffering were indubitably his, and of all those idealities 
 of the soul which, as yet, he could only aspire to. 
 
 In reality, Robert was less of a type than any of the 
 party, less even than Donald or Billy. For Robert the 
 change of environment had been so extreme as to be almost 
 
 129 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 dislocating. The old set of ideas and habits had a perma 
 nence not easily disturbed. They had been growing for 
 thirty-four years. The new set of ideas and habits was 
 not yet firmly established. To Robert, therefore, life was 
 no easy passing of the days. It was rather a hand-to-hand 
 fight, a constant struggle between conflicting ideals. One 
 moment he was a conservative, the next, a radical. He 
 would have seemed, from any worldly point of view, both 
 uncertain and inconsistent. When he was with his friends, 
 he very genuinely shared the broad worldliness of Mr. 
 Marshall, the shrewd common-sense of Stephen, the poetic 
 idealism of Donald, the ingenuousness of Billy, even, in a 
 measure, the physical bigness of Pauline. When he was 
 alone, these qualities became recollections and had to be 
 compounded with his own past. 
 
 Outwardly, the week was full of movement and adven 
 ture. Each day saw some enterprise undertaken and 
 accomplished. Inwardly, the week brought no special 
 adventure to the Marshalls, except that Billy, through his 
 devotion to Donald, was learning several things. And it 
 brought none, perhaps, to the well-poised Stephen. But 
 it brought many adventures to Donald and Robert. Don 
 ald s changes, however, were all in one line, a deepening 
 of the poetic faculty, and a most wholesome increase in 
 poetic sincerity. To Robert the changes came in many 
 lines, and it was unavoidably a week of tumult. 
 
 It had been agreed that the last night at Bowness 
 should be spent on the lake. Billy was allowed to sit up 
 until a quite unreasonable hour, for the moon had fallen 
 into the bad habit of rising late. Three small boats car 
 ried the party, the division being into the usual pairs : 
 
 130 
 
ADRIFT 
 
 Mr. Marshall and Stephen, Billy and Donald, Pauline 
 and Robert. By common consent the boats kept pretty 
 close together. When they got halfway up to Amble- 
 side, oars were put aside and the boats allowed simply 
 to drift. Gradually the talk fell off, even Billy growing 
 less garrulous, until all were silent, lost in the wonder 
 and beauty of the night. Presently Donald began to sing. 
 It was a pleasant tenor voice, of no great power. He 
 chose that beautiful Catholic hymn of adoration, " Ave, 
 Regina Coelorum." The last cadences trailed off into 
 silence. After an interval Stephen struck up in his con 
 versational bass voice the one song in his repertoire, 
 " Fair Harvard." Robert had 110 associations with either 
 hymn or song, but he felt vaguely that there was a large 
 gap between them. He had no accomplishments of his 
 own, and even envied Stephen his modest musical part. 
 Robert would have given anything to have been able to 
 respond, and especially if he could have chosen something 
 midway between the " Ave " and the college song. It 
 was plainly incumbent upon his own boat to contribute 
 something. In view of his own disability, he asked Pauline 
 if she could not sing them a song. He had never heard 
 her sing, but it seemed quite improbable that such a 
 superb throat and such strong lungs should not consti 
 tute a perfect musical instrument. Pauline s voice was 
 contralto, and though not particularly cultivated, rang 
 out strong and true. She chose " Way down upon the 
 Suwanee River." It seemed to Robert quite the desira 
 ble mean between the other selections, and struck him 
 anew with the fine suitableness of all that Pauline did. 
 When the song died away, however, he was conscious that 
 
 131 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 the ensuing silence was not so full and rich as the tender 
 silence that followed upon the " Ave, Regina Coelorum." 
 It was the faintest of passing impressions, but strong 
 enough to make Robert feel that in some subtle way he 
 had not been quite loyal to Pauline. 
 
 Pauline sat in the stern of the skiff wrapped up some 
 what luxuriously in her Macgregor, the very picture of 
 comfortable contentment. Robert studied her face intently. 
 This was the more possible since Pauline s gaze, though 
 it never avoided Robert, never quite included him. The 
 moon had been for some time under a thin veil of cloud, 
 but now the cloud passed on, and Pauline s face stood out 
 strong and distinct in the white moonlight. It was a noble 
 face, commanding in its high good looks. Robert watched 
 it with a longing that had come to be the sharpest pain. He 
 missed something in the face, and what he missed was the 
 least trace of emotion. He had never been able personally 
 to call forth any, but he had put this down to his own 
 unworthiness, his own lack of power to please so radiant 
 a creature. To-night he missed it in a more impersonal 
 way. Its absence struck him with the same subtle sense 
 of regret that he had felt in the vacant silence that 
 followed Pauline s song. Just then Pauline s gaze hap 
 pened to fall upon Robert. For one beautiful moment a 
 charming smile illuminated her face, and Robert was 
 again her unquestioning slave. 
 
 Presently the oars were resumed, and with more or less 
 intermittent and rather drowsy talk, the little flotilla 
 made its way back to the pier. There were no tender 
 good-nights, save on the part of Billy, who put up a sleepy 
 but plaintive wail that his last night of freedom had been 
 
 132 
 
ADRIFT 
 
 spent, and that Donald was going to Berlin, while he, 
 Billy the desolate, was to take himself to Abbotsholme. 
 
 On the following morning the little party broke in two: 
 Mr. Marshall and Pauline, with the tearful Billy, turning 
 southward to the land of schools, while our three young 
 friends journeyed over Kirkstone Pass to Penrith and 
 Carlisle. Robert got through the parting more creditably 
 than he anticipated. For one thing, he had the unfailing 
 hopefulness of all young lovers, a hopefulness further 
 strengthened by his sense of unimpaired loyalty ; and for 
 another thing, Pauline had asked him to look them up in 
 Paris. She and her father would be there by the latter 
 part of October, and would be registered at Morgan s. In 
 spite of all this brave show, however, Robert was a mani 
 festly poor companion for the rest of the day, and saw 
 little of the beauties of the Pass or even of Ullswater. 
 He woke up from time to time to such insistent facts as 
 stage-coaches, steamboats, luncheons, and railway car 
 riages, but afterwards he could give but a lame account 
 of the whole day. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 SOME three weeks later, that is to say about the middle 
 of October, our three young friends found themselves at 
 York. They had done Carlisle, Glasgow, Loch Lomond, 
 and the Trossachs. They had been at Edinburgh and Ab- 
 botsford. They had seen Melrose and Durham. Just now 
 they were bent on more cathedrals en route to the univer 
 sity towns and London. Robert, at least, considered him 
 self a much-traveled person. His Aunt Matilda Pendexter 
 would have been greatly edified, could she have heard him 
 discuss the relative merits of English and Scottish lakes, 
 or Welsh and Scottish mountains. She would have judged 
 him to have spent his time and money to excellent ad 
 vantage, could she have listened to his many discourses on 
 cathedral architecture and the distinctive features of Nor 
 man, Early English, Decorated Gothic, and Perpendicular. 
 Not having the proper key, it might have puzzled Miss 
 Pendexter to know why Robert gave such exaggerated 
 preference to Welsh mountains and English lakes over 
 their Scottish counterparts, or why he went in for church 
 architecture with a detail that came dangerously near to 
 being tiresome. Still lacking the proper key, she could not 
 guess that this serious interest in architecture had started 
 out as the too transparent ruse by which Robert tried to 
 beguile his thoughts from traveling in a well-worn and 
 profitless circle. It was .a ruse, however, which was trans 
 parent only to himself. It quite imposed upon Stephen and 
 
 134 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 Donald, who concluded in a brief paragraph of confidential 
 talk that Robert had practically forgotten Pauline. Ste 
 phen even went a little further, and allowed himself to 
 wonder whether this apparently unromantic Mr. Pendexter 
 really carried his heart on his sleeve, to be given away 
 and taken back on surprisingly short notice. 
 
 When architecture threatened to become exhausted, 
 and Stephen and Donald had more than once cried him 
 mercy, Robert fell back upon history, and fairly bristled 
 with names and dates and statistics. He might be said to 
 have become bookkeeper to Chronos, and to have brought 
 to the task the same unusual accuracy that had made him 
 so valuable to Messrs. Watson and Reed. Robert s appar 
 ent immersion in objective interests and his increased 
 readiness to talk on any and every subject rather puzzled 
 Stephen. In the end he put it down as merely another 
 phase in Robert s amazing progress, and came quite to 
 admire the little ex-clerk for his accuracy and dependable- 
 ness. The intimacy between the two men had been some 
 what interrupted by what Stephen now called the Pauline 
 episode, but it had not only been resumed, but had grown 
 apace during the three weeks that separated them from 
 that interruption. Donald s affections were very vague and 
 general in their character. In spite of the sonnet habit, 
 they were essentially impersonal. He loved moods and 
 qualities. If he conceived them to be even momentary 
 embodiments of his pet abstractions, he could apostrophize 
 persons and places with a passion which was more than 
 likely to be misleading to less imaginative persons. He re 
 ceived almost daily letters from the devoted Billy, but 
 easily satisfied himself by sending an occasional picture 
 
 135 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 postal in return. The friendship between Donald and 
 Stephen had reached a quiet equilibrium, not likely to be 
 disturbed on either side, but not likely to increase in 
 any marked degree. Between Stephen and Robert, on the 
 other hand, the ties were more human and personal. They 
 grew so quietly and naturally that both men had almost 
 ceased to remark the growth. Occasional incidents and 
 insights proved illuminating, however, and gave them 
 both a pleasant sense of new-found wealth. 
 
 And now they had reached York. 
 
 The trip had been somewhat more expensive than they 
 anticipated, for English hotels contrive to give much less 
 for the money in both comfort and beauty than similar 
 establishments on the Continent. Donald had so far 
 emerged from poetry as to recognize the fact that his letter 
 of credit was dripping away like melted tallow from a 
 lighted candle. He selected York as the scene of one of 
 those spasmodic efforts after economy which, in the conduct 
 of his affairs, came pretty regularly on top of some com 
 parative extravagance. The friends had long since given 
 up first-class on the railway, and contented themselves 
 with the more limited comfort and better company of the 
 third-class. It was Stephen who inaugurated this reform. 
 His quick common-sense detected the fact that they were 
 missing half the fun and profit of travel, since the first- 
 class carriages offered either no company at all, or else 
 either over-rich Americans or phlegmatic British tourists, 
 who seemed to travel in perpetual fear that they might 
 be spoken to. As all three men were fond of walking, cab 
 hire reduced itself to an insignificant figure. Their one 
 undeniable extravagance had been in the matter of hotels. 
 
 136 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 With his ingrained instinct for economy, Robert, the one 
 relatively rich man of the three, would have been quite 
 willing to frequent more modest inns. But Stephen and 
 Donald had stuck out for the very best hotels, Stephen 
 on the frank ground that he liked comfort, and Donald 
 on the less complimentary ground that the best were poor 
 enough. As the hotel bills seemed to be the one reducible 
 item of expense, Donald surprised the others by proposing 
 that at York they should turn their backs upon the stalled 
 ox and take to dinners of herbs. Robert, to his own amaze 
 ment, and even alarm, found when it came to the point 
 that he was quite indifferent. He felt reproachfully that 
 he was growing very self-indulgent and worldly. In real 
 ity, the sum total of his expenses was so well within his 
 income that a few shillings more or less, or even a few 
 pounds, made no perceptible difference. He tried rather 
 unsuccessfully to get up some enthusiasm for Donald s 
 proposed economic reform, and consented to help in select 
 ing a delectable spot from the menagerie of names offered 
 by Baedeker. Stephen promised submission, but resolutely 
 declined any more active part in the conspiracy. After 
 some discussion over the probable merits of the various 
 animals, Donald and Robert hit upon the Stag as an inn 
 that seemed in the guide-book account of it to be suffi 
 ciently modest, and when they got there, proved to be more 
 modest than enough. Rather half-heartedly our three 
 young friends filed into the narrow hallway, and deposited 
 their suit-cases in an orderly row upon a tesselated pave 
 ment whose grandeur had been for some time a stranger 
 to such plebeian accomplices as soap and water. 
 
 A jaunty gentleman in expansive but not immaculate 
 137 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 linen approached them with a brave show of gayety that 
 deceived no one, not even himself, and inquired what line 
 they were in. 
 
 Stephen replied grimly that he hoped they were in the 
 line of promotion, while the other two men stared uncom- 
 prehendingly. 
 
 " Something genteel, I am sure," said the proprietor. 
 " Very genteel. Jewelry perhaps ? or notions ? or cigars?" 
 
 " Lord, no," answered Stephen. " We re not drum 
 mers. We deal in ideas, mostly." 
 
 " Ah, professionals," said the proprietor. " I see. Go 
 in for tragedy or comedy ? " 
 
 "Just now," answered Stephen, in his most judicial 
 manner, " we are going in for tragedy ! " 
 
 " To be sure," murmured the proprietor. " Honored to 
 have you stop with us. Our gents is mostly in a commer 
 cial way. Honored to have your names in our register- 
 book." 
 
 Donald and Robert, not being worldly minded, got out 
 their fountain-pens, and were for obliging this urbane per 
 sonage without further delay ; but Stephen, the cautious 
 and prudential, was bent on first seeing the rooms. 
 
 With many apologies for taking such distinguished 
 gentlemen up so many nights of stairs, the proprietor 
 mounted to the top of the house, and after several twists 
 and turns in the narrow corridors, threw open the door of 
 a curious bedroom. It was the last room left, he urged, 
 but would doubtless make the gentlemen very comfortable. 
 As a matter of fact, it was something of a feat for them 
 all to crowd in and climb around the encumbering furni 
 ture. In the remote, hall-like distance was one window, a 
 
 138 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 magnified porthole, which punctured the ill-devised man 
 sard at such height that not even Donald could see out of 
 it. Two beds stood at right angles to the walls, and cut 
 the room up into a series of narrow alley-ways. Over one 
 of the beds, a particularly frowsy-looking bed that sug 
 gested urgent need of fresh linen, hung a worked motto in 
 a black walnut frame. The variegated worsteds used in its 
 manufacture made it difficult to decipher, but after some 
 effort Stephen read in a voice saturated with adverse 
 comment, Set your Hearts on Things Above. Stephen 
 looked at the motto and then once more at the bed. He 
 nodded his head judicially, and, followed by the others, 
 made straight for the door. The bewildered proprietor put 
 down the conduct of his guests to the vagaries of profes 
 sionals. His surprise deepened when at last downstairs, on 
 the tesselated pavement once more, each man grabbed his 
 suit-case and made for the street door. It was only after 
 the last man had muttered a hasty " Good-evening," that 
 the poor proprietor realized that his guests were not his 
 guests. 
 
 Once on the street again, Stephen magnanimously of 
 fered to take charge of the party and conduct them to the 
 abodes of decency and comfort. Robert readily assented, 
 for the thought of sleeping in such a room as they had 
 just left filled him with dismay. Donald was equally ready, 
 having reached a rapid determination to spend less time in 
 Europe, if need be, rather than practice so uncomfortable 
 a virtue as economy. 
 
 A shabby cab having made its appearance, the three 
 men bundled into it. Stephen chose from the other end of 
 the hotel list. The cabman shared the proprietor s doubts 
 
 139 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 as to their exact social status, but the hotel once named, 
 he felt reassured, and promptly doubled the fare. Stephen 
 made use of the drive and his companions present frame 
 of mind to let fall some instructive remarks on true and 
 false economy. The sentiment of the party was too unani 
 mous to allow any discussion. 
 
 " I will now hold a little observation class," cried Ste 
 phen, gayly. " Who can tell me, in cabby s own words, the 
 name of the hotel to which we are now going? " 
 
 " I can," Donald answered. " We rre goin to tha 
 Count-ee and Sty-shun Hote-el, Sor ! " 
 
 " Good ear," said Stephen ; " and when we get there, 
 my children, our little essay in economy will have cost 
 us one hour and a half of precious daylight, plus cab 
 hire." 
 
 " Let s change the subject," suggested Donald. 
 
 Just how the County and Station Hotel would have 
 struck our three young friends had they gone there at 
 once, it were better not to ask, for in reality it is early 
 Victorian in its ugliness ; but now, by contrast with tes- 
 selated pavements and worsted mottoes, it seemed the 
 height of comfort and elegance. It was with a genuine 
 and hearty sigh of relief that the friends settled down in 
 their pleasant apartments and let the week slip into the 
 past. As yet they had seen nothing of the Minster, for 
 the Stag excursion had stolen the scant remaining day 
 light, a fact which Donald did not fail to put down on 
 the rapidly growing score against economy. 
 
 Robert meant to be up early and catch a glimpse of the 
 Minster before breakfast, but this laudable intention evap 
 orated during the night, and he found himself getting up 
 
 140 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 when the others did, and very contentedly sharing their 
 Sunday morning breakfast well on towards ten o clock. 
 
 The dining-room of the County and Station Hotel means 
 to be comfortable, and succeeds in being ugly. Our three 
 young friends were given a small, round table to them 
 selves, so near the centre of the room that it seemed to 
 them that the arriving and departing breakf asters all circled 
 about them and invited observation. To Robert the scene 
 was full of interest, particularly as many of the guests 
 were evidently members of the middle and upper classes. 
 He found himself watching each group as it entered the 
 room and swept past him to the most remote corner avail 
 able. Each group was different and yet astonishingly the 
 same. It was made up of individuals solidly if not taste 
 fully dressed, manifestly well tubbed, with high color and 
 passive faces, breathing every virtue except graciousness. 
 They all treated the servants as they did the furniture, 
 only with less consideration, since they had to adapt them 
 selves, however unwillingly, to the furniture, while they 
 expected the servants to be constantly adapting themselves 
 to them. Robert watched them, quite fascinated by the 
 different point of view it all indicated. 
 
 Presently a stout, choleric-looking gentleman entered 
 the room followed by a timid wife and four stolid-looking 
 children of assorted sizes. The choleric gentleman headed 
 the procession, and soon out-distanced the timid wife and 
 the stolid children, now arranged in order of size, and 
 presumably of age. When he reached the table evidently 
 reserved for him, he sat down in the most desirable place 
 and arranged the table furniture to suit him. When the 
 timid wife approached, he looked up at her over his shoul- 
 
 141 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 der in such a contemptuous way that Robert felt sorry for 
 the poor lady. The look seemed to say, " You here ? You 
 hungry? You want something to eat? Well, upon my 
 soul, you don t deserve it ! " The lady sat down timidly 
 and apologetically, and the four children slipped into their 
 places with the air of creatures trying hard to efface 
 themselves, but not at all sure of their success. 
 
 Robert withdrew his gaze and caught Donald s eye com 
 ing home from the same little tragedy. 
 
 " He 7 s a brute! " Donald exclaimed warmly. " I d like 
 to lick him here and now." 
 
 " Don t believe you could," observed Stephen, laconi 
 cally, " unless you tired him out, and he lost his wind. 
 He d puff hard, all right." 
 
 " Well, he deserves a good licking," Donald answered ; 
 " and the worst of it is, he s not the only one. I 11 give 
 a chromo to either one of you, if you can ever show me 
 an Englishman who s polite to his wife ! " 
 
 " Who 11 judge? " asked Stephen. 
 
 " You may, lover of English laws and customs, reader 
 of the Lives of the Lord Chancellors, you may judge 
 yourself. But you 11 not find a single, solitary one." 
 
 " Oh, come," said Stephen. " That s rather sweeping. 
 They re doubtless very nice to their wives in private." 
 
 " In private ! " Donald repeated indignantly. " Why 
 not in public also ? " 
 
 " They re shy of showing any feeling when other people 
 are looking on." 
 
 " By all that s great ! " ejaculated Donald. " That puf 
 fing, red-faced brute shy ! That s too delicious. Too mod 
 est to show his manners in public lest they be scored up 
 
 142 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 to his credit, but in private, oh, my soul, so delight 
 ful and winsome that the angels look on with bated breath ! 
 Well, all I can say is that the wife and kids don t look it." 
 
 " Perhaps he s an exception," Robert suggested chari 
 tably. " We should n t want Americans to be judged by 
 some of the people you could see at the Somerset or the 
 Touraine, or even over here." 
 
 " Right you are, little Pen," cried Stephen. " That s 
 sense and reason. The poet s on a rampage, and has a 
 favorite text of his, the eccentricities of our British 
 cousins." 
 
 " All the same," replied Donald, imperturbably, " I 11 
 give a chromo to either of you, if you can ever show me 
 an Englishman who is polite to his wife ! " 
 
 " Offer something more alluring, sonny," said Stephen, 
 " and we might try harder." 
 
 " All right, whatever you wish, say a dinner at the 
 Carlton, as soon as we get to London, five courses and 
 any wine you will!" 
 
 " Go softly, poet, or you will shock little Pen with your 
 wine and wagers. You ve never been at the Carlton, or 
 you would n t be so rash. Your five-course dinner would 
 cost a month s pension in Berlin ; and the wine, your room 
 rent. Better have lower stakes. We 11 bet a big red apple 
 that before we leave York, we ll see a polite English 
 man." 
 
 " Stupid, I did n t say that. I said an Englishman 
 who was polite to his wife I It shall be any time before 
 we leave England. And with the big red apple shall go 
 a full and contrite acknowledgment that the loser was 
 mistaken." 
 
 143 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " Agreed," said Stephen ; "a big red apple for one and 
 humble pie for the other." 
 
 " And meanwhile let us visit the cathedral," Donald 
 suggested, rising. 
 
 " The Minster?" Robert asked. 
 
 " Oh, bother your fine distinctions." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said Stephen. " Little Pen has given 
 up coffee and spices. Let him have dates and architraves 
 to take their places. He s running the architectural side 
 of this enterprise. If he says it s a Minster, poet, you d 
 better knuckle down and call it such." 
 
 It was not a favorable day to catch first glimpses of so 
 beautiful a building as the York Minster. The sky was 
 overcast, and cold gray clouds scudded along from the 
 northwest. The wind caught up little eddies of dead leaves 
 and dust and sent them scurrying along the road. Particles 
 of paper rushed here and there on unmeaning errands. 
 The three friends buttoned up their overcoats, drew on 
 their gloves, and made a dash across the hotel garden to 
 the staircase leading to the walls. Once on top, they found 
 themselves safe from the dust and dirt, but the wind had 
 added force and made walking something of a gymnastic 
 feat. Dark, slaty gray clouds lay along the horizon, and 
 against this background rose the great stone mass of the 
 Minster, its towers and facades standing out harsh and 
 cold in their over-clear outlines. From the height of the 
 walls, the low houses of the town presented a monotony 
 of chimney-pots, and an interminable expanse of dull slate 
 roofs. The whole effect was one of hopeless and unescap- 
 able chilliness. 
 
 Robert wondered how it would have seemed had Pauline 
 144 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 been there, but the thought did not bring him its expected 
 thrill, for he knew at once that the prevailing gloom would 
 have filled her pagan soul with blank despair. She affected 
 to dislike Sunday, and especially the smug English Sun 
 day. The present day, in its raw, Puritanical grayness, 
 would have been intolerable to her. It is even doubtful 
 whether she would have left the hotel. 
 
 The wind, and the constant necessity for holding on to 
 their hats, made conversation rather difficult, even for 
 so sturdy a talker as Stephen or so impetuous a one as 
 Donald. It left Robert wholly to his own thoughts, and, 
 try as hard as he would, he could not lighten them a par 
 ticle. It seemed as if all the dreariness of the landscape 
 entered his spirit and took up its abode there. He had a 
 vague sense of irreparable loss, as if all the warmth and 
 sunshine had gone out of his life, and this cold, depressing 
 grayness had come to take their place. He was glad to 
 have the walk end, to descend the narrow steps from the 
 walls, and wind through the deserted streets to the entrance 
 to the Minster. At the great door they met a young man 
 just coming out. Robert happened to catch a glimpse of 
 his face. It was white and drawn. Great circles shadowed 
 the eyes. When for a moment the young man looked up, 
 the eyes were so full of anguish that Robert almost caught 
 his breath. What struck him most was that the anguish 
 was so profound that it was wholly frank and unconcealed. 
 The time for all evasions and subterfuges had clearly 
 passed. The other men had not seen the face. For Robert, 
 it added the last touch to his own sense of desolation. 
 " Poor soul," he said to himself, " he looks as I feel ! " 
 A mist of tears spread over Robert s eyes, partly in pity 
 
 145 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 for the troubled stranger, and partly in pity for himself. 
 With the others, he swept into the great Minster, seeing 
 and heeding little that was going on around him. 
 
 When Robert came to himself and the mist had cleared 
 from his eyes, he found himself standing in the central 
 aisle of the great nave. The morning service was just be 
 ginning. The magnificent organ perhaps the sweetest 
 in all England was sounding forth its invitation to 
 worship, first soft and melodious, then appealing and per 
 suasive, finally compelling and triumphant. There was a 
 moment s pause, and the prelude was followed by the deep 
 chords of an ancient Anglican hymn. From the distance 
 came the clear, boyish voices of the choristers. Stronger 
 and stronger the voices grew as the white-robed procession 
 wound its way from the chapter house through the cloister, 
 along the transept, and, with one magnificent final out 
 burst of song, stepped into the stalled quiet of the great 
 choir. 
 
 Robert had never been so touched by music. Perhaps 
 he had never been in quite so responsive a mood. The 
 well-ordered music at King s Chapel usually left him dead 
 and cold. But this music seemed to be tearing the heart 
 out of him. The invitation of the great organ had appar 
 ently been answered, worship was realized. 
 
 Robert would have liked to kneel on the bare stones of 
 the nave. As it was, he closed his eyes, and the grayness 
 and trouble of the morning walk slipped from him; but 
 not the pathos of it. What slipped away was that poor 
 thing, the sense of self-pity. In its stead was a profound 
 sadness, so impersonal that it gave no hint of being unen 
 durable. 
 
 146 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 When the monotonous chant of the invocation ended 
 and the organ and choir sounded their solemn Amen, Rob 
 ert opened his eyes. He was standing by himself. Donald 
 had taken a seat near the wall. Stephen was softly mov 
 ing about, an open Baedeker in hand. It was only now 
 that Robert really saw the interior of the Minster. The 
 richly colored glass in the windows robbed the light of all 
 grayness, and sent it, in warm radiance, pidsing over 
 the glorious white clustered pillars, the groined roof 
 above, the stone pavement below, the golden pipes of the 
 great organ, the scattered groups of worshipers. The great 
 Minster spoke to Robert through his eyes, as the great 
 organ had spoken to him through his ears. He had never 
 heard that architecture is frozen music, and had the 
 lines recurred to him, he would have quickly denied them, 
 for in its large, warm beauty the Minster seemed to him 
 as alive and palpitating as the music itself. None of the 
 other cathedrals had so touched his spirit. He marveled 
 that the heart of man could have conceived it and the 
 hand of man built it, for it seemed to him to have the 
 bigness and beauty of Nature herself. Robert stood there 
 during the entire service, possessor of a great boon 
 complete unconsciousness of self. His arms were folded, 
 and his slender body had taken the restful attitude of 
 repose. Many eyes wandered his way from tourists and 
 worshipers alike, for in his expressed reverence, and the 
 fine lines of his pose, he seemed touched by the same 
 beauty as the music and the Minster, the beauty of the 
 spirit. When the organ sounded, Robert closed his eyes 
 and drank in the music as a thirsty man drinks water. 
 During the intervals, when only the monotonous voice of 
 
 147 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 the priest and the too distinct patter of roving feet broke 
 the silence, Robert gazed around him open-eyed and ab 
 sorbed. He did not once change his position. For the 
 moment he lost his appetite for detail and architectural 
 distinctions. By a happy chance, he had stationed himself 
 where he could best appreciate the unity of a great and 
 varied building, and he had no desire to surrender this 
 vantage-ground. At last the service ended. The white- 
 robed procession swept out of the choir, over the stone 
 of nave and transept, into the further recesses of cloister 
 and chapter house. Gradually the clear, boyish voices lost 
 themselves in the distance, and there was the hush of an 
 occupied silence. Robert was not sufficiently familiar with 
 the Anglican service to know that the seemingly vacant air 
 spaces were filled with an inaudible benediction. By some 
 instinct of worship, he remained motionless, his own spirit 
 arrested and hushed. It was only when the final Amen 
 rose clear and solemn in the distance that the spell ended 
 and he felt at liberty to move. 
 
 Robert looked about him. Stephen and Donald were 
 nowhere to be seen. A curious weariness stole over 
 Robert, and he made his way to a retired seat near one 
 of the great pillars. He rather reproached himself for 
 not looking up his friends and exploring the rest of the 
 Minster with them ; but the reproach never grew quite 
 imperative enough to start him into action. 
 
 Presently Robert was dimly conscious that two ladies 
 passed in front of him, and stood, somewhat to his own 
 inconvenience, admiring the vista of the south transept. 
 They had their backs turned towards him, and made no 
 impression upon him beyond the fact that they formed two 
 
 148 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 dark, obscuring figures against the brightness of the stone 
 work. The younger woman was talking, but in so low a 
 tone that Robert could not understand what she was say 
 ing. The voice was too indistinct to be in any case familiar, 
 and yet it vaguely touched some chord in Robert s mem 
 ory. When the older woman answered, she turned half 
 way round towards Robert in order to study some other 
 part of the building. Robert could not remember that he 
 had ever seen her before. Her answer took the form of a 
 quotation : 
 
 " He builded better than he knew ; 
 The conscious stone to beauty grew." 
 
 By the time she had finished, Robert was on his feet. 
 It was Sappho s voice, unquestionably hers, the same 
 unique, high-pitched voice that seemed to come from no 
 part of her own person, but from the air above her. As 
 Robert rose, the younger woman turned, and he was face 
 to face with Alicia. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Pendexter, how do you do ? " said Alicia, 
 extending her hand cordially. " I m so glad to see you 
 again. Mrs. Costello, this is one of our fellow voyagers on 
 the Republic, Mr. Pendexter. You ought to know each 
 other, for you re almost neighbors. Your family is from 
 Bolton, I think you told me, Mr. Pendexter ? " 
 
 Robert shook hands with both ladies, and after express 
 ing his pleasure at seeing them, turned to Mrs. Costello 
 and said : " I think Miss Smith has a famous memory, 
 don t you, to recall both my name and birthplace ? " 
 
 "A better memory than you have, apparently," an 
 swered Mrs. Costello, " since you have already forgotten 
 Miss Frothingham s name." 
 
 149 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " I never knew it before," said Robert, simply. " We 
 always called her Miss Smith. " 
 
 " How very droU ! Why did you do that ? " 
 
 " Because we knew no other name," Robert answered, 
 " and one must have a handle of some sort." 
 
 " Did you name all the ship s company in this prosaic 
 fashion ? " asked Mrs. Costello. 
 
 " No, indeed," said Robert ; " only the people we had 
 something to do with." Then he added a little shyly, " The 
 names were n t always prosaic. For example, we called you 
 Sappho. I hope you don t mind ? " 
 
 Mrs. Costello laughed pleasantly " How could I mind ? 
 she said. " I think that is a very high compliment. Pray 
 tell me how you chanced to give it to me." 
 
 " Don t you remember that last night on the steamer 
 when you recited Mrs. Browning s poem for us ? We 
 thought it very kind of you." 
 
 " Oh, to be sure. I had quite forgotten," replied Mrs. 
 Costello ; " but I do not recall your voice. Are you the 
 young man who repeated some verses of his own and then 
 something of Mr. Arnold s ? " 
 
 " No ; I merely listened. That was my friend, Donald 
 Fergusson." 
 
 " I cared for his verses," continued Mrs. Costello. " They 
 were not very smooth, but they seemed to me to have a 
 high seriousness about them, and to promise stronger work 
 in the future. I thought the rest were rather hard on him. 
 But he took it very nicely, as I remember." 
 
 " Donald s all right," said Robert, heartily. 
 
 " How is he ? " inquired Alicia ; " and your other friend, 
 Mr. Morse, the young lawyer ? " 
 
 150 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 " Very well, both of them," replied Robert. " They are 
 in the Minster somewhere. I got dreaming and lost sight 
 of them." 
 
 " I hardly wonder," Alicia said. " It s a place mo^ut to 
 dream in. What an astonishingly beautiful service. It 
 was so truly catholic. I felt in touch with all the religions 
 of the world. The division fences of doctrine seemed to 
 crumble away before the music. If it hadn t been for 
 Mrs. Costello, I should have flown off into space. She 
 kept a friendly hold upon me." 
 
 " I m glad you did n t go off," said Robert, " for then 
 I should n t have seen you," and after a second s pause, 
 " or have had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Costello." 
 
 The elder lady smiled at this nai ve addition. She 
 was rather amused at Robert s provincialism, but she al 
 ready felt that she liked this young man from Bolton, for 
 under his simple words there was the manifest ring of 
 sincerity. 
 
 By unspoken consent they were moving towards the 
 door. The music had ceased, and the great Minster was 
 slowly emptying itself. They had gone but a short distance 
 when they came upon Stephen and Donald. The young 
 men were frankly glad to see Alicia again and to be pre 
 sented to Mrs. Costello. As the four were chatting together, 
 Robert had an opportunity of studying the two ladies. He 
 now recalled having seen Mrs. Costello on the steamer, 
 but he had not happened to hear her speak except that 
 one evening under the stars, and so did not associate her 
 with Sappho. Robert watched her with friendly curiosity. 
 She was a woman of uncertain age. She might be forty, 
 or she might be sixty. Somehow the question of age did 
 
 151 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 not seem to attach itself to Mrs. Costello. No one short of 
 a German petty municipal officer would have thought of 
 asking her age. While Robert was not at all curious 
 about it, he was curious to know how one human face 
 could have so much in it. It was a highly sensitive face, 
 rather large for the slender, almost girlish figure that sup 
 ported it. Dark chestnut hair, perceptibly touched with 
 gray, fell in gentle curves almost to the ears, and gave the 
 face an old-fashioned, but at the same time an attractive 
 setting. Careless observers might have passed Mrs. Cos 
 tello by without seeing her, but any one who saw her once 
 would never fail to see her again. Robert liked her face 
 immensely, liked its strength and its repose. Somehow he 
 felt that if circumstances allowed, he and Mrs. Costello 
 might be great friends. Mrs. Costello s costume was as 
 unusual as her face and her voice. Her dress was gray, of 
 a shade distinctly lighter than travelers usually affect. It 
 was perfectly plain, and impressed one rather as a drapery 
 than as a dress. The cloak was of the same color and mate 
 rial, and possessed a like amplitude. It was fastened by 
 silk ribbons of a lighter shade, and was further secured 
 by two large amethyst pins, one on each side. The stones 
 were set in silver, and were attached to each other by a 
 curious silver chain. Mrs. Costello s bonnet was the very 
 opposite of a picture hat. It was built upon the principle 
 of self-effacement. It fitted snugly to her head, and gained 
 all its picturesqueness from a soft, opaque veil of silver- 
 gray. 
 
 Miss Frothingham was dressed in a plain cloth gown of 
 dark green. The two women had one thing in common, 
 the air of distinction which Donald had already remarked 
 
 152 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 in Alicia, but in all external matters they were almost 
 the opposite of each other. Alicia s dress was in taste, but 
 wholly conventional. Her face had its moments of grave 
 repose, when something of her friend s look of other-world- 
 liness stole into it ; but ordinarily, and especially when 
 she talked, her face was full of an irrepressible vivacity, 
 so sensitive and mobile that her every thought swept over 
 it like gusts of wind over the responsive surface of a lake. 
 The two friends set each other off capitally. Each gained 
 from the other s presence. 
 
 It was a slow progress down the great nave of the Min 
 ster, interrupted by frequent pauses to gaze anew at the 
 changing but ever beautiful vistas. There were frequent 
 silences, too, when, by a common instinct, thought seemed 
 more adequate and coherent than words. By no precon 
 ceived plan, but merely by a natural activity born of 
 circumstances, the group shifted almost kaleidoscopically, 
 forming and reforming into fresh combinations. Robert 
 found himself talking first to one lady and then to the 
 other; not infrequently to Stephen or Donald. At the 
 west entrance there was a final pause and lingering sur 
 vey. Then the party swept out into the windy grayness of 
 the streets. 
 
 Robert was keenly alive to the contrast, but the peace 
 and elation that had come to him under the spell of the 
 service had not spent themselves, and he rather enjoyed 
 the sense of battling against the wind. 
 
 A two-wheeler was waiting for the ladies. They re 
 gretted its limited capacity, and that they could not pick 
 up the three friends also. They would be lunching in 
 their own rooms, they said, but hoped that the three men 
 
 153 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 would be their guests at seven o clock dinner. It was 
 Mrs. Costello who added the detail that she would bespeak 
 a large enough table. Stephen bethought himself to ask 
 if they had no instructions for the cabby. 
 
 " Yes, thank you so much," said Mrs. Costello. " I 
 had quite forgotten it. Tell him, please, to drive slowly 
 around the Minster three times, and then return to the 
 hotel by the longest and most circuitous route he can 
 devise. We shall be wanting to get the air." 
 
 The ladies started off, and the three friends turned to 
 their own plans. They decided in a briefer way to follow 
 Mrs. Costello s scheme, going around the Minster once 
 and then wandering through the narrow streets towards 
 the County and Station Hotel. The wind made them 
 avoid the walls. 
 
 "Let s go round the Minster in the opposite direc 
 tion," suggested Robert, "so we may not seem to be 
 copying Mrs. Costello too closely." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," objected Stephen. " If we do that, 
 we shall surely meet the ladies, face to face, and they 
 will have to speak to us, while if we go in the same direc 
 tion, they can only see our backs as they pass us, and 
 can go on with a conversation that, by Jove, I d like to 
 hear!" 
 
 " "Wise as a serpent," commended Donald. " I believe, 
 little Pen, that the judge is growing subtle. It s a good 
 thing for poets to be subtle, but not for judges. We must 
 head him off, or he may lose the judgeship." 
 
 Robert laughed, and suggested that in such a case 
 Stephen must not be allowed to talk to Mrs. Costello. 
 Then he turned and asked, " Why did you want to know 
 
 154 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 what they are saying? Do you think they are talking 
 about us?" 
 
 "Lord, no," answered Stephen, quickly; "they are 
 talking about something bigger and much more worth 
 while." 
 
 Presently the two-wheeler passed them on its second 
 round, and then the three friends lost sight of it, as they 
 themselves had completed their circuit and were starting 
 for the hotel. 
 
 Our three young friends lunched together, and then 
 separated with rather vague plans for home letters, read 
 ing, and those other quiet occupations which travelers 
 sometimes allow themselves as great luxuries in the more 
 strenuous business of sight-seeing. 
 
 Robert went directly to his own room. He had no home 
 letters to write. He had written to the cousins at Bolton 
 twice since he had been away, and had already astonished 
 them as well as himself. It had never occurred to him 
 to write to either of the partners of the firm of Messrs. 
 Watson and Reed, coffee and spice merchants, nor had he 
 any inclination to write to any of his former fellow clerks. 
 Dennis Sullivan excepted, he knew that he never wanted 
 to see any of them again. Robert had several books to 
 read, but they were all improving, of the guide-book order 
 of literature, and had no attractions for his present mood. 
 He wandered up and down the room, the very picture 
 of restlessness. Finally he drew his chair up to the win 
 dow, and sat there listlessly looking out over the dull 
 town, and towards the spires of the beautiful Minster. 
 He recalled the elation of the morning, but it seemed a 
 long way off and quite unrelated to himself. It had all 
 
 155 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 taken place, but even in his memory he seemed a mere 
 spectator of the emotion. In spite of himself, the grayness 
 of the day had taken possession of his spirit, and he was 
 consciously miserable. In addition, all the New England 
 ancestors were in revolt. They told him, one and all, that 
 with such a princely income and in such a spot, which 
 they themselves would have been only too pleased and too 
 grateful to have been allowed by Providence to visit, 
 he was a poor creature indeed not to be supremely happy. 
 Robert had been learning of late to stand out against 
 these family ghosts, and had several victories to his credit ; 
 but in moods like the present, he had no fight in him, 
 and the ancestors had him quite at their mercy. Their 
 company, however, counted just now for as little as their 
 counsels. What Robert was chiefly conscious of was a 
 desolating and unutterable loneliness. He pictured Pauline 
 happy in her father and Billy; Stephen as the intimate 
 friend of Donald ; Miss Frothingham obviously satisfied 
 with the rare comradeship of Mrs. Costello. He alone 
 seemed solitary and wretched. He was too inexperienced 
 to know that from this same nostalgia, this homesickness 
 of the spirit, more than half the world is suffering ; that 
 it is worse than poverty, or illness, or disaster; but that, 
 like them, it is the pathway to eternal peace. Just now 
 he felt only the pain of it, a pain so drenching and ter 
 rible that his spirit absolutely rebelled against it, and he 
 symbolized his rebellion by once more pacing furiously 
 up and down the room. Neither Doane Street nor Pinck- 
 ney Street would have recognized in this passionately 
 rebellious creature the docile Robert Pendexter of its late 
 acquaintance. 
 
 156 
 
AT YORK MINSTER 
 
 When Robert felt that he could endure the pain no 
 longer, he turned on the light, and sat down to the writ 
 ing-table. He persuaded himself that he knew the cause 
 of all his trouble, and also the one remedy. Soon nothing 
 was heard but the rapid scratching of his pen, as he threw 
 aside sheet after sheet of the longest personal letter he 
 had ever written in all his life. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 ROBERT S LOVE-LETTER 
 
 COUNTY AND STATION HOTEL, YOKK, 
 Sunday, October fifteenth. 
 
 DEAR Miss MARSHALL : I have no right to send you 
 this letter, even to write it, perhaps not even to think it. 
 It would not be strictly true if I said that I could not 
 help writing it, for I suppose we can always help doing 
 what we do. But it is true that, whatever happens, I do 
 not want to help writing it. Even if you are offended and 
 resentful, it seems to me that I must speak out and tell 
 you what is in my heart. But I think I know you too well 
 to believe that you will be offended. What I am most 
 afraid of is that you will be indifferent. Dear Miss Mar 
 shall, dear Pauline, please read this letter with an open 
 heart. Forgive its poor expression and stupidities, and just 
 say to yourself, " It is a life-and-death matter to Mr. Pen- 
 dexter. He was at least my friend for a short time, and I 
 must take a real interest in what is so important to him." 
 You are so big and generous, I know you will do this for 
 my sake and read to the end. I was never in love before. 
 I never saw a woman that I wanted to marry or even to be 
 well acquainted with. Mr. Fergusson says this a terrible 
 confession, and that I ought to be ashamed of it, for I am 
 already thirty-four. But it is the truth. And if I ever 
 wanted to tell any one the truth, I want to tell it to you. I 
 always thought of myself as an old bachelor, and I meant 
 to be one always. Just the thought of being married fright- 
 
 158 
 
 I 
 
ROBERT S LOVE-LETTER 
 
 ened me, for I did not know what it was to care for any 
 one enough to want to be with them always. When I went 
 to Gorphwysf a, I thought I was a very happy man, and a 
 very lucky one, too. I had enough money to live on. I had 
 got well much faster than I thought I ever could. It seemed 
 to me that a whole year in Europe was just what I wanted, 
 and all I wanted. The only thing that bothered me at all 
 was that Mr. Morse had to go back to Boston this month. 
 You know what happened to me at Gorphwysfa, and how 
 I got deeper and deeper in love every moment we were 
 together at Bowness. But you do not know just how won 
 derful it all was, for I did not know myself, then. I did 
 not know at first what had happened to me. I suppose I 
 did not know, never having been in love before. My cou 
 sins at Bolton used to read a lot of novels. I guess they 
 were pretty sentimental. At least our aunt said they were, 
 and tried to make the girls stop reading them. But they 
 wouldn t stop. They got their ideas of love out of the 
 novels, I suppose, for the young men at Bolton were all 
 afraid of my Aunt Matilda and did not come to see the 
 girls, or at least not often. But Priscilla and Mattie be 
 lieved in love at first sight, and when the right man came 
 along, they said they expected to know it right off. Martha 
 was not so sure, and she and I used to laugh at the others 
 a lot, and say it was stuff and nonsense. But I was all 
 wrong, for I did not know one little thing about it. Dear 
 Pauline, I fell in love with you at first sight. I mean at 
 the dinner-table. I did not really see you out in the hall 
 before the fire, so I do not count that time. And since 
 then, I have loved you more and more, until now it just 
 seems as if I could not get on without you. I do not know 
 
 159 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 how you feel. I do not see, honest, how you could care 
 anything for me, now. But perhaps if you know how 
 it is with me, you might think it over, and then, some 
 time, you might come to care for me just a little, and 
 then a little more, and at last enough to make you will 
 ing to marry me. Oh, Pauline, if you only could, I should 
 be just made up ! I would do my best to make you happy. 
 It seems to me I could, if you would only let me try. 
 Won t you let me try, Pauline ? Don t just put me aside 
 and say it is no use. I would not bother you for the 
 world, and I promise you sure that I won t bother you, 
 but I could not stand it to be just put aside without a 
 chance. Please think it all over, and try to care for me 
 just a little bit to start with. I don t ask much at first. 
 Only keep me in mind, and say to yourself softly, " He 
 loves me, he loves me, how he loves me ! " If you will do 
 that, I will be perfectly contented. And I won t write you 
 another letter, honor bright, I won t, if you say not, and I 
 won t try to see you until we get to Paris in November. 
 You promised that I might see you in Paris, so I am sure 
 of that much. I feel that I must see you then, even if you 
 don t want to see me. I feel that I can t stay away any 
 longer than that. But oh, Pauline, I want you to be glad 
 to see me, if only a tiny bit, and to give me a chance. It 
 seems out of all reason to think that you could ever care 
 for me, but somehow I feel that if you would let me try, I 
 could make you care for me. I know I have not much to 
 offer you, looking at it just coldly. I am not handsome, or 
 clever, or well educated. I know all this. I am not even 
 very strong. I am just a dull country boy that has lived 
 in Boston for a time and been a clerk in a wholesale house. 
 
 160 
 
ROBERT S LOVE-LETTER 
 
 I am not rich, either, not as your father would count it. 
 My income is not nearly as big as yours. Mine is only a 
 little over six thousand a year, and I suppose will never be 
 any bigger. But I know you don t care about being rich, 
 and I don t either. I am a good deal older than you are. 
 I don t know how old you are, of course, but I know that 
 you are still a young girl. I was thirty-four last July, on 
 the 17th. But I am really not so old as that. It seems as 
 if I were only twenty-five. I have just begun to live. I 
 think in one sense that you are older than I am, for you 
 have always lived. When I think of this, I feel a little 
 hopeless. I know very well that there is a great difference 
 in our lives. You have always had everything, and until 
 recently I have had nothing. I have lived a very dull life, 
 how dull I did not know until just the other day, when I 
 began to wake up. I am not awake yet, not nearly so 
 wide awake as you are. But right here, dear Pauline, I 
 am full of hope. Something tells me that I shall win out, 
 and shall reach the bigger life that I am just beginning to 
 see. I do not know what this something is that is being 
 born inside of me. I should call it a soul, but I know that 
 you don t like that word. Whatever it is, though, I am 
 very sure about it. You will not misunderstand me, Paul 
 ine, and think that I am a boaster. I know what a com 
 monplace fellow I am now, but I shall not be always. 
 With your help, I could be more what I want to be, 
 
 Here Robert broke off suddenly. Was this quite true ? 
 Could Pauline help him to be the sort of a man that he 
 wanted to be? He read the letter over with a growing 
 doubt in his heart. It had been written in a great heat, 
 
 161 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 It had been true, every word of it, as he wrote, until he 
 came to the last part. This sounded labored and flounder 
 ing. Again he read the whole letter through. It began 
 to seem to him just what it was, a great cry of lone 
 liness. It was loneliness, not love, that had prompted 
 this one-sided appeal for companionship. Eobert began 
 to realize that all through the letter he had been thinking 
 of himself, and not of Pauline ; that he had been shock 
 ingly selfish. And even here, when it came to the supreme 
 moment, the time when he had alluded to the deepest 
 matter of all, to that growth of a soul, whose birth pains 
 he was already beginning to feel, he had gone miserably 
 lame and platitudinous, and had ended by being not even 
 sincere. He could not truthfully say that Pauline could 
 help him in the great way that he had said she could. 
 Pauline was undoubtedly superb superb in health and 
 poise; but to one side of life she was absolutely deaf 
 and dumb and blind. And it was the very side of life to 
 which his own nature was just beginning to awaken. She 
 would have been bored by the morning s service, and would 
 have utterly failed to understand his own ecstasy. It was 
 doubtful whether she would even have been interested in 
 the Minster itself merely as a building, or in the music 
 merely as sweet and solemn sound. 
 
 It struck Robert that perhaps Pauline was too strong, 
 if such a thing were possible, had perhaps too perfect 
 health, and needed a touch of suffering to awaken the soul 
 within her. And he thought very tenderly and reverently 
 that were Pauline a mother, perhaps the solemn suffering 
 of motherhood, and the appeal of the child, would quicken 
 Pauline s heart-boat and she would see. 
 
 162 
 
ROBERT S LOVE-LETTER 
 
 As soon as Robert shifted his point of view and began 
 to think of Pauline s side of the question, he began to see 
 with fatal clearness that his own love, or any that he might 
 feel, could not be the liberator, that Pauline could not 
 respond to it. As he put himself out of the question, and 
 saw only Pauline, he realized, as with a startling illumina 
 tion, that Pauline had her own needs, needs not satisfied 
 by either her father or Billy ; needs not to be satisfied by 
 one of his own negative and hesitating temperament. But 
 illuminating as the thought was, it was not comforting. A 
 great wave of feeling swept over Robert and left him sub 
 merged and gasping. Remote as he felt Pauline to be, he 
 could not help holding out to her the hands of the spirit. 
 A great yearning filled his heart. He buried his face in 
 his hands. His slender frame was shaken by dry, tearless 
 sobs. 
 
 It was in this position that Stephen found him when, a 
 few moments later, he entered the room to see if Robert 
 were ready for dinner. Stephen gave no sign that he de 
 tected any trouble, and Robert was grateful to him for the 
 assumed blindness. There was an added tenderness in 
 Stephen s voice, however, which told Robert of his keen 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Come, little Pen," Stephen said lightly, " it s time 
 to dress. Have you forgotten that we are to dine with 
 Sappho and Miss Frothingham ? " 
 
 Robert started up guiltily, for he had quite forgotten 
 the invitation. It was almost seven now, so Stephen re 
 mained and helped him jump into his dinner-clothes. 
 Donald soon joined them, and they got downstairs just in 
 time not to keep the ladies waiting. Robert had the power 
 
 163 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 of quick recovery. He had been very genuinely in the 
 depths of despair. But once more with his friends, he felt 
 warmed and comforted, and took his share in the dinner- 
 talk so successfully that Stephen fancied himself mistaken 
 in his friend s earlier mood, and almost came to believe 
 that he had caught him merely napping instead of ago 
 nizing. 
 
 Miss Frothiiigham watched Kobert with renewed inter 
 est. She sensed some radical change in the inexperienced 
 young man who had seemed to her, on the steamer, to be 
 possessed of a certain charm, but quite too crude and boy 
 ish to be genuinely interesting. She had never thought 
 of presenting any of the young men to Mrs. Costello. 
 
 It chanced that Kobert sat next to Mrs. Costello, while 
 Alicia had Stephen on one side of her, and Donald on the 
 other. This arrangement suited Robert as well as any. 
 His very indifference gave an easy distinction to his man 
 ners, which he could never achieve in more self-conscious 
 moments. It also gave him a certain leadership, which 
 would have struck him as highly presumptuous had he 
 stopped to think about it. If Mrs. Costello spoke, Robert 
 quite naturally answered her. If Alicia spoke, he did the 
 same. If either Stephen or Donald made a remark not 
 directly addressed to one of the ladies, it was Robert who 
 took it up and replied to it. As a result of these uncon 
 scious tactics, all the talk was soon directed towards Rob 
 ert. He met the situation without knowing that he was 
 doing it. An outsider would have said that it was Robert 
 who was giving the dinner-party, and that he was acquit 
 ting himself most admirably. They might further have 
 thought that it was a chance meeting, welcome, it is true, 
 
 164 
 
ROBERT S LOVE-LETTER 
 
 to all, but with Robert on one side and the other four on 
 the other. They seemed ranged up in this fashion, for 
 Robert spoke as deferentially, and it must be confessed 
 as distantly, to the men as to the ladies. 
 
 Stephen chuckled to himself to see this erstwhile bash 
 ful young man carrying things off quite in the grand man 
 ner, and doing it so innocently. He wondered whether 
 the mood would last out the dinner. He took it to be a 
 somewhat feverish reaction after the undoubted despond 
 ency of the afternoon, and in spite of his own amusement, 
 he felt a little anxious about his friend. 
 
 Robert was so manifestly master of ceremonies that the 
 waiters, who are not all stupids, but really applied psy 
 chologists of considerable insight, brought the plates and 
 dishes to him, even asked deferentially if he would dress 
 the salad himself, or have it dressed outside. Robert took 
 all these arrangements quite as a matter of course, dressed 
 the salad as he had seen his cousins at Bolton do it, on 
 the rare occasions when his Aunt Matilda allowed herself 
 this luxury, and talked on with as much unconcern as if 
 he were not meanwhile counting out salt, paprika, vinegar, 
 and olive oil. 
 
 This unconscious display on Robert s part had a quite 
 different effect on each one of the party. Both Mrs. Cos- 
 tello and Alicia were women of large social experience, 
 and knew so many types of men that they could usually 
 classify a man without so much as trying. But both were 
 now puzzled. Mrs. Costello mistook the ease of manner 
 for a large worldliness, which was constantly belied by a 
 certain freshness of view that spoke of a curiously un 
 spoiled nature. Had she herself been a smaller woman, 
 
 165 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 she might not quite have liked it to be put so completely 
 aside as hostess. But she was not in any way small. Her 
 one concern was to have the dinner go well, and since it 
 was going famously, she was wholly satisfied. With Alicia 
 the case was different. She realized such a change in 
 Robert that she felt completely at sea with regard to his 
 real self, thinking at one moment that he must be acting 
 a part, at another that she had probably been singularly 
 unobservant on the steamer, and had probably not troubled 
 to know what he was. It never occurred to Alicia that 
 in the meanwhile such strong influences had been playing 
 upon Robert that in reality he was a different and un 
 known person. 
 
 Donald s attitude, like Stephen s, was one prolonged 
 chuckle, but wholly devoid of Stephen s solicitude. Don 
 ald was entirely conscious of the metamorphosis taking 
 place in Robert, although he quite failed to divine the 
 cause. He watched the unfolding in precisely the same 
 spirit that he would have watched a play. He even 
 planned a verse, to be called "The Awakening," but 
 abandoned it on recognizing that as yet he had seized 
 upon no dramatic motive strong enough to account for 
 the thing itself. 
 
 Stephen, of course, came the nearest to a true diagno 
 sis, because he of all had the deepest affection for the 
 man. He felt both anxious and interested. He more than 
 half guessed the significance of the scene in Robert s 
 room that afternoon, and realized the hopelessness of it. 
 This made him anxious, for a certain experience of his 
 own some six years before had taught him what such pain 
 meant. But he was even more interested, for his young 
 
 166 
 
ROBERT S LOVE-LETTER 
 
 friend had made such astonishing progress in the social 
 arts that Stephen could only wonder what the end 
 would be. 
 
 If Robert had known that he was the subject of so 
 much speculation on the part of his fellow diners, he 
 would have relapsed into an embarrassed silence that 
 would have added still more to their perplexity. But no 
 one betrayed more than a polite interest in the current 
 talk. At the conclusion of the dinner, they went up to 
 Mrs. Costello s drawing-room. It had not occurred to 
 either Mrs. Costello or Alicia to ask if the men smoked. 
 Stephen and Donald chafed a little at the deprivation, 
 and not even the coffee brought them quite to their accus 
 tomed level of after-dinner contentment. As Robert never 
 smoked, he was not bothered by any unfulfilled desires, 
 and continued to be the one most at ease. He was rather 
 quieter than at dinner, for he began to realize that he 
 had been doing more than his share of the talking. 
 
 When they had got well settled in the drawing-room, 
 Robert had a good opportunity to turn the talk over to 
 Alicia. He had noticed with pleasure that she wore the 
 superb jewel that he had so much admired on the Re 
 public. The jewel was so unique that Robert felt sure 
 that it must have a history. Partly to satisfy his own 
 interest, and partly to make good his escape from further 
 talking, he turned to Alicia and said : " If it won t be 
 rude, Miss Frothingham, I should much like to ask the 
 history of the jewel you are wearing. It seems to me the 
 most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I am sure that it 
 must have a history." 
 
 Alicia quickly put her hand up to the jewel, and 
 167 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 looked down at it with the indulgent, devouring look that 
 people give only to possessions they care a great deal for. 
 " You are quite right," she said ; " it has a history. I 
 will tell it to you with pleasure, if Mrs. Costello does n t 
 mind hearing it still another time." 
 
 "I always enjoy hearing it," said Mrs. Costello, quickly, 
 in her curious, high-pitched voice. " You know that, my 
 dear, without asking. I really believe you like to make 
 me say it." 
 
 " She s a guileful one, Miss Frothingham is," threw in 
 Stephen, in a judicial tone. 
 
 "I m not at all guileful," responded Alicia, protest- 
 ingly, " and you don t deserve to hear the story. But I 11 
 tell it just for the sake of the others." 
 
 " Please do," said Stephen. " I should hate to have the 
 others lose it just because I ve been naughty. It would n t 
 be fair ! " 
 
 Alicia laughed. "You are quite incorrigible. But I 
 shall go on. When I was in India, a couple of years ago, 
 I spent several weeks with some English friends who were 
 stationed at Jaipur, in the native state of Rajputana. You 
 may chance to know what a place for gems it is. They 
 are brought there from all over India, even from Ceylon. 
 One afternoon an Indian gentleman called on my friends, 
 and it fell to me to talk to him. I think we must have 
 chatted for nearly two hours, and all the time about 
 India. I had never seen the man before. When he finally 
 left, he took this pale blue sapphire out of the folds of his 
 turban, and begged that I would accept it as a souvenir 
 of our talk. It is very valuable, and as you see, quite 
 flawless. Naturally I declined to accept it. I thanked him 
 
 168 
 
ROBERT S LOVE-LETTER 
 
 over and over again. Then I asked him, out of sheer 
 curiosity, why he wanted to present so magnificent a gem 
 to me an entire stranger. The tears came into his eyes. 
 1 It is because you love India, he said." Alicia paused a 
 moment, and then hurried on. " I do love India, passion 
 ately, but there are others who love her quite as much, 
 and have done so much more for her. I could not take 
 such a gift, and from a man I had never seen before. So, 
 once more, I absolutely declined " 
 
 " Oh, that was too bad ! " broke in Robert, impulsively. 
 "It would have given the man so much pleasure. I know 
 just how he would have felt ! " 
 
 " That was what my English friends said," continued 
 Alicia. " They told me that he was a very poor man. This 
 sapphire was the last article of any great value that he 
 still owned. But for some reason, he would never sell it. 
 If I had accepted it as a gift, they said, it would have 
 made him very happy. I was leaving Jaipur the next 
 afternoon. In the morning, the Indian gentleman called 
 again, and this time on me. He only stopped a few mo 
 ments. When he went away, he took out the sapphire and 
 urged me to take it. I could not get out of it. So, very 
 reluctantly, I did. It belongs to you, he said, 4 because 
 you love India. I do not know that I even thanked him. 
 I have never been so touched by any gift. When I looked 
 up and tried to thank him, he was gone." 
 
 " That was right," cried Donald, enthusiastically. " It 
 made the gift a poem ! " 
 
 " But surely," said the practical Stephen, " the stone 
 was n t mounted in this wonderful fashion when your 
 Hindu gentleman handed it over." 
 
 169 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " Of course not," Alicia answered. " That is the sec 
 ond part of its history. When I came back to Europe, I 
 brought the stone with me. But I really did n t quite know 
 what to do with it. I simply could n t have it mounted in 
 the usual commonplace way. So I kept it for two or three 
 months. While I was in Paris, I met Lalique. Perhaps 
 you know his work ? He is truly an artist. They say that 
 some day he will be ranked with Benvenuto Cellini. I 
 told Lalique the story of the sapphire. Then I gave it to 
 him, and asked him to mount it for me in the most beauti 
 ful way he could. I thought I had lost it. Lalique kept it 
 for a whole year. But when he brought it back, it was the 
 glorious thing I have here. The idea is wholly Lalique s. 
 I wish it were mine. I should be so proud of it. Every 
 part of it has a meaning. The sapphire itself stands, of 
 course, for hope. The basis is of rock crystal. See how 
 wonderfully clear it is. That means purity. The angels 
 leaning on the sapphire represent the winged character 
 of all aspiration. They are made of ,translucent enamel. 
 Lalique invented it himself. Do you see how beautifully 
 carved they are? The wings are just common horn, but 
 notice how very right the color is, just the sort of grayish 
 green to go with the smoke-blue of the enamel. It is a 
 fancy of Lalique s to bring such things together. He likes 
 the contrast and the range of color. I think he s quite 
 right about it. I like to feel that commonplace, earthy 
 things can be transformed by superb workmanship into 
 proper company for the rarest gem. Before I could ask 
 Lalique how much he meant to charge me, he said to me, 
 I want you to accept this on the same terms that you 
 granted the Indian gentleman, and for the same or a simi- 
 
 170 
 
ROBERT S LOVE-LETTER 
 
 lar reason. I give it to you because you love France ! 
 I ought to be a very grateful woman, ought I not ? Well, 
 I really am. I never saw those men before, either of them, 
 and I have never seen them since. I value my jewel as if 
 it were a talisman. It is so very beautiful, and it always 
 seems to me the very symbol of human generosity. It s 
 an interesting history, is it not ? " 
 
 " It sure is," said Stephen, enthusiastically. Then he 
 asked to be allowed to examine the jewel. Alicia unclasped 
 it from the chain and handed it to him. Stephen held the 
 jewel with great care, apparently, but in an unguarded 
 moment, as he looked up in his talk, the jewel slipped 
 from his fingers. Robert had foreseen such a possibility, 
 and sat with his own hands outstretched for rescue. He 
 darted forward just in time to catch the jewel and save 
 it from falling to the floor. 
 
 Alicia made no outcry, but she started involuntarily 
 and turned a trifle pale. A moment later, when Robert 
 handed the jewel back to her uninjured, a wave of almost 
 painful color swept over her face, and she said eagerly, 
 " Oh, thank you so much. Now I shall associate your 
 name with my treasure. An Indian gave it to me ; a 
 Frenchman mounted it for me; an American saved it 
 forme!" 
 
 " The Germans say, do they not, that everything per 
 fect comes in threes?" suggested Mrs. Costello. 
 
 " To make the story quite complete," said Robert, 
 lightly, " we ought all to have been strangers. I am 
 almost sorry that you knew me before to-day." 
 
 " I m not sure that I did," Alicia answered quickly. 
 " At any rate, I cannot thank you enough." 
 
 171 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " Oh, don t mention it," replied Kobert. " Thank you 
 very much for telling us the story. It is tremendously 
 interesting." 
 
 Stephen had been too chagrined to say anything, but 
 now he spoke up. " And next time, Miss Frothingham, 
 when a man whose fingers are all thumbs asks to handle 
 the jewel, don t let him. It is n t safe ! " 
 
 " I won t," Alicia answered. 
 
 Robert rose to go, and Stephen and Donald felt obliged 
 to rise with him. The ladies protested that it was still 
 very early, but Robert ignored the remark as a mere for 
 mality, and much against their will, dragged his two friends 
 off with him. As the three young men went towards their 
 own rooms, both Stephen and Donald reviled poor Rob 
 ert for breaking up the party so early. The poet was 
 particularly outspoken, for he had been much impressed 
 by both women, Mrs. Costello not less than Alicia, and 
 wanted to see more of them. As Robert turned in to his 
 own room, Donald called after him, " If you re writing 
 to those old cousins of yours at Bolton, just tell them for 
 me that you ve been mighty disagreeable ! " 
 
 Robert s retort came on the instant. " They d never 
 believe anything so improbable ! " 
 
 " Snappy work, little Pen," cried Stephen, with a 
 chuckle ; " you re coming on. And say, old man, I m 
 eternally grateful to you for catching that Franco-Asiatic 
 bubble. I don t care to think how I d feel if I d broken it !" 
 
 " Don t try," Robert answered cheerily. " I felt in my 
 bones that you were going to drop it, and was ready for 
 you. So it was all right. Good-night. And say good 
 night to the poet." 
 
 172 
 
ROBERT S LOVE-LETTER 
 
 Robert closed his door for the night. But he had no 
 intention of writing to his cousins at Bolton. He meant 
 to finish his letter to Pauline. He took off his dinner-coat 
 and got into his more comfortable gray sack-coat. He sat 
 down at the writing-table full of fire and resolve. He 
 gathered up the sheets that he had written during the 
 afternoon, and after a moment s hesitation, put them one 
 side. Then he got out some fresh paper and prepared 
 to start a new letter. He put a fresh pen in the holder, 
 and tried the point on his finger-nail. Finally he dipped 
 the pen into the ink, and got as far as the date, " Sunday, 
 October fifteenth." He toyed with the pen a moment. 
 Then he put it down suddenly and buried his face in his 
 hands. He realized once more that there was nothing to 
 say. 
 
 It was fully an hour before Robert lifted his head. His 
 face showed the storm through which he had been passing. 
 Slowly he gathered up the closely written pages of Paul 
 ine s letter and very carefully and deliberately tore them 
 into tiny fragments. He put them all into the fire, and 
 watched until the last fragment had burned to ashes be 
 fore he undressed and went to bed. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 INWARD VOYAGES 
 
 ROBERT heard nothing from the Marshalls. Donald had 
 frequent letters from the worshipful Billy, but they were 
 full of the life at Abbotsholme, and seldom so much as 
 mentioned either Pauline or his father. Robert expected 
 no letters, nor did he expect to see Pauline until he reached 
 Paris. But his experiences at York had made him more 
 at sea than ever. Between Bowness and York he had been 
 restless and disturbed, often a very poor traveling com 
 panion, as he had to confess to himself, but at least he 
 knew, or fancied that he knew, just where he stood. He 
 believed himself to be hopelessly in love with Pauline. He 
 accepted his own state of mind quite as an established fact, 
 and never so much as questioned it. It was too distinct an 
 experience to leave him in any doubt. This precipitate, 
 perfectly unreasonable falling in love with a comparative 
 stranger had always amused him in other men, and had 
 even filled him with mingled contempt and pity. It was 
 something, he assured himself, that would never happen 
 to him. And now, without warning, it was his own portion 
 in all its bitter sweetness, and had indeed become the 
 major element in all the wonderful experience growing 
 out of this fateful journey to Europe. 
 
 So much had happened since he fell sick in Boston and 
 had suddenly become a man of leisure, that when most 
 perplexed, Robert felt momentarily sure that it was all 
 a dream, and that if he aroused himself a bit, he would 
 
 174 
 
INWARD VOYAGES 
 
 waken at his old desk in Doane Street, and find himself 
 poring over half -added columns of figures. But even when 
 the feeling was strongest and the perplexity greatest, he 
 never did arouse himself in just that way, for in spite of 
 all the pain, he knew perfectly well that he liked the en 
 chantment, and at the bottom of his heart had no desire 
 to have done with the dream. He would have changed it, 
 if he could, he would have had some assurance of love on 
 Pauline s part, but he would not have given up the dream 
 for any consideration he could imagine. It was such a 
 glorious thing to love Pauline, whatever her own feelings 
 might be, that life, without this supreme emotion, seemed 
 too poverty-stricken for words. Whatever happened, this 
 great happiness was at least a secure possession. 
 
 At times, Robert was even aware of a high serenity. 
 In the midst of his restless longing there came this feeling 
 of fulfilled desire. He could at least love, no one could 
 take that from him. He even assumed that Pauline would 
 never care for him, but that he would still nurse his own 
 love, keep her image bright in his heart, and be able to 
 meet a quiet, lonely old age with an inner happiness that 
 would make it endurable, even blessed. 
 
 These periods of serene resignation never lasted very 
 long. They usually came when he was alone, generally in 
 the silence of the night, when they half took the form of 
 dreams. Between them came the storm and stress periods, 
 times when Robert found it hard to live up to his own ideal 
 of politeness and be sufficiently alive to the existence of 
 his two young friends to be even a passable companion. 
 Ecclesiastical architecture had proved itself a safe refuge, 
 but there were whole days when it failed him utterly. It 
 
 175 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 was highly fortunate that the supply of cathedrals seemed 
 to keep up indefinitely. Occasionally they were inadequate 
 as distractions from his own absorbing thought. But they 
 served to administer to the emotional side of Robert s 
 nature, which at thirty-four was just beginning to be 
 aroused, and which at times threatened shipwreck. 
 
 It was curious, but perhaps wholly natural, that any 
 great elation, such as that brought about by the glorious 
 beauty of York Minster and the subtle charm of the ser 
 vice, was apt to be followed by an abyss of loneliness and 
 despair. The very heights of his ecstasy deepened the re 
 action of pain. It seemed to Robert cruel in the extreme 
 that these flights of the spirit had to be accomplished al 
 ways alone ; that when they ended and the need for expres 
 sion, the cry of the palpitating soul, grew most imperative, 
 there was nothing but loneliness and void. In these entirely 
 new spiritual excursions, Robert had no compass and no 
 guide. He could not know that this bewildering mood, at 
 once so blissful and so suffocating, is not alone the mood 
 of the lover, but quite as much the mood of the artist, 
 the prelude to all worldly creation. Had he known how 
 to write or paint, had he understood music or sculpture, 
 had he been given to the simplest arts of invention, he 
 would have found an outlet for his pent-up mood, and in 
 giving expression to his imprisoned spirit, he would have 
 gained light and freedom. 
 
 But this side of things was quite outside of Robert s 
 experience. Until he came to Europe, he had not even 
 been aware that he was so keenly alive to beauty. His 
 analysis of his own moods had not gone far enough to dis 
 close the artist temper. The idea of creating beauty had 
 
 176 
 
INWARD VOYAGES 
 
 never been suggested to him. Had it been, he would 
 doubtless have scouted it as the veriest mirage, and hon 
 estly enough proclaimed his inability and helplessness. 
 
 Between Bowness and York Robert had been filled with 
 a vague unrest. He had ascribed it all to one thing, to 
 the foregone conclusion that Pauline neither loved him 
 nor could ever be expected to love him. At any moment 
 during that time, when he was wandering among cathe 
 drals or doing Scottish lakes, could he have been assured 
 to the contrary, he would have been perfectly happy, and 
 would have asked no more of fate. He would have counted 
 himself favored of the gods. But this assurance never came. 
 The more Robert brooded over the situation, the less prob 
 able it seemed to him that it would ever come. And yet 
 the dream continued, even grew in intensity, until at York 
 it reached its climax. It seemed to Robert as if he must 
 risk everything and that he must know. But at the very 
 flood, when he came to pour out his heart to Pauline 
 on paper, and to lay bare his inmost soul, the wave of his 
 great emotion had been broken and spent. Robert found 
 that he was not even sure of his own love, and that at the 
 supreme moment he had nothing sincere to say. Such a 
 result had been too wholly unexpected to be taken without 
 question. As we have seen, he had refused to accept it, 
 and after Mrs. Costello s dinner-party, had returned to his 
 letter with an ardor even greater than when he began it. 
 But it was of no use. In that silent, motionless hour when 
 Robert sat at the writing-table with his face buried in his 
 hands, battling against what seemed to him a hideous 
 truth, he had been worsted at every turn. Unwillingly, 
 reproachfully even, he had slowly admitted to himself that 
 
 177 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 his dream had been a mistake, and that down in his heart 
 of hearts he did not love Pauline; that what he felt had 
 been a great loneliness, but that it had not been love. 
 When the last fragment of his poor love-letter had turned 
 to ashes, he knew that he had accepted the truth, and that 
 he must face it. Having decided that Pauline could never 
 come to care for him, it would have been only reasonable 
 if Robert had felt a great relief and a sense of renewed 
 peace when he came to realize that neither did he really 
 care for her. But the human heart is not reasonable. On 
 the contrary, it is highly unreasonable. Instead of peace 
 and a renewed and more genuine interest in life, Robert 
 felt in the days that succeeded York a still more desperate 
 unhappiness. 
 
 Our three young friends left Mrs. Costello and Miss 
 Frothingham at York, and journeyed southward towards 
 Oxford. It had been agreed that some time within a week 
 they should all meet at the Mitre. The young men trav 
 eled slowly, taking in Ely and Lincoln, but it was diffi 
 cult for Robert even to feign an interest in ecclesiastical 
 architecture, much less to feel it. In spite of all the pain 
 of the experience, it seemed to Robert that he had been 
 supremely happy when he thought that he loved Pauline. 
 He had had no conception of the desolation of his pre 
 sent state of mind. With love, or it might be the illusion 
 of love, taken out of life, it hardly seemed to him worth 
 while to go on living. In vain the New England con 
 science reminded him of duty and all the grave responsi 
 bilities of life. A little earlier, and it would have added 
 the responsibilities of wealth ; but Robert had now ceased 
 to regard six thousand a year as wealth, and had come to 
 
 178 
 
INWARD VOYAGES 
 
 look upon his present income as a very modest affair after 
 all, and belonging more properly, in part at least, to his 
 cousins at Bolton, rather than to himself. 
 
 To have loved, and then to have stopped loving, is for 
 all of us a tragedy of the first order. To Robert it was 
 well-nigh insupportable. His evident distress alarmed 
 Stephen, and in the absence of any visible cause for it, 
 made him think that Robert s recovery had perhaps been 
 too rapid to be quite permanent. Both Stephen and Donald 
 urged Robert to see a physician, but he assured them that 
 it was only a temporary set-back, and that he would soon 
 be all right again. He did agree, however, to take his 
 sight-seeing more moderately. Stephen would not consent 
 to leave Robert alone. He sent Donald off on all sorts of 
 improving expeditions, but remained himself at the hotel 
 with Robert, reading to him, or chatting to him about 
 social and political matters at home. It must be confessed 
 that the sight-seeing had begun to pall on Robert. He 
 enjoyed this quiet intercourse with a well-informed and 
 thoroughly wholesome mind much more than the ceaseless 
 round of action upon which they had all so lately been 
 embarked. At Oxford he was especially listless. It had 
 been one of the places that he most wanted to see, but 
 when they got there, not even Stephen s and Donald s 
 enthusiasm could warm his own interest beyond a very 
 tepid point. There was, indeed, physical cause for this 
 depression aside from the emotional crisis through which 
 Robert had been passing. His rapid recovery had been 
 largely due to the open-air life on the steamer, and to the 
 bracing atmosphere of the Welsh and Scottish uplands. 
 The midland and southern counties of England offered no 
 
 179 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 such tonic. In Oxford itself one can take but a melancholy 
 and retrospective view of life. The surrounding marshes 
 rob the air of any contemporary ardor, and account in 
 some measure for the conservative and reactionary atti 
 tude which characterizes Oxford thought. 
 
 As soon as he could, Robert aroused himself and took 
 a more active part in all the sight-seeing. Left to him 
 self, he would hardly have made the effort, but when he 
 realized that Stephen was remaining at home with him 
 such a large part of the day, and would remain in spite of 
 all he could say, the New England conscience got hold of 
 a powerful lever, and spurred him on to much of his old- 
 time activity. 
 
 For Stephen s sake, and to head off inquiries which 
 might easily be embarrassing, Robert expressed as lively 
 an interest in the beautiful old town as he possibly could. 
 And, indeed, in spite of the moist, depressing climate, 
 he found much to stir him in the penetrating, abiding 
 beauty of Oxford. He yielded himself to it unreservedly, 
 allowing the intoxicating langour of the place to still his 
 unrest and to lull him into a spiritual slumber. 
 
 By the time Mrs. Costello and Miss Frothingham ar 
 rived at the Mitre, Robert had so far recovered his poise 
 that he was genuinely glad to see them, and could enjoy 
 the new life and fresh interests which they imported into 
 the little circle. Neither woman took the place of Pauline, 
 in those halcyon days which now seemed removed by 
 months instead of by weeks, but both women made Paul 
 ine seem more and more remote, as if she belonged to a 
 chapter long since completely closed. Robert s own thoughts 
 seldom dwelt upon Pauline. He would hardly have wel- 
 
 180 
 
INWARD VOYAGES 
 
 corned a letter from her now, or even been glad to see her. 
 He bore her no ill-will, as indeed he had no right to, for 
 her part in his sufferings had been both unintentional and 
 unconscious. It was merely that she had 110 active part in 
 his life, and consequently seldom came into his thoughts. 
 In a way his thoughts were less wholesome, for in spite of 
 all his efforts to the contrary, they dwelt for a time almost 
 wholly upon himself. What he was chiefly conscious of 
 was a great and overwhelming loneliness. He had had a 
 comrade, albeit imaginary, and he had lost her. He felt 
 that he would never find another comrade ; that he had 
 missed something essential out of life. 
 
 Meanwhile Robert puzzled both Mrs. Costello and 
 Alicia. They were even more puzzled than at York. Robert 
 tried to act the part of an agreeable friend, for he had a 
 deep respect for both women, and felt instinctively that 
 they had much to give him. But his effort was wholly 
 devoid of any gallantry, for it included Stephen and Donald 
 quite as genuinely as it did the two ladies. He was con 
 siderably more successful than he himself fancied. As at 
 York, his very detachment added a distinction to his man 
 ners which gave them all the quality of a rare breeding. 
 What Robert was trying to do was in fact to ignore him 
 self, and that is at bottom of all that is finest in manners 
 and morals. Robert was not doing it on any theory of right 
 conduct. It was the only method by which he could act 
 his part. When he thought of himself, he was unhappy 
 and not at all companionable. It was only when he was 
 alone that he allowed himself this more than doubtful 
 luxury. When he was with the others, he tried and often 
 succeeded in quite ignoring himself. It seems a little thing, 
 
 181 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 but in truth it is the secret of very large issues. Robert s 
 natural powers were limited, but such as they were, they 
 were all set free. Not one of the party, not even Stephen 
 with all his rare common sense, observed so keenly as 
 Robert. No detail seemed to escape him. More than any 
 one else, Robert seemed to be a part of each event, not 
 merely its spectator. In his relations with the others, Robert 
 stood apparently aloof, quite removed from anything like 
 familiarity, and yet curiously enough he achieved an inti 
 macy with each that made each one turn to him instinc 
 tively. He became the gentle pivot upon which the party 
 swung. All general remarks seemed, as at the York din 
 ner-party, to be addressed to him. Each expected him to 
 sympathize with them in all their pet enthusiasms and all 
 their pet aversions. No one voiced the feeling, but to each, 
 in rather a different way, it seemed as if Robert were a 
 light, a flame, something more alive than the ordinary run 
 of men. Robert himself had turned his back upon all in 
 trospection, in the company of others. When he thought 
 about himself, he was unhappy and dull, and so he had 
 stopped thinking. It was a simple remedy. 
 
 But however tragic our mood, however close we hug some 
 pet misery, we all have a saving instinct for happiness. 
 Robert did not analyze the reason, did not even state the 
 fact to himself, but his nature was essentially sound, and 
 this instinct for happiness had been outraged, but not im 
 paired. It led him quite unconsciously to shun being alone, 
 and to seek the company of the others. He remained with 
 Stephen and Donald in their room later than had been his 
 wont. He joined them earlier in the morning. He talked 
 to Mrs. Costello and Alicia whenever they appeared in the 
 
 182 
 
INWARD VOYAGES 
 
 public drawing-room. He even cultivated a taste for after 
 noon tea* 
 
 The stay at Oxford had been limited to a week. From 
 there our three young friends were to catch very brief 
 glimpses of Cambridge and London, and then betake them 
 selves all unwillingly to Dover, there to separate, Stephen 
 returning to Boston and the law, Donald going on to Ber 
 lin and his studies in German literature, Robert journey 
 ing to Paris and Italy for such adventures as might befall. 
 The ladies remained at Oxford, but half expected to see 
 Robert some time before he left Italy. It had been a 
 pleasant encounter, and the parting was full of cheer and 
 good wishes. 
 
 After the men had gone, the ladies were almost sur 
 prised to find how much they missed them. It was Mrs. 
 Costello who voiced the feeling, after they had retired to 
 their own drawing-room in the evening. " It s quite sur 
 prising, Alicia, how much I miss those young men. I had 
 rather a feeling, you know, that they were going to be 
 an intrusion. In the Minster, they seemed to me rather 
 crude and unattractive. But they were very nice when one 
 got to know them, and really I liked them better every 
 day. How do you feel about them, do you, too, miss 
 them?" 
 
 " I never miss any one when I have you, Carissima," 
 Alicia answered fondly. 
 
 " I think," continued Mrs. Costello, in her high, clear 
 voice, " that your friend, Mr. Pendexter, is quite a remark 
 able person, quite remarkable. I cannot quite analyze his 
 charm, but he certainly has charm, don t you think so ? 
 He has no accomplishments, as far as I could find out. 
 
 183 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 He does n t sketch, he does n t play, he does n t sing, he 
 does n t speak one foreign language, in fact, he does n t 
 always speak faultless English. According to his own ac 
 count of himself, he has had no advantages as they are 
 commonly rated, and yet, do you know, Alicia, I cannot 
 recall any man, not even the Chevalier, whose whole bear 
 ing gives the impression of such distinction and such per 
 fect breeding. It is really wonderful the way he carried 
 himself, the way he met every situation without sacrificing 
 his own integrity. The Pendexters are a very good old 
 family, but that would not account for this young man. I 
 think his mother must have been a gentlewoman of more 
 than ordinary quality. He seems to me a very old soul, just 
 waking up. Does he seem so to you ? " 
 
 " I hardly know," Alicia answered. " As a man, he 
 seemed to me very young, the youngest of the three, at 
 least in experience, but I am rather puzzled about his 
 spiritual make-up." 
 
 " Well, at any rate, he is simpatica" said Mrs. Cos- 
 tello ; " that would account for his charm in the absence 
 of any tangible accomplishments. In Italy, I am sure they 
 will call him simpatica. But, Alicia dear, why did you 
 never present him to me on the steamer, and the other 
 young men ? " 
 
 " To tell you the truth, dear Wise One, I did n t think 
 they were quite worth while ! I played shuffle-board with 
 them, you know, because I simply had to have the exer 
 cise, and they needed a fourth ; but I managed to see very 
 little of them aside from that. Sometimes Mr. Pendexter 
 tried to talk to me. But he was really too naive. His atti 
 tude towards the world seemed to be one of constant sur- 
 
 184 
 
INWARD VOYAGES 
 
 prise and wonder. We didn t wonder about the same 
 things, so we could n t hit it off very well." 
 
 Mrs. Costello laughed, " Alicia dear, sometimes I think 
 you are very exacting. All science begins in wonder. You 
 ought to have taken the poor boy in hand, and made a 
 Faraday out of him. That is what the Master would have 
 done. But Mr. Pendexter does n t at all agree with your 
 uncomplimentary picture of him." 
 
 " No," said Alicia, " I was quite wrong about him. Or 
 rather, I believe that something has happened to him. 
 He was entirely different at York from on the steamer. 
 And still different again here at Oxford. You must have 
 noticed that ! I have a theory about him. Would you like 
 to know what my theory is ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my dear." 
 
 " To hear us, one might fancy that we were two old 
 gossips, shredding our neighbors into very small bits ! " 
 
 " No, not if one were discriminating," said Mrs. Cos 
 tello, quietly. " It is not gossip to talk about the essential 
 qualities of people. It s only gossip when one discusses 
 the petty, unimportant things." 
 
 Alicia laughed merrily. " That is a comforting distinc 
 tion, at any rate, you dear Wise One. Well, my theory is 
 that something happened to Mr. Pendexter after he left 
 the steamer, and that whatever it was, the impression 
 deepened still further after he left York. I don t know 
 what it was, but it was something that stirred him to the 
 very depths. Then, here at Oxford, something very un 
 usual happened. I think I know what this was, though 
 you may not agree with my theory." 
 
 Alicia paused rather absent-mindedly and sat looking 
 185 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 into the fire. Mrs. Costello waited for a time and then in 
 terrupted her young friend by remarking, " I can hardly 
 tell, my dear, whether I agree with you or not, until I hear 
 what your theory is ! " 
 
 " Of course you can t, Carissima," Alicia said, arousing 
 herself. " Do forgive my stupidity. I quite forgot that I 
 was not thinking aloud. My theory is that Mr. Pendexter 
 met some deep sorrow, the death of a friend or something 
 of that sort, and in trying to grapple with it had the great 
 good fortune to hit upon the superconscious. I think that 
 quite without knowing it he entered at times into the third 
 stage of consciousness, and lost all sense of his own per 
 sonality. You remember that when we liked him best, he 
 seemed utterly impersonal, quite unconscious of himself 
 and of all other persons. Apparently he knew only what 
 was happening, just the event itself, and in the curious 
 completeness of his knowledge, he gave some hint of the 
 cosmic consciousness. I know this is a bold theory to apply 
 to such a person as Mr. Pendexter, but it s the only one 
 that will account for the wonderful change that took place 
 in him, and for his perfect manners. On the steamer Mr. 
 Pendexter had none of the ease of Mr. Morse or of Mr. 
 Fergusson. Here at Oxford, you remember, Mr. Pendexter 
 was more self-possessed than either of them. Sometimes I 
 felt that he went ahead of my own aplomb, and almost 
 ranked with you ! " 
 
 " Alicia, you are a shameless flatterer," protested Mrs. 
 Costello. " But about Mr. Pendexter, I hardly know. He 
 has never been with very evolved people. He told me so 
 himself, and asked many questions about the initiate life, 
 rather naive questions, you know. Apparently he had never 
 
 186 
 
INWARD VOYAGES 
 
 come in contact with any subtleties of thought. The super- 
 conscious hardly comes without one s knowing about it, 
 and working for it. Mr. Pendexter has never had a Master. 
 Indeed, I once asked him, for he made a remark that 
 showed so much insight that I thought for the moment 
 that he must have found a Master. But he said not unless 
 I called Emerson a Master." 
 
 " That is true," Alicia answered. "And that is the won 
 derful part about it. Mr. Pendexter is curiously honest 
 and simple. My theory is that this unusual childlike 
 goodness brought him into the superconscious without his 
 knowing it. He would probably be vastly surprised if he 
 could hear our talk. I even doubt whether he would un 
 derstand the mere terms. He just hit upon the fact for 
 himself." 
 
 "Perhaps," responded Mrs. Costello. "The Master 
 would delight in such a man, and could help him so 
 much." 
 
 " I really feel that we ought to have done more for Mr. 
 Pendexter," Alicia said. "I hope that we shall see him in 
 Italy, and have another chance." 
 
 As Mrs. Costello made no answer, Alicia looked at her 
 attentively. Mrs. Costello had closed her eyes, and her 
 face had all the mystery of a mask. It was serene and 
 beautiful, but quite motionless. Alicia understood this 
 mood, and waited quietly for her friend to come back from 
 her trance-like meditation. It was at least ten minutes 
 before Mrs. Costello opened her eyes. Her face had a look 
 of immortal youth about it, and when she smiled it seemed 
 to reflect some inner light. But she seemed not to be aware 
 that any time had passed. 
 
 187 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 "We shall see Mr. Peridexter again, I am very sure," 
 she said, quite as if there had been no break in the talk. 
 "I will ask him to come to us in Boston, and perhaps 
 spend some months." 
 
 " Carissima, you are a dear ! " cried Alicia, enthusiasti 
 cally. "Nothing could happen to him better than that! 
 It will almost make up for his not having a college educa 
 tion. He seems to regret so keenly that he never went to 
 college. I asked him one day whether he would not like 
 to study here at Oxford " 
 
 " That would never do," objected Mrs. Costello. " He 
 would be quite out of place here." 
 
 " Yes. That s just what he said. He said that he would 
 rather not study at all than study here. But you could 
 never guess his reason." 
 
 " Then tell me," said Mrs. Costello, smiling. 
 
 " He said that Oxford is snobbish, [that he would n t 
 come here himself or let any friend come here, for of the 
 two, it seemed to him that snobbishness is worse than 
 ignorance." 
 
 "He is quite right," Mrs. Costello answered. "It s 
 much worse than ignorance. But it was clever of him in 
 such a short time to detect the poison in our beautiful 
 Oxford. Did you put him up to it ? " 
 
 " I ? " questioned Alicia. " No, I d hardly recognized it 
 myself. At first, I tried to defend Oxford. But my argu 
 ments were not at all convincing. In fact, they failed to 
 convince even me when once the possibility had been ad 
 mitted. Mr. Pendexter said it was like malaria and got 
 into the blood. He thought that one could n t stop here 
 and breathe this atmosphere without being infected." 
 
 188 
 
INWARD VOYAGES 
 
 " If that s the case, we shall both have to be taking 
 some social quinine." 
 
 " I am beginning to realize myself," continued Alicia, 
 " that, splendid as it is here, one works against a certain 
 alien pressure. I have to take hold of myself every little 
 while and brush certain cobwebs out of my spirit! " 
 
 " Which means, I suppose," said Mrs. Costello, " that 
 when the work at the library is done, you would like to 
 be whisked over to the Continent, and draw a long breath 
 once more." 
 
 " It means just that, astute Carissima ; and now shall 
 we read a bit and get ready for bed ? It s your turn to 
 read to-night." 
 
 Alicia brought the book, and Mrs. Costello read in a 
 melodious, high-pitched voice that seemed to come from 
 neither woman, but from the air above. 
 
 It made the words of their chosen philosopher sound 
 like the voice of an oracle. 
 
CHAPTEK XI 
 NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 IT was a gray, drizzly afternoon, and Saturday. In addi 
 tion, it was cold, and the whole of southeast England 
 seemed as cheerless and dispiriting as could well be im 
 agined. The third-class carriages on the early afternoon 
 train from Canterbury to Dover were not heated. In one 
 of them, our three young friends sat somewhat forlornly, 
 trying to take an intelligent interest in such glimpses of 
 scenery as the gray mistiness allowed, and to keep up some 
 semblance of friendly talk. But in neither effort did they 
 meet with any marked success. Their little attempts at 
 pleasantry sounded like jokes at a funeral. Back of every 
 thing else, one important fact protruded itself, Stephen 
 was taking the Vaderland at Dover that very evening, 
 and the triple alliance, as he himself had named it, was 
 about coming to an end. 
 
 Donald was gloomy and silent. Stephen was gloomy 
 and mildly philosophic. Robert was gloomy and rebel 
 lious. 
 
 When the train reached Dover, the drizzle had thick 
 ened to a steady rain, the streets were a succession of pud 
 dles, and the dismal station was more dismal than ever. 
 The young men hunted up their trunks and consigned 
 them to their respective destinations. It had grown quite 
 dark. The sputtering street lamps added to the prevail 
 ing gloom by making it a trifle more visible. The three 
 
 190 
 
NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 men squeezed into an asthmatic cab and drove off through 
 the dark ugliness to the Hotel Alexandra. The discom 
 fort and depression of the party had now reached such a 
 pitch that the American sense of humor, never far sub 
 merged, came to the rescue and brought them to the little 
 hotel in somewhat improved spirits. 
 
 But every arrangement jarred. Would the gentlemen 
 have rooms ? yes, but only two of them. Would the 
 gentlemen have dinner at seven ? yes, but only two of 
 them. And so it went through all the small range of do 
 mestic affairs, that in spite of the rain outside could have 
 been so jolly had they only been for three, but that were 
 so dismal when one was abstracted. 
 
 Robert s room was in the front of the house, and had a 
 bright fire burning on the hearth. As the windows com 
 manded a view of the long pier and the approaching 
 waterway, the friends sat there together, without other 
 light than the fire, and watched for the incoming of the 
 steamer. Under ordinary circumstances they would have 
 had so much to say that the room would have rung with 
 talk and laughter. But now, so near to this unwelcome 
 separation, nothing seemed of sufficient importance to be 
 a suitable topic of conversation. Between Stephen and 
 Donald there had long been a very deep friendship. Be 
 tween Stephen and Robert, as we have seen, there had 
 sprung up a genuine affection that promised to be lasting. 
 Robert s timidity had long since vanished. He was silent 
 now, not from any embarrassment, but rather from a feel 
 ing that the situation expressed itself better without any 
 words. He realized that Europe would be manifestly diffi 
 cult with Stephen gone, and a trifle more difficult still on 
 
 191 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Monday when he and Donald parted at Calais, Donald 
 bound for Berlin and he. for Paris. 
 
 Robert put out his hand in the darkness and laid hold 
 of Stephen s. The answering pressure said more to both 
 men than any amount of talk could have done. It told 
 each man that in the other he had a veritable friend. 
 Then a curious thing happened. Robert had been con 
 scious of a moisture about his eyes, and a decidedly 
 unpleasant lump in his throat. But now he was aware of 
 a genuine lightness of spirits. It was as if he had said 
 good-by, the disagreeable part was all over, and he 
 was now free to enjoy his friend s company as an extra 
 favor granted by fate. He was glad to have it so, and to 
 find himself able to talk naturally and pleasantly, for the 
 situation had been growing irksome. Instead of enjoying 
 these last few moments together, all three men had been 
 wishing that the steamer would only come and go, and the 
 dreaded moment be over. 
 
 "When you get home, Stephen lad," said Robert, " you 
 will probably have next to nothing to do. Your few stray 
 clients will have found other more stay-at-home attorneys, 
 the old man will have got used to getting on without you, 
 and altogether you will feel yourself a superfluous mem 
 ber of the community. Ten to one you will wish yourself 
 back here with Donald and me " 
 
 " I do already," answered Stephen, heartily. " But I 
 don t see what s to be done about it." 
 
 " That s because you interrupted me. I was about to 
 propose that when these sad circumstances come about, 
 and time hangs heavy on your hands, you stir yourself and 
 do a score or more errands for me." 
 
 192 
 
NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 " Sure," said Stephen, in his old cheery tone ; " I 11 do 
 threescore and ten, if need be. What are they? Fire 
 ahead." 
 
 " Well, in the first place, you might go out to Bolton 
 some Sunday afternoon, and look up my three cousins." 
 
 " Are they all pretty? " asked Stephen. 
 
 " Yes ; they are all rather pretty, I should say. But 
 that has nothing to do with it. You are to go wholly as 
 my messenger, and not for your own pleasure." 
 
 " I like that," said Stephen ; " and wear green glass 
 goggles so as to keep my mind strictly to the errand ? " 
 
 "Yes, if it s so difficult for you to concentrate your 
 mind as all that." 
 
 " And what am I to say ? " 
 
 " That depends upon who comes to the door. If the 
 oldest one comes, that s Martha, you will bow and 
 say, How do you do, Miss Pendexter. I am Stephen 
 Morse, and have come to bring you a message from your 
 cousin, Robert Pendexter. If the second one comes, you 
 will say, 4 How do you do, Miss Mattie, ; 
 
 " And not bow ? " put in Stephen. 
 
 "Also bow. And if the youngest one comes to the 
 door, you will bow your very prettiest and say, 4 How do 
 you do, Miss Priscilla. I am Stephen Morse, etc." 
 
 " But how in thunder shall I know which is which ? " 
 
 " Very easily, if you use your wits. Priscilla is the 
 prettiest, Martha the most intellectual, and Mattie the 
 jolliest." 
 
 " As a lawyer," protested Stephen, " I submit that if 
 they don t line up and give some evidence of their beauty, 
 intellect, and humor for my judicial wit to act upon, I 
 
 193 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 don t see how I am to carry out your instructions. They 
 are not practical, sir. And like as not the inaid will come 
 to the door anyway. * 
 
 " Not if you go on Sunday afternoon. The maid will 
 be out, and they only keep one." 
 
 " Well, granted that I overcome the difficulties," said 
 Stephen, " what message am I to carry to these three 
 beautiful sisters ? " 
 
 " You are to tell them all about our trip, for they ve 
 never been to Europe, and it will entertain them im 
 mensely. And if you can t do it in one afternoon, you 
 will have to go twice. But that won t matter, since you 
 will have so much time on your hands." 
 
 " Lord, no," said Stephen. " And what s the next 
 errand?" 
 
 " The next is for a week-day afternoon, just to while 
 away the tedium while you are waiting for clients. You 
 might go around and call on Messrs. Watson and Reed, 
 the famous coffee and spice merchants in Doane Street." 
 
 " And talk about the weather ? " put in Stephen. 
 
 " No ; something more worth while. You can talk about 
 me." 
 
 " And tell them how happy you are not to be in their 
 very agreeable company any longer ? " 
 
 " Precisely," said Robert ; " only put it more diplo 
 matically. Tell them that with my present advantage of 
 over three months perspective, the coffee and spice enter 
 prise seems to me a hopelessly dull affair, and that I 
 should advise them to save their own souls if they are 
 not already lost by pulling out of the business and leav 
 ing it to the junior clerks. You might offer to make out 
 
 194 
 
NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 the necessary legal papers to settle the transfer, and then 
 they would be sure of your own disinterestedness." 
 
 " Oh, little Pen, you re a great one. Shall I give your 
 love to the lady typist, and tell her that when you get 
 home you mean to come and marry her ? " 
 
 "Not by a great deal. When you see her, you will 
 understand why. The lady typist they had when I was 
 there looked as if she fed on ten-penny nails. But you 
 might give my love to the office boy, Dennis Sullivan. 
 He was the only decent fellow in the bunch. Tell him I 
 mean to look him up just as soon as I get home, and that 
 I m downright ashamed of myself never to have written 
 to him." 
 
 " I thought you had," said Donald ; " I remember see 
 ing his name on some of the mail we sent off." 
 
 " Nothing but picture postals," answered Robert, " and 
 only occasionally at that." 
 
 " I 11 think the matter over, little Pen, and try to be 
 both diplomatic and truthful. But not now ; for if I 
 can see straight through my tears, there, my hearties, is 
 the Vaderland sticking her nose into Dover waterway and 
 making directly for the pier. I d better be off." 
 
 Donald and Robert strained their eyes to penetrate 
 the mist, and made out the lights of a big steamer that 
 promised to be the Vaderland. 
 
 " Now don t come to the pier with me," begged Stephen. 
 " It s a nasty night, and I d much rather think of you 
 both as safe and sound in this cheery room, waiting 
 for the inevitable roast joint that passes over here for 
 dinner." 
 
 44 Not on your life," said Donald, grimly. " We re 
 195 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 going to the pier, and what s more, we are going to board 
 the steamer to see what sort of a state-room you have ,* 
 and what s more, we are then going to stand shivering on 
 the pier, mingling our tears with the salt spray and the 
 fresh raindrops, until the gang-plank is pulled in, and 
 you are off to the land of the free and the home of the 
 brave, are n t we, Pen ? " 
 
 " We are, all of that, and whatever else the occasion 
 demands." 
 
 " And then, when you are really off," continued Don 
 ald, "we are going to feel as lost as the babes in the 
 wood, and be wholly miserable." 
 
 Outside, the rain was falling with melancholy persist 
 ence. The three friends, bundled up in long raincoats, 
 and managing their umbrellas as best they could, made 
 their way along the glistening quay, and out the long, 
 gusty pier to the landing-stage. The steamer came crawl 
 ing up through the mist, and was finally fastened along 
 side of the pier. All three men went on board, but for 
 two of them it had to be a hasty visit. As soon as Robert 
 and Donald had assured themselves that Stephen was well 
 provided for in the way of a state-room, they had to 
 scurry down the gang-plank and join the little crowd of 
 persons on the pier who, under most adverse circum 
 stances, were trying to pretend that the process of saying 
 good-by is a cheerful operation. There were a few ghastly 
 triumphs, but on the whole they were more disheartening 
 than the open failures. Stephen hung over the rail, the 
 excitement of putting off having restored his usual buoy 
 ant spirits. From time to time he shouted some parting 
 advice, and had fairly successful retorts from Robert, less 
 
 196 
 
NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 frequently from Donald. The big steamer got under mo 
 tion, and soon Stephen s friendly figure was lost in the 
 gloom. The last they heard was a faint " Au revoir, my 
 hearties ! Don t be Mr. Smiths ! And remember 
 But the last words were lost in the splash of the waters, 
 and they could only guess what it was that they were to 
 remember. 
 
 Sunday at Dover, or indeed in any little English town, 
 is not a very exhilarating occasion. The sun came out, it 
 is true, and dried up the puddles. Masses of magnificent 
 white clouds rolled up from the Channel and outlined them 
 selves against the deep blue of the sky. But the sun 
 brought out no friendliness in the little seaport. On all 
 sides, there were too obvious evidences of decay. Over 
 it all there rested an atmosphere of smug respectability 
 that seemed to rob the very sunshine of any joy. Donald 
 declared that he wanted to swear, but happily omitted 
 to carry out his wish. Robert was curious to discover the 
 source of this depressing influence. It recalled his memo 
 rable Sunday morning at York, and the gloom that struck 
 in upon his soul as they walked toward the Minster. But 
 here there was no redeeming Minster, no inspiring music. 
 The sea and sky failed to take their place. In the absence 
 of ecclesiastical architecture and church music, the two 
 friends amused themselves by counting up the number of 
 houses for sale or to rent. Although the numbers grew 
 rapidly, as a resource it soon failed to amuse, and they 
 were glad to return to their comfortable little hotel. There 
 were only two other guests, but the lady proprietress had 
 considerable skill in talk, and the two young men were 
 forced to admit that, thanks to her, and the cook, 
 
 197 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 the dinner was a success. Robert mentioned the number 
 of vacant houses they had seen, and asked the meaning 
 of it. The lady proprietress confessed that the town was 
 not prospering, and added feelingly that having so many 
 vacant houses made the rates very high. 
 
 "You don t mean to say," exclaimed Robert, "that your 
 vacant houses pay no taxes ? " 
 
 "Practically none," the lady proprietress answered, 
 " unless they are furnished, and luggage vans are common 
 enough, are n t they ? " 
 
 Even Donald, poet and idealist, pricked up his ears, and 
 volunteered somewhat explosively : " We would n t stand 
 for that, you know, in America. All real estate pays taxes, 
 whether it s occupied or not. It s the only fair way ! " 
 
 The Indian colonel sitting opposite Donald opened his 
 mouth to speak, but thought better of it and devoted 
 himself wholly to his dinner. 
 
 The Channel is not so bad as it is painted, and especially 
 when the sun shines and the wind is mannerly. Robert and 
 Donald found little to admire in the arrangements of the 
 boat, but exulted in the good air and sunshine. They 
 reached Calais in a surprisingly short time. Both had 
 looked forward to the traditional ordeal, but experienced 
 instead a genuine pleasure. Calais, from the roadstead, is 
 not very impressive. Donald gazed at it rather contempt 
 uously, and blurted out : " To think that Queen Mary 
 should have had Calais written on her heart when she 
 might have had so many prettier things ! " 
 
 " Oh, well," said Robert, comfortingly, " Queen Mary 
 was never thought to have very good taste, in Boston !" 
 
 Donald got them through the custom-house easily, and 
 198 
 
NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 saw Robert safely settled in the through express for Paris. 
 There was, fortunately, little time for leave-taking. Robert 
 was soon speeding southward ; and somewhat later Donald 
 was moving in more leisurely fashion towards Berlin. The 
 triple alliance had been dissolved. 
 
 Robert had expected to feel completely lost when he 
 found himself on this journey, and for the first time alone 
 in Europe. But quite to his surprise, he decidedly liked 
 the sensation. He liked the feel of paddling his own 
 canoe. This new Europe, with its unknown tongue and 
 different architecture, was much more the Europe of his 
 boyish imagination. There were plenty of Americans in 
 the carriage, there always are in everything headed for 
 Paris, and sometimes their voices sounded unnecessarily 
 harsh. But Robert s seat was next to the window, and he 
 found too much of interest outside to pay any attention to 
 his fellow passengers. Robert did not know French. He 
 watched all the signs, however, and being rather quick at 
 putting two and two together, he contrived to get the 
 meaning out of many of them. He had, moreover, a re 
 markable little conversation book from which he extracted 
 many sentences, a few of which were useful. His Paris 
 Baedeker was in English. He had originally wanted to 
 buy it in French, quite assured that his very necessities 
 would force him to learn the language so much the sooner. 
 But Stephen had laid restraining hand upon this heroic 
 impulse. He had counseled the purchase of the book in 
 English, and with so much insistence that it might almost 
 be called compulsion. Robert was frequently grateful for 
 the violence. 
 
 At the present moment, speeding towards Paris, Robert 
 199 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 was in high spirits. He was almost ashamed of it. He 
 kept telling himself how much he missed his friends, and 
 it was all very genuine, but nevertheless he was unaccount 
 ably glad to be alone. He also reproached himself for the 
 childish pleasure he took in the comfort of the first-class 
 carriage. He had been quite willing to travel third-class 
 in England, but now that it was no longer necessary, he 
 enjoyed the luxury of the first-class with a zest that his 
 New England conscience could not wholly approve of. 
 
 When the train pulled into the great Gare du Nord, 
 Kobert clutched his suit-case and umbrella with a firm 
 grip he had heard that Paris was a very wicked place, 
 and full of pitfalls for the young and unwary and made 
 his way out to a cab-stand. In spite of their uniforms and 
 brass numbers, Robert would not allow the porters to 
 put hand to his luggage, or even so much as to call a cab 
 for him. He deemed it safer to do all this for himself. 
 After what seemed to him very praiseworthy circumspec 
 tion, and the proper noting of its official number, Robert 
 finally intrusted himself to a safe-looking vehicle. He had 
 had enough of hotels. In America they had always ap 
 peared to him as delectable places. But two months among 
 English hotels is enough to disillusionize almost any one. 
 Robert had decided to try a pension, and in order to be 
 quite sure that it was respectable and proper, he chose the 
 first one mentioned in Baedeker, the Pension Carpenter, 
 on the Avenue de Friedlaiid. He knew precisely where it 
 was on the map of the city, and had even traced out the 
 probable route from the Gare du Nord. Robert almost 
 hung out of the window of the cab in his keen interest 
 in all the activities of this bustling foreign city. It was 
 
 200 
 
NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 already growing dark, but he was genuinely sorry when 
 the route came to an end, and he found himself at the 
 door of his chosen pension. 
 
 There was some question about a room, and whether he 
 had written ahead, and whether he had been recommended 
 to them. In the midst of it all, a brisk-looking, middle- 
 aged Englishwoman appeared, looked Robert over in one 
 quick glance, and said that he could have the corner 
 chamber on the fourth etage. The tall clerk still seemed 
 skeptical about Robert s qualifications, as he had not 
 written ahead, and asked, apparently more to satisfy his 
 own doubts than from any concern for Robert s posses 
 sions, if Monsieur also had a trunk. Robert was much 
 chagrined to find that in this, his first little journey alone, 
 he had been so little competent that he had wholly for 
 gotten his trunk, and had left it at the Gare du Nord. 
 The clerk said it would be all right, however, as the 
 portier could get it. Instead of being annoyed, the portier 
 grinned, and looked rather pleased at the commission 
 thus thrust upon him. Robert thought that he must be 
 a very good-natured man. 
 
 Then a maid was called and told to take Robert to his 
 room. She put him in a dim automatic lift, shut the door, 
 and started him towards the roof. The tiny cage moved 
 at snail s pace, but even this over-temperance in the matter 
 of speed failed to produce the illusion of safety. Robert 
 was relieved to have the contrivance finally come to rest, 
 and to find himself on the level with a corridor. It is 
 needless to say that the maid got there first. She had the 
 suit-case and umbrella in her hand, and the same imper 
 turbable smile on her face. She did not even seem out of 
 
 201 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 breath. She led Kobert along a gloomy corridor, around 
 huge hampers, boxes, and trunks, and finally landed him 
 by devious ways in front of the corner chamber to which 
 he had been assigned. Robert himself could see no door, 
 but the maid found a door-knob. In a flash, a narrow 
 opening appeared in the evenly papered wall, and Robert 
 stepped into his own room. 
 
 It was not a grand apartment, the one that Robert 
 found himself in, but scrupulously clean, and much in 
 taste. The long French windows opened on a narrow 
 balcony. Robert threw aside his overcoat, and stepped 
 out. He found himself among the treetops of the Avenue 
 de Friedland, in the regions of the upper mansards. Near 
 at hand, in vague, mystic beauty, the Arc de Triomphe 
 rose clear and majestic against the western sky. 
 
 And this was Paris! 
 
 It was what Robert had imagined it would be. He 
 drew a deep breath of satisfaction. Then he turned back 
 into his room. He knew that he should like Paris, and 
 that he should be very happy there. The maid had touched 
 a match to the fire, turned on the light, unstrapped his 
 suit-case, all in a flash, and had disappeared through the 
 hole in the wall that served as a door. Robert felt a sense 
 of peace and comfort greater than he had known for several 
 weeks. He felt a curious affinity for Paris, and much of the 
 thrill that had characterized his early days on the steamer. 
 
 Once more, Robert stepped out on the balcony. The 
 night had deepened, but in the west, the gold and old 
 rose filled the sky with a parting glory. The Arc de 
 Triomphe was only a vague outline, but in some subtle 
 way it spoke to Robert of aspiration and achievement. 
 
 202 
 
NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 He was glad to live so very near it, in its very shadow, as 
 it were, and he felt his own spirit soar into rarer regions. 
 As he reviewed his life in England, with its storm and 
 stress, its touches of happiness, its suggested illuminations, 
 he felt that he must not regret anything that had hap 
 pened there, since it had been a time of awakening. But 
 now that he was beginning to be awake, it was no longer 
 the place for him. It was here on the Continent, in this 
 freer atmosphere of ideas, that he would find knowledge 
 and growth. He recalled what Sappho had once said to 
 him, that the Continent was the place to get ideas, and 
 England at best only a place to use them. Robert knew 
 too little either of the Continent or of England to divine 
 a cause. As yet it was only an intuition, but had it been 
 a proposition in Euclid, he could not have felt more deeply 
 assured of its truth. Something told him that this was his 
 chance, and that in the broader life of the Continent, he 
 would find what he sought. 
 
 In this retrospect and prospect, Robert had thought of 
 Pauline in the same objective way that he had thought 
 of Sappho and Miss Frothingham, but he had not at all 
 dwelt upon the fact that he was to see her again in Paris. 
 She had no part in the wonderful dreams that made the 
 Continent seem so alluring. It was quite dark when Robert 
 turned back into his room, closed the long French win 
 dow, and rather mechanically dressed for dinner. When 
 this was accomplished, he retraced his steps along the much 
 encumbered corridor. He avoided the lift, preferring to 
 walk down the many flights of marble steps that separated 
 him from the salle a manger. This was a curious room, 
 terminating in an awkward, rounded triangle. The tables 
 
 203* 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 were too close together, and there were too many people, 
 for the size of the apartment. The people were more 
 plainly dressed than they had been in England. None of 
 the other men wore evening clothes, and the women had 
 manifestly freshened up their afternoon costumes instead 
 of discarding them for something more elaborate. In spite 
 of this outer inferiority, however, Kobert was struck by 
 the fact that the total effect was very attractive and 
 human, far better than he had been seeing for some time. 
 In England, the wooden servants with their monotonous 
 " Thank you " had got on his nerves, and the prevailing 
 gloom of the many dining-rooms had fairly taken away 
 his appetite. But here, in this odd-shaped, overcrowded 
 dining-room, the scene had an air of natural and proper 
 gayety about it that made every stranger in it seem 
 friendly. The waiters were more alert and human. They 
 even ventured to put some expression into their faces when 
 they spoke to the guests. And the guests themselves were 
 talking, not about hot water and baths and food and 
 colonial appointments, but about matters that, to judge 
 from the vivacity of the talk and the warmth of the in 
 terest, were clearly in themselves worth while. 
 
 It was quickly assumed that Robert did not speak French, 
 and he was consequently placed at a small table where 
 both English and American were doing lively service. As 
 he sat down, every one at the table looked up and said 
 " Good-evening." He was glad to see the brisk-looking 
 Englishwoman, who had approved of his visible creden 
 tials when he first arrived, sitting at the end of the table. 
 She evidently had something to do with the running of the 
 pension. It seemed quite natural that she should know his 
 
 204 
 
NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 own name. She introduced him to the four other people 
 at the table, not in a solemn way that made it seem a final 
 and talk-discouraging ceremony, but in a sprightly fashion, 
 which suggested that introductions were at most mere pre 
 liminaries, and only worth while as they led to something 
 better. It was the only table at which English was being 
 spoken. At the other tables, apparently every known 
 tongue of Europe was in use. 
 
 The brisk-looking Englishwoman asked Robert where he 
 had come from, and when he said directly from England, 
 questioned him as to how he liked it. 
 
 " Not at all," Robert answered, with entire frankness. 
 " Not nearly so much as Paris." 
 
 " Oh, then you know Paris ? " she suggested. 
 
 " Hardly. I ve only been here two or three hours." 
 
 " Then it must be that you dislike England," said the 
 lady, smiling at Robert s positiveness. 
 
 " I m afraid I do," he answered. " I m almost ashamed 
 to say it. I think you re English yourself, aren t you?" 
 
 " Yes, I am ; but you need n t apologize. I ve lived 
 thirty years in Paris, and I know just what you mean. I 
 don t like England, either. But tell me how you happen 
 to dislike it so." 
 
 " Because it s so snobbish," said Robert, promptly. 
 " And because the people are so dull, and talk about such 
 stupid things, and have so few ideas. I don t like the spirit 
 there." 
 
 " That is just what I dislike," assented the lady, " the 
 spirit. But you know there are many English people who 
 feel precisely as we do about these things. They are not 
 all snobbish and dull." 
 
 205 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " Oh, I know that," Robert hastened to answer. " I ve 
 heard that the farther you get away from England, the 
 nicer the English people are." 
 
 They all laughed, and an American lady added, " Which 
 comes pretty near to saying that when they cease being 
 English, they are really quite tolerable." 
 
 " Not so bad as that," said Robert. " I mean that when 
 you mix a little human, democratic yeast with English 
 virtues, the result is tremendously fine. If, for example, 
 you give them thirty years of Paris," and he turned po 
 litely to the hostess. 
 
 " You are almost a Frenchman, with your ready flattery," 
 Miss Carpenter answered. " But it s not time or geogra 
 phical distance. The English in India are worse than the 
 English at home. The thing that counts is the extent to 
 which they emancipate themselves from the ideals of the 
 so-called upper classes, with their sickening worship of 
 social position, and their too great disregard of human 
 qualities. This emancipation does come to us, but it comes 
 only in spots. Strip an Englishman of his insularity, and 
 he is a pretty fine specimen of the human race. If you 
 Americans, Mr. Pendexter, would only take our House of 
 Lords bodily over to Chicago, and give each member a 
 rich American wife and a hunting-lodge in the Rocky 
 Mountains, England would not be such a bad place for 
 the rest of us." 
 
 " We are certainly doing our best to supply them with 
 wives," said Robert. " Perhaps the next generation will 
 be more lively and democratic." 
 
 " I doubt it," responded Miss Carpenter. " I am sorry 
 to say that the Americans who come to England do nothing 
 
 206 
 
NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 to redeem us. They only confirm us in our sins. Whether 
 they marry and settle, or whether they merely settle, or 
 whether they simply skim the outskirts of upper-class 
 society, they outdo the English in the very faults we are 
 complaining of. The women are brighter than ours, and 
 while they are young and pretty, their vivacity carries the 
 day, at least among the men ; but every woman has at last 
 to make terms with her own sex, and some gray day when 
 she is no longer petted and courted, she folds the wings 
 that now can only get her into trouble, and grows to be as 
 conservative and commonplace and snobbish as any old 
 dowager among ourselves. I wish earnestly that the Ameri 
 cans would act as a leaven. Of course some few of them 
 do. But the majority of them, both men and women, do 
 us no good. They get to be even worse than we are!" 
 
 " At any rate, they dress better," suggested the Ameri 
 can lady. 
 
 " A small virtue," said Miss Carpenter, " when it is a 
 question of the human spirit, when human souls are the 
 issue. It s like Nero s fiddling while Rome burns ! " 
 
 Robert listened attentively to this arraignment of his 
 countrymen. He could hardly say whether it was true or 
 not. The women he knew in America did not belong to the 
 fashionable set who either marry into the English nobility, 
 or essay the difficult feat of storming English society. The 
 cousins at Bolton belonged to what is known in New Eng 
 land as " solid stock," and the few other women he knew 
 either belonged to the same class, or, if they hailed from 
 Pinckney Street, to one a step lower down. Here in 
 Europe he knew only three American women, Pauline, 
 Sappho, and Miss Frothingham, and they were certainly 
 
 207 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 not place-hunters, with designs upon either English pedi 
 gree or English society. As Robert thought about them, 
 he realized that none of them were typical. Of course 
 they had traits common to all well-bred Americans, but 
 by no ultra- Americanism could they be put forward as 
 representative. In spite of his limited social experience, 
 Robert felt sure that they were all unusual women, and 
 each in her own way rare and wonderful. As he recalled 
 some of the stories he had read in the newspapers about 
 society and its doings in New York, in Lenox, and in 
 Newport, he half suspected that his hostess was right. " It 
 may be," he said finally, " that we do not see the best 
 of your nation, just as you do not, as a rule, see the best 
 of ours." 
 
 " Thank you ! " exclaimed the American lady ; " I Ve 
 been with Miss Carpenter for four months." 
 
 Robert looked at her in some surprise. The retort 
 struck him as ill-bred in making such quick personal appli 
 cation of a general remark. He was too honest to do what 
 she evidently expected him to do, put in an elaborate dis 
 claimer, or even take refuge in the trite saying that pre 
 sent company is always excepted. It was the hostess who 
 reminded her pleasantly that Mr. Pendexter had said "as 
 a rule," and must therefore be held guiltless. Undoubt 
 edly it was perverse in the American lady, but she liked 
 Robert the better for what she was pleased to consider his 
 rudeness. 
 
 Robert continued rather gravely, " I do not know Amer 
 ica very well, not even Boston, but in the summer, when I 
 take my vacation, I do meet people from all over the coun 
 try. I ve known the boarders in a small farmhouse in 
 
 208 
 
NEW ENVIRONMENTS 
 
 Vermont to come from half a dozen different states, south 
 ern and western, as well as our eastern and middle states. 
 And the people are as different as if they d come from 
 different countries. They use different words and pro 
 nounce them differently. They have such unlike ideas 
 about government and religion, and the things that are 
 worth while. As you know," he added, turning to the 
 American lady, " they even dress differently." 
 
 " I should hope so," she retorted quickly ; " I should 
 hate to dress like the New Englanders do." 
 
 Robert ignored the thrust so completely that the lady 
 doubted whether he had perceived it. He went on imper- 
 turbably : " I have been tempted to think, since I Ve been 
 in Europe, that we haven t such a thing as a typical 
 American, not even a typical New Englander or South 
 erner or Westerner. They may look alike, and talk alike, 
 and seem alike, but when you really get to know them, 
 each is more of an individual than a type. I even doubt 
 whether it is accurate to speak of a typical millionaire, or 
 a typical manufacturer, or even of a typical politician. 
 They ve a lot in common on the surface, but it s the hid 
 den qualities that count. If I, a born Massachusetts man, 
 can t decide upon a typical American, I don t wonder that 
 foreigners get all mixed up about us, and are quite at the 
 mercy of the particular men and women they ve happened 
 to meet. Perhaps it s the same in England, and that after 
 all we have no right to judge." 
 
 "That s a charitable suggestion, isn t it?" said the 
 hostess. " But I hardly think it applies to England quite 
 as fitly as it does to America. We re a fairly homogeneous 
 people, you know, but your nation is made up of all the 
 
 209 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 races under the sun. It is possible, I think, to run down 
 a typical Englishman, and I quite agree that he is singu 
 larly insular and irritating. But there s another and a 
 broader type appearing. We are coming to have an Eng 
 lishman who is bent on doing great things personally, in 
 art and literature and scholarship, and not so bent on 
 governing all the rest of the world. He s bound to in 
 crease, you know, and some day I m hoping that he will be 
 the typical Englishman, a modern Elizabethan, who will 
 gain some of the love of the world, as well as such a big 
 slice of its commerce." 
 
 " He d better go in for the love," spoke up an Ameri 
 can gentleman, rather brusquely, u for he s losing some of 
 the commerce. England is sinking back into the position 
 of a second-class power. But quite seriously, I think her 
 chances of real success are deepening. It s not good for 
 an Englishman to be cock of the walk all the time. If you 
 let him have his way all the time, he s a good deal of a 
 brute. But make him give in a bit, and he can be a very 
 decent fellow. That s the reason it s so good for him to 
 have an American wife." 
 
 " William ! " said the second American lady protestingly. 
 
 Robert had not caught her name, but now he felt sure 
 that she must be the speaker s wife. It occurred to him 
 that this trick of suddenly intruding a personal note into 
 serious discussion was really very annoying, and he won 
 dered whether it could be distinctively American. At any 
 rate, it flattened out the conversation with quite amazing 
 speed. He glanced over at the hostess. She evidently 
 agreed with him. She had called a servant and was giving 
 some instructions that seemed not to be absolutely necessary. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 PAULINE 
 
 ROBERT liked the sensation of being in Paris. He could 
 hardly have told why he did, but when he awoke the 
 next morning and looked around his small apartment, 
 he breathed a sigh of deep contentment. It was still early 
 when he had a fire lighted in the grate, and his morning 
 coffee brought to him. He dressed quickly, and spent 
 some moments on the balcony, taking his first daylight 
 view of his surroundings. Then he returned to his room, 
 bent on making it comfortable for the month that he 
 meant to stay pensionnaire. 
 
 It was characteristic of Robert s orderly, old-fashioned 
 ways that he should first of all unpack his trunk down to 
 the very last articles, and have its much belabeled bulk 
 added to the motley assemblage in the corridor. The con 
 tents of the trunk told in concrete fashion some of the 
 changes that had been taking place in Robert s life since 
 September. It was merely a small steamer trunk, but it 
 came from Boston scarcely more than half filled. Now it 
 was uncomfortably full, and would manifestly soon need a 
 companion. Not only had the contents changed in quan 
 tity, but they had suffered a still more astonishing change 
 in quality. The evening clothes purchased in Liverpool 
 had been supplemented by still more elaborate shopping 
 in Regent Street. It was Stephen who had suggested that 
 at best a quiet gentleman like Robert could wear but a 
 few clothes in the course of a year, and that they ought, 
 
 211 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 for the sake of excellence in general, to be of the soundest 
 quality and make. Not only would they look better while 
 in service, urged the judicial Stephen, but they would also 
 wear longer. Robert had yielded to this dual argument, 
 with results that added materially to his personal appear 
 ance. This morning he meant to carry the process still 
 farther. He went through all his possessions, separating 
 the sheep from the goats. The sheep he put away care 
 fully in clothespress and bureau drawers. The goats he 
 piled in a neat heap on the floor. It was an interesting 
 heap, and I am not sure that his Aunt Matilda Pendexter 
 would have approved of it. Certainly the Robert Pendex 
 ter of Pinckney and Doane Streets would have regarded it 
 as an unholy extravagance. The gray sack suit, bought on 
 Washington Street, and with many months of service to its 
 credit, formed the basis of the pile. Then came a miscel 
 laneous collection of frayed linen, discarded underwear, 
 collars and cuffs with circuitous edges, a pair of shoes that 
 in earlier days would have suffered another half -soling, and 
 on top of all a rainbow collection of neckties, the flotsam 
 and jetsam of many years of service, but now thrown over 
 by reason of too visible shabbiness, or too poor quality, or, 
 most extravagant of all, because their colors, once thought 
 highly suitable, were no longer regarded by a more fastid 
 ious taste as being quite becoming. 
 
 In making up this remarkable collection of clothing, 
 Robert had more than once hesitated and been on the 
 point of rescuing some garment or necktie, but he put the 
 temptation aside, and went grimly on. He even passed 
 the sheep in final survey, and abstracted one or two articles 
 from their ranks. When the elimination was at last com- 
 
 212 
 
PAULINE 
 
 pleted, it became very evident that a second trunk would 
 not be needed for some weeks to come. The next question 
 was how to get rid of the goats. Robert rang the bell once 
 more. The same maid, with the same imperturbable smile, 
 appeared. Robert could find no fitting phrase in his little 
 conversation book for the present occasion, so he merely 
 pointed to the pile, and indicated that the things were to 
 be removed from the room. The maid looked a little ap 
 palled at the size and heterogeneity of the collection, but 
 soon bundled them all out into the over-occupied corridor. 
 In a moment she returned with a lead pencil and a laun 
 dry-list. Robert shook his head, brought out his pocket 
 dictionary, and managed to say, "Pour les pauvres." 
 
 The maid gave Robert an appreciative smile, and later 
 in the day, could he have followed the matter to its con 
 clusion, he would have seen her bestowing his former pro 
 perty upon a poor young artisan, whom she meant all in 
 good season to enrich by the gift of her own hand. With 
 each article she also gave a merry laugh and an admirable 
 imitation of Robert s halting speech when he said, " Pour 
 les pauvres." 
 
 Robert stepped out on the balcony while his small apart 
 ment was being put in order. He foresaw that he should 
 often be stepping out on the balcony. It was sunny and 
 warm out there, and though aside from the great Arc de 
 Triomphe the view offered little but treetops, chimney 
 pots, and mansards, the friendly sky was always there, and 
 a dryer, more crystalline air than Robert had recently had 
 the opportunity to drink in. When he went inside, the 
 little chamber was in perfect order. Robert put a few 
 finishing touches to his somewhat hurried toilet. He car- 
 
 213 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 ried his clothes well, the new London suit, the better 
 linen, the more correct tie, and, of greater importance, 
 he carried himself well, far better than formerly. Priscilla 
 would have promptly assured him that he looked very 
 swell, and Mattie would have added by way of mischief, 
 
 " for him." But they would doubtless have been puz 
 zled by the more subtle changes in his appearance, the 
 easier manners, and the change in his face, a change that 
 spoke of a greatly enlarged experience. It must not be 
 thought that Robert had grown fashionable, or was giving 
 over-much attention to dress. He was not himself aware 
 of the marked improvement in his own appearance. He 
 had merely been passing judgment upon his personal pos 
 sessions, and now that his attention had been called to such 
 matters as being part of the larger scheme of excellence, 
 his judgment was proving remarkably good. 
 
 The material side of things being thus temporarily dis 
 posed of, they decline any more permanent retirement, 
 
 Robert drew an armchair up before the fire. Tempt 
 ing as the Parisian streets looked, he meant to resist 
 them until after luncheon. He was bent for the moment 
 on making plans, and sat note-book, calendar, and lead 
 pencil in hand. It was already November. The Christ 
 mas holidays would not be a good time for traveling. 
 Robert marked the second Monday in January as the day 
 for starting for Italy. This would double his proposed 
 stay in Paris, but the longer time would not be too much 
 for all he planned to do. In the first place, he meant to 
 have a French lesson every day. He had heard that the 
 language was easy. In the several weeks at his disposal, 
 he fancied that he could make a sufficient start to go on 
 
 214 
 
PAULINE 
 
 afterwards without a master. This plan was wholly of his 
 own making, and was to be a secret until he could speak 
 and read French with some facility. He could easily pic 
 ture the surprise of the cousins at Bolton when this 
 accomplishment first became known. But it was not for 
 the cheap pleasure of creating this surprise that he was 
 taking up the language. He was not quite sure what his 
 real motive was. In a way, he liked the idea of its con 
 venience. But deeper than that was the instinct that such 
 knowledge would be a help in appreciation, just how or 
 why, he could not quite have said. Perhaps also he wanted 
 to propose some feat in scholarship to see whether he was 
 still equal to it. 
 
 In the next place, and largely in deference to Stephen s 
 insistent urging, Robert meant to take up some form of 
 physical culture. Stephen had been on the track team at 
 Harvard, was even now a member of the cadets, and 
 counted health and strength as part of the moral life. He 
 had put it to Robert as a duty, knowing that no other 
 appeal was so sure of success. In addition, the tailors of 
 both London and Liverpool had pointed out to Robert 
 that one shoulder was considerably lower than the other. In 
 Regent Street, the man had added by way of finality that 
 " it was a shame for a rich young gentleman like him to be 
 at all lop-sided, for them as did n t know might mistake 
 him for a bookkeeper or a clerk." At the risk of a less as 
 sured fit, Robert had replied promptly that until recently 
 he had been both. For quite a different reason, however, he 
 hated the idea of being in any way misshappen. From the 
 time he was a very small boy, any deformity had repelled 
 him strongly. He winced both times at the thought of 
 
 215 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 having crooked shoulders, but he would hardly have 
 thought of trying seriously to mend matters had Stephen 
 not urged regular physical culture. 
 
 In the third place, and this on Donald s advice, Robert 
 meant to try to cultivate a love for the drama. He planned 
 to go to the theatre several times a week, and perhaps 
 if he could stand it he might go every night. Even 
 in its milder form, this determination had cost him some 
 effort, and was made more grimly than pleasure is usually 
 mapped out. 
 
 Donald had jokingly advised that Eobert should also 
 fall in love, it really did n t matter with whom, anybody 
 from a grisette up. But Robert was not even amused at 
 the proposition. 
 
 Both Stephen and Donald themselves would have been 
 vastly amused could they have known how very seriously 
 Robert was planning this campaign of personal culture. 
 The triple alliance had been wholly dissolved as far as 
 actual presence went, but it is doubtful whether the two 
 friends had ever exercised so practical an influence over 
 Robert in Great Britain, when they were all together, as 
 they were doing now in Paris, when he was quite alone. 
 For one thing, they were not there to laugh at him when 
 he did follow their suggestions. We are not likely to 
 admit it, but distance lends enchantment to advice as well 
 as to some other things. 
 
 Robert s curriculum was a trifle diverting, French, 
 gymnastics, and the theatre, and especially as applied 
 to so unworldly and unathletic a person as Robert, but it 
 was better chosen than he in his ignorance quite knew. It 
 was at least a step in the right direction, since each object 
 
 216 
 
PAULINE 
 
 of culture represented a possible enlargement in his own 
 nature. 
 
 Robert added a fourth purpose to the list. It was in 
 volved, it is true, in the other three, but he meant to cul 
 tivate it additionally, as an end in itself. Of all his plans, 
 it was perhaps the one that Robert would have been the 
 shyest about avowing. Like the theatre-going, it was due 
 to Donald. As we have seen, Donald had repeatedly charged 
 Robert with lacking imagination. He even said that Ste 
 phen lacked imagination. Indeed, this was Donald s favor 
 ite explanation for any attitude of mind or any concrete 
 behaviour that was not immediately comprehensible to the 
 poetic mode of thought. Most of Donald s little preach 
 ments were thrown off in a casual, happy-go-lucky fashion 
 that made one wonder just how much influence he had in the 
 schoolroom. At first, Robert gave these preachments scant 
 respect. But with the passing of the weeks he had come to 
 see that however careless or exaggerated Donald s speech 
 might seem, it was never devoid of a certain incontestable 
 truth. Stephen could shred Robert s own meagre philosophy 
 of life into the veriest tatters, but he could gain none but 
 very minor victories over the poet. Robert accepted this 
 oft-repeated judgment upon himself, and quite genuinely 
 acknowledged that he must be deficient in imagination. 
 He was at a loss to know how to remedy such a funda 
 mental defect. He hoped much from the drama, something 
 from the French lessons, and even a little from the gymnas 
 tics. But such a grave defect ought not, he reasoned, to be 
 left to accidental and secondary remedies. He determined 
 to make at least an attempt in the way of direct, first-hand 
 culture. Sundays were to be devoted to this end. Robert 
 
 217 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 decided that every single Sunday he remained in Paris, he 
 would do something different and unusual. He might even 
 sketch, or perhaps try to write something other than letters. 
 Could Donald have known of these rather matter-of-fact 
 and prosaic plans for catching so wayward a thing as the 
 imagination, he would have declared that Robert had even 
 less imagination than he supposed and was quite hopeless. 
 Stephen, on the contrary, would have slapped Robert on 
 the back, and offered to bet ten to one that Robert would 
 come out ahead. 
 
 This orderly arrangement of his possessions and his 
 days occupied Robert so completely that he was surprised 
 to find the morning gone and the luncheon hour at hand. 
 When he went down to the table, he had occasion to ap 
 prove once more his decision in favor of pensions as against 
 hotels. The Americans were out shopping or sight-see 
 ing, and Miss Carpenter and Robert were the only ones at 
 their table. This was precisely what Robert wanted. The 
 friendly acquaintance started the evening before made good 
 progress. Miss Carpenter knew of an excellent French 
 teacher, an old gentlewoman, who not only spoke very pure 
 French herself, but who also had experience and skill 
 in teaching. Robert rather demurred at having a woman 
 teacher. 
 
 " I suppose you think a man would do it more thor 
 oughly," said Miss Carpenter; "perhaps bully you into 
 learning more per lesson. But really that is not the case. 
 It might be true in mathematics or science. But in lan 
 guage the women are much the better. Their voices are 
 higher pitched, and one hears more distinctly what they 
 say. And they themselves are quicker of ear, and always 
 
 218 
 
PAULINE 
 
 correct pronunciation more quickly than a man does. I 
 have always found that the women get the better results." 
 
 Robert laughed and said, " I think you are consider 
 able of afeministe, are n t you? " 
 
 " No, I am not. I almost wish that I were, for it would 
 comfort me in many ways. I am ready to admit that in 
 big things you men go away ahead of us. In the big 
 achievements, and in the big moralities, you gain heights 
 that we women rarely reach unless you help us up to them. 
 But in little things, in the little achievements, the little 
 moralities, I am sure that we women take the lead. It s 
 something of a comfort to reflect that, after all, life is 
 mostly made up of little things. Teaching a modern lan 
 guage is not a big thing. It is a very little thing, but it 
 takes a big conscience and no end of patience. Madame 
 Sylvestre has both." 
 
 " Is she a lady? " asked Robert. 
 
 " Entirely. And that is another advantage the women 
 teachers have over the men. It may be different in Amer 
 ica, but here, it would be rather a poor sort of man who 
 would take to teaching French to foreigners, some one 
 who had failed in larger work, and taken to this as a last 
 resort. But with women it is quite different. There are 
 fewer things they can do to earn money. The women who 
 give French lessons belong, as a rule, to a much better class 
 than do the men. Shall I give you Madame Sylvestre s 
 address?" 
 
 Robert pulled out his note-book, and put down the ad 
 dress as Miss Carpenter dictated it. He said that he would 
 call that afternoon. Miss Carpenter smiled when Robert 
 asked about a teacher of physical culture. She did not 
 
 219 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 know of any herself, but was quite sure that her brother 
 would know. She promised to have the address at dinner. 
 Kobert also gathered that the play at the Odeon that night 
 was quite worth while. When he left the table, he felt that 
 he had already made a very good start towards setting 
 his programme in motion. 
 
 Once on the street, en route to the bankers, and the 
 temptation to walk was too strong for Robert to resist. It 
 is an experience, one s first walk in Paris. And this whether 
 it be taken on the Avenue de Friedland and the Boulevard 
 Haussman, or in some totally different quarter. No other 
 city offers quite the same spectacle. It is not always gay, 
 this comedie humaine. On the contrary, it passes some 
 times quite over to tragedy. But gay or sad, it is always 
 intensely alive. There is nothing sodden and beastly about 
 a French crowd as there so often is about an English or 
 a Scotch crowd. Whatever his personal fortunes may be, 
 you can hardly imagine a genuine Parisian s wishing him 
 self anywhere else than just there in Paris. This gives the 
 crowd a certain fundamental air of contentment. One can 
 almost hear it say, " Where else, if not Paris. But there 
 is nowhere else. If not Paris, bah, one will not think of 
 such misfortune. One might as well go at once to Pere la 
 Chaise ! " Robert had often thought the Boston crowd vis 
 ibly self-satisfied. But in Paris, the approval goes beyond 
 satisfaction. It is worship. 
 
 Robert s own spirits were high. When he reached Mor 
 gan s, he knew that it mattered little whether he found 
 letters or not. He was contented and happy just as it was. 
 He went up in the lift, and stared with a curious air of 
 detachment at the crowd of Americans gathered in the 
 
 220 
 
PAULINE 
 
 offices above. They quite failed to interest him. He drew 
 a thousand francs on his letter of credit, and was about 
 entering the lift again, when it occurred to him that he had 
 not even asked if there were any letters. He turned back, 
 and made his way to the letter clerk. After some delay, 
 Robert got a couple of letters, but found himself staring 
 at them with very mild curiosity. They seemed much less 
 important than the mere fact that he was in Paris. He did 
 not know either handwriting. One letter was from Amer 
 ica, a shabby bluish-white envelope, whose beauty was not 
 heightened by the sprawling, undisciplined handwriting. 
 Robert tore it open and took out a sheet of equally shabby 
 foolscap paper covered with similar hieroglyphics. But his 
 face lighted up with pleasure when he found that this 
 ungainly missive came from his former humble colleague, 
 his " obedient servant, Dennis Sullivan." It was an ex 
 traordinary letter, for the body of it consisted of but one 
 sentence, telling Robert in one breath, as it were, all the 
 news in Dennis s little world. Robert was touched by the 
 letter, it was so full of gratitude for the picture postals 
 and of genuine affection for himself. He put it away in 
 his pocket, and resolved that just as soon as he got back 
 to America, he would do something for the boy. 
 
 Occupied with this thought, Robert tore open his second 
 letter almost mechanically. It was addressed in a woman s 
 hand, and bore the Paris post-mark. It was a strong, 
 clear hand, but the arrangement in the matter of pages 
 was more erratic than Robert was accustomed to. It began 
 on what he would have called the fourth page, passed over 
 to the first, and then, running lengthwise, covered the 
 second and third. It took a moment to find the end and 
 
 221 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 read the signature. The letter was from Pauline, and 
 had been written about a week before from the Hotel 
 Castiglioni. It was friendly and matter-of-fact, just the 
 sort of letter, Robert reflected, that " a natural history 
 girl " might be supposed to write. It stated that Pauline 
 and her father were established for some weeks at the 
 Castiglioni, and would be glad to have Robert call when 
 he reached Paris. The letter stated further that they 
 found the hotel satisfactory, and that Robert might care 
 to stop there also. Then there were some friendly messages 
 from Mr. Marshall, a word about Billy, and that was all. 
 Robert read the letter twice. It left him wholly unmoved. 
 A few weeks earlier, and the suggestion that he might care 
 to be at the same hotel would have rilled him with joy, 
 and made any other news seem wholly insignificant. Now, 
 on the contrary, he was glad that he had told Miss Carpen 
 ter at luncheon that he would engage his room until Jan 
 uary. He also remembered with some satisfaction that 
 she had said distinctly that there was not another room 
 vacant in the whole pension, or even likely to be. He had 
 asked particularly, but without any special motive, for not 
 even the long staircases that had to be climbed, if one 
 declined the lift, could take away the charm of the sunny 
 little apartment among the treetops, the chimney-pots, and 
 the mansards. Robert had no reason to think that the 
 Marshalls would care to come to the Pension Carpenter, but 
 he had no doubt about his own desires in the matter. He 
 knew that it would bother him greatly to have them there, 
 to be obliged to give an account of himself, as it were, every 
 day, how he spent his mornings, his afternoons, his even 
 ings, still more to have to give up part of his precious 
 
 222 
 
PAULINE 
 
 time to their company, and to have his Sunday plans 
 turned so topsy-turvy that his deficient imagination would 
 get small chance for its much needed cultivation. 
 
 The thought made Robert laugh, but in spite of the 
 laugh, the situation bothered him. He had not before 
 realized how precious his present plans for his own im 
 provement had grown to be. When he considered the 
 possibility of their being seriously interrupted, he had a 
 quick impulse to throw the letter away, and to act as if it 
 had never reached him. In an instant, he realized how 
 very mean this would be. In the effort to make amends 
 for it, and get back his own self-respect, he almost went 
 to the other extreme. He almost persuaded himself that 
 he was glad to have the letter, and that it would be quite 
 delightful to see the Marshalls once more. Nevertheless, 
 he did not act upon this make-believe. He might easily 
 have called that afternoon, but there was Madame Syl- 
 vestre. He might go in the evening, but there was the play. 
 He finally decided to call the next evening. 
 
 In reality, it was two days later when Robert presented 
 himself at the Castiglioni. Even then he chose the busiest 
 part of the afternoon, when he felt sure that they would 
 both be out. He left two cards, a little convenance that 
 he had learned from Stephen, and rushed off, as relieved 
 as a schoolboy to escape a lesson. Robert did not have 
 the address on his cards, and so left the Marshalls with 
 out any way of communicating with him except through 
 Morgan s. When Robert got back to his room, his New 
 England conscience made itself highly disagreeable. He 
 suffered the qualms that the socially inexperienced do 
 before they have grown accustomed to their own little 
 
 223 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 evasions and insincerities. It all ended by his writing a 
 polite little note to Pauline, thanking her for her letter, 
 and asking if he might not call some appointed evening. 
 He suggested an evening several days ahead, so that the 
 intervening Sunday might be wholly safe. Kobert winced 
 when he recalled the contrast between this formal per 
 formance and that over-fervid letter which had refused 
 to allow itself to be completed. 
 
 The return mail brought what Robert felt morally sure 
 it would bring, a friendly letter saying that the Marshalls 
 would be at home, and begging that Robert would come 
 at seven and dine with them. 
 
 On the appointed evening, Robert presented himself at 
 the Castiglioni. It was precisely seven. Robert was well 
 dressed and carried himself well. He was a little troubled 
 that the consciousness of his entire fitness gave him so 
 much comfort. He even questioned whether, in this newly 
 entered upon pursuit of excellence, he might not be grow 
 ing more worldly than his more sober self would quite 
 approve of. But he was not sufficiently troubled to wish 
 it otherwise. 
 
 Robert was shown at once into the Marshalls private 
 salon. It was on one of the upper floors, and was very 
 " right." The room was eminently well ordered, just the 
 right proportions and pleasantly old-fashioned. To-night 
 the rose-colored curtains were drawn, several low lights 
 gave a home-like effect, and a few flowers on the centre 
 table completed a picture which was well calculated to 
 appeal to one of Robert s sensitive temperament. As yet 
 the room was unoccupied. Robert had pictured Pauline 
 and her father sitting waiting for him, and this empty 
 
 224 
 
PAULINE 
 
 room, in spite of its charm, came as something of a shock. 
 It gave him a chance to change his mood, and to realize 
 that the universe did not, after all, centre in himself, or at 
 least for no one but himself. This charming old salon 
 suggested quite a different centre, and he tried to place 
 himself in the new point of view. 
 
 Presently one of the side doors opened, and Pauline 
 entered. She had the air of having been dressed for 
 several minutes. It did not seem quite consistent in an 
 out-and-out natural history girl, but it occurred to Robert 
 that Pauline had probably waited some moments on pur 
 pose, either to allow him to settle himself, or to allow the 
 room to exert its own hospitality. But whether by design 
 or accident, Robert decided that, from an artistic point 
 of view, it was a clever thing to do, the momentary wait, 
 the silent room, the expectancy expressed by the light and 
 flowers, and last of all, Pauline s alert, radiant entrance. 
 
 Robert was conscious of a decided thrill. He no longer 
 wondered that at Gorphwysfa he had been completely 
 taken off his feet. Even now, after these weeks of Euro 
 pean sophistication and after assuring himself of his own 
 established low temperature, he realized with a mental 
 start that the room and everything else had vanished, and 
 that he saw but one object and that was Pauline. It was 
 once more worship, the worship of a lover of excellence 
 in the presence of a visible excellence. But it was now 
 a much more impersonal worship. Robert no longer felt 
 any desire to kiss the strong, shapely hand held out to 
 him, and yet to his own amazement that was precisely 
 what he did do, bending low over Pauline s hand quite 
 after the manner of the French actor he had seen in the 
 
 225 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 theatre the night before. That Robert could do this with 
 so much self-possession and grace marked the wide change 
 in his own feelings towards the girl. 
 
 Pauline smiled at this unexpected salutation, and said, 
 with a pretty suggestion of a shrug, " When we are in 
 Rome " But she gave him a hearty welcome in a few 
 quiet words and begged him to be seated. Her father 
 would be in presently, she said. They had been in the 
 country that afternoon, and had been late in returning. 
 Perhaps Robert knew, but her father took an uncon 
 scionable time to dress. Robert was quite willing that Mr. 
 Marshall should take the whole evening to dress, and then 
 at once turn about and begin preparing for bed. While 
 Robert had no personal objection to Pauline s father, it 
 would obviously have been very much cosier to have had 
 dinner and the evening with Pauline alone. Robert had 
 pictured this meeting many times, and always it had been 
 full of emotion and agitation. Even in imagination, his 
 cheeks had burned, and his heart had beat against his 
 ribs almost to the point of suffocation. But York Minster 
 stood between those days and these. Now, in the face of 
 the real meeting, his cheeks were not burning, and his 
 heart-beat was as regular as a clock. 
 
 Robert even examined Pauline s dress while she was 
 talking, and appraised her much as he might have done a 
 person on the stage. She always dressed well, he remem 
 bered that quite distinctly, but to-night it struck him that 
 she was dressed more subtly than usual. She had on a 
 soft gray gown, made without any trimming whatever. 
 The sleeves stopped at the elbow, and the neck was cut 
 perfectly square. The gown carried but one ornament, a 
 
 226 
 
PAULINE 
 
 rosette of narrow black velvet ribbon, so large and full 
 that it resembled nothing so much as a black chrysanthe 
 mum. Robert watched this rosette with a certain fascina 
 tion, as it softly rose and fell on Pauline s bosom, for the 
 intense blackness brought out a quality in the gray that 
 he had never seen in gray before. The only touch of color, 
 aside from that in Pauline s wholesome cheeks, was the 
 one flower in her hair, a pink rose, similar to those on the 
 centre table. Robert had a good opportunity to observe 
 all these details, for he was himself doing very little of the 
 talking. In answer to his questions, Pauline was giving 
 him a pleasant account of their doings after they left 
 Bowness, and of Billy s life at Abbotsholme. It got to be 
 after half -past seven. Pauline excused herself to see what 
 could be detaining her father. Presently she returned, but 
 alone. Her father was not well, she said, and had retired. 
 He begged that Robert would excuse him. They would 
 have dinner at once, Pauline added. Robert offered to go 
 immediately, so that Pauline might be with her father. 
 He had a curiously guilty feeling, as if his own wish to 
 dispense with Mr. Marshall had somehow made the poor 
 gentleman ill. But Pauline insisted that Robert should 
 remain. Her father s illness, she said, was merely a slight 
 attack of indigestion ; he would soon be asleep. Pauline 
 had evidently given the order for dinner while she was 
 out of the room, for it was now promptly announced, and 
 quite put an end to Robert s hesitation. 
 
 The third cover had been dexterously removed, and the 
 little dinner-table to which Pauline led the way looked as 
 if it had been planned for two. It could hardly have been 
 cosier, and Robert felt that if Mr. Marshall had to have 
 
 227 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 indigestion, it was genuinely considerate of him to have it 
 on that particular evening. 
 
 Pauline made a charming hostess. Every movement 
 was sure and graceful, and she herself, in spite of the 
 questioning stare of the garqon, was wholly free from em 
 barrassment. Robert sat opposite her, and found himself 
 feeling very much at home and very contented. He was 
 nothing of a gourmand, but he liked to have things done 
 well. Perhaps he felt that after so many years of the 
 Pinckney Street cuisine, fate owed him something a little 
 better. But genuine as his enjoyment was, it was very 
 pale compared to what it would have been, had the occasion 
 found him in the state of mind of the Bowness days. To 
 be dining alone with Pauline in this friendly fashion would 
 have made him too blissfully happy to eat or even to talk. 
 He would have sat and beamed upon Pauline with a fatu 
 ity which would probably have killed any remote chance 
 that he might ever have had of making her think well of 
 him. 
 
 But to-night he ate the well-arranged courses with a 
 wholesome, unaffected appetite. He talked or listened, as 
 the case might be, with an ease that added much to his 
 attractiveness. His very lack of emotional quality made 
 him appear to excellent advantage. It is one of those per 
 verse arrangements of fate, about which lovers have a 
 proper right to complain, that when they need their heav 
 iest guns, they find them spiked. There may be a certain 
 benevolence in the arrangement, though, since it is fair to 
 suppose that if a woman cares for a man at his awkward- 
 est, she will be able, in the long years that follow, to get 
 on with him at his best. 
 
 228 
 
PAULINE 
 
 Robert was quite at his best. Pauline, being a natural 
 history girl, was not analytical, but the dinner had gone 
 no farther than the fish before she acknowledged to her 
 self that Robert had improved, and was better company 
 than he used to be. The talk had been desultory and 
 unimportant. In point of expression Donald would have 
 said that it had been rather happy, but in point of con 
 tent neither one had said anything. 
 
 It may have been the realization of a deeper value in 
 Robert that made Pauline say, rather brusquely, " Are n t 
 you tired of loafing yet ? " 
 
 Robert looked at her in some surprise. " How do you 
 know that I am loafing ? " he asked. 
 
 " Because you all do it. All Americans who come to 
 Europe on no special errand loaf. That s what s the mat 
 ter with my father. He gets indigestion because he has 
 nothing to do nothing genuine, I mean. Our trip this 
 afternoon was an out-and-out farce. We knew it was 
 going to be when we started out. We knew it the whole 
 way there and back. When we got home, we were so dead 
 sure of it that father hadn t the spunk to get dressed. 
 He just keeled over and went to bed. When he feels that 
 way, he calls it indigestion, but it s just out-and-out, up- 
 and-down ennui." 
 
 " How do you escape?" Robert ventured to ask. 
 
 " I don t ! " said Pauline, resolutely. 
 
 " You don t look bored," Robert suggested. 
 
 " No, I m not bored just now. If I were, I should show 
 it. I generally keep cheerful. But that s because I m still 
 young, and expect something of the future. If I thought 
 that things would go on just like this, on and on without 
 
 229 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 any special purpose, I should be in despair. I don t think 
 that I could stand it. It would be too silly, just trotting 
 about from place to place, no reason for going, no reason 
 for staying, no reason for anything ! " 
 
 " I thought you liked leisure, and approved of it," said 
 Robert. 
 
 " I do, thoroughly. But not loafing. That s a different 
 matter, and simply killing." 
 
 " What do you want your father to do ? " Robert asked, 
 genuinely interested in her seriousness. 
 
 " I want him to go home," answered Pauline, promptly. 
 " He s not an old man. He ought to do something. It s 
 killing work, just loafing ! " 
 
 " Won t he go ? " asked Robert. 
 
 " Not yet. He 11 go in the spring, he says. But I know 
 just how it will be. When spring comes, he will go in the 
 fall. We ve been here almost three years now, just 
 think of it ! We came originally for my benefit, to culti 
 vate me, you know. And now we just stay on." 
 
 " The process being finished," put in Robert. 
 
 " Not at all," protested Pauline. " The process has not 
 been finished. But the material proved poor. Cultivation 
 goes badly because it seems to have no end in view. When 
 I learned French, I took up Italian. I m glad to know 
 both of them, of course. But I don t want to go on indefi 
 nitely learning modern languages, and having nothing to 
 say in any of them ! I believe father would have me learn 
 German as perfectly as I know French, and then get 
 Spanish as perfectly as the German. It would be rather 
 a dreary prospect, now would n t it ? " 
 
 " Yes," admitted Robert ; " I should n t like it." 
 230 
 
PAULINE 
 
 " Now tell me what you re doing," said Pauline. 
 
 " Oh, a lot of things," Robert answered evasively. 
 
 " So are we all," said Pauline, calmly. " We re doing 
 a lot of things. A lot of make-believes ! I don t imagine 
 you ve done a stroke of honest work since you Ve been 
 in Europe. You have n t the look of a worker ! " 
 
 Robert laughed. He could n t help wondering whether 
 the Liverpool tailors had successfully hidden the book 
 keeper droop in his shoulders. 
 
 " Don t be too hard on me," he said. " You know I 
 had to get well first. Remember that I was a genuine 
 invalid when I left Boston." 
 
 Pauline shook her head in doubt. " You talk just like 
 the rest of them. They re all invalids. They all have to 
 get well first. That s just a trumpery excuse. You look 
 the picture of health now." 
 
 " I don t need any excuse now, not since I Ve come to 
 Paris, at any rate. And I am working hours every day, 
 honor bright ! That was one reason I could n t call on 
 you sooner." 
 
 " Tell me about it," said Pauline. " What is it you are 
 doing?" 
 
 Robert had meant to keep his secret, but sitting there 
 face to face with Pauline, he soon found himself yielding 
 to a desire to vindicate himself in her eyes, and telling 
 her everything about his plans, even to his novel use of 
 Sundays. 
 
 " Cultivating your imagination ? " said Pauline, with a 
 puzzled look on her face. " I always thought that that 
 was a bad thing to do. It s better to stick close to facts." 
 
 " On the contrary," cried Robert, with the enthusiasm 
 231 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 of the new convert, " sticking close to facts means that 
 you don t see them. It takes imagination to see what the 
 facts are ! Donald Fergusson even holds that we have it 
 in our power to change the facts ; that the world is not a 
 fixed quantity, but something plastic, left for us to shape, 
 and obedient to our will and imagination." 
 
 " I hope you don t believe any such nonsense," exclaimed 
 Pauline. " For example, what did you do last Sunday? " 
 
 Robert could not help laughing. " You are a terrible 
 cross-examiner," he said. " You would have made a capi 
 tal lawyer." 
 
 " That s just what I should have been, had I been born 
 a man, and had n t such a dislike for quarrelsome people. 
 I should like the fact part of the law, but I know it would 
 make me cross to have people juggle with it and quar 
 rel over it. You have n t told me yet what you did last 
 Sunday." 
 
 " Well, in the first place, I got up " 
 
 " I assumed as much," put in Pauline. 
 
 " And then I had my bath, and dressed, and drank my 
 very good coffee." 
 
 " I assumed that, too," threw in Pauline. 
 
 " Then I went to church to Notre Dame." 
 
 " I have a picture of it," said Pauline, " taken upstream. 
 And Notre Dame looks exactly like a giant pair of opera- 
 glasses. But the service there is rather stupid, I think. If 
 you want something out of the ordinary, you ought to go 
 to the Greek Church. And then what did you do ? " 
 
 " After that I took one of the steamboats and went up 
 river as far as the Cafe des Arbres. I got dejeuner there, 
 and remained until sunset before I came back to Paris." 
 
 232 
 
PAULINE 
 
 " I have been to the Cafe des Arbres. It s a stupid 
 little place, and simply overrun with artists. What did 
 you do with a whole afternoon there? " 
 
 " I see that you won t be put off with anything less 
 than the whole truth," said Robert. " I did something 
 rather silly, I am afraid you would say." 
 
 "What if I do?" said Pauline. "I might be wrong, 
 and you might be right. In any case, the only thing that 
 counts is what you yourself thought of it. What did you 
 think of it ? Did it seem to you silly ? " 
 
 "No, not entirely silly," Robert answered. "The 
 sketches themselves were poor, but it was worth while to 
 have tried, and I fell in with some nice young fellows 
 studying architecture at the Ecole des Beaux Arts. If I 
 were younger, I almost think that I would join them and 
 study to be an architect." 
 
 " How absurd to think of yourself as being old ! " ex 
 claimed Pauline. " Why, you re a mere boy ! Studying 
 architecture would be a lot better than loafing, or even 
 than cultivating the imagination." 
 
 " It would be a poor architect who did n t cultivate his 
 imagination," said Robert. " I don t think you d care to 
 look at his buildings, much less live in any of them." 
 
 "All the same," continued Pauline, "my advice is not 
 to keep up this sort of skirmishing too long. Settle down 
 to something definite and make connections with life." 
 
 The dinner had meanwhile reached the coffee stage. 
 Pauline and Robert were lingering over the meal, quite 
 oblivious to the fact that it was already after ten. 
 
 .The garqon had withdrawn his suspicions. Being well- 
 trained in such matters, his intuitions told him that this 
 
 233 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 was no ordinary flirtation, but merely a meeting of two 
 old friends. Then he passed to the other extreme, and 
 disapproved of them for being so little sentimental. The 
 gentleman was so clean and nice-looking, and Mademoiselle 
 so beautiful and well dressed ! It was really a thousand 
 pities that they were n t lovers. And such an opportunity 
 to make love ! He would have kept himself discreetly 
 behind the screen. He retired a number of times, but no 
 matter how quietly he returned, he could never discover 
 that his absence had even been noticed. It was a thousand 
 pities ! 
 
 Robert realized that it was quite time to go. He was 
 sorry, for he had had a pleasant evening. He took Pauline 
 back to the salon, but neither sat down. They stood chat 
 ting for a few moments, and then Robert finally left. 
 Pauline gave him her hand cordially. This time he did 
 not kiss it. 
 
 When Robert got down to the street, and was stepping 
 into his cab, he remembered that Pauline had not asked 
 him to call again. All the way back to the Avenue de 
 Friedland, he found himself dwelling on this omission. 
 He could not decide whether it had been studied or acci 
 dental. He knew that she had enjoyed the evening, for 
 she had said so. It was odd that she had not spoken of 
 seeing him again. Robert had begun to realize that he 
 himself, compared to Pauline, was a distinctly complex 
 person. He tried to fancy what a very simple person 
 would have done under these same conditions, a child, 
 for instance. That made the problem very easy. A child 
 would have taken it for granted that he would call again, 
 and as soon as he really wanted to. To ask him to come 
 
 234 
 
PAULINE 
 
 would have been wholly unnecessary, even silly. Doubt 
 less Pauline reasoned in some such direct way. It was 
 not a matter of great importance, certainly no longer a 
 life-and-death matter, but it was far more pleasant to feel 
 that Pauline would like to see him from time to time, 
 even frequently, than to believe that she was wholly in 
 different. By the time Robert reached the Pension Car 
 penter, he had reasoned out the matter to his entire 
 satisfaction. At least, this was the conclusion that the 
 cabman came to when he glanced at the size of his pour- 
 boire. As Robert was undressing, the thought occurred 
 to him that, as dinner guest, he would in any case be ex 
 pected to call, and that all his fumbling around among 
 simple and complex motives had been quite wide of the 
 mark. Perhaps Pauline was not a child, after all. As he 
 tumbled into bed, he had the feeling that he still had a 
 great deal to learn. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION 
 
 ROBERT S state of mind on the day after the dinner-party 
 was one of considerable perplexity. His self-imposed and 
 fairly regular routine occupied him externally, but did 
 not prevent his thoughts from wandering pretty far afield. 
 Seen through the perspective of a dozen or more hours, 
 the dinner-party was still a success, Pauline s costume 
 still perfect, and she herself still a girl of more than 
 passing interest. When Robert tried to compare her to 
 the Pauline of Gorphwysfa, he had to admit that she had 
 surpassed even herself, her gown was more subtle in its 
 beauty, her person more commanding in its good looks, 
 her poise more assured. Yet at Gorphwysfa he had fallen 
 in love with her, while in Paris he was appreciative, even 
 interested, but certainly nothing more. He was greatly 
 perplexed. Could such a feeling have been wholly an illu 
 sion, or had his standards undergone so radical a change 
 that Pauline no longer satisfied them? Whatever the dif 
 ference, however, he was not called upon to decide its exact 
 nature. Without precisely voicing the matter, Robert had 
 quite determined that Pauline should not again be a dis 
 turbing factor in his own life. He hoped that they might 
 be good friends, he was sure of that. As Pauline had 
 not asked him to call again, it was quite in his own hands 
 as to when he should go. 
 
 In the morning, when Robert was a trifle irritated that 
 Pauline occupied so much of his thoughts, he decided that 
 
 236 
 
ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION 
 
 he would certainly not call for at least a week. But in 
 the afternoon, it seemed to him that it would be only civil 
 to call at the Castiglioni, and at least inquire after Mr. 
 Marshall s health. It was getting on towards five o clock 
 when Robert arrived at the hotel. Both Pauline and Mr. 
 Marshall were at home, and both were in the salon when 
 Robert was shown up. 
 
 Mr. Marshall was so hearty in his welcome, and so 
 profuse in his apologies at having failed to appear the 
 evening before, that Robert forgave himself for his own 
 disabling wish, and even got to the point where he was 
 genuinely glad to see Mr. Marshall again. 
 
 Pauline gave Robert a frank welcome, which added a 
 trifle to his perplexity. It was everything that the most 
 socially exacting could ask, and equally devoid of any 
 thing like significance. Robert was not hunting for a 
 meaning. Those who merely mean to be good friends 
 may not ask anything more than the most non-committal 
 friendship. But he was conscious of a certain lack of 
 flavor in the triangular talk that followed. Nothing was 
 said that might not just as well have been left unsaid. 
 The talk was friendly, but quite profitless. Matters went 
 rather better when the tea-table was brought in. The 
 large brass tray was a beautiful specimen of Indian 
 enameling, and the tea equipage and the china cups fit 
 topics for additional talk. In his recently awakened love 
 for beauty, Robert was genuinely interested in all beauti 
 ful objects. His appreciation did not fail to take in the 
 fact that Pauline, in her dark blue gown and her whole 
 some color, added much to the charm of the scene. She 
 presided at the tea-table very gracefully. To have her 
 
 237 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 hand one a cup of tea was to have an added taste of 
 pleasure. Robert s memories of Pauline were all outdoor 
 memories. He found it hard to imagine her in the house. 
 He knew that she would not have shared his great expe 
 rience in York Minster, or even have vaguely understood 
 it. But last evening and this afternoon showed Pauline 
 in a distinctly new light. She was not only domestic, but 
 gracefully domestic. Robert realized that if he thought 
 of Pauline again, it would have to be with these additions, 
 and that he would involuntarily think of her again, the 
 experience of the morning made him feel very sure. He 
 could scarcely forget a girl who was at once so well put 
 up and so much of a person. 
 
 The more tea Mr. Marshall drank, the more talkative 
 he grew, and fortunately the quality of his talk improved 
 with its flow. Robert had listened first out of courtesy, 
 but later out of genuine interest, as Mr. Marshall dis 
 coursed upon tea and the tea ceremony in Japan. After 
 his third cup, however, he was quite talked out. He as 
 sured Robert that he never allowed himself more than 
 three cups, and he gave this assurance with the impressive 
 manner of those who set some purely arbitrary limit upon 
 their indulgences, and call it high virtue. 
 
 Pauline s contributions to conversation seldom followed 
 the lead of the last speaker. They came usually as sharp 
 breaks in the current thought. It was so in this case. 
 When she recognized her father s withdrawal from remi 
 niscence, she turned to Robert and asked, " How do your 
 French lessons come on ? Have you a good teacher ? " 
 
 " I suppose I m getting on," said Robert, " and I sup 
 pose I have a good teacher. You know I ve nothing to 
 
 238 
 
ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION 
 
 compare matters with. I have never studied a foreign 
 language before, except of course a little Latin. Just now 
 I m mostly bewildered. Madame Sylvestre speaks in 
 French, but with such rapidity, and in such a torrent of 
 words, that I only catch about one out of a hundred." 
 
 " I thought so," said Pauline. " They all do the same. 
 I don t know whether it s because they want to display 
 their knowledge, or whether it s because talking is so 
 much easier than teaching." 
 
 " My daughter has always been rather a critical pupil, 
 as you can see," put in Mr. Marshall. " She makes her 
 teachers earn their money." 
 
 " I was thinking," continued Pauline, quite as if her 
 father had not spoken, "that it might have been better if 
 you had come to me for your lessons. I know the language, 
 and I also remember some of the difficulties in getting 
 to know it. The latter is evidently beyond Madame Syl 
 vestre." 
 
 "That is awfully kind of you," Robert hastened to 
 say. 
 
 " It strikes me," said Mr. Marshall, " that you would 
 be taking the bread out of the mouth of some decayed 
 gentlewoman. I should not approve of that." 
 
 " A consistent protectionist ? " suggested Robert. 
 
 " It would be nothing of the sort, father," protested 
 Pauline. " I did n t mean that Mr. Pendexter should pay 
 for the lessons ! " 
 
 " That would n t be any consolation to the decayed 
 gentlewoman," said Mr. Marshall. "The question is not 
 whether Mr. Pendexter pays or not. It s whether he pays 
 her!" 
 
 239 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 They all laughed. 
 
 " I m not so stupid as that," answered Pauline. " But 
 I ve no desire to protect any one. If your decayed gentle 
 woman can t teach French as well as I can, she ought to 
 do something else for a living. Are you committed to her 
 for any length of time, Mr. Pendexter ? " 
 
 " I m afraid so," Robert replied ; " at least as long as 
 I stay in Paris." 
 
 " If you have the time, and would like it, I will gladly 
 give you a lesson on top of Madame s. Then you would 
 get a lot of practice, and ought to make famous progress. 
 What do you say?" 
 
 " I should like it very much, and I think you re awfully 
 kind," said Robert. "But it s not a question of my time. 
 I think I have no right to take so much of yours" 
 
 " Happily that does n t concern you," answered Pau 
 line, calmly. " I have a right to do what I like with my 
 own time. All I should ask would be that you must be 
 perfectly frank. If you found the lessons not worth the 
 time they took, would you say so?" 
 
 " Yes," said Robert, smiling. " I can t imagine it, but 
 if the unexpected happened, I should up and say so ! " 
 
 " I think if you did," put in Mr. Marshall, " it would 
 make my daughter think much better of all her old 
 teachers. She has a notion that teaching is very easy 
 work." 
 
 " Really, I haven t, father. I know it must be difficult, 
 for so few do it well. But I do think, if one can t teach, 
 one ought n t to pretend to." 
 
 " That s sound doctrine, at any rate," said Robert. 
 
 "Then come to-morrow afternoon about this time," 
 240 
 
ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION 
 
 Pauline replied. "Father and I are nearly always home 
 by dark. We can drink tea and talk French together. 
 Father shall see whether I m a good teacher or not ! " 
 
 " The proof of the pudding, you know," said Mr. Mar 
 shall. " I shall judge you by the way Mr. Pendexter 
 speaks French a month from now." 
 
 It was in this unexpected way that Robert found him 
 self drinking tea with Pauline nearly every afternoon 
 during the succeeding weeks. It must be confessed that 
 Pauline s lessons lost nothing from their social character, 
 and in point of merit much exceeded those given by the 
 self-satisfied Madame Sylvestre. Not knowing of the sup 
 plementary lesson, however, the poor old gentlewoman was 
 much gratified at Robert s phenomenal progress. She put 
 it down partly to the fact that he was a very intelligent 
 young man, and still more to the fact that he enjoyed the 
 advantage of her own most excellent teaching. Miss Car 
 penter was duly informed of this gratifying result, and 
 heard so much about it that soon she fell into the habit 
 of speaking French to Robert at the table. He felt him 
 self an arch-hypocrite, but the satisfaction of the old 
 gentlewoman was so genuine and childlike that he never 
 had the heart to undeceive her. 
 
 Robert had hesitated to accept so much from Pauline, 
 but in fact there was no way out of it. Furthermore, he 
 soon discovered that with Pauline s passion for thorough 
 ness, it gave her genuine pleasure to be doing something 
 useful. She might doubt the cultural effect of modern 
 languages taken ad libitum, but given a young man bent 
 on knowing French, and the work of seeing that he knew 
 it well appealed to her strongly. Whether she also en- 
 
 241 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 joyed Robert s society remained entirely problematical, for 
 she gave no sign. Mr. Marshall always drank tea with 
 them, but, his third cup safely on its way, he commonly 
 withdrew to his own room. Pauline appeared wholly un 
 conscious as to whether Mr. Marshall was present or 
 absent. She drilled Robert in the parts of speech with a 
 thoroughness that made French grammar seem for the 
 time the one object in life worth living for. The regular 
 and irregular verbs passed in orderly procession, until 
 Robert could almost have conjugated them in his sleep. 
 His pronunciation came in for constant correction. 
 
 Neither of Robert s teachers could quite realize how 
 hard he worked. He had left the high school at the end 
 of the second year, and had never acquired the study habit. 
 All he got, he worked very hard for. But he was willing 
 to work very hard. He wanted to know French, and he 
 wanted to satisfy Pauline. There was probably a little 
 personal pride in this industry, but the New England sense 
 of justice had also much to do with it. Robert realized 
 that this was the only way in which he could even partially 
 repay Pauline s very considerable kindness. As he ad 
 vanced, their talk grew interesting for its own sake. They 
 read French books and discussed them over their tea. But 
 Pauline always selected the books, and as a rule they read 
 them separately. They were never novels, or books that 
 by any stretch of language could be called imaginative. 
 They were amazingly serious, books of travel, scientific 
 books, essays on social questions. Robert was more and 
 more struck with the masculine character of Pauline s 
 mind. He came to understand the attraction which the 
 law might have for her. 
 
 242 
 
ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION 
 
 Once or twice Pauline and Robert went to the theatre 
 together. But Pauline did not care for plays. If necessary 
 to the understanding of some social problem, she would 
 read them, solely for their content, but the attempt to 
 give them reality on the stage struck her as absurd and, 
 on the whole, a stupid waste of time. She could easily 
 read a play in an hour, while it took three hours or more 
 to have it dragged out on the stage, to say nothing of the 
 time spent in going and coming. 
 
 Robert was too busy to be very analytical, but he could 
 not fail to realize that he was leading a dual life : on the 
 one side, a life of prosaic hard work, and on the other side 
 a life of expanding dreams. The association with Pauline 
 was matter-of-fact to a degree that sometimes threatened 
 to grow painful. Robert felt that it was a safe anchor, but 
 at the same time he could not help wishing that it might 
 have that lighter touch of the spirit which made talk with 
 Sappho and Miss Frothingham a thing to remember. 
 
 At the gymnasium, Robert had expected nothing but 
 hard, dull work. He had no enthusiasm for athletics, and 
 always skipped the sporting news in the daily paper. But 
 he had made up his mind that he would persevere in the 
 work, no matter how much it bored him. By rare good 
 fortune, however, he was not bored. Quite by accident he 
 had stumbled on a master who was an enthusiast of the 
 first order, and worked quite in the spirit of an artist. 
 With it all, he possessed a deeper philosophy, which rose 
 almost to the height of a religion. He had a way, too, of 
 seeing the best in his pupils, and trying to bring the rest 
 of their bodily equipment up to it. Robert interested him. 
 Instead of dwelling upon the crooked shoulder and general 
 
 243 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 lack of muscular development, he saw only a wholesome 
 young body, unspoiled by dissipation or abuse. To give it 
 greater strength and power, he worked with an enthusiasm 
 that inspired Kobert to do his best. At first this enthusi 
 asm merely amused Kobert. He put it down to Gallic 
 exaggeration. But one day, after the work had been in pro 
 gress something over three weeks, the master re-measured 
 Robert s slender body, and recorded the faint beginning 
 of an improvement. " We shall yet make you a beautiful 
 man," he cried. " You will be able to do a great work! I 
 could not myself write a book, or paint a picture, or sing 
 a song, or do any of the things that are great ; but voila, 
 through you I shall do one of those things. You are my 
 agent, my messenger. You will do this because I, even I, 
 Gaspard Renoux, give you the strength. It was worth while 
 that I lived, n est-ce-pas ? " 
 
 It was then that Robert understood why this patient old 
 master worked over his own poorly developed body with 
 such genuine devotion. At one end of Gaspard s gymna 
 sium was a small office. It contained a few instruments 
 for measuring the body. On the walls were outlines of 
 perfect proportions, elaborate tables of proper weight and 
 dimensions for given heights. In a corner stood an excel 
 lent cast of the Apollo Belvedere. Over the writing-table 
 a substantial book-shelf carried a score or more of volumes 
 on physiology, anatomy, and physical culture, in French, 
 English, and German. It was the old man s study, one 
 might almost say his chapel. What he worshiped was 
 bodily excellence. It was a new point of view for Robert. 
 He had always associated gymnastic work with prize fight 
 ers and the whole family of tiresome athletes, bent on 
 
 244 
 
ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION 
 
 out-punching, out-running, out-throwing, out-jumping, or 
 otherwise outdoing the rest of the world, but themselves 
 wholly uninteresting. But this old man possessed an en 
 tirely different goal. He cared nothing for such useless 
 displays of muscular power. He was almost poetic in his 
 imaginative conception of bodily perfection. 
 
 Robert s indifference once turned into interest, it was 
 easy for the interest to grow into enthusiasm. Yet all the 
 while the incongruity of the situation held his attention. 
 The French language, with all its subtlety and wealth of 
 literature, was for Pauline so much technique, and for her 
 pupil, in spite of his desire to get at the soul of it, very 
 little more. The work was wholly objective, and such 
 inner culture as Robert got out of it was a stolen fruit 
 rather than a worked-for result. But with Gaspard, sur 
 rounded as he was with anatomical charts, ponderous 
 books on physiology, and the most material-looking appa 
 ratus, the work in physical culture was largely spiritual. 
 
 Pauline and Gaspard were both such marked person 
 alities, such fixed quantities in their very different ways, 
 that Robert s experience in their hands was singularly 
 uniform. With Pauline it was always the same thing, a 
 hard, brilliant, technical perfection in a language which is 
 in reality the most subtle of all modern instruments for 
 the expression of the life of the spirit. With Gaspard it 
 was always the search for beauty, poise, usableness, the 
 perfecting of a marvelous tool for the still more marvelous 
 purposes of the spirit. This reversal of what one would 
 have expected kept up during all the weeks of Robert s 
 tutelage. 
 
 Could Stephen and Donald have looked in upon the 
 245 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 work, they would have approved of it, at least as far as 
 results were concerned. Robert was fast becoming an ac 
 complished French scholar, and more slowly the awkward, 
 good-looking country boy, with the uneven shoulders and 
 doubtful carriage, was changing into an assured man of 
 the world, with so good a bearing that Gaspard, in his 
 enthusiasm, declared that Robert might almost be mis 
 taken for a Frenchman. To Gaspard this was fulsome 
 praise. 
 
 But these experiences, excellent as they were, had, as I 
 have said, the disadvantage of too great uniformity. Donald 
 in his careless way, a way so light as to seem wholly 
 unimportant, and so penetrating as to amount to a rare 
 insight, had always insisted upon the unexpected as an 
 essential element in all culture. Even the symphony, the 
 oratorio, the grand opera itself, must have its surprises, 
 its ups and downs, its level places and its mountain peaks, 
 or it grows commonplace. Robert felt the excellence of 
 his work with both Pauline and Gaspard, but he also felt 
 its monotony, and came to value the free Sundays more 
 and more. Pauline and Mr. Marshall had given Robert 
 many invitations for Sunday, dinners, luncheons, expe 
 ditions of all sorts, but Robert steadily declined on the 
 ground of other engagements. Pauline at last saw that 
 he really did not wish to accept, and not only ceased to 
 ask him, but broke her father of the same habit. Gas 
 pard had once shyly proposed a Sunday excursion. But 
 even this Robert declined, and did it in so considerate 
 a manner that the old man was not in the least offended. 
 It would have meant more anatomy, and on Sunday 
 Robert wanted neither French nor anatomy. He frankly 
 
 246 
 
ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION 
 
 wanted the unexpected, the thing that Donald got out of 
 life and that he missed. 
 
 Every Sunday Robert turned out of a morning with a 
 pleasant sense of expectancy. The day might bring much 
 or little, but in any case the gates of possibility were 
 open. It commonly happened that the events of the day 
 were rather trivial, and the New England conscience com 
 plained of small returns. But an instinct lately aroused in 
 Robert successfully downed the New England conscience, 
 and made good its own contention that the total result of 
 those experiences was eminently worth while. Any one 
 Sunday might be uneventful, but the total impression 
 made by a succession of Bohemian Sundays was an educa 
 tion. Robert had no desire to see the world in its meaner 
 aspects. La haute Boheme was what he sought. It was 
 hardly possible in Paris and on Sundays to go about as 
 much as Robert did without touching elbows with the 
 other sort. Robert s freshness and good looks marked him 
 out as attractive game. He had not foreseen this result, 
 and his first encounter with the murky side of the world 
 sent him home shivering with disgust. It was a little 
 thing, a painted lady had spoken to him, but it vul 
 garized the day. He felt that he must have an immediate 
 bath and fresh linen, and send his very clothes to the 
 cleanser s. 
 
 The next week Robert changed his route, and took de 
 jeuner at another of the little river restaurants frequented 
 by artists and the lively spirits of the Latin Quarter. There 
 was a great deal of freedom in both speech and easy ac 
 quaintance, distinctly more than his Aunt Matilda Pendex- 
 ter would have approved of, but Robert soon found that 
 
 247 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 under all the gayety and freedom there was a wholesome 
 harmlessness. His own instincts were very true, and each 
 week he trusted them more. On these excursions he had 
 the curious feeling that he carried both Stephen and Don 
 ald with him, and he tried with tolerable success to look 
 at this lively, unconventional world through their larger 
 eyes, to look at it with Stephen s common sense and 
 Donald s quick insight. Sometimes Robert fell in with a 
 group that no large charity could wholly absolve from 
 being a bit off color. Robert got away as soon as he 
 courteously could, but he no longer ran. He began to see 
 the impotence of this under-world, and though he hated 
 it, he no longer feared it. As his own spirit grew strong 
 and free, he found that he could touch elbows with all the 
 world without feeling either stained or degraded. 
 
 It was after several Sundays of such mixed experience 
 that Robert was returning to Paris one Sunday afternoon 
 on one of the small river steamboats. He had been sketch 
 ing most of the day, and felt rather hopeful about the re 
 sult. He could not make his figures look other than very 
 wooden, but his trees began to have some individuality, 
 and his buildings the things he cared most about 
 were lined in with considerable firmness and accuracy. 
 Robert sat looking over his sketch-book, dwelling par 
 ticularly on the sketch he liked the best of all, the tower 
 of an old country church. The boat was well filled with 
 returning voyagers. Robert had not noticed a young 
 Russian girl who sat next to him, and who also carried 
 sketching implements. She could hardly have avoided 
 seeing his sketches, had she tried, and her interest was 
 evidently too keen to allow her to try. She was a trifle 
 
 248 
 
ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION 
 
 amused that Robert should linger so long over his old 
 tower, for on the face of it there was nothing remarkable 
 about it. She, too, examined it critically. She pointed to 
 one of the lines with her well-sharpened pencil, and said 
 in excellent French, "Do you not see that the line is 
 wrong ? It ought to go this way " and she made a couple 
 of rapid strokes on the paper with her own pencil. 
 
 Some weeks earlier, probably Robert would have 
 shut the book with a disapproving snap and deliber 
 ately walked off. But now even the impulse to do so was 
 lacking, for he recognized that the girl spoke quite im 
 personally, and solely as an artist. " Is it wrong ? " he 
 asked, looking at it critically. " Yes, you re right. It is 
 wrong. Thank you. I will soon make it right." Robert 
 quickly pulled out his own eraser and pencil, and cor 
 rected the erring line. " There," he said, looking at it 
 with his head to one side, " it is all right now, is it 
 not?" 
 
 The girl laughed, a pleasant, friendly laugh. " It is not 
 altogether right. But it is better. It will do. May I look 
 at the rest of the sketches ? " 
 
 " Certainly, if you like," answered Robert. " They are 
 not much good. This is the best one." 
 
 He handed her the book, and the girl turned over all 
 the pages, examining each sketch quickly, but with sur 
 prising thoroughness. "You are also an artist?" she 
 asked a little dubiously. 
 
 " I ? " exclaimed Robert. " Why, I never sketched be 
 fore in all my life. I just do it for fun and to help me 
 see things." 
 
 The girl looked at him quizzically. " Then it is to cover 
 249 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 up something that you pretend to sketch ? You are a 
 revolutionist, perhaps?" 
 
 It was now Eobert s turn to laugh. He had always 
 thought of himself as a very mild-looking young person. 
 Then he thought of what Stephen and Donald would say 
 to such a suggestion, and he laughed again. " Nothing so 
 lively as that," he answered the girl. " I am only a wanderer 
 and half -student just now. I was a clerk in America." 
 
 The girl looked at him in some astonishment. Then she 
 burst out, " My God, you could be something better than 
 that. You might at least be an architect. It is too late 
 to be an artist, but an architect, yes, that would be 
 possible, if you have the imagination ! " 
 
 " I wonder if I have," said Robert. " My poet friend 
 says I have n t any imagination. Sometimes I think he is 
 right and sometimes I think he is wrong. To-day I think 
 he is wrong." 
 
 The girl handed him back his sketch-book, and asked, 
 as simply as a child might, " Would you care to see my 
 sketches?" 
 
 " I should like to see them very much," answered Rob 
 ert. " If you had n t been good enough to offer, I meant 
 to take the liberty of asking." 
 
 Robert kept the book for some time. It was filled with 
 sketches so clever and so much to the point that they 
 made his own work seem worse than crude. He handed 
 back the book with a sigh. 
 
 " It is not necessary to ask whether you are an artist," 
 he said. " You are a good one, and no mistake." 
 
 " On the contrary," said the girl, " like yourself, I am 
 a pretender ! " 
 
 250 
 
ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION 
 
 " But your sketches are splendid," cried Robert, looking 
 at her quickly to see if she were in earnest. 
 
 " Yes, they are very good," she admitted, quite imper 
 sonally. " I might be an artist, if I liked. But I am one 
 in name only. It was necessary to get the passport. They 
 would not have let me come from Russia, if they had known 
 my real purpose. To study art, yes, they could under 
 stand that. But to help my country, my God, they do 
 not know what the words mean ! " The girl spoke rapidly 
 and with great feeling. Then she added with equal rapidity, 
 " Do you see that tall man over there, leaning against the 
 railing, yes, the one with a beard and the light overcoat. 
 He has been watching us the whole time. He thinks that 
 I do not know him, but I do. He is a spy, and already he 
 suspects me. But he is a stupid bear. He only understands 
 French when one speaks very slowly, and when I talk like 
 this, he does not catch a word. He thinks we are having 
 an argument over our work. When you speak to me, you 
 must speak either very low or very quickly." 
 
 Robert was truly mystified, " But I do not understand," 
 he said. " Why should you not be in Paris, if you want 
 to, and why should you have to pretend to study art ? " 
 
 " Ah, you are an American," said the girl. " You do 
 not know Russia. But I think I can trust you. Well, then, 
 I am here in Paris to study chemistry." 
 
 " To study chemistry," echoed Robert. " What for ? " 
 
 " Not so loud," continued the girl. " I study it for 
 a purpose ! " Quick as a flash she drew in her own note 
 book the picture of an exploding bomb, and as quickly 
 rubbed it out again. " Now you know ! " she said. 
 
 Robert felt as if he were dreaming. He looked at the 
 251 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 girl with renewed interest. She could not have been over 
 twenty, and was as fair and innocent-looking as his cou 
 sins at Bolton. For the moment, he ignored all the other 
 issues, and thought only of the possible danger of such 
 studies to a charming young girl who could sketch so 
 cleverly. "But are you not yourself in great danger?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " It may be," she answered simply ; " but what is one 
 life? When our country is concerned, we do not know any 
 danger ! " 
 
 Miss Matilda Pendexter would have considered Robert 
 in very bad company, and would have been still more 
 shocked could she have known how genuinely thrilled he 
 was and how sympathetic. 
 
 The steamboat was slowing up at one of the landing- 
 stages on the outskirts of the city. The girl rose hastily. 
 " This is my landing-place," she said. " Please come with 
 me to the gangway." 
 
 Robert was on his feet in an instant. The girl led the 
 way, and managed to pass very near the man in the light 
 overcoat. He stared at them stupidly, and pricked up his 
 ears as the girl turned to Robert and said very distinctly 
 and very slowly, " I am glad that you like my sketches. I 
 shall yet have a picture in the Salon ! " 
 
 " I am sure you will," said Robert, quite in the spirit 
 of the game. At the gang-plank, he asked in a low tone, 
 " Would it be better for me to get off with you ? " 
 
 " No, thank you," she answered. " I am quite safe now. 
 Good-by " ; and she disappeared up the gangway and into 
 the gathering darkness. 
 
 The little steamer pulled out into the stream, and Rob- 
 252 
 
ROBERT CULTIVATES HIS IMAGINATION 
 
 ert stood gazing into space. He had felt a distinct sense 
 of disappointment when the girl declined his company, 
 though afterwards he acknowledged to himself that it 
 would have been awkward if she had allowed him to see 
 her home. 
 
 When Robert got back to the Avenue de Friedland, he 
 told himself that even Donald might envy him the after 
 noon s adventure, but honesty forced him to admit that 
 Donald would have made much more of it. Donald would 
 have stepped off the steamboat with the girl, and would 
 have gone home with her without so much as asking leave. 
 He would have met her compatriots and co-conspirators, 
 would doubtless have had them all to dinner at some queer 
 little French restaurant, and finally would have gone to 
 his own lodgings late at night so full of information about 
 the world of revolutionary intrigue that he might ever 
 after pose as an authority on Russian affairs. 
 
 Robert checked this vivid picture of possibilities by 
 remembering some funny cartoons in an old volume of 
 " Harper s," which graced the library at Bolton. They re 
 presented what Mr. Washington Jones thought he would 
 do under certain circumstances and what he actually did. 
 Robert felt that his own performance that afternoon 
 brought him into the same class with poor Mr. Jones. 
 The only comfort he got out of the retrospect was that 
 at least he had been imaginative enough to see the latent 
 possibilities of the situation, and that this in itself was a 
 slight advance. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 
 
 ROBERT was not a frequent visitor at the banker s. He 
 had so little mail that the coming and going of the trans- 
 Atlantic steamers caused him no excitement. He had not 
 even thought of asking to have his mail forwarded to the 
 pension. He only dropped in at the banking offices on 
 the Boulevard Haussman when he needed money, and as 
 he always drew a thousand francs at a time, this seldom 
 happened more than once a month. After his early visits, 
 he became so engrossed in the daily routine of his life 
 in Paris, that fully five weeks elapsed before he again 
 went to Morgan s. Robert drew his customary thousand 
 francs on his letter of credit, and was already making his 
 way to the lift, when he caught sight of the crowd of 
 tourists eagerly inquiring for letters at the post-office de 
 partment. Robert thought that there might possibly be 
 a letter for him, and so dropped into line and waited. 
 Even then he almost gave up the quest, for it seemed to 
 him that each tourist in the long line was slower than the 
 one before, and they all seemed bent on making the poor 
 clerk back of the counter personally responsible for any 
 deficiency in their own mail. Instead of being irritated, 
 however, the clerk seemed increasingly amused. He was 
 young and chubby, with light curly hair and dancing eyes, 
 and no end of good humor. In reality he also had sharp 
 ears, and he had just heard a pretty young girl say 
 under her breath to her companion, " If that cherub has 
 
 254 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 
 
 a letter for me from Jack, I could just hug him ! " The 
 boy clerk hoped that he had the desired letter, and was 
 speculating as to whether he might dare say to the girl, 
 " I hope it is from Jack ! " So his good humor increased 
 the nearer the pretty girl got to the counter. Robert was 
 just ahead of her, and consequently, when he reached the 
 counter and gave his name, the chubby clerk sang out 
 " Mr. Robert Pendexter " quite as a butler might do at 
 some grand reception. The girl back of Robert giggled 
 and whispered to her companion, " It s a good name, and 
 he s good-looking. You d better scrape an acquaintance," 
 and Robert turned very pink, while the second girl told 
 Jack s sweetheart how outrageous she was and begged 
 her to hush. 
 
 The chubby clerk looked in the new mail and the old 
 mail. When he returned with his finds, he sang out in the 
 same genial way, " Three letters to-day, Mr. Pendexter." 
 
 Robert was too much surprised to remember Jack, or to 
 listen to hear whether the much desired letter had come. 
 Nor did he hear the pretty girl whisper. " No chance, 
 Dorothy, two of them were in a girl s handwriting ! " 
 
 Robert carried his letters to the reading-room, and es 
 tablished himself in a far corner at one of the little tables 
 overlooking the Boulevard. Two of the letters were from 
 Priscilla, and one was from Stephen. All bore the post 
 mark of Bolton. This rather perplexed Robert, and he 
 handled the unopened letters for some time, wondering 
 how it came to be. The first letter from Priscilla was al 
 ready over five weeks old, and the second one had evi 
 dently come in the last steamer. It bore the same date as 
 Stephen s. Donald would have said that the culture of the 
 
 255 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 imagination had made small progress, could he have seen 
 that Robert in his methodical way passed over the fresher 
 letters without suspecting that their identity of date car 
 ried any significance with it, and proceeded very deliber 
 ately to read the old letter first. Priscilla s handwriting- 
 was fairly plain to any one at all accustomed to the vaga 
 ries of feminine penmanship, but Robert was not in the 
 least accustomed to them. He found the reading of the 
 letter a matter of time, and some difficulty. As nearly as 
 he could make out, it ran as follows : 
 
 BOLTON, MASSACHUSETTS, 
 November eleventh. 
 
 MY DEAR ROBERT : It was good to have your last 
 letter, and to know that you are really and truly better. 
 I have n t quite forgiven you for running off and leaving 
 us without a word of good-by, I don t count that scrappy 
 little note from Pinckney Street. And Martha and Mattie 
 are even more outraged than I. They are fairly cross at 
 you ! But I must n t send disagreeable things on such a 
 long journey. It was even better to hear of you and all 
 your worldly doings through your friend, Mr. Stephen 
 Morse. He came out to see us directly after he landed. It 
 was funny to hear him call you Little Pen, but I think 
 it s because he cares a lot for you. He didn t talk of 
 much else, indeed, but you and your precious doings. Mat- 
 tie says that our only importance in the world, at least in 
 Mr. Morse s eyes, comes from the fortunate fact that we 
 are your own very first cousins ! But though it amused 
 Mattie, and made Martha a little snippy, we were really 
 ever so glad to have such complete news of you. It was so 
 
 256 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 
 
 up-to-date, that it seemed as if Mr. Morse must have flown 
 directly from you to us, instead of coming in the ordinary 
 way. He assured us, though, that a real steamer had 
 brought him to New York, an express train to Boston, a 
 very shabby accommodation train to Hudson, and a fast 
 horse and a rubber-tired buggy to Bolton. I think you 
 must have told Mr. Morse a lot about us, and a whole lot 
 that was n t true ! It was day before yesterday, Thursday 
 afternoon, and of course Bridget was out. Martha and 
 Mattie were both dressing, so I had to go to the door. 
 You won t care to know what I had on, but nevertheless 
 I must tell you, for otherwise you will never believe what 
 followed, and as it s all your fault for telling Mr. Morse 
 such silly things about me, I have a great mind not to spare 
 you one little detail. I shan t make a separate paragraph 
 of it either, as Miss Conant taught us we ought to, for 
 then I know you would simply skip it, and rush on to the 
 next to see if there was really any sense in my letter after 
 all. Well, then, my dear Robert, you must know that I ve 
 been very extravagant this fall, and have got me several 
 pretty new dresses. I know that Aunt Matilda would n t 
 approve of me at all, but then, as Mattie says, the ques 
 tion in getting new clothes is not whether aunt would 
 approve of them, but whether I ve got the money to pay 
 for them. I have n t gone into debt, so I have n t been so 
 dreadfully wicked, I suppose. All the dresses turned out 
 well, both Martha and Mattie say so, and that, you know, 
 helps the conscience heaps. If they d turned out badly and 
 had n t been becoming, I should have felt very wicked. I 
 do feel very wicked a lot of the time anyway, for I do so 
 many things that poor aunt would never have allowed. 
 
 257 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 When the weight of my sins gets too heavy, I go to Mat- 
 tie and confess. She cheers me up wonderfully. She says 
 that aunt did a great many things that / did n t approve 
 of, and that probably I am just squaring up the account. 
 Is n t Mattie too funny ? I think she ought to have been 
 a lawyer. At any rate, she is an awfully good one to 
 confess to. She has kept Martha and me from doing a lot 
 of silly things that Mrs. Perkins and the other neighbors 
 seemed to think we ought to do, such as dressing in black, 
 and keeping the shutters bowed, and trying to mope in 
 doors and feel a lot sorrier than we really are. I hope you 
 won t think we re all very dreadful, but really we do just 
 the other thing, and poor Mrs. Perkins is scandalized. I 
 think she would stop coming to see us, only she wants to 
 know just how dreadful we are. We wear our best dresses 
 every day in the week if we want to, and we have every 
 blessed shutter in the house fastened tight open, and we 
 are outdoors so much, all three of us, that we are just as 
 brown as the summer people, and are no longer taken for 
 " natives." We have fixed up the house so you would 
 hardly know it. I mean inside, of course. There is not a 
 single inch of haircloth in sight anywhere in the whole 
 house. Martha covered the best pieces of furniture with a 
 pretty French chintz that Mattie found in at Hovey s, and 
 the other pieces we just gave away right and left. There 
 is n t a single carpet left downstairs, not even that everlast 
 ing English brussels in the parlor. What do you think of 
 that? We packed every one of them off to Bromfield 
 Street for what they would bring, and got some new cheap 
 rugs with the money. Mattie and I started to paint the 
 floors ourselves, but the turpentine made us sick, and we 
 
 258 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 
 
 had to get Mr. Tuttle to do it for us. The house looks ever 
 so pretty now. Even Mrs. Perkins says so, though she 
 shakes her head and seems to think that it s disrespectful 
 to Aunt Matilda s memory to have it look so pretty. 
 When Mr. Tuttle came to bring his bill, we showed him 
 around, and he opened his eyes so wide, I was afraid he d 
 never get them shut again. He stood quite speechless 
 when he came to the parlor and saw the new chintz and 
 the dotted Swiss curtains. As he was leaving, though, he 
 found his tongue and said to me, " Law, Miss Priscilla, 
 it s just grand. It do look like a different house." Mattie 
 called it a meaty remark, for she said it expressed not 
 only Mr. Tuttle s opinion of the house as it w, but also 
 as it was. We have n t done much to the outside of the 
 house yet, but next week the carpenters are to put a nice 
 square porch at the front door. I am awfully glad that 
 aunt never would have it done before, for I m morally sure 
 that when it came to the point, she would have had ugly 
 turned posts and scroll-saw brackets, and would have just 
 spoiled the whole appearance of the house. But now we 
 are to have a Colonial porch, with quaint seats on each 
 side, and, thanks to your friend Mr. Morse, an architect 
 he knows is to draw the design for us. Martha was afraid 
 that a Boston architect would be too expensive, but Mr. 
 Morse said that the house was much too good to be spoiled 
 by a carpenter s botch, and that his architect friend was n t 
 busy, and would be jolly glad to do it for nothing, he knew 
 he would. I like the way Mr. Morse talks. Martha says 
 it s slangy, and that you can t always parse his sentences. 
 But you always know what he means, and I never saw a 
 sentence yet that I did want to parse. Earlier in the fall 
 
 259 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 we had some gorgeous chrysanthemums on each side of 
 the front door, and we ve had those straggly lilac-bushes 
 cut down that used to press up against the west windows 
 of the parlor and hide the sunset. When the new porch is 
 finished, and the front door and the shutters are painted 
 just the right green, we shall be very smart-looking. As 
 it is, Mr. Morse says it s the most distinguished-looking 
 house in the village ; but that does n t mean much, for you 
 know how many houses there were when you left, and 
 there is only one more being built now. But I meant to 
 tell you about what I wore, and here I am off on a long 
 tale concerning the house. I had a presentiment Thursday 
 afternoon that we should have company and perhaps a 
 stranger, so I put on my very prettiest dress. Mattie says 
 that my presentiments in that direction are vivid enough, 
 but that they don t count for much, as I m always moved 
 to put on my best clothes. Anyhow, I m very glad that I 
 did have the presentiment on Thursday, and that I did 
 dress in my best bib and tucker. Just now, that is, since 
 last Saturday, this happens to be a white serge dress that 
 is very becoming to me, so becoming that Mattie says it 
 makes me look almost pretty. Is n t Mattie provoking ? 
 But if she ever did pay me a compliment without a string 
 to it, I should probably faint dead away, so perhaps it s 
 just as well she never does. I had n t worn the dress once, 
 for on Sunday it rained, and I was too cross and out of 
 sorts even to try the thing on. Earlier in the week, we 
 had all been too busy putting the finishing touches on the 
 house to think of anything else. It was great good luck 
 that things were all in order again, and that I had got 
 dressed. Poor Aunt Matilda never liked to hear me call 
 
 260 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 
 
 anything luck. She wanted it called a dispensation of Di 
 vine Providence, but I never could bring myself to it. It 
 seems to me rather frivolous to connect up house furbish 
 ing and new clothes with Providence. How do you feel 
 about it ? It seems to me just downright good luck. But 
 I can t seem to get to that new dress. You might think it 
 is very grand. It really is n t. It s just a simple full 
 skirt with those up and down tucks they put in them now 
 adays, and a perfectly stunning coat, with just the tiniest 
 rim of baby-blue cloth around the lapels and on the sleeves. 
 I have a special hat to match, a cream white felt with a 
 broad brim and a lovely fluffy roll of blue veiling wound 
 around the crown. You see how frivolous I am. I even 
 bought a brand-new pair of gloves, long corn-colored un 
 dressed kids, that are a joy. I had put on the whole thing, 
 hat, gloves, and all, just to see how they would look to 
 gether, and was parading up and down my room in front 
 of the glass, when the doorbell rang. I slipped off one 
 glove, but I had n t the heart to disturb anything else, so 
 I ran downstairs just as I was. When I opened the door, 
 there stood a young man grinning from ear to ear, and 
 looking just as cool and calm and collected as if I were n t 
 standing there before him blushing in the silliest way up 
 to the very roots of my hair. I knew at once that it was 
 your friend Mr. Morse, for there was something rather 
 foreign and distinguished-looking about him. He pulled 
 off his hat and grabbed my hand before I d had a chance 
 to say a word. " Good afternoon," he said. " I think this 
 must be Miss Priscilla Pendexter." I said it was, and that 
 I supposed it must be Mr. Morse. Then we both giggled, 
 like any school-children. I don t know whether I asked 
 
 261 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 him in or not, but somehow we found ourselves in the 
 parlor. Mr. Morse looked around in surprise. " What a 
 beautiful room ! " he said. " It does n t look like New Eng 
 land. Really it does n t. It looks like Paris !" That made 
 me like him right off. Then he said, "And how did you 
 know, may I ask, that it was Stephen Morse ? Were you 
 expecting me? " I said of course that you d mentioned in 
 your last letter that he was coming home, and might come 
 out and call. I asked him how he knew that I was Priscilla. 
 " Well, if you must know," he said, in that funny confi 
 dential way of his, " it was in this fashion. Little Pen told 
 me that he had three cousins, sisters, and that the prettiest 
 one was named Priscilla ! " What a silly you were to tell 
 him such nonsense. It was dreadfully impertinent of Mr. 
 Morse, too, and I did n t know whether to laugh or pout. 
 But I finally decided to laugh, for he was so funny about 
 it. I answered back that his argument was n t the least 
 bit convincing, for he had n t seen Martha or Mattie yet. 
 " That is very true," he said, sober as a judge, " but I 
 knew they could n t be any prettier, so I concluded they 
 were n t as pretty." How is that for a compliment, up and 
 down, north and south, right and left, and without any 
 string to it ! I asked if he d been in Ireland, but he said 
 he had n t. Then he seemed to notice for the first time 
 that I had my hat and one glove on, and asked if I were 
 going out, perhaps waiting for a bubble and a bubbler. 
 I did n t tell him that I d never been in an automobile in 
 my life. Just for mischief I answered that I might have 
 been waiting for a rubber-tired buggy and a flatterer. I 
 did n t think till afterwards how it might sound. I m 
 afraid it sounded very forward, for he said, " By Jove, 
 
 262 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 
 
 that s better yet. It s a jolly afternoon, and I was wish 
 ing as I drove over from Hudson that I might ask you 
 to go out with me." I asked if he meant it, and he said, 
 " Sure, never more in earnest in my life. Come, there s 
 not a moment to lose! " I thought of course that he re 
 ferred to the short afternoons, and suggested that the sun 
 would not go down for at least a couple of hours. We had 
 got to the gate by that time, for Mr. Morse was almost 
 running. He lowered his voice and said in the drollest 
 way, " I m really too honest to be a lawyer. I did n t mean 
 that. I meant that your sisters might come down, and in 
 a buggy there s only room for two, you know ! " That 
 made it seem more like a lark than ever. You can ima 
 gine what Martha and Mattie thought when they peeped 
 through the upstairs windows and saw me in my best bib 
 and tucker driving off with a strange man. I quite forgot 
 to tell them. Martha said afterwards that she called out to 
 me, just loud enough to make her feel that, whatever hap 
 pened, she had done her duty, but not loud enough for me 
 possibly to hear. What a ride it was ! Mr. Morse did n t 
 know a little bit about driving, and the horse was pretty 
 lively, but that only made it the more fun. We went up 
 through Harvard, and as far as Groton School. It was 
 after dark when we got home, and cold as Greenland. It 
 was only the thought that my new dress was so becoming 
 that kept me from being frozen stiff. Martha and Mattie 
 were regular trumps. They had the house all lighted up 
 and the loveliest supper all ready to put on the table. 
 They guessed who it was, and tried to have things right. 
 Mr. Morse was awfully good, too. He said he d never en 
 joyed a ride so much in his life. Bridget got home in time 
 
 263 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 to wait on table, and in her new cap and apron did us 
 proud. Every once in a while Mr. Morse looked a little 
 surprised and puzzled. What ever did you tell him about 
 us anyway ? I think he d made up his mind that we were 
 back-country people, and ate in the kitchen ! I d give my 
 next quarter s interest money to know just what he thought 
 of us all. We all thought that he was delightful, even 
 Martha, in spite of her snippy remarks. Mr. Morse stayed 
 until almost eleven, and he s coming out to-morrow for 
 dinner. To-morrow will be Sunday, you know, in case 
 you ve forgotten the calendar by the time this letter 
 reaches you. I hope you feel duly complimented, Mr. 
 Robert, for this is the very longest letter I ever wrote in 
 my life, and I shall never write you another one, not even 
 a scrap, until I have a letter from you, and almost as long. 
 Now, mind ! Martha and Mattie send love. Mattie says 
 if your verse-maker is as nice as Mr. Morse, just to trot 
 him out ! 
 
 Your affectionate cousin, 
 
 PRISCILLA. 
 
 Robert had begun Priscilla s letter a little dismayed at 
 its length and somewhat regretful at having to puzzle out 
 so many sheets of handwriting. But the letter was so full 
 of Stephen that he was sorry to come to the end. He pon 
 dered over it a long while, for in addition to giving such 
 a lively picture of his friend, it carried him back to Bolton 
 so vividly that he quite forgot for the moment that he was 
 in Paris. Moreover, he had thought of the girls as stand 
 ing still just where he left them. But it was quite evident 
 that they, too, had been blossoming out. He hardly knew 
 
 264 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 
 
 the Priscilla of this lively letter. His conscience, too, felt 
 a little easier when he realized how much happiness they 
 were getting out of their small inheritance. But he re 
 solved, all the same, that instead of having himself twice 
 as much as they had collectively, they should have collec 
 tively at least twice as much as he had individually. He 
 counted that their having the house made it right perhaps 
 for him to have personally a little more money. More and 
 more poor Robert realized what a dull time they had all 
 had, and more dispiriting still that, as far as he was con 
 cerned, it had been his own fault in submitting to it. 
 With Priscilla s spirited letter before him, he fell to won 
 dering what she would have done, had she found herself a 
 spice clerk in Doane Street. He knew pretty well that she 
 would have got out of it much sooner than he had done, 
 and through her own efforts. It was a source of increasing 
 mortification to Robert that up to thirty-four he had asked 
 so little of life. Then he remembered Miss Frothingham 
 and how thoroughly she would have disapproved of such 
 abasement. Was he not in Paris, and free? that was 
 what she would have emphasized Coming out of his medi 
 tations, he tore open Priscilla s second letter, still wonder 
 ing how she came to write again so soon, when she had 
 said so distinctly in her first letter that nothing would in 
 duce her to send him another letter until she had one from 
 him. This is what he read : 
 
 BOLTON, MASSACHUSETTS, 
 December tenth. 
 
 DEAREST ROBERT : I said I would n t write to you, 
 not even a scrap of a letter, until I had a good long letter 
 
 265 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 from you in return for that tremendous epistle I sent you 
 about a month ago. I haven t had a line, not a picture 
 postal even, and here I am, woman-like, doing just what 
 I said I would n t do ! But my news is far and away too 
 good too keep. It is the biggest and the greatest and the 
 best news I have ever had to tell. Can you guess what it 
 is ? I know you can, but I mean to tell you, all the same, just 
 for the pleasure of setting it down in black and white. lam 
 going to be married some day, and to your friend, Stephen 
 Morse ! Martha and Mattie are the only ones who know 
 about it, for Stephen has just asked me this very day. I 
 want you to be the first one outside to have this good news, 
 both because you re a very nice boy, and because if it 
 had n t been for you, there would n t have been any news ! 
 Martha and Mattie say it is a very sudden engagement, 
 and they fear Mrs. Perkins will be very much shocked when 
 she hears of it, for she kept Perkins waiting three years 
 and seven months to the very day before she would ever 
 promise to marry him. But really it is n t sudden at all. 
 Stephen would have asked me weeks ago, if I had let him. 
 I have had hard work heading him off when he got dan 
 gerously near the subject. But to-day I just could n t do it 
 any longer. I felt I d been a little forward that first day 
 he was here, and I knew from the first what I would say 
 when he did ask me. He almost proposed to me on that 
 ride to Groton School. Just fancy, dear Robert, it was the 
 very first time we d ever seen each other. You are too 
 much of an old bachelor to understand, but really time 
 has n t anything to do with it. When I opened the door 
 that Thursday afternoon, and saw Stephen standing there, 
 I blushed so furiously because the thought came to me 
 
 266 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 
 
 that perhaps this was the man I would marry. And Ste 
 phen felt just the same way about me. Before either of us 
 had spoken a word, he said to himself, " By Jove, that s 
 the girl I m going to marry." Was n t it quick of him ? I 
 don t see how girls can dally over such matters, do you ? 
 I should think they would know right off whether it was 
 to be yes or no. When I finally let Stephen speak, I just 
 put my arms around him and said yes almost before he had 
 asked me, for I did n t want him to feel that my love was 
 any less perfect and sure than his. I think it must be 
 simply dreadful when there is any doubt or hesitation on 
 either side. I just wanted our love to be without a single 
 little flaw. If Stephen had really asked me that first drive 
 we took, I should have said yes, and the girls might have 
 made all the remarks they pleased. Dearest Robert, we are 
 so happy! I know Stephen better than I know any one 
 else in all the world, even better than Martha or Mattie. 
 He has been out here every Sunday since he s been home 
 from Europe, and generally two or three times during 
 the week. But it is n t that. It s because our souls are 
 really one, and I ve known him always in my dreams. 
 Stephen s mother and two sisters are coining out to call 
 to-morrow afternoon, and I shall try to look my prettiest, 
 for I do want them to love me, and to feel that Stephen 
 is not making a mistake in wanting to marry me. That 
 would be dreadful. When I mentioned it to Stephen, he 
 said that such a thing was unthinkable, and that when they 
 saw me, their only wonder would be that so prompt a per 
 son as himself had waited four whole weeks before pop 
 ping the question. Stephen says very civil things to me. 
 They are almost enough to turn my head. But they don t 
 
 267 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 the least little bit in the world. It is such a wonderful and 
 beautiful thing to be in love that I am really a changed 
 girl. I shall not care so much about clothes, and I shall 
 not be frivolous or have bad thoughts about poor aunt. 
 Dear Robert, I wish that you were in love. 
 From your happy, happy cousin, 
 
 PRISCILLA. 
 
 Robert read this letter twice before he turned to Stephen s 
 shorter note. He had been keeping this to the last, not 
 only as the more methodical proceeding, but also, it must 
 be confessed, in the same spirit that children nibble around 
 the edges and keep the most delicious morsel for the very 
 last. Stephen s note was characteristic : 
 
 BOLTON, MASSACHUSETTS, 
 December tenth. 
 
 I am eternally grateful to you, little Pen, for sending 
 me out to Bolton. It was a case of love at first sight. 
 When Priscilla came to the door, I just yielded up my 
 heart without so much as a struggle. It was just hers to 
 command. I never knew anything to be so sudden. The 
 dear girl was so demure and shy that I had an uphill fight. 
 Good Lord, I don t know why she should care for me, but 
 she does all right and no mistake. From the very first, 
 though, I was n t discouraged. I had the feel all along that 
 I should win, and now that I have won, I am as happy as 
 they come. If anything could add to my happiness, dear 
 little Pen, it will be the thought that when Priscilla and I 
 are married, I too shall be cousin to the best man I know. 
 Yours always, 
 
 STEPHEN MORSE. 
 268 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 
 
 P. S. It s ripping good fun being in love heaps more 
 than reading the " Lives of the Lord Chancellors " by your 
 lonesome. Get busy, little Pen. 
 
 Perhaps this little note touched Robert more keenly 
 than the longer letters had done. He was not deceived by 
 it. He knew that Stephen was always prone to take too 
 favorable a view of the late spice clerk and present wan 
 derer. But whether he deserved it or not, the affection of 
 this strong, self-reliant young lawyer was a constant tonic 
 to Robert. As he read the note a second time, his eyes 
 filled with tears, partly from joy in the happiness of Ste 
 phen and Priscilla, and partly from a vague pain in his 
 own unsatisfied heart. The proposed marriage gave him 
 hearty pleasure, for it seemed to him in every way beauti 
 ful and fitting. He chided himself that at such a moment 
 he should think of anything else. But as he went down in 
 the lift and slowly made his way along the Boulevard 
 Haussman and the Avenue de Friedland, the pain grew 
 more rather than less. It was the joyous certainty in all 
 the letters, the entire absence of hesitation, that cut him 
 to the quick. He felt himself a poor sort of fellow that he 
 could not know such a triumphant love. It seemed to him 
 magnificent that they should both have known at once. 
 He would have expected it of Stephen. But Priscilla ap 
 peared in a wholly new light. He had thought of her 
 merely as a lively school-girl, rebellious most of the time 
 under the severe rule of their Aunt Matilda, and giving no 
 particular promise of heroic or even unusual conduct. He 
 felt a new tenderness for his cousin when, later, in his own 
 room, he re-read the simple account of her prompt sur- 
 
 269 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 render so that Stephen might not for a moment doubt the 
 perfect completeness of their love. Robert would not have 
 credited Priscilla with such insight and unselfishness. He 
 would have expected her to play with Stephen, and keep 
 him on the anxious bench for some days, or even weeks. 
 
 In the face of this certitude and dignity, he felt himself 
 irresolute and almost contemptible. His own attitude 
 towards Pauline filled him with shame. Pauline s superior 
 ity to his own poor self made it seem all the worse. Of late 
 there had been an added cause of distress. Robert had 
 never before admitted it to himself, but he had a growing 
 suspicion, a growing fear, it might properly be called, that 
 Pauline was beginning to care for him. The thought made 
 him hate himself. To have Pauline care and to have no 
 thing to offer her in return was quite the worst that could 
 happen. 
 
 Robert considered the wisdom of leaving Paris, and 
 going to Italy a few weeks earlier than he had planned. 
 The increasingly cold weather would serve as a sufficient 
 excuse. The announcement of dejeuner came as a distinct 
 relief. Robert hastily freshened up and went downstairs. 
 Fortunately, Miss Carpenter was at the table, and her sane, 
 wholesome talk helped him to regain his poise. She saw 
 that something was wrong with Robert, but she gave no 
 sign. Instead of asking questions and inviting confidences, 
 she gave him a somewhat detailed account of the work of 
 the Ethical Culture Society in Paris and other social move 
 ments with which she was herself connected. She could 
 scarcely have done better, for it was exactly what Robert 
 needed, to be taken out of himself. 
 
 But the routine of the day had been too rudely inter- 
 270 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM BOLTON 
 
 rupted to be easily resumed. Robert spent the afternoon 
 in his room, for the most part writing letters. He wrote 
 fully and affectionately to both Priscilla and Stephen, 
 heightening their own happiness by so manifestly sharing 
 it. They were not remarkable letters, but for Robert they 
 represented a small victory. They contained no shadow of 
 his own distress, nothing but the genuine joy of a friend 
 in the happiness of his friends, which perhaps shows that 
 in spite of all his self-abasement, Robert was not wholly 
 devoid of the heroic. 
 
 Robert did not go to Pauline at tea-drinking time. 
 Happily it was not even necessary to send her word. It 
 was understood that whenever he failed to appear by five, 
 she would know that he was occupied and could not come. 
 Robert went out and bought the three Baedekers for Italy, 
 and resolutely bent his will to the study of possible plans. 
 But it was to little purpose. From five to six especially he 
 thought of little but Pauline, and always with the haunt 
 ing fear that, unworthy as he was, she might be growing 
 to care for him. Then he hated himself so fiercely and 
 unreasonably that he marched up and down the room in a 
 very fever of unrest. The Italian guide-books, in their 
 bright red covers, seemed to call shame upon him ; and 
 when he tried to busy himself in their contents, each rail 
 way route and hotel-pension seemed to emphasize the reason 
 for his running away. 
 
 Robert hurried through dinner. Miss Carpenter was out, 
 and there was no one to talk to except the young Brazilian 
 beauty at the next table, who spoke French divinely, but 
 who had nothing to say. Robert declined the solicitous cab 
 man who usually served him in the evening. Htf felt the 
 
 271 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 need of vigorous exercise. He strode down the Avenue and 
 on through the maze of streets leading to the theatre at 
 a speed which called forth several uncivil remarks on the 
 part of more leisurely pedestrians. The play was a melo 
 drama of the most improbable sort. Robert followed it 
 with insistent interest, and all he dreaded were the inter 
 minable intervals between the acts. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 THE UNEXPECTED 
 
 FORTUNATELY for Robert, lie had regained the habit of 
 sound sleep. However tangled up he might get during 
 the day, and he had a considerable talent for getting 
 tangled up, a night s rest brought him back to some 
 degree of serenity. It was so in the present instance. 
 On the morning following the storm, Robert awoke with 
 a sense of renewed well-being that made the distress of 
 the preceding day seem uncalled for and out of place. 
 The sense of loneliness remained, but he told himself that 
 it was entirely fatuous to believe for one little moment 
 that Pauline could care for so slight a person as himself. 
 It began to look fantastic in the extreme that he should 
 have so sorely chidden himself for the lack of a feeling 
 for her, when such a feeling could have had but one out 
 come, disappointment and sorrow for him. By the time 
 Robert was dressed and ready for his coffee, he was able 
 to fix his thoughts upon the usual plans for the day. His 
 coffee always acted as a mild stimulant, and sent him 
 upon his daily routine with a pleasant expectation of suc 
 cess. He threw himself into his several occupations with 
 an energy that tried to make up for the losses of the day 
 before. But when afternoon came, something of the old 
 unrest came with it. Robert was greatly tempted not to 
 go to Pauline s. He had never been absent two days in 
 succession, however, except when he had some genuine ex 
 cuse. Now he had excuse enough, but none that he could 
 
 273 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 very well offer to Pauline. He told himself rather irri 
 tably that nevertheless he would not go, but somewhere in 
 his subconscious self he knew all along that he would go. 
 
 As a matter of fact, the only outward sign of rebellion 
 was that the clock pointed some minutes after five when 
 Robert arrived at the Castiglioni. Pauline was not in the 
 salon. Robert was rather glad of this, for it seemed to 
 say at least that she had not been waiting for him. In 
 a few moments Pauline came in. She greeted Robert as 
 she always did, with frank friendliness. Her manner 
 was too cordial to be cold, and too impersonal to be warm. 
 When Robert saw Pauline every day, he was less con 
 scious of her individual quality. But even one day s ab 
 sence made him conscious anew of this baffling something 
 which kept Pauline detached from every one, even in a 
 way from Billy and her father. With his own heightened 
 sensitiveness, Robert was more conscious of this quality 
 than he had been since the first evening at the Castiglioni 
 when they had dined together. It made him think of Don 
 ald s description, a natural history girl, and it irri 
 tated him in spite of the fact that it should have set his 
 own fears wholly at rest. But this feeling soon wore off 
 as he fell into the swing of the talk and the lesson got 
 under way. 
 
 Pauline made no reference to his absence the day be 
 fore. As far as Robert could see, she had not so much as 
 noticed it. But this signified nothing, as he quite well 
 knew, for with Pauline s ideas of freedom and bigness, 
 she was not the girl to chide any one for staying away, 
 or to make them feel, in however slight a degree, that she 
 had any claim upon them that would make explanations 
 
 274 
 
THE UNEXPECTED 
 
 in order. So Kobert offered no explanations. Apparently, 
 everything was just as it had been before. 
 
 And yet, as the lesson wore on, Kobert was conscious of 
 two things. One was that Pauline, in spite of her beautiful 
 poise, was laboring under some suppressed excitement that 
 made her seem even more alive and energetic than usual. 
 Her color was high, and her eyes sparkled with added fire. 
 And the second thing that Robert was very conscious of was 
 that the lesson was being given with a thoroughness and 
 intensity that fairly took his breath away. He almost for 
 got that as pupil he also had a part to play, so taken up 
 was he with the dramatic passion of Pauline s instruction. 
 He grew a little tired in spite of himself, and experienced 
 a sense of relief when the tea things were brought in and 
 the lesson came to an end. Mr. Marshall did not join them, 
 and Pauline explained that he was occupied. She had 
 herself dropped into English, the fire of the teacher ex 
 tinguished or banked, and the talk fell into the ordinary 
 social channels. 
 
 Robert drank two cups of tea, it was particularly 
 good that afternoon, and munched his biscuit with evi 
 dent satisfaction. He had meant to leave early ; in fact, just 
 as early as he decently could. But his resolution had 
 evaporated. It was always a pleasure to drink tea with 
 Pauline, and particularly when Mr. Marshall was absent. 
 Robert could not have said exactly in what the charm 
 consisted, but he never questioned its reality. It may have 
 been the very quality which earlier in the afternoon had 
 irritated him, that is, Pauline s objectivity, her natural 
 history quality. Donald had said that she was devoid of 
 womanliness, but as far as Robert could make out, this 
 
 275 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 merely meant that she was devoid of coquetry. She made 
 no appeal for one s attention ; she asked only for comrade 
 ship, and even for that only in case you quite wanted to 
 give it. She was not unappreciative, but she seemed to say 
 in her whole attitude towards life that if need be she could 
 get on quite as well without you. Donald, and in fact 
 Stephen also, regarded this as a grave defect in a woman. 
 She must not be too helpless, that is to say, not helpless 
 enough to be troublesome, but at least helpless enough to 
 make a man pleasantly necessary. Pauline had no trace of 
 this graceful dependence. She would have scorned it in 
 herself and for her sex in general. It was inconsistent, but 
 this very remoteness which so often irritated Robert was 
 also a constant source of attraction. His own nature was 
 so sensitive and so easily shaken that he had a boundless 
 admiration for such poise as Pauline s. He could not help 
 comparing it with his own stormy yesterday, and the com 
 parison was immensely in favor of Pauline. 
 
 On the whole, Robert was glad that he had dropped in. 
 Clearly they were just good comrades. It was raw and 
 cold outside. The electric glare on the Rue de Castiglioni 
 made slight amends for the fog and gloom above it. The 
 sizzling arc lamps beat back the dull mantle only a few 
 feet at best, and even then seemed to make it more com 
 pact and depressing in the process. The warmth and com 
 fort of the Marshalls salon appealed to Robert. He knew 
 perfectly well that it was the presence of Pauline that 
 made the atmosphere of the place. The lights were right ; 
 the tea-table was what it ought to be ; Pauline s gowns 
 were always a success. She herself had wrought the com 
 bined magic of the room, and evidently cared to work just 
 
 276 
 
THE UNEXPECTED 
 
 such magic wherever she went, but she gave Kobert the 
 sense of personally rising above it and not taking it too 
 seriously. She was quite capable of sweeping it all aside, 
 without so much as a quiver, had it interrupted her own 
 freedom of spirit. All this gave the salon the air of min 
 istering to the moment, but never possessing it. Robert 
 did not analyze these elements of the situation. He was 
 conscious only of the charm of the general result. Under 
 the spell of it, he not only remained later than he expected 
 to, but even later than he had ever done before. When, 
 at last, he arose to go, Pauline surprised him by rising 
 also. 
 
 She held out her hand, and as Robert took it and mur 
 mured his good-night, Pauline said in an even, steady voice, 
 " I am sorry, Mr. Pendexter, but it must also be good-by. 
 We start for America to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow? " repeated Robert, in a dazed way. " You 
 start for America to-morrow?" 
 
 " Yes," said Pauline. 
 
 " I thought you stopped here all winter, and went to 
 Switzerland in the spring." 
 
 " We did expect to," answered Pauline ; " but now 
 everything is changed. We are going home ! " 
 
 There was such a ringing note of triumph in Pauline s 
 word " home " that Robert looked at her quickly, and be 
 fore he could substitute something more polite, he blurted 
 out, " And what takes you home ? " 
 
 " Trouble," said Pauline, in the same cheerful tone. 
 
 " Not real trouble, I hope." 
 
 " Yes," said Pauline, " real trouble, at least for my 
 father. It s not trouble for me. It s good news, pure and 
 
 277 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 simple. After so much of Europe, I prefer Indianapolis 
 to Paris." 
 
 " But your father does n t." 
 
 " No, he does n t," admitted Pauline. " He prefers any 
 corner of the foreign world to any corner of America." 
 
 " Then why is he going home ? " 
 
 " He is obliged to go," said Pauline, quietly. " You know 
 he is president of a company there. It failed day before 
 yesterday. It may be that we have lost everything." 
 
 " Oh, I hope not," said Kobert. "I hope it may not be 
 so bad as that!" 
 
 Pauline laughed pleasantly. " Thank you for your good 
 wishes. But you ought to give those to my father, and 
 then congratulate me. I m delighted that anything has 
 called us home. My only fear is that we haven t lost 
 enough to keep us there ! This is a wretched way to live, 
 Billy at a foreign school, growing up without knowing 
 what it is to be an American ; my father trotting aimlessly 
 about Europe, ill most of the time simply because he s 
 bored to death ; and I, as you know, eating my very heart 
 out because I ve nothing useful to do and no place in the 
 world where I m really needed. I hope there s not a penny 
 left. My father is still a young man. It would be vastly 
 better for him to have something to do. Billy could go to 
 the public school at home, and learn to be an American, 
 if he did n t learn anything else. I am strong enough to 
 work for both of them, if need be, and oh, I should be 
 so happy ! " 
 
 Pauline s face was aglow with enthusiasm. Kobert 
 watched her in mingled surprise and admiration. He won 
 dered how he would feel if he had lost everything. He 
 
 278 
 
THE UNEXPECTED 
 
 could hardly imagine that he would be happy over it. Per 
 haps his income was too recent a convenience to be given 
 up without a murmur. 
 
 Kobert knew that he ought to go. It was already quite 
 time for Pauline to dress for dinner, and he himself would 
 be late at the Pension Carpenter. But as the news entered 
 his consciousness in all its significance, he found it less 
 and less possible to leave. Instead, he walked up and down 
 the salon with his hands in his pockets. Pauline had re 
 seated herself at the tea-table and was quietly watching 
 him. A vision of what Paris would be with Pauline taken 
 out of it swept over him like an enveloping gray fog. He 
 had thought lightly enough of leaving Paris himself, while 
 the Marshalls were still there, but to have them go and 
 leave him behind was quite a different matter. Then he 
 thought with a great rush of feeling what a supreme mo 
 ment this would be to offer Pauline his love, and how 
 eagerly he would have jumped at such a chance only a few 
 weeks before. He was tempted to put all his doubts and 
 hesitation aside, and to risk everything in a spoken avowal. 
 But the words would not come. He was conscious that 
 Pauline must think him acting strangely, that he must 
 stop this nervous pacing up and down the room, and say 
 something, however casual. He forced himself to stop near 
 the table. Pauline looked up. Kobert asked lamely, " Shall 
 you take Billy with you ? " 
 
 It may be that Pauline felt the irrelevancy of the ques 
 tion. She laughed a little uncertainly as she answered, 
 "Oh, yes, that s the first bright spot in our so-called 
 troubles. We go to England to-morrow, and pick up Billy 
 on the way to Liverpool. When I had him every day, I 
 
 279 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 did n t much care, but since he s been at school, I ve been 
 fairly homesick for him." 
 
 Both Pauline and Robert felt that a small crisis had 
 been successfully passed, and whether they might feel glad 
 or sorry for it afterwards, there was a momentary sense 
 of relief. Robert sat down in a chair opposite Pauline, 
 and asked with genuine interest, " When do you sail for 
 America ? " 
 
 " On Saturday, on the Coronia ; that is, if we can get 
 rooms. Cook has wired to the London office for us. We 
 ought to have word to-night." 
 
 Robert drew a long breath. " To think of starting for 
 America on Saturday ! " he said. " It makes me envious. 
 I wish I were going with you." 
 
 " I wish you were," responded Pauline, quickly ; and 
 then she added with considerable earnestness, " No, I don t, 
 either. It has been good for you to be in Europe, and you 
 have n t taken the full course. You ought to stay the year 
 out. Don t go home until next September." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Robert, with rather tepid interest ; 
 and then he added, less selfishly, "But you must have a 
 lot of things to do. Can t I help you? Can t I attend to 
 something for you ? " 
 
 " Thank you, no. We are almost packed. We have had 
 two days, and if you set about it, you can do a lot in two 
 days. My one difficulty is my father. He s horribly upset 
 over the whole affair, and dreads everything." 
 
 " Could I help you with him?" asked Robert. 
 
 " No. There is nothing to be done but to go home and 
 face the situation. It might be so much worse. There is 
 no dishonor, or wrong-doing, or anything of that sort to 
 
 280 
 
THE UNEXPECTED 
 
 worry about. In the end, the company will be able to 
 pay all its debts. The only thing is that we shall have 
 much less money, perhaps none at all, when everything is 
 settled up. If I could only make my father see that the 
 trouble is n t serious, and need not affect our happiness in 
 the least ! For myself, as you know, I am almost foolishly 
 glad over it. I cannot even feel as sorry as I ought for my 
 father. But in the end it will be better for him, too. Just 
 now he is quite unmanned. It is not the disaster, it is 
 the aimless life he has been leading for the past three 
 years. It has paralyzed his will. He used to be a man of 
 force and purpose. It will all come back to him when we 
 get to America and he is obliged to bestir himself. Don t 
 feel sorry for us, Mr. Pendexter. We are not in a bad 
 way. We Ve been off the right track for at least two out 
 of the last three years, and now we re simply going to 
 get on it again ! I can hardly wait to get home." Pauline 
 had risen, and once more held out her hand. "I know 
 you will pardon me, but I really must go to my father 
 now." 
 
 Robert caught her hand eagerly. " I ve been a pig to 
 stay so long. But I cannot let you drop out of my life so 
 suddenly. Can t I go to Liverpool with you and help you 
 off?" 
 
 " No," said Pauline, withdrawing her hand gently. " I 
 could n t think of such a thing." 
 
 " I could go just as well as not. My few engagements 
 are easily canceled." 
 
 " It is not that, but my father would be nervous. It is 
 better for him not to see people, at present. Just now, he 
 is overwhelmed with mortification." 
 
 281 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " But I may see you to-morrow morning, may I not? " 
 begged Robert. 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish. But not here at the Gare du 
 Nord. The train leaves at nine fifty. Come at half-past 
 nine. I know we shall be there by that time, for my 
 father will begin to fidget about getting off as soon as it s 
 light." 
 
 44 All right. At the Gare du Nord. The express for 
 London. I wish you d let me go as far as Boulogne." 
 
 " No, you simply must n t. It would upset my father 
 dreadfully. Good-night ! " 
 
 Robert unwillingly went away, chagrined that at such 
 a difficult moment in Pauline s life, he could be of practi 
 cally no service to her. 
 
 It was already past seven. Pauline had not asked him to 
 stay to dinner. He wished that she had, but he knew, of 
 course, that her father s condition made it impossible. It 
 was too late to get home and dress for the formal dinner 
 at the Pension Carpenter, so Robert turned into a small 
 cafe on the Rue de la Paix, and sat down at one of the little 
 tables. It was a cheery enough place. The lights were all 
 ablaze ; there were growing plants about the room, and the 
 walls were varying shades of brilliant red. But Robert 
 was quite unconscious of the cheer. He was nervous and 
 excited, and the intolerable sense of loneliness that had 
 almost swallowed him up yesterday now seemed to engulf 
 him completely. He declined the allurements of the table 
 d hote, although the waiter told him confidentially that it 
 was only three francs, good red wine included. Spurred 
 on by the necessity of ordering something, he let his 
 eye wander aimlessly over the bill of fare. All the dishes 
 
 282 
 
THE UNEXPECTED 
 
 seemed equally impossible. Robert did not quite see how 
 the food could get around the lump in his throat. He was 
 sorry that he had come in. Finally he ordered a cup of 
 strong coffee and a roll. An hour later, he noticed that 
 the cup was empty and the roll gone, so he fancied that he 
 must have made way with them, but he had no recollection 
 of having done so. The cafe was partly deserted, and the 
 proprietor was looking at him in no friendly way as an ec 
 centric who occupied too much space and spent too little 
 money. Robert paid his bill, and rushed out into the 
 night. It was still raw and cold, but he was unmindful 
 of the weather. He had a vague idea of walking home, 
 and perhaps beyond, into the deserted Bois. As the 
 effect of the hot coffee wore off, Robert began to feel the 
 chill. He called a cab and drove home. He was glad to get 
 indoors and in front of the grate fire in his own room. 
 
 Robert did not turn on the light. He was in no mood 
 for reading. He threw himself into an armchair and sat 
 there huddled up in front of the fire, alternately hot and 
 cold, fighting the old circular fight of the undecided. For 
 a time the warmth and comfort of the Marshalls salon 
 filled his thoughts. He re-lived all the events of the after 
 noon, even the strenuous French lesson, but he lingered 
 longest over the cheer of the dainty tea-table, with Pauline 
 sitting on one side of it, so manifestly mistress of the 
 whole situation, and himself cosily established on the other 
 side, content and happy. How could a man ask more, and 
 especially how could he, Robert Pendexter, who had so 
 little to offer in exchange ? He had no right to think that 
 Pauline could be in love with him, but however unreason 
 able the thought, an unmistakable intuition told him that 
 
 283 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 at least Pauline cared a little, and that it rested with 
 him to make her care more. He might try to deceive him 
 self if he wished, but in his heart he knew that at that 
 critical moment when he had put the inane question 
 about Billy, he might, had he so willed, have bound Paul 
 ine s destiny to his own, and have had done forever with 
 the terrible gnawing loneliness that, under all the gay ex 
 terior of his life, was eating out his very heart. He might 
 have gone back to America with Pauline as her accepted 
 lover, perhaps even as her husband, for she might possibly 
 have consented to marry him in London. As Robert 
 thought of all this, and let these comfortable pictures of 
 an assured comradeship pass before him, it seemed incred 
 ible that he should have wavered and turned weakly away. 
 So admirable a fate was much too good for him. He de 
 served to lose Pauline, to be lonely all the rest of his life. 
 He wondered what Pauline thought. She was too clever not 
 to have divined the conflict that was going on so visibly 
 before her very eyes. Perhaps she had already suffered a 
 complete revulsion of feeling, and now despised him as 
 heartily as he deserved. Robert shuddered. He could not 
 bear to have Pauline despise him, Pauline, so strong, 
 so brave, so magnificent. It seemed to Robert that he 
 could not live if Pauline despised him, that he must wither 
 up and die. Perhaps it was not yet too late. The right 
 moment had gone by, but perhaps there might be a second 
 right moment. He would go to her at once. Robert 
 roused himself and pulled out his watch. He held it near 
 the fire. It was almost midnight, and it was too late, 
 Pauline would be in bed and asleep. 
 
 Robert had never thought of Pauline in terms of sen- 
 284 
 
THE UNEXPECTED 
 
 sual desire. The momentary breath of passion when, at 
 Gorphwysfa, he had wanted to kiss her hand, and again in 
 the garden at Bowness, had so abashed his almost maiden 
 soul that since then his feeling, whatever it was, had been 
 as innocent as a boy s. Pauline had appealed to him on the 
 artistic side of his nature. Her strength, her superb good 
 looks, her physical prowess and energy, her ability to create 
 the magic of warmth and comfort wherever she found her 
 self, above all, the unbroken fitness of whatever she said 
 and did and wore, had separated her from the few wo 
 men he had known in America, and classed her with the 
 beautiful objects of nature, with mountains and lakes, the 
 seven seas, and all the big, flawless things. But to-night 
 there came a new feeling that carried Robert into an 
 unexplored world. It seemed to bring the warmth of Paul 
 ine s presence with it, and to diffuse a strange tenderness 
 over the whole of life. The picture of Pauline asleep 
 stirred new depths in his being. Such a feeling had never 
 come to him before, and had it come, Robert would have 
 put it resolutely aside as too great a liberty. But to-night 
 the curse of self-consciousness had for the moment spent 
 itself, and Robert was again one with nature and with 
 life. There was no mystery so sacred that he might not 
 share it, no temple so holy that he might not enter. Un 
 abashed, he stood in thought by Pauline asleep. He took 
 her in his arms and pressed her to his heart. He felt the 
 delicious warmth of her strong young body ; he breathed 
 the fragrance of her hair. He stood there by a double 
 right, for he had come to comfort her, as well as to be 
 comforted. 
 
 A live coal fell with a jarring noise upon the hearth. 
 285 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Robert got up to replace it on the fire. It fell apart under 
 the too strong pressure of the tongs, and the fragments 
 paled into gray ash. 
 
 Robert resumed his chair, but the spell had been broken. 
 For the moment, he had been sure of himself, but now 
 doubt had once more entered. Robert determined, however, 
 to act as if he were still sure. These eternal doubts were 
 after all a mere feebleness of the will. He would go to the 
 Gare du Nord very early in the morning, so as to be on 
 hand when the Marshalls arrived. He would see Mr. Mar 
 shall safely established in his compartment and all the tire 
 some luggage stowed away. Then Pauline and he would 
 walk up and down the platform together. They would have 
 at least twenty minutes, perhaps half an hour. It would 
 not be so ideal a spot as the petit salon on the upper floor 
 of the Castiglioni, but he would not play the fool again. 
 Come what would, he would 
 
 " Would he ? " cried a mocking inner voice, the voice of 
 an apparent second self. 
 
 Robert flung himself out of his chair. " Yes," he cried 
 aloud. " By all that s good, I swear I " But again 
 he was arrested before his oath found record. It was not 
 this time by the mocking inner voice, but by a swift 
 vision. He stood inside a great Minster in an ecstasy of 
 spiritual awakening. The organ sent out vast waves of 
 pulsating, throbbing sound. The clear, high voices of the 
 choir filled the void spaces of the great Minster with haunt 
 ing beauty. The light filtered through the stained glass 
 windows and illumined the fluted columns of the nave. 
 Stephen and Donald were there. Sappho and Miss Froth- 
 ingham were moving towards them. Robert himself was 
 
 286 
 
THE UNEXPECTED 
 
 nowhere, because by a divine transfiguration he had en 
 tered for the moment into the spirit of the whole. He was 
 the light, the tracery, the song. But always Pauline stood 
 without the door. Once more he realized with a sobbing 
 heart-ache that in this world of the spirit she could not 
 enter. He did not himself always live in it. There were mo 
 ments when the beautiful body of the world and the fire 
 of its heart sufficed him, and with its abundant warmth 
 and comfort he was content. It was at such moments that 
 Pauline held out her arms to him, Pauline, who repre 
 sented at their best this body and this heart. But his real 
 home was in the world of the spirit, in that world which 
 had been revealed to him in the wonderful moment at York 
 Minster, a world which he had not yet explored, but one 
 that was always calling him, a call that was the heart of 
 all his loneliness and discontent. 
 
 It was long past midnight when Robert went to bed. 
 He was emotionally spent, and slept the sleep of a great 
 weariness. 
 
 Shortly after the wintry daylight came straggling into 
 his room, Robert aroused himself and dressed. Just what 
 he would say to Pauline, he hardly knew, but he meant 
 that it should be nothing more than an ordinary friendly 
 parting. By the time he reached the Gare du Nord, it 
 was only quarter past nine. The Marshalls were not there. 
 Robert paced up and down the first-class waiting-room, 
 fearful one moment that he might miss them, and anxious 
 the next lest when they did come he should not say and do 
 the right thing. It was half-past nine, and still the Mar 
 shalls did not appear. By quarter of ten, Robert was gen 
 uinely uneasy on their own account, thinking that perhaps 
 
 287 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Mr. Marshall was too ill to travel. At ten minutes of ten 
 the train moved off. Robert noticed that the guard called 
 Calais-Dover, and he remembered, he thought, that Paul 
 ine had said they were going by Boulogne. 
 
 Robert took a cab and drove hastily to the Castiglioni, 
 only to find that the Marshalls had gone. The porter re 
 membered that they had left early, earlier he thought than 
 they expected to, and they had certainly directed the cab 
 to proceed to the Gare du Nord, for he himself had told 
 the cabman. 
 
 More perplexed than ever, Robert returned to the Pen 
 sion Carpenter. He remained in his room all morning. 
 When he went down to luncheon, he found a note at his 
 place. It was from Pauline, and had evidently been brought 
 by a private messenger. She wrote in great haste to say 
 that she had stupidly got the London trains mixed up, and 
 that the Boulogne train left at eight twenty-five instead of 
 at nine fifty. She was too sorry to have put him to any 
 inconvenience. Her father joined her in friendly good-bys 
 and best wishes. 
 
 Robert puzzled over the note all the afternoon. It was 
 like Pauline to drag her father in, and by making the note 
 so impersonal, keep it from saying anything. The mistake 
 about the trains was genuine, he was sure of that, for Paul 
 ine was quite too honest to descend to any fibbing. But the 
 question that bothered Robert was as to when she had found 
 out the mistake, and whether, had she so wished, she might 
 not have got him word in time. He was quite at sea. It 
 might be that Pauline discovered her mistake at the last 
 moment and really could not let him know sooner ; or it 
 might be that she had taken advantage of the mistake to 
 
 288 
 
THE UNEXPECTED 
 
 avoid seeing him again. The note itself was entirely non 
 committal. If she had avoided him, she had done it hon 
 estly, she had a perfect right to do it, and he did not blame 
 her the least little bit in the world. But it would have been 
 a great comfort to know that she had n t. 
 
 In the days that followed, Robert found that Paris with 
 out Pauline seemed suddenly very empty. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 COCUMELLA 
 
 IT was early in March when Robert reached Cocumella. 
 He had imagined that Italy was a warm country, and had 
 gone to San Remo, thinking to be very comfortable, and 
 to wait there for the spring and a propitious season for vis 
 iting the interior hill towns. But February had been un 
 usually severe, and every few days he had moved farther 
 south, expecting to catch up with the heat. He came to 
 feel as if he were being pursued by the demon of cold. At 
 Rome he had spent a whole morning hunting an apart 
 ment with full southern exposure, only to discover that the 
 Italian sun in winter is not a very dependable heater, and 
 that the apology for a stove in his grand apartment could 
 not keep him from shivering. When he complained, they 
 told him quite seriously that if he really wanted to keep 
 warm, he ought to go to Russia, for there they were pre 
 pared for the cold. But Robert had no desire to go to Rus 
 sia, and so continued to move south. He had a humorous 
 feeling that he might eventually land in Sicily, or even in 
 Africa, and he wondered how poor Donald was making it 
 in Berlin. It was quite without expectation of finding a 
 permanent abiding-place that Robert turned towards Sor 
 rento. He liked the name, and he recalled that Sappho and 
 Miss Frothingham might possibly be there in March. He 
 had grown accustomed to being lonely, and was bearing 
 himself better than in Paris, but nevertheless, the prospect 
 of having such pleasant company was a great attraction. 
 
 290 
 
COCUMELLA 
 
 It was, after all, a mere possibility that he might run 
 across the two ladies, so he did not allow himself to count 
 upon it. 
 
 Tucked away as it is, near the end of its own peninsula, 
 Sorrento seems at first sight almost as inaccessible as para 
 dise, but like paradise, it is easy enough to get there when 
 you once know the road. On the great half-moon of the 
 Bay of Naples, the two cities face each other, the excitable 
 Naples near the horn of the northern half and the serene 
 Sorrento near the horn of the southern half. Every morn 
 ing during the season, the white-painted, broad-bellied, 
 double smoke-stacked Nixe leaves her Neapolitan mooring 
 and its perennial excitement, to make a clear thirteen-mile 
 line across the waters to the quiet beauty of Sorrento. The 
 foam in her wake traces a long white line across the blue 
 waters. Like a giant swan, she descends upon the head 
 lands ; and the little boats, in answer to her whistling call, 
 crowd around her like so many water-beetles around a 
 majestic waterfowl. For a moment she comes to rest, and 
 one by one the little boats snuggle up to her to give or 
 take their cargoes of present day money-makers, Ameri 
 can, English, or German. Another whistle and the Nixe 
 skirts the headlands of the Capo di Sorrento, and heads off 
 across the lovely waters to the enchanted island of Capri. 
 This is in the early part of the day, a little past ten. 
 Shortly after five the Nixe returns from Capri with more 
 Americans, English, and Germans, and after a friendly 
 salute in the way of a deep bass whistle, is off once more 
 to the human fever of Naples. 
 
 Robert s experience on the Republic had given him a 
 fondness for boats, large and small. He meant to take the 
 
 291 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Nixe over to Sorrento, and early on the morning following 
 his arrival in Naples, he drove down to the landing-place. 
 When he looked across the waters, however, and saw the 
 enchanting country that surrounds the Bay, he changed 
 his mind, and hastily drove to the railway station. He got 
 there just in time to catch the early train to Castellamare. 
 It is about an hour s run. The railway skirts the beautiful 
 Bay, and makes its path through the Vesuvian ash-piles 
 and lava streams to the foot of a gray, forbidding wall of 
 rock, the Monte Sant Angelo. Here lies Castellamare, still 
 ten miles from Sorrento. They say in Naples that Castel 
 lamare is the dirtiest city in Italy, but in other quarters 
 of the world it is also said that pot must n t call kettle 
 black. Kobert was quite undismayed, why bother with 
 the foreground when the background is so superb ? also, 
 he was not going to stop in Castellamare. 
 
 At the railway station there is a particularly officious 
 and offensive person, a self-appointed factotum. He speaks 
 English, but his vocabulary is very limited, and when he 
 gets to the end he cheerfully begins over again, and then 
 a second time, and so on, indefinitely. This jargon of 
 familiar words without ideas produces a certain vertigo, 
 and Robert handed over his luggage, his small coin, and 
 himself without the least show of resistance. But his jour 
 ney to Sorrento was in no way furthered. The function of 
 the factotum is pure obstruction. He distributed Robert s 
 luggage to as manyfacchini as possible, and created con 
 fusion in the minds of the cab-drivers. In any other coun 
 try, Robert the practical would have been angry. But in 
 Italy, it was Robert the dreamer. In the face of such all- 
 pervading beauty, the little details of life seemed quite 
 
 292 
 
COCUMELLA 
 
 unimportant. Robert had learned a little Italian, enough 
 to travel by, and with its help and still more patience he 
 finally gathered his traps together again. After exciting 
 interviews with what seemed to him about half the popu 
 lation of the place, he succeeded in hiring a crazy-looking 
 cab to take him and his possessions out to Sorrento. Even 
 then the driver stopped a number of times and addressed 
 a torrent of remarks to Robert, but whether these had to 
 do with the scenery, or local history, or the inadequacy 
 of cab fares, Robert s knowledge of Italian was too limited 
 to enable him even to guess. 
 
 The drive was ten miles of delight. Even Robert s 
 glimpse of the Riviera had not prepared him for such color 
 and such beauty. They seemed to him almost like com 
 panions, brooding presences that made it impossible to be 
 lonely. 
 
 On one side of the drive, to his left, he had the jagged 
 limestone cliffs flanking the Monte Sant Angelo, with 
 scant herbage of heather and broom, and cruel-looking 
 boulders apparently waiting to crush just such pigmies 
 as himself. On the other side there was a wall, gray and 
 lichen-covered ; over the wall, a precipice, showing on oc 
 casional terraces a few stray olive trees, or the glossy dark 
 green of the caruba tree ; at the foot of the precipice, 
 advancing and retreating, were the multi-colored waters 
 of the ever-beautiful Bay of Naples. Far out, the waters 
 show that marvelous even blue for which they are cele 
 brated the world over, but it is along the shore line that 
 one sees the greatest beauty. Here, it is not salt water that 
 one sees, but the open pigment-case of some gay-hearted 
 painter bent on making an impossible aquarelle. The blues 
 
 293 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 do not fade into one another. They are in distinct patches, 
 here a mass of exquisite turquoise against a setting of royal 
 sapphire, there a long streamer of blue, caught from the 
 very sky itself, and trailing over turquoise and sapphire 
 as if the owner of the pigment-case had wantonly smeared 
 a film of china white over his cobalts and Prussian blues. 
 The color is a very real thing, and apparently no trick of 
 reflection, no mere reaction in the soul of the beholder. 
 
 In spite of himself, Robert searched the masses of gray 
 limestone with bewildered eyes to see if they also, where 
 the waters had swept over them, were not besmeared with 
 blue. 
 
 And all the while the blue-stained waters mockingly 
 advance and retreat, fraying themselves into white foam, 
 and bearing their patches as jauntily as a Neapolitan 
 beggar his rags. 
 
 At Vico Equense the road twists itself back from the 
 sea into a graceful horseshoe, crossing the little valley that 
 made this detour necessary on a high stone bridge many- 
 arched and beautiful. Robert had the carriage stop. Down 
 the valley he saw on each side steep, terraced gardens, 
 planted in the gray green of the olive, and here and there 
 in the warmer green of orange and lemon tree, partly 
 covered by straw mats to keep off the sometime invading 
 frost. Between this setting of green he caught glimpses 
 of the water and the straight, restful line of the opposite 
 coast. From the midst of the orchards rose the pink and 
 the white houses, either singly or in picturesque groups, 
 and higher than all, the tower of a church giving a touch 
 of the distant East in its minaret-like roof covered with 
 tiles of green and yellow. Up the valley, Robert saw steep 
 
 294 
 
COCUMELLA 
 
 billows of silvery green, the orchards of thickly planted 
 olive, with only an occasional country-house, and ending 
 in a wild tangle of gray mountains, whitened here and 
 there with snow. 
 
 With a sigh of regret, Robert had the carriage drive 
 on. After that the road dashed through the picturesque 
 village of Marina di Equa, and Robert found himself high 
 above the water in the midst of prosperous olive orchards. 
 If you are sensitive to such things, it is a distinct pleasure 
 to look down into the blue depths through the delicate 
 silver-green of the olive. It is not an unusual experience 
 in Italy, but it never came to Robert without an answer 
 ing thrill. 
 
 When the road emerges from the olives, it comes out 
 on a bold promontory, and one catches a first glimpse of 
 the Piano di Sorrento, so wonderful in its beauty that it 
 seems a veritable Garden of Eden. The Piano is a gener 
 ous sheet of lava, extending for three or four miles along 
 the shore, and perhaps a mile wide. On three sides it is 
 bounded by a wall of gray mountains, and on the fourth 
 by the " loud-sounding," tideless sea. The Piano breaks 
 off at the shore into wild, perpendicular cliffs, a hundred 
 feet in height, sometimes rising in warm reddish walls di 
 rectly from the waves, sometimes allowing a narrow stretch 
 of dark gray beach, where bare-legged fishermen pull in 
 their nets, and the tax-gatherer takes his tare. From the 
 cliff edge, the Piano slopes gently upwards towards the 
 encircling mountains. The whole plain is a brilliant green, 
 interrupted by small patches of white and of pink. The 
 green is the glossy leafage of orange and lemon trees, 
 which show, when one comes nearer, abundant golden 
 
 295 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 globes and pale yellow waxy pendents. Here and there, 
 as if placed by some artist of consummate skill, rise the 
 mighty stone pines, the glory of Italian landscape, their 
 clean red trunks towering straight and proud above the 
 humbler fruit-bearers, and spreading out on high into a 
 gorgeous umbrella, with ribs of warm red and cover of 
 never-fading velvet-green. The whites and pinks are the 
 houses of Meta and Sant Agnello and Sorrento. 
 
 It is about a mile of gradual descent to the level of 
 the Piano. The splendid roadway is partly cut in the 
 rock itself, and partly supported on massive walls and 
 arches. 
 
 Once down on the Piano, and the road crosses it about 
 midway. It is now engulfed between high garden walls, 
 or runs through the damp, narrow streets of the almost 
 continuous villages. These tortuous labyrinths lack the 
 glory of the open, intoxicating roads, but they have a 
 beauty all their own. The garden walls on each side are 
 built of square blocks of lava, the warm reddish tone 
 shining through the deeper browns like the red blood in 
 the brown faces of the children playing near them. It 
 seemed to Robert almost as if this red-washed stone still 
 held the smouldering fires of bygone eruptions. But the 
 destructive humor is past, and the present mood is wholly 
 beneficent. The lava changes into the most fertile of soils, 
 and nourishes where it once made havoc. The blocks in 
 these old walls have crumbled on their edges, and in this 
 hospitable soil dainty ferns and wild flowers have now 
 taken up their abode, and trace out the squares in lines 
 of living green. On top, where sun and rain and air have 
 had still better chance, the lava has crumbled into deeper 
 
 296 
 
COCUMELLA 
 
 earth and bears a tender fringe of maiden-hair, casting its 
 own shadows of velvet moss. 
 
 Stretching over the walls, as if bent upon a little pri 
 vate munificence, the orange and the lemon trees fling out 
 branches of rich, glossy green, studded with golden and 
 with yellow fruit. Still farther overhead there is a ribbon 
 of blue sky. One cannot see much of it, but for this nig 
 gardliness it amply atones by its superb quality. 
 
 Robert drew a deep breath of satisfaction. But it seemed 
 wicked to be going even at his present modest speed. To 
 crawl along, and every few yards to stand quite still, 
 would hare seemed more reverent. 
 
 The road makes unexpected turns and angles, and is 
 occasionally intersected by narrower lanes, where patient 
 donkeys trot along under their top-heavy burdens, and the 
 girls and women, straight as arrows, fetch firewood or pro 
 vender on their well-poised heads. From time to time there 
 is a wayside shrine, speaking to the heart of an ideal world 
 even fairer than this fair Piano. Sometimes on top of the 
 wall are perched little summer-houses with single or double 
 arch turned towards the road, and from this point of van 
 tage showing their graceful vaulted ceilings like so many 
 interesting studies in perspective. And sometimes, if one 
 look sharply enough, one will catch a pair of laughing 
 brown eyes, watching for some one else. 
 
 Long stretches of the road are silent and seemingly de 
 serted, but however full one s heart, it will not do to burst 
 into song, unless one is pretty sure of one s notes, for there 
 are ears as well as eyes alert. Up in the trees a barefooted, 
 sweet-faced boy is cutting, twining, pruning, while leaning 
 against the wall, too quiet to be noticed, is a charming little 
 
 297 
 i 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 peasant girl, wondering, perhaps, why it is that the Ameri 
 cans and English and Germans all have so much more 
 money than the Italians. 
 
 Robert, too, was wondering. But he found part of the 
 answer to his query at the next corner in the shabby little 
 building that stands there as a symbol of misgovernment. 
 It contains a pair of scales, a lantern, a shabby account- 
 book, and two able-bodied men, who would much better be 
 doing something else. It is the home of the tax-gatherer. 
 Every bit of food brought down from the hillside, every 
 fisher s net pulled out of the sea, every donkey panier of 
 goods creeping along these lovely roads must pay its tax. 
 And these beautiful gardens, walled in with such apparent 
 penuriousness, must needs harbor every resource, for the 
 tax-gatherer comes around once every two months, six 
 times a year ! And the handsome signore, to whom one s 
 own modest income seems a veritable fortune, must needs 
 pay twenty per cent of his income one fifth! to a 
 government which hardly seems to offer him a fair equiva 
 lent. It is true that the handsome signore does not tell the 
 truth about his income, but one must not blame him too 
 severely. Here in this beautiful Italy each man who works 
 must carry on his back another man who only eats. It is 
 the manner of the state militant. 
 
 Robert had not decided upon a hotel. He meant to 
 leave the question open. It was early in the day, he 
 would be guided by appearances. 
 
 For some reason best known to himself, the cabman left 
 the main highway at Sant Agnello, and turned down 
 towards the sea. Robert wanted to stop at each open gate, 
 and explore the old gardens of which they gave such 
 
 298 
 
COCUMELLA 
 
 charming glimpses. He passed with difficulty the tortuous, 
 inviting lane that leads down to Marion Crawford s villa. 
 It was in this mood of high appreciation that Kobert came 
 upon Cocumella. It was a few minutes past twelve. A 
 bright warm sun shone upon the severe facade of the 
 Albergo, upon the delightful old orange orchard to the 
 right, upon the little Jesuit church to the left, upon the 
 palm trees in the stone courtyard in front. Towering high 
 above the garden, several stone pines spread the illu 
 minated velvet green of their heavy tops against a back 
 ground of blue sky. Across the trees and waters rose the 
 strong, beautiful outline of Vesuvius, with its dazzling, 
 sun-smitten canopy of smoke. It was still almost a mile to 
 Sorrento, to the Piazza, but Robert knew that this was the 
 spot for him. Whatever Sorrento had to offer, it could not 
 surpass in loveliness this ancient, garden-begirt Albergo. 
 
 It was with some difficulty that Robert persuaded his 
 incomprehensible cabman to stop and deposit himself and 
 his luggage. For some quite unknown reason, the man 
 was bent upon making Sorrento. Robert declined to be 
 carried on, however, and made such an outcry that Vin- 
 cenzo, the head waiter, heard the disturbance, and rushed 
 out to take part in it. When he learned that the gentle 
 man had wished to stop at Cocumella, and had almost 
 been prevented, the uproar that ensued was so vigorous 
 and picturesque that by comparison Robert s protest 
 seemed as nothing. He quite expected to see broken heads 
 and other aftermath of violence, but the storm was made 
 up wholly of words, and above all of gesticulations. Rob 
 ert became fairly fascinated to see how near a clenched 
 fist could come to another man s face without actually 
 
 299 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 striking it. By this time all the other cabmen waiting in 
 front of the Albergo were taking part in the uproar. 
 Though no one listened, each man seemed bent on ex 
 pressing his own opinion fully and explicitly. Finally, 
 Robert managed to get out of the cab and have his 
 luggage transferred to the hall. 
 
 Vincenzo was once more the smiling host, eager to show 
 the gentleman every unoccupied room in the Albergo, so 
 that the gentleman might be fully satisfied. Robert se 
 lected a room at the top of the house, not a large one, but 
 one that offered a cheery fireplace in one corner, and a 
 groop of windows looking out on the garden and the Bay 
 and Vesuvius. 
 
 It was already time for luncheon. After a hasty fresh 
 ening up, Robert ran downstairs to the gayly decorated 
 dining-room on the ground floor. Vincenzo was watching 
 for him, and steered him to a seat near the lower end of 
 the long table. The people around him looked up and 
 spoke pleasantly. Americans and Germans predominated, 
 but it seemed to Robert that nearly every known country 
 was represented. It was rather a noisy table. The sun 
 streamed in through the large south windows and seemed 
 to liberate the talk. Robert looked in vain for a familiar 
 face. He hardly expected to find Sappho and Miss Froth- 
 ingham, for he did not know how early in March they 
 expected to reach Sorrento, or at what hotel they planned 
 to stop. There were several small tables ranged along the 
 sides of the room. Robert fancied that had the ladies been 
 there, they would have chosen one of the small tables. It 
 occurred to him that it would be very cosy if he might 
 occupy the third place in such a little group. 
 
 300 
 
COCUMELLA 
 
 After luncheon, Vincenzo took Robert through the gar 
 den, and begged him to help himself to the oranges and 
 lemons. He also explained, as a fact quite worthy of atten 
 tion, that the only reason why they could offer so much 
 for six francs a day the gentleman could see for him 
 self after such a luncheon that it was vastly more than 
 any one else gave for perhaps twice the money was that 
 the Gargulio family owned the estates themselves and did 
 not have to pay any rent, and the saints knew that they 
 were not mean, these Gargulios. They wanted every one 
 to be quite satisfied, and did the gentleman not think that 
 to give people a lot for their money was the best way to 
 bring about such a result ? It was regrettable, but some 
 people did not appreciate it. Some did, however, and 
 showed their appreciation by giving liberally to holy 
 church, and to the local charities, of which by a happy 
 chance Vincenzo had a complete list in his pocket. Per 
 haps the gentleman would like to look it over. The Russian 
 princess the gentleman might have remarked her sitting 
 at the small table in the dining-room, yes, the one to 
 the extreme right had given twenty francs. She was 
 almost as rich as an American. To be sure, some could not 
 afford to give so much as that. They gave only five francs, 
 or if the truth must be told, sometimes only two or three. 
 The mean ones gave only one franc, but happily not many 
 such came to Cocumella. Robert was too full of the 
 garden to pay much attention to Vincenzo. Rather absent- 
 mindedly, Robert handed over a five-franc piece, and 
 heard profuse thanks. When he turned around, a moment 
 later, Vincenzo was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 Robert had never before had the freedom of an orange 
 301 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 orchard. It was too soon after the abundant luncheon for 
 him to want any of the fruit, but the bare fact that he was 
 at liberty to help himself gave him an absurd amount of 
 pleasure. It seemed to make the garden his very own. He 
 wandered down the path to the abrupt cliff overlooking 
 the bay. At the very edge of the garden he could peer 
 over and see the tiny gray beach below. The whole out 
 look was so essentially picturesque, and so unlike anything 
 he had ever seen before, that his interest amounted to an 
 excitement. He could see a fisherman drawing up his boat 
 up the sand, and further along a couple of workmen, an 
 old man and a rosy boy, who seemed to be building some 
 thing, perhaps a boat. Kobert was all aglow to join them 
 and explore this curious strip of beach cut off at both ends 
 by bold, projecting headlands. On one side of the garden 
 he found a little gate that opened into a narrow lane. 
 This in turn took him into a bizarre path that made its 
 zigzag way down the sheer face of the cliff. Sometimes the 
 path was an uneven slope, sometimes a crude stairway cut 
 in the lava, and worn by time and use into an indefinite 
 outline. In places the path turned directly into the lava, 
 and wandered through fantastic caverns doubtless exca 
 vated by ancient quarrymen, but now suggestive of ban 
 dits and smugglers. At other places the path emerged 
 upon tile-paved balconies that offered outlooks of such rare 
 beauty that it seemed a sin to leave them. Kobert was 
 slow in making the descent, for at every turn he was will 
 ingly detained. At last he came out upon the sands. A 
 rough quay built of uneven blocks of lava, and protected 
 by a tiny breakwater, offered a landing for small boats. 
 Just now, it was deserted, for the Nixe would not be re- 
 
 302 
 
COCUMELLA 
 
 turning from Capri for several hours yet. The fisherman 
 had joined the boat-builders, and sat watching their pro 
 gress. Their workshop was a rough grotto cut out of the 
 lava and opening directly upon the sands. The boat was 
 about half finished. To Robert, it represented a prodigious 
 amount of labor. Not only were the old man and his beau 
 tiful apprentice shaping everything by hand with the sim 
 plest of tools, but the very planks had evidently been cut 
 by hand from the rough logs that marked the entrance to 
 their work-room cave. 
 
 The cliff itself was in the shadow, a dark pinkish brown, 
 but the sun reached the iron-gray sands of the beach, and 
 touched the tiny breakers into dazzling white. It was as 
 warm as summer, and to Robert, from the north, it hardly 
 seemed like a real world. To be so near Vesuvius, and to 
 be able with one s spiritual hand to reach out and touch 
 it, and to pass one s fingers, with delight, over its sweeping 
 curves, was in itself an experience of worth. Here on this 
 isolated beach, with only three Italians, and these wholly 
 bent upon their own affairs, Robert felt as far from Paris 
 as he did from Massachusetts. The loneliness did not dis 
 turb him. He liked to be so completely ignored. It had 
 struck him throughout Italy as quite superb the way the 
 native life goes on, regardless of the erratic and purposeless 
 movements of the swarming forestieri. He would have 
 liked to have speech with the beautiful apprentice, but per 
 haps it was better as it was, each movement full of uncon 
 scious grace and himself as unnoticed as a passing bird. 
 
 Robert wandered to the end of the little beach, to the 
 projecting headland, and found an irregular tunnel leading 
 into its very heart. He followed the broken line of the 
 
 303 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 passageway for perhaps a hundred feet, and came out upon 
 a tiny beach hardly larger than a bathroom. The rough 
 lava extended like a wall on all save the water side, and 
 even overhung the beach in lieu of a ceiling. The side 
 towards the bay was a magnificent picture-window, in 
 which one saw blue waters and the sun-smitten cloud can 
 opy of Vesuvius. Back of the tiny beach was a cavern-like 
 cleft that offered the most secure of dressing-rooms. By 
 way of a door, there was a hundred feet of shadow. 
 
 Robert slipped out of his clothes, and in a moment was 
 sporting in the cold blue waters. A little boat darted by, 
 startlingly near, but it contained only a couple of fisher 
 men, who showed their white teeth as they smiled and 
 wished Eobert the good day that he was having. Tingling 
 with renewed life, he came out of the water into his fan 
 tastic dressing-room, and in a few moments was again in 
 his clothes. 
 
 Robert wandered back through the little tunnel into the 
 broad sunshine of the beach. He stretched himself lazily 
 on the sands. It seemed to him that he had never felt so 
 young. Something of the pagan joy of living went racing 
 through his veins. Italy and the south had got into his 
 blood. The over-strenuous life in Paris somehow seemed 
 unnatural and remote. It was more sensible to be lying 
 there on the sands, doing nothing but just living. There 
 was no picture in all the Louvre or Luxembourg so beau 
 tiful as the luminous one that stretched out before him. 
 If he wanted landscape, he had but to look over the blue 
 waters to Vesuvius ; if he wanted the picturesque, he had 
 the warm pink cliffs ; if he wanted something better than 
 portraiture, he had only to watch the apprentice boy. 
 
 304 
 
COCUMELLA 
 
 Towards sunset, Robert aroused himself, and slowly 
 climbed the wandering stairway to the rim of the garden, 
 pausing in a dozen places to drink in that marvelous 
 beauty of the Bay of Naples when the sun is sinking 
 towards the western isles. Robert sat down on the old bench 
 that stands at the edge of the garden. He sat there utterly 
 content, asking nothing. He looked out over the waters to 
 measure the full dimension of his content. It seemed as 
 boundless as the view. Then the light began very grad 
 ually to fade, and more ethereal colors played over the 
 sea and sky. They brought with them a more mystical and 
 haunting beauty, the promise of something that sea and 
 sky alone did not quite yield. In the less luminous picture 
 there was the added value of mystery. Robert was keenly 
 alive to the change, and his own mood at once responded. 
 The pagan joy of life was not less intense than when he 
 had emerged all glowing from the cold blue waters. He 
 still felt the thrill of quicker blood. It was good to be 
 young and strong and free. It was not that any of these 
 satisfactions had grown smaller. But they no longer filled 
 the whole of life. Around them like an enveloping, unes- 
 capable atmosphere was the sense of unexplored regions 
 that promised yet greater possibilities. All unconsciously, 
 Robert stretched out his hands in supplication. In his own 
 soul there was a sense of this deeper necessity. Then there 
 came to him, as there had once or twice before in this won 
 derful experience called Europe, an eclipse of his smaller 
 personal self. -For a moment he passed into the super- 
 conscious, and was one with the palpitating color oceans 
 of sea and sky. He was realizing what was needed to give 
 the pagan joy of life an abiding peace. It was the touch 
 
 305 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 of the spirit. Life became transfigured as it had been in 
 York Minster, and Robert felt that never again ought he 
 to be lonely or unhappy. He had but to beckon them, and 
 the hosts of the air were his for company. He had but to 
 turn his face upward, and he was in the presence of the 
 divine. A greater thrill passed over him than had been 
 induced by the cold water. In his cheeks there came a 
 heightened color. It was the joy of the mystic coming into 
 his own, an ecstasy vague, formless, incoherent, but capable 
 of translation into high performance. 
 
 Below Robert, at the first turn of the path, a man 
 and a woman, with a couple of children, stood looking 
 out over the Bay. They spoke to Robert pleasantly and 
 continued their scrutiny of the waters. At first Robert 
 thought that, like himself, they were occupied with the 
 sunset, but presently they turned back and moved briskly 
 towards the Albergo. They were members of the Gargulio 
 family, and had evidently seen what they came out 
 to see. Robert swept the waters more carefully. The 
 Nixe was moving off towards Naples, leaving behind her 
 a trail of silvery light upon the face of the darkening 
 waters. She was late that evening. Two small rowboats 
 were slowly making their way towards Cocumella. One 
 of the boats carried two passengers and the other three. 
 Robert watched them disembark and cross the sands and 
 climb the stairway. He felt no curiosity about them, 
 they were simply a part of the evening s panorama. The 
 party of two came briskly up the zigzag path, as if that 
 were the sole business of the hour. The other three trav 
 elers came slowly, not as if they were tired, but as if they 
 wished to prolong the pleasure. None of them saw Rob- 
 
 306 
 
COCUMELLA 
 
 ert. He was sitting in the shadow, quite motionless. They 
 passed by, dark, indistinct figures that might have been 
 given up by the sea. It pleased Robert s fancy that they 
 had been so near that he could have put out his hand and 
 touched them as they passed, and yet that they had not 
 seen him. It was a symbol of the mystery of life. It 
 spoke of forces and influences unseen and unreal so long 
 as one does not heed them, but quick with life the mo 
 ment one turns the head. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 OLD ACQUAINTANCES BECOME NEW FRIENDS 
 
 THE following morning, when Robert leisurely took ac 
 count of his surroundings, he had the feeling that he was 
 very well off. It would be pleasant to have Sappho and 
 Mias Frothingham there ; but whether they came or not, 
 his sense of present satisfaction told him that this would 
 be his home until well into April. 
 
 The Albergo della Cocumella was formerly a religious 
 house, a summer retreat of the Neapolitan Jesuits. The 
 breezes of a score or more of years have robbed it of all 
 casuistry and left only an atmosphere of peaceful medita 
 tion. It is half country-house and half monastery. After 
 the fashion of its kind, it is built around the four sides 
 of a paved court, in the centre of which is an old well, 
 rimmed with maiden-hair and other fern. Towards the 
 Bay there is an arched doorway showing the reddish walls 
 of the old garden ; and in the very centre of the picture 
 rises the great trunk of a stone pine, its velvet green top 
 standing out sharp and clear against the blue of the sky. 
 For nearly half the quadrangle, the Albergo is only one 
 story, a design which leaves free outlook for the upper 
 rooms of the other portion and makes possible the most 
 delightful of roof-terraces. Robert found the terrace near 
 his own room a capital lounging-place these warm, sunny 
 days in early March. He never grew tired of looking 
 across the tops of the orange trees and under the great 
 cone-laden pines and over the blue waters to his ever- 
 
 308 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FRIENDS 
 
 smoking, ever-fascinating neighbor, Vesuvius. When no 
 storm cloud hid the summit, the familiar column of white 
 smoke lost itself in great white masses that might well 
 have served Michelangelo as model for the resting-place 
 of those heavenly hosts that Ezekiel saw. In spite of this 
 familiarity, the great smoke cloud never lacked variety. 
 On still days the columns rose straight and high, and 
 spread out into a canopy like a marble support to the 
 vault of the sky. But usually the air was stirring, and then 
 the smoke streamer served as a huge weather-vane, even 
 as a barometer, since in so exposed a locality as the Sor 
 rento peninsula, the direction of the wind largely deter 
 mines the character of the weather. But perhaps the 
 greatest charm of Vesuvius to Robert was the sense of 
 expectation which it aroused. It seemed to fulfill Don 
 ald s demand for the unexpected, and to do it in giant 
 measure. Recently there had been hoarse rumblings and 
 other show of activity. Sometimes, of a dark night, there 
 could be seen a bright-red beacon light on the very sum 
 mit, a little notice that the heart of the world is still on 
 fire. 
 
 But it was late at night that Robert loved his roof- 
 terrace the best. Then the Albergo was dark and silent, 
 and the whole Piano asleep. Usually there was no wind 
 at that hour, and to the darkness and the silence was 
 added the impressiveness of entire repose. When the 
 moon was traveling elsewhere, the night rested like a 
 mantle over the sleeping plain, and the stars, like faithful 
 sentinels, shone out through the clear and darkly lumin 
 ous air. Across the water were the lights of the ever-alert 
 Naples, and further to the left the blinking eye of the 
 
 309 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 revolving light on Capo Miseno. To the south and east 
 and west rose the mountain walls of the Piano, first the 
 rugged and grandiose heights which keep company with 
 the forbidding Monte Sant Angelo, then the one isolated 
 peak of Monte di Chiosse and the low saddle over which 
 passes the road to Amalfi, and then finally the gentler 
 earth curves passing into the long, slow-descending hill 
 line on the west. Nearer at hand were the silent, tomb- 
 like walls of the white villas, half visible even in the 
 darkness; and then, just over the terrace, the mysterious 
 shadows of the old garden. 
 
 At such a time as this, one comes into touch with the 
 larger and more spiritual side of Nature. In Robert s 
 responsive heart, thoughts bestirred themselves which 
 made him for the moment a brother of the subjective, 
 contemplative East. It was no longer the twentieth cen 
 tury. Its too rapid pulse-beat was at a halt. Robert lived 
 in a limitless universe, in which the past and present and 
 future were all as one, brought into community in the 
 infinite recesses of the human soul. 
 
 When the moon comes back from the western seas, and 
 floods all this loveliness with her silver light, the beauty 
 is less formless, and yet in that half light which suggests, 
 but does not reveal, there is almost as much mystery 
 as in the darkness. But there is greater hint of human 
 hearts. The balconies and loggie of the neighboring villas 
 were meant for friendly occupancy. The two towers, 
 within a stone s throw, if one is a good thrower, 
 mark the home of Marion Crawford, and are the very 
 finger-posts of romance. In the other direction stood the 
 home of Tasso. Now it has fallen into the sea, but the marble 
 
 310 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FKIENDS 
 
 statue in the Piazza bears witness to Sorrento s pride in 
 the most gifted of her children. 
 
 Inside, the Albergo is spacious and serene, its vaulted 
 ceilings and thick walls outlasting several generations of 
 our own more perishable clay. The centre of its social 
 life was the long, well-lighted corridor that stretches along 
 one side of the inner courtyard and leads from the stair 
 case to the gayly decorated dining-room. But Robert was 
 not often indoors. If he was not in the immediate vicinity 
 of the Albergo, on the roof -terrace, in the garden, or 
 down on the beach he was pretty apt to be wandering 
 about in the lanes of Sant Agnello, or prowling among 
 the shops of Sorrento, or climbing the hillsides back of 
 the Piano. His life was not so systematic as it had been 
 in Paris. He was not so alert, so eager, not so consciously 
 hunting for personal reactions. Yet many things were 
 coming to him, delicate impressions and subtle insights 
 that are frightened away by too eager pursuit, and only 
 enter the soul when it stands open and waits. Robert 
 got up each morning without settled plan. He went to 
 bed each night feeling that the day had brought its re 
 wards. The nearest approach to systematic work that he 
 ventured upon was a few lessons in Italian. But these 
 he took not from any academic motive, but solely that he 
 might talk the more readily with the children and the 
 peasants. He had scraped acquaintance with the youthful 
 Apollo who built boats on the Cocumella beach, and had 
 even loaned an occasional hand to some of the simple 
 boat-building operations. The Italian lessons were in 
 marked contrast to the French lessons given by Pauline, 
 or even to those of the over-fluent Madame Sylvestre. 
 
 311 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Robert s teacher was a handsome young priest from the 
 Cathedral Church at Sorrento. Robert promptly named 
 him " St. Augustine," for he was the very image of the 
 Saint as he appears in that picture of St. Augustine and 
 Santa Monica that Robert had seen and liked in London, 
 the picture by Ary Shaffer in the National Gallery. St. 
 Augustine wanted very much to know English, and so 
 the lesson became practically an hour of linguistic good- 
 fellowship. His speech was singularly direct. After some 
 small success on Robert s part, St. Augustine would look 
 at him impressively and say quite as impersonally as if 
 Robert were a beetle mounted on a pin, "I perceive that 
 you are intelligent ! " 
 
 But woe be to poor Robert if he became uplifted ac 
 cordingly and neglected his verbs. St. Augustine would 
 lift his slender forefinger to the side of his sensitive 
 aquiline nose and remark with quite as little compunction, 
 "I perceive that you have a short memory!" However, 
 they got on well together. St. Augustine cared little for 
 the modest fee, and Robert took his praise or blame with 
 equal serenity. What each one wanted was to learn the 
 other s language and to impart a little of his own. And if 
 St. Augustine outstripped him, Robert took it all in good 
 part, for it is the manner of the saints. 
 
 Robert had been at Cocumella just two weeks. He had 
 had no news of Sappho and Miss Frothingham. He took 
 the precaution of dropping in from time to time at the 
 larger hotels, the Tramontana, the Vittoria, the Grande 
 Bretagne, and even sometimes at the smaller ones, to see 
 if he could find their names on the registers, but so far 
 without success. He was too happily occupied to feel any 
 
 312 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FRIENDS 
 
 unrest at their non-appearance, but it would have been 
 pleasant to have had some one to whom he could relate 
 his small adventures and be sure of a sympathetic hear 
 ing. He had fallen into the habit of going late each after 
 noon to the old bench on the rim of the garden. He 
 watched the sunset, and incidentally scanned the faces of 
 those who came from Capri to Cocumella. The Nixe was 
 more prompt than formerly, and the days themselves were 
 increasing in length. Eobert could no longer sit motion 
 less in the shadow and be unobserved. On this particular 
 evening a number of travelers came bobbing over the 
 waters in the little rowboats and landed at the rough 
 quay. Once on the sands, they separated into groups 
 and came wandering up the zigzag path in the usual 
 characteristic way, some as if getting to the top were 
 the sole question; others as if the climb were an imposi 
 tion for which the proprietor was later to be held account 
 able ; a few leisurely and with evident pleasure in the 
 novelty and the beauty. Robert did not have Sappho and 
 Miss Frothingham especially in mind, he had seen so 
 many travelers arrive, and they had not been of the num 
 ber. As the mixed company trailed past him, however, 
 he noticed far down the path a couple of ladies whose 
 progress had been quite the slowest of all. They moved, 
 not as if they were weary, or even rebellious at the long 
 climb, but rather as if they were prolonging it out of 
 mere pleasure. They stopped at the different turns in the 
 path, and were evidently chatting about the outlook. The 
 murmur of their voices came up to where Robert sat. As 
 they drew nearer, he caught a familiar note. It was the 
 musical, high-pitched voice that he so well remembered. 
 
 313 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Though he was so far above the ladies, the voice seemed 
 to be with him rather than with them, to herald their 
 approach rather than to come with them. As the ladies 
 climbed higher, Kobert could recognize their dress as well 
 as their voices. Mrs. Costello still wore her marvelous 
 habit of silver gray, and Miss Frothingham had on the 
 traveling gown that she had used at Oxford. At the last 
 turn the ladies sat down for several minutes, and Robert 
 could easily have overheard their talk. He closed both 
 ears, and sat a moment watching them. He was conscious 
 of a distinct pleasure. They were only acquaintances, but 
 they might become friends. It was already too late to see 
 very distinctly, but Robert could detect the rare quality 
 in both faces, the calm and dignity in Sappho s, the 
 delightful mobility in Miss Frothingham s. 
 
 Robert did not speak. Some months before, he would 
 have called out to them in boyish pleasure. But now he 
 felt that it would be an intrusion. Finally he decided not 
 to speak to them until they came down to dinner. He 
 softly left his bench and ran through the garden to the 
 Albergo. He stopped a moment to see Vincenzo and be 
 speak for the two ladies his very best available rooms. 
 But it seems that they had already written ahead and the 
 rooms were waiting for them. Robert turned back once 
 more to ask if they might not sit together, the three of 
 them, at one of the little side-tables. Vincenzo readily 
 promised, and Robert ran upstairs to dress. 
 
 In a few moments Robert was down in the corridor again, 
 but the two ladies had not appeared. He sat down at the 
 far end of the corridor, where he could see the staircase, 
 and advance leisurely to meet the ladies when they did 
 
 314 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FRIENDS 
 
 appear. He was amused at this little provision for scenic 
 effects, and told himself that he was growing very worldly. 
 But the charge no longer brought any self-reproach. If 
 houses and gardens were planned for vistas and scenic 
 effects, why not human behaviour ? The only thing was to 
 keep things in due proportion, and to see that the human 
 drama was always worthy of its elaborate setting. Robert 
 was growing artificial. He had started out very simple, and 
 he had meant to keep simple, but of late it had been dawn 
 ing upon him that simple people are not interesting. He 
 was beginning to take Donald s view of the matter. He 
 had once repudiated it vigorously, but he was beginning 
 to see that the people who are continuously interesting 
 are not the people that one can exploit at a sitting, 
 but are rather those highly evolved products, very com 
 plex, very artificial if you will, who present inexhaustible 
 possibilities in the way of speech and action, but who are 
 nevertheless just as wholesome and natural in their arti 
 ficiality as the peasant is in his simplicity. It was a new 
 point of view for Robert, and he had not yet worked it out 
 to his own satisfaction. The part of the problem that most 
 puzzled him was to determine which part of life ought to 
 be kept simple and which part allowed to grow complex. 
 He was now quite sure, and never more so than as he sat 
 there waiting for Sappho and Miss Frothingham, that to 
 have life all simple was to have it all dull, and he had got 
 beyond the point where he could willingly tolerate that. 
 But some instinct told him that there was an unescapable 
 element in life that to be kept sound must be kept sim 
 ple. Just what it was, he could not quite make out. It 
 did not bother him, though, for he felt that sooner or later 
 
 315 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 he would find out, was probably finding out all along, and 
 that in the end he would be able to weave the fabric of his 
 own life accordingly. So far, he liked the Italians better 
 than any people he had ever known. He loved the chil 
 dren he met and talked with on his walks, the old men 
 working in the fields, the boat-building Apollo, the out 
 spoken St. Augustine. When he compared them with the 
 English peasants, or even with the country people in New 
 England, with those thrifty farmers in Vermont where he 
 had spent several vacations, it seemed to him that the one 
 group was steeped in interest and the other in dullness. 
 What made the difference, was it climate, or heredity, 
 or religion, or education ? These humble Italians that Rob 
 ert had come to know were simple enough, in some things 
 primally simple, but along with this beautiful simplicity 
 they had subtleties and insights that made Robert himself 
 feel like a bungler. They were not merely simple like his 
 Vermont summer friends. They had an added touch of 
 something that made them perennially interesting, and al 
 ways lovable. Even Vincenzo, whose subtleties cost Robert 
 an occasional five-franc piece, seemed to him more worth 
 while than any servant he had seen in colder zones. It 
 was a greater pleasure to give Vincenzo five francs than it 
 was to give an English monotone a shilling, from which 
 it will be seen that Robert had not yet reached the social 
 stage where tipping ceases to be regarded as a necessity, 
 and takes its place among the recognized pleasures of life. 
 The ladies were very slow in coming. But Robert was 
 not impatient. He had plenty to think about. It rather 
 heightened his pleasure to sit there and wait for them. 
 It was like saving the best letter in one s daily mail until 
 
 316 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FRIENDS 
 
 the very last. Now that he had grown analytical, and 
 to-night Robert was looking at the world almost as Donald 
 might have looked at it, Robert realized that his lively 
 anticipation of pleasure in meeting Mrs. Costello and Miss 
 Frothingham rested upon no intimate feeling of friendship, 
 for as yet he could not claim either of them as friends, 
 but solely because they were both very highly evolved and 
 very interesting human products. Mrs. Costello was far 
 from simple. She was marvelously complex, marvelously 
 artificial ; and Miss Frothingham was less so only because 
 she was younger. But in both women, this elaborate cul 
 ture had preserved and even heightened an underlying 
 simplicity that kept it sound to the very core. Robert 
 knew that he might spend the whole evening with them, 
 and to-morrow find them just as fresh and unexplored 
 as ever. The thought gave him much the same sort of 
 satisfaction that one might feel in beginning a book in 
 many volumes, if at the same time the book were inter 
 esting. 
 
 But at last they came. Robert could hear their voices 
 and the rustle of their gowns. When they reached the land 
 ing and turned to descend the last half -flight into the long 
 corridor, they came into full view. Both women were in 
 evening dress. As the night was somewhat warm, Alicia 
 was all in white. Her embroidered muslin gown made her 
 look more slender and more girl-like than Robert remem 
 bered her to have looked either on the steamer or in Eng 
 land. Her heavy coils of hair took on a deeper gold from 
 the absence of color in her gown. As she spoke to Mrs. 
 Costello she turned her face brightly towards her, as if to 
 give her for the moment quite all of herself. Could Stephen 
 
 317 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 have seen her, he would have admitted that it was no trick, 
 but a habit, and much too pretty to be given over. Robert 
 watched the two ladies with lively pleasure. They seemed 
 to him in their way quite as rare as the best art treasures 
 of Italy, and they had the added value of being alive. 
 
 Robert waited until they reached the bottom of the 
 staircase. Then he rose quietly and went forward to meet 
 them. He meant to move as slowly as they did, and to 
 shake hands with them exactly in the centre of the corri 
 dor. This was the way he had visualized their meeting. 
 
 Alicia was the first to see him. " Why, there is Mr. Pen- 
 dexter!" she cried, in a pleased voice, and involuntarily 
 hastened forward. " How nice to see you again. Where 
 did you come from ? " 
 
 Robert s measured programme must have fallen through, 
 for when he shook hands with the ladies, it was well over 
 on their side of the corridor. 
 
 Mrs. Costello greeted Robert with equal cordiality. It 
 was quite evident that both women were glad to be meet 
 ing him again. They stood and chatted for a few moments 
 in the deserted corridor, for the most part asking and 
 answering the unimportant questions which travelers com 
 monly exchange. Robert meant not to be interrogative, 
 but as we all know, a question, be it trivial, impertinent, 
 or momentous, is, next to the weather, quite the easiest 
 banality of conversation. Robert was conscious that he 
 was making mistakes, as he always did when he was a 
 little embarrassed. For a time he was the country boy 
 again. It may have been a salutary set-back, for it must 
 be confessed that as he sat waiting for the ladies to come 
 down, he had felt dangerously well satisfied with himself. 
 
 318 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FKIENDS 
 
 In a moment, however, he had himself in hand again, and 
 was chatting with the easier tone of his later and more 
 experienced self. He suggested that they should be having 
 dinner. When he mentioned his arrangement about the 
 small side-table, and asked if he had taken too great a 
 liberty, the ladies both expressed their pleasure at the plan, 
 and added kindly that it made them feel quite at home to 
 be looked after so admirably. Robert felt the utter fatuity 
 of his rejoinder, but for the life of him he could not help 
 protesting that the one person he had looked after ad 
 mirably was himself. Then he told them quite naively that 
 the first day he had come to Cocumella he had thought 
 how pleasant it would be to be sitting there just as they 
 were, but that he had had little expectation of having his 
 wish come true. 
 
 " That s a good way to frighten off good fortune, if 
 you call our coming good fortune," said Mrs. Costello. 
 " Whatever you want, you must expect. That hurries it 
 along." 
 
 "It does with you, dear Mrs. Costello," suggested Alicia. 
 "But I think it s because you always want what s coming, 
 and so get ahead of fate, every time." 
 
 Mrs. Costello laughed and turned to Robert. " You see 
 how easily Miss Frothingham pricks my philosophy. But, 
 believe me, it does n t all evaporate. If your friends were 
 only here, the young lawyer and the poet, it would seem 
 quite like York or Oxford." 
 
 "But so much nicer ! " said Robert. 
 
 " Ah, you love Italy, I see. I am so glad. And how do 
 you find my dear Italians, as delightful as Miss Froth 
 ingham and I do ? " 
 
 319 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " I have quite lost my heart to them, men, women, 
 children, and babies ! " 
 
 "You and Mrs. Costello will get on famously," said 
 Alicia, "and especially if you can tell her why you find 
 them so delightful." 
 
 " I could never do that. I don t know, myself. First I 
 thought it was because they were so simple ; then I thought 
 it was because they were so complex. One moment I like 
 them because they are so indifferent to the forestieri, 
 and the next moment because they are so intimate and 
 friendly." 
 
 " Delicious," said Mrs. Costello. " You are going through 
 the same puzzle that we all do." 
 
 " Have you solved it ? " 
 
 " Not wholly, perhaps not at all. I think they re all 
 you say, and a lot more." 
 
 " Just a bundle of contradictions," said Robert. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, not that," protested Mrs. Costello. " I 
 think their charm is that they have so many sides to their 
 nature. It is quite inexhaustible. You may know an Ital 
 ian all your life, and at the end he will do something to 
 surprise you." 
 
 " Something pleasant ? " asked Robert. 
 
 " It may be. But it s not necessarily pleasant or un 
 pleasant. The thing is that it s unexpected." 
 
 " They re a puzzle, all right, from the babies up to old 
 Vincenzo. It seems impossible, though, does n t it ? that 
 people can be such opposites, simple, complex, indif 
 ferent, sympathetic." 
 
 " I think that is the easiest part of the puzzle," sug 
 gested Alicia. " If you notice, they are simple, consistently 
 
 320 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FRIENDS 
 
 simple, along certain lines, and in other ways just as per 
 sistently complex." 
 
 " One can hardly call it consistent, though, to be sym 
 pathetic one moment and quite indifferent the next," 
 said Robert. 
 
 " But are they ? " questioned Mrs. Costello. " I should 
 say that they are sympathetic all the time, but circum 
 stances vary. They are as intuitional as animals. You 
 know a well-bred dog is quite indifferent to people who 
 don t care for dogs, and yet will jump all over those 
 who do." 
 
 "What interests me," said Alicia, "is that Mr. Pen- 
 dexter should care so tremendously for the Italians. It 
 seems to me more inconsistent than anything the Italians 
 themselves have ever done or ever will do." 
 
 Both Mrs. Costello and Robert kughed. " Why? " he 
 asked ; " because I m a New Englander and, to be consist 
 ent, ought to disapprove of gayety and mirth? " 
 
 " Only partly that," answered Alicia. " I have just 
 guessed something." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " It is that you are not wholly a New Englander." 
 
 " A clever guess ! No, I m not. I m coming to think 
 that perhaps I m not even half a one. My mother was 
 from South Carolina." 
 
 " Ah, that explains everything," said Mrs. Costello, 
 with interest. " Sons, as a rule, take after their mothers. 
 Has it been some years since your mother left you ? " 
 
 " Yes. I don t even remember her. She died when 
 I was a very small boy, and I never knew any of her 
 family. My father died soon after. I was brought up by 
 
 321 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 his sister, you know, my Aunt Matilda Pendexter. For 
 her there was only one family, the Pendexters, and one 
 section of the country, New England. So you see it was 
 drilled into me that I was a New Englander, and a Pen- 
 dexter, and nothing else. Italy is helping me to find my 
 mother." 
 
 " How beautiful ! " said Mrs. Costello, almost in a whis 
 per. "My husband, you know, was an Italian. And 
 through him Italy spoke to me of so many things, touched 
 me into such new life. We must be good friends, Mr. 
 Pendexter, for in a way we are the children of the same 
 mother ! " 
 
 " I have the feeling that we shall be the best of friends, 
 and it pleases me to feel that. I have never had many 
 friends, you know. But Miss Frothingham said * partly. 
 I want to know the other half of her reason for thinking 
 me guilty of such a terrible thing as inconsistency." 
 Robert spoke lightly, but he felt a genuine interest in 
 her answer. 
 
 " Partly is n t always a half," Alicia replied. " In 
 this case it was only a quarter. The other three quarters 
 of my reason was that I thought you adored simplicity." 
 
 " I used to, but I don t any more. Do you ? " 
 
 " I might say the same thing," answered Alicia. " I 
 used to, but I ve been converted." 
 
 " I suppose you met a lot of simple people, and had to 
 spend some time with them." Alicia nodded. "So did 
 I. That s just what happened to me ! " and Robert laughed 
 merrily. 
 
 " Alicia, you are really very wicked to-night ! " said Mrs. 
 Costello. 
 
 322 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FRIENDS 
 
 " No, I m not, dear Mrs. Costello. The same thing 
 happened to you, only it was in your last incarnation ! " 
 
 Mrs. Costello smiled and, turning to Robert, inquired 
 after his winter. Both ladies showed a genuine interest in 
 so much of his doings as he chose to tell them. When Rob 
 ert finished, Mrs. Costello said to her friend, " I think, 
 Alicia, that we perhaps ought to tell Mr. Pendexter what 
 brings us to Cocumella." 
 
 Robert turned towards Mrs. Costello with an air of 
 attention that seemed to invite any confidence she felt it 
 wise to bestow, but he did not put any question. 
 
 " We have a very dear friend in India, Mr. Pendexter, 
 a most gifted woman, who has just written a book that 
 her Indian friends regard as quite remarkable. She has 
 done us the great honor to send the manuscript to us, and 
 to ask us to edit it. It will take at least a month. Miss 
 Frothingham and I are so deeply interested in the work 
 that we are putting everything else aside. I am afraid we 
 shall hardly be fit companions until it is all off our hands. 
 We have chosen Cocumella because it s so delightfully 
 quiet here. You see we are undertaking what our Catholic 
 friends call a retreat." 
 
 u Then you will hardly want to know any one at Co 
 cumella," said Robert, "not even St. Augustine or 
 Apollo !" 
 
 " What a droll combination," laughed Mrs. Costello. 
 " One does n t think of them as being much together. Did 
 you meet them in the Museum, or in the Piazza ? " 
 
 " Neither. Vincenzo got me St. Augustine. He is a 
 young priest who gives me Italian lessons. I found Apollo 
 myself. He is the carpenter s boy who builds boats down 
 
 323 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 on our little beach. You must take time to know both. 
 They re really great fun." 
 
 "Perhaps later, but not now, please," said Mrs. Cos- 
 tello. " We must really think of nothing but the book." 
 
 " Would you like to have me go away?" asked Robert, 
 very genuinely. 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Mrs. Costello, smiling ; " that 
 would be a misfortune, to have found you and then to 
 have lost you at once. I thought we might have the plea 
 sure of taking our meals together, or at least luncheon 
 and dinner, Miss Frothingham and I shall be having 
 the breakfast-trays brought to our rooms, and that per 
 haps you would be good enough to let us share your 
 walks occasionally, when we have need of exercise." 
 
 Robert hastened to assure her that nothing would give 
 him more pleasure. 
 
 " I was telling you this," continued Mrs. Costello, " so 
 that you might not be sorry that we had come, or feel that 
 we are going to intrude in any way on your own daily 
 work. I know what it is to be a worker, and I always feel 
 that I want to protect them. And perhaps now you ll 
 tell us about your plans, and what brought you to Cocu- 
 mella." 
 
 " I came to get warm," said Robert. " I was just a 
 coward flying before the cold. And I stay on because I 
 love it so much. I m really not working, I m just drifting. 
 I just have a good time from morning till night. You see 
 the Southerner in me is coming out ! " 
 
 " But one can t have a good time without doing some 
 thing," urged Mrs. Costello. " I shall suspect that you are 
 writing a novel." 
 
 324 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FRIENDS 
 
 " I wish I were, but I have n t wit enough. I occupy 
 myself, of course. I walk and read and study a little Ital 
 ian. Sometimes I sketch a little bit, and then I never get 
 tired just prowling about in the shops and lanes and down 
 on the beach. I m almost a busy person, indeed, for the 
 time never seems long enough to get in all I want. But all 
 these little doings put together hardly deserve to be called 
 a plan." 
 
 "It depends, does it not, upon the way you handle 
 them ? " suggested Alicia. " Walking, for example, the 
 Master used to say, is a very spiritual exercise, if one medi 
 tates as one walks. And reading surely is a solid enough 
 work, if one also thinks. What shall we say about the 
 sketching, Wise One ? " Alicia turned very prettily to her 
 older friend, and Robert was struck anew with the beauty 
 of the relation between them. 
 
 " Something equally brave, I am sure," said Mrs. Cos- 
 tello. " My husband used to say that it was a divine thing 
 to draw or paint, if one only saw. He believed that we 
 have so few artists, not because our hands are naturally 
 clumsy or the technique of art difficult, but wholly because 
 our souls are undeveloped, and we do not see. He had 
 very little training himself, you remember. His father did 
 not want him to be an artist, and made it cruelly hard for 
 him. But Leon Costello saw, and so he was an artist. He 
 got the training afterwards, but he was the artist first. 
 Later, he used to say to his own pupils, My children, if 
 you want to paint, paint ! It was quite touching, I do 
 assure you, to see the wonderful way in which they used to 
 fall into two groups, quite as if some very clever person 
 had sifted them out. One group went on with the work, 
 
 325 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 for those pupils were in earnest, they saw. And the 
 other group trifled for a while, but soon dissolved com 
 pletely away. After a few weeks not one would be left. 
 My husband never urged them to try. He would not coax 
 them to remain in the studio. He always let them go. 
 He would say to me, 4 No, my dear, it is of no use, the 
 inward fire is not there ! They cannot paint, if they have 
 nothing to say. Let them go into the world, yes, let 
 them suffer, if need be. It is not such a bad thing to 
 suffer, if in the end the soul wakes up. It is infinitely 
 better than not to feel anything. These young persons 
 that you would have me be crutches for do not feel. They 
 must get on fire, even if the fire burns ! Then they can do 
 something. But not now, not yet ! It took me some 
 years to come to my husband s point of view. It is so 
 bitter to fail. I wanted always to smooth over the failure, 
 and set the people on their feet, and urge them to go on. 
 Leon Costello would weep at the failures, but he would not 
 let the tears be seen. He showed me that the tragedy was 
 not in the paint-brush, but in the soul itself, and that the 
 cure must be in the soul, too. God himself, Leon Costello 
 used to say, cannot cure a sick soul. It must cure itself 
 by casting out the seeds of its own malady, the sloth, the 
 self-indulgence, the selfishness, and then redemption is at 
 hand!" 
 
 Although Mrs. Costello s voice was so high-pitched, the 
 tone was very low, almost a whisper, and its musical qual 
 ity had never been more evident. It seemed to Robert not 
 so much an outer voice speaking, as an inner voice in his 
 own spirit. 
 
 Alicia always listened attentively whenever Mrs. Cos- 
 326 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FKIENDS 
 
 tello spoke. Alicia seemed, indeed, to be thinking with her 
 friend, and now, when Mrs. Costello stopped speaking, 
 Alicia s words came almost as a continuation. " It seems to 
 me that one might say the same about all art, about every 
 attempt to express one s self. It is quite the same in 
 writing, is it not? One needs careful training. There is 
 a distinct technique to be acquired. But the issue does 
 not rest here. It is whether one has something to say. It 
 is not a question of one s ability to write; it is a question 
 of one s ability to live." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Costello, "there is but one art, since 
 art is the outward expression of the human spirit. But 
 there are different avenues of expression for different 
 temperaments. If I may venture so personal a remark, I 
 should say, Mr. Pendexter, that aside from some special 
 and infrequent occasions, writing would not be the nat 
 ural way for you to express yourself. It happens to be 
 for Miss Frothingham. But I should say that it would n t 
 satisfy you to speak in words or in sounds. They have 
 not body enough. You are too conscious of form and color 
 and the material setting of life." 
 
 " I have great faith in your judgment," Kobert an 
 swered, " but I can t think of myself as a painter or even 
 as a sculptor. I hardly knew what these terms meant until 
 a few months ago, and even now I am just beginning to 
 learn." 
 
 "No, you will not be either. Something would keep 
 you from it. Since we are, in a way, children of the 
 same intellectual mother, I may speak quite frankly, may 
 I not ? One always thinks of young men and careers in 
 the same connection. I fancy that when you return 
 
 327 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 to America, it will be to take up some career, will it 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes, I must be doing something. I could never lounge 
 all my life. It s going to be a puzzle to hit on just the 
 right thing. Perhaps I shall get at it by what Mr. Morse 
 calls a process of exclusion, by ranging up various careers 
 and cutting out the impossible ones. It would be melan 
 choly, though, if none remained ! " 
 
 " I think you may dismiss that source of worrirnent, " 
 said Mrs. Costello, lightly. " There is something for every 
 one to do, and it s one s very particular business to find 
 out what it is." 
 
 " Would you mind telling me I think you re quite 
 right about it just why it seems to you I could never 
 be a painter or sculptor ? " 
 
 " Not in the least," replied Mrs. Costello. " To be great, 
 a painter needs a wealth of imagination. Leon Costello had 
 it and so he was great. A painter must see the world wholly 
 as a vision, quite divorced from uses. In a word, he must 
 be an extreme idealist. If I may say so, you have under 
 your undoubted ideality too practical a bent to be a 
 painter. If you were to paint a picture, you would want 
 it to tell a pretty definite story, rather than to symbolize 
 the more permanent elements in life. And that would be 
 quite mediocre art, wouldn t it? In sculpture you would 
 be handicapped in much the same way. I think you could 
 do portrait busts, but they would represent men and 
 women at some one moment in their career. You would 
 not, I think, be able to catch the spirit of the whole life 
 and what it really stood for. It would be an instantaneous 
 photograph taken at some fortuitous moment, and not 
 
 328 
 
OLD ACQUAINTANCES, NEW FKIENDS 
 
 presenting the composite picture which would show us the 
 full human measure. Do you see what I mean? " 
 
 " Yes, I think I do, and I think it is all true, fatally 
 true." 
 
 There was a look of genuine depression on Robert s face, 
 for Mrs. Costello s analysis seemed to him only too true. 
 
 But on Mrs. Costello s own face there was no trace of 
 any shadow. She did not even hasten as she added, " Yes, 
 fatally true as regards your being a painter or a sculptor. 
 But you had n t thought of being either one of these ! The 
 absence of faculty and the absence of desire to exercise it 
 go hand in hand more frequently than we sometimes re 
 member. It is also true, my friend, fatally true, if you 
 like the term, that the qualities which would keep you 
 from doing what you dont want to do, will in good sea 
 son help you in what you do want to do ! " 
 
 There was no withstanding the cheer of Mrs. Costello s 
 voice and words. Robert s face cleared up and he laughed 
 softly. It was such a comfort to look at his limitations 
 in this larger way. " And what shall I want to be doing ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Ah, that s your part of the problem. When the time 
 comes to decide, you will know ! " 
 
 As they parted for the night, both Mrs. Costello and 
 Alicia gave Robert their hand. They had enjoyed the 
 evening, they said, and hoped to see him at luncheon on 
 the following day. 
 
 After the ladies had gone, Robert wandered off to his 
 favorite roof-terrace. Now there was little to be seen, 
 save a dark abyss of shadows, with the lights of Naples 
 sparkling in the distance, and above all, the deep violet, 
 
 329 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 star-studded sky. Kobert sat down on the top of the wall. 
 He liked the vague formlessness of the prospect that 
 stretched before him. It was dark and unknown, like his 
 own future, but there were the sparkling lights, and above 
 everything else, the calm, eternal stars. His mood was 
 one of great elevation. He foresaw nothing definite, hoped 
 for nothing definite. But he felt that a new chapter was 
 opening in his life, and that new currents and new influ 
 ences were astir. And especially he thought of his mother. 
 She had never been a conscious factor in his life, for he 
 had no memory of her person. But he was beginning to 
 realize that her blood was also in his veins, and that he 
 was not wholly a Pendexter. The thought filled him with 
 a new hope and a new tenderness. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 ALICIA 
 
 LIFE at the Albergo della Cocumella is a quiet, dream-like 
 process, but the very monotony has a charm about it. Mrs. 
 Costello and Alicia felt that they had come to quite the 
 right place for their literary work, and Robert began to 
 feel, as the days swept around, that wherever the ladies 
 were was quite the right place for him. He became con 
 scious of new values and new influences. And above all he 
 was conscious of a profound harmony in his surroundings. 
 His new friends and his new home both seemed to breathe 
 the same possibility, the possibility of a life alert and 
 yet serene, purposeful and yet undogmatic. In Paris, as 
 we have seen, Robert was for taking the kingdom of heaven 
 by violence. At Cocumella, it seemed to lie all around him. 
 To enter in was not a process of assault, but the gentler 
 process of opening the eyes. 
 
 The outward events of Robert s life were very simple, 
 but very human. He was becoming interested in people, 
 and not alone the highly evolved people like Mrs. Costello 
 and Alicia, but also the humbler people of the Albergo and 
 the Piazza. His concern for people was helpful in just the 
 proportion that it was disinterested. One sunny day it 
 occurred to Robert that the servants of the Albergo, in 
 addition to having names and domestic functions, also had 
 individual desires and needs. With Viucenzo he had already 
 struck up a friendship. Now he began to go down the line, 
 and to find that all around him a very human drama was 
 
 331 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 going on, quite as worth while as the more concentrated 
 productions at the Odeon. Vincenzo was helped in his 
 ministrations by his little son Raffaello and his godson 
 Antonino, and also by a strange man of the mighty name 
 of Generino. Raffaello was a mite of a boy, only twelve 
 years old, and in his tiny dress-suit looked like a grown 
 man seen through the wrong end of an opera-glass. Some 
 times at midnight, when Robert made his way downstairs 
 along the dark corridors, a letter to be mailed in one hand 
 and a lighted candle in the other, he would find this little 
 mite still at work, perhaps scrubbing the tessellated floor 
 of the entrance hall. Robert had not thought to find such 
 cleanliness in Italy. Then he would constitute himself 
 educational adviser to Vincenzo, but judging from the 
 sand-man too often visible in the small Raffaello s dark 
 eyes, this excellent counsel was not acted upon. Antonino 
 was a sunny youth, as became the namesake of the patron 
 saint of Sorrento. He had a fondness for American flags. 
 Robert once owned a pretty silk flag, but that was when 
 he first went to Cocumella. Now it was Antonino s. The 
 boy came and asked for it. Robert thought that he was 
 lending it to him, but it seems that he gave it, and he 
 never had the heart to correct the mistake. Robert learned 
 that Antonino would soon be going into the army. He 
 would get two soldi a day. But he was not averse to going. 
 For one thing, he would wear a hat with a great black 
 plume of down-falling cock s feathers, and that would be 
 becoming ! 
 
 Robert was interested to find that in spite of their pre 
 occupation with the Indian manuscript, both Mrs. Costello 
 and Alicia knew all the humble folk of the Albergo as 
 
 332 
 
ALICIA 
 
 well as he did, and through Angelina, of the brooms and 
 dust-brushes, extended their knowledge even further. 
 
 Nor was the life devoid of pretty merry-making. The 
 Tarantella came to the Albergo as often as a sufficient 
 number of forestieri were found willing to pay for it. 
 Antonino s pretty sister danced in the Tarantella. She 
 was to have married Vincenzo s older son, but the boy 
 was of a domestic mind and ranged the Tarantella on one 
 side and himself on the other. It was a rash measure, for 
 at Sorrento the Tarantella is very fascinating. Catarina 
 chose the Tarantella and the boy went off to Rome. 
 When Catarina danced, Vincenzo watched Catarina, and 
 Robert watched Vincenzo. It was easy to see that Vin 
 cenzo regarded his son as a person of more than doubtful 
 taste. In truth, Catarina was the pearl of the Tarantella, 
 so sweet and wholesome, as well as so pretty, that it was 
 no desecration to watch her dance. The troupe was a 
 merry one, perhaps the best in Italy. There were five or 
 six girls, and perhaps as many men, dressed in lovely, 
 hundred-year-old costumes of silk and velvet, rainbows 
 faded into beauty, and armed with the more slender in 
 struments of music, castanet, tambourine, mandolin, 
 and guitar. In the background were other musicians in 
 plainer vestments, effectively handling the cello and violin. 
 
 The singing could not truthfully be praised, but the 
 dancing was altogether charming. The main dance of the 
 Tarantella is a slow quadrille, enlivened by the use of 
 bright scarfs and castanets and tambourines, and graced 
 by a considerable show of posing and tableaux. Then there 
 are special dances and farces. If the audience is mainly 
 English-speaking, the funny little love scenes of mixed 
 
 333 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 sugar and vinegar usually terminate in some abrupt de 
 claration in English which is pretty sure to bring a 
 laugh. Then the orchestra strikes up the national airs, 
 "Hail Columbia " and " God save the King," and all the 
 company rise with more than formal sentiment. The Ta 
 rantella is over. Vincenzo collects the silver in the morning, 
 and suggests that if the gentlemen would care to give an 
 extra lira for the wine, it would be a gracious deed and 
 quite in harmony with the gentlemen s well-known good 
 ness. Robert always yielded to this artistic persuasion and 
 gave at least two lire. 
 
 Mrs. Costello and Alicia entered into the spirit of the 
 merry-making most thoroughly. The hard, metallic voices 
 distressed Mrs. Costello more than the others guessed, but 
 the innocent abandonment of the singers and their pretty 
 costumes, and above all the sweet smile of Catarina, quite 
 enchanted her. " The child has the genuine spirit of the 
 artist," she exclaimed ; " I quite understand why she did 
 not marry Vincenzo s son. She did entirely right. But I 
 must say that he was a surprisingly foolish fellow not to 
 take her, TaranteUa and all ! " 
 
 " You have a touch of romance in you that is quite in 
 exhaustible, Carissima," said Alicia, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, why not ? It would be a dull world with love left 
 out, wouldn t it, Mr. Pendexter? I wish we might talk 
 with Catarina." 
 
 " That can be easily arranged," said Robert. " I 11 ask 
 Vincenzo to bring her up and introduce her." 
 
 Robert started to go on his errand, but Mrs. Costello 
 quickly detained him. " Oh, don t do that, please. It 
 would be too formal, and we should get nothing but a 
 
 334 
 
ALICIA 
 
 little surface talk. Let us go down to her. Don t you 
 think we might, Alicia ? " 
 
 Alicia assented, and the three moved down the corridor 
 to where the dancers sat fanning themselves and catching 
 their breath. There was a vacant chair next to Catarina. 
 Mrs. Costello sat down in it, and took the girl s hand in 
 hers. " My dear," she said in Italian, " you have given us 
 great pleasure, my friends and me. I want to thank 
 you for it." It was not so much the words as Mrs. Cos- 
 tello s friendly smile and manner that made her approval 
 so winning. 
 
 The girl showed her big white teeth as she smiled back 
 at Mrs. Costello. " It is nothing ! " she said simply ; " I 
 should like to do it for you again. I could dance and sing 
 all the night long. You must not thank me. Really I do 
 it for myself. If there was nobody in the room, and I had 
 the music, I would do just the same. But I like to have 
 you pleased, my lady. That gives me happiness, too, 
 you and your friends ; " and Catarina smiled up at Alicia 
 and Robert so charmingly that they both smiled back with 
 ready sympathy. 
 
 " I know now why you do it so well," said Mrs. Cos 
 tello. " It is because you love it. You have the true artist 
 spirit. Have you had instruction ? " 
 
 " Yes, my lady. My mother danced the Tarantella be 
 fore I was born. She taught it to me when I was a little 
 girl." 
 
 " Ah, it is in the blood ! My dear, does your mother still 
 dance?" 
 
 "I hope so yes, I believe so," answered Catarina. 
 " She is with the blessed saints. But it would not be 
 
 335 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 heaven to my mother, or to me, if we could not 
 dance ! " 
 
 Mrs. Costello pressed the girl s hand. " I like to hear 
 you say that, my dear. It is what my husband used to say 
 of his art. He was a great painter." 
 
 Catarina did not say anything, but when Mrs. Costello 
 looked up, she smiled a smile of such rare sympathy 
 that an unaccustomed mist dimmed Mrs. Costello s eyes. 
 "Thank you, my dear," she said, "but we ought not to 
 keep you any longer. I did want to ask you a little about 
 your voice, though. It tires you to sing, non e vero?" 
 
 " Yes, my lady. That does not come so easy as to 
 dance. My mother did not teach me that. I just had to 
 learn it myself. I could not afford to go to Napoli to 
 the great Signer Rondinella. He would have made me 
 sing much better. I do not sing well, my lady, I know 
 that." 
 
 "No, you do not sing well," answered Mrs. Costello, 
 quite honestly, " not as well as you are going to. It is 
 because you do not use your voice aright. It is not so 
 sweet as when you talk. May I help you, if I can? I 
 think I could give you a few suggestions that I got in 
 Paris from Madame Marchesi. Come and see me to-mor 
 row afternoon, will you not ? Perhaps later we might go 
 together and consult the great Signor Rondinella. I think 
 my husband used to know him in Florence." 
 
 Catarina clasped her hands together in a transport of 
 delight. " Oh, my lady," she cried, " you and the saints 
 are very good. It is what I have always wanted ! " 
 
 " At least you are half right, my dear, the saints are 
 very good," answered Mrs. Costello, rising. Catarina rose 
 
 336 
 
ALICIA 
 
 also, and bade them all a pretty good-night. " Ah, these 
 Italians," said Mrs. Costello to the others in English. " I 
 never speak with them that they do not fill me with envy. 
 They do so naturally what we with all our art never do 
 quite so well. Is it because our culture is still so self-con 
 scious ? " 
 
 " You, at least, have no cause to upbraid yourself, dear 
 Mrs. Costello," said Alicia. " I doubt if even an Italian 
 could have told that girl that she sang abominably, and 
 made her love her for it ! " 
 
 Alicia ! " Mrs. Costello exclaimed protestingly, " I 
 did n t tell the girl that she sang abominably, did I, 
 Mr. Pendexter ? " 
 
 " No," answered Robert, " you did n t tell her, but you 
 certainly made her wholesomely aware of it." 
 
 " That was where your art came in, Carissima." 
 
 " Well, my dear, it was the truth." 
 
 At this both Alicia and Robert laughed, and Alicia 
 added, " I hear that most of the men sing in the cathedral 
 choir. I like the idea of it. We must go to the cathe 
 dral some day and hear them. I met the Archbishop the 
 other day. He bowed most amiably and bestowed a bless- 
 ing." 
 
 " They are charming, simply charming," said Mrs. Cos 
 tello, with an air of conviction. " Do you still find them 
 so, Mr. Pendexter?" 
 
 " Indeed I do," answered Robert, enthusiastically. " But 
 I love the children best of all. I must tell you something 
 that happened to me yesterday. I was walking along a 
 lonely road upon the hills. I did n t know that any one 
 was within a mile of me, when suddenly, as if they had 
 
 337 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 sprung out of the ground, three small boys stood in front 
 of me. I have n t the slightest idea where they came from. 
 Each boy held out his hand. I shook my head and said 
 that I sometimes gave money to old people who could n t 
 work any more, but never to boys ; that boys ought to 
 work and not beg." 
 
 "A very proper doctrine," said Alicia. "Were they 
 duly impressed ? " 
 
 " I m afraid not. The smallest boy, surely not over 
 eleven, went through the customary pantomime of eating 
 macaroni, and said that he was hungry, very hungry. He 
 was such a chubby, well-fed little boy that I just laughed. 
 I gave his red cheeks a pinch and said that he could n t 
 possibly be hungry, that such a healthy-looking little boy 
 had always had enough to eat. He was somewhat abashed, 
 but only for an instant. He looked up at me and said with 
 an air of entire conviction, Well, you know if I ate more, 
 I might grow to be as tall as you are ! I could n t help 
 it, I just had to give each boy twenty centesimi. For the 
 moment, at least, they were supremely happy. Each boy 
 shook hands with me and thanked me most politely. Not 
 content with that, they walked with me a full mile, and 
 unconsciously gave me a better Italian lesson than St. 
 Augustine does. Did I not find Sorrento charming ? Did 
 I know that Torquato Tasso had been born here ? Was I 
 fond of watching Vesuvio ? Could it be as pretty as this 
 in the country where I came from ? a perfect string of 
 questions." 
 
 " It was quite wrong of you to give them the money," 
 said Alicia ; " but I should have done just the same thing. 
 They are perfectly irresistible." 
 
 338 
 
ALICIA 
 
 " They have a social genius, these pretty little people of 
 Italy," said Mrs. Costello. " It is quite worth the trouble 
 of learning something of their beautiful language just for 
 the pleasure of talking to them." 
 
 " I feel repaid for all the work I ve done with St. 
 Augustine," replied Robert. " If I forget all my little 
 stock of Italian, it will still have been quite worth 
 while." 
 
 " They are so clever," added Alicia, "a mere shrug 
 suffices." 
 
 " I can do a trifle more than that," said Robert, laugh 
 ing. " Ask St. Augustine." 
 
 Alicia laughed, too. " Forgive the implication. I really 
 didn t mean to be wicked." 
 
 " Let us admire them," suggested Mrs. Costello, " but 
 let us be honorably careful not to spoil them. It seems 
 to me that the forestieri are doing their best to spoil all 
 the children, here and at Capri and all over Italy. Hap 
 pily, in all childish hearts God seems to keep always an 
 eternally unspoiled corner. I think, Alicia, that we must 
 be saying good-night to Mr. Pendexter." Mrs. Costello 
 turned to Robert and added, " Thank you, dear friend, 
 for a very pleasant evening." 
 
 It was the first time that Mrs. Costello had ever spoken 
 to Robert in just this intimate way, and it gave him pe 
 culiar pleasure. He knew that with her it was no idle 
 phrase. He felt honored, and very humble, too, that so 
 rare a woman should have given him her friendship. He 
 went up to bed pondering as to how he might be worthy 
 of this honor. 
 
 The following morning Alicia surprised Robert by com- 
 339 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 ing down to breakfast. As every one knows, breakfast 
 at Cocumella is far-famed. It is not limited to coffee 
 and bread and butter and honey, the orthodox Continental 
 breakfast, but adds hot toast and ponente, and oranges 
 gathered fresh from the garden, and boiled eggs into the 
 bargain, two if you are a man, but only one if you 
 belong to the superior sex. It is this last discrimination 
 which has sent the reputation of the Albergo far and wide. 
 The men like the substance of the two eggs ; the women 
 the dainty compliment which credits them with appetite 
 for only one. Robert usually ate breakfast at the large 
 table. When he was not too prompt, he had the pleasure 
 of agreeable talk with a couple of wholesome English 
 girls, the Hon. Emily Main waring and the Hon. Lucy 
 Mainwaring. They were friendly, but perplexing. For 
 two or three mornings the Hon. Emily would sit next to 
 Robert ; then for an equal number of mornings the Hon. 
 Lucy would take that place. Robert could not quite fathom 
 the philosophy of this circulation. When he was proud, 
 he told himself that it was an arrangement for enabling 
 them to share the benefits of his instructive conversation ; 
 but when he felt humble, the alternation looked to him 
 like a Christian device for helping to bear one another s 
 burdens ; and as he commonly felt more humble than 
 proud, the plan on the whole was depressing. When 
 Alicia came down, she naturally went to their own little 
 side-table, and Robert at once joined her. This was the 
 easier, as his own breakfast had not yet been served, and 
 the Hon. Emily and the Hon. Lucy had not yet made 
 their appearance. 
 
 " What good luck to have you at breakfast ! " cried 
 
 340 
 
ALICIA 
 
 Robert. " This explains why I felt so tip-toppy when I 
 got up this morning, so jolly glad to be alive, as our 
 English friends would say. How does it all happen ? " 
 
 " Oh, I just thought I would see what it is like in the 
 salle a manger in the morning," Alicia answered. " And 
 then I m going directly out to sketch. It s too perfect a 
 day to stay indoors. Mrs. Costello will get on without me. 
 Would you care to come along ? " 
 
 " Of course I would," said Robert. " I 11 fetch my 
 own sketch-book, if I may, and see for once how the thing 
 ought to be done." 
 
 Robert s interest in sketching was not keen enough, 
 however, to make him an advocate of haste. He was con 
 sciously glad that the Cocumella breakfast was so famously 
 elaborate, and he lingered over this meal as long as he 
 well could. It was the first time that he and Alicia had 
 ever eaten together alone. It seemed to give their friend 
 ship an air of pleasant intimacy. There was no egotism 
 in the lingering. It was just pleasant to be sitting there 
 face to face with Alicia, and to have her all to himself. 
 When Mrs. Costello was present, Alicia seemed to have 
 eyes and ears for no one else. But with Mrs. Costello 
 upstairs, Alicia s delightful habit of turning so brightly to 
 the person with whom she was talking made it seem for 
 the moment that she was giving herself wholly to Robert. 
 He knew it was only a habit, and that it signified nothing ; 
 but it took complete possession of him nevertheless, and 
 made it seem as if soul touched soul. 
 
 Alicia had already settled upon the subject for her 
 sketch. It was to be the charming little lane that leads 
 down to the sea from where the main highway turns so 
 
 341 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 abruptly up to Sant Agnello. She and Robert were soon 
 settled at what Alicia considered a suitable point of view, 
 their camp-chairs facing the sunny pink walls, and their 
 backs turned to the sun. Alicia had a light easel before 
 her and a sketch-block for water colors. Robert had 
 merely his sketch-book and pencils, for as yet he did not 
 venture anything beyond black and white. 
 
 " The light is not quite right yet," said Alicia. " I think 
 we would better wait a few minutes until the sun gets up 
 a little farther, let us say until the shadow has gone off 
 that pretty bed of mignonette." 
 
 Robert pulled out his watch. " That will be at least a 
 quarter of an hour. Meanwhile I see something pleasant 
 to do." He sprang up and ran over to the flowers. " I 
 will gather you a charming bouquet." 
 
 " Oh, please don t," cried Alicia. " Please don t touch 
 them. It kills them to pick them. I hate to have them 
 murdered." 
 
 Robert stopped in astonishment. " Do you never wear 
 them? " he asked, " or have them in your room? " 
 
 " Never, unless some one unkindly sends them to me. 
 Then I nurse them along for as many days as I can, and 
 feel guilty of murder every time I look at them. I like 
 the story of the Empress Komio, that Mr. Okakura told 
 us. She was speaking of flowers offered to the Buddha. I 
 don t remember the exact words, but it was something 
 like this : If I pluck them, the touch of my hand will 
 defile. So I offer them just as they are, standing in the 
 fields and meadows, all these beautiful, wind-blown flowers, 
 to the Buddhas of the past and the present and the future. 
 Don t you think that s a pretty story ?" 
 
 342 
 
ALICIA 
 
 " Moderately pretty, for then the empress could offer so 
 many flowers and such fresh ones. But it s different giv 
 ing the flowers, just a little bouquet of them to a 
 lady." 
 
 " Don t you think a lady would care for many flowers 
 and to have them always fresh ? " asked Alicia, smiling. 
 
 " Of course, but she has those already. I believe women 
 always see flowers, all there are. But it s nice to have a 
 few for your very own, so you can handle them and smell 
 them." 
 
 " But think of the poor flowers," Alicia persisted. 
 
 " All right. I am thinking of them. If I gave them to 
 you, I think they would rather die in such a service than 
 live without it ! " 
 
 " Bravely said," cried Alicia. " I see you agree with 
 dear Mrs. Costello. She feels that we ought sometimes 
 to accept a service whether we want it or not, just for the 
 sake of the giver." 
 
 " May I bring you the flowers, then ? " 
 
 " I think you must," answered Alicia. " That would be 
 the only logical thing to do now, would n t it ? But not 
 more than two or three, please. I will let them acquire 
 merit by dying for me ! " 
 
 Robert chose fastidiously, and at last brought her three 
 perfect branches. He seated himself on his camp-chair. 
 The shadow had retreated but halfway across the bed of 
 mignonette, so he and Alicia still waited. There was a 
 silence for some moments. Alicia could be perfectly silent 
 without embarrassment or any feeling that silence de 
 manded an apology. Robert was slowly learning to do the 
 same, but the accomplishment was still too recent to be 
 
 343 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 exercised without effort. As a result, Robert s silences 
 were never perfect. They had the nervous tension of mere 
 pauses. Perhaps Alicia felt this, for presently she turned 
 to Robert and said, " I should much like to see your 
 sketches ; may I ? " 
 
 Robert hesitated. He meant never to hesitate or apolo 
 gize, but like his acquired silence, the habit was new, and 
 halted. 
 
 "Never mind," said Alicia, kindly, " if you would pre 
 fer not to show them." 
 
 Robert handed her the book eagerly. " But I really 
 want you to see them," he hurried to say, " and to tell me 
 what s wrong about them. I only hesitated because they re 
 so poor. I m almost ashamed to let you see them ! " 
 
 Alicia took the book when she saw that Robert really 
 wanted her to. "I don t see that you have any cause to 
 be ashamed," she said. " You never claimed that your 
 sketches were good." She turned over the leaves slowly, 
 giving each sketch very careful attention. But she made 
 no comment. When she had finished, she turned back and 
 looked at several of the sketches a second time. Then she 
 returned the book to Robert. " They are very different, 
 are they not ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes. I tried a great variety of subjects, just for prac 
 tice, you know." 
 
 " I did n t mean that," Alicia answered, with a bright 
 smile. " One would not wish to go on sketching the same 
 thing, or even the same class of thing. That would be very 
 dull. I mean that the sketches are so totally different that 
 I should never have guessed that they were made by the 
 same person. Were they ? " 
 
 344 
 
ALICIA 
 
 " Yes," replied Robert. " At least, they were all made 
 by me. I can t say that it was always the same * me. 
 
 " Do they seem the same to you ? " Alicia asked. 
 
 " Yes and no," said Robert. " I like some of them much 
 better than the others. But they all belong to the same 
 family. As I look them over, I have a feeling that it was 
 I who did them, but that I was luckier in some cases than 
 in others. What would you say was the difference ? " 
 
 Alicia laughed, and answered with a touch of mischief 
 in her voice, " To be perfectly frank, the difference is that 
 some of them two or three are so very good ! " 
 
 Robert laughed too, a hearty, boyish laugh, for now 
 he felt perfectly at ease. " And the rest," he said, " are 
 so very poor?" Alicia nodded. "I knew that," he con 
 tinued; " sometimes I struck it, and sometimes I didn t." 
 
 " The difference seems to me much greater than mere 
 luck," Alicia replied. " It is as if the sketches had been 
 made by quite different persons. It interests me, for I 
 want to know which is the real Mr. Pendexter, the one 
 who can sketch or the one who can t ! " 
 
 " Both are, I guess," said Robert. " I used to be just 
 one person before I came to Europe. But now I am two 
 or three, a half a dozen, in fact, I hardly know my 
 self. Sometimes I think I ought to have stopped in 
 Doane Street and gone on dealing in coffee and spices ! " 
 Robert spoke almost bitterly, as a man wearied with in 
 cessant fighting over issues he does not understand. 
 
 Alicia looked at Robert quickly. " Don t say that ! " 
 she begged. " That would make any one who cared for you 
 almost hate you, that is, if they believed you meant it." 
 
 "Would you hate me?" asked Robert. 
 345 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " If I cared for you, I should certainly hate you ; and 
 the more I cared, the more I should hate. One does n t 
 like a man to turn back. You have put your hand to the 
 plow, and now there s but one thing to do." 
 
 " I m not a coward ! " said Robert, proudly. 
 
 " I know you re not. If I thought you were, I should n t 
 take the trouble to talk to you ! " 
 
 " The bother is that I can t see. If I could see the fur 
 row and where it leads to, I d follow it, even if it meant 
 death." 
 
 " Any one would," Alicia answered. " It would n t take 
 much courage to do that ! But there is no furrow. It s the 
 man with the plow who makes the furrow. And if there 
 were one already made for us, all the fun would be gone 
 from the game. One would better be selling coffee and 
 spices than to be led by the nose into predestined glories 
 of the first order. You would still have the mild excite 
 ment of wondering how many pounds you could sell ! It is 
 vastly better to have made those three really good sketches, 
 and to have the rest as poor as they are, than to have had 
 them all poor. One cannot take a journey and yet stand 
 still. I wonder what inertia gets into our blood that we are 
 always seeking an abiding-place, always asking for rest. 
 Why this heart-broken quest for something that, if we got 
 it, would drive us to opium ? There is no possible standing 
 still for any one who is genuinely alive. There are tempo 
 rary havens, like Cocumella, where one may catch one s 
 breath, but there is no permanent rest. The secret of hap 
 piness is to find serenity in motion, to glory in the process 
 as well as in the result. We are all en route. It chanced, 
 dear Mr. Pendexter, that you stood still for a long time, 
 
 346 
 
ALICIA 
 
 thirty-four years, I think you told ine, and when at 
 last you got started, you traveled so rapidly that it has 
 made you dizzy. Surely you would n t want to stand still 
 again ? " 
 
 " My God, I would not ! " Robert answered passion 
 ately. " It s not the unrest that s eating me. It s the 
 uncertainty. If I could only see ! But I grope along in the 
 dark without one shred of certainty. I am pulled this way 
 and that by a hundred impulses. They might fight over 
 me like furies and welcome, if I could only see that I was 
 moving towards a definite end, and that it was good. I am 
 tossed here and there like a sand-bag in the hands of fate, 
 
 but I see no goal ! " 
 
 " There is no goal," said Alicia, quietly. 
 
 " No goal ! " cried Robert, almost fiercely. " Surely 
 you don t mean to urge that one is to toss about like this 
 forever." 
 
 " To toss about, perhaps yes," answered Alicia. " But 
 not like this, not at fever heat. The soul may find serenity 
 and peace in the midst of the rush and whirl. The greater 
 the outer turmoil, the more varied the panorama, the 
 more rapid the change, in short, the more terrible the 
 storm of events, the richer the material out of which 
 the soul may gather knowledge and enlightenment. I am 
 not, you see, an advocate of the simple life. If nothing- 
 happened, what stupids we should be, how intolerably dull! 
 If we keep our heads, the more that happens, the better. 
 It was your own master, Emerson, who said that all life is 
 discipline. Don t pray for peace in the outer world. Pray 
 for storms, cyclones, thunderbolts, the fiercest, wildest 
 uproar imaginable, and let the peace be in the soul, which 
 
 347 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 gathers from this whirlwind the seeds of knowledge and 
 wisdom. After all, what counts ? Your house is struck by 
 lightning, let it be ! Perhaps you stayed in it too much 
 and valued it too highly. Your money vanishes, let it 
 go ! Perhaps it was a prison, and held you back from 
 greater flights. Your friend dies, mourn for him and 
 be comforted. You may have leaned on him too heavily, 
 and will now learn to stand alone. What really counts ? 
 but one thing, dear friend, and that is the soul. All else 
 must minister to that or be as worse than nothing. And 
 as for this goal that we all so plague ourselves about, it 
 is not fixed, I think, not something definite, not even, 
 perhaps, in the mind of God Himself. It may be indicated, 
 but it is never specified. It is for us to create it. And we 
 do create it, Mr. Pendexter, every day of our lives. The 
 world is to-day just what we have collectively willed it 
 to be. But the destiny of the world the total goal 
 shifts from day to day, since it is made up of our indi 
 vidually chosen goals, and these are constantly shifting. 
 Personally, I have quite given over the thought of any 
 settled goal, and I can t regret it, for now the vista is 
 infinite. I know what seems to me now to be worth while, 
 and I live ! But to-morrow I shall also live, and the values 
 of my choice will be so much the larger. What a tremen 
 dous, exhilarating thought, dear Mr. Pendexter, that you 
 and I can change the destiny of the world, you and I, 
 two tiny creatures, sitting here in this lovely lane with 
 idle, folded hands ! " 
 
 " Yes, together" said Robert. Then he suddenly real 
 ized that the word might have a special meaning, and 
 blushed furiously. But Alicia either did not notice it, or 
 
 348 
 
ALICIA 
 
 else chose quite to ignore any personal application, for 
 she answered with the same even enthusiasm and without 
 change of manner, " Yes, you and I, and dear Mrs. Cos- 
 tello, and the Master, and all the other souls that are 
 alive. The world is ours. We can do with the grand old 
 Mother as we will ! " 
 
 The sun had more than covered the bed of mignonette. 
 Alicia set about her sketch and was soon absorbed in it. 
 When she painted, she painted very rapidly, but there 
 were long intervals when she seemed to be doing nothing. 
 In reality she was studying her subject, and quite forgot 
 Robert and all the external world save that little bit of 
 it which she was trying to seize and reproduce. Robert 
 did not attempt to sketch ; he was not in the mood for it. 
 He sat there very quietly, watching Alicia. It was some 
 time before she noticed that he was not at work. " Why, 
 Mr. Pendexter, you are doing nothing ! " she cried almost 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " Yes," said Robert, slowly, " I am doing something. I 
 am watching you" 
 
 " Have you found out my method ? " Alicia asked gayly. 
 
 No," admitted Robert, " I have n t." 
 
 " It is really very simple. It is the Japanese method. 
 Most of the time I do not even have the brush in my hand. 
 I sit and study what I want to paint. I do this until I feel 
 quite sure what is essential and what accidental. Then I 
 make up my mind which of the essential elements must be 
 emphasized to bring out the special meaning I want to 
 express in the picture 
 
 " And then," laughed Robert, " you go to sleep over 
 it ! I saw you close your eyes several times." 
 
 349 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 " I do nothing of the sort," protested Alicia. " I close 
 my eyes, but it is only to see if I have visualized the 
 picture. When I have done that, I add what dear Mrs. 
 Costello calls 4 the personal equation. It is my own con 
 tribution to the bare suggestion offered by Nature. If one 
 did not do that, one might as well take photographs." 
 
 " May I watch you work? " asked Eobert, drawing his 
 chair a little nearer, so that he could see the sketching- 
 pad and watch the actual process of putting on the colors. 
 " Would it bother you ? " 
 
 "Not in the least," answered Alicia. "Watch me all 
 you like. Ask questions, too, if you want, but only when 
 I have my eyes open, please. I don t like to be interrupted 
 when I am trying to feel the picture." 
 
 Then came another long silence. 
 
 Robert did not care to ask questions. When Alicia 
 worked with her brush, he watched her only casually. But 
 when she had her eyes closed, he studied the sketch in 
 tently. He was trying to divine her mood, and to guess 
 what personal element she was mixing with the sun-smitten 
 pink walls and the brilliant foliage and the transparent 
 sky. Rather shyly Robert allowed his eyes to wander from 
 the sketch to Alicia s face. Alicia scarcely seemed to 
 breathe. Had it not been for the wholesome color of the 
 flesh, one might have thought it the face of the dead. 
 Robert was struck with its beauty and its nobility. He 
 felt that Alicia had attained something which he had not 
 yet been able to grasp, or even quite to formulate. Invol 
 untarily, he began to compare Alicia s face to Pauline s. 
 But he instantly put the thought aside. He felt that it 
 was not fair to Pauline. Then the old horrible loneliness 
 
 350 
 
ALICIA 
 
 swept over him. He stood between two worlds, Pauline s 
 and Alicia s. He knew that Pauline s world was not for 
 him. Even in Paris, he had been smitten by its limitations. 
 The warmth and comfort of Pauline s world attracted him, 
 but all the time a deeper self had pressed its own vague, 
 incoherent needs. In Robert s soul there was eternal war 
 fare. The days of peace were but the days of an armed 
 truce. 
 
 The sun was warm and the air genial in the little lane 
 leading down to the sea, but Robert shivered as with phys 
 ical cold. He was thinking of the inevitable tragedy had 
 he married Pauline, and afterwards discovered that in 
 her beautiful natural history world there was for him 
 no abiding-place and satisfaction. Then, very swiftly, he 
 thought of the still deeper tragedy had he married her 
 and been content. It seemed to him that he could hardly 
 have hoped to add the needed touch to both lives when as 
 yet he had not been able to add it to one. Robert s life 
 at Cocumella was full of sensuous warmth and color. His 
 artistic instinct was each day satisfied and comforted. But 
 under all this frank and wholesome appeal to the senses, 
 there was an inner and a deeper life throbbing. Without 
 in any way discrediting the beautiful body and heart of 
 the world, it spoke to him of the more abiding life of the 
 spirit, of the eternal undercurrent that alone makes this 
 sensuous, outer life permanently adorable. Robert s in 
 stinct told him of the gulf that lay between these two 
 world s, Pauline s and Alicia s, but it was only of late that 
 he was becoming conscious of its high reality. Since he 
 had been with Mrs. Costello and Alicia, this consciousness 
 had been growing at leaps and bounds. The lesson had 
 
 351 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 really started in York Minster, and had been continued 
 in that wonderful moment on the rim of the garden, 
 when he had realized that the magnificent pageantry of 
 Nature which offers itself at sunset to the one who with 
 seeing eyes looks out over the Bay of Naples is at heart 
 but the symbol of a spiritual vision of still more en 
 trancing beauty. But Robert had not yet taken up his 
 abode in this other world, this world of Alicia s. He entered 
 it, and loved it, and then he fell asleep; and when he 
 wakened, he was in the outer world once more, feeling its 
 warmth and comfort, never blind to its allurements, but 
 knowing increasingly knowing that his spirit was 
 not satisfied, that it was eternally hungry. With Alicia, 
 Robert was always awake. There was no danger of falling 
 asleep and wakening outside the gate. 
 
 Robert looked at Alicia once more. She was busily 
 painting. Her face had lost its dream-like immobility, but 
 none of its distinction. Now it was all life and tenderness. 
 Her hand moved rapidly, but not more so than the lights 
 and shadows that chased each other across her face. Hand 
 and face were living the same story. One might almost say 
 that her very body was doing the same. It was motionless, 
 but tense, and expressive of the boundless energy that 
 welled up in Alicia from the eternal sources of life. 
 
 Robert had been watching Alicia with a new fascina 
 tion. Then suddenly he looked away. It seemed to him 
 that, quite unbidden, he had been peering through the open 
 door of Paradise. The desire to be with Alicia always was 
 taking possession of his soul. There came back to him the 
 word that he had so unwittingly used, " together," 
 and in it there seemed the fulfillment of every possible 
 
 352 
 
ALICIA 
 
 desire. Swift as the lightning, Robert knew for the first 
 time in his life what it is truly to love. His feeling for 
 Pauline had been at the flood both genuine and deep. But 
 it had not been love. It had been something akin to fancy, 
 the vain cry of a man for his mate, and it had voiced not 
 his love, but his loneliness. This new feeling was so sacred 
 that Robert scarcely dared to breathe it to himself. But 
 it was triumphant, unhesitating, the great white light of 
 an assured comradeship. 
 
 The sketch was finished. Alicia deftly tore it off the 
 sketching-block, and held it out to Robert. " If you care 
 for it," she said, almost shyly, " I should like to give it to 
 you. I have tried to tell you something in it." 
 
 Robert s first impulse was to protest that Alicia was 
 too generous, that he could not think of accepting such a 
 gift ; but in a moment a larger impulse came to him, and 
 he accepted the sketch in the same simple spirit in which 
 it had been offered. He knew that hereafter it would be 
 one of the treasures of his life, and for such a boon he 
 could only stammer, " Thank you, thank you, very 
 much" 
 
 Alicia and Robert walked back to the Albergo in silence. 
 Alicia would not allow Robert to carry her sketching-out 
 fit. It was very light, she said, and in any case an artist 
 ought not to use what she could not carry for herself. 
 Earlier, Robert would have insisted, but he was at heart 
 well-bred, and of late he had been learning that it is of 
 the essence of good manners to allow people to do as they 
 please. Alicia was busy with her own thoughts, and Robert 
 felt no need of speech. Just now he was in the first whirl 
 of a great happiness. There was pathos in it, a recurrent 
 
 353 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 minor chord, for Robert knew very well that Alicia cared 
 nothing for him; but for the present, at least, the happi 
 ness far exceeded the pain. Like a bird singing in his 
 heart, his love banished all else. It seemed to him a divine 
 thing that after all his doubts and hesitation, he should 
 love in this assured, unquestioning way. He was not 
 conscious of any tragedy in not being loved. 
 
 When Robert got to his room, he pinned Alicia s sketch 
 up on the wall, in what he conceived to be the best pos 
 sible light. He drew up a chair in front of it and sat for 
 some time studying the sketch. It had caught the joyous 
 air of the morning, its freshness and sparkle. Merely as a 
 sketch, it was good to look upon, but the hidden meaning, 
 the special message to himself, Robert could not discover. 
 
 St. Augustine came that afternoon to give the accus 
 tomed Italian lesson. When it was over, he carried Rob 
 ert off to the little church attached to the Albergo. It 
 was a special feast day, and the vesper service, St. Augus 
 tine said, would be very fine. The church was gayly 
 decorated, and all the men of the Tarantella had been 
 impressed into the musical service. Shortly after Robert 
 and St. Augustine had taken their places, Mrs. Costello 
 and Alicia entered. Both ladies hastily drew a tiny lace 
 handkerchief over their heads, and as they advanced 
 towards the high altar, bowed and crossed themselves. St. 
 Augustine observed their reverence and mistook them for 
 Catholics. When the service began, he completely with 
 drew his attention from the Americans and all external 
 things, and the visible exaltation in his face made it still 
 more akin to that of the saint who sits, in Ary Shaffer s 
 picture, next to the pallid Santa Monica. Robert s own 
 
 354 
 
ALICIA 
 
 heart was divided, sometimes lost as completely as St. 
 Augustine s in the rare beauty of the service, and some 
 times oblivious of everything save Alicia. But in either 
 worship he was serenely happy. When they came out of 
 the little church, it was already dark. But St. Augustine 
 would not stop for dinner. He had duties in Sorrento. 
 As he turned to leave, he said, with his usual direct 
 ness, " Your young American friend is very beautiful. I 
 perceive that she is also devout. She would make an 
 acceptable nun." 
 
 Robert said good-night rather brusquely, and disap 
 peared into the Albergo. He had meant to walk part 
 way to Sorrento with St. Augustine, but the priest s 
 remark jarred upon his happy mood. It seemed to invest 
 Alicia with an unnecessary remoteness. 
 
 During the succeeding weeks, Alicia and Robert went 
 out sketching several times. Occasionally Mrs. Costello 
 joined them. She did not sketch herself, but in all matters 
 of art she was an almost unerring critic. Sometimes Rob 
 ert sketched, and sometimes he simply watched Alicia, or 
 sat quietly chatting with Mrs. Costello. Alicia always 
 produced something admirable. It might be very simple, 
 but it never failed to possess charm. Robert s own moods 
 were variable, and were reflected in his work. He made 
 one sketch that both Mrs. Costello and Alicia commended 
 highly, and several that they praised with reservations. 
 Quite a number were frankly and undeniably poor. The 
 ladies dismissed these by saying that the hands could not 
 work to any purpose when the spirit was a la dimanche. 
 
 It was, however, a wonderful spring for Robert. He 
 was conscious that his spirit had gained in tranquillity and 
 
 355 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 repose. He was well and happy. His love for Alicia 
 steadied his whole nature. It was his anchor, the one cer 
 tain, assured experience in the shifting tumult of his new 
 life. The minor chord was always there, and when Rob 
 ert allowed himself to think of the parting which the last 
 week in April was scheduled to bring, the minor chord 
 threatened disaster. But he seldom allowed himself to 
 think of it. He saw as much of Alicia and Mrs. Costello 
 as their literary engagements permitted. He himself 
 seemed to be doing very little, and at times felt heartily 
 ashamed of his own idleness. But in his heart he knew 
 that he was gaining more of solid worth than all his 
 feverish activity in Paris had been able to yield him. In 
 addition to his love for Alicia, which seemed to him each 
 day more wonderful, he rejoiced in the increasing depth 
 and affection of Mrs. Costello s friendship. She no longer 
 treated him as a stranger, but quite as one of the inner 
 circle. She assumed as a matter of course that they would 
 see much of Robert when they all got back to America. 
 
 It was an interesting quality in Mrs. Costello that a 
 thought once lodged in her brain never kept its original 
 dimensions. However large it might have been in the 
 beginning, it always grew to something still larger. Her 
 friends were constantly being astounded at these expan 
 sions. They hardly adjusted themselves to Mrs. Costello s 
 original ideas before they were asked to reach out still 
 farther. Smaller souls could not keep up the pace, and 
 were surprised, when they looked around, to find that Mrs. 
 Costello was no longer in sight, and that they no longer 
 belonged to her circle. They complained that she had 
 dropped them, when in reality they had by their own 
 
 356 
 
ALICIA 
 
 sluggishness dropped her. But larger souls found in Mrs. 
 Costello an astonishing tonic, and counted it a high privi 
 lege so to live that they might keep her in sight. 
 
 Robert was meeting this expansiveness in Mrs. Costel- 
 lo s thought world. Starting with the friendly suggestion 
 that she must see much of Robert in Boston which 
 Robert felt to be a great and undeserved favor Mrs. 
 Costello s thought expanded in the course of a few weeks 
 into the plan that Robert must make his home with her 
 while he was deciding upon a profession. Robert s breath 
 was quite taken away at the thought of such generous 
 hospitality. He had not recovered from his surprise be 
 fore Mrs. Costello had gone a step farther, and had passed 
 on to the assumption that Robert had definitely accepted 
 her invitation, and if he found her household agreeable, 
 might even remain while he was following his professional 
 studies. This lengthening vista left Robert fairly gasping. 
 He knew that Mrs. Costello was absolutely sincere in her 
 wonderful invitation, and he also knew that the mere idea 
 of having such a home to go to made him fairly light 
 headed. But it seemed too big an invitation to be really 
 true, and he could not quite bring himself to consider it 
 seriously. 
 
 Meanwhile the weeks sped on, and April approached 
 its close. Mrs. Costello and Alicia were going to London 
 for the season, and afterwards were to make a round of 
 visits at various English country-houses. They were to go 
 by boat from Naples, as Mrs. Costello wanted the several 
 quiet days at sea before the turmoil of London. Robert 
 could hardly bring himself to think of his own plans. The 
 loneliness of them appalled him. He was to accompany 
 
 357 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 the ladies to Naples, and then betake himself to Florence 
 for a month. Afterwards, he had a vague idea that he 
 would spend the summer among the Italian lakes and in 
 Switzerland, and then by some indefinite route turn up in 
 Boston late in September. There was some chance that 
 Donald would be going home then, and that they might 
 cross together. 
 
 Robert bore himself very well during the last days at 
 Cocumella, days so full of beauty that they seemed al 
 most unreal. When the Nixe rounded the Capo di Sor 
 rento, and their little boat put out across the blue waters, 
 there was a distinct lump in Robert s throat. The Nixe s 
 parting whistle no longer sounded friendly. There was 
 something threatening and cruel about it, for she was 
 carrying him away from a place where he had been very 
 happy. 
 
 " It was like a quiet dream, was it not ? " said Mrs. 
 Costello. " Quite unlike one s life anywhere else. I think 
 we ought to give it a special name. What shall we call it, 
 Mr. Pendexter, our life at Cocumella ? " 
 
 "I shall think of it as our Italian parenthesis," an 
 swered Robert, promptly. 
 
 " Excellent," cried Mrs. Costello. " That s what it shall 
 be, our Italian parenthesis ; and I suppose we must say 
 that its value, like that of all other parentheses, depends 
 upon what goes before and what comes after." 
 
 " Yes, in the end," suggested Alicia. " But it was good 
 just in and for itself, non e vero ? " 
 
 Both Mrs. Costello and Robert assented, and the rest 
 of the little voyage was made for the most part in silence. 
 
 It was a couple of days before the steamer sailed for 
 358 
 
ALICIA 
 
 London. Robert was cheerful and helpful, ready to wan 
 der with the ladies in the wonderful Museum or drive 
 with them along the coast, or even shop with them in the 
 excitable Via Roma. Mrs. Costello declared that Robert 
 was invaluable, and that they should hardly know how to 
 get on without him. 
 
 But when the parting actually came, and Robert stood 
 on the pier bravely smiling and waving his handkerchief 
 as the steamer slowly got under way, there came into his 
 eyes, in spite of him, a look of such mortal pain that 
 Alicia knew what before she had only unwillingly guessed. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 ROBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 IT is very beautiful at Bolton in late September. At 
 this season, there is still the air of full maturity and not 
 yet the air of decay. Robert went out to Bolton directly 
 from his steamer, but he went without any great enthu 
 siasm. Since it stood to him as home, he had tried to have 
 a dutiful regard for it. But as he looked back upon it 
 from the vantage-ground of Europe, he saw that the life 
 at Bolton had been starved and ugly. He had been fond 
 of his cousins in an unemotional way, but not fond enough 
 of them to find separation painful. 
 
 As soon as Robert arrived at the old farmhouse, 
 however, he felt that a great change had swept over it. 
 Bolton, with Aunt Matilda Pendexter removed, was an 
 entirely different place. Robert remembered vaguely that 
 the old house had good lines, and was full of possibilities. 
 But it had seemed only half dignified and never beauti 
 ful. In spite of the enthusiasm of Priscilla s letters and 
 Stephen s warm praise, Robert was quite unprepared for 
 the change. It amounted in fact to a transformation. The 
 entrance porch, designed for the love of it by Stephen s 
 young architectural friend, was a great success. The fresh 
 paint, the opened shutters with the pretty muslin curtains 
 back of the immaculate windows, the improved shrubbery, 
 all combined to give the place an air of assured distinc 
 tion. Inside the house, the change was no less marked. 
 Where Robert remembered in the past musty smells and 
 
 360 
 
ROBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 an all-pervading dinginess, he now found fresh air and 
 sunshine. The new furnishings, though simple and inex 
 pensive, showed a surprising amount of taste. 
 
 The girls had taken Robert all over the house within 
 ten minutes of his arrival. His exclamations of genuine 
 admiration and amazement gave them keen delight. But 
 the best change of all was in the girls themselves. Under 
 the more genial regime of the past year, all three of them 
 had fairly blossomed. They had given over the idea of 
 conciliating Mrs. Perkins, and allowed her to be audibly 
 scandalized. The girls looked better, they were dressed 
 distinctly better, and they seemed happy. Robert had ex 
 pected all this in Priscilla, Stephen s devotion was quite 
 enough to account for it, but he had not imagined that 
 the mere absence of daily petty tyranny on the part of a 
 domineering old woman, and the simple right to do as they 
 pleased in the small affairs of life, could have worked such 
 change in Martha and Mattie. 
 
 Robert was much touched, too, by the warmth of his 
 own reception. He felt that he deserved little of the girls. 
 He had been too ill when he went away to come out and 
 tell them good-by. He had sent them very infrequent let 
 ters from Europe. He had gobbled up the major part of 
 their aunt s property. This had been involuntary, it is 
 true, and because his aunt had so willed, but in the re 
 trospect it seemed to Robert scarcely less hateful than if 
 it had been of his own volition. He had given them small 
 share in his thoughts and plans. But the girls were sub 
 limely unconscious of all this. Their one thought was 
 that Robert was well again, and that he was once more 
 at home. It was this unconsciousness of any neglect or 
 
 361 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 wrong-doing that touched Robert even more keenly than 
 their hearty welcome. 
 
 Every direction that Robert turned, he found some 
 provision for his comfort. Under Aunt Matilda, his room 
 had always been the small one over the kitchen. He had 
 hated it even as a boy. He could not know that the poor 
 lady had given it to him because it was always warm of 
 a morning. Being herself quite insensible to beauty, she 
 could not guess that the dingy ugliness of the little room 
 had oppressed a growing boy and weighed even more heav 
 ily upon the man. Aunt Matilda would have been shocked 
 at the bare thought of putting Robert in the big spare 
 room over the parlor when he came up from Boston to 
 spend an occasional Sunday or holiday, but she would 
 nevertheless have done it, grimly and ungraciously enough, 
 perhaps, but still have done it, could she have known. It 
 is one of the little tragedies of daily life that people can 
 only see what they can see. 
 
 Now, however, Robert was taken to the spare room 
 quite as a matter of course, and when he laughingly pro 
 tested, he was given to understand that the room had been 
 renovated especially in his honor. Mattie had already 
 christened it the modern fatted calf, a little joke that Mrs. 
 Perkins failed to appreciate. 
 
 Stephen had met Robert at the steamer and had brought 
 him out to Bolton, the same Stephen as of old, a trifle 
 balder, a trifle stouter, than the year before, but as de 
 lightfully friendly, and radiating happiness and goodwill 
 from every pore. Donald was still in Berlin, studying Ger 
 man literature and the grand opera. He had gone in for 
 a second year of Europe. Robert was curious to know how 
 
 362 
 
EGBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 he got it. Stephen laughed, and said in his old confidential 
 way, " Well, if you must know, the poet got it the way he 
 gets most things, he just reached out and took it ! And 
 by Jove, it s not a half bad way of doing, either. It s the 
 way I got you for a cousin, little Pen." 
 
 Robert pressed his hand and answered very genuinely, 
 " Dear Stephen, it is so good to be with you again ! " 
 
 Had it not been for Stephen, Robert would have felt 
 a little lonely. Stephen managed to get out to Bolton a 
 surprising number of times, for he was only too glad of 
 an excuse for such holiday-making, yet in spite of all this 
 kindness, Robert had his difficult moments. The happiness 
 of loving Alicia was always his, but as this became an 
 accustomed and assured possession, he grew increasingly 
 conscious of the pain of separation. The hopelessness of 
 his love was also beginning to press in upon him. At first 
 he had asked only the boon of loving, but now he asked 
 the greater boon of being loved. Seeing Stephen and Pris- 
 cilla together nearly every day added nothing to Robert s 
 distress. Sweet and wholesome as their courtship was, and 
 so frankly in evidence every minute they were together, 
 it never occurred to Robert to compare this pretty love- 
 making with his own feeling for Alicia. Nor did it ever 
 occur to him to compare Alicia to any other woman. He 
 admitted that Mrs. Costello belonged in the same class, 
 but Alicia the individual stood quite alone, a goddess whose 
 devout worshiper Robert unfalteringly was. 
 
 Robert was often restless and ill at ease, but he hid 
 it so completely that his cousins were charmed with his 
 manners and talk. He was glad of their frank approval, 
 even though he knew that they were easily pleased. He 
 
 363 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 had come home meaning to be very nice to them, and the 
 task was so much easier than he had pictured it that his 
 spirits had undergone a certain buoyancy. One morning 
 in the middle of his second week at Bolton, the mail 
 brought a welcome letter from Mrs. Costello. Robert knew 
 that she was again in America, and that she had been 
 spending some time with friends in Maine. Now, however, 
 she wrote that she was once more established in Boston, 
 and begged that Robert would dine with her the following 
 evening and stop overnight. Robert was delighted to 
 accept the invitation, and went in town very promptly the 
 following afternoon. 
 
 Mrs. Costello s house is sufficiently in the suburbs to 
 have a garden of its own. It stands with its back to the 
 street, a little uncivilly, perhaps, but when one follows the 
 winding path around the house, and comes upon the open 
 door facing the garden and the sun, one feels that the 
 arrangement is more than justified, and one marvels that 
 every other householder has not essayed a similar excel 
 lence. Robert had never been there before. Dinner was 
 to be at six, but Mrs. Costello had asked that he would 
 come early. It was still full daylight when he presented 
 himself. His heart was beating painfully. He did not know 
 whether he should see Alicia or not, but at any rate he 
 would have news of her, and he would be breathing again 
 the high atmosphere that had made Cocumella an earthly 
 paradise. As soon as he entered the narrow gateway he 
 felt that, like the house itself, he had turned his back upon 
 the commonplace, and once more stood upon enchanted 
 ground. The door was wide open. Robert knew that his 
 hostess would like him to enter without knock or bell- 
 
 364 
 
ROBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 stroke and announce himself. But something of the old 
 conventionality restrained him, and instead, he pressed 
 the electric button. In a moment he heard the unmis 
 takable voice with its high-pitched music. " Never mind, 
 Katie, I will go to the door. I think it must be Mr. Pen- 
 dexter." 
 
 When Mrs. Costello reached the door, Robert flushed 
 with pleasure. " Mrs. Costello ! " he cried, as if that one 
 word covered all possible salutation. 
 
 Mrs. Costello held out her hand. " Welcome, dear friend," 
 she said, smiling. Then she covered his big hand with her 
 two small ones, and made him feel how very welcome he 
 was. They were standing in a large vestibule that opened 
 directly on the level of the garden. "Put your suit-case 
 down here," Mrs. Costello continued, " and Katie will take 
 it up to your room. It will be quite safe to hang your 
 coat and hat here on the rack. We seem quite exposed, 
 with our open door, but really we are well protected." 
 
 Mrs. Costello led the way up a short stairway that faced 
 the entrance, and waited for Robert on the small landing 
 that served in lieu of a hall. Then she turned into the big 
 drawing-room on the left, and once more waited until 
 Robert stood alongside of her. It was a little thing, this 
 waiting for him at each turn, but it expressed a friendli 
 ness and welcome that no mere words could have done. 
 
 When Robert got well inside the drawing-room, he 
 paused and looked around him. " How beautiful it is ! " 
 he exclaimed. " I have never been in such a beautiful 
 room before." 
 
 " I am so glad you care for it," said Mrs. Costello. 
 " When my parents were building the house, they allowed 
 
 365 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 me the privilege of planning it, and so I ain always pleased 
 when my friends care for it." 
 
 It was a long room, at least forty feet long, undivided 
 except by the heavy carved beam in the ceiling, which sug 
 gested rather than insisted upon a division. In spite of 
 its unbroken length, the room was not monotonous, for by 
 a very clever arrangement, it was of unequal width. In 
 the portion where Mrs. Costello and Robert were standing, 
 the room extended for several feet into the side garden. 
 In the other portion, where the large fireplace was, the 
 room extended several feet to the right, and so joined the 
 large dining-room on the opposite side of the house. It 
 was as if two squares had been placed side by side, and 
 then, to relieve the monotony, had been shoved so that the 
 common sides no longer coincided. It made a unique room, 
 and one full of interest. The whole was finished in teak- 
 wood, elaborately carved and carefully polished. 
 
 " Where did you get such wonderful carving ? " asked 
 Robert, going up to it and running his long fingers appre 
 ciatively over the tracery, as if to see it by touch as well 
 as by sight. 
 
 " It is wonderful, is it not? It was done for me in India, 
 and in a surprisingly short space of time. The designs 
 were sent over by the architect in the spring, and in the 
 autumn the work was all here and ready to be put in 
 place." 
 
 Mrs. Costello moved towards the fireplace, so that Rob 
 ert might see the rest of the room. He followed her very 
 slowly, entranced not only with the carving, but also with 
 the subtle proportions of the room. 
 
 "This is the dining-room," said Mrs. Costello, leading 
 366 
 
EGBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 the way through the wide folding doors. It was separated 
 from the drawing-room by a wooden screen, partly solid 
 and partly delicate lattice work filled in with glass. Cur 
 tains of soft green silk hung back of the glass and gave 
 a suggestion of shrubbery. From the dining-room Mrs. 
 Costello led the way through another folding-door into a 
 study which faced south on the garden. 
 
 Robert paused and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. 
 "It is as beautiful as Italy ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " I like to hear you say that," answered Mrs. Costello. 
 " You know that my husband was an Italian. Everything 
 in this room came from Italy. It was Leon Costello s 
 study." Mrs. Costello nearly always spoke of her husband 
 by his full name. It seemed the better to voice her own 
 deep appreciation of him as an artist. By this time she 
 and Robert had come out again on the landing and the 
 circuit was complete. " You see we have no hall. I deliber 
 ately sacrificed it, so that we might have this unbroken 
 sweep of rooms. You don t think I did wrong, do you? " 
 
 Robert was amused at this deference to his opinion 
 about a thing that had been done so many years before, 
 but the appeal was genuine, and he answered with equal 
 earnestness, " I think that you could not possibly have 
 done better. It was a stroke of genius ! " 
 
 " Oh, hardly that," said Mrs. Costello. " And now I 
 must send you to your room, or you 11 not be dressed for 
 dinner in time. Katie will show you up, and you must tell 
 her if there s anything wanting." 
 
 Robert followed the maid upstairs, but he went very 
 slowly, for he wanted to examine every detail of this unique 
 house. A half -flight brought him to a landing extending 
 
 367 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 over the vestibule and lighted by a cheery little bay win 
 dow above the front door. In reality, the landing was a 
 small apartment in itself. It looked down into the draw 
 ing-room on one side, and through a latticed window on the 
 other side into the Italian study. 
 
 Mrs. Costello called up from the drawing-room, " That s 
 our box of honor, you see, when we have music down here." 
 
 And Robert answered gayly, " I should like a seat in 
 the front row, please." 
 
 Another half-flight brought him to the hallway in the 
 second floor, and a few steps more to his own large, 
 sunny room overlooking the garden. A little wood fire 
 crackled on the hearth ; a bunch of flowers stood on the 
 table ; stationery and stamps were conveniently grouped 
 on the open desk ; a bath robe was thrown over the foot of 
 the bed ; at every turn Robert met some fresh expression 
 of welcome. He had been living so long in the impersonal 
 life of hotels and pensions, with all its indifference and 
 half comfort, that he was much touched, as he had been 
 at Bolton, by this intimate concern for his welfare. 
 
 Katie was still standing at the door. " If you please, 
 sir," she said, when Robert finally turned around, " Mrs. 
 Costello wanted me to tell you that the bathroom at the end 
 of the hall is for you. I 11 show it to you, sir, if you like." 
 
 As Robert was returning from this tour of inspection, 
 he met Mrs. Costello at the stairs. 
 
 "You will think that I was not a very good architect," 
 she said, " to put the bathrooms so far from the bedrooms. 
 But I had to yield that point. A quarter of a century ago, 
 you know, it was thought that bathrooms must be as near 
 the kitchen range as possible, so as to save piping. Appar- 
 
 368 
 
ROBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 ently, they did not reflect that you lay pipes once in many 
 years, while you draw the water every day. It was a stupid 
 economy, but I suppose we are doing just as dull things 
 to-day, only in some other direction. Do let Katie know if 
 you need anything." 
 
 Mrs. Costello went on to her own apartments in the 
 third floor, and Robert quickly dressed for dinner. It was 
 not yet six, so he drew an armchair up before the fire, 
 and sat there enjoying its warmth and comfort. He had 
 never been in the house before, he had not yet taken a 
 meal there, but already he felt at home as he had never 
 felt at home anywhere else. 
 
 When Robert went downstairs, darkness had fallen, 
 and the big drawing-room was lighted up, not brilliantly, 
 but just enough to keep it from being gloomy and to allow 
 the firelight to show to advantage. 
 
 Mrs. Costello rose as Robert entered, and once more 
 took his hand. " I am so glad to have you here, Mr. Pen- 
 dexter," she said, in her silvery, high-pitched voice. " I 
 do hope that you will feel quite at home." Robert pro 
 tested that he felt surprisingly at home. " We will have 
 dinner directly, as soon as my friend, Mrs. Mason, comes 
 down. Won t you take that armchair at the side of the 
 fireplace. I think we shall have to call that your chair." 
 
 It was a curious old chair, covered with leather and very 
 comfortable. Robert sank into it contentedly, and chatted 
 with Mrs. Costello quite as if the Italian parenthesis had 
 ended but yesterday. In a few moments Mrs. Mason joined 
 them. Robert easily guessed that she was Mrs. Costello s 
 companion and secretary. Like Mrs. Costello, she was in 
 evening dress. She greeted them both with a brilliant 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 smile. Mrs. Costello treated Mrs. Mason with the same 
 thoughtful courtesy that she had shown to Robert. 
 
 It was a pleasant little dinner-party. The food was very 
 simple, and was served quite faultlessly. The room itself 
 was beautiful, and the table prettily lighted with four 
 shaded wax candles. The atmosphere was one in which 
 Robert felt perfectly at home. Had Alicia been there, he 
 would have considered himself entirely happy. As yet 
 Mrs. Costello had not spoken of her. Robert was keenly 
 anxious for news, but some stubborn reticence made it diffi 
 cult for him to mention Alicia. 
 
 After dinner, Robert asked if he might once more make 
 the tour of the rooms, as he would like to see them at 
 night. Mrs. Costello gladly joined him. For some reason 
 she evidently wanted him to take special notice of the 
 house. She listened to all his comments with an attention 
 which he hardly felt they deserved. This second tour deep 
 ened Robert s earlier impressions, and disclosed a number 
 of features which were missed before. Behind the arm 
 chair that Mrs. Costello had designated as his there was a 
 small curtained opening. The curtain was now half drawn, 
 and a soft, warm light shone into the drawing-room. Rob 
 ert asked if he might enter. He found himself in a tiny 
 octagonal chapel. An ancient prie-dieu stood in the centre. 
 On the wall opposite was a Lucca della Robbia Mother 
 and Child. To one side there stood a carved Calvary. Set 
 into the wall over the tiny fireplace was a Doriatello Ma 
 donna in ivory plaster. On a pedestal in one of the angles 
 rested a delicate reproduction of the great bronze Buddha 
 at Kamakura. On the walls were pictures of the Kali 
 Temple on the Ganges above Calcutta, and of the sacred 
 
 370 
 
EGBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 Buddhist sanctuary at Buddh-Gaya. Robert noticed that 
 the heavy teak-wood book-shelf contained not only the 
 Jewish and Christian Scriptures, the Imitation and the 
 Mirror of Perfection, but also the Bhagavad-Gita, the Ko 
 ran, and the Laws of Confucius. An ancient silver lamp, 
 evidently from some Italian church, hung from the centre 
 of the room, and cast the warm reddish glow over the 
 chapel that had first attracted Robert s attention. 
 
 Robert had been brought up in a church which dis 
 penses with symbols. Such religious life as he had known 
 had been of a severely intellectual type. He had never ac 
 quired the habit of regular prayer. He prayed, it is true, 
 more frequently, perhaps, than most men pray, but without 
 any outer sign. He seldom knelt. He prayed as he walked 
 the streets, as he sat at his desk, most of all, at night as 
 he lay in bed, tossed about by all the storms of hesitation 
 and uncertainty. Sometimes he had doubted whether there 
 be a God, for he had prayed so entreatingly for light, and 
 apparently the light had not come. But this little chapel 
 affected him strangely. It was a visible invitation to prayer. 
 Robert would have liked to kneel at the ancient prie-dieu 
 and pray for Alicia, not indeed that she might be his, but 
 solely that it might be well with her, and always well with 
 her. He was too shy to kneel before Mrs. Costello, and 
 contented himself with breathing such a prayer. Then he 
 turned to Mrs. Costello and asked, " Is this gem your pri 
 vate oratory?" 
 
 " In a sense yes, since I sometimes use it. But in reality 
 it belongs more to Miss Frothingham than to me. She 
 perhaps cares more than I do for these symbols of faith. 
 My own oratory is upstairs. It is much larger and simpler 
 
 371 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 than this. In fact, it is the room in which I live. Some time 
 you shall see it." 
 
 It was Alicia s chapel in which he had wanted to pray 
 for her! Suddenly Robert remembered the unwelcome 
 words of St. Augustine, " I perceive that she is also de 
 vout. She would make an acceptable nun," and turned 
 to Mrs. Costello almost in alarm. " Is Miss Frothingham 
 a Catholic? "he asked. 
 
 " She is not a member of that church," Mrs. Costello 
 answered. " Like myself, she is a world-religionist, a wor 
 shiper of the Spirit. She is a Christian, but her Christian 
 ity is racial rather than specific. She is both Catholic 
 and Protestant. In the far East, she is Hindu, Buddhist, 
 Shintoist, Mahometan. We believe, you see, that religion 
 is many in form, but one in substance. To us it means 
 the outreaching of the human spirit towards the Divine 
 Spirit. Alicia is a beautiful soul; she has traveled far 
 on the Path." 
 
 "Does Miss Frothingham soon return to America?" 
 asked Robert, as they left the chapel and moved down the 
 long drawing-room. 
 
 " I hardly know," Mrs. Costello answered. " She is still 
 in England, and it seems difficult for her to get away. 
 She is much sought after, you know, and one invitation 
 succeeds another. I think I shall have to send her some 
 wax to stuff in her ears. But there is a chance that she 
 may sail about the first of the month." 
 
 They had come to the end of the room, and found them 
 selves in front of a marble portrait-bust that stood near the 
 grand piano. Robert examined it critically. It was a noble 
 face, crowned with abundant, ungovernable hair. The throat 
 
 372 
 
ROBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 was strong and bare. The head rose from out the folds of 
 a very simple drapery that stretched from shoulder to 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I think I know whose it is," said Robert, gently. 
 
 " Yes, it is Leon Costello, and an excellent likeness. * 
 
 " Is it something new ? " Robert asked, running his long 
 fingers over the modeling of the throat, as he had done 
 earlier in the afternoon over the wooden traceries. 
 
 Mrs. Costello winced inwardly, for she never allowed 
 any one but herself to touch the bust. " No," she answered. 
 "Like everything else in the house, it is quite old, at least 
 a quarter of a century. But why did you ask, is it the 
 still fresh tone of the marble ? " 
 
 " Perhaps that in part," said Robert. " But still more, 
 I think, because it does n t look old-fashioned. You don t 
 mind my saying that, do you? It looks as if it might have 
 been made yesterday." 
 
 Mrs. Costello gave Robert one of her rarest smiles. " I 
 am delighted to have you say it. That was the effect I 
 wanted to produce." 
 
 " Did you make the bust yourself? " asked Robert, in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " No, indeed. I only posed Leon Costello. When you 
 come to know me better, dear Mr. Pendexter, you will find 
 out that I really do nothing at all myself. I am one of 
 those idle, non-executive people, who say how it ought to 
 be done, but who let other people do all the work!" 
 
 "I think yours is the larger service," said Robert. "It 
 is harder to know what to do than it is to do it." 
 
 " Sometimes, perhaps," admitted Mrs. Costello. " But I 
 am wondering if you can go a step farther still, and tell 
 
 373 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 me why this bust of Leon Costello does not look old-fash 
 ioned, and why I may venture to hope that it never will?" 
 Mrs. Costello watched Robert expectantly, and seemed to 
 attach importance to his answer. 
 
 Robert looked at the bust carefully and answered with 
 much confidence, " Certainly I can tell you. It is because 
 there s nothing either fashionable or unfashionable about 
 bare throats and simple drapery. If you had shown any 
 article of clothing, a coat or waistcoat or necktie, it would 
 have had to be of the period, and as the period passes, the 
 things sooner or later would have looked poky and out of 
 date." 
 
 Mrs. Costello smiled pleasantly. " That was quite my 
 own analysis. It is astonishing that so obvious a principle 
 is not more frequently followed, I mean in buildings and 
 books as well as in pictures and busts. And now shall we 
 go and sit by the fire? Would you mind telling Katie to 
 bring a little fresh kindling?" 
 
 When Robert returned, he found Mrs. Costello settled 
 in a low chair at one side of the fireplace and busy with 
 some knitting. Robert dropped easily into the leather chair 
 on the opposite side. 
 
 " You won t mind my knitting, will you? " asked Mrs. 
 Costello. " I always like to have some occupation for my 
 hands when I am sitting still. We can chat for a while, 
 and then perhaps later you or Mrs. Mason will read aloud 
 for a few minutes. But first I must ask you how you like 
 your room? " 
 
 Robert answered that he liked it extremely, and added 
 that no one could help liking it. 
 
 " It used to be my mother s room, and always seemed 
 374 
 
EGBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 to me especially bright and attractive. I am so glad that 
 you like it, for that is the room I am going to give you 
 when you come to stay with us. You need not be afraid to 
 come, for we will let you much alone. I know what it is to 
 be a worker, and I feel always that I want to protect them 
 from interruptions. I shall make over the Italian room to 
 you for a study, I do my own work upstairs. Katie can 
 take your breakfast-tray in there of a morning, and then 
 you need n t see any of the household until luncheon. The 
 bedroom needs redecorating. It never quite suited me. 
 The men are coming to-morrow to do it over. If you have 
 any preference in the way of a color scheme, I should be so 
 glad to follow it." Mrs. Costello made this extraordinary 
 offer with the utmost simplicity, quite as one might ask 
 whether a guest would have his eggs hard or soft. 
 
 Robert looked at Mrs. Costello in a dazed, incredulous 
 way. He had quite forgotten until that moment that at 
 Cocumella Mrs. Costello had asked him to be her guest. 
 He had never doubted her sincerity, but the invitation had 
 seemed too big even to consider. Now he had to face it 
 squarely. Of his desire in the matter, he had not the slight 
 est doubt. Of all things in the world, he would like to 
 become a member of this enchanted household. But he 
 could not bring himself to accept so much. His conscience 
 rebelled at the magnitude of the favor. 
 
 Robert hastened to assure Mrs. Costello of his apprecia 
 tion of her great kindness, and of how much how very 
 much he would like to accept, but that really he could n t 
 say yes to so tremendous an invitation. 
 
 Mrs. Costello did not coax him. It would not have been 
 characteristic of her. She only wanted Robert as a guest 
 
 375 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 in case he could come willingly. When she was sure, how 
 ever, that he really wanted to come, and was only hindered 
 by the old New England prejudice against accepting some 
 thing for which he could not make visible payment, she 
 patiently went to work, and one by one broke down every 
 objection. She said very graciously that it would steady 
 them all to have a worker in the house, and that his coming 
 would be quite as much a favor to them as to him. 
 
 In spite of all Mrs. Costello s beautiful patience and 
 graciousness, it was very late that evening before Kobert 
 could bring himself definitely to accept her proffered hos 
 pitality. One might have thought that he was trying to 
 make up his mind to do something that he did n t want to 
 do. It was the New England blood at an old and favorite 
 task, the task of trying to make a thing seem wrong 
 simply because one wanted it. Robert drew the line at 
 selecting the decoration for his bedroom. He was sure that 
 anything Mrs. Costello might choose would be highly ac 
 ceptable to him. It was perhaps this minor abstinence that 
 helped him to allow the greater gift. Robert was not yet 
 so large as Mrs. Costello in his mental outlook, and could 
 not act in the same large way. 
 
 He had so far succeeded in being nice to his cousins at 
 Bolton that they very genuinely joined Stephen in his out 
 cry against Robert s desertion. Robert himself felt a little 
 conscience-smitten at leaving, but he was going as a student 
 and there was nothing else to be done. Had it not been 
 Mrs. Costello s, it would have been a boarding-house or an 
 apartment hotel. He promised, of course, to return in a 
 few weeks for Priscilla s wedding. 
 
 Several days later, Robert s trunks arrived at Mrs. Cos- 
 376 
 
ROBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 tello s, and that same afternoon he himself stood once more 
 at the open door. Katie showed him to his room. They 
 would not dine until half after six, she said, as there would 
 be guests. When Robert went downstairs, the company 
 had all assembled. Mrs. Costello greeted him warmly, and 
 at dinner gave him the place of honor at her right hand. 
 Later in the evening, after the guests had all gone, Robert 
 and Mrs. Costello lingered a few moments before the fire 
 to have a friendly chat before separating for the night. 
 
 " When you have decided upon your profession, Mr. Pen- 
 dexter, I may perhaps be able to help you with some intro 
 ductions. You will let me know, won t you ? and allow me 
 to serve you in any way I can." 
 
 It was the first time that Mrs. Costello had referred to 
 the impending choice of a profession. Robert felt that she 
 had had it much in mind, and of late he himself had 
 scarcely thought of anything else. He thanked her heart 
 ily, and said that he would be only too glad to avail him 
 self of her kindness. 
 
 There was a pause, and both Mrs. Costello and Robert 
 sat looking into the fire. Mrs. Costello made a motion as 
 if to rise, but Robert detained her with a question. "What 
 do you do, Mrs. Costello, when you have an important 
 decision to make, and all the data at hand for making it, 
 but every time you set to work, you are quite baffled by 
 some stubborn little obstacles ? They have nothing to do 
 with the decision, they are not nearly so important as it 
 is, but at every turn they squarely block the road, and 
 keep you fretting in uncertainty." 
 
 Mrs. Costello settled back in her chair. " I know so 
 well what you mean, dear friend. When I was younger, I 
 
 377 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 used always to defy these obstacles. I used to climb over 
 them, or force my way around them, do anything, in 
 short, except to remove them. I felt, as perhaps you feel, 
 that the greater thing must be attended to first, and that 
 afterwards one could settle with these little perplexities. 
 I think I made a great many mistakes in that way. My 
 mind was not free, and I could not reach the best deci 
 sions. They were like clouds in the atmosphere, and I 
 could not see." 
 
 " And what do you do now ? " asked Robert. 
 
 " Now, I first annihilate the obstacle. With me, it is 
 generally some omitted duty. It may be very trivial, but 
 it pulls at my spirit. Sometimes I do not even know what 
 it is. I merely feel a vague sense of dissatisfaction, and I 
 am incapable of my best thinking. I once said to a dear 
 friend of mine, a distinguished psychologist, that I thought 
 life would be very easy if it were not for the decisions." 
 
 Robert laughed and said, " That is precisely what I feel. 
 Did your friend help you out of the difficulty ? " 
 
 " Yes, in a quite wonderful way. He showed me that 
 the decisions themselves are not difficult. Every real 
 problem, he used to say, carries its own answer very near the 
 surface. The practical difficulty is to get rid of the psycho 
 logical rubbish that covers it up. He had a method for 
 doing this that I have never known to fail. It is surpris 
 ingly simple. Whenever you feel this vague disquiet, turn 
 upon yourself abruptly, and say in a tone of quite military 
 command, Face it! The subliminal self is really servile. 
 It will thrust over the threshold of consciousness the 
 thing that has been bothering you, and then you can dis 
 pose of it at once. After that, when all such rubbish is 
 
 378 
 
ROBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 gone, all such psychological rubbish, as my friend calls it, 
 the decision practically makes itself. I have come to agree 
 with my friend that the answers to the real problems of 
 life are very near the surface." 
 
 Robert rose. " Thank you, * he said, " and good-night, 
 for I know that you must be tired and ought to be going 
 to bed." 
 
 " Yes, I ought to be going up. Perhaps you will be kind 
 enough to put out the lights when you are ready to go up 
 yourself. I have sent Katie to bed." 
 
 "Certainly," said Robert. "Good-night." 
 
 Robert sat for a few minutes before the fire. Then he 
 got up and put out the lights in the drawing-room. He 
 crossed the landing to the Italian room and looked around 
 him with a pleasant sense of possession. It was to be his, 
 and here he was to work and think. A curious, canopied 
 fireplace occupied one corner of the room. It suggested 
 many a pleasant fire. A long bench stretched along one 
 side of the room. A narrow shelf extended out a few inches 
 from the top of the high back, and gave support to a 
 number of unframed photographs. Robert looked at them 
 with interest. They all represented famous buildings. A 
 lighted lamp still stood on the writing-table. 
 
 Robert dropped into the armchair in front of the table, 
 and sat there with closed eyes. " Face it ! " he said sternly. 
 One by one the little obstacles to freedom forced themselves 
 over the threshold of consciousness, and one by one Robert 
 disposed of them. They were small matters, omitted 
 duties of no great dimensions, good plans made bad by 
 not being carried out, little meannesses of the spirit. As 
 they passed in review before him, Robert hated himself 
 
 379 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 for not having disposed of them long before. He began 
 by writing three letters, one to Pauline, one to Dennis 
 Sullivan, and one to Stephen. 
 
 Kobert had never written to Pauline, save the little note 
 in Paris when he first got there, and that notable letter at 
 York which happily had never been sent. His present let 
 ter was friendly, but not in any way emotional. He wrote 
 to express the hope that their affairs had been arranged to 
 her satisfaction, and that she herself was well and happy. 
 He was shockingly late in making amends for what now 
 seemed to him an almost unpardonable neglect, but he had 
 the good sense not to apologize. 
 
 The note to Dennis Sullivan asked if he would call the 
 following evening and talk over his plans. It hinted that 
 Robert would like to help them on. 
 
 Robert s letter to Stephen was to carry out an old plan 
 that had been good at the start, but had grown poor by 
 omission. The letter ran : 
 
 DEAR STEPHEN : I think you know something about 
 my affairs, and I want your help in straightening them out. 
 My aunt, as you know, left me the bulk of her property. 
 It brings me a trifle over six thousand a year. She left 
 my cousins only one thousand apiece and the old house. 
 At the time of her death I was too ill, and also too morally 
 blind, to realize the injustice of this arrangement. I know 
 better now, and I propose to mend it. I shall be at your 
 office to-morrow afternoon at three o clock sharp, and I 
 shall expect you to be prepared with such papers and other 
 tiresome red-tape as may be necessary to redistribute my 
 aunt s property so that each of the girls may have a couple 
 
 380 
 
ROBERT CHOOSES A PROFESSION 
 
 of thousand a year. Even now, as you see, I retain a thou 
 sand more than I give them. I do this because they have 
 the house, and because I have a growing suspicion which 
 promises to become a dead certainty ! that women can 
 make money go farther than men can. You may hesitate 
 to act in this matter because it affects Priscilla s interests 
 and so touches you. But you ve got to do it, dear Stephen, 
 for if you don t, I shall go to some other lawyer, and he 
 might not do it right ! 
 
 Remember, three o clock sharp. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 R. P. 
 
 From these rather obvious duties Robert passed to the 
 more intangible and subtle matters of the spirit, matters 
 which could not be disposed of by pen and paper, but about 
 which he could make definite plans of action. True to his 
 old methodical habits, he drew up a list, and against each 
 accusing entry set down the proposed restitution. It was 
 a curious and, in spite of some absurdities, a touching list. 
 The clock had gone well beyond midnight when Robert s 
 final command " Face it ! " brought the honest an 
 swer that there was nothing to face. 
 
 Robert s heart was still a bit heavy, but his mind and 
 conscience at least were free. He had cleared away the 
 psychological rubbish, and could look the matter of his 
 future profession quite squarely in the face. He went up 
 to bed in buoyant spirits, knowing that in the morning his 
 decision would have been made. 
 
 Mrs. Costello always had her breakfast-tray sent to her 
 room. As Robert came downstairs the following morning, 
 
 381 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 he met Katie just taking up the tray. He detained her a 
 moment in order to send a little note to Mrs. Costello. It 
 simply read : 
 
 DEAR FRIEND : I have come to a decision. I shall be 
 an architect. 
 
 Robert waited a little impatiently for Katie to return. 
 He knew that she would bring him an answering note. In 
 the meantime he walked up and down the Italian room, 
 and examined the various articles that adorned it. His eye 
 wandered once more to the photographs on the shelf over 
 the settle. He felt quite sure that they had not been there 
 at the time of his first visit. It seemed an odd coincidence 
 that they all had to do with his newly chosen art. Then 
 he laughed softly, for it dawned upon him that Mrs. Cos 
 tello had placed them there with a purpose. When Katie 
 came downstairs, she brought him the expected note : 
 
 I knew what your choice would be, dear Mr. Pendexter, 
 and I thoroughly approve. Here is a motto for you, 
 from Keats, "I have loved the principle of beauty in all 
 things." 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 DURING the next three weeks, life at Mrs. Costello s 
 easily settled into a pleasant routine. The feeling of being 
 at home which had come to Robert the first time he 
 entered the house had so far deepened that now it seemed 
 as if he must have lived there always. He had found his 
 natural atmosphere. He felt that, in some subtle way 
 which he did not understand, Mrs. Costello was support 
 ing him by her calmness and poise; and he also felt by 
 an equally sure instinct that he might properly allow this 
 service, since it entailed no burden upon her. 
 
 After talking the matter over at some length with both 
 Mrs. Costello and Stephen, Robert had decided not to 
 undertake college, and for the present, at least, not even 
 to enter at the Institute. He was a little old for either 
 of these disciplines, and both his friends felt, without 
 phrasing it in quite the same way, that Robert s tempera 
 ment was in a high degree intuitional, and that whatever 
 he got in the matter of preparation for the new profession 
 would have to be gained outside the regular official chan 
 nels. By the help of Mrs. Costello s introduction, and 
 somewhat on the evidence of his sketches, Robert found 
 place in one of the good architects offices in Boston. As 
 an unusual favor, he was allowed to work in the office 
 only in the mornings and to have his afternoons to him 
 self. Mrs. Costello had stipulated for this half-time ar 
 rangement, and perhaps no one else but just Mrs. Costello 
 
 383 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 could have got it. She quite realized that Robert was not 
 strong, and also that, in spite of his intuitional powers, 
 he was nevertheless as yet a very ignorant young person. 
 He needed the free afternoons for vigorous study and read 
 ing. Mrs. Costello had a large belief in Robert s natural 
 powers, for he had met so many unaccustomed circum 
 stances with really marked success. But she had also a 
 tonic belief in the value of expert training. She was quite 
 resolved that, so far as her own influence went, it should 
 be exerted to bring into Robert s life the broadest possible 
 culture. It was the easier for her to do this because of 
 Robert s unbounded confidence in her judgment, and still 
 more, perhaps, because of the almost filial devotion that 
 he was coming to have for her. 
 
 Mrs. Costello encouraged Robert to read not only in 
 the direction of his chosen art, but also far afield in the 
 stricter literature of the humanities. For the same reason 
 she begged him to write as well as to sketch, since each 
 form of expression would help the other. Robert was 
 somewhat aghast at the idea of writing, for aside from 
 occasional letters, he had not written a word since he 
 had left the high school, and his efforts there had confess 
 edly been the most platitudinous sort of compositions, 
 the labored restatement of what everybody knew in the 
 beginning. 
 
 Mrs. Costello s interest in Robert began with her half 
 knowledge of those several experiences of his when he 
 had escaped from his smaller conditioned self and had 
 become momentarily identified with the larger aspect of 
 being. Mrs. Costello herself could pass into this state at 
 will. It was indeed the habitual atmosphere in which she 
 
 384 
 
THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 lived. It accounted for the impersonal character of her 
 life, and the almost faultless quality of her charity. But 
 she had gained this power only as the fruit of a tre 
 mendous novitiate. For years she had trained herself by 
 ceaseless discipline. It was only now, when she was ap 
 proaching sixty, that she had come into any large degree 
 of realization. As she well knew, the power with Robert 
 was unconscious and occasional. But that such an experi 
 ence should be his in any measure whatever without the 
 discipline of a severe training indicated an unusual and 
 choice nature. 
 
 Mrs. Costello did not seek to pry into Robert s experi 
 ences, much as they interested her. But with such tact < 
 that her purpose was wholly hidden, she did encourage 
 him to develop the superconscious. She loaned him books 
 which dealt with the more spiritual aspects of psychology, 
 and when he was at a loss for topics in his practice-writ 
 ing, she suggested that it might be well for him to try 
 purely imaginative writing, and to deal with possible 
 inner experiences. She felt almost guilty when Robert 
 promptly accepted her suggestion, and asked if he might 
 not submit some of his papers to her for criticism. Mrs. 
 Costello had not foreseen this result. She had no inten 
 tion of gaining entrance to his soul by stealth where she 
 would have scorned to force her way openly. Yet she 
 could not well refuse so simple a request. She smiled and 
 said that while she could wish him a more expert critic, 
 he could hardly hope to find a more interested one. 
 
 It was now early in November. The day chosen for 
 Stephen and Priscilla s wedding was at hand. Robert was 
 to be best man, and though the ceremony was not to be 
 
 385 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 until noon, he had yielded to Priscilla s urgent invitation 
 to go out to Bolton the preceding afternoon. Mrs. Cos- 
 tello had sent her regrets. She felt a genuine interest in 
 Stephen, and she liked what she had seen of Priscilla on 
 the one occasion when the young people had dined with 
 Robert and herself. But Mrs. Costello felt that her pre 
 sence at Bolton might be more of an embarrassment to the 
 sisters than a help, and especially as the house would 
 probably be over-full as it was. So she contented herself 
 with sending a friendly note to Stephen, and a simple, 
 well-chosen gift to Priscilla. 
 
 Robert told Mrs. Costello good-by directly after lunch 
 eon. He would be back, he said, on the following after 
 noon, probably in time for five o clock tea. An hour or 
 so later, when Mrs. Costello was in her living-room at the 
 top of the house, her oratory, as she had named it 
 to Robert, she was surprised to hear his voice at the 
 bottom of the staircase, asking if he might come up. 
 
 "Certainly; do come up, please," answered Mrs. Cos 
 tello, and went into the hallway to meet him. Robert 
 had been in the oratory a couple of times before, and it 
 always seemed to him holy ground, so completely was it 
 saturated with the atmosphere of a good life. Mrs. Cos 
 tello gave up the second floor of her house to her guests, 
 and retained the top floor for herself. The sloping roof 
 and low ceiling gave it an air of homely comfort. The 
 living-room or oratory occupied nearly the entire floor, 
 stretching across the south front of the house, and hav 
 ing windows on three sides. The walls were tinted a quiet 
 gray. There were very few pictures, and the furniture 
 was of the simplest. The floor was bare except for two 
 
 386 
 
THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 small rugs in front of the writing-table and the couch. 
 Yet there was an air of luxuriousness about the room. 
 This was due in part to the large free spaces, and in part 
 to the generous open windows which just now let in a 
 flood of sunshine, and from which one could look out over 
 the treetops in the garden and see the winding Charles, 
 and the distant Milton hills. 
 
 Robert was ready to start on his journey. He carried a 
 folded manuscript. " I told you good-by once," he said, 
 in explanation of his reappearance, " but now that I m 
 really off, I wanted to say good-by again and to leave this 
 paper with you. Don t read it until to-morrow, please. 
 It s one of my practice pieces, you know, and will do 
 just as well when you re not so busy. It s horribly selfish 
 of me, is n t it ? but I don t want to go to Bolton a little 
 bit. It s so nice to be settled once more, that I should 
 just like to forget that there are such things as railroad 
 trains." 
 
 Mrs. Costello smiled, but she was inwardly rather per 
 plexed. Robert s coming to tell her good-by a second time 
 was evidently a matter of impulse, and she thought no 
 thing of it ; but his not wanting to go to the wedding 
 seemed undeniably strange. There was no possible excuse 
 for Robert s staying at home, so Mrs. Costello said cheerily, 
 " It will do you good to see some young people. My only 
 fear is that when you get out to Bolton again, you won t 
 want to come back ! " 
 
 Robert laughed. " I think you know just how much 
 danger there is of that. I shall be back the first possible 
 moment." 
 
 Robert shook hands again with odd earnestness and 
 387 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 was gone. Mrs. Costello looked at the manuscript curi 
 ously. She wanted to read it then and there, but Robert 
 had said not until the morrow. 
 
 Robert s depression was inexplicable, even to himself. 
 It soon passed away, however, for motion always helped to 
 restore his good spirits. At Hudson, Stephen and Priscilla 
 met him and drove him over to Bolton. Their own hap 
 piness and the pleasant sting of the November air were 
 enough to cheer any one. There were only three other 
 guests at the house, Stephen s mother and sister, and a 
 Pendexter cousin who lived at some distance. Robert threw 
 himself into the spirit of the occasion with great good 
 will. They had seldom known him so lively and so full of 
 anecdote. 
 
 When Robert went to bed that night, he had the satis 
 faction of feeling that he had added to the happiness of 
 Priscilla s last evening of girlhood. But Robert could not 
 sleep. He was not restless. He lay as quiet as if he had 
 been sound asleep, but his mind was curiously awake. His 
 thoughts covered a wide range, but always they came back 
 to the one theme, to Alicia. He wondered how he would 
 feel if to-morrow it were he and Alicia who were to be 
 married, instead of Stephen and Priscilla. At first the 
 thought brought with it a flood of tantalizing happiness, 
 but to his surprise, the longing for Alicia gave speedy 
 place to new considerations. He had never really expected 
 to marry Alicia, but now he felt how impossible it was, 
 and how wrong of him even to wish it. It seemed to Rob 
 ert that his thought grew piercingly clear, as if he were out 
 on a still, cold, violet night, when the light of the stars 
 penetrated the ether like thrusts of steel. No atmosphere 
 
 388 
 
THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 of light-touched inists kept him from seeing the bare 
 truth. And the bare truth was that he was not worthy of 
 Alicia. This would have been a dreary conclusion after 
 so many storms, so much heartburn, had it not been for 
 the small voice that kept saying in his spirit, " Not now, 
 not yet, but some time." And the small voice brought 
 with it infinite hope. He could at least work to make him 
 self worthy of Alicia. That was an enterprise that was 
 worth while if it took the rest of life, even if he had to 
 labor beyond the grave in that school of which we have 
 no news. 
 
 Robert s thoughts had seldom gone so far into the fu 
 ture. He had thought of death, with the majority, as a 
 disagreeable interruption to one s plans, as the end of all 
 immediate hope. And the church in which he had been 
 brought up, in its splendid effort to do full justice to this 
 life, had omitted to give any substantiality to his hopes 
 of that other life. But to-night, with all the radiance of a 
 great illumination, there came the larger thought of death, 
 not as an end, but as a beginning ; not as something to be 
 dreaded, but as something, when the time came, to be 
 gently welcomed. Off from Robert s soul forever rolled 
 the possible thought of defeat. There might be minor de 
 feats, disappointments, retardations, but in the whole 
 scheme of things, he could find no ultimate defeat. The 
 forces at work on the soul might be small and slow, or 
 tremendous and rapid, but in either case they carried the 
 unescapable seed of victory, for they carried with them in 
 finite time. Into Robert s heart there came an almost suf 
 focating sense of illimitable wealth. He might ask what 
 he would, knowledge, wisdom, power, goodness, love, 
 
 389 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 and the gods themselves could not gainsay his quest. 
 Lying there in the dark, Robert felt the divine touch of 
 the Spirit. He knew that for him the night was passing, 
 the night of defeat and doubt, and that ahead he could 
 already see the radiance of a great light. 
 
 Robert fell asleep, and rested peacefully until well into 
 the morning. He was only awakened when Stephen burst 
 into his room to remind him that it was no ordinary day, but 
 his and Priscilla s wedding morning, and that the best man 
 must be up and doing. It was not difficult for Robert to 
 take a kindly part in the mixed solemnity and merry-making 
 of the wedding, for he meant to be very nice to his cou 
 sins and to help them make the great event a success. But 
 in spite of himself, he moved like one in a dream. Every 
 thing had about it a slight touch of unreality. The expe 
 rience of the night before was still strong upon him. He 
 had the feeling that this was not his proper world. He had 
 not been for a long time in such a crowd of alien people. 
 Most of them were strangers, or, more difficult still, persons 
 whom he had formerly known and had not seen for many 
 months. Some of the more discerning critics regarded 
 Robert s manners as too formal, and put it down to the 
 constraining influence of Europe, but none could find 
 specific fault. Stephen and Priscilla were too blissfully 
 happy to notice Robert s abstraction ; and Martha and 
 Mattie were much too busy. 
 
 It was with an undeniable sense of relief that Robert 
 saw the wedding- journey ers drive off to Lancaster to catch 
 a south-bound train, and felt free himself to look up his 
 own train for Boston. Mattie drove him over to Hudson. 
 Robert settled himself in the last car, as that happened to 
 
 390 
 
THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 be the least crowded. He had looked forward to this mo 
 ment when the whole affair would be quite over, and he 
 himself on the way back to Mrs. Costello s. But he could 
 not shake off the feeling that he was still in a dream, and 
 that all the noise and bustle around him were wholly 
 unimportant, as he should presently waken. Even the 
 stopping of the train in obedience to a danger signal at 
 Baker s Bridge filled him with no impatience. At least 
 twenty minutes passed. No one seemed to know the 
 cause of the detention. Robert pulled out his watch. It 
 occurred to him that he would be too late to join Mrs. 
 Costello and Mrs. Mason at their afternoon tea, and he 
 felt vaguely sorry. Presently he heard a rumbling noise, 
 and he thought that at last the train was getting under 
 
 way- 
 Robert looked around incuriously. The train was not 
 yet moving. The rumbling noise grew louder and nearer. 
 At the same moment the terrifying headlight of a locomo 
 tive loomed up in the rear. It was the through express 
 from the West, and it was bearing down upon them with 
 unrelenting speed. A horrible panic filled the car, cries 
 of terror, desperate struggles, imprecations, prayers, the 
 meanest cowardice and the most sublime heroism mingled 
 in an instant of time. Robert was now fully awake. He 
 sat near the front of the car, and started for the open 
 door. Those ahead of him had already made their escape. 
 An old Irishwoman in the seat opposite was bent on 
 saving both herself and her satchel. " Drop it ! " cried 
 Robert. " Hurry ! " He waited an instant for her to pass, 
 and then it was too late. The crash came, and Robert 
 knew nothing more. 
 
 391 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 It so chanced that on Stephen s wedding day Mrs. Cos- 
 tello was occupied all morning. At luncheon she had 
 several guests. It was not until nearly dark that the last 
 guest left and Mrs. Costello found herself free. She had 
 not forgotten Robert s manuscript. She sent Katie up 
 stairs after it, as she wanted to be in the drawing-room 
 herself when Robert returned. It rather amused her to 
 find that she was not willing to have Mrs. Mason pour his 
 tea. " I m getting like all other old women," she said to 
 herself. " They begrudge every one the pleasure of waiting 
 on their sons." But Mrs. Coste llo hoped that Robert might 
 be a little late, for she wanted to have read his manuscript 
 before he came in. She sat down in the low chair near the 
 fire and waited. Katie brought down the manuscript and 
 lighted the lamps. 
 
 " Be sure to light the Italian room, Katie," said Mrs. 
 Costello, "and leave the gas in Mr. Pendexter s room 
 turned up brightly. He will be home any moment now." 
 
 Mrs. Costello unfolded the manuscript and began to 
 read. She had meant to run through it rapidly, so as to 
 have finished before Robert came in. Afterwards she 
 would read it over again more leisurely. But once started, 
 she lost herself in the reading and forgot everything else. 
 The title made her shiver. She mistook Robert s mean 
 ing. She thought that he meant Death. Eagerly and yet 
 with a vague sense of uneasiness she read the manuscript 
 through : 
 
 "THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 " The valley was very large. It extended on all sides of 
 me like a great plain. But it was not interminable. To 
 
 392 
 
THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 the west a range of distant mountains cut the sky like 
 huge pasteboard fashioned into grotesque outlines. To the 
 east there were near foothills. Back of them were wild 
 granite mountains, whose peaks are forever white with 
 snow. In front of me the valley swept unbrokenly to the 
 south. In the distance it leaped up to meet the sky the 
 way the ocean meets it. On the horizon there was nothing. 
 Beyond this horizon you felt that there was everything. 
 Behind me, but I could not see what was behind me. I 
 was free, I thought, to turn in the saddle, yet every time 
 I made to do so, I was prevented. It was not the wind. It 
 was not a bodily touch. It was something vast and irre 
 sistible. It drew me up the valley towards that horizon 
 which disclosed nothing and held everything. I did not 
 have to urge my horse. He caught the spirit of the moment 
 and was steeped in motion. We swept up the valley at 
 an impossible speed. But I was not terrified. I could not 
 hear the horse s footfall. I could not hear the wind. Every 
 thing was silent. Then in front of me there stretched 
 a shallow gulch. A long, gentle slope led down to the bot 
 tom of it. A long, gentle slope led up on the other side to 
 the top of it. I crossed the brim of the gulch. Then I 
 heard footfalls behind me, the rhythmic footfalls of a rapidly 
 galloping horse. But I could not look around. My own 
 horse pricked up his ears and went still faster. But the 
 footfalls of the galloping horse came nearer and nearer. 
 It seemed strange that I could not look around. Then the 
 footfalls came abreast of me and I was free to look. I saw 
 a large roan horse with a mane and tail of cream color. 
 No bridle was in his mouth. No saddle was upon his back. 
 But astride him sat a naked man. He was lithe and beau- 
 
 393 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 tiful. His strong arms were hanging at his sides, and his 
 hands were resting as if they had no weight against his 
 strong legs. I could see the profile of his face. It was 
 strong and finely chiseled. His hair was tawny, like bur 
 nished copper. It tossed about his head, a surging red- 
 gold halo. It seemed to me quite natural that the man 
 should be riding there beside me. I was not terrified. I 
 was not even astonished. Then the man spoke. Faster, 
 little brother, faster ! I could feel the air against my 
 cheeks. It was not the wind. It was the air itself that 
 we leaped out to meet. Side by side we rushed along, the 
 smite of the air growing stronger and stronger. Faster 
 and faster went the horses. The blood in my veins ran 
 wilder and wilder. But I was unafraid. In my heart there 
 was a great exultation. It was not I who swept towards 
 the horizon beyond which there is everything. It was 
 Life, Life its very self. It was Life that had overtaken 
 me, that was transforming me and absorbing me. And 
 there were no longer two of us. There was but one horse 
 and there was but one horseman. I could hear the rhyth 
 mic footfalls on the hard floor of the valley. It was the 
 great roan horse with mane and tail of cream color. There 
 was no bridle in his mouth. There was no saddle on his 
 back. I sat astride him easily. My bare arms hung at the 
 side of my great chest. My idle hands rested as if they 
 had no weight against the hard muscles of my legs. Then 
 I leaned over and spoke to the great horse. Faster, little 
 brother, faster ! No quiver ran through his great frame. 
 But swifter and fiercer the air smote against my face and 
 my hair, the air that we leaped out to meet. It smote 
 against my chest and against my arms and against my 
 
 394 
 
THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 legs. The wine of Life was in my veins. The joy of Life 
 was in my heart. Then I shouted aloud, Faster, little 
 brother, faster, faster ! But the great horse did not hear 
 me. He was but a part of the wide valley that lay behind 
 me. I could no longer hear the footfalls of his galloping. 
 With the wide earth valley I was sweeping over the brim 
 of that far horizon beyond which there is everything. A 
 moment passed, or it might have been an eternity, I did 
 not know which. For the moment, or for the eternity, I 
 and the world were one. Then I felt again the old saddle 
 under me, and in my left hand the old reins. I looked 
 around me. I was at the edge of a shallow gulch. A long, 
 gentle slope led down to the bottom of it. A long, gentle 
 slope led up on the opposite side to the top of it. I had 
 passed over great space and much time had gone. So I 
 thought. But it was less than a foot. It was less than an 
 instant. Then I knew that in the life of the Spirit there is 
 neither space nor time." 
 
 Mrs. Costello put the manuscript down on the table 
 beside her. It seemed to her a remarkable production for 
 one so unused to any sort of composition, and she wondered 
 what mood had called it forth. But it made her still more 
 uneasy about Robert himself. It seemed to indicate so 
 slight a hold upon the world-life and too great a readiness 
 to be off into the life beyond. 
 
 Mrs. Costello listened anxiously for Robert s footstep. 
 Mrs. Mason joined her. The tea things were brought in. 
 Almost unwillingly Mrs. Costello made the tea. Presently 
 Professor Heim dropped in. He was enthusiastic about 
 certain tendencies in modern German literature. He had 
 
 395 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 interesting news of the distinguished scholar that the 
 Kaiser was just lending to Harvard for a year. Ordinarily, 
 these subjects interested Mrs. Costello very genuinely, but 
 this afternoon the talk fell mainly to Professor Heim and 
 Mrs. Mason. Mrs. Costello listened politely, and occasion 
 ally she threw in a casual remark, but it was evident that 
 her thought was elsewhere. Professor Heim withdrew. 
 Mrs. Mason went up to dress for dinner. Still Mrs. Cos 
 tello sat before the fire listening. It was six o clock when 
 she finally went upstairs herself. She dressed hurriedly, 
 but with even more than her usual care. She came di 
 rectly back to the drawing-room. She was so determined 
 that Robert should have come home, that when Katie an 
 nounced dinner, Mrs. Costello told her to go upstairs and 
 call Mr. Pendexter. It rather added to Mrs. Costello s 
 uneasiness when Katie answered, " I ve been upstairs 
 already, ma am, but Mr. Pendexter is not in his room." 
 
 Mrs. Mason came downstairs and the two ladies went 
 in to dinner. The soup was brought. Before Mrs. Costello 
 tasted hers, she turned to Mrs. Mason and said almost 
 apologetically, " It is foolish, I know, but I feel strangely 
 uneasy about Mr. Pendexter. If you will excuse me a mo 
 ment, my dear, I think I will just step to the telephone 
 and ask if there has been any reported delay in the trains." 
 
 Mrs. Costello went to the telephone in the little back 
 hall and called up the Union Station. " Please give me 
 the Superintendent s Office," she asked. " Yes, the matter 
 is important. Yes. Say that Mrs. Costello wants to speak 
 to the Superintendent, or to one of his assistants. Yes, I 
 will hold the line. Please ask him to make haste." 
 
 A few moments later, Mrs. Costello hurried back to the 
 396 
 
THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 dining-room. Mrs. Mason and Katie saw at once that 
 something had happened. Very quietly Mrs. Costello told 
 them of the accident and such details as she had been able 
 to gather. Then she began hurriedly to give her orders. 
 " Get me my cloak, Katie. Quickly, please. Yes, the heavy 
 one with the fur collar. And bring the dark velvet bonnet. 
 Any gloves will do." Then Mrs. Costello turned to Mrs. 
 Mason. " No, my dear. You would better not go with me. 
 Stay here, please, and have everything in readiness. See 
 that there is plenty of hot water. You may call a cab for 
 me . No, please don t. I shall make better time on the 
 trolley. Call up Dr. Babcock and ask if he cannot meet 
 me at Waltham. They have improvised a hospital near 
 the station, and Mr. Pendexter has probably been carried 
 there." 
 
 It was nearly nine o clock before Mrs. Costello reached 
 the temporary hospital. There was great confusion. Men 
 and women with drawn, stricken faces were hunting for 
 wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, daughters and 
 sons. Mrs. Costello was faint with pity. The surgeons in 
 charge were almost exhausted, but there was something 
 about Mrs. Costello that compelled attention. One of the 
 younger men went with her down the long row of cots. 
 
 In a remote corner Mrs. Costello and the young doc 
 tor found Robert. He was very still and very white. His 
 eyes were closed. With professional instinct the doctor 
 felt his pulse. 
 
 " Is he dead ? " asked Mrs. Costello. 
 
 " No, he is still alive," the doctor answered gravely. 
 
 " But you think he cannot live ? " asked Mrs. Costello. 
 
 " I do not know," said the doctor, and turned away with 
 397 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 a heavy heart to attend to other sufferers. But first he 
 remembered to bring Mrs. Costello a chair. 
 
 For some moments Mrs. Costello stood at Robert s side. 
 She had come to him with all the strong force of her will 
 bent upon claiming him on the side of Life. She took 
 Robert s hand. It was not cold, thank God for that ! 
 Mrs. Costello threw aside her cloak and knelt down at the 
 side of the cot. She prayed, but not in words. She prayed 
 with her whole being, and in her prayer there was immense 
 entreaty. 
 
 The hours slowly dragged themselves around, but Mrs. 
 Costello was not conscious of them. She was quite un 
 mindful of herself. All her thought was concentrated upon 
 Robert. She was trying with all the force of her large will 
 to penetrate the deathlike stupor and to bring Robert life. 
 
 A slight movement in the cot back of her attracted Mrs. 
 Costello s attention. She turned to see if she could be of 
 any service. An old Irishwoman was lying there. She was 
 trying to be very still, but she was restless in spite of her 
 self. Her small bright eyes watched Mrs. Costello s every 
 movement. 
 
 Mrs. Costello went over to the cot and took the woman s 
 hand. " Are you much hurt ? " she asked. 
 
 " I dunno, mum, I m sure. There s something awful 
 funny the matter with my legs. But I wish, mum, I was 
 more hurt n I am, mum. I do indeed, mum, fur p haps 
 that beautiful young gentleman would n t a got hurt at 
 all, then." 
 
 The woman spoke in a low voice that could hardly dis 
 turb any one, so Mrs. Costello said, " Tell me about it, 
 please, if it won t tire you too much." 
 
 398 
 
THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 It was evidently a great relief to the poor old soul to 
 talk, and she needed no second invitation. " I ought n t 
 to have been in that car at all, at all, mum. I knowed that 
 right well. Before I come away from home, me auld man 
 says to me, says he, You re a great hand fur traveling 
 Bridget O Leary, says he, and fur spendin your money 
 on them corporation railroads. But mind what I m tellin 
 you now, says he, if you want to come safe out of it all. 
 Don t you go and set in the last car of the train, nor in 
 the forwardest car neither, fur if there be any accident, 
 them is the very cars as is most likely to get smashed up. 
 Now mind what I m a-tellin you. It was clever in him, 
 mum, was n t it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Costello said that it was, and Mrs. O Leary con 
 tinued : "I bided his words, mum, but the saints forgive 
 me, I did n t act up to em. I got into the other car, mum, 
 but it was crowded with people, and it do tire a body so 
 to stand. I had a satchel too, mum, that I dasent put 
 down onto the floor, for the auld man would never a for 
 give me if I d gone and let it got stole. I ought n t to 
 have gone into that car, mum, fur me auld man s words 
 was still in me ears, but I thought I d jist chance it fur 
 oncet, and really, mum, a body ought to take their turn 
 once in a while, fur if nobody set in them two cars, the cor 
 poration railroad would take em off, they re that mean, 
 mum ! I was up and down oneasy when the train took 
 to restin so long between them stytions. But it would a 
 looked sort o dafty fur me to get out. I was jist settin 
 there peaceable when I heard a rushin noise. I turned 
 around, mum, and there was a locomotive engine comin 
 down the aisle." Mrs. Costello shuddered. " It was jist 
 
 399 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 awful, mum, jist awful, and all the folks a-yellin bloody 
 murder. I d a gone to glory then and there, mum, if it 
 had n t a been fur that beautiful young gentleman lyin 
 there. Is he your son, mum ? " 
 
 Mrs. Costello shook her head. 
 
 " I m glad o that. I thought p rhaps he was. He held 
 back just a minute, mum, and gave me the chanst of me 
 life. I was tossed like a bag o praties down the aisle and 
 through the doors into the next car where I rightly be 
 longed. I must have landed on me knees, mum, fur there s 
 something awful funny the matter with me legs. But I 
 wish fur a fact, mum, that that there beautiful young gen 
 tlemen had been in me place. I have n t many more years 
 to live anyway, and me auld man could a got along with 
 out me fur a little while, he s that handy about the house." 
 
 Mrs. Costello felt grateful to the poor old woman for 
 giving her this simple account of Robert s heroism. She 
 said kindly, " Thank you, my dear, for telling me about 
 it. I think you ought not to talk any more now." 
 
 Mrs. Costello had all the while been watching Robert. 
 She kept her eyes on his face. It seemed as if such con 
 centrated will-power must drive back the Angel of Death, 
 and win Robert once more to life. The young doctor had 
 said that everything that could be done was already done, 
 and nothing remained but to wait. Dr. Babcock did not 
 arrive, Mrs. Mason had evidently failed to reach him. 
 From time to time some poor tortured body ceased to live, 
 and a spirit took its flight. The stillness of the night was 
 broken by the sound of weeping. Mrs. Costello was not 
 herself conscious of fatigue or of any other bodily sensa 
 tion, but she responded with painful readiness to the in- 
 
 400 
 
THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 tense spiritual drama going on about her. She was battling 
 for a life, for Robert s life. Could she have had him alone, 
 she felt that she must win ; but here in the midst of this 
 lingering flight of souls, the conflict was against tremen 
 dous odds. Mrs. Costello felt that she was in the presence 
 of something more powerful than herself. She knew with 
 out any word from the young doctor that Robert wavered 
 between two worlds, the world of the living and the world 
 of the dead. She thought of his own curious expression, 
 " the horizon beyond which there is everything," and it 
 seemed to her that he stood on the brink, a long way off, 
 and that unless some detaining hand, stronger than her 
 own, reached out to him, he must inevitably slip over the 
 brink of that horizon into the eternal enlightenment. 
 
 The night wore on. There was no visible change. The 
 young doctor came at frequent intervals. Each time he 
 felt Robert s pulse. It was growing perceptibly weaker. 
 Mrs. Costello no longer asked the doctor s opinion. She 
 knew that he was powerless. She herself yielded no point 
 in this duel with Death. She knew that she fought single- 
 handed in this alien atmosphere, but she felt that if she 
 could but penetrate Robert s stupor and arouse his own 
 will to live, the victory might still be theirs. She allowed 
 herself no illusions. She knew full well how very feeble 
 that will was at best, and she had to admit to herself that 
 perhaps it had now gone out altogether. Mrs. Costello s 
 intuitions told her that if this were the case, her own fight 
 must be unavailing. 
 
 The window by Robert s cot faced the east. As the 
 hour advanced, faint streaks of light shot across the east 
 ern sky. The splendor spread and deepened, pressing 
 
 401 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 back the encircling darkness. It was the world-old drama 
 of Day conquering Night. Mrs. Costello was never insen 
 sible to its beauty. It seemed to her always the promise 
 of still greater light in the spirit. She glanced out of the 
 window. Though her heart was very heavy, she felt re 
 freshed and uplifted by the glory of the coming day. 
 
 When Mrs. Costello turned once more to Robert, she 
 was surprised to see that his eyes were open. She bent 
 over him eagerly. A lovely smile illuminated Robert s 
 face, and Mrs. Costello knew that he recognized her. But 
 he could not speak. For several moments they gazed at 
 each other, two friends who knew the truth and could 
 face it unshrinkingly. Then Robert s eyes looked beyond 
 Mrs. Costello into another world, and about his lips there 
 played the inscrutable smile of those who waken to new 
 wonders. 
 
 Mrs. Costello knelt at Robert s bedside in the attitude 
 of prayer, a voiceless prayer, in which there was only sub 
 mission and no entreaty. When at last she raised her head 
 and looked at Robert s face, his eyelids were partly closed, 
 the light had gone out of his eyes, and she knew the spirit 
 had wholly taken flight. 
 
 With her own hands Mrs. Costello gently closed the 
 unseeing eyes and crossed the unresisting arms. Still she 
 knelt at Robert s side, her heart full of mother grief at 
 the passing of this, her almost son. Then she buried her 
 face in her hands, and sobbed as if her heart would break. 
 
 When Mrs. Costello once more regained her composure, 
 she arose and lightly touched Robert s forehead with her 
 lips. Very softly she repeated those wonderful words of 
 St. Francis : 
 
 402 
 
THE NAKED HORSEMAN 
 
 " Blessed be my Lord for our sister, the death of the 
 body, from whom no man escapeth. 
 
 " Blessed are they who are found walking by thy most 
 holy will, for the second death shall have no power to do 
 them harm. 
 
 " Praise ye and bless ye the Lord, and give thanks unto 
 Him, and serve Him with great humility." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 SAPPHO S FINAL JUDGMENT 
 
 Two weeks had passed since Robert s death. It was in 
 the late afternoon, and Mrs. Costello sat before the fire in 
 the big drawing-room, knitting. Katie had lighted all the 
 lamps. There were flowers on the table near the window, 
 and in the bowl on top of the carved Indian cabinet. A 
 single rose stood in a vase on the prie-dieu in the tiny 
 oratory. Mrs. Costello was dressed for dinner. She had 
 put on her rarest lace and her choicest jewels. In her face 
 there were no visible traces of sorrow. There were no signs 
 of mourning about the well-lighted and flower-bedecked 
 room. 
 
 It was not that Mrs. Costello felt no sorrow, or that her 
 household had ceased to mourn. But Alicia was coming 
 home, and in her honor there were to be only smiles 
 and rejoicing. The steamer was due that afternoon. Mrs. 
 Costello had not trusted herself to go to the steamer. 
 She knew that Alicia had not heard of the accident, and 
 would naturally inquire about Robert. So kind Mrs. 
 Mason was delegated to meet Alicia, and to make such 
 non-committal replies to all Alicia s inquiries as would 
 leave her in happy ignorance. Mrs. Costello knew that 
 she could trust Mrs. Mason s tactfulness, and with Alicia 
 quite unsuspicious of bad news, it would be possible to 
 keep the first hours of her home-coming free from gloom 
 and unhappiness. But it would not be easy. Just how 
 difficult it was going to be, Mrs. Costello began to realize 
 
 404 
 
SAPPHO S FINAL JUDGMENT 
 
 as she sat there waiting for Alicia. In spite of her con 
 trary resolution, Mrs. Costello could not keep her mind 
 from dwelling upon that other afternoon when she had sat 
 there before the fire waiting for Robert, and he had not 
 come. 
 
 At last it became intolerable. Mrs. Costello put aside 
 her knitting, and began walking up and down the drawing- 
 room. The arduous discipline of years had not sufficed to 
 reconcile her to Robert s death. She was not rebellious, 
 but there was some subtle element in the tragedy which 
 she could not explain to herself. It haunted her spirit, and 
 kept it from consenting to the event with that large free 
 dom which she commonly brought to bear upon the daily 
 drama of living. 
 
 Mrs. Costello questioned whether she had not under 
 taken too difficult a part, and whether, after all, it was not 
 foolish and uncalled for to have gone to such elaborations 
 in order to shield Alicia from what would probably be to 
 her a mere passing shadow. Robert had been a pleasant 
 element in their life at Cocumella, but that was seven 
 months past, and since then Alicia had seen many people 
 and many places, and had had a reasonable chance to 
 forget Robert. It might have been better to have Mrs. 
 Mason tell Alicia as they drove out from the steamer, or 
 even to have gone herself. So Mrs. Costello reasoned, and 
 yet she knew in her heart that if she had it all to do over 
 again, she would do precisely the same thing. 
 
 It was after six when the carriage finally drove around 
 the side of the house and stopped in front of the large 
 south door. Mrs. Costello ran down the staircase, and in a 
 moment Alicia was in her arms, Alicia, radiant with life 
 
 405 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 and health and happiness. Mrs. Costello finally released 
 herself from Alicia s embrace, and held the girl off at 
 arm s length. " Let me look at you, dear," she said. " How 
 splendid you are, and how good it is to have you back 
 again ! Come in by the fire and get warm. I must have 
 one good long look at you before I let you go upstairs." 
 
 Mrs. Costello kept Alicia s hand in hers, and led her up 
 the half-flight to the drawing-room. They moved towards 
 the fireplace. But Alicia was not cold. She was too pleas 
 antly excited to stop in any one spot. She made the tour 
 of the drawing-room several times, peeped into the oratory, 
 swept through the Italian room and the dining-room, went 
 out in the kitchen to speak to Katie and the other servants, 
 and even proposed an expedition across the garden to the 
 studio house. But Mrs. Costello discouraged this, as it 
 was dark and cold there, she said, and Alicia must be 
 getting ready for dinner. Mrs. Costello smiled with quiet 
 pleasure to see Alicia s genuine delight in finding herself 
 once more at home. 
 
 " It is just as it used to be," cried Alicia, " but prettier 
 than ever. I expected to find everything topsy-turvy now 
 that you have a man in the house. It was very uncivil in 
 Mr. Pendexter not to come to the steamer and help me 
 through the custom-house. I shall tell him so at dinner, 
 and ask if Boston has frozen his manners." 
 
 Mrs. Costello stood aghast, but fortunately Alicia was 
 not looking at her. Alicia was looking at herself in an 
 old oval mirror, and arranging a stray lock of hair. Mrs. 
 Costello said with some difficulty, " Mr. Pendexter will 
 not dine with us to-night, dear." 
 
 Alicia wheeled around incredulously. "Not even dine 
 406 
 
SAPPHO S FINAL JUDGMENT 
 
 with me, when I ve just got home ! " she exclaimed. " That s 
 more uncivil still. What ever has come over the man? 
 You have n t quarreled with him, have you, Carissima, and 
 packed him off to those cousins at Bolton ? " 
 
 " No," answered Mrs. Costello, trying to smile. " But 
 really, Alicia dear, you must get ready for dinner. Do go, 
 and after dinner we 11 talk about everybody and every 
 thing under the sun." 
 
 Reluctantly Alicia went up to dress. Mrs. Costello did 
 not offer to go with her, for she felt unequal to answering 
 any more questions. She took up her knitting and busied 
 herself as best she could. 
 
 When Alicia came downstairs, Mrs. Costello kissed her 
 affectionately. "How beautiful you are, dear!" she ex 
 claimed, in genuine admiration. " And how becoming the 
 new gown ! I think the sea air agrees with you." 
 
 Alicia put her arms around the older woman. " It s not 
 the sea air, Carissima," she said ; " it s getting home ! " 
 
 But the dinner was difficult. There were only the three 
 women, and two of them were acting a part. Mrs. Costello 
 asked after all their English friends, even the most casual 
 of them, and Mrs. Mason filled in every conversational gap 
 with almost nervous haste. At last the dinner came to an 
 end and the ladies returned to the drr wing-room. 
 
 Alicia slipped her arm through Mrs. Costello s. " Now 
 you must tell me about Mr. Pendexter," she said. " I 
 simply won t be put off any longer." 
 
 Mrs. Mason discreetly went upstairs, and Katie closed 
 the folding-doors into the dining-room. The two friends 
 were alone. 
 
 " Shall we sit here before the fire, dear ? " asked Mrs. 
 407 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 Costello. " But first I must speak to Katie." She opened 
 the door into the dining-room. " Katie." 
 
 " Yes, ma am." 
 
 " If any one calls this evening, say that I am engaged. 
 In case the matter is important, Mrs. Mason will attend 
 to it in the Italian room. Remember that I do not wish 
 to be disturbed." 
 
 " Yes, ma am." 
 
 When Mrs. Costello turned back into the drawing-room, 
 Alicia was standing on the rug in front of the fire. Her 
 shoulders were thrown back, and her face was slightly up 
 turned. She seemed the embodiment of youth and beauty. 
 Could Stephen have seen her to-night, he would have 
 said, with Donald, that she was certainly under twenty- 
 five. Alicia made Mrs. Costello sit in her accustomed 
 chair. Then she brought herself a low stool and sat with 
 her arms resting on Mrs. Costello s lap. 
 
 " Now tell me all about Mr. Pendexter, Carissima," 
 Alicia said, her face rich in tell-tale color. "Do you 
 guess why I am so anxious to know? It is because I 
 love him, dear, love him, and have come home to tell 
 him so!" 
 
 Mrs. Costello caught her breath in a dry sob. Her task 
 was to be a hundred times more difficult than she had 
 imagined. 
 
 Alicia started at the change in Mrs. Costello s face, 
 and grasped her hand appealingly. "Tell me quickly," 
 she said. " Is there anything wrong with Robert ? Is he 
 ill? Why was he not here to-night? " 
 
 Mrs. Costello leaned over and put her arms around Ali 
 cia. " My poor child ! " she said. " My poor child ! " 
 
 403 
 
SAPPHO S FINAL JUDGMENT 
 
 Alicia pulled herself away and demanded almost fiercely, 
 Is Robert dead ? TeU me, is he dead ? " 
 
 " Yes, Alicia, Robert is dead." 
 
 "Oh, my God, my God!" moaned Alicia. Then she 
 buried her face in her friend s lap and wept passionately. 
 
 Mrs. Costello had never seen Alicia so moved. It was 
 difficult to retain her own composure. She did not attempt 
 to comfort the girl by any spoken word. She smoothed 
 the beautiful sunny hair and from time to time gently 
 pressed the grief-clenched hands. Almost in a whisper 
 Mrs. Costello breathed the comforting words of the 
 Gita: "Those who are wise in spiritual things grieve 
 neither for the dead nor for the living. I myself never was 
 not, nor thou, nor all the princes of the earth ; nor shall we 
 hereafter cease to be." Gently she stroked Alicia s hair, 
 and poured into her troubled spirit such comfort as she 
 could. 
 
 When Alicia s tears were somewhat spent, she asked 
 Mrs. Costello pitifully to tell her all she possibly could 
 about Robert. She would hear no detail about the acci 
 dent beyond the fact that Robert had given his life for 
 another s, but she wanted to know about his life during 
 the short weeks that he had been at Mrs. Costello s. " Did 
 you know that Robert loved me, and wanted to marry 
 me ? " Alicia asked almost shyly. 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " Did he tell you so ? " Alicia asked eagerly. 
 
 " Not in words, dear. I think he would not have spoken 
 to any one about so sacred an experience." 
 
 "But are you sure?" persisted Alicia. "How did you 
 know, Carissima ? Tell me truly, for it would break my 
 
 409 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 heart to think that, after all, I was mistaken, and that 
 Kobert did not love me." 
 
 " You may feel perfectly sure of Robert s love, Alicia. 
 I saw it at Cocumella. And especially I saw it at Naples, 
 when we left him standing there on the pier. He had a 
 very tell-tale face, you remember. Robert loved you heart 
 and soul, dear. He could not have said it more plainly 
 in words. It pained me deeply, for I did n t think you 
 cared for him." 
 
 " I did n t care, at least not then," said Alicia. " That 
 is a part of the misery of it. I thought of him often, but 
 only in connection with some little incident of our life at 
 Cocumella." 
 
 Alicia stopped and looked wistfully into the fire. 
 
 " And when did you begin to care, dear ? " asked Mrs. 
 Costello, gently, for she saw that it was a relief to Alicia 
 to talk about Robert. 
 
 " Not until this autumn. Not until after you left me." 
 
 " Did Robert write? " asked Mrs. Costello. 
 
 " No, not once. I never had a letter from him. You 
 remember Lord Whittlesea, the young man we met down 
 in Devonshire and that you rather liked?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Costello; "I remember him very 
 well." 
 
 " When I was with the Conynghams, he got himself 
 invited down for a week-end." 
 
 " Yes, dear," whispered Mrs. Costello, encouragingly. 
 
 " We were very good friends, you know, and I thought 
 he was safe from any notion of love-making. But before 
 I could prevent it, he had asked me to be his wife." 
 
 " I cannot wonder at it, dear Alicia," said Mrs. Cos- 
 410 
 
SAPPHO S FINAL JUDGMENT 
 
 tello, indulgently. " If 1 had been Lord Whittlesea, I 
 should have asked you long before." 
 
 Alicia ignored the gentle flattery, too sad and too busy 
 with her own thoughts to heed much else. 
 
 " I felt dreadfully about it. I had been friendly, but 
 that was all. I never even thought of his falling in love 
 with me. It always seemed to me that a girl had only 
 herself to blame for it if she let a man propose to her. 
 I was afraid that quite unconsciously I had given Lord 
 Whittlesea some encouragement." 
 
 " I am quite sure you had n t," said Mrs. Costello. 
 " You have nothing to blame yourself for." 
 
 " No, I don t think I have," answered Alicia, with an 
 air of conviction. " I asked Lord Whittlesea if I had ever 
 encouraged him in the least little bit, and he said not." 
 
 " He is a gentleman, Alicia, and he would say that any 
 way. But I should have expected him to be more per 
 sistent, and also perhaps to win. He seemed to me a very 
 attractive man, and quite above the average." 
 
 " He is. He is a thoroughly fine fellow, and he was 
 very nice and manly about it. He asked if he might try 
 to make me care for him, if there were any one else, 
 any obstacle " Alicia buried her face in her hands and 
 wept bitterly. 
 
 Mrs. Costello leaned over and kissed the girl. " Yes, 
 dear ? " she said once more. 
 
 " And then," sobbed Alicia, " I knew there was some 
 one else, that it was Robert ! " Alicia raised her face and 
 looked at Mrs. Costello eagerly. " How did you feel, Caris- 
 sima," she whispered, " when Leon Costello first told you 
 that he loved you ? " 
 
 411 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 A beautiful smile swept over Mrs. Costello s face, and 
 pushed back the weight of years. " I felt, Alicia, that I 
 had been taken to a new world." 
 
 " It was so with me," said Alicia, simply. " I had not 
 thought of Robert until that moment, and since then I 
 have thought of nothing else." 
 
 There was a long pause, each woman busy with her own 
 thoughts. Then Alicia said : " I don t think love is blind. 
 When I chose Robert, I knew perfectly well that Lord 
 Whittlesea was younger and stronger and better-looking, 
 that he had a more assured social background and belonged 
 much more to our world than Robert did. It surprised me 
 that I should think of those things at such a moment. But 
 I did. And yet I chose Robert." 
 
 " I wonder why you did," said Mrs. Costello, wishing to 
 keep Alicia talking. 
 
 " It was Robert s wonderful spirit. He was really a 
 little mouse of a man, it seems very cold-blooded, but I 
 told myself that quite frankly. He would have looked very 
 drab alongside of Lord Whittlesea. It would have hurt 
 me to see them together. I thought how odd it would have 
 looked to see them both on horseback. But Robert was on 
 fire. I knew that I had but to think, and he would know 
 what I was thinking about. With Lord Whittlesea, I 
 should have had to spell it all out." 
 
 " I think you are hardly fair to Lord Whittlesea," said 
 Mrs. Costello. " But Robert, as you say, was on fire, 
 a very unusual spirit. I got to be very fond of him during 
 the few weeks that he was here. He seemed almost like a 
 son. He was always so helpful and considerate. With all 
 his inexperience, you know he had very good manners. 
 
 412 
 
SAPPHO S FINAL JUDGMENT 
 
 He had his little awkwardnesses, but somehow they did 
 not offend. And he was surprisingly observant. He made 
 mistakes, but he seldom repeated them." 
 
 " I noticed that at Cocumella," said Alicia. " How did 
 he get on with his work ? " 
 
 44 Well, I don t know what progress he made, but he 
 was a great worker. It steadied us all to have him in the 
 house. I knew that it would. His visit, dear, was a per 
 fect success. There was not a blemish in it ! " 
 
 "Why did he die, then?" asked Alicia, hotly. " It 
 seems a hideous, unnecessary blow to both of us ! " 
 
 14 1 felt that it was hideous and unnecessary at first, Ali 
 cia. When I knew that he was in danger, I fought almost 
 fiercely for his life." 
 
 44 And don t you feel so now? Don t you feel that it 
 was cruel and unnecessary for him to die now, now 
 when there was such special reason for his living? Tell 
 me truly. Can you feel that there was any reason or san 
 ity in Robert s death? If I could feel sure of that, it 
 might help to reconcile me to it." 
 
 44 It will take time, dear, for you to be able to see it in 
 such a light. I have done little but think about Robert 
 since his death. Not only have I missed him sadly, but it 
 has seemed essential for me to understand his death, to 
 consent to it in the full freedom of the spirit. It has 
 not been easy, Alicia, and your coming home and telling 
 me what you have, has made it still more difficult. It 
 has added another tremendous fact to be accounted for 
 and reconciled. I have been completely overwhelmed this 
 evening, dear, and I have talked, I am afraid, almost 
 incoherently, for my mind has been so dreadfully con- 
 
 413 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 fused. But I begin to see the light. Shall I speak to 
 you quite unreservedly, dear Alicia ? Do you think that 
 you can stand it now ? Would it not be better to wait 
 until to-morrow? " 
 
 Alicia sat upright and looked at her friend unfalter 
 ingly. " No, * she answered bravely ; " speak now, and 
 speak as if I, too, were dead." 
 
 Mrs. Costello leaned over and kissed Alicia s forehead. 
 " Happily you are not, dear," she said softly. Still she 
 paused, for it was terribly difficult to say what she was 
 going to say. Finally she reached over and took Alicia s 
 two hands. "Look at me, Alicia," she said. "Do you 
 know how much I love you, dear?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Alicia, almost inaudibly. " You love 
 me best of all who are still living ! " 
 
 " Remember that, dear. Remember it always, or you 
 may hate me " 
 
 " I could never do that," Alicia whispered. 
 
 " I am going to say what may seem to you quite a ter 
 rible thing, dear Alicia, and it is this, that in the 
 larger scheme of things, I see clearly to-night for the first 
 time that it is better that Robert should have died ! " 
 
 Alicia started, but she did not draw her hands away, 
 nor did she take her eyes off Mrs. Costello s face. 
 
 " You know what a marvelous spirit Robert had," Mrs. 
 Costello continued. " You know how wonderfully it ex 
 panded this past year. You told me, you remember, how 
 astonishingly crude Robert was on the steamer. At York 
 he was so changed that I rather chided you for not having 
 presented him to me earlier. And then at Cocumella we 
 had to get acquainted with him over again. There was 
 
 414 
 
SAPPHO S FINAL JUDGMENT 
 
 not such a remarkable change in him here at home, 
 perhaps it was hardly possible, but still he had grown 
 perceptibly. And now comes the part, dear Alicia, that 
 it has been so hard for me to see. Robert had reached 
 his earth limit, he had come to flower. It is true that 
 he had done nothing as yet in the outer world of action. 
 But his life has been an inspiration to his friends, and 
 inwardly he came into his own. Had he lived, Robert 
 would have been cruelly disappointed. Not even your 
 perfect love, Alicia, could have carried him much farther. 
 It would not have been right for him to have married 
 you, dear, not in this incarnation. There are heights 
 before you which Robert could not have scaled. But your 
 meeting was not accidental. You will come together again. 
 For Robert is not dead, you know that, Alicia, he is 
 at the beginning of a new life. He has simply cast aside 
 an inadequate tool, that could no longer serve his pur 
 pose, and is creating a new tool for finer uses. For Rob 
 ert was inadequate, Alicia. Much as we both love him, 
 we must admit that. He had not the organization for 
 great things. He was over thirty-five, and had awakened 
 very late, too late to build over his slender stock of tools. 
 As I have thought about Robert since his death, I have 
 much doubted whether his intelligence was at all equal to 
 the tasks he planned for himself. His spirit came to be 
 so big that, when he was here, I lost sight of these ter 
 rible limitations. I encouraged him to try the impossible. 
 God knew better, and in his mercy turned defeat into 
 victory. Can you see it so, Alicia, can you see that it 
 would have been a tragedy had Robert lived ? He could 
 not, I think, have fulfilled his promise, and that is always 
 
 415 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 a terrible tragedy. He went about his tasks with tre 
 mendous industry. He was a man, Alicia, in spite of his 
 slender physique, and, as the accident proved, capable of 
 the heroic. But he had not the materials to build with. 
 He himself would have been the first to find it out. That 
 would have been the tragedy. I doubt whether he could 
 have stood it. As it was, he went still believing in his 
 own powers, or at least still hopeful, for I think that 
 he already had some misgivings. I believe that the will to 
 live died before the accident came. At the hospital I could 
 not reach Robert s will. Could we have worked together, 
 I feel that he might have lived. But I was fighting single- 
 handed, and I could not prevail. Eobert went, however, 
 carrying the wonderful part about him with him, the 
 spirit, and leaving behind him only the inadequate 
 organs of the earth life. Robert had still much to learn 
 here. I think that he will come back. If the choice is his, 
 I think that he will want to come back and serve the world 
 in some large way. Have I at all made you feel that Rob 
 ert s death is right, dear, or have I only seemed cruel?" 
 
 " You are never cruel, Carissima. It is destiny that is 
 so cruel, so needlessly cruel." 
 
 " In what way, dear, surely not in giving Robert 
 this greater chance, and sparing him the bitterness of an 
 unavoidable defeat ? " 
 
 "No, not cruel to him, perhaps, but cruel to me in 
 dragging me in so needlessly. Why did Lord Whittlesea 
 propose to me? Why did my thought turn to Robert 
 after so many months ? Why did I fly across the ocean 
 to tell him of my love, only to find this, to find him 
 dead ! " 
 
 416 
 
SAPPHO S FINAL JUDGMENT 
 
 In Alicia s protest there was a tone of utter despair. 
 But Mrs. Costello was no longer dismayed. The whole 
 situation had been growing clearer and clearer to her as 
 she had tried to phrase it for Alicia. And now it seemed 
 to her divinely right. She spoke patiently and with that 
 air of certitude which Alicia had come to recognize and 
 respect. 
 
 " Think, dear Alicia, of what your love has meant to 
 Robert, of how it helped him to meet death worthily. 
 Think of the joy and courage it gives him in seeking new 
 entrance into action. And for yourself, dear, would you 
 give up this love if you could ? Would you pluck it out 
 of your life? With all the pain, aren t you a richer 
 woman for it ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Alicia. " I suppose the pain will die. 
 I know the love will live. But oh, dear Mrs. Costello, if 
 I might only have told Robert with my own lips, have 
 given him one kiss before he died, I think I could meet 
 it all!" 
 
 Mrs. Costello pressed Alicia s hand, and the two women 
 sat together in silence. At last Mrs. Costello arose. " It 
 is very late, dear," she said. " Shall we not go to bed ? " 
 
 Alicia got up wearily and went with Mrs. Costello 
 towards the staircase. 
 
 " We have forgotten the flowers," said Mrs. Costello, 
 turning back a moment. " Won t you take them up to 
 the bathroom, dear, and put them in water? Then they 
 will be fresh again to-morrow. I must speak to Katie 
 before I come up." 
 
 For the last two weeks, Mrs. Costello had avoided pass 
 ing through the Italian room. It had seemed to her quite 
 
 417 
 
THE LIGHTED LAMP 
 
 impossible. But to-night she went that way from choice. 
 The room was just as Kobert had left it. His books and 
 papers were still about. Mrs. Costello went over to the 
 writing-table and knelt there for some moments. " Dear 
 Robert ! " she whispered. " Dear son ! I am content. In 
 the full freedom of the spirit, I do consent to this, your 
 death. It shall not be the night with us, when with you 
 it is the dawn ! " 
 
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