EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER 6 -3 UNIV. OF CAtlF. LIBRARY. LOS ANGELES THE STUFF OF DREAMS UNIV. or caur, "Beatrice snatched his crop from the piano and struck him full in the face. 'Coward!' she panted, 'I could kill you!' ' Page 42 The Stuff of Dreams BY EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER "We are such stuff as dreams are made on" The Tempest NEW YORK B. W. DODGE & COMPANY 1908 Copyright, 1908, by B. W. DODGE & COMPANY Registered at Stationers' Hall, London (All Bights Reserved) Printed in the United States of America THE STUFF OF DREAMS CHAPTER I "Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty." As LILY turned lightly in her saddle and sent back a smile of gay challenge, Jerry as- sured himself that he was very much in love with her. She was so piquant, so thorough- bred, above all, so good-humored. Jerry had grown very tired of tears and reproaches. Of late, he considered, he had met with nothing else. It was a relief to be with this frankly joyous young creature who carried so delicious an air of naivete and who yet at times showed that she possessed a wisdom and judgment be- fitting riper years. His eyes surveyed the graceful figure in its fit habit, the golden hair curling about the fair, high-bred face, the rich coloring that had 1 2133403 THE STUFF OF DREAMS sprung to her cheeks during this afternoon canter in the park, the scarlet, enticing mouth and laughing, hazel eyes. Decidedly, she was desirable. His pulses hammered as he urged his horse forward in pursuit. The affair would so please the governor, too, he thought. And her mother? Yes Mrs. Adriance had shown a decided inclination to his attentions. And it was high time he should quit his follies, settle down, marry a nice girl of his own class and lead a life in that station to which it had pleased Providence to call him. "I will speak to her to-day," he resolved, as his horse caught up with hers and the two slowed down into a walk under the low-sway- ing boughs overhanging the bridle path. It was an April day, and all the world was bursting into bloom. The feathery foliage was of a tender golden-green, the shrubs were flinging out their scarlet and white banners, the grass was of softest emerald. Wherever one looked were the signals of the approaching glorious fulfillment of summer. It was a day 2 THE STUFF OF DREAMS to quicken the pulses and set the blood leaping, and, above all, to breed desire for the beautiful. "Shall I speak now?" Jerry thought, as his bold eyes caressed the charming face so near his. "No, I will wait until we are at home alone. Here I should be forced to content my- self with a pressure of the hand; there, I can take her in my arms " "Lily," he suddenly said, "I don't want to cut short our delightful ride, but it is growing late, and you know how punctilious dad is about the dinner hour." "Yes, Jerry, dear," replied the girl care- lessly, "we must go back. Mamma will be home from her shopping, too, and I am simply wild to see all the beautiful new things she is going to give me. Come." She struck her horse lightly and it galloped quickly down the path, Jerry's following close. Presently they found themselves at one of the Fifth Avenue entrances and, emerging upon that thorough- fare, were soon lost in the never-ending pageant of the street. 3 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Lily Adriance, the daughter of the late Tom Adriance, of Denver, one of those fabulous mine-owners, who come out of the West to startle the East from its well-bred languor, was the ward of George Sunderland, the well- known financier. She and her mother were now the guests of her guardian. Ever since Tom Adriance was killed by the breaking of a rotten ladder in an abandoned shaft, which, despite all warning, he persisted in exploring, his widow had made her annual trip to New York, for distraction, replenishing of belong- ings, and visits to old friends. She always came with a retinue, not only of servants, but also of instructors, for her daughter was never sent to boarding school, but educated by pri- vate tuition. Lily was now about seventeen, a girl of rare beauty, unspoiled by her luxu- rious surroundings, ingenuous to a degree, as her mother had been her only companion. From her childhood she had looked upon Ger- ald Sunderland, the son of her guardian, abso- lutely as a brother. She had teased and quar- 4 THE STUFF OF DREAMS relied with him; listened to his tales of flirta- tion with eager interest ; sympathized and loved him, but never had considered him in the light of a possible aspirant to her hand. And this afternoon, when looking up at him, she had caught a strange expression in his audacious eyes, she had paid no heed. Once, when he had sunk his voice to caressing accents, she had smiled knowingly to herself. "Aha!" she thought, "so Mr. Jerry is practising on me big, blue-eyed fraud!" As she crossed the hall on returning from her ride, a servant approached her with the ha- bitual bearing of the well-trained flunkey. He handed her a box bearing the stamp of a fa- mous florist and elaborately tied with violet satin ribbon. "For you, Miss Adriance," he announced, as if offering her the keys of the city. Lily took the box and entered the drawing- room. Hastening to a retired corner, she opened it and lifted out a huge cluster of dewy Parma violets. The color mounted to her 5 THE STUFF OF DREAMS cheeks. She buried her blushing face in their delicious perfume, tapping them against her scarlet lips as if to hide her happy smiles, and then, quickly drawing a pin from her hat, fas- tened them securely in the bodice of her habit. Going over to the mantel she surveyed herself in the mirror with the pleasure every beautiful girl displays on beholding her reflection. Her hands lingered tenderly on the flowers. "Dear fellow," she murmured softly. A sound of voices at the lower end of the drawing-room made her turn quickly and catch up her crop and the box, which she had left upon a chair. Jerry and another man were coming toward her. Jerry Sunderland had the features of an archangel with the eyes of a fallen one. As a child, his blond beauty had earned him the title of "The Cherub," which even to-day was sometimes accorded him by his intimates; by the women with shrieks of false mirth; by the men with their tongues in their cheeks. There were lines in his handsome face which told their 6 THE STUFF OF DREAMS own story, and the beauty of his features was somewhat marred by a disdainful, short upper lip. It was as if he were habitually sneering at life. His companion was a man of about seven- and-twenty, athletic, clean-limbed, well- groomed, with a clear-cut face and frank eyes filled with decision and command. Jack Tyson was three or four years older than Jerry, but the difference in age had not militated against their friendship. Tyson was a thorough man of the world, and while strongly disapproving of Jerry's escapades had, from sheer affection for the boy, shielded him to the best of his ca- pabilities from their results. Jerry w r as accus- tomed to turn to Tyson whenever he was in a scrape, and many a time the intervention of his friend had served to fend off grave results. But there is a limit to all forbearance, and Ty- son felt that he was fast approaching that boundary. Pie had come to the house to have a serious talk with Jerry, and, finding he was 7 riding with Miss Adriance, had waited in his room until his return. But Jerry was in no mood for a lecture, and speedily discerning the cloud on the brow of his friend, at once dragged him to the drawing- room, hoping to intercept Lily there and thus ward off an impending homily. His ruse had succeeded, he thought, as he saw the girl turn toward them. Thrusting his arm through Ty- son's, he gaily called: "Here's Jack, Lily; I found him waiting in the smoking-room." Lily greeted Tyson cordially, but with slightly heightened color, and the violets trem- bled a little on her breast. "Jack's going to dine with us," Jerry rattled on. "Hello 1" his eyes had lighted on the flow- ers, "where did you get the violets? Now, do you know, it was very stupid of me to forget violets for you this afternoon." "Oh, never mind, Jerry," Lily replied, a trifle embarrassed, "it's of no consequence whatever." "But, I say," persisted Jerry, "those are 8 THE STUFF OF DREAMS beauties. Come, Lily, confess," he urged, "you ordered them yourself, to pay me out for my negligence." Lily recovered herself. "Do you fancy, Jer- ry," she cried with animation, "that you are the only man in New York who orders violets? w Come, sir, your assurance is tremendous." "I say, Jack," returned Jerry, "for a little girl from the wild and woolly West, Lily is doing quite well." He shook his crop warn- ingly at her. "But I'll have you remember, miss, you are to have no flirtations sub rosa. I am to know all about them." "One would fancy," said Lily banteringly, as she turned to leave them, "that you, instead of your father, were my guardian." "You are not going?" Jerry dropped Ty- son's arm and went a step or two toward her. He was in genuine vexation, for he realized his peril should she desert him. "I must dress for dinner," she responded. "You know, Jerry, we were awfully late." As she spoke she carelessly let fall her crop. 9 THE STUFF OF DREAMS At her reply Jerry had turned away, shrug- ging his shoulders with an air of resignation to the inevitable. Tyson swiftly passed him, and stooping, picked up the crop and restored it to Lily. Their eyes met. "Thank you," he murmured, "for wearing my violets." With an adorable, fleeting smile, Lily van- ished through the curtained doorway. 10 CHAPTER II "And hence one master passion in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest." As LILY disappeared, Tyson turned slowly back and faced Jerry, who regarded him with an expression at once petulant and mocking. "Jerry," Tyson said quietly, "I must have a serious talk with you." "Oh, cut it out, Jack," retorted Jerry. "You know my deep-rooted aversion to anything serious." "Yes, I know only too well," replied Tyson, "but," he persisted, "I must nevertheless speak. I should be a poor friend if I were to fail to point out to you how alarming are the complications surrounding you." Jerry bent his crop in both hands. "I do not seem to be alarmed," he indifferently returned. 11 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "No, confound you!" Tyson answered, "that is what troubles me. If you would but once realize that you are daily walking over a vol- cano " Jerry burst into laughter. "A regular Ve- suvius eh, Jack?" he shouted. But his laugh rang falsely. "I fear so," rejoined Tyson, with inflexible face. "Let us look at your affairs squarely. Consider Beatrice the cleverest schemer in all New York. She intends to marry you " "Marry me! Oh, Lord!" interrupted Jerry. "Yes, marry you," returned Tyson steadily. "Every one knows it. Now, let us suppose, my dear boy, that Beatrice finds out about Kitty what then?" "Well, what then?" mocked Jerry. "There would be the devil to pay, that's all," responded Tyson. "She would not hesitate to go to your father " "Suppose she should?" replied Jerry, sitting by a table and coolly rapping its polished sur- face with his knuckles to emphasize his words. 12 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Suppose she should? You know perfectly, Jack, that the governor believes implicitly in me that he would take no one's word but mine. I should like to see Trix make any fuss between dad and me." Tyson hesitated a moment; then taking a chair, drew it up close to Jerry and sitting down by him, laid his hand quietly upon his arm. The contrast between the two young men was absolute at this moment. Jerry's handsome face, with its tell-tale marks, bore an expression of mingled defiance and amuse- ment. Tyson's strong, clear-cut features, clean lips and steely, earnest eyes, bore witness to the power within him and his honest desire to serve his friend. "Jerry," he said quietly, "why do you not do what is right by Kitty?" "What is right? Haven't I given her every- thing a woman could wish?" demanded Jerry with considerable asperity. "Haven't " "You have been very generous," returned Tyson gravely, "from a commercial stand- 13 THE STUFF OF DREAMS point. But you have withheld the one thing to make her happy." "What do you mean?" asked Jerry in evi- dent surprise. "Your name," returned Tyson still more earnestly. "My name? Are you crazy? Do you mean " "I mean marry her," interrupted Tyson. "Marry!" exploded Jerry. "Yes," replied Tyson, his eyes steadfastly searching Jerry's. "Make an honest woman of her. She loves you worships you she is not happy. Oh, I often see her eyes fill with tears when she looks at you. And now, there is an additional reason for your treating her squarely. Kitty is not a bad girl," he con- tinued. "She is a good girl gone wrong. Her instincts, her impulses are noble. She longs to be able to look the world in the face." "Oh, hang it all, Jack!" cried Jerry, spring- ing to his feet. "Will you let me manage my own affairs?" 14 THE STUFF OF DREAMS There was a deep silence. Tyson had risen with dignity and was picking up his hat and stick preparatory to taking his leave. The silent protest of his manner moved Jerry, who was really attached to him, and he impulsively cried out: "Oh, I say, Jack, I don't want to quarrel with you, but I can't stand being preached at. Just let me alone. Everything is all right." "I tell you, Jerry," returned Tyson, "I am worried." "Well, now, Jack," cried Jerry with gay good humor, as he laid his crop on the piano and going to Tyson thrust his arm affection- ately through his, "why not join the 'Don't Worry Club' and quit raising blooming rows with your best friend? Now, don't you think life would look brighter every way if you had a highball? Come along, you old croaker," he added, dragging Tyson toward the smoking- room; "come along. I'm going to mix you one that will make you forget your troubles. Not a word. Come on"; and, despite Tyson's ex- 15 THE STUFF OF DREAMS postulations that it was late and he must hurry away to dress for dinner, Jerry haled him off. A few moments later, the frou-frou of silks in the drawing-room announced a visitor. The lady, whom Thomas had shown in, was a fash- ionable woman of thirty, very elegant and ar- rogant of bearing, although at the moment ap- parently perturbed. One would have said from her rather distrait manner that she might just have heard news that had profound- ly vexed her. For the rest, she was a self- assured woman of the world, with worldly knowledge looking out from under her dark, pencilled eyebrows, with worldly wisdom lurk- ing around the corners of her scornful, curved lips. "So the ladies are not in?" she was saying to the servant, as she stood for a moment as if irresolute. "Mrs. Adriance is driving, madam," re- turned the man. "Miss Adriance has just come in from riding with Mr. Gerald." L The woman gave an almost imperceptible 16 THE STUFF OF DREAMS start. "Oh, very well," she said with well- assumed indifference. "I will wait until she comes down." She trailed her laces and silks across to a davenport and sank into its luxury of cushions, slowly pulling off her gloves. Directly the man left the room, a mask seemed to drop from her insolent eyes and tense fea- tures. She grew old, and a haggard, hunted look crept in her face. "What can it mean?" she muttered. "A few weeks ago all devotion at my feet everything seemed in my grasp and now absolutely indifferent. I must know what has happened. Oh, if I could man- age to see him a moment alone." She looked furtively about as if considering ways and means. A gay voice was heard singing in the dis- tance the La donna e mobile from Rigoletto. The woman started, turned and clasped her hands feverishly until her costly rings cut ink) her fingers. The taunting voice came nearer, and presently Jerry sauntered in, debonair, a trifle flushed, singing of the fickleness of all 17 THE STUFF OF DREAMS woman-kind. He stopped short as he saw the visitor, who had sprung to her feet, crying out : "Gerald!" She glided toward him with a certain fas- cination of movement, both hands extended, her eyes shining, her lips curving with trium- phant smiles. This was so much better than she had dreamed to be able to see him alone to find him kind, perhaps devoted, after all her fears. Jerry took one of her hands perfunctorily. "Ah, how-de-do, Trix?" he murmured care- lessly. "I didn't know you were here. I came to look for my crop. I left it here somewhere." He professed to busily hunt about. "Gerald," said Beatrice imploringly, "what is the matter?" Jerry looked at her, lifting his eyebrows. "Matter?" he said indifferently. "Why, noth- ing. What an absurd question." "Absurd?" she uneasily returned. "When I have not seen you for a month " Gerald concealed a yawn behind his hand. 18 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "My dear girl," he said, "more and more ab- surd. Why, you dined here last evening." Beatrice went closer to him. "Ah, you know what I mean," she murmured in low, affection- ate tones. "I have not seen you alone for a month. And whenever I have met you, here or elsewhere, you have avoided me glanced cold- ly at me. Oh, it is intolerable! Gerald, I will know what it means. What has come be- tween us?" "Oh, I say, Trix," said Jerry, with an ar- gumentative air, "do be sensible. Don't, I beg, work yourself into a white heat. You are so deucedly intense. I tell you it's awfully wear- ing on a fellow." Beatrice recoiled as if he had struck her. How could she cope with this airy insolence? "How dare you speak so insultingly?" she stammered. "Come, let us have the truth. Do you no longer love me?" "Why, of course I love you," replied Jerry, as if reciting a lesson. "But I can't be telling you of my passion every moment. Come," 19 THE STUFF OF DREAMS with a bantering air, "Trix, be a reasonable woman of the world. We are not children. We have been good friends we will continue so. But for the love of Heaven do not expect me to go into rhapsodies over you every time we meet." "Good friends!" muttered Beatrice. She put out a hand and grasped the back of a chair to steady herself. At that moment she hated this gay, nonchalant man whose manner taunted her so airily with her weakness. The staid Thomas here coughed apologetic- ally and murmured from the doorway: "Beg pardon, Mr. Gerald, but the groom arsks if you would come take a look at Miss Adriance's 'orse. 'E says the hanimal's very bad, sir." "I will come at once, Thomas," replied Jer- ry, greatly relieved at the interruption. "You will pardon me, Mrs. Evans. Miss Adriance will be down soon." He hurried after the servant, plainly exhibiting his eagerness to leave her. "Mrs. Evans!" repeated Beatrice mechan- 20 THE STUFF OF DREAMS ically. She stood for a moment gazing upon the floor, then slowly returned to the sofa, picked up her muff and gloves, paused as if undecided upon her course, then went toward the door. There was a sudden ripple of sweet, shrill laughter in the hall without and a mur- mur of voices. Thomas swept aside the por- tieres, and a young woman a fashionable doll superbly gowned, with an up-to-date swag- ger and an impertinent manner, entered, fol- lowed by a man, lazy of bearing, drawling of speech, immaculate of dress, from his gar- denia to his spats. The newcomer greeted Mrs. Evans with ex- aggerated effusion, then whipped out an ame- thyst-studded lorgnette and regarded her with offensive concern. 21 CHAPTER III "When Greek meets Greek, Then comes the tug of war." WHILE Mr. Richard Flornoy was busily en- gaged in Wall Street smashing the fortunes of others and incidentally bettering his own, madam, his wife, amused herself according to her tastes. Adelaide Flornoy was the type of woman who lives absolutely for diversion. She was seen everywhere, her gowns were always described by the fashion writers, her entertain- ments, at once unique and grotesque, were eagerly seized upon by paragraphers to point the moral of society's degeneracy. It was she who gave puppy luncheons and pink teas for Angora cats; who first appeared at Sherry's wearing a marmoset chained to her dainty wrist; whose bull terrier made a sensation on 22 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Fifth Avenue in automobile goggles and coat. She affected an air of insolent languor and was never so happy as when offering a deliberate insult to some one. Beatrice she detested, and it was with unholy joy that she now saw her. It was too good to be true that she should be here, ready for slaughter. "Such luck!" she breathed to Bobby Dwyer, who was the latest addition to her retinue of attendants her "trailers," as she was pleased to call them. Bobby, known about town as a "howling swell," was a member of the jeunesse doree, vapid and docile, a typical tame cat. He con- sidered it a distinction to be known as a "trailer" of Mrs. Dick Flornoy, and obediently trotted about with her, carrying her fan, muff, or opera cloak, as the season and the lady de- manded. Beatrice gave him a careless nod as he stood, waiting for Mrs. Flornoy to be seated. But Adelaide was in no haste. She continued to look Beatrice over with the studied curiosity one might bestow upon some strange, unknown 23 THE STUFF OF DREAMS insect, and, when the latter grew restless under her prolonged survey, drawled out: "Upon my word, my dear Trix, you are absolutely ghastly. Are you ill, or is it this light that makes you so yellow?" Beatrice flushed a dull red. "I never felt better in my life, my dear Adelaide, I assure you. Won't you sit down?" with a conde- scending motion toward a chair. Mrs. Flornoy sank into the seat. "Thanks," she drawled; "you are so kind. One would think, dear, that you were mistress here." "Now for it!" chuckled Bobby. "You looked so awkward, standing, my dear Adelaide," returned Beatrice, coldly. "They're off!" Bobby muttered with delight. Adelaide played languidly with her lor- gnette. "I fancy," she said with significance, "you are waiting to see Mrs. Adriance. You are so devoted to her, I hear." "Possibly," returned Beatrice, enigmatical- iy- "Or, possibly the little one," Adelaide 24 THE STUFF OF DREAMS drawled on. "You have so much in common. She is so innocent, so unsophisticated. There must be great sympathy between you." Bob- by sniggered in his hat. "Really, my dear Adelaide," said Beatrice, haughtily, "you grow more and more insuffer- able." "Don't get in a nasty temper, Trixy dear," retorted Mrs. Flornoy; "it makes you look so old." "That's a hot one," said Bobby to himself, as Beatrice, with an inarticulate exclamation, rose and, going over to the piano, picked up the score of "Mexicana," and affected to study it. Mrs. Flornoy watching her maliciously, saw her hands trembling. It was now the psychological moment to spring her mine. "Where is Jerry?" she suddenly demanded. "I am sure I have not the slightest idea," re- turned Beatrice, with an air of indifference. "No?" queried Adelaide, sweetly. "Why, how is that? The man said he was at home 25 THE STUFF OF DREAMS here." There was a world of significance in the last word. "What a little devil !" said Bobby to his waistcoat. "Have j;ou not seen him?" persisted Mrs. Flornoy. Beatrice slammed the book together. "Oh, this is unendurable!" she cried. "Why do you catechise me in this impertinent fashion?" "Catechise?" returned Mrs. Flornoy, in an injured tone. "Nonsense! I ask you an ordi- narily civil question and you fly in a fury. I say, Trixy, dear, you should see a physician at once. Your nerves must be dreadfully on edge, or" as if on second thought "perhaps you have heard the news and are a trifle upset naturally " She paused significantly. "What news?" asked Beatrice, icily. She had somewhat recovered her composure and was again looking over the score. "That Jerry " eagerly began Bobby. "Shut up, Bobby," interrupted Adelaide. "I wish to tell it. Is it possible," she con- 26 THE STUFF OF DREAMS tinued with a wicked relish, "that you have not heard that Jerry is to marry soon?" The score dropped from Beatrice's hands. It crashed harshly on the keys of the piano, then bounded to the floor. Beatrice paid no heed. She stood staring at Adelaide as if dazed. Bobby picked up the score and laid it back on the piano. "It's a facer for Trix!" he thought, and grinned with delight, for he recalled certain slights he had received from her in the past. "Marry!" said Beatrice, in a tense, hard voice. "Marry! Jerry to marry?" "Ye-e-s," drawled Mrs. Flornoy. It seemed she could never finish the word, with so much relish did she drag it out. "And whom, pray," went on Beatrice with ominous calmness, "is he to marry?" "Why " cried Bobby, coming forward. "Shut up, I tell you!" ordered Adelaide, with considerable asperity. "Why do you keep butting in to spoil my fun? He is" with a 27 THE STUFF OF DREAMS narrowing of her eyes as she glanced at Bea- trice "he is going to marry Miss Adriance." "Miss Adriance?" repeated Beatrice, bewil- dered. "Miss A Lily?" "Yes," assented Mrs. Flornoy, gloating upon her. "Lily that that child?" stammered Bea- trice. "Yes, Lily. That lovely innocent sweet young girl," returned her tormentor, stab- bing her with every word. "Quite a pastoral, is it not, Trixy, dear?" "Oh, she's a bird," said Bobby to himself, and on second thought added: "A cat-bird." Beatrice made a desperate effort to recover herself. "Rubbish!" she said contemptuously. "I do not believe a word of it." It was now Mrs. Flornoy 's turn to be vexed. While she saw Beatrice was suffering, she was happy. Now that her victim was composing herself, she became furious. "But it is true," she declared with much warmth. "Everjr one is talking about it." Beatrice, 28 THE STUFF OF DREAMS shrugging her shoulders, sat at the piano and lightly touched the keys. "I have heard it in a dozen places to-day," Adelaide went on spite- fully. "Oh, well, if you are going to take it that way," for Beatrice was playing on as if utterly oblivious. "I was in hopes," she mut- tered to Bobby, as at a sign from her, he placed her ermine stole about her, "she would faint, or, at the very least, have hysterics." She stood adjusting her gloves and watch- ing Beatrice, who seemed after all to have foiled her, so calmly was she playing, her haughty face quite inscrutable and undisturbed. She could not leave her like that, mistress of the situation. She suddenly took a step or two toward the piano, an evil smile gleaming in her cruel, green eyes. "They say he is desperately in love with her. Perfectly infatuated he is telling everybody that he was never in love be- fore " There was a terrific discord. Beatrice struck the keys, white with rage. Then, springing up, she came toward Adelaide with eyes aflame. 29 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Now you'll see war," announced Bobby to his inner consciousness. "Oh, what do I care for a bulletin of Jerry Sunderland's affections?" stormed Beatrice. "Will you kindly choose some other topic for discussion?" "I have roused her at last," chuckled Ade- laide, as she turned to go. "Come, Bobby, let us rush to Mrs. King's tea and tell everybody how she is taking it." Then to Beatrice: "I think we won't wait longer to see Mrs. Adri- ance, dear. She may shop all the afternoon. Women have been known to do it." She set- tled her furs and laces complacently before the mirror. "And I have other visits to pay. Good-by, Trixy, dearest. I hope you will re- cover from this blow. Come, Bobby." "That is right, my dear Adelaide," said Bea- trice, standing white and grim. "Do not for- get your property." "My property?" returned Mrs. Flornoy, as if bewildered. She glanced at her muff, shook out her handkerchief, looked about to see if 30 THE STUFF OF DBEAMS she had dropped anything. "My er prop- erty?" "Yes your property," replied Beatrice, with a significant glance at Bobby. "Oh! Ah er you mean Bobby?" queried Adelaide. "Possibly," Beatrice answered, with one of her enigmatic looks. "Ah, well, my dear Trix," purred Mrs. Flor- noy, "you must not fancy that you are the only woman in New York who has the privi- lege of compromising herself. Good-by, dear. So glad to have seen you." She hesi- tated a moment. "Oh, by the way, when you are congratulating Jerry, as I fancy you are remaining to do, give him my felicitations, won't you, dear?" She passed, laughing, out into the hall. Bobby followed her, still grin- ning at Beatrice's discomfiture. Beatrice stood in a deadly, cold rage. She clutched in her hands a tiny fragment of lace and linen. Slowly and with dreadful pre- cision, she tore this handkerchief into strips. 31 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Suddenly, through the half-drawn draperies, she caught a glimpse of Lily, as she descended the stairs, clad in a film) 7 dinner gown. The girl looked as pure and virginal as her name- sake. For one instant the furious woman hesi- tated, then, turning hastily, entered the con- servatory opening from the upper end of the drawing-room and concealed herself therein, behind some huge tropical plants. 32 CHAPTER IV "Could I come near your beauty with my nails, I'd set my ten commandments in your face." ENTERING the drawing-room, Lily looked about her as if expecting to see some one. A puzzled expression crept over her face. She had been told that Mrs. Evans would wait for her descent, but the empty room proclaimed that Beatrice had departed. Going over to the piano, Lily opened the score of "Mexicana," which still reposed upon the rack where Bobby had placed it, and be- gan playing softly. She did not hear Gerald as he stole up behind her and regarded her fondly. The transparent bodice of her dainty gown revealed the beautiful contour of her throat and shoulders. Her small, charmingly- poised head was bent over the keys, and Jerry 33 THE STUFF OF DREAMS remarked the tiny curls at the nape of her sweet, white neck, the burnished waves above caught by a glittering circle of diamonds. Everything about her, so refined, luxurious and feminine, appealed powerfully to his mate- rial nature. At this moment, he could scarce- ly resist the impulse to draw her back in his arms and kiss the lovely, piquant face. Some little movement of his startled her, and she sud- denly looked back. "Jerry!" she exclaimed. "Why, where upon earth were you? I did not see you." "No," he answered, coming to her side and looking down at her with burning eyes. "I have just this moment come from the stables. Your little mare has gone quite lame. How- ever, I have ordered a veterinary and I think she will come around all right." He paused and looked about. "But where is Trix?" "Oh, you saw her, then?" asked Lily, still playing. "Yes," said Gerald, with a grimace. "I saw her." 84 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "I understood Thomas that she would wait," said Lily. "She had an engagement," returned Jerry, glibly, "and was obliged to hurry away." "How was she?" Lily mischievously inquired. "As handsome and stunning as ever?" "Oh, do not let us waste our time talking of Trix," said he, with some impatience. "Why, sir, I am amazed," retorted Lily. "I thought you were devoted to Trix." "Oh, Trix is well enough " began Gerald. "Well enough!" cried Lily. "One of the most fascinating women in society every one says that." "Well," rejoined Gerald, indifferently, "what every one says must be so. But, Lily," he added tenderly, "I want to talk to you of another woman." Lily wheeled about on the piano stool so that she faced Gerald. "Lovely!" she ingenu- ously exclaimed. "I do so adore to hear of your flirtations, Jerry." 35 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "This is not a flirtation," he said, searching her upturned eyes with his. "Dear me!" she lightly cried. "Is it seri- ous?" "Yes," he said, drawing a long breath; "yes, it is serious." "Fancy!" she exclaimed. "Well, my dear brother " He impatiently interrupted her. "Do not call me that." "Why?" she naively asked. "I am not your brother," he said. "I know," she answered, with a nod of ac- quiescence. "But ever since we were children I have looked on you as such, Jerry, dear." Gerald bent over her and took her hand in both his. "But you must not any longer, Lily," he urged. She looked at him in surprise. "Must I not? What then?" she asked. "I wish you to look on me now, dearest," he returned, throwing all possible ardor into his glance and voice, "as your lover." 36 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "You my lover?" the girl repeated in amazement. Then suddenly withdrawing her hand, she sprang to her feet and crossed the room, laughing merrilly. "Oh, Jerry, you ras- cal, you are joking," she cried. Gerald instantly followed her. "No, I was never more in earnest, Lily," he persisted. "I love you devotedly. You will, you must be my wife." Lily looked at him from under her long, curl- ing lashes with a tantalizing smile. "Jerry, you are crazy," was all she vouchsafed. "You will drive me so if you refuse me," he savagely replied. "I know, dearest, you are only a child. The idea of marriage has prob- ably never entered your dear little head." "Oh, yes it has," returned Lily, sagely. Gerald laughed. "Well, so much the bet- ter, then," he said, going a step or two nearer her. "But, Jerry," she added, looking at him with the frank gaze of a child, "I never thought of marrying you." 37 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Why not?" he demanded, piqued. "Am I a monster?" "No, no, dear," she gently rejoined. "But I tell you I have always regarded you as my brother. Your father has been like my own father. Oh, I can't entertain the idea." "Ah, Lily, but you must!" he pleaded. "You know how devoted the governor is to you. Nothing would please him so much as our mar- riage." "Dear guardie," said Lily, thoughtfully. "He has always wanted a daughter," went on Gerald, growing more ardent as he saw Lily's absolute indifference. "He adores you. It would please your mother, too. Lily dar- ling do not keep me in suspense. I think I have always loved you, although I have not realized it until recently." "Ah, Jerry, dear," the girl pouted, "can you be serious? You know you are always in love with some one." "But not as I am with you," he urged. 38 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Do not men always say that?" Lily asked, her dimples coming and going. Gerald was nonplussed for a moment. "Dearest," he murmured, "how can I tell what other men say? Why do you hesitate, Lily?" A sudden idea seized him. "Is there some one else?" He watched her intently. "No-o," returned Lily, slowly, as if con- sidering. She drew the pattern of the carpet with the toe of her enchanting slipper. "No I I think not." "Think not!" cried Gerald, laughing tri- umphantly. "Why, then, Lily " "I must think it over," the girl replied, with a half sigh. "I am not at all sure that I love you in that way." He was close beside her now. He marked the sigh, the fluttering of her downcast lids, the color rising in her fair cheeks, and took these signs as indications of surrender. "I will teach you," he whispered. "Ah, Lily, sweet child, you madden me " He suddenly crushed her in his arms, holding her passionately, his dar- 39 THE STUFF OF DREAMS ing eyes feasting on her terrified face. "Tell me now now that you are mine." "Oh, Gerald, stop," she implored; "let me go you frighten mel" She desperately wrenched herself from his hold and fled from the room. Gerald stood looking after her, every pulse in his body pounding like mad. He was, he honestly believed, in love with Lily. That one moment, when her soft, pliant body had lain helpless in his arms, tormented him with its thrilling remembrance. Why had he not kissed her? he asked himself. Why had he not taken what was within his grasp? He had no compunction for her, no regret that he had rudely startled her from the uncon- sciousness of innocence. "She is old enough to know," he said to himself, "and I shall have her." He turned and sauntered back across the room. And, as he reached the piano, a woman came swiftly out of the conservatory and confronted him : a woman with a livid face 40 THE STUFF OF DREAMS and dreadful eyes eyes that called him to judgment and doomed him beforehand. For an instant not a word was spoken. The two regarded each other like duellists before the fatal signal is given. Who knows what phantoms of worn-out passion swept between this man and woman? What ghosts of dead pleasures gibbered and mocked at them? Beatrice spoke first. "So this is the reason you have wearied of me," she said in a tense, strained voice. "And do you fancy, Gerald Sunderland, that you can throw me over in this fashion?" "Now, Trix," Gerald began in a placating tone, "for God's sake, don't make a scene. You must have known all along that our" he hesi- tated "our friendship would come to an end." "You you to marry that child!" Beatrice answered, choking with rage. "You you blackguard you profligate " The habitual sneer on Jerry's short upper lip deepened. "Tut, tut, Trix," he insolently replied, "do not call names. It's bad form. 41 Grant that I am all you say a profligate it's women like you who have made me so " Beatrice snatched his crop from the piano and struck him with it full in the face. "Cow- ard!" she panted; "I could kill you!" Gerald sprang upon her and wrested the crop from the infuriated woman. They stood for one moment, two awful figures, staring at each other through a mist of hatred; then like a whirlwind, Beatrice rushed into the hall. The street door slammed heavily behind her. Gerald, pressing his hand to his cheek, where a dull red line began to show, went slowly to his rooms. 42 CHAPTER V "True I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy." GEORGE SUNDERLAND closed the library door behind him and slowly sauntered into the draw- ing-room. Although it was a mild spring evening, a fire was snapping on the marble- tiled hearth and his favorite chair was drawn up before the cheery blaze. He threw himself down, and, drawing a cigar from his pocket, lit it and smoked leisurely. His splendid, leonine head, with its thick masses of silvered hair, was thrown back against the orange vel- vet cushions and his gaze was fastened on the mirror frame above the mantel. It was an ornate affair of gilt and ormolu, decorated with 43 THE STUFF OF DREAMS tiny cupids, nymphs and roses, and crowned with a satyr's grinning face. George Sunderland was fifty-three years young. No one ever associated age with his superb physique, his strong, commanding face, his eyes of black velvet with their luminous smile, or the lips that betokened sweetness of disposition combined with firmness of will. He was conceded by every one to be one of the handsomest men in New York and equally well known for his jealously guarded honor, honesty of purpose and intense love of justice, the latter attribute amounting almost to a pas- sion. "If Sunderland is a crank on any sub- ject it is that of justice," his friends often declared. A widower from the birth of his only child, Sunderland had idolized the son he had reared carefully, albeit indulgently. Every oppor- tunity for culture had been open to the boy. Private tuition, a college course at Yale, travel abroad all the advantages that the resources of a vast fortune could procure the father had 44 THE STUFF OF DREAMS bestowed upon his son. It was his life's am- bition that Gerald be appropriately equipped for the magnificent inheritance which one day would be his. He built up for his idol a struc- ture of beautiful fancies. He saw him in the years to come, honored, respected, a great power in finance, possibly in statesmanship, married to some exquisite girl and with beau- tiful children about him, growing up to per- petuate the name of Sunderland. He loved and trusted his son, believing him to be a young man of merit and clean character, wiiile all the world asked: "Is it possible that Sunderland does not know what a devil Jerry is?" That he had not yet discovered his son's true character, was mainly due to two facts he had unquestioningly given him a handsome in- come, "to teach him the value of money," he fondly believed; and John Tyson had stood between them, shielding Jerry in every possi- ble way with the devotion of a loyal nature. Many a time when matters had grown very warm for Gerald, it was Jack who had stepped 45 THE STUFF OF DREAMS in and quietly covered affairs until the other could adjust his difficulties. Tyson did this, not any more for Jerry, than for his father, for whom he possessed a sincere and profound affection. It had come to be a cherished aim with him that Sunderland should never discover that his idol was made of clay. "It would break his heart if he knew," Tyson said to himself again and again. And so George Sunderland, loving, dreaming father, moved ever through a fool's paradise. As he sat to-night by the fire-light, a shade crossed his fine face. With a perturbed air, he drew from his coat a letter he had received that afternoon and re-read it slowly and thoughtfully. As he returned it to his pocket, he fixed his eyes upon the sparkling flames be- fore him and murmured with a half sigh: "A bad business a bad business." What did he see in the firelight ? The depths of a vast forest; a huge camp-fire; great logs bursting with flame; a shower of sparks flung upward toward the gloom of the overhanging 46 THE STUFF OF DREAMS pines; a thin, dark, sinewy figure in back- woodsman's dress cooking a venison steak over a nest of live coals ; another figure lithe, slim, young, with a face like a wild flower and the soft appealing eyes of a startled deer. "A bad business," repeated Sunderland, as he poked the fire vigorously, thus banishing the visions which disturbed him. There was a sudden rustle of silk at the door and a lady came in hurriedly a lady like a bit of Dresden china, with a charming face and tiny, girlish figure. Although the waves of hair under her Paris hat were white as snow, her cheeks were pink as sweetbriar, and her blue eyes had all the candor and ingenuousness of a child. And, indeed, in many respects, Dorothea Adriance was as much of a child as her daughter. "Now do not say one word, George," she began in a great flutter. "I know I am fright- fully late. How I shall have to rush! But I was so fascinated with the shops; and oh, 47. THE STUFF OF DREAMS George," showing her empty purse, "I have spent all my money." Sunderland had risen at her entrance and stood smiling down with his wonderful eyes at the pretty, piquant face. "Why, what a spend- thrift you are coming to be, Dorothy," he laughed. "Yes, New York always demoralizes me," she cried. "I simply throw my money right and left. Isn't it outrageous?" "Well, I don't know," returned Sunderland, regarding Mrs. Adriance admiringly. "I be- lieve that every one should do what best agrees with one. And shopping assuredly agrees with you. I never saw you look pret- tier, Dorothy." "Oh, my dear friend," cried Mrs. Adri- ance, dimpling and expostulating, "at your age " "Why, one would think I was Methuselah," retorted Sunderland. "Indeed, I want you to understand I am just as young as I was twen- 48 THE STUFF OF DREAMS ty-five years ago. Do you remember, Dot?" He took her hand gently in his. "Do I remember?" cried the pretty woman, in charming confusion. "Yes, yes, of course I remember. But really, George, I must run away now and dress. I shall keep you all wait- ing." She caught up her gloves and purse, and, like a startled bird, fluttered out of the room. Sunderland looked after her with a tender smile and then returning to his seat, fell to musing again before the fire. Presently he was roused by Gerald, who came in not quite so airily as was his usual custom. "Good-evening, governor," he said. His voice had a strained note. "Ah, my boy," affectionately returned his father, giving him his hand; "how are you to- night?" He glanced up at him with a look of pride which quickly changed to one of conster- nation. "What upon earth has happened to your face?" "Oh, nothing, dad," said Jerry. "Don't be 49 THE STUFF OF DREAMS alarmed. I got a deuce of a knock just now, running into my wardrobe door." George rose, and, adjusting his pince-nez, looked closer at Jerry's face. "Have you broken the skin?" he asked. "It is shockingly inflamed. Looks deucedly ugly. You had best bathe it at once." "Oh, it's all right, dad," replied Jerry, uneas- ily. "Do not bother about it." He lit a cigar- ette with an air of unconcern, although his hand shook a trifle. "Jack hasn't shown up yet, has he?" he added, putting his hands in his pockets and strolling lazily up and down the room. "Is Jack coming?" inquired his father. "Yes, he was here an hour or so ago. I in- sisted on his dining with us. He went home to dress," replied Gerald. "He has not come yet," said Sunderland. "Well," said Jerry, consulting the tiny gold clock on the mantel, "he wants to hustle if he's going to be on time." "Oh, there is no hurry," rejoined Sunder- land. "We shall dine rather late to-night. 50 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Mrs. Adriance has just come in and we must wait for her." Jerry turned and regarded his father with a smile full of meaning. "So dinner must wait for Mrs. Adriance?" he said, laughingly. "Ah, governor, you're hard hit. I never knew you to wait dinner a moment before." Sunderland was a trifle embarrassed. "You must remember," he said, "Mrs. Adriance is our guest." "Yes," retorted Jerry, "and we have had hundreds of guests in our time. Did dinner wait for them? No, no, you sly old boy !" He gave his father a jocular dig in the ribs. Sunderland looked at his son before speak- ing. He seemed to be measuring him. "Ger- ald, I want to have a little talk with you," he finally said, and his handsome face flushed like a school girl's. "I knew it was coming!" declared Gerald, raising both hands in mock despair. "Jerry," went on his father, growing more 51 THE STUFF OF DREAMS embarrassed, "what if I were to tell you that I am thinking of marrying again?" Gerald laid both hands on his father's shoul- ders. "Governor, you would not surprise me in the least," he answered. "I would not?" queried his father, amazed at his reply. "No, you dear old chap," cried his son. "Why, I've seen this coming for weeks and have been bracing for the shock." "You would not object?" his father anxious- ly asked. "I object?" exclaimed Jerry. "Not at all, my dear governor. You need a mistress for your home. Mrs. Adriance is a charming woman I should be delighted." Sunderland shook his son's hand warmly. 6 My dear boy," he cried, "you have lifted a weight from my mind. I feared you might not like the idea." "I like anything that pleases my dear old dad," returned Gerald, with an appreciative glance. "Besides, after I am gone I should not 52 THE STUFF OF DREAMS wish you to be lonely." He looked slyly at his father to discover the effect of his words. "After you are gone!" his father repeated with a puzzled air. "Why, where are you go- ing?" "Going to get married ha, ha, papa!" re- plied Gerald with levity. "Married!" cried Sunderland in consterna- tion. "You? To whom? Oh, do not tell me, Jerry, that you wish to marry Trixy Evans!" Gerald started. "Marry Trix?" he demand- ed. "I'd sooner marry the devil. Why, I say, dad, whatever put such an astounding idea as that in your head?" "You have been her devoted cavalier for so long," Sunderland quickly replied. "I have seen you everywhere dancing attendance on her. At first thinking it was only one of your flirtations I paid no attention. But lat- terly, I confess, my dear boy" he looked steadily at his son, who directly lowered his gaze "I have been very much concerned about you. Jerry," he added, his tone growing seri- 53 THE STUFF OF DREAMS ous, "Beatrice drove Lionel Evans to his grave." "Well, governor," said Gerald, "don't you worry any more on that score. Trix is a good chum, well enough to toddle around with but marry! Gad!" putting his hand to the scarlet welt disfiguring his cheek, "I should just as soon think of marrying a Kansas cy- clone." "There goes another load off my shoulders," exclaimed his father. "I only wish I had spo- ken to you before. But tell me, Jerry, who is the girl?" "Why, dad, cannot you guess?" "No, Jerry." "It is Lily," Gerald said, closely watching his father's face. Sunderland was very much affected. It was with difficulty that he spoke. "Lily Lily," he murmured, "that sweet child whom I al- ready love as my own! Jerry, my boy, do you realize how happy you are making me? Are you to marry her?" 54 "I hope so, dad," Gerald responded with all sincerity. "I spoke to her not an hour ago. She was shy and ran away. But I am confi- dent she is fond of me and she wishes to please you and her mother." "Lily to be my daughter," said Sunder- land, meditatively. "Jerry, I have always longed for this in my heart, but I never dreamed that a child like her would attract you. You have always fancied dashing, worldly women." "Fancied!" repeated Gerald. "Yes, dad, that's the word. Only fancied. I love Lily. There is a world of difference. I want her. I must have her." "Well, go in, my dear boy, and win," cried Sunderland. His eyes shone, his noble face radiated happiness as he affectionately pressed his son's hand the son who was to make his name honored among men. He sank back in his chair and gazed with a smile in the fire. No visions therein troubled him now. He saw instead his adored son with the 55 STUFF OF DREAMS beautiful girl he had so wisely chosen and with their children clustering about them. Steadily up rose the lofty palace of fancy he was so carefully building. Not a premonition of the hand that might destroy it with one wanton sweep crossed his mind. The tiny cupids, that upheld the splendid mirror above the mantel, flushed rosy in the firelight but the satyr crowning the gorgeous frame looked down at him with an evil leer. CHAPTER VI "Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes." "MR. TYSON," announced Thomas, sweep- ing back the portieres. Jack entered, his splen- did proportions showing to advantage in fault- less evening dress. "Ah, Jack, old chap," cried Gerald, "I was just beginning to think you had given us the slip." "I am late, I know," responded Tyson, as he took the cordial hand Sunderland extended. "You will pardon me, Mr. Sunderland. But the condition of the streets and I think the slowest cab horse I ever struck must be my excuses. Hello, Jerry! what's happened to your cheek?" "Oh, nothing, nothing," replied Gerald in 57 THE STUFF OF DREAMS confusion. "I hit it just now bang! against my dressing-table " "The wardrobe door, you mean," corrected his father. "Yes, yes, of course," returned Gerald, still more embarrassed. "To be sure the ward- robe door. What am I thinking about?" "Upon my word," said Jack, with an air of concern, "I hope it has not gone to your head. You seem a trifle irrational." "That's on account of the confidences the governor has just been making me," cried Ger- ald with assumed gaiety. "I assure you, noth- ing else." "Ah, well," said Tyson, laughingly, "as a rule there is nothing the matter with Jerry's cheek " "Oh, oh!" from Gerald. "So we will hope for the best eh, Mr. Sun- derland?" concluded Tyson. "He certainly has never lacked any," as- sented Sunderland, smiling indulgently at the two young men. 58 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Especially," added Tyson, slyly, "where women are concerned. And speaking of the ladies, whom do you think I saw en route? I passed Trix Evans in her victoria, and never did I see so absolutely livid a face. I saluted her. She stared at me with the eyes of a corpse. What could have happened?" "Perhaps she has lost a fortune," suggested Sunderland. "She is forever dabbling in stocks." "Or a lover," said Gerald in a strange voice. "Well, by George!" returned Tyson. "In that event I should not care to be the man in the case." "Why not?" asked Gerald, still in a con- strained tone. "Because Beatrice Evans is not an ordinary woman," replied Tyson. "Milk and water do not flow in her veins. There is a good deal of the tigress about her. She should have lived in a jungle and devoured men." "You think she would revenge herself?" Ger- 59 aid inquired. As he spoke his hand involun- tarily pressed the stinging welt on his face. "Yes," said Tyson; "and I could swear that it would be in some appallingly novel fashion." "Well," said Sunderland, suddenly aban- doning his posture of lazy content and sitting bolt upright, "I wish I could discover some ap- pallingly novel form of punishment." "Hello, dad!" cried Jerry, staring at his father. "What's wrong with you? Some- body squeezed you on copper to-day?" "No; but I have heard something which has infuriated me and makes me long to inflict a severe penalty on the scoundrel who entices a young girl from an honest home." Gerald gave an almost imperceptible start and con- tinued to stare at his father as if hypnotized. "Jerry," Sutherland went on, "do you re- member that pretty little daughter of Job Wil- son's, up in the Adirondacks ?" "Yes." Gerald breathed the word rather than spoke it. "Why?" Sunderland turned to Tyson, who sat with 60 THE STUFF OF DREAMS his eyes fixed upon the floor. "Wilson's is the camp where I have gone for fifteen years," he explained. "Why, I watched that girl grow up from a baby a little thing toddling about the camp. A beautiful child she was." He paused, reminiscent. "Well?" It w r as Jerry's voice, tense and hard, that broke the stillness. "She is here in New York," continued Sun- derland. He drew the letter from his pocket. "Gone wrong, I fear, from what Wilson writes me. I had this letter from him to-day. Poor Wilson! he is heart-broken. He says: 'My girl, my little Kitty, is somewhere in New York, living God knows how. She disap- peared two years ago, just after you were last here ' ' Mr. Sunderland broke off, and, lifting his eyes from the letter, looked over at his son. "You remember, Jerry summer be- fore last when we went up there together?" He paused for an answer. "Yes I remember," Jerry managed to ar- ticulate. 61 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Sunderland read on: " 'I looked everywhere for her, but could not find her. It killed her mother she died last fall. One of my neigh- bors, Frank Homer, has just come back from New York, and he swears he saw Kitty in a carriage on Fifth Avenue, dressed up like a queen. For God's sake, Mr. Sunderland, help me to find my child.' ' Sunderland folded the letter and put it carefully back in his coat. Then he spoke deliberately, as if weighing every word : "If money can find Job Wilson's daughter, she shall be restored to her father." "I do not see," began Gerald, "why you should trouble yourself " "Trouble myself!" ejaculated Sunderland with much indignation. "Is that my son speak- ing? I am amazed at you, Jerry. I will do what any honorable man would. I will find that girl and put her back in her poor old fa- ther's arms." There was a terrible silence in the room. Then Sunderland spoke more gently. "Jack, Gerald," he said, "I want you both to 62 THE STUFF OF DREAMS help me in this quest. We will consider ways and means later." Gerald rose. His face was ghastly save where the symbol of his shame flared red as a burn. "I say, Jack," he spoke slowly and with difficulty, "before the ladies join us, come to my rooms. I have a new sporting print I for- got to show you this afternoon. It's a peach." Tyson, with still lowered eyes, joined him. As the two passed out through the door that led to Gerald's apartments, he staggered like a drunken man, clutched at Tyson's arm and whispered: "For God's sake, Jack, what shall I do?" "Hush!" was the only answer his friend vouchsafed, while he laid his hand mean- ingly upon the other's shoulder. Sunderland, left alone, resumed his cigar and his meditations. Deeply engrossed as he was, he did not hear a light footfall behind him nor the soft swish of a chiffon gown. A pair of velvety hands were presently pressed against his eyes, and subdued, sweet laughter rippled above him. "It's you, little tease," he cried. 63 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "I know those finger tips." He drew Lily quietly around by both hands. She perched upon the arm of his chair as a bird upon a bough and rested her cheek against his white head. "How has my little girl been to-day?" he asked, with more than his accustomed ten- derness. "Have you amused yourself?" "Oh, guardie, dear," replied Lily, "I have had such a beautiful day. I went to the flower show this morning, and I lunched at Del's. Then Jerry and I had such a glorious canter in the park and then we came home and then and then " She faltered and paused. "And then?" pressed her guardian. "Oh," returned Lily, mischievously, "I think I won't tell you." "You are having secrets from your old guardian?" inquired Sunderland. "I am afraid I am," she murmured, giving the top of his head a dainty little kiss. "Lily," said Sunderland, after a silence of a few moments, "do you know that I am a mind reader?" 64 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Mercy! No!" she cried in mock dismay. "Well, I am," Sunderland returned, "and I can read exactly what is now passing in your mind. You are saying to yourself: 'Shall I tell guardie that Jerry wishes to marry me?' ' "Oh, oh!" cried the girl with a little scream. "However did you know?" "Didn't I tell you I was a mind reader?" asked Sunderland, with a well simulated air of sincerity. "Ah, I know," cried Lily, laughing and giv- ing his ear an affectionate tweak. "Jerry told you. I think that is very unfair of Jerry. I wanted to tell you myself." She pouted de- liciously. "Ah, Lily, dear," returned her guardian gently, "what difference who brings me such good news?" "Do you think it good news?" asked the girl. "Lily," responded Sunderland, gravely, "do not you know that I love you as well as if you were my own child?" "Yes," cried Lily, impulsively embracing 65 THE STUFF OF DREAMS him; "y u have always been like a father to me." "It has been the desire of my heart that you and Jerry should love each other." "Has it, indeed?" asked the girl, a slight shade coming over her fair face. "And it would delight your mother as well," continued Sunderland. "Do you think that, guardie?" The shadow was still there on the young face. "I am sure of it. We have often talked of it," replied Sunderland. Lily drew a long sigh and spoke thoughtful- ly. "Nothing would make me happier than to make you two dear people happy," she said. Her guardian drew her closer to him. "Lily, you are a sweet child," he said. Lily was silent a few moments. She sat still on the arm of Sunderland's chair, gazing stead- ily in the firelight. If in its glowing embers she saw a vague vision of a passing romance something so fine, so sweet, so intangible that she could give it no name she. made no sign. 66 THE STUFF OF DREAMS She could not have defined the emotion Tyson had aroused within her. Their acquaintance had been absolutely conventional. A few words, a visit or two, a cluster of violets. What did such trifles signify? And yet, as his stal- wart figure, his strong, kind face, his eyes full of authority and earnestness, rose suddenly be- fore her, a sharp pain gripped her heart. She put this vision resolutely away, as she an- swered: "Guardie, dear, why should I not wish to please you and mamma? Never did girl have so kind and indulgent a guardian as you have been. I do not remember that you have ever denied me one wish. As to dear little mam- ma ! Well, she is mamma that's all. I ought to be willing to die for you both." "Do not talk of dying, child," Sunderland said quickly. "We want you to live to be a joy for us. We wish to live again in you and Jerry." "Well," said Lily, suddenly, "I suppose I shall have to marry some one. It might as well be Jerry as anybody." 67 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Oh, my dear child," cried her guardian, quite shocked by this candid statement. "Do not take that attitude. Do not you love Jerry?" "Why, of course; I love Jerry dearly," she responded. "But I do not know much about this marriage business. Will I love him after I am married, do you think?" she naively asked. "If you love Jerry now, you will love him more then," responded Sunderland. As he spoke, Mrs. Adriance entered the room. See- ing the two in earnest conversation, she paused on the threshold a moment. "But, Lily, do not make any mistake," Sunderland was saying. "Look well in your heart. It is so easy to spoil one's life." He rose with a sigh and stood be- fore the fire, looking steadfastly down at the dainty creature about whom all his hopes cen- tered. She rose, too, and stood directly before him. "Guardie," she said musingly, "I have often wondered why you never married again. Your 68 THE STUFF OF DREAMS tie isn't on straight. Let me fix it for you, you big, careless boy." She adjusted his tie with a pretty air of responsibility. "The reason is simple," he returned. "The woman I had loved all my life was married." "How lovely!" cried Lily. "Lovely?" repeated Sunderland, astonished. "I mean how romantic," corrected Lily. "Tell me more," she begged, with great in- terest. "There isn't much to tell, child," her guard- ian went on slowly. "I loved her when she was just your age and just your height and had just such eyes soft blue tender. They used to look at me just as yours do. But she did not love me." "How stupid of her," judged Lily with great disdain. "She loved my best friend better and mar- ried him. Then after a time I married. My wife only lived a year, as you know. But I couldn't marry my old sweetheart even then. 69 THE STUFF OF DREAMS You know, Lily, it's only in story-books that old sweethearts come together." "Is her husband still living?" asked the girl suddenly. "No, she is a widow now," rejoined her guardian. "Then why do you not marry her?" demand- ed Lily. Mrs. Adriance hastily withdrew to the hall. "I don't know whether she would marry me," smiled Sunderland. "Well, you can ask her," persisted Lily. Sunderland burst into laughter. "So I can, child," he cried, adding determinedly "and will." Mrs. Adriance came in now, calling to an- nounce herself. "I am coming. It's a per- fect shame to keep you waiting so long. So tiresome of me. Do tell me, George, I am for- given." Sunderland looked at her and marked her flushed face, and a suspicious moisture about her blue eyes. How much had she heard of his confidences ? he wondered as he took her 70 THE STUFF OF DREAMS hand and smiled at her. "There is nothing I would not forgive you, Dorothy," he said in a low voice. Lily saw the look and heard the words. "Good gracious, it's mother!" she said to her- self, and, in a great flutter at her sudden dis- covery, took herself off to the conservatory, CHAPTER VII "Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense." SUNDERLAND led Mrs. Adriance to a chair by his, and said as he seated himself: "Doro- thy, the most astounding and delightful thing has just happened. I am so happy I can scarcely contain myself. What do you think? Jerry has asked Lily to marry him." "Yes," cooed the little Dresden china lady. "So she has just told me. Of course you know, my dear old friend," she added, laying a tiny hand loaded with gems gently upon Sunder- land's arm, "that nothing would delight me more." Sunderland patted the little hand with an appreciative nod. "Yes, I understand that we are in perfect accord in this. But I am a little 72 THE STUFF OF DREAMS bit troubled," he continued, an almost imper- ceptible shade vexing his splendid face. "Lily does not seem to be as much in love with Ger- ald as he is with her." The pretty lady laughed a rippling, melo- dious laugh, like the murmur of water over pebbles. "Why, my dear George," she gaily replied, "that is exactly as it should be. The woman should always be the one who is loved, not the one who loves. Besides," she concluded sagely, "Lily is only a child. She will love Jerry." "Then she will accept him?" eagerly ques- tioned Sunderland. "Why, of course," returned her mother. "She is going to tell him as soon as she sees him." "My dear Dorothy," Sunderland cried, bending toward her with love in his eyes, "now there is only one thing more that I wish to com- plete my absolute contentment with life, and that is " He paused a moment, his eyes searching the pretty pink face. 73 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "That is?" repeated Mrs. Adriance, with a suspicion of coquetry which by no means ill became her; "that " She, too, paused. "Ah, Dorothy, you know," he began in- tensely. But Gerald and Tyson came in at this inauspicious moment and poor Sunder- land's confession was again delayed. Both young men, advancing, saluted Mrs. Adriance, who received them like a very stately little queen. As Tyson bent over her hand with his finest manner, Lily came in from the conservatory, idly swinging a long, white suede glove in her hand. "See what I found in the conservatory," she called with glee. "I declare it's Trixy Evans' glove," she added as she sniffed daintily at it. "It smells just like her all trefle and sandal wood." "Has she been here to-day?" asked Sunder- land in surprise. "Yes," Lily answered carelessly. "She was here late this afternoon, but as I was dressing I did not see her, for when I came down she was gone. Jerry saw her, though. Why, Jer- 74, ry," she hurriedly added, catching sight of Jerry's disfigured cheek, "whatever has hap- pened to your face?" Jerry, already obviously uneasy, caught Ty- son's eyes fixed with meaning upon him. The latter was quick enough to connect the welt on Jerry's face with the visit of Beatrice Evans, With considerable perturbation Gerald re- plied : "Nothing nothing, I assure you, Lily. I " he stumbled, "I met with a trifling acci- dent." "Nothing?" the girl answered, going nearer him and regarding the ugly mark with a pity- ing air. "Why, it's something appalling. That hideous red mark! Oh, you should have some hot arnica or, let me see, witch hazel is good " "Really, Lily," objected Gerald, "it's noth- ing worth fussing about. Don't bother." "Bother?" repeated his sweetheart. "Mam- ma, do you see poor Jerry's face? Fancy I if he should take cold!" "Oh, hang it all!" cried Gerald, driven to 75 THE STUFF OF DREAMS desperation. "Let my face alone. Forgive me, Lily, but every one has made such a hue and cry over a little matter " "Jerry, dear, it is not a little matter," Lily interrupted in a shocked tone. "Why, it is dreadful! How did it happen?" "I was swinging clubs and one of them slipped " He finished with a comprehen- sive gesture. His father, engaged in conversation with Mrs. Adriance, did not hear this last explana- tion of his son, but the astute Tyson smiled grimly. "The dressing-table the wardrobe door Indian clubs," he muttered to himself. "I wonder which is the truth? And I further wonder, whether there is any connection be- tween this awful face of Jerry and that other awful face I saw staring from Trix Evans' victoria." "I am so sorry for you, dear," Lily mur- mured compassionately to Jerry. He lifted his hot, passionate, boyish face. "Lily," he whispered, his eyes flaming, "you 76 THE STUFF OF DREAMS are adorable. Tell me, when am I to have your answer, sweet?" "Now," replied the girl ingenuously. "Xow? Lily " he panted. "Yes, Jerry," she calmly answered. "I have decided to marry you." "My darling!" he rapturously exclaimed. "Ah, why are we not alone?" The two stood by the open fire. The others, some distance away, were chatting idly of this and that. Lily did not look at her lover but stood smoothing and toying with the glove of Beatrice Evans. She laid it on the mantel just under the satyr's head, and stretched out each slender finger with mechanical precision. "Yes," she said in a low voice, "I have talked it over with mamma and guardie and both are so pleased. They think it an excellent, yes, an admirable arrangement." A less material man than Gerald Sunderland would not have been content with this ac- ceptance. But Jerry thought only of possess- ing this beautiful girl. He suddenly laid his 77 THE STUFF OF DREAMS hand upon hers. "Lily," he murmured. His eyes gloated upon her exquisite face. "Ah!" He recoiled. "Throw away that glove do not soil your hands by touching it." "Why, Jerry," she returned with wide-eyed wonder, "it is not dirty." She suddenly lifted it and, without warning, held it to his nose. "Does it not smell exactly like Trix?" she asked. The welt on his face glowed dark red as he snatched the glove from her hand and flung it in the fire, where it shriveled to a shapeless thing, the fingers writhing in the flames and quivering piteously, as if begging for mercy. "What a child you are!" he said, in a strange, hoarse voice. "In the midst of accepting my devotion, you thrust that thing in my face." "That thing?" Lily laughed. "Why, Jerry, it was only a month ago I saw you kiss Trix's glove in the most rapturous fashion." "Where?" Jerry was considerably taken aback by this statement. "At the Whitehouse ball," she returned. 78 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "You were in the conservatory with Trix. You kissed her hand and then you turned back her glove and kissed her wrist. Oh, fie! oh, fie!" she rippled, shaking an accusing finger at him. "Do not remind me of past follies, Lily," Gerald begged, quite disconcerted by this re- hearsal of his indiscretion. "They are over, I assure you. My devotion is yours alone - forever. I am going to announce our engage- ment now," he added. "Oh, no, no not now!" cried the girl, sud- denly growing pale. "Yes, now," he persisted. "Why not? Here are your mother, my father, and my dearest friend. They will all be delighted." "Oh, I would prefer not, Jerry," Lily said faintly, much distressed. But Jerry paid no heed to her protestations. He dismissed them airily as mere signs of maidenly embarrass- ment. He led her triumphantly across to the others, with the mien of a conquering hero. "Mrs. Adriance father Jack," he gaily cried, "congratulate me! I am the most for- 79 THE STUFF OF DREAMS tunate chap in New York to-night. Miss Adriance has just promised to be my wife." The elders turned with radiant faces and outstretched hands. Jack Tyson stood as if turned to granite. The blow was so sudden, so absolutely unexpected, he could not speak. With an inward sickening shudder, he saw the long train of horrors stretching before the af- fianced pair; his own pain he counted as noth- ing to that in store for this girl whom he loved, and whom he would have shielded with his life from even the knowledge of evil. That Ger- ald, steeped in intrigue and pressed by perils the legitimate results of his life should for one moment aspire to the hand of a pure girl, and that girl the beloved ward of his father, was a piece of effrontery of which Tyson had not dreamed him capable. Jack had caught no word of the rumors that had reached the keen ears of Adelaide Flornoy, and therefore the announcement of the betrothal was a thunder clap in his ears. Mechanically he moved forward to offer his 80 THE STUFF OF DREAMS congratulations but paused. No, that he could not do. He would not stultify his man- hood to that extent. Mrs. Adriance and Sun- derland were kissing and embracing Lily, and, from this maelstrom of satisfaction and joy, Tyson managed to dexterously swim, without attracting the attention of the others. "Are you pleased, mamma?" Lily asked with a certain pitiful anxiety. "My child, I am delighted," replied her mother. "And you guardie?" she questioned, still with that strange, anxious little look. "My daughter!" was all Sunderland could say as he took her to his heart. Jerry stood by during this amiable exchange of amenities, preening himself like a brilliant peacock. He had got his way he was satisfied. As Thomas solemnly announced that din- ner was served, the party fell into line. Mr. Sunderland offered his arm to Mrs. Adriance, Jerry took his prize, and Tyson brought up the rear, alone, stupefied, enraged. A white rose 81 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Lily wore at her belt dropped from its place unheeded. Its brittle stem had been snapped in the transmitting of many embraces. Jerry carelessly trod it under foot and crushed it. But Tyson saw it, stooped, caught it up and hastily thrust it into his breast. 82 CHAPTER VIII "Here I and Sorrow sit." A GIRL stood looking out the window in an uptown apartment at the driving rain. The room behind her was charmingly, even luxuri- ously furnished, with its appointments indicat- ing good taste, if somewhat floridly displayed. There were perhaps too many hangings and cushions of Oriental silks and other flimsy stuffs. There were more pictures of startling subjects than are commonly found in a draw- ing-room. The air was heavy with a curious mingling of odors burned-out joss sticks, cigarettes, sandalwood, and dying roses. One longed to throw open the windows and let the cold, damp air sweep through. Through a cur- tained doorway one caught a glimpse of a long dining-room, a cabinet of gay china, a buffet 83 covered with silver, and a sideboard littered with syphons of seltzer and vichy, decanters of brandy and bottles of whiskey. The two rooms, as far as could be seen, had a decided laissez-aller air about them. One would have known instinctively that this was not the retreat of an ascetic. Rooms usually speak for themselves, and these had a language of their own. The girl at the window was as slim and lithe as a panther, with the soft, brown eyes of a deer. She was very pale and showed traces of a recent illness. She was enveloped in a costly kimono of pink crepe, heavily embroidered with gold humming birds and purple violets. Thick masses of burnished copper-tinted hair were caught together with a certain rough pictur- esqueness. But the tawdry robe and the damas- cened hangings and the litter of brandy and vichy yes, even the composite scent of the rooms, seemed strangely at variance with this cold, sad girl who leaned against the window and stared hopelessly out at the falling rain. 84 THE STUFF OF DREAMS She was absorbed in her own despairing thoughts. The ceaseless drip of the rain upon the stone pavement beat a threnody which pierced her heart. She looked away and be- yond the interminable vista of roofs and steeples and saw a dense forest. She heard the rushing of the wind through the trees, sound- ing the advent of the storm. She saw moun- tains veil their heights with white mists, and lakes lash their blue waters into a frenzy of foam. And the rain! It came, pattering first upon the leaves like the stealthy footfalls of the wild things of the forest, then faster and faster it ran through all the aisles of the woods crying out to the thirsty trees: "I am coming I am coming!" Now came the tremendous, steady, white downpour, drenching the ground, the crash of thunder, the play of the fork- tongued, serpentine lightning among the black boughs, and the wild shriek of the furious blast. The wilderness tossed its arms in madness to the sky and moaned aloud. And at this terrific clash of the elements, the girl's soul exulted. 85 She was in it and of it. She loved it. She longed to rush forth into the forest, to clasp the trees in her arms, to ride upon the wings of the air. And suddenly she realized where she was caught, trapped, shut up in a New York apartment, in a nest of cushions and per- fume and golden embroidery. With a moan, she clasped her hands over her eyes and pressed her aching head against them. The heavy scent of the room grew hateful to her. Oh, the perfume of the pines after the rain! If she could but once more smell that pungent odor. And oh, the soft fall of the re- maining raindrops on the branches, as the trees readjusted themselves after the tempest; the twitter of the birds as they came forth from their nests to talk it over could she but hear them. She listened feverishly. Alas! all she heard was a cab horse pounding the slippery pavement with his hoofs, and the bang of the cab door as it stopped before the building. She leaned there in a sort of lethargy, until she was roused by the ring of the electric bell THE STUFF OF DREAMS at the door of her apartment. A moment later, a buxom mulatto girl in trim cap and apron came, smiling and obsequious. She could not bear that offensive smile. Ah ! if she would but look angry or sorry anything but that greasy, secret, knowing smirk. There were frantic moments when she longed to shriek aloud: "Don't smile at me ! Don't I cannot bear it !" One of these moments was upon her now; but as the maid said with unction: "A lady to see you, Mrs. Dudley," she gasped with amaze- ment. "A lady," she repeated, "to see me? There must be some mistake." For never be- fore since she had first entered these rooms had a woman called upon her. "No," replied the girl; "she asked for you. She's mighty swell, too," she added with relish. "But I can't see her I am not dressed," the girl said, dully wondering why any one should visit her. "Nevah you min'," returned the maid. "You look grand in this yeah gown. Bettah not keep 87 THE STUFF OF DREAMS her waitin'. Somehow she don't look like she's used to bein' kep' waitin'." "Oh, very well," said the girl listlessly, "let her come in." Presently there was the swish of silk in the passageway and a woman entered, wrapped in a voluminous coat and carrying a gold-mount- ed lorgnette in her hand, through which she icily stared at the girl. "Is this Miss Dudley?" she asked; and her voice seemed to sting the girl like a whiplash. "I am Mrs. Dudley," she returned, with a certain native dignity. "Will you sit down?" Beatrice Evans sank into a chair, giving one sweeping, comprehensive glance about the room. In that glance she saw everything the free and easy disorder, the array of bottles yes, even a photograph on the writing-table of a fair man with an habitual sneer on his short upper lip. She clenched her lorgnette w r ith a hand that quivered to throttle something, and for a moment she did not speak. "Mrs. or Miss Dudley," she said in a contemptuous voice, "it 88 THE STUFF OF DREAMS matters little. I have come here to do you a good turn." The girl looked curiously at the hard, hand- some face and the eves that burned like coals V of fire. She marked the tense, drawn lines about the thin, cruel lips. She saw the pallor of her visitor under her rouge and wondered at it. "To do me a good turn?" she mechanic- ally repeated. "Yes," her caller responded; "and I will waste no time on ceremony. Miss Dudley, you live here alone," she went on, as if reciting a lesson she had learned by heart. "You are visited by a man who is known here as Mr. Dudley, but whose real name is Gerald Sun- derland. He is your friend your protector." At every word, as at a blow, the unhappy girl quivered and cowered in her chair. Phys- ically weak from a dangerous illness, she was poorly equipped to withstand the shock of this woman's speech. "You are his mistress," the merciless voice went on. "You fancy, poor silly little fool, 89 THE STUFF OF DREAMS that he loves you! Well, I have come to tell you just how much he loves you. Do you know that he is to be married within a month to a girl in his own station " But she paused, for the slim, girlish figure in the gaudy pink kimono had slid slowly and heavily to the floor. It lay now huddled in its mocking gold embroideries, limp and senseless at Beatrice's feet. "Heavens!" she muttered in disgust. "The creature has actually fainted. What shall I do? How awfully awkward!" She looked hastily about. Then she sw y iftly went into an adjoining room, of whose pink and white dain- tiness she had caught a glimpse from where she sat. "This must be her bedroom. Perhaps I can find some salts " She stopped, petri- fied at what she saw. Close by a snowy bed stood an elaborate bas- sinet, covered with fluffy, muslin draperies lined with pink. Under this canopy there slept, like a butterfly in the heart of a rose, an exquisite infant. One tiny hand was under 90 its satiny cheek; the other lay like a crumpled rose petal on the white silk coverlid. The woman stared down at the child with the eyes of a Medea. Her face contracted as if by a spasm. She moistened her parched lips with her tongue and clutched her breast as if something therein were choking her. The baby was very tiny evidently but a few weeks old. A train of frightful memories swept before her disordered fancy. She suddenly raised her hands and shook them impotently in the air. She staggered out of the room, past the un- conscious girl on the floor, and, groping her way into the dining-room and to the sideboard, poured out a half glass of whisky and drank it greedily. The liquor revived and stimulated her. She poured out some more, and, taking it in her hands, returned to the girl. Kneeling by her, she lifted up her head and forced the drink between her lips. Presently, as the girl began to show signs of returning consciousness, she raised her to her feet, and, half leading, half dragging her, got her to a divan. 91 THE STUFF OF DREAMS She crossed to the writing-table, took up the photograph and sharply scrutinized it. Yes, there was no mistaking that fair, treacherous face with the bold eyes and disdainful mouth. She kissed it passionately and then flung it from her in a rage. Sitting down she scrawled a hasty note. "I am sorry," it ran, "to have made you so ill. But it is right you should know. Gerald's father is a good man and will not permit an injustice. He is giving a dinner to-night at which his son's engagement will be announced. Go to him and tell him all." The last word she heavily underscored. She placed the note in the hands of the half conscious girl. Stooping, she listened as if to reassure herself of her recovery. She heard the slowly returning breath, and, with one pro- longed survey of the room, as if she wished to brand it on her memory, she glided away like a splendid animal padding through the depths of a jungle. Some time after, the girl opening her eyes, stared dully about, as if trying to realize a 92 THE STUFF OF DREAMS hateful dream. Suddenly she saw the paper in her hands. She slowly and painfully rose, and, going over to the window, read it by the fast declining light. She read it over and over. She seemed un- able at first to grasp its purport. When at last the truth burned into he.r brain, she quiv- ered, then stood motionless as if changing to a woman of marble. Her heart seemed to freeze, her very breath to stop. Despair awful, stony despair settled upon her face and held her limbs in rigid bondage. A curious little cry from her bedroom roused her. She turned, and going swiftly to the side of the bassinet, she lifted the drowsy child, all warm and rosy from his nest. She clasped him to her heart, she laid his little, soft curling head against her neck, she enveloped and covered him with her adoration. The image of despair became a Mother of Sorrow. For at touch of the child her tears rained down. "Oh, baby! oh, baby!" she moaned. 93 CHAPTER IX "Jealousy is cruel as the grave." THE library in Sunderland's house was his favorite room and bore many marks of his in- dividuality. His books were not his possessions to be flaunted before others, but were his com- panions and friends. Hence, they were not shut away to be gazed at respectfully through glass doors, but stood on shelves and tables, within easy reach of his hands. His spacious Flemish oak desk always bore flowers. To- night a great cluster of lilacs made the room sweet with the quaint, old-fashioned fragrance of a country garden. A bright fire crackled on the hearth, for the steady rain outside gave a chill to the air. From the drawing-room came a confused 94 THE STUFF OF DREAMS murmur of voices, a ripple of laughter, the rustle of satins, and perfume of roses, and, mingled with this delightful melange, the low, sweet throbbings of violins and harps. Sunder- land's dinner guests were gathering. He stood in the center of the beautiful white and gold room, Mrs. Adriance, charming in pearl-gray gauze, beside him, receiving the favored few bidden to hear the announcement of the be- trothal of his son to the heiress of Tom Adri- ance's vast fortune. People sauntered in and out of the library and conservatory, busy with the news. It was an affair, this mating of Jerry Sunderland, sport, man about town, heir of George Sunder- land's great wealth, with a girl not out of her teens, a beauty, and absolutely worth her weight in gold. Among those whose tongues wagged freest, strolled Mrs. Flornoy with her "trailer," Bob- by Dwyer. They found themselves in the li- brary, where the mingled perfume of lilacs and Russia leather, together with the glow of the 95 THE STUFF OF DREAMS leaping fire, made an attractive nook for gos- sips. "Deuced shame, I say," Bobby was saying, "for a rake like Jerry to carry off a sweet little flower like that." He nodded in the direction of the drawing-room. "Why," eagerly queried Mrs. Flornoy, her green eyes sparkling maliciously, "is he so bad?" "Jerry? Well, I must say," rejoined Bobby, judicially, "that Jerry is the limit positively the limit. Nice chap, though," he hastened to add, with worldly caution. "Pouf!" replied Adelaide. "I fancy he is no worse than most men." "Yes, he is," retorted Bobby. "You sha'n't malign the sex. Jerry's just been going it, you know, for the last three or four years. Doing the pace and all that. Naughty naughty!" he concluded with a suggestive leer. "How is it his father does not interfere?" questioned Adelaide. "Well, Jerry must be deucedly clever," Bob- 96 THE STUFF OF DREAMS by answered, "for he manages by some hook or crook to throw his father off the scent. Then, too, Sunderland pere is so taken up with making money that he pays no attention to the fashion in which Sunderland fils is spending it. Besides, he is such a dear old chap, don't you know, no one would care to enlighten him." Mrs. Flornoy glanced cautiously about. "Tell me, Bobby," she whispered behind her tiny Empire fan, "is it true that Jerry has a a menage uptown somewhere?" "Oh, Lord, yes," returned Bobby. "Every- body knows about that." "The outrageous little beast!" cried Ade- laide, virtuously. "Oh, I don't know," drawled Bobby. "That's not so deuced uncommon, Mrs. Flor- noy." "I fancy not," said that lady. "Oh, dear me, no," went on the other. "No one thinks anything of a little affair of that sort. But Jerry's tastes are so er so beastly 97 THE STUFF OF DREAMS universal, don't you know?" he delicately fin- ished. Mrs. Flornoy gave a significant laugh, then, after a little pause intended to express her em- barrassment at Bobby's bold statement, re- sumed: "Trix takes it better than I would have thought." "I fancy now, Trix really intended to mar- ry Jerry eh what?" questioned Bobby. Mrs. Flornoy shrugged her white shoulders. "Well, as to that!" she said. "You see," she added with infinite malice, "Trix is not a mar- rying man." Bobby shouted at this witticism. "But she wanted Jerry to carry her fan?" he slowly asked. "Yes," returned Adelaide, very knowingly; "and to purr for her." "Purr?" repeated Bobby. "Yes tame cat, you know." Adelaide smiled. "Oh, fudge!" cried Bobby, with a pretense 98 THE STUFF OF DREAMS of being highly shocked at his companion's in- discreet remarks. "Well," said Mrs. Flornoy, rising, "her tame cat has turned and clawed her with a venge- ance." "Yes, poor Trix!" sighed Bobby. "I'm deuced sorry for her, don't you know?" He grinned like an ape. "You look it," retorted Adelaide. "My features are so expressive," he said, "they always betray me." "I wonder," pondered Adelaide, "will Miss Adriance ever find him out?" "Oh, well," returned Bobby, "so long as she doesn't, it's all right." "Yes," rejoined his companion, "the eleventh commandment is the only one we have to re- gard nowadays." "The eleventh?" queried Bobby, offering his arm. "Deuce take me if I thought there were but ten." Mrs. Flornoy ran her hand through his arm. "Well, Bobby," she murmured, smiling wick- 99 THE STUFF OF DREAMS edly, "this one has come in vogue since you left Sunday school." "And it is " questioned Bobby. " 'Thou shalt not be found out,' " replied his friend. Her shrill, metallic laughter echoed mockingly through the room as they took their way back to join the other guests. Beatrice Evans had just arrived, and every eye was turned upon her as she swept forward to greet her host. Her manner was that of hectic animation. She carried herself with more than her customary arrogance, and her eyes glittered wickedly as they rested on the be- trothed pair. She made her congratulations with over-effusion, kissing Lily on both cheeks. As she extended her hand to Gerald, their eyes met. He gave her one prolonged, insolent stare and his face flushed darkly. She smiled scornfully and lowered her gaze significantly to the white seam across his face. "Lily, dear," she purred, "I want to talk to you a few mo- ments. Can you spare her, Jerry, for five minutes?" 100 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Now what the devil is she up to?" Jerry thought. But he coldly replied: "Miss Adri- ance is free to do as she pleases, Mrs. Evans." "Come, then, dear," Beatrice urged, holding out her hand to the girl, who, nothing loath, took it. The two crossed the drawing-room to- gether. Beatrice was a head taller than Lily, who was by no means deficient in stature. The two formed a startling contrast in every way. Beatrice's vivid scarlet crepe and chiffon gown suited her audacious air and haughty face. The band of diamonds which held her bodice over one white shoulder sparkled as evilly as her vindictive eyes. Upon her breast scarlet pop- pies rose and fell. She seemed the incarnation of fire and deviltry. The other, a trifle pale, was an ice maiden in her soft white draperies, caught here and there with virginal rose buds. She wore white roses upon her girlish breast, and a priceless string of pearls Gerald's gift about her pretty throat. "Trixy dear," she said as the two entered the 101 THE STUFF OF DREAMS, library, "I never saw you look so outrageously handsome as you do to-night. You throw poor little me quite in the shade. Now do you think that is very nice of you when I am supposed to be the star of the occasion?" Beatrice paused by Sunderland's desk and fixed her eyes gloomily upon the girl. "I suppose you are very happy?" she said in a strange voice. "Of course," Lily replied demurely. "Is not every girl happy when she is engaged ?" "Then you are really in love with Gerald?" Beatrice spoke with difficulty. "Well, as to that, Trixy," Lily lightly re- turned, "I cannot say. You see," she went on candidly, "I have had so little experience. I had always fancied that when a girl is in love she is quite delirious. But I am not one bit upset," she added, as if disappointed. The woman took a step or two nearer her. "Lily Adriance," she eagerly muttered, "I do not believe you know what it is to love. Bah! you are only a baby " 102 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "I am seventeen, Trixy Evans!" Lily indig- nantly interrupted. "Yes, but your eyes are not opened yet," Beatrice went on. Her voice sounded thin and cracked. "Tell me," she panted, "do you al- most swoon from happiness when when Gerald kisses you?" It seemed she could scarcely articulate the question. "No," said Lily, carelessly, wondering at Beatrice's emotion. "No ; I only wish he would not bother me." "Does your blood leap through your veins does your heart beat to suffocation when you hear his voice his step?" The woman's eyes closed she half reeled and caught at the back of a chair. Lily was listening delightedly, her eyes fixed on the big jar of lilacs. "Now, Trix," she sud- denly exclaimed, "that is precisely the way I thought I ought to feel. That is the way the heroines talk in all the novels I ever read. And I must confess I have been disappointed be- cause I do not feel that way. But," she in- 103 THE STUFF OF DREAMS genuously concluded, "I spoke to mamma about it and she said it was not at all necessary. So I took her word for it." Beatrice caught her by the arm. "Lily," she breathed, "you do not love Gerald. Oh, it is monstrous that you should marry him!" "Monstrous!" echoed the girl. "Yes," stormed the woman, "monstrous in- famous! Lily, listen. I like you, child I do not wish to pain you. Go in there now," point- ing wildly to the drawing-room, "call your mother aside, tell her that you have changed your mind reconsidered that you do not love Gerald that you will not marry him. Don't let this engagement be formally announced to- night." Lily drew back, amazed. "Trixy, dear, have you taken leave of your senses?" she asked. "Why, how could I break my word? How could I bring pain and sorrow to my mother and my dear guardian? You do not realize what you are saying." She quietly disengaged her arm from the other's grasp and turned 104 toward the drawing-room door. "I must go back," she said. "They will wonder what has become of me." But like a tigress Beatrice flung herself be- fore her. "Lily," she desperately cried, "I will save you in spite of yourself. You must not you shall not be sacrificed to that scoun- drel " "Scoundrel!" cried Lily, recoiling at the hideous word. "Yes. Gerald Sunderland is not fit to touch the hem of your skirts." The woman's voice cracked in her throat. "He is a wicked man a beast a libertine " "How dare you speak so to me of my dear brother?" demanded Lily, haughtily. Beatrice stared wildly at her, then burst into shrill laughter. "Your brother!" she mocked. "Ah, yes, that tells the whole story. You only love him as you might a brother. In your heart you do not care for him as a husband " Lily drew herself up like an outraged queen. "But he is to be my husband," she said with 105 THE STUFF OF DREAMS dignity. "And I will not allow you or any one else to speak disrespectfully of him." Beatrice looked at her white, mutinous face for an instant. She saw only an intense dis- dain of herself and her words. She smiled satanically. "Oh, very well very well!" she mocked, "have your own way. But do not for- get when the crash comes that I tried I tried to save you." She turned and rushed through the doorway. The heavy curtains fell behind her. Lily stood bewildered, trying to collect her- self, to recall her last words. "When the crash comes," she repeated with an effort. "What crash? What does she what did she mean by all the dreadful things she said? What " Her sweet voice broke. Frightened, distressed, she sank upon the nearest chair and rested her head upon her hands. Jerry a wicked man? What ugly name was that she called him? a libertine! Oh, what did it all mean? Was this her engagement dinner to which they had all looked forward with so much anticipation? 106 THE STUFF OF DREAMS When she had hoped to experience the joy she had not, she confessed, thus far found? The tears sprang to her eyes. They dropped down upon her white roses and the frosted laces on her sweet young breast. How could Trixy say such cruel The curtains were suddenly parted and a man looked in. For one instant he paused. Then, with a smothered exclamation, he en- tered, carefully closing the draperies behind him. He stopped again as if irresolute, then, with a decisive air, went toward the weeping girl. "Miss Adriance," he murmured, looking intently at her, "are you ill?" It was Tyson. ior CHAPTER X "What is honor? A word. What is in that word honor ? What is that honor ? Air !" LILY lifted her head and made a brave at- tempt to wipe away her tears. "No, no!" she faintly murmured. She looked so unhappy, so alarmed and so pitifully young, that Tyson's heart contracted and every muscle within him was strained to its utmost tension. "What is it?" he asked in a low voice. "I find you here alone disturbed. Oh, no de- nial!" he added, as Lily shook her head. "There are tears in your eyes. Tell me, who has grieved you?" Lily rose and assumed an air of gaiety. "You, sir," she cried banteringly. "I ?" repeated Tyson, bewildered. 108 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Yes," Lily went on, giving a furtive little dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. "Tell me why is it that you alone of all Gerald's friends have not congratulated me?" Jack turned sharply away from her and made no answer. Lily waited a moment, watching him keenly. What did it mean? Did he, too, know some- thing he was keeping from her? Were they all in league against her? she thought with some bitterness. "Come, sir," she urged, "I insist upon a reply." She was close beside him now, her sweet presence filling him with vague desire. He turned and looked at her. She saw his face white and tense. She marked his clenched hands, his restrained manner. She shrank back a trifle terrified at something new and unknown in his searching eyes. "How can I congratulate you," he said in a low, con- strained voice, "when my heart is breaking?" "Your heart breaking?" the girl repeated tremulously. "Yes," he went on, still trying to hold him- 109 THE STUFF OF DREAMS self in check; "do you think it is nothing to me to stand idly by and see you given to an- other man?" "But but why not?" she stammered. "You did not love me." The veiled, unconscious reproach in her voice sent the blood to his head. "Love you?" he cried, and forgot all else the time, the place, his honor, all save that she stood there before him in her exquisite beauty, her soft eyes, dewy from her unshed tears, fixed im- ploringly on him. "Love you? Good God! I have loved you from the first moment I saw you a radiant being to whom I scarcely dared lift my eyes a child I did not wish to alarm. I was content to wait, while you, like a butter- fly, tried your wings, trusting that in time you might flutter back to me. Oh, forgive me!" He suddenly recalled himself. "I did not mean to speak." He bowed his head and humbly waited for the storm of reproaches he made sure must follow his rash declaration. "Oh whjr" he heard her breathe almost 110 THE STUFF OF DREAMS unconsciously "why did you not speak be- fore?" He rushed to her, his soul shouting in tri- umph. She shrank back at his face, her whole attitude one of appeal. "Lily, Lily!" he pant- ed. "My God, Lily, do you know what you are saying? Look at me, I implore you. Oh, do not be frightened of me, child I will not touch you. But tell me, do you mean what you say?" The sweet face, half terrified at the storm about her, the averted eyes, the color mounting like a flag of surrender, the lips parting in a faint "Yes" told their own story. Tyson's hungry eyes fastened upon her lovely face. For one moment the primitive savage instincts were loosened. He had a wild idea of snatch- ing her to him, of covering the crimson cheeks with kisses, of rushing away with her some- where anywhere. Then, suddenly realizing that the lady of his heart was the betrothed of his friend, he pulled himself together. But he stooped and lifting the fold of her white gown 111 THE STUFF OF DREAMS touched it reverently with his lips, murmur- ing: "My love oh, my love!" Lily sank into a chair and looked down at the dark head bending before her. Never had she been so happy. How she longed to touch the thick hair to run her ringers through it. He lifted his head and looked at her with eyes that shone with unsteady brilliancy. He caught her hands in his and held them to his breast, saying nothing for a time, but looking intently at her as if he could never get enough of her beauty. "My love!" he whispered once more. Lily gently withdrew her hands. "Jack," she sighed, "listen to me. You say that you love me. Then you must do something for me. Tell me at once. Is Gerald a scoundrel?" Tyson sprang up and stood staring at her as if she had struck him. "What do you mean?" he managed to reply. "Is he a profligate not fit to touch me?" questioned the girl. "Answer me, answer me. 112 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Oh, you say that you love me tell me the truth." "Who has told you such things?" cried Jack, sparring for time. "Ah," he added on sud- den reflection, "I know. It was Beatrice. I saw her come in here with you. It is she, is it not, who has attempted to poison your mind against Gerald?" "Yes," replied Lily, wearily; "it was she. But I will know whether the dreadful things she said were true. You are Gerald's close friend. No one knows his life better. You must tell me." "Beatrice is a jealous, disappointed wom- an " began Tyson. "Jealous?" cried Lily, surprised. "Yes, jealous," doggedly reiterated Tyson. "All the world knows she is madly, hopelessly infatuated with Gerald. She was sure he would marry her. And she has lost him." "Then it is not true?" Lily asked, and there was a distinct note of despair in her voice. Tyson hesitated one moment. He had but 113 THE STUFF OF DREAMS to speak to tell what he knew, and this girl whom he loved and who O God! loved him would be his. But there was the unwritten code of honor among men that law that brands an informer as something unutterably base; that sends a man to Coventry as quickly and surely for betraying another's trust as for cheating at cards Tyson could not break that. Torn with the conflict, he faced her, white as death, squared his shoulders and lied. "No, Lily, it is not true," he simply said. She gave him one fleeting glance, one for- lorn, hopeless little smile, and, without another word, turned toward the drawing-room. Gerald, coming in search of her, drew back the curtains just as she reached the doorway. "Ah, my fair truant," he cried, "here you are! Why, Lily, dear, every one is asking for you. And here you are, flirting with old Jack. Take care, or I shall be frightfully jealous." "Yes, Jerry," she said in a strange voice, "I was just going back to mamma." She went quickly through the door without one glance at 114 THE STUFF OF DREAMS him. But Gerald was in high good humor at finding her with Tyson instead of Beatrice, and did not mark her remiss behavior. "I don't blame you, old chap," he said to Jack. "She is sweet enough to turn the head of any man." Tyson, looking strangely white and grim, spoke very quietly. "Jerry," he said, "we have been friends for a long time " Gerald laughed debonairly, and balanced himself upon the edge of the library table. "I know I'm in for a lecture now," he said, "so I may as well face it like a man. Out with it, old chap." Tyson came a little nearer him. "In the name of God," he solemnly said, "break off this marriage." Gerald sprang from the table and faced him. "Have you gone mad?" he demanded. "No," replied his friend; "but you have. How dare you take that innocent, trusting child as your wife? You are inviting your 115 own ruin. You are rushing on destruc- tion " "Damn you!" Gerald burst forth. "Hold on!" returned Jack, steadily. "Wait I am not through. Knowing your life as I do, I tell you I am aghast at the situation. I beg, I implore you, Jerry, to stop before it is too late." Gerald's fair face was suffused with red. The short upper lip rolled back in a snarl. "How dare you?" He choked with rage. "Who made you my mentor? Are you so spotless yourself that you preach to me?" "Oh, no," Jack answered wearily; "I am not setting myself up as an exemplar. We are all of us sinners smart sinners, the world thinks us. I confess I have lived the custom- ary life of the man of the \vorld to a certain degree, but I would not do this child this griev- ous wrong for all that the universe con- tains " "What grievous wrong?" sneered Gerald. "To marry her, sullied from your in- 116 THE STUFF OF DREAMS trigues." Gerald went toward Tyson threat- eningly, but the latter met him defiantly. "What are you going to do about Kitty?" he asked in a low voice. But Gerald had lost all control of himself. "Don't you interfere," he snarled. "You need not trouble yourself about Kitty. I shall take care of her. Who knows? I may yet be very glad to go back " But the shameful words were not finished. Tyson seized Gerald by the throat and shook him as a dog shakes a rat. "Gerald Sunder- land," he stormed, "just now I lied for you to Miss Adriance; lied to save the rags of honor you have left. Before God I bitterly regret that I lied for such a contemptible cur." At this moment Sunderland entered the room. He paused, petrified at the scene be- fore him. Then rushing between the two, he wrenched them apart. "Stop! stop!" he stern- ly commanded. "What does this mean? Jerry, Jack, have you taken leave of your senses?" 117 THE STUFF OF DREAMS They made no answer, but stood, heavily breathing, glaring at each other like infuriated beasts. "What has happened?" demanded Sunder- land. "How dare you engage in a brawl here at this time? Speak!" "It is all my fault, Mr. Sunderland," Jack panted. "Jerry enraged me. I lost my head." Sunderland looked at him keenly. He knew Tyson's cool, impassive manner and the self- control upon which he prided himself. "You do not lose your head readily, Jack," he said. "You must have had great provocation. What that was I shall know but not now. I desire you both to return at once to the drawing- room. Conduct yourselves as if nothing had occurred. After my guests are gone, you both shall meet me here. Then I shall expect a full explanation of this outrage." The two men silently obeyed, Gerald care- fully avoiding Tyson's eyes ; Jack, frigid, with upright carriage and lofty head. Sunderland 118 THE STUFF OF DREAMS watched them through the doorway, noted their respective attitudes, and turned with a profound sigh, as Thomas approached him from the hall, bearing a note on a trajr. 119 CHAPTER XI "Hark to the hurried question of despair !" SUNDEKLAND mechanically took the note from the man and opened it. He read it ab- sently at first, then, with a little start, very carefully. "Who brought this?" he suddenly asked. Thomas noted that his master's face had grown ashen and that his hands were trembling. "A young woman, sir," Thomas said deprecat- ingly. "I told 'er as 'ow you was busy with guests. But she would not take 'no' for an an- swer. A matter of life hand death, sir, she said. She seems delicate hand hand 'alf fainting, sir." He coughed apologetically. The temerity of the young person had really been appalling. Sunderland glanced at the clock. "I can 120 give her five minutes," he said somewhat brusquely. "You may show her in." Thomas bowed disapprovingly and went out to fetch the unwelcome guest. Sunderland had glanced again at the hastily-scrawled note. "Dear Sir," it ran. "I beg, I implore you to see me. It is a matter touching your honor your son. Do not refuse me." The gay music tinkled in from the hallway where an orchestra, hidden in a palm bower, was discoursing sweet melody ; the silvery bab- ble of women, the rustle of chiffons and the faint odor of violets and roses floated through the curtained doorways. It was an hour de- lightful to the soul of any man who loves the refinements of life especially so to this man to whom the time meant far more than the mere physical pleasure of dining. It was the moment that was bringing the culmination of his dreams. His fair palace of fancy was up- reared. He stood, key in hand, ready to throw it open for the inspection of his world. But mingling with his dreams came the rat- 121 THE STUFF OF DREAMS tie of the rain driving heavily against his li- brary windows. A wild blast shrieked mock- ingly outside. Something a premonition a presage of evil suddenly shook him. "Your honor your son." Dully he repeated the words, meantime staring at the paper in his hands. Thomas opened the door and ushered in a girl of eighteen. Slight, delicate, with a proud little head set like a deer's upon graceful shoul- ders and with soft, brown eyes that looked pitifully, appealingly, at the handsome, state- ly man before her. "Mr. Sunderland?" she faintly murmured. Sunderland put up his hand as if to brush the cobwebs of memory from his eyes. What was there about this intruder that should bring before him the waft of pines and the dim, cool depths of a vast forest? "That is my name," he said with cold formality. "And yours?" "I am known as Kitty Dudley," the girl managed to articulate. She grew white as death. Her extreme pallor was remarked by 122 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Sunderland, who pushed a chair forward, and spoke rather more kindly. "Miss Dudley, won't you sit down?" The girl dropped wearily in the chair and closed her eyes. For one moment she felt as if she were dying. Then remembering the desperate errand that had forced her here, by sheer strength of will dragged herself back to consciousness. "Miss Dudley" the voice of Sunderland sounded very far away "I am giving a dinner, as my man doubtless told you. I could not have seen you had not your note been so importunate. Will you kindly state your business?" "A dinner at which you are to announce your son's engagement?" the girl stammered. Sunderland looked keenly at her. "Yes," he said; "but I confess I cannot understand of what possible interest that is to a stranger." "I am no stranger to your son, sir," inter- rupted Kitty. "Indeed!" Sunderland said coldly; "and is it 123 to tell me that, Miss Dudley, you are detain- ing me from my guests?" The girl gave a despairing little cry. "Mr. Sunderland," she begged, "hear me I implore you. I am so wretched. I I love your son, sir " "Miss Dudley," said Sunderland, rising as if to end the interview, "that is your misfor- tune. I fancy many women have loved my son " "But, oh, sir," cried the girl in desperation, rising, too, and facing him with outstretched, pleading hands, "he ought not to marry this young lady. It is I whom he should marry." There was a terrible silence, broken only by the pelting of the rain against the windows, the murmur of voices in the drawing-room, and the long-drawn, exquisite opening bars of Schubert's Serenade from the hall. "What do you mean?" the white-faced man sternly demanded. "What claim have you on my son?" 124 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "He has lived with me for two years," mur- mured the half-fainting girl. "Oh, this is shameful!" Sunderland said in low, tempestuous tones. "How dare you malign my son? I will not listen to another word." He turned away in icy rage. His hand was outstretched to the electric button to summon his man. But the girl, staggering forward, fell upon her knees. "Mr. Sunder- land," she sobbed, "have pity, have mercy on me. Once I was just as good and innocent as this j^oung lady. What I am your son has made me. Is it right he should desert me?" She fell prone on her face in an agony of shame and grief. The father stood, his hand on the bell, look- ing down at the wretched girl. "So," he said, and his voice cut her like a knife, "you are my son's mistress." "Oh!" she moaned, her face in her hands. "If loving him with all my heart; if sacrificing myself for him; if being the mother of his 125 child make me so then I am indeed that shameful thing." The mother of his child! At these words, which seemed torn from a quivering, palpi- tating soul, Sunderland gave a great start. He still steadily regarded the prostrate girl at his feet, but the hard, stern look on his handsome face was slowly changing to one of commisera- tion. "So there is a child," he said, and his voice trembled. "A little boy only four weeks old," sobbed the girl. Sunderland hesitated. All the forces of his strong nature grappled and shook and tore him. They stripped from him the last shreds of his proud selfhood. His soul stood naked humble, merciful and God-like. He stooped over the girl. "Poor little mother!" he said, and gently lifted her from the floor. He half carried, half led her to a chair. Go- ing to a buffet near the window, he opened it and taking out a bottle of rare wine poured some in a glass and returned to her. "Drink 126 this, child," he said gravely; "it will help you." She obeyed. He marked the quivering lips, the trembling of her slight figure, the flutter- ing of her little hands. "Poor girl!" he thought. "What an ordeal to come here alone and bare her heart before me!" Setting the glass upon the library table, he slowly walked up and down the room. He had entirely forgotten his guests. Like light- ning a storm had descended upon his fragile castle of fancy and demolished it. It lay in ruins before him all its fair proportions bent, broken and awry. The problem now was what to do with the wreck. Upon what rubbish heap should he throw this frail remnant of his dreams? Where toss its stained bits of color, its distorted and shapeless mass? Its pretty painted walls mocked him; its twisted casements leered at him, and through its empty corridors sounded the ghostly, mocking laugh- ter of his departing hopes. 12? CHAPTER XII "The baseless fabric of this vision." SUNDERLAND paused at last in his restless strides and regarded Kitty, who sat trying to control her tears. She looked so frail, so young, so heartbroken, that he was moved to an infinite pity for her. She was scarcely more than a child, he thought, not much older than Lily. His heart contracted as he thought of Lily, in her radiant youth, dimpling and blushing yonder, as she received congratulations upon her betrothal to his son his son ! Sunderland repressed an oath as the thought of Gerald crossed his distraught mind. He drew a chair up near Kitty and said gently: "Do you feel strong enough to answer a few questions?" The girl meekly bowed her head. "I'll try," she murmured. 128 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Where did you meet my son?" Sunderland asked. Kitty lifted her head and looked squarely at him. "Mr. Sunderland," she replied sadly, "you do not remember me I am Wilson's daughter " "Wilson's daughter?" demanded Sunder- land, with a faint perception of the wretched truth dawning upon his consciousness. "W r hat Wilson? Not Job Wilson the Adirondack guide?" "Yes, sir," Kitty said faintly, for the look on his white, set face terrified her. Sunderland rose. He put his hand to his head as if dazed. He stammered as he next spoke. "Why why I have been looking everywhere for you," he said, "everywhere. My detectives are scouring the town. Your your father wrote me Jerry knows it " He suddenly broke off. "Then it was my son who tempted you from your home who brought you to New York?" For a moment 129 THE STUFF OF DREAMS he seemed incapable of sorting and compre- hending the facts. "Yes," returned the girl, wondering at the dreadful face before her. "And he has lived with you since?" ques- tioned the unhappy father. "Yes." Kitty could scarcely speak. "Has he ever told you he would marry you?" Sunderland went on with his wretched exam- ination. "Yes ; he has often said he would marry me as soon as he could. I have begged and prayed him for the sake of the child " She broke off with a sob. "How did you know that he was engaged to Miss Adriance?" "A lady came this afternoon to see me " "A lady?" repeated Sunderland in amaze- ment. "Yes, a very fine lady. She would give no name. She was handsome and dark, with a proud manner." "Beatrice Evans!" Sunderland said to him- 130 THE STUFF OF DREAMS self. "Why should she interfere?" Suddenly a hideous labyrinth opened before him a laby- rinth leading, perhaps, to some monstrous, re- volting truth. The man reeled as if he had received a blow. "She said," Kitty was going on, "that if I came to you, you were such a good man you would not permit this wrong to be done." "And so," returned Sunderland in a voice he scarcely recognized as his own, "you have come to me for sympathy." "No, sir," said the girl very simply; "only justice." Sunderland lifted his hand toward heaven as if recording an oath. "And by God," he said solemnly, "you shall have it!" Even as he spoke, the curtains of the draw- ing-room door were hastily thrust aside and Gerald came in, blithe, debonair, a smile on his disdainful mouth. "Why, governor," he cried, "do you know dinner is served?" He paused abruptly. "Kitty! Good God! Kitty!" he cried. 131 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Kitty had sprung to her feet at the first sound of his voice and stood now, facing him, white, trembling, clinging to the back of her chair for support. For one awful moment the two stared at each other. Then Gerald spoke roughly: "What are you doing here?" That one cry of recognition had told his father everything. Up to that instant Sun- derland had clung to a faint hope that it might be some sort of a plot against his son's hap- piness that there might be some palliating circumstances. But that involuntary cry wrenched from Gerald in his surprise had shat- tered Sunderland's last illusion. He spoke quietly to Kitty. "You need not answer that question," he said. Then his eyes swept his son's face. "You know this young woman?" he demanded. "This girl I have been seeking for days in search for whom you have pre- tended to aid me?" "Yes," said Gerald, sullenly. "You brought her to New York?" "Yes." 132 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "You have lived with her since?" the accus- ing voice went on. "Why " He hesitated. "You have lived with her," sternly reiterated his father, "supported her?" "Yes," with an effort. "You are the father of her child?" the terri- ble catechism went on. "Why, as to that," Gerald replied with a sneer, "I cannot swear " "Oh, Jerry!" The reproach, the pathos of that cry smote upon Sunderland's outraged emotions like the cut of a whip upon tender flesh. He confronted his son with the face of an avenging angel. "Answer me," he cried. "You know the truth answer me!" "Well," replied Gerald, uneasily, "yes, then -I am." "Ah!" His father's cry of pain and rage rang like a clarion through the room. Gerald started toward him. "Father!" he pleaded, "listen to me " "Silence!" Sunderland thundered. "Not one 133 THE STUFF OF DREAMS word. Go in there stop that music ! Send all those people away at once do you hear? at once! This dinner must not go on." "What do you mean?" cried Gerald, stag- gered by his father's ashen face and disordered manner. The curtains back of Gerald parted for an instant, and a face peered in a handsome face, distorted by a malevolent smile; then the cur- tains were quickly closed. "I mean," Sunderland was storming, "that you shall not ruin the happiness of another in- nocent girl that you shall not deceive Lily " "Father!" cried Gerald, aghast. "I mean that here is the girl you shall marry " "Marry her? Never!" Gerald cried in a white rage. "You will marry this girl. You shall atone to her for your cruelty and you shall legitima- tize your child." Gerald flung himself toward Kitty with a 134 "Gerald flung himselt toward Kitty . . . and . . . raised his hand to strike her." THE STUFF OF DREAMS murderous face. "You see now what you have done by coming here to breed mischief between my father and me, you, you " The shame- ful word was lost as he raised his hand to strike her. Kitty screamed at his frightful face and the descending blow. She rushed to Sunder- land, who threw his arms about her to protect her. The girl clung to him, sobbing and pant- ing. For some time the raised voices, the high words, had penetrated the drawing-room. And now, at Kitty's scream, Beatrice, on the other side of the drawn curtains, cried out in well- simulated horror: "Quick, quick! all come there is some trouble." She tore back the cur- tains and rushed into the library, followed by the other alarmed guests. All saw Sunder- land holding a slight, quivering figure in his arms and facing his son with gray, contemptu- ous face. Gerald, with staring, bloodshot eyes, was re- coiling from the sight. "Father," he raged, in 135 an absolute frenzy, "what are you doing? Don't touch her. Why, she is my " But Sunderland, standing like a rock, still protecting the girl, faced them all with the air of a monarch. "Silence!" he commanded, as all in the room gasped; "she is to be my daughter." 136 CHAPTER XIII "But the greatest of these is Charity." DOROTHY ADRIANCE closed the door of her room behind her and turned, extending tremu- lous hands to Lily, who had preceded her. The two occupied communicating rooms in the north wing of Sunderland's superb mansion on upper Fifth Avenue. The rooms were hung with quaint tapestries and lined with mirrors. Before one of these Lily stood now, a sweet, white vision, calmly drawing off her long gloves. She wore a preoccupied air. It seemed to her anxious, frightened mother that her child had grown strangely mature in the last half hour. Dorothy had looked for a fainting fit or hysterics, after the brutal discovery be- low stairs. Instead, she saw a composed and 137 THE STUFF OF DREAMS tranquil young woman, who appeared to be deeply engrossed in meditation. "Lily," ejaculated her alarmed mother, "why do you not speak say something?" "What is there to say, mamma?" calmly asked the girl, turning from the dressing- table. "It occurs to me there is absolutely noth- ing we can say." "What shall we do, then?" cried Mrs. Adri- ance, despairingly. Lily came over to her mother and took the trembling, little figure in her strong, young arms. "We will go away, mamma," she said firmly, "to-morrow, to some place where you can rest and recover from the shock of this affair." Mrs. Adriance was weeping now, her pretty, soft, white head pressed against her daughter's bosom. Lily soothed and petted her as she might a child. The two had sudden- ly changed relations the daughter had become the stronger, the one upon whom to rely. "I can never recover from the humiliation, the shame of it," sobbed Dorothy. "What an 138 THE STUFF OF DREAMS abominable affair! At your engagement din- ner oh, the disgrace of it! I suppose it will all be in Town Tattles. Did you see Beatrice? She looked like a fiend. Oh, Lily, why don't you cry? I cannot understand it." "Do you seriously think, mother," Lily asked with considerable disdain, "that Gerald is worth one tear?" Dorothy lifted her tear-stained face and looked at her daughter incredulously. "But you are heartbroken " "Nonsense, mamma!" said the girl lightly. "My heart is very well indeed. You are the one who is heartbroken not I." Dorothy drew back a step or two and re- garded Lily in amazement. "You are not dis- appointed?" she gasped. "Not the least bit in the world," returned Lily, cheerfully, as she unclasped the collar of pearls which Gerald had given her and tossed it contemptuously on her dressing-table. Her mother was dazed. "Then then" she stammered "you did not love Gerald " 139 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Not as a husband," said Lily, courageously facing her mother. The time for subterfuge was past. It was best her mother should know the truth.. "Why, then, did you accept him?" asked her mother, sinking into an arm-chair, as if quite unable to support this statement. "Dear little mother!" said Lily, kneeling by her, "to please you and guardie. I did not understand about these things. I was guided by you. I did not realize that a woman's heart is something too solemn and sacred to be care- lessly given to the first trifler who asks for it. But to-night I have learned a lesson a lesson I can never forget." Mrs. Adriance laid her cheek on her daugh- ter's head. "Lily, darling," she cried, "forgive me. I thought I was acting for the best. It seemed such a good marriage for you." She was sobbing bitterly again. "Dearest," returned her daughter, with a tender embrace, "do not grieve so. You did not dream of these frightful conditions. But 140 THE STUFF OF DREAMS you must see how utterly impossible it is for us to remain here longer than this night." "Yes, yes," assented her weeping mother, clinging to her. "Now, dear, dry your eyes and let me bathe them in cologne," suggested Lily; "then you must go to bed. And I will have Marie and Elise pack up in the morning and we will go abroad at once." As Mrs. Adriance was endeavoring to con- trol her emotion and Lily was getting her more composed, a note was brought to Dorothy from Sunderland. "My dear Dorothy," it ran, "I shall not permit Kitty to leave the house to- night. I wish to place her in your care. Do not refuse this request, I beg you. For the sake of our long friendship, I pray you will open your door to this suffering girl. If I put her by herself, there is likely to be another tragedy by morning!" "Oh," moaned Dorothy, "how can George ask this of me ? I cannot see this girl who has wrecked all our hopes " 141 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Mother!" cried Lily, standing before her like a strong, young saint, with a look of in- effable sweetness on her face, "you forget Who said 'He that is without sin, let him cast the first stone.' Suppose it was I who had been so cruelly treated would you wish every man's hand against me? Guardie is perfectly right. Let that poor girl come to us. Why, she is far better than Gerald, and you were willing I should marry him." In awe before this new, dominating daugh- ter, born within the last hour, Mrs. Adriance at last consented to the arrangement. Her only stipulation was that Lily should retire to her own room before Kitty was admitted. To this Lily finally consented. She kissed her mother good-night and whispered: "Be kind to her, mother, dear. Remember it might have been me." "Lily, you shall not speak so," interrupted her mother. "How can you compare your- self " "Mother," said the girl, lightly laying her 142 THE STUFF OF DREAMS hand over Dorothy's lips, "she loved Gerald. If I were madly in love ' She paused, and a sudden flood of crimson dyed her face. Once again she felt burning kisses on her hands, saw eyes that shone with strange brilliancy read- ing her very soul. A soft, delicious languor enveloped her. She felt herself borne onward by irresistible impulses. She trembled. She closed her eyes and murmured: "I, too, might be weak who knows?" Then she fled to her room, leaving her mother amazed and angry at such reprehensi- ble sentiments. "What ails Lily?" she asked herself. "This brutal affair seems to have turned her brain." Presently there was a soft knock at her door. A maid entered, showing Kitty in. The girl paused irresolute by the door. At a sign from Mrs. Adriance, the maid departed to recount the latest chapter of the night's history to the kitchen cabinet. Dorothy looked coldly at the slight figure, the pale, stony face. All the barriers of society, 143 THE STUFF OF DREAMS of conventionality, of decency, rose between her and this castaway this wretched girl, the daughter of a backwoodsman, who had thwarted her pet ambitions. There had been a brief in- terview between Sunderland and herself, after the last stunned and shocked guest had hastily departed, in which the whole miserable truth had been told her ; when, wild with disappoint- ment and rage, Dorothy had rushed up to her room to find Lily waiting for her at their door. Now this girl had been thrust upon her for the night. It was too much. George was unjust cruel. For a moment all Dorothy's \vorldli- ness rose in arms to defend her position as a mother and virtuous member of society. She would be justified, she felt, in showing this girl the door. Suddenly she saw Lily again, standing be- fore her in her strong, sweet young woman- hood, with a transfiguring light upon her beau- tiful face. "Be good to her, mother," rang in her ears. What if it were her own beloved child who stood, betrayed and broken-hearted, 144 THE STUFF OF DREAMS at the threshold of life? Infinite pity for the sufferer rushed over her. "Come here, child," she said, extending her arms. The girl hesi- tated, then, with a moan like some animal in distress, staggered across the room and fell on her knees before her. Dorothy's barriers were all down now. She pressed the rough brown head closely to her throbbing heart. The tears of the trembling wayfarer fell on the laces of her costly robe. The two women wept to- gether. 145 CHAPTER XIV "This even-handed Justice Commends the ingredients of our poison chalice To our own lips." ALWAYS after a terrific social upheaval, there succeeds a period of quiet despair. It is like the calm that broods upon earth and sea after a fierce battle of the elements. The pathway of the storm is yet visible, its havoc is still ap- parent on every side. But Nature has exhaust- ed herself she must rest for a time. The morning after the savage events of the night found the great house still and appar- ently tranquil. The well-trained servants came and went, opened doors and windows and set about their customary duties as if nothing un- usual had occurred. The superb feast had been hurriedly cleared away in the evening. The 146 famous gold plate was concealed, the cham- pagne and Burgundy returned to the cellars. Any traces of a proposed engagement dinner had vanished as if by necromancy. Breakfast was served to Mrs. Adriance and Lily in their rooms. Kitty did not touch the food Dorothy kindly urged upon her. The girl had not slept. All night she had lain upon the couch shaken by spasms of sobs, dreadful to hear. Her one thought had been for her baby. At times she begged to be allowed to go to it. Her anxiety and grief had so worn upon her that, at daylight, Dorothy despatched a brief, decisive note to Sunderland. Within an hour a cab stopped before the house from which descended Thomas, immaculate and severe, carrying a mass of lace and embroidery in his arms. He sniffed disapprovingly as he handed the bundle to a maid. "Fine doings for hour 'ouse, I must say," he loftily observed. Of Gerald nothing was seen. He was shut up in his rooms, and his valet's latest bulletin to the other servants reported that he was in 147 "an awful way." His father had passed the night alone in the library. The lights had burned until dawn, when they were suddenly extinguished. Now as the warm sunlight tried to push its way into the darkened room, Sun- derland sat before his desk, his head in his hands. He plainly showed the frightful vigil he had kept with his tortured soul. His desk was in disorder, a mass of papers having been tossed hurriedly about, as if he had searched for something. With a sigh that seemed to rend his heart, he lifted his head and looked intently at a tiny object in his hand. It was a miniature painted of Gerald when he was about three years old. The childish face, as beautiful as an angel's, smiled up at him with winsome in- nocence. "My little boy my little boy!" groaned the unhappy man. His memory went with lightning rapidity over the years of Gerald's life ; the beautiful child, the handsome youth, the dashing collegian, the gay, good- humored young man. How he had loved him, 148 THE STUFF OF DREAMS planned for him, built for him! And now the world was in ashes! How still the house was! It was as if some one lay dead in it. And as Sunderland listened, suddenly a strange cry smote upon his hearing, the pitiful wail of an infant. He started as if he had been shot, sprang to his feet, hesi- tated. Then, as if his resolve was unalterably taken, walked firmly to the bell. Thomas glided in, severely sympathetic. In his respectable black he resembled an under- taker ready to proffer his services. "You have done as I ordered?" his master asked. "Yes, Mr. Sunderland" ; but with a note of protest in his voice. "Has Mr. Maxwell come?" "Yes, sir; 'e 'as been waitin' 'alf an hour, sir." "Let him come in," returned Sunderland, wearily. There came in, presently, a small, fussy man of sixty-five, with bright, sharp eyes, shriveled 149 THE STUFF OF DREAMS face and nervous, jerky manner. Walter Max- well had been Sunderland's lawyer for years and had served his father before him. He was devoted to the house. In his eyes a Sunder- land could not go very far astray. Although, from the peremptory note he had received be- fore dawn, he had realized that something must be wrong, he had not been prepared for such details as Thomas had obligingly furnished him during his wait. "The deuce and hall was to pay 'ere last night, sir," that functionary had said. "Hinstead of the dinner, we 'ad a bloom- in' riot, hand Mr. Jerry got the worst of it. The hengagement is busted hand I'm turned nursery maid." When Maxwell came before Sunderland, this man with bloodless face and heavy eyes made him highly nervous. He apprehended a severe catechism, and he was not disappointed. "Maxwell," demanded Sunderland, "an- swer me one question. Have you known all along of Jerry's relations to this girl?" "Why, my dear Sunderland," replied the 150 THE STUFF OF DREAMS lawyer, wiping his forehead with an agitated hand, "I must admit that I have heard rumors." "Why did you not come to me?" "Hang it, sir," cried Maxwell, irascibly, "I am no tattler! Besides," he added, com- placently, "a young man must sow his wild oats." "I beg you will spare me platitudes," re- turned Sunderland, sternly. "You know bet- ter than any one how I have loved my son, what I have done for him, what I intended to do. I thought him a decent, manly fellow a little harum-scarum now and then but all right at heart " "And so he is, I dare say," interrupted the lawyer, somewhat tartly. "He is not," thundered Sunderland. "He is a profligate. You knew it all the world knew it and there was none to warn me," he bitterly concluded. "Oh, now, my dear Sunderland," returned Maxwell, placatingly, "you take this affair too 151 THE STUFF OF DREAMS much to heart, altogether too much to heart, for a man of the world. Boys will be boys " "Stop extenuating my son's conduct," cried Sunderland, savagely. "You know that it is despicable. My son my boy my Jerry of whom I was so proud a rake a seducer of innocent girls! Oh, it is infamous damnable!" His voice broke. Rising, he paced the floor restlessly. "And then," he went on, after a moment's pause, "that he should dare to seek that sweet child the daughter of my oldest, my dearest friend that he should attempt to pollute her life oh, it is too much too much !" Here he gave way altogether. He flung him- self into a chair by his desk and dropped his proud head on his arms. "My God! how can I endure it?" he sobbed. Maxwell rose in alarm. No one had ever seen Sunderland go to pieces. He had ever been a proverbial tower of strength and forti- tude. To see him now, his head in the dust, weeping like a woman, was appalling. The 152 THE STUFF OF DREAMS lawyer went over to him, and, after suspicious- ly clearing his throat once or twice, laid his hand somewhat timidly on Sunderland's shoul- der. "Now, my dear Sunderland," he said, "do not give way like this. Listen to a hard-headed old lawyer's advice. Buy off this girl, settle a sum on her sufficient to maintain her and the child. Pack Jerry off to Europe for a year or so, until this wretched business shall have been forgotten. In the meantime who knows? Miss Adriance may forgive him." Sunderland lifted his head and stared coldly at Maxwell. Then he struck the desk with his clenched fist. "Maxwell," he said, deter- minedly, "my son shall never marry that in- nocent girl never!" "But, my dear Sunderland " began the lawyer. "I tell you he shall marry this poor child whom he has betrayed." "God bless my soul!" shrieked Maxwell. "You are mad! Do you want to ruin your son's life by tying him to a girl of that sort?" 153 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "She is good enough for him," said Sunder- land, doggedly. "Well I swear!" gasped the lawyer, inca- pable of further speech. "Do you know why I have sent for you?" stubbornly went on the white-faced man. "Be- cause I am going to put the issue squarely be- fore my son. Either he will marry this girl and make an honest woman of the mother of his child, or" the words came slowly and with ominous distinctness "I shall disinherit him. I may want you to draw up another will." "Well I'll be damned!" came from the as- tounded lawyer. "You may be if you like," retorted Mr. Sun- derland, grimly. "Go in the drawing-room, please, and wait until I send for you." Slowly Maxwell turned and went, mutter- ing and shaking his bald head, into the draw- ing-room. It was too much for his philosophy. He feared that Sunderland's troubles had actu- ally turned his brain. , 154 CHAPTER XV "A little, round, fat, oily man of God." As THE doors closed behind Maxwell, growl- ing and scolding to himself over Sunderland's Quixotic theories, Thomas brought in a card to his master. Sunderlarid glanced at it. "Yes, I will see him," he said with a curious inflection in his voice and a determined squaring of his shoul- ders, as if apprehensive of a coming conflict. A moment later, a short, stout man, smoothly- shaven, perfectly groomed, wearing a clerical coat of immaculate cut, was shown into the library. The Rev. James Mason was the type of shepherd who seeks diligently to follow the injunction: "Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness." Pastor of 155 one of the most exclusive uptown churches, he was imbued with the letter of the law. He was a devotee of forms and ceremonies as well as of smart society. No elegant function was deemed quite en regie without the presence of this rubicund, urbane, indulgent clergyman. He had been a guest of Sunderland the night before and with the rest had fled precipitately from the shocking scene between father and son. Now, in response to a hurried note from Sunderland, he had come, wondering what he could possibly say under such unheard of, such appalling conditions. However, he pressed Sunderland's hand, murmuring with unctuous impressiveness : "My dear friend!" Then paused, shook his head mournfully and select- ing the most spacious chair in the room, be- stowed himself therein, resting his head upon his hand, as if quite overcome by deep concern. "Doctor," said Sunderland after a pause, "you were a witness of that disgraceful scene of last evening?" 156 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Unfortunately yes," sighed the Reverend Mason. "No," returned Sunderland, "it was fortu- nate that you were here. Otherwise I should be forced to go over much that is painful to me. Suffice it to say that the decision I made last night has not been shaken." "Ah ! I trust you have not been over-hasty, my dear friend." The clergyman's eyes were closed and he was daintily touching the tips of his fat, beautifully-manicured fingers. "I think not," replied Sunderland, somewhat coldly. "I have not shut my eyes all this night. I have walked the floor here, alone, thinking until my brain has reeled. Doctor, my son must marry this girl." "Marry!" ejaculated the clergyman, shocked out of all well-bred languor. "Yes, marry," Sunderland answered defi- antly. "But do you consider " began Mason. He was savagely interrupted. "Does a serv- ant of God condone such iniquity?" demanded 157 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Sunderland, bending a piercing glance upon the other. "Why no my dear friend/' returned Mason, silkily. "No, certainly not. But your position is, I must maintain, most extraordi- nary. The average parent would seek to save his child from the results of his folly " "Then, thank God, I am not the average," broke in Sunderland. Repressing himself he went on : "I asked you to come here this morn- ing, Dr. Mason, for I wish you to marry my son to this girl. Do you refuse?" as the clergy- man lifted a protesting hand. "Of course, I cannot refuse," Mason said, his disapprobation manifest in his face, "if you insist. But it is very painful I may say, my friend, an unusually painful duty." "And do you think, doctor, that I am not suffering?" asked Sunderland, intensely. "Do you think it is nothing to me to have all my hopes dashed to the ground my heart torn out by the roots?" . 158 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Ah, would it not be feasible to delay this matter?" questioned the clergyman. "To what end?" asked Sunderland abruptly. "Well, my dear Sunderland, you might ah, hum you might possibly arrive at different conclusions," suggested Mason with unction. "Doctor," said the unhappy father, "right is right and wrong is wrong at all times " "Oh, to be sure to be sure," interrupted his spiritual director hastily. "But as a question of expediency " He paused as he saw the cloud gather upon Sunderland's gray face. "If I were to defer this matter for years," returned the latter, "I could arrive at no other decision. Will you, doctor, kindly withdraw to the next room and wait there until I sum- mon you?" He indicated the drawing-room as he spoke. The clergyman rose deliberately and walked toward the door. "I hope you will not regret this step," he said stiffly. "Thank you, doctor," returned Sunderland with grim courtesy. 159 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Dr. Mason paused at the threshold. "Bet- ter consider the matter, my friend," he said pompously. "Ah, better consider it further. Or advise with some other. It is a question of your son's happiness, you know." "I beg your pardon, doctor," Sunderland responded firmly. "It is not a question of my son's happiness. It is a question of right above all of justice." He looked steadfastly at the clergyman as he spoke with just a tinge of contempt in his sorrowful eyes. Dr. Mason looked as steadily at him for a second, then lowered his eyes and somewhat uneasily left the room. "Advise with some other," repeated Sunder- land, slowly. "That was the only sensible thing he said. I will." He pressed his electric bell and Thomas appeared once more. "Thomas, ask Mrs. Adriance to kindly see me here for a few minutes," he said. As he waited for Dorothy, there was a bustle in the hall, coupled with expostulations and high voices. Immediately thereafter, Mrs. 160 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Flornoy rustled in, followed by Bobby, the trailer, looking rather sheepish and uncomfort- able. Adelaide gushingly rushed to Sunderland. "The man was not going to let us in," she cried, "but I insisted. I know when one is in trouble one wants one's friends. Ah, my dear George, I am awfully upset over this dreadful contre- temps. It is shocking ! Bobby, too, is tremen- dously cut up aren't you, Bobby? What are you grinning at?" she added in a stage whis- per. "Look sad, you idiot." "Will this do?" returned Bobby, trying to pull a doleful face. "Dear George," gabbled the lady, "you know if there is anything I can do, you have only to call upon me. Would you like it kept out of the papers? I know Jimmy Todd of Town Tattles very well, and the editor of the Yellowgram dines at my house." "Oh, it matters very little," replied Sunder- land, wearily. "Nothing seems to matter now." "Nonsense!" cried Mrs. Flornoy, seating 161 THE STUFF OF DREAMS herself on the divan and arranging her laces. "You must not take it that way. Why, in nine days the affair will be forgotten. Some woman will divorce her husband, or some man run away with another chap's wife, and this little transgression of Jerry's will be quite laid on the shelf." "Little transgression!" repeated Sunderland, bitterly. "How can you speak so lightly of a great wrong?" "Great wrong!" twittered Adelaide. "Fid- dle-de-dee ! Jerry is, I fancy, much like others -like Bobby, for example." Bobby gave an indignant snort. "I assure you " he began. "Oh, shut up, Bobby!" cried Mrs. Flornoy. "Nobody cares to hear you brag of your vir- tue." She turned to Sunderland. "You sure- ly are not going to carry out your Quixotic resolution of last evening to espouse this girl's cause?" "I am," replied Sunderland, steadily. "My dear George," Adelaide said, "you are 162 THE STUFF OF DREAMS dotty. What will the world your our world -say?" "I do not know or care," returned Sunder- land, stubbornly. "I shall insist on Jerry's giving her his name legally." "Do you mean," shrieked Mrs. Flornoy, "that he shall marry marry this girl?" "That is what I mean," tensely and quietly. Mrs. Flornoy rose in indignation. "Do you fancy," she cried, "that you can impose upon society in this fashion ? Society might forgive Jerry's entanglement with the girl, but his marriage never !" "Society may go to the devil!" retorted Sun- derland. Mrs. Flornoy gave him one look of wither- ing scorn. "Come, Bobby," she said, "let us go. This is no place for us." She swept out, making as much virtuous rustling of her skirts as possible. Bobby stood, hesitating one mo- ment. Suddenly he rushed over to Sunderland and grasping his hand, shook it heartily. "Oh, I say," he gasped, "you are by Jove! you 163 THE STUFF OF DREAMS know, just a deuced splendid fellow but, you know, this is social suicide " "Bobby!" came in shrill, angry tones from the hall. Bobby dropped Sunderland's hand in a fright and joined his enraged companion without further delay. Sunderland looked after him for a moment, then, giving a short, dry laugh, returned to his desk as Mrs. Adriance entered the room. He turned and gazed at her with anguish in his eyes. "You sent for me, George?" she asked kindly. "Yes, Dorothy," he murmured with proud humiliation. "Will you sit down?" He pushed a chair toward her. "I can only stop a very few minutes," she faltered as she sat down. "We are in the midst of packing," she added after a brief pause. "You are going away?" Sunderland asked, fixing his heavy, suffering eyes upon her. "Oh, yes of course " she began. "Why 'of course/ Dorothy?" he persisted. 164 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "It is impossible for us to remain here after " She paused nervously. "After last night?" went on Sunderland. "Is that it, Dorothy?" "Yes, George," with sad decision. "So you will desert me in my trouble," he said in a dull voice. Someway he had not thought of Dorothy's going. In all his misery he had in fancy pictured her as being with him to help him bear his burden. Now a hideous blankness suddenly descended upon him. He seemed to be looking into an interminable desert. There was no pool of water to slake his thirst, no palm trees in the distance to beck- on him to rest only boundless, desolate, chaot- ic waste, horrible with fiery sand and strewn with dead men's bones. He heard Dorothy's voice as from a great distance. "Oh, my dear," she was saying, "do not speak to me like that. What else can I do? Do you not see for your- self how utterly impossible it is for us to re- main here for my child to again encounter your son?" 165 "You are right," Sunderland muttered. "Yes, yes, you are right. No, Lily must not be brought in contact with with " He broke off. It was as if he could not speak his son's name. "How is she?" he suddenly asked. "She amazes me, George," returned Mrs. Adriance. "She is as cheerful and brave as possible. 'Do not let us talk about it, mamma,' is all she says. She is very anxious to get away." "And the other?" Sunderland questioned in the same low, dull voice. He seemed like a man in an evil dream, without volition to rouse himself. "She has not slept all night," replied Mrs. Adriance. "George, I have tried to be kind to her. Oh, I do pity her I pity her with her rigid, tense little figure and her pale, suffer- ing face. Why, George, she is only a child not much older than Lily." "Yes, I know I know," returned Sunder- land. "Poor little girl. She has suffered enough. And the the baby?" he added. 166 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "It is the dearest, sweetest little piece of flesh and blood," Mrs. Adriance answered with enthusiasm. "A little blond angel the image of Jerry." Sunderland straightened himself in his chair. "Dorothy," he said, "do you know what I am going to do?" "I can fancy," she replied. "What do you imagine?" he asked. "You are going to insist upon reparation for a terrible wrong," said Mrs. Adriance, leaning eagerly forward. "You are going to give that girl the protection of a husband's name and legitimatize her child." Sunderland regarded her steadfastly. "How did you know this?" he asked in surprise. "Well, you see, George," she returned quite simply, "I know you." Sunderland bent toward her. "And am I 'doing right?" he asked. "Yes, George, you are right," she bravely answered. "I confess had you asked me this question yesterday I could not have agreed 167 THE STUFF OF DREAMS with you. I should have advised a far differ- ent course. But I have lived a lifetime through the night. My eyes have been opened and I have seen how false are all our material view- points what a dream all existence is ! I have seen that nothing is real but truth and love and justice. You are right. You have al- ways been right. You are the best man I have ever known." He took her hand and kissed it gently. "Have you learned to love me a little?" he humbly questioned. "George," she said with an effort, "I have loved you all my life." "Dorothy " "Yes, dear," she went on, "I loved you years ago when we were twenty-one. But you did not speak. I I thought there was some one else. So " She paused. "Good heavens! how blind I was!" said Sun- derland. "And I thought you loved Adri- ance." 168 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "But that was so long ago," Dorothy went on, "and now " "You cannot condemn me because of Ger- ald's acts," said Sunderland, reproachfully. "I condemn no one, George," Mrs. Adriance returned. "But consider a moment. Your son has well-nigh ruined our lives. Oh, when I close my eyes, I can see again that frightful scene, those mocking faces staring at our mis- ery. I feel I must snatch my child to my heart and rush away away from every one " "Yes, even from me," Sunderland cried. He sank into his chair and buried his face in his hands. He recognized the futility, the utter hopelessness of it all. Suddenly a soft hand touched his head gen- tly, lingeringly. "Good-by," a sweet voice breathed above him. He heard her moving to- ward the door. He tried to speak, but could not. There was nothing to say. Her steps died away. She was gone the woman he had twice buried. He was alone now in the desert. CHAPTER XVI "It is a familiar beast to man and signifies love." "HAS Mr. Tyson come yet?" Sunderland asked Thomas, mechanically. "Yes, sir; 'e is in the smoking-room," re- turned the man. "Has Mr. Gerald come down?" "No, sir; 'e is still in 'is room." "Ask Mr. Tyson to join me here in ten min- utes," said Sunderland. "And tell Mr. Gerald that I wish to see him at once." As the man left the room to execute his orders, Sunderland seected a paper from a mass of documents littering the desk before him. He glanced at it thoughtfully, then, ris- ing, went into the drawing-room, still looking over the paper. He had scarcely quitted the 170 THE STUFF OF DREAMS room when Gerald came in response to his father's summons. He was flushed and a trifle unsteady of gaze and voice. He had spent the night drinking highballs and wondering what was to become of him. He could not believe that his father was sincere in the resolution he had formed the night before. He knew that Sunderland had spoken under stress of great excitement. "When he cools down a bit he will look at the affair differently and as a man of the world," he had over and over persuaded himself. "He will probably pack me off to Paris or London. Well, I can survive that exile." Already he had planned an automobile trip through the Tyrol and Italy. He entered the library jauntily, prepared to brazen the matter to a finish. But the silence of the empty room smote upon him ominously. He paused, looked about and then, with a strange sinking of the heart, went up to the great window and stared out. The wet streets and somber skies filled him with a sense of foreboding and gloom. A voice behind him made him sud- 171 denly swing about. "Guardie, dear," Lily was saying, "I must speak to you ah!" She broke off and stood white and trembling, as Gerald came hurriedly toward her. "Lily, hear me " he began. "Jerry," said the girl, putting out a protest- ing hand, "it is quite useless for you to say one word. I beg you will spare us both." She turned and went toward the door; but Gerald, hastily stepping before her, barred the way. "Good God, Lily!" he ejaculated. "You cannot be so unjust so cruel " "It is not I who am unjust and cruel," said Lily, proudly. "Please let me pass " "Lily, I am desperate," cried Gerald. His bloodshot eyes ravenously devoured her cold, young beauty. "I cannot lose you " "You have already lost me," said the girl icily. "Do you mean," demanded Gerald, incredu- lously, "that you no longer love me?" "I never loved you," she courageously re- 172 THE STUFF OF DREAMS plied, "as you wished me to. I accepted you to please my mother and your father." This plain, bald statement was a tremendous blow to Gerald's self-love. He took a step or two nearer and stared insolently at her. "So," he sneered, "you were about to sacrifice yourself. For what my fortune? You had enough of your own." The girl winced at his brutal thrust, but bravely stood her ground. "No, Jerry," she answered, "not for that. To please the two I loved best in all the world." "You coquette!" he returned, with an intol- erable smile. "Jerry!" She recoiled from his look. "You dare to trifle with me in that fashion!" He came closer. "But you shall not escape me. I shall have you yet!" With a sudden savage movement he seized her in his arms, forcing her head back upon his breast and bending to press his lips upon hers. The girl struggled madly and succeeded in wrenching herself from the hateful bondage of his grasp. 173 She fled toward the door leading to the hall and upon its threshold ran full upon Tyson, who was coming to his appointment with Sun- derland. At sight of his splendid figure, like a tower of defense, at his strong, fine face and earnest eyes, so different from the inflamed, satyr countenance and obnoxious glance she had just seen close to hers, she gave a cry of relief and flung herself into Tyson's arms. "Oh, Jack!" she sobbed. "Jack Jack!" Tyson held her closely and regarded Gerald firmly. His instinct told him at once what had happened. It was time Gerald should understand that he must reckon with him. Gerald stared stupidly at the two for a mo- ment, then suddenly burst into a fit of out- rageous laughter. "By God!" he shouted. "I never suspected!" Lily had hastily withdrawn from the shel- ter of Jack's arms and stood blushing divinely, a picture of confusion. "Suspected what?" demanded Jack, cross- 174 THE STUFF OF DREAMS ing to Gerald, looking very big and master- ful as he towered threateningly over him. Gerald was still laughing insultingly. "Sus- pected that our fair sweet white Lily " he gasped mockingly. "Take care take care, I say," warned Jack, an ugly look coming in his eyes. Gerald saw the look and wisely changed his tactics. "Lily," he said, "why, is it possible that you are in love with Jack? Jack," he jeeringly continued, "Jack the upright the pure in heart? Why, dear, you are not im- proving matters any. Jack? Why, Jack is a sinner, too. He is as much a man of the world as I am. Aren't you, Jack? Speak up, old chap tell the lady." "Be silent, you blackguard," said Tyson in low, determined tones. "Miss Adriance," he added, turning to Lily, "may I beg you to leave us ?" The girl was looking at him with wide-open eyes, full of sudden horror. She seemed in- capable of speech. 175 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Lily," Tyson pleaded, "you do not credit what he says? He is mad insane with drink and jealousy. Lily, Lily, I beg you will not believe him." He tried to take her hand, but, avoiding him, the girl turned and passed from the room, her eyes still opened wide like a sleep- walker's and filled with a nameless dread. 176 CHAPTER XVII "When the scourge Inexorable and the torturing hour Call us to penance." "You are a deuced fine friend," remarked Gerald, deridingly. "So you have been making love to my betrothed. Damned cool of you, I must say." "Jerry," replied Tyson, "you are a fool. I have never made love to Miss Adriance." "Well, you must have some understanding with her," persisted Gerald. "See how she threw herself in your arms just now." "She was forced there by a cad," returned Tyson, contemptuously. "Jerry, I ought to thrash you within an inch of your life. You need it. But you are in such an infernal mess 177 THE STUFF OF DREAMS I will overlook my duty. Only I tell you, you must not annoy Miss Adriance again." "What business is it of yours?" demanded Gerald, getting very red and angry. "You will see if you force your unwelcome attentions upon her," Tyson answered stead- ily. "She is done with you." Gerald flung himself into a chair. He re- alized the truth of Tyson's words. He knew that he could never patch up the matter with Lily. He recalled the shudder of aversion that had shaken her as he held her captive in his arms, the look of disgust on her face as he bent over her. Yes, it was plain that she despised him. "It's infernal luck, I tell you," he com- plained, "to have such an uproar as this. And all for what? I am no w r orse than any other fellow. Only I have been caught with the goods on. It's a beastly shame. I wonder what dad is going to do. Do you know?" "I assure you," Tyson formally replied, 178 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "that I have no knowledge whatever of Mr. Sunderland's intentions." "Oh, hang it all, Jack," Gerald cried, "don't be so confoundedly stiff to a fellow. I am hav- ing it hard enough, God knows. Thaw out a little, old man thaw out." "Jerry," said Tyson earnestly, "I tried my best to save you. I felt there was some fright- ful expose coming. I was reasonably sure that Trix would pay you her debt to the last farthing." "Yes, confound her!" returned Gerald, gloomily. "She has done for me. I have lost Lily that is plain. But what about Kitty? little devil! Why, do you know, Jack, dad told me last night I must marry her marry do you hear?" "Yes," rejoined Tyson, coldly; "and I should think that was your only course. You may remember that I have advised it from the first." Gerald was about to answer furiously, when 179 THE STUFF OF DREAMS his father suddenly came in from the drawing- room. Sunderland paused a moment at sight of the two, then, coming rapidly between them, looked sternly from one to the other. "What were you two quarreling about here last even- ing?" he demanded without preface. There was an embarrassed silence. "Why do you not answer?" he peremptorily questioned. Still no reply. "Well, I will tell you," he went on. "You, Jack, were reproaching Gerald for his duplicity, his treachery, his dishonor." Gerald winced at the words. "And you, Ger- ald, resented his interference. Am I not right? You do not speak. It is not necessary I un- derstand perfectly. It is of minor importance now. I have more serious business in hand." "If that is all you wish to say to me, Mr. Sunderland," said Tyson with dignity, "I will beg you to excuse me." He turned to go, but Sunderland's voice arrested him. "No, Jack, do not go yet," he said. "I want you here. I wish you to witness my son's marriage to this 180 THE STUFF OF DREAMS girl, whose cause I firmly believe you cham- pioned last night." "Good God, father!" cried Gerald, spring- ing up. "It cannot be that you still persist in your crazy ideas. Do you want to ruin my life?" "You have ruined hers, have you not?" asked his father coldly. "With what meas- ure ye mete it shall be measured to you again!" "Well," said Gerald, sulkily, "I refuse, once and for all. I will never marry her." "We shall see," returned his father with stony composure. He went up to the drawing- room entrance and drew aside the portieres. "Maxwell, step here," he called. Gerald gave a great start and regarded his father with ter- rified eyes. Maxwell entered, nearly as sullen and defi- ant as Gerald. He had little heart for the business in hand. He laid a paper on the desk, then, folding his arms, stood looking bitterly at the floor. Sundeiiand sat at his desk, drew the paper 181 THE STUFF OF DREAMS before him and dipped his pen in the ink. "Come here, Gerald," he said with authority. Gerald slowly obeyed. "This is a new will," continued his father, "I have caused to be drawn up, disinheriting you in case you re- fuse to obey me. Make your choice now. Marry this girl or I sign this will." He sat, pen poised, ready to sign. The eyes of the two men met the clear, steady gaze of the impartial judge and the furious glance of a fallen angel clashed like rapiers. It was a terrible moment while the souls of father and son battled for supremacy. The two other men held their breath in suspense. Would Gerald never speak? At last in a hoarse, tor- tured whisper the words came: "I will marry her." Sunderland laid down his pen with a sigh of relief which Tvson echoed. Gerald reeled w back, caught at a chair and sank into it, his head in his hands. "Maxwell," Sunderland's voice sounded thin and hollow in the silent room, "tell Dr. Mason 182 THE STUFF OF DREAMS that we are ready." Maxwell vanished through the doorway. "Dr. Mason?" echoed Gerald, lifting a bloodless face and staring at his father. "Yes," replied Sunderland; "he is here wait- ing to perform the ceremony." "Father!" cried Gerald in genuine agony, "not now not here! Why, this is inde- cent " "I cannot see," returned Sunderland, icily, "that there have been many decent features about the entire affair. Yes, now here." "My God! Jack," begged Gerald, turning to Tyson, "say a word plead with the gov- ernor for me." "Jerry, it is useless," replied Tyson. "I I am sorry for you. But I think your father is absolutely right." Sunderland had given Thomas a whispered order. Gerald, sobered by the appalling straits in which he found himself, turned once more pleadingly to his father. But even as the un- availing words died upon his dry lips, he saw 183 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Mrs. Adriance come through the door from the hall, her arm about a slight, shrinking figure, whose face was hidden in her hands. And then the portieres to the drawing-room were thrust aside, and the clergyman stood there, a portentous figure, with an open prayer book in his hands. 184 CHAPTER XVIII "Out of thine own mouth will I judge thee." LILY stole softly down the stairs to recon- noiter. She wished to see Sunderland alone before she departed. Their carriage was at the door, her mother had adjusted her bonnet and veil, and she was donning her own hat, when Thomas had delivered a message to Mrs. Adriance. Without one word to her daughter, the little lady had crossed the hall to the room where Kitty and her child were housed. Lily instant- ly decided that this was her opportunity to make one more trial to see her guardian. As she reached the foot of the stairs she heard a strange, monotonous voice droning away as if reciting a lesson. She listened for 185 a moment intently. The voice did not seem to come from the library but from some dis- tance away. She peeped into the library to see if the coast was clear. She had no mind to risk another interview with Gerald. The room was quite empty and silent. Still the voice went on in a steady monotone "which is commanded of St. Paul to live honorably among all men and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly/' The voice was in the drawing-room, Lily decided, as she stepped into the library. "But reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly and in the fear of God" the voice went on. Who was this talking like a clergyman? the girl thought. "Into this holy estate these two per- sons present come now to be joined/' "Why," gasped the girl, "it is the marriage service. Who " She rushed across the room and peered through the half -parted portieres into the drawing-room. "If any man can show just cause " the oily voice glided glibly along, but Lily heard no more. She saw in 186 THE STUFF OF DREAMS one intense glance, her guardian, erect, stern, white as death; her mother softly weeping; Gerald, defiant, black of brow, the sneer on his lips more marked than ever ; a slight, trembling figure at his side ; beyond, the grim old lawyer with parchment face ; and closer at hand, quite back by the archway, a tall, strong figure a clean-cut, sorrowful face and embarrassed, downcast eyes. At the inarticulate exclamation the girl gave, this man looked up and saw her startled face and questioning eyes. He hesitated a moment, then, with an air of decision, came swiftly for- ward and drew the curtains together, thus com- pletely shutting out the scene from Lily's vision. The girl turned and weakly groped her way to a chair. She sank into it and closed her eyes. So Jerry was being married and not to her was her first thought. "I require and charge you both " She could hear the voice faintly now r , muffled as it was by the heavy portieres. How strange it 187 THE STUFF OF DREAMS all was! The girl seemed to be in a dream a phantasy and all those people yonder her guardian, her mother, Jerry, the unknown, Jack all seemed like shadows. A line from a play she had recently seen suddenly flashed through her mind: "We are such stuff as dreams are made on." She tried to rouse her- self to the situation, but a strange lethargy had seized her senses. The droning voice seemed to hypnotize her. "The stuff of dreams the stuff of dreams," she repeated over and over. ****** She was suddenly conscious that the voice had ceased. It was all over, then. Jerry was married and she was saved! Her blood leaped again through her veins at the thought. With profound relief she realized she was free free to live to love ah! was she? What was it Jerry had said? His mocking voice rang again in her ears. "Why, Jack is as much a man of the world as I am. He's a sinner, too aren't you, Jack?" 188 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Lily sprang up, her heart beating to suffo- cation, her hands over her ears to shut out the echo of those hateful words. They were the knell of her hopes, the passing bell of her joy. The portieres parted and her mother came in from the drawing-room. She was supporting Kitty, who was sobbing hysterically. "There, there, child," she was saying, "it's over. Do not give way now. You have been so brave." Lily regarded Mrs. Adriance in amazement. Was this sympathetic, helpful woman, sudden- ly grown a shield and aid to this half-fainting, wretched girl, her little, frivolous, pink-and- white mother her dainty, fragile bit of Dres- den china? Mrs. Adriance suddenly saw her daughter's puzzled eyes fixed upon her. She crimsoned. "Lily," she faltered, "you here?" "Yes, mother," said Lily, simply. "I heard it all." Mrs. Adriance hesitated, glancing from one girl to the other; then, with sudden resolu- tion, led Kitty to Lily. 189 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Lily," she said, her voice trembling as she spoke, "Lily this is Gerald's wife." Lily looked steadfastly at the pale, tear- stained face. A great wave of divine com- passion swept over her. She bent forward and opened her arms. "Then you are my sister," she said. She drew Kitty to her heart and kissed her. Sunderland and the others came in at this moment from the drawing-room. The master of the house stopped short at sight of the two girls clinging to each other. The tears rushed to his eyes, but he controlled himself by a tre- mendous effort, as Gerald, pushing his way violently through the little group, turned on him with an enraged look. "Well, you have had your way," he stormed. "I hope you are satisfied with this morning's work. I have obeyed you. I have married this girl whom I loathe " Kitty started as if struck by a white-hot lash. "Oh, Jerry," she moaned. But Gerald went on, stung by his outraged 190 THE STUFF OF DREAMS self-love, his mutilated pride above all by the presence of the girl whom, having lost, he de- sired more passionately than ever. "Yes, I have married her," he snarled. "But let me tell you one thing I will never live with her a day no! not an hour " Kitty suddenly withdrew from Lily's kind- ly, detaining arm and came resolutely for- ward, speaking with a simple pathos that touched them all. "You need not, Jerry," she said. "Oh, I did not dream you hated me. Had I, you should never have married me. I thought your heart was still mine that you would come back to me. But now I see the truth. I was wrong to come here and make so much trouble. It would have been better for me to have borne it alone. I I hope you will all forgive me," with a timid, appealing glance. "I will go now, at once. I will work i for our child. You have given him a name that is enough you shall do nothing more for him." She turned toward the door. 191 But Sunderland crossed quickly to inter- cept her. "Wait a moment, daughter," he said, with a peculiar, lingering emphasis' on the word. He turned a white, denunciatory face toward his son. "Gerald," he said, "I have sought to rouse one spark of manhood, one vestige of decency in your sodden soul. I have clung to you with the desperation of a mur- dered love. It has been to no purpose." His voice rose tempestuously. "Now the tables shall be turned. It will not be your wife this poor child who shall go out to be buffeted and knocked about to become the sport of every derisive finger, the butt of every foul, lying tongue. No, it is not she who shall go. It is you." "Father!" burst from Gerald, appalled at the whirlwind he had invoked. "Do not call me father," cried Sunderland, now quite beside himself. "I am no longer a father. I am a judge! There is my door. Go!" 192 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Gerald looked steadily at Sunderland for an instant and then without one word of protest strode defiantly from the room. 193 CHAPTER XIX "What! wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?" WITH an inferno seething and boiling in his heart, Gerald went to his apartments, rang furiously for his man and ordered him to pack his trunks at once. He tore down prints and photographs from his walls and demolished them before the astonished eyes of the valet. Crystal and silver articles from his dressing- table, he flung upon the open hearth, where they crashed into fragments. He swept through the rooms like a cyclone, destroying everything he did not wish to take away. "Get me a cab!" he said abruptly when he had made all the havoc he could. "Am I to go with you, sir?" the man asked fearfully, for the sight of his young master on the ram- 194 THE STUFF OF DREAMS page, was one not calculated to inspire confi- dence in his breast. "No," was the curt reply. "You will have to find another situation. I shall have no further use for you." As he passed through the upper hall on his way to his cab, Gerald chanced to glance through a half -open door. Upon a vast ma- hogany bed in the room beyond, in a heap of laces and soft flannels, lay his little son, asleep. He had not dreamed that the child was already in the house, and the sight of the infant added fuel to his wrath. He paused and regarded the sleeping child with a black scowl. He had no love for it. He had scarcely looked at it since its birth. It was an interloper that had ruined all his plans, he thought. "Were it not for that brat," he said to himself, "I should not now be kicked out of my father's house. If it were out of the way " He never fin- ished the sentence, but a fiendish smile curled his scornful lips. He went on down the stairs, clanged the great hall door behind him, sprang into the waiting cab and drove rapidly away. 195 THE STUFF OF DREAMS He went to his bank and drew out all of the money placed to his credit there. Next, he drove to the Grand Central Station, and bought a ticket and section for Chicago. Look- ing at his watch he saw that it was nearly two o'clock. He dismissed the cab and went to luncheon at the Waldorf. He drank heavily and ate little. But he constantly studied plans for revenge. "I will be even with them all," he muttered. "I have a long score to settle. I think," he concluded as he finished his last glass of champagne, "that I will begin with Trix." Calling another cab, he gave the man the name of a fashionable apartment hotel uptown. He was well known here and the sleek clerk behind the desk nodded affably. "You need not announce me," he said to that functionary. "Mrs. Evans is expecting me." Beatrice had just risen from her desk as he was shown in. She turned abruptly at sound of a step and faced him. All the color died out from her face as she saw him. He had 196 THE STUFF OF DREAMS come to upbraid her, to revenge himself, she thought. Well, he should find her ready. She would not flinch at his reproaches. She would glory in the ruin she had made. But to her amazement Gerald approached her, smiling softly in her eyes. "Trix," he murmured, with all the fire and fascination he could so effective- ly throw into his voice, "Trix, I never realized until last night how much you loved me. You preferred to destroy me rather than let another woman marry me. And I I have never admired you so much as now." He caught her hands in his. "After all, Trix, it is you who are my mate my superb, my splen- did tigress. It is you who know how to love." He drew her panting and sobbing to his breast and kissed her passionately. "I have come back to you," he breathed tenderly. "I am not going to marry that undeveloped school-girl. Henceforth, my own, we shall live for each other." She was completely subjugated afresh his thrall, his dupe. For hours he played with her, 197 THE STUFF OF DREAMS removing her doubts, assuring her of his devo- tion, caressing her hair, pressing burning kisses on her lips, raising her to a pinnacle of happi- ness. It was dusk when he rose to leave her. She threw herself in his arms, looking up at him with adoring, passionate eyes. "My love," she sighed, "how happy we have been. When shall I see you again?" He smiled in her face. "Never!" he mut- tered; "you fool!" He flung her brutally from him. She fell prone upon the floor, bruised, stunned, half- fainting. He turned at the door and looked at her as Lucifer may have looked at some rival fallen angel. "That for the cut you gave me," he said grimly. Then he was gone. He went into the cafe and drank deep- ly of brandy-and-water. "Score one!" he mut- tered as he drained his glass. Then refilling another he held it up to the light. "And now," he said with a cruel smile, "now for my dear wife." It was close to midnight when he let himself 198 THE STUFF OF DREAMS softly into the house with the key he had not relinquished. The house was silent and dark, save for one dim light at the head of the stairs. Stealthily he groped his way to the door of Kitty's chamber and tried it. To his joy it yielded to his touch. He opened it and en- tered. There was a night lamp burning in the ad- joining dressing-room, which threw a subdued light in the chamber. He went softly to the foot of the bed and stood regarding his wife and child. Kitty was sleeping the heavy sleep that only the physically and mentally exhaust- ed know. He could see the traces of tears onher face. But Iris heart hardened against her. How was it he had never been able to control her as he had others? Why had she demanded so much? Why had she not lazily dallied along the primrose path with him, content with the roses and lilies he would have given her? Why must she have thrust her claims upon his father and caused all this frightful upheaval? Ah, well, he had his score to settle with her. 199 He stooped suddenly and lifting the rosy little baby from her side, hastily caught up a long white cloak near at hand, and folding the child in it, quickly and quietly retraced his steps. As he left the house he stepped into a waiting carriage, which rapidly carried him to a house on the East Side. In this house he left the child in the care of a woman who asked no questions providing her palm was well oiled. Quite satisfied with his day's work, Gerald took the midnight train for Chicago. Thence he went to Denver and lost himself amid the Rockies. At dawn Kitty wakened and at once turned to lift her child. Her hands groped uncertain- ly at first, then frantically tore at the heaped up pillows and silken coverlid. Presently her screams rang through the great house. Sun- derland, hastily summoned, saw her wild-eyed, trembling, frenzied. "My baby, my baby!" she cried in a voice that pierced his heart, and fell like a dead woman at his feet. 200 CHAPTER XX "Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met or never parted, We had na'er been broken-hearted." AFTER leaving Sunderland's house, Mrs. Adriance and Lily drove to a steamship office and booked their passage for the following Saturday. This done, they went to the St. Regis and shut themselves up in their apart- ments, refusing to see any one. The news of the rupture had blown like wild- fire about the town. The papers devoted col- umns to this scandal of high life, and report- ers besieged the Sunderland mansion and the hotel where the mother and daughter had taken refuge. Sensible, sane people grew unutter- ably wearied of the daily, sensational stories 201 THE STUFF OF DREAMS about all parties concerned, but the great mass of the scandal-loving community greedily ab- sorbed the luscious tidbits. When it became known that the child had been stolen, the sen- sation grew to prodigious proportions, and journals of lurid character sent out their alert, keen-eyed young men to find the infant. But all to no purpose. Gerald had selected a dis- creet guardian for the child. The woman, alarmed at the hue and cry, remained closely concealed, until the excitement had somewhat abated. Then, packing her worldly belong- ings, she took the baby and left New York for the southwestern part of Colorado, where her sister and brother-in-law owned a small ranch. And so the heir to the Sunderland mil- lions vanished as from the face of the earth and its abduction remained one of the many mys- teries of the great city. The night before the White Star steamship on which they had taken passage was to sail, Mrs. Adriance and Lily were dining in their apartments when a note was brought to the 202 THE STUFF OF DREAMS girl. She crimsoned at sight of the handwrit- ing and hesitated a moment before opening it. At last she read it. "I have tried again and again to see you," it ran, "but have met with persistent refusal. I see you are booked to sail to-morrow. Will you not at least permit me to say good-by?" Lily passed the note to Mrs. Adriance, who read it silently. "I cannot quite see, Lily," she said as she folded it up, "why you should not receive Mr. Tyson. He was most kind during a very trying ordeal. It seems rather indecent, I must say, to shut our door in his face." "Mother," returned Lily with studied calm- ness, "Jack Mr. Tyson loves me. He wishes to marry me." "Oh, dear me!" fluttered her mother. "Well, perhaps it might be the best thing under the circumstances ' ' "Mother!" cried the girl desperately. She rose from the table, and, going to Mrs. Adri- ance, knelt by her and put her arm about her. 203 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Mother, dear," she repeated earnestly, "I beg you will not speak to me of marriage. I I cannot endure the thought of it." "Yes; but Lily, you know, you must marry some day," urged Mrs. Adriance. "I cannot live forever, and you must have a protector. Of course, Mr. Tyson is not wealthy, but you have quite enough for both." "Oh, mother, dear, hush!" said Lily, gently. "You do not understand. Cannot you see, dear, that I have been beaten and bruised and that I must have time to rest and think it all out?" She laid her head on her mother's breast. "I want to go away from it all I want just to be with you, mamma, and forget if I can " Her voice wavered and broke. "Yes, darling, you shall," cried her mother impulsively, catching her to her heart. "Lily, you have twice the sense I have. It seems I have made a fine mess of your life. I will not attempt again to dictate your future. But I would see Mr. Tyson," she added. "He is an .** estimable man. He was always so serious and 204 THE STUFF OF DREAMS courteous. Not at all like Jerry." She sighed heavily. "He was so flippant and at times positively rude yes, I may say, insolent, my dear. I fear dear George indulged him too much." She sighed again and her jeweled hand smoothed her daughter's hair absently. Lily left her mother ruminating upon the past and sent down word that she would receive Tyson. As he came into their drawing-room, per- fectly groomed, faultless in his dinner dress, altogether such a splendid specimen of man- hood, the girl felt her heart contract with a sudden sharp pain. She wondered if she were going to be strong enough to keep her resolu- tions. All the heart of her longed for him, but her mind sternly forbade any compromise. He came swiftly to her and took both her hands, "Lily," he said intensely, "I did not dream that you were so cruel." "I cruel ?" She attempted to spar for time. "Yes, cruel," he repeated firmly. "You must know what suspense I have endured since that 205 THE STUFF OF DREAMS dreadful morning. And you have barricaded yourself in your citadel and have absolutely disregarded my white flag. Look at me. Do you mean that you would have gone without seeing me?" "I thought it was best," she replied, with- drawing her hands and retiring to a safe dis- tance. At her tone, he stood, pained and white. "You do not love me, then?" he questioned. "And yet I thought I hoped " He paused, his eyes regarding her with sad won- der. "I did love you," she bravely replied; "but " "But what has come between us, then?" he demanded, going toward her. "Why should I not be with you now, helping you to face this distressing affair? My place is at your side, dearest." "Jack," said Lily, earnestly, "what is this terrible thing called love which seems to trans- form a man into a beast? Which gives a man 206 THE STUFF OF DREAMS license to be cruel to the woman he says he loves? Oh, I will not deceive you. I am hor- rified of love I want no more of it the very word turns me faint " She paused in agi- tation and threw herself in a chair. She was trembling from head to foot. Tyson went to her and taking her hand in his gently caressed it. "Lily," he said, "be- cause you have cast your pearls before swine must you assume that the world is filled with such creatures? Ah, Lily, darling, do not let us argue nor analyze. You know that I rever- ence, adore you. You say that you have loved me love me again, dearest." His dark head bent over her, his compelling eyes drew her. Once again she experienced that vague, wild, sweet pain, that strange desire to let go, to float along into an unruffled sea of happiness. Suddenly Gerald's accusing words sounded like a tocsin in her ears. She sprang up and confronted him, white and trembling. "Do you remember what Gerald said?" she demand- ed. "Is it true? Are you no better than other 207 THE STUFF OF DREAMS men? Can you offer me as pure a love as you would wish me to give you?" Tyson turned cold. Visions of gilded dal- liance rose before him. Sweet, wanton laugh- ter rang in his ears, pretty, painted faces swam before him, white, curling fingers beckoned him. "Lily," he said hoarsely, "I will not be a hypocrite, whatever else I have been. I am a man of the world in all that term implies. But I have tried to be fairly decent and honor- able." "Decent and honorable!" she broke in. "That is enough! As if one could be decent and honorable in those affairs. I beg you to go at once and spare me any further words." "Lily," he pleaded, "you do not mean it? You cannot. You will not let the follies of my youth stand between us. Lily, you do not un- derstand. A man is subjected to great temp- tations he is differently situated " "Would you forgive me?" she scornfully questioned. "Ah, Lily that is quite another matter." 208 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Mr. Tyson, will you go?" Her voice cut him like a knife. He drew himself up proud- ly, made her a profound salutation and crossed to the door. At the threshold he turned and looked at her with one, long, reproachful glance, a look that burned into her soul. She waited until the door closed behind him, then fell, face downward, upon the couch and lay there in an agony of grief and despair. "I have done right I have done right," over and over she persuaded herself. "But I have broken my heart. Oh, I love him I love mini" 209 CHAPTER XXI "Satan; so call him now, his former name is heard no more in heaven." THREE years later, Lucifer, Jr. rode out of the corral on his ranch, one hot July morning, mounted on a bronco as wicked looking as his master. Lucifer, Jr. had not yet reached thirty years, but in his handsome face flamed the red flag of profligacy and dissipation. Deep lines under the blue eyes told of sleepless nights; purple veins in the bronzed face blazoned deep drinking, while across one cheek zigzagged a scar, livid for the most part, but flushing a deep crimson whenever he was enraged. The boys had never dared to chaff him about that scar. He had borne it when he first appeared in Brimstone Gulch, dropping from Heaven knows where! a tenderfoot surely, but such a tenderfoot as the camp had never seen. The 210 THE STUFF OF DREAMS oldest and toughest inhabitant could not recall a man who could drink deeper, play a more deadly game of poker or curse more pictur- esquely. His beautiful face, marred only by the white scar, and his elegant figure, com- manded admiration from all the camp. At the first, some of the professional bad men of the Gulch had been disposed to trifle with him, but they soon discovered they had a dangerous man to meet. Nick Fargo as he called him- self Lucifer, Jr., as he soon came to be known was found to be absolutely Satanic in his methods of revenge. Moreover, his fits of fury terrified the worst men in that section. At times he seemed to be obsessed by a demon, when, mounted on a bronco that refused no command, he rode up and down the most frightful trails as if upon the wings of the wind, shouting, blaspheming, defying death. There were all sorts of rumors about this mysterious stranger. It was whispered that he had killed a man somewhere in the East and had come to Colorado to hide from the law. 211 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Indeed, one day, Huerfano Bill plucked up sufficient courage to ask him about it. It was during one of Lucifer, Jr.'s most appalling tantrums. He had been drinking all the morn- ing in Toby Belcher's saloon, he had insulted every man present by his overbearing manner, he had cursed and blasphemed to that extent that even Faro Jim's icy blood had turned colder. As he came reeling out of Toby's and went to mount his horse, pawing and stamping un- easily before the saloon, Huerfano Bill, who had killed his man in Albuquerque, said confi- dentially to him : "Say, Lucifer, reckon you're thinkin' of him this mornin' eh?" "Him?" returned Fargo, staring with big, insolent eyes at Bill. "Him? Who in hell do you mean?" "The feller you killed back East," returned Bill, edging a little away. Fargo had leaped to his saddle and gathered up the reins, preparatory to departure. He bent down now toward Bill and hissed: "Yes 212 THE STUFF OF DREAMS I murdered a man. Do you want to know who it was?" "Wai, yes, if ye've no objection," politely began Bill. "It was myself damn you! myself," sav- agely retorted Fargo as he swung his whip over his head. "I am a dead man, Bill do you hear? a dead man!" An awful light leaped into his eyes, his short upper lip curled back from his white teeth, and with a string of oaths that appalled even the criminal and outcast before him, he was off and away up the trail toward timber line. They watched him up the mountain, himself and horse sharply silhouetted against the sky, with a feeling of mingled terror and awe. "He's plumb locoed!" said Huerfano Bill, solemnly. Then he shivered, and, remember- ing his Spanish wife, furtively crossed himself. "My Gawd!" he muttered; "did ye hear him, boys? He said he was a dead man. Pretty lively corpse allee samee," he added thought- fully. 213 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Lucifer, Jr.'s ranch lay to the southwest of Brimstone Gulch in the valley of the La Plata. He had built for himself a long, low adobe which he had furnished with Navajo blankets, hammocks, cliff house pottery and Indian bas- kets. In the disposal of these curios, he had shown wonderful skill and taste. From Den- ver at stated intervals came liquors, cigars and various delicacies. The orgies at this ranch were famous throughout the Southwest. But during all these wild revels, it was always ap- parent that Lucifer, Jr. was merely distract- ing himself with his companions. He always held himself above the others, he never per- mitted familiarities. "Damn him!" more than one of his cronies often growled. "You'd think he had been king of England." This morning when Nick Fargo rode out from his ranch, he was attired as for a gala occasion. His Mexican saddle and bridle jingled with silver adornments; his flapping, pearl-gray sombrero was encrusted with silver 214 THE STUFF OF DREAMS embroidery. His * 'chaps" were of the finest buckskin, his jaunty coat of brown corduroy opened over a shirt of exquisite lawn and a sash of brilliant hue, in which was stuck a brace of pistols. Nothing so splendid had ever come over the range. He was en route for the Fourth of July festivities at Brimstone Gulch, where were to endure, not for a day, but, ac- cording to cowboy custom, for a week. Fargo was quite sober this morning. The glorious air served as a bracer, and as Dare- devil, his beautiful bronco, the finest piece of horseflesh in that country, loped steadily over the mesa, he was comparatively satisfied with himself and his surroundings. But as the sun climbed higher and the great mountains loomed nearer, the awful solitude began to lay its op- pressive hand upon him and the demon of un- rest to stir within him. He pulled up his horse almost on its haunch- es and lifted his sombrero to wipe his brow. The clustering blond curls were beginning to show a thread of silver here and there. The 215 THE STUFF OF DREAMS soft blue eyes were the windows of a torment- ed soul. He sighed heavily, then spoke aloud to the sky and the mountains. "God!" he ejaculated. "Must I spend the rest of my life in this horrible place?" He stared about at the burning sand, the prickly shrubs of the desert and then at the great wall of mountains frowning down upon him. As in a dream he saw the sapphire sea; a stretch of white beach; a glorious ocean driveway; carriages filled with exquisite women; long, dim, cool streets ; an emerald tennis court and a brilliant throng of refined, charming people; a casino gay with flags. He heard music and sweet laughter and tinkling glasses and rustle of silken robes. All that was what he had lost. He started from his vision and looked about at the desolation. The awful, the desperate loneliness of it all overwhelmed him as never before. "O God," he cried aloud again, "have mercy upon me!" Before him, stretching like a huge, brazen serpent in the sunlight, glittered the rails of 216 THE STUFF OF DREAMS the Rio Grande Southern Railway. It was his deliverance, he thought. He might take it at Dolores or Hesperus and go where? He could never go back to all he had thrown away. No, he would only go on to some fresh loneli- ness, some new barren Sahara of the soul. He shuddered, replaced his sombrero, and, gath- ering up the reins, prepared to fare on to Brim- stone Gulch. At this moment he was arrested by a sound. A cry a strange cry almost like that of some young animal in distress suddenly smote upon his ears. "What is that?" he asked, lis- tening. Once more he heard it a long-drawn, piteous wail. "That is no animal," he muttered, quite startled now. "That is a human being." Again he listened; again he heard it. "Where are you?" he shouted suddenly. An echo mocked at him from a mountain wall. Then the op- pressive silence was again rent by the plain- tive cry. This time he located it. Turning 217 THE STUFF OF DREAMS his horse quickly to the right, he crossed the track and, leaping from the animal, ran hur- riedly along toward a clump of cactus. There suddenly crept toward him a sobbing, quivering child, a little boy between three and four, holding up tiny, appealing hands. Luci- fer, Jr. bent and lifted him in his arms. "Who are you? How do you come here?" he de- manded. The weeping child made no reply, but laid his exhausted head on Fargo's breast and put both arms about his neck, clinging desperately to him. And at the touch of those soft, little hands, something new and strange awoke in Fargo's wretched heart. He trembled and turned crimson as he soothed and patted the helpless little creature who had sought refuge in his arms. He drew out his handkerchief and wiped the boy's tear-stained face. He carried him to Daredevil, who inquiringly nosed the child. He opened his saddle-bag and finding a bis- cuit gave it to the boy, who ate it as if half- 218 s Presently the child laughed merrily and tried to take the reins from Fargo' s hands." THE STUFF OF DREAMS famished. To his repeated inquiries as to how he came there alone, the child would weep afresh and again cling to Fargo as if he feared he might leave him. He saw that the shock of his abandonment in the desert had well-nigh unhinged the child's mind. "If I take him back to the ranch," con- sidered Fargo, "I may never discover to whom he belongs. In the Gulch I may hear of some one who has lost a child." So he sat the boy before him on the horse and galloped toward his destination. Pres- ently the child laughed merrily and tried to take the reins from Fargo's hands. This pleased Lucifer, Jr. "He's a game little chap," he said aloud, and, as he spoke, the child looked up at him with dark, laughing eyes. Something in the face seemed to strike Fargo. The eyes the eyes where had he seen eyes like those? He seemed to be enter- ing a vast, mysterious wood he inhaled the odor of pines he saw a blazing camp-fire-^ 219 THE STUFF OF DREAMS some one was beside it, who turned and looked at him with the soft, brown eyes of a deer Pickets from the camp had been out all the morning watching for the approach of Luci- fer, Jr. The fun would not really begin until Fargo should arrive. "He is coming!" was at last signalled. Down over the mountain he came, a gay and gallant figure in his brilliant costume. But what was this? Daredevil was coming slowly, picking his way daintily down the treacherous trail. The watchers in the valley gasped with distended eyes. What was it Fargo held in his arms? Was it he after all? Suddenly Huerf ano Bill, who had been post- ed far up the trail, came flying down the slope. His face was alarmed, his eyes were popping from his head as he stammered clumsily: "It sure is Lucifer, boys, but what new flim-flam is this? Damn me for a liar ef he hain't a-bringin' a kidl" 220 CHAPTER XXII "Where is my child? An echo answers 'Where'?" As FAEGO flung himself from his saddle and told his story of finding the child alone in the desert, men listened eagerly with bated breath. When he had finished, Huerfano Bill, black- leg and desperado, turned to the others. "Boys," he said, "somewhar in the La Platas there's a woman a-breakin' her heart fur this kid. We'd orter git busy." A shade passed over Lucifer, Jr.'s face. A specter rose from its grave and confronted him with denunciatory eyes. "Somewhar, a woman's heart is a-breakin' fur this kid." The very words of this bandit accused him. Some- where, a woman's heart had broken for the child of which she had been so cruelly robbed. 221 THE STUFF OF DREAMS And he who had robbed her who had not only stolen but inhumanly abandoned his child what of him? If these men before him these hardened, lawless men were to know the enor- mity of his crime, his miserable life would not be worth a pin's fee. "Child-stealer child- stealer!" rang in his ears. To do him justice, he had not intended to forsake the boy. Once or twice he had written to the woman with whom he had left the infant, and enclosed money for its care. Then a silence had fallen and he did not know whether the child were living or dead. It might be growing up in a city's slums, in training for a thief or mur- derer; it might be lying in a potter's field. "Ye hed a hard ride, didn't ye, Nick?" queried Toby Belcher. "Ye look pale as death. Here, booze up!" and he set forth a bottle of rankest rye upon the bar. Fargo put out his shaking hand to pour a glass, when he felt something tugging at the fringe of his leathern "chaps." He looked down. The child stood there, endeavoring to 222 attract his attention. He held up his arms with an appealing gesture, his red mouth quiv- ering piteously. Fargo stooped and lifted him upon the bar. As he did so, he pushed the bottle aside. "I reckon I won't drink, Toby," he said. "Someway I haven't got the taste just now." Toby looked at him in solemn surprise. "Thar hain't nothin' wrong with ye, is thar, Nick?" he solicitously asked. "No," returned Lucifer, Jr., as he bent his head over the boy; "I'm all right, Toby." His voice had a queer sound. "Say, he's a handsome little cuss," remarked Toby, staring at the child. "What eyes he's got big as a Mexican's and jest like a deer's." Like a deer's eyes ah, yes! Again the scent of pines assailed Fargo's senses he saw the interminable cathedral aisles of a vast North- ern forest again the camp-fire. With a half- muttered exclamation, he lifted the child from the bar and hastily went without the saloon. The news of the arrival had flown about the 223 THE STUFF OF DREAMS camp and all the women were running to see the beautiful child. He was like a tiny gypsy, with his great brown velvet eyes, clustering golden curls, and cheeks like apples. He was very shy and timid and would have nothing to say to any of the crowd, but clung closely to Lucifer, Jr. After a long time, by coaxing and bribing with sweets, he was induced to speak. To re- peated inquiries as to his name, he at last vouchsafed an answer which sounded like "Derry." But he could give no account of himself and Fargo would not have him teased. The miners and cowboys could not sufficiently admire his beauty or his cunning little ways. They crowded about him, pressing nuggets and silver buttons upon him until his tiny fists could hold no more. All day Fargo carried him and played with him. Toward night his long lashes began to droop heavily over his great eyes, and Brim- stone Gulch was edified by the spectacle of Lucifer, Jr. walking up and down, softly sing- 224 THE STUFF OF DREAMS ing him to sleep. The child lay contentedly in his arms, one little hand upflung against Fargo's brown throat. Lower and lower drooped the lashes and at last he slept on the man's heart. At midnight, one of the scouts who had ridden out with the news of the discovery of a lost child, returned. "The boy belongs to a woman staying on Belton's ranch over toward Mancos," he stated. "She'd been up to Du- rango with him and come back by the mornin' train. There was a hot-box an' it were jest arter thet they missed him. They surmise thet when the train stopped he dumb off. He warn't missed fur quite some time, as the woman thought he sure were with the brake- man, who'd taken a great fancy to him. The train backed up a piece, but, hell! mought as well look fur a needle in a haymow. 'Twar sure providential like that Nick happened along," he concluded. 225 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Are they coming after him?" Fargo asked, with a strange sinking at the heart. "Now, thet's what gits me," returned the scout, "war the onnatural way thet thar woman acted. She didn't cry nor throw no fits as a mother'd orter. She was that ca'm I wanted fur to shake her. Said she wur glad the boy wur found an' hoped you would sure bring him over when you could." Lucifer, Jr.'s heart suddenly lightened. Perhaps the woman was poor and would be glad to relinquish the child for a consideration. Someway he could not bring himself to think of parting with the boy. He looked down at the sleeping child, noted his perfect form, his lovely hands and feet, the faultless chiselling of his baby features. "He is a thoroughbred," he said to himself, "and I am going to keep him if I can." Next day he rode to Belton's ranch. The child had recovered from his fright and chat- tered in cunning baby patois all the way. Fargo allowed him to handle the reins at times 226 THE STUFF OF DREAMS to his great delight, and his grave importance at these moments was charming. But he never forgot to turn occasionally, and, throwing his silken head back against Fargo's breast, reach up his hand and fondle the man's face above him. And always at the touch of the little hand the bold, wicked eyes softened and some- thing sweet and strange and bitter stirred in the tempestuous heart. As he rode up to the door of the lonely ranch house, two men and three or four women came out upon the porch, and, at sight of him, one of the women shaded her eyes and looked steadily at him. "Here's the lost boy!" shouted Fargo, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "Which is his mother?" The women looked at each other and smiled curiously. No one answered for a moment. Then the woman who had shaded her eyes came forward and spoke. "I am the woman who takes care of the child," she said. "But I am not his mother." 227 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Not his mother?" exclaimed Fargo in re- lief. This, then, accounted for her apathy. "No," said the woman slowly, still looking steadfastly at the white scar on Fargo's cheek. "The child was left with me when a baby. I don't know who his mother was." The scar suddenly flushed a deep red. "Have you lived here long?" questioned Fargo. "No," returned the woman, still slowly measuring her words. "I came here to my sister's about three years ago from New York," she suddenly added. "I lived at num- ber East Street, there." The figure on horseback before her sudden- ly stiffened. The face became a stone mask. The insolent, blue eyes stared at her like the sightless eyes of the dead. The woman took a step or two nearer him. "I know you," she whispered. "I know you by the scar. You brought that child to me." The man made no answer, but still stared at her with dreadful, unseeing eyes. "There was 228 THE STUFF OF DREAMS such a time made about the child by the papers," she hurried on, "that as soon as I dared I left New York and came here. I had two or three letters from you. Then I never heard again. I am awful sorry," she con- cluded, "that I ever had anything to do with it. It was a terrible piece of business." The man still sat as if carved from stone. His face was so ghastly, so awful to see, that the others on the porch began to remark it. "What's the matter with him?" asked one of the men. "Can't he speak? Is he struck dumb?" Suddenly the stony figure quivered. A tiny hand had stolen up and caressed the marble of his face. And at the touch, the man shook as if in an ague fit. He snatched his child to his heart, and, bowing his head upon the beautiful face, Lucifer, Jr. broke into a passion of tears and sobs. 229 CHAPTER XXIII "Oh, call back yesterday bid time return." A GIEL sat on the balcony of a tiny inn in the valley of the Lauterbrunnen, late on a mid- summer afternoon, idly glancing over a novel. That her thoughts were straying from its con- tents was manifest, as she often glanced away from its pages up toward the huge, white wall of the Bernese Oberland. The Jungfrau con- fronted her with its chaste, virginal beauty. "After all, it is the most beautiful of all the Alpine peaks," she said to herself; "but, ah! so icy, so hard, so unfeeling! It makes me shiver to look at it. It is as implacable, as unforgiving as some women as as I am," she added with a sudden little incatching of her breath that was almost a sob. 230 THE STUFF OF DREAMS She sat silent for a time, her eyes fixed upon the stupendous height towering above her. The sun sank lower. Its golden shafts began to play upon the snowy peak. And now a change seemed to come upon the frigid brow of the mountain. A roseate flush crept slowly across it, transforming its frozen splendor into a beauty indescribably soft and melting. It was as if the stately Jungfrau blushed at the auda- city of her departing lover blushed, but yielded to his bold, tender caresses. The night was warm and languid. Sweet odors and sounds filled the swooning air. The cool wind that had risen on the heights had not ) T et reached the valley. The girl sat in a reverie. Dreams, fancies, memories shifted through her mind. Vague, sweet emotions stirred her pulses. Her moral rigidity flushed before the melting rays of remembrance. As in a dream she saw herself in a sumptuous room filled with the mingled perfume of Russia leather and lilacs. Far off sounded the enticing music of viols and harps. Before her was a 231 THE STUFF OF DREAMS face, the searching brilliancy of whose eyes moved her deeply. She closed her eyes in rap- ture and felt again the warm, thrilling kisses on her hands, heard once more the deep, ten- der voice murmur passionately: "My love my love!" She looked up. The Jungfrau was crimson now. Once again that same face, with its eyes grown sad and reproachful, swam before her. She recalled how he had turned at the door and looked at her with one, last, despairing glance. He had seemed at that moment the wraith of the strong, manly lover, the beating of whose heart she had heard, when for one supreme moment, she had fled to him for pro- tection. That shadow-like glance had followed her for three years. She could never banish it. She had seen it through the veiled dark- ness when she had wakened at night. It had cried to her with voiceless appeal. "I was cruel heartless," she murmured now. "I was as cold as this terrible mountain." Again she looked up. The crimson glow 232 THE STUFF OF DREAMS was dying now, but the Jungfrau loomed through the twilight with a mellowed pallor, a tender radiance, like that often seen upon the face of a woman who has loved and suffered. Lily suddenly hid her face in her hands. Mrs. Adriance, coming to the window a little later, saw the bowed figure sitting alone in the twilight. "Lily, darling," she cried in dismay, "are you ill?" "No mother," replied the girl, making room for Mrs. Adriance beside her. "Not now. I have been very ill, but I am healed." Mrs. Adriance peered at her through the gloom. "You, Lily," she cried incredulously, "you have been ill? And have not told me? My child, what do you mean?" "Ah, mother, dear," Lily answered, "I have been ill in mind. I have had sick, foolish fan- cies. I have set myself up as a god, something too fine and good to be tainted by contact with my fellow beings. I have been proud of my morality my virtue. And I have wickedly judged others who could not withstand certain 233 THE STUFF OF DREAMS temptations. Bear with me, mother, dear, for to-night I am humbled to the dust." "Lily, you speak in parables," cried Mrs. Adriance. "I cannot understand " "Ah, yes, mother, for I have been taught in parables," replied the girl. "My hard, cold heart has been softened by love. I have come to know that love is a divine thing of God and sent from Him. It is not to be trifled w r ith, mocked at and repelled. One must open the windows of his soul and let the glorious messenger in." Long the mother and daughter sat there, hand in hand, while the girl poured out all her heart, her sorrow, her doubts, her repentance. It was long after midnight when they sepa- rated. "And so, dearest, you wish to go home?" Mrs. Adriance asked as they bade each other good-night. "Yes, mother," was the low reply; "as soon as possible, to make restitution if it is not too late." 234 But in her soul she knew it would not be too late. She knew that she would find the same strong, earnest heart, beating for her just as loyally as when she fled to it for shelter. After extinguishing the light in her room, Lily went to her window, and, drawing aside the curtain, looked out once more upon the Jungfrau. The moon had risen and in its glory the mountain stood transfigured. In sparkling, golden splendor, it was a bride adorned for her husband a queen waiting for her king. And above its brow, like a diadem, glittered the great white stars. 235 CHAPTER XXIV "Long is the way And hard, that out of hell leads up to light." WITHIN a fortnight after he had found his child, Nick Fargo was in New York. He had lost no time in forming his resolutions. He had called a few of his particular cronies to- gether at his ranch, and, after setting the child before them, had said: "Boys, this is my son. By some mysterious agency I was led to him. I cannot tell you how I have sinned against him, against his mother and my own father. If I did, you would shoot me here in cold blood and serve me right. I am going back now to beg forgiveness of those I have wronged." The rough men before him were visibly af- fected. They looked at the pallid face and 236 THE STUFF OF DREAMS reddened eyes of the speaker and wondered at the change in him. Could this man, whose scarred face showed traces of tears, who spoke so simply and earnestly, be the master spirit of the wild revels they had known? One and all they wrung his hand and struck him with uncouth affection on the shoulder, for, despite his insolence and arrogance, they had loved him his beauty, his grace, his daring, and his princely air. "He wan't one of us, arter all, boys," said Huerfano Bill, cumbrously musing, as they rode back to the Gulch. "The devil sure hed a mortgage on his soul, but he's paid it up." Nick Fargo registered at the Waldorf as "Gerald Sunderland and son." Within three days he was served with papers in a suit brought by his wife for the recovery of her child. Gerald had already found that his father's town house was closed and the family in the country. But their exact location he did not discover until the fourth evening of his stay in town, when Walter Maxwell's card 237 THE STUFF OF DREAMS was brought him. The old lawyer greeted him with much emotion. He had been Gerald's friend throughout everything. Again and again had he pleaded his cause with Sunder- land. "Thank God!" he cried, "you have come back. Why did you go away? If you had only stayed here, something might have been done, although I confess your father's obdu- racy staggers me." "Is he still angry with me?" asked Gerald, anxiously. "He will not hear your name mentioned," Maxwell answered. "It was the business of stealing the baby that finished him. He has often said that he might have forgiven every- thing else, but that was too dastardly." "He is right," Gerald replied in a low voice. "But now, Maxwell, I am ready and willing to give back the boy to his mother. I do not want this suit to go on. I cannot have the whole wretched story dragged through the courts again and rehashed in the newspapers. 238 THE STUFF OF DREAMS If dad would only see me " He paused. His voice shook a trifle. "Well, I'll do my best," Maxwell said. "But I do not know how it will turn out. Your father is greatly changed." "Where is he?" Gerald asked. "Up at Wilson's camp in the mountains," replied Maxwell. Gerald hesitated a moment. "Is she with him?" he questioned with difficulty. "Yes, and so is Mr. Tyson. He leans on them both very greatly. He is tremendously fond of of Mrs. Sunderland." Maxwell tried to speak briskly. "And really, Gerald, my boy, she is grown a great beauty. Constant association with a man like your father has done wonders for her. She is as handsome as a picture and as stately as a duchess," cried Maxwell, waxing eloquent. "The sort that everybody turns and looks after. I admit that I was very much prejudiced, but I will say that I have rarely seen a more charming young woman." 239 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Gerald was silent. Many varied thoughts surged through his mind. He recalled the weeping, frenzied girl who had heaped re- proaches on him and flung herself daily on her knees to him. Maxwell's glowing description illy accorded with this remembrance. "What do you advise, Maxwell?" he at length asked dully. "I think a very good plan is for us to go up there and await developments," returned the lawyer. "It is well to be on hand in a case like this. There may come a moment when Sunderland will relax his severity. Then there you are," he somewhat lamely concluded. In accordance with this plan, Gerald and Maxwell, with the child, journeyed up to the Adirondacks. They took rooms at a hotel a few miles from Wilson's camp and on the day after their arrival, leaving the boy in the charge of responsible persons at the hotel, the two walked through the woods. "Your father has built a lodge near the camp," Maxwell told Gerald, as they were 240 THE STUFF OF DREAMS walking along, "just back of where the camp- fire is lighted. He brought your wife here the first summer after you went away. She was ill for weeks with brain fever, and when she was able to travel he fetched her to her father. But it was pretty rough quarters for an in- valid, so he had an architect up from New York to plan a lodge. They've been here all summer. They see no one but Tyson, who stays near here at another camp." It was arranged that Gerald should remain a mile or so from Wilson's while Maxwell went ahead to reconnoiter. This plan was carried out, and, all the long, still afternoon, Gerald sat alone in the vast forest, listening for the return of his companion's footsteps. At last Maxwell came, red, angry and dis- couraged. "It's no use," he said despairingly. "He will not listen to a word in your favor. I did not tell him you were here, for I saw he was in no mood to hear that news. So we might as well go back." "Maxwell," said Gerald, after an embar- 241 THE STUFF OF DREAMS rassed pause, "I am not going back until I get a glimpse of the governor. I I I have got to see him," he added desperately, with a sud- den break in his voice. "Well, go ahead ; but on your life do not let him see you to-day," was the reply. Gerald took the trail, which wound through a deep, dense piece of woods. It was past sun- set when he came to the border of trees sur- rounding the clearing. He paused, and, se- curely hidden from sight in a thicket, looked out at his father's lodge. It was a beautiful cottage of rustic finish and rough stone founda- tion with spacious porches and balconies. The piazzas were furnished with fur rugs and lux- urious easy-chairs. Through the doorway he caught a glimpse of the hall and a great fire- place where a huge log was burning. Two or three fine dogs lay upon the piazza, and in one chair was a bit of bright embroidery. The open door, the firelight streaming out, the general look of home about the place, struck sharply to the heart of the man standing with- 242 THE STUFF OF DREAMS out, alone in the forest. "Dad's home," he muttered, "and I am shut out." There was a window hung with fluffy white draperies at the right of the hall door, and just within it, on a table, a tall lamp. It was almost dark now. Bats were flying about and the night gloom was fast descending. Some one suddenly came out on the piazza. Gerald's heart leaped to his throat as he recognized his father's splendid proportions. His face seemed strangely white through the oncoming night. While Gerald bent, straining his sight to see more, his father suddenly spoke. "Josephine," he said, and a little white-capped maid ap- peared in the doorway "Josephine, you have not lighted the lamp." His voice sounded peevish. The girl at once disappeared. Gerald's eyes involuntarily strayed to the lamp in the window. He saw the maid lift the globe and set it down on the table; and then his heart seemed to stop beating. For a woman a tall, stately young woman, with the bearing of a princess, was holding a burn- 243 THE STUFF OF DREAMS ing match to the wick. The light flared up, the maid replaced the red globe and went away. But the princess with the pale, proud face remained, standing where the glow of the lamp lit up her beautiful face, looking out with in- scrutable eyes toward the forest, as if they would read every mystery every secret hidden there. 244 CHAPTER XXV "These dim vaults, These winding aisles of human pomp or pride, Report not." AT the further end of the lake at a hotel frequented by fashionables was a gay party of New Yorkers that had run up from Saratoga for a few days. Among them were Adelaide Flornoy and Bobby Dwyer. On the afternoon that Gerald had walked with Maxwell over to Wilson's, Mrs. Flornoy sat upon the porch of the hotel in a brown study. She looked out from under her mauve parasol as Bobby, in immaculate flannels, approached her, and said, as if speaking to a groom: "I want you to have your motor boat ready at ten o'clock to- morrow morning." "Where away now?" asked Bobby, pushing 245 THE STUFF OF DREAMS aside the frills of her voluminous organdie, that he might sit by her. "We are going over to George Sunderland's lodge. And as it is some way from here, we must get an early start," replied the lady. "Sunderland's lodge?" questioned Bobby, with a slight elevation of his eyebrows. "Yes, Bobby," Adelaide returned authorita- tively. "It's high time some one made an as- sault on the citadel. George is too charming a man to be lost to society. I had this in mind when I came up here. We have simply got to get him back where he rightly belongs." "Ah," said Bobby, ruefully reminiscent, "devilish good dinners he used to give." "It's outrageous," went on Adelaide, "that he should bury himself here like a hermit and refuse to see his old friends. Why should he not come over to the hotel now and then for a little bridge?" "Yes," assented Bobby; "he misses a deuce of a lot." "Well, I am going over to see him," said 246 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Mrs. Flornoy. "I am confident he will not deny me. I am not so sure about you," she added, looking at Bobby rather discouragingly. "Oh, old George will see me," cried Bobby with the utmost confidence. "As a matter of fact, he would probably prefer me to call. They say he has turned woman hater." "I do not believe a word of it," retorted Adelaide. "The truth is, George is such a sen- sitive old dear, that he fancies people do not wish to know him any more. Which is of course utterly absurd. It was not he who got entangled with a nobody and brought a messy scandal on his name. It was that blond brute of a Jerry. I must say," she rattled on, "Jerry behaved shockingly. Especially in stealing the child. You know, Bobby, a child-stealer is really low." "Deuce take me," ruminated Bobby, "if I can see what upon earth Jerry wanted with a baby." "Simply to further enrage his long-suffer- ing father," began Adelaide, when, to her 247 amazement, Bobby suddenly shouted with laughter. She turned and regarded him severely. "Really," she said freezingly, "I see no occasion for mirth. You grow very rude, Bobby." "O Lord!" cried Bobby, wiping his eyes. "I am not laughing at you. You are not funny. I was just fancying Jerry Jerry nursing a baby! Ha, ha, hal" and again he went into a fit of laughter. "I hear," continued Adelaide, when Bobby's mirth had somewhat abated, "that girl has brought an action to secure the custody of the child." "Yes," replied Bobby, imitating a newsboy's cry. "All about the Sunderland case in the New York Morning Simoon!" "Vile, yellow sheet!" cried Adelaide, virtu- ously. "I never read it." Bobby drew a copy of the paper from his coat pocket. "In that event," he said, "I shall be obliged to read it to you." Mrs. Flornoy instantly snatched the journal 248 from Bobby's hand and ran her eyes up and down its columns, until at last with a long- drawn "Ah-h-h!" of satisfaction she read eagerly. "The case comes off in September, I see," she remarked. "Bobby, we will go. I am dy- ing to see her. I hear she is grown a stunning beauty. But our first affair is to go after George. Mark my prophecy, Bobby, we will bring George back to dine with us to-morrow." The next day found Mrs. Flornoy and Bobby before Sunderland's lodge. As they alighted from their motor boat, they saw a man busily engaged in laying the camp-fire before the great piazza, for Sunderland would have the primitive custom kept up every evening. The man looked up as they drew near and touched his cap deferentially. He wore a rough, corduroy suit and high boots. His face was grizzled and sunburned and there was a tinge of melancholy in his dark eyes. When he spoke, it was in the soft, slow utter- ance of the backwoodsman, the voice of one 249 THE STUFF OF DREAMS who is always listening to the mysterious sounds of the forest and who has all the time there is in the world at his command. "Good-afternoon," cried Mrs. Flornoy, air- ily, thrusting aside the yards of white chiffon that enveloped her face, in order to take a more comprehensive view of the surroundings. "Is this Mr. Sunderland's lodge?" "Yes, mom," said the man quietly; "but Mr. Sunderland don't see no one." "Oh, that's all right," cried the lady a trifle sharply. "Just tell him that Mrs. Flornoy and Mr. Dwyer are over with their motor boat from the hotel and want to say how-de-do." "Excuse me, mom," replied the man. "I can't take no messages to Mr. Sunderland. He don't see nobody." "He will see me," cried Mrs. Flornoy, tartly. "He wouldn't see the angel Gabriel, mom," said the backwoodsman patiently. "And I do reckin," he added, with the suspicion of a twinkle in his sad eyes, "that you hain't him." 250 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "You are impertinent," cried Adelaide, flushing. "Mebbe I am mebbe I am," responded the man. "But," he added in an argumentative manner, "now hain't it kinder impertinent fer you to insist upon goin' where ye hain't wanted?" "Oh, you need a man to talk to you," the lady cried in a rage. "Bobby!" She motioned Dwyer forward. The man at the camp-fire surveyed Bobby, who in his auto-boat garments was a fearful and wonderful being. "Oh," he said with quiet humor, "is that what you call a man?" "Fellow!" cried Bobby, indignantly. "Yes," assented the man, "that's what I am a fellow. I hain't no gentleman like you, sir. I've lived in the woods all my life and I'm rough, I know but I don't never push myself whar I hain't welcome. Mr. George Sunderland's come here tired out, heartbroken. He's a-restin' in the wilderness," he added with 251 THE STUFF OF DREAMS a quaint solemnity, "and his rest hain't a-goin' to be broken." "This must be the girl's father," murmured Adelaide to her companion. The man caught the whisper. "Never you mind, mom, about my girl," he said sadly. "She's tired out and heartbroken, too. And she's a-restin' in the wilderness. And thar hain't nobody a-goin' to disturb her rest, neither." His lips closed firmly. "I didn't come here to be insulted," cried Adelaide, angrily glancing toward the boat. "I don't want to insult no one, mom," re- turned Wilson, mildly. "All we want here is to be let alone." "Oh, well," snapped Mrs. Flornoy, walking toward the dock, "what can we expect from one not of our world " "That's it, mom," eagerly interrupted Wil- son. "I don't belong to no world of your'n. Your world with its money and finery, its noise and confusion lies fur away. This here" with a comprehensive sweep of his arm "is God's 252 THE STUFF OF DREAMS world. Thar hain't no noise nor uproar here jest calm and rest. You know the Good Book says, 'Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest.' Wall, I kalkilate that if folks want to git next to God, they leaves your world with all its trouble and sorrer and disappointments, and comes to the wilderness to rest." "A preacher!" sneered Adelaide, as they started. "No, mom," Wilson replied with simplicity, as he raised his cap in parting salutation, "only a woodsman. Good-day, mom," There was silence in the boat for a few miles as the ruffled pair went on their way. At last Bobby looked at his crestfallen companion with a sly smile. "Bobby," she cried, angrily flushing under her white veil, "if you look at me again like that I will slap you." "I thought there was no question about his seeing you eh, what?" asked Bobby. "Will you hold your tongue, you impudent 253 THE STUFF OF DREAMS boy?" snapped the lady, who was in a fine rage. "When I try to be a public benefactor again, you will know it." "Adelaide, no family should be without you," retorted Bobby, highly pleased with his own persiflage. A stony silence fell upon the two, which Bobby was wise enough not to break. When they reached the hotel, Adelaide hastened to her rooms, where she promptly went into hys- terics, while Bobby, making his way to the bar, sought balm for his injured feelings in a high-ball. 254 CHAPTER XXVI "At evening-time it shall be light." GERALD turned back through the forest, dazed and mystified. Was it possible this regal young creature was his wife ? He recalled the slim slip of a girl he had known, as shy as the wild things of the wood. Her very timidity had attracted him at the first ; then her strange, gypsy beauty had woven a charm for his fickle fancy. He had imagined himself madly in love with this daughter of the woods and had pur- sued her as relentlessly as a sportsman his quarry. A promise of speedy marriage had been the bait with which he had finally lured her away. In New York, her novel beauty had quickly palled upon him; her timidity became gauch- 255 erie. Her tears and reproaches had irritated and finally disenchanted him. At the last, he had left her quite alone in her gilded cage, glad of an excuse to neglect her. But this stately creature with the face of a sphinx, who had turned her glorious eyes upon his lurking place with an intensity of gaze that seemed to pierce all concealing barriers, was quite another being. Gerald had been sepa- rated so long from his world and from the society of decent women, that the vision of this beautiful girl-woman, dressed in soft, white, filmy draperies, looking out from the window through the night, wove a strange spell about him. He could not banish it. When he reached his room and stood looking down at his sleeping child, he saw in his dark beauty the face of the unhappy mother. In the morn- ing when he wakened, his little son was sitting up in bed, solemnly regarding him with great, inscrutable eyes. Again Gerald saw the face at the window, and, in a sudden inexplicable passion, he caught the child to him and pressed 256 THE STUFF OF DREAMS kisses on his eyes, his lips, his hair. "My boy," he whispered, "you are so like her." It was decided that Maxwell and Gerald should walk again to the lodge that day. Max- well would once more urge Sunderland to see his son. "I will not wait in the woods," Ger- ald said. "It is a torture I cannot endure. I shall go as near the house as I dare. I want you to get dad outside. I want to hear him speak. I want to see him closer. You must invent some pretext, Maxwell." To this the lawyer agreed and in due course of time, Gerald, crouching behind a huge tree, saw his father and Maxwell descend the steps of the lodge and walk slowly toward him. Ger- ald's heart smote him as he saw Sunderland's extreme pallor, the deep lines cut in his hand- some face and the purple hollows under his eyes. "My work!" he bitterly thought. He longed to break from his hiding place, to throw himself upon his father's heart and beg forgiveness. Perhaps if he had yielded to this inclination his father might then and there have 257 THE STUFF OF DREAMS received him with love and compassion. But he hesitated, and, doing so, heard Sunderland speak with frigid dignity. "It is quite useless, Maxwell," he said, "to continue this painful discussion. I can never forgive him." "Now, my dear Sunderland," began Max- well, "upon my soul, I think you are very hard on him. He has never importuned you. He is taking good care of the child " "The least said about the child, the better," interrupted Sunderland in an iron voice. "The child he so cruelly stole from its poor young mother and cunningly hid away for these three years." "Well," plausibly argued the lawyer, "he very naturally wanted the custody of his child." Sunderland turned fiercely upon him. "Maxwell," he stormed, "you enrage me. What upon earth did Gerald care about that baby? He took it away to inflict suffering upon its mother and to further vex me. You know that as well as I." "Possibly, possibly," Maxwell assented; 258 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "but now that we have found him and you have begun the action for the recovery of the infant, that will soon be settled and the child restored to its mother. But there is no need of legal measures. Think how much better for all concerned if you should let your son come home and forget and forgive. Here you are all alone " "I am not alone," returned Sunderland, firmly. "I have my son's wife and her good father with me. And Jack comes every day. To be sure," he added gloomily, "Gerald has robbed me of all hope. I should have had a wife a home " He paused. One of his black moods came upon him. "As it is, I am a leaf in the storm, blown here and there, whipped by the wind, frayed and torn, seek- ing only a resting place." His eyes were filled with bitterness. "You are most unreasonable," ejaculated the lawyer. "The boy has been punished enough." "Let me be the judge of that," said Sun- derland, coldly. 259 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "Yes," said Maxwell, preparing to leave him, "you are the judge, and a relentless, in- exorable one " "Maxwell!" Sunderland cried in anger. "With the mercy ye mete it shall be meas- ured to you again," snapped the fussy little lawyer, going. "You had best think about that a little, George Sunderland." "Maxwell, you go too far," thundered the other. "Do not come here again unless I send for you." "Oh, I will not!" retorted the lawyer, quite out of all conceit with him. "Rest assured of that." He clapped his hat on his bald head and strode angrily into the forest. As he passed Gerald the latter motioned him to go on and wait for him. Sunderland had seated himself on a rustic bench near the heaped-up logs ready for the nightly camp-fire. His back was toward Ger- ald. His head sank down upon his breast. His whole attitude was one of hopeless grief. "Poor dad!" the prodigal behind him sighed 260 THE STUFF OF DREAMS in sincere contrition. "How old he looks! work my work!" Suddenly through the hall door came the princess of the night before. She wore a gown of the softest, palest blue, which she carelessly trailed across the piazza and down the steps. She came on down the path and Gerald marked the ease and grace of her movements. As she neared him, he wondered at the extreme ivory of her skin, the beautiful lights in her heaped- up copper-brown hair, but, above all, at her poise and self-possession. No daughter of a hundred earls could have carried herself with more perfect suppleness and dignity. "Are you coming in, father?" she asked, and her voice was exquisitely modulated. Gerald remembered how rough and uncultivated he had once thought her speech, and marveled the more. "Yes, daughter"; and Sunderland lingered affectionately on the word. "Yes, I am com- ing, Kitty," he added. "Maxwell has just been here and tells me that Gerald is in New York 261 THE STUFF OF DREAMS with the child. The papers have been served on him and the case will come up in September. There is no doubt the courts will restore the boy to you." The girl swayed a little, then put up both hands over her face. "Oh, my baby!" she sobbed. "My little baby!" Sunderland, rising, went to her and sup- ported her tenderly. "There, my dear, do not give way," he said gently. "You will soon have your baby again." "No," moaned Kitty, "not my baby. He is a big boy by this time. I want my little baby." The tears streamed down her pale cheeks. "Yes, poor little mother," said Sunderland, soothingly, "I know I know. You have hun- gered for him, have you not?" "Oh, father," cried the girl wildly, "there has never been an hour in all these years that my heart has not cried out for him. I have wakened nights from dreams of his dear little hands and velvety lips. I have stretched out 262 THE STUFF OF DREAMS my empty arms to the darkness. But there was nothing there." Sunderland seemed tortured by her sorrow. "Infamous!" he muttered. "Kitty, if I could bring myself to forgive Gerald for his disloyal- ty and disobedience to me, I could never for- give him for the outrages he has heaped on you." The girl suddenly dried her tears. She hesi- tated a moment, then, laying her hand upon Sunderland's shoulder, spoke with simple pathos. "I wish you would forgive him, father," she said. "You ask me to forgive?" cried Sunderland in surprise. "You, Kitty? Could you forgive him?" "Ah, yes," she murmured, "if he asked me." "You could forgive," Sunderland went on in measured tones, "a man who has so grossly insulted you? Who outraged the most sacred emotions of womanhood?" "Ah, father," she replied with simplicity, "but you see I loved Jerry. I love him 263 Sunderland made no answer, but with state- ly old-time courtesy bent and kissed her hand. Then he offered her his arm and the two went slowly toward the lodge. Night fell on a man who stumbled through the forest, his cheeks wet with tears, but with a strange glow at his heart, a strange light in his eyes an ineffable light that shines through darkness unto the perfect day. 264 CHAPTER XXVII "Love comes back to its old sweet dwelling." MRS. FLORNOY'S party returned to Saratoga for the races, and on the day they left, Mrs. Adriance and Lily arrived at Raquette Lake. They had spent a few days in New York and had there heard of Sunderland's retreat in the mountains and of Gerald's return. Of Tyson they could discover no trace. None of their mutual acquaintances knew of his whereabouts. Some said he was at Newport, others were of the opinion that he had gone abroad. "Lily," said Mrs. Adriance one day, "New York is a forlorn abomination with its end- less rows of burning streets and its ugly, boarded-up houses. Why should we not have a" she stumbled a little but blushingly re- 265 THE STUFF OF DREAMS covered herself "a fortnight at Raquette Lake? We can row to Wilson's and see George," she added, blushing. "Now that there is no danger of encountering Gerald, I see no objection to your visiting your guar- dian. If we stop here we may run into him any day." For what Mrs. Adriance had not learned was that Gerald was also in the woods, going on his fruitless quest day after day, wait- ing, hoping that an hour might come when his father would no longer oppose a reconciliation. Night after night, from the forest, he watched the lighting of the red lamp in the window. He wondered why his father was so careful it should be done. He paid no attention to the other lighting of the lodge, but repeatedly gave orders about this lamp. The window was so situated that the lurid light shone far down the trail through the woods. For whose wander- ing steps did his father desire that guide? Ger- ald had discovered that Sunderland wished no visitors. To be sure, Tyson drove over every day from his place, but never came at night. 2G6 THE STUFF OF DREAMS It was a riddle to Gerald, until one evening when his father feverishly summoned Josephine and sharply asked why she had not lighted the lamp. The girl made her excuses and hastily ran to her task. Sunderland turned and looked far down the dim woodland trail and then spoke aloud. "He might come," he said, hesi- tatingly, "and there would be no light for him." "It is for me," the prodigal whispered; "the light is for me! Oh, my father, you do love me still!" His heart leaped within him. Hot tears sprang to his eyes. Another moment and he would have been at Sunderland's feet, but his father rose abruptly and went into the lodge. For a time Gerald lingered, trying to summon up sufficient courage to follow him. But he felt he had allowed the psychological moment to pass and wearily trudged back over the trail saying: "To-morrow to-morrow I will chance it." Maxwell, meantime, in despair of bring- ing about the consummation he so devoutly 267 THE STUFF OF DREAMS wished, had crossed the lake to see a legal ac- quaintance who was stopping at the more fash- ionable resort. As he strolled along the hotel piazza he came suddenly upon Mrs. Adriance and her daughter. The two courteously recog- nizing him, he quickly excused himself to his friend and was soon bowing over Mrs. Adri- ance's hand. A brief conversation brought them to the subject closest to their hearts. "I doubt if he sees you," Maxwell said as Mrs. Adriance unfolded her plan to row next day to the lodge. "He refused Mrs. Flornoy and Mr. Dwyer in the most peremptory fashion, and he sent me flying two or three days since me his oldest friend who served his father," the lawyer's voice trembled, "just because I dared say a word for his unfortunate son." The fussy old man seemed on the point of a breakdown. Lily regarded him kindly while Mrs. Adri- ance gently laid her hand upon his arm. "Do not give way, Mr. Maxwell," she said. "I know you must feel it keenly." 268 THE STUFF OF DREAMS "He has changed so," choked Maxwell. "Used to be the loveliest, most amiable of men. Now he's a bear a curmudgeon yes, that's it. To think of George Sunderland becoming a curmudgeon!" He raised his thin, yellow hands in helpless despair. "Yes," said Mrs. Adriance, "it is very pain- ful very sad. But I am going to beard the lion in his den. I think he will see me." "What time will you go over?" Maxwell asked. "Late in the afternoon," replied Mrs. Adri- ance. "Perhaps he will ask me to dine who knows?" She laughed gaily. "Well, ma'am," returned Maxwell with grim humor, "I will go over, too, and wait in the woods; and if he throws you out, I will pick you up." This was too much for the gravity of both ladies. They laughed long and merrily at Maxwell's provision for Mrs. Adriance's relief. "Mother," asked Lily, after Maxwell had 200 THE STUFF OF DREAMS left them, "what shall you do when we get there?" "I shall walk in without even knocking," Mrs. Adriance said with decision. "Then he cannot refuse to see me. I think, Lily," she added with sudden shyness, "that you had best wait outside. I can talk to him better alone, you know," she added argument atively. Lily smiled and looked down. She saw per- fectly through her mother's little artifice and loved her all the more for it. "I do hope, mam- ma," she said demurely, "that guardie will not throw you out." "Oh, I am not at all alarmed, my dear," her mother replied with confidence. Lily had not seen Mrs. Adriance so happy and contented in months. She fluttered about all the evening, trying on various hats and deciding what frock she had best wear the next day. "One always likes to look one's best," she informed her daughter. And to this truism her daughter agreed. Certainly, a more delightful little lady was 270 never seen than Mrs. Adriance next day, in smart Paris tailored frock of pearl-gray with a marvelous gray hat adorned with orchids. Her cheeks were as pink as a girl's, her eyes as lustrous as sapphires, and her beautiful snowy hair framed a charmingly excited face. "Mamma, you are a rose," cried Lily, "a love- ly, full-blown rose." She bent and kissed her mother, who blushed beneath her compliments. Lily's gown was white, as usual. She seldom wore colors, and her Parisian toque of white cloth jauntily crowned her beautiful golden hair. She looked like an angel to the man who lurked in the forest, as she slowly saun- tered down the trail after seeing her mother walk boldly up the steps and into the open door of Sunderland's lodge. "I will walk about a little while I am waiting," she said to her guide. Leaving the boat, she turned toward the woods, and, walking lazily along, was sudden- ly conscious of a presence near her. A man stood in a covert, not far from her, peering through at the lodge. At the sound of her 271 THE STUFF OF DREAMS footsteps, he turned quickly and looked at her with cavernous, startled eyes. "Lily!" he cried. He came hastily toward her. She turned quite faint as she recognized him. But, as he came nearer, terror forsook her and a great pity took its place. This man was not the Gerald she remembered. He was thin and heavy-eyed, and worried lines in his haggard face told a story of sorrow. She held out her hand. "Jerry!" she said simply, "is it you? Ah, why are you here?" He took her hand and regarded her intently for a moment. She was a very beautiful girl, he thought, but she could not compare with the stately young princess of the lodge. He now felt no regret at losing her. But the other his wife? "I would barter my soul," he thought, "if I could get back what I once threw away." "Lily," he suddenly said, "I have been here night after night, haunting the place, heart- sick fo* a word with the governor. All! I've tried so many times to get courage enough to 272 THE STUFF OF DREAMS go up and knock at the door, but someway I can't." He stopped and pressed his face in his hands. "Poor Jerry!" said Lily, laying her hand upon his shoulder. "God bless you, Lily!" he said, lifting his heavy eyes. "I do not deserve a kind word from any one, least from you." "And yet I find only kindness in my heart for you, Jerry," she answered. "I can see that you have suffered." "Ah," sighed the man, "I have paid heavily for my follies and sins. But the boy has saved me. The little chap crept into my hard heart and softened it. I have grown to idolize him," he added softly. "Where is the child?" Lily asked. "Back there with Maxwell." Gerald indi- cated the direction. "There?" the girl repeated in astonishment. "Yes. I brought him over to-night with me. I had an insane idea of taking him in and begging dad for the sake of the child " He 273 THE STUFF OF DREAMS paused, his features working convulsively. "O God! O God!" he cried in agony. The girl took his hand. "Oh, Jerry, dear, do not," she expostulated. "Listen a moment. Go back and get the boy and bring him here. Mamma and I will do our best for you." "Lily," he said, "you are an angel straight from heaven. Do you know I have done an awful lot of thinking in the last few weeks? Lily, dad was right. It is not the way the world looks at it ah, no ! The world says one law for the man and another for the woman. But if there were more men like the governor to take just the stand he did there would be a heap less misery in the world." "Yes, Jerry," replied the girl, "your father was right." "There is another thing I must say to you, Lily," Gerald went on. "It's about Jack. Jack was the straightest, cleanest-minded man I ever knew decent, square, splendid fellow. I was mad at losing you and so I lied to you 274 THE STUFF OF DREAMS about him. Will you forgive me?" he humbly asked. She made no answer, but quietly bowed her head. She could not trust herself to speak. "I must go," said Gerald, suddenly. "Some one is coming." He hurried away down the trail and was soon lost in the woods. Some one was coming from the lodge, with long, swinging strides crashing through the boughs and logs laid for the camp-fire, never pausing, rushing on, on to the forest. At the sound of the footsteps the girl turned pale and laid her hand on her heart to still its happy tumult. The descending sun sent its last rays through the gloom of the forest to play about her form, and it was against the background of that one last blaze of golden glory, standing all in white, like the Blessed Damozel, that he saw her again. 275 CHAPTER XXVIII "The setting sun and music at the close." TYSON and Sunderland were dining alone. Mrs. Sunderland was not feeling well and begged to be excused, was the message Jose- phine brought as they were about to go to dinner. The two men had finished their soup and were awaiting the coming of a noble haunch of venison, the roasting of which was superintended by Wilson himself, who would not consent to take a back seat for Sunder- land's chef. Suddenly there was a soft rustle of silks in the hall. Sunderland glanced toward the door. "Ah!" he said, "Kitty must be feeling better. She is coming to join us, after all." He paused, his eyes riveted upon the figure that stood in the doorway, smiling graciously at him. Was 276 THE STUFF OF DREAMS it a dream? he asked himself. Instead of his stately daughter-in-law, there stood a diminu- tive, pink-and-white lady in a marvelous gray gown and a wonderful hat, extending tiny hands and murmuring: "George, are you not glad to see me?" "Dorothy!" Sunderland ejaculated as he rose and went to her, eagerly taking her hands. Only Tyson's presence prevented a scene. "Is it you? Where have you come from? When how " "One question at a time, my dear friend," cried Mrs. Adriance, dimpling and blushing. "Jack, how do you do? Awfully glad to see you again. Lily and I are just from New York. Before that, from Switzerland " "Where is Miss Adriance?" suddenly de- manded an eager voice. Tyson had thrown all diplomacy to the winds. His one thought was to find Lily. Mrs. Adriance laughed knowingly. "She is waiting outside," she said, "to see George throw me out." Tyson heard no more, but, 277 THE STUFF OF DREAMS with a hasty apology, darted out. He ran down the steps, expecting to see Lily in the boat. The guide saw him coming with great strides and at once realized the situation. With a significant smile the man merely pointed in the direction Lily had taken. As he came up with her, his eyes, filled with glad light, searched hers steadily. I think it was all settled in that one glance before either spoke. In another moment they stood with clasped hands, the dark head bent toward the fair one. "Is it really you?" he murmured, "or are you the phantom of my dreams?" "No, Jack," she whispered; "I am flesh and blood." Her winsome face, upturned to his, tempted him sorely, but he sternly held himself in leash. "Lily," he said in a voice vibrant with emo- tion, "wiiere have you been these three inter- minable years?" "Mother and I have been living quietly in Switzerland," she replied, looking at him from under her curling lashes. He was handsomer 278 THE STUFF OF DREAMS than ever she thought, but with an older, graver look. The air of command she remem- bered had grown with him too. He was re- garding her with a sad sternness now which secretly delighted her, for, like all women, she loved to be dominated by the man she adored. "Why did you hide yourself from me?" he asked, his burning hands holding hers closer. "I felt," she returned, "that I must be alone and work out all the problems that so sadly vexed me." "And have you found your solutions?" Ty- son questioned. "Not all," she replied; "but I have found the key to the one that most distressed me, Jack." She added irrelevantly: "Jerry's here." "Here?" questioned Tyson, amazed. "I had heard he was in New York. I did not know he had come here. Where is he?" "He was here a moment ago," Lily an- swered. "He has gone back a mile or so after the little boy. I am going to try to move guardie to see him. I have it all planned," 279 THE STUFF OF DREAMS she added with enthusiasm, "and I am positive I shall succeed." "I sincerely hope you may," responded Ty- son. "Believe me, Maxwell and I have done everything we could for Jerry. But Sunder- land appears implacable. And yet, do you know, that down in his heart, he wants his son. If he would but once see Jerry. But that is the very thing he fights against." "I shall try," Lily reiterated with a wise shake of her pretty head. "You are the only one who can do anything now," Jack replied. He had released her hands and the two were slowly strolling down the trail toward the sunset. The birds were making their good-nights to one another. Far in the forest rose one plaintive, liquid note, re- peated again and again with heartbreaking in- sistence, like that wild, dominating, soul-wring- ing cry in the Cavalliera intermezzo. They paused to listen. Save for the music of the birds, they stood in silence; a silence vast, strange and primeval. And yet it pul- 280 THE STUFF OF DREAMS sated with happiness. All the prejudices, the doubts, the standards of the world were gone. Alone, in the glory of the sunset fading to sweet music, they stood, realizing that the su- preme moment of life had come, dallying with it, desiring to make it endure as long as pos- sible, that they might enjoy each exquisite moment to the full. Lower and lower sank the sun, fainter and finer and further away sounded that plaintive call in the forest. At last Tyson spoke. "Yes," he said, "we will hope now that you are come. When you disappeared, all hope departed from my life. But now at sight of you, at touch of you, it returns. I have loved you so long." He drew her gently toward him. "Jack," she murmured, "do you recall that frightful day when Jerry accused you? It shook me. I wondered if all men were alike. I grew sick at heart. I went away to Nature. And the mountains laid their cool hands upon me and healed me. They showed me that there 281 is nothing but love, love, love and that one should ask no questions of love when it comes, but take it eagerly and thankfully. Ah, Jack, I love you." She was on his breast now, wrapped and enfolded in her lover's arms. The sun was gone and from far in the forest came the last swan-note of the bird's love call to its mate. 282 'She was on his breast now, wrapped and enfolded in her lover's arms." CHAPTER XXIX "But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him." WITHIN the lodge, Sunderland and Dorothy sat alone at dinner. When some time elapsed and Tyson did not return, the two smiled at each other across the board and Mrs. Adriance said: "He has found her." "I hope everything is understood," replied Sunderland. "Jack is a magnificent fellow. What he has been to me in my loneliness, God only knows. I have leaned upon him as on a son." " "And Jerry?" Mrs. Adriance asked, shak- ing in her tiny shoes at her temerity. "I cannot hear that name," Sunderland re- plied with darkening face. Then his old, rare smile lightened the gloom, as a rift of sunshine 283 THE STUFF OF DREAMS breaks through clouds. He looked tenderly at the lovely, gracious face across the table. "Ah, Dorothy," he murmured, "is it true? Or is it a dream? I have dreamed so often that you came, only to wake to the wretched re- ality." The lady sat looking down, playing absent- ly with her fork. Suddenly she resolutely lifted her face. "George," she said with shin- ing eyes, "you and I have wasted too many years of our lives in dreams." Sunderland leaned across and took her hand. Joy sprang to his mournful eyes, his whole face changed, growing younger and softer. "Do you mean " he began. "Yes," half laughed, half sobbed his old sweetheart, "if you will have it so. I mean never to leave you again my poor, dear, lone- ly old George." She was softly weeping in his arms now. He drew her to his tired heart and kissed her solemnly. "After so many years," he murmured. "After so many years." When they had somewhat recovered their 284 THE STUFF OF DREAMS composure, Sunderland poured a glass of Chateau Yquem, and gallantly bowing to Mrs. Adriance, said: "I drink to an old sweetheart of mine!" It was a pretty picture the handsome, stately gentleman with frosted head, toasting with old-time gallantry the gracious, white- haired lady. Youth in love is a charming sight, and all the world loves a lover. But there is no age to love. That spring bubbles eternal in the human heart. Its waters are fed by the hand of God Himself and bless alike the young and old. Long these white-haired lovers sat in the twilight. A strange peace had descended upon Sunderland's heart. He seemed to be a man recovering from a long illness, knowing him- self still weak but almost free from pain. But there was still a poignant memory that burned and rankled still one grievous thorn that stung him. If he could but pluck that out, tear it up by the roots, then heaven itself would come down to earth. 285 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Kitty, descending to light the lamp in the window, found the two sitting alone upon the piazza. Mrs. Adriance could not repress her delight at the girl's great beauty and manner. "George," she said as Kitty went into the lodge, "she is superb. Such a face such a voice such a bearing! What does it mean?" "I found Kitty very adaptable," Sunder- land replied, "and anxious to improve herself in every way. We have read together and I have taught her a little, I hope." "A little!" echoed Mrs. Adriance. "She is wonderful." "The average American girl is wonderful," returned Sunderland. "She has the wit and tact to adapt herself to any station in life. Kitty has been a devoted daughter to me. I have never for one moment regretted my course toward her. But here come Lily and Tyson." Running up the steps, Lily embraced her guardian warmly. He held her then at arm's length and scrutinized her closely. "Lily," he 286 THE STUFF OF DREAMS said, "you are more lovely than ever. Ah, child, you bring balm and healing with you. The night was long but now the dawn is break- ing." "Yes, guardie, dear," she smiled. "But give me your arm. I want you to come with me and look at the sunrise." Sunderland supported her wonderingly, and the two went down the walk together. Job Wilson was just lighting the camp-fire. They paused for a moment to watch the fire run from log to log and finally leap and dart up toward the overhanging boughs. Lily looked back at the red lamp in the window and at the other firelight dancing through the great hall door. "How cheerful the place looks," she cried with enthusiasm; "how like a home! That's it. It's home. Have you ever thought, guardie, what such a sight as this must mean to one who has no home who has wandered up and down the earth, finding no rest for the sole of his foot?" "Lily, whom do you mean?" Her guardian 287 THE STUFF OF DREAMS spoke hoarsely, giving her a quick, suspicious glance. "Whom should I mean but myself?" she lightly replied. "Have I not been a wanderer for three years, and am I not at home now?" She pressed his arm affectionately. "Oh, guardie, dear, I am so happy, you are so hap- py, we are so happy. Sounds like a grammar class, does it not? To think you are really going to be my father at last! Well, better late than never. Oh, you need not look at me like that. I know all about it. Do you think I cannot see an inch from my nose?" She laughed from sheer joy. "And you are not going to be a stern parent to me, are you, dear?" "Never to you, my little girl," Sunderland replied, smiling down at her indulgently. They had almost reached the forest now. Lily stopped suddenly, and, dropping her tone of levity, spoke earnestly. "You will not re- fuse me the one thing lacking to make my 288 THE STUFF OF DREAMS happiness complete, will you, guardie?" she said. "Lily," returned her guardian, "ask me any- thing save to see Gerald. That I cannot grant." "No, dear," replied the girl quickly, "I won't ask you to see him. I only ask you to see a messenger from Jerry." "That is substantially the same thing," re- plied Sunderland. "Oh, no, guardie, dear," Lily innocently cried. "Why, you know you can send the messenger away if you wish." Sunderland hesitated. Ah, the thorn in his side if he could but pluck it forth and have done with the cruel, grinding pain! "Very well," he said with an effort; "if it's not Max- well I will see him." Lily smiled. "The dear, obstinate old hot- head," she murmured to herself. Then aloud: "No, dear, it is not Mr. Maxwell." Sunderland bowed his head in assent and sat down on the bench with a resigned air. 289 "Send him here," he said; "I will listen to the message. But I promise nothing." Lily darted down the trail. "Quick, quick!" she cried, meeting Gerald and Maxwell; "give me the child." She caught the wondering boy up in her arms and fairly flew back to the place where Sunderland sat waiting. "I must not give him time to change his mind," she thought. She set the child down and whispered: "Go, darling, and stand before that man there. Do not be afraid of him. He is good and loves you. He will ask you your name and you must tell him." She gently pushed the child forward. At the sound of footsteps, Sunderland raised his eyes and saw in the glow of the camp-fire a beautiful child, as handsome as a little gypsy prince. The baby was regarding him solemn- ly with great eyes. Something about the child, his proud little head, his short, scornful upper lip, his steadfast gaze, brought back to the startled man a memory of another little boy. 290 THE STUFF OF DREAMS Sunderland stared at him as if hypnotized, his heart beat to suffocation and great beads of perspiration gathered on his brow. "Who who are you?" he stammered. "What is your name?" "Name Jerry," replied the child, still gravely regarding him. With a great sob Sun- derland caught him to his breast. "My little boy!" he wept. "My little boy!" Lily hastily beckoned to Gerald, who came up white and trembling. "This is your time," she murmured. "Do not wait a moment." * In another instant he stood before his father, extending an appealing hand. Sunderland saw him, and releasing the child, sank back upon the bench, staring as if at a ghost. Lily now caught up the child and ran with him to the lodge, crying out as Tyson and Mrs. Adriance met her with outstretched hands: "His mother first his mother first." The next moment the boy was in Kitty's arms. "Father," Gerald murmured "father, for- give " He got no further. For with one 291 THE STUFF OF DREAMS mighty tug, Sunderland wrenched the thorn from his flesh and eased his pain forever. He threw his arms about his son, and for one sacred moment the two men wept together. Then with his arm about his son's shoulder, Sunderland led him home. As they went up the steps together, Gerald saw through the doorway the cheerful lamplight, the blaze of the open fire, the row of kindly, welcoming faces, and his wife holding their child to her heart. THE END 292 B. W. DODGE $ COMPANY "How Wall Street Manufactured the Panic of 1907" THE Moneychangers A New Novel BY UPTON SINCLAIR Author of "The Jungle," "The Metropolis," "Manassas,'" etc. The second volume of the startling tragedy descriptive of the social and financial life of the metropolis, a real story, too, not merely the introduction to one. 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DODGE <$ COMPANY A NOBLE COMPANY OF ADVENTURERS BY RUFUS ROCKWELL WILSON Author of ''The Sea Hovers" Illustrated by May Fratz True stories of real adventurers who exist to-day, hero tales of modern life that will fascinate and inspire every healthy boy. The author tells about: The Canadian Mounted Police The Mining of Coal The Cowboys of the Plains Building a Railroad Work of the Texas Rangers Life in a Logging Camp The Men Who Hunt for Oil Tales of the Fire Fighters The tales are full of interest and at the same time in- structive. 12mo. Cloth B. W. DODGE $ COMPANY WO L F: THE MEMOIRS OF A CAVE-DWELLER BY P. B. McCORD A vivid picture of primeval humanity translated from an imaginary record discovered in the Central West. To our modern eyes the story may seem brutal, but the passions, blood-lust and cunning of primitive man continue to-day under a control of habit and convention. 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