m
 
 PRUDENCE.
 
 .- 
 
 "THERE WAS A CERTAIN SPLENDOR IN HER EYES." 
 
 [PAGE 15.
 
 PRUDENCE 
 
 A STORY OF ESTHETIC LONDON 
 
 BY 
 
 LUCY C. LILLIE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE DU MAURIER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 1882
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1882, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Page 
 " THERE WAS A CERTAIN SPLENDOR IN HER EYES " . Frontispiece. 
 
 MRS. BOYCE AND MISS ARMORY II 
 
 "I THINK YOU ARE A MAN TO WHOM ONE CAN SPEAK FEAR- 
 LESSLY" ' . 103 
 
 " MR. FIELDING, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THESE PICTURES?". lOQ 
 "GOD BLESS YOU!" 155 
 
 "IT WAS ODD TO SEE HOW COMPLETELY PRUDENCE FOR- 
 SOOK HER BRIEF PERIOD OF ESTHETIC LIGHT" . . . i;i 
 
 2047036
 
 PRUDENCE. 
 
 i. 
 
 THE first time Prudence Marlitt appeared in 
 English society was at a dance at the Jamison- 
 Poynsetts'. Mrs. Poynsett, as every one knows, 
 is the wife of the famous R.A., and is herself a 
 leader of aesthetic fashion in that region hovering 
 between Kensington and Belgravia, and known as 
 " Passionate Brompton." The highest forms of art, 
 culture, and even science are expressed within the 
 Poynsetts' hospitable walls ; all the impressive so- 
 cial influences of the day gather new force when 
 diffused by Mrs. Poynsett or her daughters ; young 
 poets can put their emotional impressions into 
 verse when gazing upon the dado of Mrs. Poyn- 
 sett's inner drawing-room ; artists can gather that 
 inspiration needed for their work by studying the 
 willowy angles and sadly sunken eyes of the elder 
 Miss Poynsett ; yet there is nothing oppressive in 
 the suggestions of the beautiful house in the 
 courtesy and grace of its occupants. They are
 
 10 PRUDENCE. 
 
 " aesthetes," and they look forward to something 
 even more aesthetic in the future, but the young 
 ladies are very young, and still human enough to 
 enjoy a dance ; so that once or twice in the season 
 cards are issued for an evening which will include 
 some hours devoted to Terpsichore. But, at the 
 same time, Mrs. Poynsett's friends well know what 
 is required of them, even on such an occasion, in 
 the way of costume. The feelings as well as the 
 tastes of the company must be consulted ; for are 
 we not so delicately organized to-day that we must 
 be saved any kind of artistic shock ? As Barley 
 Simmonson, a constant visitor at the Poynsetts', re- 
 marked, " There is power to pain actually to pain 
 in that shade of our youth known as magenta or 
 solferino, just as there is the power to lull anguish 
 into calm " and here Mr. Simmonson smiled with 
 ineffable tenderness " in Bordone's reds." 
 
 On the evening in question two American la- 
 dies made their way rather late toward the room 
 where Mrs. Poynsett was receiving her guests. 
 They approached with that air which comes less 
 of beauty and grace than of social distinction. 
 They were both young, and handsome as Ameri- 
 can women are expected to be abroad, but the 
 younger and unmarried sister had the charm of a 
 peculiar piquant intellectuality. It was difficult to 
 say wherein this was expressed. She had delicate, 
 dark eyebrows, rather inclined 'to be supercilious;
 
 PRUDENCE. 13 
 
 eyes and lips ready enough to be merry, yet full of 
 thought ; a nose and chin that were nearly fault- 
 less ; and a profusion of the softest brown hair 
 coiled a la Grecque low upon her neck. She was 
 bright and lovely, and I am sure she knew pre- 
 cisely how valuable such adjuncts to a young 
 lady's appearance in society are, yet there was not 
 a touch of arrogance in her manner. She wore her 
 costume of pale yellow brocade, with its flutterings 
 of old lace and quaintly wrought silver ornaments, 
 as easily as she would have worn her riding-habit 
 in the Row ; yet something half amused at her 
 own way of contributing to the artistic effect of 
 the company was evident in the pose of her charm- 
 ing head, in the smile which curved her pretty 
 mouth. The elder lady, whose good looks were 
 of the reddish-blonde type so favored to-day, was 
 dressed, with great effect, in a gown the cut and 
 color of which reminded one strongly of Titian's 
 women. She was an ardent disciple of the new 
 gospel of the " aesthetes," and felt herself one of a 
 chosen few, but she moved with the languorous 
 grace necessary when one has yards of plush and 
 satin to consider, and seemed to have no idea or 
 desire of creating a sensation. The dark and the 
 blonde beauty, however, were peculiarly charm- 
 ing as they came up the crowded corridor, and 
 the names, " Mrs. Boyce and Miss Armory," duly 
 announced, caused a certain degree of interest
 
 14 PRUDENCE. 
 
 among the people gathered about the first door- 
 way. 
 
 "At last!" said Mrs. Poynsett, holding out a 
 friendly, tired hand. " Now, my dear, where is 
 your wicked husband?" 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Boyce, with her pretty smile, 
 " he was so sorry ! But at the last moment an 
 American friend turned up, and he could not 
 possibly leave." 
 
 " And are you ready to dance, Helena ?" said 
 the hostess, looking at Miss Armory with fond ad- 
 miration. " You American girls are always in de- 
 mand. There is young Benison looking at you, 
 and I know what that means." 
 
 " Of course I am ready to dance," said Helena 
 Armory, "and Dick Benison is a capital partner; 
 but, dear Mrs. Poynsett, can't we stay here a mo- 
 ment to look on ? It is all so beautiful !" 
 
 A dance necessarily makes decoration out of 
 place, but in this first room enough of color re- 
 mained to give an Oriental splendor to the scene. 
 Heavy and pompous as were the fabrics, the wax- 
 lights and the languid fragrances filling the room 
 softened the effect, making it almost like some bit 
 of dream-land. Against the rich and somewhat fan- 
 ciful background the artistic figures were most ef- 
 fective. In the distance the dancers were whirling 
 to the strains of the " Sweethearts " waltz. Nearer 
 to the archway in which Miss Armory and her sis-
 
 PRUDENCE. 15 
 
 ter were standing were various suggestive groups : 
 pretty girls in quaint gowns ; dowagers splendid in 
 diamonds and aesthetic colors \ one or two fashion- 
 able beauties reviving the last century in their 
 attire and their frivolous animation ; people with 
 nothing to do or to say trying to extract intensity 
 from the brilliancy of their surroundings. Miss 
 Armory was used to such companies, and knew 
 what to expect, yet she enjoyed looking about 
 her with good-humored criticism before she re- 
 sponded to the appeals of young Mr. Benison. 
 
 It was in this first careless survey of the room 
 that Prudence Marlitt came in view a girl of 
 twenty one or two, dazzlingly pretty, sitting against 
 a gorgeous screen, which made a background whose 
 brilliancy seemed only to enforce her own. She 
 was gazing eagerly at her companion, Barley Sim- 
 monson himself, and her uplifted face shone be- 
 neath the radiance of candle-light with charming 
 effect. There was a certain splendor in her eyes, 
 a Southern tint in complexion that made her red- 
 dish-brown hair peculiar ; but Miss Armory's mem- 
 ory, stored with all that was precious in Continental 
 art, failed her as she tried to think of anything so 
 lovely as this girl sitting in a shabby white muslin 
 gown against the splendid screen. She was talk- 
 ing to Simmonson with an air that was simply 
 adorable ; there came a dimple in her cheek as she 
 smiled, showing her pretty teeth ; a childlike ra-
 
 16 PRUDENCE. 
 
 diance was about her mouth and eyes ; but it was 
 difficult, thought Miss Armory, to decide whether 
 the girl were thoroughly versed in the arts of co- 
 quetry, or a Miranda, " untravelled and unseen." 
 
 " Oh, I see whom you are looking at," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Poynsett. " That is an American girl a Miss 
 Marlitt. I think she is the loveliest creature on 
 earth. But was there ever such a gown !" 
 
 " Lovely ! She is perfect," said Mrs. Boyce. " An 
 American ? Helena, we knew some Marlitts once." 
 
 " I am really quite bothered about her," said Mrs. 
 Poynsett, sinking her voice. " All the men in the 
 room are talking about her; yet, do you know, she 
 has come entirely alone ! Quite unchaperoned ! I 
 suppose it might do in America, but it certainly 
 looks odd in London." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Poynsett," exclaimed Mrs. Boyce, 
 opening her gray eyes widely, " it would not do 
 in America. There must be some mistake ; and 
 she looks such a perfect lady ! Did you invite a 
 chaperon ?" 
 
 " Of course. She has just come to London with 
 her aunt, a Mrs. Crane. They brought a letter to 
 me from Colonel Wheeler; but all this divine young 
 thing did when she appeared this evening was to 
 apologize for her aunt's being obliged to stay at 
 home. A cold or something! In a minute more 
 I had to introduce half a dozen men to her. Bar- 
 ley Simmonson, as you see, is tremendously taken
 
 PRUDENCE. 17 
 
 with her, but he'll tell every man at the 'Arts' 
 about it to-morrow. My dear Helena, how lovely 
 your yellow gown is ! Quite as good as Ellen Ter- 
 ry's. How do you do, Mrs. Jenness?" 
 
 And Mrs. Poynsett's kindly hand began again to 
 be engrossed. Mrs. Boyce and her sister remained 
 silent a moment, watching Prudence with deep ad- 
 miration. Mrs. Boyce is a most decided person. 
 To watch her languid movements, her slow smile, 
 her sleepy gray eyes, you would never think her 
 capable of any impulsive action, but at heart she is 
 one of the most impetuous women I know. When 
 Mrs. Poynsett had finished speaking, there was a 
 peculiar glow upon Mrs. Boyce's face. 
 
 " Helena," she said to her sister, " wait here a 
 moment. I think I can arrange it with that poor 
 child." 
 
 And so saying, she deliberately crossed the room 
 to the peacock screen, where she smiled pleasantly 
 upon Prudence and Lord Bairham's heir. 
 
 Barley Simmonson was conducting the conver- 
 sation ; but Miss Marlitt was listening, with her 
 charming smile and little words now and then of 
 assent, wonder, dissent perhaps, or interrogation. 
 Into the conversation Mrs. Boyce came with a 
 graceful sweep of her draperies which attracted 
 Simmonson's attention. 
 
 " My dear," she said, in her soft voice, laying one 
 hand upon Miss Marlitt's shabby sleeve, " I don't 
 
 2
 
 18 PRUDENCE. 
 
 think I can let you dance much more to-night;" 
 and with that the accomplished hypocrite beamed 
 upon the young man. " Don't persist, Mr. Sim- 
 monson ; I can't let Miss Marlitt tire herself, or 
 her aunt will think me a very poor chaperon." 
 
 And before any one of the three had time to 
 think about it, Barley Simmonson had bowed and 
 moved away. Prudence had made room for her 
 impromptu chaperon upon the crimson bench, and 
 was looking at her with a wondering, lovely gaze. 
 Mrs. Boyce was perfectly undisturbed. 

 
 PRUDENCE. 19 
 
 II. 
 
 "MY dear," said Mrs. Boyce, "you must excuse 
 me for what I have done ; I thought you would 
 be glad afterward. You see, in London a girl is 
 criticised for coming to an evening party alone, 
 and I am an American myself I know how Eng- 
 lish people can talk of us sometimes. Do you un- 
 derstand me ?" and Alice Boyce looked at the girl 
 with gentle friendliness. 
 
 . Little Miss Marlitt flashed one of her sweet 
 looks upon her new friend. There was humility, 
 gratitude, comprehension, in her glance. 
 
 " Oh, of course , I understand!" she exclaimed, 
 quickly, putting one of her hands into Mrs. Boyce's. 
 " How good of you !" The color swept across the 
 girl's cheeks ; her voice trembled. " How thought- 
 ful ! Oh, thank you ! Yes, yes, I know. My aunt 
 could not come, but she said it would be too bad 
 to disappoint me ; and Jonas Fielding, a friend of 
 ours, brought me to the door, and will call for me 
 at one o'clock. Have I done anything very dread- 
 ful?" she added, wistfully, and cast a nervous glance 
 in the direction of Mrs. Poynsett's magnificent 
 shoulders.
 
 20 PRUDENCE. 
 
 At this Mrs. Boyce grew very encouraging. She 
 tried to set the girl completely at ease, and there 
 was a charm in her manner which Prudence, in 
 spite of her bewilderment, felt at once. She look- 
 ed at the pretty, splendidly dressed young woman 
 with soft gratitude. 
 
 " I am Mrs. Boyce," said that lady, " and you must 
 consider me your chaperon for the evening. Now 
 will you tell me all about yourself, dear? I shall 
 see that your partners are not all frightened away." 
 
 Prudence gave Mrs. Boyce's hand another press- 
 ure. "There is not much to tell," she said, sim- 
 ply ; and she told her meagre little history with 
 an air of charming frankness. To begin with, she 
 said they came from Ponkamak, in Maine; she was 
 an orphan, educated by Jonas Fielding's father, and 
 lately she had lived with her aunt, Mrs. Crane ; she 
 had been at school in Boston for a year ; she had 
 taught school herself for three or four months. 
 Although these seemed but the dullest outlines, 
 there really was little shading to put in. Prudence 
 Marlitt, up to the present hour, had certainly led 
 the colorless existence which with so many Ameri- 
 can women in the country grows grayer and grayer 
 as years go by. She talked of herself with abso- 
 lute simplicity, yet with an air that showed her 
 practical common-sense. Mrs. Boyce understood 
 her perfectly : she had thought out life, but had 
 never lived ; she had read and studied hard, no
 
 PRUDENCE. 21 
 
 doubt, with no opportunity for exchanging an 
 idea; and now she was unquestionably the most 
 charming object in one of the most renowned 
 drawing-rooms of London. The suggestiveness of 
 it all was to Mrs. Boyce peculiarly striking. 
 
 " My aunt is very much interested in women's 
 rights," Miss Marlitt continued, seeing that her 
 listener's interest grew, " and also in the interna- 
 tional copyright. She has corresponded with a 
 great many distinguished people about it. It is 
 so nice to have their autographs. We are hoping 
 to see Carlyle." 
 
 " That will be very nice," assented Mrs. Boyce. 
 And then she added : " I see my young friend Mr. 
 Benison is looking at me as if he thought me very 
 cruel not to introduce him. He dances very well, 
 and is such a nice fellow !" 
 
 " Oh, thank you !" said Miss Marlitt, with enthu- 
 siasm. She turned her pretty head, following the 
 direction of Mrs. Boyce's glance to the door-way, 
 in which a tall, yellow-haired young Yorkshireman 
 stood talking with Miss Armory. The two were 
 not saying very much, but it was certainly about 
 Prudence Marlitt. 
 
 " I never saw so lovely a girl anywhere," pro- 
 nounced honest Dick, with enthusiasm. 
 
 " There isn't any one in the room like her," said 
 Helena Armory, " and I know you want to be in- 
 troduced only I don't know her."
 
 22 PRUDENCE. 
 
 " Well, she and your sister are great friends," 
 said the young man. 
 
 " We will go over and melt Alice's heart, then," 
 said Miss Armory, and accordingly she led the way 
 toward Prudence. The introduction was quickly 
 effected, and in a moment Prudence was among 
 the dancers, being whirled stoutly around by the 
 young Englishman. At first she protested she 
 could not dance as they did in England. 
 
 "But we know the ' Dip," " pleaded Mr. Benison. 
 
 "The ' Dip?' " responded little Prudence. It so 
 happened that Miss Marlitt was running about in 
 short frocks on the beach at Ponkamak when the 
 " Dip " went out of fashion in America. 
 
 " Well, then, let us try a deux-temps" said Dick ; 
 and Prudence, who was young and light-hearted, ea- 
 sily submitted to such a pleasant effort. Away they 
 went. Mrs. Boyce and her sister, sitting against 
 the peacock screen, and talking to half a dozen 
 men, looked from time to time into the other room, 
 where the girl's shabby muslin and beautiful face 
 were constantly to be seen among the dancers. By 
 this time Miss Armory was quite ready to announce 
 herself as Prudence Marlitt's friend. The young 
 lady had her usual circle of admirers, to whom she 
 talked with that mixture of frankness and piquan- 
 cy which made her charming. She knew a little of 
 all the topics floating in the aesthetic circle, and a 
 great deal of some of them, and she was keenly in-
 
 PRUDENCE. 23 
 
 terested in everything people had to say. She had 
 been long enough in England to feel herself in har- 
 mony with such traditions as affect society and ev- 
 ery-day life, yet her American instincts were always 
 apparent, giving a transatlantic flavor even to the 
 way in which she wore her most aesthetic garments. 
 Few English girls in society were more popular 
 than Miss Armory, and her fortune was moderate 
 enough to make the attentions paid her very com- 
 plimentary. During part of the winter and in the 
 regular season she and her sister, Mrs. Boyce, pre- 
 sided over a charming house in Cornwall Gardens, 
 to which Americans were always cordially welcome, 
 for neither of the two women had learned the art 
 of patronizing her country people, while she as- 
 sumed to be thoroughly one with them in feeling 
 and tradition. During the hot months of the year 
 Miss Armory was always with a cousin, who was 
 keenly addicted to Continental travel ; and for a 
 certain number of weeks the young lady was to 
 be found in two or three very fine country houses, 
 where, though she never hunted, she was fond of 
 riding, and was famous in the organization and per- 
 formance of private theatricals. Mrs. Boyce's mar- 
 riage, of course, had been the reason of her orphan 
 sister's coming to live in England. Mr. Boyce was 
 a wealthy Cornishman, who had met his charming 
 wife while doing legation duty in Washington. 
 Helena was only a girl of seventeen then, with si-
 
 24 PRUDENCE. 
 
 lent, awkward beauty, and a fixed intention to be 
 philanthropical. It was well known among her sis- 
 ter's friends that she had already refused two or 
 three brilliant offers, and made the determination 
 calmly never to marry. Whether English life had 
 changed her views it was hard to say ; she theo- 
 rized a little more, and acted much less, and cer- 
 tainly never wilfully encouraged the men who had 
 laid their hearts at her feet ; but her manner had 
 developed into self-possessed brilliancy. People 
 declared her prettier and more fascinating than 
 ever since aestheticism had crept across the land, 
 but more inscrutable. " I don't know what it is 
 she wants," Mrs. Boyce would say, with resignation, 
 when asked by some interested lady friend why 
 Helena did not marry. 
 
 " I am too worldly that is it," Helena would 
 always answer to such importunities. " Don't you 
 see I love life so, I'm afraid of losing something by 
 giving myself into a poor man's keeping or an 
 uninteresting man's or a tyrannical man's and 
 then, I'm too worldly." 
 
 This was the young lady who, standing with a 
 little circle of admirers about her at Mrs. Poyn- 
 sett's, determined to assert herself as Prudence 
 Marlitt's friend. She was rarely capricious, yet 
 this sudden feeling of friendship was certainly 
 impulsive. 
 
 " Mr. Simmonson," she said, sedately, to that
 
 PRUDENCE. 25 
 
 young man, " if you really wish to know Miss Mar- 
 litt well, you will have to be most attentive to me. 
 I am going to be a perfect Cerberus." 
 
 " Charming !" said Lord Bairham's heir. " Then 
 there will be double satisfaction in attentions to 
 Miss Marlitt." 
 
 " What an obvious compliment ! All the same, 
 I suppose, I should have felt slighted if you had 
 neglected the chance. How does your Grosvenor 
 work go on ?" 
 
 " Languidly," said Barley Simmonson, slowly. 
 " The subject has less less of soul than I 
 thought. Nothing responds, as it were, to the 
 feeling I put into the execution of the work." 
 
 " I wish I knew what to suggest," said Miss Ar- 
 mory. " Shall I come and read aloud Uhland to 
 you, or play Raff?" 
 
 " What a sweet idea !" said the young artist. 
 " That would be too delightful. Won't you 
 dance now, Miss .Armory ? Our waltz is half 
 over." 
 
 And so the young lady allowed herself to be 
 carried off to the dancers, where she passed Miss 
 Marlitt, radiant upon Dick Benison's arm. 
 
 Before the evening was over, the young girl from 
 Ponkamak, sternly chaperoned by Mrs. Boyce, had 
 made a multitude of friends, and given her address 
 a dozen times to different people. Mrs. Field Mow- 
 bray, whose Queen Anne house in Kensington is
 
 26 PRUDENCE. 
 
 an aesthetic centre, declared herself fascinated by 
 the girl's beauty and charm of manner. 
 
 " My dear," she whispered to Miss Armory, " the 
 child is like the Pompeiian Psyche." 
 
 Poor little Prudence ! After the fashion among 
 the " aesthetes " of the day, she was likened to ev- 
 ery type of beauty since the days of our first par- 
 ents. She was a Titian, a Bordone, a Botticelli 
 even a Sir Joshua and a Greuze. On the whole, 
 Dick Benison came nearest to the truth when he 
 called her, to Miss Armory, " a little darling." Mrs. 
 Poynsett fully appreciated the success of Mrs. 
 Boyce's coup. " But suppose," said the latter lady 
 to her sister " suppose they should turn out awful 
 people to know I mean the international copy- 
 right lady what shall I do? And I never could 
 pretend I didn't know the poor little thing after 
 this." 
 
 Miss Armory declared she was not afraid. To 
 her the whole charm of the evening resolved itself 
 into watching or talking to Prudence. The way in 
 which the girl received the attentions fluttering 
 about her was beautiful. She had a smile, a bright 
 word, a gay little laugh, always ready, and her 
 cheek glowed with simple, heart-felt pleasure. The 
 jargon of London society meant nothing to her. 
 Was she a Bordone ? a Titian ? She may have 
 heard the terms, but they implied nothing beyond 
 civilities and kind heart.
 
 PRUDENCE. 27 
 
 "I think English people are perfectly lovely '/' 
 she said once to Miss Armory. "And yet I always 
 thought they would be so cold and reserved. But 
 then you have been here so long." 
 
 " I've had five London seasons," said Miss Ar- 
 mory. " I love the people dearly," she added, with 
 hearty meaning, and yet she would have liked to 
 say a cynical word of warning to the girl beside 
 her. Not for an instant did the homage paid her 
 occur to the fresh young mind as subjective. Miss 
 Armory would fain have guarded her from any 
 chill, any disappointment, for she well knew how 
 the girl's American mind was working. She 
 danced two or three times with Mr. Simmonson, 
 who succeeded better than young Benison in teach- 
 ing her to waltz. 
 
 " In Ponkamak," she said to him once, in a 
 breathless pause, " we dance the polka. Are you 
 fond of it ?" 
 
 Mr. Simmonson explained it was such an inartis- 
 tic performance. 
 
 "Inartistic?" queried Prudence, lifting beautiful 
 puzzled brows to the young man. 
 
 " Well, it has no purpose," he said, dreamily. 
 " Now, Miss Marlitt, a waltz has its own power 
 of harmonizing thought and movement. It is dif- 
 ferent." 
 
 Prudence stood still, not satisfied with herself, 
 yet wondering what to say.
 
 28 PRUDENCE. 
 
 '"Well," she said, finally, "I suppose Ponkamak 
 is countrified." 
 
 And then the two drifted on again, harmonizing 
 thought and movement charmingly, to judge by 
 Simmonson's rapt expression. 
 
 A little later Mrs. Boyce and Miss Armory car- 
 ried Prudence away. In the dressing-room the girl 
 had an old seal-skin jacket and a faded pink worst- 
 ed cloud. Helena looked at the latter with a thrill 
 of remembrance. She could see herself, one of a 
 group of girls, at the Cliff House in L , Con- 
 necticut, learning that stitch. What a boon the 
 stitch had been ! After tea, she remembered, they 
 had all sat out on the piazza in crisp white gowns, 
 plying crochet -needles and comparing progress. 
 That evening, she remembered, the stage unex- 
 pectedly deposited Raymond De Kay, who had 
 come up, in spite of her silence, to see the Cliff 
 House, he said. As Prudence Marlitt framed her 
 beauty in the worn bit of wool, Miss Armory stood, 
 across the room, a quiet, splendid figure in white 
 furs, with an expression few of her English friends 
 were familiar with. She wondered, as they made 
 their way into the hall, whether she were fifty in- 
 stead of twenty-five. 
 
 Prudence's cavalier, Mr. Jonas Fielding, was wait- 
 ing, and Miss Armory instantly regretted the slight 
 feeling of shame that she felt on beholding one of 
 the kindliest, truest -hearted men she ever knew.
 
 PRUDENCE. 29 
 
 But the typical Westerner is not ornamental in a 
 hall-way sombre with dull colors, lighted by wax- 
 candles and the flash of old brass and steel. Mr. 
 Jonas Fielding stood severely straight in a side 
 door-way against an Oriental portiere. He was a 
 tall, well-built young man, with a fair, quiet face, 
 rather stiff light hair, and gentle blue eyes. He 
 typified the same part of the country, the same in- 
 fluences, which had produced this brilliant girl, with 
 her air of unconscious right to wear a coronet if 
 one were offered to her. They had been bred with- 
 in sight of each other's door-ways, yet, as Miss Ar- 
 mory felt at once, for some subtle reason they were 
 as far asunder as the poles. Miss Armory did not 
 feel equal then to measuring any but the sugges- 
 tive differences ; she could not define Jonas Field- 
 ing beyond the momentary effect he produced ; 
 yet in some ways the man's appearance startled 
 her. 
 
 He was a curious, forcible suggestion of home 
 not the brilliant life of Washington, New York, 
 or Boston, which was in effect the life of London, 
 but the fervider, more intrinsically American life 
 which has for its background, as it were, the can- 
 ons of Colorado, the ranches of California. He op- 
 pressed Miss Armory with a miserable sense that 
 she had been in her heart of hearts guilty of some 
 forgetfulness. The subtlety of her feeling was 
 what puzzled her. Yet she knew that, were she
 
 30 PRUDENCE. 
 
 to meet the man a dozen times, she would hang 
 her head for very shame. 
 
 The little " Bordone" went up to her friend with 
 a lovely smile. 
 
 " How good of you, Jo !" she said, putting out 
 one shabby glove. " I am so much obliged !" and 
 then she turned and introduced him to Mrs. Boyce 
 and Miss Armory. Mr. Fielding bowed and shook 
 hands with each lady. 
 
 "Am I very late, Prue?" he said, gravely; but 
 his mild eyes rested upon the girl as on some joy- 
 ful object. 
 
 " Oh no," laughed Prudence. " I've had a per- 
 fectly splendid time. Mrs. Boyce and Miss Armo- 
 ry have been most kind. Do you know, Jo, it's 
 awful here to go alone anywhere ; and so Mrs. 
 Boyce undertook to be my chaperon." 
 
 She laughed as she half whispered the words, 
 and blushed prettily. As for the man, the color 
 rushed into his face like a flame. For a moment 
 he looked as if he would carry her away then and 
 there. 
 
 " It is all right," said Mrs. Boyce. " I hope 
 I may be her chaperon a great many times 
 yet." 
 
 " Oh, thank you," said Jonas Fielding, in a deep, 
 undemonstrative tone. 
 
 "Are you all fixed, Prue?" he asked, presently; 
 and then, lightly, with a reverence which seemed
 
 PRUDENCE. 81 
 
 to beautify the dingy color, he touched the pink 
 cloud near her cheek. 
 
 Prudence gave a little extra tie to the cloud, 
 and laughed and nodded. She was in beaming 
 spirits. She exchanged fervent good-byes with 
 Mrs. Boyce and Miss Armory, and begged they 
 would call early the next day, and then she fol- 
 lowed Jonas Fielding out into the winter starlight, 
 where he had a cab in waiting. As the young 
 man carefully led Prudence to the cab there was 
 something quaintly chivalrous in his manner his 
 way of helping her to gather her limp draperies 
 into one little gloved hand. Were they faded 
 and poor to him ? He touched the dingy folds 
 with a gesture as of a knight kissing his lady's 
 ribbon. 
 
 Driving toward Cornwall Gardens, Miss Armory 
 was peculiarly despondent. 
 
 " I think it is the greatest pity in the world," 
 she said at last, " that there should be any Jonas 
 Fielding. Otherwise that girl might be a perfect 
 success." 
 
 " She will be in spite of him," said Mrs. Boyce. 
 " I never saw anything lovelier." 
 
 But in her own room, half an hour later, Miss 
 Armory's despondency merged into something 
 like melancholy. 
 
 " If I were a heroine in a novel," she thought, 
 smiling to herself, " I would hunt up old love-let-
 
 32 PRUDENCE. 
 
 ters and burn them. As it is, I am only" the 
 girl was sitting before her mirror, and she regard- 
 ed herself dubiously " only what ?" she thought ; 
 and added, as she blew out her candle, " a modern 
 'aesthete' !"
 
 PRUDENCE. 33 
 
 III. 
 
 PRUDENCE MARLITT and her aunt were in lodg- 
 ings near Russell Square. Early the next day 
 Mrs. Boyce's footman rapped at the door of the 
 dull old house, and a maid -servant, down at the 
 heel, and fragmentary as to cap and hooks and 
 eyes, admitted Mrs. Boyce and Miss Armory. 
 The maid carelessly led the way up to the front 
 drawing-room, within which a clear American 
 voice, like Prudence's grown thin, bade the visit- 
 ors enter. 
 
 It was late in the autumn, yet, singular to say, 
 not foggy, but the sitting-room looked dingy and 
 comfortless in the extreme : a fire struggled in 
 the grate ; the usual ornaments under glass cases ; 
 antimacassars and prints vied with green and red 
 furniture as depressing influences ; but there was 
 a piano open at the lighter end of the room, and 
 from it Prudence, in a neat little walking -dress, 
 was turning as the ladies came into the room. As 
 Miss Armory kissed her, she encountered the brill- 
 iant gaze of a lady to whom Prudence smilingly 
 introduced her new friends. Mrs. Crane was a 
 woman of about forty, tall and dark, but hand- 
 
 3
 
 34: PRUDENCE. 
 
 some enough to show that beauty was a heritage 
 among the Marlitts of Ponkamak; but she had 
 none of Prudence's soft charm. She was thin, 
 sharply cut, and decided in manner ; and although 
 she smiled a great deal, and with a very brilliant 
 effect, her voice had the power of slowly reducing 
 her hearers to subjection. Helena could always 
 recall that morning visit accurately the look of 
 the room, the table littered with papers, the piano 
 with Kucken's "Good -night" open upon it, the 
 big windows through which the muffled tones of 
 a street organ were to be heard, Prudence sitting 
 in the shadow of the dreary fire, Mrs. Crane's ea- 
 ger glance at her guests yet all strong impression 
 seemed to be of that lady's voice as it went on 
 and on, of her insistent personality, the movement 
 of her thin, delicately moulded lips, her graceful 
 domineering gestures. 
 
 " Prudence was very much obliged for your 
 kindness last night," Mrs. Crane said, looking from 
 one to the other of her visitors. " I'm sorry it 
 wasn't the thing for her to go alone. The lady 
 had been very kind. I don't know as I should 
 have minded a girl's coming to my house just that 
 way ; still, each land has its laws. For myself, I 
 claim individuality." 
 
 " English society is always very conventional 
 outwardly," said Mrs. Boyce, smiling. 
 
 " Oh, I know." Mrs. Crane returned the smile
 
 PRUDENCE: 35 
 
 like the flash of steel. " The hollowest things can 
 bear a strong outer glaze ; but I feel our ideas are 
 best. Still, I'm just as much obliged to you. I 
 don't go out much in the evening myself." 
 
 " There are a great many social opportunities in 
 the daytime," said Helena ; " so many people re- 
 ceive between three and six." 
 
 " So I hear. Those are busy hours with me. 
 You know I'm very much interested in public 
 questions. I am to address a company at Lady 
 Frances Holbrook's to-day." Mrs. Crane pro- 
 nounced the title with a certain disdainful pre- 
 cision. " Not that her being what they call Lady 
 over here makes any difference that I can see ; but 
 she is an excellent woman. I claim that a farmer's 
 wife in America is equal to any ' Lady,' as they 
 have it. I don't admit any social difference be- 
 tween the Queen and myself, and I think, if I met 
 her to-morrow, I shouldn't give in to much bow- 
 ing down." 
 
 Mrs. Boyce wondered if she had better answer 
 this remark. She thought of one or two fitting 
 speeches on the good -breeding of observing the 
 etiquette of foreign countries ; but Mrs. Crane's 
 coldly brilliant gaze seemed to check the utter- 
 ance of all opinions. She only said, " Is it to be a 
 lecture this afternoon at Lady Frances's ?" 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Crane, with an elaborate man- 
 ner, " I've been asked to give an account of our
 
 36 PRUDENCE. 
 
 public schools in America, and I have prepared a 
 paper to read on the subject. Are you interested 
 in the question ?" 
 
 " A little," Mrs. Boyce admitted. " But, you 
 see, I've been six years away from home." 
 
 " But you read the papers you know what is 
 going on ? Oh, Mrs. Boyce," exclaimed Mrs. Crane, 
 putting her hands tightly together, " don't say you 
 are one of those self-exiled American women who 
 fall down at the feet of foreign aristocracy to wor- 
 ship, and forget their own country !" 
 
 Mrs. Crane, in uttering these impressive words, 
 looked at the graceful figure of her visitor, taking 
 in a swift impression of her charms, and I am afraid 
 she measured her, although half -consciously, as 
 the subject for "remarks" in Ponkamak. Certain 
 phrases, indeed, flitted, half formed, through her 
 mind: "An American lady, a beautiful, popular 
 woman whom I met in London," etc. ; or, " Few 
 of our American women bear transplanting ;" or, 
 " English associations are taking so strong a hold 
 upon our American women," etc. various opening 
 sentences occurred, as I say, to the lady's fertile 
 mind while she looked at Mrs. Boyce's fair, delicate 
 face, framed in the reddish -blonde hair and gray 
 felt bonnet. 
 
 " What is that ?" said Miss Armory, turning from 
 her chat with Prudence by the fire. 
 
 "Mrs. Crane is disappointed in me," said Mrs.
 
 PRUDENCE. 37 
 
 Boyce. " But I hope you won't think all that of 
 me, really. Do you know, although my husband 
 is such a complete Englishman, and my children 
 were both born here, I am considered a most rabid 
 American. But one can be that, I hope, even in 
 New York, and yet confess to ignorance of the 
 public-school question. I can tell you all you like 
 of art and literature and science over there ; and I 
 know a little bit about the President too !" Mrs. 
 Boyce spoke with the most good-humored cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 Mrs. Crane only answered by an earnest gaze at 
 both Mrs. Boyce and Miss Armory : the younger 
 lady had begun to be smilingly interested in Pru- 
 dence Marlitt's aunt. 
 
 " Come to Lady Frances Holbrook's," said Mrs. 
 Crane, with a gentle persistence. " I know you will 
 be interested." 
 
 " Oh," said Miss Armory, " I am sure we should 
 be, if we weren't engaged elsewhere. Lady Fanny 
 is a great friend of ours, though I don't think she 
 has ever quite forgiven me for laughing at her 
 about something which happened in Paris last year. 
 There was a meeting of ladies who discoursed on 
 rights, and of course Lady Fanny was one of the 
 principal people. You know how eager and ear- 
 nest she is. She had a prominent place on the 
 platform. We were in the audience, and I could 
 see her plainly. She had been the prime mover in
 
 38 PRUDENCE. 
 
 calling the meeting together, and all the speeches 
 tended to prove that women can project them- 
 selves utterly into any public question, forgetting 
 every minor point of feminine interest. I am sure 
 the arguments were admirable. I was half deter- 
 mined to go home and declare new principles my- 
 self. Suddenly I saw Lady Fanny looking fixedly 
 at me. Then she scribbled something on a bit of 
 paper, and in a moment a boy brought it to me. 
 It was about this : ' Dear Helena, I am in a perfect 
 fidget. It is after four o'clock, and there is an 
 occasion of pink foulard morning wrappers at the 
 Louvre, and I know there won't be one left. I 
 can't get away, and Janet dislikes to go, as Lord 
 Roxburghley is going to speak, and he is sure to 
 feel hurt if she leaves. Can you go over, dear, 
 and secure for me two, and find out if all the white 
 parasols are gone !' ' 
 
 Mrs. Crane laughed she could scarcely help it, 
 indeed yet her tone was not encouraging. 
 
 " Well," she said, " Lady Frances Holbrook seems 
 earnest ; but she is young and pretty, and I sup- 
 pose a woman of fashion. What is an occasion ?" 
 and Mrs. Crane's tone varied slightly. " Is the 
 Louvre a good store I mean for black silks ?" she 
 said, as Mrs. Boyce explained the term. " I won- 
 der if Paris is the best place to shop in ? But black 
 silks are all chance now." Mrs. Crane grew a little 
 more studious of Miss Armory's dark plush, and
 
 PRUDENCE. 39 
 
 then she said : "This brings me to a question about 
 Prudence, Mrs. Boyce. She needs to have some 
 things bought, if she's to go out any more in this 
 English society, and your advice would be valua- 
 ble. From what she tells me, they dress very odd- 
 ly here in company, but she says it's pretty. Real- 
 ly, if you could direct her a little. I should like her 
 to have everything nice. Last night it was all 
 done in such a hurry, just anything she'd chanced 
 to bring over." 
 
 Now, when people met Prudence Marlitt later, it 
 was always a source of astonishment how the girl 
 had so quickly learned the art of aesthetic dress. 
 Mrs. Boyce and her sister never told the story of 
 that morning's expedition ; how they carried the 
 girl off in triumph to Regent Street, and to Bur- 
 nett's and Madame J 's, and bought those pret- 
 ty gowns, the long cloak, the big felt hat, which 
 made Prudence more than ever bewitching. The 
 shabby muslin was packed away, and before Mrs. 
 Boyce's famous conversazione on December 20, Pru- 
 dence had a gown of shining satin, devised by Miss 
 Armory in what she considered her most aesthetic 
 moment. 
 
 " But one can't help thinking," Helena remarked 
 to her sister, " what Jonas Fielding will say to it." 
 
 " What do you care?" 
 
 " A great deal," answered Helena. " I'm afraid 
 though I don't know why he will think her crazy."
 
 40 PRUDENCE. 
 
 " Then let him find out his mistake," said Mrs. 
 Boyce. The two were matching wools in South 
 Kensington, and Helena became very critical of the 
 green shades offered for inspection. 
 
 " It will never seem a mistake to him," she said, 
 with a sigh, " and there's the pity of it. This will 
 do, Alice, I think. Now I mean to make those 
 leaves perfect. Oh, what a joy it is !" 
 
 Before the evening of the conversazione in Corn- 
 wall Gardens, Miss Armory made a discovery which 
 delighted her. Going into the dingy sitting-room 
 in Guildford Street one day, she found Prudence 
 singing, and it ensued that the girl possessed a 
 lovely voice. The compass was not great, but it 
 was a clear mezzo, full of impassioned cadence 
 such tones as our Western nightingales often un- 
 consciously possess. 
 
 " The very thing to complete her character here !" 
 Helena thought, as she drove home that afternoon. 
 "Oh, if Jonas Fielding were only miles away!" 
 
 But he was much nearer. Indeed, half his time 
 seemed to be spent in Guildford Street, where his 
 broad shoulders wece constantly to be seen darken- 
 ing the window, while Mrs. Crane wrote letters, and 
 Prudence worked in the fire-light. Sometimes Miss 
 Armory encountered him on the dusky staircase as 
 she came up or down. He was unfailing in his at- 
 tentions to his friends ; he performed endless little 
 services for them with a quiet, manly air that took
 
 PRUDENCE. Jrl 
 
 away all idea of slavery ; once Helena declared she 
 met him bringing in cold chicken. 
 
 " Horrible !" said Mrs. Boyce. 
 
 " Well, perhaps it wasn't quite that," answered 
 Miss Armory ; but it was something to eat oranges, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " Can't you forgive the man for existing ?" Mrs. 
 Boyce declared. 
 
 " No, I can't," said her sister. " He is my ' Old 
 Man of the Sea.' I wonder how I can shake him 
 off?"
 
 42 PRUDENCE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Miss ARMORY, in declaring that Jonas Fielding 
 was her " Old Man of the Sea," gave rather exag- 
 gerated expression to the estimate she had, half- 
 consciously, made of the man's power. Something 
 about him, awkward and reserved as he seemed, 
 impressed her as worth considering, and in induct- 
 ing Prudence into the ways of the " aesthetes," she 
 felt as if she, in some fashion, owed him an apolo- 
 gy. But Miss Armory's mind was, as she knew 
 herself, morbidly analytical. She was given to tak- 
 ing out her opinions and dissecting and elaborating 
 them for her own amusement, in a way that per- 
 haps even Mrs. Boyce would not understand ; she 
 was perpetually commenting to herself on the mo- 
 tive of the most commonplace actions ; she de- 
 clared herself without a creed, yet she was haunted 
 by a sense that a conscience was one of the grand- 
 est things appertaining to human nature, and that 
 it needed some unseen awful guidance. In the 
 fine, high-bred face of the girl one read this criti- 
 cal, self-reproachful faculty; it was in the curve of 
 her lips, the glance of her dark eyes. She had an 
 almost passionate sense of justice, and was perpet-
 
 PRUDENCE. 43 
 
 ually telling herself that her whole life was an im- 
 position upon her better self ; yet nothing in the 
 world pleased her nearly so well as the close asso- 
 ciation with the world of poetry, pictures, and color 
 in its varied forms which was called " aesthetic Lon- 
 don." Introducing Prudence Marlitt into this vi- 
 sionary region afforded Helena the keenest delight ; 
 but as the evening of Mrs. Boyce's conversazione 
 approached, she declared she felt it was not alto- 
 gether merciful. 
 
 " I am not rendering unto Jonas the things that 
 are Jonas's," she said to Mrs. Boyce, in an indolent 
 moment, when they were taking tea together in 
 Helena's dressing-room. 
 
 " I wouldn't be wicked, and strike my breast to- 
 gether," said Alice Boyce. 
 
 " Oh yes you would, if you were me," said Hele- 
 na. " Don't you know I always do, and I take a 
 grim pleasure in my power of dissecting my own 
 wickedness. I wonder what I am the result of 
 some intense Puritanism, and modern American 
 infidelity and it's so horrible to feel one's self so 
 real !" 
 
 Mrs. Boyce, for all her aestheticism, had calm, 
 old-fashioned views on religion. 
 
 " If you were a Roman Catholic, you'd be a 
 Trappist," she said, laughing. 
 
 " I know I should. Sometimes I think I will be 
 after I've finished being an ' aesthete/ "
 
 44 PRUDENCE. 
 
 As for Prudence herself, she appeared to have no 
 doubt at all about the fitness of her appearance at 
 Mrs. Boyce's conversazione in the shining satin, 
 short-waisted and short-sleeved, with her hair coil- 
 ed high in those careless waves which we see in 
 old pictures, wondering at the craft of our grand- 
 mothers' handmaidens. She came early, as Mrs. 
 Crane was at Lady Fanny's, and " received " with 
 her two friends. She was a little startled by the 
 exquisite beauty of the rooms, for so far she had 
 only seen the house in Cornwall Gardens in dusky 
 moments and dull weather. Mrs. Boyce's house is 
 not too large a one to have pretty rooms, yet there 
 is given an idea of space : doors give way to por- 
 tieres, width is cherished, corners are not over- 
 crowded. The drawing-room is full of comfort as 
 well as beauty. There are tranquil places in it, 
 with deep window-seats, soft carpets, the repose of 
 some good picture or dainty bit of blue. No one 
 is ever wearied in that drawing-room ; the colors 
 seem to have gathered there of themselves a slow 
 procession, as it were tributes to the harmonies 
 of the house ; and whatever of art or decoration 
 there is, is of the best. Prudence seemed thor- 
 oughly to fit her surroundings, and Miss Armory, 
 whose spirits rose as the rooms filled and aesthet- 
 icism was heavy on the air, forgot to cry " Pec- 
 cavi." The girl was utterly lovely in her dainty 
 gown. She had a rich cluster of yellow roses in
 
 PRUDENCE. 45 
 
 her belt, soft frills of yellowish lace in her neck and 
 sleeves, and long white Swedish gloves. The effect 
 was perfect, and Miss Armory, when the first hour 
 of receiving was over, sat down in the embrasure 
 of a window, amused and interested by the sensa- 
 tion the girl was creating. Prudence had her cir- 
 cle of admirers very soon, but she sat and talked 
 very gayly, betraying no special interest in any pe- 
 culiar features of the scene. The names of certain 
 famous people, painters and scholars and musicians, 
 had awakened a keen though momentary interest 
 in her; but Miss Armory could not decide whether 
 the picturesqueness appealed to anything respon- 
 sive in her, or whether it only amused her wheth- 
 er she " believed " in the cut of her own lovely 
 gown, or whether she thought she had " dressed 
 up." It was hard, indeed, to tell just what effect 
 this concentrated London would produce on her 
 concentrated Americanism. 
 
 While Miss Armory was puzzling over the subt- 
 leties this involved, Prudence glanced at her with 
 a dimpling smile, and Helena observed Barley Sim- 
 monson approaching them. As this young man 
 has something especial to do with my story, I am 
 afraid I must say a few words regarding him. He 
 was a young man born and bred to such expecta- 
 tions that it would be cruel to criticise his indo- 
 lence and various peculiarities. At thirty he had 
 tired of the usual occupations of noble youth, and
 
 46 PRUDENCE. 
 
 turned, for amusement and occupation, to art and 
 poetry, doing most in the former: painting all 
 the pretty women of society in water-colors with 
 a sort of air which people were pleased to call 
 charming. " A Barley Simmonson " was already 
 talked about, and Kensington and Bond Street 
 shop - windows displayed his " heads," while Lord 
 Bairham spoke of "my nephew the artist, you 
 know Simmonson." Mr. Simmonson was regard- 
 ed as an authority where Intensity and Soul were 
 concerned, and his countenancing a thing made it 
 acceptable, though some people, like Miss Armory, 
 were inclined to say he needed a check. " If I were 
 to let Barley Simmonson crawl about the rug of 
 my sitting-room," this young lady once said, in 
 calm opposition to laudatory remarks upon his 
 ease of manner, " I should be as much ashamed 
 of myself as I was of him. It's all very well to 
 have temperament, but Mr. Simmonson need not 
 lie down on the floor when he reads poetry to 
 me." It was this young man who, with a certain 
 melancholy grace, approached Prudence, and, as it 
 were, seemed prepared to pose his lurid Intensity 
 against her fresh, unaffected, unthinking nature.
 
 PRUDENCE. 47 
 
 V. 
 
 PRUDENCE was delighted to see a young man 
 whom she had met before. 
 
 " Oh, how do you do, Mr. Simmonson ?" she said, 
 and held out her long, wrinkled glove prettily. Mr. 
 Simmonson took the girl's fingers, holding them a 
 moment as though he were imprisoning something 
 precious. 
 
 " I hope Miss Marlitt is well," he said, smiling. 
 
 Prudence nodded. 
 
 " Oh, very" she added, drawing a little quick 
 breath of satisfaction. " But then, I am always 
 well." She laughed, dimpling and coloring like 
 a June rose. She looked utterly lovely, and Mr. 
 Simmonson was not too much engrossed by the 
 thought surging, or, as he would have said, " pul- 
 sating," within him, to observe it. 
 
 " Health is certainly a blessing," he said, sinking 
 into a chair near Prudence and Miss Armory. " I 
 never go into my own county Somerset without 
 envying the peasant his vigor envying, that is, in a 
 subjective way." Prudence's alert brightness was 
 a little clouded, but she listened intently. " I like 
 to see the peasant at his work. I like to imagine
 
 48 PRUDENCE. 
 
 how he feels, walking up a brown hill the furze 
 in feathery outline, the sky streaked with red and 
 gray lines " 
 
 "But does he care for the sky?" said Prudence, 
 gayly. Mr. Simmonson looked at her with a pen- 
 sive smile. 
 
 " But I like him better with these surroundings," 
 he said, gently insistent. " It is then his vigor ap- 
 peals to me: given the picturesqueness of a Som- 
 erset heath, a windy day, and that plodding, up- 
 ward-toiling figure excites my strongest pulsations 
 then his vigor is not repulsive." 
 
 " Repulsive !" echoed little Prue. She smiled, 
 but looked troubled. " I didn't suppose vigor had 
 anything repulsive in it." 
 
 " Abstractly, of course," assented Barley. " Yet 
 muscle can be repulsive. Who can be soulful and 
 an athlete? The mind never succeeds unless the 
 body suffers." 
 
 " Is that so ?" said Prudence, as though Mr. 
 Simmonson were pronouncing a medical opinion. 
 "Yet I have a particular friend Jonas Fielding, 
 you know, Miss Armory and if his. lungs were 
 only stronger, he'd be a real success as a preacher, 
 every one says. He looks well enough, but he's 
 had pneumonia two winters. He used to be a 
 Methodist, but he's changed his views ; he's a 
 Congregationalist now at least, a sort of Congre- 
 gationalist. I don't think he accepts quite all
 
 PRUDENCE. 49 
 
 they do. At one time he was very near being a 
 Unitarian ; but anyway he's a real believer, and 
 oh ! it's such a pity his lungs are weak ! He was 
 smarter than any one in my brother's class at An- 
 dover or Yale." 
 
 Prudence's sweet eyes had real light in them, 
 but the effect of her gentle, rapid utterances was 
 to set Mr. Simmonson dreamily communing with 
 himself. The figure of Jonas Fielding, quondam 
 Methodist, full of genuine meaning and real life, 
 as opposed to his visionary peasant toiling upward 
 against a red-streaked sky, made the conversation 
 uninteresting. He sat still a moment, leaning one 
 arm on the back of his chair, his eyes absently 
 resting on Prudence, whose outlines seemed grad- 
 ually to impress him anew. 
 
 " The flesh comes wonderfully with that satin," 
 he said, earnestly. 
 
 Prudence gave a little start. 
 
 " I wish you would sit for me, Miss Marlitt. 
 Your head is perfect." Mr. Simmonson's eyes 
 were mere lines between their fair lashes as he 
 looked at the girl. " The drawing about the chin, 
 too, is wonderfully fine." He waved a significant 
 thumb. " Couldn't you get Mrs. Boyce and Miss 
 Armory to come with you to my studio ? I would 
 give much for some impression of you as you look 
 to-night." 
 
 What might have been Prudence's answer it is 
 4
 
 50 PRUDENCE. 
 
 impossible to say. By this time Miss Armory was 
 engaged in conversation with two or three people 
 on the other side of her, but she heard Mr. Sim- 
 monson's request. As she flashed an amused, in- 
 quisitive glance around at Prudence, she beheld 
 Mrs. Crane approaching. Mrs. Crane was expen- 
 sively dressed in a black silk, about which there 
 were a great many frills and fringes, and a sugges- 
 tion of Sunday church-going as well as tea-parties. 
 Her hair was done up in a myriad of finger puffs. 
 She wore some very good Valenciennes lace in her 
 neck and sleeves. As she crossed the room she 
 dispensed brilliant glances right and left. She 
 was evidently in the very height of good spirits. 
 By the time she shook hands with Miss Armory 
 she was positively laughing. 
 
 " Well !" she said, standing before Prudence ; 
 and, after a brief glance at her niece, she swept 
 the room again with her gold eye-glass ; then she 
 brought her amused glance back to Prudence, 
 whose charming gown she studied critically. 
 " Isn't it ridiculous ?" she said, very good-humor- 
 edly " ridiculous /" 
 
 Miss Armory offered no defence of her pet opin- 
 ions, and Prudence only looked at her aunt with a 
 sweet beseeching eagerness. She wanted that ab- 
 sorbed lady to participate in her pleasure in the 
 evening. Mrs. Crane's eyes had scanned Mr. Sim- 
 monson for a few seconds before Prue whispered
 
 PRUDENCE. 51 
 
 to Helena, " Do introduce this funny gentleman to 
 Aunt Rebecca," and Miss Armory had taken what 
 seemed to her a most interesting suggestion. Mr. 
 Simmonson had already risen, and was standing 
 beside his chair when Miss Armory made the in- 
 troduction. Helena was much entertained by ob- 
 serving the two together, exchanging greetings. 
 If one wanted a study of types, it was assuredly to 
 be found here. The American lady intensely, ea- 
 gerly alert, as conscious of herself and her " cause" 
 as Barley Simmonson. was of a "temperament" 
 and a "soul;" each embodied something so pecul- 
 iarly belonging to their period that the meeting 
 might have been recorded as a picture of the time, 
 a suggestion of thought, fancy, or feeling in a hu- 
 man form. But as actual fact, there was only a 
 commonplace hand -shaking a few words, while 
 Mrs. Crane dangled her eye-glass, and Barley Sim- 
 monson looked out from the heavy locks of light 
 hair which fell upon his brow. In a moment his 
 glance returned to the " flesh effects " above Pru- 
 dence's shining gown. 
 
 " I've just been asking Miss Marlitt to sit for 
 me, Mrs. Crane," he said, softly ; " I want to paint 
 her head." 
 
 Mrs. Crane was again sweeping the room 
 through her glass. 
 
 "Yes?" she said. She smiled abstractedly, and 
 seemed to nod an assent. In a moment she passed
 
 52 PRUDENCE. 
 
 her smile on to Miss Armory. " Browning was at 
 Lady Frances Holbrook's to-night," she said ; " I 
 was so glad to meet him !" 
 
 By this time Mr. Simmonson had begun a low- 
 toned conversation with Miss Marlitt. Helena 
 proposed to Mrs. Crane to make the tour of the 
 rooms, and in so doing the latter's brilliant gaze 
 fell upon Dr. Huxfell. She was speedily engrossed 
 in a talk with him, and Helena wandered on, mak- 
 ing a few introductions here and there, stopping 
 for light piquant remarks to one or another of 
 the people, who were all ready enough to talk to 
 Mrs. Boyce's charming sister. By this time the 
 music was fairly under progress, and it had come 
 Prudence's turn to sing. Two young ladies had 
 given an abrupt little German duet, beginning on 
 a shrill high note, and ending in about half a mo- 
 ment with a cry of despair. The usual " Ohs" and 
 " Ahs " were uttered ; one lady, not far from Pru- 
 dence, convulsively caught her companion by the 
 arm, sinking her head in her shoulders, and allow- 
 ing tears to course unchecked down her cheeks. 
 Hergliebe, standing near Miss Armory, glanced at 
 her in a sort of horror. When Prudence Marlitt 
 stood up to sing, he expected nothing better ; but 
 I think he will always remember the impression 
 she created, the picture she made. She stood by 
 the piano, a shining figure against the darkly pol- 
 ished floor, the sombre tints of the room. Her
 
 PRUDENCE. 53 
 
 head was daintily poised ; the roses in her belt 
 hung in a rich cluster; above her shone a mild 
 radiance of candle-light, which seemed to vibrate 
 in the dusky pla'ces, making even her rich beauty 
 more fair. 
 
 Had the girl, in reality, all that unuttered, unut- 
 terable longing within her? She sung as though 
 something in her heart was breaking. It was a 
 little Finnish ballad, almost unknown in London. 
 There was not despair only simple, untutored 
 feeling in it, and Prudence could interpret primi- 
 tive meanings. She attempted no elaborate ex- 
 pression. Her lips parted in pure, delicious 
 sound, and the sweet nature of the girl was in 
 every note. 
 
 While Prudence was singing, Helena became 
 conscious of a new presence just beside her, and 
 looked up to see Jonas Fielding's tall figure, a 
 shadow in the door- way. He smiled upon Miss 
 Armory, who was conscious of a sudden desire to 
 watch him ; but he turned his gaze almost at once, 
 and with eager intentness, upon Prudence. 
 
 The faintest shadow of surprise, that might have 
 deepened into pain, crossed the man's face. He 
 had pictured Prudence in so many ways there 
 seemed in his mind a precedent for anything she 
 might do or say, or even seem to be ; but never 
 before had he thought of her fashioned thus, or 
 in such surroundings. It was scarcely so much a
 
 54 PRUDENCE. 
 
 revelation to him as it was a curious phase of life 
 newly presented to him, with Prudence his Pru- 
 dence for a centre-piece. A strange look gather- 
 ed in his eye. He was trying to accustom himself 
 to what jarred upon his earlier remembrances 
 what made association painful what tinged his 
 .simple faith with a distrust of which he felt afraid. 
 He stood quite still while she sung, now and then 
 beating time on his chin with one hand ; but the 
 music meant little to him. Almost before she had 
 finished, he bent down and half whispered to Miss 
 Armory, 
 
 " Did you ever hear Prudence sing ' Nearer, my 
 God, to Thee ' ?" 
 
 A quiet smile flickered into his eyes a look of 
 one who, in the midst of many sounds, recalls the 
 tenderness of some vibrating long-ago. 
 
 Helena returned his confidential glance. 
 
 " No," she whispered back ; " but she must sing 
 it some day for me. It is a great favorite of 
 mine." 
 
 " Yes," he said, and made a gesture which, rath- 
 er scornfully, included the whole company " of 
 course it wouldn't do here." 
 
 Helena nodded, and swept away her white dra- 
 peries that Fielding might take a place beside her. 
 He looked pleasantly at her, and was rather struck 
 by her very delicate good looks. Miss Armory's 
 type was distinctively American, yet she might
 
 PRUDENCE. 55 
 
 have belonged to the French court a century ago. 
 She had the clearly cut features, expressive mouth, 
 and dark eyes which we are accustomed to associ- 
 ate with beauties of the eighteenth century. Her 
 hair was richly brown. There was a grace even 
 in the thin curves of her face certainly nothing 
 meagre in her outlines, and the delicacy seemed 
 only of type, for her coloring was a clear, healthful 
 white. What was lacking in regular beauty she 
 certainly made up for in brilliancy and expression. 
 Her mouth was rather wide, but her smile was per- 
 fect, and her voice had a pure, clear tone, which, 
 though it had never acquired the undulations of 
 the English voice, was pronounced charming by 
 the most Saxon of her friends. 
 
 Fielding sat down by Miss Armory, but, after 
 his first gratifying glance at her profile, he let his 
 thoughts drift away. By this time Prudence's 
 song was ended, and people were roused to very 
 audible enthusiasm. The girl had a little court 
 about her. Fielding looked at her with a strained 
 sort of expression, pleased and yet perplexed. Of 
 what period in their lives was he thinking? Hele- 
 na, looking at him half furtively, fancied she could 
 read his thoughts. She knew just what he and 
 Prudence might have been in Ponkamak. She 
 could see the cheerful parlor in which the girl 
 might have read with him or sung for him its 
 homely attractions, the fancy-work, the stiff sofas,
 
 56 PRUDENCE. 
 
 the piano and melodeon, the good engravings, 
 and the well-lined book - shelves. She could see 
 them in such a room, lamplit and curtained cosi- 
 ly against the cruelty of an Eastern winter; the 
 girl, beautiful, sweet-tempered, and charming ; the 
 man merging his Methodistical fervor into broader 
 planes, something in his mind or nature, as it wres- 
 tled with spiritual problems, needing the warmth 
 and beauty of her companionship. As years drift- 
 ed on, thought Helena, he may have come to know 
 that this girl was all his world, that she fulfilled all 
 his unspoken longings. He analyzed nothing, for 
 he accepted everything ; and now, now he sat there 
 only demonstrating, by that strange look in his 
 eyes, the slow beating of the sinewy fingers on his 
 chin, that he feared he should lose her utterly in a 
 chaos of hateful sound and color and movement, 
 for which his life in its most unfettered moments 
 offered no precedent. 
 
 Prudence, from among her admirers, drifted to- 
 ward Mass Armory, flushed and pleased. She 
 laughed, a little nervously, as she saw Jonas. 
 
 "Well, Prue !" he said, in his kind voice. 
 -She nodded her head, smiling, and drawing one 
 or two long breaths of pleasure. 
 
 " I was frightened when I began," she said to 
 him. " Did I show it ?" 
 
 " No, dear ; it was beautiful." 
 
 These were almost the only words they ex-
 
 PRUDENCE. 57 
 
 changed that evening. Prudence was sought for 
 on all sides, and Jonas Fielding withdrew into the 
 inner library a sort of sanctum of Mr. Boyce's, 
 where the newest as well as the oldest in litera- 
 ture was to be found. The young man had oc- 
 cupied some time in examining the backs of the 
 books, when Miss Armory discovered him alone, 
 but with no dejection in his manner. 
 
 "You must let me introduce you to some one," 
 she said, pleasantly. 
 
 "Thank you," Fielding said, simply. But Miss 
 Armory stood irresolute a moment, a graceful fig- 
 ure leaning against the dark book -shelves, and 
 moving a big white fan slowly. 
 
 "What kind of people do you like?" she said, 
 looking at him good-humoredly. 
 
 Fielding smiled. 
 
 " Have you all kinds ?" he said, and glanced 
 through the portieres to the crowded rooms be- 
 yond, where everything was light and movement 
 and sound. Even as he did so he came back, with 
 a grateful sense of repose, to Miss Armory's charm- 
 ing figure and delicate face. 
 
 "Almost all kinds," she said, laughing ; "but let 
 me make a choice for you. I wonder if I shall do 
 it well?" 
 
 She looked at Jonas with almost tender inquiry 
 in her eyes. There is no mode of flattering man 
 or woman so sure as that which insinuates a knowl-
 
 58 PRUDENCE. 
 
 edge of personal opinions or feelings, but Miss Ar- 
 mory had not the vaguest idea of being personal 
 in what she looked or said. If she had any motive 
 it was a half-formed one, prompted by that sense 
 of treason toward Jonas Fielding which had lurked 
 in her mind since the day at Burnett's with Pru- 
 dence. There was also an undefined longing to 
 understand the motive of the man's life and 
 thought, and to see if she underrated it. But Jo- 
 nas Fielding saw only kindness and courtesy and 
 a certain something that was pleasing in the girl's 
 soft glance. 
 
 " I shall introduce you to Lady Ericson," she 
 said, mentioning a famous traveller's wife ; " I 
 know you and she will like each other," and so 
 saying she led the way from Mr. Boyce's room. 
 But just beyond the curtains she stopped with an- 
 other brilliant glance at Fielding. " I want you 
 to come and see me especially," she said. " I am 
 always at home between eleven and one in the 
 morning ; now don't forget it !" 
 
 Jonas assured her he would not, and before she 
 made the promised introduction she removed one 
 more burden from her conscience. " I want also 
 to have you know Barley Simmonson, the artist," 
 she said. " Prudence Marlitt has agreed to sit to 
 him." To this Jonas said nothing, but he gave 
 Miss Armory a searching look.
 
 PRUDENCE. 59 
 
 VI. 
 
 JONAS FIELDING left Mrs. Boyce's conversazione 
 determined to seek an early opportunity of ac- 
 cepting Miss Armory's invitation. That young 
 lady had impressed him as wide -minded in the 
 midst of confusing influences. There was certain- 
 ly something pleasing, as well as perfectly sincere, 
 in her frank-gaze and manner of treating him. He 
 felt a degree of satisfaction in her society which 
 made him forget any of the reasons for embarrass- 
 ment or distaste which oppressed him in English 
 society, and he believed that she could offer him 
 frank and simple solutions of the social problems 
 which already disquieted him. Accordingly, he 
 made his appearance in Cornwall Gardens one 
 morning about five days after Mrs. Boyce's con- 
 versazione, and was pleased to find Miss Armory 
 alone in the sitting-room or boudoir devoted to 
 her special use. She looked uncommonly pretty. 
 She was becomingly dressed in dark green, al- 
 though to Jonas the color and intention of pict- 
 uresqueness seemed slightly theatrical ; but he 
 thought the general effect not unpleasant. She 
 was embroidering as he came in, and quickly put
 
 60 PRUDENCE. 
 
 down a heap of white-and-gold and dull-red silks 
 upon a table near her. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you, Mr. Fielding," she 
 said, cordially. " I felt sure you would come 
 soon." 
 
 " Yes," said Jonas, smiling in his shrewd, reflec- 
 tive way, " I made up my mind that you meant it." 
 
 " Of course I meant it. t Now do sit down and 
 make yourself comfortable." 
 
 But Jonas appeared to prefer leaning against 
 the chimney-piece. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Armory, " I never interfere 
 with that attitude in a man. Men always appear 
 to derive a special satisfaction from chimney- 
 pieces. I'm sure fireplaces never ought to go out 
 of fashion." 
 
 Although Miss Armory laughed, it was without 
 any of the air of having made one of the abstract 
 speeches of society, and Jonas, who had no sense 
 of piquant repartee, answered nothing for a mo- 
 ment. Then : 
 
 " Yes," he said, slowly, " I am fond of standing 
 up. I think, if you've anything on your mind, it is 
 easier to say it standing up or walking about." 
 
 " Then you shall do as you like, and, if you try, 
 I think you could walk about even this confused 
 little room." 
 
 "Is it confused?" Jonas said, good-humoredly. 
 He looked about the many artistic decorations
 
 PRUDENCE. 01 
 
 and furnishings, which indeed nearly filled the 
 room, but, as in the drawing-room, there were cer- 
 tain wide, tranquil spaces. " I don't think I shall 
 have to walk about much," he said, smiling ; " but 
 I think I could make my way. I hope you won't 
 get tired qf me." 
 
 " No, I promise that. May I go on with my 
 work?" and Miss Armory gathered up the rich 
 mass of color at her side. 
 
 "What is that?" asked Jonas, politely. " I sup- 
 pose it is for a fair. Ladies do a great deal of 
 worsted-work now, don't they? Is that a tidy?" 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Armory, slowly; she drifted 
 back some years at the mention of the forgotten 
 name. "They call them antimacassars and sofa- 
 backs here." 
 
 "Do they?" Jonas looked a moment at the 
 deftly moving fingers and the colors, which he 
 felt harmonized perfectly with all the surround- 
 ings, yet by means of some subtle power he could 
 not define. " Miss Armory," he said, a little sud- 
 denly, " I've come to talk to you about something 
 very particular. It's about Prudence." 
 
 Miss Armory nodded. " Yes ; I knew you had." 
 
 " Well, I suppose Prudence is in English society 
 now?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Fielding; and, do you know, I am 
 sure she is going to be a genuine success. That 
 is something worth attaining in this worn-out day."
 
 62 PRUDENCE. 
 
 "Worn out!" the young man laughed unaf- 
 fectedly. "Worn out!" he repeated, with almost 
 a pitying glance at the girl before him. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Fielding, worn out in certain ways. 
 You carry your atmosphere of freshness and clear- 
 ness so strongly about with you that I can't talk 
 to you much about it." 
 
 " Oh, go on," he pleaded ; " I beg you will." 
 
 " Well, then, you don't know how Fashion has 
 tired herself, how glad she is of the raison d'etre 
 in well, in this very tidy I am doing. People are 
 still seeking novelty." 
 
 " What is it that they want ?" 
 
 " I am not sure they know themselves. But 
 there is one thing certain, in many things a great 
 degree of perfection is required." 
 
 "Are there grades of perfection in anything, 
 Miss Armory?" 
 
 "Well, there are different kinds, I should say; 
 or, rather, we see perfection little by little. Now- 
 adays people want to see a great deal, however, at 
 once. English society is charming and beautiful 
 and artistic, and in certain circles splendid, but it 
 is in some ways what our friend Mrs. Crane would 
 call hollow." 
 
 Miss Armory laughed, but she saw that Jonas 
 listened intently. 
 
 " Go on," he said, very gravely. " Tell me sin- 
 cerely about it. How do these people " he waved
 
 PRUDENCE. 63 
 
 his hand as if including the phantoms of the other 
 night " how do these people think and feel and 
 live?" 
 
 "How am I to tell you?" said Miss Armory, 
 looking at him with a little uncomfortable laugh. 
 " I am only philosophizing, please remember. And 
 as you are a clergyman, you will be telling me pres- 
 ently that I ought not to judge people by surface 
 indications." 
 
 " If you will be candid, and give me the benefit 
 of your knowledge, Miss Armory, you need not be 
 afraid I shall preach to you." 
 
 " Well, then, these people pray remember I am 
 one of them myself undertake to set up standards 
 of feeling. It is all very well to use Chelsea tea- 
 cups and old blue, to wear olive-green and dead 
 gold, because it is the fashion all that comes of 
 our keener appreciations of good form and color ; 
 but when you are told just how your pulses should 
 beat, what should reach your inmost being, what 
 folly you may indulge in because it expresses soul, 
 then I say it is time to grow philosophical." 
 
 Miss Armory was working languidly. She did 
 not look at Jonas when she ceased speaking, but 
 the young man sought her gaze. He looked at 
 her intently. 
 
 " And to be a success ?" he said, sharply. 
 
 Miss Armory lifted her eyes. " To be a success 
 in this circle," she answered, " is to contribute to
 
 64 PRUDENCE. 
 
 the beauty, the brilliancy, the magnetism, or the 
 effect of the hour." 
 
 Jonas remained silent. He looked around as 
 though he might begin that impetuous walking 
 about of which he had spoken ; but in fact no 
 repose was more complete than that expressed 
 by his tall, sinewy figure leaning against the 
 chimney-piece. "I am afraid," he said at last 
 " I am afraid I do not receive new impressions 
 quickly." 
 
 Miss Armory smiled, and held out her hands 
 with an expressive gesture. 
 
 " I don't think it is that" she said, earnestly. 
 " It is because don't you see ? it's like expect- 
 ing to understand an unknown tongue in an hour. 
 Indeed, I only half know it myself. Wait until 
 you hear it talked a little longer around you." 
 
 " No," said Fielding, " it isn't that either. I am 
 not one of those to be enlightened ever by it. He 
 stopped a moment, and then added, with an air of 
 shrewd conviction, " I don't like it." 
 
 Miss Armory continued to look at him earnestly. 
 
 " Wait !" she said, brilliantly. 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Fielding, s.miling, " you are 
 pleading the cause of this this sort of thing your- 
 self, after all you have said." 
 
 " What did I say?" she answered, eagerly. " Did 
 I say I didn't like it ? Oh, I know I analyzed it ; 
 but don't you know there are times, and especially
 
 PRUDENCE. 65 
 
 with certain people, when we analyze and criticise 
 our deepest, our dearest beliefs?" 
 
 Jonas smiled thoughtfully. 
 
 " Well," he said, growing preoccupied again, 
 " this is not what I meant to say of Prudence." 
 
 " No," it is not, and even now I don't know 
 what to say of her. I told you she was going to 
 be a success, and so she is." 
 
 " To contribute to the beauty, the brilliancy, the 
 magnetism, or the effect of the hour?" said the 
 young man, without a tinge of irony in his tone. 
 The sedate intensity of his manner impressed Miss 
 Armory. She paused ; she had abandoned her 
 work, but she moved the silks through her fingers 
 carefully. 
 
 " Not the magnetism," she answered. 
 
 " Why not ?" Jonas spoke in a low tone. 
 
 " Well, I don't want to answer you hastily, 
 though I promise to be more explicit in the 
 future. All I can say at the moment is, she 
 wouldn't know how." 
 
 " Oh, then," exclaimed the young man, with a 
 light laugh, "that is an acquired art here, is it? 
 Well, Prudence may learn." 
 
 Miss Armory shook her head. 
 
 " Not if she stayed here forever ; it isn't in her ; 
 but she will be just as successful in another way. 
 She is so divinely beautiful." 
 
 " Prudence is a handsome girl," answered Jonas, 
 5
 
 66 PRUDENCE. 
 
 almost as though defending her against the charge 
 of too aesthetic a beauty. " In Ponkamak every 
 one thought so." 
 
 "Then she is accustomed to success?" 
 
 "Ah," exclaimed Jonas, with a quiet tone of 
 sadness, I shall have to explain our meanings to 
 you, Miss Armory. In Ponkamak Prudence was 
 respected and loved." 
 
 " She is respected here, Mr. Fielding, and loved 
 in just the same sort of way. Of course I know 
 just what you mean ; but don't you realize the dif- 
 ference between a large circle and a small one ? In 
 Ponkamak every one had grown up with every one 
 else. There was no question of sudden ideas, of 
 revelations in beauty or acquirements ; here socie- 
 ty has only time to look on in a surface way. It is 
 never sure of renewing any phase of feeling a sec- 
 ond season. The sweetness of constant remem- 
 brance and association must be lacking." 
 
 " You all seem to be remarkably intimate," said 
 Jonas, gravely. " That young Simmonson, for in- 
 stance, the artist, why, I heard him talking to half 
 a dozen people as if they were his dearest friends." 
 
 Miss Armory smiled, and again made that little, 
 despairing gesture with her hands. 
 
 "That is part of the language. You must 
 learn to be one of them," she said, laughing. 
 " But don't let us be abstract any more, Mr. 
 Fielding. There is something I want much to
 
 PRUDENCE. 67 
 
 know. Tell me about Prudence. Have you known 
 her long?" 
 
 "Always," he answered ; and there drifted across 
 his remembrance a picture of baby Prudence on 
 his shoulder as he tramped through the snow ; of 
 the child Prudence watching for him on his way 
 from school ; of the girl Prudence, tall and beauti- 
 ful, but still trustfully dependent. With these pict- 
 ures came the framework of simple home life 
 clear beliefs, clear purposes. They carried him ea- 
 sily down to the present hour, but here they seem- 
 ed to stand still, veiled, obscured, mystified by the 
 newer settings, beyond which he strove in bewil- 
 derment to believe in the past. 
 
 " Always," he repeated. " Her brother was my 
 dearest friend. We went to school together in 
 Ponkamak, and we went to Andover the same day ; 
 but there Marlitt shot clear ahead of me. Every- 
 thing there, as I remember it, seems to have be- 
 longed to him. I was a shy sort of boy, and he 
 made life open treasures to me. Prudence is beau- 
 tiful. Well, his mind was like Prue's face. I never 
 saw anything like what he absorbed of the best in 
 everything. He had a nature you couldn't be near 
 without feeling ; and, for all his study and science, 
 he had the heart of a boy. Well, we both began 
 to study for the ministry together ; but while I was 
 plodding on the ground, Marlitt had thought out 
 all his spiritual life. He had lifted himself up to
 
 68 PRUDENCE. 
 
 the highest places. Marlitt " Jonas Fielding 
 paused ; his theme seemed to have made him for- 
 getful of everything else, yet he could not find 
 words. " Marlitt," he repeated, intensely, and with 
 the look of some suffering long held dumb in his 
 eyes, " I cannot believe that death could kill him." 
 
 " And he died ?" Miss Armory said, gravely. 
 
 Jonas inclined his head. 
 
 " Yes. It was the time of the yellow-fever in 
 New Orleans. He went down there : he felt he 
 must. He died after months of toil, weary in the 
 harness. I was always glad he had accomplished 
 something, and I found he had left his impress 
 upon many minds. He was real, but to me he is 
 one of the incontrovertible arguments against an- 
 nihilation : everything half uttered ; all that subtle 
 brain-power; the depth of heart-meaning; the un- 
 spoken ; the undefined ; yet the rich, rich possibili- 
 ty. Can it be it is gone, broken and unfinished, 
 ended forever beneath a few feet of sod ? What 
 demon could have created such an earth ?" 
 
 After a moment Miss Armory said, in a low tone, 
 >"And Prudence?" 
 
 Jonas passed his hand across his forehead. He 
 was still leaning against the chimney-piece, but he 
 had ceased while he talked to look at Miss Armo- 
 ry. His eyes were fixed upon the bit of wintry 
 Park visible through the window. 
 
 "Yes, Prudence," he said. "She was his idol.
 
 PRUDENCE. 69 
 
 He would talk of her by the hour. Of all things 
 he had dreaded for her was " the young man turn- 
 ed a quick gaze toward Miss Armory, toward the 
 room, toward, as it were, the London which was 
 making Prudence a success " was this this'' 
 
 " Do you think if he had known " Miss Armory 
 was beginning, when Jonas checked her : 
 
 " He knew all human nature ; nothing was too 
 wide, too remote, for him. You can study all the 
 world, he used to say, if you like, in six people. 
 He understood Prudence, and he loved her. Miss 
 Armory, listen to me. If you make Prudence a 
 success here, she will not be one at home among 
 the people who truly love her." 
 
 Miss Armory was standing up herself now. She 
 had begun to move rather restlessly about the 
 room. " I have nothing to do with it," she said, 
 finally, stopping short before the young man, and 
 looking at him with a compassionate gaze. 
 
 " You called yourself one of them a while ago," 
 he said, bitterly. 
 
 Miss Armory looked down at the fire, twirling 
 an ornament of her chatelaine in her fingers. " This 
 is morbid," she said at last. "You will see it for 
 yourself later. I repeat again, Mr. Fielding wait'' 
 
 " How long ?" he asked, gravely. 
 
 " Oh," returned Miss Armory, trying to laugh, 
 " I have no idea of suggesting a dissection of so- 
 ciety in regard to its effects upon Prudence, nor of
 
 70 PRUDENCE. 
 
 asking you to look on at a few scenes from a meta- 
 physical point of view. Believe I am only anxious 
 to see you less unhappy." 
 
 " I am not unhappy." 
 
 "You are apprehensive and suspicious, which is 
 a great deal worse ; and you are starting out to 
 judge of us on a morbid, prejudiced basis. When 
 you came in first, I thought I had penetrated your 
 feelings your point of view seemed so apparent 
 but I see now that I was mistaken." 
 
 " I am not one of you," said the young man, with 
 a kind of gloomy insistence. 
 
 "Don't harbor that against me. Come, Mr. 
 Fielding; I am truly Prudence's friend, and I want 
 to be yours. Won't you believe me when I tell 
 you that you are allowing yourself to be morbid ?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " She is a curious girl," he said, slowly. " Mar- 
 litt was right in saying she should have her foun- 
 dations firmly fixed before any strong wave swept 
 over her." 
 
 " And you think she has come into what you call 
 this too crudely ?" 
 
 " She will be dazzled," he said, gravely. 
 
 " And why not ? A dazzle is often a very good 
 thing." 
 
 " No !" He spoke a general negative, but Miss 
 Armory was keen enough to understand its special 
 application.
 
 PRUDENCE. 71 
 
 " Then why don't you say all this to her your- 
 self?" she exclaimed. 
 
 Jonas smiled sadly. 
 
 " Surely you see," he said. " How much of all 
 this would she understand?" 
 
 It was certainly a tribute to Miss Armory's intui- 
 tions, but she scarcely thought of that. 
 
 "Then what am I to do?" she said, with calm 
 despair. " Remember, I think you morbid." 
 
 " We have drifted so far away from the begin- 
 ning of this talk," said Jonas, " that you forget the 
 impression you were willing to convey half an hour 
 ago." 
 
 " Oh," said Miss Armory, " half an hour ago ! I 
 didn't know you then." 
 
 "You don't know me yet," said Jonas, a little 
 sadly ; " nor even does my poor little Prudence. I 
 am going to use your word, Miss Armory," and he 
 smiled good-humoredly " wait f" 
 
 He held out his hand for good-bye, and the girl 
 very quickly put her own in it. It was odd that 
 this ungainly, unimpressive young man should be 
 leaving her with a sense of defeat, or at least a de- 
 sire to make herself appreciated and better under- 
 stood. While he held her hand in a thoroughly 
 impersonal sort of way, she was swiftly trying to 
 think of some way to prolong the talk, or bring 
 about another interview. 
 
 " I shall quote you, then," she said, finally, clasp-
 
 72 PRUDENCE. 
 
 ing her hands and looking at him very brilliantly : 
 " How long?" 
 
 Jonas smiled shrewdly. " Until I say, Enough," 
 he answered. 
 
 There was a moment's silence, after which Miss 
 Armory said, " Have you accepted Mr. Simmon- 
 son's invitation to his studio ?" 
 
 " Of course. I went there yesterday." 
 
 " Indeed ! and what did you do ?" 
 
 " You can imagine. I looked at his pictures, 
 and he talked." 
 
 "Did he? I don't think you appreciate your 
 privileges. Mr. Simmonson is considered a most 
 desirable acquaintance." 
 
 " I am going again to-morrow, to lunch with him." 
 
 Miss Armory involuntarily stared. 
 
 " I am studying him," said Jonas Fielding, "and 
 I think he is studying me." 
 
 Miss Armory knew she should enjoy reflecting 
 upon this later. 
 
 " Well," she said, " then I suppose we shall meet 
 you there at the sittings?" 
 
 " I hope so," he said, still so sedately that Miss 
 Armory's keenest instincts failed her. 
 
 "Have you said all you can think of?" she 
 asked, pleasantly. 
 
 " Oh, no," he answered. " I mean to talk a 
 great deal to you yet. My wait ought to show 
 you that."
 
 PRUDENCE. 73 
 
 Miss Armory felt a new degree of exhilara- 
 tion. 
 
 " Very well," she answered. " But don't forget 
 my offer of friendliness. 
 
 " No," he said, " I am not likely to. Good-bye, 
 Miss Armory, and thank you. Prudence tells me 
 she is going to the theatre with you to-night." 
 
 " Yes ; good-bye, or rather au revoir" 
 
 He took her hand again with the same stiff for- 
 mality, and was gone in a moment, leaving Miss 
 Armory a brilliant figure in the centre of the beau- 
 tiful room, but he carried away the very vaguest 
 impression of her personal charms. Something 
 about her, indeed, had made talking to her agree- 
 able, independent of his desire to hear her opin- 
 ions ; but he never analyzed effects upon himself. 
 Indeed, it was not in the nature of the man to 
 take his own feelings into account. A few ambi- 
 tions he possessed, a few set ideas. A certain plan 
 of life he had devised as being philosophically and 
 ideally the best, but he could contrive to work 
 toward that end without the relaxation of Miss 
 Armory's brilliant smiles or epigrammatic conver- 
 sation. She was a type, he told himself, entirely 
 outside of his life. He needed her as little as he 
 needed the aestheticism of the London in which 
 he found himself and Prudence. 
 
 When he left Cornwall Gardens he wandered 
 rather aimlessly about, unconsciously seeking a
 
 74 PRUDENCE. 
 
 certain physical repose upon one of the benches 
 in Hyde Park. It was a wintry day, yet the sun, 
 being still high in the heavens, pierced the fog 
 with something like illumination. Fielding sat 
 still in the half-mist, thinking intently, and indulg- 
 ing in those plans for the future which occupied 
 half his waking thoughts. Yet even as that vis- 
 ionary to-morrow framed itself in genial colors, 
 bringing a look of unutterable joy to the man's 
 clear-cut, strong face, he reverted to his recent talk 
 with Miss Armory, and a new channel, less vigor- 
 ous and hopeful, was given to his thoughts. 
 
 He had started out that morning believing he 
 should find just the assistance he needed in Miss 
 Armory; but he was compelled to own himself 
 disappointed. What was it he had asked of her? 
 Something he now believed she could not under- 
 stand ; yet how well she had talked ! How read- 
 ily she had found answers to his meagre words ! 
 He could not tell how to frame his complaint 
 against the brilliant, good-humored young lady, 
 yet he knew that he had reason to be disheart- 
 ened. As he found the benches of the Park on 
 so cold a morning peculiarly unresponsive, he got 
 up, and, stretching his limbs, walked away in the 
 direction of Piccadilly ; but as he went he owned 
 to himself that he was depressed in the extreme. 
 He sauntered on, still idling both in his gait and 
 train of thought, but, as he walked, the characters
 
 PRUDENCE. 75 
 
 of a certain advertisement grew luminous before 
 his eyes 
 
 "CHRIST LEAVING THE PR^TORIUM." 
 
 I think he had encountered the words a dozen 
 times before he found himself in Bond Street, me- 
 chanically directing his steps toward the Dor Gal- 
 lery. He paid his shilling, stopped to look at a 
 gorgeous book on sale, and then going into the 
 very glaring little gallery, experienced a certain 
 shock on seeing Prudence and Mrs. Crane seated 
 on one of the circular benches.
 
 76 PRUDENCE. 
 
 VII. 
 
 MRS. CRANE wore her most absorbed air. She 
 was looking at the large mass of color representing 
 that most pathetic, marvellous moment in the life 
 of Christ. Prudence was also studying the picture, 
 but with the air of one ready to dimple into smiles 
 at anything more interesting and attractively per- 
 sonal. 
 
 " Oh, Jonas !" said Mrs. Crane, brightly, as she 
 extended a cordial hand. Prudence looked de- 
 lighted, and made room for Jonas at her side. 
 
 " Now," said Mrs. Crane, " this is just what a 
 clergyman ought to like, and isn't it wonderful? 
 Just look at those Jewish women, and those chil- 
 dren ! That dear little thing there isnt it per- 
 fect?" 
 
 Jonas looked. " There is a great deal of color," 
 he said, critically. 
 
 " Oh, but you know," said Mrs. Crane, " that's 
 what they like so over here now. Don't you re- 
 mark it ? They make color a perfect a perfect 
 idol." 
 
 Jonas, whose eyes had unconsciously been filled 
 with the tender harmonies in Cornwall Gardens,
 
 PRUDENCE. 77 
 
 answered nothing for a moment. Then he said, 
 studying the picture, 
 
 " Well, it isn't my idea of the scene." And he 
 turned to Miss Marlitt. " Prue looks very tired," 
 he said, smiling. 
 
 " Oh, no wonder," said Mrs. Crane. " She's go- 
 ing to be such a belle ! She's bewildered with 
 invitations and attentions, and now Lady Frances 
 Holbrook wants us to go to her manor-house in 
 the country. Really, I had no idea, until I came 
 over, the English were so cordial." 
 
 " They're perfectly lovely," said Prudence. " Don't 
 you want to come and have some lunch with us? 
 If I look tired, so do you. Come, Aunt Rebecca, 
 do remember all there is to be done before this 
 evening." 
 
 Mrs. Crane stood up with a pleased sort of im- 
 portance. " Yes," she said, looking at Jonas for 
 approbation, " Prudence is regularly in society." 
 
 Prue laughed. It was her old gay laugh, yet her 
 eyes sought those of Jonas with a furtive air. 
 
 " Aren't you proud of me, Jonas ?" she said, 
 coaxingly. 
 
 " Of course," he answered, gravely ; " but I wish 
 you looked less tired." 
 
 He stood up and followed the ladies down-stairs, 
 where they took a cab, and Jonas, sitting opposite 
 to Mrs. Crane, listened to her discourse upon Lon- 
 don society, now and then glancing at Prue's fair
 
 78 PRUDENCE. 
 
 face to read in it some expression of sympathy 
 with his distrust. But there was none. The girl 
 was supremely contented, supremely happy. She 
 ate her luncheon, and talked about the afternoon, 
 freely imparting her plans to Jonas, displaying a 
 little note-book full of engagements, and wonder- 
 ing whether she should enjoy the theatre. Mrs. 
 Crane touched Jonas's arm with a significant smile. 
 
 " Of course she will," she sard, radiantly. " We 
 know who'll be there. That young Mr. Simmon- 
 son. Did you know, Jonas, his uncle is a real lord 
 over here, and one day he is to have the title." 
 
 " I knew," said Jonas. 
 
 " Well" said Mrs. Crane, drawing a long breath, 
 " I think if some people in Ponkamak would hear 
 of our doings, they would be surprised." 
 
 " I am writing home to-night," said Jonas, a lit- 
 tle grimly. "What shall I say?" 
 
 " Oh, what you like. Tell them about Pru- 
 dence's success here." 
 
 It was the second time he had heard the word 
 applied to the girl whom he fain would shelter 
 from the world with his very life, but coming from 
 Mrs. Crane it had a bolder significance. 
 
 "How am I to say that, Prue?" he said, smiling 
 across the table upon Prue's contented young face. 
 
 "Oh," said the girl, gayly, " call it fun that's 
 what it is. Tell them I'm having a perfectly ele- 
 gant time."
 
 PRUDENCE. 79 
 
 " I am writing to George Maybery," said Jonas, 
 " and I won't forget your message." 
 
 In spite of their many obligations, the ladies 
 declared after luncheon they had an hour or two 
 on their hands, and would like Jonas to take them 
 to see something. He was eager enough for their 
 service, and standing in Regent Street hurriedly 
 enumerated such places as he considered likely to 
 interest them. Westminster occurred to them all 
 as peculiarly congenial. The Abbey was one of 
 the spots which Jonas had frequently discussed 
 with Prudence in a remote way, aided by stereo- 
 scopic views and a magazine article or two they 
 read together during the winter evenings. It hurt 
 him a little to see that the calm radiance of her 
 face remained unchanged while he made his sug- 
 gestion, and when they were in a cab whirling to- 
 ward the Abbey, she said, with her lovely smile, 
 "Westminster, isn't it?" And almost before Jo- 
 nas answered "Yes," she had turned to ask some 
 trivial question of her aunt. 
 
 But in the Abbey Prudence's fluttering thoughts 
 concentrated solemnified by the silent, hidden 
 presences to which Jonas conducted her reverent- 
 ly, wishing he could lift his face up to the very 
 vault of heaven, with bared head, as he stood 
 among them. Prue looked, asked questions, and 
 listened to Jonas with respectful attention ; but 
 what would he not have given for an hour of the
 
 80 PRUDENCE. 
 
 old sweet companionship, in which the girl gave 
 freely all that she had to give, while he unlocked 
 the storehouse of his mind, or lavished on her the 
 homage of his deep, whole-souled nature? That 
 there had been no promise for the future ex- 
 changed between them had only seemed to 
 strengthen his devotion and her trustful depend- 
 ence. She knew she must have known he was 
 only waiting to speak until she was older, in obe- 
 dience to a promise made her dead brother. Six 
 months ago he and Prudence would have stood in 
 this grand old monastery with but one feeling, and 
 now the girl was listening and looking because she 
 knew it was a part of her education, and it would 
 be silly to forget the names and the tombs, and 
 Jonas's descriptions were more interesting than 
 the guide-book, or even a verger. As for Jonas, 
 he steeled himself bravely to the subtle change in 
 their relationship, and went on, elaborating, if pos- 
 sible, more than he would have done had his heart 
 beat less sadly. Mrs. Crane was brilliant, alert, 
 and smilingly sarcastic in her remarks. She meant 
 to write home very well and solemnly on the sub- 
 ject, but the Abbey, like all else that was English, 
 afforded her a certain amount of amusement. Of 
 late she was rarely in a mdod to be impressed, and 
 she moved about among the monuments seeking 
 some object for her brilliant sarcasm. That tomb 
 holding the mortal remains of the man who moved
 
 PRUDENCE. 81 
 
 nations to tears or laughter held her quiet, and 
 subdued her most eager remarks ; but she said in a 
 moment that he had belonged to all the world, and 
 moved away with a look on her face in which there 
 was, singular to say, no thought of self. They had 
 wandered about the cloisters, looked at the close 
 in the pale, foggy light, and examined with some 
 interest the low door-ways leading to the various 
 clerical residences of the Abbey. The afternoon 
 service began, and, as the organ pealed forth, the 
 American party decided to take their places among 
 the worshippers, interested to observe the entrance 
 of the choristers and listen to the sweet, passion- 
 less music of the cathedral choir. 
 
 Jonas was glad of the quiet. He sat in one of 
 the old stalls, looking now and then at Prudence's 
 beautiful face shining beneath the broad-brimmed 
 felt hat. The girl's rich tints filled him with a sort 
 of peace : he hardly knew what to call it what 
 name to give the love and longing that sometimes 
 crept into his very soul. Was it, he wondered, be- 
 cause she was so unutterably lovely? He looked 
 intently at the soft cheek, the lashes which curled 
 upon it, half shading the dark sweetness of her 
 eyes at the waves of warmly colored hair that 
 showed beneath her hat at the delicately mould- 
 ed chin, the child-like bloom of the lips he looked 
 at her, I say, feasting his eyes, his very soul, upon 
 her beauty. Yet he was almost unaware that he 
 6
 
 82 PRUDENCE. 
 
 was counting up her charms, that he was rejoic- 
 ing in her exceeding loveliness ; something higher, 
 stronger, sweeter, was in the conscious part of his 
 mind the dream that had rilled him since boy- 
 hood, the hope that had made of toil a pleasure. 
 He leaned his face down upon his hand, and pas- 
 sionately conjured up the vision that had been the 
 day-dream of all those working, toiling years. It 
 was Prudence, always Prudence, the girl sheltered 
 in his keeping, the wife waiting for his coming, the 
 mother caring for his children, the woman who was 
 to be the inspiration, the guardian, the friend of 
 all his life ! And had this been reality, or only the 
 fantastic folly of a man who passionately idealizes 
 not only his chances of life, but the object of his 
 concentrated desires ? Jonas, unnerved, unstrung, 
 by all the mental conflicts of the past few days, re- 
 fused to answer to himself these unrestful ques- 
 tions. He tried to reduce thought to mere numb- 
 ness, if it would not flow into another channel, and 
 Prudence, glancing shyly toward him, was struck 
 with the repressed intensity of the man's face and 
 look. To her vision, Jonas, dear old Jonas, sat 
 there a tall, strong figure, with the same plain, ear- 
 nest face she always remembered, and had never 
 criticised. She never questioned whence came the 
 light that filled his eyes when he was preaching, or, 
 perhaps, when he was walking up and down the 
 old-fashioned parlor in Ponkamak, talking to her
 
 PRUDENCE. 83 
 
 or reading aloud. Those hidden chambers of the 
 mind, those untrodden, mysterious places, which 
 were Self in the man, she had never considered. 
 Their outcome she felt without analyzing the 
 source, or questioning whether there might not be 
 a tremulous fascination in response to the move- 
 ments of his inner being. She looked up at him 
 now, realizing the lines of fatigue about the honest 
 eyes and strong mouth, seeing with swift regret 
 that he was pale and tired ; but no depths were 
 stirred, no longing to know the meaning of the 
 change in his familiar face. She would have 
 slipped one of her little hands tenderly toward 
 him had she dared ; she would have gladly minis- 
 tered to his physical needs ; indeed, she began to 
 wonder whether she had been right in urging Jo- 
 nas to stay in London when he had found them 
 on his way to Nice ; but her introspection went no 
 farther than this vague doubt of her own infallibil- 
 ity, and compassion for the weariness expressed in 
 Jonas's face. 
 
 " It is over," .he said, in a moment, while Pru- 
 dence was thinking what she ought to do. 
 
 Prudence started, and demurely walked after her 
 aunt and Jonas down the aisle, a little flattered 
 by the glances of admiration freely lavished upon 
 her as she went. She forgot to say anything to 
 Jonas about his health as he put her, with Mrs. 
 Crane, into a cab : but then, as she remembered
 
 84 PRUDENCE. 
 
 later, she should see him the next day. When 
 they had driven off, the young man started for an- 
 other solitary walk. Where his steps took him 
 that afternoon Jonas Fielding never knew. He 
 walked on and on, piercing the fog, through which 
 street venders with their flaring lamps were to be 
 seen, before he found himself at his hotel ; and, 
 after so much incoherent reflection, it was some- 
 what of a relief to find some home letters, and also 
 a little note from Miss Armory. The latter was 
 quickly read, but Jonas held it a long time in his 
 hands. It bore the air of Belgravia in its faint 
 scent, pretty monogram, and unobtrusive crest. 
 
 "DEAR MR. FIELDING" (it ran), "I really feel 
 that we have made a good beginning to-day, but 
 came to no ending. You must come up soon 
 again, and may be sure of finding me at home be- 
 tween eleven and one o'clock any morning. The 
 chief object of this note, however, is to ask you to 
 try and look in at the Lyceum this evening, where 
 you will find us in box No. . Don't think I am 
 going to be too persistent in my efforts to control 
 destiny. I only want you to see that I am not the 
 ruling power you seemed to imagine. Do you 
 know, I felt, after you went away, as though I 
 would give a great deal for well, even the cob- 
 ble-stones on Broadway. Sincerely yours, 
 
 " HELENA LISLE ARMORY."
 
 PRUDENCE. 85 
 
 Jonas re-read the letter once or twice before he 
 replaced it in its envelope. He smiled to himself 
 with the air of a man who wishes he could alter a 
 decided opinion. Then, after one or two turns 
 about his room, he sat down and penned the fol- 
 lowing reply : 
 
 " MY DEAR Miss ARMORY, I am very much 
 obliged to you for your kindness in writing me 
 that note, and I am glad that anything I have said 
 made you feel as if you would like to see your na- 
 tive land soon again. We shall have many more 
 talks if you are always as kind as you were to-day. 
 I feel very much unhinged lately, but I don't know 
 as anything in particular has happened to unhinge 
 me, only I suppose we must have periods of pecul- 
 iar mental and moral shock once in so often. I 
 would rather have had just this one in America, I 
 think. I am not in the humor for the theatre to- 
 night, or I should certainly go, but I hope your 
 party will enjoy it very much. Very truly yours, 
 
 " JONAS P. FIELDING." 
 
 When he had written this note the young man 
 held it a long time purposelessly in his hands. 
 Then he went down-stairs, and with a sedate po- 
 liteness asked to have it posted at once.
 
 86 PRUDENCE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THERE is an old house not far from the Strand 
 in which Mr. Barley Simmonson has his studio. 
 How that popular young man had come to set up 
 his artistic gods in such a sombre neighborhood 
 was a question of wonder until his friends learned 
 to know the house ; then surprise merged into 
 something like envy, for nowhere in London could 
 there have been more beautiful rooms. A great 
 many people know the old house now. It is in a 
 quiet street full of sanctuaries, and there is a vague 
 charm, half of antiquity, half of splendid solemnity, 
 about the vistas on every side. The house once 
 belonged to a famous duke, whose coat of arms is 
 still above the mantels, and in faded colors paint- 
 ed on the wall. Few outward changes have been 
 made since the pompous day of his Grace the 
 old knocker, the link-boys' extinguishers, the heavy 
 door, the porter's niche, remain in solemn preser- 
 vation, and the dusky hall-way and staircases are 
 ponderous with suggestions of the past. 
 
 Mr. Simmonson had two brilliant rooms up- 
 stairs, in which royalty had danced many a gay 
 measure a hundred years ago. The lower windows
 
 PRUDENCE. 87 
 
 look out upon an old bit of London, and catch the 
 rushing of the river, with its suggestions of many 
 a century's ebb and flow ; at the side the windows 
 front a peaceful, old-fashioned garden, such as one 
 sees in the very heart of London fragrant and 
 green, even in winter- time. Within, everything 
 that a really good instinct for color and arrange- 
 ment could do he had done for the room. I can- 
 not hope to describe the means employed for this 
 wonderfully harmonious end. Miss Armory used 
 to say that if at times she forgot that she was in 
 a real workshop, she always remembered that she 
 was among the most beautiful fabrics, the most ar- 
 tistic furnishings, softened, harmonized, by the di- 
 vinest tints time can devise or money buy. Sim- 
 monson's piano stood in a darkly polished space 
 near the embrasure of those windows looking out 
 upon the river, and the window -seats covered in 
 faded red velvet had panes of stained glass here 
 and there, so that his listeners sitting there looked 
 often like saints in a shrine, aureole -crowned, vi- 
 brating with some mysterious light at least Hele- 
 na thought of this on the days when Prudence vis- 
 ited the studio, and the girl sat for her picture in a 
 desultory sort of fashion, interrupted by the fitful- 
 ness of the painter's mood or Prudence's declara- 
 tion that she was tired. 
 
 It was a fascinating sort of occupation, I think, 
 for all the party: a few weeks which drifted into
 
 88 PRUDENCE. 
 
 their lives unexpectedly, but bringing a charm 
 which no one thought of analyzing any more than 
 they wondered who had first owned the faded 
 mediaeval splendors of Barley Simmonson's room. 
 Mrs. Boyce used to bring her work, but Hel- 
 ena never made even a feint of thus occupying 
 her fingers. She moved about the room from 
 time to time, played bits of music, exchanged sen- 
 timents and feelings with Barley Simmonson, and 
 freely vented her admiration of little Prudence, 
 who sat in a shining space, wearing her satin gown, 
 and holding some fading yellow roses in her hands. 
 
 Those were whole hours of life, Miss Armory 
 sometimes said, yet she believed in them as con- 
 tributions to the warmer needs of nature and feel- 
 ing. She would not have sacrificed her share in 
 them for any consideration, and her mind was only 
 disturbed when she thought of Jonas Fielding, and 
 forced herself to believe that Barley Simmonson 
 intended to let himself fall in love. 
 
 Moving his eyes from the canvas to Prue's face 
 above the creamy satin and careless lace, it was 
 not possible that he should not be at least moved 
 to sentiment ; but Miss Armory had seen the 
 man's intention that night at the Lyceum The- 
 atre. It was not only that he had brought, as an 
 offering to Prudence, a tall white lily, which the 
 girl had some difficulty in holding or " bearing " 
 throughout the play, but that since the talk of
 
 PRUDENCE. 89 
 
 the morning Helena's instincts were all sharpened 
 where Prudence was concerned. A flavor of Puri- 
 tanism clung about Helena in the midst of her 
 later surroundings. She could not shake off her 
 keen sense of justice, and it now smote her con- 
 science that she had not frankly warned Jonas of 
 what she felt to be in the air. But of what nature 
 was his and Prudence's relationship? Helena had 
 gathered enough to know that the man loved Pru- 
 dence passionately, and that he believed in her 
 loyalty to him. No engagement existed between 
 them founded on word ; yet the very nature of a 
 bond that has for its security what must remain 
 unspoken appealed to Helena's best instincts. The 
 fine appreciation of the girl covered with clear vi- 
 sion and unwavering opinion what might have been 
 debatable ground in a mind like Prue's. Miss Ar- 
 mory told herself that she would have been faith- 
 ful forever on such an understanding, and it would 
 be double treason to desert a post to which your 
 unformulated sense of honor alone held you. In 
 this fashion Miss Armory reasoned during the first 
 fortnight of the sittings, seeing Jonas Fielding only 
 twice in the interval, for he had unexpectedly gone 
 out of town. That he looked to Miss Armory for 
 some sympathy had been evident to her in the 
 note he wrote in starting. " I am off," he said, 
 
 " to preach for a friend at N , and I regret not 
 
 having seen you when I called yesterday, for I
 
 90 PRUDENCE. 
 
 should like to have taken counsel with you as to 
 how to address the middle classes who will hear 
 me ; not that I do not feel strongly with the ' mul- 
 titude,' but that I am all at sea as to English in- 
 stincts. I should not have demanded any theology 
 of you, you may be sure, for I know your lack of 
 even a religious impression. Perhaps, while you 
 were instructing me in the traditions of the peo- 
 ple, I should have shown you the error of your 
 way. At all events, I believe we should have done 
 each other good. I shall be at Simmonson's next 
 Thursday." 
 
 Miss Armory thought she had never received a 
 note she liked so well, and, in spite of her mental 
 uneasiness, she waited with some impatience for 
 Fielding's appearance on the Thursday. In the 
 midst of a sword-thrust, even, we may care for the 
 hand that holds the weapon, and to Miss Armory 
 there was already a fascination in Jonas Fielding's 
 disapproval. 
 
 " You are working very badly," she said to the 
 painter about three o'clock that afternoon. 
 
 Simmonson threw down his brush, gazing sadly 
 upon Prudence. 
 
 " Am I ?" he said. " Yes, I suppose so." And 
 then the heavy curtains were moved, and Jonas 
 Fielding was announced. Helena gave a start. 
 He shook hands with Mr. Simmonson, who seem- 
 ed glad of an absolute excuse for idleness.
 
 PRUDENCE. 91 
 
 " It is getting too dark for work," he said, stand- 
 ing up ; and Prudence moved with evident gratifi- 
 cation at the change. 
 
 " Now, Miss Marlitt," said Simmonson, in a mo- 
 ment, " I will show you those costumes you wanted 
 to see." 
 
 The two moved away, followed by Mrs. Boyce, 
 and Helena found herself apart with Fielding. 
 
 " How did the sermon go?" she said, pleasantly. 
 
 " Well enough. I found out that the simplest 
 way was to appeal to common human nature." 
 His eyes wandered toward Prudence, who was sit- 
 ting in the window with her lap full of color. 
 
 "And the sittings?" he said, with a smile. 
 
 "Very well. I wish you had been here. I think 
 you would have enjoyed them." 
 
 " Which means I should have had my prejudices 
 removed?" 
 
 " Oh no ; I have been saving something special 
 for that." 
 
 Helena's dark eyes flashed merrily. 
 
 " What ? do let me work myself up to it prop- 
 erly." 
 
 " The private view at the Grosvenor it will be 
 to-morrow. I felt that to be my piece de resistance" 
 
 " Well," said Jonas, " I won't ask any questions. 
 If you are kind enough to invite me, I shall go as 
 ignorantly as any juryman could begin a case ; but 
 will you accept my verdict ?"
 
 '.1 2 PRUDENCE. 
 
 Helena's expression changed. 
 
 " Oh," said Jonas, laughing ; " I don't mean as 
 an influence upon your own thought don't imag- 
 ine I am quite so self-confident ; but I mean, will 
 you believe in the sincerity of my own beliefs 
 after this supreme test?" 
 
 Helena paused. 
 
 " Do you know anything of art ?" she said, in a 
 moment. They were sitting in one of the win- 
 dows, Helena leaning back against the side, Jonas 
 on a low chair near by. He swept the room slow- 
 ly with his gaze, and then brought his eyes back to 
 Miss Armory's charming figure. 
 
 " No," he said, conclusively. 
 
 " Well," said the young lady, " what can I do to- 
 morrow, then? my object being to show you the 
 real art in aestheticism, and that in it could be true 
 feeling, real action." 
 
 " Even though you scorned it so forcibly to me 
 the other day?" 
 
 " I scorned its exaggerations. I scorn them yet. 
 Come, Mr. Fielding, be fair, and wide-minded. Ac- 
 cept, with tolerance of others' needs, what you do 
 not need yourself." 
 
 They had been using a light tone of banter, but 
 now into the man's face came a look which star- 
 tled Helena as she watched him : it brought out 
 painfully the haggard lines about his mouth and 
 eyes.
 
 PRUDENCE. 93 
 
 " I am trying to do that very thing," he said, 
 quietly. " I am afraid I never thought of it until 
 lately." 
 
 Mrs. Boyce interrupted them at this moment. 
 She too had some questions to ask about the 
 country sermon. Meanwhile Barley Simmonson 
 was heard idling at the piano. 
 
 " So you've been preaching to the people, Field- 
 ing, have you ?" he said, smiling, and lingering over 
 a soft cadence. 
 
 " Who are the people ?" asked Jonas, with his 
 shrewd smile. " I've been trying to find out ever 
 since I came here for, from what I am told, it 
 seems to me my lot in life, were I an Englishman, 
 would be among them. You will be a lord, I sup- 
 pose, one day, Mr. Simmonson, and if I were to be 
 an Englishman, I should probably have to consort 
 with your grocer, and you couldn't know me." 
 
 Simmonson looked deeply interested, but he 
 said nothing for a moment. He did not so much 
 scorn his prospective rank as that he said its obli- 
 gations hampered him. He sat silently a moment, 
 his Greek head bent backward slightly, his eyes 
 half closed. 
 
 "Noblesse oblige" he murmured, with soft dis- 
 dain. He was playing vagrant bars of Schubert. 
 "When we can realize the poet's meaning" (a sad 
 arpeggio) " of a higher life ; when existence grows 
 fuller ; when sensations deepen ; when the soul
 
 94 PRUDENCE. 
 
 grows conscious of the infinite, which pierces or 
 vibrates through the finite ; Avhen song " (and here 
 Barley's eyes grew illumined) "when song is but 
 the outcome of nature ; when nature fuses itself 
 with the illimitable ; when Passion finds its final 
 utterance, and our moments our moments throb 
 with the actual in what we call Emotion and Life " 
 (Barley's finger touched one note over and over in 
 the treble with a sad insistence) " then even rank 
 may have its measure of intensity : then we may 
 say ' my lord,' meaning ' my gentle ' " (Barley's 
 smile was very sweet he looked at every one) ; 
 " then we may wear laurel in Westminster ; then 
 we may assemble as one palpitating, perfect Soul." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Boyce, leaning over one end 
 of the grand piano, " that sounds very well, Mr. 
 Simmonson. I hope we shall all live to see some- 
 thing of this Arcadia in the House of Lords." 
 
 Helena slowly turned her eyes upon the artist, 
 who continued to strike desultory notes, and look 
 with a cold, sad smile upon the little company. 
 
 " I wonder how much of it you'll repeat heartily 
 ten years hence ?" Miss Armory said, and almost 
 instantly colored, for she observed Jonas smiling 
 approval, with a half-triumphant, half-mischievous 
 " I told you so " in his expression. Therefore she 
 felt it her duty to add, in a low tone, which he 
 only heard "I understand what you mean. I 
 maintain that the false ground in aestheticism is
 
 PRUDENCE. 95 
 
 only in the establishing a standard of feeling, 
 Now I am sure I can explain myself better at 
 the Grosvenor. You will come?" 
 
 " Of course," said Jonas. And while they briefly 
 arranged for the hour and place, Mrs. Boyce car- 
 ried Prudence into the inner room to make her 
 driving toilet ; and then Helena moved away, list- 
 lessly turning over some draperies, while Fielding 
 sat regarding the artist with a gaze that became 
 entirely compassionate. The room was very still, 
 yet to Helena it seemed, a few minutes later, to 
 vibrate with feeling that might have been sound ; 
 for Prudence returned, and one of those silent 
 moments, full of action and significance, occurred. 
 Simmonson sat leaning his arms on the music- 
 stand, his eyes seeking Miss Marlitt's ; Fielding 
 also regarded the girl critically, and under this 
 double gaze an air of shyness or coquetry took 
 possession of her. 
 
 She blushed faintly, and absorbed herself in but- 
 toning a refractory glove. Fielding and Helena 
 moved forward together to offer assistance, and 
 Prue, with a little sigh, held out her slim wrist in- 
 differently to either. It was a moment of confu- 
 sion in Helena's mind. She never knew how, in 
 putting her own warm, soft fingers down to the 
 little wrist, they touched those of Fielding, and by 
 some awkward accident were a moment held in 
 his. The unexpected contact startled him, but he
 
 96 PRUDENCE. 
 
 looked swiftly at Prudence. Helena for the first 
 time in her life felt the warm blood tingling in her 
 fingers, and rushing, as it were, to her heart and 
 cheeks. She kept her face passionately down-bent 
 during one of those vibrating eternal moments by 
 which we are told mortals should count time. It 
 seemed to Helena at last that she must move or 
 speak ; but Prudence, whose glove was now com- 
 fortably arranged, came to her relief with her clear 
 little contented treble. 
 
 " Thank you, dear," she said, and prettily kissed 
 Miss Armory's pink cheek. 
 
 The confusion was over. Helena felt that she 
 could meet Fielding's eyes, and trust to the sound 
 of her own voice, but the leaving was all confused 
 in her memory. As they went down the dusky 
 staircases she was faintly conscious that Mr. Sim- 
 monson was saying to Prudence, impressively 
 
 "Then I may call to-morrow morning you will 
 be sure to see me?" 
 
 They were like words heard in a dream. All 
 that seemed real to Helena was a sense of folly 
 if not weak-mindedness ; but a whole lifetime may 
 depend upon five moments ; and, as they drove 
 home, Miss Armory was conscious of having made 
 a plunge into the future.
 
 PRUDENCE. 97 
 
 IX. 
 
 FIELDING awoke the next morning with a de- 
 fined consciousness that the day was to mean 
 something for him. He had spent the evening 
 previous in Guildford Street, and while Prudence 
 was absent a few moments from the room, Mrs. 
 Crane had discoursed brilliantly upon their social 
 position. She had been writing a great many let- 
 ters home. To her own family she had suggested 
 the possibility of Prudence's " wearing a title." 
 
 " But I thought," said Fielding, in mild protest 
 " I thought you objected to the aristocracy." 
 
 Mrs. Crane was momentarily confused ; but then 
 such perplexities with her always wore the air of 
 an effort to be strictly lenient in her judgment of 
 her companion. 
 
 " Well," she said, slowly, " if Prudence marries 
 here, I prefer it should be the best. I think Mr. 
 Simmonson will speak very soon to her. In fact, 
 Jonas, I don't mind telling you, as an old friend of 
 the family, he has consulted me already." 
 
 Jonas had found no words to answer this, and 
 just then Prudence returned, wearing, with an air 
 of brilliant coquetry, a new gown, which she called 
 
 7
 
 98 PRUDENCE. 
 
 upon Jonas to admire. She had had it made for 
 the Grosvenor private view. 
 
 " Mr. Simmonson designed it," she explained 
 " or, I should say, he and Miss Armory between 
 them." 
 
 Jonas felt a sudden thrill of disgust. It was to 
 him as if they were dressing her up for an exhi- 
 bition of her charms to the vulgar, gaping admira- 
 tion of a crowd. But the gown, he admitted, was 
 charming. It was a serge of a curious shade of 
 red, warm in tone, and yet sombre ; the sleeves 
 were puffed, but altogether it had a touch of al- 
 most Puritanical simplicity about it. The rich 
 curves of the girl's figure showed to perfection in 
 it, and Jonas thought he had never seen her face 
 lovelier than it looked above the lustrous red and 
 the narrow frill of lace. With this gown was to be 
 worn a bonnet with plumes, and short wide strings 
 of satin the color of her gown. Prudence arranged 
 herself gleefully, and was pleased by Jonas's appro- 
 bation. When he was leaving, she followed him 
 out into the hall, Mrs. Crane being absorbed by 
 some important letters received by the last post. 
 
 " Dear Jonas," the girl said, looking up at him 
 with one of her old sweet glances, " you seem 
 troubled what is it ?" 
 
 " Not troubled, Prue," the young man answered, 
 searching the depths of her eyes half sadly ; " but 
 I think I may have been foolish lately. Tell me,
 
 PRUDENCE. 99 
 
 are you ready to have me come to you to-morrow 
 evening, and tell you all that I have to say?" 
 
 " Oh, Jonas !" she answered, eagerly, " do ! I 
 shall be so glad !" and she held her hand out for 
 a gentle, affectionate good-bye. 
 
 Prudence and Mrs. Crane were to go to the 
 Grosvenor with Mrs. Boyce's party, and it was 
 agreed between Miss Armory and Jonas that he 
 should meet them at the gallery. Accordingly, 
 about three o'clock, he started for Bond Street 
 through the fog, thinking much more of the hu- 
 man than the pictured presences awaiting him. 
 He was somewhat confused by the animation in 
 the entrance to the Grosvenor. English "private 
 views " were completely unfamiliar to him, and the 
 presence of aristocracy, fashion, art, and science 
 rather bewildered him. He was conscious, as he 
 went toward the staircase, of Mrs. Poynsett's tired, 
 friendly smile ; of Hergliebe's dark head and broad 
 shoulders ; of the agreeable Lady Ericson, to whom 
 Miss Armory had introduced him ; and, indeed, ol 
 nearly all the faces he had known in London the 
 past five weeks. Then he found himself following 
 some ladies in curious garments up the staircases 
 and into the group of rooms. There, for a mo- 
 ment, all seemed confusion. The walls were assur- 
 edly richly hung, but Fielding's eyes took in only 
 a sense of many colors. The moving figures were 
 as diverse and as peculiar as if half a dozen centu-
 
 100 PRUDENCE. 
 
 ries had contributed to the fashions of one single 
 hour; and Jonas stood still, in a side door- way, 
 searching among the quaintly dressed women for 
 the figures and faces that he knew. 
 
 It so chanced that at that moment Miss Armory 
 had disengaged herself from her party, and was 
 standing before one of Albert Moore's pictures. 
 Fielding's eye caught sight of her figure speedily. 
 She was curiously dressed, and the young man 
 looked a moment at her gown of dull-colored vel- 
 vet with trimmings of rich brown fur the large 
 bonnet of felt, in color like her gown, which framed 
 her face luxuriantly, if possible adding a new soft- 
 ness to her calm, patrician beauty. For a moment 
 Jonas enjoyed the impression of womanly elegance 
 and grace which she conveyed without feeling any 
 impulse to move even in so attractive a direction, 
 but before she had left the picture he was at her 
 side. It was only when she turned her eyes to- 
 ward him, and held out her hand, that some vague 
 fluttering remembrance of the touch of her fingers 
 yesterday crossed his mind ; but he looked at her 
 with kindly eagerness, trying to dissipate the idea 
 quickly. 
 
 " You are punctual," she said, smiling ; and 
 Fielding remarked that she looked brilliant, but 
 with the unnatural brilliancy which sometimes 
 succeeds long waking hours. 
 
 " I like to be punctual in all things," he said, an-
 
 PRUDENCE. 101 
 
 swering her smile. "And yet, do you know, Miss 
 Armory, I stayed awake last night discovering that 
 I have been a most lamentable dawdler." 
 
 Miss Armory continued to look pleasantly at 
 him without speaking. 
 
 " Now, I suppose," Fielding said, " it won't do to 
 chain you to a conversation. I must find Prudence, 
 and then will you show me the pictures ?" 
 
 He laughed, and Helena was struck with the al- 
 most boyish radiance of his face. He looked like 
 a man who had been performing or contemplating 
 some greatly benevolent action, and he had such a 
 large cheerfulness about him that it seemed to the 
 girl only to intensify the depression of her own 
 mood. 
 
 " Prue is in there," she said, indicating the next 
 room. " Do you see the little court about her, 
 Mr. Fielding? She is looking perfectly lovely. 
 She is the furor of this most critical occasion." 
 
 Fielding's benevolent demeanor continued. 
 "Ah," he said, "of course she is lovely! of course 
 they would all see it. I feel much more generous 
 lately. Perhaps I had better not interrupt her just 
 now." The memory of last night's good-bye was 
 still in his mind, the feeling of Prue's little hand 
 clung to his fingers, the light of her sweet, uplifted 
 eyes seemed to be the radiance that fell every- 
 where about hirn. 
 
 " Suppose we talk a little first," he said, " if
 
 102 PRUDENCE. 
 
 I may take up a quarter of an hour of your 
 time." 
 
 Helena assented, and they wound along silently 
 regarding the pictures. 
 
 Since yesterday it seemed to Helena that every 
 purpose was changed. She had no longer that 
 alert desire to make Fielding see things as she 
 viewed them. During the long hours of the night 
 she had grown conscious of many conflicting feel- 
 ings ; and while a sudden passionate distrust of her- 
 self, her judgments of life, her basis of philosophic 
 thought, had tormented her, yet her duty toward 
 Jonas Fielding was always luminously distinct. She 
 had a fixed purpose in her mind, yet she found it 
 difficult to put it into words. 
 
 I think all her life Helena will remember just 
 that moment with the sharp distinctness our pas- 
 sionate, our weak, or our saddening memories have. 
 There is a picture of Mr. Whistler's always connect- 
 ed with it. If she owned it, and saw it hourly on 
 her wall, she could not more clearly know its misty, 
 ineffable tenderness of gray and green and blue. 
 She stood still with Jonas a moment, apparently 
 studying the picture intently, and then, with a great 
 effort, she turned and said, gravely, 
 
 " Do you remember my ' Wait ?' " . 
 
 He looked at her brightly. " Yes yes, indeed." 
 
 "It is done with," she said, smiling faintly. " I 
 have something special to say to you. Do not
 
 I THINK YOU ARE A MAN TO WHOM ONE CAN SPEAK 
 
 FEARLESSLY."
 
 PRUDENCE. 105 
 
 wait. I think you are a man to whom one can 
 speak fearlessly. Well, then, Mr. Fielding, if you 
 care for anything in life, stretch out your hand and 
 try to take it at once to yourself." 
 
 The radiance of Fielding's face was undimmed, 
 but it grew thoughtful. 
 
 " I know what you mean," he said, in a low tone, 
 " and I shall answer you fairly. I love Prudence, 
 and she loves me ; we both have known it for years ; 
 but long ago I promised Marlitt not to bind her to 
 any engagement until she was twenty -one. The 
 time had passed two months ago, and I came here, 
 as you know, on my way to Nice. For a week or 
 two the fitting moment did not come, and then I 
 experienced the shock, you know, of finding her in 
 such strange surroundings. So I said nothing. I 
 was wrong ; but Yes, your ' Wait ' did seem to 
 me impressive, or perhaps it urged on my own 
 thought, but it is all right now. My doubts are 
 gone," he said, with the smile Helena had learned 
 to watch for curving his lips. " They are gone. 
 To-morrow, or to-day, it shall be settled between 
 us; but thank you, thank you you have been so 
 good." 
 
 Miss Armory was silent for a moment ; then she 
 said, in a low, tired voice, " Why did he ask you to 
 wait ?" 
 
 " Marlitt? Oh," said Jonas, skimming the past, 
 as it were, with the lightness of one who sees an
 
 106 PRUDENCE. 
 
 old error of judgment vanishing "he wished Pru- 
 dence to be admired in a more general way, to see 
 the world a little. My life is to be an active one 
 in Boston, but a hard one in many ways. I am 
 not rich, and my wife must share the simplicity as 
 well as the purposes of my calling. Prudence, Mar- 
 litt said, ought to see the other side ; and she has 
 seen it," he said, joyously. " Even Marlitt would 
 be satisfied now ; but, Miss Armory, it has been the 
 one passion, the one thought, the one purpose of 
 my life, apart from my actual duties. I did not 
 know, I was not sure, at least until yesterday, how 
 all ends had been tending toward this result. Life 
 will begin now." 
 
 Helena was still motionless, with an effort to 
 keep even the faintest shadow of her feeling from 
 her eyes, which were resting softly on his strong, 
 clear face. 
 
 " You must make things clear, perfectly clear," 
 she said, earnestly. " Do not leave any part of 
 your bond now indefinite. Is there anything I can 
 do or say I mean to give you the opportunity for 
 your talk alone with Prudence? Come to Corn- 
 wall Gardens, if you like, to-morrow at eleven she 
 will be there. Let me do that for you." 
 
 Jonas hesitated a moment, and then the remem- 
 brance of Mrs. Crane's ambitious murmurs last 
 night crossed his mind, and he realized that she 
 might be an obstacle to free speech with Prudence.
 
 PRUDENCE. 107 
 
 " Oh, thank you !" he said, with a happy light in 
 his eyes. " We know Prue and I just the one 
 word needed between us to give me the right to 
 call her my own. Then I will go to you to-morrow, 
 Miss Armory." 
 
 " It will be all right," she answered, with a sweet, 
 grave smile. Fielding looked at her, conscious of 
 the influence of her womanly sympathy, and moved 
 to make any demand upon it which his impulse 
 suggested. " I hope you know," he said, earnest- 
 ly, " that if it were for her good I would resign all 
 thought of her ; but I cannot believe that. I have 
 cherished her since she could walk, or think, or feel. 
 She learned to read sitting on my knee, with her 
 head against my shoulder. She brought me every 
 grief and every joy. Oh," he said, radiantly, " it 
 could not be." 
 
 Helena listened, with every token of interest pos- 
 sible, in silence. Neither spoke for an instant, and 
 then she said, gently, "Oh, I wish you godspeed: 
 she is yours by right." 
 
 They turned to look at the pictures, and Hele- 
 na felt surprised at her own listlessness in leading 
 him into the region of the "aesthetes." Singularly 
 enough, all such interest, where he was concerned, 
 had vanished. She moved about, picking out pe- 
 culiarities and points to admire or contemplate ; 
 but it was with an evident effort. She was eagerly 
 sought for by so many people that Fielding good-
 
 108 PRUDENCE. 
 
 humoredly withdrew while she was talking to young 
 Grierson, and, making his way into the next room, 
 he looked about for Prudence. 
 
 As Helena had said, the girl had her little court, 
 and she was unquestionably a source of interest 
 and comment to every one in the room. People 
 passed and repassed, looking at the girl's wondrous 
 beauty, half shaded by the bonnet Fielding had 
 seen last night, and he was sufficiently exultant not 
 to notice the expression of complete self-satisfac- 
 tion which had crept of late into her face. In fact, 
 this period, emphasized by such novel occasions, 
 was one of intense enjoyment to little Prue. She 
 had known for years that she was the prettiest girl 
 in Ponkamak, but the homage paid her there had a 
 dull flavor which made it uninteresting ; moreover, 
 it was different from that rendered in London in 
 that it was accompanied by nothing splendid. If 
 she were the prettiest girl in Ponkamak, it was in 
 sober-colored, ugly parlors, among simply dressed 
 women, who loaned each other paper patterns, and 
 thought a black silk good enough for any occasion ; 
 but here, on such a day as this, for instance, to be 
 admired in such a magnificent company was enough 
 to stir any girl's pulses and Prudence was not 
 proof against such homage. She sat on one of the 
 benches with her little court, in which Mr. Sim- 
 monson was the favored courtier, feeling a rush of 
 happy color to her cheeks, a thrill of something
 
 PRUDENCE. Ill 
 
 which made her almost hope she should never see 
 Ponkamak any more. She had no adaptability ; 
 she had little or no power of even imitating what 
 she saw, and certainly no perceptions delicate 
 enough to appreciate the raison d'etre even of a 
 social form or feeling which was entirely new ; but 
 the novelty of her present position amused and in- 
 terested her, and, in proportion to her lack of per- 
 ception as to cause and effect, she accepted every- 
 thing offered as triumphantly personal. She was 
 glad that Jonas Fielding should see how polite peo- 
 ple were to her, and, as he approached, the sweet- 
 ness of her eyes gave him a welcome. 
 
 Mr. Simmonson, who was in close attendance, 
 looked around at Fielding with a careless greet- 
 ing. 
 
 "Well, Jonas Mr. Fielding," said Prudence, 
 with a little, eager, fluttering manner that it was 
 difficult to define as either animation or nervous 
 enjoyment "well, Mr. Fielding, what do you 
 think of these pictures? This is Art'' 
 
 Prudence pronounced the word with a rapid, 
 veiled glance at Mr. Simmonson. That young 
 man evidently had no idea of contributing any but 
 the complimentary faculty within him to Prudence. 
 Mediocre as his genius might be, he rendered it 
 the tribute of silence before such minds as this 
 young girl's. 
 
 "Why," said Jonas, smiling, "I've only looked
 
 112 PRUDENCE. 
 
 about a very little, but Miss Armory has been try- 
 ing to lead me upward." 
 
 " Miss Armory knows what she is talking about," 
 said Mr. Simmonson ; " she has genuine feeling, 
 and she is so clever!" 
 
 " Oh, isn't she ?" said Prudence ; " and she says 
 such funny things. I asked her once how I ought 
 to talk to an artist, and she gave me one of her 
 funny little looks, and said, ' Have you any defi- 
 nite opinion about Prussian blue, and and '' 
 Prudence hesitated with her bewitching air. 
 
 " Asphaltum ?" suggested Simmonson. 
 
 " That was it !" cried Prudence, gayly. " I knew 
 it had something to do with the pavements at 
 home. Well, she said, if I couldn't make up my 
 mind about that, I must try and understand yel- 
 low ochre, and that was all I could get out of her. 
 She would only laugh and tease me when I told 
 her I really meant it." 
 
 " But surely," said Fielding, when they had all 
 done laughing, " Mr. Simmonson must have en- 
 lightened you. Come, I really expect an opinion 
 of some sort from you now." 
 
 " But Miss Marlitt objects to first principles," 
 said Simmonson, lazily, and evidently wishing art 
 could be left out of the question. " She won't ad- 
 mit anything but a literary quality in a picture." 
 
 " I like a nice little story in a picture," said Prue, 
 gayly. " I have been telling Mr. Simmonson if all
 
 PRUDENCE. 113 
 
 this is real art, then I'll never buy anything but a 
 chromo. I like a picture one can make up a long 
 story about." 
 
 Simmonson, who looked ineffably dreamy and 
 willowy leaning against the velvet bench, was con- 
 scious of a very matter-of-fact, reasonable moment. 
 
 " And therefore," he said, " you give the painter, 
 as a workman, credit for nothing at all. Any pen- 
 ny-a-liner might do his work for him ; his art means 
 nothing." 
 
 Prudence stared. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" she said, audaciously ; 
 and then, glancing in the direction of Simmonson's 
 waving fingers, she added, " Oh, doiit please don't 
 show me those horrid things over there ! Those 
 pictures all look so hungry. I wish so I could give 
 all the poor people Mr. Burne- Jones and those 
 other gentlemen paint a good dinner. They want 
 beef tea. . . . Now, Mr. Simmonson says that is the 
 highest expression of art." 
 
 Prudence's cheerful little appeals to Jonas struck 
 Simmonson as the most amusing sort of self-de- 
 fence ; the three people were so utterly asunder 
 in thought and feeling at the moment, that it was 
 impossible to harmonize a single pulsation by the 
 aid of art. Dimly Jonas realized this, because the 
 man's nature was deep enough, his intellect suffi- 
 ciently piercing, to know that there existed wide- 
 ly untravelled spaces beyond his vision. In some 
 
 8
 
 114 PRUDENCE. 
 
 fashion he realized that this question of art-mean- 
 ings was not his to decide. He would not pretend 
 to say how a painter should put on his strokes 
 how a painter should illustrate his theme. All 
 that he felt as sacred to the man's own genius. 
 As for Simmonson, he was indifferent, only wish- 
 ing Prudence would allow him to conduct her 
 about the rooms, and talk to him in amusing gen- 
 eralities. But to Prudence the moment was one 
 in which she felt called upon to be critical, and 
 underlying her air of perplexity was a flavor of 
 sarcasm which it amused her to see Simmonson 
 utterly overlooked. She poised her pretty head, 
 looked at this and that, and laughed a great deal 
 at nearly everything. 
 
 " I can't make out what Mr. Simmonson means," 
 she said, finally. " He talks of the pictorial and 
 the literary quality in a picture. Which was I, 
 Mr. Simmonson, when you painted me, please ?" 
 And the girl darted a charming but very flippant 
 look at the artist. 
 
 " You were everything," Simmonson said. " Too 
 much for me to paint. Now come over to see 
 those Dutch pictures. Don't refuse opportunities 
 of enlightenment that may never come again." 
 
 Prudence eagerly complied ; and Jonas, after ob- 
 serving how many people showered attentions upon 
 her, determined to leave her to undisturbed enjoy- 
 ment of what he was pleased to call " the hilarity
 
 PRUDENCE. 115 
 
 of the occasion." He said a few words of good- 
 bye, and then tried to find Miss Armory ; but that 
 young lady was in an animated group, and Jonas 
 decided to go home, and write a few lines to Pru- 
 dence which should explain the motive of his visit 
 to Cornwall Gardens the next day. On the way 
 out he lingered over some pictures in the last 
 room, and there he was suddenly conscious of 
 Miss Armory approaching from the right hand, 
 with a searching air. 
 
 " Oh, you are here !" she said, quickly. " Do you 
 know I wanted so much to say a little word to you." 
 
 Jonas looked pleased. 
 
 " I want you to promise," she said, rushing into 
 the subject, " that you will give me an hour of 
 your time some day before you leave London." 
 
 " An hour?" said Jonas, with alacrity. " A whole 
 day, a week any time." 
 
 She looked at him critically. The joy in his 
 heart still found a reflection in his quiet eyes. 
 
 "Well, only don't forget," she said, "which 
 means, don't be selfishly exclusive." 
 
 Jonas might have been more flattered by all this 
 if something very impersonal, almost chilling, had 
 not shown itself in the young lady's manner. While 
 she talked she seemed to regard him, he told him- 
 self, simply as an abstract means to some end, and 
 he was sure that Miss Armory's interests were as 
 often purely philosophical or intellectual as personal.
 
 116 PRUDENXE. 
 
 X. 
 
 Miss ARMORY certainly contrived to make 
 things very simple for Jonas the next day. When 
 he arrived at Cornwall Gardens the butler solemn- 
 ly showed him up into the same little room which 
 he had visited before; but instead of Helena idling 
 over rich embroideries, Prudence was seated near 
 the fire, motionless, but with eagerly dilated vision. 
 
 It is certain that Jonas had arrived there with 
 no thought of Miss Armory beyond the general 
 consciousness of her beneficent genius, yet almost 
 involuntarily there rose to his mind a picture of 
 her effective figure on that previous occasion. 
 Perhaps he had not appreciated the impression 
 she created upon him ; perhaps it was that Prue, 
 moving to the window among the aesthetic luxu- 
 ries of the boudoir, seemed to bear about her a fla- 
 vor of Ponkamak that nothing could subdue. In 
 either case the young man felt, as he came in, a 
 sensation of disturbed preconceptions. He wish- 
 ed, for a moment, that he had seen Prudence in 
 Guildford Street. There, at least, nothing con- 
 fused his ideals. 
 
 Prudence stood still like a frightened child ; and
 
 PRUDENCE. 117 
 
 when she gave Jonas her hand, it was with a look 
 as if she expected a rebuke. 
 
 " Prue !" he said he was longing to take her in 
 his arms, to hold her in his strong embrace; the 
 first, but such as would show her what a life's shel- 
 ter might be " Prudence !" he exclaimed, " oh, my 
 darling !" 
 
 The girl was trembling visibly. She still stood 
 silently regarding him with a timid, beautiful gaze. 
 
 "What is it, dear?" said Jonas. "Don't you 
 know I ought to have come two months ago ? 
 The time I agreed to wait was up ; but I thought 
 it best first to let you see this this life here." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Prudence, still fixedly regarding 
 him. " I know yes, that is just it, Jonas dear," 
 she added, tenderly. 
 
 "Just what?" said Jonas, to whom the radiance 
 of belief yet gave a joyous tone and impassioned 
 expression "just what, dear?" 
 
 He held his hands toward her; he made a little 
 movement as though he would take her at once 
 into his strong arms. 
 
 " Don't you see?" said Prudence, holding herself 
 aloof from him. " Just as you say, I've seen seen 
 the world. I don't think" she looked at him 
 with a sort of wild pleading ; Jonas remembered 
 the same look when she was a child asking for a 
 midsummer holiday with him, or for a new doll 
 " I don't think I'd like to be a minister's wife."
 
 118 PRUDENCE. 
 
 She gave a short, troubled little laugh, but did not 
 move her eyes. 
 
 There was dead silence. 
 
 The two people, young in years, but who since 
 early remembrance had balanced each other's 
 needs, in a certain fashion, in the scale of life, 
 stood still, drifting out into the wide ocean of fare- 
 well, while they looked earnestly, entirely, for the 
 first time and the last, into each other's eyes. As 
 for Fielding, he saw, though unconsciously, far be- 
 yond. He looked into the limpid brown depths 
 of the eyes beseechingly lifted to his, and, as it 
 were, knowing that his heaven lay there, beheld 
 an earthly hell in waiting. 
 
 Prudence wished that he would speak would 
 answer her. Accustomed to his fulfilling, if not 
 anticipating, her slightest wish accustomed to 
 thinking that Jonas always knew what she was 
 feeling and thinking she thought his present be- 
 havior unaccountable, if not unkind. 
 
 "Jonas!" she half whispered. She put out one 
 little hand slowly, and let the tears that gathered 
 under her eyelids fall upon her cheeks. 
 
 " My God in heaven !" he said, huskily. He 
 turned away, utterly forgetting that the woman he 
 loved stood there in the flesh, near enough to be 
 touched or scorned by him. The words she had 
 uttered mocked him with the horrid force of a de- 
 lusion, yet he knew that they were all too power-
 
 PRUDENCE. 119 
 
 fill and sincere. He crossed the room, and, sitting 
 down before one of the small tables, clinched his 
 fingers mercilessly into some lace beneath them, 
 and buried his face in his hands. For that mo- 
 ment he was supremely, utterly conscious of Self. 
 I think it was the only moment of Jonas Fielding's 
 life in which the needs of his fellow -men made 
 no impression on any fibre of his being. He was 
 absolutely himself, even to the exclusion of Pru- 
 dence, standing white and tearful in the window. 
 A moment more of silence passed, and then there 
 fluttered vaguely into the young girl's heart a 
 sense that he was in actual pain. The power of 
 his feeling was beyond her, but it was too great 
 not to reach her in some fashion, however feeble. 
 
 "Jonas!" she said again; and, still with tears 
 upon her face, she went up, laying one little hand 
 caressingly upon his shoulder. " Do you know 
 what I mean?" she said, in an awe -struck voice. 
 "I think I know I am unfitted for it. Another 
 woman even I a little while ago ' She stopped, 
 hardly knowing what to say, for it- seemed to her 
 as though explanation must be futile. He raised 
 his face, haggard and worn old, it seemed to her, 
 in these moments. " Isn't it better to tell you ?" 
 she continued, nodding her little head sagely. 
 " Jonas, you would never have wanted to make 
 me wretched oh ! miserable " 
 
 " Oh," cried the young man, springing up, (t for
 
 120 PRUDENCE. 
 
 Heaven's sake, Prudence, have some mercy ! Oh, 
 my child ! I free you from our poor, shallow bond. 
 I free you ; but let me go with some mercy !" 
 
 He stood looking at her, with an air that would 
 have told any other woman something of the mad- 
 dening feeling in his heart. Prudence looked half 
 frightened, half ashamed. 
 
 "You think my head is turned," she said, re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 " No," said Jonas, " I do not. I see you as you 
 are yourself. All the talking in the world would 
 show me no more than I read in your eyes." 
 
 She began to breathe more freely. It was, at all 
 events, some comfort to feel that Jonas was not 
 angry. 
 
 "And could I help it, Jo?" she said, forcing her 
 little hand upon his arm. " Oh, I tried so hard, 
 and I love you so truly, truly oh, Jonas, you know 
 I do ! but I see I'm not made for the life we used 
 to talk about. You will be better without me. 
 You will be glad of my having told you this." 
 
 It was, perhaps, an evidence of Fielding's com- 
 plete understanding of the situation that he con- 
 tinued speechless. How contribute words to so 
 dead a thing as what lay between them and the 
 past ? Yet passionately sweet and bitter memories 
 were trying to free themselves from this bondage 
 he was forcing them into, crying out with voices 
 he silenced almost with disdain. Gradually Pru-
 
 PRUDENCE. 121 
 
 dence withdrew from that attitude of soft persua- 
 siveness. She went over to the fireplace, begin- 
 ning audibly to cry. Jonas remained standing 
 where she left him. Then the variation of moods 
 was nothing to him. He cared as little for his own 
 physical sensations of actual pain as he cared for 
 Prudence's weeping. The stronger elements of a 
 sudden grief were surging within him, and he felt 
 that he was standing on the very threshold of a 
 ruinous despair. 
 
 " Prudence," he said at last, in a hard voice, and 
 wrenched himself around facing the girl " Pru- 
 dence, tell me one thing on your honor : has there 
 ever been an hour or a day in which you have 
 truly loved me?" 
 
 Prudence looked at him through a mist of tears. 
 
 " Jonas," she said " Jonas, don't be cross !" 
 
 " Cross !" He echoed the word as if it rent his 
 heart asunder. " Cross, child ! I could be noth- 
 ing ever like that to you. Tell me what I ask; it 
 may influence all my life." 
 
 Prudence paused. She searched furtively the 
 recesses of her gentle little heart, the background 
 of gliding years against which this scene rose, her 
 first genuine moment of perplexity or analysis. 
 But for one brief, happy summer, a few months 
 ago but for this fever of the world's praise to- 
 day she might have answered differently. As it 
 was, " Jonas," she said, contritely, " I don't think I
 
 122 PRUDENCE. 
 
 truly ever did. But it was only lately, when I saw 
 this kind of life She glanced around Miss Ar- 
 mory's luxurious room, searching involuntarily for 
 something which would demonstrate her meaning. 
 " I like to be comfortable, as they are here. That 
 gentleman's rooms Mr. Simmonson's, I mean I 
 enjoy all that, and I know I shall miss it." She 
 paused again, realizing that all this luxury of form 
 and color had affected her but partially ; but it 
 served to define her distrust of a grayer life. 
 
 Jonas made an appeal suddenly, not to her affec- 
 tions, but to her possible higher nature. 
 
 "And is there nothing else nothing earnest, 
 and true, and real, and loving in my life ?" He 
 spoke with passionate bitterness. 
 
 " Oh, Jonas /" said Prudence, despairingly. 
 
 " Prue," he exclaimed and now he had the 
 power to go up and look with gentle eyes upon 
 the girl " I am going away. Perhaps I shall not 
 see you for a long time again. But remember one 
 thing: if you need me, I am within call. I shall 
 never, never forget one littlest thing. Dear, it lies 
 solemnly within me, though you have never seen 
 it, and I can remember, with the grave above me, 
 every look of your face, every word and hour we 
 have had together, every lightest touch of your lit- 
 tle hand." The man's voice trembled ; he was too 
 near the beauty of her richly-tinted face, too near 
 the tremulous sweetness of her uplifted eyes, not
 
 PRUDENCE. 123 
 
 to feel his heart beating with dangerous swiftness. 
 He stretched his hands out, grasping hers with ea- 
 ger intensity. 
 
 " Dear," he said, " I don't know what you mean 
 to do ; but I know they want you to marry that 
 man. Pray, pray do not do it." Prue hung her 
 head. " I know he will ask you," Fielding went 
 on, still clinching the girl's wrists ; " but if it be 
 so, think, think before you turn away from all you 
 understand in life." 
 
 He held her hands, looking at her with a dimmed 
 vision, yet his mind was travelling backward with 
 painful clearness and intensity. He saw all those 
 vanished, futile years with their measure of pas- 
 sion, happiness, and belief, with their meed of daily 
 acts glorified by the sense that they were tending 
 toward the crowning joy of his life. Even in this 
 tumultuous moment something rose in the man's 
 breast like an exultation, in that he had gathered 
 during those very years a spiritual force capable 
 of some resistance against what seemed to him the 
 very damnation of his earthly hopes. 
 
 " Prue, Prue, my darling !" he said, hoarsely, " you 
 will not forget it all ; some day, dear, I think you 
 will know what this love laid at your feet really 
 was. Don't let it grieve you even then, dear. We 
 your brother Paul and I always meant to shield 
 you from care or sorrow ; even in this trouble I 
 must fulfil his part. Prue, my child, do not grieve."
 
 124 PRUDENCE. 
 
 Come what would, he felt that he must leave her 
 without that tear-stained face. " I must say good- 
 bye, dear, now. God bless and keep you !" 
 
 For an instant as a bird might remember some 
 summer's resting-place Prudence felt like putting 
 out a hand for him to take her back ; it suddenly 
 flashed upon her what a great part of her life he 
 had been : and he was going forever leaving her 
 but this sensation vanished : its traces were a 
 slight pallor, a tremulous sweetness in the eyes, 
 with which she mutely answered his good-bye. 
 
 Jonas had no definite intention of any kind 
 when he left Prudence in the brilliant room, and 
 made his way down-stairs. There he tried to col- 
 lect his thoughts, and in doing so he remembered 
 Helena, recalling her much as one in waking tries 
 to conjure up the faces in a dream. With the rec- 
 ollection of her kindness, her gentle womanliness 
 of yesterday, came a sense that he owed her some 
 explanation of the morning. He had a card in his 
 pocket, and, standing in the hall, he scribbled the 
 following words : 
 
 " Please do not speak to Prudence about this 
 morning. We have both made a mistake, that is 
 all. I pray that she may be happy. I will leave 
 London soon, but you shall hear of me before I 
 go to America. I preach for my friend at N 
 Sunday fortnight, and after that I shall be a few 
 hours in London. Thank you ahvays"
 
 PRUDENCE. 125 
 
 He wrote the words in a stupefied condition, 
 and, asking for an envelope, he enclosed the card 
 to Miss Armory. When he went out into the 
 street, it seemed as if the fresh air of the morning 
 stifled him.
 
 126 PRUDENCE. 
 
 XI. 
 
 HE walked on and on for more than two hours, 
 heedless of everything but the impulse of move- 
 ment, which seemed to make his misery less horri- 
 ble to bear. Then, in extreme weariness, he found 
 his hotel, and going up into his room, sat down at 
 his table, staring vacantly at the drab-colored wall 
 before him. In the hours of that horrible day he 
 could not define or analyze anything ; that his 
 world was changed, absolutely, he knew with an 
 almost mocking clearness ; but what was left in it 
 even what any realities of the past had been 
 he could not tell. He let the hours pass sitting 
 at the table, not attempting conclusions ; not seek- 
 ing answers to the questions that sometimes made 
 their way across the chaos of his thoughts. So, 
 he fancied, the whole of life might drift by him ; 
 purposes, ideals, inspirations seemed gone. He had 
 no more power to desire or hope for anything than 
 he had to change the courses of the heavens or the 
 earth. As the faint wintry dusk gathered, he be- 
 came conscious, in a dreamy way, that he was cold, 
 and, leaving his chair, he walked about the room, 
 still thinking, thinking, but with no clearer percep-
 
 PRUDENCE. 127 
 
 tions of what it would all tend to. Passion, with 
 all its highest, most ennobling meanings, had so far 
 held him, joyous or serene, above the pettinesses, 
 the commonplace vexations, of his life. There had 
 been hours of fierce spiritual contest, but never 
 periods of despair, and, moving slowly about the 
 cheerless room, he asked himself whether this was 
 not the moment of supreme test in which he would 
 succumb. Then came moments of sharp, quiet 
 agony, when he thought that henceforth and for- 
 ever the joy of even remembering Prudence must 
 be denied him ; never again could he, sitting at his 
 work, think of the day when if he raised his eyes 
 it might be to encounter hers ; never again must 
 he think of her small needs, her tired moments 
 which he might soothe, her joys or her sorrows. 
 To count all these as in some fashion his, had been 
 for years the ardor of his life, and he remembered 
 these parts of his existence with a sense that his 
 dead lay stretched before him ; not flower-strewn, 
 except by the blossoms of passionate, agonized 
 memory ; not peaceful, save with the calm of de- 
 spair ; not reverently prepared for a tomb at 
 which he might sit, remembering perfect hours 
 which had been his. He could not say 
 
 " To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day; 
 Be fair or foul, or rain or shine, 
 The joys I have possessed, in spite of Fate, are mine." 
 
 .He had seen the joyousness of life die, and all
 
 128 PRUDENCE. 
 
 that remained was to sit, as it were, watching it 
 during the gathering hours of the night, until 
 heaven opened and told him where he should lay 
 it in a final resting-place. A death resurrectionless 
 and entire ! It seemed to the man as he sat there, 
 the winter gloom falling thickly about him, as 
 though the room was peopled with phantoms of 
 some lurid, delusive past ; as if grim shapes hover- 
 ed around that silent figure which meant his Life ; 
 as if the scenes and hours of the past had taken 
 on themselves form and motion, mocking him with 
 voices that rent the air ; ... but a fevered imagi- 
 nation was new to Fielding, and when the hide- 
 ousness of such fantasies seized him he would rise 
 and walk about in the darkness, trying to force 
 himself into at least a duller frame of mind. What, 
 he asked himself, what was it he had believed of 
 her? Never once had he doubted her simple loy- 
 alty to their unwritten bond, and in the midst of 
 his heart-cries Jonas did not rebuke the girl for not 
 knowing what she did. That he had idealized her, 
 that she had never really loved him at any moment, 
 lent only a more mocking shadow to his life. That 
 he had spent the sweetness of his passion, the fer- 
 vor of his hopes, the loftiness of his soul, upon an 
 idea, sharpened the sense of injustice with which 
 he felt himself oppressed. He had told her that all 
 the talking in the world would show him no more 
 than he read in one look of her eyes, and in proof
 
 PRUDENCE. 129 
 
 of this he had never, from the first word, question- 
 ed her resolve ; not once had it occurred to him 
 that persuasion would do anything. Five minutes 
 later, had she come to his arms, he would have re- 
 jected her. The thing that had seemed his had 
 died in the first words she uttered. 
 
 Time was nothing to him ; not even calculable 
 by heart-throbs in the hours of that weary day 
 and night. He did not leave his room ; he never 
 thought of food ; when the darkness became ab- 
 solute he lighted his candles, and in doing so his 
 eyes fell upon a desk in which he had for years 
 cherished any letters worth remembering. Paul 
 Marlitt's were among them, and with swift recol- 
 lection of that fragrant life, so blessed in its end- 
 ing, and which had meant so much on earth, Jonas 
 turned, and, opening the desk, took out the faded 
 packet which he often felt his unseen Mentor. 
 
 The letters had been written at odd times. Dur- 
 ing any separation, Paul had exchanged some word 
 with his chosen friend, and turning the boldly writ- 
 ten pages was like touching the harmonies of ten- 
 derly familiar sounds. The clear sweetness of the 
 past arose ; Jonas felt as if he could catch again 
 the meanings of the notes sounded in his younger 
 days ; he read on, here and there ; at first he sought 
 for mentions of Prudence, but when the name ap- 
 peared he found it was not possible to read such 
 sentences. He looked out bits that might have 
 
 9
 
 130 PRUPENCE. 
 
 been Paul's voice, speaking Paul's very self; and 
 then arose a swift vision of Marlitt's clear -eyed 
 gaze, his thin, eager face ; the lights and shadows 
 that reflected them told his every pulsation to his 
 friend : 
 
 " To-day I walked down by the old canal, keenly 
 enjoying the level sweep of green which stretches 
 on the other side; and it occurred to me how much 
 happiness is to be found in simplicity. When Nat- 
 ure wishes to impress us, she never does it with 
 elaborations : a bit of meadow, a reedy bend in the 
 river, a sky faintly illumined from the west ; these 
 would have formed my subjects to-day had I been 
 a painter ; and I remembered your advice, and tried 
 to form analogies between this perfection of out- 
 ward things in nature and the inner workings of 
 the perfectly balanced mind. But while I realized 
 the justice of your theories, I found that Nature 
 had laid hold of me so entirely that she demanded 
 even the yielding up of substrata of thought. I 
 felt curiously serene, and I wish I could send you 
 some of my calmly grateful conclusions. . . . Are 
 you still engrossed by Carlyle ? and if so, tell me 
 whether it has reached the final note of the cres- 
 cendo, which is 'Sartor Resartus' and 'John Ster- 
 ling.' I think I like nothing better in A Kempis than 
 the forcible illustration in ' Sartor Resartus' of man's 
 insignificance as one of the multitude, and yet his 
 tremendous inner responsibilities that what is of
 
 PRUDENCE. 131 
 
 importance is only our subjective impress upon 
 other minds. Sometimes I want to walk to Chel- 
 sea in London, if only to touch Carlyle's hand ! 
 After all, Fielding, what can we do better than im- 
 press other lives, lead others to thought, or action, 
 or desire, which can ennoble the world ? Can you 
 not imagine being gloriously happy in setting up 
 conscientious intellect as a sympathetic, eager com- 
 panion, who shall point out and lead you to paths 
 others are treading or must tread, and say, do this 
 or do that, because you will be a help, or a prece- 
 dent, or a suggestion to those who walk beside you 
 or come after? Isn't this better than even martyr- 
 dom ? or where is there a loud-sounding heroism 
 like it ? ... I have been arguing your question of 
 comparison between St. Peter and St. Paul with 
 K . He likes St. Peter's large-minded humili- 
 ty ; but for myself, I prefer St. Paul's complete ac- 
 knowledgment of error. It lays hold of me and 
 fascinates me, and has in it that suggestion of ' up, 
 up, on, on,' which we lotus-eating minds need. Se- 
 date people, given to few variations of mood or 
 purpose, perhaps are helped by the more forcible 
 weakness and swift remorse of St. Peter, but, as you 
 know, to me work among the multitude is every- 
 thing, and I feel with St. Paul, acting for all the 
 world as well when he cried out slaughter, believ- 
 ing he was right, as in speedily saying, ' Lord, what 
 wilt thou have me do ?' K declares that St.
 
 132 PRUDENCE. 
 
 Paul's influence is more intellectual than spiritual ; 
 but to me this only renders the traces and the 
 words that he has left more beautiful, for to-day is 
 the day of intellect, and we often need the impulse 
 first in the brain and heart, giving up soul an easy 
 conquest later. 
 
 " What you say about feeling tired of yourself I 
 thoroughly appreciate ; only what particular differ- 
 ence does it make in a nature which cordially leans 
 toward the wholesome ? Take the mood like any 
 bad dream or bad feeling. We need all the repose 
 from self-dissatisfaction of this sort possible, and I 
 think one can create a clear-cut, cleanly philosophy 
 for just such depressing occasions. I find it is well 
 to try and begin something new at such times 
 which shall be of use to others. Write somebody 
 a letter ; allow some bore to be comfortable at 
 your expense ; or, if you can do it, go into the 
 country. Nothing ever brings me so quickly to a 
 sense of humanity and kindness as the sight of 
 green fields and leafy trees, of some old-fashioned, 
 radiant garden, which blooms untouched by the 
 rules and precisions of the landscape garden. Do 
 you ever get a sense of life being so full with ap- 
 preciations and desires that these blank hours can 
 be treated as welcome guests ? the periods of 
 sweeping out from the brain all the fantastic 
 things that float in unawares, and clog the chan- 
 nels of simple, clear-eyed thought ?
 
 PRUDENCE. 133 
 
 " I have often wondered what our Creator must 
 think of the way in which some of his creatures 
 use their abilities. To-day I visited M 's stu- 
 dio, and I felt with old papa Wilson like saying, 
 ' Sir, that sunset is a lie, sir an abominable false- 
 hood, sir!' but I didn't say it, simply because it 
 occurred to me that my mission was not that of 
 art criticism, and my realities might not be his ; 
 possibly to him those glaring streaks of color rep- 
 resented the same thing that I saw, in faint splen- 
 dors, in mystical, wonderful harmonies, illumining 
 a western horizon, faintly flooding a palpitating, 
 dusky-tinted world ; so I remained silent while he 
 talked, and I thought of you ; how strange it is for 
 a man so cleverly analytical as you are not to un- 
 derstand that you cannot always find or make peo- 
 ple what you would have them. Don't you know 
 that you imagine people must be what you think 
 them ? I don't think you idealize, but you take 
 for granted. Some of these days some feeling, or 
 belief, or impulse of yours will receive a terrific 
 shock ; and then, what then, Fielding well, the 
 Deluge ! 
 
 " K came in very early to-day, with an im- 
 portant air and a stout stick. I knew immediately 
 it meant a walk in the country, and parsing the- 
 ology. Now you know how widely he and I dif- 
 fer ; yet there is this always to be felt with K : 
 
 he is very, very real ; and he has about him nei-
 
 134: PRUDENCE. 
 
 ther false sentiment, exaggeration, nor pathos of 
 the weakening sort, which contrives to make one 
 feel a sense of compassion overcoming clever argu- 
 ment. This is, I always say to myself, a genuine 
 man ; and in the presence of reality like his, one 
 properly estimates one's self." 
 
 Jonas read on and on, page after page. What 
 he had thought of at the outset was to put himself 
 back into the old frame of mind and thought be- 
 longing to the days in which Marlitt's words were 
 written ; and undercurrent was the desire to re- 
 produce some strong sensation, and to force him- 
 self to believe that something he had once found a 
 lofty influence could still "remain. 
 
 Dead in his grave, with years between him and 
 visible sympathy, Paul Marlitt accomplished a pur- 
 pose. Holding the faded papers in his hands, 
 Jonas woke up to something like belief in a life 
 to live to something which, if still shrouded in 
 gloom, showed the tremulous vibrations of a com- 
 ing light. The night had passed, and Fielding, 
 standing up, walked over to the window of his 
 room and looked out upon the red-streaked wintry 
 sky the silent, grayly colored city. Few sounds 
 were audible ; the chill of the daybreak was still 
 unbroken ; but, as he looked, there swept into the 
 man's soul a feeling that underlying all that silence 
 was the throbbing of all the world that stretched
 
 PRUDENCE. 135 
 
 before him were the dumb evidences of a passion- 
 ate, pulsating humanity, not to be forgotten, not 
 to be readily cast aside, not to be held worthless 
 as helps toward perfection, because he needs must 
 sit beside his dead for the hours of a day and 
 night, and then lay it reverently forever in God's 
 keeping.
 
 136 PRUDENCE. 
 
 XII. 
 
 MENTION has been made of Miss Armory's wid- 
 owed cousin, with whom part of every year in our 
 young lady's life was spent. But it was decidedly 
 unusual for this Mrs. Van Leide to arrive and claim 
 Helena for the 1st of February. This year, how- 
 ever, the elder lady had changed her usual plans, 
 and one morning, when Helena had been walking, 
 she returned to find a summons to Boyle's Hotel. 
 Mrs. Van Leide always went to Boyle's. She said 
 it was a family habit, but it was in reality more of 
 a family failing, for at Boyle's ten times as much 
 money was paid for everything as was necessary, 
 and a general sense was diffused among the guests 
 that they were elegant and exclusive at the ex- 
 pense of personal comfort. Mrs. Van Leide, how- 
 ever, was a woman who clung to traditions, and I 
 think she believed in Boyle's as the one perma- 
 nently English feature in her life. 
 
 Helena and her cousin were not only bound by 
 the ties of kinship and frequent companionship, 
 but by those of a purely accidental friendship. 
 They had so much in common, that they frequent- 
 ly regretted the fact that nature and circumstances
 
 PRUDENCE. 137 
 
 had forced them into a certain alliance ; for choos- 
 ing each other's companionship would have had 
 for them a flavor of keen discernment and peculiar 
 fitness, which they felt they lost in having a reason 
 in their family connection. When they were sepa- 
 rated, they exchanged very analytical letters ; and 
 when Helena learned of Mrs. Van Leide's unex- 
 pected arrival in London she felt rebuked. Of 
 late she had written so meagrely that the past two 
 months were, so far as genuine life was concerned, 
 a blank. 
 
 'Miss Armory went to Boyle's without delay, and 
 her cousin received her warmly. She was a wom- 
 an scarcely forty, having that look of careful fresh- 
 ness which we are accustomed to think rare among 
 elderly American women, yet which is, I think, a 
 prevailing characteristic in many States. She was 
 blonde, and, if not pretty, had a fascinating smile 
 and extremely fine blue eyes ; her manner was per- 
 fectly charming, but there was a brisk air about it 
 totally incompatible with her horror of anything 
 unconventional, or out of the accepted fashion of 
 the hour. She declared she got the best of every- 
 thing which the world could give her, without pay- 
 ing the price of explaining her conduct or ideas. 
 She dressed superbly, and always was eager to 
 counsel Americans abroad as to the best dress- 
 makers and most satisfactory shops ; yet her incli- 
 nations were chiefly literary. She thoroughly ap-
 
 PRUDENCE. 
 
 predated good work, took in the very subtlest ele- 
 ment in American or British humor, and owned to 
 a trifle of "temperament" just enough to make 
 her feel averse to the society of people who, 
 she said, had " limitations." Helena Armory was 
 avowedly her chosen friend and favorite cousin, 
 so that the girl's orphaned condition was by no 
 means the cause of Mrs. Van Leide's systematic 
 chaperonage. 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Van Leide exclaimed, as Miss Ar- 
 mory appeared, "you didn't expect me so soon! 
 To tell you the truth, Helena, I got tired of Ber- 
 lin, and you hadn't written, and I thought I'd 
 come over. Then I wanted to go to that festival 
 at N ." 
 
 Helena gave a start at the words. 
 
 " Oh," she said, " I forgot there was to be a fes- 
 tival at N ." 
 
 " Of course," answered Mrs. Van Leide ; " only 
 it is a little late in the season. Now are you ready 
 to go with me there ? My dearest girl, you look 
 horribly pale !" 
 
 Helena protested that she was perfectly well, 
 but she certainly looked badly. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Van Leide, " you see it's 
 well I came over. I knew you wanted looking 
 after." 
 
 Helena was standing in the window of the sit- 
 ting-room which was always devoted to Mrs. Van
 
 PRUDENCE. 139 
 
 Leide's use at Boyle's, and at these words she felt 
 a guilty throb. 
 
 " Why, Margaret ?" she said, turning toward the 
 elder lady with a smile. 
 
 " Well, my reasons are various, but chiefly in- 
 stinctive. To begin with, you've almost totally 
 neglected writing to me, and I knew if you had 
 not something inexplicable in your mind you 
 would not have been silent." 
 
 Helena for a moment occupied herself in study- 
 ing the pavement of Dover Street. Then she said, 
 slowly, 
 
 " Well, I've had a horribly bad conscience. You 
 know I am not usually burdened by my sins, though 
 I acknowledge them freely ; but lately something 
 has been crying out within me, and I know I ought 
 to stand here this very minute in sackcloth and 
 ashes." 
 
 Mrs. Van Leide regarded her cousin with a fine, 
 appreciative smile. " Go on," she said, admiringly. 
 " What was your sin ?" 
 
 " I can hardly tell you, because it would involve 
 so many things and people you don't know about." 
 
 " I never was obtuse yet, I hope, my dearest." 
 
 " No. Well, then, I am afraid I have been the 
 means of ruining the life of one of the noblest- 
 hearted men I ever knew." 
 
 Mrs. Van Leide looked at her for a moment be- 
 fore she said : " You always compassionated your
 
 PRUDENCE. 
 
 lovers. Why do you regard this particular case as 
 novel ?" 
 
 " Oh," cried Helena, averting her face swiftly, 
 " this man was not my lover !" And then, with 
 delicacy, she told the outlines of Prue's story, the 
 events of the last six or eight weeks. To Mrs. Van 
 Leide the impressive feature was that she knew 
 Prudence Marlitt's family. 
 
 " And I know more of her than you do ; for I 
 was at Lennox last year when I went home, you 
 know, for Dolly Barclay's wedding and there I 
 heard of another of Prudence Marlitt's love af- 
 fairs." 
 
 Helena stared ; her cheeks were pale enough 
 now, and she was not afraid to come nearer Mrs. 
 Van Leide. 
 
 " Oh yes," pursued that lady ; " she had a sort 
 of love affair with young Maybery. A capital 
 match he'd be for any girl ; and, if I'm not mis- 
 taken, he's in London this very moment. Is Pru- 
 dence actually engaged to this Mr. Simmonson ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; but Mrs. Crane is urging it upon her. 
 I have only seen her occasionally lately. Just 
 now she and her aunt are at Holbrook with Lady 
 Fanny." 
 
 Mrs. Van Leide remained a moment thought- 
 fully considering the position. 
 
 "I'm not a particularly patriotic person," she 
 said, at last, " but I always think transplanting is
 
 PRUDENCE. 141 
 
 doubtful business with most Americans. I believe 
 I'll give George Maybery my address." 
 
 Helena had a feeling that prevented her enter- 
 ing into farther responsibilities where the destinies 
 of others were concerned, but she was willing to 
 let Mrs. Van Leide occupy herself as ardently as 
 she chose with George Maybery's affairs. It was 
 no surprise to her, on entering her cousin's sitting- 
 room the following afternoon, to find a tall, good- 
 looking young man standing on the rug, and whom 
 Mrs. Van Leide immediately presented as Mr. May- 
 bery. 
 
 Helena had always enjoyed the study of types 
 among the many Americans she met abroad, and 
 this young man was peculiarly interesting. He 
 was the very pleasantest type of a prosperous 
 New Yorker. He bore about with him a flavor 
 of good society and cheerfulness, of a capability 
 for thoroughly enjoying the sunny, busy side of 
 life. He was good-looking, with light hair and a 
 clear gray eye, and his smile and voice and laugh 
 were peculiarly pleasant. He dressed admirably, 
 although his clothes looked new, and Helena did 
 not require to be told that he was a member 
 of a very rich, traditionally great firm. Helena 
 amused herself by fancying that he lived expen- 
 sively say on Madison Avenue about Thirty-sec- 
 ond Street that he belonged to the Union Club, 
 and knew better than most Americans what claret
 
 14-2 PRUDENCE. 
 
 a man ought to drink at his dinner. He was thor- 
 oughly contented with life, and joyous in his way 
 of receiving its blessings, and before she had talked 
 with him ten minutes Miss Armory perceived that 
 he was violently in love with Prue. He had met 
 her during that one summer in which Prue had 
 been away from Ponkamak, and Helena gathered 
 that some silly interference on the part of Mr. 
 Maybery's sister had broken up what might have 
 been an engagement. His sister came from Pon- 
 kamak, and he had known Jonas Fielding at Yale. 
 
 " Excellent fellow !" said Mr. Maybery, with his 
 honest, good-humored smile. " I never could cram 
 as he did, but I always enjoyed watching him. He 
 and Paul Marlitt were the David and Jonathan of 
 T . You never knew him ?" 
 
 To Helena the man's name had been in a sort 
 of fashion consecrated by the story Jonas had told 
 her. She changed the subject. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Maybery," she said, pleasantly, " are 
 you going down to Holbrook to see Prue?" 
 
 The young man hesitated a little. 
 
 " Well, now," he said, inquiringly, " I suppose I 
 could do that over here just run down there 
 and make a call on a young lady I knew in the 
 house?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly ; but you may have the way 
 smoother than that. I know Lady Fanny well, 
 and I'll gladly give you a letter to her."
 
 PRUDENCE. 143 
 
 Mr. Maybery expressed himself as much pleased 
 by this ; but in some way it was peculiarly distress- 
 ing to Helena to discuss Prudence Marlitt with 
 any one. She felt jarred by even the slight air 
 of proprietorship in the young man's manner. He 
 was confident, she could see, of success in anything 
 he undertook, and he departed in a most good-hu- 
 mored frame of mind, leaving upon Helena an im- 
 pression of wholesome, happy prosperity. 
 
 " He is just the man to enjoy having his wife 
 admired by every one else," she said to Mrs. Van 
 Leide when they were alone. 
 
 "And if Prudence develops into a fine lady of 
 fashion, he'll approve of her all the more." 
 
 Margaret Van Leide had been closely studying 
 her cousin since her arrival in London, and her 
 critical faculty seemed to receive a new impetus. 
 
 " Helena," she said, meaningly, " are you getting 
 cynical ?" 
 
 "Getting!" said Helena, with a light laugh. "I 
 think I always was and tried to be a little." 
 
 "Then you are more so than ever, and I wish 
 you would get married." 
 
 "And make the tendency a characteristic?" 
 
 " Come, Lena, don't be idiotic." 
 
 " I don't mean to be," laughed Helena, " and 
 therefore let us make our conversation more profit- 
 able. I came to-day to tell you I am quite ready 
 to start for N to-morrow."
 
 144 PRUDENCE. 
 
 Mrs. Van Leide made no answer. She endured 
 ten minutes of silence, looking now and then at 
 her cousin with rebuke or pity in her eyes. 
 
 " What did I tell you, Margaret ?" said the girl, 
 finally. " That I had a bad conscience. Well, so 
 I have ; but I don't think, apart from that, I'm con- 
 scious of anything except that I love you better 
 every day." 
 
 As Miss Armory spoke she rose and moved over 
 to the window. When she turned again there were 
 traces of tears upon her face.
 
 PRUDENCE. 14:5 
 
 XIII. 
 
 HELENA ARMORY always declared that with 
 each impression of the English country some new 
 sense of being and exhilaration came to her. Jour- 
 neying in February to N with Mrs. Van Leide 
 
 was, it seemed to her, the one soothing influence life 
 could just then have offered her. She was not in 
 a mood to demand excitement. The peaceful win- 
 ter landscape, the solemnities of an English cathe- 
 dral town, the harmonies of the approaching festi- 
 val, were all that she demanded of outward things ; 
 
 and that Jonas Fielding was to preach at N 
 
 on Sunday night was remembered at times, with a 
 half-sad conjecture as to how she would find time 
 and the ruin of his hopes had affected him. 
 
 The first days at N passed by quickly enough. 
 
 The town is large, but full of sleepy nooks in which 
 red brick and ivy and restless rookeries complete 
 the charm felt here and there and everywhere by 
 the visitor who cares for suggestive architecture 
 and the influence of bricks and mortar. Helena 
 had several hours of each day to herself, when Mrs. 
 Van Leide attended rehearsals, to which she went 
 with her usual zeal. Helena, declaring that she 
 
 10
 
 146 PRUDENCE, 
 
 preferred to take the affair in perfection, devoted 
 these hours to idle wanderings about the town, 
 discovering every bit of the old cathedral, and 
 learning above all things to love the cosy river- 
 bank, which finds appreciators only, I think, among 
 artists, who like its gradations of feathery willows 
 and long stretches of level meadows, its occasional 
 old warehouses, and queer anchors for the barges 
 that dreamily come and go. The winter gave no 
 pallor to this scene, but then the English winter 
 rarely does that in any place; here, however, the 
 approach of February had brought about a touch 
 of spring. There was certainly no warmth, but 
 growing things looked ready for the hand of lov- 
 ing green to lead them into blossom. There was 
 almost a fragrance in the cold, still air, and the 
 sky was radiantly blue, with here and there the 
 feathery lights of clouds that it seemed never 
 could mean rain. 
 
 Helena did not know then how much she 
 thought of in those solitary walks in which she 
 gave herself up to enjoyment of the country; but 
 later the whole place came back to her, bit by bit, 
 associated with thoughts that meant the deepest 
 pulsations of her being. The changing colors on 
 the bank; the vivid reflections of objects in the 
 water, growing denser as the daylight waned ; the 
 faint green ; the windy meadows ; the figures of 
 boatmen and towns-people passing to and fro ; the
 
 PRUDENCE. 147 
 
 crowning solemnity of the cathedral spires, whose 
 ^ray tones she caught always on her homeward 
 walks all these recurred to her as forces connect- 
 ed with that period of mental conflict as to be the 
 eternal associations of moments and hours which 
 might affect or move forward her whole life. She 
 had made the acquaintance of the man who rowed 
 a small ferry-boat across the river at a certain 
 point, and in two or three days they were on inti- 
 mate terms of almost friendship. He lived in a 
 quaint little house with a sixteenth -century win- 
 dow bulging over the river, and his wife, as Helena 
 soon found out, was bedridden. The man was a 
 tall, brown-faced countryman, with an {imaginative 
 temperament qualified by the driest, dullest of act- 
 ual surroundings ; but to Helena his very simplic- 
 ity was refreshing as was the calm stillness of the 
 country. She told Mrs. Van Leide she was try- 
 ing to see real people, and to find out whether she 
 were one of them herself, or a terrible imposition. 
 
 " If one only could have talked to Adam, for in- 
 stance !" she remarked. 
 
 " But Adam would have been so unsatisfactory," 
 answered Mrs. Van Leide " a man actually inex- 
 perienced." 
 
 " But so deliciously fresh," said Helena. " Some- 
 times I think I am all warped and distorted from 
 having lived among so many fascinating sugges- 
 tions. I am so anxious to discover the real me.
 
 148 PRUDENCE. 
 
 Just as I find I am saying or doing something nice 
 or interesting, or foolish or weak-minded, I realize 
 it is because I have seen or heard or felt the sug- 
 gestion from somebody else." 
 
 "And if you discover the real you, and find 
 yourself full of a primitive simplicity, what shall 
 you do?" 
 
 " I will be charmed," said the girl. " But I'm 
 afraid that will never come to pass. The more I 
 see of my old boatman, the more I realize how far 
 I have drifted away from the clear Puritan stock I 
 came from." 
 
 " The most hampered of all people !" ejaculated 
 Mrs. Van Leide, who was herself proudly, intense- 
 ly Knickerbocker. 
 
 Helena made up her mind not to be so analyt- 
 ical that she would allow herself no quiet enjoy- 
 ment with the old boatman and his wife. She 
 gave herself up to simple, frank talks with them, 
 and asked nothing for effect. Their influence she 
 declared to be wholesome, even if it did not en- 
 lighten her ; and the sanded floor of the cottage, 
 the cleanly furniture, the old windows blooming 
 with flowers, the bed with its patient sufferer all 
 became active influences in her memory when this 
 period was long past. The humble people invest- 
 ed her with no false charm. They had none of 
 that power of idealizing which bek>ngs to the cult- 
 ured classes. To them she was a " bonny, gentle
 
 PRUDENCE. 149. 
 
 young lady," and she was all of that. They took 
 things just as they found them, and gave nothing 
 a pernicious influence by exaggerating its power 
 or effect. From her quiet walks and her humble 
 friendships Helena drifted, with a certain sense of 
 surprise, into the rushing, splendid harmonies of 
 the festival. There had been three days of music 
 that lifted her into the regions of exaltation, when 
 the Sunday came which she knew would bring 
 
 Jonas Fielding to N . 
 
 The day dawned dismally. Toward sunset, as 
 Helena looked out upon the windy, rain -washed 
 streets, she wished that he had come when the 
 peace and calm of the old town might have sooth- 
 ed him. She wondered if he would not be newly 
 chilled by confronting a strange town, strange peo- 
 ple, when Nature so completely refused her smiles; 
 but, had she known the truth at that moment, she 
 would have seen that Fielding's mood was one in 
 which the elements meant nothing to him. He 
 had suspended all sense of what affected him out- 
 wardly ; and as he made his way through the dark- 
 ening, wet streets of the town, he was thinking only 
 that he was to be a voice to the people. Lives, 
 human beings with souls and unborn deeds to be 
 moved or roused into life by what he might say, 
 were perhaps waiting. Jonas left cynicism, dainty 
 philanderings of the mind, fantastic ideas of duty 
 or well-being, utterly in the background. He had
 
 150 PRUDENCE. 
 
 come from London to N by a train that left 
 
 him only an hour before the time for service, and 
 this period he spent in hastily thinking over his 
 sermon. It was unwritten, yet it had been all 
 thought out. Had he known that Miss Armory 
 was to be among his listeners, it would have star- 
 tled him into some confusion. But why should 
 the words of his text even be remembered by her 
 ears? 
 
 " Woe unto thee, Chorazin ! woe unto thee, Beth- 
 saida ! for if the mighty works which were done in 
 you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would 
 have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes"
 
 PRUDENCE. 151 
 
 XIV. 
 
 HE had not been ten minutes in the pulpit 
 the moderate confusion of an unfamiliar, irregularly 
 lighted edifice, a large, unknown congregation, was 
 just passing away when he became conscious of 
 eyes, of lips, of the grace of a certain figure he had 
 seen before, and, peering a little into a space illu- 
 mined fitfully, he made out that the tranquil, mo- 
 tionless figure and face belonged to Miss Armory. 
 The man was in that frame of mind which is not 
 due to mental excitement, yet has the power of 
 making a surprise almost impossible. He looked 
 at her without any feeling of wonderment ; he saw, 
 without thinking of it, the luxurious elegance of 
 her dress and bearing in the midst of the duller 
 people about her ; and though he never sought her 
 eyes, he began and ended his sermon conscious that 
 she sat there exacting from him his most prophet- 
 ic. But he had the strong sense of power, the ela- 
 tion, which a listening multitude give. So far had 
 the man wrenched himself in the last fortnight 
 from the need of individuals, that Helena seemed 
 to him only a stronger, more concentrated, expres- 
 sion of human needs ; the faces of the crowd never
 
 152 PRUDENCE. 
 
 closed hers in, yet it seemed to him only as though 
 by some subtle power she was the final emphasis 
 of their wants. Gradually the girl's shining eyes 
 and sweet, high-bred face grew to him luminously 
 significant. She seemed, with her earnest look, to 
 be saying, " I am part of a need a need belonging 
 to all this palpitating multitude of poor humanity." 
 Jonas, as I have said, preached from only a few 
 hurried notes, so that he kept no record of that 
 sermon. Later, he could not have put any of its 
 sentences together, but it seemed always to express 
 some new era in his life. There was an absolute 
 freedom from the sensational, yet the tension of 
 the past fortnight had resulted in a peculiar eleva- 
 tion of thought, and he poured forth his words with 
 a direct appeal to the rarely stirred and more ex- 
 alted regions of the human soul. His voice startled 
 Helena by its sweetness. There w r as a cadence in 
 it that would have given harsher words a charm ; 
 but, tremendous as was his text, he had little that 
 was denunciatory in his discourse. That " Woe to 
 Chorazin" he applied to every human soul, forming 
 one of a multitude, and he called upon his hearers 
 to bear without despondency, to be exalted with- 
 out mock enthusiasm, to be active without exag- 
 gerations. These were simple suggestions, yet he 
 endowed them with the richness of his own recent 
 mental and spiritual experiences ; out of the chaos 
 pf his misery and bewilderment he had come with
 
 PRUDENCE. 153 
 
 certain new simple forces, which he gave freely, 
 nay, joyously, to others. He said he meant to 
 preach simplicity ; and the disjointed sensations of 
 the past few weeks seemed to have resulted in 
 calm, clearly -flowing lines. As he preached, he 
 dimly remembered scenes through which he had 
 passed scenes which a merely casual observer 
 might have been only amused by, but which to 
 Jonas Fielding, of Ponkamak, in one way typified 
 that " Chorazin " of old of which the prophetic Woe 
 had been uttered. He did not mean to impress 
 any of his hearers with horror or dismay ; he preach- 
 ed, as I say, intensely conscious of one hearer ; of 
 the soft, eager face, full of indefinable charm, and 
 which was perhaps the nearest approach to a pure- 
 ly aesthetic influence he had ever felt ; yet his words 
 were uttered for all those about her, and at his 
 heart was a passionate demand for absolute sin- 
 cerity and single-mindedness. The effect of every- 
 thing he had seen and felt of late was to make him 
 long to clear from his mind and heart and soul all 
 that was not grandly simple. He had a sensation 
 that the best and truest things were the most easi- 
 ly understood, yet that they lay shrouded, hidden, 
 distorted by the fancies and follies of the to-day in 
 human weakness. Had he in his mind any hours 
 which he had passed through when he gently but 
 eagerly told his listeners of that simple means to 
 perfection ? As I have said, vague memories of
 
 154: PRUDENCE. 
 
 the last few weeks floated into his mind, oppress- 
 ing him for moments, but he was unconscious that 
 he meant more than an elaboration of the text 
 which should impress others as it had always im- 
 pressed him. He believed, in fact, that he was 
 using no arguments which had specially applied to 
 himself, strongly conscious that he must shake off 
 forever the influence of prejudice. Personally the 
 man's strong face and figure were deeply impres- 
 sive. Helena had seen at once that he was hag- 
 gard and worn, that he had strangely depressed 
 lines about his mouth and eyes ; but this she had 
 expected; she had almost" dreaded to see him; 
 but what burst upon her as entirely unlocked for 
 was the magnetism, the power, in his manner. His 
 voice rung through the building, and yet it had a 
 cadence that was like a whisper. He was utterly 
 self -forgetful. To Helena he seemed to be the 
 concentration of many forces which she had been, 
 as it were, half conscious of within herself. 
 
 The rain was beating violently against the tall 
 windows of the chapel as Jonas finished his ser- 
 mon. Service being ended, Helena moved quietly 
 away, followed by her maid. She had written a 
 few lines on a card, and sent them into the vestry- 
 room for Jonas, and she now half regretted that 
 she had not asked him to come to their hotel that 
 evening, for she felt the impulse to see and talk to 
 him stronger as the time went on. The tranquil-
 
 PRUDENCE. 157 
 
 lity which had possessed her of late seemed to have 
 vanished. She was throbbing with excitement ; 
 she defined nothing, made no distinctions between 
 the joyous and the remorseful, the exalted and the 
 depressed. She was simply full of strange emo- 
 tions, and Avas bewildered by both them and her- 
 self. The carriage from the hotel was waiting, and 
 she was standing in the porch of the chapel secur- 
 ing her wraps a little more conveniently, and as 
 well peering into the wet darkness, to be sure the 
 door of the vehicle was comfortably held open, 
 when she heard her name spoken, and looked up 
 to meet Fielding's gaze near her own. It was so 
 sudden an answer to thought, that she smiled al- 
 most tearfully. The young man looked down at 
 her with a kindly, gentle gaze. 
 
 " I am so much obliged to you for letting me 
 know that you were here," he said, in a voice 
 which yet held the vibrations of half an hour ago ; 
 " and I will surely come to-morrow at ten o'clock, 
 as you said. I thank you." He had taken her 
 hand a moment in his, and as he let it fall he 
 said, in a tone Helena always remembered, " God 
 bless you !" 
 
 She made no effort to speak, but she looked at 
 him earnestly. 
 
 Every line of his tall figure and strong face in 
 the rain and wind she remembered long after that 
 night had passed away. Indeed, trifles connected
 
 153 PRUDENCE. 
 
 with the scene recurred later to her mind with pas- 
 sionate distinctness : the shining-, wet pavements ; 
 the crowd of curious, eager people coming out of 
 the chapel, some of whom turned for a glance at 
 the elegant young lady to whom the American 
 minister was speaking ; the vista beyond the chap- 
 el door, irregularly lighted, part growing sombre 
 from desertion ; Jonas's final glance in her carriage 
 window ; and then some queer thought of her own 
 hands lying on her lap clasped with unconsciously 
 painful intensity.
 
 PRUDENCE. 159 
 
 XV. 
 
 FOR days afterward Mrs. Van Leide deplored 
 the fact that one of "her" headaches prevented 
 her from seeing Jonas Fielding when he called at 
 the " George." Helena's account of him had been 
 very meagre, yet her cousin had felt an ardent 
 desire to see him for herself. It must have been 
 that, in spite of chilling words, Helena's testimony 
 had been to the man's credit ; for once Mrs. Van 
 Leide had exclaimed, " He must be fascinating." 
 
 " Fascinating !" Helena had echoed. " Is he ? 
 He is, I think, only intensely real." 
 
 Jonas Fielding knew very vaguely that Miss Ar- 
 mory was stopping with a cousin, and he made his 
 way to the old-fashioned inn, thinking entirely of 
 the younger lady. The court-yard of the " George " 
 is very picturesque : there is a paved centre, a wall 
 richly hung with ivy, an old well, and a sun-dial, 
 from which both shadows and gleams of light seem 
 to emanate. Servants were running here and there 
 on eager duty, but Miss Armory's name produced 
 instant attention. The American ladies were es- 
 tablished in the best rooms in the house. They 
 had a maid and a man servant, and were liberal in
 
 160 PRUDENCE. 
 
 their ideas about shillings and half-crowns. Jonas 
 had never been more respectfully treated than 
 when he was led through the corridors of the 
 " George " to a door-way through which Helena's 
 voice sounded in a faint " Come in." The room 
 overlooked the High Street of the town by means 
 of three old-fashioned windows, with lattice-framed 
 panes of glass and heavy oaken seats. In one of 
 them Miss Armory was seated, and, as she turned 
 her face toward Jonas, she said, simply, " I was 
 watching for you ; you must have come another 
 way." 
 
 " I paid a visit or two with the minister's wife," 
 he answered, " and I came in by the lower en- 
 trance." 
 
 Just as in that first visit to her boudoir in Lon- 
 don, Jonas took up his place against the chimney- 
 piece. Perhaps it was the familiar action, possibly 
 the sight of his worn face, that made Helena's 
 heart beat for a moment so that it was hard to 
 speak. She moved about the room a little. It was 
 cumbrously but well furnished with the oak and 
 carvings of two hundred years ago, the ornaments 
 in needle-work and painting to which time only 
 has given a certain authority for existence. She 
 looked as if she wanted to gather either inspira- 
 tion or courage, and it seemed as if she found it 
 in Fielding's simple, unaverted gaze. She stopped 
 in the window nearest him, and said, passionately,
 
 PRUDENCE. 161 
 
 "Do you hate me? Tell me oh, if in justice to 
 truth you can tell me if I have injured your 
 life !" 
 
 Fielding looked with an eager light at her. " No, 
 no, no !" he said, quickly. " Oh, has this been troub- 
 ling you ? Oh no, indeed ! I understand it all ; I 
 have thought it all out. I know now that I ought 
 better to have understood many things. There is 
 no one to blame. I am simply paying for arro- 
 gance, for blindness, and perhaps it has helped me 
 to a better life." 
 
 Helena sat still, regarding him with a fixed, gen- 
 tle vision. 
 
 " Do not imagine," he continued, " that I have 
 not spent hours and days in bitter rebellion " 
 the remembrance brought back a look of torture 
 to his face " only now I know that in resigning 
 or conforming myself to these circumstances I 
 shall do all that is left to me to do. I shall be 
 fulfilling some need within me, answering, per- 
 haps, to some need in others." 
 
 Helena's lips opened to say, " And you are hap- 
 py?" but she hesitated, and substituted, "You feel 
 it is God's will?" 
 
 Jonas looked into space, with a quiet, thoughtful 
 smile. 
 
 " No," he said, " I can scarcely say that, because 
 it seems to me that in certain ways our deeds are 
 our own. He tells us that we must be vigilant 
 
 11
 
 162 PRUDENCE. 
 
 and earnest and single-minded. If by my own 
 blindness I have misinterpreted things-, have built 
 up a temple of clay in my heart well, I must not 
 take that mock-consolation to myself, and go about 
 feeling my inner martyrdom the result only of His 
 will. I must say I conform myself to the facts of 
 my life because He has permitted them. I do not 
 believe He designs these miseries which come from 
 our own stupidity, idleness, or wickedness." 
 
 Helena listened intently. When he had finished 
 she turned her gaze from the sunny street, smiling 
 faintly. 
 
 " You are cruelly strong," she said. 
 
 Fielding started slightly forward. " Oh, do not 
 say or think that !" he exclaimed. " I have only 
 gathered together every force, trying not to be 
 pitifully weak. If I still see life and work ahead 
 of me, do you not think I shall sometimes be 
 chased by the phantoms of the past ? those in- 
 secure, restless demons that are so ready to seize 
 upon our depressed or obscured moments, espe- 
 cially if we are forced to live lives for other peo- 
 ple. I must never cease the patient toiling after 
 strength. If I were forced to live among exag- 
 gerations, it would be my ruin. My hope lies in 
 an existence of simple meanings, pure beliefs." 
 
 He spoke with quick insistence, as if command- 
 ing acceptance of his words. 
 
 " And I," said Helena, slowly " I am, I suppose,
 
 PRUDENCE. 163 
 
 living among exaggerations? What shall I do? 
 Do you think I ought to leave it all?" 
 
 " No. You and I have different needs ; but you 
 ought to understand things better ; you ought to 
 learn to know gold from dross. You accept too 
 much ; you " he stopped short, and came over to 
 the window "you let the pagan part of life tri- 
 umph, as it were, over your better self too often. 
 There is good in that aestheticism, as you call it, 
 but you ought not to seek relief from the weight 
 or burdens of nobler impulses in its exaggerations. 
 How much of it is real, ascertain that real, in 
 either feeling, or action, or good influence. As- 
 certain that, and then drape it in the richest, soft- 
 est colors you can find." 
 
 He returned to the fireplace, and met her gaze 
 again with simple kindliness. Helena felt impelled 
 to say much more to him. She had the confusing 
 sense that he stood there for one of the permitted 
 moments in our lives when human beings can reach 
 each other's very souls for good. She wanted to ex- 
 tract, as it were, some domineering principle of his 
 philosophy. Might he not, at least, leave her with 
 some surer impetus toward light ? She felt tortured 
 by the sense that she was losing her opportunity. 
 
 "And you do not think a life like mine, for in- 
 stance, need be worthless I mean according to 
 such standards as yours ?" She spoke with a note 
 like a sob in her voice.
 
 164 PRUDENCE. 
 
 " Oh," answered Fielding, almost sadly, " your 
 life ought to be perfect exquisite." He smiled 
 upon her. " It has done me good, and I shall 
 like to think of it always. If I have seemed 
 to think of other things for you, it has been be- 
 cause I know so well the richness of possibility 
 in you, the impulses for good you were casting 
 aside." 
 
 Helena moved about for a moment before she 
 spoke again ; then she said, gravely, " I am haunt- 
 ed now by just that very thing : I feel that I have 
 turned aside." 
 
 He said nothing. 
 
 " It is such a dreadful thing," she went on, " to 
 be pursued by a sense that you have forsaken your 
 earliest ambitions that your old ideals are mock- 
 ing you. Sometimes I try to believe they were 
 nothing the fantastic follies of an unformed 
 mind ; but I know better." She stopped, and add- 
 ed, simply, " I think it is you who have made me 
 know better." 
 
 "But," he persisted, in a very quiet voice, "do 
 not confuse remorse or regret with too much self- 
 analysis ; the rules of a Higher Life for any one 
 of us are grandly simple. You see you have been 
 trying to live on theories, emotions, harmonies. 
 All these can be beautiful and helpful enough, if 
 we grant a substratum of calm, well-measured, sim- 
 ple beliefs. Then the tendency toward paganism
 
 PRUDENCE. 165 
 
 in this intense idea of civilization cannot over- 
 come us." 
 
 " And is this philosophy ?" she said, gravely. 
 
 " If you ask me," he answered, " I will say that 
 it is mine ; and I think you might be happier in 
 making it yours. We must make the best of our- 
 selves ; we are part of a grand scheme of creation, 
 of life. Therefore seek a way, and follow it with 
 all the simplicity and truth you can harbor " 
 
 Helena's eyes were fixed upon him sadly. 
 
 " Do you think one is apt to overestimate the 
 flowers, the fragrances, of an intellectual life ?" she 
 asked, half timidly. 
 
 " How can that be ?" he exclaimed. " But the 
 evil of this aesthetic movement is that it tortures 
 every sentiment either with analysis or sensuous- 
 ness. The honest fibre of the thing is lost. To 
 my way of thinking, one of the weak outcomes 
 of this tendency to-day is a mind like your friend 
 Simmonson's." 
 
 She remained silent for a moment, while Field- 
 ing continued to stand looking down upon her 
 figure and half-averted face. He noticed, as she 
 stood against the light, that the curve of her cheek 
 had grown very thin its usual brilliancy was quite 
 gone. 
 
 "You have not been well," he said, earnestly. 
 " What is it ? Have you been letting all these 
 things prey upon you ?"
 
 166 PRUDENCE. 
 
 " I think perhaps I have," Helena answered. 
 " But I am not at all really ill. Do you remem- 
 ber what you once wrote to me " and her smile 
 reached her eyes wistfully " that we must have 
 our periods of mental and moral shock once in so 
 often ?" 
 
 The past seemed to be across such a gulf of mis- 
 ery that even this slight allusion to one of its ex- 
 pressive moments hurt him. 
 
 She went on : " Well, I am having one of mine 
 now, I think ; and I believe it will do me good. I 
 shall remember all that you have said all you 
 have been." 
 
 He looked at her with quick comprehension and 
 gratitude. After a few moments' silence, he said, 
 very quietly, " Have you seen her since?" 
 
 "Twice," answered Helena. "But I remem- 
 bered what you asked of me only I tried to be 
 judicious and earnest in my advice." 
 
 " Thank you." Fielding spoke with an almost 
 painful distinctness. " I had a note from her this 
 morning." He touched the breast pocket of his 
 coat, hesitated for a barely perceptible moment, 
 and then handed it to Helena. 
 
 She read it slowly, standing away from him. 
 It was a childish, gentle, pretty little letter, and 
 told of her engagement to George Maybery. Hel- 
 ena folded it up without comment, and Jonas re- 
 placed it.
 
 PRUDENCE. 167 
 
 " She will be very happy," he said at last. " She 
 met him a year ago at Lennox. I believe they had 
 something like an understanding then at least, I 
 have heard so. Mrs. Crane has explained it to me. 
 I want to make something perfectly clear to your 
 mind, Miss Armory. The more I think of it, the 
 more I see that it has all happened providentially, 
 that she was so admired and sought after here. 
 Marlitt was perfectly right. I think," Fielding 
 added, with a sad smile " I think he must have 
 seen how it would be ; at all events, he had keen 
 perceptions and he loved us both." 
 
 Helena made no answer to this. She had re- 
 sumed her seat in the window, and looking at him 
 sadly, she asked, " And you what are you going 
 to do?" 
 
 " What my hand finds to do, I hope," he said, 
 with an effort at cheerfulness. " And may I ask 
 you the same question ?" 
 
 " I am going just now to the Pyrenees with my 
 cousin," she answered. " But that is only half an 
 answer to your question. My life has not its de- 
 cisive duties like yours. I think I shall wait a lit- 
 tle while and see." 
 
 He looked at her very earnestly. " I should 
 like sometimes to hear from you," he said, a little 
 formally, " and perhaps some day you will be in 
 America. You said, if you remember, that we 
 made a great many beginnings and no endings.
 
 108 PRUDENCK. 
 
 Yet I think that it is not quite true of to-day ; 
 perhaps we shall do each other future good. At 
 all events, I say, God bless you ! when I thank you 
 for all that you have done." 
 
 He held his hand out for good-bye. Helena felt 
 a mist of tears in her eyes, but she was perfectly 
 herself when she answered : " Good-bye no, auf 
 wiedersehen /" She smiled steadily, and spoke 
 with a grave, sweet composure. " Do not make 
 me feel too remorseful by thanking me. Let me 
 thank you, my friend. Yes, you shall hear of me 
 whenever you write." 
 
 She gave him her hand, and he held it for a mo- 
 ment very reverently. 
 
 It seemed to Helena that when the mist faded 
 from her eyes he was gone.
 
 PRUDENCE. 169 
 
 XVI. 
 
 PRUDENCE MARLITT had a quiet little wedding 
 just before Helena and Mrs. Van Leide started 
 for the Pyrenees. The two ladies came back from 
 
 N in order to be of use to the young girl and 
 
 her aunt in those exciting and important prepara- 
 tions which for so many women create the fasci- 
 nation of such an event. It was odd to see how 
 completely Prudence forsook her brief period of 
 aesthetic light. " George," it appeared, had during 
 these few weeks of his engagement expressed a 
 great many views. He had definite ideas upon 
 female apparel, and Prue rigidly followed them, 
 so that, as Mrs. Maybery, it might be inferred, Pru- 
 dence would observe critically the very newest fash- 
 ion. It jarred upon Helena that the young girl 
 made fun of the dainty gowns she had worn at Mrs. 
 Boyce's conversazione that night, which now seem- 
 ed a lifetime ago to Miss Armory ; but then in 
 those weeks a great many things jarred upon her. 
 She declared to Mrs. Van Leide that she believed 
 that in five years no one would live in the same 
 house with her, but in truth Margaret Van Leide
 
 170 PRUDENCE. 
 
 had never found her half so lovely or so self-for- 
 getful. 
 
 As a companion the older woman had always 
 considered Helena perfect, but she confessed to 
 herself that a new charm of some indefinable sort 
 was added. It was soft and womanly, and seemed 
 to have its expression in the tender look of her 
 eyes, the readiness to do little services for Pru- 
 dence or for any one about her, the very way in 
 which she moved and spoke and laughed. It was 
 at that time that Mrs. Van Leide discovered Hel- 
 ena's possible self, and began to lament that years 
 before she had laughed at her large philanthrop- 
 ical schemes. Something had revealed to her 
 what real action might have been to this woman, 
 and Mrs. Van Leide found herself at moments 
 shrinking from Helena's mutely questioning gaze. 
 For how much inaction was she accountable, since 
 she knew she had contributed at all times to the 
 lotus-eating element which she had found so de- 
 lightful in Helena's richly colored life and nature ? 
 
 There could not be said to have been any per- 
 ceptible jar between the two. I think they felt 
 drawn even more closely to each other by this 
 sense that in the past some things might have 
 been more wisely or less arrogantly ordered ; and 
 each was too conscious of the other's delicacy of 
 feeling to formulate what must, if spoken, contain 
 a rebuke. So the time went on, possessing a heal-
 
 ''1 
 
 'IT WAS ODD TO SEE HOW COMPLETELY PRUDENCE FORSOOK HER 
 BRIEF PERIOD OF AESTHETIC LIGHT."
 
 PRUDENCE. 173 
 
 ing influence where people are in soul generously 
 sympathetic ; and Mrs. Van Leide knew, in spite 
 of her misgivings, that she was dearer to her friend 
 and cousin than she had ever been before, al- 
 though the younger woman would never again 
 consider her decisions or opinions as infallible. 
 We measure a great many things accurately 
 when we discover our own weaknesses for the 
 first time. 
 
 The days rushed by to every one concerned in 
 preparing for the wedding, and led at last to the 
 date when Mr. Maybery conducted his bride out 
 of St. George's and back to Cornwall Gardens, 
 where Mrs. Boyce had insisted the wedding break- 
 fast should be. Everything went off as smoothly 
 and" comfortably as possible. Mrs. Crane was a 
 trifle less eager than usual, being overawed, it has 
 always been supposed, by a certain magnificence 
 in Margaret Van Leide's manner, and the fact that 
 Mr. Maybery was a man who took all his wishes 
 and demands so cheerfully for granted. That Bar- 
 ley Simmonson had gone to Algiers was a source 
 of content to the bride. Indeed, everything seem- 
 ed to please her. Not a shadow once rested on 
 her exquisite face, and it may be inferred that 
 none ever will. 
 
 It was three months later that, in the Pyrenees, 
 at Saint-Jean-de-Luz,one day Miss Armory sudden- 
 ly encountered Barley Simmonson and his friend
 
 174: PRUDENCE. 
 
 Field Mowbray, Jun. The two young men were 
 sketching in the old church, but turned delighted 
 faces upon Miss Armory and her cousin. The sol- 
 emn architecture and dusky colors about them had 
 evidently palled upon our friend Barley, who had 
 been making very poor attempts at architectural 
 drawing, and became easily social in his manner 
 before they had left the church door. It rather 
 surprised Helena that, after exchanging a few com- 
 monplaces, Mr. Simmonson spoke of Prudence, for 
 three months might obliterate the memories of 
 a lifetime with this young man. He walked with 
 Helena into the square, following Mrs. Van Leide 
 and young Mowbray, growing more like himself as 
 they stood in the sunshine and bloom of that sad 
 old city. He seemed interested in hearing certain 
 details of little Prue's engagement and wedding. 
 Helena gave them coldly, in chroniclers' fashion, 
 thinking, indeed, of other things as she stood look- 
 ing at the sea stretched before them certainly 
 a finer, handsomer creature, Barley was thinking, 
 than he remembered her in London ; but later 
 the conversation was more vivid and more inter- 
 esting. 
 
 Mrs. Van Leide and Helena were, for the time, 
 occupying the villa of a friend at Biarritz, and in 
 the course of the same evening the young men re- 
 appeared. The night was brilliantly fine, and they 
 all strolled into the garden overlooking the stretch
 
 PRUDENCE. 175 
 
 of tempestuous, moonlit water. Mr. Simmonson 
 again reverted to Prudence. Sitting upon one of 
 the marble terraces, he told all the party the story 
 of his disappointed love. He detailed it as though 
 he related the pathetic history of some heart-bro- 
 ken friend. The rich fragrances of the garden, 
 possibly the grace of Miss Armory's figure as it 
 was outlined in the warm, soft air, seemed to in- 
 spire him ; and, sitting above a bank of roses, his 
 graceful beauty was, if possible, more Greek than 
 ever. Helena remarked that he only needed a 
 mandolin to make it perfect. It all sounded very 
 pretty and like a poem. Mrs. Van Leide was quite 
 fascinated. 
 
 "And was this girl really such a marvel?" she 
 inquired. 
 
 " I will tell you what she was," said Helena, 
 turning round quickly. " We intended her to be 
 a great success ; and she was one, after a fashion, 
 only she never once saw the real meaning of any- 
 thing in English society. Gradually, I believe, the 
 aesthetes found this out. If we taught her a role, 
 she was happy to play it ; but it was always a role. 
 Just as Mr. Benison said, she was only ' a little dar- 
 ling.' " 
 
 Barley Simmonson listened, with his eyes upon 
 the sea. He had been moved by his own recital. 
 He thoroughly enjoyed its effect upon himself. 
 There was silence, except for the movement of
 
 176 PRUDENCE. 
 
 the waves upon the beach, until he said, dreamily, 
 " She was so rare so rare !" 
 
 Helena had carried a letter from Jonas Fielding 
 all the evening, unopened, in her pocket. When 
 they had bidden the young men good-night, and 
 were lingering in the drawing-room, whose win- 
 dows opened to the fragrances of spring flowers, 
 Mrs. Van Leide said, suddenly, " What did your 
 friend Mr. Fielding write ?" 
 
 " I don't know yet," said Helena, smiling. " Bar- 
 ley Simmonson put me out of tune." 
 
 Helena almost involuntarily touched the letter 
 with her fingers, while Mrs. Van Leide said, " That 
 young man is uncommonly handsome. Isn't he 
 Lord Bairham's heir ?" Then, seeing that Miss 
 Armory continued silently preoccupied, she add- 
 ed : " Do you know, Helena, I am afraid you mean 
 to drift away from the golden chances of youth? 
 Now, listen to me. You are young and handsome, 
 and well enough off, and I'd rather have you with 
 me day and night than any being on earth ; yet I 
 feel as if I, perhaps, had done more to talk you out 
 of well, any career and you ought to have mar- 
 ried. You ought to marry now. You are you 
 listening, dearest ?" 
 
 Mrs. Van Leide was sitting by the piano at the 
 lower end of the pretty room, with its shining floor 
 and luxury of flowers and color. While she had 
 been talking Helena had remained motionless in
 
 PRUDENCE. 177 
 
 the open window, her fingers idly touching the 
 roses that hung in languid clusters at her side ; 
 but now she turned and crossed the room, slowly 
 kneeling down at her cousin's side, and in her face, 
 lifted earnestly to the older woman's, was some- 
 thing stronger than anything she could have said. 
 
 " Margaret, dear," the girl said, very gently, "you 
 will not think me hard, or that I am repressing con- 
 fidences with you of all people on earth ; but you 
 must not grieve in that way over me any more 
 never ask me to marry any one again. Perhaps 
 some day, when we are old women, in caps and 
 spectacles, and I've a reputation for something 
 very useful " they smiled wistfully at each other 
 " I'll tell you my reasons why, but not now, 
 not just now : only never think of it again." 
 
 " My child, is it to be like this?" 
 
 Helena, holding her friend's hands closely, nod- 
 ded and smiled, with tears lying under her dark 
 lashes. 
 
 " I think yes, I think it must be." But of this, 
 though she says nothing, Mrs. Van Leide is not 
 entirely sure. 
 
 THE END.
 
 SOME POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 The XoveJs in this list which are not otherwise designated are in Octavo, pam- 
 phlet form, and may be obtained in ha' f - binding [leather backs and paste- 
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 PRICK 
 
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 12mo 1 25 
 
 A Princess of Thule 50 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 Green Pastures and Piccadilly 50 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 In Silk Attire 35 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 Kil ineny 35 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 Love or Marriage ? 30 
 
 Macleoil of Dare. Illustrated 12mo 1 25 
 
 Illustrated. 8vo 60 
 4to, Paper 15 
 
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 12mo 1 25 
 
 Sunrise 12mo 1 25 
 
 4to, Paper 15 
 
 That Beautiful Wretch. Illustrated 12mo 1 25 
 
 Illustrated. 4to, Paper 20 
 
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 White Wings. Illustrated 12mo 1 25 
 
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 Cradock Nowell. 60 
 
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 Erema 50 
 
 Lorna Doone 60 
 
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 Harper & Brothers' Popular Novels. 
 
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 Cloth 1 25 
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 Cloth 1 10 
 
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 Devereux 40 
 
 Ernest Maltravers 35 
 
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 Godolphin 35 
 
 12mo 1 50 
 
 Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings 60 
 
 Kenehn Chillingly 50 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 Leila 25 
 
 12mo 1 00 
 
 Lucretia , 40 
 
 My Novel 75 
 
 2 vols. 12mo 2 50 
 
 Night and Morning 50 
 
 Paul Clifford 40 
 
 Pausanias the Spartan 25 
 
 12mo 75 
 
 Pelham 40 
 
 Rienzi 40 
 
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 12mo 1 25 
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 Cloth 1 00 
 
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 4to, Paper 15 
 
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 12mo 1 50 
 
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 What will He do with it? 75 
 
 Cloth 1 25 
 Zanoni..., 35
 
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 12mo$sl 50 
 
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 Eleanor's Victory 60 
 
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 John Marchmont's Legacy 50 
 
 Joshua Haggard's Daughter. Illustrated 50 
 
 Just as I Am 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Lost for Love. Illustrated 50 
 
 Mistletoe Bough, 1878. Edited by M. E. Braddon. 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Mistletoe Bough, 1879. Edited by M. E. Braddon. 4to, Paper 10 
 
 Publicans and Sinners 50 
 
 Strangers and Pilgrims. Illustrated 50 
 
 Taken at the Flood 50 
 
 The Cloven Foot 4to, Paper 15 
 
 The Lovels of Arden. Illustrated 50 
 
 To the Bitter End. Illustrated 50 
 
 Vixen 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Weavers and Weft 25 
 
 BRONTE'S (Charlotte) Jane Eyre 40 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo 1 00 
 
 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Shirley 50 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo 1 00 
 
 The Professor. Illustrated 12ino 1 00 
 
 Villette , 50 
 
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 (Anna) The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Illustrated 12mo 1 00 
 
 (Emilv) Wuthering Heights. Illustrated 12mo 1 00 
 
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 Mildred 30 
 
 Anne Warwick 25 
 
 Hard to Bear 30 
 
 Sydney 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Sylvia's Choice 30 
 
 Two Women 4to, Paper 15 
 
 COLLINS' S (Mortimer) The Vivian Romance 35
 
 Harper & Brothers' Popular Novels. 
 
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 After Dark, and Other Stories. Antonina. Armadale. Ba- 
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 No Name. Poor Miss Finch. The Dead Secret. The Law 
 and the Lady. The Moonstone. The New Magdalen. 
 The Queen of Hearts. The Two Destinies. The Woman 
 in Whi e. 
 DICKENS'S NOVELS. Illustrated. 
 
 A Tale of Two Cities 50 
 
 Nicholas Nickleby 1 00 
 
 Cloth 1 00 
 Barnaby Rudge 1 00 
 
 Cloth 1 50 
 Oliver Twist 50 
 
 Cloth 1 50 
 Bleak House 100 
 
 Cloth 1 00 
 Our Mutual Friend 1 00 
 
 Cloth 1 50 
 Christmas Stories 1 00 
 
 Cloth 1 50 
 Pickwick Papers. 1 00 
 
 Cloth 1 50 
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 Cloth 1 50 
 4to Paper 20 
 
 Cloth 1 50 
 Dombey and Son . . . 1 00 
 
 Pictures from Italy, Sketch- 
 
 Cloth 1 50 
 
 Notes 1 00 
 
 Great Expectations 1 00 
 Cloth 1 50 
 
 Cloth 1 50 
 The Old Curiosity Shop 75 
 
 Little Dorrit 1 00 
 
 Cloth 1 25 
 
 Cloth 1 50 
 Martin Chuzzlewit 1 00 
 Cloth 1 50 
 
 The Uncommercial Traveller, 
 Hard Times, and Edwin 
 Drood 1 00 
 
 
 Cloih 1 50 
 
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 The same in 8 vols., Cloth, $20 00 ; Imitation Half Mo- 
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 HUGO'S Ninety-Three. Illustrated 25 
 
 12mo 1 75 
 
 The Toilers of the Sea 50 
 
 Illustrated. Cloth 1 50
 
 Harper & Brothers' Popular Novels. 
 
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 Cloth 1 10 
 
 The American Baron. Illustrated 50 
 
 Cloth 1 00 
 
 The Cryptogram. Illustrated 75 
 
 Cloth 1 25 
 
 The Dodge Club. Illustrated GO 
 
 Cloth 1 10 
 
 The Living Link. Illustrated 60 
 
 Cloth 1 10 
 ELIOT'S (George) Novels : 
 
 Adam Bede. Illustrated 12mo 1 25 
 
 Amos Barton 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Brother Jacob. The Lifted Veil 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Daniel Deronda , 50 
 
 2 vols., 12mo 2 50 
 
 Felix Holt, the Radical 50 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 
 
 Janet's Repentance 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Middlemarch 75 
 
 Cloth 1 26 
 2 vols., 12mo 2 50 
 
 Mr. Gilfil's Love Story 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Romola. Illustrated 50 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 Scenes of Clerical Life 50 
 
 Scenes of Clerical Life and Silas Marner. 1 vol. Ill'd. 12mo 1 25 
 
 Silas Marner 12mo 75 
 
 The Mill on the Floss 50 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 
 
 GASKELL'S (Mrs.) A Dark Night's Work 25 
 
 Cousin Phillis 20 
 
 Cranford 16mo 1 25 
 
 Mnry Barton 40 
 
 Moorland Cottage 18mo 75 
 
 My Lady Ludlow 20 
 
 North and South 40 
 
 Right at Last, &c 12mo 1 50 
 
 Sylvia's Lovers 40 
 
 Wives and Daughters. Illustrated 60 
 
 Cloth 1 10 
 
 GOLDSMITH'S Vicar of Wakefield 18mo,Cloth 50 
 
 32mo, Paper 25 
 
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 An International Episode 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Diary of a Man of Fifty 32mo, Paper 25 
 
 Washington Square. Illustrated 16mo, Cloth 1 25
 
 6 Harper & Brothers' Popular NoveLs. 
 
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 HAT'S (Mary Cecil) A Dark Inheritance 32mo, Paper$ 15 
 
 A Shadow on the Threshold 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Among the Ruins, and Other Stories 4to, Papsr 15 
 
 At the Seaside, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 
 
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 For Her Dear Sake 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Hidden Perils 25 
 
 Into the Shade, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Lady Carmichael's Will 15 
 
 Missing 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 My First Offer, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Nora's Love Test 25 
 
 Old Myddelton's Money 25 
 
 Reaping the Whirlwind 32mo, Paper 20 
 
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 Under Life's Key, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 
 
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 HELEN Troy 12mo 1 00 
 
 LAWRENCE'S Anteros , 40 
 
 Brake^peare 40 
 
 Breaking a Butterfly 35 
 
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 4to, Paper 10 
 
 Hagarem- 35 
 
 Maurice Dering 25 
 
 Sans Merci 35 
 
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 LEVER'S A Day's Ride 40 
 
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 Gerald Fitzgerald 40 
 
 Lord Kilgobbin. Illustrated 50 
 
 Luttrell of Arran 60 
 
 Maurice Tiernay 50 
 
 One of Them...". 50 
 
 Roland Cashel. Illustrated 75 
 
 Sir Brook Fosbr. oke 50 
 
 Sir Jasper Carew 50 
 
 That Boy of Norcott's. Illu-trated 25 
 
 The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly 50 
 
 The Daltons '. 75 
 
 The Dodd Family Abroad 60 
 
 The Fortunes of Glencore 50 
 
 The Martins of Cro' Martin 60 
 
 Tony Butler 60
 
 Harper & Brother^ Popular Novels. *1 
 
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 Donna Quixote 4to, Paper 15 
 
 My Enemy's Daughter. Illustrated 50 
 
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 Guild Court 40 
 
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 12mo 1 25 
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 Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 
 
 A Hero,&c 12mo 1 25 
 
 A Life for a Life 40 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 A Noble Life 12mo 1 25 
 
 Avillion, and Other Tales 60 
 
 Christian's Mistake 12mo 1 25 
 
 Hannah. Illustrated 35 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 Head of the Family 50 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo 1 26 
 
 His Little Mother 12mo 1 25 
 
 4to, Paper 10 
 
 John Halifax, Gentleman 50 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 
 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Mistress and Maid 30 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 Motherless. Translated. Illustrated 12mo 1 50 
 
 My Mother and I. Illustrated 40 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 Nothing New 30 
 
 Ogilvies 35 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 
 
 Olive 35 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 
 
 The Laurel Bush. Illustrated 25 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 The Woman's Kingdom. Illustrated 60 
 
 12mo 1 25 
 
 Two Marriages 12mc 1 25 
 
 Unkind Word, and Other Stories 12mo 1 25 
 
 Young Mrs. Jardine 12mo 1 25 
 
 4to, Paper 10
 
 8 Harper & Brothers' Popular Novels. 
 
 TRICK 
 
 MY Heart's in the Highlands 4to, Paper $ 10 
 
 NICHOLS'S The Sanctuary. Illustrated 12mo 1 50 
 
 NOEL'S (Lady) Owen Gwynne's Great Work 30 
 
 From Generation to Generation 4lo, Paper 15 
 
 NORRIS'S Heaps of Money 25 
 
 NORTON'S (Mrs.) Stuart o*f Dunleath 35 
 
 NOTLEY'S (F. E. M.) Love's Crosses 4to. Paper 15 
 
 Time Shall Try 4to. Paper 15 
 
 OLIPHANT'S (Mrs.) Agnes 50 
 
 A Son of the Soil 50 
 
 Athelings 50 
 
 Brownlows 50 
 
 Carita 50 
 
 Chronicles of Carlingford 60 
 
 Days of My Life 12mo 1 50 
 
 For Love and Life 50 
 
 Harry Joscelvn 4to, Paper 20 
 
 He That Will Not when Hu May 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Innocent. Illustrated 50 
 
 John: a Love Story 25 
 
 Katie Stewart * 20 
 
 Lucy Crofton 12mo 1 50 
 
 Madonna Mary 50 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks 50 
 
 Mrs. Arthur 40 
 
 Omhra 50 
 
 Phoebe, Junior 35 
 
 Squire Arden 50 
 
 The Curate in Charge 20 
 
 The Fugitives 4 to, Paper 10 
 
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 The Minister's Wife 50 
 
 The Perpetual Curate 50 
 
 Cloth 1 00 
 
 The Primrose Path 50 
 
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 Within the Precincts 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Young Musgrave 40 
 
 ORRED'S (Meta) A Long Time Ago 25 
 
 Honor's Worth 4to, P;iper 15 
 
 PATRICK'S (Mary) Christine Brownlee's Ordeal 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Marjorie Brace's Lovers 2"> 
 
 Mr. Leslie of Underwood 4to, Paper 15
 
 Harper & Br other $ Popular Novels. 9 
 
 PKIOE 
 
 PAYN'S (Jas.) A Beggar on Horseback $ 35 
 
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 At Her Mercy 30 
 
 Bred in the Bone 40 
 
 By Proxy 35 
 
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 Cecil's Tryst 30 
 
 Found De.-id 25 
 
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 Halves 30 
 
 High Spirits 4to, Paper 15 
 
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 One of the Family 25 
 
 The Best of Husbands 25 
 
 Under One Roof 4to, Paper 15 
 
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 What He Cost Her 40 
 
 Won Not Wooed 35 
 
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 A Simpleton and The Wander- 
 ing Heir. 
 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 A Woman-Hater. 
 Foul Play. 
 Griffith Gaunt. 
 Hard Cash. 
 
 It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 Love me Little, Love me Long. 
 Peg Woffington, Christie Johnstone, 
 
 &c. 
 
 Put Yourself in His Place. 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. 
 White Lies. 
 
 READE'S (Charles) A Hero and a Martyr 15 
 
 A Simpleton 35 
 
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 12mo 1 00 
 
 Foul Play 35 
 
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 It is Never Too Late to Mend 50 
 
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 The Jilt 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 The Wandering Heir. Illustrated 25 
 
 \\ iiite Lies 40 
 
 SCOTT'S (Sir Walter) Novels. See Waverley Novels.
 
 10 Harper <& Brothers' Popular Novels. 
 
 PRIOR 
 
 RICE & BBS ANT'S By Celia's Arbor. Illustrated 8vo, Paper$ 50 
 
 Shepherds All and Maidens Fair 32ino. Paper 25 
 
 Sweet Nelly, My Heart's Delight 4to, Paper 10 
 
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 When the Ship Comes Home 32mo, Paper 25 
 
 ROBINSON'S (F. W.) A Bridge of Glass 30 
 
 A Girl's Romance, and Other Stories 30 
 
 As Long as She Lived 50 
 
 Carry's Confession 50 
 
 Christie's Faith 12mo 1 75 
 
 Coward Conscience 4to, Paper 15 
 
 For Her Sake. Illustrated 60 
 
 Her Face was Her Fortune 40 
 
 Little Kate Kirby. Illustrated 50 
 
 M;ittie : a Stray 40 
 
 No Man's Friend 50 
 
 Othello the Second 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Poor Humanity 50 
 
 Poor Zeph!. ..." 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Romance on Four Wheels 15 
 
 Second-Cousin Sarah. Illustrated 50 
 
 Stern Necessity 40 
 
 The Barmaid at Battleton 32mo, Paper 15 
 
 The Black Speck 32mo, Paper 10 
 
 The Romance of a Back Street 32mo, Paper 15 
 
 True to Herself. 50 
 
 THACKERAY'S (W. M.) Denis Duval. Illustrated 25 
 
 Henry Esmond and Lovel the Widower. 12 Illustrations 60 
 
 Henry Esmond 50 
 
 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Lovel the Widower 20 
 
 Pendennis. 179 Illustrations ." 75 
 
 The Adventures of Philip. 64 Illustrations 60 
 
 The Great Hoggarty Diamond 20 
 
 The Newcomes. 162 Illustrations 90 
 
 The Virginians. 150 Illustrations 90 
 
 Vanity Fair. 32 Illustrations 80 
 
 THACKERAY'S Works: Household Edition 12mo, per vol. 1 25 
 
 Novels: Vanity Fair. Pendennis. The Newcomes. The 
 
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 vols. Illustrated. 
 Miscellaneous : Barry Lyndon, Hoggarty Diamond, &c. Paris 
 
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 Four Georges, English Humorists, Roundabout Papers, &c. 
 
 Catharine, &c. 5 vols. Illustrated.
 
 Harper <t Brothers' Popular Novels. 11 
 
 THACKERAY'S (Miss) Bluebeard's Keys .............................. $ 35 
 
 Da Capo ................................................... 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Miscellaneous Works .................................................. 90 
 
 Miss Angel. Illustrated ............................................. 50 
 
 Miss Williamson's Divagations ......................... 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Old Kensington. Illustrated ............ . ............... 60 
 
 Village on the Cliff. Illustrated ........................ 25 
 
 TABOR'S (Eliza) Eglantine ............................................... 40 
 
 Hope Meredith .......................................................... 35 
 
 Jeanie's Quiet Life .............................................. SO 
 
 Little Miss Primrose ..................................... 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Meta's Faith .............................................. 35 
 
 St. Olave's .............................................................. 40 
 
 The Blue Ribbon ....................................................... 40 
 
 The Last of Her Line ...................... ' ............... 4to, Paper 15 
 
 TOM Brown's School Days. By An Old Boy. Illustrated ......... 40 
 
 TOM Brown at Oxford." Illustrated ......... " .......................... CO 
 
 The two in one volume, Cloth 1 50 
 
 TROLLOPE'S (Anthony) An Eye for an Eye .......... 4to, Paper 10 
 
 Ayala's Angel ............... ." ............. " ................ 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Brown, Jones, and Robinson ....................................... 35 
 
 Can You Forgive Her ? Illustrated ............................... 80 
 
 Castle Richmond ................................................. T2tno 1 50 
 
 Cousin Henry .................................. 4to, Paper 10 
 
 Doctor Thome .................................................... 12mo 1 50 
 
 Doctor Worth's School ................................... 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Framley Parsonage ........................................ 4to, Paper 16 
 
 Harrv Heathcote of Gangoil. Illustrated ......................... 20 
 
 He Knew He was Right. Illustrated ............................. 80 
 
 Cloth 1 30 
 
 Is He Popenjoy? ........................................... 4to, Paper 15 
 
 John Caldigate". .......................................... 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Lady Anna ............................................................. 30 
 
 Miss Mackenzie ......................................................... 
 
 Orlev Farm. Illustrated ............................................. 80 
 
 Cloth 1 30 
 
 Phineas Finn. Illustrated ................................. 75 
 
 Cloth 1 25 
 
 Phineas Redux. Illustrated ......................................... 75 
 
 Cloth 1 25 
 
 Rachel Ray .............................................................. 35 
 
 Ralph the Heir. Illustrated ....................................... 75 
 
 Cloth 1 25 
 
 Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite. Illustrated 
 The American Senator 
 The Belton Estate
 
 1 "2 Harper & Brothers' Popular Novels. 
 
 TROLLOPE'S (Anthony) The Bertrams 12mo$r"50 
 
 4to, Paper 15 
 
 The Claverings. Illustrated 50 
 
 Cloth 1 00 
 
 The Duke's Children 4to, Paper 20 
 
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 Cloth 1 30 
 
 The Golden Lion of Granpere. Illustrated 40 
 
 Cloth 90 
 
 Th Lady of Lannay 32mo, Paper 20 
 
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 Cloth 1 40 
 
 The Prime Minister 60 
 
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 The Three Clerks 12mo 1 50 
 
 The Vicar of Bullhampton. Illustrated 80 
 
 Cloth 1 30 
 
 The Warden and Barchester Towers. In one volume 60 
 
 The Way we Live Now. Illustrated 90 
 
 Cloth 1 40 
 
 Thompson Hall. Illustrated 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 TWO Tales of Married Life 30 
 
 WALLACE'S (Lew) Ben-Hur 16mo, Cloth 1 50 
 
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 THISTLE EDITION-; 48 Vols., Green Cloth, with 2000 Illus- 
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 \Vaverley; Guy Mannering; The Antiquary ; Rob Roy; 
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 HARPKK & BBOTIIEHS will send any of the above worts b;> mail, postage 
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