THE HOUSE OF 
 MARTHA 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK R. STOCKTON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1912 
 
Copyright, 1891, 
 Bl FRANK R. STOCKTON. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAaB 
 
 I. My Grandmother and I 1 
 
 II. Relating to my Year in Europe ... 4 
 
 III. The Modern Use of the Human Ear . , 10 
 
 IV. I obtain a Listener 13 
 
 V. Chester Walkirk 17 
 
 VI. My Under-Study 21 
 
 VII. My Book 25 
 
 VIII. The Malarial Adjunct 33 
 
 IX. Walkirk's Idea 40 
 
 X. The Plan of Seclusion 44 
 
 XI. My Nun 48 
 
 XII. EzA 54 
 
 XIII. My Friend Vespa 60 
 
 XIV. I FAVOR Permanency in Office ... 72 
 
 XV. How WE WENT BACK TO GeNOA . . , .77 
 
 XVI. I run upon a Sandbar 84 
 
 XVII. Regarding the Elucidation of National 
 
 Characteristics 90 
 
 XVIII. An Illegible Word 96 
 
 XIX. Gray Ice 103 
 
 XX. TOMASO AND I 110 
 
 XXI. LUCILLA AND I 117 
 
 XXII. I close MY Book 124 
 
 XXIII. Racket Island 129 
 
 KXIV. The Interpoi^ation 137 
 
 281310 
 
fV CONTENTS. 
 
 XXV. About Syi-via ...*... 147 
 
 XXVI. Mother Anastasia 153 
 
 XXVII. A Person 160 
 
 XXVIII. The Floating Grocery .... 170 
 
 XXIX. Fantasy? 185 
 
 XXX. A Discovery 192 
 
 XXXI. Taking up Unfinished Work . . c 199 
 
 XXXII. TOMASO AND LUCILLA 207 
 
 XXXIII. The Distant Topsail 214 
 
 I ;XXXIV. The Central Hotel 223 
 
 XXXV. Money makes the Mare go ... . 234 
 
 XXXVI. In the Shade of the Oak .... 240 
 
 XXXVII. The Performance of my Undeb-Study . 252 
 
 XXXVIII. A Broken Trace . . . . . .261 
 
 XXXIX. A Soul Whisper ? 271 
 
 XL. An Inspiration 276 
 
 XLI. Miss Laniston .286 
 
 XLII. The Mother Superior 294 
 
 XLIII. Was his Heart true to Poll ? . . . 305 
 
 XLIV. Preliminary Brotherhood .... 311 
 
 XLV. I MAKE Coffee and get into Hot Water . 323 
 
 XL VI. Going back for a Friend .... 332 
 
 XLVII. I INTEREST Miss Laniston .... 339 
 
 XLVIII. In a Cold, Bare Room ..... 346 
 
 XLIX. My Own Way 353 
 
 L. My Book of Travel 359 
 
 LI. A Loose End 364 
 
 Ln. I mnsH THE Sicilian Lovb-Stoby . . 370 
 
THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 MY GRANDMOTHER AND I. 
 
 My grandmother sat in her own particular easy- 
 chair by the open window of her back parlor. This 
 was a pleasant place in which to sit in the after- 
 noon, for the sun was then on the other side of the 
 house, and she could look not only over the smooth 
 grass of the side yard and the flower beds, which 
 were under her especial care, but across the corner 
 of the front lawn into the village street. Here, 
 between two handsome maple-trees which stood 
 upon the sidewalk, she could see something of 
 what was going on in the outer world without pre- 
 senting the appearance of one who is fond of 
 watching her neighbors. It was not much that 
 she saw, for the street was a quiet one ; but a very 
 little of that sort of thing satisfied her. 
 
 She was a woman who was easily satisfied. As 
 a proof of this, I may say that she looked upon me 
 as a man who always did what was right. Indeed, 
 I am quite sure there were cases when she saved 
 herself a good deal of perplexing cogitation by 
 
2 TRE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 assuming that a thing was right because I did it. 
 I was her only grandchild : my father and mother 
 had died when I was very young, and I had al- 
 ways lived with her, — that is, her house had always 
 been my home ; and as I am sure there had never 
 been any reason why I should not be a dutiful and 
 affectionate grandson, it was not surprising that 
 she looked upon me with a certain tender partial- 
 ity, and that she considered me worthy of all the 
 good that she or fortune could bestow upon me. 
 
 My grandmother was nearly seventy, but her 
 physical powers had been excellently well pre- 
 served; and as to her mental vigor, I could see 
 no change in it. Even when a little boy I had 
 admired her powers of sympathetic consideration, 
 by which she divined the needs and desires of her 
 fellow-creatures ; and now that I had become a 
 grown man I found those powers as active and 
 ready as they had ever been. 
 
 The village in which we lived contained a goodly 
 number of families of high standing and comfort- 
 able fortune. It was a village of well-kept and 
 well-shaded streets, of close-cut grass, with no litter 
 on the sidewalks. Our house was one of the best 
 in the place, and since I had come of age I had 
 greatly improved it. I had a fair inheritance from 
 my mother, and this my grandmother desired me 
 to expend without reference to what I was receiv- 
 ing and would receive from her. To her son's son 
 would come ultimately everything that she pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 Being thus able to carry out my ideas concern- 
 
MY GBANDMOTHEB AND I. 6 
 
 ing the comfort and convenience of a bachelor, I 
 had built a wing to my grandmother's house, which 
 was occupied only by myself. It communicated 
 by several doors with the main building, and these 
 doors were nearly always open ; but it was satisfac- 
 tory to me to think that if I chose I might shut 
 and lock them, and thus give my apartment the 
 advantages of a separate house. The ground floor 
 of my establishment consisted of a large and hand- 
 some library and study, with a good-sized anteroom 
 opening from it, and above were my sleeping and 
 dressing rooms. With the exception of the time 
 devoted to reading, reflection, and repose, I lived 
 with my grandmother. 
 
 Neither of us, however, confined ourself to this 
 village life. The winters my grandmother gener- 
 ally spent with a married sister in a neighboring 
 city, and I was accustomed to visit and journey 
 whenever it pleased me. Recently I had spent- a 
 year in Europe, and on my return I joined my 
 grandmother for a while, before going to our vil- 
 lage home. 
 
IL 
 
 RELATING TO MY YEAR IN EUROPE. 
 
 I DO not suppose that any one ever enjoyed 
 travel and residence in England and on the Conti- 
 nent more than I did ; but I do not now intend to 
 give any account of my experiences, nor of the ef- 
 fect they had upon me, save in one regard. I had 
 traveled and lived for the most part alone, and one 
 of the greatest pleasures connected with my life in 
 Europe was the anticipation of telling my friends 
 who had never crossed the ocean what I had seen, 
 heard, and done. 
 
 But when I returned to America I met with a 
 great disappointment : my glowing anticipations 
 were not realized. I could find scarcely any one 
 who cared to know what I had seen, heard, or 
 done. 
 
 At this I was as much surprised as disappointed. 
 I believed that I possessed fair powers of descrip- 
 tion and narration, and many of my traveling ex- 
 periences were out of the common. In fact, I had 
 endeavored to see things the ordinary traveler does 
 not see, and to do things which he seldom does. I 
 found, however, that my unusual experiences were 
 of no advantage to me in making people desirous 
 to hear accounts of my travels. I might as well 
 
RELATING TO MY YEAE IN EUROPE, 5 
 
 have joined a party of personally conducted tour- 
 ists. 
 
 My friends and acquaintances in town were all 
 glad to see me, not that they might hear what had 
 happened to me, but that they might tell me what 
 had happened to them. This disposition sometimes 
 threw me into a state of absolute amazement. I 
 could not comprehend, for instance, why Mrs. 
 Gormer, who had known me for years, and who 
 I thought would take such an active interest in 
 everything that concerned me, should dismiss my 
 Eurppean tour with a few remarks in regard to my 
 health in the countries I had passed through, and 
 then begin an animated account of the troubles she 
 had had since I had been away : how the house she 
 had been living in had had two feet of water in 
 the cellar for weeks at a time, and ho\!i*nobody 
 could find out whether it was caused by a spring 
 in the ground or 4;he bursting of an unknown 
 waier-pipe> — but no matter what it was, they 
 could \i't stay there ; and what a dreadful time they 
 had in finding another house ; and how the day ap- 
 pointed for Jennie's wedding coming directly in 
 the middle of the moving, it had to be postponed, 
 for she declared she would never be married any- 
 where but at home ; and how several of Mr. Bar- 
 clay's relations came down from New Hampshire 
 on purpose to be at the wedding, and had to stay 
 either at hotels or with friends, for it was more 
 than a week before her house could be made ready 
 for the wedding. She then remarked that of 
 course I had heard of the shameful way in which 
 
6 THE HOUSE OF. MARTHA. 
 
 John had been treated in regard to that position 
 in the Treasury department at Washington ; and 
 as I had not heard she went on and told me about 
 it, until it was time for me to go. 
 
 At my club, some of the men did not know that 
 I had been away, but there were others who were 
 very glad to hear that I had been in Europe, be- 
 cause it gave them an opportunity to tell me about 
 that very exciting election of Brubaker, a man of 
 whom I had never heard, who had been proposed 
 by Shuster, with whom I was not acquainted, and 
 seconded by Cushman, whom I did not know. I 
 found no one desirous of hearing me talk about my 
 travels, and those who were willing to do so were 
 satisfied with a very few general points. Some- 
 times I could not but admire the facility and skill 
 with which some of the people who stay at home 
 were able to defend themselves against the at- 
 tempted loquacity of the returned traveler. 
 
 Occasionally, in social gatherings, I met with 
 some one, generally a lady, who did take an inter- 
 est in hearing that I had been in such or such a 
 place ; but this was always some place in which she 
 had been, and, after comparing experiences, she 
 would go on to tell of things which she had seen 
 and done, and often ended by making me feel very 
 sorry for having neglected my opportunities. 
 
 " Yes," said one, " it must have been cold on the 
 top of that lonely mountain, with nothing to warm 
 you but those plump little wolves, and the constant 
 fear that their mother might come back ; but you 
 ought to have been here during the blizzard." 
 
RELATING TO MY YEAR IN EUROPE. 7 
 
 And then she went on with a full history of the 
 great blizzard. 
 
 Everywhere I was met by that blizzard. Those 
 people who had not moved, or who had not had a 
 puzzling disease in the family, or who had not been 
 instrumental in founding a free kindergarten, could 
 always fall back on the blizzard. I heard how 
 their fathers could not get home on the train, of 
 the awful prices the people charged for clearing 
 away the snow, of the way in which Jane and Ade- 
 laide had to get on without music lessons for 
 nearly ten days, and of the scarcity of milk. No 
 one who had seen and felt that irrepressible storm 
 suffered from it as I did. It chilled the aspira- 
 tions of my soul, it froze the unspoken words of 
 my mouth, it overwhelmed and buried every ris- 
 ing hope of speech, and smothered and sometimes 
 nearly obliterated my most interesting recollection. 
 Many a time I have mentally sent that blizzard to 
 regions where its icy blasts would have melted as 
 in a hot simoom. 
 
 I truly believed that in our village I should find 
 sensible people who would be glad to hear about 
 interesting things which they never had seen. 
 Many of them had not traveled, and a returned 
 tourist was a comparative rarity in the place. I 
 went down there on purpose to talk about EuropCo 
 It was too early for my grandmother's return to 
 the country. I proposed to spend a week with my 
 village friends, and, before their bright firesides, 
 charm and delight them with accounts of those 
 things which had so charmed and delighted me. 
 
8 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 The lives of city people are so filled with every 
 sort of material that it is useless to try to crowd 
 anything more into them. Here, however, were 
 people with excellent intellects, whose craving for 
 mental pabulum, especially in the winter, could be 
 but partially satisfied. 
 
 But bless me ! I never heard of such an over- 
 stock of mental pabulum as I found there. It was 
 poured upon me by every one with whom I tried to 
 converse. I was frequently permitted to begin 
 statements which I believed must win their way, if 
 they were allowed a fair start ; but very soon some- 
 thing I said was sure to suggest something which 
 had occurred in the village, and before I could 
 brace myself the torrent would burst upon me. 
 Never did I hear, in the same space of time, so 
 much about things which had happened as I then 
 heard from my village neighbors. It was not that 
 so much had occurred, but that so much was said 
 about what had occurred. It was plain there was 
 no hope for me here, and after three days I went 
 back to town. 
 
 Now it was early summer, and my grandmother 
 and I were again in our dear home in the village. 
 As I have said, she was sitting by the open window, 
 where she could look out upon the flowers, the grass, 
 and a little of the life of her neighbors. I sat near 
 her, and had been telling her of my three days in 
 the Forest of Arden, and of the veritable Jaques 
 whom I met there, when she remarked : — 
 
 " That must have been extremely interesting ; 
 and, speaking of the woods, I wish you would say 
 
RELATING TO MY YEAR IN EUROPE. 9 
 
 to Thomas that so soon as he can find time I want 
 him to bring up some of that rich wood-soil and 
 put it around those geraniums." 
 
 This was the first time my grandmother had in- 
 terjected any remark into my recitals. She had 
 often asked me to tell her about my travels, and 
 on every other occasion she had listened until she 
 softly fell asleep. I now remembered having 
 heard her say that it interfered with her night's 
 rest to sleep in the daytime. Perhaps her present 
 interruption was intended as a gentle rebuke, and 
 no other kind of rebuke had ever come to me from 
 my grandmother. 
 
 I went out to find Thomas, oppressed by a mild 
 despair. If I were to tell my tales to a stone, I 
 thought, it would turn on me with a sermon. 
 
III. 
 
 THE MODEEN USE OF THE HUMAN EAR. 
 
 During my lonely walks and rides through the 
 country about our village, I began to cogitate and 
 philosophize upon the present social value of the 
 human ear. Why do people in society and in do- 
 mestic circles have ears ? I asked myseK. They do 
 not use them to listen to one another. And then X 
 thought and pondered further, and suddenly the 
 truth came to me : the ears of the present genera- 
 tion are not purveyors to the mind ; they are merely 
 agents of the tongue, who watch for breaks or 
 weak places in the speech of others, in order that 
 their principal may rush in and hold the field. 
 They are jackals, who scent out a timid pause or 
 an unsuspecting silence which the lion tongue 
 straightway destroys. Very forcibly the conviction 
 came to me that nowadays we listen only for an 
 opportunity to speak. 
 
 I was grieved that true listening had become a 
 lost art ; for without it worthy speech is impossible. 
 To good listening is due a great part of the noble 
 thought, the golden instruction, and the brilliant 
 wit which has elevated, enlightened, and bright- 
 ened the soul of man. There are fine minds whose 
 workings are never expressed in writing ; and even 
 
THE MODERN USE OF THE HUMAN EAR. 11 
 
 among those who, in print, spread their ideas be- 
 fore the world there is a certain cream of thought 
 which is given only to listeners, if, happily, there 
 be such. 
 
 Modern conversation has degenerated into the 
 Italian game of moccoletto, in which every one en- 
 deavors to blow out the candles of the others, and 
 keep his own alight. In such rude play there is 
 no illumination. " There should be a reform," I 
 declared. " There should be schools of listening. 
 Here men and women should be taught how, with 
 sympathetic and delicate art, to draw from others 
 the useful and sometimes precious speech which, 
 without their skillful cooperation, might never 
 know existence. To be willing to receive in order 
 that good may be given should be one of the high- 
 est aims of life. 
 
 " Not only should we learn to listen in order to 
 give opportunity for the profitable speech of oth- 
 ers, but we should do so out of charity and good 
 wiU to our fellow-men. How many weary sick- 
 beds, how many cheerless lives, how many lonely, 
 depressed, and silent men and women, might be 
 gladdened, and for the time transformed, by one 
 who would come, not to speak words of cheer and 
 comfort, but to listen to tales of suffering and 
 trial ! Here would be one of the truest forms of 
 charity ; an almost unknown joy would be given to 
 the world. 
 
 " There should be brotherhoods and sisterhoods 
 of listeners ; like good angels, they should go out 
 among those unfortunates who have none to hear 
 
12 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 that which it would give them so much delight to 
 say." 
 
 But alas ! I knew of no such good angels. Must 
 that which I had to tell remain forever untold for 
 the want of one ? This could not be ; there must 
 exist somewhere a man or a woman who would be 
 willing to hear my accounts of travels and expe- 
 riences which, in an exceptionable degree, were 
 interesting and valuable. 
 
 I determined to advertise for a listener. 
 
IV. 
 
 I OBTAIN A LISTENER. 
 
 The writing of my advertisement cost me a 
 great deal of trouble. At first I thought of stat- 
 ing that I desired a respectable and intelligent 
 person, who would devote a few hours each day to 
 the services of a literary man ; but on reflection I 
 saw that this would bring me a vast number of 
 answers from persons who were willing to act as 
 secretaries, proof-readers, or anything of the sort, 
 and I should have no means of finding out from 
 their letters whether they were good listeners or 
 not. 
 
 Therefore I determined to be very straightfor- 
 ward and definite, and to state plainly what it was 
 I wanted. The following is the advertisement 
 which I caused to be inserted in several of the city 
 papers : — 
 
 " Wanted. — A respectable and intelligent per- 
 son, willing to devote several hours a day to listen- 
 ing to the recitals of a traveler. Address, stating 
 compensation expected. Oral." 
 
 I mentioned my purpose to no one, not even to 
 my grandmother, for I should merely make myself 
 the object of the ridicule of my friends, and my 
 dear relative's soul would be filled with grief that 
 
14 TEtE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 she had not been considered competent to do for 
 me so slight a service. If I succeeded in obtain- 
 ing a listener, he could come to me in my library, 
 where no one would know he was not a stenogra- 
 pher to whom I was dictating literary matter, or a 
 teacher of languages who came to instruct me in 
 Arabic. 
 
 I received a dozen or more answers to my ad- 
 vertisement, some of which were very amusing, 
 and others very unsatisfactory. Not one of the 
 writers understood what sort of services I desired, 
 but all expressed their belief that they were fully 
 competent to give them, whatever they might be. 
 
 After a good deal of correspondence and some 
 interviewing, I selected at last a person who I be- 
 lieved would prove himself a satisfactory listener. 
 He was an elderly man, of genteel appearance, 
 and apparently of a quiet and accommodating dis- 
 position. He assured me that he had once been a 
 merchant, engaged in the importation of gunny- 
 bags, and, having failed in business, had since de- 
 pended on the occasional assistance given him by 
 a widowed daughter-in-law. This man I engaged, 
 and arranged that he should lodge at the village 
 inn, and come to me every evening. 
 
 I was truly delighted that so far I had succeeded 
 in my plan. Now, instead of depending upon the 
 whims, fancies, or occasional good-natured compli- 
 ance of any one, I was master of the situation. 
 My listener was paid to listen to me, and listen to 
 me he must. If he did not do so intelligently, he 
 should be dismissed. "It would be difficult to ex- 
 
I OBTAIN A LISTENER. 15 
 
 press fully the delight given me by my new pos- 
 session, — the ownership of attention. 
 
 Every evening my listener came ; and during a 
 great part of every day I thought of what I should 
 say to him when he should come. I talked to him 
 with a feeling of freedom and absolute indepen* 
 dence which thrilled me like champagne. What 
 mattered it whether my speech interested him or 
 not ? He was paid to listen, without regard to in- 
 terest; more than that, he was paid to show an 
 interest, whether he felt it or not. Whether I 
 bored him or delighted him, it made no difference ; 
 in fact, it would be a pleasure to me occasionally 
 to feel that I did bore him. To have the full op- 
 portunity and the perfect right to bore a fellow- 
 being is a privilege not lightly to be prized, and 
 an added zest is given to the enjoyment of the 
 borer by the knowledge that the bored one is 
 bound to make it appear that he is not bored. 
 
 In an easy-chair opposite to me my listener sat 
 and listened for two hours every evening. I in- 
 terested myself by watching and attempting to 
 analyze the expressions on his face, but what these 
 appeared to indicate made no difference in my re- 
 marks. I do not think he liked repetitions, but if 
 I chose to tell a thing several times, I did so. He 
 had no right to tell me that he had heard that 
 before. Immunity from this remark was to me a 
 rare enjoyment. 
 
 I made it a point to talk as well as I could, for 
 I like to hear myself talk well, but I paid no at- 
 tention to the likings of my listener. Later I 
 
16 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 should probably do this, but at present it was a 
 joy to trample upon the likings of others. My 
 own likings in this respect had been so often 
 trampled upon that I would not now deny myseK 
 the exercise of the right — bought and paid for — 
 to take this sweet revenge. 
 
 On the evenings of nine week-days and one Sun- 
 day, when I confined myself entirely to a descrip- 
 tion of a short visit to Palestine, I talked and my 
 listener listened. About the middle of the evening 
 of the tenth week-day, when I was engaged in the 
 expression of some fancies evoked by the recollec- 
 tion of a stroll through the Egyptian department 
 of the Louvre, I looked at my listener, and beheld 
 him asleep. 
 
 As I stopped speaking he awoke with a start, 
 and attempted to excuse himself by stating that he 
 had omitted to take coffee with his evening meal. 
 I made no answer, but, opening my pocket-book, 
 paid and discharged him. 
 
V. 
 
 CHESTER WALKIRK. 
 
 It is not my custom to be discouraged by a first 
 failure. I looked over the letters which had been 
 sent to me in answer to my advertisement, and 
 wrote to another of the applicants, who very 
 promptly came to see me. 
 
 The appearance of this man somewhat discour- 
 aged me. My first thought concerning him was 
 that a man who seemed to be so thoroughly alive 
 was not likely to prove a good listener. But after 
 I had had a talk with him I determined to give 
 him a trial. Of one thing I was satisfied: he 
 would keep awake. He was a man of cheerful 
 aspect; alert in motion, glance, and speech. His 
 age was about forty ; he was of medium size, a 
 little inclined to be stout, and his face, upon which 
 he wore no hair, was somewhat ruddy. In dress 
 he was neat and proper, and he had an air of 
 friendly deference, which seemed to me to suit the 
 position I wished him to fill. 
 
 He spoke of himseK and his qualifications with 
 tact, if not with modesty, and rated very highly his 
 ability to serve me as a listener ; but he did so in 
 a manner intended to convince me that he was not 
 boasting, but stating facts which it was necessary 
 
18 TSE HOUSE OF MARTHA, 
 
 I should know. His experience had been varied : 
 he had acted as a tutor, a traveling companion, a 
 confidential clerk, a collector of information for 
 technical writers, and in other capacities requiring 
 facility of adaptation to exigencies. At present 
 he was engaged in making a catalogue for a col- 
 lector of prints, whose treasures, in the course of 
 years, had increased to such an extent that it was 
 impossible for him to remember what his long 
 rows of portfolios contained. The collector was 
 not willing that work among his engravings should 
 be done by artificial light, and, as the evenings of 
 my visitor were therefore disengaged, he said he 
 should be glad to occupy them in a manner which 
 would not only be profitable to him, but, he was 
 quite sure, would be very interesting. 
 
 The man's name was Chester Walkirk, and I 
 engaged him to come to me every evening, as my 
 first listener had done. 
 
 I began my discourses with Walkirk with much 
 less confidence and pleasurable anticipation than 
 I had felt with regard to the quiet, unassuming 
 elderly person who had been my first listener, and 
 whom I had supposed to be a very model of recep- 
 tivity. The new man I feared would demand 
 more, — if not by word, at least by manner. He 
 would be more like an audience ; I should find my- 
 self striving to please him, and I could not feel 
 careless whether he liked what I said or not. 
 
 But by the middle of the first evening all my 
 fears and doubts in regard to Walkirk had disap- 
 peared. He proved to be an exceptionally good 
 
CHESTER WALKIBK. 19 
 
 listener. As I spoke, he heard me with attention 
 and evident interest ; and this he showed by occa- 
 sional remarks, which he took care should never 
 be interruptions. These interpolations were man- 
 aged with much tact ; sometimes they were in the 
 form of questions, which reminded me of some- 
 thing I had intended to say, but had omitted, 
 which led me to speak further upon the subject, 
 perhaps on some other phase of it. Now and then, 
 by the expression on his countenance, or by a word 
 or two, he showed interest, gratification, astonish- 
 ment, or some other appropriate sentiment. 
 
 When I stopped speaking, he would sit quietly 
 and muse upon what I had been saying ; or, if he 
 thought me not too deeply absorbed in reflection, 
 would ask a question, or say something relative to 
 the subject in hand, which would give me the op- 
 portunity of making some remarks which it grati- 
 fied me to know that he wanted to hear. 
 
 I could not help feeling that I talked better to 
 Walkirk than I had ever done to any one else; 
 and I did not hesitate to admit to myself that this 
 gratifying result was due in great part to his 
 ability as a listener. I do not say that he drew 
 me out, but he gave me opportunities to show my- 
 self in the broadest and best lights. This truly 
 might be said to be good listening ; it produced 
 good speech. 
 
 Day after day I became better and better satis- 
 fied with Chester Walkirk, and it is seldom that 
 I have enjoyed myself more than in talking to him. 
 I am sure that it gave me more actual pleasure to 
 
20 TBE BOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 tell him what I had seen and what I had done than 
 I had felt in seeing and doing those things. This 
 may appear odd, but it is a fact. I readily re- 
 vived in myself the emotions that accompanied my 
 experiences, and to these recalled emotions was 
 added the sympathetic interest of another. 
 
 In other ways Walkirk won my favor. He was 
 good-natured and intelligent, and showed that he 
 was anxious to please me not only as a listener, but 
 as a companion, or, I might better say, as an asso- 
 ciate inmate of my study. What he did not know 
 in this respect he set himself diligently to learn. 
 
VI. 
 
 MY UNDER-STUDT. 
 
 In talking about my travels to Chester Walkirk, 
 I continued for a time to treat the subject in the 
 same desultory manner in which I had related my 
 experiences to my first listener ; but the superior 
 intelligence, and I may say the superior attention, 
 of Walkirk acted upon me as a restraint as well 
 as an incentive. I made my descriptions as 
 graphic and my statements as accurate as I could, 
 and, stimulated by his occasional questions and 
 remarks, I began to discourse systematically and 
 with a well-considered plan. I went from country 
 to country in the order in which I had traveled 
 through them, and placed my reflections on social, 
 political, or artistic points where they naturally 
 belonged. 
 
 It was plain to see that Walkirk's interest and 
 pleasure increased when my rambling narrations 
 resolved themselves into a series of evening lec- 
 tures upon Great Britain, the Continent, and the 
 north coast of Africa, and his pleasure was a de- 
 cided gratification to me. If his engagements and 
 mine had permitted, I should have been glad to 
 talk to him at other times, as well as in the even- 
 ing. 
 
22 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 After a month or more of this agreeable occu- 
 pation, the fact began to impress itself upon me 
 that I was devoting too much time to the pleasure 
 of being listened to. My grandmother gently 
 complained that the time I gave to her after din- 
 ner appeared to be growing less and less, and there 
 was a good deal of correspondence and other busi- 
 ness I was in the habit of attending to in the even- 
 ing which now was neglected, or done in the day- 
 time, when I should have been doing other things. 
 
 I was not a mati of leisure. My grandmother 
 owned a farm about a mile from our village, and 
 over the management of this I exercised a super- 
 vision. I was erecting some houses on land of my 
 own on the outskirts of the village, and for this 
 reason, as well as others, it frequently was neces- 
 sary for me to go to the city on business errands. 
 Besides all this, social duties had a claim on me, 
 summer and winter. 
 
 I had gradually formed the habit of talking with 
 Walkirk on other subjects than my travels, and 
 one evening I mentioned to him some of the em- 
 barrassments and annoyances to which I had been 
 subjected during the day, on account of the varied 
 character of my affairs. Walkirk sat for a minute 
 or two, his chin in his hand, gazing steadfastly 
 upon the carpet ; then he spoke : — 
 
 " Mr. Vanderley, what you say suggests some- 
 thing which I have been thinking of saying to you. 
 I have now finished the catalogue of prints, on 
 which I was engaged when I entered your service 
 as a listener ; and my days, therefore, being at my 
 
MY UNDERSTUDY. 23 
 
 disposal, it would give me great pleasure to put 
 them at yours." 
 
 " In what capacity ? " I asked. 
 
 " In that of an under-study," said he. 
 
 I assured him that I did not know what he 
 •meant. 
 
 " I don't wonder at that," said he, with a smile, 
 "but I will explain. In theatrical circles each 
 principal performer is furnished with what is 
 termed in the profession an under-study. This is 
 an actor, male or female, as the case may be, who 
 studies the part of the performer, and is capable 
 of going through with it, with more or less ability, 
 in case the regular actor, from sickness or any 
 other cause, is prevented from appearing in his 
 part. In this way the manager provides against 
 emergencies which might at any time stop his play 
 and ruin his business. Now, I should like very 
 much to be your under-study, and I think in this 
 capacity I could be of great service to you." 
 
 I made no answer, but I am sure my counte- 
 nance expressed surprise. 
 
 " I do not mean," he continued, " to propose 
 that I shall act as your agent in the various forms 
 of business which press upon you, but I suggest 
 that you allow me to do for you exactly what the 
 under-study does for the actor ; that is, that you 
 let me take your place when it is inconvenient or 
 impossible for you to take it yourself." 
 
 " It strikes me," said I, " that, in the manage- 
 ment of my affairs, it would be very seldom that 
 you or any one else could take my place." 
 
24 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " Of course," said Walkirk, " under present cir- 
 cumstances that would be impossible ; but suppose, 
 for instance, you take me with you to those houses 
 you are building, that you show me what has been 
 done and what you intend to do, and that you let 
 me make myself familiar with the whole plan and 
 manner of the work. This would be easy for me, 
 for I have superintended house-building; and al- 
 though I am neither a plumber, a mason, a carpen- 
 ter, a paper-hanger, or a painter, I know how such 
 people should do their work. Therefore, if you 
 should be unable to attend to the matter yourself, 
 — and in such case only, — I could go and see 
 how the work was progressing ; and this I could 
 do with regard to your farm, or any other of your 
 business with the details of which you should care 
 to have me make myself familiar, — always re- 
 membering that I should not act as your regular 
 agent in any one of these affairs, but as one who, 
 when it is desirable, temporarily takes your place. 
 I think, Mr. Vanderley, that it would be of advan- 
 tage to you to consider my proposition." 
 
 I did consider it, and the next evening I en- 
 gaged Chester Walkirk as an under-study. 
 
vn. 
 
 MY BOOK. 
 
 In order to be at hand when I might need him, 
 "Walkirk took up his residence at the village 
 tavern, or, as some of us were pleased to call it, 
 the inn. To make him available when occasion 
 should require, I took him with me to the scene of 
 my building operations and to my grandmother's 
 farm, and he there showed the same intelligent in- 
 terest that he gave to my evening recitals. I had 
 no difficulty in finding occupation for my under- 
 study, and, so far as I could judge, he attended to 
 the business I placed in his hands as well as I 
 could have done it myself; indeed, in some in- 
 stances, he did it better, for he gave it more time 
 and careful consideration. 
 
 In this business of supplying my place in emer- 
 gencies, Walkirk showed so much ability in pro- 
 moting my interests that I became greatly pleased 
 with the arrangement I had made with him. It 
 was somewhat surprising to me, and I think to 
 Walkirk, that so many cases arose in which I found 
 it desirable that he should take my place. I was 
 going to look at a horse : some visitors arrived ; I 
 sent Walkirk. There was a meeting of a scientific 
 society which I wished very much to attend, but I 
 
26 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 could not do that and go to a dinner party to which 
 I had been invited on the same evening ; Walkirk 
 went to the meeting, took notes, and the next day- 
 gave me a full report in regard to some particular 
 points in which I was interested, and which were 
 not mentioned in the short newspaper notice of the 
 meeting. 
 
 In other cases, of which at first I could not have 
 imagined the possibility, my under-study was of 
 use to me. I was invited to address my fellow 
 townsmen and townswomen on the occasion of the 
 centennial anniversary of the settlement of our vil- 
 lage, and as I had discovered that Walkirk was a 
 good reader I took him with me, in order that he 
 might deliver my written address in case my cour- 
 age should give out. My courage did not give 
 out, but I am very sure that I was greatly sup- 
 ported and emboldened by the knowledge that if, 
 at the last moment, my embarrassment should not 
 allow me to begin my address, or if in the course 
 of its delivery I should feel unable, for any reason, 
 to go on with it, there was some one present who 
 would read it for me. " 
 
 It had long been my habit to attend with my 
 grandmother, bi-monthly, an early evening whist 
 party at the house of an elderly neighbor. I had 
 a bad headache on one of these appointed even- 
 ings, and Walkirk, who was a perfectly respectable 
 and presentable man, went with my grandmother 
 in my stead. I afterward heard that he played an 
 excellent hand at whist, a remark which had never 
 been made of me. 
 
MY BOOK. 27 
 
 But I will not refer at present to any further 
 instances of the usefulness of my under-study, ex- 
 cept to say that, as I found his feet were of the 
 same size and shape as my own, I sent him to be 
 measured for a pair of heavy walking-shoes which 
 I needed ; and I once arranged for him to serve 
 in my place on a coroner's jury, in the case of a 
 drowned infant. 
 
 The evening listenings still went on, and as the 
 scope of my remarks grew wider, and their pur- 
 pose became better defined, it began to dawn upon 
 me that it was selfish to devote these accounts of 
 remarkable traveling experiences to the pleasure 
 of only two men, myself and my listener ; the 
 public would be interested in these things. I 
 ought to write a book. 
 
 This idea pleased me very much. As "Walkirk 
 was now able to take my place in so many ways, I 
 could give a good deal of time each day to compo- 
 sition ; and, moreover, there was no reason why 
 such work should interfere with my pleasure in 
 being listened to. I could write by day, and talk 
 at night. It would be all the better for my book 
 that I should first orally deliver the matter to 
 Walkirk, and afterward write it. I broached this 
 idea to Walkirk ; but, while he did not say so iu 
 words, it was plain to me he did not regard it with 
 favor. He reflected a little before speaking. 
 
 " The writing of a book," he said, " is a very 
 serious thing ; and although it is not my province 
 to advise you, I will say that if I were in your 
 place I should hesitate a good while before com- 
 
28 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 mencing a labor like that. I have no doubt, judg- 
 ing from what I have already heard of your trav- 
 els, that you would make a most useful and enjoy- 
 able book, but the question in my mind is, whether 
 the pleasure you would give your readers would 
 repay you for the time and labor you would put 
 upon this work." 
 
 This was the first time that Walkirk had offered 
 me advice. I had no idea of taking it, but I did 
 not resent it. 
 
 " I do not look at the matter in that way," I 
 said. " An absorbing labor wiU be good for me. 
 My undertaking may result in overworking you, 
 for you will be obliged to act as my under-study 
 even more frequently than you do now." 
 
 " Oh, I 'm not afraid of work," said he ; "I 
 can stand any amount of it. But how about the 
 evening discourses, — will they come to an end ? " 
 
 " Not at all," said I ; " I shall go on giving you 
 an account of my travels, just as before. This 
 will help me to judge better what to put in and 
 what to leave out." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear that," he said, with 
 animation ; " I do not hesitate to own to you that 
 I should very greatly regret to lose those most in- 
 teresting accounts of your experiences." 
 
 This was very complimentary, but, as he was 
 paid to listen, the remark did not possess the force 
 it would have had, had he paid to hear me. 
 
 Enthusiastically I went to work upon my book, 
 and I found that talking about my travels to Wal- 
 kirk helped me to write about them for the public. 
 
MY BOOK. 29 
 
 But a week had not passed when I came to the 
 conclusion that writing was in no way so pleasant 
 as talking. I disliked labor with the pen ; I dis- 
 liked long sitting at my desk. The composition of 
 the matter was enough for me; some one else 
 should put it on paper. I must have a secretary. 
 I went immediately to Walkirk, who was at the 
 inn, working upon some of my accounts. 
 
 " Walkirk," said I, " I can get somebody else 
 to do that sort of thing. I want you to act as my 
 amanuensis." 
 
 To my surprise his face clouded. He seemed 
 troubled, even pained. 
 
 " I am very, very sorry," he said, " to decline 
 any work which you may desire me to do, but I 
 really must decline this. I cannot write from dic- 
 tation. I cannot be your amanuensis. Although 
 it may seem like boasting, this is one of the few 
 things I cannot do : my nervous temperament, my 
 disposition, in fact my very nature, stand in the 
 way, and make the thing impossible." 
 
 I could not understand Walkirk's objections to 
 this sort of work, for he was a ready writer, a good 
 stenographer, and had shown himself perfectly 
 willing and able to perform duties much more dif- 
 ficult and distasteful than I imagined this possibly 
 could be. But there are many things I do not 
 understand, and which I consider it a waste of time 
 to try to understand ; and this was one of them. 
 
 " Then I must get some one else," said I. 
 
 " If you decide to do that," said Walkirk, " I 
 will attend to the matter for you, and you need 
 
30 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 trouble yourself no further about it. I will go to 
 the city, or wherever it is necessary to go, and get 
 you an amanuensis." 
 
 " Do so," said I, " but come and report to me 
 before you make any engagement." 
 
 The next day Walkirk made his report. He 
 had not been as successful as he had hoped to be. 
 If I had been doing my work in the city, he could 
 have found me stenographers, amanuenses, or type- 
 writers by the hundred. By living and working 
 in the country, I > made his task much more diffi- 
 cult. He had found but few persons who were 
 Mrilling to come to me every day, no matter what 
 the weather, and only one or two who would con- 
 sent to come to our village to live. 
 
 But he had made a list of several applicants 
 who might suit me, and who were willing to accept 
 one or the other of the necessary conditions. 
 
 " They are all women ! " I exclaimed, when I 
 looked at it. 
 
 " Yes," said he ; " it would be very difficult, 
 perhaps impossible, to find a competent man who 
 would answer your purpose. The good ones could 
 not afford to give you part of their time, which is 
 all you require, and you would not want any other. 
 With women the case is different ; and besides, I 
 am sure, from my own experience, that a lady 
 amanuensis would suit your purpose much better 
 than a man: she would be more patient, more 
 willing to accommodate herself to your moods, in 
 every way more available." 
 
 I had not engaged Walkirk to be mv under- 
 
MY BOOK. 31 
 
 study ia matters of judgment, and I did not intend 
 that he should act in that capacity ; but there was 
 force in his remarks, and I determined to give 
 them due consideration. Although I had apart- 
 ments of my own, I really lived in my grand- 
 mother's house; and of course it was incumbent 
 upon me to consult her upon this subject. She 
 looked at the matter in her usual kindly way, and 
 soon came to be of the opinion that, if I could give 
 a worthy and industrious young woman an oppor- 
 tunity to earn her livelihood, I ought to do it; 
 taking care, of course, to engage no one who could 
 not furnish the very best references. 
 
 I now put the matter again into Walkirk's 
 hands, and told him to produce the persons he had 
 selected. He managed the matter with great skill, 
 and in the course of one morning four ladies called 
 npon me, in such a way that they did not interfere 
 with each other. Of these applicants none pleased 
 me. One of them was a dark-haired, dark-eyed, 
 rather spare person, whose youthful energies had 
 been so improved by years that I was sure her 
 briskness of action, her promptness of speech, and 
 her evident anxiety to get to work and to keep at 
 it would eventually drive me crazy. 
 
 Another was a skilled stenographer, who could 
 write I forget how many hundred words a minute ; 
 and when I told her there were no minutes in 
 which I could dictate as many words as that, even 
 if I wanted to, and that there would be many min- 
 utes in which I should not dictate any words at all, 
 she said she was afraid that if she fell into a diUy- 
 
32 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 dally, poky way of working it would impair her 
 skill, and it might be difficult, when she left my 
 employment, to regain her previous expertness. 
 She was quite willing, however, to engage with 
 me, and thought that if I would try to dictate as 
 fast as possible I might, in time, be able to keep 
 her nearly up to her normal standard. 
 
 A third one was willing to write longhand, and 
 to work as slowly and as irregularly as I pleased. 
 I gave her a short trial, but her writing was so 
 illegible that I could not discover whether or not 
 she made mistakes in spelling. I had, however, 
 my suspicions on this point. 
 
 The fourth applicant I engaged to come for a 
 week on trial. She exhibited no prominent disa- 
 bilities, and I thought she might be made to an- 
 swer my purpose ; but as she possessed no promi- 
 nent capabilities, and as she asked me to repeat 
 almost every sentence which I dictated to her, I 
 found it very tiresome to work with her, and 1 
 punished Walkirk by making him act as my under- 
 study on the third and fourth days of her engage- 
 ment. I requested him to dictate to her some de- 
 tailed incidents of travel which I had told him, 
 and which I was sure he remembered very well. 
 He undertook the task with alacrity, but after two 
 mornings* work he advised me to discharge her. 
 Dictating to her, he said, was like talking into a 
 tin spout with nobody at the other end. Some- 
 body might come if you shouted long enough, but 
 this was tiresome. 
 
VIII. 
 
 THE MALARIAL ADJUNCT. 
 
 The fifth applicant on Walkirk's list had a 
 morning to herself. So soon as she entered my 
 study I hoped that she would suit me, and I had 
 not talked with her ten minutes before I decided 
 that she would. Her personality was exceedingly 
 agreeable ; she was neither too young nor too old. 
 She expressed herself with a good-humored frank- 
 ness which I liked, and appeared to be of a very 
 practical turn of mind. She was a practiced sten- 
 ographer, was accustomed to write from dictation 
 and to read aloud, could correct proof, and had 
 some admirable references. Her abilities appeared 
 so excellent, and her demeanor was so agreeable 
 to me, that I engaged her. 
 
 " I am very happy indeed, Mr. Vanderley," she 
 said, with the pretty dimpled smile which had so 
 frequently shown itself in the course of our con- 
 versation, " that you have given me this position. 
 I am sure that I shall like it, and I shall try very 
 hard to make my work satisfactory. I shall come 
 up every morning in the nine o'clock train, as you 
 desire ; and I shall be obliged to bring my hus- 
 band with me, but this will not in any way inter- 
 fere with my work. He is suffering from a ma- 
 
34 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 larial disease, and is subject to periods of faint- 
 ness, so that it would be impossible for me to leave 
 him for the whole morning ; but he can sit outside 
 anywhere, under a tree, or perhaps somewhere in 
 the house if it happens to rain. He is perfectly- 
 contented if he has a comfortable place to sit in. 
 He is not able to attend to any business, and as I 
 now have to be the bread-winner I am most deeply 
 grateful for this work which you have given me. 
 I am sure that the little trip in and out of town 
 will do him good, and as I shall buy commutation 
 tickets it will not be expensive. He came with 
 me this morning, and if you will excuse me I will 
 bring him in and introduce him." And without 
 waiting for any remark from me she left the room, 
 and shortly returned with the malarial subject. 
 He was an extremely mild-mannered man, of light 
 weight and sedate aspect. The few words in which 
 he indicated his gratification with his wife's en- 
 gagement suggested to me the need of sulphate of 
 quinia. 
 
 This revelation of a malarial adjunct to the la- 
 bors of myself and this very agreeable lady greatly 
 surprised me, and, I must admit, threw me back 
 from that condition of satisfaction in which I had 
 Jound myself upon engaging her ; and yet I could 
 ^hink of no reasonable objection to make. The 
 lady had promised that he should not be in the 
 way, and the most I could say, even to myself, was 
 that the arrangement did not appear attractive to 
 me. Of course, with no reason but a chaotic dis- 
 taste, I would not recede from my agreement, and 
 
THE MALARIAL ADJUNCT. 35 
 
 deprive this worthy lady of the opportunity of 
 supporting herself and her husband ; and the two 
 departed, to return on the following day prepared 
 to labor and to wait. 
 
 I inquired of Walkirk, I fear with some petu- 
 lance, if he had known of the incumbrance at- 
 tached to this candidate ; and he replied that she 
 had informed him that she was married, but he 
 had no idea she intended to bring her husband 
 with her. He was very sorry that this was neces- 
 sary, but in his judgment the man would not live 
 very long. 
 
 My grandmother was greatly pleased when I 
 told her of the arrangement I had made to assist 
 a devoted wife to support an invalid husband. 
 She considered it a most worthy and commendable 
 action, and she was rejoiced that such an oppor- 
 tunity had been afforded me. She would do what 
 she could to make the poor man comfortable while 
 his wife was at work ; and if he had any sense at 
 all, and knew what was to his advantage, he 
 would be very careful not to interfere with her 
 duties. 
 
 The next morning the couple appeared, and the 
 lady was ensconced in '^he anteroom to my study, 
 which I had fitted up for the use of my secretary, 
 where, through the open window in front of her, 
 she could see her husband, seated in a rocking- 
 chair, under a wide-spreading apple-tree. By his 
 side was a table, on which lay the morning paper 
 and some books which my grandmother had sent 
 out to him. For a time she gave him also her 
 
86 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 society, but, as she subsequently informed me, she 
 did not find him responsive, and soon concluded 
 that he would be happier if left to his reflections 
 and the literature with which she had provided 
 him. 
 
 As an amanuensis I found my new assistant 
 everything that could be desired. She wrote rap- 
 idly and correctly, never asked me to repeat, 
 showed no nervousness at the delays in my dic- 
 tation, and was ready to write the instant I was 
 ready to speak. She was quick and intelligent in 
 looking up synonyms, and appeared perfectly at 
 home in the dictionary. But in spite of these ad- 
 mirable qualifications, I did not find myself, that 
 morning, in a condition favorable to my best liter- 
 ary work. Whenever my secretary was not actu- 
 ally writing she was looking out of the window ; 
 sometimes she would smile and nod, and on three 
 occasions, while I was considering, not what I 
 should say next, but whether or not I could stand 
 this sort of thing, she went gently to the window, 
 and asked the invalid, in a clear whisper, intended 
 to be entirely undisturbing, how he was getting on 
 and if he wanted anything. 
 
 Two days after this the air was damp and rain 
 threatened, and the malarial gentleman was sup- 
 plied with comfortable quarters in the back parlor. 
 I do not know whether or not he liked this better 
 than sitting under a tree, but I am sure that the 
 change did not please his wife. She could not look 
 at him, and she could not ask him how he was get- 
 ting on and if he wanted anything. I could see that 
 
TEE MALARIAL ADJUNCT. 3T 
 
 she was worried and fidgety, although endeavoring 
 to work as faithfully and steadily as usual. Twice 
 during a break in the dictation she asked me to 
 excuse her for just one minute, while she ran into 
 the parlor to take a peep at him. 
 
 The next day it rained, and there seemed every 
 probability that we should have continued wet 
 weather, and that it would be days before the ma- 
 larial one could sit under the apple-tree. There- 
 fore I looked the situation fairly in the face. It 
 was impossible for me to dictate to a nervous, anx- 
 ious woman, whose obvious mental condition acted 
 most annoyingly upon my nerves, and I suggested 
 that she bring her husband into her room, and let 
 him sit there while she worked. With this propo- 
 sition my secretary was delighted. 
 
 " Oh, that will be charming ! " she cried. " He 
 will sit just as still as a mouse, and will not dis- 
 turb either of us, and I shall be able to see how 
 he feels without saying a word." 
 
 For four days the malarial gentleman, as quiet 
 as a mouse, sat by my secretary's window, while 
 she wrote at the table, and I walked up and down 
 my study, or threw myself into one chair or an- 
 other, endeavoring to forget that that man was sit- 
 ting by the window ; that he was trying his best 
 not to do anything which might disturb me ; that 
 he did not read, or write, or occupy his mind in 
 any way ; that he heard every word I dictated to 
 his wife without indicating that he was not deaf, 
 or that he was capable of judging whether my 
 words were good, bad, or unworthy of considerar 
 
38 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 tion. Not only did I endeavor not to think of 
 him, but I tried not to see either him or his wife. 
 The silent, motionless figure of the one, and the 
 silent but animated and vivacious figure of the 
 other, filled with an eager desire to do her work 
 properly, with a bubbling and hearty love for her 
 husband, and an evident joyousness in the fact 
 that she could love, work, and watch, all at the 
 same time, drove from my mind every thought of 
 travel or foreign experiences. Without the ma- 
 larial husband I should have asked for no better 
 secretary ; but he spoiled everything. He was 
 like a raw oyster in a cup of tea. 
 
 I could not drive from my mind the vision of 
 that man even when I knew he was asleep in his 
 bed. There was no way of throwing him off. 
 His wife had expressed to my grandmother the 
 delight she felt in having him in the room with 
 her while she worked, and my grandmother had 
 spoken to me of her own sympathetic pleasure in 
 this arrangement. I saw it would be impossible 
 to exile him again to the apple-tree, even if the 
 ground should ever be dry enough. There was no 
 hope that he would be left at his home ; there was 
 no hope that he would get better, and go off to at- 
 tend to his own business ; there was no hope that 
 he would die. 
 
 From dictating but little I fell to dictating al- 
 most nothing at all. To keep my secretary at 
 work, I gave her some notes of travel of which to 
 make a fair copy, while I occupied myself in won- 
 dering what I was going to do about that malarial 
 husband. 
 
THE MALARIAL ADJUNCT. 39 
 
 At last I ceased to wonder, and I did something. 
 I went to the city, and, after a day's hard work, 
 I secured a position for my secretary in a large 
 publishing establishment, where her husband could 
 sit by a window in a secluded corner, and keep as 
 quiet as a mouse. The good lady overwhelmed 
 me with thanks for my kindness. She had begun 
 to fear that, as the season grew colder, the daily 
 trip would not suit her husband, and she gave me 
 credit for having thought the same thing. 
 
 My grandmother and Walkirk were greatly 
 concerned, as well as surprised, at what I had done. 
 The former said that, if I attempted to write my 
 book with my own hand, she feared the sedentary 
 work would tell upon my health ; and my under- 
 study, while regretting very much that his efforts 
 to provide me with an amanuensis had proved un- 
 successful, showed very plainly, although he did 
 not say so, that he hoped I had found that author- 
 ship was an annoying and unprofitable business, 
 and that I would now devote myself to pursuits 
 which were more oongenial, and in which he could 
 act for me when occasion required. 
 
IX. 
 
 walkirk's idea. 
 
 Walkirk very soon discovered that I had no 
 intention whatever of giving up the writing of my 
 book, and I quieted the fears of my grandmother, 
 in regard to my health, by assuring her that the 
 sedentary work connected with the production of 
 my volume would not be done by me. Secretaries 
 could be had, and I would get one. 
 
 This determination greatly disturbed Walkirk. 
 He did not wish to see me perform a service for 
 myseK which it was his business to perform for 
 me, and in which he had failed. I know that he 
 gave the matter the most earnest consideration, 
 and two days after my late secretary and her hus- 
 band had left me he came into my study, his face 
 shining with a new idea. 
 
 " Mr. Vanderley," said he, " to find you an 
 amanuensis who will exactly suit you, and who will 
 be willing to come here into the country to work, 
 is, I think you will admit, a very difficult business ; 
 but I do not intend, if I can help it, to be beaten 
 by it. I have thought of a plan which I believe 
 will meet all contingencies, and 1 have come to 
 propose it to you. You know that institution just 
 outside the village, — the House of Martha ? " 
 
WALEIBK'S IDEA. 41 
 
 I replied that I knew of it. 
 
 " Well," he continued, " I did not think of it 
 until a day or two ago, and I have since been in- 
 quiring into its organization and nature. That 
 sisterhood of Martha is composed of women who 
 propose not only to devote themselves to a life of 
 goodness, but to imitate the industrious woman for 
 whom they have named themselves. They work 
 not only in their establislunent, but wherever they 
 can find suitable occupation, and all that they earn 
 is devoted to the good of the institution. Some of 
 them act as nurses for the sick, — for pay if peo- 
 ple can ajfford it, for nothing if they cannot. Oth- 
 ers have studied medicine, and practice in the same 
 way. They also prepare medicines and dispense 
 them, and do a lot of good things, — if possible, 
 for money and the advantage of the House o£ 
 Martha. But every woman who joins such an in- 
 stitution cannot expect immediately to find the sort 
 of remunerative work she can best do, and I am 
 informed that there are several women there who, 
 at present, are unemployed. Now, it is my opinion 
 that among these you could find half a dozen good 
 secretaries." 
 
 I laughed aloud. " Those women," said I, " are 
 just the same as nuns. It is ridiculous to suppose 
 that one of them would be allowed to come here as 
 my secretary, even if she wanted to." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," persisted Walkirk ; 
 " I do not see why literary, or rather clerical, pur- 
 suits should not be as open to them as medicine 
 or nursing." 
 
42 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 " You may not see it," said I, " but I fancy that 
 they do." 
 
 " It is impossible to be certain on that point," 
 he replied, " until we have proposed the matter to 
 them, and given them the opportunity to consider 
 it." 
 
 " If you imagine," I said, " that I have the ef- 
 frontery to go to that nunnery — for it is no more 
 nor less than that — and ask the Lady Abbess to 
 lend me one of her nuns to write at my dictation, 
 you have very much mistaken me." 
 
 Walkirk smiled. " I hardly expected you to do 
 that," said he, " although I must insist that it is 
 not a nunnery, and there is no Lady Abbess. 
 There is a Head Mother, and some sub-mothers, I 
 believe. My idea was that Mrs. Vanderley should 
 drive over there and make inquiries for you, A 
 proposition from an elderly lady of such high po- 
 sition in the community would have a much better 
 effect than if it came from a gentleman." 
 
 Walkirk's plan amused me very much, and I 
 told him I would talk to my grandmother about it. 
 When I did so, I was much surprised to find that 
 she received the idea with favor. 
 
 " That Mr. Walkirk," she said, "is a man of a 
 good deal of penetration and judgment, and if you 
 could get one of those sisters to come here and 
 write for you I should like it very much ; and if 
 the first one did not suit, you could try another 
 without trouble or expense. The fact that you had 
 a good many strings to your bow would give you 
 ease of mind and prevent your getting discouraged. 
 
WALKIRK'S IDEA. 48 
 
 I don't want you to give up the idea of having a 
 secretary." 
 
 Then, with some hesitation, my good grand* 
 mother confided to me that there was another rea- 
 son why this idea of employing a sister pleased 
 her. She had been a little afraid that some lady 
 secretary, especially like that very pleasant and 
 exemplary person with the invalid husband, might 
 put the notion into my head that it would be a 
 good thing for me to have a wife to do my writing. 
 Now, of course she expected me to get married 
 some day. That was all right, but there was no 
 need of my being in any hurry about it ; and as to 
 my wife doing my writing, that was not to be 
 counted upon positively. Some wives might not 
 be willing to do it, and others might not do it well ; 
 so, as far as that matter was concerned, nothing 
 would be gained. But one of those sisters would 
 never suggest matrimony. They were women 
 apart from all that sort of thing. They had cer- 
 tain work to do in this world, and they did it for 
 the good of the cause in which they were enlisted, 
 without giving any thought to those outside mat- 
 ters which so often occupy the minds of women 
 who have not, in a manner, separated themselves 
 from the world. She would go that very afternoon 
 to the House of Martha and make inquiries. 
 
THE PLAN OF SECLUSION. 
 
 My grandmother returned from the House of 
 Martha disappointed and annoyed. Life had al- 
 ways flowed very smoothly for her, and I had 
 ::arely seen her in her present mental condition. 
 
 " I do not believe," she said, " that that institu- 
 tion will succeed. Those women are too narrow- 
 minded. If they were in a regular stone-walled 
 convent, it would be another thing, but they are 
 only a sisterhood. They are not shut up there; 
 it 's their business and part of their religion to go 
 out, and why they should not be willing to come 
 here and do good, as well as anywhere else, I can- 
 not see, for the life of me." 
 
 " Then they objected to the proposition ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " they did, and without any 
 reason whatever. I saw their superior, whom they 
 call Mother Anastasia, and from her I learned that 
 there were several women in the establishment who 
 were thoroughly competent to act as secretaries; 
 but when I proposed that one of them should come 
 and write for you, she said that would not do at 
 all. I reasoned the matter with her : that litera- 
 ture was as high a profession as medicine, and as 
 
THE PLAN OF SECLUSION. 45 
 
 much good could be done with the practice of one 
 as the other ; and if the sisters went out to nurse 
 and to cure, they might just as well go out to write 
 for those who cannot write for themselves. To 
 that she answered, it was not the writing she ob- 
 jected to, — that was all well enough, — but it was 
 decidedly outside of the vocation of the order for 
 one of the sisters to spend her mornings with a 
 young gentleman. If he were sick and suffering, 
 and had no one else to attend to him, it would be 
 different. Upon this, I told her that you would be 
 sick if you were obliged to do your own writing, 
 and therefore I could n't see the difference. 
 
 " But I must admit she was very good-natured 
 and pleasant about it, and she told me that if you 
 chose to 'Come to their visitors' room and make 
 yourseK comfortable there, and dictate, one of the 
 sisters would sit at the table behind the gratinjr 
 and would write for you. I replied that I did not 
 believe you would like that, but that I would men- 
 tion it to you." 
 
 I laughed. "So much for Walkirk's brilliant 
 idea," I said. " I fancy myself going every morn- 
 ing to that nunnery to do my work in their cheer- 
 less visitors' room ! " 
 
 " Cheerless ? I should say so ! " exclaimed my 
 grandmother, — " bare floors, bare walls, and hard 
 wooden chairs. It is not to be thought of." 
 
 That evening I informed Walkirk of the ill suc- 
 cess of my grandmother's mission, but to my sur- 
 prise he did not appear to be discouraged. 
 
 "I don't think we need have any trouble at 
 
46 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 all in managing that affair," said he. "Why 
 should n't you have a grating put up in the door- 
 way between your study* and the secretary's room ? 
 Then the sister could go in there, the other door 
 could be locked, and she would be as much shut off 
 from the world as if she were behind a grating in 
 the House of Martha. I believe, if this plan were 
 proposed to the sisters, it would be agreed to." 
 
 I scouted the idea as utterly absurd ; but when, 
 the next morning, I mentioned it to my grand- 
 mother, she caught at it eagerly, and no sooner 
 had she finished her breakfast than she ordered 
 her carriage and drove to the House of Martha. 
 
 She returned triumphant. 
 
 "We had a long discussion," she said, "but 
 Mother Anastasia finally saw the matter in its 
 proper light. She admitted that if a room could 
 be arranged in this house, in which a sister could 
 be actually secluded, there was no good reason 
 why she should not work there as consistently with 
 their rules as if she were in the House of Martha. 
 Therefore, she agreed, if you concluded to carry 
 out this plan, to send a sister every morning to 
 write for you. So now, if you want a secretary 
 from the House of Martha, you can have one." 
 
 To this I replied that I most positively wanted 
 one ; and Walkirk was immediately instructed to 
 have a suitable grating made for the doorway be- 
 tween my study and the secretary's room. 
 
 Nearly a week was required for th^ execution 
 of this work, and during this time I took a rest 
 from literary composition and visited some friends, 
 
THE PLAN OF SECLUSION. 47 
 
 leaving all the arrangements for my new secretary 
 in the hands of my grandmother and Walkirk. 
 When I returned, the iron grating was in its 
 place. It was a neat and artistic piece of work, 
 but I did not like it. I object decidedly to any- 
 thing which suggests restraint. The whole affair 
 of the secretary was indeed very different from 
 what I would have had it, but I had discovered 
 that even in our advanced era of civilization one 
 cannot always have everything he wants, albeit he 
 be perfectly able and willing to pay for it. 
 
XI. 
 
 MY NUN. 
 
 At nine o'clock on the morning of the appointed 
 day my new secretary came, accompanied by one 
 of those sisters called by Walkirk sub-mothers. 
 
 My grandmother received the two, and con- 
 ducted them to the secretary's room. I was sitting 
 in my study, but no attention was paid to me. 
 The sub-mother advanced to the grating, and, 
 having examined it, appeared satisfied to find that 
 it was securely fastened in the doorway. The nun, 
 as I called her, although Walkirk assured me the 
 term was incorrect, stood with her back toward me, 
 and when her companion had said a few words to 
 her, in a low tone, she took her seat at the table. 
 She wore a large gray bonnet, the sides and top of 
 which extended far beyond her face, a light gray 
 shawl, and a gray gown. She sat facing the win- 
 dow, with her left side turned toward me, and 
 from no point of my study could I get a glimpse 
 of her features. 
 
 The sub-mother looked out of the window, which 
 opened upon little more than the once husband- 
 sheltering apple-tree, and then, after a general 
 glance around the room, she looked at me, and for 
 the first time addressed me. 
 
MY NUN. 49 
 
 " I will come for the sister at twelve o'clock," 
 she said, and with that she followed my grand- 
 mother out of the room, and locked the door be- 
 hind her. 
 
 I stood and looked through the grating at my 
 new secretary. I am not generally a diffident man, 
 and have never been so with persons in my em- 
 ployment ; but now, I must admit, I did not feel 
 at my ease. The nun sat perfectly motionless ; 
 her hands were folded in her gray lap, and her 
 gray bonnet was slightly bowed, so that I did not 
 know whether she was gazing down at the table or 
 out of the window. 
 
 She was evidently ready for work, but I was not. 
 I did not know exactly how to begin with such a 
 secretary. With the others I had been outspoken 
 from the first ; I had told them what I wanted and 
 what I did not want, and they had been ready 
 enough to listen and ready enough to answer. But 
 to this silent, motionless gray figure I did not feel 
 that I could be outspoken. No words suggested 
 themselves as being appropriate to speak out. If 
 I could see her face but for a moment, and dis- 
 cover whether she were old or young, cross-looking 
 or gentle, I might know what to say to her. My 
 impulse was to tell her there was a hook on which 
 she could hang her bonnet and shawl, but as I did 
 not know whether or not these sisters ever took off 
 their bonnets and shawls, I did not feel at liberty 
 to make this suggestion. 
 
 But it would not do to continue there, looking 
 at her. She might be a very shy person, and if I 
 
60 TRE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 appeared shy it would probably make her all the 
 shyer ; so I spoke. 
 
 " You will find paper," I said, " in the drawer 
 of your table, and there are pens, of different 
 sorts, in that tray." She opened the drawer, took 
 out some paper, and selected a pen, all without 
 turning her head toward me. Having broken the 
 ice, I now felt impelled to deliver a short lecture 
 on my requirements ; but how could I say what I 
 required without knowing what manner of person 
 it was of whom I required it ? I therefore post- 
 poned the lecture, and determined to begin work 
 without further delay, as probably that would be 
 the best way to put us both at our ease. But it 
 had been more than two weeks since I had done 
 any work, and I could not remember what it was 
 that I had been dictating, or endeavoring to dic- 
 tate, to the lady with the malarial husband. I 
 therefore thought it well to begin at a fresh point, 
 and to leave the gap to be filled up afterward. I 
 felt quite sure, when last at work, I had been 
 treating of the south of France, and had certainly 
 not reached Marseilles. I therefore decided to 
 take a header for Marseilles, and into Marseilles I 
 plunged. 
 
 As soon as I began to speak the nun began to 
 write, and having at last got her at work I felt 
 anxious to keep her at it, and went steadily on 
 through the lively seaport; touching upon one 
 point after another as fast as I thought of them, 
 and without regard to their proper sequence. But 
 although I sometimes skipped from one end of the 
 
MY NUN. 61 
 
 City to the other, and from history to street scenes, 
 I dictated steadily, and the nun wrote steadily. 
 She worked rapidly, and apparently heard and 
 understood every word I said, for she asked no 
 questions and did not hesitate. I am sure I never 
 before dictated so continuously. I had been in 
 the habit of stopping a good deal to think, not 
 only about my work, but about other things, but 
 now I did not wish to stop. 
 
 This amanuensis was very different from any 
 other I had had. ' The others worked to make 
 money for themselves, or to please me, or because 
 they liked it. This one worked from principle. 
 The money which I paid for her labor did not 
 become her money. It was paid to the House of 
 Martha. She sat there and wrote to promote the 
 principles upon which the House of Martha was 
 founded. In fact, so far as I was concerned, she 
 was nothing more than a principle. 
 
 Now, to interfere with the working of a prin- 
 ciple is not the right thing to do, and therefore 
 I felt impelled to keep on dictating, which I did 
 until the hall door of the secretary's room was un- 
 locked and the sub-mother walked in. She came 
 forward and said a few words to the nun, who 
 stopped writing and wiped her pen. The other 
 then turned to me, and in a low voice asked if the' 
 work of the sister was satisfactory. I advanced 
 to the grating, and answered that I was perfectly 
 satisfied, and was about to make some remarks, 
 which I hoped would lead to a conversation, when 
 the sub-mother — whose name I subsequently 
 
62 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA, 
 
 learned was Sister Sarah — made a little bow, and, 
 saying if that were the case they would return at 
 nine the next morning, left the room in company 
 with the nun. The latter, when she arose from 
 the table, turned her back to me, and went out 
 without giving me the slightest opportunity of 
 looking into her cavernous bonnet. This she did, 
 I must admit, in the most natural way possible, 
 which was probably the result of training, and 
 gave one no idea of rudeness or incivility. 
 
 When they were gone I was piqued, almost 
 angry with myself. I had intended stopping work 
 a little before noon, in order to talk to that nun, 
 even if she did not answer or look at me. She 
 should discover that if she was a principle, I was, 
 at least, an entity. I did not know exactly what 
 I should say to her, but it would be something one 
 human being would be likely to say to another 
 human being who was working for him. If from 
 the first I put myself on the proper level, she 
 might in time get there. But although I had lost 
 my present chance, she was coming again the next 
 day. 
 
 I entered the secretary's room by the hall door, 
 and looked at the manuscript which had been left 
 on the table. It was written in an excellent hand, 
 not too large, very legible, and correctly punctu- 
 ated. Everything had been done properly, except 
 that after the first three pages she had forgotten 
 to number the leaves at the top ; but as every sheet 
 was placed in its proper order, this was an omis- 
 sion which could be easily rectified. I was very 
 
MY NUN. 63 
 
 glad she had made it, for it would give me some- 
 thing to speak to her about. 
 
 At luncheon my grandmother asked me how I 
 liked the new secretary, and added that if she did 
 not suit me I could try another next day. I an- 
 swered that so far she suited me, and that I had 
 not the least wish at present to try another. I 
 think my grandmother was about to say something 
 regarding this sister, but I instantly begged her 
 not to do so. I wished to judge her entirely on 
 her merits, I said, and would rather not hear any- 
 thing about her until I had come to a decision as 
 to her abilities. I did not add that I felt such an 
 interest in the anticipated discovery of the person- 
 ality of this secretary that I did not wish that dis' 
 covery interfered with. 
 
 In the evening Walkirk inquired about the sis- 
 ter-amanuensis, but I merely answered that so far 
 she had done very well, and dropped the subject. 
 In my own mind I did not drop the subject until 
 I fell asleep that night. I found myself from time 
 to time wondering what sort of a woman was that 
 nun. Was she an elderly, sharp-faced creature; 
 was she a vapid, fat-faced creature, or a young and 
 pleasing creature ? And when I had asked myself 
 these questions, I snubbed myself for taking the 
 trouble to think about the matter, and then I be- 
 gan wondering again. 
 
 But upon one point I firmly made up my mind : 
 the relationship between my secretary and myself 
 should not continue to be that of an entity dictat« 
 ing to a principle. 
 
XII. 
 
 EZA. 
 
 The next day, when the nun and Sister Sarah 
 entered the secretary's room, I advanced to the 
 grating and bade them good-morning. They both 
 bowed, and the nun took her seat at the table. 
 Sister Sarah then turned to me and asked if I had 
 a gold pen, adding that the sister was accustomed 
 to writing with one. I answered that I had all 
 kinds of pens, and if the sister wanted a gold one 
 it was only necessary to ask me for it. I brought 
 several gold pens, and handed them through the 
 grating to the sub-mother, who gave them to the 
 secretary, and then took her leave, locking the 
 door behind her. My nun took one of the pens, 
 tried it, arranged the paper, and sat ready to write. 
 I stood by the grating, hoping to converse a little, 
 if it should be possible. 
 
 "Is there anything else you would like?" I 
 said. " If there is, you know you must mention 
 it." 
 
 She gently shook her head. The idea now o& 
 curred to me that perhaps my nun was dumb ; bu(; 
 I almost instantly thought that this could not be^ 
 for dumb people were almost always deaf, and shis 
 could hear well enough. Then it struck me thai 
 
EZA. 55 
 
 she might be a Trappist nun, and bound by a vow 
 of silence ; but I reflected that she was not really 
 a nun, and consequently could not be a Trappist. 
 
 Having been unsuccessful in my first attempt to 
 make her speak, and having now stood silent for 
 some moments, I felt it might be unwise to make 
 another trial just then, for my object would be too 
 plain. I therefore sat down and began dictating. 
 
 I did not work as easily as I had done on the 
 preceding morning, for I intended, if possible, to 
 make my nun look at me, or speak, before the hour 
 of noon, and thinking of this intention prevented 
 me from keeping my mind upon my work. From 
 time to time I made remarks in regard to the tem- 
 perature of the room, the quality of the paper, or 
 something of the kind. To these she did not an- 
 swer at all, or slightly nodded, or shook her head 
 in a deprecatory manner, as if they were martters 
 not worth considering. 
 
 Then I suddenly remembered the omission of 
 the paging, and spoke of that. In answer she took 
 up the manuscript she had written and paged every 
 sheet. After this my progress was halting and 
 uneven. Involuntarily my mind kept on devising 
 plans for making that woman speak or turn her 
 face toward me. If she would do the latter, I 
 would be satisfied ; and even if she proved to be 
 an unveiled prophetess of Khorassan, there would 
 be no further occasion for conjectures and wonder- 
 ings, and I could go on with my work in peace. 
 But it made me nervous to remain silent, and see 
 that nun sitting there, pen in hand, but motionless 
 
66 THE HOUSE OF MAETHA. 
 
 as a post, and waiting for me to give her the signal 
 to continue the exercise of the principle to which 
 her existence was now devoted. 
 
 I went on with my dictation. I had left Mar- 
 seilles, had touched slightly upon Nice, and was 
 now traveling by carriage on the Cornice Road 
 to Mentone. "It was on this road," I dictated, 
 " that an odd incident occurred to me. We were 
 nearly opposite the old robber village of " — and 
 then I hesitated and stopped. I could not remem- 
 ber the name of the village. I walked up and 
 down my study, rubbing my forehead, but the 
 name would not recur to me. I was just thinking 
 that I would have to go to the library and look up 
 the name of the village, when from out of the 
 depths of the nun's bonnet there came a voice, low 
 but distinct, and, I thought, a little impatient, and 
 it said, " Eza." 
 
 " Eza ! of course ! " I exclaimed, — " certainly 
 it is Eza ! How could I have forgotten it ? I 
 am very much obliged to you for reminding me of 
 the name of that village. Perhaps you have been 
 there?" 
 
 In answer to this question I received the least 
 little bit of a nod, and the nun's pen began gently 
 to paw the paper, as if it wanted to go on. 
 
 I was now really excited. She had spokeuo 
 Why should I not do something which should 
 make her turn her face toward me, — something 
 which would take her off her guard, as my forget- 
 fulness had just done? But no idea came to my 
 aid, and I felt obliged to begin to dictate the de- 
 
EZA, 67 
 
 tails of the odd incident, when suddenly the door 
 opened, Sister Sarah walked in, and the morning's 
 work was over. 
 
 I had not done much, but I had made that nun 
 speak. She said " Eza." That was a beginning, 
 and I felt confident that I should get on very well 
 in time. I was a little sorry that my secretary 
 had been on the Cornice Road. I fancied that 
 she might have been one of those elderly single 
 women who become Baedeker tourists, and, having 
 tired of this sort of thing, had concluded to devote 
 her life to the work of the House of Martha. But 
 this was mere idle conjecture. She had spoken, 
 apd I should not indulge in pessimism. 
 
 I prepared a very good remark with which to 
 greet the sub-mother on the next morning, and, 
 although addressing Sister Sarah, I would be in 
 reality speaking to my nun. I would say how well 
 I was getting on. I had thought of saying we 
 were getting on, but reflected afterward that this 
 would never do; 1 was sure that the House of 
 Martha would not allow, under any circumstances, 
 that sister and myself to constitute a we. Then I 
 would refer to the help my secretary had been 
 to me, and endeavor to express the satisfaction 
 which an author must always feel for a suggestion 
 of this kind, or any other, from one qualified to 
 make them. If there was any gratitude or vanity 
 in my nun's heart, I. felt I could stir it up, if Sis- 
 ter Sarah would listen to me long enough ; and if 
 gratitude, or even vanity, could be stirred, the 
 
58 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 rigidity of my nun would be impaired, and she 
 might find herself off her guard. 
 
 But I had no opportunity of making my remark. 
 At nine o'clock the door of the secretary's room 
 opened, the nun entered, and the door was then 
 closed and locked. Sister Sarah must have been 
 in a hurry that morning. Just as well as not I 
 might have made my remark directly to my nun, 
 but I did not. She walked quickly to the table, 
 arranged her paper, opened her inkstand, and sat 
 down. I fancied that I saw a wavy wriggle of im- 
 patience in her shawl. Perhaps she wanted to 
 know the rest of that odd incident near Eza. It 
 may have been that it was impatient interest which 
 had impaired her rigidity the day before. 
 
 I went on with the odd incident, and made a 
 very good thing of it. Even when on well-worn 
 routes of travel, I tried to confine myself to out- 
 of-the-way experiences. Walkirk had been very 
 much interested in this affair when I had told it 
 to him, and there was no reason why this nun 
 should not also be interested, especially as she had 
 seen Eza. 
 
 I finished the narrative, and began another, a 
 rather exciting one, connected with the breaking 
 of a carriage wheel and an exile from Monte Carlo ; 
 but never once did curiosity or any other emotion 
 impair the rigidity of that nun. She wrote almost 
 as fast as I could dictate, and when I stopped I 
 know she was filled with nervous desire to know 
 what was coming next, — at least I fancied that 
 
EZA, 59 
 
 her shawl indicated such nervousness ; but hesitate 
 as I might, or say what I might, — and I did say 
 a good many things which ahnost demanded a re- 
 mark or answer, — not one word came from her 
 during the whole morning, nor did she ever turn 
 the front of her bonnet toward me. 
 
XIII. 
 
 MY FRIEND VESPA. 
 
 1 WAS very much disgusted at the present state 
 of affairs. Three days had elapsed, and I did not 
 know what sort of a human being my secretary 
 was. I might as well dictate into a speaking-tube. 
 A phonograph would be better; for although it 
 might seem ridiculous to sit in my room and talk 
 aloud to no one, what was I doing now? That 
 nun was the same as no one. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and there would be 
 no work, and no chance to solve the problem, which 
 had become, an actual annoyance to me ; but I did 
 not intend that this problem should continue to 
 annoy me and interfere with my work. I am open 
 and aboveboard myself, and if my secretary did 
 not choose to be open and aboveboard, and behave 
 like an ordinary human being, she should depart, 
 and I would tell Walkirk to get me an ordinary 
 human being, capable of writing from dictation, 
 or depart himself. If he could not provide me 
 J^ith a suitable secretary, he was not the efficient 
 man of business that he claimed to be. As to the 
 absurdity of dictating to a mystery in a barrow 
 bonnet, I would have no more of it. 
 
 I do not consider myself an ill-tempered person, 
 
Mr FBIEND VESPA. 61 
 
 and my grandmother asserts that I have a very- 
 good temper indeed ; but I must admit that on 
 Monday morning I felt a little cross, and when 
 Sister Sarah and the nun entered my antechamber 
 I bade them a very cold good-morning, and allowed 
 the former to go without attempting any conversa- 
 tion whatever. The nun having arrived, I would 
 not send her away ; but when the sub-mother came 
 at noon, I intended to inform her that I did not 
 any longer desire the services of the writing sister, 
 and if she wished to know why I should tell her 
 plainly. I would not say that I would as soon 
 dictate to an inanimate tree-stump, but I would 
 express that idea in as courteous terms as possible. 
 
 For fifteen minutes I let the nun sit and wait. 
 If her principles forbade idleness, I was glad to 
 have a crack at her principles. Then I began to 
 dictate steadily and severely. I found that the 
 dismissal from my mind of all conjectures regard- 
 ing the personality of my secretary was of great 
 service to me, and I was able to compose much 
 faster than she could write. 
 
 It was about haK past ten, I think, and the 
 morning was warm and pleasant, when there gently 
 sailed into the secretary's room, through the open 
 window, a wasp. I saw him come in, and I do not 
 think I ever beheld a more agreeable or benignant 
 insect. His large eyes were filled with the light 
 of a fatherly graciousness. His semi-detached 
 body seemed to quiver with a helpful impulse, and 
 his long hind legs hung down beneath him as 
 though they were outstretched to assist, befriend. 
 
62 THE HOUSE OF MAETHA, 
 
 or succor. With wings waving blessings and a 
 buzz of cheery greeting, he sailed around the room, 
 now dipping here, now there, and then circling 
 higher, tapping the ceiling with his genial back. 
 
 The moment the nun saw the wasp, a most de- 
 cided thrill ran down the back of her shawl. Then 
 it pervaded her bonnet, and finally the whole of 
 her. As the beneficent insect sailed down near 
 the table, she abruptly sprang to her feet and 
 pushed back her chair. I advanced to the grating, 
 but what could • I do ? Seeing me there, and 
 doubtless with the desire immediately to assure me 
 of his kindly intentions, my friend Vespa made a 
 swoop directly at the front of the nun's bonnet. 
 
 With an undisguised ejaculation, and beating 
 wildly at the insect with her hands, the nun 
 bounded to one side and turned her face full upon 
 me. I stood astounded. I forgot the wasp. 
 
 I totally lost sight of the fact that a young wo- 
 man was in danger of being badly stung. I thought 
 of nothing but that she was a young woman, and 
 a most astonishingly pretty one besides. 
 
 The state of terror she was in opened wide her 
 lovely blue eyes, half crimsoned her clear white 
 skin, and threw her rosy lips and sparkling teeth 
 into the most enchanting combinations. 
 
 " Make it go away ! " she cried, throwing up one 
 arm, and thereby pushing back her gray bonnet, 
 and exhibiting some of the gloss of her light brown 
 hair. " Can't you kiU it ? " 
 
 Most gladly would I have rushed in, and shed 
 with my own hands the blood of my friend Vespa, 
 
MY FRIEND VESPA. 63 
 
 for the sake of this most charming young woman, 
 suddenly transformed from a barrow-bonneted 
 principle. But I was powerless. I could not 
 break through the grating ; the other door of the 
 secretary's room was locked. 
 
 " Don't strike at it," I said ; " remain as motion- 
 less as you can, then perhaps it will fly away« 
 Striking at a wasp only enrages it." 
 
 " I can't stay quiet," she cried ; " nobody could ! " 
 and she sprang behind the table, making at the 
 same time another slap at the buzzing insect. 
 
 " You will surely be stung," I said, " if you act 
 in that way. If you will slap at the wasp, don't 
 use your hand; take something with which you 
 can kill it." 
 
 " What can I take ? " she exclaimed, now run. 
 ning round the table, and stopping close to the 
 grating. " Give me something." 
 
 I hurriedly glanced around my study. I saw 
 nothing that would answer for a weapon but a 
 whisk broom, which I seized, and endeavored to 
 thrust through the meshes of the grating. 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, as the wasp made a desperate 
 dive close to her face, " give me that, quick ! " and 
 she stretched out her hand to me. 
 
 " I cannot," I replied ; " I can't push it through. 
 It won't go through. Take your bonnet." 
 
 At this, my nun seized her bonnet by a sort of 
 floating hood which hung around the bottom of it 
 and jerked it from her head, bringing with it cer- 
 tain flaps and ligatures and combs, which, being 
 thus roughly removed, allowed a mass of wavy 
 hair to fall about her shoulders. 
 
64 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 "Waving her bonnet in her hand, like a slung- 
 shot, she sprang back and waited for the wasp. 
 When the buzzing creature came near enough, she 
 made a desperate crack at him, missing him ; she 
 struck again and again, now high, now low ; she 
 dashed from side to side of the room, and with one 
 of her mad sweeps she scattered a dozen pages of 
 manuscript upon the floor. 
 
 The view of this combat was enrapturing to me ; 
 the face of my nun, now lighted by a passionate 
 determination to kill that wasp, was a delight to 
 my eyes. If I could have assured myself that the 
 wasp would not sting her, I would have helped 
 him to prolong the battle indefinitely. But my 
 nun was animated by very different emotions. She 
 was bound to be avenged upon the wasp, and 
 avenged she was. Almost springing into the air, 
 she made a grand stroke at him, as he receded 
 from her, hit him, and dashed him against the 
 wall. He fell to the floor, momentarily disabled, 
 but flapping and buzzing. Then down she stooped, 
 and with three great whacks with her bonnet she 
 finished the battle. The wasp lay motionless. 
 
 " Now," she said, throwing her bonnet upon the 
 table, " I will close that window ; " and she walked 
 across the room, her blue eyes sparkling, her face 
 glowing from her violent exercise, and her rich 
 brown hair hanging in long waves upon her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 " Don't do that," I said ; " it will make your 
 room too warm. There is a netting screen in the 
 corner there. If you put that under the sash, it 
 
MY FBIEND VESPA, 65 
 
 will keep out all insects. I wish I could do it for 
 you." 
 
 She took the frame and fitted it under the sash. 
 
 " I am sorry I did not know that before," she 
 said, as she returned to her table ; " this is a very 
 bad piece of business." 
 
 I begged her to excuse me for not having in 
 formed her of the screen, but I did not say that 
 I was sorry for what had occurred. I merely 
 expressed my gratification that she had not been 
 stung. Her chair had been pushed away from the 
 table, its back against the wall, opposite to me. 
 She seated herself upon it, gently panting. She 
 looked from side to side at the sheets of manu- 
 script scattered upon the floor. 
 
 " I will pick them up presently and go to work, 
 but I must rest a minute." She did not now seem 
 to consider that it was of the slightest consequence 
 whether I saw her face or not. 
 
 " Never mind the papers," I said ; " leave them 
 there ; they can be picked up any time." 
 
 " I wish that were the worst of it ; " and as she 
 spoke she raised her eyes toward me, and the least 
 little bit of a smile came upon her lips, as if, though 
 troubled, she could not help feeling the comical 
 absurdity of the situation. 
 
 " It is simply dreadful," she continued. " I 
 don't believe such a thing ever before happened to 
 a sister." 
 
 "There is nothing dreadful about it," said I; 
 " and do you mean to say that the sisters of the 
 House of Martha, who go out to nurse, and do all 
 
66 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 sorts of good deeds, never speak to the people they 
 are befriending, nor allow them to look upon their 
 faces?" 
 
 " Of course," said she, " you have to talk to sick 
 people ; otherwise how could you know what they 
 need ? But this is a different case ; " and she be- 
 gan to gather up her hair and twist it at the back 
 of her head. 
 
 " I do not understand," I remarked ; " why is it 
 a different case ? " 
 
 " It is as different as it can be," said she, pick- 
 ing up her comb from the floor and thrusting it 
 through her hastily twisted knot of hair. "I 
 should not have come here at all if your grand- 
 mother had not positively asserted that there would 
 be nothing for me to do but to listen and to write. 
 And Mother Anastasia and Sister Sarah both of 
 them especially instructed me that I was not to 
 speak to you nor to look at you, but simply to sit 
 at the table and work for the good of the cause. 
 That was all I had to do ; and I am sure I obeyed 
 just as strictly as anybody could, except once, 
 when you forgot the name of Eza, and I was so 
 anxious to have you go on with the incident that 
 I could not help mentioning it. And now, I am 
 sure I don't know what I ought to do." 
 
 "Do?" I asked. "There is nothing to do 
 except to begin writing where you left off. The 
 wasp is dead." 
 
 " I wish it had never been born," she said. " I 
 have no doubt that the whole affair should come 
 to an end now, and that I ought to go home ; but I 
 
MY FRIEND VESPA. 67 
 
 can't do that until Sister Sarah comes to unlock the 
 door, and so I suppose we had better go to work." 
 
 " We " I I would not have dared to use that 
 word, but it fell from her lips in the easiest and 
 most conventional manner possible. It was de- 
 lightful to hear it. I never knew before what a 
 pleasant sound the word had. She now set herself 
 to work to gather up the papers from the floor, 
 and, having arranged them in their proper order, 
 she took up her bonnet. 
 
 " Do you have to wear that ? " I asked. 
 
 " Certainly," she answered, clapping it on and 
 pulling it well forward. 
 
 " I should think it would be very hot and un- 
 comfortable," I remarked. 
 
 " It is," she admitted curtly ; and, seating her- 
 self at the table, she took up her pen. 
 
 I now perceived that if I knew what was good 
 for myself I would cease from speaking on ordinary 
 topics, and go on with my dictation. This I did, 
 giving out my sentences as rapidly as possible, 
 although I must admit I took no interest whatever 
 in what I was saying, nor do I believe that my sec- 
 retary was interested in the subject-matter of my 
 work. She wrote rapidly, and, as well as I could 
 judge, appeared excited and annoyed. I was ex- 
 cited also, but not in the least disturbed. My 
 emotions were of a highly pleasing character. We 
 worked steadily for some twenty minutes, when 
 suddenly she stopped and laid down her pen. 
 
 "Of course it isn't right to speak," she said, 
 turning in her chair and speaking to me face to 
 
68 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 face, as one human being to another, " but as I 
 have said so much already, I don't suppose a little 
 more will make matters worse, and I must ask 
 somebody's help in making up my mind what I 
 ought to do. I suspect I have made all sorts of 
 mistakes in this writing, but I could not keep my 
 thoughts on my work. I have been trying my 
 best to decide how I ought to act, but I cannot 
 make up my mind." 
 
 "I shall be delighted to help you, if I can," I 
 ventured. " What 's the point that you cannot 
 decide?" 
 
 " It is just this," she replied, fixing her blue 
 eyes upon me with earnest frankness: "am I to 
 tell the sisters what has happened or not ? If I 
 tell them, I know exactly what wiU be the result : 
 I shall come here no more, and I shall have to take 
 Sister Hannah's place at the Measles Refuge. 
 There 's nothing in this world that I hate like 
 measles. I 've had them, but that does n't make 
 the slightest difference. Sister Hannah has asked 
 to be relieved, and I know she wants this place 
 dreadfully." 
 
 " She cannot come here ! " I exclaimed. " I 
 don't believe I ever had the measles, and I will not 
 have them." 
 
 " She is a stenographer," said she, " and she will 
 most certainly be ordered to take my place if I 
 make known what I have done to-day." 
 
 " Supposing you were sure that you were not 
 obliged to go to the Measles Refuge," I asked, 
 " should you still regret giving up this position ? " 
 
MY FRIEND VESPA. 69 
 
 " Of course I should," she answered promptly. 
 " I must work at something, or I cannot stay in 
 the House of Martha ; and there is no work which 
 I like so well as this. It interests me extremely." 
 
 " Now hear me," said I, speaking perhaps a lit- 
 tie too earnestly, " and I do not believe any one 
 could give you better advice than I am going to 
 give you. What has occurred this morning was 
 strictly and absolutely an accident. A wasp came 
 in at the window and tried to sting you ; and there 
 is no woman in the world, be she a sister or not, 
 who could sit still and let a wasp sting her." 
 
 " No," she interrupted, " I don't believe Mother 
 Anastasia could do it." 
 
 "And what followed," I continued, "was per- 
 fectly natural, and could not possibly be helped. 
 You were obliged to defend yourself, and in so 
 doing you were obliged to act just as any other 
 woman would act. Nothing else would have been 
 possible, and the talking and all that came in with 
 the rest. You could n't help it." 
 
 " That 's the way the matter appeared to me," 
 said she ; " but the question would arise, if it were 
 all right, why should I hesitate to tell the sisters ? " 
 
 " Hesitate ! " I exclaimed. " You should not 
 even think of such a thing. No matter what the 
 sisters really thought about it, I am sure they 
 would not let you come here any more, and you 
 would be sent to the measles institution, and thus 
 actually be punished for the attempted wickedness 
 of a wasp." 
 
 " But there is the other side of the matter," said 
 
TO THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 she ; " would it not be wicked in me not to tell 
 them ? " 
 
 " Not at all," I replied. " You do not repeat to 
 the sisters all that I tell you to write ? " 
 
 " Of course not," she interrupted. 
 
 " And you do not consider it your duty," I con- 
 tinued, " to relate every detail of the business in 
 which you are employed ? " 
 
 " No," she said. " They ask me some things, 
 and some things I have mentioned to them, such 
 as not having at gold pen." 
 
 "Very good," said I. "You should consider 
 that defending yourself against wasps is just as 
 much your business here as anything else. If you 
 are stung, it is plain you can't write, and the inter- 
 ests of your employer and of the House of Martha 
 must suffer." 
 
 "Yes," she assented, still with the steady gaze 
 of her blue eyes. 
 
 " Now your duty is clear," I went on. " If the 
 sisters ask you if a wasp flew into your room and 
 tried to sting you, and you had to jump around 
 and kill it, and speak, before you could go on with 
 your work, why, of course you must tell them ; but 
 if they don't ask you, don't teU them. It may 
 seem ridiculous to you," I continued hurriedly, " to 
 suppose that they would ask such a question, but I 
 put it in this way to show you the principle of the 
 thing." 
 
 She withdrew her eyes from my face, and fixed 
 them upon the floor. 
 
 " The truth of the matter is," she said presently, 
 
MY FRIEND VESPA. 71 
 
 " that I have n't done anything wrong ; at least I 
 did n't intend to. I might have crouched down in 
 the corner, with my face to the wall, and have cov- 
 ered my head and hands with my shawl, but I 
 should have been obliged to stay there until Sister 
 Sarah came, and I should have been smothered to 
 death ; and besides, I did n't think of it ; so what I 
 did do was the only thing I could do, and I do not 
 think I ought to be punished for it." 
 
 " Now it is settled," I said. " Your duty is to 
 work here for the benefit of your sisterhood, and 
 you should not allow a wasp or any insect to inter- 
 fere with it." 
 
 She looked at me, and smiled a little abstract- 
 edly. Then she turned to the table. 
 
 " I will go on with my work," she said, " and I 
 will not say anything to the sisters until I have 
 given the matter most earnest and careful consid- 
 eration. I can do that a great deal better at home 
 than I can here." 
 
 It was very well that she stopped talking and 
 applied herself to her work, for I do not believe it 
 was ten minutes afterward when Sister Sarah un- 
 locked the door, and came in to take her away. 
 
XIV. 
 
 I FAVOR PERMANENCY IN OFFICE. 
 
 As soon as my secretary had gone I went into 
 her room and looked for my friend Vespa. I 
 found him on the floor, quite dead, but not demol- 
 ished. Picking him up and carrying him to my 
 study, I carefully gummed him to a card. Under 
 his motionless form I wrote, "The good services 
 of this friend I shall ever keep in grateful remem- 
 brance." Then I pinned the card to the wall be- 
 tween two bookcases. 
 
 During the rest of that day I found myself in a 
 state of unreasonable exaltation. Several times I 
 put to myself the questions : Why is it that you 
 feel so cheerful and so gay ? Why have you the 
 inclination to whistle and to dance in your room ? 
 Why do you light a cigar, and let it go out through 
 f orgetf ulness ? Why do you answer your grand- 
 mother at ra.ndom, and feel an inclination to take 
 a long walk by yourself, although you know there 
 are people invited to an afternoon tea ? 
 
 I was not able to give an adequate answer to 
 these questions, nor did I very much care to. I 
 knew that my high spirits were caused by the dis- 
 coveries the good Vespa had enabled me to make, 
 and the fact that this reason could not be proved 
 
I FAVOR PERMANENCY IN OFFICE. 73 
 
 adequate did not trouble me at all ; but prudence 
 and a regard for my own interests made it very- 
 plain to me that other people should not know I 
 had been exalted, and how. If I desired my nun 
 to continue as my secretary, I must not let any one 
 know that I cared in the least to hear her voice, or 
 to have the front of her bonnet turned towards me. 
 
 At dinner, that day, my grandmother remarked 
 to me : — 
 
 " Are you still satisfied with the House of Mar- 
 tha's sister ? Does she do your work as you wish 
 to have it done ? " 
 
 I leaned back in my chair, and answered with 
 deliberation : — 
 
 " Yes, I think she will do very well, and that af- 
 ter more practice she will do better. As it is, she 
 is industrious and attentive. I place great stress 
 upon that point, for I do not like to repeat my sen- 
 tences ; but she has a quick ear, and catches every 
 word." 
 
 "Then," asked my grandmother, "you do not 
 wish to make a change at present ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," I said ; " it would be very annoying 
 to begin again with a new amanuensis. I am get- 
 ting accustomed to this person, and that is a very 
 important matter with me. So I do not wish to 
 make any change so long as this sister does her 
 work properly." 
 
 " I must say," resumed my grandmother, after a 
 little pause, in which she seemed to be considering 
 the subject, " that I was not altogether in favor of 
 that young woman taking the position of your seo- 
 
74 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 retary. She can have had but little experience, 
 and I thought that an older and steadier person 
 would answer your purpose much better ; but this 
 one was unemployed at the time, and wished very 
 much to do literary work ; and as the institution 
 needed the money you would pay, which would 
 probably amount to a considerable sum if your 
 book should be a long one, and as you were in a 
 great hurry, and might engage some one from the 
 city if one of the Martha sisters were not immedi- 
 ately available^ Mother Anastasia and I concluded 
 that it would be well to send this young person un- 
 til one of the older sisters, competent for the work, 
 should be disengaged. I thought you would be 
 very anxious to have this change made as soon as 
 possible, so that you might feel that you had a per- 
 manent secretary." 
 
 " Oh, no," said I, trying very hard not to appear 
 too much in earnest. " This person is very steady, 
 and there is a certain advantage in her being 
 young, without much experience as a secretary. I 
 wish any one who writes for me to work in my 
 way ; and if such a person has been accustomed to 
 work in other people's ways, annoyance and inter- 
 ruption must surely result, and that I wish very 
 much to avoid. A secretary should be a mere 
 writing-machine, and I do not believe an elderly 
 person could be that. She would be sure to have 
 notions how my work should or should not be 
 done, and in some way or other would make those 
 notions evident." 
 
 " I don't quite agi^ee with you," said my grand- 
 
I FAVOR PERMANENCY IN OFFICE. 75 
 
 mother, " but of course you know your own busi- 
 ness better than I do ; and I suppose, after all, it 
 doesn't make much difference whether the sister 
 is young or not. They all dress alike, and all look 
 ugly alike. I don't suppose there would be any- 
 thing attractive about the Venus de Milo, if she 
 wore a coal-scuttle bonnet and a gray woolen 
 shawl." 
 
 " No," I answered, " especially if she kept the 
 opening of her coal-scuttle turned down over her 
 paper, as if she were about to empty coals upon 
 it." 
 
 " That 's very proper," said my grandmother, 
 speaking a little more briskly. " All she has to 
 do is to keep her eyes on her work, and I suppose, 
 from what you say, that the flaps of her bonnet do 
 not interfere with her keeping her ears on you. 
 But if at any time you desire to make a change, 
 all you have to do is to let me know, and I can 
 easily arrange the matter." 
 
 I promised that I would certainly let her know 
 in case I had such a desire. 
 
 That evening Walkirk remarked to me that he 
 thought nothing could be more satisfactory for me 
 than to have on tap, so to speak, an institution like 
 the House of Martha, from which I could draw a 
 secretary whenever I wanted one, and keep her 
 for as long or as short a time as pleased me ; and 
 to have this supply in the immediate neighborhood 
 was an extraordinary advantage. 
 
 I agreed that the arrangement was a very good 
 one ; and I think he was about to ask some ques- 
 
76 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 tions in regard to my nun, but I began my recital, 
 and cut off any further conversation on the subject. 
 My monologue was rather disjointed that even- 
 ing, for my mind was occupied with other things, 
 or, more strictly speaking, another thing. I felt 
 quite sure, however, that Walkirk did not notice 
 my preoccupation, for he gave the same earnest 
 and interested attention to my descri23tions which 
 he had always shown, and which made him such 
 an agreeable and valuable listener. Indeed, his 
 manner put me at my ease, because, on account of 
 the wandering of my mind, his general expression 
 indicated that, if I found it necessary to pause in 
 order that I might arrange what I should say next, 
 he was very glad of the opportunity thus given 
 him to reflect upon what I had just said. He was 
 an admirable listener. 
 
XV. 
 
 HOW WE WENT BACK TO GENOA. 
 
 The next morning I awaited with considerable 
 perturbation of mind the arrival of my nun. I 
 felt assured that, after the occurrences of the pre- 
 vious day, there must certainly be some sort of a 
 change in her. She could not go on exactly as 
 she had gone on before. The nature of this an- 
 ticipated change concerned me very much, — too 
 much, I assured myself. Would she be more rigid 
 and repellent than she had been before the advent 
 of the wasp ? But this would be impossible. On 
 the other hand, would she be more like other 
 people ? Would she relax a little, and work like 
 common secretaries ? Or, — and I whistled as I 
 thought of it, — having once done so, would she 
 permanently cut loose from the absurdities en- 
 joined upon her by the House of Martha people, 
 and look at me and talk to me in the free, honest, 
 ingenuous, frank, sincere, and thoroughly sensible 
 manner in which she had spoken to me the day be- 
 fore? 
 
 After revolving these questions in my mind for 
 some time, another one rudely thrust itself upon 
 me : would she come at all ? It was already seven 
 minutes past nine; she had never been so late. 
 
78 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA, 
 
 Now that I came to think of it, this would be the 
 most natural result of the wasp business. The 
 thought shocked me. I ceased to walk up and 
 down my study, and stopped whistling. I think 
 my face must have flushed ; I know my pulse beat 
 faster. My eyes fell upon the body of him who I 
 believed had been my friend. I felt like crushing 
 his remains with my fist. He had been my enemy ! 
 He had shown me what I had to lose, and he had 
 made me lose it. 
 
 Even in the' midst of my agitation this thought 
 made me smile. How much I was making of this 
 affair of my secretary. What difference, after 
 all — But I did not continue the latter question. 
 It did make a difference, and it was of no use to 
 reason about it. What was I to do about it? That 
 was more to the point. 
 
 At this instant, my nun, followed by Sister 
 Sarah, entered the adjoining room. The latter 
 merely bowed to me, went out, and locked the door 
 behind her. I was very glad she did not speak to 
 me, for the sudden revulsion of feeling produced 
 by the appearance of the two would have prevented 
 my answering her coherently. I do not know 
 whether my nun bowed or not. If she did, the 
 motion was very slight. She took her seat and 
 prepared for work. I did not say anything, for I 
 did not know what to say. The proper thing to 
 do, in order to relieve my embarrassment and hers, 
 ■ — that is, if she had any, — was to begin work at 
 once ; but for the life of me I could not remember 
 whether my dictation of the day before concerned 
 
HOW WE WENT BACK TO GENOA. 79 
 
 Sicily or Egypt. I did not like to ask her, for 
 that would seem like a trick to make her speak. 
 
 But it would not do to keep her sitting there 
 with an idle pen in her hand. I must say some- 
 thing, so I blurted out some remarks concerning 
 the effect of the climate of the Mediterranean 
 upon travelers from northern countries ; and while 
 doing this I tried my best to remember where, on 
 the shores of this confounded sea, I had been the 
 day before. 
 
 Philosophizing and generalizing were, however, 
 not in my line : I was accustomed to deal with ac- 
 tion and definite observation, and I soon dropped 
 the climate of the Mediterranean, and went to 
 work on some of the soul-harrowing improvements 
 in the Eternal City, alluding with particular 
 warmth to the banishment of the models from the 
 Spanish Stairs. Now the work went on easily, 
 but I was gloomy and depressed. My nun sat at 
 the table, more like a stiff gray-enveloped principle 
 than ever before. I did not feel at liberty even to 
 make a remark about the temperature of the room. 
 I feared that whatever I said might be construed 
 into an attempt to presume upon the accidental 
 intercourse of the day before. 
 
 For half an hour or more she went on with the 
 work, but, during a pause in my dictation, she sat 
 up straight in her chair and laid down her pen. 
 Then, without turning her face to me, she began 
 to speak. I stood open-mouthed, and, I need not 
 say, delighted. Whatever her words might be, it 
 rejoiced me to hear them ; to know that she volun- 
 
80 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 tarily recognized my existence, and desired to com- 
 municate with me. 
 
 " I have spoken to Mother Anastasia," she said, 
 her voice directed towards the screen in the open 
 window, " and I told her that it was impossible for 
 me to work without sometimes saying a few words 
 to ask for what I need, or to request you to repeat 
 a word which I did not catch. Since I began to 
 write I have lost no less than twenty-three words. 
 I have left blanks for them, and made memoranda 
 of the pages ; but, as I said to her, if this sort of 
 thing went on, you would forget what words you 
 had intended to use, and when you came to read 
 the manuscript you could not supply them, and 
 that therefore I was not doing my work properly, 
 and honestly earning the money which would be 
 paid to the institution. I also told her that you 
 sometimes forgot where you left off the day before, 
 and that I ought to read you a few lines of what 
 I had last written, in order that you might make 
 the proper connection. I think this is very neces- 
 sary, for to-day you have left an awful gap. Yes- 
 terday we were writing about that old Crusader's 
 bank in Genoa, and now you are at work at Kome, 
 when we have n't even started for that city." 
 
 Each use of this word " we " was to me like a 
 strain of music from the heavens. 
 
 " Do you think I did right ? " she added. 
 
 " Right ! " I exclaimed. " Most assuredly you 
 did. Nothing could be more helpful, and in fact 
 more necessary, than , to let me know just where I 
 left off. What did the sisters say ? " ^ 
 
HOW WE WENT BACK TO GENOA. 81 
 
 " I spoke only to Mother Anastasia," she replied. 
 " She considered the matter a little while, and then 
 said that she could see there must be times when 
 you would require some information from me in 
 regard to the work, and that there could be no rea- 
 sonable objection to my giving such information 5 
 but she reminded me that the laws of the House of 
 Martha require that the sisters must give their sole 
 attention to the labor upon which they are em- 
 ployed, and must not indulge, when so engaged, in 
 any conversation, even among themselves, that is 
 not absolutely necessary." 
 
 "Mother Anastasia is very sensible," said I, 
 " and if I were to see her, I should be happy to ex- 
 press my appreciation of her good advice upon the 
 subject. And, by the way, did she tell you that it 
 was necessary to wear that hot bonnet while you 
 are working?" 
 
 " She did not say anything about it," she an- 
 swered ; " it was not needful. We always wear 
 our bonnets outside of the House of Martha." 
 
 I was about to make a further remark upon the 
 subject, but restrained myself : it was incumbent on 
 me to be very prudent. There was a pause, and 
 then she spoke again. 
 
 " You are not likely to see Mother Anastasia," 
 she said, " but please do not say anything on the 
 subject to Sister Sarah ; she is very rigorous, and 
 would not approve of talking under any circum- 
 stances. In fact, she does not approve of my com- 
 ing here at all." 
 
 " What earthly reason can she have for that ? " 
 I askedo 
 
82 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " She thinks it 's nonsensical for you to have a 
 secretary," she answered, " and that it would be 
 much better for you to do your own work, and 
 make a gift of the money to the institution, and 
 then I could go and learn to be a nurse. I only 
 mention these things to show you that it would be 
 well not to talk to her of Mother Anastasia's good 
 sense." 
 
 " You may rest assured," said I, " that I shall 
 not say a word to her." 
 
 " And now,'^ said she, " shall we put aside what 
 I have written to-day, and go back to Genoa? 
 The last thing you dictated yesterday was this: 
 ' Into this very building once came the old Cru- 
 saders to borrow money for their journeys to the 
 Holy Land.' " 
 
 We went to Genoa. 
 
 " How admirably," I exclaimed, when she had 
 gone, " with what wonderful tact and skill she has 
 managed the whole affair! Not one word about 
 the occurrences of yesterday, not an allusion which 
 could embarrass either herself or me. If only she 
 had looked at me ! But she had probably received 
 instructions on that point which she did not men- 
 tion, and it is easy to perceive that she is honest 
 and conscientious." 
 
 " But after all it was not necessary that I should 
 see her face. I had seen it, and I could never for- 
 get it. 
 
 Whistling was not enough for me that day ; I 
 sang. 
 
 " What puts you into such remarkably good 
 
HOW WE WENT BACK TO GENOA. 83 
 
 spirits ? " asked my grandmother. " Have you 
 reached an unusually interesting part of your 
 work?" 
 
 " Indeed I have," I answered, and I gave her 
 such a glowing account of the way the Ked Cross 
 Knights, the White Cross Knights, and the Black 
 Cross Knights clanked through the streets of 
 Genoa, before setting sail to battle for the Great 
 Cross, that the cheeks of the old lady flushed and 
 her eyes sparkled with enthusiastic emotion. 
 
 " I don't wonder it kindles your soul to write 
 about such things," she said. 
 
XVI. 
 
 I RUN UPON A SANDBAR. 
 
 Day by day, the interest of my nun in her work 
 appeared to increase. Every morning, so soon as 
 she sat down at her table, she read to me the con- 
 eluding portion of what had been written the day 
 before ; and if a Sunday intervened, she gave me 
 a page or more. Her interest was manifested in 
 various ways. Several times she so far forgot the 
 instructions she must have received as to turn her 
 face towards me, when asking me to repeat some- 
 thing that she did not catch, and on such occasions 
 I could not for some moments remember what I 
 had said, or indeed what I was about to say. 
 
 Once she stopped writing, and, turning half 
 round in her chair, looked fairly at me, and said 
 that she thought I had made a mistake in saying 
 that visitors were not allowed to go up the Tower 
 of Pisa without a guide ; for she, with two other 
 ladies, had gone to the top without any one accom- 
 panying them. But she thought it was very wrong 
 to allow people to do this, and that I should be do- 
 ing a service to travelers if I were to say something 
 on the subject. 
 
 Of course I replied that I would make the cor- 
 rection, and that I would say something about the 
 
I BUN UPON A SANDBAB. 85 
 
 carelessness to which she referred. Then there 
 ensued a pause, during which she turned her face 
 towards the window, imagining, I have no doubt, 
 that I was busy endeavoring to compose something 
 suitable to say upon the subject; but I was not 
 thinking of anything of the sort. I was allowing 
 my mind to revel in the delight which I had had in 
 looking at her while she spoke. When her pen 
 began to scratch impatiently upon the paper, I 
 plunged into some sort of a homily on the laxity 
 of vigilance in leaning towers. But, even while 
 dictating this, I was wondering what she would 
 look like if, instead of that gray shawl and gown, 
 she were arrayed in one of the charming costumes 
 which often make even ordinary young ladies so 
 attractive. 
 
 As our daily work went on, my nun relaxed 
 more frequently her proscribed rigidity, and be- 
 came more and more like an ordinary person. 
 When she looked at me or spoke, she always did 
 so in such an unpremeditated manner, and with 
 such an obvious good reason, that I could not de- 
 termine whether her change of manner was due to 
 accumulativ" forgetf ulness, or to a conviction that 
 it was absu i to continue to act a part which was 
 not only i Jinatural under the circumstances, but 
 which positively interfered with the work in hand. 
 Some of her suggestions were of the greatest ser- 
 vice, but I fear that the value of what she said 
 was not as fully appreciated as was the pleasure of 
 seeing and hearing her say it. 
 
 Thus joyously passed the hours of work, and in 
 
86 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 the hours when I was not working I looked for- 
 ward with glad anticipation to the next forenoon ; 
 but after a time I began to be somewhat oppressed 
 by the fear that my work would come to an end 
 before long for want of material. I was already 
 nearing the southern limit of my travels, and my 
 return northward had not been productive of the 
 sort of subject-matter I desired. In my recitals to 
 Walkirk I had gone much more into detail regard- 
 ing my experiences, and had talked about a great 
 many things which it had been pleasant to talk 
 about, but which I did not consider good enough 
 to put into my book. In dictating to my nun I 
 had carefully sifted the mass to which Walkirk 
 had listened, and had used only such matter as I 
 thought would interest her and the general reader. 
 My high regard for the intelligence of my secre- 
 tary and her powers of appreciation had led me to 
 discard too much, and therefore there was danger 
 that my supply of subject-matter would give out 
 before my nun grew to be an elderly woman ; and 
 this I did not desire. 
 
 I had read and heard enough of the travels of 
 others to be able to continue my descriptions of 
 foreign countries for an indefinite period; but I 
 had determined, from the first, that nothing should 
 go into my book except my own actual experiences, 
 and therefore I could not rely upon other books 
 for the benefit of mine. But, in considering the 
 matter, I concluded that, if my material should be 
 entirely my own, it would answer my purpose to 
 make that material what I pleased; and thus it 
 
I RUN UPON A SANDBAB. 87 
 
 •happened that I determined to weave a story into 
 my narrative. This plan, I assured myself, would 
 be in perfect harmony with the design of my work. 
 The characters could be drawn from the people 
 whom I had met in my travels. The scenes could 
 be those which I had visited, and the plot and 
 tone of the story could be made to aid the reader 
 in understanding the nature of the country and 
 the people of which it was told. More than all, 
 I could make the story as long as I pleased. 
 
 This was a capital idea, and I began immediately 
 to work upon it. I managed the story very deftly ; 
 at least that was my opinion. My two principal 
 characters made their appearance in Sicily, and at 
 first were so intermingled with scenery and inci- 
 dents as not to be very prominent ; then they came 
 more to the front, and other characters introduced 
 themselves upon occasion. As these personages 
 appeared and reappeared, I hoped that they would 
 gradually surround themselves with an interest 
 which would steadily increase the desire to know 
 more and more about them. Thus, as I went on, 
 I said less and less about Sicily, and more and 
 more about my characters, especially the young 
 man and the young woman, the curious blending 
 of whose lives I was endeavoring to depict. 
 
 This went on very smoothly for a few days, and 
 then, about eleven o'clock one morning, my nun 
 suddenly leaned back in her chair and laid down 
 her pen. 
 
 " I cannot write any more of this," she said, 
 looking out of the window. 
 
88 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 I was so astonished that I could scarcely ask 
 her what she meant. 
 
 " This is love-making," she continued, " and with 
 love-making the sisters of the House of Martha 
 can have nothing to do. It is one of our principal 
 rules that we must not think about it, read about 
 it, or talk about it ; and of course it would have 
 been forbidden to write about it, if such a contin- 
 gency had ever been thought of. Therefore I can- 
 not do any more work of that kind." 
 
 In vain I expostulated ; in vain I told her that 
 this was the most important part of my book ; in 
 vain I declaimed about the absurdity of such a 
 regulation ; in vain I protested ; in vain I reasoned. 
 She shook her head, and said there was no use 
 talking about it ; she knew the rules, and should 
 obey them. 
 
 I had been standing near the grating, but now 
 I threw myself into a chair, and sat silent, wonder- 
 ing what I should do. Must I give up this most 
 admirable plan of carrying on my work, simply 
 because those foolish sisters had made absurd rules 
 for themselves? Must I wind up my book for 
 want of material ? Not for a moment did I think 
 of getting another secretary, or of selecting some 
 other sort of that stuff which literary people call 
 padding, for the purpose of prolonging my pleasant 
 labors. I was becoming interested in the love- 
 story I had begun, and I wanted to go on with it, 
 and I believed also that it would be of great ad- 
 vantage to my book ; but, on the other hand, it 
 was plain that my nun would not write this story, 
 
I RUN UPON A SANDBAR. 89 
 
 and it was quite as plain to me that I could not 
 insist upon anything which would cause her to 
 leave me. 
 
 " Don't you think," she said presently, still look- 
 ing towards the window, " that we had better do 
 some sort of work for the rest of the morning ? It 
 is not right for me to sit here idle. Suppose you 
 try to supply some of the words which were left 
 out of the manuscript, in the first days of my writ- 
 ing for you." 
 
 " Very well," said I ; and, taking up her memo- 
 randa, she began to look for the vacant spaces 
 which she had left in the manuscript pages. I 
 supplied very few words, for to save my life I could 
 not at this moment bring my mind to bear upon 
 such trifles ; but it was pretense of work, and better 
 than embarrassing idleness. Before my secretary 
 left me I must think of something to say to her in 
 regard to the work for to-morrow ; but what should 
 I say ? Should I tell her I would drop the story, 
 or that I would modify it so as to make it feasible 
 for her to write ? Something must quickly be de- 
 cided upon, and while I was tumultuously revolv- 
 ing the matter in my mind twelve o'clock and the 
 sub-mother came. My secretary went away, with 
 nothing but the little bow which she was accus* 
 tomed to make when leaving the room. 
 
xvn. 
 
 BjiiGARDING THE ELUCIDATION OF NATIONAL 
 CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 I WAS left in my study in a very unpleasant 
 state of mind. I was agitated and apprehensive. 
 Perhaps that young woman would not come any 
 more. I had not told her that I was going to stop 
 writing about love, and there was every reason to 
 suppose she would not return. What an imbecile 
 I had been ! I had done nothing, because I could 
 not think of exactly the right thing to do. 
 
 I now felt that I must ask the advice of some- 
 body in regard to this embarrassing and important 
 aiifair. For a moment I thought of my grand- 
 mother, but she would be sure to begin by advising 
 me to change my secretary. She seldom urged 
 me to do what I did not want to do, but if I ojffered 
 her a chance to give me advice on this occasion I 
 knew what would be uppermost in her mind. 
 
 So I put on my hat and went to Walkirk, at the 
 inn. I found him at work on a mass of accounts, 
 dating back for years, which I had given him to 
 adjust. With great circumspection I laid before 
 him this new affair. 
 
 " You see," said I, " she is a first-class secretary. 
 She has learned to do my work as I like it done, 
 
NATIONAL CHABACTEBISTICS. 91 
 
 and I do not wish to make a change, and, on the 
 other hand, I do not care to alter the plan of my 
 book." 
 
 Walkirk was always very respectful, but he 
 could not restrain a smile at the situation. 
 
 " It does seem to me," he said, " a very funny 
 thing to dictate a love-story to one of the sisters 
 of the House of Martha. Of course they are not 
 nuns, they are not even Roman Catholics, but they 
 are just as strict and strait-laced about certain 
 things as if their house were really a convent. So 
 far as I can see, there is but one thing to do, and 
 that is to confine yourself to descriptions of travel ; 
 and perhaps it would be well to let your secretary 
 know in some way that you intend to do so ; other- 
 wise I think she may throw up the business, and 
 that would be a pity." 
 
 It sometimes surprises me to discover what an 
 obstinate person I am. When I want to do a 
 thing, it is very difficult for me to change my 
 mind. 
 
 " She must not throw up the business," I said, 
 " and I do not see how I can leave out the story. 
 I have planned it far ahead, and to discard it I 
 should have to go back and cut and mangle a great 
 deal of good work that I have done." 
 
 Walkirk reflected. 
 
 " I admit," he replied, " that that would be very 
 discouraging. Perhaps we can think of some plan 
 of getting out of the difficulty." 
 
 " I hope you can do that," said I, " for I can- 
 not." 
 
92 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " How would this do ? " lie asked presently. 
 " Suppose I go and see Mother Anastasia this af- 
 ternoon, and try and make her look at this matter 
 from a strictly business point of view. I can tell 
 her that the sort of thing you are doing is purely 
 literature, that you can't keep such things out of ^ 
 literature, and that the people who engage in the 
 mechanical work of literature cannot help running 
 against those things at one time or another. I can 
 try to make her understand what an advantageous 
 connection this is, and what a great injury to the 
 House of Martha it would be if it should be broken 
 off. I can tell her that it is not improbable that 
 you may take to writing as a regular business, and 
 that you may give profitable employment to the 
 sisters for years and years. There are a good 
 many other things I might say, and you may be 
 sure I shall do my very best." 
 
 " Go," I said, " but be very careful about what 
 you say. Don't make her think that I am too anx- 
 ious to retain this particular sister, but make her 
 understand that I do not wish to begin all over 
 again with another one. Also, do not insist too 
 strongly on my desire to write a love-story, but put 
 it to her that when I plan out work of course I 
 want to do the work as I have planned it. Try to 
 keep these important points in your mind ; then 
 you can urge common sense upon her as much as 
 you please." 
 
 I sent a note to my grandmother saying that 
 I should not be home to luncheon, and after hav- 
 ing taken a bite at the inn I set out for a long 
 
NATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS. 93 
 
 walk. It was simply impossible for me to talk 
 about common things until this matter was settled. 
 
 It was about the middle of the afternoon when 
 I returned to the inn, and Walkirk had not come 
 back. I went away again, took a turn through the 
 woods, and on approaching the inn I saw him 
 walking down the shady road which led from the 
 House of Martha. I hurried to meet him. 
 
 So soon as he was near enough, Walkirk, with 
 a beaming face, called out : — 
 
 " All right, sir. I have settled that little mat- 
 ter for you." 
 
 " How ? What ? " I exclaimed. " What have 
 you done ? " 
 
 We had now reached each other, and stood to- 
 gether by the side of the road. 
 
 " Well," said my under-study, " I have seen 
 Mother Anastasia, and I have found her a very 
 sensible woman, — an admirable woman, I assure 
 you. She was a good deal surprised when I told 
 her my errand, for that was the first she had heard 
 of the love-story ; in fact, I suppose your secretary 
 had not had time to tell her about it. She com- 
 mended the sister highly for her refusal to write 
 it, saying that her action was in strict accordance 
 with the spirit of their rules. When she had fin- 
 ished saying all she had to say on that point, I pre- 
 sented your side of the question ; and I assure you, 
 sir, that I clapped on it a very bright light, so that 
 if she did not see its strong points the fault must 
 be in her own eyes. As the event proved, there 
 was nothing the matter with her eyes. I shall not 
 
94 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 try to repeat what I said, but I began by explain- 
 ing to her the nature of your work, and showed 
 her how impossible it was for you to write about 
 foreign countries without referring to their people, 
 and how you could not speak of the people with- 
 out mentioning their peculiar manners and cus- 
 toms, and that this story was nothing more nor less 
 than an interweaving of some of the characteristics 
 of the people of Sicily with the descriptions of the 
 country. Thus much I inferred from your remarks 
 about the story. 
 
 " I persisted that, although such characteristics 
 had no connection with the life of the sisters of the 
 House of Martha, they were a part of the world 
 which you were describing, and that it could be no 
 more harm for a sister, working for wages and the 
 good of the cause, to assist in that description than 
 it would be for one of them to make lace to be 
 worn at a wedding, a ceremony with which the sis- 
 ters could have nothing to do, and which in con- 
 nection with themselves they could not even think 
 about. This point made an impression on Mother 
 Anastasia, and, having thought about it a minute 
 or two, she said there was a certain force in it. 
 
 " Then she asked me if this narrative of yours 
 was a strongly accentuated love-story. Here she 
 had me at a disadvantage, for I have not heard it ; 
 but I assured her that, knowing the scope and pur- 
 pose of your work, I did not believe that you would 
 accentuate any portion of it more than was abso- 
 lutely necessary. 
 
 " After some silent consideration, Mother Ana- 
 
NATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS. 95 
 
 stasia said she would go and speak with the sister 
 who had been doing your work. She was gone a 
 good while, — at least it seemed so to me ; and 
 when she came back she said that she had been 
 making inquiries of the sister, and had come to the 
 conclusion that there was no good reason why the 
 House of Martha should not continue to assist you 
 in the preparation of your book." 
 
 " Did she say she would send the same sister r " 
 I asked quickly. 
 
 "No, she did not," answered Walkirk; "but 
 not wishing to put the question too pointedly, I 
 first thanked her, on your behaK, for the kindly 
 consideration she had given the matter. I then 
 remarked -^^ without intimating that you said any- 
 thing about it — that I hoped nothing would occur 
 to retard the progTCss of the work, and that the 
 present arrangement might continue without 
 changes of any kind, because I knew that when 
 you were dictating your mind was completely ab- 
 sorbed by your mental labors, and that any alter- 
 ation in your hours of work, or the necessity of 
 explaining your methods to a new amanuensis, 
 annoyed and impeded you. To this she replied it 
 was quite natural you should not desire changes, 
 and that everything should go on as before." 
 
 " Walkirk," I exclaimed, " you are a trump ! " 
 In my exuberant satisfaction I would have clapped 
 him on the back ; but it would not do to be so fa- 
 miliar with an under-study, and besides I did not 
 wish him to understand the extent of my delight at 
 the result of his mission. That sort of thing I 
 liked to keep to myself. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 AN ILLEGIBLE WORD. 
 
 Evert morning there seemed to be some reason 
 or other why I should anticipate with an animated 
 interest the coming of my secretary, and on the 
 morning after what I might call her " strike " the 
 animation of said interest was very apparent to 
 me, but I hope not to any one else. Over and 
 over I said to myself that I must not let my nun 
 see that I was greatly pleased with Walkirk's in- 
 tervention. It would be wise to take the result as 
 a matter of course. 
 
 As the clock struck nine, she and Sister Sarah 
 entered the anteroom, and the latter advanced to 
 the grating and looked into my study, peering 
 from side to side. I did not like this sister's face ; 
 she looked as if she had grown unpleasantly plump 
 on watered milk. 
 
 " Is it necessary," she asked, " that you should 
 smoke tobacco during your working hours ? " 
 
 " I never do it," I replied indignantly, — 
 ^' never ! " 
 
 " Several times," she said, " I have thought I 
 perceived the smell of tobacco smoke in this sis- 
 ter's garments." 
 
 " You are utterly mistaken ! " I exclaimed. 
 
AN ILLEGIBLE WOBD. 97 
 
 " During the hours of work these rooms are per- 
 fectly free from anything of the sort." 
 
 She gave a little grunt and departed, and when 
 she had locked the door I could not restrain a 
 slight ejaculation of annoyance. 
 
 " You must not mind Sister Sarah,'* said the 
 sweet voice of my nun behind the barricade of her 
 bonnet ; " she is as mad as hops this morning." 
 
 "What is the matter with her?" I asked, my 
 angry feelings disappearing in an instant. 
 
 " She and Mother Anastasia have had a long 
 discussion about the message you sent in regard to 
 my keeping on with the story. Sister Sarah is 
 very much opposed to my doing your writing at 
 all." 
 
 " Well, as she is not the head of your House, I 
 suppose we need not trouble ourselves about that," 
 I replied. " But how does the arrangement suit 
 you? Are you satisfied to continue to write my 
 little story?" 
 
 " Satisfied ! " she said. " I am perfectly de- 
 lighted ; " and as she spoke she turned toward me, 
 her eyes sparkling, and her face lighted by the 
 most entrancing smile I ever beheld on the coun- 
 tenance of woman. " This is a thousand times 
 more interesting than anything you have done yet, 
 although I liked the rest very much. Of course I 
 stopped when I supposed it was against our rules 
 to continue ; but now that I know it is all right I 
 am — But no matter ; let us go on with it. This 
 is what I last wrote," and she read : " ' Tomaso 
 and the pretty Lucilla now seated themselves on 
 
98 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 the rock, by a little spring. He was trying to 
 look into her lovely blue eyes, which were slightly 
 turned away from him and veiled by their long 
 lashes. There was something he must say to 
 her, and he felt he could wait no longer. Gently 
 he took the little hand which lay nearest him, 
 and ' — There is where I stopped," she said ; and 
 then, her face still bright, but with the smile 
 succeeded by an air of earnest consideration, she 
 asked, " Do you object to suggestions ? " 
 
 " Not at all," >said I ; " when they are to the 
 point, they help me." 
 
 " Well, then," she said, " I would n't have her 
 eyes blue. Italian girls nearly always have black 
 or brown eyes. It is hard to think of this girl as 
 a blonde." 
 
 " Oh, but her eyes are blue," I said ; " it would 
 not do at all to have them anything else. Some 
 Italian girls are that way. At any rate, I could n't 
 alter her in my mind." 
 
 " Perhaps not," she replied, " but in thinking 
 about her she always seems to me to have black 
 eyes ; however, that is a matter of no importance, 
 and I am ready to go on." 
 
 Thus, on matters strictly connected with busi- 
 ness, my nun and I conversed, and then we went 
 on with our work. I think that from the very be- 
 ginnings of literature there could have been no 
 author who derived from his labors more absolute 
 pleasure than I derived from mine : never was a 
 story more interesting to tell than the story of 
 Toraaso and Lucilla. It proved to be a very long 
 
AN ILLEGIBLE WORD. 99 
 
 one, much longer than I had supposed I could 
 make it, and sometimes I felt that it was due to 
 the general character of my book that I should 
 occasionally insert some description of scenery or 
 instances of travel. 
 
 My secretary wrote as fast as I could dictate, 
 and sometimes wished, I think, that I would dic- 
 tate faster. She seldom made comments unless 
 she thought it absolutely necessary to do so, but 
 there were certain twitches and movements of her 
 head and shoulders which might indicate emotions, 
 such as pleasant excitement at the sudden develop- 
 ment of the situation, or impatience at my delay 
 in the delivery of interesting passages ; and I 
 imagined that during the interpolation of descrip- 
 tive matter she appeared to be anxious to get 
 through with it as quickly as possible, and to go 
 on with the story. 
 
 It was my wish to make my book a very large 
 one; it was therefore desirable to be economical 
 with the material I had left, and to eke it out as 
 much as I could with fiction ; but upon considering 
 the matter I became convinced that it could not 
 be very long before the material which in any way 
 could be connected with the story must give out, 
 and that therefore it would have to come to an 
 end. How I wished I had spent more time in 
 Sicily ! I would have liked to write a whole book 
 about Sicily. 
 
 Of course I might take the lovers to other coun- 
 tries ; but I had not planned anything of this kind, 
 and it would require some time to work it out 
 
100 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 Now, however, a good idea occurred to me, which 
 would postpone the conclusion of the interesting 
 portion of my work. I would have my secretary 
 read what she had written. This would give me 
 time to think out more of the story, and it is often 
 important that an author should know what he has 
 done before he goes on to do more. We had ar- 
 rived at a point where the narrative could easily 
 stop for a while ; Tomaso having gone on a fishing 
 voyage, and the middle-aged innkeeper, whose 
 union with Lucilla was favored by her mother and 
 the village priest, having departed for Naples to 
 assume the guardianship of two very handsome 
 young women, the daughters of an old friend, re- 
 cently deceased. 
 
 When I communicated to my nun my desire to 
 change her work from writing to reading, she 
 seemed surprised, and asked if there were not dan- 
 ger that I might forget how I intended to end the 
 story. I reassured her on this point, and she ap- 
 peared to resign herself to the situation. 
 
 " Shall I begin with the first page of the manu- 
 script," said she, " or read only what I have writ- 
 ten?" 
 
 " Oh, begin at the very beginning," I said. " I 
 want to hear it all." 
 
 Then she began, hesitating a little at times over 
 the variable chirography of my first amanuensis. 
 I drew up my chair near to the grating, but before 
 she had read two pages I asked her to stop for a 
 moment. 
 
 " I think," said I, " it will be impossible for me 
 
AN ILLEGIBLE WORD. tt)l 
 
 to get a clear idea of what you are reading unless 
 you turn and speak in my direction. You see, the 
 sides of your bonnet interfere very much with my 
 hearing what you say." 
 
 For a few moments she remained in her ordinary 
 position, and then she slowly turned her chair 
 toward me. I am sure she had received instruc- 
 tions against looking into my study, which was 
 filled with objects calculated to attract the atten- 
 tion of an intelligent and cultivated person. Then 
 she read the manuscript, and as she did so I said to 
 myself, over and over again, that for her to read to 
 me was a thousand times more agreeable than for 
 me to dictate to her. 
 
 As she read, her eyes were cast down on the 
 pages which she held in her hand ; but frequently 
 when I made a correction they were raised to mine, 
 as she endeavored to understand exactly what I 
 wanted her to do. I made a good many alterations 
 which I think improved the work very much. 
 
 Once she found it utterly impossible to decipher 
 a certain word of the manuscript. She scrutinized 
 it earnestly, and then, her mind entirely occupied 
 by her desire properly to read the matter, she rose, 
 and came close to the grating, holding the page so 
 that I could see it. 
 
 " Can you make out this word ? " she asked. " I 
 cannot imagine how any one could write so care- 
 lessly." 
 
 I sprang to my feet and stood close to the grat- 
 ing. I could not take the paper from her, and it 
 was necessary for her to hold it. I examined the 
 
•lOi^ TKE. HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 word letter by letter. I gave my opinion of each 
 letter, and I asked her opinion. It was a most il- 
 legible word. A good many things interfered with 
 my comprehension of it. Among these were the 
 two hands with which she held up the page, and 
 another was the idea which came to me that in the 
 House of Martha the sisters were fed on violets. 
 I am generally quite apt at deciphering bad writ- 
 ing, but never before had I shown myself so slow 
 and obtuse at this sort of thing. 
 
 Suddenly a thought struck me. I glanced at 
 the clock in my study. It wanted ten minutes of 
 twelve. 
 
 " It must be," said I, " that that word is intended 
 to be ' heaven-given,' — at any rate, we will make 
 it that ; and now I think I will get you to copy the 
 last part of that page. You can do it on the back 
 of the sheet." 
 
 She was engaged in this writing when Sister 
 Sarah came in. 
 
XIX. 
 
 GRAY ICE. 
 
 During the engagement of my present secretary, 
 a question had frequently arisen in my mind, which 
 I wished to have answered, but which I had hesi- 
 tated to ask, for fear the sister should imagine it 
 indicated too much personal interest in her. This 
 question related to her name, and now it was really 
 necessary for me to know it. I did not wish any 
 longer to speak to her as if she were merely a prin- 
 ciple; she had become a most decided entity. 
 However harsh and gray and woolly her name 
 might be, I wanted to know it and to hear it from 
 her own lips. The next morning I asked her what 
 it was. 
 
 She was sitting at the table arranging the pages 
 she was going to read, and at the question she 
 turned toward me. Her face was flushed, but not, 
 I think, with displeasure. 
 
 " Do you know," she said, " it has seemed to me 
 the funniest thing in the world that you have never 
 cared the least bit to know my name." 
 
 " I did care," I replied, " in fact it was awkward 
 not to know it ; but of course I did not want to — 
 Interfere in any way with the rules of your estab- 
 lishment." 
 
104 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " Ah," she said, " I have noticed your extreme 
 solicitude in regard to our rules, but there is no 
 rule against telling our names. Mine is Sister Ha- 
 gar." 
 
 " Hagar ! " I exclaimed. " You do not mean 
 that is your real name ? " 
 
 " It is the name given me by the House of Mar- 
 tha," she answered. " There is a list of names by 
 which the sisters must be called, and as we enter 
 the institution we take the names in their order on 
 the list. Hagar came to me." 
 
 " I shall not call you by that," said I, " and we 
 may as well go on with our work." 
 
 I was anxious to have her read, and to forget 
 that she was called Hagar. 
 
 She was a long time arranging the manuscript 
 and putting the pages in order. I did not hurry 
 her, but I could not see any reason for so much 
 preparation. Presently she said, still arranging 
 the sheets, and with her head bent slightly over 
 her work : " I don't know whether or not I ought 
 to tell you, but I dislike to be called Hagar. The 
 next name on the list is Rebecca, and I am willing 
 to take that, but the rules of the House do not al- 
 low us to skip an unappropriated name, and permit 
 no choosing. However, Mother Anastasia has not 
 pressed the matter, and, although I am entered as 
 Sister Hagar, the sisters do not caU me by that 
 name." 
 
 " What do they call you ? " 
 
 " Oh, they simply use the name that was mine 
 before I entered the House of Martha," said she. 
 
GBAT ICE. 105 
 
 " And what is that ? " I asked quickly. 
 
 " Ah," said my nun, pushing her sheets into a 
 compact pile, and thumping their edges on the ta- 
 ble to make them even, " to talk about that would 
 be decidedly against the rules of the institution ; 
 — and now I am ready to read." 
 
 Thus did she punish me for what she considered 
 my want of curiosity or interest ; I knew it as well 
 as if she had told me so. I accepted the rebuff 
 and said no more, and she went on with her read- 
 ing. 
 
 On this and the following day I became aware 
 how infinitely more pleasant it was to listen than to 
 be listened to, — at least under certain circum- 
 stances. I considered it wonderfully fortunate to 
 be able to talk to such an admirable listener as 
 Walkirk : but to sit and hear my nun read ; to 
 watch the charming play of her mouth, and the oc- 
 casional flush of a smile when she came to some- 
 thing exciting or humorous ; to look into the blue 
 of her eyes, as she raised them to me while I con- 
 sidered an alteration, was to me an overwhelming 
 rapture, — I could call it nothing less. But by the 
 end of the third morning of reading my good sense 
 told me that this sort of thing could not go on, and 
 it would be judicious for me to begin again my dic- 
 tation, and to let my secretary confine herself to 
 her writing. The fact that on any morning I had 
 not allowed her to read until the hour of noon was 
 an additional proof that my decision was a wise 
 one. 
 
 The story of Tomaso and Lucilla now went 
 
106 TBE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 bravely on, with enough groundwork of foreign 
 land for the characters to stand on, and I tried 
 very hard to keep my mind on the writing of my 
 book and away from its writer. Outwardly I may 
 have appeared to succeed fairly well in this pur- 
 pose, but inwardly the case was different. How- 
 ever, if I could suppress any manifestations of my 
 emotions, I told myself, I ought to be satisfied. 
 
 A few mornings after the recommencement of 
 the dictation I was a little late in entering my 
 study, and I found my secretary already at the ta- 
 ble in the anteroom. In answer to my morning 
 salutation she merely bowed, and sat ready for 
 work. She did not even offer to read what she 
 had last written. This surprised me. Was she 
 resenting what she might look upon as undue stiff- 
 ness and reserve ? If so, I was very sorry, but at 
 the same time I would meet her on her own ground. 
 If she chose to return to her old rigidity, I would 
 accept the situation, and be as formal as she liked. 
 
 More than this, I began to feel a little resent- 
 ment. I would revert not only to my former man- 
 ner, but to my former matter. I would wind up 
 that love-story, and confine myself to the subject 
 of foreign travel. 
 
 Acting on this resolution, I made short work of 
 Tomaso and LuciUa. The former determined not 
 to think of marriage until he was several years 
 older, and had acquired the necessary means to 
 support a wife ; and LuciUa accepted the advice of 
 her mother and the priest, and obtained a situation 
 in a lace-making establishment in Venice, where 
 
GBAY ICE. 107 
 
 she resolved to work industriously until the middle- 
 aged innkeeper had made up his mind whether or 
 not he would marry one of the handsome girls to 
 whom he had become guardian. 
 
 To this very prosaic conclusion of the love-story 
 I added some remarks intended as an apology for 
 introducing such a story into my sketches of travel, 
 and showing how the little narrative brought into 
 view some of the characteristics of the people of 
 Sicily. After that I discoursed of the present 
 commerce of Italy as compared with that of the 
 Middle Ages. 
 
 My secretary took no notice whatever of my 
 change of subject, but went on writing as I dic- 
 tated. This apathy at last became so annoying to 
 me that, excusing myself, I left my study before 
 the hour of noon. 
 
 It is impossible for me to say how the events, 
 or rather the want of events, of that morning dis- 
 turbed my mind. By turns I was angry, I was 
 grieved, I was regretful, I was resentful. It is so 
 easy sometimes for one person, with the utmost 
 placidity, to throw another person into a state of 
 mental agitation ; and this I think is especially 
 noticeable when the placid party is a woman. 
 
 As the day wore on, my disquiet of mind and 
 body and general iU humor did not abate, and, 
 wishing that other people should not notice my 
 unusual state of mind, I took an early afternoon 
 train to the city ; leaving a note for Walkirk, in- 
 forming him that his services as listener would not 
 be needed that evening. The rest of that day I 
 
108 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 spent at my club, where, fortunately for my mood, 
 I met only a few old fellows who could not get out 
 of town in the summer, and who had learned, from 
 long practice, to be quite sufficient unto themselves. 
 Seated in a corner of the large reading-room, I 
 spent the evening smoking, holding in my hand an 
 unread newspaper, and asking myself mental ques- 
 tions. 
 
 I inquired why in the name of common sense I 
 allowed myself to be so disturbed by the conduct 
 of an amanuensis, paid by the day, and, moreover, 
 a member of a religious order. I inquired why 
 the fates should have so ordered it that this per- 
 fectly charming young woman should suddenly 
 have become frozen into a mass of gray ice. I in- 
 quired if I had inadvertently done or said any- 
 thing which would naturally wound the feelings or 
 arouse the resentment of a sister of the House of 
 Martha. I inquired if there could be any reason- 
 able excuse for a girl who, on account of an omis- 
 sion or delay in asking her name, would assume a 
 manner of austere rudeness to a gentleman who 
 had always treated her with scrupulous courtesy. 
 Finally I asked myself why it was that I persisted, 
 and persisted, and persisted in thinking about a 
 thing like this, when my judgment told me that I 
 should instantly dismiss the whole affair from my 
 mind, and employ my thoughts on something sen- 
 sible ; and to this I gave the only answer which I 
 made to any of the inquiries I had put to myseK. 
 That was that I did not know why this was so, but 
 it was so, and there was no help for it. 
 
GEAY ICE. 109 
 
 Walking home from the station quite late at 
 night, the question which had so much troubled me 
 suddenly resolved itself, and I became convinced 
 that the change in the manner of my secretary was 
 due to increased pressure of the rules of the House 
 of Martha. I would not, I could not, believe that 
 a fit of pique, occasioned by my apparent want of 
 interest in her, could make her thus cold and even 
 rude. She was not the kind of girl to do this thing 
 of her own volition. It was those wretched rules ; 
 and if they were to be enforced in this way, the 
 head of the House of Martha should know that I 
 considered the act a positive discourtesy, if nothing 
 more. 
 
 I was angry, — that was not to be wondered at ; 
 but it was a great relief to me to feel that I need 
 not be angry with my secretary. 
 
XX. 
 
 TOMASO AND I. 
 
 The next day my amanuensis bade me good- 
 morning in her former pleasant manner, but with- 
 out turning toward me seated herself quickly at 
 the table, and took the manuscript from the 
 drawer. " Oh, ho ! " I thought, " then you can 
 speak ; and it was not the rules which made you 
 behave in that way, but your own pique, which 
 has worn off a little." I glanced at her as she in- 
 tently looked over the work of the day before, and 
 I was considering whether or not it would be fit- 
 ting for me to show that there might be pique on 
 one side of the grating as well as on the other, 
 when suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by a 
 burst of laughter, — girlish, irrepressible laughter. 
 With the manuscript in her hands, my nun actually 
 leaned back in her chair and laughed so heartily 
 that I wonder my grandmother did not hear her. 
 
 " I declare," she said, turning to me, her eyes 
 glistening with tears of merriment, " this is the 
 funniest thing I ever saw. Why, you have actu- 
 ally separated those poor lovers for life, and 
 crushed every hope in the properest way. And 
 then all the rest about commerce! I wouldn't 
 have believed you could do it." 
 
TOMASO AND I. Ill 
 
 " What do you mean ? " I exclaimed. " You 
 showed no surprise when you wrote it." 
 
 Again she laughed. 
 
 " Wrote it ! " she cried. " I never wrote a line 
 of it. It was Sister Sarah who was your secretary 
 yesterday. Did n't you know that ? " 
 
 I stood for a moment utterly unable to answer ; 
 then I gasped, " Sister Sarah wrote for me yester- 
 day ! What does it mean ? " 
 
 " Positively," said she, pushing back her chair 
 and rising to her feet, " this is not only the fun- 
 niest, but the most wonderful thing in the world. 
 Do you mean truly to say that you did not know 
 it was Sister Sarah who wrote for you yester- 
 day?" 
 
 "I did not suspect it for an instant," I an- 
 swered. 
 
 " It was, it was I " she exclaimed, clasping her 
 hands in her earnestness, and stepping closer to 
 the grating. " When we came here yesterday, and 
 found you were not in your room, a sudden idea 
 struck her. ' I will stay here myself, this morning,' 
 she said, ' and do his writing. I want to know 
 what sort of a story this is that is being dictated 
 to a sister of our House ; ' and so she simply turned 
 me out and told me to go home. You don't know 
 how frightened I was. I was afraid that, as we 
 dress exactly alike, you might not at first notice 
 that Sister Sarah was sitting at the table, and that 
 you might begin with an awfully affectionate 
 speech by Tomaso ; for I knew that something of 
 that kind was just on the point of breaking out, 
 
112 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 and I knew toe tliat if you did it there would be 
 lively times in the House of Martha, and perhaps 
 here also. I fairly shivered the whole morning, 
 and my only hope was that she would begin to 
 snap at you as soon as you came in, and you would 
 then know whom you had to deal with, and that 
 you would have to put a lot of water into your 
 love-making if you wanted any more help from the 
 sisters. But if I had known that you would not 
 find out that she was writing for you, I should 
 certainly have died. I couldn't have stood it. 
 But how in the world could you have kept on 
 thinking that that woman was I ? She is shorter 
 and fatter, and not a bit like me, except in her 
 clothes ; and if you thought I was writing for you, 
 why did you dictate that ridiculous stuff ? " 
 
 I stood confounded. Here were answers to de- 
 vise. 
 
 " Of course the dress deceived me," I said pres- 
 ently, " and not once did she turn her face toward 
 me ; besides, I did not imagine for a moment that 
 any one but you could be sitting at that table." 
 
 " But I cannot understand why," she pursued, 
 "if you didn't know it was Sister Sarah, you 
 made that sudden change in your story." 
 
 For a moment I hesitated, and then I saw I 
 might as well speak out honestly. When a man 
 sees before him a pair of blue eyes like those which 
 were then fixed upon me, the chances are that he 
 will speak out honestly. 
 
 " The fact is," I said, " that I 'm a little — well, 
 sensitive ; and when you, or the person I thought 
 
TOMASO AND I. 113 
 
 was you, did not speak to me, nor look at me, 
 nor pay any more heed to me than if I had been a 
 talking-machine worked with a crank, I was some- 
 what provoked, and determined that if you sud- 
 denly chose to freeze in that way I would freeze 
 too, and that you should have no more of that 
 story in which you were so interested ; and so I 
 smashed the loves of Tomaso and Lucilla and took 
 up commerce, which I was sure you would hate." 
 
 At this there was a quick flash in her eyes, and 
 the first tremblings of a smile at the corners of her 
 mouth. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, and that was all she did say, 
 as she returned to the table and took her seat. 
 
 " Is my explanation satisfactory ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh, certainly," she answered ; " and if you 
 will excuse me for saying so, I think you are a 
 very fortunate man. In trying to punish me you 
 protected yourself, — that is, if you care to have 
 secretaries from our institution." 
 
 As I could not see her face, I could not deter- 
 mine what answer I should make to this remark, 
 and she continued, as she turned over the 
 sheets : — 
 
 " What are you going to do with the pages 
 which were written yesterday ? " 
 
 "Tear them up," I replied, "and throw them 
 into the basket. I wish to annihilate them utterly." 
 
 She obeyed me, and tore Sister Sarah's work 
 into very small pieces. 
 
 "Now we will go on with the original and gen- 
 uine story," I said. " And as the occurrences of 
 
114 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 yesterday are entirely banished from my mind, and 
 as all recollection of the point where we left off 
 has gone, will you kindly read two or three pages 
 of what you last wrote ? " 
 
 Several times I had perceived, or thought I had 
 perceived, symptoms of emotion in the back of my 
 secretary's shawl, and these symptoms, if such they 
 were, were visible now. She occupied some min- 
 utes in selecting a suitable point at which to begin, 
 but when she had done this she lead without any 
 signs of emotion, either in her shawl or in her face. 
 
 The story of the Sicilian young people progressed 
 slowly, not because of any lack of material, but be- 
 cause I was anxious to portray the phases as clearly 
 and as effectively as I could possibly do it ; and 
 whenever I could prevent myself from thinking of 
 something else, I applied my mind most earnestly 
 to this object. I flatter myself that I did the work 
 very well, and I am sure there were passages the 
 natural fervor of which would have made Sister 
 Sarah bounce at least a yard from her chair, had 
 they been dictated to her, but my nun did not 
 bounce in the least. 
 
 Before the hour at which we usually stopped 
 work I arose from my chair, and stated that that 
 would be all for the day. My secretary looked at 
 me quickly. 
 
 " All for to-day ? " she asked, a little smile of 
 disapprobation upon her brow. " It cannot be 
 twelve o'clock yet." 
 
 " No," I answered, " it is not ; but it is not easy 
 to work out the answer which Lucilla ought now 
 
TOMASO AND I. 115 
 
 to make to Tomaso, and I shall have to take time 
 for its consideration." 
 
 " I should n't think it would be easy," said she^ 
 " but I hoped you had it already in your mind." 
 
 " Then you are interested in it ? " I asked. 
 
 " Of course I am," she answered, — " who 
 would n't be ? And just at this point, too, when 
 everything depends on what she says ; but it is 
 quite right for you to be very careful about what 
 you make her say," and she gathered her sheets 
 together to lay them away. 
 
 Now I wanted to say something to her. I 
 stopped work for that purpose, but I did not know 
 what to say. An apology for my conduct of the 
 day before would not be exactly in order, and an 
 explanation of it would be exceedingly difficult. I 
 walked up and down my study, and she continued 
 to arrange her pages. When she had put them 
 into a compact and very neat little pile, she opened 
 the table drawer, placed them in it, examined some 
 other contents of the drawer, and finally closed it, 
 and sat looking out of the window. After some 
 minutes of this silent observation, she half turned 
 toward me, and without entirely removing her gaze 
 from the apple-tree outside, she asked : — 
 
 " Do you still want to know my name ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do ! " I exclaimed, stepping quickly 
 to the grating. 
 
 " Well, then," she said, "it is Sylvia." 
 
 At this moment we heard the footsteps of Sister 
 Sarah in the hall, at least two minutes before the 
 usual time. 
 
116 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 When they had gone, I stood by my study table, 
 my arms folded and my eyes fixed upon the floor. 
 
 "Horace Vanderley," I said to myself, "you 
 are in love ; " and to this frank and explicit state- 
 ment I answered, quite as frankly, " That is cer- 
 tainly true ; there can be no mistake about it." 
 
XXI. 
 
 LUCILLA AND I. 
 
 A Saturday afternoon, evening, and night, the 
 whole of a Sunday and its night, with some hours 
 of a Monday morning, intervened between the mo- 
 ment at which I had acknowledged to myself my 
 feelings toward my secretary and the moment at 
 which I might expect to see her again, and nearly 
 the whole of this time was occupied by me in en- 
 deavoring to determine what should be my next 
 step. To stand still in my present position was 
 absolutely impossible : I must go forward or back- 
 ward. To go backward was a simple thing enough ; 
 it was like turning round and jumping down a 
 precipice ; it made me shudder. To go forward 
 was like climbing a precipice with beetling crags 
 and perpendicular walls of ice. 
 
 The first of these alternatives did not require 
 any consideration whatever. To the second I gave 
 all the earnest consideration of which I was capa- 
 ble, but I saw no way of getting up. The heights 
 were inaccessible. 
 
 In very truth, my case was a hard one. I could 
 not make love to a woman through a grating ; and 
 if I could, I would not be dishonorable enough to 
 do it, when that woman was locked up in a room. 
 
118 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 and could not get away in case she did not wish to 
 listen to my protestations. But between the girl I 
 loved and myself there was a grating compared 
 with which the barrier in the doorway of my study 
 was as a spider's web. This was the network of 
 solemn bars which surrounded the sisters of the 
 House of Martha, — the vows they had made never 
 to think of love, to read of it or speak of it. 
 
 To drop metaphors, it would be impossible for 
 me to continue to work with her and conceal my 
 love for her; it would be stupidly useless, and 
 moreover cowardly, to declare that love ; and it 
 would be sensible, praiseworthy, and in every way 
 advantageous for me to cease my literary labors 
 and go immediately to the Adirondacks or to 
 Mount Desert. But would I go away on Saturday 
 or Sunday when she was coming on Monday? 
 Not I. 
 
 She came on Monday, surrounded by a gray 
 halo, which had begun to grow as beautiful to my 
 vision as the delicate tints of early dawn. When 
 she began to read what she had last written, I 
 seated myself in a chair by the grating. When 
 she had finished, I sat silent for a minute, got up 
 and walked about, came back, sat down, and was 
 silent again. In my whole mind there did not 
 seem to be one crevice into which an available 
 thought concerning my travels could squeeze it- 
 seK. She sat quietly looking out of the window 
 at the apple-tree. Presently she said ; — 
 
 " I suppose you find it hard to begin work on 
 Monday morning, after having rested so long. It 
 
LUCILLA AND L 119 
 
 must be difficult to get yourseK again into the 
 proper frame of mind." 
 
 " On this Monday morning," I answered, " I 
 find it very hard indeed." 
 
 She turned, and for the first time that day fixed 
 her eyes upon me. She did not look well ; she 
 was pale. 
 
 *'I had hoped," she said, with a little smile 
 without any brightness in it, " that you would 
 finish the story of Tomaso and Lucilla ; but I don't 
 believe you feel like composing, so how would you 
 like me to read this morning? " 
 
 " Nothing could suit me better," I answered ; 
 and in my heart I thought that here was an angelic 
 gift, a relief and a joy. 
 
 " I will begin," she said, " at the point where I 
 left off reading." She took up a portion of the 
 manuscript, she brought her chair within a yard 
 of the grating, she sat down with her face toward 
 me, and she read. Sometimes she stopped and 
 spoke of what she was reading, now to ask a ques- 
 tion, and now to tell something she had seen in the 
 place I described. I said but little. I did not 
 wish to occupy any of that lovely morning with 
 my words, — words which were bound to mean 
 nothing. As she read and talked, some color came 
 into her face ; she looked more like herself. What 
 a shame to shut up such a woman in a House 
 where she never had anything interesting to talk 
 about, never anybody interested to talk to ! 
 
 After the reading of half a dozen pages during 
 which she had not interrupted herself, she laid the 
 
120 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 manuscript in her lap, and asked me the time. I 
 told her it wanted twenty minutes of twelve. She 
 made no answer, but rose, put the manuscript in 
 the drawer, and then returned with a little note 
 which she had taken from her pocket. 
 
 " Mother Anastasia desired me to give you this," 
 she said, folding it so that she could push it through 
 one of the interstices of the grating ; " she told me 
 to hand it to you as I was coming away, but I 
 don't think she would object to your reading it a 
 little before tl\at." 
 
 I took the note, unfolded it, and read it. Mo- 
 ther Anastasia wrote an excellent hand. She in- 
 formed me that it had been decided that the sister 
 of the House of Martha who had been acting as 
 my amanuensis should not continue in that posi- 
 tion, but should now devote herself to another 
 class of work. If, however, I desired it, another 
 sister would take her place. 
 
 I stood unable to speak. I must have been as 
 pale as the white paint on the door-frame near 
 which I stood. 
 
 " You see," said Sylvia, and from the expression 
 upon her face I think she must have perceived that 
 I did not like what I had read, " this is the work 
 of Sister Sarah. I might as well tell you that at 
 once, and I am sure there is no harm in my doing 
 so. She has always objected to my writing for 
 you ; and although the morning she spent with you 
 would have satisfied any reasonable person that 
 there could be no possible objection to my doing 
 it, she has not ceased to insist that I shall give it 
 
LUCILLA AND I. 121 
 
 up, and go to the Measles Refuge. That, however, 
 I will not do, but I cannot come here any more. 
 Mother Anastasia and I are both sure that if I am 
 not withdrawn from this work she will make no 
 end of trouble. She has consented that I should 
 go on until now simply because this day ends my 
 month." 
 
 I was filled with amazement, grief, and rage. 
 
 " The horrible wretch ! " I exclaimed. " What 
 malignant wickedness ! " 
 
 " Oh," said Sylvia, holding up one finger, " you 
 must n't talk like that about the sister. She may 
 think she is right, but I don't see how she can ; 
 and perhaps she would have some reason on her 
 side if she could see me standing here talking 
 about her, instead of attending to my work. But 
 I determined that I would not go away without 
 saying a word. You have always been very cour- 
 teous to us, and I don't see why we should not be 
 courteous to you." 
 
 *' Are you sorry to go ? " I asked, getting as 
 close to the grating as I could. " If they would 
 let you, would you go on writing for me ? " 
 
 " I should be glad to go on with the work," she 
 said ; " it is just what I like." 
 
 " Too bad, too bad ! " I cried. " Cannot it be 
 prevented? Cannot I see somebody? You do 
 not know how much I — how exactly you " — 
 
 " Excuse me," said Sylvia, " for interrupting 
 you, but what time is it ? " 
 
 I glanced at the clock. " It wants four minuter 
 of twelve," I gasped. 
 
122 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 " Then I must bid you good-by," she said. 
 
 " Good-by ? " I repeated. " How can you bid 
 me good-by ? Confound this grating ! Is n't that 
 door open ? " 
 
 " No," she replied, " it 's locked. Do you want 
 to shake hands with me ? " 
 
 " Of course I do ! " I cried. " Good-by like 
 this! It cannot be." 
 
 " I think," she said quickly, " that if you could 
 get out of your window, you might come to mine 
 and shake hands." 
 
 What a scintillating inspiration ! What a girl ! 
 I had not thought of it! In a moment I had 
 bounded out of my window, and was standing 
 under hers, which was not four feet from the 
 ground. There she was, with her beautiful white 
 hand already extended. I seized it in both of 
 mine. 
 
 " Oh, Sylvia," I said, " I cannot have you go in 
 this way. I want to tell you — I want to tell you 
 how" — 
 
 " You are very good," she interrupted, endeavor- 
 ing slightly to withdraw her hand, " and when the 
 story of Tomaso and Lucilla is finished and printed 
 I am going to read it, rules or no rules." 
 
 " It shall never be finished," I exclaimed vehe= 
 mently, " if you do not write it," and, lifting her 
 hand, I really believe I was about to kiss it, when 
 with a quick movement she drew it from me. 
 
 " She is coming," she said ; " good-by ! good- 
 by ! " and with a wave of her hand she was gone 
 from the window. 
 
LUCILLA AND I. 123 
 
 I did not return to my study. I stood by the 
 side of the house, with my fists clenched and my 
 eyes set. Then, suddenly, I ran to the garden 
 wall ; looking over it, I saw, far down the shaded 
 village sti-eet, two gray figures walking away. 
 
xxn. 
 
 I CLOSE MY BOOK. 
 
 By the rarest good fortune my grandmotlier 
 started that afternoon for a visit to an old friend 
 at the seashore, and, in the mild excitement of her 
 departure, I do not think she noticed anything 
 unusual in my demeanor. 
 
 " And so your amanuensis has left you ? " she 
 remarked, as she was eating a hasty luncheon. 
 " Sister Sarah stopped for a moment and told me 
 so. She said there was another one ready to take 
 the place, if you wanted her." 
 
 I tried to suppress my feelings, but I must have 
 spoken sharply. 
 
 " Want her ! " I exclaimed. " I want none of 
 her!" 
 
 My grandmother looked at me for a moment. 
 
 " I shall be sorry, Horace," she said, " if you 
 find that the sisters do not work to suit you. I 
 hoped that you might continue to employ them, 
 because the House of Martha is at such a con- 
 venient distance, and offers you such a variety of 
 assistance to choose from; and also because you 
 would contribute to a most worthy cause. You 
 know that all the money they may make is to go 
 to hospitals and that sort of thing." 
 
I CLOSE MY BOOK. 125 
 
 " I was a little afraid, however," she continued, 
 after a pause, " that the sister you engaged might 
 not suit you. She was so much younger than the 
 others that I feared that, away from the restraints 
 of the institution, she might be a little frivolous. 
 Was she ever frivolous ? " 
 
 "Not in the least," I answered; "not for an 
 instant." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear that," she remarked, — 
 " very glad indeed. I take an interest in that sis- 
 ter. Years ago I knew her family, but that was 
 before she was bom. I remember that I was in- 
 tending to speak to you about her, but in some 
 way I was interrupted." 
 
 " Well," I asked, " tell me now, who is she ? " 
 
 " She is," said my grandmother, " Sister Hagar, 
 of the House of Martha. She was Sylvia Raynor, 
 of New Haven. I think that in some way her life 
 has been darkened. Mother Anastasia takes a 
 great interest in her, and favors her a good deal. 
 I know there was opposition to her entering the 
 House, but she was determined to do it. You say 
 you are not going to engage another sister ? Who 
 is to be your amanuensis ? " 
 
 " No one," I answered. " I shall stop writing 
 for the present. This is a very good time. I 've 
 nearly reached the end of — a sort of division of 
 the book." 
 
 " An excellent idea," said my grandmother, with 
 animation. " You ought to go to the sea or the 
 mountains. You have been working very hard. 
 You are not looking well." 
 
126 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 " I shall go, I shall go," I answered quickly ; 
 "fishing, probably, but I can't say where. I'll 
 write to you as soon as I decide." 
 
 " Now that is very pleasant," said my grand- 
 mother, as she rose from the table, " very pleasant 
 indeed; and if you write that you will be away 
 fishing for a week or two, I shall stay at the Brom- 
 leys' longer than I intended, — perhaps until you 
 return." 
 
 " A week or two ! " I muttered to myself. 
 
 Walkirk had' sharper eyes than those of my 
 grandmother. I am sure that when he came that 
 evening he saw immediately that something was 
 the matter with me, — something of moment. He 
 was a man of too much tact to allude to my state 
 of mind ; but in a very short time I saved him all 
 the trouble of circumspection, for I growled out 
 that I could not talk about travels at present, and 
 then told him that I could not write about them, 
 either, for I had lost my secretary. His counte- 
 nance exhibited much concern. 
 
 " But you can get another of the sisters," he 
 said. 
 
 What I replied to this I do not remember, but 
 I know I expressed myself so freely, so explicitly, 
 and with such force that Waikirk understood very 
 well that I wanted the secretary I had lost, that I 
 wanted none other, and that I wanted her very 
 much indeed. In fact, he comprehended the situ- 
 ation perfectly. 
 
 I was not sorry. I wanted somebody to whom 
 I could talk about the matter, in whom I could 
 
I CLOSE MY BOOK. 127 
 
 confide. In ten minutes I was speaking to Wal- 
 kirk in perfect confidence. 
 
 " But you can't do anything," said he, when 
 there came a pause. " This is a case in which 
 there is nothing to do. My advice is that you go 
 away for a time, and try to get over it." 
 
 " I am going away," I replied. 
 
 "You could do nothing better," Walkirk re- 
 marked. "I am altogether in favor of that, al- 
 though of course such counsel is against my own 
 interests." 
 
 " Not at all," said I, catching his meaning, " for 
 I shall take you with me." 
 
 After a considerable pause in the conversation 
 Walkirk inquired if I had decided where I would 
 go. 
 
 " No," I answered, " that is your affair. My 
 desire is to get away from every place where there 
 is any chance of seeing a woman. I wish to oblit- 
 erate from my mind all idea of the female human 
 being. In fact, I think I should like to take lodg- 
 ings near a monastery, and have the monks come 
 and write for me, — a different one every day." 
 
 Walkirk smiled. " Since you wish me to select 
 your retreat," he said, " I am bound to have an 
 opinion regarding it. I might advise a visit to the 
 Trappists of Kentucky, or to some remote fishing 
 and hunting region ; but it strikes me that a back- 
 ground made up of exclusive association with men 
 would be very apt to bring out in strong relief any 
 particular female image which you might have in 
 your mind. I should say that the best way of get- 
 
128 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 ting rid of such an image would be to merge it in 
 a lot of other female images." 
 
 " Away with the idea ! " I cried. " Walkirk, 
 I will neither merge nor relieve. I will go with 
 you to some place where we shall see neither men 
 nor women; where we can hunt, fish, sail, sleep, 
 read, smoke, and banish the world. I don't wish 
 you to take a servant. We can do without ser- 
 vice, and if necessary I can cook. I put the whole 
 matter in your hands, Walkirk, and when you 
 have decided on our destination let me know." 
 
 The next afternoon Walkirk found me at my 
 club in the city, and informed me that he had 
 selected a place which he thought would suit my 
 purposes. 
 
 " No people? " I asked. 
 
 " None but ourselves," replied he. 
 
 " Very good," said I. " When can we start ? " 
 
 " I shall be ready to-morrow afternoon," he an- 
 swered, " and I will call for you at your house." 
 
XXIII. 
 
 RACKET ISLAND. 
 
 We traveled aU night, and early in the morning 
 alighted at a small station, on the shore of a broad 
 bay. Here we found moored a cat-rigged sailboat, 
 of which Walkirk took possession, and we stowed 
 therein the valises, guns, and fishing tackle which 
 we had brought with us. I examined the craft 
 with considerable interest. It was about twenty 
 feet long, had a small cabin divided into two com- 
 partments, and appeared to be well stocked with 
 provisions and other necessaries. 
 
 " Is it to be a long cruise ? " I said to Walkirk ; 
 " and do you know how to sail a boat ? " 
 
 " With this wind,'* he answered, " we should 
 reach our destination in a couple of hours, and I 
 consider myseK a very fair skipper." 
 
 " Up sail, then," I cried, " and I am not in the 
 least hurry to know where I am going." 
 
 Walkirk sailed a boat very well, but he did it 
 in rather an odd way, as if he had learned it all 
 out of a book, and never had handled a tiller be- 
 fore. I am not a bad amateur sailor myself, but 
 I gave no consideration to the management of our 
 craft. Walkirk had said that he knew where he 
 was going, and was able to sail there, and I left 
 
130 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 the matter entirely to him; and whether or not 
 this were his first essay in sailing, in due time we 
 ran upon a low beach, and he exclaimed : — 
 
 " Here we are ! " 
 
 I rose to my feet and looked about me. " Now, 
 then," said I, " I shall ask you, where are we ? " 
 
 " This is Kacket Island," he replied, " and as 
 soon as we get the boat pulled up and the sail 
 down I will tell you about it." 
 
 " Kacket Island," said Walkirk, a short time 
 afterwards, as we stood together on a little sandy 
 bluff, " was discovered two years ago by me and a 
 friend, as we were sailing about in this bay. I sup- 
 pose other people may have discovered it before, 
 but as I have seen no proof of this I am not bound 
 to believe it. We named it Racket Island, having 
 found on the beach an old tennis racket, which 
 had been washed there by the waves from no one 
 knows where. The island is not more than half 
 a mile long, with a very irregular coast. The 
 other end of it, you see, is pretty well wooded. 
 We stayed here for three days, sleeping in our 
 boat ; and so far as solitude is concerned, we might 
 as well have been on a desert island in the midst 
 of the Pacific. Now I propose that we do the 
 same thing, and stay for three days, or three weeks, 
 or as long as you please. This is the finest season 
 of the year for camping out, and we can moor the 
 boat securely, and cook and sleep on board of it. 
 There is plenty of sand and there is plenty of 
 shade, and I hope you will like it." 
 
 "I do ! " I cried. " On Racket Island let us 
 settle!'' 
 
BACKET ISLAND. 131 
 
 For two days I experienced a sort of negative 
 enjoyment. If I could not be at home dictating to 
 my late secretary, or, better still, looking at her, as 
 she sat close to the grating, reading to me, this was 
 the next best thing I could do. I could walk over 
 the island ; I could sail around it ; I could watch 
 Walkirk fish ; I could lie on the sand, and look at 
 the sky ; and I could picture Sylvia vdth her hair 
 properly arranged, and attired in apparel suited to 
 her. In my fancy I totally discarded the gray 
 garb of the sisters of the House of Martha, and 
 dressed my nun sometimes in a light summer robe, 
 with a broad hat shading her face, and again in 
 the richest costumes of silks and furs. Sometimes 
 "Walkii'k interrupted these pleasant reveries, but 
 that, of course, was to be expected. 
 
 In several directions we could see points of land, 
 but it did not interest me to know what these were, 
 or how far away they were. Walkirk and I had 
 Racket Island to ourselves. My grandmother was 
 happy with her friends, and where the rest of the 
 world happened to stow themselves I did not care. 
 Several times I said this to myself, but it was a 
 mistake. I cared very much where Sylvia stowed 
 herseK. Philosophize as I might, I thought of her 
 continually in that doleful House of Martha ; and 
 as I thought of her there I cried out against the 
 shortcomings of civilization. 
 
 We had pitched a smaU tent in the shelter of a 
 clump of trees on the higher part of the island ; 
 and near this, on the morning of our third day, I 
 was sitting, smoking, and trying the effect of Syl- 
 
132 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 via's face under a wide black hat heavy with os- 
 trich plumes, when Walkirk approached me, carry- 
 ing a string of freshly caught fish. 
 
 " I am sorry to say," said he, " that in coming 
 here to escape the society of women we have made 
 a failure, for one of them is sitting on the beach, 
 on the other side of the island." 
 
 I sprang to my feet with an abrupt exclamation. 
 
 " How did the woman get here ? " I cried. " I 
 thought this place was deserted." 
 
 " It is ; I kno^ every inch of it. No one lives 
 here, but this female person came in a small sail- 
 boat. I saw it tied up, not far from where she is 
 sitting." 
 
 " If women come here," I said, " I want to go, 
 and you may as well get ready to leave." 
 
 " I think," remarked Walkirk, " that it would 
 be well not to be in too great a hurry to leave. 
 I know of no place where we are less likely to be 
 disturbed, and so long as these dry nights con- 
 tinue there can be no pleasanter camping place. 
 She may now be sailing away, and the chances are 
 we shall never see her again." 
 
 " I '11 go and look into the matter," said I. 
 
 I walked over the ridge of the little island, and 
 soon caught sight of a female figure sitting on the 
 sandy beach. Near by was the boat which Wal- 
 kirk had mentioned. As soon as I saw her I 
 stopped ; but she must have heard my approach, 
 for she turned toward me. I had come merely to 
 make an observation of her, but now I must go on. 
 As I approached her I turned as if I were about 
 
RACKET ISLAND. 133 
 
 to walk along the shore, and as I passed her I 
 raised my hat. She was a lady of middle age, of 
 a reddish blonde complexion, and her hair was 
 negligently put up under a plain straw hat. Her 
 large blue eyes, her slightly uplifted brows, and 
 the general expression of her rather thin face gave 
 me the idea that she was a pleasantly disposed 
 woman, who was either very tired or not in good 
 health. 
 
 " Good-morning, sir," she said. " On desert isl- 
 ands, you know, people speak to each other without 
 ceremony." 
 
 I stopped, and returned her salutation. "Ex- 
 cuse me," I remarked, " but this does not seem to 
 be a desert island. May I be permitted to ask if 
 it is a place of much resort ? " 
 
 " Of course you may," she answered. " People 
 sometimes come here ; but would you like it better 
 if they did not? You need not answer; I know 
 you would." 
 
 This was a very free and easy lady, but if she 
 liked that mood it suited me very well. 
 
 " Since you will have it," I replied, " I will ad- 
 mit I came here because I thought my companion 
 and I would have the island to ourselves." 
 
 " And now you are disappointed," she said, with 
 a smile. 
 
 She was surely a person of very pleasant humor. 
 
 " Good lady," said I, " you must not corner me. 
 I came here because I thought it would be a good 
 place in which to stop awhile and grumble undis- 
 turbed ; and as you say it is proper to be uncere- 
 
134 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 monious, may I ask how you happen to be here, 
 and if you sail your boat yourself? " 
 
 " I am here," she answered, " because I like this 
 island. I take an interest in it for two reasons : 
 one is that it is a good island, and the other is that 
 I own it." 
 
 " Really ! " I exclaimed, in sudden embarrass- 
 ment, " you must pardon me ! I assure you I did 
 not know that." 
 
 " Don't apologize," she said, raising her hand. 
 " Scarcely any one knows, or at least remembers, 
 that I own this island. I bought it a good many 
 years ago, intending to build upon it ; but it was 
 considered too remote from the mainland, and I 
 have established a summer home on the island 
 which you can just see, over there to the west ; 
 so this island is perfectly free to respectable seek- 
 ers after solitude or fish. I may add that I do not 
 sail my boat, but came here this morning with my 
 brother and another gentleman. They have now 
 gone up the beach to look for shells." 
 
 " Madam," said I, " I feel that I am an intruder; 
 but to assure you that I am a respectable one, 
 allow me to introduce myself," and I presented 
 my card. 
 
 " No, thank you," she replied, with a smile, as 
 she gently waved back my card ; " we don't do that 
 sort of thing here ; as far as possible we omit all 
 ordinary social customs. We come here to rid 
 ourselves, for a time, of manners and customs. 
 My other island is called the ' Tangent,' because 
 there we fly off from out accustomed routine of life. 
 
BACKET ISLAND. 135 
 
 We dress as we please, and we live as we please. 
 We drop all connection with society and its con- 
 ventions. We even drop the names by which so- 
 ciety knows us. I am known as the ' Lady Who 
 Sits on the Sand,' commonly condensed to the 
 ' Sand Lady.' My brother, who spends most o£ 
 his time in his boat, is the ' Middle- Aged Man o£ 
 the Sea,' and his scientific friend is the 'Shell 
 Man.' When we have stayed on the Tangent as 
 long as the weather and our pleasure induce us, 
 we return to our ordinary routine of life. Now, if 
 you have any title which is characteristic of you, I 
 shall be glad to hear it, as well as that of your 
 companion. We consider ourselves capable of 
 forming unbiased opinions in regard to what is 
 generally known as respectability." 
 
 It struck me as a very satisfactory thing to look 
 upon this pleasant lady solely and simply as a hu- 
 man being. It is so seldom that we meet any one 
 who can be looked upon in that light. 
 
 " Madam," I said, " I greatly like your plan for 
 putting yourselves out of the world for a time, but 
 I find it difficult properly to designate myself." 
 
 " Oh, anything will do," she said ; " for instance, 
 your reason for desiring to seclude yourself." 
 
 " Very well, then," said I, " you may call me a 
 ' Lover in Check.' " 
 
 " Excellent ! " she exclaimed, — " just the sort 
 of person for this place; and what is the other 
 one?" 
 
 " Oh, he is an Understudy," I replied. 
 
 " Delightful," she said ; " I never saw one. And 
 here come my brother and the Shell Man." 
 
136 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 I was now introduced formally by my new title 
 to the Middle- Aged Man of the Sea, a hearty per- 
 sonage, with a curling beard, and to the Shell 
 Man, who was tall, and wore spectacles. 
 
 When my presence was explained, the brother 
 was as cordial as the lady had been, and proffered 
 any assistance which I might need during my so- 
 journ on the island. When they took their leave, 
 the Sand Lady urged me to inhabit her island as 
 long as I pleased, and hoped that I and the Under- 
 study would sometimes sail over to them, and see 
 what it was to be on a Tangent. At this I shook 
 my head, and they all laughed at me ; but it was 
 easy to see that they were people of very friendly 
 dispositions. 
 
 When I reported my interview to Walkirk, he 
 remarked, " It is impossible to get away from 
 people, but in all probability these folks will not 
 come here again." 
 
 "Perhaps not," I answered, and dropped the 
 subject. 
 
XXIV. 
 
 THE INTERPOLATION. 
 
 " They did not seem in the least surprised to 
 find us here," I said to Walkirk, as we were eat- 
 ing our dinner. 
 
 " Who ? " he asked. " Oh, the people who came 
 over this morning ? Quite likely they saw us when 
 we were sailing this way. We passed their island 
 at no great distance. There is no reason why they 
 should object. Your soft hat and flannel shirt 
 would not prevent them from seeing that you were 
 a gentleman." 
 
 I nodded, and sat silent for a time. 
 
 " Walkirk," said I, " suppose we sail over to 
 those people this afternoon? It might be inter- 
 esting." 
 
 " Very good," he answered, turning suddenly to 
 watch a sea gull, which had made a great swoop 
 toward us, as if attracted by the odors of our meal ; 
 " that will be an excellent thing to do." 
 
 In making our way, that afternoon, in the direc- 
 tion of the Tangent, our course was not mathemati- 
 cally correct, for the wind did not favor us, and it 
 was impossible to sail in a right line ; but the sun 
 was still high when we reached the larger island, 
 and made the boat fast to a little pier. 
 
138 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 This island was much more attractive than the 
 one on which we were camping. The ground re- 
 ceded from the beach in rolling slopes covered with 
 short grass, and here and there were handsome 
 spreading trees. On a bluff, a few hundred yards 
 from the pier, stood a low, picturesque house, al- 
 most surrounded by a grove. The path to the 
 house was plainly marked, and led us along the 
 face of a little hill to a jutting point, where it 
 seemed to make an abrupt turn upward. As we 
 rounded this point, we saw on a rocky ledge not 
 far ahead of us a lady dressed in white. She 
 was standing on the ledge, looking out over the 
 water, and apparently very much engaged with her 
 own thoughts, for she had not yet perceived our 
 approach. 
 
 At the first glance I saw that the figure before 
 us was not the Sand Lady. This was a tall and 
 graceful woman, carrying no weight of years. She 
 held her hat in her hand, and her dark hair was 
 slightly blown back from a face which, seen in 
 profile against the clear blue sky, appeared to me 
 to be perfect in its outline. We stopped involun- 
 tarily, and at that moment she turned toward us. 
 Her face was one of noble beauty, with great dark 
 eyes, and a complexion of that fine glow which 
 comes to women who are not quite brunettes. 
 
 Walkirk started, and seized my arm. '' Good 
 heavens," he whispered, " it is Mother Anastasia ! " 
 
 As we now advanced toward the lady, I could 
 scarcely believe what I had heard; certainly I 
 could not comprehend it. Here was one of the 
 
THE INTERPOLATION. 139 
 
 most beautiful women I had ever beheld, dressed 
 in a robe of soft white flannel, which, though sim- 
 ple, was tasteful and elegant. She had a bunch 
 of wild flowers in her belt, and at her neck a bow 
 of dark yellow ribbon. I particularly noticed 
 these points, in my amazement at hearing Wal- 
 kirk say that this was the Mother Superior of the 
 House of Martha. 
 
 As we approached, she greeted us pleasantly, 
 very much as if she had expected our coming, and 
 then, addressing Walkirk, she said, with a smile : 
 
 " I see, sir, that you recognize me, and I sup- 
 pose you are somewhat surprised to find me here, 
 and thus," glancing at her dress. 
 
 " Surprised, madam ! " exclaimed Walkirk. " I 
 am astounded." 
 
 " Well," said she, " that sort of thing will hap- 
 pen occasionally. The people on this island have 
 been expecting a visit from you gentlemen, but I 
 really do not know where any of them are. It is 
 not always easy to find them, but I will go and see 
 if the Sand Lady is in the house, and if so I will 
 tell her of your arrival. Of course," she contin- 
 ued, now turning to me, " you both will remember 
 that in this place we put ourselves outside of a good 
 many of the ordinary conventions, and are known 
 by our characteristics instead of our names." 
 
 I assured her we understood this, and considered 
 it an admirable idea. 
 
 " As you, sir," turning to Walkirk, " have met 
 me before, I will immediately state that I am 
 known on this island only as the ' Interpolation.' " 
 
140 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 She turned to walk toward the house, but 
 stopped. " We are all here to enjoy ourselves, 
 and it is against the rules to worry each other with 
 puzzles. I therefore will at once say, in explana^ 
 tion of my name, that I have briefly thrust myself 
 into the life of my friends ; and of my appearance, 
 that the Middle- Aged Man of the Sea, who is a 
 very self-wiUed person, caused the costume which 
 I ordinarily wear, and in which I arrived, to be 
 abstracted and hidden, so that I am obliged, while 
 here, to wear dothes belonging to others. Now, 
 you see, Mr. Understudy, everything is as plain as 
 daylight." 
 
 " They have been talking about us," I remarked, 
 as the lady rapidly walked away, " and of course, 
 having recognized you, she must know who I am." 
 
 " Know you ? There is no doubt of it," he an- 
 swered. " She must have seen you often in the vil- 
 lage, although you may never have noticed her." 
 
 " I certainly never have," said I ; "in fact, I 
 make it a point not to look under the bonnets of 
 those gray-garbed women." 
 
 " When you meet them in the street ? " he 
 
 " Yes," I replied. 
 
 " She knows us both," said Walkirk, " and she 
 has now gone to the house to tell the people who 
 we are ; and yet I am surprised that she met us so 
 serenely. She could not possibly have known that 
 the two men on that little island were her neigh- 
 bors in the village of Arden." 
 
 I made no answer. I was strangely excited. I 
 
THE INTEBPOLATION. 141 
 
 had flown to an uninhabited island to get away 
 from Sylvia, and, if my conscience could be made 
 to work properly, to get away from aU thoughts of 
 her ; and here I had met, most unexpectedly and 
 suddenly, with one who was probably the most 
 intimate connection of the girl from whom I was 
 flying. I was amazed; my emotion thriUed me 
 from head to foot. 
 
 " It is just like women," remarked Walkirk, as 
 we slowly walked toward the house, "to put on 
 disguises to conceal their identities, but they have 
 no respect for our identities. Without doubt, at 
 this moment Mother Anastasia is telling the lady 
 of the house all about you and your grandmother, 
 your position in society, and the manner in which 
 you were furnished with a secretary from the House 
 of Martha." 
 
 Still I did not reply. " Mother Anastasia ! " 
 I said to myself. " Here is a gray-garbed sister 
 transformed into a lovely woman. Why should 
 not another sister be so transformed ? Why should 
 not Sylvia be here, in soft white raiment, with 
 flowers and a broad hat ? If one can be thus, why 
 not the other ? " The possibility fevered me. 
 
 We found the mistress of the house — the same 
 who was called the Sand Lady — upon a piazza. 
 Her demeanor had been pleasant enough when we 
 had seen her before, but now she greeted us as 
 cordially as if we had been old friends. It was 
 plain enough that Mother Anastasia had told her 
 all about us. Her brother and the Shell Man were 
 also there, and the first was friendly and the latter 
 
142 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 polite. The Mother Superior was on the piazza, 
 but keeping a little in the background, as if she felt 
 that she had had her turn. 
 
 " And now, Mr. Lover in Check and Mr. Un- 
 derstudy," said the Sand Lady, "I present you 
 with the freedom of this island, as I have already 
 presented you with the freedom of the other. If 
 what we happen to be doing interests you, join us. 
 If it does not, interest yourselves as you please. 
 That is our custom here." 
 
 The mention ' of the name which I had applied 
 to myself gave me a little shock. Under the cir- 
 cumstances I did not like it. It was possible that 
 the Mother Superior of the House of Martha 
 might know what it meant ; and whether she knew 
 it now, or ever should come to know it, I did not 
 wish the knowledge to come to her in that way. 
 
 " There is still another one of our family," said 
 the Sand Lady ; " but she is very independent, 
 and may not care for me to present you just now. 
 I wiU go and ask her." 
 
 She stepped off the piazza, and went to a lady 
 who was reading in a hammock, under a tree near 
 by. In a minute or two this lady arose, and, with 
 her book in her hand, came toward us. She was 
 a woman of good figure, and with a certain air of 
 loftiness. Her dress was extremely simple, and 
 she may have been thirty years old. Approaching 
 us, she said : — 
 
 " I wish to introduce myself. I am a ' Person.' 
 In this place that is all I am. It is my name. It 
 denotes my characteristics. Your titles have been 
 
THE INTERPOLATION, 143 
 
 mentioned to me. The ceremony is over," and, 
 with a little nod, she returned to her hammock. 
 
 " Now," said the Man of the Sea, " who could 
 prune away conventionalities better than that?" 
 He then announced that in half an hour the tide 
 would serve for fishing, — that he was going out 
 in his boat, and would take any one who cared to 
 accompany him ; and this announcement having 
 been made, he settled himself upon the piazza to 
 talk to us. The conversation was interesting and 
 lively. The people at this house were well worth 
 knowing. 
 
 The Sand Lady and Walkirk went in the boat 
 to fish. The latter had been very prompt to ac- 
 cept the invitation. I do not know whether the 
 Shell Man went with them or not. At all events, 
 he disappeared, and Mother Anastasia and myself 
 were left upon the piazza. It surprised me that 
 events had so quickly shaped themselves to my 
 advantage. 
 
 " Do you insist," I said, when we were left alone, 
 "on being called an Interpolation ? " 
 
 " Of course I do," she answered ; " that is what 
 I am." 
 
 " You like plain speech." 
 
 " I am very fond of it," was her reply. 
 
 During the general conversation I had deter- 
 mined that as soon as an opportunity offered I 
 would speak very plainly to this lady. I looked 
 about me. The occupant of the hammock was not 
 far away. I surmised that she could readily hear 
 me if I spoke in my ordinary tone. 
 
144 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 " Plain speech appears difficult to you," re- 
 marked my companion. 
 
 I still looked about me. " It strikes me," said 
 I, " that beyond the other side of the house there 
 is a bluff from which one might get a view of the 
 mainland. Would you like to go and find out 
 whether that is so or not ? " 
 
 " I have seen that view several times," she an- 
 swered ; and then, after a little pause, she added, 
 " But I don't mind in the least seeing it again." 
 Together we walked to the bluff. There we found 
 two rude seats which had been made for the con- 
 venience of viewers, and on one of these she seated 
 herself. 
 
 " Now," said she, " please sit down, and you 
 may immediately begin to ask me about Sister 
 Ha-" 
 
 " Oh, do not call her by that name ! " I cried. 
 
 She laughed. " Very well, then," said she, 
 « what shall I caU her ? " 
 
 " Sylvia," I replied. 
 
 She opened her eyes. " Upon my word," she 
 exclaimed, " this is progress ! How did you come 
 to know that her name is Sylvia ? " 
 
 " She told me," I answered. " But why do you 
 think I want to ask you about Sylvia ?" 
 
 "I knew there was no other reason for your 
 wishing to have a private talk with me ; but I 
 must admit that I would not have felt warranted 
 to act upon my assumptions had you not an- 
 nounced yourself in this place as a Lover in 
 Check." 
 
THE INTERPOLATION. 145 
 
 " But could not some one else have held me in 
 check?" I asked. 
 
 " No, sir," said she. " I have heard of the man- 
 ner in which you parted from your late secretary." 
 
 This conversation was getting to be plainer than 
 I desired it to be. I was willing to declare my 
 position, but I did not care to have it declared for 
 me. I was silent for a minute. 
 
 " I did not suppose," I then said, " that you 
 were so well informed. You think that I am a 
 lover held in check by the circumstances surround- 
 ing the lady you designated my late secretary ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " May I ask," I continued, with a little agita- 
 tion, " if Sylvia considers me in this light, and if 
 she has — expressed any opinion on the subject ? " 
 
 "Those are pretty questions," said the lady, 
 fixing her dark eyes upon me. " She has said 
 nothing about the light in which she c6nsiders you. 
 In fact, all she has told me about you has been in 
 answer to questions I have put to her ; but had 
 she spoken of you as a lover, checked or unchecked, 
 of course you would have been none the wiser for 
 me. Sylvia is a simple-hearted, frank girl, and I 
 have thought that she might not have suspected 
 the nature of your very decided liking for her; 
 but now that I have found out that she let you 
 know her as Sylvia I am afraid she is deeper than 
 I thought her. I should not be surprised if you 
 two had flirted dreadfully." 
 
 " I never flirt," I answered emphatically. 
 
 " That is right," said she. " Never do it." 
 
146 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 " But why," I asked, " did you allow her to con- 
 tinue to come to me, if you thought I had a decided 
 liking for her, and all that ? " 
 
 " Because I chose to do it," she replied, with 
 not the ripple of a smile nor the furrow of a frown 
 upon her face. 
 
 I looked at her in amazement. 
 
 " Madam," said I, " Interpolation, Mother Ana- 
 stasia, or whatever name you give yourself, begin 
 now and tell me about Sylvia, and speak to me 
 freely, as I speak to you. I love her with all my 
 heart. If I can, I intend to marry her, Martha 
 or no Martha. I care not what may be the odds 
 against me. Now you see exactly where I stand, 
 and as far as I am concerned you may speak with- 
 out restraint." 
 
 " You are certainly very clear and explicit," she 
 said, " and I shall be glad to tell you about Syl- 
 
XXV. 
 
 ABOUT SYLVIA. 
 
 "Before I begin," continued my companion, 
 slanting her hat so as to prevent the sun from 
 meddling with the perfect tones of her complexion, 
 " tell me what you already know about this young 
 lady. I do not wish to waste any information." 
 
 " All I know," said I, " is that her family name 
 is Raynor, — my grandmother told me that, — that 
 she is absolutely, utterly, and even wickedly out of 
 place in the House of Martha, and that I want her 
 for my wife." 
 
 " Very good," said my companion, with a smile. 
 " Now I know what not to tell you. I am very 
 fond of Sylvia. In fact, I believe I love her bet- 
 ter than any other woman in the world " — 
 
 " So do I," I interrupted. 
 
 She laughed. " For a lover in check you are en- 
 tirely toa ready to move. For years I have looked 
 upon her as a younger sister, and there is no good 
 thing which I would not have lavished upon her 
 had I been able, but instead of that I did her an 
 injury. At times I have thought it a terrible in- 
 jury." 
 
 " You mean," I asked, " that you have allowed 
 her to enter the House of Martha ? " 
 
148 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA, 
 
 "Your quickness is wonderful," she said, "but 
 you do not put the case quite correctly. Had it 
 been possible for me to prohibit her joining our 
 sisterhood, I should have done so ; but she was per- 
 fectly free to do as she pleased, and my advice 
 against it was of no avail. It was my example 
 which induced her to enter the House of Martha. 
 She had had trouble. She wished to retire from 
 the world, and devote herself to good works which 
 should banish her trouble. I had so devoted my- 
 self. She loved me, and she followed me. I 
 talked to her until I made her unhappy, and then 
 I let her go her way. But the great object of my 
 life for nearly a year has been to make that girl 
 feel that her true way is out of the House of Mar- 
 tha." 
 
 " Then she is not bound by vows or promises ? " 
 I asked, with some excitement. 
 
 " Not in the least," said she. " She can leave 
 us when she pleases. I do not think she likes her 
 life or her duties, unless, indeed, they lead her in 
 the direction of dictated literature ; but she has a 
 firm will, and, having joined us, has never shown 
 the slightest sign of a desire to leave us. She al- 
 ways asserts that, when the proper time arrives, 
 she shall vow herseK a permanent member of our 
 sisterhood." 
 
 " What preposterous absurdity ! " I exclaimed. 
 " She will never conform to your rules. She hates 
 nursing. She has too much good sense to insult 
 her fine womanly nature by degrading and unne- 
 cessary sacrifices." 
 
ABOUT SYLVIA. 149 
 
 "How delightfully confideDtial she must have 
 been ! — but I assure you, sir, that she never said 
 that sort of thing to me. There were things she 
 liked and things she did not like, but she showed 
 no signs of rebellion." 
 
 " Which was wise," I said, " knowing that you 
 thought she ought not to be there, any way." 
 
 " Oh, but she is a little serpent," exclaimed my 
 companion, " and so wise to confide in you, and 
 without flirting ! It must have been charming to 
 see. 
 
 I did not reply to this remark, which I consid- 
 ered flippant, and my mind was not inclined to 
 flippancy. 
 
 " It may appear strange to you," she continued, 
 " and would probably appear strange to any one 
 who did not understand the case, that I should 
 have allowed her to become your amanuensis, but 
 this whole affair is a very peculiar one. In the 
 first place, it is absolutely necessary that Sylvia 
 should work. It is not only her duty as a sister, 
 but without it she would fall into a morbid mental 
 condition. She is not fitted in any way for the 
 ordinary labors of our House, so I was glad to 
 find something which would not only suit her, but 
 would so interest her that it would help to draw 
 her away from us, and back into the world, to 
 which she rightfully belongs. This must appear 
 an odd desire for a mother superior of a religious 
 body, but it is founded on an earnest and conscien- 
 tious regard for the true welfare of my young 
 friend. 
 
150 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " And then there was another reason for my 
 allowing her to come to you. You would smile if 
 you could picture to yourself the mental image I 
 had formed of you, which was founded entirely on 
 your grandmother's remarks when she came to see 
 me about engaging one of our sisters as your sec- 
 retary. Before this matter was discussed I may 
 have seen you in the village, but I never had known 
 you even by sight, and from what that good lady 
 said of you I supposed that you were decidedly 
 middle-aged in feeling, if not in years ; that you 
 were extremely grave and studious, and wished, 
 when engaged upon literary composition, to be en- 
 tirely oblivious of your surroundings; and that 
 you desired an amanuensis who should be simply 
 a writing-machine, — who would in no way annoy 
 you by intruding upon you any evidence that she 
 possessed a personality. A sister from our House, 
 your grandmother urged, would be the very person 
 you needed, and infinitely better suited to the po- 
 sition than the somewhat frivolous young women 
 who very often occupy positions as amanuenses. 
 
 " It was for these reasons that I sent Sylvia to 
 write at the dictation of the sedate author of the 
 forthcoming book on European travel. Even when 
 1 heard that a love-story had been introduced into 
 the descriptions of countries, I concluded, after 
 consideration, not to interfere. I did not think 
 that it would be of any disadvantage to Sylvia if 
 she should become a little interested in love affairs ; 
 but that you should become interested in a love af- 
 fair, such as that you have mentioned to me, I did 
 not imagine in the remotest degree." 
 
ABOUT SYLVIA. 151 
 
 " I am sure," said T, " that your motives as far 
 as Sylvia was concerned, and your action as far as 
 I am concerned, were heaven-born. And now, as 
 we are speaking plainly here together, let me ask 
 you if you do not think you would be fulfilling 
 what you consider your duty to Sylvia by aiding 
 me to make her my wife ! There can surely be no 
 better way for her to fiU her proper place in the 
 world than to marry a man who loves her with his 
 whole heart. I know that I love her above all the 
 world ; I believe that I am worthy of her." 
 
 She answered me in a tone which was grave, 
 but gentle. " Do you not know you are asking me 
 to do something which is entirely impossible ? In 
 the first place, my official position precludes me 
 from taking part in affairs of this nature ; and al- 
 though I am willing to admit that I see no reason 
 why you might not be a suitable partner for Syl- 
 via, I must also admit that, on the other hand, I 
 have no reason to believe that Sylvia would be in- 
 clined to accept you as such a partner. I have no 
 doubt that she has made herself very agreeable to 
 you, — that is her nature ; I know that she used to 
 make herself very agreeable to people. You must 
 remember that, even should Sylvia leave us, your 
 chances may be no better than they are now." 
 
 " Madam," I said, leaning toward her, and 
 speaking with great earnestness, " I will take all 
 possible chances ! What I ask and implore of you 
 is, that if you should ever be able to do the least 
 little thing which would give me the opportunity 
 to plead my own suit before Sylvia, you would do 
 
152 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 it. I can give her position and fortune. I think 
 I am suited to her, and if love can make me better 
 suited, I have love enough. Now tell me, will you 
 not do this thing ? If you have the opportunity, 
 and see no reason against it, will you not help 
 me?" 
 
 " This is a hard position for me," she said, after 
 a pause, " and all I can promise you is this : I love 
 Sylvia, and I am going to do whatever I think will 
 be of the greatest advantage to her." 
 
 " Then," I asserted with continued earnestness, 
 " it shall be my labor to prove that to love the man 
 who loves her as I do will be her greatest good I 
 K I do that, will you be on my side ? " 
 
 She smiled, looked at me a few moments, and 
 then answered, " Yes." 
 
 " Your hand upon it ! " I cried, leaning stiU 
 farther forward. She laughed at the enthusiastic 
 warmth of my manner, and gave me her hand. 
 
 " It is a promise ! " I exclaimed, and was about 
 to raise her fingers to my lips when she quickly 
 drew them away. 
 
 " I declare," she said, rising as she spoke, " I 
 did not suppose that you would forget that I am 
 the Mother Superior of the House of Martha." 
 
 " Excuse me," I replied, " but you are not that ; 
 with your own mouth you have assured me that 
 you are an Interpolation, and there is nothing in 
 a social or moral law which forbids a suitable ex- 
 pression of gratitude to an Interpolation." 
 
 " Sir," said she, " I think I have seen quite as 
 much as is necessary of the view which you asked 
 me here to look upon." 
 
XXVI. 
 
 MOTHER ANASTASIA. 
 
 In the half hour during which I remained alone 
 upon the bluff, awaiting the return of Walkirk 
 and the fishing party, I thought as much of the 
 lady with whom I had been talking as the lady of 
 whom I had been talking. 
 
 " How is it possible," I asked myself, " that this 
 gentlewoman, warm with her rich blooded beauty, 
 alive with ripe youth, born to delight the soul of 
 man and fire his heart, should content herself to 
 be a head nurse in a hospital; to wander in an 
 unsightly disguise among dismal sick-beds ; to di- 
 rect the management of measles-refuges ; to shut 
 herself up in a bare-floored, cold-walled institu- 
 tion with narrow-minded Sister Sarahs ; to be, in 
 a word, the Mother Superior of the House of 
 Martha?" 
 
 That she should occupy this position seemed to 
 me a crime. There were many women in the 
 world who could do all she was doing, but there 
 were few who could take her place in the world of 
 full, true life. 
 
 When the fishing party returned, I went to the 
 house to take leave of our new friends. 
 
 " You must go ? " said the Sand Lady. " And 
 
154 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA, 
 
 where, may I ask, is it imperative that you should 
 go/ 
 
 " To the island where you have so kindly allowed 
 us to sojourn," I replied. 
 
 " You sleep in the cabin of your boat, I believe ? " 
 she said ; and I answered that we did. 
 
 " Very well, then," continued she, " why not 
 bring your floating home to this island ? It is in 
 every way better than that. I will give you ex- 
 clusive rights over a little bay and an adjoining 
 dell. There you 'can cook your own meals when 
 you like, or you can come to us when you like ; we 
 always have more than enough for all who inhabit 
 this island. In the evening you can sit alone on 
 the beach and think of the far-away loved one, or 
 you can come up to the house and play whist or 
 twenty questions. The Understudy can go fishing 
 with my brother ; they suit each other admirably. 
 What do you say ? " 
 
 " I say, madam," I replied, with a bow, " the 
 sands of which you are the lady are the dust of 
 diamonds, and your invitation is a golden joy." 
 
 " Bless me," she exclaimed, " what must you be 
 out of check ! " 
 
 That evening we sailed to Racket Island, brought 
 away our belongings, and established ourselves in 
 the land-locked little bay, about a quarter of a 
 mile from the house of the Sand Lady. 
 
 Early the next morning I walked around to a 
 pier where I had noticed a good-sized yacht was 
 moored. It was still there ; apparently no one had 
 left the island. After our breakfast on the beach 
 
MOTHER ANASTASIA, 155 
 
 I told Walkirk to devote himself to independent 
 occupations, and walked up to the house. I found 
 the lady who had called herself a Person and the 
 one of whom I did not like to think as an Interpo- 
 lation sitting together upon the piazza. I joined 
 them. 
 
 " Would n't you be very much obliged to me," 
 asked the Person, after a scattering conversation, 
 in which I suppose I appeared as but a perfunctory 
 performer, " if I were to go away and leave you 
 alone with this lady ? " 
 
 " As this is an island of plain speaking," I re- 
 plied, " I will say, yes." 
 
 Both ladies laughed, and the Person retired to 
 her hammock. 
 
 " Now, then," asked Mother Anastasia, " what 
 is the meaning of this alarming frankness ? " 
 
 " I wish to talk to you of Sylvia," I answered. 
 
 " If you imagine," she said, " that I intend to 
 spend the short time I shall remain upon this 
 island in talking of Sylvia, you are very much 
 mistaken." 
 
 " Then let us talk of yourself," I replied. 
 
 She turned upon me with a frown and a laugh. 
 
 "If I had known," she said, "your habits of 
 ingenuousness and candor, I should have made you 
 dictate to Sylvia through a speaking-tube. You 
 have known me less than a day. You have known 
 her for a month. Can it be possible that you talk 
 to her as freely as you talk to me ? " 
 
 " Madam," I exclaimed, " I love Sylvia, and 
 therefore could not speak freely to her." 
 
156 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 "Your distinctions are wonderfully clear-cut," 
 she said ; " but why do you wish to talk of me ? 
 I suppose you want to know why I am Mother 
 Superior of the House of Martha ? " 
 
 " Yes,'* I answered, " that is a thing I cannot 
 understand ; but of course I should not feel justi- 
 fied in even alluding to it if, yesterday, you had 
 not so kindly given me your confidence in regard 
 to yourself and Sylvia." 
 
 " It seems to me," she remarked, " that, as you 
 decline to recognize the name given to that young 
 woman by our institution, you should call her Mis3 
 Raynor ; but I will say no more of that." 
 
 " It would be well," said I. " She is Sylvia to 
 me. You must remember that I never met her in 
 the circles of conventionalism." 
 
 She laughed. " This whole affair is certainly 
 very independent of conventionalism ; and as to 
 your curiosity about me, that is very easily grati- 
 fied. Nearly five years ago I connected myself 
 with the House of Martha. Although there were 
 sisters older than myself, I was chosen Mother 
 Superior, because I possessed rather more ad- 
 ministrative abilities than any of the others. I 
 think I have governed the House fairly well, 
 even if, in regard to the matter of furnishing sec- 
 retaries to literary men, there has been some dis- I 
 satisfaction." 
 
 " You allude to Sister Sarah ? " said I. 
 
 " Yes," she answered ; " and had she been head 
 of the House, your peace of mind would not have 
 been disturbed. But what I did in that case I did 
 conscientiously and with good intent." 
 
MOTHER ANASTASIA. 157 
 
 " And you are not sorry for it ? " I asked. 
 
 " It may be that I shall be sorry for you," she 
 replied, " but that is all I have to say on that 
 point. In a very short time I shall return to my 
 duties and to my sombre bonnet and gown, and 
 these interpolated days, which in a manner have 
 been forced upon me, should be forgotten." 
 
 "But one thing you must not forget," I ex- 
 claimed : " it was in this time that you promised 
 me — 
 
 " You selfish, selfish man," she interrupted, " you 
 think only of yourself. I shall talk no more of 
 yourself, of myself, or of Sylvia. My friends are 
 at the other side of the house, and I am going to 
 them." And she went. 
 
 While Walkirk and I were sailing that after- 
 noon, he managing the boat and I stretched upon 
 some cushions, I told him of my conversations with 
 Mother Anastasia. I considered him worthy of 
 my . confidence, and it was pleasant to give it to 
 him. 
 
 " She is a rare, strange woman," said he. " I 
 thought her very handsome when I visited her at 
 the House of Martha ; but since I have seen her 
 here, dressed in becoming clothes, I consider that 
 she possesses phenomenal attractions." 
 
 " And I hope," I remarked, " that she may be 
 phenomenally good-natured, and give me some 
 chances of seeing Sylvia Eaynor." 
 
 " That would indeed be phenomenal," said Wal- 
 kirk, laughing, " considering that she is a Mother 
 Superior, and the young lady is a member of the 
 
158 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 sisterhood. But everything relating to the case 
 is peculiar, and in my opinion Mother Anastasia 
 is more peculiar than anything else." 
 
 That evening we were invited to dine at the 
 house of the Sand Lady. It was a delightful occa- 
 sion. Everybody was in good spirits, and the 
 general tone of the conversation was singularly 
 lively and unrestrained. Mother Anastasia would 
 not play cards, but we amused ourselves with vari- 
 ous sprightly social games, in which the lady who 
 preferred to be called a Person showed a vivacious 
 though sometimes nipping wit. I had no oppor- 
 tunity for further private talk with Mother An- 
 astasia, nor did I desire one. I wished to interest 
 her in my love for Sylvia, but not to bore her 
 with it. 
 
 The next day, at about eleven o'clock, the Sand 
 Lady and the Shell Man walked over to our little 
 bay, where they found Walkirk and me fencing 
 upon the level beach. 
 
 " Stop your duel, gentlemen," said the lady. " I 
 come to give you the farewells of the Interpolation. 
 She was sorry she could not do this herself, but 
 she went away very early this morning." 
 
 " Went away ! " I cried, dropping my foil upon 
 the sand. " Where did she go ? " 
 
 " She sailed in our yacht for Sanford," answered 
 the Sand Lady, " to take the morning train for 
 her beloved House of Martha. My brother ac- 
 companied her to the town, but he wiU be back 
 to-day." 
 
 I was surprised and grieved, and showed it. 
 
MOTHEB ANASTASIA. 159 
 
 " We are all sorry to have her go," said the 
 Sand Lady, " and sorry to see her wearing that 
 doleful gray garb, which my brother allowed her 
 to assume this morning." 
 
 " I am glad," I exclaimed, " that I did not see 
 her in it ! " 
 
 The lady looked at me with her pleasant, quiet 
 smile. 
 
 " You seem very much interested in her." 
 
 " I am," I replied, " very much interested, both 
 directly and indirectly, and I am exceedingly sorry 
 that she departed without my knowing it." 
 
 This time the Sand Lady laughed. "Good- 
 morning, gentlemen," said she. "Go on with 
 your duel." 
 
xxvn. 
 
 A PERSON. 
 
 I FENCED no more. " Walkirk," I cried, " let 
 us get our traps on board, and be off ! " 
 
 My under-study looked troubled, — more trou- 
 bled than I had ever seen him before. 
 
 "Why do you think of this?" he asked. 
 " Where do you propose to go ? " 
 
 " Home," said I, " to my own house. That is 
 the place where I want to be." 
 
 Walkirk stood still and looked at me, his face 
 still wearing an air of deep concern. 
 
 " It is not my place to advise," he said, "but it 
 seems to me that your return at this moment would 
 have a very odd appearance, to say the least. 
 Every one would think that you were pursuing 
 Mother Anastasia, and she herself would think 
 so." 
 
 " No," said I, " she wiU not suppose anything of 
 the kind. She wiU know very well on whose ac- 
 count I came. And as for the people here, they 
 might labor under a mistake at first, because of 
 course I should not offer them any explanation, 
 but they would soon learn the real state of the 
 case ; that is, if they correspond with the Mother 
 Superior." 
 
A FEB SON. 161 
 
 " You propose, then," said Walkirk, " to lay- 
 siege to the House of Martha, and to carry away, 
 if you can. Miss Sylvia Raynor ? " 
 
 " I have made no plans," I answered, " but I 
 can look after my interests better in Arden than 
 I can here. I do not like this sudden departure 
 of the Mother Superior. I very much fear that 
 something has induced her to withdraw the good 
 will with which she previously seemed to look upon 
 my attachment to Miss Raynor. Were this not 
 so, she would have advised with me before she 
 left. Nothing could have been more natural. Now 
 I believe she has set herself against me, and has 
 gone away with the intention of permanently 
 separating Sylvia and myself." 
 
 " Have you any reason," asked Walkirk, " to 
 impute such an intention to her ? " 
 
 "Her sudden flight indicates it," I replied; 
 " and besides, you know, although she is not a 
 Roman Catholic, she is at the head of a religious 
 house, and persons in that position are naturally 
 averse to anybody marrying the sisters under their 
 charge. Even if she does not approve of Miss 
 Raynor's remaining in the House, she may not 
 want her to date a love affair from the establish- 
 ment. If I remain here. Miss Raynor may be 
 spirited entirely out of my sphere of action." 
 
 " It strikes me," said Walkirk, " the way to get 
 her spirited out of your sight and knowledge is 
 for you to go home at this juncture. In that case, 
 Mother Anastasia would be bound, in duty to the 
 young lady and her family, to send her away. Do 
 
162 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 you not agree with me that if you were to reach 
 Arden in the natural course of events, so to speak, 
 and especially if you got there after your grand- 
 mother had returned, you would avoid a great deal 
 of undesirable complication, and perhaps actual 
 opposition ? " 
 
 " You are right," I answered ; " it would not 
 look well for me to start away so suddenly. We 
 will wait a day or two, and then drop off natu- 
 raUy." 
 
 Walking toward the house, in the afternoon, I 
 met the Person. She advanced toward me, hold- 
 ing out her hand with an air of peremptory friend- 
 liness. 
 
 " I am heartily glad to see you. I want you to 
 amuse me. I could not ask this of you so long as 
 that fascinating abbess was on the island." 
 
 I was a little surprised at this salutation, and 
 not at all pleased. I did not fancy this lady. She 
 had an air as if she were availing herself of her 
 right to be familiar with her inferiors. 
 
 " I fear it is not in my power to do anything to 
 amuse you," said I. 
 
 " Entirely too modest," she answered. " Let us 
 walk over to this bench in the shade. You are 
 not desired at the house ; everybody is taking a 
 nap." 
 
 I went with her to the bench she had pointed 
 out, and we sat down. 
 
 " Now, then," said she, turning toward me, 
 " will you do me the favor to flirt with me ? Say 
 for twenty-five minutes," looking at her watch; 
 
A PERSON. 163 
 
 " that will bring us to four o'clock, when I must 
 go indoors." 
 
 At first I thought the woman was insane, but a 
 glance at her face showed that there was no reason 
 for fear of that kind. 
 
 " That sounds crazy, does n't it ? " she asked, 
 " but it is n't. It is an honest expression of a 
 very natural wish. Hundreds of ladies have doubt- 
 less looked at you and had that wish ; but social 
 conventions forbade their expressing it. Here we 
 have no conventions, and I speak my mind." 
 
 " Madam," said I, " or miss, there are few 
 things I hold in such abhorrence as flirtation." As 
 I said this I looked at her severely, and she looked 
 at me quizzically. She had gray eyes, which were 
 capable of a great variety of expressions, and her 
 face, suffused by the light of a bantering jocular- 
 ity, was an attractive one. I was obliged to ad- 
 mit this, in spite of my distaste for her. 
 
 " I like that," she said ; " it sounds so well, after 
 your vigorous flirtation with our abbess. If I had 
 not seen a good deal of that, I should not have 
 dared to ask you to flirt with me. I thought you 
 liked it, and now that she is gone might be willing 
 to take up with some one else." 
 
 I was irritated and disquieted. I had been very 
 earnest in my attentions to Mother Anastasia. 
 Perhaps this lady had seen me attempt to kiss her 
 hand. I must set myself right. 
 
 " You are utterly mistaken," said I. " What I 
 had to say to Mothei' Anastasia related entirely to 
 another person." 
 
164 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 " One of the sisters in her institution ? " she 
 asked. " She had nothing to do with any other 
 persons, so far as I know. Truly, that is a capital 
 idea ! " she exclaimed, without waiting for response 
 from me. " In order to flirt with a member of the 
 sisterhood, a gentleman must direct his attentions 
 to the Mother Superior who represents them, and 
 the flirting is thus done by proxy. Now don't 
 attempt to correct me. The idea is entirely too 
 delightful for me to allow it to be destroyed by 
 any bare statements or assertions." 
 
 " I suppose," I answered, " that Mother Ana- 
 stasia has taken you into her confidence ? " 
 
 " Thank you very much for that most gratifying 
 testimony to my powers of insight ! " she cried. 
 " The Mother Superior gave me no confidences. 
 So you have been smitten by a gray-gown. How 
 did you happen to become acquainted with her ? 
 I do not imagine they allow gentleman visitors at 
 the House of Martha ? " 
 
 " Madam, you know, or assume to know, so 
 much of my affairs," said I, " that in order to pre- 
 vent injurious conjectures regarding the House of 
 Martha, its officers and inmates, I shall say that 
 I became acquainted in a perfectly legitimate man- 
 ner with a young lady living therein, who has not 
 yet taken the vows of the permanent sisterhood, 
 and I intend, as soon as circumstances wiU permit, 
 to make her an offer of marriage. I assure you, 
 I regret extremely that I have been obliged to talk 
 in this way to a stranger, and nothing could have 
 induced me to do it but the fear that your con- 
 
A PERSON. 165 
 
 jectures and surmises might make trouble. I ask 
 as a right that you will say no more of the matter 
 to any one." 
 
 " Would you mind telling me the lady's name ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 "Of course I shall do no such thing," I an- 
 swered, rising from my seat, with my face flushing 
 with indignation. 
 
 " This is odd flirting, is n't it ? '^ said she, still 
 retaining her seat, — "a quarrel at the very out- 
 set. I shall not be prevented from informing you 
 why you ought to tell me the name of the lady. 
 You see that if you don't give me her name my 
 ungovernable curiosity will set me to working the 
 matter out for myself, and it is quite as likely as 
 not that I shall go to the House of Martha, and 
 ask questions, and pry, and watch, and make no 
 end of trouble. If a blooming bride is to be 
 picked from that flock of ash-colored gruel-mixers, 
 I want to know who it is to be. I used to be ac- 
 quainted with a good many of them, but I have n't 
 visited the House for some time." 
 
 I had never known any one assume toward me 
 a position so unjustifiable and so unseemly as that 
 in which this lady had deliberately placed herself. 
 I could find no words to express my opinion of her 
 conduct, and was on the point of walking away, 
 when she rose and quickly stepped to my side. 
 
 " Don't go away angry," she said. " On this 
 island we don't get angry ; it is too conventional. 
 I am bound to find out all about this affair, be- 
 cause it interests me. It is something quite out of 
 
166 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 the common ; and although you are in a measure 
 right in saying that I have nothing to do with 
 your affairs, you must know you have in a measure 
 mixed yourself up with my affairs. I am one of 
 the original subscribers to the House of Martha, 
 and used to take a good deal of interest in the es- 
 tablishment, as was my right and privilege ; but 
 the sisters bored me after a time, and as I have 
 been traveling in Europe for more than a year I 
 now know very little of what has been going on 
 there. But if there is a young woman in that 
 House who prefers marriage to hospital life and 
 tailor-made costumes to ash-bags, I say that she 
 has mistaken her vocation, and ought to be helped 
 out of it ; and although I know you to be a pretty 
 peppery gentleman, I am perfectly willing to help 
 her in your direction, if that is the way she wanta 
 to go. I offer myself to you as an ally. Take 
 me on your side, and tell me aU about it. It would 
 be perfectly ridiculous to let me go down there 
 imagining that this or that underdone-griddle-cake- 
 faced young woman was your lady-love. I might 
 make mistakes, and do more harm than good." 
 
 " Madam," I replied, " let us have done with 
 this. I have never said one word to the young 
 lady in question of my feelings toward her, and it 
 is in the highest degree improper and unjust that 
 she should be discussed in connection with them. 
 I hav^e laid the matter before Mother Anastasia, 
 as she stands in position of parent to the young 
 lady ; but with no one else can I possibly act, or 
 even discuss the subject," and I bowed. 
 
A PEBSON. 167 
 
 " I don't like this," she said, without noticing 
 that I had taken leave of her. " Mother Anastasia 
 did not intend to leave here until to-morrow, and 
 she went away early this morning. She has some 
 pressing business on hand, and ten chances to one 
 she has gone to fillip your young lady out of your 
 sight and hearing. Don't you see that it would 
 not look at all well for one of her sisters to marry, 
 or even to receive the attentions of a gentleman, 
 immediately after she had left the institution ? " 
 
 This suggestion, so like my own suspicions, 
 greatly disturbed me. 
 
 " Are you in earnest," said I, " or is all this 
 chaffer ? What reasonable interest can you take 
 in me and my affairs ? " 
 
 " I take no interest whatever," said she, " ex- 
 cepting that I have heard you are both eccentric 
 and respectable, and that I have found you amus- 
 ing, and in this class of people I am always inter- 
 ested. But I will say to you that if there is a 
 woman in that House who might make a suitable 
 and satisfactory marriage, if an opportunity were 
 allowed her, I believe she should be allowed the 
 opportunity, and, acting upon general principles 
 of justice and a desire to benefit my fellow-mortals, 
 I should use my influence to give it to her. So 
 you see that I should really be acting for the girl, 
 and not for you, although of course it would 
 amount to the same thing. And if Mother Anas- 
 tasia has gone to pull down the curtain on this 
 little drama, I am all the more anxious to jerk it 
 up again. Come, now, Mr. Lover in Check, — 
 
168 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 and when I first heard your name I had no idea 
 how well it fitted, — confide in me. It would de- 
 light me to be in this fight ; and you can see for 
 yourseK that it would be a very humdrum matter 
 for me to join your opponents, even if I should be 
 of their opinion. They do not need my help." 
 
 This argument touched me. I needed help. 
 Should Mother Anastasia choose to close the doors 
 of the House of Martha against me, what could I 
 do ? It might divert this lady to act on my behaK. 
 If she procured an interview for me with Sylvia, 
 I would ask no more of her. There was nothing 
 to risk except that Sylvia might be offended if she 
 heard that she had been the object of compacts. 
 But something must be risked, otherwise I might 
 be simply butting my head against monastic brick- 
 work. 
 
 " Madam," said I, " whatever your motives may 
 be, I accept your offer to fight on my side, and the 
 sooner the battle begins the better. The young 
 lady to whom I wish to offer myself in marriage, 
 and with whom I am most eager to meet, is Miss 
 Sylvia Raynor, a novice, or something of the kind, 
 in the House of Martha." 
 
 With her brows slightly knitted, as if she did 
 not exactly understand my words, my companion 
 looked at me for an instant. Then her eyes spar- 
 kled, her lips parted, and a flush of quick compre- 
 hension passed over her face. She put back her 
 head and laughed until she almost lost her breath. 
 I looked upon her, shocked and wounded to the 
 soul. 
 
A PERSON. 169 
 
 " Pardon me," she said, her eyes filled with the 
 tears of laughter, " but it can't be helped ; I with- 
 draw my offer. I cannot be on your side, at least 
 just now. But I shall remain neutral, — you can 
 count on that," and, still laughing, she went her 
 way. 
 
 Any one more disagreeably unpleasant than this 
 woman I had never met. When I told Walkirk 
 what had happened I could not restrain my burn- 
 ing indignation, and I declared I would not remain 
 another hour on the island with her. He listened 
 to me with grave concern. 
 
 " This is very unfortunate," he said, " but do 
 not let us be precipitate." 
 
XXVIIL 
 
 THE FLOATING GEOCERY. 
 
 I NOW positively decided that the next day I 
 would leave this island, where people flew off at 
 such disagreeable tangents ; but as I was here on 
 invitation, I could not go away without taking 
 leave of my hostess. Accordingly, in the evening 
 Walkirk and I went up to the house. 
 
 The Sand Lady was manifestly grieved when 
 she heard of our intended departure, and her 
 brother was quite demonstrative in his expressions 
 of regret ; even the Shell Man, who had discovered 
 in Walkirk some tastes similar to his own, de- 
 murred at our going. The Person, however, made 
 no allusion to the subject, and gave us, indeed, as 
 little of her society as she apparently did of her 
 thoughts. 
 
 In order not to produce the impression that I 
 was running after Mother Anastasia, as Walkirk 
 had put it, I announced that we should continue 
 our cruise for an indefinite time. I was sorry to 
 leave these good people, but to stay with that 
 mocking enigma of a woman was impossible. She 
 had possessed herself, in the most crafty and un- 
 warrantable manner, of information which she had 
 no right to receive and I had no right to give, and 
 
THE FLOATING GBOCEBY. 171 
 
 then contemptuously laughed in my face. My 
 weakness may have deserved the contempt, but 
 that made no difference in my opinion of the wo- 
 man who had inflicted it upon me. I was glad, 
 when we bade good-night and farewell to the little 
 party, that the Person was not present. 
 
 But early the next morning, just as we were 
 hoisting sail on our boat, this lady appeared, walk- 
 ing rapidly down to our beach. She was dressed 
 in a light morning costume, with some sort of a 
 gauzy fabric thrown over her head, and if I had 
 not hated her so thoroughly I should have consid- 
 ered her a very picturesque and attractive figure. 
 
 " I am glad I am in time," she called out. " I 
 don't want you to go away with too bad an opinion 
 of me, and I came to say that what you have con- 
 fided to me is just as safe with me as it would be 
 with anybody else. Do you think you can believe 
 that if you try ? " 
 
 It was impossible for me to make any answer to 
 this woman, but I took off my hat and bowed. 
 The sail filled, and we glided away. 
 
 Walkirk was not in good spirits. It was plain 
 enough that he liked the Tangent Island and 
 wanted to stay ; and he had good reason, for he 
 had found pleasant company, and this could not 
 always be said to be the case when sailing in a 
 small boat or camping out with me. My intention 
 was to sail to a town on the mainland, some thirty 
 miles distant, there leave our boat, and take a train 
 for Arden. This, I considered, was sacrificing to 
 appearances as much time as I could allow. 
 
172 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA, 
 
 But the breeze was light and fitful, and we made 
 but little progress, and about the middle of the 
 forenoon a fog came slowly creeping up from the 
 sea. It grew thicker and heavier, until in an hour 
 or two we were completely shut out from all view 
 of the world about us. There was now no wind. 
 Our sail hung damp and flabby ; moisture, silence, 
 and obscurity were upon us. 
 
 The rest of the day we sat doleful, waiting for 
 the fog to lift and the wind to rise. My fear was 
 that we might drift out to sea or upon some awk- 
 ward shoals ; for, though everything else was stiU, 
 the tide would move us. What Walkirk feared, 
 if anything, I do not know, but he kept up a good 
 heart, and rigged a lantern some little distance 
 aloft, which, he said, might possibly keep vessels 
 from running into us. He also performed, at in- 
 tervals, upon a comet which he had brought with 
 him. This was a very wise thing to do, but, for 
 some reason or other, such music, in a fog, de- 
 pressed my spirits ; however, as it seemed quite 
 suitable to the condition of my affairs I did not in- 
 terfere, and the notes of Bonnie Doon or My Old 
 Kentucky Home continued to be soaked into the 
 fog. 
 
 Night came on ; the fog still enveloped us, and 
 the situation became darker. We had our supper, 
 and I turned in, with the understanding that at 
 midnight I was to take the watch, and let Walkirk 
 sleep. It was of no use to make ourselves any 
 more uncomfortable than need be. 
 
 It was between two and three o'clock when I was 
 
THE FLOATING GBOCEBY. 173 
 
 called to go on watch ; and after I had been sit- 
 ting in the stern smoking and thinking for an hour 
 or more, I noticed that the light on the mast had 
 gone out. It was, however, growing lighter, and, 
 fancying that the fog was thinner, I trusted to the 
 coming of the day and a breeze, and made no 
 attempt to take down and refill the lantern. 
 
 Not long after this my attention was attracted 
 by something which appeared like the nucleus of a 
 dark cloud forming in the air, a short distance 
 above the water, and not far away on our port 
 quarter. Rapidly the cloud grew bigger and 
 blacker. It moved toward us, and in a few mo- 
 ments, before I had time to collect my thoughts 
 and arouse Walkirk, it was almost upon us, and 
 then I saw that it was the stern of a vessel, loom- 
 ing high above my head. 
 
 I gave a wild shout ; Walkirk dashed out of his 
 bunk ; there was a call from above ; then I felt a 
 shock, and our boat keeled over on her starboard 
 side. In a moment, however, she receded from 
 the other vessel, and righted herself. I do not 
 know that Walkirk had ever read in a book what 
 he ought to do in such an emergency, but he seized 
 a boat hook and pushed our boat away from the 
 larger vessel. 
 
 " That 's right ! " cried a voice from above. 
 " I '11 heave ye a line. Keep her off till we have 
 drifted past ye, and then I '11 haul ye in." 
 
 Slowly the larger vessel, which was not very 
 large, but which drifted faster than our little boat, 
 floated past us, until we were in tow at her bow. 
 
174 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 We could now see the form of a man leaning over 
 the rail of the vessel, and he called out to us to 
 know if we were damaged, and if we wanted to 
 come aboard. I was about to reply that we were 
 all right, and would remain where we were, when 
 Walkirk uttered an exclamation. 
 
 " We are taking in water by the bucketful," said 
 he ; " our side has been stove in." 
 
 " Impossible ! " I exclaimed. " We were not 
 struck with enough force for that." 
 
 But examination proved that he was correct. 
 One or more of our planks had been broken just 
 below the water line and our boat was filling, 
 though not rapidly. 
 
 " Stoved in, eh ? " shouted the voice from above. 
 " Well, ye need n't sink. I '11 haul yer bowline 
 taut, and I '11 heave ye another to make fast to yer 
 stern. That '11 keep yer little craft afloat until ye 
 can unlade her ; and the quicker ye get yer traps 
 up here the better, if ye don't want 'em soaked." 
 
 Acting upon these suggestions, Walkirk and I 
 went vigorously to work, and passed up our be- 
 longings as rapidly as possible to the man above, 
 who, by leaning over the rails, could easily reach 
 them. When everything movable had been taken 
 out of our boat, the man let down a ladder and I 
 climbed on board the larger vessel, after which he 
 came down to our boat, detached the boom, gaff, 
 and sail, and unshipped the mast ; all of which we 
 afterwards hoisted on board his vessel by means 
 of a block and tackle. 
 
 " Now, then," said our new companion, " ye 're 
 
THE FLOATING GBOCEBY. 175 
 
 safe, and yer boat can capsize if it 's a mind to, 
 but it can't sink ; and when it 's better daylight, 
 and Abner 's on deck, perhaps we '11 rig out a 
 couple of spars and haul her up at the stern ; but 
 there 's time enough to settle all that. And now 
 I 'd like to know how ye came to be driftin' around 
 here with no light out." 
 
 I explained, but added I had not seen any light 
 on his vessel. 
 
 " Well," said the man, looking upward, " that 
 light 's out, and ten to one it was out when we run 
 inter ye. I 'spect Abner did n't calkerlate for 
 fillin' it for day work and night work too." 
 
 The speaker was a grizzled man, middle-aged, 
 and rather too plump for a sailor. He had a 
 genial, good-natured countenance, and so far as I 
 could see was the only occupant of the vessel. 
 
 His craft was truly a peculiar one. It was 
 sloop-rigged, and on the after part of the deck, oc- 
 cupying about one third of the length of the vessel, 
 was a structure resembling a small one-storied 
 house, which rose high above the rest of the deck, 
 like the poop of an old-fashioned man-of-war. In 
 the gable end of this house, which faced upon the 
 deck, there was a window and a door. The boom 
 of the mast was rigged high enough to allow it to 
 sweep over the roof. 
 
 " I reckon you gents think this is a queer kind 
 of a craft," said the man, with a grin of pleasure 
 at our evident curiosity ; "and if ye think that, ye 
 are about right, for there is n't jist such another 
 one as far as I know. This is a floating grocery, 
 
176 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 and I am captain of the sloop or keeper of the 
 store, jist as it happens. In that house there is a 
 good stock of flour, sugar, feed, trimmings, no- 
 tions, and small dry goods, with some tinware and 
 pottery, and a lot of other things which you com- 
 monly find in a country grocery store. I have 
 got the trade of about half the families in this 
 bay ; all of them on the islands, and a good many 
 of them on the mainland, especially sech as has 
 piers of their own. I have regular days for touch- 
 ing at all the different p'ints ; and it is a mighty 
 nice thing, I can tell ye, to have yer grocery store 
 come round to ye instead of yer having to go to it, 
 especially if ye live on an island or out in the 
 country." 
 
 Walkirk and I were very much interested in 
 this floating grocery store, which was an entirely 
 novel thing to us, and we asked a good many ques- 
 tions about it. 
 
 " There 's only me and Abner aboard," said the 
 grocer-skipper, " but that 's enough, for we do a 
 good deal more anchorin' than sailin'. Abner, 
 he 's head clerk, and don't pretend to be no sailor 
 at all ; but he lays a hold of anythin' I tell him to, 
 and that 's all I ask of him in the sailorin' line. 
 But he is first class behind the counter, I can tell 
 ye, and in keepin' the books I could n't find no- 
 body like Abner, — not in this State. Now it 
 may strike ye, gents, that I am not much of a 
 sailor neither, to be driftin' about here at night in 
 this fog instead of anchprin' and tootin' a foghorn ; 
 but ye see, I did anchor in the fore part of the 
 
THE FLOATING GROCERY. 177 
 
 night, and after Abner had gone to his bunk — we 
 don't keep regular watches, but kinder divide the 
 night between us, when we are out on the bay, 
 which is n't common, for we like to tie up at night, 
 and do our sailin' in the daytime — it struck me 
 that as the tide was runnin' out we might as well 
 let it take us to Simpson's Bar, which, if ye don't 
 know this bay, is a big shallow place, where there 
 is always water enough for us, bein' a good deal 
 on the flat-bottomed order, but where almost any 
 steamin' craft at low tide would stick in the mud 
 before they could run into us. So thinks I, If we 
 want to get on in the direction of Widder Kinley's 
 (whose is the last house I serve down the bay), 
 and to feel safe besides, we had better up anchor, 
 and I upped it. But I had ought to remembered 
 about that light ; it was n't the square thing to be 
 driftin' about without the light, no more fur me 
 than fur ye. I 've sounded a good many times, 
 but we don't seem to have reached the bar yet. It 
 must be pretty near time for Abner to turn out," 
 and he looked at his watch. 
 
 "Your assistant must be a sound sleeper," I 
 remarked. 
 
 " Yes, he is," replied the man. " He needs lots 
 of sleep, and I make it a p'int to give it to him. 
 If it is n't positively necessary, I don't wake him 
 up until the regular time. Of course, if it had 
 been our boat that had been stoved in, and she 
 had been like to sink, I 'd have called Abner ; but 
 as it was yer boat, and none of us was in no danger, 
 I did n't call him. Here he is, though, on time." 
 
178 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 At this, a tall, lean man, not quite so much 
 grizzled as the other, made his appearance on deck. 
 He gazed from one to the other of us, and upon 
 our various belongings, which were strewn upon 
 the deck, with undisguised amazement. 
 
 His companion laughed aloud. " I don't won- 
 der, Abner," he cried, " that ye open yer eyes ; 
 't ain'^t often two gentlemen come on board in the 
 night, bag and baggage ; but these two stoved in 
 their boat agin our rudder, and here they are, with 
 their craft triced up to keep her from sinkin'." 
 
 Abner made no answer, but walked to the side 
 of the vessel, looked over, and satisfied himself 
 that this last statement was correct. 
 
 " Capt'n Jabe," said he, turning to the other, 
 " we can't sail much, can we, with that thing hang- 
 in' there ? " 
 
 " Well, now, Abner," replied the captain, " we 
 are not sailin' at the present time, — we are drift- 
 in' ; for it is my idee to drop anchor as soon as 
 we get to Simpson's Bar, and this tide is bound to 
 carry us over it if we wait long enough, so we 
 must keep soundin', and not slip over without 
 knowin' it." 
 
 " It strikes me," said Abner, " that we should 
 save a lot of trouble if we should put the anchor 
 out and let it hang ; then, when we come to the 
 bar, she '11 ketch and fetch us up without our 
 havin' it on our minds." 
 
 " You see, gents," said Captain Jabe to us, 
 " Abner don't pretend to be no sailor, but he 's 
 got his idees about navigation, for all that." 
 
THE FLOATING GROCERY. 179, 
 
 Abner took no notice of this remark. " Capt'n," 
 said he, " does these gents want to turn in ? " 
 
 " Not till they have had some breakfast," replied 
 Captain Jabe, and we assented. 
 
 "All right," said Abner, "I'll tackle the 
 grub," and, opening the door of the grocery store, 
 he went inside. In a few minutes he reappeared. 
 " Capt'n," said he, in a voice which he intended 
 to be an aside, " are you goin' to count 'em as 
 mealers, or as if they was visitin' the family ? " 
 
 Captain Jabe laughed. " Well, Abner," said 
 he, " I guess we will count them as mealers, though 
 I don't intend to make no charge." 
 
 Abner nodded, and again entered the little 
 house. 
 
 " What are mealers ? " I asked of the captain. 
 
 " In this part of the country," he answered, 
 " there 's a good many city folks comes for the 
 summer, and they take houses; but they don't 
 want the trouble of cookin', so they make a con- 
 tract with some one livin' near to give them their 
 meals regular, and this sort of folks goes by the 
 general name of mealers. What Abner wanted 
 to know fur was about openin' the cans. You see, 
 most of our victuals is in cans, and if Abner 
 knowed you was regular payin' mealers he would 
 open fresh ones ; but if you was visitin' the family, 
 he'd make you help eat up what was left in the 
 cans, just as we do ourselves." 
 
 It was not long before the thrifty Abner had 
 given us a substantial breakfast ; and then Wal- 
 kirk and I were glad to take possession of a spare 
 
180 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 couple of bunks, for we were tired and sleepy, and 
 the monotonous fog still hung around us. 
 
 It was about noon when I waked and went on 
 deck, where I found Walkirk, Captain Jabe, and 
 Abner engaged in consultation. There was a 
 breeze blowing, and every particle of fog had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 " We've been considerin','' said the captain, ad- 
 dressing me, " what 's the best thing to do with 
 yer boat ; there 's no use tryin' to tinker her up, 
 for she has got a bad hole in her, and it is our 
 fault, too. One of the iron bands on our rudder 
 got broke and sprung out a good while ago, and 
 it must have been the sharp end of that which 
 punched into yer boat when we drifted down on 
 her. We ain't got no tackle suitable to h'ist her 
 on board, and as to towin' her, — a big boat like 
 that, full of water, — 't ain't possible. We 've 
 lost a lot of time already, and now there 's a good 
 wind and we are bound to make the best of it ; so 
 me and Abner thinks the best thing ye can do is 
 to sink yer boat right here on the bar where we 
 are now anchored, having struck it all right, as ye 
 see, and mark the spot with an oil-cag. Anybody 
 that knows this bay can come and git her if she is 
 on Simpson's Bar, buoyed with an oil-cag.'* 
 
 I was sorry that we should not be able to repair 
 our boat and continue our trip in her, but I saw 
 that this would be impossible, and I asked Captain 
 Jabe if he could take us to Brimley. 
 
 " I can do that," he answered, " but not straight. 
 I have got fust to sail over to Widder Kinley's, 
 
THE FLOATING GROCERY. 181 
 
 which is on that p'int which ye can just see over 
 there on the edge of the water, and where I was 
 due yesterday afternoon. Then I 've got to touch 
 at three or four other places along the east shore ; 
 and then, if this wind holds, I guess I can git 
 across the bay to my own house, where I have got 
 to lay up all day to-morrow. The next day is 
 Saturday, and then I am bound to be in Brimley 
 to take in stock. There ye two gents can take 
 the cars for wherever ye want to go ; and if ye 
 choose to give me the job of raisin' yer boat and 
 sendin' it to its owners, I '11 do it for ye as soon 
 as I can fix things suitable, and will charge ye just 
 half price for the job, considerin' that nuther of 
 us had our lights out, and we ought to share dam- 
 ages." 
 
 I agreed to the proposed disposition of our boat, 
 and asked Captain Jabe if I could not hire him to 
 take us direct to Brimley. 
 
 " No, sir ! " he answered. " I never pass by 
 my customers, especially Widder Kinley, for she 
 is the farthest off of any of them." 
 
 " And she must be lookin' out sharp for us, too," 
 said Abner, " for she bakes Thursdays, and she 
 ought to sot her bread last night." 
 
 " And I am a great deal afeard," continued 
 Captain Jabe, " that her yeast cakes won't be any 
 too fresh when she gits 'em ; and the quicker that 
 boat's down to the bottom and our anchor up off 
 the bottom, the better it will be for the Widder 
 Kinley's batch of bread." 
 
 In the course of half an hour an empty oil-keg 
 
182 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 was moored over the spot where our boat lay upon 
 the sandy bar, and we were sailing as fast as such 
 an unwieldy vessel, with her mainsail permanently 
 reefed above the roof of her grocery store, could 
 be expected to sail. Our tacks were long and 
 numerous, and although Walkirk and I lent a 
 hand whenever there was occasion for it, and al- 
 though there was a fair wind, the distant point 
 rose but slowly upon our horizon. 
 
 " 1 hope," I remarked to Captain Jabe, " that 
 the Widow Kinley will buy a good bill of you, 
 after you have taken all this trouble to get to her." 
 
 " Dunno," said he ; " she don't generally take 
 more than she has ordered the week before, and 
 all she has ordered this time is two yeast cakes." 
 
 " Do you mean," exclaimed Walkirk, " that you 
 are taking all this time and trouble to deliver two 
 yeast cakes, worth, I suppose, four cents ? " 
 
 "That's the price on 'em," said the captain; 
 "but if the Widder Kinley didn't git 'em she 
 would n't do no bakin' this week, and that would 
 upset her housekeepin' keel up." 
 
 Late in the afternoon we delivered the yeast 
 cakes to the Widow Kinley, whom we found in a 
 state of nervous agitation, having begun to fear 
 that another night would pass without her bread 
 being " sot." Then we coasted along the shore, 
 tying up at various little piers, where the small 
 farmers' and fishermen's families came on board 
 to make purchases. 
 
 Now Abner was in his glory. Wearing a long 
 apron made of blue-and-white bed-ticking, he stood 
 
THE FLOATING GROCERY. 183 
 
 behind the counter in the little house on deck, and 
 appeared to be much more at ease weighing sugar, 
 coffee, and flour than in assisting to weigh anchor. 
 I seated myself in the corner of this floating gro- 
 cery, crowded, shelves, floor, and counter, with 
 such goods as might be expected to be found at 
 an ordinary country store. 
 
 It seemed to me that nearly every one who lived 
 near the points at which we touched came on board 
 the floating grocery, but most of them came to 
 talk, and not to buy. Many of those who did 
 make purchases brought farm produce or fish, with 
 which to "trade." It was an interesting spectacle, 
 and amused me. During our slow progress from 
 one place to another. Captain Jabe told me of an 
 old woman who once offered him an Qgg which she 
 wished to take out in groceries, half in tea and 
 half in snuff. 
 
 " We don't often do business down as fine as 
 that," said the captain ; " but then, on the other 
 hand, we don't calkerlate to supply hotels, and 
 could n't if we wanted to." 
 
 Walkirk appeared uneasy at the detentions 
 which still awaited us. 
 
 " Could n't you take us straight on to Brimley," 
 he asked of the captain, " and sail back to your 
 home in the morning ? " 
 
 " No, sir ! " answered Captain Jabe, with much 
 decision. " My old woman 'spects me to-night, — 
 in p'int of fact, she 'spected me a good deal before 
 night, — and I am not goin' to have her thinkin' 
 I am run down in a fog, and am now engaged in 
 
184 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 feedin' the sharks. There is to be a quiltin' party 
 at our house to-morrer arternoon, and there 's a lot 
 to be done to get ready for it. Abner and me 
 will have to set up pretty late this night, I can tell 
 yer!" 
 
 " Is there no way of getting to the railroad/' I 
 asked, " but by your boat ? " 
 
 " No," said Captain Jabe, " I can't see that 
 there is. Pretty nigh all the folks that wiU be at 
 the bee to-morrow will come in boats. None of 
 them live nigh- to a railroad station, and if they 
 did, and could take ye back with 'em, they would n't 
 leave early enough for ye to ketch the last train : 
 so the best thing ye can do is to stick by me, and 
 I '11 guarantee to git ye over to Brimley in time 
 for the mornin' train on Saturday." 
 
XXIX. 
 
 FANTASY ? 
 
 We reached Captain Jabe's house a little after 
 nightfall, and received a hearty welcome and a 
 good supper from his wife. Walkirk and I slept 
 on board the floating grocery, as also did Abner ; 
 that is to say, if he slept at all, for he and the cap- 
 tain were busy at the house when we retired. The 
 quilting party, we were informed, was expected to 
 be a grand affair, provided, of course, there were 
 no signs of rain; for country people are not ex- 
 pected to venture out for pleasure in rainy weather. 
 
 Captain Jabe's house, as we saw it the next 
 morning, was a good-sized waterside farmhouse, 
 wide-spreading and low-roofed. The place had a 
 sort of amphibious appearance, as if depending for 
 its maintenance equally upon the land and the 
 water. The house stood a little distance back from 
 the narrow beach, and in its front yard a net was 
 hung to dry and to be mended ; a small boat, in 
 course of repair, lay upon some rude stocks, while 
 bits of chain, an old anchor, several broken oars, 
 and other nautical accessories were scattered here 
 and there. 
 
 At the back of the house, however, there was 
 nothing about the barn, the cow-yard, the chicken- 
 
186 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 yard, and the haystacks to indicate that Captain 
 Jabe was anything more than a thrifty small- 
 farmer. But, farmer and sailor as he was. Cap- 
 tain Jabe was none the less a grocer, and I think 
 to this avocation he gave his chief attention. 
 
 He took me into a small room by the side of his 
 kitchen, and showed me what he called his " sinkin' 
 fund stock." 
 
 " Here, ye see," said he, " is canned fruit and 
 wegetables, smoked and salted meat and fish, 
 cheeses, biscuits-, and a lot of other things that 
 will keep. None of these is this year's goods. 
 Some of them have been left over from last year, 
 some from the year before that, and some is still 
 older. Whenever I git a little short, I put a lot 
 of these goods on board and seU 'em with the dis- 
 count off, — twenty per cent for last year's stock, 
 forty per cent off for the year before that, and so 
 on back. So, ye see, if I have got anythin' on 
 hand that is five years old, I am bound to give it 
 away for nothin', if I stick to my principles. At 
 fust me and my old woman tried eatin' what was 
 left over ; but discount is n't no good to her, and 
 she wants the best victuals that is goin'. Did ye 
 ever think, sir, what this world would be without 
 canned victuals ? " 
 
 I assured him that I never had, but would try 
 to do so if possible. 
 
 The day proved to be a very fine one, and early 
 in the afternoon the people invited to the quilting 
 party began to arrive, and by two o'clock the affair 
 was in full swing. The quilting frame was set up 
 
FANTASY? 187 
 
 in a large chamber at the right of the parlor, the 
 " comfortable " to be quilted was stretched upon 
 it, and at the four sides sat as many matrons and 
 elderly maidens as could crowd together, each with 
 needle in hand. Long cords rubbed with chalk 
 were snapped upon the surface of the quilt to mark 
 out the lines to be stitched ; wax, thread, and scis- 
 sors were passed from one to another ; and every 
 woman began to sew and to talk as fast as she 
 could. 
 
 I stood in the doorway and watched this scene 
 with considerable interest, for I had never before 
 seen anything of the kind. The quilting ladies, to 
 every one of whom I had been presented, cordially 
 invited me to enter and take a seat with them; 
 some of the more facetious offering to vacate their 
 places in my favor, and, more than that, to show 
 me how to thread and use a needle. I found from 
 their remarks that it was rather an unusual thing 
 for a man to take an interest in this part of the 
 proceedings at a quilting party. 
 
 After a time I went into the parlor, which room 
 was then occupied by the young men and young 
 women. It was ever so much pleasanter out-of- 
 doors than in this somewhat gloomy and decidedly 
 stuffy parlor ; but as these people were guests at 
 a quilting party, they knew it was proper to enjoy 
 themselves within the house to which they had 
 been invited. 
 
 The young folks were not nearly so lively and 
 animated as their elders in the next room, but they 
 had just begun to play a game which could be 
 
188 THE HOUSE OF AlABTHA. 
 
 played in the house, and in which every one could 
 participate, and as the afternoon wore on they 
 would doubtless become warmed up. Walkirk 
 was making the best of it, and had entered the 
 game ; but I declined aU invitations to do so. 
 
 Before long there was some laughing and a good 
 deal of romping, and I fancied that the girls, some 
 of whom were not at aU bad looking, would have 
 been pleased if I had joined in the sport. But 
 this did not suit me ; I stiU was, as I declared my- 
 self, a Lover in -Check, and the society of young 
 women was not attractive to me. 
 
 I went outside, where a group of elderly men 
 were discussing the tax rates ; and after remaining 
 a few minutes with them, I came to the conclusion 
 that the pleasantest thing I could do would be to 
 take a stroll over the country. 
 
 I made my way over some rolling meadow land, 
 where three or four of Captain Jabe's cows were 
 carefully selecting the edible portions of the herb- 
 age, and, having passed the crest of a rounded hill, 
 I found myself on the edge of a piec6 of woodland, 
 which seemed to be of considerable extent. This 
 suited my mood exactly, and I was soon following 
 the curves and bends of a rude roadway, in places 
 almost overgrown by vines and bushes, which led 
 me deeper and deeper into the shadowed recesses 
 of the woods. It was now about four o'clock in 
 the afternoon. The sun was still well up, and out 
 in the open the day was warm for an up-and-down- 
 hill stroll ; but here in the woods it was cool and 
 quiet, and the air was full of the pleasant summer 
 
FANTASY? 189 
 
 smells that come from the trees, the leaves, and 
 the very earth of the woods. 
 
 It was not long before I came upon a stream of 
 a character that somewhat surprised me. It was 
 not very wide, for at this spot the trees met above ' 
 it, darkening its waters with their quivering 
 shadows ; but it was evidently deep, much deeper 
 than the woodland streams of its size to which I 
 had been accustomed. I would have liked to cross 
 it and continue my walk, but I saw no way of get- 
 ting over. With a broken branch I sounded the 
 water near the shore, and found it over two feet 
 deep ; and as it was no doubt deeper toward the 
 middle, I gave up the idea of reaching the other 
 side. But as I had no particular reason for get- 
 ting over, especially as I should be obliged to get 
 back again, I contented myself easily with my 
 present situation, and, taking a seat on the up- 
 heaved root of a large tree, I lighted a cigar, and 
 gave myself up to the delights of this charming 
 solitude. I was glad to be away from everybody, 
 even from "Walkirk, the comp?aion I had chosen 
 for my summer journey. 
 
 There were insects gently buzzing in the soft 
 summer air ; on the other side of the stream, in a 
 spot unshadowed by the trees, the water was spar- 
 kling in the sunlight, and every little puff of the fit- 
 ful breeze brought to me the smeU of wild grapes, 
 from vines which hung from the trees so low that 
 they almost touched the water. It was very still 
 in these woods. I heard nothing but the gently 
 rustling leaves, the faint buzzing in the air, and an 
 
190 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 occasional tiny splash made by some small fish 
 skimming near the surface of the stream. When 
 I sat down on the root of the tree, I intended to 
 think, reflect, make plans, determine what I should 
 do next ; but I did nothing of the sort. I simply 
 sat and drank in the loveliness of this woodland 
 scene. 
 
 The stream curved away from me on either hand, 
 and the short stretch of it which I could see to the 
 left seemed to come out of the very heart of the 
 woods. Suddenly I heard in this direction a faint 
 regular sound in the water, as if some animal were 
 swimming. I could not see anything, but as the 
 sounds grew stronger I knew that it must be ap- 
 proaching. I did not know much of the aquatic 
 animals in this region; perhaps it might be an 
 otter, a muskrat, I knew not what. But, whatever 
 it was, I wanted to see it, and, putting down my 
 cigar, I slipped softly behind the tree at whose 
 foot I had been sitting. 
 
 Now the swimming object was in view, coming 
 rapidly toward me down the middle of the stream. 
 There was but little of it above the water, and the 
 shadows were so heavy that I could see nothing 
 but a dark point, with a bright ripple glancing 
 away from it on either side. Nearer and nearer it 
 came into the better lighted portion of the stream. 
 It was not a small animal. The ripples it made 
 were strong, and ran out in long lines ; its strokes 
 were vigorous ; the head that I saw grew larger 
 and larger. Steadily it came on ; it reached the 
 spot in the clear light ot the sun. It was the head 
 
FANTASY? 191 
 
 of a human swimmer. On the side nearest me, I 
 could see, under the water, the strokes of a dark- 
 clad arm. Above the water was only a face, turned 
 toward me and upward. A mass of long hair 
 swept away from it, its blue eyes gazed dreamily 
 into the treetops; for a moment the sunbeams 
 touched its features. My heart stopped beating, — 
 it was the face of Sylvia. 
 
 Another stroke and it had passed into the 
 shadow. The silvery ripples came from it to me, 
 losing themselves against the shore. It passed on 
 and on, away from me. I made one step from be- 
 hind the tree ; then suddenly stopped. On went 
 the head and upturned face, touched once more by 
 a gleam of light, and then it disappeared around a 
 little bluff crowned with a mass of shrubbery and 
 vines. I listened, breathless ; the sounds of the 
 strokes died away. AU was still again. 
 
 For some minutes I stood, bewildered, dazed, 
 doubting whether I had been awake or dreaming. 
 My mind could not grasp what had happened, — 
 even my imagination could not help me. But one 
 thing I knew : whether this had all been real, or 
 whether it had been a dream, I had seen the face 
 of Sylvia. This I knew as I knew I lived. 
 
 Slowly I came away, scarcely knowing how I 
 walked or where I emerged from the woods, and 
 crossed the open country to the house of Captain 
 Jabe. 
 
XXX. 
 
 A DISCOVERT. 
 
 I FOUND the quilting party at supper. I could 
 see them through the open windows of the large 
 living-room, and I heard their chatter and laughing 
 when I was still a considerable distance from the 
 house. With my mind quivering with the emo- 
 tions excited by what had happened in the woods, 
 it was impossible for me to join a party like 
 this. I walked around the barn and into a little 
 orchard, where, between two gnarled apple-trees, 
 there hung an old hammock, into which I threw 
 myself. 
 
 There I lay, piling conjecture and supposition 
 high upon each other ; but not at all could I con- 
 jecture how it was that the face which I had last 
 seen in my own home, under the gray bonnet of a 
 sister of Martha, should flash upon my vision in 
 this far-away spot, and from the surface of a wood- 
 land stream. 
 
 It was growing dusky, when I heard a loud 
 whistle, and my name was called. I whistled in 
 return, and in a few moments Walkirk came run- 
 ning to me. 
 
 " I was beginning to get frightened," he said. 
 "I have been looking everywhere for you. We 
 
A DISCOVERY, 193 
 
 have had supper, and the party is breaking up. 
 There is no moon to-night, and the people must 
 start early for their homes." 
 
 " Let them all get away," I replied ; " and when 
 they are entirely out of sight and hearing let me 
 know, and I '11 go in to supper." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Walkirk, hesitating, " that 
 they will not like that. You know these country 
 people are very particular about leave-taking, and 
 all that sort of thing." 
 
 " I can't help it," I answered. " I don't feel at 
 all like seeing people at present. You can go and 
 bid them good-by in my name." 
 
 " As an under-study ? " said he, smiling. " Well, 
 if I can tell them you are out of condition and not 
 feeling like yourself, that will make it all right, 
 and will also explain why you kept yourself away 
 all the afternoon." With this he left me, promis- 
 ing to return when the guests had departed. It 
 was a long time before he came back, and it was 
 then really dark. 
 
 " Your supper is awaiting you," he announced, 
 " and I am afraid that Mrs. Jabe is contemplating 
 a hot footbath and some sort of herb tea ; and we 
 ought to turn in pretty early to-night, for Captain 
 Jabe has announced that he will sail between four 
 and five o'clock in the morning." 
 
 " Walkirk," said I, sitting up in the hammock, 
 " I have no intention of sailing to-morrow. I pre- 
 fer to stay here for a time ; I don't know for how 
 long." 
 
 " Stay here ! " exclaimed Walkirk. " What on 
 
194 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 earth can you do here ? "What possible attraction 
 can this place have ? " 
 
 " My good "Walkirk," I said, rising and walking 
 toward the house, " I am here, and here I want to 
 stay. Reasons are the most awkward things in the 
 world. They seldom fit ; let us drop them. Per- 
 haps, if Captain and Mrs. Jabe think I did not 
 treat their company with proper courtesy, they 
 may feel that I am making amends by desiring 
 to stay with them. Any way, I am going to 
 stay." 
 
 Captain Jabe and his wife were very much sur- 
 prised when I announced my intention of remain- 
 ing at their place for a day or two longer, but, as 
 I had surmised, they were also flattered. 
 
 " This is a quiet place," said the captain, " but 
 as ye ain't very well, and seem to like to keep to 
 yerself , I don't see why it should n't suit ye. 
 There 's plenty o' good air, and fishin' if ye want 
 it, and we can accommodate ye and give ye plenty 
 to eat. I shall be back to-morrow night, and ex- 
 pect to stay home over Sunday myself." 
 
 Walkirk was very much dissatisfied, and made a 
 strong attempt to turn me from my purpose. " If 
 you intend to do anything in regard to Miss Ray- 
 nor," he said, " I really think you ought to get 
 home as soon as you can. Mother Anastasia is 
 now having everything her own way, you know." 
 
 " Walkirk," said I, " you blow hot and cold. If 
 it had not been for you, I should be home this 
 minute ; but you dissuaded me from a hot chase 
 after Mother Anastasia, and now my ardor for the 
 
A DISCOVERY. 195 
 
 chase has cooled, and I am quite inclined to let 
 that sport wait." 
 
 Walkirk looked at me inquiringly. It was evi- 
 dent that he did not understand my mood. 
 
 The next morning I found myself in a quandary, 
 I had determined to make a long tramp inland, 
 and if necessary to ford or swim streams, and I 
 could not determine whether or not it would be 
 wise to take Walkirk with me. I concluded at 
 last to take him ; it would be awkward to leave 
 him behind, and he might be of use. We pro- 
 vided ourselves with fishing rods and tackle and 
 two pairs of wading-boots, as well as with a luncheon 
 basket, well filled by Mrs. Jabe, and started on 
 our expedition. I felt in remarkably good spirits. 
 
 I had formed no acceptable hypothesis in regard 
 to what I had seen the day before, but I was go- 
 ing to do something better than that ; I was going 
 to find out if what had occurred could possibly 
 be real and actual. If I should be convinced that 
 this was impossible, then I intended to accept the 
 whole affair as a dream which had taken place 
 during an unconscious nap. 
 
 When we reached the woodland stream, Wal- 
 kirk gazed about him with satisfaction. " This 
 looks like sport," he said. " I see no reason why 
 there should not be good fishing in this creek. I 
 did not suppose we should find such pleasant woods 
 and so fine a stream in Captain Jabe's neighbor- 
 hood." 
 
 " You must know," said I, " that I have a talent 
 for exploration and discovery. Had it not been 
 
196 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 for this stream, I should not have thought of such 
 a thing as allowing Captain Jabe and Abner to 
 sail off by themselves this morning." 
 
 " Really," replied Walkirk, " you care much 
 more for angling than I supposed." 
 
 Truly I cared very little for angling, but I had 
 discovered that Walkirk was an indefatigable and 
 patient fisherman. I had intended that he should 
 cross the stream with me, but it now occurred to 
 me that it would be far better to let him stay on 
 this side, while I pursued my researches alone. 
 Accordingly I proposed that he should fish in the 
 part of the stream which I had seen the day be- 
 fore, while I pressed on farther. " In this way," 
 I remarked artfully, " we shall not interfere with 
 each other." Had I supposed that there was the 
 slightest possibility of the appearance on the stream 
 of the apparition of the day before, I should have 
 requested Walkirk to fish from the top of a dis- 
 tant tree. But I had no fears on this score. If 
 what I had seen had been a phantasm, my under- 
 study would have to doze to see it, and I knew he 
 would not do that ; and if what I had seen was 
 real, it would not appear this morning, for the 
 water was too low for swimming. The creek, as I 
 now perceived, was affected by the tide, and its 
 depth was very much less than on the preceding 
 afternoon. 
 
 I turned to the right, and followed the stream 
 for some distance ; now walking by its edge, and 
 now obliged, by masses of undergrowth, to make 
 a detour into the woods. At last I came to a 
 
A DISCOVERT. 197 
 
 spot where the stream, although wide, appearec^ 
 shallow. In fact, even in the centre I could see 
 the stones at the bottom. I therefore put on my 
 wading-boots and boldly crossed. The woods here 
 were mostly of pine, free from undergrowth, and 
 with the ground softened to the foot by a thick 
 layer of pine needles. 
 
 Now that I was on the other side of the creek, 
 I desired to make my way out of the woods, which 
 could not, I imagined, be very extensive. To dis- 
 cover a real basis for yesterday's vision, I believed 
 that it would be necessary to reach open coun- 
 try. Leaving the stream behind me, it was not 
 long before I came to a rude pathway ; and al- 
 though this seemed to follow the general direction 
 of the creek, I determined to turn aside from the 
 course I was taking and follow it. After walking 
 for nearly a mile, sometimes seeing the waters of 
 the stream, and sometimes entirely losing sight of 
 them, I found the path making an abrupt turn, 
 and in a few minutes was out of the woods. 
 
 The country before me was very much like that 
 about Captain Jabe's residence. There were low 
 rolling hills covered with coarse grass and ragged 
 shrubbery, with here and there a cluster of trees. 
 Not a sign of human habitation was in sight. 
 Reaching the top of a small hill, I saw at my right, 
 and not very far before me, a wide expanse of 
 water. This I concluded must be the bay, al- 
 though I had not expected to see it in this direc- 
 tion. 
 
 I went down the hill toward the shore. " If 
 
198 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 what I seek is in reality," I said to myself, " it will 
 naturally love to live somewhere near the water." 
 Near the beach I struck a path again, and this I 
 followed, my mind greatly agitated by the thoughts 
 of what I might discover, as well as by the fear 
 that I might discover nothing. 
 
 After a walk of perhaps a quarter of an hour I 
 stopped suddenly. I had discovered something. 
 I looked about me, utterly amazed. I was on the 
 little beach which the Sand Lady had assigned to 
 Walkirk and me as a camping ground. 
 
 I sat down, vainly endeavoring to comprehend 
 the situation. Out of the mass of wild supposi- 
 tions and conjectures which crowded themselves 
 into my mind there came but one conviction, and 
 with that I was satisfied : Sylvia was here. 
 
 It mattered not that the Sand Lady had said 
 that hers was the only house upon the island ; it 
 mattered not that Captain Jabe had said nothing 
 of his neighbor ; in truth, nothing mattered. One 
 sister of the House of Martha had come to this 
 place ; why not another ? What I had seen in the 
 woods had been no fantasy. Sylvia was here. 
 
XXXI. 
 
 TAKING UP UNFINISHED WORK. 
 
 My reasons for believing that Sylvia was on 
 this island were circumstantial, it is true, but to 
 me they were entirely conclusive, and the vehement 
 desire of my soul was to hasten to the house and 
 ask to see her. But I did not feel at all sure that 
 this would be the right thing to do. The circum- 
 stances of this case were unusual. Sylvia was a 
 sister of a religious house. It was not customary 
 for gentlemen to call upon such sisters, and the 
 lady who was the temporary custodian of this one 
 might resent such an attempt. 
 
 It was, however, impossible for me entirely to 
 restrain my impulses, and without knowing exactly 
 what I intended to do I advanced toward the 
 house. Very soon I saw its chimneys above the 
 trees which partly surrounded it. Then, peeping 
 under cover of a thicket, I went still nearer, so 
 that, if there had been any people in the surround- 
 ing grounds, I could have seen them ; but I saw 
 no one, and I sat down on a log and waited. It 
 shamed me to think that I was secretly watching 
 a house, but despite the shame I continued to sit 
 and watch. 
 
 There was the flutter of drapery on a little 
 
200 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 porch. My heart beat quickly, my eyes were fixed 
 upon the spot ; but nothing appeared except a 
 maid who brought out some towels, which she 
 hung on a bush to dry. Then again I watched 
 and watched. 
 
 After a time four people came out from the 
 house, two of them carrying colored parasols. I 
 knew them instantly. There was the Middle- Aged 
 Man of the Sea, and his friend the Shell Man ; 
 and there was the Sand Lady, and my enemy who 
 called herself a 'Person. They went off toward 
 the little pier. Sylvia was not with them, nor did 
 she join them. They entered their boat and sailed 
 away. They were going fishing, as was their cus- 
 tom. The fact that Sylvia was not with them, and 
 that no one of them had stayed behind to keep her 
 company, caused my heart to fall. In cases like 
 mine, it takes very little to make the heart fall. 
 The thought forced itself into my mind that per- 
 haps, after all, I had seen a vision, and had been 
 building theories on dreams. 
 
 Suddenly the shutter of an upper window 
 opened, and I saw Sylvia ! 
 
 It was truly Sylvia. She was dressed in white, 
 not gray. Her hair was massed upon her head. 
 There was no gray bonnet. She looked up at the 
 sky, then at the trees, and withdrew. 
 
 My heart was beating as fast as it pleased. My 
 face was glowing, and shame had been annihi- 
 lated. I sat and watched. Presently a door 
 opened, and Sylvia came out. 
 
 Now I rose to my feet. I must go to her. It 
 
TAKING UP UNFINISHED WOEK. 201 
 
 misflit not be honorable to take her at this disad- 
 vantage, but there are moments when even honor 
 must wait for a decision upon its case. However, 
 there was no necessity for my going to Sylvia ; 
 she was coming to me. 
 
 As she walked directly to the spot where I stood, 
 I saw Sylvia as I had seen her in my day-dreams, 
 — a beautiful girl, dressed as a beautiful girl 
 should dress in summer time. In one hand she 
 carried a portfolio, in the other a little leathern 
 case. As she came nearer, I saw that she was 
 attired exactly as Mother Anastasia had been 
 dressed when I met her here. Nearer she came, 
 but still she did not see me. I was not now con- 
 cealed, but her eyes seemed fixed upon the path in 
 which she was walking. 
 
 When she was within a hundred feet of the 
 thicket through which her path would lead, I ad- 
 vanced to meet her. I tried to appear cool and 
 composed, but I am afraid my success was slight. 
 As for Sylvia, she stopped abruptly, and dropped 
 her leathern case. I think that at first she did 
 not recognize me, and was on the point of scream- 
 ing. Suddenly to come upon a man in the midst 
 of these solitudes was indeed startling. 
 
 Quickly, however, I made myself known, and 
 her expression of fright changed to one of amaze- 
 ment. I am happy to say that she took the hand 
 I offered her, though she seemed to have no words 
 with which to return my formal greeting. In cases 
 like this, the one who amazes should not impose 
 upon the amazed one the necessity of asking ques* 
 
202 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA 
 
 tions, but should begin immediately to explain the 
 situation. 
 
 This I did. I told Sylvia how I had been ac- 
 cidentally brought to Captain Jabe's house, how 
 I had strolled off in this direction, and how de- 
 lighted I was to meet her here. In all this I was 
 careful not to intimate that I had suspected her 
 presence in this region. While speaking, I tried 
 hard to think what I should say when she should 
 remark, " Then you did not know I was here ? " 
 But she did not niake this remark. She looked at 
 me with a little puzzled wrinkle on her brow, and 
 said, with a smile : — 
 
 " It is absolutely wonderful that you should be 
 here, and I should not know it ; and that I should 
 be here, and you should not know it." 
 
 Ever since my meeting with Mother Anastasia 
 it had been my purpose, as soon as I could find or 
 make an opportunity, to declare to Sylvia my love 
 for her. Apart from my passionate yearning in 
 this direction, I felt that what I had done and at- 
 tempted to say when I had parted from my secre- 
 tary made it obligatory on me, as a man of honor, 
 to say more, the moment I should be able to do so. 
 
 Now the opportunity had come ; now we were 
 alone together, and I was able to pour out before 
 her the burning words which so often, in my hours 
 of reverie, had crowded themselves upon my mind. 
 The fates had favored me as I had had no reason 
 to expect to be favored, but I took no advantage 
 of this situation. I spoke no word of love. I 
 cannot say that Sylvia's demeanor cooled my af- 
 
TAKING UP UNFINISHED WOBK. 203 
 
 fectiou, but I can say that it cooled my desire for 
 instantaneous expression of it. After her first 
 moments of astonishment, her mind seemed en- 
 tirely occupied with the practical unraveling of the 
 problem of our meeting. I endeavored to make 
 this appear a very commonplace affair. It was 
 quite natural that my companion and I should 
 come together to a region which he had before 
 visited. 
 
 "Yes," said she, "I suppose all out-of-the-way 
 things can be made commonplace, if one reasons 
 long enough. As for me, of course it is quite 
 natural that, needing a change from the House of 
 Martha, I should come to my mother's island." 
 
 " Your mother I " I stammered. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. "Mrs. Eaynor, who 
 spends her summers in that house over there, is 
 my mother. Her brother is here, too, and she has 
 some friends with her. Mother Anastasia was 
 away recently on a little jaunt, and when she came 
 back she said that I looked tired and wan, and 
 that I ought to go to my mother's for a fort- 
 night. So I came. That was all simple enough, 
 you see." 
 
 Simple enough! Could anything be more ex- 
 traordinary, more enigmatical? I did not know 
 what to say, what course to pursue ; but in the 
 midst of my surprise I had sense enough to see 
 that, until I knew more, the less I said the better. 
 Sylvia did not know that I had visited her mo- 
 ther's island and her mother's house. It is pos- 
 sible that she did not know that Mother Anastasia 
 
204 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 had been here. I must decide whether or not I 
 would enlighten her on these points. My dispo- 
 sition was to be perfectly open and frank with 
 her, and to be thus I must enlighten her. But I 
 waited, and in answer to her statement merely told 
 her how glad I was that she had a vacation and 
 such a delightful place to come to. She did not 
 immediately reply, but stood looking past me over 
 the little vale beyond us. 
 
 " Well, here I am," she said presently, " and in 
 a very different dress from that in which you used 
 to see me ; but for all that, I am still a sister of 
 the House of Martha, and so " — 
 
 " So what ? " I interrupted. 
 
 " I suppose I should go back to the house," she 
 answered. 
 
 Now I began to warm up furiously. 
 
 " Don't think of it ! " I exclaimed. " Now that 
 I have met you, give me a few moments of your 
 time. Let me see you as you are, free and undis- 
 guised, like other women, and not behind bars or 
 in charge of old Sister Sarah." 
 
 " Was n't she horrid ? " said Sylvia. 
 
 " Indeed she was," I replied ; " and now cannot 
 you walk a little with me, or shall we sit down 
 somewhere and have a talk ? " 
 
 She shook her head. " Even if mother and the 
 rest had not gone away in the boat, I could not do 
 that, you know." 
 
 If she persisted in her determination to leave 
 me, she should know my love in two minutes. But 
 I tried further persuasion. 
 
TAKING UP UNFINISHED WOBK. 205 
 
 " We have spent hours together," I said ; " why 
 not let me make you a little visit now ? " 
 
 Still she gently shook her head, and looked 
 away. Suddenly she turned her face toward me. 
 Her blue eyes sparkled, her lips parted, and there 
 was a flush upon her temples. 
 
 " There is one thing I would dearly like," she 
 said, " and I think I could stay for that. Will 
 you finish the story of Tomaso and Lucilla ? " 
 
 " I shall be overjoyed to do it ! " I cried, in a 
 state of exultation. " Come, let us sit over there 
 in the shade, at the bottom of this hill, and I will 
 tell you all the rest of that story." 
 
 Together we went down the little slope. 
 
 "You can't imagine," she said, "how I have 
 longed to know how all that turned out. Over 
 and over again I have finished the story for my- 
 self, but I never made a good ending to it. It 
 was not a bit like hearing it from you." 
 
 I found her a seat on a low stone near the trunk 
 of a tree, and I sat upon the ground near by, while 
 my soul bounded up like a loosened balloon. 
 
 " Happy thought ! " she exclaimed. " I came 
 out here to write letters, not caring for fishing, 
 especially in boats ; how would you like me to 
 write the rest of the story from your dictation ? " ^ 
 
 Like it ! I could scarcely find words to tell her 
 how I should like it. 
 
 " Very well, then," said she, opening her port- 
 folio and taking out some sheets of paper. " My 
 inkstand is in that case which you picked up; 
 please give it to me, and let us begin. Now this 
 
206 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 is a very different affair. I am finishing the work 
 which the House of Martha set me to do, and I 
 assure you that I have been very much dissatisfied 
 because I have been obliged to leave it unfinished. 
 Please begin." 
 
 " I cannot remember at this moment,'* I said, 
 " where we left off." 
 
 " I can tell you exactly," she answered, " just 
 as well as if I had the manuscript before me. To- 
 maso held Lucilla by the hand ; the cart was ready 
 in which he was to travel to the sea-coast ; they 
 were calling him to hurry ; and he was trying to 
 look into her face, to see if he should tell her 
 something that was in his heart. You had not 
 yet said what it was that was in his heart. There 
 was a chance, you know, that it might be that he 
 felt it necessary for her good that the match should 
 be broken off." 
 
 "How did you arrange this in the endings you 
 made ? " I asked. " Did you break off the 
 match ? " 
 
 " Don't let us bother about my endings," she 
 said. " I want to know yours." 
 
xxxii; 
 
 TOMASO AND LUCILLA. 
 
 On this happy morning, sitting in the shade 
 with Sylvia, I should have much preferred to talk 
 to her of herself and of myself than to dictate the 
 story of the Sicilian lovers ; but if I would keep 
 her with me I must humor her, at least for a time, 
 and so, as well as I could, I began my story. 
 
 The situation was, however, delightful : it was 
 charming to sit and look at Sylvia, her portfolio 
 in her lap, pen in hand, and her blue eyes turned 
 toward me, anxiously waiting for me to speak ; it 
 was so enchanting that my mind could with diffi- 
 culty be kept to the work in hand. But it would 
 not do to keep Sylvia waiting. Her pen began to 
 tap impatiently upon the paper, and I went on. 
 We had written a page or two when she inter- 
 rupted me. 
 
 " It seems to me,'* she said, " that if Tomaso 
 really starts for Naples it will be a good while be- 
 fore we get to the end of the story. So far as I 
 am concerned, you know, I would like the story 
 just as long as you choose to make it ; but we 
 have n't very much time, and it would be a dread- 
 ful disappointment to me if I should have to go 
 away before the story is ended." 
 
208 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " Why do you feel in a hurry ? " I asked. " If 
 we do not finish this morning, cannot I come to 
 you to-morrow ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed," she answered. "It's only 
 by the merest chance, you know, that I am writing 
 for you this morning, and I could n't do it again. 
 That would be impossible. In fact, I want to get 
 through before the boat comes back. Not that I 
 should mind mother, for she knows that I used to 
 write for you, and I could easily explain how I 
 came to be doing • it now ; and I should not care 
 about Uncle or Mr. Heming ; but as for Miss 
 Laniston, — that is the lady who is visiting us, — 
 I would not have her see me doing this for any- 
 thing in the world. She hates the House of Mar- 
 tha, although she used to be one of its friends, 
 and I know that she would like to see me leave 
 the sisterhood. She ridicules us whenever she 
 has a chance, and to see me here would be simply 
 nuts to her." 
 
 " Is she a bad-tempered lady ? " I asked. " Do 
 you know her very weU ? Could you trust her in 
 regard to anything important ? " 
 
 " Oh, I know her well enough," said Sylvia. 
 " She has always been a friend of the family. 
 She is wonderfully weU educated, and knows every- 
 thing, and has never married, and travels all about 
 by herself, and is just as independent as she can 
 be. She has very strong opinions about things, 
 and does n't hesitate to tell you them, no matter 
 whether she thinks you like it or not. I have no 
 doubt she is perfectly trustworthy and honorable, 
 
TOMASO AND LUCILLA. 209 
 
 and all that ; but if you knew her, I do not think 
 you would like her, and you can easily see why I 
 should n't want her to see me doing this. It 
 would give her a chance for no end of sneers at 
 the work of the sisters." 
 
 " Has she never said anything about your acting 
 as my amanuensis ? " I asked. 
 
 " No, indeed," replied Sylvia. " You may be 
 sure she never heard of that, or she would have 
 made fun enough of it." 
 
 It was impossible for me to allow this dear girl 
 to remain longer in ignorance of the true state of 
 affairs. 
 
 " Miss Raynor," I said, — how I longed to say 
 " Sylvia " ! — " I am ashamed that I have allowed 
 you to remain as long as this under a misunder- 
 standing, but in truth I did not understand the 
 case myseK. I did not know that the lady of this 
 house was your mother, but I have met her, and 
 have been kindly entertained by her. I did not 
 know Miss Laniston's name, but I have also met 
 her, and talked to her about you, and she knows 
 you used to write for me, and I do not hke her." 
 
 Sylvia answered not a word, but, as she sat and 
 looked at me with wide-open eyes, I told her what 
 had happened since my companion and I had 
 landed at Racket Island. I omitted only my con- 
 fidences to Mother Anastasia and Miss Laniston. 
 
 "Mother Anastasia has been here," repeated 
 Sylvia, " and she never told me ! That surpasses 
 aU. And mother never mentioned that you had 
 been here, nor did any one." She gazed stead- 
 
210 THE HOUSE OF MAETHA. 
 
 fastly upon the ground, a little pale, and presently 
 she said, " I think I understand it, but it need not 
 be discussed ; " and, closing her portfolio, she rose 
 to her feet. 
 
 " Sylvia," I exclaimed, springing up and step- 
 ping nearer to her, " it must be discussed ! Ever 
 since I parted from you at the window of your 
 writing-room I have been yearning to speak to you. 
 I do not understand the actions of your family and 
 friends, but I do Jinow that those actions were on 
 your account and on mine. They knew I loved 
 you. I have not in the least concealed the fact 
 that I loved you, and I hoped, Sylvia, that you 
 knew it." 
 
 She stood, her closed portfolio in one hand, her 
 pen in the other, her eyes downcast, and her face 
 grave and quiet. "I cannot say," she answered 
 presently, " that I knew it, although sometimes I 
 thought it was so, but other times I thought it 
 was not so. I was almost sure of it when you took 
 leave of me at the window, and tried to kiss my 
 hand, and were just about to say something which 
 I knew I ought not to stay and hear. It was when 
 thinking about that morning, in fact, — and I 
 thought about it a great deal, — that I became 
 convinced I must act very promptly and earnestly 
 in regard to my future life, and be true to the 
 work I had undertaken to do ; and for this reason 
 it was that I solemnly vowed to devote the rest of 
 my life to the House of Martha, to observe all its 
 rules and do its work." 
 
 " Sylvia," I gasped, " you cannot keep this vow. 
 
TOMASO AND LUCILLA. 211 
 
 When you made it you did not know I loved you. 
 It cannot hold. It must be set aside." 
 
 She looked at me for a moment, and then her 
 eyes again fell. " Do not speak in that way," she 
 said ; "it is not right. Of course I was not sure 
 that you loved me, but I suspected it, and this was 
 the very reason why I took my vow." 
 
 " It is plain, then," I exclaimed bitterly, " that 
 you did not love me ; otherwise you would never 
 have done that ! " 
 
 " Don't you think," said she, " that considering 
 the sisterhood to which I belong, we have already 
 talked too much about that ? " 
 
 If she had exhibited the least emotion, I think 
 I should have burst out into supplications that she 
 would take the advice of her Mother Superior ; 
 that she would listen to her friends ; that she would 
 do anything, in fact, which would cause her to 
 reconsider this step, which condemned me to mis- 
 ery and her to a life for which she was totally un- 
 fitted, — a career in her case of such sad misuse of 
 every attribute of mind and body that it wrung my 
 heart to think of it. But she stood so quiet, so 
 determined, and with an air of such gentle firm- 
 ness that words seemed useless. In truth, they 
 would not come to me. She opened her portfolio. 
 
 " I will give you these sheets that I have writ- 
 ten," she said ; " by right they belong to you. I 
 am sorry the story was interrupted, for I very 
 much want to hear the end of it, and now I never 
 shaU." 
 
 I caught at a straw. " Sylvia," I cried, " let us 
 
212 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 sit down and finish the story ! We can surely do 
 that. Come, it is all ready in my mind. I will 
 dictate rapidly." 
 
 She shook her head. " Hardly," she answered, 
 "after what has been said. Here are your 
 
 I took the pages she handed me, because she 
 had written them. 
 
 " Sylvia," I exclaimed, " I shall finish that story, 
 and you shall hear it ! This I vow." 
 
 " I am going now," she responded. " Good-by." 
 
 " Sylvia," I cried, quickly stepping after her as 
 she moved away, " will you not say more than 
 that ? Will you not even give me your hand ? " 
 
 " I will do that," she replied, stopping, " if you 
 will promise not to kiss it." 
 
 I took her hand, and held it a few moments 
 without a word. Then she gently withdrew it. 
 
 " Good-by again," she said. " I don't want you 
 to forget me ; but when you think of me, always 
 think of me as a sister of the House of Martha." 
 
 As I stood looking after her, she rapidly walked 
 toward the house, and I groaned while thinking I 
 had not told her that if she ever thought of me 
 she must remember I loved her, and would love 
 her to the end of my life. But in a moment I was 
 glad that I had not said this ; after her words to 
 me it would have been unmanly, and, besides, I 
 knew she knew it. 
 
 When I lost sight of her in the grove by the 
 house, I turned and picked up the pages of the 
 story of Tomaso and Lucilla, which I had dropped. 
 
TOMASO AND LUCILLA. 213 
 
 In doing so I saw her inkstand, with its open case 
 near by it, on the ground by the stone on which 
 she had been sitting. I put the inkstand in its 
 case, closed it, and stood for some minutes holding 
 it and thinking ; but I did not carry it away with 
 me as a memento. Drawing down a branch of the 
 tree, I hung the little case securely by its handles 
 to a twig, where it would be in full view of any 
 one walking that way. 
 
XXXIII. 
 
 THE DISTANT TOPSAIL. 
 
 1 FOITND Walkirk still fishing near the place 
 where I had left him. 
 
 " I was beginning to be surprised at your long 
 absence," he said, " and was thinking of going to 
 look for you. Have you had good luck ? " 
 
 This was a hard question to answer. I smiled 
 grimly. "I have not been fishing," I answered. 
 " I have been dictating my story to my nun." 
 
 The rod dropped from the relaxed fingers of my 
 under-study, and he stood blankly staring at me, 
 and waiting for an explanation. I gave it. 
 
 Depressed as I was, I could not help feeling in- 
 terested in the variety of expressions which passed 
 over Walkirk's face, as I related what had hap- 
 pened since I had seen him. When I told him 
 how near we were to our old camp on the Sand 
 Lady's island, he was simply amazed ; his astonish- 
 ment, when he heard of the appearance of Sylvia 
 on the scene, was almost overpowered by his amuse- 
 ment, as I related how she and I had continued the 
 story of Tomaso and Lucilla, in the shade of the 
 tree. But when I informed him of Sylvia's deter- 
 mination to devote her life to the work of the 
 House of Martha, without regard to what I. told 
 
THE DISTANT TOPSAIL. 215 
 
 her of my love, he was greatly moved, and I am 
 sure sincerely grieved. 
 
 " This is too bad, too bad," he said. " I did not 
 expect it." 
 
 " Miss Raynor is young," I answered, " but the 
 strength and integrity of her soul are greater, and 
 her devotion to what she believes her duty is 
 stronger, than I supposed. Her character is 
 marked by a simple sincerity and a noble dignity 
 which I have never seen surpassed. I think that 
 she positively dislikes the life of the sisterhood, 
 but, having devoted herself to it, she will stand 
 firmly by her resolutions and her promise no mat- 
 ter what happens. As regards myself, I do not 
 suppose that her knowledge of my existence has 
 any influence on her, one way or the other. I 
 may have interested and amused her, but that is 
 all. If I had finished the Italian love-story I had 
 been telling her, I think she would have been sat- 
 isfied never to see me again." 
 
 Walkirk shook his head. " I do not believe 
 that," he said ; " her determination to rivet the 
 bonds which hold her to her sisterhood shows that 
 she was afraid of her interest in you; and if it 
 gave her reason to fear, it gives you reason to 
 hope." 
 
 " Put that in the past tense, please," I replied ; 
 " whatever it may have given, it gives nothing now. 
 To hope would be absurd." 
 
 " Mr. Vanderley," exclaimed Walkirk, " I 
 would not give up in that way. I am certain, 
 from what I know, that Miss Raynor's interest in 
 
216 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 you is plain not only to herself, but to her family 
 and friends ; and I tell you, sir, that sort of inter- 
 est cannot be extinguished by promises and resolu- 
 tions. If I were you, I would keep up the fight. 
 She is not yet a vowed sister." 
 
 " Walkirk," said I, offering him my hand^ " you 
 are a good fellow, and, although I cannot believe 
 what you say, I thank you for saying it." 
 
 It was now long past noon, and we were both 
 ready for the luncheon which we had brought with 
 us. Walkirk opened the basket, and as he ar- 
 ranged its contents on the broad napkin, which he 
 spread upon the grass, he ruminated. 
 
 " I think," he remarked, as we were eating, 
 "that I begin to understand the situation. At 
 first I could not reconcile the facts with the Sand 
 Lady's statement that no one lived on her island 
 but her family, but now I see that this creek must 
 make an island of her domain ; and so it is that, 
 although Captain Jabe is her neighbor, her state- 
 ment is entirely correct." 
 
 Having finished our meal, I lighted my pipe and 
 sat down under a tree, while Walkirk, with his rod, 
 wandered away along the bank of the stream. Af- 
 ter a while he returned, and proposed that we try 
 fishing near the eastern outlet of the creek, where, 
 as the tide was coming in, we might find better 
 sport, 
 
 " That will be a very good thing for you to do," 
 said I, " but I shall not fish. I am going to Mrs. 
 Raynor's house." 
 
 " Where ? " exclaimed Walkirk. 
 
THE DISTANT TOPSAIL, 217 
 
 " I am going to speak to Mrs. Eaynor," I an- 
 swered, "whom I have known only as the Sand 
 Lady, but whom I must now know as Sylvia's 
 mother. I have determined to act boldly and 
 openly in this matter. I have made suit to Mrs. 
 Kaynor's daughter. I have told other people of 
 the state of my affections, and I think I should 
 lose no time, having now the opportunity, in con- 
 ferring with Mrs. Raynor herself." 
 
 Walkirk's face was troubled. 
 
 " You do not approve of that ? " I asked. 
 
 " Since you ask me," he answered, " I must say 
 that I do not think it a wise thing to do. If I 
 properly understand Miss Raynor's character, her 
 mother knows that you are here ; and if she is will- 
 ing to have you visit her, under the circumstances, 
 she will make a sign. In fact, I now think that she 
 wiU make some sort of sign, by which you can see 
 how the land lies. Perhaps Mrs. Raynor is on 
 your side ; but I am afraid that if you should visit 
 the house where Miss Raynor is, it would set her 
 mother against you. I imagine she is a woman 
 who would not like that sort of thing." 
 
 "Walkirk," said I, "your reasoning is very 
 good ; but this is not a time to reason, — it is a 
 time to act ; and I am going to see Mrs. Raynor 
 this day." 
 
 " I hope it may aU turn out well," he replied, 
 and walked away gravely. 
 
 I did not start immediately for the Sand Lady's 
 house. For a long time I sat and thought upon 
 the subject of the approaching interview, planning 
 
218 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 and considering how I should plead my case, and 
 what I should answer, and how I should overcome 
 the difficulties which would probably be pointed 
 out to me. 
 
 At last, like many another man when in a simi- 
 lar predicament, I concluded to let circumstances 
 shape my plan of action, and set forth for Mrs. 
 Raynor's house. The walk was a long one, but I 
 turned in order to pass under the tree where I had 
 begun to dictate to Sylvia ; and glad I was that I 
 did so, for to the twig on which I had hung the 
 case containing her inkstand there was now at- 
 tached a half sheet of note paper. I ran to the 
 tree, eagerly seized the paper, and read these few 
 words that were written on it : — 
 
 " Thank you very much for taking such good 
 care of my little case." 
 
 "Now, then," said I to myself, proudly gazing 
 at these lines, " this is only a small thing, but the 
 girl who would write it, and who would expect me 
 to read it, must be interested in me. She believes 
 that I would not fail to come here again ; therefore 
 she believes in me. That is a great point." 
 
 For a moment I felt tempted to write something 
 in reply, and hang it on the tree twig. But I re- 
 frained ; what I would write to Sylvia must be 
 read by no one but herself. That tree was in a 
 very conspicuous position, and my tamest words to 
 her must not hang upon it. I carefully folded the 
 paper and put it in my pocket, and then, greatly 
 encouraged, walked rapidly to the house. 
 
 On the front piazza I found an elderly woman, 
 
THE DISTANT TOPSAIL. 219 
 
 with a broom. She knew me, for she had fre- 
 quently seen me during the time that I was en- 
 camped upon the island. She was now greatly 
 surprised at my appearance on the scene. 
 
 " Why, sir," she exclaimed, without waiting for 
 me to speak, " have you come back to your camp ? 
 It is too bad." 
 
 I did not like this salutation. But, making no 
 answer to it, I asked quickly, " Can I see Mrs. 
 Raynor ? " 
 
 " No, indeed," said she ; " they 've gone, every 
 one of them, and not an hour ago. What a pity 
 they did not know you were here ! " 
 
 " Gone ! " I cried. " Where ? " 
 
 " They 've gone off in their yacht for a cruise," 
 returned the woman. "The vessel has been at 
 Brimley for more than a week, being repaired, and 
 she got back this morning; and as she was all 
 ready to sail, they just made up their minds that 
 they 'd go off in her, for one of their little voyages 
 they are so fond of ; and off they went, in less than 
 two hours." 
 
 " How long do they expect to be gone ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Mrs. Raynor told me they would be away 
 probably for a week or two," the woman answered, 
 " and she would stop somewhere and telegraph to 
 me when she was coming back. Of course there 
 is n't any telegraph to this island, but when mes- 
 sages come to Brimley they send them over in a 
 boat." 
 
 Having determined to speak to Mrs. Raynor, 
 
220 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 and having set out to do so, this undertaking 
 appeared to me the most important thing in the 
 world, and one in which I must press forward, 
 without regard to obstacles of any kind. 
 
 " Are they going to any particular place ? " I 
 said. " Are they going to stop anywhere ? " 
 
 " There is only one place that I know of," she 
 answered, " and that 's Sanpritchit, over on the 
 mainland. They expect to stop there to get pro- 
 visions for the cruise, for there was but little here 
 that they could take with them. They wanted to 
 get there before dark, and I don't doubt but that, 
 with this wind, they '11 do it. If you '11 step to 
 this end of the piazza, sir, perhaps you can see 
 their topsail. I saw it just before you came, as 
 they were beginning to make the long tack." 
 
 " Yes, there it is," she continued, when we 
 reached the place referred to, from which a vast 
 stretch of the bay could be seen, " but not so much 
 of it as I saw just now." 
 
 " Their topsail ! " I ejaculated. 
 
 " Yes, sir," she said. " You can't see their 
 mainsail, because they are so far away, and it's 
 behind the water, in a manner." 
 
 I stood silent for a few minutes, gazing at the . 
 little ship. Suddenly a thought struck me. " Do 
 you think they will sail on Sunday ? " I asked. »t 
 
 " No, sir," she replied ; " Mrs. Raynor never 
 sails on Sunday. And that's why I wondered, 
 after they 'd gone, why they 'd started off on a 
 Saturday. They will have to lay up at Sanpritchit 
 all dav to-morrow ; and it seems to me it would 
 
THE DISTANT TOPSAIL. 221 
 
 have been a great deal pleasanter for them to stay- 
 here Sunday, and to have started on Monday. 
 There 's no church at Sanpritchit, or anything for 
 them to do, so far as I know, unless Miss Raynor 
 reads sermons to them, which she never did here, 
 though she 's a religious sister, which perhaps you 
 did n't know, sir." 
 
 " Sanpritchit over Sunday," I repeated to my- 
 self. 
 
 " It 's the greatest pity," said the woman, " that 
 they did n't know you and the other gentleman — 
 that is, if he is with you — were coming back to- 
 day, for I am sure they would have been glad to 
 take you with them. There's room enough on 
 that yacht, and will be more ; for Mr. Heming, the 
 gentleman that collects shells, is not coming back 
 with them. They are to put him off somewhere, 
 and he is going home. I have an idea, though I 
 wasn't told so, that Miss Raynor is not coming 
 back with the rest. She brought very little bag- 
 gage with her, but she took a lot of things on board 
 the yacht, and that looks as if she was n't coming 
 back. But, bless me, they went off in such a 
 hurry I did n't have time to ask questions." 
 
 I now turned to go, but the woman obliged me 
 to inform her that I had not come to camp on 
 the island, and that I was staying with Captain 
 Jabe. 
 
 "When they go off in this way," she said, 
 " they take the maids, and leave me and my hus- 
 band in charge ; and if you should fancy to come 
 here and camp again, I know that Mrs. Eaynor 
 
222 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 would wish me to make things as comfortable for 
 you as I can, which, too, I 'U be very glad to do." 
 I thanked her, and went away. " This good 
 woman," said I to myself, " is the person who 
 would have read my message to Sylvia, had I been 
 foolish enough to hang one to the twig of the 
 tree." 
 
XXXIV. 
 
 THE CENTEAL HOTEL. 
 
 Captain Jabez did not return until late that 
 Saturday evening ; but as soon as he set foot on 
 shore I went to him and asked him if he could, in 
 any way, get us to Sanpritchit that night, offering 
 to pay him liberally for the service. 
 
 " I 've got a sailboat," said he, " and ye 'd be 
 right welcome to- it if it was here ; but it ain't here. 
 I lent it to Captain Neal, of Brimley, having no 
 present use for it, and he won't bring it back till 
 next week some time. There 's a dory here, to be 
 sure; but Sanpritchit 's twenty-five miles away, 
 and that's too far to go in a dory, especially at 
 night. What 's your hurry ? " 
 
 " I have very important business in Sanpritchit," 
 I answered, " and if it is possible I must go there 
 to-night." 
 
 " Sanpritchit 's a queer place to have business 
 in," said Captain Jabe ; " and it 's a pity ye did n't 
 think of it this momin', when ye might have gone 
 with me and took the train to Barley, and there 's 
 a stage from there to Sanpritchit." 
 
 " Captain Jabez," said I, " as there seems to be 
 no other way for me to do this thing, I will pay 
 you whatever you may think the service worth, if 
 
224 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 you will take me to Sanpritchit in your grocery 
 boat, and start immediately. It will be slow work 
 traveling, I know, but I think we can surely get 
 there before morning." 
 
 The grocer-captain looked at me for a moment, 
 with his eyes half shut ; then he set down on the 
 pier a basket which had been hanging on his arm, 
 and, putting both hands in his pockets, stared 
 steadfastly at me. 
 
 " Do* you know," he remarked presently, " that 
 that 'ere proposition of yours puts me in mind of 
 a story I heard of a California man and a New 
 York man. The California man had come East 
 to spend the winter, and the New York man was 
 a business acquaintance o' his. The California 
 man called at the New York man's office before 
 business hours ; and when he found the New York 
 man had n't come down town yet, he went up town 
 to see him at his house. It was a mighty fine 
 house, and the New York man, being proud of it, 
 took the California man all over it. ' Look here,' 
 said the California man, ' what will you take for 
 this house, furniture and all, just as it stands ? ' 
 ' I '11 take a hundred and twenty thousand dollars,' 
 said the New York man. ' Does that include all 
 the odds and ends,' asked the California man, — 
 ' old magazines, umbrellas, needles and pins, empty 
 bottles, photographs, candlesticks, Japanese fans, 
 coal ashes, and all that kind of thing, that make a 
 house feel like a home ? My family 's comin' on 
 from California with nothin' but their clothes, and 
 I want a house they can go right into and feel at 
 
THE CENTRAL HOTEL. 225 
 
 home, even to the cold victuals for a beggar, if one 
 happens to come along.' ' If I throw in the odds 
 and ends, it will be one hundred and twenty-five 
 thousand,' said the New York man. ' That 's all 
 right,' said the California man, ' and my family 
 will arrive, with their clothes, on the train that 
 gets here at 6.20 this afternoon ; so if your family 
 can get out of the house before that time, I 'm 
 ready to pay the money, cash down.' ' All right,' 
 said the New York man, ' I '11 see that they do it.' 
 And at ten minutes after six the New York family 
 went out with their clothes to a hotel, and at 
 twenty minutes of seven the California family 
 came to the house with their clothes, and found 
 everything all ready for 'em, the servants havin' 
 agreed to stay at California wages. 
 
 " Now, then," continued Captain Jabez, " I don't 
 want to hurt nobody's feelin's, and I would n't 
 say one word that would make the smallest infant 
 think less of itseK than it did afore I spoke, but 
 it does strike me that that there proposition of 
 yours is a good deal like the California man's 
 offer to the New York man." 
 
 "Well," said I, "that turned out very well. 
 Each got what he wanted." 
 
 " Yes," replied Captain Jabez, " but this ain't 
 New York city. No, sir, not by a long shot. I 
 am just as willin' to accommodate a fellow-man, or 
 a fellow-woman, for that matter, as any reasonable 
 person is ; but if the President of the United 
 States, and Queen Victoria, and the prophet Isaiah 
 was to come to me of a Saturday night, after I 'd 
 
226 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 just got home from a week's work, and ask me to 
 start straight off and take them to Sanpritchit, I 'd 
 tell 'em that I 'd be glad to oblige 'em, but it could 
 n't be done : and that 's what I say to ye, sir, — 
 neither more nor less." And with this he picked 
 up his basket and went into the house. 
 
 I was not discouraged, however, and when the 
 captain came out I proposed to him that he should 
 take me to Sanpritchit the next day. 
 
 "No, sir," said he. "I never have sailed my 
 grocery boat oil Sunday, and I don't feel like be- 
 ginnin'." 
 
 I walked away, but shortly afterward joined him 
 on board his vessel, which he was just about to 
 leave for the night. 
 
 " Captain," I asked, " when does Sunday end in 
 this part of the country ? " 
 
 " Well, strictly speaking, it 's supposed to end 
 at sunset, or commonly at six o'clock." 
 
 " Very well," said I ; "if you will start with me 
 for Sanpritchit at six o'clock to-morrow evening, I 
 will pay you your price." 
 
 I made this offer in the belief that, with or- 
 dinary good fortune, we could reach our destina- 
 tion before the Raynor yacht weighed anchor on 
 Monday morning. 
 
 Captain Jabez considered the matter. "I am 
 going to Sanpritchit on Monday, any way," said 
 he ; " and if you 're in such a hurry to be there 
 the first thing in the morning, I 'd just as lieve 
 sail to-morrow evening at six o'clock as not." 
 
 It was not much after the hour at which some 
 
THE CENTRAL HOTEL. 227 
 
 people in that part of the country, when they have 
 a reason for it, still believe that Sunday comes to 
 an end, that the grocery boat left her pier with 
 Captain Jabez, Abner, Walkirk, and me on board. 
 There was nothing at all exhilarating in this ex- 
 pedition. I wanted to go rapidly, and I knew we 
 should go slowly. I had passed a dull day, wait- 
 ing for the time to start, and, to avoid thinking of 
 the slow progress we should make, 1 soon turned 
 in. 
 
 I woke very early, and went on deck. I do not 
 know that I can remember a more disagreeable 
 morning. It was day, but the sun was not up ; it 
 was not cloudy, but there was a filmy uncertainty 
 about the sky that was more unpleasant than the 
 clouds. The air was cold, raw, and oppressive. 
 There was no one on deck but Abner, and he was 
 at the wheel, which, on account of the grocery 
 store occupying so large a portion of the after part 
 of the vessel, was placed well forward. Only a 
 jib and mainsail were set, and as I came on deck 
 these were fluttering and sagging, as Abner care- 
 fully brought the vessel round. Now I saw that 
 we were floating slowly toward the end of a long 
 pier, and that we were going to land. 
 
 As I leaned over the side of the vessel, I did 
 not wonder that Captain Jabez thought San- 
 pritchit was not much of a place to do business in. 
 There were few houses, perhaps a dozen, scattered 
 here and there along a low shore, which rose, at 
 one end of the place, into a little bluff, behind 
 which I saw a mast or two. On the pier was a 
 
228 THE HOUSE OF MAETHA. 
 
 solitary man, and he was the only living being in 
 sight. It was that dreary time before breakfast, 
 when everything that seems cheerless is more cheer- 
 less, everything that is sad more sad, everything 
 that is discouraging more discouraging, and which 
 right-minded persons who are able to do so spend 
 in bed. 
 
 Gradually the vessel approached the pier, and 
 Abner, to whom I had not yet spoken, for I did 
 not feel in the least like talking, left the wheel, 
 and, as soon as he was near enough, threw a small 
 line to the man on the pier, who caught it, pulling 
 ashore a cable with a loop in the end, threw the 
 latter over a post, and in a few minutes the gro- 
 cery boat was moored. The man came on board, 
 and he and Abner went below. 
 
 It was too early to go on shore, for nothing 
 could be done at that bleak, unearthly hour ; but 
 I was in that state of nervous disquietude when 
 any change is a relief, and I stepped ashore. I 
 was glad to put my feet upon the pier. Now I 
 felt that I was my own master. It was too soon 
 to go on board the yacht, but I could regulate my 
 movements as I pleased, and was very willing to 
 be alone during the hour or two in which I must 
 remain inactive. 
 
 I walked over the loose and warped planks of 
 the pier, the dull water rippling and flopping 
 about the timbers beneath me, inhaling that faint 
 smell of the quiet water and soaked logs, which is 
 always a little dispiriting to me even at less dis- 
 piriting hours. The crowing of one or two cocks 
 
THE CENTRAL HOTEL. 229 
 
 made me understand how dreadfully still every- 
 thing was. The stillness of the very early morning 
 is quite different from that of the night. During 
 the latter people are asleep, and may be presumed 
 to be happy. In the former they are about to 
 wake up and be miserable. That, at least, was my 
 notion, as I walked into the little village. 
 
 Not a creature did I see ; not a sound did I 
 hear except my own footsteps. Presently I saw a 
 cat run around the corner of a house, and this was 
 a relief. I walked on past a wide space, in which 
 there were no houses, when I came to a small, ir- 
 regularly built white house, in front of which hung 
 a sign bearing the inscription " Central Hotel." 
 If anything could have made me more disgusted 
 with the world than I then was, it was this sign. 
 If the name of this miserable little country tavern 
 had been anything suitable to itseK and the place, 
 if it had been called The Plough and Harrow, The 
 Gray Horse, or even The Blue Devil, I think I 
 should have been glad to see it. A village inn 
 might have been a point of interest to me, but Cen- 
 tral Hotel in this mournful settlement of small 
 farmers and fishermen, — it was ridiculous ! 
 
 However, the door of the house was open, and 
 inside was a man sweeping the sanded floor. 
 When he saw me, he stopped his work and stared 
 at me. 
 
 " Good-mornin'," he said. " Don't often see 
 strangers here so airly. Did ye come on the gro- 
 cery boat ? I saw her puttin' in. Do ye want a 
 room ? Time for a good nap before breakfast." 
 
230 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 I answered that I did not want a room, but the 
 remark about breakfast made me feel that I should 
 like a cup of coffee, and perhaps I might get it 
 here. It might have been a more natural thing to 
 go back to the boat and ask Abner to make me 
 the coffee, but I did not want to go back to the 
 boat. I did not want to wake Walkirk. I did 
 not want to have him with me on shore. I did 
 not want to have him talk to me. My present 
 intention was to go to the yacht as soon as it was 
 reasonable to suppose that its passengers were 
 awake, to see Mrs. Raynor, and say to her what I 
 had to say. I did not feel in the proper spirit for 
 this ; but, in the spirit in which I found myself, 
 the less I was trammeled by advice, by suggestions 
 of prudence, and all that sort of thing, the better 
 it would be for me. So I was very glad that my 
 under-study was asleep on the grocery boat, and 
 hoped that he would remain in that condition until 
 I had had my talk with Sylvia's mother. 
 
 I put my request to the man and he smiled. 
 " Ye can't get no coffee," he said, " until break- 
 fast time, and that's pretty nigh two hours off. 
 There is people in the place that have breakfast 
 earlier than we do, but we keep boarders, ye know. 
 We 've only got Captain Fluke now, but generally 
 have more ; and ye could n't ask a man like Cap- 
 tain Fluke to git up to his breakfast before half 
 past seven. Then ye don't want yer baggage sent 
 fur ? Perhaps ye 've come ter see friends, an' it 's 
 a little airly ter drop in on 'em ? Come in, any 
 way, and take a seat." 
 
THE CENTRAL HOTEL. 231 
 
 I accepted the invitation. Sitting indoors might 
 possibly be less dreary than walking out-of-doors. 
 
 " Now I tell ye what ye ought to do," continued 
 the man. " Ye ought to take a nip of whiskey 
 with some bitters in it. It 's always kinder damp 
 airly in the mornin', and ye must feel it more, 
 bein' in a strange place. I 've always thought a 
 strange place was damper, airly in the mornin', 
 than a place ye 're used ter ; and there 's nothin' 
 like whiskey with a little bitters to get out damp- 
 ness." 
 
 I declined to partake of any Central Hotel 
 whiskey, adding that the one refreshment I now 
 needed was a cup of coffee. 
 
 " But there 's no fire in the kitchen," said he, 
 " and there won't be for ever so long. That 's 
 how whiskey comes in so handy ; don't have to 
 have no fire. Ye jes' pour it out and drink it, and 
 there 's the end of it." 
 
 " Not always," I remarked. 
 
 " Ye 're right there," said he, with a smile. " A 
 good deal depends on how much ye pour." He 
 turned away, but stopped suddenly. " Look here," 
 said he ; " if ye say so, I '11 make ye a cup of cof- 
 fee. I've got an alcohol lamp up there that I 
 can boil water with in no time. I 'm out of alco- 
 hol, but, if you '11 pay for it, I '11 fill the lamp 
 with whiskey ; that '11 burn just as well." 
 
 I willingly agreed to his proposition, and the 
 man immediately disappeared into the back part 
 of the house. 
 
 I sat and looked about the little bar-room, in 
 
232 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 which there was absolutely nothing of the quaint 
 interest which one associates with a country inn. 
 It was a bare, cold, hard, sandy, dirty room ; its 
 air tainted with the stale odors of whiskey, sugar, 
 and wood still wet from its morning mopping. In 
 less than fifteen minutes the man placed before 
 me a cup of coffee and some soda biscuit. The 
 coffee was not very good, but it was hot, and when 
 I had finished it I felt like another man. 
 
 " There now," cried the bar-keeper, looking at 
 me with great satisfaction, " don't that take the 
 dampness out of ye ? I tell ye there 's no such 
 stiffener in the airly mornin' as whiskey ; and if 
 ye don't use it in one way, ye can in another." 
 
 Truly the world seemed warmer and more cheer- 
 ful ; the sun was brighter. Perhaps now it was 
 not too early to go on board the yacht. At any 
 rate, I would go near where she lay, and judge 
 for myself. I made inquiries of the innkeeper in 
 regard to Mrs. Raynor's yacht. 
 
 " Yacht ! " he said. " There 's no yacht here." 
 
 " You must be mistaken ! " I cried. " A yacht 
 belonging to Mrs. Raynor sailed for Sanpritchit 
 on Saturday, and it was not to leave here until 
 this morning." 
 
 " Sanpritchit ! " he exclaimed. " This is not 
 Sanpritchit." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " I asked in amazement. 
 "That boat was bound direct for Sanpritchit." 
 
 " Captain Jabe's boat ? " said the man. ." Yes, 
 and so she is. She sails fur Sanpritchit every 
 Monday mornin', and generally stops here when 
 
THE CENTRAL HOTEL. 233 
 
 she 's got any freight ter leave fur the store, 
 though I never knowed her ter come so airly in the 
 mornin'." 
 
 " My conscience ! " I exclaimed. " I must get 
 on board of her." 
 
 " Aboard of her ! " said he. " She 's been gone 
 more 'n haK an hour. She don't often stop here 
 more 'n ten minutes, if she 's got the tide with her, 
 which she had this mornin', strong." 
 
XXXV. 
 
 MONEY MAKES THE MARE GO. 
 
 I RUSHED out of the Central Hotel, and looked 
 over the water, but I could see nothing of the gro- 
 cery boat : she had disappeared beyond the bluff, 
 behind which I had stupidly taken it for granted 
 Mrs. Raynor's yacht was lying. 
 
 " Oh, she 's clean gone," said the bar-keeper, who 
 had joined me, " an' she 's not likely to come back 
 ag'in' wind an' tide. They must have thought 
 you was asleep in your berth." 
 
 This was undoubtedly the truth, for there was 
 no reason to suppose that any one on the boat 
 knew I had gone on shore. 
 
 " Where can I get a boat to follow them ? " I 
 cried, 
 
 " Can't say exactly," said the man. " We 've 
 got a big catboat, but she 's on the stocks gettin' 
 a new stern post put in. You can see her mast 
 stickin' up over the bluff, there. I don't think 
 there's any other sailboat in the place jes' now, 
 and Captain Fluke 's havin' his fresh painted. I 
 told him it was a bad time o' the year to do it in ; 
 but he 's Captain Fluke, and that 's all there 's to 
 say about it. There 's rowboats ; but Sanpritchit 's 
 eight miles from here, and it 's a putty long pull 
 
MONEY MAKES THE MABE GO. 235 
 
 there and back, and I don't know anybody here 
 who 'd care to take it. If ye want to go to San- 
 pritchit, ye ought to go in a wagon. That 's lots 
 the easiest way." 
 
 " Where can I get a horse and vehicle ? " I 
 asked quickly, so much enraged with myself that 
 I was glad to have some one to direct my move- 
 ments. 
 
 " That 's more 'n I know, jes' this minute," said 
 the man ; " but if ye '11 step inside and sit down, 
 I '11 go and ask 'em at the store what they can do 
 fur ye. If it ain't open yet, I 'U know where ter 
 find 'em. If anybody comes along for a mornin' 
 drink, jes' tell 'em to wait a minute, and I '11 be 
 back." 
 
 In about fifteen or twenty minutes the bar- 
 keeper returned, and announced that I could not 
 hire the horse at the store, for one of his hind 
 shoes was off, and they wanted to use him any 
 way. He had asked two or three other people, 
 also, for the village was waking up by this time, 
 but none of them could let me have a horse. 
 
 " But I '11 tell ye what ye can do," said the man, 
 "if ye choose to wait here a little while. The 
 boss of this house went over to Stipbitts last night 
 to see his mother, and I expect him back putty 
 soon, and I guess he '11 let ye have his hoss. Ye 
 see the people about here ain't used to hiring 
 bosses, and we is. People as keeps hotels is ex- 
 pected to do it." 
 
 There was nothing for me to do but to wait for 
 the return of the landlord of Central Hotel ; and 
 
236 THE HOUSE OF MAETHA. 
 
 for very nearly an hour I walked up and down the 
 main street of that wretched little hamlet, the 
 name of which I neither heard nor asked, cursing 
 my own stupidity and the incapacity of the water- 
 side rustic. 
 
 When the " boss " arrived he was willing to let 
 me have his mare and his buckboard, and a boy to 
 drive me ; but the animal must be fed first, and 
 of course I would not start off without my break- 
 fast. As I had to wait, and the morning meal was 
 almost ready, I partook of it ; but the mare gave 
 a great deal more time to her breakfast than I 
 gave to mine. I hurried the preparations as much 
 as I could, and shortly after eight o'clock we 
 started. My little expedition had the features of 
 a useless piece of trouble, but I had carefully con- 
 sidered the affair, and concluded that I had a good 
 chance of success. Almost any horse could take 
 me eight miles in an hour and a half, even with 
 poor roads, and, from what I knew of the indus- 
 trial methods of this part of the country, I did not 
 believe that the necessary supplies would be put 
 on the yacht before half past nine : therefore, I 
 did not allow myself to doubt that I should reach 
 Sanpritchit in time to see Mrs. Kaynor. 
 
 The mare was a very deliberate traveler, and 
 the boy who sat beside me was an easily satisfied 
 driver. 
 
 " We must go faster than this," said I, after we 
 had reached what appeared to be a highroad, " or 
 I shall not get to Sanpritchit in time to attend to 
 my business there." 
 
MONEY MAKES THE MABE GO. 237 
 
 *' Ye can't drive a hoss too fast when ye first set 
 out," answered the boy. " Ye '11 hurt a hoss if ye 
 do that. After a little while she '11 warm up, and 
 then she '11 go better. Oh, she can go if she 's a 
 mind ter. She's a rattler when she really gets 
 goin'." 
 
 " I don't want her to rattle," said I ; " but what 
 is her ordinary rate of travel, — how many miles 
 an hour, do you suppose ? " 
 
 " Don't know as I ever counted," the boy said. 
 " Some miles she goes faster, and some miles she 
 goes slower. A good deal depends on whether it 's 
 uphill or downhill." 
 
 " Well," said I, taking out my watch, " we must 
 keep her up to six miles an hour, at least, and 
 then we shall do the eight miles by half past nine, 
 with something to spare." 
 
 " Eight miles ! " repeated the boy. " Eight 
 miles to where ? " 
 
 " Sanpritchit," replied I. " That 's what they 
 told me." 
 
 " Oh, that 's by water," said the driver ; " but 
 this road 's got to go around the end of the bay, 
 and after that 'way round the top of the big marsh, 
 and that makes it a good seventeen miles to San- 
 pritchit. Half past nine ! Why, the boss told 
 me, if I did n't get there before twelve, I must 
 stop somewhere and water the mare and give her 
 some oats. I 've got a bag of them back there." 
 
 I sat dumb. Of course, with this conveyance, 
 and seventeen miles between me and Sanpritchit, it 
 was absurd to suppose that I could get there be- 
 
238 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 fore the yacht sailed. It was ridiculous to go an 
 inch farther on such a tedious and useless journey. 
 
 " Boy," I asked, " where is the nearest railroad 
 station ? " 
 
 " Stipbitts," said he. 
 
 "How far?" 
 
 "Five miles." 
 
 " Take me there," I said. 
 
 The boy looked at me in surprise. " I can't do 
 that. I was told to take you to Sanpritchit : that 's 
 where I 'm goin', and I 'm goin' to bring back a 
 box belongin' to Captain Fluke. That's what 
 I 'm goin' to do." 
 
 " I cannot get there in time," I said. " I did n't 
 know it was so far. Take me to Stipbitts, and I 
 will give you a dollar ; then you can go along and 
 attend to Captain Fluke's box. I have already 
 paid for the drive to Sanpritchit." 
 
 " Have you got as much as a dollar and a half 
 about you ? " asked the boy. 
 
 I replied that I had. 
 
 " All right," said he ; " give me that, and I '11 
 take you to Stipbitts." 
 
 The bargain was struck, I was taken to Stip- 
 bitts, and an hour afterward I was on my way to 
 my home at Arden. 
 
 There was one very satisfactory feature about 
 this course of action : it was plain and simple, 
 and needed no planning. To attempt to follow 
 the yacht would be useless. To wait anywhere 
 for Walkirk would be equally so. He would be 
 more apt to find me at my home than anywhere 
 
MONEY MAKES THE MARE GO. 239 
 
 else. It was his business to find me, and there 
 was no doubt that he would do it. I did not like 
 to defer my intended interview with Mrs. Kaynor, 
 but it could not be helped. And as for Sylvia, if 
 she had resolved to return to the House of Martha, 
 the best place for me was the neighborhood of 
 that institution. 
 
XXXVI. 
 
 IN THE SHADE OF THE OAK. 
 
 I FOUND my home at Arden very empty and 
 dreary. The servants did not expect me, my 
 grandmother had not returned, and the absence of 
 Walkirk added much to my dissatisfaction with 
 the premises. 
 
 I was never a man who could sit down and wait 
 for things to happen, and I felt now that it was 
 absolutely necessary that I should do something, 
 that I should talk to somebody ; and accordingly, 
 on the morning after my arrival, I determined to 
 walk over to the House of Martha and talk to 
 Mother Anastasia. For a man to consult with the 
 Mother Superior of a religious institution about 
 his love affairs was certainly an uncommon pro- 
 ceeding, with very prominent features of inappro- 
 priateness ; but this did not deter me, for, apart 
 from the fact that there was no one else to talk 
 to, I considered that Mother Anastasia owed me 
 some advice and explanation, and without hesita- 
 tion I went to ask for it. 
 
 When I reached the House of Martha, and made 
 known my desire to speak to the head of the in- 
 stitution, I was ushered into a room which was 
 barer and harder than I had supposed, from Wal- 
 
IN THE SHADE OF THE OAK. 241 
 
 kirk's description of it. It did not even contain 
 the religious pictures or the crucifixes which would 
 have relieved the blankness of the walls in a Ro- 
 man Catholic establishment of the kind. 
 
 As I stood gazing about me, with a feeling of 
 indignation that such a place as this should ever 
 have been the home of such a woman as Sylvia, a 
 door opened, and Mother Anastasia entered. 
 
 Her appearance shocked me. I had in my mind 
 the figure of a woman with whom I had talked, 
 — a woman glowing with the warmth of a rich 
 beauty, draped in graceful folds of white, with a 
 broad hat shadowing her face, and a bunch of 
 wild flowers in her belt. Here was a tall woman 
 clothed in solemn gray, her face pale, her eyes 
 fixed upon the ground; but it was Mother Ana- 
 stasia ; it was the woman who had talked to me of 
 Sylvia, who had promised to help me with Sylvia. 
 
 Still gazing on the floor, with her hands folded 
 before her, she asked me what I wished. At first 
 I could not answer her. It seemed impossible to 
 open my heart to a woman such as this one. But 
 if I said anything, I must say it without hesitation, 
 and so I began. 
 
 " Of course," I said, " I have come to see you 
 about Sylvia Raynor. I am in much trouble re- 
 garding her. You promised to aid me, and I have 
 come to ask for the fulfillment of that promise. 
 My love for that girl grows stronger day by day, 
 hour by hour, and I have been thwarted, mystified, 
 and I may say deceived. I have come " — 
 
 " She of whom you speak," interrupted Mother 
 
242 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 Anastasia, "is not to be discussed in that way. 
 She has declared her intention to unite herself per- 
 manently with our sisterhood, and to devote her 
 life to our work. She can have nothing more to do 
 with you, nor you with her." 
 
 " That will not do at all," I said excitedly. 
 " When I last saw you, you did not talk like that, 
 and the opinions you expressed at that time are 
 just as good now as they were then. I want to go 
 over this matter with you. There are things that 
 I have a right to' know." 
 
 A little frown appeared upon her brow. " This 
 conversation must cease," she said ; " the subjects 
 you wish to discuss are forbidden to our sisterhood. 
 You must mention them no more." 
 
 I tried hard to restrain myself and speak quietly. 
 * Madam " — said I. 
 
 " You must not call me ' madam,' " she broke in. 
 "*' T am the Mother Superior of this house." 
 
 " I understand that," I continued, " and I under- 
 stand your feeling of duty. But you have other 
 duties besides those you owe to your sisterhood. 
 You made me a promise, which I accepted with an 
 honest and confiding heart. If you cannot do what 
 you promised, you owe it to me to explain why 
 you cannot do it. I do not know what has hap- 
 pened to change your views and her views, and, so 
 far as I am concerned, the whole world. You can 
 set me right; you can explain everything to me." 
 
 The frown disappeared, and her face seemed 
 paler. " It is absolutely impossible to discuss any- 
 thing of the sort in this house. I must insist " — 
 
IN THE SHADE OF THE OAK. 243 
 
 I did not permit her to finish her sentence. 
 "Very well, then," I exclaimed, "if you cannot 
 talk to me here, talk to me somewhere else. When 
 you desire it, you go outside of these walls, and 
 you speak freely and fully. You have so spoken 
 with me ; and because you have done so, it is abso- 
 lutely necessary that you do it again. Your own 
 heart, your conscience, must tell you that after 
 what you have said to me, and after what I have 
 said to you, it is unjust, to say no more, to leave 
 me in this state of cruel mystification ; not to tell 
 me why you have set aside your promise to me, or 
 even to tell me, when we talked together of Sylvia, 
 that we were then at the home of Sylvia's mother." 
 
 For the first time she looked at me, straight in 
 my eyes, as a true woman would naturally look at 
 a man who was speaking strongly to her. I think 
 I made her forget, for a few moments at least, that 
 she was a Mother Superior. Then her eyes fell 
 again, and she stood silent. 
 
 "Perhaps," she said presently, and speaking 
 slowly, "I ought to explain these things to you. 
 It is a great mistake, as I now see, that I ever said 
 anything to you on the subject ; but things were 
 different then, and I did not know that I was do- 
 ing wrong. Still, if you rely on me to set you 
 right, you shall be set right. I see that this is 
 quite as necessary from other points of view as 
 from your own. I cannot speak with you to-day, 
 but to-morrow, about this time, I shall be on the 
 road to Maple Ridge, where I am going to visit a 
 sick woman." 
 
244 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " I shall join you on the road," I answered, and 
 took my leave. 
 
 For the rest of the day I thought of little but 
 the promised interview on the morrow. To this I 
 looked forward with the greatest interest, but also 
 with the greatest anxiety. I feared that Mother 
 Anastasia would prove to me that I must give up 
 all thoughts of Sylvia. In fact, if Sylvia had re- 
 solved to devote herself to the service of the House 
 of Martha, — and she had told me herself that she 
 had so resolved, < — I was quite sure she would do 
 so. Then what was there for Mother Anastasia to 
 say, or me to do ? The case was settled. Sylvia 
 Raynor must be nothing to me. 
 
 I greatly wished for Walkirk. I knew he would 
 encourage me, in spite of the obvious blackness of 
 the situation. It was impossible for me to encour- 
 age myself. But, however black my fate might 
 be, I longed to know why it had been made black 
 and all about it, and so waited with a savage impa- 
 tience for the morning and Mother Anastasia. 
 
 Immediately after breakfast, the next day, I was 
 on the Maple Ridge road, strolling from our vil- 
 lage toward the top of a hill a mile or more away, 
 whence I could see the rest of the road, as it wound 
 through the lonely country, and at last lost itself 
 in the woods. Back again to Arden I came, and 
 had covered the distance between the village and 
 the hilltop five times, when, turning and coming 
 down the hill, I saw, far away, the figure of a 
 woman walking. 
 
 I knew it was Mother Anastasia, but I did not 
 
72V THE SHADE OF THE OAK. 245 
 
 hasten to meet her. In fact, I thought the further 
 she was from the village, when our interview took 
 place, the more likely she would be to make it long 
 enough to be satisfactory. I came slowly down 
 the hill, and, reaching a place where a great oak- 
 tree shaded the road, I waited. 
 
 She came on quickly, her gray dress appearing 
 heavier and more sombre against the sun-lighted 
 grass and foliage than it had appeared in the 
 dreary room of the House of Martha. As she ap- 
 proached the tree I advanced to meet her. 
 
 " You made me come too far," she said reproach- 
 fully, as soon as we were near each other. " The 
 lane which leads to the house I came to visit is a 
 quarter of a mile behind me." 
 
 " I am sorry," I replied, " that I have made you 
 walk any farther than necessary on such a warm 
 morning, but I did not know that you intended to 
 turn from this road. Let us step into the shade 
 of this tree ; we can talk more comfortably there." 
 
 She looked at the tree, but did not move. 
 " What I have to say," she remarked, " can be 
 said here ; it will not take long." 
 
 " You must not stand in the sun," I replied ; 
 " you are already heated. Come into the shade," 
 and, without waiting her answer, I walked toward 
 the tree ; she followed me. 
 
 " Now, then," said I, " here is a great stone con- 
 veniently placed, upon which we can sit and rest 
 while we talk." 
 
 She fixed her large eyes upon me with a certain 
 surprise. " Truly, you have no regard for conven- 
 
246 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 tionalities. It is sufficiently out of the way for a 
 sister of the House of Martha to meet a gentleman 
 in this manner, but to sit with him under a tree 
 would be ridiculously absurd, to say the least of 
 it." 
 
 " It does not strike me in that light," I saido 
 "You are tired and warm, and must sit down. 
 You came here on my account, and I regard you, 
 in a manner, as a guest." 
 
 She smiled, and looked at the rock which I had 
 pointed out. It* was a flat one, about three feet 
 long, and it seemed as if it had been put there on 
 purpose to serve for a seat. 
 
 " I am tired," she said, and sat down upon it. 
 As she did so, she gave a look about her, and at 
 the same time made a movement with her right 
 hand, which I often before had noticed in women. 
 It was the involuntary expression of the female 
 soul, longing for a fan. A fan, however, made up 
 no part of the paraphernalia of a sister of the 
 House of Martha. 
 
 " Allow me," I said, and, taking off my straw 
 hat, I gently fanned her. 
 
 Mother Anastasia laughed. " This is really too 
 much ; please stop it. But you may lend me your 
 hat. I did not know the morning would be so 
 warm, and I am afraid I walked too fast. But we 
 are losing time. Will you tell me precisely what 
 it is you wish to know of me ? " 
 
 " I can soon do that," I answered ; " but I must 
 first say that I believe you will suffocate if you try 
 to talk from under that cavernous bonnet. Why 
 
IN THE SHADE OF THE OAK. 247 
 
 don't you take it off, and get the good of this cool 
 shade ? You had discarded all that sort of thing 
 when I last talked with you,- and you were then 
 just as much a Mother Superior as you are now." 
 
 She smiled. " The case was very different theno 
 I was actually obliged, by the will of another, to 
 discard the garb of our sisterhood." 
 
 " I most earnestly wish," said I, " that you 
 could be obliged to do partially the same thing 
 now. With that bonnet on, you do not seem at 
 all the same person with whom I talked on Tan- 
 gent Island. You appear like some one to whom 
 I must open the whole subject anew." 
 
 " Oh, don't do that," she said, with a deprecat- 
 ing movement of her hand, — "I really have n't 
 the time to listen ; and if my bonnet hinders your 
 speech, off it shall come. Now, then, I suppose 
 you want to know the reason of my change of posi- 
 tion in regard to Sylvia and you." As she said 
 this she took off her bonnet ; not with a jerk, as 
 Sylvia had once removed hers, but carefully, with- 
 out disturbing the dark hair which was disposed 
 plainly about her head. I was greatly relieved ; 
 this was an entirely different woman to talk to. 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "that is what I want to 
 know." 
 
 " I will briefly give you my reasons," she said, 
 still fanning herself with my hat, while I stood be- 
 fore her, earnestly listening, " and you will find 
 them very good and conclusive reasons. When I 
 spoke to you before, the case was this: Sylvia 
 Raynor had had a trouble, which made her think 
 
248 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 she was the most miserable girl in the whole 
 world, and she threw herself into our sisterhood. 
 Her mother did not object to this, because of 
 course Sylvia entered as a probationer, and she 
 thought a few months of the House of Martha life 
 would do her good. That her daughter would 
 permanently join the sisterhood never occurred tc 
 her. As I was a relative, it was a natural thing 
 that the girl should enter a house of which I was 
 the head. I did not approve of the step, but at 
 first I had no festrs about it. After a while, how- 
 ever, I began to have fears. She never liked our 
 life and never sympathized with it, and her heart 
 was never enlisted in the cause of the sisterhood ; 
 but after a time I found she was endeavoring to 
 conquer herself, and when a woman with a will — 
 and Sylvia is one of these — undertakes in earnest 
 to conquer herself, she generally succeeds. Then 
 it was I began to have my fears, and then it was I 
 wished to divert her mind from the life of the sis- 
 terhood, and send her back to the world to which 
 she belongs." 
 
 " Then it was you gave me your promise ? " I 
 added. 
 
 " Yes," she answered : " and I gave it honestly. 
 I would have helped you all I could. I truly be 
 lieved that in so doing I was acting for Sylvia's 
 good." 
 
 " I thank you from the bottom of my heart," 
 I said ; " and tell me, did Mrs. Raynor know, 
 when I was on the island, of my affection for 
 Sylvia?" 
 
IN THE SHADE OF THE OAK. 249 
 
 " She knew as mucli as I knew," was the an- 
 swer, " for I went to the island on purpose to con- 
 sult with her on the subject ; and when you con- 
 fided in me, and I gave you my promise to help 
 you, I also told her about that." 
 
 " And did she approve ? " I asked anxiously. 
 
 " She did not disapprove. She knew all about 
 you and your family, although she had never seen 
 you until you were at her island." 
 
 " It is strange," said I, " that I should have 
 happened to go to that place at that time." 
 
 " Yes," she continued, " it does seem rather odd. 
 But, as I was going to say, a letter came not more 
 than an hour after we had had our conversation, 
 which totally altered the face of affairs. Sylvia 
 wrote that she had resolved to devote her life to 
 the sisterhood. This was a great blow to her 
 mother and to me, but Mrs. Eaynor had firmly 
 resolved not to interfere with her daughter's reso- 
 lutions in regard to her future life. She had done 
 so once, and the results had been very unfor- 
 tunate. I was of an entirely different mind, and 
 I resolved, if the thing could be done, to change 
 Sylvia's purpose ; but I failed, and that is the end 
 of it. She is not to be moved. I know her well, 
 and her conviction and determination are not to 
 be changed. She is now on a visit to her mother, 
 and when she returns she will enter the House of 
 Martha as an inmate for life." 
 
 " Yes," said I, after a little pause, " I know 
 that. I saw her a few days ago, and she told me 
 of her purpose." 
 
250 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 "What!" cried Mother Anastasia, " you have 
 seen her ! A few days ago ! She told you all this ! 
 Why did you not say so ? Why did you come to me ? " 
 
 " Do not be displeased," I said, and as I spoke 
 I seated myself beside her on the stone. She 
 made no objections. I think she was too much 
 agitated even to notice it. " I had no intention of 
 keeping anything from you, but I first wanted to 
 hear what you had to tell me. Sylvia did not tell 
 me everything, nor have you." 
 
 " Met her, and talked with her ! " ejaculated 
 Mother Anastasia. " Will you tell me how this 
 happened ? " 
 
 She listened with the greatest attention to my 
 story. 
 
 " It is wonderful," she said, when I had finished. 
 " It seems like a tantalizing fate. But it is well 
 you did not overtake Mrs. Raynor. It would have 
 been of no good to you, and the interview would 
 have greatly troubled her." 
 
 " Now tell me," I asked, " what I most want to 
 know: what was the reason of Sylvia's sudden 
 determination ? " 
 
 Mother Anastasia fixed her dark eyes on mine ; 
 they were full of a tender sadness. " I thought 
 of you nearly all last night," she said, " and I de° 
 termined that if you should ask me that question 
 to-day I would answer it. It is a hard thing to 
 do, but it is the best thing. Sylvia's resolve was 
 caused by her conviction that she loved you. Feel- 
 ing assured of that, she unhesitatingly took the 
 path which her conscience pointed out to her." 
 
IN THE SHADE OF THE OAK. 251 
 
 " Conscience ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes," said Mother Anastasia, " it was her con- 
 science. She was far more in earnest than we had 
 thought her. It was conviction, not desire or 
 sympathy, which had prompted her to enter the 
 sisterhood. Now her convictions, her conscience, 
 prompt her to crush everything which would in- 
 terfere with the life she has chosen. All this she 
 has told me. Her conscience stands between you 
 and her, and you must understand that what you 
 wish is absolutely impossible. You must be strong, 
 and give up all thought of her. Will you promise 
 me to do this ? " and as she spoke she laid her 
 hand upon my arm. " Promise it, and I shall feel 
 that I have devoted myself this morning to as true 
 a mission of charity as anything to which our sis- 
 ters vow themselves." 
 
 I did not respond, but sat silent, with bowed 
 head. 
 
 " I must go now," said Mother Anastasia. " Ee- 
 flect on what I have said, and your heart and 
 your practical sense will tell you that what I ask 
 you to do is what you ought to do and must do. 
 Good-by," and she held out her hand to me. 
 
 I took her hand and held it. The thought 
 flashed into my mind that when I released that 
 hand the last tie between Sylvia and myself would 
 be broken. 
 
 Presently the hand was adroitly withdrawn, 
 Mother Anastasia rose, and I was left alone, sit- 
 ting in the shadow of the tree. 
 
xxxvn. 
 
 THE PERFORMANCE OF MY UNDEE-8TUDY. 
 
 On the next day, when Walkirk came back, I 
 received him coolly. To be sure, the time of his 
 return was now of slight importance, but my man- 
 ner showed him that on general principles I blamed 
 his delay. 
 
 I did not care to hear his explanations, but pro- 
 ceeded at once to state the misfortunes which had 
 befallen me. I told him in detail all that had 
 happened since I left the floating grocery. I did 
 not feel that it was at all necessary to do this, but 
 there was a certain pleasure in talking of my mis- 
 haps and sorrows ; I was so dreadfully tired of 
 thinking of them. 
 
 As I told Walkirk of my interview with Mother 
 Anastasia on the Maple Ridge road, he laughed 
 aloud. He instantly checked himself and begged 
 my pardon, but assured me that never had he 
 heard of a man doing anything so entirely out of 
 the common as to make an appointment with a 
 Mother Superior to meet him under a tree. At 
 first I resented his laugh, but I could not help see- 
 ing for myself that the situation, as he presented 
 it, was certainly an odd one, and that a man with 
 his mind free to ordinary emotions might be ex- 
 cused for being amused at it. 
 
PERFORMANCE OF MY UNDERSTUDY. 253 
 
 When I had finished, and had related how 
 Mother Anastasia had proved to me that all pos- 
 sible connection between myself and Sylvia Ray- 
 nor was now at an end, Walkirk was not nearly 
 so much depressed as I thought he ought to be. 
 In fact, he endeavored to cheer me, and did not 
 agree with Mother Anastasia that there was no 
 hope. At this I lost patience. 
 
 " Confound it ! " I cried, " what you say is not 
 only preposterous, but unfeeling. I hate this 
 eternal making the best of things, when there is 
 no best. With me everything is at its worst, 
 and it is cruel to try to make it appear other- 
 wise." 
 
 " I am sorry to annoy you," he said, " but I 
 must insist that to me the situation does not ap- 
 pear to be without some encouraging features. 
 Let me tell you what has happened to me since 
 we parted." 
 
 I resumed the seat from which I had risen to 
 stride up and down the room, and Walkirk began 
 his narrative. 
 
 " I do not know, sir," he said, " that I ever have 
 been so surprised as when I went on deck of the 
 grocery boat, a short time before breakfast, and 
 found that you were not on board. Captain Jabe 
 and his man were equally astonished, and I should 
 have feared that you had fallen overboard, if a 
 man, who had come on the boat at a little pier 
 where we had stopped very early in the morning, 
 had not assured us that he had seen you go ashore 
 at that place, but had not thought it worth while 
 
254 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 to mention so commonplace an occurrence. I 
 wished to put back to the pier, but it was then far 
 behind us, and Captain Jabe positively refused to 
 do so. Both wind and tide would be against us, 
 he said ; and if you chose to go ashore without 
 saying anything to anybody, that was your affair, 
 and not his. I thought it possible you might have 
 become tired with the slow progress of his vessel, 
 and had left it, to hire a horse, to get to Sanprit- 
 chit before we did. 
 
 " When we reached Sanpritchit and you were 
 not there, I was utterly unable to understand the 
 situation ; but Mrs. Kaynor's yacht was there, just 
 on the point of sailing, and I considered it my 
 duty, as your representative, to hasten on board, 
 and to apprise the lady that you were on your way 
 to see her. Of course she wanted to know why 
 you were coming, and all that ; and as you were 
 not there to do it yourself, I told her the nature 
 of your errand, and impressed upon her the im- 
 portance of delaying her departure until she had 
 seen you and had heard what you had to say. She 
 did not agree with me that the interview would be 
 of importance to any one concerned, but she con- 
 sented to wait for a time and see you. If you ar- 
 rived, she agreed to meet you on shore ; for she 
 would not consent to your coming on board the 
 yacht, where her daughter was. I went ashore, 
 and waited there with great impatience until early 
 in the afternoon, when a boy arrived, who said he 
 had started to bring you to Sanpritchit, but that 
 you had changed your mind, and he had conveyed 
 
PEBFOBMANCE OF MY UNDEBSTUDY. 255 
 
 you to a railroad station, where you had taken a 
 western-bound train. 
 
 " I went to the yacht to report. I think Mrs. 
 Kaynor was relieved at your non-arrival ; and as 
 she knew I wished to join you as soon as possible, 
 she invited me to sail with them to a little town 
 on the coast, — I forget its name, — from which I 
 could reach the railroad much quicker than from 
 Sanpritchit." 
 
 "She did not object, then," said I, "to your 
 being on the yacht with her daughter ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," he answered, " for she found that 
 Miss Raynor did not know me, or at least recog- 
 nize me, and had no idea that I was in any way 
 connected with you. Of course I accepted Mrs. 
 Raynor's offer ; but I did not save any time by it, 
 for the wind fell off toward evening, and for hours 
 there was no wind at all, and it was late the next 
 afternoon when we reached the point where I went 
 ashore." 
 
 " Did you see anything of Miss Raynor in all 
 that time ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Yes," he replied ; " she was on deck a great 
 deal, and I had several conversations with her." 
 
 " With her alone ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes," said he. " Mrs. Raynor is a great reader 
 and fond of naps, and I think that the young lady 
 was rather tired of the companionship of her uncle 
 and the other gentleman, who were very much 
 given to smoking, and was glad of the novelty of 
 a new acquaintance. On my part, I felt it my 
 duty to talk to her as much as possible, that I 
 
256 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 might faithfully report to you all that she said, 
 and thus give you an idea of the state of her 
 mind." 
 
 " Humph ! " I exclaimed ; " but what did she 
 say?" 
 
 " Of course," continued Walkirk, " a great deal 
 of our conversation was desultory and of no im- 
 portance, but I endeavored, as circumspectly as I 
 could, so to turn the conversation that she might 
 say something which it would be worth while to 
 report to you." * 
 
 " Now, Walkirk," said I, " if I had known you 
 were doing a thing of that sort, I should not have 
 approved of it. But did she say anything that in 
 any way referred to me ? " 
 
 " Yes, she did," he answered, " and this is the 
 way it came about. Something — 1 think it was 
 the heat of the windless day — caused her to refer 
 to the oppressive costume of the sisters of the 
 House of Martha, and she then remarked that she 
 supposed I knew she was one of that sisterhood. 
 I replied that I had been so informed, and then 
 betrayed as much natural interest in regard to the 
 vocations and purposes of the organization as I 
 thought would be prudent. I should have liked 
 to bring up every possible argument against the 
 folly of a young lady of her position and prospects 
 extinguishing the very light of her existence in 
 that hard, cold, soul-chilling house which I knew 
 so well, but the circumstances did not warrant 
 that. I was obliged to content myself with very 
 simple questions. 
 
PEBFORMANCE OF MY UNDERSTUDY. 257 
 
 " ' How do the sisters employ themselves ?' I in- 
 quired. 
 
 " ' In all sorts of ways,' she said. ' Some nurse 
 or teach, and others work for wages, like ordinary 
 people, except that they do not have anything to 
 do with the money they earn, which is paid di- 
 rectly to the house.' 
 
 " ' I think,' I then remarked, ' that there are a 
 good many employments which would give the sis- 
 ters very pleasant occupation, such as decorative 
 art or clerical work.' 
 
 " At this her face brightened. ' Clerical work 
 is very nice. I tried that once, myself.' 
 
 " ' Was it book-keeping ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' Oh, no,' she answered ; ' I should n't have 
 liked that. It was writing from dictation. I 
 worked regularly so many hours every morning. 
 It was a book which was dictated to me, — 
 sketches of travel ; that is, it was partly travel 
 and partly fiction. It was very interesting.' 
 
 " ' I should think it would be so,' I answered. 
 ' To ladies of education and literary taste, I should 
 say such employment would be highly congenial. 
 Do you intend to devote yourself principally to 
 that sort of thing ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh, no,' said she, ' not at all. I like the 
 work very much, but, for various reasons, I shall 
 not do any more of it.' 
 
 " I endeavored mildly to remonstrate against 
 such a decision, but she shook her head. ' I was 
 not a fuU sister at the time,' she said, ' and this 
 was an experiment. I shall do no more of it.' 
 
258 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " Her manner was very decided, but I did not 
 drop the subject. 'If you do not fancy writing 
 from dictation/ I said, ' why don't you try type- 
 writing ? I should think that would be very in- 
 teresting, and it could be done in your own room. 
 The work would not require you to go out at all, 
 if you object to that.' Now this was a slip, be- 
 cause she had not told me that she had gone out, 
 but she did not notice it. 
 
 " * A sister does not have a room of her own,' 
 she answered, ' and I do not understand typewrit- 
 ing ; ' and with that she left me, and went below, 
 looking very meditative. 
 
 " But my remark had had an effect. I think it 
 was not half an hour afterward when she came to 
 me. 
 
 " ' I have been thinking about your suggestion 
 of typewriting,' she said. ' Is it difficult to learn ? 
 Do you understand it ? What use could I make 
 of a machine in the House of Martha ? ' 
 
 " I told her that I understood the art, and gave 
 her all the information I could in regard to it, 
 taking care to make the vocation as attractive as 
 my conscience would allow. As to the use she 
 could make of it, I said that at present there was 
 a constant demand for typewritten copies of all 
 sorts of writings, — legal, literary, scientific, every- 
 thing. 
 
 " ' And people would send me things,' she asked, 
 * and I would copy them on the typewriter, and 
 send them back, and that would be all ? ' 
 
 " ' You have put it exactly,' I said. ' If you do 
 
PEBFORMANCE OF MY UNDERSTUDY. 259 
 
 not choose, you need have no communication what- 
 ever with persons ordering the work.' 
 
 " ' And do you know of any one who would want 
 such work done ? ' 
 
 " * Yes,' I said ; ' I know people who would be 
 very glad to send papers to be copied. I could 
 procure you some work which would be in no 
 hurry, and that would be an advantage to you in 
 the beginning.' 
 
 " ' Indeed it would,' she said ; and then her 
 mother joined us, and the subject of typewriting 
 was dropped. The only time that it was referred 
 to again was at the very end of my trip, when 
 Miss Kaynor came to me, just as I was preparing 
 to leave the yacht, and told me that she had made 
 up her mind to get a typewriter and to learn to 
 use it ; and she asked me, if I were still wiUing to 
 assist her in securing work, to send my address to 
 the Mother Superior of the House of Martha, 
 which of course I assured her I would do." 
 
 " Why in the name of common sense," I cried, 
 turning suddenly around in my chair and facing 
 Walkirk, " did you put into Miss Kaynor's head 
 all that stuff about typewriting ? Did you do it 
 simply because you liked to talk to her ? " 
 
 " By no means," he replied. " I did it solely 
 on your account and for your benefit. If she 
 learns to copy manuscripts on the typewriter, why 
 should she not copy your manuscripts ? Not im- 
 mediately, perhaps, but in the natural course of 
 business. If she should make me her agent, which 
 I have no doubt she would be willing to do, I could 
 
260 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 easily manage all that. In tliis way you could 
 establish regular communications with her. There 
 would be no end to your opportunities, and I am 
 sure you would know how to use them with such 
 discretion and tact that they would be very effec- 
 tive." 
 
 I folded my arms, and looked at him. " Wal- 
 kirk," said I, *' you are positively, completely, and 
 hopelessly off the track. Mother Anastasia has 
 shown me exactly how I stand with Sylvia Kaynor. 
 She has vowed 'herself to that sisterhood because 
 she thinks it is wrong to love me. She has made 
 her decision, and has taken all the wretched steps 
 which have rendered that decision final, and now 
 I do not intend to try to make her do what she 
 religiously believes is wrong." 
 
 " That is not my idea," answered Walkirk. 
 "What I wish is that she shall get herself into 
 such a state of mind that she shall think the sis- 
 terhood is wrong, and therefore leave it." 
 
 I gave a snort of despair and disgust, and be- 
 gan to stride up and down the room. Presently, 
 however, I recovered my temper. " Walkirk," 
 said I, " I am quite sure that you mean well, and 
 I don't intend to find fault with you ; but this sort 
 of thing does not suit me ; let us have no more of 
 it." 
 
XXXVIII. 
 
 A BKOKEN TRACE. 
 
 As soon as my grandmother heard that I was 
 at Arden, she terminated her visit abruptly, and 
 returned home. When she saw me, she expressed 
 the opinion that my holiday had not been of any 
 service to me. She did not remember ever seeing 
 me so greatly out of condition, and was of the 
 opinion that I ought to see the doctor. 
 
 " These watering places and islands," she said, 
 " are just as likely to be loaded down with malaria 
 as any other place. In fact, I don't know but it 
 is just as well for our health for us to stay at home. 
 That is, if we live in a place like Arden." 
 
 I had no desire to conceal from this nearest and 
 dearest friend and relative the real cause of my 
 appearance, and I laid before her all the facts con- 
 cerning Sylvia and myself. 
 
 She was not affected as I supposed she would 
 be. In fact, my narrative appeared to relieve her 
 mind of some of her anxieties. 
 
 " Any way," she remarked, after a moment or 
 two of consideration, " this is better than malaria. 
 If you get anything of that kind into your system, 
 it is probable that you will never get it out, and 
 it is at any time likely to affect your health, one 
 
262 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 way or another ; but love affairs are different. 
 They have a powerful influence upon a person, as 
 I well know, but there is not about them that in- 
 sidious poison, which, although you may think you 
 have entirely expelled it from your system, is so 
 likely to crop out again, especially in the spring 
 and fall." 
 
 To this I made no answer but a sigh. What 
 was the good of saying that, in my present state 
 of mind, health was a matter of indifference to 
 me? 
 
 " I am not altogether surprised," continued my 
 grandmother, " that that secretary business turned 
 out in this way. If it had been any other young 
 woman, I should have advised against it, but Syl- 
 via Raynor is a good match, — good in every way ; 
 and I thought that if her working with you had 
 made you like her, and had made her like you, it 
 might be very well ; but I am sure it never entered 
 my mind that if you did come to like each other 
 she would choose the sisterhood instead of you. 
 I knew that she was not then a full sister, and I 
 had n't the slightest doubt that if you two really 
 did fall in love with each other she would leave 
 the House of Martha as soon as her time was up. 
 You must not think, my dear boy," she continued, 
 " that I am anxious to get rid of you, but you know 
 you must marry some day." 
 
 I solemnly shook ray head. " All that," I said, 
 ^ is at an end. We need speak no more of it." 
 
 My grandmother arose, and gently placed her 
 hand upon my shoulder. " Come ! come ! Do 
 
A BROKEN TRACE. 263 
 
 not be so dreadfully cast down. You have yet 
 one strong ground of hope." 
 
 " What is that ? " I inquired. 
 
 My grandmother looked into my face and 
 smiled. " The girl is n't dead yet," she answered. 
 
 I now found myself in a very unsettled and un- 
 pleasant state of mind. My business affairs, which 
 had been a good deal neglected of late, I put into 
 the charge of Walkirk, who attended to them with 
 much interest and ability. My individual con- 
 cerns — that is to say, the guidance and direction 
 of myself — I took into my own hands, and a sorry 
 business I made of it. 
 
 I spent a great deal of my time wondering 
 whether or not Sylvia had returned to the House 
 of Martha. I longed for her coming. The very 
 thought of her living within a mile of me was a 
 wild and uneasy pleasure. Then I would ask my- 
 self why I wished her to come. Her presence in 
 the neighborhood would be of no good to me unless 
 I saw her, and of course I could not see her. And 
 if this could be so, what would be worse for me, or 
 for her, than our seeing each other ? From these 
 abstract questions I came to a more practical one ; 
 What should I do ? To go away seemed to be a 
 sensible thing, but I was tired of going away. I 
 liked my home, and, besides, Sylvia would be in 
 the neighborhood. It also seemed wise to stay, 
 and endeavor to forget her. But how could I for- 
 get her, if she were in the neighborhood ? If she 
 were to go away, I might be willing to go away 
 also ; but the chances were that I should not know 
 
264 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 where she had gone, and how could I endure to go 
 to any place where I was certain she was not ? 
 
 During this mental tangle I confided in no one. 
 There was no one who could sympathize with my 
 varying view of the subject, and I knew there was 
 no one with whose view of the subject I could 
 agree. Sometimes it was almost impossible for 
 me to sympathize with myself. 
 
 It suited my mood to take long walks in the sur- 
 rounding country. One morning, returning from 
 one of these, when about half a mile out of the vil- 
 lage, I saw in the road, not very far from me, a 
 carriage, which seemed to be in distress. It was 
 a four-wheeled, curtained vehicle, of the kind to 
 be had for hire at the railroad stations ; and beside 
 the raw-boned horse which drew it stood a man 
 and a woman, the latter in the gray garb of a sister 
 of the House of Martha. 
 
 When I recognized this costume, my heart gave 
 a jump, and I hastened toward the group ; but the 
 woman had perceived my approach, and to my sur- 
 prise came toward me. I quickly saw that it was 
 Mother Anastasia. My heart sank ; without any 
 good reason, it must be admitted, but still it sank. 
 
 The face of the Mother Superior was slightly 
 flushed, as she walked rapidly in my directiouo 
 Saluting her, I inquired what had happened. 
 
 " Nothing of importance," she answered ; " a 
 trace has broken." 
 
 " I will go and look at it," I said. " Sometimes 
 that sort of mishap can be easily remedied." 
 
 " Oh, no," said she, " don't trouble yourself. 
 
A BBOKEN TBACE. 265 
 
 It 's broken in the middle, and so you cannot cut 
 a fresh hole in it, or do any of those things which 
 men do to broken traces. I have told the boy that 
 he must take out the horse, and ride it back to the 
 stable and get another set of harness. That is the 
 only thing to be done. I shall wait here for his 
 return, and I am very glad to have met you." 
 
 Naturally I was pleased at this. " Then you 
 have something to say to me ? " I remarked. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " I have a good deal to 
 say. Let us walk on to a more shaded place." 
 
 " Now it strikes me," said I, " that the most 
 pleasant place to wait will be in the carriage ; there 
 we can sit and talk quite comfortably." 
 
 " Oh, no," she said, with a sort of half laugh, 
 " it is stuffy and horrid. I greatly prefer the fresh 
 air. I have reason to suppose you do not object 
 to conversing under a tree. I see a promising bit 
 of shade a little farther on." 
 
 " Would it be wise to go so far from the car- 
 riage? " I asked. " Have you left in it anything 
 of value ? " 
 
 Mother Anastasia was more animated than I 
 had ever seen her before when in the uniform of 
 the house. 
 
 " Oh, pshaw ! " she answ^ered. " You know the 
 people around here do not steal things out of car- 
 riages. Let us step on." 
 
 " But first," I said, " I will run down and pull 
 the carriage out of the way of passing vehicles. It 
 now stands almost across the road." 
 
 With a movement of impatience, she put her 
 
266 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 hand upon my arm. " Don't trouble yourself 
 about that hack ; let it stand where it is. I wish 
 to speak with you, and do not let us waste our 
 time." 
 
 I had no objection to speaking with Mother 
 Anastasia, and, giving no further thought to the 
 abandoned vehicle, I walked with her to a spot 
 where a clump of straggling locust-trees threw a 
 scanty shade upon the sidewalk. I could not but 
 feel that my companion had something important 
 to say to me, for she was evidently a good deal 
 agitated. She stepped a little in front of me, and 
 then turned and faced me. 
 
 " There is no place to sit down here," she said 
 " but I 'm not tired, are you ? " 
 
 I assured her that I was not, and would as soop 
 talk standing as sitting. 
 
 " Now, then," she began, " tell me about youi- 
 self. What have you been doing? What are 
 your plans ? " 
 
 " My plans ! " I cried. " Of what importance 
 are my plans and actions ? I thought you wished 
 to speak to me of Sylvia." 
 
 She smiled. "There is really nothing to say 
 about that young person, of whom, by the way, 
 you should not speak as ' Sylvia.' She is now a 
 full member of the sisterhood, and has accepted 
 the name of ' Sister Hagar.' We found that the 
 other sisters would not like it if an exception were 
 made in her favor, in regard to her name." 
 
 " ' Hagar ! ' " I groaned. " Horrible ! " 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Mother Anastasia, " there is 
 
A BROKEN TRACE. 267 
 
 nothing homble about it. ' Hagar ' is a little 
 harsh, perhaps, but one soon gets used to that sort 
 of thing." 
 
 " I can never get used to it," I said. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Vanderley," said the Mother 
 Superior, speaking very earnestly, but with a gen- 
 tleness that was almost affectionate, " I wish I 
 could impress upon your mind that there is no 
 need of your getting used to the name of our young 
 lister, or of your liking it or disliking it. You 
 ought thoroughly to understand, from what she 
 has told you, and from what I have told you, that 
 she never can be anything to you, and that, out of 
 regard to yourself, if to no one else, you should 
 cease to think of her as I see you do think." 
 
 " As long as I live in this world," I replied, " I 
 shall continue to think of her as I do think." 
 
 Mother Anastasia gave a sigh. " The unreason- 
 ableness of men is something inexplicable. Per- 
 haps you think I am not old enough to give you 
 advice, but I will say that, for your own sake, you 
 ought to crush and obliterate the feelings you have 
 toward our sister ; and if you do not choose to do 
 it for your own sake, you ought to do it for her 
 sake and that of our sisterhood. It makes it ex- 
 tremely awkward for us, to say the least of it, to 
 know that there is a gentleman in the village who 
 is in love with one of the sisters of the House of 
 Martha." 
 
 " I suppose you would have me exile myself," I 
 replied, " leave forever ray home, my grandmother, 
 everything that is dear to me, and all for the sake 
 
268 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 of the peace and quiet of your sisterhood. Let me 
 assure you I do not care enough for your sister- 
 hood to do that." 
 
 The Mother Superior smiled ironically, but not 
 ill-naturedly. " I am very much afraid," she re- 
 marked, " that in this matter you care for no one 
 but yourself. There is nothing so selfish as a man 
 in love." 
 
 " He needs to be," I answered. " But tell me, 
 :<d Sylvia here ? " 
 
 " Sylvia again," said she, half laughing. " Yes, 
 she has returned to the House of Martha, and you 
 can see for yourself that, if you continue in your 
 present state of mind, it will be impossible for her 
 ever to go outside of the house." 
 
 " I shall not hurt her," I answered. 
 
 " Yes, you will hurt her," quickly replied Mo- 
 ther Anastasia. " You will hurt her very much, 
 if you meet her, and show by your words, looks, or 
 actions that your former attitude toward her is not 
 changed." She came nearer to me, looking into 
 my face with her eyes full of an earnest tenderness, 
 and as she spoke she laid the tips of her fingers 
 gently upon my shoulder. She had a very pleas- 
 ant way of doing this. " I do wish," she said, 
 "that you would let me prevail upon you to do 
 what your conscience must tell you is right. If 
 you have ever loved the girl who was^ once Sylvia 
 Raynor, that is the best of reasons why you should 
 cease to love her now. You owe it to her to cease 
 to love her." 
 
 I looked steadily into the face of the Mother 
 Superior. 
 
A BROKEN TRACE. 269 
 
 " You promise me that you will do that ? " she 
 said, with a smile upon her lips and a light in her 
 eyes which might have won over almost any man 
 to do almost anything. "You promise me that 
 you will allow our young sister, who has hardships 
 enough to bear without any more being thrust 
 upon her, to try to be happy in the way she has 
 chosen, and that you will try to be happy in the 
 way you should have chosen ; that you will go out 
 into the world and act your part in life ; that you 
 will look upon this affair as something which has 
 vanished into the past ; and that you will say to 
 your heart, ' You are free, if not by my will, by 
 the irresistible force of circumstances ' ? '* 
 
 I looked at her a few moments in silence, and 
 then answered, very quietly, " I shall do nothing 
 of the kind." 
 
 She gave her head a little toss and stepped 
 backward, and then, with a half laugh which 
 seemed to indicate an amused hopelessness, she 
 said : " You are utterly impracticable, and I am 
 certain I do not know what is to be done about it. 
 But I see that the boy has returned with the horse, 
 and I must continue my journey. I am going to 
 the Iron Furnace to see a sick woman. I wish you 
 would think of what I have said, and remember 
 that it was spoken from the depth of my soul. 
 And do not think," she continued, as I turned and 
 accompanied her toward the carriage, "that I do 
 not appreciate the state of your feelings. I under- 
 stand them thoroughly, and I sympathize with you 
 as perhaps only a woman can sympathize ; but still 
 
270 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 I say to you that there are some things in this 
 world which we must give up, and which we ought 
 to give up promptly and willingly." 
 
 " Do you think," said I, " that if Sylvia were to 
 learn typewriting there would be any objection to 
 her copying manuscript for me ? " 
 
 Mother Anastasia burst into a laugh. " You 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself for making a per- 
 son of my position behave so giddily in the pres- 
 ence of a hack-driver." 
 
 We now reached the carriage, and I assisted her 
 to enter it. 
 
 " Good-morning," she said, her face still per- 
 turbed by her suddenly checked merriment, " and 
 do not forget the counsels I have given you." 
 
 I bowed and stepped back, but the driver did 
 not start. He sat for a moment irresolute, and 
 then, turning toward Mother Anastasia, asked, 
 " Shall I wait for the other sister ? " 
 
 " Oh, go on ! " cried the Mother Superior. 
 " There is no other sister." 
 
 The boy, startled by her tone, gave his horse a 
 cut, and the equipage rattled away. I walked 
 slowly homeward, meditating earnestly upon Mo- 
 ther Anastasia's words and upon Mother Anastasia. 
 
XXXIX. 
 
 A SOUL WHISPER? 
 
 My meditations upon the Mother Superior of 
 the House of Martha were not concluded during 
 my homeward walk ; the subject occupied my mind 
 for the greater part of the rest of the day. I do 
 not call myself a philosopher, but I am in the habit 
 of looking into the nature and import of what hap- 
 pens about me. My reflections on Mother Ana- 
 stasia gradually produced in me the conviction that 
 there was something more in her words, her man- 
 ner, and her actions than would appear to the or^ 
 dinary observer. 
 
 In considering this matter, I went back to the 
 very first of my intercourse with this beautiful 
 woman, who, divested of the dismal disguise of her 
 sisterhood, had produced upon my memory an im- 
 pression which was so strong that, whenever I now 
 thought of Mother Anastasia, she appeared before 
 my mental vision in a white dress, with a broad 
 hat and a bunch of flowers in her belt. In the 
 character of a beautiful and sensible woman, and 
 not at all in that of a Mother Superior, she had 
 warmly commended my suit of Sylvia Eaynor. 
 With our regard for Sylvia as a basis, we had con- 
 sulted, we had confided, we had shown ourselves to 
 each other in a most frank and friendly manner. 
 
272 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 Suddenly she had changed, she had deserted me 
 without a word of explanation, and the next time 
 I saw her she was totally opposed to my maintain- 
 ing any connection whatever with Sylvia. 
 
 But there had been more than this. This 
 woman, beautiful even in her gray garb, had shown 
 an increasing interest in the subject, which could 
 not be altogether explained by her interest in Syl- 
 via. If she truly believed that that young sister 
 would devote her life to the service of the House 
 of Martha, that matter might be considered as set- 
 tled ; and what was her object in so earnestly en- 
 deavoring to impress upon my mind the fact that 
 I could not marry Sylvia ? It might be supposed 
 that, in the ordinary course of events, I should be 
 compelled to admit this point. But not only did 
 she continually bring up this view of the subject, 
 but she showed such a growing interest in me and 
 my welfare that it made me uneasy. 
 
 It is almost impossible truly to understand a 
 woman ; most men will admit this. I could not say 
 that I understood Mother Anastasia. At times I 
 hoped I did not understand her. From what I 
 knew of the constitution of the sisterhood, some of 
 its members were vowed to it for life, and others 
 for a stated period. Putting together this and 
 that which Mother Anastasia had said to me about 
 the organization, it did not appear to me that she 
 felt that devotion to it which a sister for life would 
 naturally feel. She had used aU the art of a logi- 
 cian to impress upon me the conviction that Sylvia 
 was a life sister, and could be nothing else. Was 
 
A SOUL WHISPER? 273 
 
 it possible — I scarcely dared to ask myself the 
 question — that she had used the arts of a woman 
 to intimate to me that she might be something else ? 
 It did not cross my mind for an instant that any- 
 thing that Mother Anastasia had said to me, or 
 anything that could be deduced from her manner, 
 was in the slightest degree out of the way. A 
 woman has a right to indicate her position in re- 
 gard to a fellow-being, and in this age she gener- 
 ally does indicate it. If the true nature of Mother 
 Anastasia had so far exerted itself as to impel her, 
 perhaps involuntarily, to let me know that she was 
 as much a woman as she was a Mother Superior, 
 and that in time she would be all of the first and 
 not any of the latter, she had truly done this with 
 a delicate ingenuousness beyond compare. It had 
 not been the exhalation by the flower of inviting 
 perfume or its show of color ; it had been the sim- 
 ple opening of the blossom to the free sun and air 
 before my eyes. 
 
 My last interview with Mother Anastasia had 
 crystallized in my mind a mist of suppositions and 
 fancies which had vaguely floated there for some 
 time. It is not surprising that I was greatly 
 moved at the form the crystal took. 
 
 When Walkirk came, the next day, to make his 
 usual reports, I talked to him of Mother Anasta- 
 sia. Of course I did not intimate to him how I 
 had been thinking of her, but I gave him as many 
 facts as possible, in order that I might discover 
 what he would think of her. When I had finished 
 my account of the interview of the morning be- 
 
274 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA, 
 
 fore, I could see that a very decided impression 
 had been made upon him. His countenance 
 twitched, he smiled, he looked upon the floor. For 
 a moment I thought he was going to laugh. 
 
 " This amuses you," I remarked. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, his face having recovered 
 its ordinary composure, " it is a little funny. 
 Mother Anastasia seems to be a good deal of a 
 manager." 
 
 " Yes," I said reflectively, " that is true. It is 
 quite plain that, perceiving an opportunity of a pri- 
 vate conference with me, she took advantage of the 
 circumstances. We could have had an ordinary 
 chat just as well in one place as another, but it 
 was easy to see that she did not wish the boy who 
 was unhitching the horse to hear even the first 
 words of our conversation. As you say, she is a 
 good manager, and I had my suspicions of that 
 before you mentioned it." As I said this I could 
 not help smiling, as I thought how surprised he 
 would be if he knew in what direction my sus- 
 picions pointed. "Do you know," I continued, 
 " if it is necessary that the head of a sisterhood 
 should be a life member of it ? " 
 
 " I have never heard," he answered, " but I 
 have been informed that the organization of the 
 House of Martha is a very independent one, and 
 does not attempt to conform itself to that of any 
 other sisterhood. The women who founded it had 
 ideas of their own, and what rules and laws they 
 made I do not know." 
 
 For a few moments I walked up and down the 
 
A SOUL WHISPER? 275 
 
 room ; then I asked, " How did Mother Anastasia 
 come to be the Mother Superior ? " 
 
 "I have been told," said Walkirk, "that she 
 gave most of the money for the founding of the 
 institution, and it was natural enough that she 
 should be placed at the head. I have an idea that 
 she would not have been willing to enter the 
 House except as its head." 
 
 " It is about four years since it was established, 
 is it not ? " I asked ; and Walkirk assured me 
 that I was correct. 
 
 All this information ranged itself on the side of 
 conviction. She was just the woman to try a thing 
 of this kind for a stated time ; she was just the 
 woman not to like it ; and she was just the woman 
 whose soul could not be prevented from whispering 
 that the gates of the bright world were opening be- 
 fore her. But why should her soul whisper this to 
 me ? The whole matter troubled me very much. 
 
 I determined not to base any action upon what 
 had thus forced itself upon my mind. I would 
 wait. I would see what would happen next. I 
 would persist in my determination never to give 
 up Sylvia. And I will mention that there was a 
 little point in connection with her which at this 
 time greatly annoyed me : whenever I thought of 
 her, she appeared before me in the gray dress of a 
 sister, and not as I had seen her on the island. I 
 wished very much that this were not the case. 
 
XL. 
 
 AN INSPIRATION. 
 
 I NOW found myself in an embarrassing situa- 
 tion. All my plans and hopes of tidings from 
 Sylvia, or of aiuy possible connection with her, 
 were based upon Mother Anastasia. But would it 
 be wise for me to continue my very friendly rela- 
 tions with the Mother Superior ? On my side these 
 relations were extremely pleasant, though that did 
 not matter, one way or another. But would it be 
 kind and just to her to meet with her on the foot- 
 ing I had enjoyed ? In every point of this affair I 
 wished to be honorable and considerate. Acting 
 on these principles, I went away for two weeks. 
 It was very hard for me to absent myself for so 
 long a period from Arden, but it was my duty. 
 To take the chances of another meeting with 
 Mother Anastasia, following close upon the recent 
 one, which had made so forcible an impression 
 upon me, would be imprudent. A moderate ab- 
 sence might be of great advantage. 
 
 On my return I took to strolling about the vil- 
 lage, especially in the neighborhood of the House 
 of Martha ; and if, in these strolls, I had met the 
 Mother Superior, I should not have hesitated to 
 aocost her and ask news of Sylvia. For more rear 
 
AN INSPIBATION. 277 
 
 sons than one, I felt it was highly desirable that I 
 should impress it on the mind of Mother Anasta- 
 sia that my interest in Sylvia had not in the least 
 abated. 
 
 But several days passed, and I met no one clad 
 in gray bonnet and gown. I was disappointed; 
 there were a good many questions about Sylvia 
 which I wished to ask, and a good many things in 
 regard to her that I wished to say. I might go to 
 the House of Martha and boldly ask to see the 
 Mother Superior ; but a step like that might pro- 
 duce an undesirable impression, and naturally the 
 position in which I had placed myself regarding 
 Sylvia would prevent my going to visit her. 
 
 As I could do nothing for myseK in this matter, 
 I must ask some one to help me, and there was no 
 one so willing and able to do this as my grand- 
 mother. She could go to the House of Martha 
 and ask what questions she pleased. I went to the 
 dear old lady and made known my desires. She 
 laid down her knitting and gave me her whole at- 
 tention. 
 
 " Now tell me exactly what it is you want," she 
 said. " You cannot expect to be asked to take tea 
 with the sisters, you know, though I see no reason 
 why you should not. Say what they will, they are 
 not nuns." 
 
 " What I want," I replied, " is to know how 
 Sylvia is, what she is doing, all about her. I do 
 not even know that she is still there." 
 
 " My dear boy," said my grandmother, very ten- 
 derly, " I suppose that even if you are obliged to 
 
278 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 give up all hope of ever having Sylvia for your 
 own, you will want to know every day for the rest 
 of your life just how she is getting on." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " that is true." 
 
 "Poor fellow," said the old lady, her eyes a 
 little dimmed as she spoke, " the fates have not 
 been using you well. Is there anything else you 
 want me to inquire about ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," I answered. " I take a great in- 
 terest in the institution." 
 
 "Which is tiatural enough, since Sylvia is 
 there," interpolated my grandmother. 
 
 " And I should be glad," I continued, " to know 
 anything of interest regarding the sisterhood, from 
 the Mother Superior down." 
 
 " Mother Anastasia is a very fine woman," said 
 my grandmother, " and I should think you would 
 be likely to be greatly interested in her. I am 
 going to make some inquiries about the rules of 
 the House of Martha. I see no reason why the 
 sisters should not occasionally accept invitations 
 to tea." 
 
 This remark startled me, and I was prompted 
 to make a cautionary observation. But I re- 
 strained myself; in cases like this interference 
 would be likely to provoke comment, and by my 
 grandmother's desire I went to order the car- 
 riage. 
 
 In less than an hour she returned. I was 
 promptly at hand to receive her report. 
 
 " WeU," said she, " I have visited the sisters, 
 but I am sorry I did not see Mother Anastasia. 
 She was away." 
 
AN INSPIRATION. 279 
 
 " Away ! " I exclaimed. " Where has she 
 gone ? " 
 
 " She went to Washington more than a week 
 ago," was the answer. 
 
 '* For a long stay ? " I asked quickly. 
 
 " The sisters did not know," continued my 
 grandmother, " but their impression is that she 
 will return in a few days." 
 
 I knitted my brows. 
 
 "You are disappointed, and so am I. I in- 
 tended to ask her here to tea next Friday, and to 
 urge her, if she did not too greatly object, to bring 
 Sylvia with her. There is nothing like quiet in- 
 tercourse of that kind to break down obstacles." 
 
 " Alas," I said, " I am afraid there are ob- 
 stacles " — 
 
 "But do not let us talk about them," she in- 
 terrupted. " Nobody knows what will happen, 
 and let us be as happy as we can." 
 
 " Did you see Sylvia ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she answered, " and I had some talk 
 with her, but it did not amount to much. She is 
 trying to make a regular nun of herself, — that is, 
 if a Protestant can be a nun, — but I do not think 
 she will ever succeed. She admitted that she 
 greatly disliked the ordinary work of the sisters, 
 and wished to employ herself in some way which 
 would be just as lucrative to the institution, and 
 yet not so repugnant to her. Now you can see 
 for yourself that that will not do. If she intends 
 to be a sister of the House of Martha, she must do 
 as the other sisters do. She cannot always expect 
 
280 THE HOUSE OF MAUTHA. 
 
 to be an exception. At present she is learning 
 typewriting." 
 
 I gave a great start. " Typewriting ! " I ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Yes," said my grandmother. " Is it not odd 
 that she should have taken up that ? She has a 
 machine, and practices steadily on it. She showed 
 me some of her printed sheets, and I must say, so 
 far as I am concerned, that I should prefer plain 
 handwriting, where the letters are not so likely to 
 get on top of one another. She wanted to know 
 if I could give her any advice about getting work, 
 when she thought she could do it well enough ; but 
 of course I know nothing about such things. My 
 hope is that she will get to dislike that as much as 
 she does nursing and apothecary work, and to find 
 out that her real duty is to live like an ordinary 
 human being, and so make herself and other peo- 
 ple truly happy." 
 
 I do not know that there is any inherent con- 
 nection between a typewriting machine and the 
 emotions and sentiments of love, but in this case 
 such a connection instantly established itself in my 
 mind. It seemed plain to me that Walkirk's sug- 
 gestion to Sylvia had taken root ; and why did 
 she wish to typewrite, if she did not wish to type- 
 write for me ? Was this an endeavor of her tender 
 heart to keep up a thread of connection with me 
 which should not be inconsistent with the duties, 
 the vows, and the purposes of her life? Dear 
 girl ! If the thing could be managed, she should 
 typewrite for me as much as she wished, even if 
 
AN INSPIRATION. 281 
 
 she piled the letters on one another as high as the 
 Great Pyramid. 
 
 With much enthusiasm, I communicated to 
 Walkirk my intention to employ Sylvia in type- 
 writing, and requested his assistance in regard to 
 the details of the business. I could easily furnish 
 her material enough. I had lots of things I should 
 like to have copied, and I was ready to prepare a 
 great deal more. My under-study made no allu- 
 sion to my previous reception of his suggestion 
 about typewriting, but brought his practical, mind 
 to bear upon the matter, and advised that prelimi- 
 nary arrangements should be made immediately. 
 In a case like this it was well to be in time, and 
 to secure the services of Miss Raynor at once. 
 I agreed with Walkirk that it was very wise to 
 take time by the forelock, but Mother Anastasia 
 was the only person who could properly regulate 
 this affair, which should be instantly laid before 
 her ; and as it was impossible to find out when 
 she would return to Arden, I felt that it was my 
 duty to go to her. When I mentioned this plan 
 to Walkirk, he offered to go in my place, but I 
 declined. This was a very delicate affair, to which 
 no one could attend as well as I could myself. 
 
 " Walkirk," said I, " do you suppose that the 
 Mother Superior will appear in Washington under 
 her real name, or as Mother Anastasia ? And, by 
 the way, what is her real name ? " 
 
 " Is it possible," exclaimed Walkirk, " that you 
 do not know it ? It is Raynor, — Miss Marcia 
 Raynor. She is a cousin of the younger lady." 
 
282 THE HOUSE OF MAETHA. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know that," I replied ; " but it 
 never occurred to me to inquire what name Mother 
 Anastasia bore before she entered the House of 
 Martha. The first thing for me to do is to get her 
 Washington address." 
 
 " And may I ask," continued Walkirk, " how 
 you are going to do that ? " 
 
 I was not prepared to give an immediate answer 
 to this question. 
 
 " I suppose," I remarked presently, " that it 
 would not do to ask for the address at the House 
 of Martha, but I could go to Sylvia's mother. I 
 should like to call there, any way, and I have no 
 doubt she would know where Mother Anastasia 
 would be likely to stop." 
 
 My under-study shook his head. " Pardon me," 
 he said, " but I do not think it would be wise to 
 go to Mrs. Raynor. She would be sure to connect 
 her daughter with your urgent desire to see Mo- 
 ther Anastasia, and she would not hesitate to 
 question you on the matter. I think I under- 
 stand her disposition in regard to you and Miss 
 Eaynor, and I am very certain that when she 
 heard of the typewriting scheme she would in- 
 stantly put her foot on it ; and if I am not mis- 
 taken," he continued, with a noticeable deference 
 in his tone, " that is the only reason you can give 
 for your wish to confer with Mother Anastasia." 
 
 I strode impatiently up and down the room. 
 " Certainly it is," said I, " and although it is 
 reason enough, I suppose you are right, and it 
 would not do to offer it to Mrs. Raynor ; and, for 
 
AN INSPIBATION. 283 
 
 the matter of that, Mother Anastasia may think 
 it a very little thing to take me down to Washing- 
 ton." 
 
 " I had thought of that," said Walkirk, " and 
 that was one reason why I proposed to go in your 
 stead." 
 
 I made no answer to this remark. My mind 
 was filled with annoying reflections about the un- 
 reasonableness of people who insist upon knowing 
 people's reasons for doing things, and my annoy- 
 ance was increased by the conviction, now that I 
 looked more closely into the matter, that the only 
 reason I could give for hastening after Mother 
 Anastasia in this way was indeed a very little one. 
 
 "Walkirk," I exclaimed, "can't you think of 
 some other reason for my seeing the Mother Su- 
 perior without delay ? " 
 
 " Truly," he replied, smiling, " it is rather diffi- 
 cult. You might offer to build an annex to the 
 House of Martha, but such a matter could surely 
 wait until the return of the Mother Superior." 
 
 I sniffed, and continued to stride. I must see 
 Mother Anastasia in Washington, because there 
 I might have a chance of speaking to her freely, 
 which I could not expect to have anywhere else ; 
 and yet how was I going to explain to her, or to 
 any one else, my desire to speak with her at all ? 
 It might have been difficult to explain this to my- 
 self ; at all events, I did not try to do it. Sud- 
 denly an idea struck me. 
 
 " Annex ! " I cried, — " capital ! " 
 
 " My dear sir," said Walkirk, rising in much 
 
284 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 agitation, " I hope you do not think that I seriously 
 proposed your building an annex to " — 
 
 " Building ! " I interrupted. " Nonsense ! The 
 annex I am thinking of is quite different; and 
 yet not altogether so, either. Walkirk, don't you 
 think that a man in my position could do a great 
 deal to help those sisters in their good work? 
 Don't you think that he could act as an outside 
 collaborator? I am sure there are many things 
 he could do which might not be suitable for them 
 to do, or which they might not want to do. For 
 instance, this business that has taken Mother 
 Anastasia to Washington. Perhaps it is some- 
 thing that she hates to do, and I might have done 
 as well as not. I have a mind to propose to her 
 to go in and take all this sort of thing off the 
 hands of the sisters. I think that is a good prac- 
 tical idea, and it is very natural that I should wish 
 to propose it to her at the very time she is engaged 
 in this outside business." 
 
 " In a word," remarked Walkirk, " you would 
 make yourself a brother of the House of Martha." 
 
 I laughed. " That is not a bad notion," I said ; 
 " in fact, it is a very good one. I do not know 
 that I shall put the matter exactly in that light, ^ 
 but a brother of the House of Martha is what I ^ 
 should like to be. Then I should be free to dis- n 
 cuss all sorts of things, and to do all sorts of things. 
 And I could be of a lot of service, I am sure. But 
 I shall approach the matter cautiously. I shall 
 begin with a simple offer of service, and, perhaps, 
 for the present I may drop the typewriting plan. 
 
AN INSPIRATION, 285 
 
 Now for Mother Anastasia's address. I must get 
 that without delay." 
 
 Walkirk did not seem to have paid attention to 
 this last remark. His mind appeared occupied 
 with amusing reflections. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said, in apologizing for 
 his abstraction, " but I was thinking what a funny 
 thing it would be to be a brother of the House 
 of Martha. As to the address — let me see. Do 
 you remember that lady who was staying with Mrs. 
 Kaynor, at her island, who called herself a Person, 
 — Miss Laniston ? " 
 
 " Of course I remember her," I answered, " and 
 with the greatest disgust." 
 
 " I happen to know her address," said Walkirk, 
 " and I think she is more likely to give you the 
 information you want than Mrs. Raynor. If you 
 do not care to confer with her, I can go to the 
 city"- 
 
 " No, no, no ! " I exclaimed. " She might ob- 
 ject to giving you the address ; I shall insist that 
 she give it to me. I think I can manage the mat- 
 ter. She owes me something, and she knows it." 
 
 In fact, I did not care to trust Walkirk with 
 this affair. It was plain that he did not thor- 
 oughly sympathize with me in the project. I was 
 afraid he might make a blunder, or in some way 
 fail me. Any way, this was a matter which I 
 wished to attend to myself. 
 
XLL 
 
 MISS LANISTON. 
 
 At eight o'clock that evening I was at the house 
 of Miss Laniston. The lady was at home, and 
 received me. She advanced with both hands ex- 
 tended. 
 
 " Truly," she cried, " this is the most charming 
 instance of masculine forgiveness I have ever wit- 
 nessed." 
 
 I took one of her hands ; this much for the sake 
 of policy. " Madam," I said, " I am not thinking 
 of forgiveness, or unf orgiveness. I am here to ask 
 a favor ; and if you grant it, I am willing that it 
 shall counterbalance everything between us which 
 suggests forgiveness." 
 
 " Dear me ! " she exclaimed, leading the way to 
 a sofa. " Sit down, and let me know my oppor- 
 tunities." 
 
 I did not want to sit down, but, as I said before, 
 I felt that I must be politic, and so took a seat on 
 the other end of the sofa. 
 
 " My errand is a very simple one," I said. " I 
 merely want to know the address of Mother 
 Anastasia, in Washington." 
 
 The lady folded her hands in her lap, and looked 
 at me steadily. 
 
MISS LANISTON. 287 
 
 " Very simple, indeed," she said. " Why do 
 you come to me for this address ? Would not the 
 sisters give it to you? " 
 
 " For various reasons I did not care to ask 
 them," I replied. 
 
 " One of them being, I suppose^ that you knew 
 you would not get it." 
 
 I did not reply to this remark. 
 
 " If you know the address," I inquired, " will 
 you kindly give it to me ? It is necessary that I 
 should have it at once." 
 
 *' To telegraph ? " she asked. 
 
 " No, I am going to her." 
 
 " Oh ! " ejaculated the lady, and there was a 
 pause in the conversation. " It does not strike 
 me," she said presently, " that I have any author- 
 ity to tell gentlemen where to find Mother Ana- 
 stasia, but I can telegraph and ask her if she is 
 willing that I shall send you to her." 
 
 This proposition did not suit me at all. I was 
 quite sure that the Mother Superior would not 
 consider it advisable that I should come to her, 
 and would ask me to postpone my communication 
 until she should return to Arden. But Arden, as 
 I had found, would be a very poor place for the 
 long and earnest interview which I desired. 
 
 " That would not do," I answered ; " she would 
 not understand. I wish to see her on an important 
 matter, which can be explained only in a personal 
 interview." 
 
 " You excite my curiosity," said Miss Laniston. 
 " Why don't you make me your confidante ? In 
 
288 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 that case, I might decide whether or not it would 
 be proper to give you the address." 
 
 " Impossible," I said, — " that would be impos- 
 sible." 
 
 Miss Laniston's eyes were of a blue gray, and 
 very fine ones, and she fixed them upon me with a 
 lively intentness. 
 
 " Do you still hope," she asked, " to marry Sylvia 
 Raynor? Surely you must know that is impos- 
 sible. She is now a member for life of the sister- 
 hood." 
 
 " I know all that," I replied impatiently. " It 
 is not about that matter that I wish to see the 
 Mother Superior." 
 
 "Is it then about Mother Anastasia herself? 
 Do you wish to marry her ? " 
 
 I sprang to my feet in my excitement. " Why 
 do you speak to me in that way," I exclaimed, 
 " and about a woman who is at the head of a reli- 
 gious institution, and whose earthly existence is 
 devoted to it?" 
 
 " Not at all," quietly answered the lady. " Mo- 
 ther Anastasia is not a life member of the sister- 
 hood of the House of Martha." 
 
 At these words my blood began to boil within 
 me in a manner which I could not comprehend. 
 My eyeballs seemed to burn, as I stood and gazed 
 speechlessly at my companion. 
 
 " You take such an interest in these sisters," 
 she said, " that I supposed you knew that Mother 
 Anastasia joined the sisterhood only for a term of 
 years, now nearly expired. She was made Mother 
 
MISS LANISTON. 289 
 
 Superior because those who helped form the insti- 
 tution knew that no one else could so well fill the 
 place, especially during its first years. I was one 
 of those persons.'* 
 
 I do not remember a time when my mind was in 
 such a state of ungovernable emotion. Not only 
 was I unable to control my feelings, but I did not 
 know what they were. One thing only could I 
 comprehend : I must remove this impression from 
 the mind of Miss Laniston, and I could think of 
 no other way of doing it than to confide to her the 
 business on which I wished to see Mother Ana- 
 stasia. I reseated myself on the sofa, and without 
 delay or preface I laid before her my plan of col- 
 laboration with the sisters of the House of Martha ; 
 explaining how much better a man could attend to 
 certain outside business than the sisters could do 
 it, and showing how, in a manner, I proposed to 
 become a brother of the House of Martha. Thus 
 only could I defend myself against her irrational 
 and agitating suppositions. 
 
 She heard me to the end, and then she leaned 
 back on the sofa and laughed, — laughed until I 
 thought the people in the street must hear her. I 
 was hurt, but said nothing. 
 
 " You must excuse me," she said, when she was 
 able to speak, " but this is so sudden my mind is 
 not prepared for it. And so you wish to become 
 a brother of the House of Martha ? I would be 
 solemn about it if I could, but really I cannot," 
 and again she laughed. 
 
 I was about to retire, but she checked me. 
 
2G0 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " Do not go," she said ; " do not be angry. For- 
 get that I laughed. Now perhaps I can help you. 
 I will make you a promise. If you will agree 
 faithfully to tell me how Mother Anastasia re- 
 ceives your proposition, I will give you her ad- 
 dress." 
 
 " Promise," I said severely. " You may remem- 
 ber that this is not the first time you have made 
 me a promise." 
 
 " Don't bring up that old affair ! " she exclaimed. 
 "What I did fhen could not be helped. When 
 we had our talk about the sister with whom you 
 had fallen in love, I had no idea she was Syl- 
 via Raynor, the daughter of my hostess. When 
 I discovered the truth, I had to drop the whole 
 affair. Any person of honor would have done 
 that. I could not help its being funny, you 
 know." 
 
 I had become calmer, and was able to be politic 
 again. 
 
 " If Mother Anastasia will allow me," I said, 
 "I am willing to promise to tell you what she 
 thinks of my plan." 
 
 " Very good," she replied, " it is a bargain. 
 She is stopping with a friend, Mrs. Gardley, at 
 906 Alaska Avenue. I address her as ' Miss Ray- 
 nor,' because I always do that when I have a 
 chance, but I think it will be weU for you to ask 
 for Mother Anastasia." 
 
 I arose, and she followed my example. 
 
 " Now, then," said she, " we are friends," and 
 her sparkling eyes seemed to have communicated 
 
MISS LANISTON. 291 
 
 their merriment to the gems upon the white hand 
 which she held out to me. 
 
 I took the hand, and as I did so a politic idea 
 flashed up within me. If I must be friends with 
 this woman, why not make use of her ? This was 
 a moment when she was well disposed to serve 
 me. 
 
 " If you are willing to consider me a friend," 
 I replied, still holding her hand, " you will not re- 
 fuse to tell me something which I have long wanted 
 to know, and which I ought to know." 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked. 
 
 " What was the trouble, which caused Sylvia 
 Raynor to enter the House of Martha ? " 
 
 She withdrew her hand and reflected for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Man is an inquisitive animal," she answered, 
 " but we cannot alter his nature, and there is some 
 excuse for your wanting to know all about Sylvia. 
 She is out of your reach, of course, but you have 
 certainly taken as much interest in her as a man 
 can take in a woman. The matter is not a close 
 secret, and I suppose I may as well tell you that 
 the cause of her entering the sisterhood was no- 
 thing at all out of the conunon. It was simply a 
 thwarted love afPair. You don't like that, I can 
 see by your face." 
 
 " No, I do not like it, and I am very sorry to 
 hear it." 
 
 " My dear sir," said she, " you must be early on 
 hand and prompt in action to be Number One 
 with a girl like Sylvia; but then, you know, a 
 
292 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 Number One seldom counts. In this case, how- 
 ever, he did count, for he made a Number Two 
 impossible." 
 
 " Not so," I cried hotly. " I am Number Two, 
 and shall always continue so.^* 
 
 She laughed. " I am afraid," she said, " that 
 it will be necessary for a brother of the House of 
 Martha to get rid of that sort of feeling." 
 
 " How was she thwarted ? " I asked quickly. 
 
 " The story is briefly this," replied Miss Lanis- 
 ton : " A certain gentleman courted Sylvia's 
 cousin, and everybody supposed they would be 
 married ; but in some way or other he treated her 
 badly, and the match was broken off ; then, a 
 few years later, this same person fell in love with 
 Sylvia, who knew nothing of the previous affair. 
 The young girl found him a most attractive lover, 
 and he surely would have won her had not her mo- 
 ther stepped in and put an extinguisher upon the 
 whole affair. She knew what had happened be- 
 fore, and would not have the man in her family. 
 Then it was that Sylvia found the world a blank, 
 and concluded to enter the sisterhood." 
 
 " Do you mean," I asked, " that the cousin with 
 whom the man was first in love was Marcia Ray- 
 nor, Mother Anastasia? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Miss Laniston, "it was she. 
 You do not like that ? " 
 
 Like it ! A cold and tingling pain ran through 
 my body, and there sprang up in me an emotion 
 of the intensest hatred for a person whom I had 
 never seen. 
 
MISS LANISTON. 293 
 
 My feelings were such as I could not express ; 
 the situation was one which I could not discuss. 
 I took leave of Miss Laniston without giving suffi- 
 cient consideration to her expression of counte- 
 nance and to her final words now to be able to say 
 whether they indicated amusement or sympathy. 
 
XLH. 
 
 THE MOTHER SUPERIOR. 
 
 Seldom, I think, has a berth in a sleeping-car 
 held a more turbulent - minded man than I was 
 during my journey from New York to Wash- 
 ington. The revelation that the same man had 
 loved and been loved by Mother Anastasia and by 
 Sylvia had disquieted me in a manner not easy to 
 explain ; but I knew that I was being torn by jeal- 
 ousy, and jealousy is a passion which it is some- 
 times impossible to explain. 
 
 An idea which came into my mind in the night 
 increased the storm within me. I imagined that 
 the wretch who had made suit to both Marcia and 
 Sylvia was Walkirk. He knew a good deal about 
 these women ; sometimes I was surprised to discover 
 how much he knew. Perhaps now, acting in a 
 base disguise, he was endeavoring to make of me a 
 stepping-stone to his ultimate success with one or 
 the other. Hound ! I would crush him ! 
 
 My thoughts ran rapidly backward. I remem- 
 bered how zealous he had been in following Miss 
 Raynor's yacht. He had told me of his conversa- 
 tions with Sylvia, but what reason had I to believe 
 he spoke the truth ? That any man should have 
 loved these two women filled me with rage. That 
 
THE MOTHER SUPERIOR. 295 
 
 that man should be Walkirk was an insupportable 
 thought. I was not only jealous but I felt myself 
 the victim of a treacherous insult. 
 
 It was seven o'clock when I reached Washing- 
 ton, but, although I had arrived at my destination, 
 I could give no thought to the object of my jour- 
 ney until I had discovered the truth about Wal- 
 kirk. That was all-important. 
 
 But of whom should I inquire ? I could think 
 of no one but Miss Laniston. I had been a fool 
 not to ask her the name of the man when I was 
 with her. But I would telegraph to her now, and 
 ask for it. She might be asleep at that hour, but 
 I believed she was a woman who would awake and 
 answer my question and then go to sleep again. 
 
 I immediately went to the telegraph office, and 
 sent this message : " What is the name of the man 
 of whom we spoke last evening ? It is necessary 
 that I know it. Please answer at once." She 
 would understand this. We had spoken of but 
 one man. 
 
 For nearly an hour I walked the floor and tossed 
 over the morning papers, and then came the an- 
 swer to my message. It was this : " Brownson. 
 He is dead." 
 
 There is a quality in the air of Washington 
 which is always delightful to me, but I think it has 
 never affected me as it did that morning. As I 
 breathed it, it exhilarated me ; it cheered and 
 elated me ; it rose-tinted my emotions ; it gave me 
 an appetite for my breakfast; it made me feel 
 ready for any enterprise. 
 
296 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 As soon as I thought it proper to make a morn- 
 ing call I went to number 906 Alaska Avenue. 
 There I found a large and handsome house, of that 
 independent and highly commendable style of ar- 
 chitecture which characterizes many of the houses 
 of Washington. I had not yet made up my mind 
 whether I should inquire for Mother Anastasia or 
 " Miss Raynor." I did not know the custom of 
 Mother Superiors when traveling or visiting, and 
 I determined, as I ascended the steps, to be guided 
 in this matter by the aspect of the person who 
 opened the door. 
 
 It has always been interesting to me to study 
 the character, as well as I can do so in the brief 
 opportunity generally afforded, of the servants 
 who open to me the doors of houses. To a certain 
 degree, although of course it does not do to apply 
 this rule too rigidly, these persons indicate the 
 characters of the dwellers in the house. My 
 friends have disputed this point with me, and have 
 asserted that they do not wish to be so represented, 
 but nevertheless I have frequently found my posi- 
 tion correct. 
 
 I prefer to visit those houses whose door service 
 is performed by a neat, good-looking, intelligent, 
 bright-witted, kindly-tempered, conscientious, and 
 sympathetic maidservant. A man is generally 
 very unsatisfactory. He performs his duty in a 
 perfunctory manner. His heart is not in it. He 
 fears to say a word more than he thinks absolutely 
 necessary, lest you should imagine him new in ser- 
 vice, and had not lost his interest in answering 
 questions. 
 
THE MOTHEB SUPEBIOB. 297 
 
 But even if the person you ask for be not at 
 home, it is sometimes a pleasure to be told so by 
 an intelligent maid, such as I have mentioned 
 above. One's subsequent action is frequently in- 
 fluenced by her counsel and information. Fre- 
 quently she is able to indicate to you your true 
 relation with the household ; sometimes she assists 
 in establishing it. 
 
 When the door before me opened, I saw a col- 
 ored woman. I was utterly discomfited. None of 
 my rules applied to a middle-aged colored woman, 
 who gazed upon me as if she recognized me as one 
 whom she carried in her arms when an infant. 
 Actuated by impulse only, I inquired for "Miss 
 Eaynor." 
 
 " I reckon," said she, " you 's got to de wrong 
 house. Dat lady doan' live hyar.'* 
 
 " Well, then," I asked quickly, " is there a lady 
 here named Mother Anastasia ? " 
 
 The woman showed thirty-two perfectly devel- 
 oped teeth. 
 
 " Oh, dat 's she ? You means de sister. She 's 
 hyar, yes, sah. Want to see her ? " 
 
 I stated that I certainly desired to see her. 
 
 " She 's gone out now, sah, an' dere 's no tellin' 
 when dey '11 git back. Dey ginerally all gits back 
 'bout dark. Commonly jist a little arter dark." 
 
 " Not return before dark ! " I exclaimed. " That 
 is bad. Can you give me any idea where I might 
 find Mother Anastasia? " 
 
 " I 'spects you kin fin' her mighty easy. Mos' 
 likely, she 's at de Patent Office, or at de Army 
 
298 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 and Navy Buildin', or de White House, or de 
 Treasury, or de Smifsonian, or de Navy Yard, or 
 de new 'Servatory, or on de avenue shoppin', or 
 gone to de Capitol to de Senate or de House, one ; 
 or perhaps she druv out to Arlin'ton, or else she 's 
 gone to de 'Gressional Libr'y. Mos' likely she 's 
 at one or de odder of dem places ; an' about one 
 o'clock, she an' Mis' Gardley is mighty sure to 
 eat der luncheon somewhar, an' arter that I reckon 
 they '11 go to 'bout four arternoon teas. I doan' 
 know 'xactly whare de teas '11 be dis arternoon, but 
 ye kin tell de houses whar dar is a tea inside by 
 de carriages a-waitin', — an' ef it aint a tea, it 's a 
 f un'ral, — and all yer 's got to do is to go inside 
 an' see if she 's dar." 
 
 I could not refrain from smiling, but I was 
 greatly discouraged. How could I wait until even- 
 ing for the desired interview ? 
 
 " If you is kin to de sister," said the woman, — 
 " an' I reckon you is, for I see de likeness power- 
 ful strong, — she '11 be mighty glad to see ye, sah. 
 Want me ter tell her ye '11 come back this evening, 
 if you doan' fin' her before dat ? " 
 
 I desired her to give such a message, and went 
 away well pleased that the woman had not asked 
 my name. It was desirable that Mother Ana- 
 stasia should not know who was coming to caU on 
 her. 
 
 I am, as I have said before, much given to the 
 consideration of motives and aU that sort of thing, 
 and, in the course of the day, I found myself won- 
 dering why I should have taken the trouble to 
 
THE MOTHER SUPEEIOB. 299 
 
 walk through the Patent Office and half a dozen 
 other public buildings, continually looking about 
 me, not at the objects of interest therein, but at 
 the visitors; that is, if they were ladies. Why 
 this uneasy desire to find the Mother Superiors 
 when, by quietly waiting until evening, I was al- 
 most certain to see her ? But in the midst of my 
 self-questionings I went on looking for Mother 
 Anastasia. 
 
 I finished my long ramble by a visit to the gal- 
 lery of the House of Representatives. A member 
 was making a speech on a bill to establish a na- 
 tional medical college for women. The speech and 
 the subject may have interested some people, but I 
 did not care for either, and I am afraid I was a lit- 
 tle drowsy. After a time I took a cab and went to 
 my hotel. At all events, the long day of waiting 
 was nearly over. 
 
 Early in the evening I called again at Mrs. 
 Gardley's house, and to my delight I was informed 
 that the lady I desired to see was at home. 
 
 When Mother Anastasia came into the drawing- 
 room, where I awaited her, she wore the gray gown 
 of her sisterhood, but no head covering. I had 
 before discovered that a woman could be beautiful 
 in a Martha gown, but at this moment the fact 
 asserted itself with peculiar force. She greeted 
 me with a smile and an extended hand. 
 
 *' You do not seem surprised to see me," I said. 
 
 " Why should I be ? " she answered. " I saw 
 you in the House of Representatives, and wondered 
 why you should doze when such an interesting 
 
800 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 matter was being discussed; and when I came 
 home, and heard that a gentleman answering your 
 description intended to call on me this evening, I 
 declined to go out to the theatre, wishing to be 
 here to receive you." 
 
 I was disgusted to think that she had caught me 
 napping, and that she had been near me in the 
 House and I had not known it, but I said nothing 
 of this. 
 
 " You are very good," I remarked, " to give up 
 the theatre " -^ 
 
 " Oh, don't thank me," she interrupted ; " per- 
 haps you will not think I am good. Before we 
 say anything more, I want you to tell me whether 
 or not you came here to talk about Sylvia Ray- 
 nor. 
 
 Here was a blunt question, but from the bottom 
 of my heart I believed that I answered truly when 
 I said I had not come for that purpose. 
 
 "Very good," said Mother Anastasia, leaning 
 back in her chair. " Now I can freely say that I 
 am glad to see you. I was dreadfully afraid you 
 had come to talk to me on that forbidden subject, 
 and I must admit that this fear had a very power- 
 ful influence in keeping me at home this evening. 
 If you had come to talk to me of her, I would have 
 had something very important to say to you, but I 
 am delighted that my fears were groundless. And 
 now tell me how you could help being interested 
 in that grand scheme for a woman's college." 
 
 " I have never given it any thought. Do you 
 care for it ? " 
 
THE MOTHER SUPERIOR. 301 
 
 " Care for it ! " she exclaimed. " I am enlisted 
 in the cause, hand and heart. I came down here 
 because the bill was to be brought before the 
 House. If the college is established, — and I be- 
 lieve it will be, — I expect to be one of the fac- 
 ulty." 
 
 "You are not a physician ? " said I. 
 
 " Oh, I have studied and practiced medicine," 
 she answered, " and expect to do a great deal more 
 of it before we begin operations. The physician's 
 art is my true vocation." 
 
 " And you will leave the House of Martha ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. " The period for which I 
 entered it has nearly expired. I do not regret the 
 time I have spent there, but I must admit I shall 
 be glad to leave the sisterhood. That life is too 
 narrow for me, and perhaps too shallow. I say 
 nothing against it in a general way ; I only speak 
 of it as it relates to myself. The very manner in 
 which I rejoice in the prospect of freedom proves 
 to me that I ought to be free, and that I did a 
 wise thing in limiting the term of my sister- 
 hood." 
 
 As Mother Anastasia spoke there was a glow of 
 earnest pleasure upon her face. She was truly 
 very happy to be able to talk of her approaching 
 freedom. 
 
 I am a prudent man and a cautious one. This 
 frank enthusiasm alarmed me. How deftly she 
 had put Sylvia out of sight ! How skillfully she 
 had brought herself into full view, free and un- 
 
302 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA, 
 
 trammeled by vows and rules, — a woman as other 
 women ! 
 
 The more I saw of Mother Anastasia the better 
 I liked her, but I perceived that she was a woman 
 with whom it was very necessary to be cautious. 
 She was apt, I thought, to make convictions of 
 her presumptions. If she presumed that my love 
 for Sylvia was an utterly hopeless affection, to be 
 given up and forgotten, I did not like it. It might 
 be that it was hopeless, but I did not care to have 
 any one else settle the matter for me in that way, 
 — not even Mother Anastasia. 
 
 " Of course," I remarked, " I am glad that you 
 have concluded to withdraw from a vocation which 
 I am sure is not suited to you, and yet I feel a lit- 
 tle disappointed to hear that you will not continue 
 at the head of the House of Martha, for I came 
 to Washington on purpose to make you a proposi- 
 tion in regard to that institution." 
 
 " Came to Washington on purpose to see me, 
 and to make a proposition ! What can it possibly 
 be?" 
 
 I now laid before her, with considerable atten- 
 tion to detail, my plan for working in cooperation 
 with the House of Martha. I showed her the ad- 
 vantages of the scheme as they had suggested 
 themselves to me, and as an example of what could 
 be done I mentioned Sylvia's fancy for typewriting, 
 and demonstrated how easily I could undertake 
 the outside management of this very lucrative and 
 pleasant occupation. I warmed up as I talked, 
 and spoke quite strongly about what I — and per- 
 
THE MOTHER SUPEBIOB. 303 
 
 haps in time other men — might do for the benefit 
 of the sisterhood, if my proposition were accepted. 
 
 She listened to me attentively, her face growing 
 paler and harder as I proceeded. When I had 
 finished she said : — 
 
 " It is not at all necessary for me to discuss this 
 utterly preposterous scheme, nor even to refer to 
 it, except to say that I plainly see its object. 
 Whatever you have persuaded yourself to think of 
 your plan, I know that its real object is to rees- 
 tablish a connection with Sylvia. You would 
 know, if you would allow yourself to think about 
 it, that your absurd and even wicked scheme of 
 typewriting, companionship in work, and all that 
 stuff, could only result in making the girl miserable 
 and perhaps breaking her heart. You know that 
 she loves you, and that it has been a terrible trial 
 to her to yield to her conscience and do what she 
 has done ; and you know, furthermore, — and this 
 more than anything else darkens your intention, — 
 that Sylvia's artless, ingenuous, and impulsive 
 nature would give you advantages which would 
 not be afforded to you by one who did not love 
 you, and who better understood the world and 
 you." 
 
 " Madam," I exclaimed, " you do me an injus- 
 tice ! " 
 
 She paid no attention to this remark, and pro- 
 ceeded : " And now let me tell you that what you 
 have said to me to-night has changed my plans, 
 my life. I shall not leave Sylvia exposed to your 
 cruel attacks, — attacks which I believe will come 
 
304 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 in every practical form that your ingenuity can de- 
 vise. It was my example that brought that girl 
 into the House of Martha, and now that she has 
 vowed to devote her life and her work to its ser- 
 vice I shall not desert her. I will not have her 
 pure purpose shaken and weakened, little by little, 
 day by day, until it falls listless and deadened, 
 with nothing to take its place. Therefore, until I 
 know that you are no longer a source of danger to 
 her, I shall remain Mother Superior of the House 
 of Martha, and rest assured that while I am in 
 that position Sylvia shall be safe from you." And 
 with that she rose and walked out of the room. 
 
XLIII. 
 
 WAS HIS HEART TRUE TO POLL? 
 
 Never before had any one spoken to me as Mo- 
 ther Anastasia had just spoken. Never before had 
 I felt as I felt in leaving the house where she had 
 spoken to me. I did not admit all that she had 
 said ; and yet not even to myself could I gainsay 
 her statements. I was not convinced that I had 
 been wrong, but I could not help feeling that she 
 was right. I was angry, I was mortified, I was 
 grieved. The world seemed cold and dark, and 
 the coldest and darkest thing in it was the figure 
 of Mother Anastasia, as she rose to leave me. 
 
 When I reached New York, I bethought myself 
 of my promise to Miss Laniston. It tortured my 
 soul to think of what had happened ; I knew it 
 would torture it still more to talk of these things. 
 But I am a man who keeps his promises ; besides, 
 I wanted to see Miss Laniston. I did not like her 
 very much, but the people whom I did like seemed 
 to be falling away from me, and she was a woman 
 of vigorous spirit, to whom one in my plight would 
 naturally turn. That she could give me any en- 
 couragement was not likely, but she might offer 
 me an enheartening sympathy ; and, moreover, she 
 was well acquainted with Mother Anastasia, and 
 
306 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 there were a good many questions I wanted to ask 
 about that lady. 
 
 I found Miss Laniston at home, but I was 
 obliged to wait a good while before she made her 
 appearance. 
 
 " If you were any other man in this world," she 
 said, " I should have felt obliged to excuse myself 
 from seeing you, for I am engaged on most im- 
 portant business with a modiste who is designing 
 a gown for me ; but I am perfectly wild to hear 
 about your interview with Mother Anastasia, and 
 I was afraid, if I sent you away, that you would 
 not come back again ; so tell me about it, I pray 
 you. I know you have seen her, for you look so 
 uncommonly glum. I am afraid that you have 
 not yet become a brother of the House of Martha." 
 
 There was nothing inspiring about this badinage, 
 but I braced myself to the work, and told her what 
 had happened in Washington. 
 
 " This is truly dreadful," she declared. " Of 
 course I had no idea that Mother Anastasia would 
 consider your plan as anything more than the wild 
 outreachings of a baffled lover, but I did not ima- 
 gine that she would take it in this way. This is 
 very bad." 
 
 " It is," I answered. " Everything is knocked 
 from under me." 
 
 " Oh, bless you," said the lady, " I was n't think- 
 ing of you, but of Mother Anastasia. It was the 
 happiest news I can remember when I heard that 
 she was soon to drop that name and all that be- 
 longed to it, and to begin a life in which she would 
 
WAS HIS HEART TRUE TO POLL? 307 
 
 be a woman among her peers, no matter with what 
 sex they happen to be classed. But if she stops 
 short and remains in that miserable House of 
 Martha, the result is bound to be disastrous. If 
 she believes it is necessary to spend her life in pro- 
 tecting Sylvia from your assaults, she is the woman 
 to spend her life in that way." 
 
 " What her friends should do," said I, " is to 
 convince her that it is not necessary." 
 
 Miss Laniston gazed upon me fixedly. " You 
 think it would be a great pity for a beautiful wo- 
 man — a remarkably fine woman like Mother An- 
 astasia — to hide herself away in that make-believe 
 convent ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do," I answered, with animation. 
 
 " And since one fine woman is shut up for life 
 in that prison, you think it a shame that another 
 one should remain within its walls ? " 
 
 I assented warmly. 
 
 " Now, then," remarked Miss Laniston, rising, 
 " it is absolutely necessary for me to go to the 
 Frenchwoman, who, I know, is fuming for me, and 
 whose time is very precious. I shall be with you 
 again in about twenty minutes, and during that 
 time I wish you would make up your mind with 
 whom you are in love, — Mother Anastasia or 
 Sylvia Eaynor. When that point is settled, we 
 will see what can be done." 
 
 It was a man of a bewildered mind who was left 
 alone in that drawing-room. I did not understand 
 what had been said to me, but now that ideas of 
 this kind had been put into words, there seemed 
 
308 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 to be a certain familiarity about them. How 
 dared sbe speak to me in that way ? What ground 
 had she for such words? 
 
 And yet — Sylvia was shut up for life in the 
 House of Martha. I could not gainsay that. 
 
 I could not put my thoughts into form, and with 
 my mind in chaos I strode up and down the room 
 until Miss Laniston returned. 
 
 " What an uneasy person you are ! " she said. 
 " Have you settled that little point? " 
 " Settled it ! ' There is nothing to settle." 
 She laughed. " I am not so sure about that. 
 I thought I saw a change in the wind when you 
 were here last, and it is natural enough that it 
 should change. What is the good of its blowing 
 steadfastly from the north, when the north is no- 
 thing but ice ? " 
 
 " You have no right to talk in that way ! " I ex- 
 claimed angrily. " I utterly repudiate your suppo- 
 sition." 
 
 " Come, come," she said, " let us be practical. 
 I really take an interest in you, you know, and be- 
 sides that, I take an interest in my friends ; and it 
 is quite plain to me that you must not be allowed 
 to wander about in a detached way, making all 
 sorts of trouble. You have made a good deal al- 
 ready. So if we must consider Sylvia Eaynor as 
 really out of the race, on account of being tied up 
 by her sisterhood obligations, we must turn our at- 
 tention to Mother Anastasia, who probably has not 
 yet done anything definite in regard to retaining 
 her position in the House of Martha. If anything 
 
WAS HIS HEART TRUE TO POLL? 309 
 
 can be done in this direction, it will be entirely- 
 satisfactory, because, if you get the ex-Mother Su- 
 perior, of course you will be content to leave the 
 young sister alone." 
 
 " Madam, you insult me ! " I cried, springing to 
 my feet. 
 
 "By which, I suppose," she answered, "you 
 wish me to understand that your heart is true to 
 Poll, — by Poll meaning Sylvia Raynor." 
 
 " You know that as well as I do," I replied. " I 
 have taken you into my confidence; I have told 
 you that I loved her, that I should always love 
 her ; and it is unwomanly in you " — 
 
 " That wiU do," she interrupted, — " that will 
 do ; don't say hard words to one of your best 
 friends. If you will continue to be true to Poll, 
 not as the sailor was in the song, but constant and 
 steadfast in all sorts of weather, and without any 
 regard to that mere material point of eventually 
 getting her for your own, why then I am your fast 
 friend to the end, and will do everything that I 
 can to soften your woes and lighten your pathway ; 
 and all the reward I desire for my labors is the 
 pleasure of knowing that there is at least one man 
 in the world who can love truly and unchangeably 
 without seeing any chance ahead of him of winning 
 the woman he loves. Do you think you can fill 
 that position ? " 
 
 I looked at her sternly, and answered : " I have 
 said all upon that point that is necessary to say. 
 When I love a woman, I love her forever." 
 
 " Very good," said Miss Laniston, — " very 
 
310 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 good ; and I dare say your little side flights did n't 
 mean anything at all. And now I shall talk with 
 Mother Anastasia as soon as possible, and make 
 her understand that she has no right to sacrifice 
 herself to Sylvia or any one else. If I can get her 
 started off on the right road, I will see what I can 
 do with the new Mother Superior, whoever she 
 may be. Perhaps you may yet be able to estab- 
 lish that delightful brotherhood of the House of 
 Martha. Any way, I promise you you shall have 
 something. It' may not be much and it may not 
 be often, but it shall be enough to keep your love 
 alive, and that, you see, is my great object. I 
 want to make of you a monument of masculine 
 constancy." 
 
 As I took leave of her, Miss Laniston gave my 
 hand a vigorous pressure, which seemed to me to 
 indicate that her intentions were better than her 
 words. As I went away my mind was quieter, 
 though not cheered. There was in it a certain 
 void and emptiness, but this was compensated for 
 by a sense of seK-approbation which was strength- 
 ening and comforting. I was even able to smile at 
 the notion of the interview between Miss Laniston 
 and Sister Sarah, when the former should propose 
 my plan of the brotherhood. 
 
XLIV. 
 
 PRELIMINARY BROTHERHOOD. 
 
 When I returned to Arden, I gave Walkirk an 
 outline of what had occurred, but I did not go into 
 details, having no desire that the preposterous idea 
 which had gotten into the head of Miss Laniston 
 should enter that of my under-study. Walkirk 
 was not in good spirits. 
 
 " I had hoped something," he said, " from your 
 interview with Mother Anastasia, though perhaps 
 not exactly in the line of a brotherhood. I thought 
 if she came to thoroughly understand your earnest- 
 ness in the matter, she might use her influence 
 with Miss Raynor, which at some time or other, or 
 in some way or other, might result to your advan- 
 tage, and that of the young lady. I had and stiH 
 have great belief in the capabilities of Mother 
 Anastasia, but now I am forced to believe, very 
 much against my will, that there is no hope ahead. 
 With Mother Anastasia decidedly against us, the 
 fight is lost." 
 
 " Us," I repeated. 
 
 " My dear sir," said he, " I am with you, soul 
 and body." 
 
 Without a word I took him by the hand, and 
 pressed it warmly. 
 
312 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 " What do you think of continuing your recitals 
 of travel ? " Walkirk said to me later in the day. 
 " I should think they would interest you, and I 
 know they were vastly interesting to me. You 
 must have a great deal more to tell." 
 
 " I have," I answered, " but I shall not tell it 
 now. Instead of talking about travels, I have de- 
 termined to travel. At present it is awkward for 
 me to remain here. It is impossible for me to 
 feel independent, and able to do what I please, and 
 know that th^re are persons in the village who do 
 not wish to meet me, and with whom it would be 
 embarrassing and perhaps unpleasant to meet. I 
 know I must meet them some time or other, unless 
 they shut themselves up, or I shut myself up. 
 That sort of thing I cannot endure, and I shall go 
 to Turkey and Egypt. Those countries I have 
 not visited. If it suits you, I shall take you with 
 me, and I shall also take a stenographer, to whom 
 .1 shall dictate, on the spot, the materials for my 
 book." 
 
 " Do you mean," asked Walkirk, " that you will 
 dispense altogether with that preparatory narration 
 to me of what you intend afterwards to put into 
 your book? I consider that a capital plan, and I 
 think you found it of advantage." 
 
 " That is true," I answered ; " the plan worked 
 admirably. I did not propose to work in that way 
 again, but I will do it. Every night I will tell 
 you what I have done, and what I think about 
 things, and the next morning I '11 dictate that ma- 
 terial, revised and shapen, to the stenograj^her, 
 
PRELIMINARY BBOTHEBHOOD. 313 
 
 who can then have the rest of the day to write it 
 out properly." 
 
 " A capital plan," said "Walkirk, " and I shall 
 be charmed to go with you." 
 
 I was indeed very anxious to leave Arden. I 
 could not believe that Mother Anastasia had ever 
 imagined any of the stuff that Miss Laniston had 
 talked about, but she certainly had shown me that 
 she was greatly offended with me, and nothing 
 offends me so much as to have people offended 
 with me. Such persons I do not wish to meet. 
 
 I did not immediately fix a date for my depar- 
 ture, for it was necessary for me to consider my 
 grandmother's feelings and welfare, and arrange 
 to make her as happy as possible while I should be 
 gone. In the mean time, it was of course necessary 
 that I should take air and exercise ; and while doing 
 this one morning in a pretty lane, just out of the 
 village, a figure in the House of Martha gray came 
 into sight a little distance ahead of me. Her back 
 was toward me, and she was walking slower than 
 I was. " Now, then," thought I, " here is a proof 
 of the awkwardness of my position here. Even 
 in a little walk like this, I must run up against one 
 of those sisters. I must pass her, or turn around 
 and go back, for I shall not slow up, and appear 
 to be dogging her footsteps. But I shall not turn 
 back, — that does not suit me." Consequently I 
 walked on, and soon overtook the woman in gray. 
 She did not turn her head as I approached, for the 
 sisters are taught not to turn their heads to look 
 at people. After all, it would be easy enough for 
 
314 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 me to adopt the same rule, and to pass her without 
 turning my head, or paying the slightest attention 
 to her. This was the manner indeed in which the 
 general public was expected to act toward the in= 
 mates of the House of Martha when met outside 
 their institution. 
 
 When I came up with her, I turned and looked 
 into the bonnet. It was Sylvia. As my eyes fell 
 upon the face of that startled angel, my impulse 
 was to throw my arms around her, and rush away 
 with her, gray, bonnet, shawl and all, to some dis- 
 tant clime where there were no Houses of Martha, 
 Mother Anastasias, or anything which could sepa- 
 rate my dear love and me ; but I crushed down this 
 mad fancy, smothered, as well as I could, my wild 
 emotions, and said, as calmly as possible, — 
 
 " Good morning, sister." 
 
 Over the quick flushes of her face there spread 
 a smile of pleasure. 
 
 " I like that," she said ; " I am glad to have you 
 call me sister. I thought you would be prejudiced 
 against it, and would not do it." 
 
 " Prejudiced ! " I said ; " not a bit of it. I am 
 delighted to do so." 
 
 " That is really good of you," she said ; " and 
 how have you been ? You look a little wan and 
 tired. Have you been doing your own writing ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," I said ; " I have given up writing, at 
 least for the present. I wish I could make you 
 understand how glad I am to call you sister, and 
 how it would joy my heart if you would call me 
 brother." 
 
PBELIMINARY BBOTHEBHOOD. 315 
 
 " Oh, that would not do at all," she said, in a 
 tone which indicated surprise at my ignorance; 
 " that would be quite a different thing. I am a 
 sister to everybody, but you are not a brother to 
 anybody." 
 
 " When you hear what I have to say about this," 
 I answered, " you will understand what I mean by 
 wishing to be called brother. May I ask where 
 you are going? " 
 
 " I am going to visit a sick person in that little 
 house at the bottom of the hiU. Sister Agatha 
 came with me, but she had the toothache, and had 
 to go back. I expect Sister Sarah will send some 
 one of the others to join me, for she always wants 
 us to go about in couples." 
 
 " She is entirely right," said I ; " I did not know 
 she had so much sense, and I shall make one of the 
 couple this time. You ought not to be walking 
 about here by yourself." 
 
 " I suppose I ought to have gone back with 
 Sister Agatha," said she, " but I did n't want to. 
 I 'm dreadfully tired of staying in the House of 
 Martha, trying to learn typewriting. I can do it 
 pretty well now, but nothing has come of it. Sis- 
 ter Sarah got me one piece of work, which was to 
 copy a lot of bad manuscript about local option. 
 I am sure, if I am to do that sort of thing I shall 
 not like typewriting." 
 
 " You shall not do that sort of thing," said I ; 
 " and now let us walk on slowly, while I tell you 
 what I meant by the term brother." I was in a 
 whirl of delight. Now I would taliv to one who I 
 
316 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 believed would sympathize with my every thought, 
 who would be in harmony with my outreachings, 
 if she could do no more, and from whom I need 
 expect neither ridicule nor revilings. We walked 
 on slowly, and I laid before her my scheme for the 
 brotherhood of the House of Martha. 
 
 I was not mistaken in my anticipation of Sylvia's 
 sympathy. She listened with sparkling eyes, and 
 when I finished, clapped her hands with delight. 
 
 " That is one of the best plans that was ever 
 heard of in this^ world," she said. " How different 
 it would make our life at the institution! Of 
 course the brothers wouldn't live there, but we 
 should see each other, like ordinary people in so- 
 ciety, and everything would not be so dreadfully 
 blank, and there is no end to the things which you 
 could do, which we cannot do, unless with a great 
 deal of trouble. The usefulness of your plan 
 seems to have no limits at all. How many brothers 
 do you think we ought to have ? " 
 
 " I have not considered that point,'* I said; "at 
 present I. know of but one person, besides myself, 
 who would have the necessary qualifications for the 
 position." 
 
 " I expect," she said, looking at me with a 
 twinkle of fun in her eye, " that if you had the 
 selection of the other brothers they would be a 
 tame lot." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," I said, and we both 
 broke into a laugh. 
 
 " I wish I could tell you," said Sylvia, " how 
 much I am charmed with your idea of the brother- 
 
PBELIMINARY BBOTHEBHOOD. 317 
 
 hood. I have n't enjoyed myself so much for ever 
 so long." 
 
 We were now nearing the little house at the 
 bottom of the hill. An idea struck me. 
 
 " Who is it that you are going to visit ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " It is an old man," she said, " who has the 
 rheumatism so badly that he cannot move. He 
 has to take his medicine every hour, and his wife 
 is worn out sitting up and giving it to him, and 
 Sister Agatha and I were sent to take care of him 
 during the morning, and let the poor old woman 
 get some sleep." 
 
 " Very good," said I, " here is a chance for me 
 to make a beginning in my scheme of brotherhood, 
 and that without asking leave or license of any- 
 body. I wiU go in with you, and help you nurse 
 the old man." 
 
 " I expect you can do it splendidly," said 
 Sylvia, " and now we can see how a brotherhood 
 woiUd work." 
 
 We entered a little house, which apparently had 
 once been a good enough home for humble dwell- 
 ers, but which now showed signs of extreme pov- 
 erty. A man with gray hair, and placid, pale face, 
 was lying on a bed in one corner of the room into 
 which the door opened, and in a chair near by sat 
 an old woman, her head bobbing in an uneasy nap. 
 She roused when we entered, and seemed glad to 
 see us. 
 
 " He 's about the same as he was," she said, 
 " an' as he 's loike to be width thim little draps of 
 
318 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 midicine ; but if you 're a docther, sir, it ain't for 
 me to be meddlin', an' sayin' that one of thim 
 Pepper Pod Plasters width howles in it would do 
 more good to his poor back than thim draps inside 
 of him." 
 
 " Rheumatism is not treated externally so much 
 as it used to be," I said. " You will find that in- 
 ternal medication will be of much more service in 
 the long run." 
 
 " That may be, sir," said she ; " but it won't do 
 to make the run too long, considtherin' he has n't 
 been able to do a sthroke of work for four weeks, 
 an' if ye'd ever tried one of thim plasters, sir, 
 ye'd know they's as warmin' as sandpaper an' 
 salt ; but if I kin git a little slape, it will be better 
 for me than any midicine, inside or out." 
 
 " That 's what we came to give you," said Sylvia ; 
 " go into the other room, and lie down, and you 
 shall not be called until it is time for your dinner." 
 
 The woman gave a little shrug, which I imagine 
 was intended to indicate that dinner and dinner- 
 time had not much relation to each other in this 
 house, and going into an adjoining room, was prob- 
 ably soon fast asleep. 
 
 " It would be better to begin by giving him his 
 medicine. I know all about it, for I was here 
 yesterday. I forgot to ask his wife when she gave 
 it to him last," said Sylvia, " but we might as well 
 begin fresh at the half-pasts." 
 
 She poured out a teaspoonful of the stuff, and 
 administered it to the old man, who opened his 
 mouth, and took it placidly. 
 
PRELIMINARY BROTHERHOOD. 319 
 
 " He is very quiet and very patient," said Sylvia 
 to me in an undertone, — and it is impossible for 
 me to describe how delightful it was to have her 
 speak to me in such a confidential undertone, — 
 '•' he does n't talk any," she continued, " and does 
 n't seem to care to have anybody read to him, 
 for when Sister Agatha tried that yesterday, he 
 went to sleep ; but he likes his brow bathed, and I 
 can sit on this side of his bed and do that, and you 
 can find a chair and sit on the other side, and tell 
 me more about your plan of brotherhood." 
 
 There was no other chair, but I found a box, on 
 which I seated myself on the other side of the old 
 man's cot, while Sylvia, taking a bottle from her 
 pocket, proceeded to dampen the forehead of the 
 patient with its pleasantly scented contents. 
 
 I did not much like to see her doing this, nor 
 did I care to discuss our projects over the body of 
 this rheumatic laborer. 
 
 " It strikes me," I said, " that it would be a 
 good idea to put on that bay rum, or cologne, or 
 whatever it is, with a clean paint-brush, or some- 
 thing of the kind. Don't you dislike using your 
 fingers? " 
 
 Sylvia laughed. " You have lots to learn yet," 
 she said, " before you can be a brother ; and now 
 tell me what particular kind of work you think 
 the brothers would do. I hardly think nursing 
 would suit them very well." 
 
 I did not immediately answer, and Sylvia's quick 
 mind divined the reason of my reluctance. 
 
 " Let us talk en frangais^'^ she said ; " that will 
 
320 TEE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 not disturb this good man, and he can go to sleep 
 if he likes." 
 
 " Tres hien,^^ I said, '^ parlous nous en fraih- 
 gais.^^ 
 
 ''II serait charmant" said she ; ''faime la belle 
 langue.^^ ^ 
 
 The old man turned his head from one to the 
 other of us ; all his placidity vanished, and he ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " del! VoUa les anges Vun et V autre qui 
 vient parler ma chere langue^ 
 
 " Good gracious ! " exclaimed Sylvia, " I thought 
 he was Irish." 
 
 The patient now took the talking business into 
 his own hands, and in his dear language told us 
 his tale of woe. It was a very ordinary tale, and 
 its dolefulness was relieved by the old man's de- 
 light at finding people who could talk to him like 
 Christians. One of his woes was that he had not 
 been long enough married to his wife to teach her 
 much French. 
 
 " I wish," interpolated Sylvia to me, " that we 
 had kept on in English. It would have been much 
 more satisfactory. I expect one of the other sis- 
 ters will be here before very long, and before she 
 comes I wish you would tell me how you are get- 
 ting on with your book. I have been thinking 
 about it, ever and ever so much." 
 
 " I am not getting on at all," said I; " without 
 you there will be no book." 
 
 At this Sylvia knit her brows a little, and looked 
 disturbed. 
 
PRELIMINARY BROTHERHOOD. 321 
 
 " That is not a good way to talk about it," she 
 said, " unless, indeed, the book could be made a 
 part of the brotherhood work, in some way. The 
 publisher might want a typewritten copy, and if 
 I should make it, I should know the end of the 
 story of Tomaso and Lucilla. You know I had 
 almost given up ever knowing what finally hap- 
 pened to those two." 
 
 " You shall know it," said I ; "we shall work 
 together yet. I can think of a dozen ways in 
 which we can do it, and I intend to prove that my 
 brotherhood idea is thoroughly practicable." 
 
 " Of course it is," said Sylvia ; " is n't this prac- 
 tical ? " and she bedewed the patient's brow so lib- 
 erally, that some of the perfume ran into his eyes, 
 and made him wink vigorously. 
 
 " Merci, mademoiselle,^* said he, " mais pas 
 heaucoup, mais pas heaucoup / " 
 
 " A capital practical idea has just occurred to 
 me," I said ; " do you think you shall be here to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " I expect to come here," she answered, " for 1 
 take a great deal of interest in this old man. Mo- 
 ther Anastasia is still away, and I expect that Sis- 
 ter Sarah will send me again, for this is the kind 
 of work she believes in. She has a very poor 
 opinion of typewriting ; but, of course, a sister 
 will come with me." 
 
 " There is one coming to join you now," I said ; 
 " I see her gray figure on the top of the hill. As 
 she will not understand matters, and as I do not 
 wish to talk any more about my plans, until I am 
 
322 THE HOUSE OJP" MARTHA. 
 
 better able to show how they will work, I think it 
 will be well for me to retire ; but I shall be here 
 to-morrow morning, and it would suit my plans 
 very well if another sister comes with you." 
 
 Sylvia looked around at the approaching gray 
 figure. 
 
 " I think that is Sister Lydia," she said, " at 
 least, I think I recognize her walk, and so it might 
 be well for you to go. If it were Sister Agatha it 
 would n't matter so much. Of course, when your 
 plan is all explained and agreed to, it will not 
 make any difference who comes or goes." 
 
 " Very true," said I, " and now I think I will 
 bid you good-morning. Be sure and be here to- 
 morrow." 
 
 She shook hands with me, across the prostrate 
 form of the rheumatic Frenchman, who smiled, 
 and murmured, " Bien, hien, mes anges,^^ and she 
 assured me that I might expect her on the morrow. 
 
XLV. 
 
 I MAKE COFFEE AND GET INTO HOT WATEE. 
 
 I DO not like to do anything which looks in the 
 least underhanded, but I must admit that I left 
 that wretched cottage by the back door, and taking 
 a path through some woods, made a wide circuit 
 before returning to the viUage. 
 
 As soon as I reached my house, I called Wal- 
 kirk from his writing, and rapidly gave him in- 
 structions in regard to the execution of an idea 
 which had come into my mind during my brother- 
 hood labors of the morning. 
 
 I told him to hasten to the scene of my building 
 operations, and to take away all the carpenters, 
 painters, and plasterers he could crowd into a two- 
 horse wagon, and to go with them to the house 
 of the rheumatic Frenchman, from which I knew 
 the sisters would have departed before he reached 
 it. I promised to join him there, and at the same 
 time that he set out on his errand, I hurried to a 
 shop in the viUage, the owner of which combined 
 the occupations of cabinet maker and undertaker, 
 and who generally kept on hand a small stock of 
 cheap furniture. From this I selected such arti- 
 cles as I thought would be suitable or useful in a 
 small house, which at present contained nothing 
 
324 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 too good for a bonfire, and ordered them sent im- 
 mediately to the Frenchman's cottage. 
 
 I reached this wretched little house a few min- 
 utes before the arrival of Walkirk and the wagon- 
 load of mechanics. My under-study had entered 
 heartily into my scheme, and by his directions the 
 men had brought with them everything needed to 
 carry out my plans, and in a very short time he 
 and I had set every man to work. 
 
 There were carpenters, plasterers, painters, pa- 
 per-hangers, and a tinner and glazier, and when 
 they learned that I wanted that little house com- 
 pletely renovated in the course of the afternoon, 
 they looked upon the business as a lark, and en- 
 tered into it with great spirit. The astonished 
 woman of the house did not understand what was 
 about to happen, and even when I had explained 
 it to her, her mind seemed to take in nothing ex- 
 cept the fact that the house ought to be cleaned 
 before the painting and paper-hanging began, but 
 there was no time for delays of this sort, and the 
 work went on merrily. 
 
 When the furniture arrived, the woman gave a 
 gasp, for the last time the vehicle which brought 
 them to her house had been there, it had taken 
 away her previous husband. But a bureau and 
 table and a roll of carpet assured her of its differ- 
 ent purpose, and she turned in with a will to assist 
 in arranging these articles. 
 
 Before dark the work was all done. The rheu- 
 matic Frenchman was lying on a shining new bed- 
 stead, a box of Pepper Pod Plasters had been 
 
I GET INTO HOT WATER. 325 
 
 placed in the hands of his delighted wife, a grocery- 
 wagon had deposited a load of goods in the kitchen, 
 the mechanics in gay spirits had driven away, 
 and Walkirk and I, tired, but triumphant, walked 
 home, leaving behind us a magical transformation, 
 a pervadiug smell of paint and damp wall-paper, 
 and an aged couple as much dazed as delighted 
 with what had happened. 
 
 Soon after breakfast the next day, I repaired to 
 the bright and tidy little cottage, and there I had 
 my reward. Standing near the house a little in 
 the shadow of a good sized evergreen-tree, which 
 I had ordered transplanted bodily from the woods 
 into the little yard, I beheld Sylvia approaching, 
 and with her a sister with a bandaged face whom I 
 rightly supposed to be the amiable Sister Agatha. 
 
 When the two came within a moderate distance 
 of the cottage they stopped, they looked about 
 them from side to side, and it was plain to see that 
 they imagined they were on the wrong road. Then 
 they walked forward a bit, stopped again, and 
 finally came towards the house on a run. 
 
 I advanced to meet them. 
 
 " Good morning, sisters," said I. The two were 
 so much astonished that they did not return my 
 greeting, and for a few moments scarcely noticed 
 me. Then Sylvia turned. 
 
 "How in the world," she exclaimed, "did all 
 this happen ? It must be the same house." 
 
 I smiled. " It is very simple," said I ; " this " 
 — and as I spoke I waved my hand towards the 
 cottage — " is an instance of the way in which 
 
326 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 the brothers of the House of Martha intend to 
 work." 
 
 "And you did this?" exclaimed Sylvia, with 
 radiant eyes. 
 
 I explained to the eagerly listening sisters how 
 the transformation had been accomplished, and 
 with a sort of reverent curiosity they approached 
 the house. Sister Agatha's astonishment was 
 even greater than that of Sylvia, for she had long 
 known the wretched place. 
 
 " It is a veritable miracle," she said, " see this 
 beautiful white fence, and the gate ; it opens on 
 hinges ! " 
 
 " Be careful," said I, as they entered the little 
 yard, " some of the paint may yet be wet, although 
 I told them to put as much drying stuff in as was 
 possible." 
 
 " Actually," cried Sylvia, " a gravel walk up to 
 the house ! " 
 
 " And the outside a daffodil yellow, with fern 
 green blinds ! " said Sister Agatha. 
 
 " And the eaves tipped with geranium red ! " 
 cried Sylvia. 
 
 " And a real tree on each side of the front door, 
 and new steps ! " exclaimed Sister Agatha. 
 
 When they entered the house the amazement 
 and delight of the two sisters was a joy to my 
 soul. They cried out at the carpet on the floor, 
 the paper on the walls, the tables, the chairs, the 
 bureau, the looking-glass, the three framed litho- 
 graphs on the wall, the clock, and the shining new 
 bedstead on which their patient lay. 
 
I GET INTO HOT WATER, 327 
 
 *' If Mother Anastasia could but see this," cried 
 Sylvia, " she would believe in the brotherhood." 
 
 "He sez yer angels," said the woman of the 
 house, coming forward, " that's what he sez ; an' 
 he 's roight too, for with thim Pepper Pod Plasters, 
 an' the smell of paint in the house which he hates, 
 he '11 be out o' doors in two days, or I 'm much 
 mishtaken." 
 
 Sylvia and I now approached the old man to see 
 what he thought about it. He was very grateful, 
 and said nothing about the smell of paint, but we 
 found him with a burning desire in his heart which 
 had been fanned into flames by the arrival of the 
 groceries on the day before. He eagerly asked us 
 if we could make coffee ; when he was well he 
 could make it himself, but since he had been lying 
 on that bed, he had not tasted a drop of the be- 
 loved liquid. His wife did not drink it, and could 
 not make it, but as we could speak French, and 
 had sent coffee, he felt sure that we could compound 
 the beverage, so dear to the French heart. 
 
 " The angels make coffee," he said, in his best 
 patois, " otherwise what would Heaven be ? " 
 
 Both of the angels declared that the good man 
 should have some coffee without delay, but Sylvia 
 said to me, that although she had not the least 
 idea how to make it, she was quite sure Sister 
 Agatha could do it. But that sister, when asked, 
 declared that she knew nothing about coffee, and 
 did not approve of it for sick people, but if the 
 man did not like the tea his wife made, she would 
 try what she could do. 
 
828 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 But this offer was declined. The old man must 
 have his coffee, and as there was no one else to 
 make it, I undertook to do it myself. I thought 
 I remembered how coffee had been made, when 
 I had been camping out, and I went promptly 
 to work. Everybody helped. The old woman 
 ground the berries. Sister Agatha stirred up the 
 fire, and Sylvia broke two eggs, in order to get 
 shells enough to clear the liquid. 
 
 It was a good while before the coffee was ready, 
 but at last it was made, and Sylvia carried it to 
 our patient in a great bowl. She sat down on one 
 side of the bed to administer the smoking beverage 
 with a spoon, while I sat on the other side and 
 raised the old man's head that he might drink the 
 better. After swallowing the first tablespoonful, 
 the patient winked. 
 
 " I hope it did not scald his throat," said Sylvia, 
 " Do you know what ' scald ' is in French ? " 
 
 " I cannot remember," said I, " you had better 
 let the next spoonful cool a little," — but the pa- 
 tient opened his mouth for more. 
 
 " C^est potage,''^ he said, " mais il est hon,^^ 
 
 " I am sorry I made soup of it," I said to Sylvia, 
 " but I am sure it tastes like coffee." 
 
 We continued to feed the old man, who ab- 
 sorbed the new-fangled broth as fast as it was 
 given to him, until a voice behind me made u& 
 both jump. 
 
 " Sister Hagar," said the voice, " what does this 
 mean?" 
 
 " Goodness, Mother Anastasia," cried Sylvia, 
 " you made me scald the outside of his throat." 
 
I GET INTO HOT WATEB. 329 
 
 At the foot of the bed stood Mother Anastasia 
 clad in her severest gray, her brows knit and her 
 lips close pressed. 
 
 " Sister Hagar," she repeated, " what is all 
 this?" 
 
 I let down the old man's head, and Sylvia, pla- 
 cing the almost empty bowl upon the table, replied 
 serenely : — 
 
 " Mr. Vanderley is making a beginning in bro- 
 therhood work — the brotherhood of the House of 
 Martha, you know. I think it would work splen- 
 didly. Just look around and see what he has 
 done. He has made this charming cottage out of 
 an old rattle-trap house. Everything you see in 
 one afternoon, and lots of provisions in the kitchen 
 ibesides. Sisters alone could never have done 
 this." 
 
 Mother Anastasia turned to me. 
 
 " I will speak with you, outside," she said, and 
 I followed her into the little yard. As soon as 
 we were far enough from the house to speak with- 
 out being overheard, she stopped, and turning to 
 me, said : — 
 
 " You are not content with driving me from the 
 life on which I had set my heart, back into this 
 mistaken vocation, but you are determined to make 
 my lot miserable and unhappy. And not mine 
 only, but that of that simple-hearted and unsus- 
 pecting girl. I do not see how you can be so self- 
 ishly cruel. You are resolved to break her heart, 
 and to do it in the most torturing way. But you 
 shall work her no more harm. I do not now ap- 
 
830 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 peal to your honor, to your sense of justice ; I sim- 
 ply say that I shall henceforth stand between you 
 and her. What misery may come to her and to 
 me from what you have already done I do not 
 know, but you do no more." 
 
 I stood and listened with the blood boiling with- 
 in me. 
 
 " Marcia Eaynor," I said — " for I shall not call 
 you by that title which you put on and take off as 
 you please — I here declare to you that I shall 
 never give up Sylvia. If I never speak to her 
 again or see her I shall not give her up. I make 
 no answer to what you have charged me with, but 
 I say to you that as Sylvia's life and my life can- 
 not be one as I would have it, I shall live the life 
 that she lives, even though our lives be ever apart. 
 For the love I bear her, I shall always do the work 
 that she does. But I believe that the time will 
 come when people, wiser than you are, will see 
 that what I proposed to do is a good thing to do, 
 and the time will come when a man and a woman 
 can labor side by side in good works, and both do 
 better work because they work together. And to 
 Sylvia and to my plan of brotherhood, I shall 
 ever be constant. Remember that." 
 
 Without a word or change in her expression 
 she left me, went into the house, and closed the 
 door behind her. I did not wish to make a scene, 
 which would give rise to injurious gossip, and 
 therefore walked away, though as I did so I turned 
 to look in at the open window, but I did not see 
 Sylvia; I only saw th6 bandaged face of Sister 
 
I GET INTO HOT WATEB. 331 
 
 Agatha looking out at me, more mournful than 
 before. 
 
 As I rapidly walked homeward, I said to my- 
 self, " Now I declare myself a full brother of the 
 House of Martha. I shall take up their cause, 
 and steadfastly work for it whether they like it or 
 not" 
 
XLVI. 
 
 GOING BACK FOR A FRIEND. 
 
 When I reached home, I looked up my grand- 
 mother and told her everything that had happened. 
 My excitement was so great that it was necessary 
 I should talk to some one, and I felt a pang of re- 
 gret when I remembered that latterly I had given 
 no confidences to her. 
 
 My grandmother listened eagerly and without 
 interrupting me, but as I spoke she shook her head 
 again and again, and when I had finished, she 
 said : — 
 
 " My dear boy, if you understood the world and 
 the people in it as well as I do, you would know 
 that that sort of thing could never, never work. 
 Before long you and Sylvia would be madly in 
 love with each other, and then what would happen 
 nobody knows. It may be that Mother Anastasia 
 has not fully done her duty in this case, or it 
 may be that she has done too much, and other peo- 
 ple may have acted improperly and without due 
 thought and caution ; but be this as it may, it is 
 plain enough to see that your poor heart has been 
 dreadfully wrung. I wish I had known before of 
 this brotherhood notion, and of what you intended 
 to do, and I would have told you, as I tell you now, 
 
GOING BACK FOE A FRIEND. 333 
 
 that in this world we must accept situations. That 
 is the only way in which we can get along at all. 
 Sylvia Raynor has gone, soul and body, into this 
 Martha House, which is the same as a convent, 
 and to all intents and purposes she is the same as 
 a nun. Now there is no use fighting against that 
 sort of thing. Even if she should consent to climb 
 over the wall, and run away with you, I do not 
 believe you would like a wife who would do that, 
 after all she had vowed and given her solemn 
 word to." 
 
 " My dear grandmother," I said, " all that you 
 say may be true, but it makes no difference to me ; 
 I shall always be faithful to Sylvia." 
 
 " Perhaps so, perhaps so," said my grandmother, 
 *' but you must remember this : it may be all very 
 well to be faithful, but you should be careful how 
 you do it. In some respects Mother Anastasia is 
 entirely right, and your faithfulness, if injudi- 
 ciously shown, may make miserable the life of this 
 young woman." I sighed but said nothing. My 
 grandmother looked pityingly upon me. 
 
 " I think you can do nothing better than to go 
 and travel as you have proposed. Stay away for 
 a year. Dear knows, I do not want to keep you 
 from me for all that time, but the absence will be 
 for your good. It will influence your life. When 
 you come back, then you will know yourself better 
 than you can possibly know yourself now. Then 
 you will be able to see what you truly ought to do, 
 and I promise you that if I am alive I wiU help 
 you do it." 
 
334 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 I took the dear old lady in my arms, and her 
 advice to my heart. I acknowledged to myself 
 that at this conjuncture the wisest thing, the kind- 
 est thing was to go away. I might not stay away 
 for a year, but I would go. 
 
 " Grandmother," I said, " I will do what you ad- 
 vise. But I have something to ask of you : I have 
 vowed that I will be a brother of the House of 
 Martha, and that I wiU do its work, with or with- 
 out the consent of the sisters, and with or without 
 their companionship. Now if I go, will you be my 
 substitute? Will you, as far as you can, assist 
 the sisters in their undertakings, and do what you 
 think I would have done, had I been here? " 
 
 " I cannot change a dilapidated hut into a 
 charming cottage in one afternoon," she said, pla- 
 cing both hands on my shoulders as she spoke, " but 
 I will do all that I can, and all that you ought to 
 do, if you were here. That much I promise." 
 
 " Then I wiU go," I said, " with a heavy heart, 
 but with an easier conscience." 
 
 Walkirk entirely approved of an immediate 
 start upon the journey which I had before pro- 
 posed. I think he feared that if it was postponed 
 any longer, I might get some other idea into my 
 head which would work better than the brother- 
 hood scheme, and that our travels might be post- 
 poned indefinitely. 
 
 But there was a great deal to be done before I 
 could leave home for a lengthy absence, and a 
 week was occupied in arranging my business af- 
 fairs, and planning for the comfort and pleasure of 
 
GOING BACK FOB A FRIENB. 335 
 
 my grandmother while I should be away. Wal- 
 kirk engaged the stenographer, and was the great- 
 est possible help to me in every way, but notwith- 
 standing his efforts to relieve me of work that was 
 a busier week for me than any week in my whole 
 life. This was an advantage to me, for it kept me 
 from thinking too much of the reason for my hur- 
 ried journey. 
 
 At last the day arrived on which the steamer 
 was to sail, and the generally cool Walkirk actu- 
 ally grew nervous in his efforts to get me ready to 
 start by the early morning train for the city. In 
 these efforts I did not assist him in the least. Ii^ 
 fact had he not been with me I think that I should 
 not have tried to leave home in time to catch the 
 steamer. The more I thought of catching the 
 steamer, the less I cared to do so ; the more I 
 thought of leaving home, the less I cared to do so. 
 It was not that I was going away from Sylvia that 
 made me thus reluctant to start. It was because I 
 was going away without taking leave of her, — 
 without a word or even a sign from her. I ground 
 my teeth as I thought of how I had lost the only 
 chance I had had of bidding her farewell, and of 
 assuring her that, no matter what happened, I 
 would be constant to her and to the principles in 
 which we had both come to believe. I had been 
 too much excited on the morning I had left her in 
 the Frenchman's cottage to think that that would 
 be my last chance of seeing her ; that thereafter 
 Mother Anastasia would never cease to guard her 
 from my speech or sight. I should have rushed in, 
 
836 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 caring for nothing. People might have talked, but 
 Sylvia would have known that prohibitions and 
 separations would make no difference in my feeling 
 for her. 
 
 And now I was going away without a word or a 
 sign, or even the slightest trifle which I could 
 cherish as a memento of her. There was a blank- 
 ness about it all which deadened my soul. 
 
 But Walkirk was inexorable. He made every 
 arrangement, and even superintended my farewell 
 to my grandmother, and gently but firmly inter- 
 rupted me, as I repeated my entreaties that she 
 would speedily find out something about Sylvia, 
 and write to me. At last we were in the carriage, 
 with time enough to reach the station, and Wal- 
 kirk wiped his brow, as would a man who had had 
 a heavy load lifted from his mind. 
 
 We had not gone a quarter of the distance when 
 the thought suddenly struck me, Why should I go 
 away without a memento of Sylvia? Why had 
 I not remembered my friend Vespa, the wasp, 
 whose flight around my secretary's room had made 
 the first break in the restrictions which surrounded 
 her ; had first shown me a Sylvia in place of a gray- 
 bonneted nun ? That dead wasp, pinned to a card 
 on the wall of my study, was the only thing I pos- 
 sessed in which Sylvia had a share. I must go 
 back and get it ; I must take it with me. 
 
 When I shouted to the coachman to turn, that 
 I must go back to get something I had forgotten, 
 Walkirk was thrown into a fever of anxiety. If 
 we did not catch this train we would lose the 
 
GOING BACK FOB A FBIEND. 337 
 
 steamer ; the next train would be three hours later. 
 But his protestations had no effect upon me. I 
 must have Sylvia's wasp, no matter what happened. 
 
 Back to the house we dashed, and up-stairs I 
 ran. I took down the card to which the wasp was 
 affixed, I found a little box in which to put it, and 
 while I was looking for a rubber band by which to 
 secure the lid, a servant came hurriedly into the 
 room with a telegram for me. I tore it open. It 
 was from Miss Laniston and read thus : — 
 
 " Come to me as soon as you can. Important 
 business." 
 
 " Important business ! " I ejaculated. " She 
 can have no business with me that does not concern 
 Sylvia. I will go to her instantly." In a few sec- 
 onds I was in the carriage, shouting to the man to 
 drive as fast as he could. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Walkirk, " you cannot go 
 too fast." 
 
 I handed my companion the telegram. He read 
 it blankly. 
 
 " It is a pity," he said, " if the business is im- 
 portant. All that can be done now is to telegraph 
 to her that she must write to you in London by the 
 next steamer." 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the kind," said I, " I am 
 going to her the instant we reach New York." 
 
 Walkirk clenched his hands together, and looked 
 {iway. He had no words for this situation. 
 
 My temper was very different. 
 
 " What a wonderful piece of luck ! " I exclaimed. 
 ^ If we had kept on to the station, by this short 
 
838 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 cut, the telegraph boy, who of course came by the 
 main road, would have missed me, and there would 
 not have been time for him to get back to the sta- 
 tion before the train started. How fortunate it 
 was that I went back for that wasp." 
 
 " Wasp ! " almost screamed Walkirk, and by the 
 way he looked at me, I know he imagined that I 
 was temporarily insane. 
 
 We caught the train, and on the way I explained 
 my allusion to the wasp so far as to assure Wal- 
 kirk that I was* no more crazy than men badly 
 crossed in love are apt to be. 
 
 " But are you really going to Miss Laniston ? " 
 he said. 
 
 " I shall be able to drive up there, give her fif- 
 teen minutes with five as a margin, and reach the 
 steamer in time. You can go directly to the dock, 
 and attend to the baggage and everything." 
 
 My under-study sighed, but he knew it was of 
 no use to make any objections. He did not fail, 
 however, to endeavor to impress upon me the im- 
 portance of consulting my watch while listening to 
 Miss Laniston's communication. 
 
 My plan was carried out ; we separated as soon 
 as we reached the city, and in a cab I rattled to 
 JMiss Laniston's house. 
 
XLvn. 
 
 I INTEREST MISS LANISTON. 
 
 When I reached Miss Laniston's house that 
 lady was at breakfast, but she did not keep me 
 waiting long. 
 
 " Truly," she said, as she entered the drawing- 
 room, " you are the most expeditious person I ever 
 knew. I knew that you would come to me, but I 
 did not suppose you would even start as soon as 
 this." 
 
 "I had already started when I received your 
 telegram," I said. 
 
 " To come here ? " 
 
 " No, to sail for Europe.*' 
 
 " Well, well ! " she exclaimed, " from this mo- 
 ment I shall respect my instincts, a thing I never 
 did before. When I woke this morning my first 
 thought was of the message I intended to send to 
 you, and I intended to attend to it immediately 
 after breakfast ; but my hitherto unappreciated in- 
 stincts hinted to me that no time should be lost, 
 and I called my maid, and dispatched the telegram 
 immediately. Moral : Do aU the good you can 
 before you get up in the morning. Why are you 
 starting for Europe ? " 
 
 " I have n't time to tell you," I said, " in fact, 
 
340 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 I can only remain a few minutes longer, or I shall 
 lose the steamer. Please tell me your business." 
 
 " Is Sylvia the cause of your going away ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes," I said ; " is she the reason of your wish- 
 ing to see me ? " 
 
 " Most certainly," she answered ; " when does 
 your steamer start ? " 
 
 " By ten o'clock," I said. 
 
 " Oh, bless me," she remarked, glancing at the 
 clock, " you havie quite time enough to hear all I 
 have to say, and then if you do not catch the 
 steamer it is your own fault. Sit down, I pray 
 
 you." 
 
 Very reluctantly I took a seat, for at last the 
 spirit of Walkirk had infected me. 
 
 " Now," said she, " I will cut my story as short 
 as possible, but you really ought to hear it before 
 you start. I made a visit to Arden, on the day 
 after you performed the grand transformation 
 scene in your brotherhood extravaganza. I should 
 have been greatly amused by what was told me 
 of this prank, if I had not seen that it had caused 
 so much trouble. Sylvia was in a wretched way, 
 and in an extremely bad temper. Marcia was al- 
 most as miserable, for she was acting the part of 
 an extinguisher not only to Sylvia's hopes and as- 
 pirations, but to her own. So far as I could see 
 there was no way out of the doleful dumps in which 
 you seemed to have plunged yourself and all par- 
 ties concerned, but I set to work to try what I 
 could do to straighten out matters ; my principal 
 
I INTEREST MISS LANISTON. 341 
 
 object being, I candidly admit, to enable Marcia 
 Raynor to feel free to give up her position of watch- 
 dog, and go to her National College, on which her 
 soul is set. But to accomplish this, I must first 
 do something with Sylvia ; but that girl has a con- 
 science like a fence post, and a disposition like a 
 squirrel that skips along the rails. I could do 
 nothing with her. She had sworn to be a Sister 
 of Martha for life, and yet she would not consent 
 to act like an out and out sister, and give up all 
 that stuff about typewriting for you, and the other 
 nonsensical notions of co-Marthaism, with which 
 you infected her. She stoutly stuck to it, in spite 
 of all the arguments I could use, that there was no 
 good reason why you and she, as well as the other 
 sisters and some other gentlemen, could not work 
 together in the noble cause of I don't remember 
 what fol-de-rol. Pretty co-Marthas you and she 
 would make ! 
 
 " Then I tried to induce Marcia to give up her 
 fancies of responsibilities and all that, and to leave 
 the girl in the charge of the present Mother Inferior, 
 an elderly woman called Sister Sarah, who in my 
 opinion could be quite as much of a griffin as the 
 case demanded. But she would not listen to me. 
 She had been the cause of her cousin's joining the 
 sisterhood, and now she would not desert her, and 
 she said a lot about the case requiring not only 
 vigilance, but kindness and counsel, and that sort 
 of thing. Then I went back to the city, and tried 
 my hand on Sylvia's mother, but with no success 
 at all. She is like a stone gate-post, and always 
 
342 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 was, and declared that as Sylvia had entered the 
 institution because Marcia was there, it was the 
 latter's duty to give up everything else, and to 
 throw herself between Sylvia and your mischievous 
 machinations and to stay there until you were 
 married to somebody, and the danger was past." 
 
 " Machinations ! " I ejaculated, — "a most un- 
 reasonable person." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Miss Laniston, " but not a 
 bit more than the rest of you. You are the most 
 unreasonable Ibt I ever met with. Having failed 
 utterly with the three women, I had some idea of 
 sending for you, and of trying to persuade you to 
 marry some one who is not under the sisterhood's 
 restrictions, and so smooth out this wretched tan- 
 gle, but I knew that you were more obstinate and 
 stiff-necked than any of them, and so concluded to 
 save myself the trouble of reasoning with you." 
 
 " A wise decision," I remarked. 
 
 " But I could not give up," she continued ; " 1 
 could not bear the thought that my friend Marcia 
 Raynor should sacrifice herself in this way. I 
 went back to Arden in the hope that something 
 might suggest itself ; that a gleam of sense might 
 be shown by the one or the other of the lunatics 
 in gray for whose good I was racking my brains. 
 But I found things worse than I had left them. 
 Sylvia had stirred herself into a spirit of combat- 
 iveness of which no one would have supposed her 
 capable, and had actually endeavored to brow- 
 beat her Mother Superior into the belief that a 
 Brotherhood Annex was not only necessary to the 
 
I INTEREST MISS LANISTON. 343 
 
 prosperity and success of the House of Martha, 
 but that it was absolutely wicked not to have it. 
 She had gone on in this strain until Marcia had 
 become angry, and then there had been a scene 
 and tears, and much subsequent misery. 
 
 " I talked first with one doleful sister, and then 
 with the other, with the only result that I became 
 nearly as doleful as they. In my despair I went 
 to Marcia, and urged her to acknowledge herself 
 vanquished, to give up this contest, which would 
 be her ruin, to show herself a true woman, and to 
 take up the true work of her life. ' Oh, I could n't 
 do it,' she said, and she looked as if she were going 
 to cry, a most unusual thing with her ; ' if I went 
 away, to-morrow they would be together, making 
 mud-pies for the children of the poor.' I sprang 
 to my feet. ' Marcia Raynor,' I cried, ' you made 
 this House of Martha. You are the head and the 
 front, the top and the bottom of it. You are its 
 founder and its autocrat, it lives on your money, — 
 for everybody knows that what these sisters make 
 would n't buy their pillboxes, — and now, having 
 run it all these years, and having brought yourself 
 and Sylvia to the greatest grief by it, it is your 
 duty to put an end to it, to abolish it.' 
 
 " 'Abolish the House of Martha? ' she cried, with 
 her great eyes blazing at me. 
 
 " ' Yes,' I said, ' abolish it, destroy it, annihilate 
 it, declare it null, void, dead and gone, utterly 
 extinguished, and out of existence. You can do 
 this, and you ought to do this. It is your only 
 way out of the dreadful situation in which you 
 
344 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 have got yourself and Sylvia. Let the other sisters 
 go to some other institutions, or wherever they like. 
 You and Sylvia will be free, that is the great 
 point. Now do not hesitate. Stop supplies, dis- 
 solve the organization, break up the House of 
 Martha, and do it instantly.' 
 
 " She made one step towards me and seized me 
 by the wrist. ' Janet,' she said, ' I will do it.' 
 And she did it that day. At present there is no 
 House of Martha." 
 
 I sat and gazed at Miss Laniston without com- 
 prehending what I had heard. 
 
 " No House of Martha ! " I ejaculated. 
 
 "That is precisely the state of the case," she 
 answered; "the establishment was dissolved at 
 noon yesterday. As I had had all the trouble of 
 bringing this thing about, I considered that I had 
 a right to tell you of it myself. I thought it 
 would interest me to see how you took it." 
 
 I rose to my feet ; I stepped towards her. 
 
 " No House of Martha," I gasped, — " and Syl- 
 via?" 
 
 " Sylvia wiU go home to her mother, so she told 
 me yesterday. I was present at the dissolution. 
 I think she will probably come to the city this af- 
 ternoon." 
 
 I snatched up my hat. " I must go to her in- 
 stantly," I said. " I must see her before she reaches 
 her mother. I have lost time already." 
 
 " Upon my word ! " exclaimed Miss Laniston, 
 " your way of taking it is indeed interesting. Not 
 a word of thanks, not a sign of recognition " — 
 
I INTEREST MISS LANISTON. 345 
 
 I had nearly reached the door, but now rushed 
 back and seized her by the hand. " Excuse me," 
 I said, " but you can see for yourself " — and with 
 one violent shake I dropped her hand, and hurried 
 away. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she cried, " I can easily see for my- 
 self," and as I left the house I heard her hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 I sprang into my cab, ordering the man to drive 
 fast for the railroad station. It mattered not to 
 me whether Walkirk went to Europe or not. All 
 I cared for was to catch the next train which 
 would take me to Arden. 
 
XLVIII. 
 
 IN A COLD, BARE ROOM. 
 
 When I reached Arden I took one of the mel- 
 ancholy vehicles which stand at our station, and 
 very much astonished the driver by ordering him 
 to take me, not to my own home, but to the House 
 of Martha. 
 
 " You know they 're busted up, sir," said the 
 man, turning to me, as his old horse hurried us 
 along at the best of his speed. 
 
 " But the sisters have not left ? " I eagerly 
 asked. 
 
 " Not all," he said, " but two or three of them 
 went down this morning." 
 
 " Drive on quicker," I replied, " I am in a 
 hurry." 
 
 The man gave the horse a crack with his whip, 
 which made no difference whatever in our rate of 
 speed, and said : — 
 
 " If you 've got a bill agin any of them, sir, you 
 need n't worry. The Mother is still there, and 
 she 's all right, you know." 
 
 " Bill ? Nonsense ! " said I. 
 
 " I 'm sorry they 're busted," said the man ; 
 " they did n't do much hackin', but they give us a 
 lot of haulin' from the station." 
 
IN A COLD, BABE ROOM, 347 
 
 As I hurried up the broad path which led to the 
 front of the House of Martha, I found the door of 
 the main entrance open, something I had never 
 noticed before, although I had often passed the 
 house. I entered unceremoniously, and saw before 
 me, in the hallway, a woman in gray, stooping over 
 a trunk. She turned, at the sound of my footsteps 
 on the bare floor, and I beheld Sister Sarah. Her 
 eyes flashed as she saw me, and I know that her 
 first impulse was to order me out of the house. 
 This of course she now had no right to do, but 
 there were private rights which she still main- 
 tained. 
 
 " I should think," she said, " that a man who 
 has done all the mischief that you have done, who 
 has worked and planned and plotted and contrived, 
 until he has undermined and utterly ruined the 
 sisterhood of pious women who ask nothing of this 
 world but to be let alone to do their own work in 
 their own way, would be ashamed to put his nose 
 into this house ; but I suppose a man who would 
 do what you have done does not know what shame 
 is. Have you come here to sneer and jibe and 
 scorn and mock, and gloat over the misfortunes 
 of the women whose home you have broken up, 
 ruined, and devastated ? " 
 
 " Madam," said I, " can you tell me where I can 
 find Miss Sylvia Kaynor? " 
 
 She looked as if she were about to spring and 
 bite. 
 
 " Atrocious ! " she exclaimed. " I will not stay 
 imder the same roof," — and she marched out of 
 the door. 
 
348 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 I made my way into the reception room. I met 
 no one, and the room was empty, although I heard 
 on the floor above the sound of many footsteps, 
 apparently those of the sisters preparing for de- 
 parture. 
 
 I looked around for a bell, or some means of 
 making my presence known. The room appeared 
 harder, barer, emptier than when I had seen it be- 
 fore. In a moment it was filled with all the light 
 and beauty of the world. A door opened, and 
 Sylvia entered. ♦ 
 
 "I saw you come," she said, advancing with 
 outstretched hands, " and hurried down as soon as 
 I could." 
 
 She was in her gray dress, but without shawl or 
 head covering. Her face was filled with the most 
 charming welcome. I hastened towards her. I 
 did not take her hands, but opening my arms I 
 folded her in them, and kissed her over and over 
 again. With flushed face she pushed herself a 
 little from me. 
 
 " Is n't this taking a great deal for granted ? " 
 she said. 
 
 " Granted ! " I exclaimed, " think of what has 
 been denied. Think of the weeks, the months " — 
 
 " We would a great deal better think somebody 
 may come in here and see us," said Sylvia, push- 
 ing herself still farther from me. 
 
 " But did n't you expect me to rush to you the 
 instant I heard you were a free woman ? Did you 
 suppose there was anything to be taken for granted 
 between us ? " 
 
IN A COLD, BARE ROOM. 349 
 
 " Oh no," she said, " I think we understood 
 each other pretty well, but then, don't you see, I 
 didn't suppose it would be like this. I am expect- 
 ing a trunk from New York every minute, and I 
 thought when it came I should be dressed like 
 other people. Now that I am not a sister, I did 
 not want you to see me in these dreary clothes. 
 Then I would go to my mother's house, and I 
 thought you would call on me there, and things 
 would go on more regularly; but you are so impet- 
 uous." 
 
 " My dearest love," said I, " it fills me with rap- 
 ture to take you in my arms in the same dress you 
 wore when I fell in love with you. Often and of- 
 ten as I looked at you through that grating have I 
 thought that it would be to me the greatest joy on 
 earth if I could take you in my arms and tell you 
 that I loved you." 
 
 " You thought that ! " exclaimed Sylvia ; " it was 
 very wrong of you." 
 
 " Right or wrong, I did it," said I, " and now I 
 have her, my dear little nun, here in my arms." 
 
 She ceased to push and looked up at me with a 
 merry smile. 
 
 " Do you remember," she said, " the morning 
 the wasp came near stinging me ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do," I said vehemently. 
 
 " Well, before that wasp came," she continued, 
 " I used to be a good deal afraid of you. I thought 
 you were very learned and dignified, but after I 
 was so frightened, and you saw me without my 
 bonnet, and all that, I felt we were very much 
 
850 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 more like friends, and that was the very beginning 
 of my liking you." 
 
 " My darling," I exclaimed, " that wasp was the 
 best friend we ever had. Do you want to see it ? " 
 and releasing her, I took from my pocket the paste- 
 board box in which I had placed our friend Vespa. 
 As she looked at the insect, her face was lighted 
 with joyous surprise. 
 
 " And that is the same wasp ? " she said, " and 
 you kept it ? " 
 
 " Yes, and sh^ll always keep it," I said, " even 
 now it has not ceased to be our friend." And then 
 I told her how my desire to take with me this me- 
 mento of her had held me back from the rolling 
 Atlantic, and brought me to her. She raised her 
 face to me with her beautiful eyes in a mist of ten- 
 derness, and this time her arms were extended. 
 
 " You are the dearest man," she said. 
 
 In less than a minute after she had spoken these 
 words. Mother Anastasia entered the room. She 
 stood for a moment amazed, and then she hastily 
 shut the door. 
 
 " Really," she exclaimed, " you two are incom- 
 prehensible beings. Don't you know that people 
 might come in here at any moment ? It is fortu- 
 nate that I was the person who came in at this mo- 
 ment." 
 
 " But you knew he was here ? " said Sylvia. 
 
 " Yes. I knew that," the other replied, " but I 
 expected you would both remember that at present 
 this house might almost be considered a public* 
 place." 
 
IN A COLD, BABE BOOM. 351 
 
 " My dear Marcia," said Sylvia, " if you knew 
 him as well as I do, you would know that he would 
 never remember anything about a place." 
 
 I turned to the ex-Mother Superior, who had 
 already discarded the garb of the sisterhood, and 
 was dressed in a dark walking suit. 
 
 " If you knew me as well as I know myself," I 
 said, reaching to her both my hands, " you would 
 know that my gratitude towards you is deeper than 
 the deepest depths of the earth." She took one of 
 my hands. 
 
 " If you have anything to be grateful for," she 
 said, " it is for the lectures I have given you, and 
 which, I am afraid, I ought to continue to give 
 you. As to what was done here yesterday I con- 
 sider myself as much benefited as anybody, and I 
 suppose Sylvia is of the same opinion regarding 
 herself. But there is one person to whom you 
 truly ought to be grateful — Miss Laniston." 
 
 " I know that," I said. " I have seen her ; she 
 told me what she did, and I treated her as I would 
 treat a boy who had brushed my coat, but I shall 
 make amends." 
 
 " Indeed you shall," said Sylvia, " and I will go 
 with you when you do it." 
 
 "But you must not set yourself aside in this 
 way," said I, addressing the older lady ; " it was 
 you who fanned my hopes of winning Sylvia when 
 there seemed no reason why they should not fade 
 away. It was you who promised to help me, and 
 who did help me." 
 
 " Did you do that, Marcia ? " asked Sylvia. 
 
352 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 The beautiful woman who had been Mother 
 Anastasia flushed a little, as she answered : — 
 
 " Yes, dear, but then you were only a sister on 
 probation." 
 
 " And you wanted me to marry him ? " 
 
 The other smiled and nodded, and in the next 
 moment Sylvia's arms were about her neck, and 
 Sylvia's lips were on her cheek. 
 
 I was very much affected, and there is no know- 
 ing how my feelings and gratitude might have 
 been evinced, had not the clumping of a trunk upon 
 the stairs and the voices of sisters at the door 
 called me to order. 
 
XLIX. 
 
 MY OWN WAY. 
 
 When I went home to my grandmother, she 
 was greatly surprised to see me, and I lost no time 
 in explaining my unexpected appearance. 
 
 " Keally, really," she exclaimed, " I was just 
 writing you a letter, which I intended to send after 
 you, so that you would get it when you arrived in 
 London ; and in it I was going to tell you all about 
 the breaking up of the House of Martha, of which 
 I first heard half an hour after you left me. I 
 was glad you had not known of it before you 
 started, for I thought it would be so much better 
 for all the changes to be made while you were 
 away, and for Sylvia to be in her mother's house, 
 where she could get rid of her nunnish habits, and 
 have some proper clothes made up. Of course I 
 knew you would come back soon, but I thought 
 your own mind would be in much better order for 
 a little absence." 
 
 " My dear grandmother," I cried, " in mind and 
 body I am in perfect order, and it is presence, not 
 absence, which made me so." 
 
 " Somehow or other," said she, smiling, " the 
 fates seem to help you to have your own way, and 
 
354 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 I am sure I am delighted that you will stay at 
 home. And what has become of Mr. Walkirk ? " 
 
 " Upon my word I " I exclaimed — "I do not 
 know." 
 
 Towards evening "Walkirk returned, looking 
 tired and out of spirits. I truly regretted the 
 carelessness and neglect with which I had treated 
 him, and explained and apologized to the best of 
 my ability. He was a good-natured fellow, and 
 behaved magnanimously. 
 
 " Things have turned out wonderfully well," he 
 said, as he took a seat, " but I shall be more de- 
 lighted with the state of affairs when I am a little 
 less fatigued. Minor annoyances ought not to be 
 considered, but I assure you I have had a pretty 
 rough time of it. As the hour for sailing drew 
 near, and you did not make your appearance, I 
 became more and more nervous and anxious. I 
 would not allow our baggage to be put on board, 
 for I knew a conference with a lady was likely to 
 be of indefinite duration, and when at last the 
 steamer sailed, I went immediately to Miss Lanis- 
 ton's house to inform you of the fact, and to find 
 out what you proposed to do ; but Miss Laniston 
 was not at home, and the servant told me that a 
 gentleman — undoubtedly you — had left the house 
 nearly an hour before, and his great haste made 
 her think that he was trying to catch a steamer. 
 
 " ' People would not hurry like that,' she said, 
 ' to catch a train, for there 's always another one 
 in an hour or two.' 
 
 " Then I began to fear that in your haste you 
 
MT OWN WAT. 355 
 
 had gone on board the wrong steamer — two 
 others sailed to-day, a little later than ours, and 
 I went to their piers and made all sorts of in- 
 quiries, but I could find out nothing. Then I 
 went to your club, to your lawyer's office, and 
 several other places where I supposed you might 
 go, but no one had seen or heard of you. Then a 
 fear began to creep over me that you had had 
 some greatly depressing news from Miss Lanis- 
 ton, and that you had made away with yourself." 
 
 " Walkirk ! " I exclaimed, " how dared you 
 think that ? " 
 
 " Men in the nervous condition I was," he an- 
 swered, " think all sorts of things, and that is one 
 of the things I thought. Finally I went to Miss 
 Laniston's house again, and this time I found her, 
 and learned what had happened. Then I went to 
 the pier, ordered the trunk sent back here, for I 
 knew there was no question now of the trip to 
 Europe, and here I am." 
 
 It was easy to see that whatever pleasure the 
 turn in my affairs may have given Walkirk, he 
 was disappointed at losing his trip to Europe ; but 
 I thought it well not to reopen his wounds by any 
 allusion to this fact, and contented myself by say- 
 ing the most earnest and cordial things about what 
 he had done and suffered for me that day, and 
 inwardly determining that I would make full 
 amends to him for his lost journey. 
 
 In about ten days I received a message by cable 
 from Liverpool, which was sent by my steno- 
 grapher, informing me that he had gone aboard 
 
356 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 the steamer, as per agreement, and being busy- 
 writing letters to send back by the pilot, had not 
 discovered that Walkirk and I were not on board 
 until it was too late. The message was a long one, 
 and its cost, as well as that of the one by which 
 I informed the stenographer that he might come 
 home, and the price of the man's passage to Liver- 
 pool and back, besides the sum I was obliged to 
 pay him for his lost time, might all have been 
 saved to me, had the fellow been thoughtful enough 
 to make himself sure that we were on board before 
 he allowed himself to be carried off. But little 
 rubs of this kind were of slight moment to me at 
 that time. 
 
 On the day after things had been taken for 
 granted between Sylvia and myself, I saw her at 
 her mother's house, and I must admit that although 
 it had given me such exquisite pleasure to feel 
 that she was mine in the coarse gray gown of 
 a " sister," it delighted me more to feel she was 
 mine in the ordinary costume of society. She was 
 as gay as a butterfly ought to be which had just 
 cast off its gray wrappings and spread its wings 
 to the coloring light. 
 
 I found Mrs. Raynor in a somewhat perturbed 
 state of mind. 
 
 " I cannot accommodate myself," she said, " to 
 these sudden and violent mutations. I like to sit 
 on the sands and stay there as long as I please, 
 and to feel that I know how high each breaker 
 will be, and how far the tide will come in, but 
 these tidal waves which make beach of sea and 
 
MY OWN WAY. 357 
 
 sea of beach sweep me away utterly ; I cannot com- 
 prehend where I am. A week ago I considered 
 you as an enemy with active designs on the peace 
 of my daughter. I was about to write you a letter 
 to demand that you should cease from troubling 
 her. But I heard you were going to Europe, and 
 then I felt that henceforth our paths would be 
 smoother, for I believed that absence would cure 
 you of your absurd and objectless infatuation ; but 
 suddenly, down goes the House of Martha, and up 
 comes the enemy, transformed into a suitor, who is 
 loved by Sylvia, and against whom I can have no 
 possible objection. Now can not you see for your- 
 self how this sort of thing must affect a mind ac- 
 customed to a certain uniformity of emotion? " 
 
 " Madam," said I, " it will be the object of my 
 life to make you so happy in our happiness that 
 you shall remember this recent tumult of events as 
 something more gratifying to look back upon than 
 your most cherished memories of tranquil delight." 
 
 " You seem to have a high opinion of your abil- 
 ities," she said, smiling, " and of the value of what 
 you offer me. I am perfectly willing that you try 
 what you can do ; nevertheless I wish you had gone 
 to Europe. Everything would have turned out 
 just the same, and the affair would have been 
 more seemly." 
 
 " Oh, we can easily make that all right," said I. 
 " Sylvia and I will go to Europe on our bridal 
 trip." 
 
 As I finished these words Sylvia came into th<» 
 room, accompanied by Miss Laniston. 
 
358 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " Here is a gentleman," said my dear girl to her 
 companion, " who has declared his desire to thank 
 you for something you have done for him, and he 
 has spoken so strongly about the way in which he 
 intended to pour out his gratitude, that I want to 
 see how he does it." 
 
 " Mr. Vanderley," said Miss Laniston, " I forbid 
 you to utter one word of that outpouring, which 
 you would have poured out yesterday morning, 
 had it not been so urgently necessary to catch a 
 train. When I am ready for the effusion referred 
 to, I will fix a time for it and let you know the 
 day before, and I will take care that no one shall 
 be present at it but ourselves." 
 
 " Any way," said Sylvia, " he will tell me all 
 about it." 
 
 " If he does," said Miss Laniston, " you will re- 
 enter a convent." 
 
MY BOOK OF TRAVEL. 
 
 When the House of Martha had been formally 
 abolished, the members of the sisterhood made va- 
 rious dispositions of themselves. Some determined 
 to enter institutions of a similar character, while 
 others who had homes planned to retire to them, 
 with the intention of endeavoring to do what good 
 they could without separating themselves from the 
 world in which they were to do it. Sister Sarah 
 was greatly incensed at the dissolution of the 
 House, and much more so because, had it contin- 
 ued, she expected to be at the head of it. She de- 
 clared her intention of throwing herself into the 
 arms of the Mother Church, where a sisterhood 
 meant something, and where such nonsense and 
 treachery as this would be impossible. 
 
 I did not enjoy the autumn of that year to the 
 extent that I should have enjoyed it had I been 
 able to arrange matters according to my own ideas 
 of what was appropriate to the case. 
 
 Sylvia lived in the city, and I lived in the coun- 
 try, and although I went to her whenever I could, 
 and she and her mother dined several times with 
 my grandmother, there were often long stretches, 
 sometimes extending over the greater part of the 
 day, when I did not see her at all. 
 
360 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 Thus it was that I had sometimes to think of 
 other things, and one morning I said to my under- 
 study, " Walkirk, there is something I regret very 
 much, and that is the non-completion of my book. 
 I shall never finish it, I am sure, because every 
 thing that has ever happened to me is going to be 
 made uninteresting and tedious by what is to hap- 
 pen. Travel and life itself will be quite another 
 thing to me, and I am sure that I will be satisfied 
 with enjoying it, and shall not want to write about 
 it. And so, good-by to the book." 
 
 " In regard to your book," said Walkirk, " I 
 feel it my duty to say to you that there is no occa- 
 sion for you to bid good-by to it." 
 
 " You are wrong there ! " I exclaimed. " I shall 
 never write it. I do not want to write it." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said Walkirk, " the book will 
 be written. I shall write it. In fact I have 
 written a great part of it already." 
 
 " What in the name of common sense do you 
 mean ? " I cried, staring at him in astonishment. 
 
 " What I am going to say to you," replied Wal- 
 kirk, "may displease you, but I earnestly hope 
 that you may eventually agree with me, that what 
 I have done is for the general good. You may re- 
 member that when you first talked to me of your 
 travels, you also handed me some of the manu- 
 script you had prepared for the opening chapters 
 of your book and gave me an outline of the pro- 
 jected plan of the work. Now as I have often told 
 you, I considered the material for a book of travels 
 contained in your experiences, as recited to me, af» 
 
MT BOOK OF TRAVEL. 861 
 
 extremely fresh, novel and entertaining, and would 
 be bound to make what publishers call a ' hit ' if 
 properly presented, but at the same time I am 
 compelled to say that I soon became convinced 
 that there was no probability that you would prop- 
 erly present your admirable subject matter to the 
 reading world." 
 
 " Upon my word," said I, " this is cool." 
 
 "It is hard to speak to you in this way," he an- 
 swered, " and the only way in which I can do it is 
 to be perfectly straightforward and honest about 
 it. I am at heart a literary man, and have, so 
 far as I have the power, cultivated the art of put- 
 ting things effectively ; and I assure you, sir, that 
 it gave me actual pain when I found how you were 
 going to present some of the incidents of your 
 journey, such as, for instance, your diving experi- 
 ences in the maelstrom, or at least in the place 
 where it was supposed to be, and where, judging 
 from your discoveries, it may under certain condi- 
 tions and to a certain extent really exist. 
 
 " There were a good many other points which I 
 believe could be made of startling interest and 
 value, not only to ordinary readers, but to scientific 
 people, if they were properly brought out. I saw 
 no reason that you would so bring them out, and I 
 felt not only that I could do it, but that it would 
 delight me to do it. 
 
 " My feeling on the subject was so strong that, 
 as you may remember, I declined to act as your 
 secretary. I am perhaps over-sensitive, but I 
 could not have written your book as you would 
 
362 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 have dictated it to me, and as you did indeed dic- 
 tate it to your various secretaries." 
 
 " Go on," I said, " I am perfectly charmed with 
 my power of repressing resentment." 
 
 " Therefore it was," he continued, " that I set to 
 work to write the book myself, founding it entirely 
 upon your daily recitals. My plan was to write 
 as long as I found you were in the humor to talk, 
 and, in fact, if you lost interest in me as a listener 
 I determined that I would then declare what I had 
 done, show you my work, and implore you, if you 
 felt like it, to give me enough subject matter to 
 finish it. 
 
 " I have now stated my case, and I place it en- 
 tirely in your hands. I will give you what I have 
 written, and if you choose to read it and do not 
 like it, you can throw it into the fire. The subject 
 matter is yours, and I have no rights over it. But 
 if you think that the work which you have decided 
 to discontinue can be successfully carried on by 
 me, I shall be delighted to go ahead and finish it." 
 
 " Walkirk," said I, " you have the effrontery of 
 a stone sphinx ; but let me see your manuscript." 
 
 He handed it to me, and during the rest of the 
 morning, and for a great part of the night, after I 
 had returned in a late train^ from the city, I read it. 
 The next day I handed it to him. 
 
 " Walkirk," said I, " as my under-study go ahead 
 and finish this book. You never came nearer the 
 truth than when you said that that material is 
 vastly interesting." 
 
 Walkirk was delighted and took up the work 
 
MY BOOK OF TRAVEL. 363 
 
 with enthusiasm. Whenever I had a chance I 
 talked to him, and whenever he had a chance he 
 wrote. However, at that time, I gave so much o£ 
 my business to my under-study that he was not 
 able to devote himself to his literary work as assid- 
 uously as he and I would have desired. In fact, 
 the book is not yet finished, but when it appears 1 
 think it will be a success. 
 
hi 
 
 A LOOSE END. 
 
 I WAS now a very happy man, but T was not an 
 entirely satisfied one. Looking back upon what 
 had happened, I could see that there were certain 
 loose ends, which ought to be gathered up before 
 they were broken off and lost, or tangled up with 
 something to which they did not belong. 
 
 It has always been my disposition to gather up 
 the loose ends, to draw together the floating strands 
 of circumstance, tendency, intention, and all that 
 sort of thing, so that I may see what they are and 
 where they come from. I like to know how I 
 stand in relation to them, and how they may affect 
 me. 
 
 One of the present loose ends was brought to 
 my mind by a conversation with Sylvia. I had 
 been speaking of her cousin Marcia Raynor, and 
 expressing my pleasure that she was about to enter 
 a new life, to which she seemed so well adapted. 
 
 " Marcia is a fine woman," she said, " and I love 
 her ever so much, but you know she has caused 
 me a great deal of pain ; that she has actually made 
 me cry when I was in bed at night." 
 
 I assured her that I had never imagined such a 
 thing possible. 
 
A LOOSE END, 365 
 
 " Of course," Sylvia continued, " I do not refer 
 to the way she acted just before the House of Mar- 
 tha was broken up. Then she opposed everything 
 1 wanted to do, and would listen to no reason, but 
 I would n't listen to her reasons either, and I was 
 entirely too angry with her to think of crying on 
 her account. It was before that, that she made 
 my very heart sick, and all on your account." 
 
 " She was severe upon me, I suppose." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said Sylvia, "if she had been 
 severe, I should not have minded it so much, but 
 it was quite the other way. Now just put yourself 
 in my place and try to think how you would have 
 felt about it. Here was I, fixed and settled for life 
 in the House of Martha, and here were you, per- 
 fectly convinced — at least I was afraid you were 
 convinced — that there was nothing for you to do 
 but to give me up, and here was Marcia, just about 
 to step out into the world a free woman, and at the 
 same time taking a most wonderful interest in you, 
 and trying to make you understand that you ought 
 to let me alone, and all that sort of thing." 
 
 " In which she did not succeed at all," I said. 
 
 " So it appears," said Sylvia, " but I could n't 
 be sure about that at the time, you know, and if 
 she had succeeded there was no earthly reason why 
 you should not have become as much interested 
 in her as she was in you, and then — but it 's too 
 dreadful to talk about ; it used to make me fairly 
 boH." 
 
 " You mean to say," said I, " that you were jeal- 
 ous of your Cousin Marcia." 
 
866 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " there is no use is calling 
 it by any other name ; I was jealous, savagely so, 
 sometimes." 
 
 Now this was a very high compliment, and I 
 did not fail to express my satisfaction at having 
 been the subject of such emotions. But one of the 
 results of Sylvia's communication was to remind 
 me of the existence of a loose end. I had never 
 understood Mother Anastasia's feelings towards 
 me. It had been very interesting to me to make 
 conjectures about those feelings, and now that I 
 could safely do more than conjecture I wished to 
 do more, and to find out, if possible, if there had 
 been any reasons for the construction I had placed 
 upon the actions of the beautiful Mother Superior. 
 Of course this was of no real importance now, but 
 one cannot be brought into relations with such a 
 woman as Marcia Raynor without wanting to know 
 exactly what those relations were. 
 
 I had far too much prudence, however, to talk 
 on this subject with Sylvia ; if I talked with any 
 one I must do it very cautiously. One morning I 
 called upon Miss Laniston. That lady was in- 
 formed on a great many points, and, moreover, was 
 exceedingly free-spoken. I did not expect any 
 direct information from her, but she might say 
 something from which I might make inferences. 
 
 She thought I had come to thank her for what 
 she had done for me, but I assured her that this 
 ceremony must be postponed for the present, for 
 Sylvia had instructed me to write my gratitude in 
 ^ letter, which she thought would be a much pref- 
 
A LOOSE END. 367 
 
 erable method than for me to pour it out in a pri- 
 vate interview. 
 
 " Your Sylvia seems to be a jealous little body," 
 she remarked. 
 
 " Oh, no," said I, " although, o£ course, it is nat- 
 ural enough for persons in our state of mind to 
 have tendencies that way. By the way, one of 
 these tendencies on her part was rather odd. Do 
 you know that at one time she was almost jealous 
 of her cousin Marcia, at that time a gray-bonneted 
 sister? As you know so much of our affairs I do 
 not think I am going too far in telling that." 
 
 Miss Laniston seemed to be considering the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " It is the commonest thing," she said presently, 
 " to make mistakes about matters of this sort. 
 Now, for instance, I once put some questions to 
 you which seemed to indicate that there might be 
 some reason for Sylvia's uneasiness. Did n't you 
 think they pointed that way ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did," I replied. 
 
 " And have you ever thought of it since ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Occasionally. Of course the matter is of no 
 vital interest now. But at the time you spoke of 
 it, I could not help wondering if I had said or done 
 anything during my rather intimate acquaintance 
 with Mother Anastasia which would give you good 
 cau^e to put the questions to which you just now 
 alluded." 
 
 " Well," said Miss Laniston, " you seemed to 
 me, at the time, to be in a decidedly unbalanced 
 
368 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 state of mind, but I think I acted most unwarrant- 
 ably in speaking of Marcia as I did. In fact, I 
 often act unwarrantably. It is one of my habits. 
 And to prove it to you, I am going to act unwar- 
 rantably again. Having brought the elder Miss 
 Raynor before you in a way that might have led 
 you to have undefined ideas about her, I am going 
 to bring her before you again in order that those 
 ideas may be exactly defined. It is all wrong, I 
 know, but I like to set things straight, whether I 
 do it in the right way or wrong way." 
 
 " That is exactly my disposition," I replied ; " I 
 always want to set things straight." 
 
 She left the room, and soon returned with a let- 
 ter. 
 
 " When I decide positively to do a thing," she 
 said, sitting down and opening the letter, " I think 
 it just as well to drop apologies and excuses. Yx)u 
 and I have decided that matters ought to be set 
 straight, and so, here goes. Marcia has just writ- 
 ten me a long letter in which she says a good deal 
 about you and Sylvia, and I am going to read you 
 a part of it which I think will straighten out some 
 things which I may have made crooked, in my ef- 
 forts to do good to all parties concerned — a dan- 
 gerous business, I may say. 
 
 " ' It is delightful to think,' thus Marcia writes, 
 — ' that Sylvia's life is at last settled for her, and 
 that, too, in the right way. Of course, neither 
 you nor I would be satisfied with a match like 
 that ; but Sylvia is not only satisfied with Mr. Van- 
 ilerley, but I have no doubt that she will be per- 
 
A LOOSE END. 369 
 
 fectly happy with him. More than that, I believe 
 she will supply his shortcomings, and strengthen 
 his weaknesses, and as he has a naturally good 
 disposition, and an ample fortune, I think Sylvia 
 is to be sincerely congratulated. When we first 
 spoke of this matter a good while ago I thought 
 that if the Sylvia- Vanderley affair could ever be 
 arranged, it would be a good thing, and I have not 
 changed my opinion.' The rest of the letter," 
 said Miss Laniston, folding it as she spoke, 
 "chiefly concerns the new college, and I do not 
 suppose it would interest you." 
 
 I agreed with her, and took my leave. The 
 loose end had been gathered up. 
 
Ln. 
 
 I FINISH THE SICILIAN LOVE-STORY. 
 
 It might have been supposed that my little ex- 
 perience in gathering up loose ends would have 
 deterred me from further efforts in this direction, 
 but it did not. 
 
 I had left Miss Laniston without asking some 
 questions I had intended to put to her. I wished 
 very much to know — I thought it was my right 
 to know — something definite about the Mr. 
 Brownson who had formerly been connected, so to 
 speak, with the Misses Raynor. I hated this sub- 
 ject as I hated the vilest medicine, but I felt that 
 I must get the matter straightened in my mind, 
 yet I could not say anything to Sylvia about it. 
 And after what Miss Laniston had read to me I 
 could not ask her anything, even if my mind had 
 been sufficiently composed to formulate questions. 
 She was a very plain-spoken person. Too much 
 so, perhaps. 
 
 Walkirk was very different ; in fact, I think he 
 ^rred on the other side. I am sure that he would 
 nave liked to conceal from me anything that would 
 give me pain. In the course of his life he had 
 met a great many people ; he might know some- 
 thing about Brownson, Any way, I would throw 
 out some feelers in that direction. 
 
I FINISH THE SICILIAN LOVE-STORY. 371 
 
 " Yes," I remarked to him, in the course of a 
 conversation about the late Mother Superior, 
 " what she is going to do is a very fine thing, — 
 a noble enterprise, and she is just the sort of person 
 to go into it, but after all I would rather see her 
 married to the right sort of man. A woman like 
 that owes it to society to be married." 
 
 " I fancy," said Walkirk, " that she has perma- 
 nently left the marrying class. When she broke 
 with Brownson, I think she broke with marriage." 
 
 " What were the points of that ? " I asked. 
 "Did you ever happen to hear anything about 
 him?" 
 
 " I knew him very well," answered Walkirk. 
 " Those were his prints I was cataloguing just be- 
 fore I entered your service. He had then been 
 dead a year or more, and I was working for the es- 
 tate." 
 
 I arose and went to the window. I wiped my 
 forehead, which had become moist. If this man 
 had known Brownson, why should he not know 
 all ? Was he familiar with both engagements ? 
 It made me sick to think of it. There was no 
 sense or reason in such emotion, for it was not 
 likely that Sylvia's engagement had been a secret 
 one ; but I had a proud soul and could not bear to 
 think that people about me, especially Walkirk, 
 should be aware of Sylvia's attachment, slight as 
 it may have been, to another than myseK. I heart- 
 ily wished that I had not spoken of the subject. 
 
 Stm, as I had spoken of it, I might as well 
 learn all that I could. 
 
372 THE HOUSE OF MABTHA. 
 
 " What sort of a man was this Brownson ? " I 
 asked. " What reason was there that Miss Marcia 
 Raynor should have cared for him ? '^ 
 
 " He was a fine man," said Walkirk. " He was 
 educated, good-looking, rich. He was young 
 enough, but had been a bachelor too long, per- 
 haps, and had very independent ways. It was on 
 account of his independence of thought, especially 
 on religious matters, that he and Miss Marcia 
 Raynor had their difficulties, which ended in the 
 breaking of the engagement. I am quite sure 
 that she was a good deal cut up. As I said be- 
 fore, I do not think that she will consider marriage 
 again." 
 
 I took in a full breath of relief. Here Walkirk 
 had told the little story of Brownson, and had said 
 nothing of any subsequent engagement. Perhaps 
 he knew of none. This thought was truly encour- 
 aging. 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," I said, " she may know 
 better than any of us what will suit her. Any way 
 I ought to be satisfied ; and that reminds me, Wal- 
 kirk, that I have never expressed to you, as strongly 
 as I wished to do it, my appreciation of the inter- 
 est you have taken in my varied relations with 
 Miss Sylvia Raynor, and for the valuable advice 
 and assistance you have given me from time to 
 time. For instance, I believe that your reluctance 
 to have me go away from Tangent Island was due 
 to your discovery that the island belonged to Syl- 
 via's mother, and, therefore, there was some prob- 
 ability that she might come there."" 
 
I FINISH THE SICILIAN LOVE-STORY. 373 
 
 Walkirk smiled. " You have hit the truth," he 
 said. 
 
 "I have sometimes wondered," I continued, 
 " why a man should take so much interest in the 
 love affairs of another. When one engages an 
 uader-study, he does not generally expect that 
 sort of thing." 
 
 " Well," said Walkirk, " when a man engages 
 as an under-study, or in a similar capacity, he 
 often performs services, without regard to his duty 
 and salary, simply because they interest and please 
 him. Now it struck me that it would be a curious 
 bit of romantic realism if two beautiful women, 
 who on account of one man had become nuns in 
 a convent, or what was practically the same thing, 
 should both be taken out of that convent and 
 brought back to their true life in the world by an- 
 other man." 
 
 " Two women " — I gasped. 
 
 Walkirk smiled, and his voice assumed a com- 
 forting tone. 
 
 " Of course that sort of thing has its rough 
 points for the second man, but in this case I do not 
 think they amount to much. Brownson's affair 
 with the younger lady would have come to an end 
 as soon as she had discovered the rocks in his 
 character, but her mother broke it off before it 
 came to that. But I do not think she would have 
 gone into the sisterhood, if it had not been for the 
 man's death very soon after the breaking of the 
 engagement. This affected her very much, but 
 there was no reason why it should, for he was killed 
 
874 THE HOUSE OF MARTHA. 
 
 in a railway accident, and I am positively certain 
 that lie would have married some one else if he 
 had lived long enough." 
 
 I had nothing to say to all this. I walked 
 slowly into my study and shut the door. Surely 
 I had had enough of picking up loose ends. If 
 there were any more of them I would let them 
 flap, dangle, float in the air, do what they please ; 
 I would not touch them. 
 
 That evening I spent with Sylvia. In the course 
 of our conversation she suddenly remarked : — 
 
 " Do you know we have had so much to do and 
 so much to talk about, and so much to think about 
 and plan, that I have had no chance to ask you 
 some questions that I have been thinking about. 
 In the first place I want you to tell me all about 
 Mr. Walkirk. How long has he been with you ? 
 Are you always going to keep him ? What does 
 he do ? What was his business before he came to 
 you ? Was he always an under-study for people ? 
 It has struck me that that would be such an odd 
 occupation for a man to have. And then there is 
 another thing, — a mere supposition of mine, but 
 still something that I have had a sort of curiosity 
 about : supposing that the House of Martha had 
 not been broken up, and it were all fixed and set- 
 tled that I should stay there always, and supposing 
 cousin Marcia had left us, and had gone into her 
 college work, just as she is doing now — do you 
 think that you would have had any desire to study 
 medicine ? 
 
I FINISH THE SICILIAN LOVE-STOBY. 375 
 
 " And then there is another thing that is not a 
 question, but something which I think I ought to 
 tell you, — something which you have a right to 
 know before we are married." 
 
 " Sylvia," said I, interrupting her, " let me give 
 you a little piece of wisdom from my own experi- 
 ence: The gnawings of ungratified curiosity are 
 often very irritating, but we should remember that 
 the gnawings of gratified curiosity are frequently 
 mangling." 
 
 " Indeed ! " she exclaimed, " is that the way you 
 look at it ? Well, I can assure you that what I 
 have to tell is of no importance at all, but if you 
 have anything to say that is mangling, I want to 
 hear it this very minute." 
 
 " My dear Sylvia," said I, " we have had so 
 much to do and so much to talk about, and so 
 much to think about and plan, that I have had no 
 chance to finish the story of Tomaso and Lucilla." 
 
 " That is true," she cried, with sparkling eyes ; 
 " and above all things I want to hear the end of 
 that story." 
 
 I sat by her on the sofa and finished the story 
 of the Sicilian lovers. 
 
 " In some ways," she said, " it is very much like 
 our story, is n't it ? " 
 
 " Except," I answered, " that the best part of 
 ours is just beginning." 
 
BOOKS BY FRANK R. STOCKTON 
 
 Published by CHARLES SCRIBWER'S SONS 
 
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 mulating an inexhaustible wealth of details in each fresh achievement, the 
 least of which would be riches from another hand." — W. D. Howblls. 
 
 IN UNIFORM STYLE. ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. FROST 
 
 Pomona's Travels 
 
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 their experiences are as enjoyable as those of the days at Rudder Grange. 
 The book is capitally illustrated." — Boston Transcript. 
 
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 12MO, ^1.50. 
 
 ** It is possible that there are readers and buyers of books who have yet 
 to make the acquaintance of 'Rudder Grange.' If so, it is hard to tell 
 whether they are objects of pity or envy — pity for having lost so much en- 
 joyment, or envy for the pleasure that is still in store for them." 
 
 — Philadelphia Times. 
 
 " Mr. Frost's suggestive illustrations add greatly to the attractiveness 
 of Mr. Stockton's famous story. He has caught the spirit of the book, 
 and sketches its leading characters and scenes with rare humor." 
 
 — London Literary World. 
 
 *„* The above tivo books, handsomely bound in uniform style^ with 
 special cover designs by A. B. Frost, gilt top, i2mo, in a box, $4.00. 
 
BOOKS BY FRANK R. STOCKTON 
 
 ^^"^^^^^^~"^"^^~~" •— ^^^— •—■ -■^—^••^^^_^___ _^_^ 
 
 NEW UNIFORM EDITION OF THE FOLLOWING VOLUMES 
 
 The House of Martha, i2mo, $1.25. 
 
 *' It is delightfully droll from beginning to end." 
 
 — Milivaukee Wiicomin, 
 
 The Watchmaker's Wife and other 
 
 STORIES. 12MO, ^1.25. 
 *'The stories are characterized by the oddity and drollery which dis- 
 tinguish Mr. Stockton's from that of the ordinary humorist's." 
 
 — Charleston Neivi and Courier. 
 
 The Late Mrs. Null. i2mo, $1.25. 
 
 " We can assure prospective readers that their only regret after finishing 
 the book will be that never again can they hope for the pleasure of reading 
 it for the first time." — The Critic. 
 
 Rudder Grange. 12M0, jj5i.25. 
 
 " Humor like this is perennial." — Washington Post. 
 
 The Rudder Grangers Abroad and other 
 
 STORIES. 12MO, ^1.25. 
 *' It will be eagerly sought by all old friends of Pomona and Jonas and 
 the other characters who have so delighted the numberless readers of 
 * Rudder Grange.' "—The Outlook. 
 
 The Lady or the Tiger and other stories. 
 
 12MO, ^1.25. 
 "His unique stories always hit the mark. But * The Lady or the 
 Tiger' was a shaf^ condensed from the entire Stocktonese. " 
 
 — Century Magazine. 
 
 The Christmas Wreck and other stories. 
 
 I2MO, ^1 23. 
 
 The Bee-^man of Orn and other fanciful 
 
 TALES. 12MO, $1.25. 
 
 Amos Kilbright; his adscititious experi- 
 ences, with other stories. 12MO, ;^1.25. 
 
 Ardis Claverden. i2mo, ;^i.5o. 
 
BOOKS BY FRANK R. STOCKTON 
 
 Afield and Afloat, illustrated, i2mo, $1.50. 
 
 ' ' There is nothing better in light literature than Mr, Stockton' " 
 amusing tales." — -^{/i- 
 
 John Qayther's Garden and the stories 
 
 TOLD THEREIN. ILLUSTRATED, 12MO, ^1.50. 
 *' Eleven genuine Stockton stories which are thoroughly delightful." 
 
 — Ne-w Tork Sun. 
 
 The Girl at Cobhurst. i2mo, ^1.50. 
 
 " Delightfully Stocktonian, just as unique, as fresh, as original, as if 
 Mr. Stockton had never done anything else in similar vein." 
 
 — Netv Tork Times. 
 
 A Story Teller's Pack, illustrated, 
 
 12MO, ^1.50. 
 
 " His gift is one of the most characteristic that has yet appeared in our 
 literature." — T/te Outlook. 
 
 The Adventures of Captain Horn 
 
 12MO, $1.50. 
 " Mr. Stockton has touched the high-water mark of romantic fiction, 
 and has shown his power to grasp the magic of Defoe and Stevenson." 
 
 — London Speaker. 
 
 Mrs. Cliff's Yacht, illustrated, i2mo, $i.6o. 
 
 '* Mr. Stockton is at his best in this story of land and sea." 
 
 — The Independent. 
 
 A Chosen Few. with etched portrait. 
 
 I6MO, $1.25. 
 
 The Novels and Stories of 
 Frank R. Stockton 
 
 SHENANDOAH EDITION 
 
 " Stockton's "writings ivill outlive a thousand laughs, because fun is only 
 their colore and not their substance. Their substance is human nature throivn 
 into relief by a glass ivhich imparts a comical hue. His humorous -vieiv is 
 broad and not epigrammatic, though ivit lurks in the felicity of his t^*'se 
 sentences." — The Century Magazine. 
 
 TWENTY-THREE VOLUMES 
 SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION 
 For particulars send for special circular. 
 
BOOKS BY FRANK R. STOCKTON 
 
 FANCIFUL STORIES FOR YOUNGER READERS 
 **His books for boys and girls are classics." 
 
 The Clocks of Rondaine 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES. ILLUSTRATED, SQUARE 8VO, $1.50. 
 
 Personally Conducted 
 
 ILLUSTRATED, SQUARE 8VO, $2.00. 
 
 The Story of Viteau 
 
 ILLtJSTRATED, 12MO, $1.50. 
 
 A Jolly Fellowship 
 
 ILLUSTRATED, 12MO, $1.50. 
 
 The Floating Prince 
 
 AND OTHER FAIRY TALES. ILLUSTRATED, SQUARE 
 8VO, $1.50. 
 
 The Ting=a=Ling Tales 
 
 ILLUSTRATED, I2MO, $1.00. 
 
 Roundabout Rambles in Lands of 
 Fact and Fiction 
 
 ILLUSTRATED, SQUARE 8VO, $1.50. 
 
 Tales Out of School 
 
 WITH NEARLY 200 ILLUSTRATIONS. SQUARE 8VO, $1.50. 
 
 *' Mr. Stockton tells a story of adv«»ture not only with a peculiar sim- 
 plicity, seriousness, and veri-similitude which endears him to all young 
 readers, but with a vein of humor all his own, which no boy can fail to 
 appreciate." — Neio Tork Tribune. 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'5 SONS, NEW YORK 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 ^ THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
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 !J£C? g ilgi ^ 
 
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 ..,.-■^01953^^ 
 
 i a 181915' 
 ' OOT 9 1917 
 FEP 21 1919 
 
 
 i FEB26 13W 
 
 MAR 19 im 
 
 
 APR 4 1919 
 
 
 MAY 10 1019 
 
 
 MWS1^9« 
 
 
 ,jOV 10 'S^^ 
 
 
 ';pp S'1071 
 
 • 
 
 
 30m 
 
281310 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CAIvIFORNIA IvIBRARY