H 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES 
 
 ROBERT ERNEST COWAN
 
 California 
 
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 Boston 
 
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 VIRES PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 es L.brary. N.Y NN Vol I June 20,1891 
 monthly Entered at th. Po.t Office at NewYort, as Second .
 
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 FRANK H. POWKR'S, 
 
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 CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Entered in the Post Office, New York, as Second Class Matter, etc. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 VIRES PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 39 NASSAU STREET. 
 
 1891.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress by Vires Publishing Co., 1891. 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
 
 1? 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 FROM the time of the treaty of Hopewell in 1785, up to about the mid- 
 dle of the present century, the Cherokee Nation of Indians was one of the 
 few tribes that never had been conquered by the United States ; her 
 chiefs carried on their little scheme of civilization in the northern portion 
 of Georgia, " the world unheeding, by the world forgot." 
 
 But as Georgia developed her resources, the pushing American settler 
 began to scheme to obtain for himself the Indian lands. The first direct 
 attack came when the Legislature of Georgia annulled the Indian laws, 
 and attempted to extend the State's jurisdiction over the homes of the 
 innocent and trusting Cherokees. 
 
 At this time there were four chiefs all of the Brooke dynasty. The 
 
 aged head chief was known to the whites as Major Brooke, and with him 
 
 there were three subordinates : Cheecatolavvry, a younger brother of 
 
 Major Brooke's father ; John Craig, a Scotchman, who had originally 
 
 come into the nation as a fur trader, but who had finally married Major 
 
 [S Brooke's only daughter ; and John Brooke, the Major's son, a young man 
 
 *of sterling worth. Through the influence of the missionaries, especially 
 
 Father Gambol, a grand old priest, who had spent almost a life- 
 time in the nation, the Major was induced to send many of the brighter 
 OS youths to the Indian school at Cornwall, Connecticut. Father Gambol 
 *had himself prepared John Brooke for Harvard College ; in fact, John was 
 2^a student at Cambridge about the time the Georgia Legislature attempted 
 3 to invade the Nation's rights. 
 
 Major Brooke was far-sighted enough to realize that Georgia's action 
 indicated that civilization had marked out his nation's happy hunting 
 ground for its prey With him also the more intelligent Indians understood 
 that they would in time be forced to leave their lands, as other tribes had 
 been, and that it would be wise to obtain from Congress other territory in 
 the far West, and to peaceably occupy it, rather than attempt to hold their 
 present homes ; but the majority, with their instinctive love for the hunting 
 grounds of their fathers, favored remaining on their present lands, and 
 defending them if necessary, even with their lives. 
 
 The whites were attempting various expedients to effect their removal, 
 There was a general feeling of uneasiness throughout the nation. It was 
 arranged to call a meeting of the Great Council. 
 
 302410
 
 io PROLOGUE. 
 
 After a stormy discussion, the Council decided to send Major Brooke to 
 Washington, to attempt to gain permission to retain their lands, and, in 
 the event of a failure, to obtain the best agreement possible from the 
 "Great Father." 
 
 As soon as the old Major was gone, the scheming craft of the Scotch- 
 man began to work. He saw that Brooke would be compelled to be the 
 bearer of a proposition to give up their old homes and haunts, and the 
 associations so dear to the Indians. He saw, also, that if he could incite a 
 revolt, and be the leader of it, he would be in almost absolute control of 
 the Nation. So he cultivated the friendship of the wildest and most 
 savage of the Indians, in order to place himself in a position to plant the 
 seeds of suspicion, hatred, and revenge in their breasts when an opportune 
 moment should arrive. 
 
 The old Major was gone nearly a year, and returned almost heart- 
 broken, for the " Great Father ' at Washington had assured him that 
 unless the Cherokees agreed to give up their possessions, the government 
 of the United States would be compelled to drive them out by force of 
 arms. However, he had obtained a promise to give them, in payment, an 
 immense tract of land in the Indian Territory, containing about five mil- 
 lion acres of very fertile soil. The title to the land was to be in the name 
 of the chiefs, to be held by them as trustees for the Cherokee Indians and 
 their descendants. 
 
 Again was the Great Council called. Again were the heads of families 
 invited to be present. Again did John Craig incite the wilder spirits to 
 resist. Again did old Major Brooke make a noble speech, advising them 
 to act with discretion, and with an eye to their ultimate and substantial 
 good. 
 
 John Brooke had now returned permanently to his nation. Already he 
 had shown them how to use the plow, and various other civilized devices 
 for easy cultivation of the land, and had greatly assisted in modeling 
 their institutions and developing their laws. He now arose and made a 
 masterly oration, advising them to start a new nation, and, succumbing to 
 the inevitable, to commence life anew, and make for themselves thrifty 
 homes, after the style and ways of the white man. 
 
 The opinion of the Brooke party was finally accepted, Craig taking 
 great pains to emphasize the fact that it was a Brooke idea. 
 
 The old Major and four of the head men were detailed to arrange the 
 terms of settlement, with two commissioners appointed by the "<yreat 
 Father." 
 
 A treaty was finally settled upon. Immediately after it was definitely 
 arranged that his nation was to be removed to the far West, John Brooke
 
 PROLOGUE. n 
 
 returned to Boston, and married Miss Annie Northrop, a lady of many 
 gracious charms and most religious instincts. She had met him while he 
 was a student at Harvard, and her love for him, combined with her desire 
 to elevate an untutored race, made her determine to live with her husband 
 in the new Cherokee Nation, and to try to lead the Indians to civilization 
 by setting them a worthy example. 
 
 In pursuance of this philanthropic scheme, John Brooke was among the 
 first to settle in the new territory. He brought with him all the modern 
 implements of husbandry, built for himself a modern house, and in a short 
 time reared a handsome property. In addition, he surveyed and laid out 
 a complete town, with a church and school-house. His wife christened it 
 " Utopia," in hopes that it might prove such to his people. As each little 
 band of Indians arrived, he welcomed them at his own home, and helped 
 them to begin their new lives. 
 
 Everything was strange to the Indians. They all longed for their old 
 homes. The winter of that year was the most severe ever known in the 
 Indian Territory. Here was Craig's opportunity. All along, on the trip 
 across the plains, he had insidiously instilled into their savage minds the 
 idea that the Brookes had arranged the matter with the " Great Father," 
 and had sold their hunting-grounds. Now, in their sore physical distress, 
 he saw a chance to incite the hungry and half-starved Indians to revenge 
 themselves for the apparent treachery. 
 
 For some time there had been an estrangement between Craig and John 
 Brooke. But Brooke was so busy with his several schemes for improve- 
 ment, laying out and building his town and establishing a church, that he 
 paid little attention to the machinations of his Scotch brother-in-law, who 
 now saw almost within his grasp the supreme control of the Cherokee 
 Nation. 
 
 After considerable parleying, Craig secured a meeting of the Great 
 Council. He finally prevailed upon them to send the old Major off to 
 Washington again, to ask for a distribution of rations earlier in the season, 
 on account of the trying winter. Then Craig arranged to have about 
 thirty of the boldest and most dissatisfied of the Indians meet at his home in 
 a sheltered valley, some five miles from Utopia, down the Arkansas River. 
 He had determined that John Brooke and his father, the old Major, must 
 die. Preparatory to the meeting, he had consulted with three or four of 
 the most daring, and they had advised him to await the old man's return 
 from Washington. Craig did not agree with them, and fearing that upon 
 deliberation some might repent, he insisted upon immediate action. 
 
 He dared not let either of the Brookes address the men, for he knew how 
 easily they were swayed by oratory. So he arranged that one party should
 
 i 2 PROLOGUE. 
 
 lie in wait for the Major in a secluded spot on his road to Van Buren, a 
 little river town in Arkansas, from which he could obtain transportation 
 to Washington, and that another body should surround the house of John 
 Brooke, and kill him before he even fancied any danger. 
 
 On the afternoon of the day Major Brooke left for Washington, Craig 
 had instructed a few trusted lieutenants to gather together those of the 
 Indians on whom they could rely. 
 
 There had been fitful gusts of rain early in the evening, and by midnight 
 the moon, which had shone forth intermittently during the early part of 
 the evening, having gone down, darkness had added gloom to the stormy 
 night. Then, here and there, about and around John Brooke's house, 
 the lithe forms of a score or so of restless, uneasy Indians began to gather. 
 Every now and then one of them would go back to a man standing alone 
 behind a small clump of cottonwood trees, to report. Finally, they col- 
 lected in front of the house. As if by magic one of them produced a key 
 and opened the front door. 
 
 They all stealthily entered the sitting-room, where two hours before had 
 sat John Brooke and his wife. They started to open the bedroom door. 
 John Brooke sprang from his bed, and seeing the men, braced himself 
 against the wall. He held back the door with one hand, and with the 
 other he pushed aside the leader. 
 
 1 ' What are you doing here, men ? " he demanded. Then, realizing that 
 they must be bent on mischief, he said, " My father and I have been your 
 friends ; We " 
 
 "Don't let him talk to us," Craig cried. 
 
 "Don't let him talk to us," echoed one of the men in the back ranks, 
 and at that moment John Brooke received a knife in his breast. As 
 Brooke staggered back, others pushed forward to assist their leader in the 
 murder. Before the last man had finished his dastardly work a fearful 
 shriek gave evidence that Brooke's poor wife had awakened and discovered 
 what had taken place. Immediately they all rushed out into the dark 
 night, leaving the poor woman with her dying husband. 
 
 "Nan, bring me my rifle, quick !" commanded the dying man. " No, 
 no light ! " then, as if in great pain, " Quick ! the devils will get away ! " 
 
 "No, John, no ! What is the matter ; what have they done?" cried 
 the wife. 
 
 Striking a light, she saw what had happened. She quickly recovered 
 her presence of mind, and saw that her husband had swooned. She nerved 
 herself and hastened to raise him on the bed, and tie up his anr. to prevent 
 the flow of blood from an artery which had been severed. Then she
 
 PROLOGUE. 13 
 
 administered a stimulant, and called Wawona, their little daughter, and 
 the servant. 
 
 When little Wawona came into the room, her mother motioned her to 
 silence, while she tried to rouse her husband. Soon he showed signs of 
 life, and with a convulsive start regained consciousness. 
 
 " Swear that you will revenge my death ! " he said, half delirious. " I 
 know it all John Craig had them murder me, and my poor father is prob- 
 ably now lying dead on the public road. Wawona, swear that you will be 
 revenged 1 revenged 1 " gasped the father, his Indian nature seeming to take 
 full control of his thoughts. 
 
 " Oh, John, don't think of that 1 Don't die with* that idea in your 
 mind. Have you no thought for little Wawona and me ? Speak ! for 
 God's sake, speak I Don't die I Don't leave us ! " 
 
 The expression on his face changed. His Indian spirit gave way to his 
 love. He beckoned his child to the bedside, put his arm around her, and 
 grasping the hand of his wife firmly, said in disjoined gasps : 
 
 " Yes, you 're right. My Christianity ought to make me think of you 
 in these last moments. I see it all. By our death you two alone, besides 
 my old uncle, stand in the way of John Craig and his ambitions in this 
 Nation. Now swear tome, both of you swear, that you will have nothing 
 to do with this man or his, in any way. Swear to me ! " 
 
 With a mighty effort he raised himself on his elbow, notwithstanding 
 his wife's attempt to restrain him. 
 
 "Now both of you place your left hands on your hearts, and hold your 
 right hands up to God, and swear to me that you will never have any con- 
 nection in any way whatsoever with John Craig, or his." 
 
 " I swear !" came from both. 
 
 " Good-by ! Take Wawona to your brother. Farewell, my wife, fare " 
 before he could finish, his breath stopped ; he could only press Wawona 
 to his breast and sink back. 
 
 The position relieved him. He breathed again. 
 
 Suddenly he sat up, with his eyes almost bursting from their sockets. 
 He looked at the child an instant, and then motioning her to come to him, 
 he placed her little left hand on his heart, and holding her right hand up, 
 gasped " Swear it ! Swear it ! " 
 
 " I swear never to have anything to do with John Craig or his, so long 
 as I live," came in clear, childish accents. As the little voice ceased, John 
 Brooke gave a long, deep gasp, and fell back dead. 
 
 The next day a runner was sent to inform his father of what had hap- 
 pened. He returned with the news that Major Brooke himself was killed, 
 as his son had predicted. The poor wife was almost crazed with grief.
 
 i 4 PROLOGUE. 
 
 She sat by the side of her dead husband, the very embodiment of woe and 
 desolate despair. All her sacrifices of youth and beauty, the comforts of 
 home and civilization, now counted for nothing. 
 
 Poor little Wawona hovered about, hardly knowing where to turn for 
 sympathy. The dark faces of those who had been the dead man's friends 
 tried to look kindly on her and comfort her, but all hope seemed driven 
 away by the recurrence of her father's face, as he commanded her to swear 
 her solemn oath. 
 
 There was general lamentation over his unhappy death, universal sorrow 
 expressed, by some, no doubt, who had been privy to the assassination, 
 and who, in private, gloated over the event. 
 
 The widow, remembering her husband's warning, fearing that her child 
 would be unsafe in the country of her father's murderers, and unwilling to 
 remain where everything reminded her of her great bereavement, returned 
 to the home of her brother, Amos Northrop, a banker in Boston. There, 
 some three years after the tragedy, she died, leaving Wawona and the little 
 fortune she had saved from her husband's possessions to the guardianship of 
 her brother. Her last words to Wawona, then a bright, nervous, impres- 
 sionable girl of ten, were : 
 
 "Always remember your father, dear. Love him, honor him, revere 
 him. He was a chief in more than name he was a noble, true man. "
 
 J SWEAR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Scene : Home of Amos Northrop, Boston. 
 
 " DON'T ; please don't ; you must not do that you 
 have no right to kiss me," said a bright-faced young girl 
 of twenty or twenty-one, as she withdrew herself from 
 an embrace evidently just attempted by a handsome 
 and stylishly dressed young man of decidedly English cut. 
 
 " What do you mean ? Why this change ? Has my 
 bright little friend, whose broad-mindedness gave us such 
 a clever little scene the other evening, suddenly turned 
 to an ascetic stoic ? " 
 
 "That 's exactly the kind of a reply I expected," she 
 answered. " The next thing to say is, ' I thought you were 
 clever enough to understand that one need not be wholly 
 lost, even though one be not a prude.' ' 
 
 " Then why did you kiss me in the conservatory over 
 at Mrs. Walling's the other night ?" he asked, with a half 
 injured air. 
 
 She turned as if to answer him, and then hesitated and 
 began twirling the lace on her gown. 
 
 Up to the time of the advent of Paul Morrison into 
 her life, Fanny Northrop had considered herself ab- 
 solutely invincible in flirtations. The results of her 
 last year's experience in society at home and at the sea- 
 shore gave her good reason for so thinking. Her success 
 was the occasion of considerable astonishment among 
 the dowagers and chaperones of Boston's best society,
 
 1 6 / SWEAR. 
 
 who considered the easy, familiar air with which she met 
 her gentlemen friends as proof positive that a four years' 
 stay in California, from which she had but recently re- 
 turned, had so worn off the esthetic finish of her Boston 
 training as to wholly ruin her chances of interesting Bos- 
 ton society men. 
 
 But since Paul Morrison's appearance on the social 
 horizon, she had been taught to know that there were 
 men worthy of her steel. 
 
 Paul Morrison was an Englishman, about twenty-six 
 years old, a graduate of Oxford, and had been introduced 
 to the Somerset Club by Eyrie Vansandt, so he must 
 have brought good letters from England. He spent a 
 great deal of money, and (mirabile dictuf) paid his bills, 
 consequently was accepted as wealthy. 
 
 Fanny Northrop had long since had practical demon- 
 stration of the fact that he danced well, played billiards 
 and lawn tennis well, and had she the time and inclination 
 to recall the happenings of the past summer at Bar Har- 
 bor, and more particularly a certain tender scene in a se- 
 cluded corner of Mrs. Walling' s conservatory, to which 
 reference had been made, she would have admitted ttfet he 
 " spooned " well. Altogether, he was the brightest and 
 cleverest man she had met since her return from Califor- 
 nia had just enough English about him to make him 
 interesting, and not so much as to make him a boor ; was 
 dissipated enough to show that he had life in him, and not 
 enough to be a roue ; paid his attentions with enough 
 nonchalance to show that other girls had liked him be- 
 fore, and yet with enough ardency for her to think him 
 sincere. 
 
 In fact, had she not known that Morrison had been 
 paying marked attentions to her cousin Wawona Brooke, 
 who was her father's ward, she would probably have ad- 
 mitted to herself that she was in love with him. Truth
 
 I SWEAR. 17 
 
 to tell, she had planned this interview with the idea of 
 determining whether or not he was engaged to marry her 
 cousin: 
 
 She had suspicions that, during the two weeks which 
 had elapsed since the Walling party, he had proposed 
 to her cousin ; and she also had suspicions that he had 
 suspicions that she was more in love with him than she 
 cared to acknowledge ; and so she took this her first op- 
 portunity, to cross-examine him, with the idea that in 
 case her suspicions proved true with reference to his 
 engagement to her cousin, she could attempt to dis- 
 solve these latter suspicions in his mind. 
 
 It was a Sunday evening in May. She was dressed in 
 a soft white afternoon gown, made for the summer at 
 the seashore, donned that afternoon from a passing 
 fancy. Ordinarily, she would have changed it for a dress 
 more suitable for the evening ; but as this was the first 
 chance she had had of being wholly alone with Morrison 
 since that memorable night, she determined to make 
 the most of her time before she was interrupted. Be- 
 sides, she wanted to try the effect of that dress on him. 
 In it,*as she well knew, she was enough to bring out the 
 artistic appreciation of even the most hardened flirt. 
 
 So she had met him at the door herself, and ushered 
 him into a cozy little apartment off the parlor, half smok- 
 ing-room, half library, affectionately called " the den " by 
 those intimate friends of the Northrop family who had 
 the good fortune to have the entr6e within its sacred 
 portals. It was nearly ^wilight, and before they were fairly 
 in the room a servant had come into the parlor to light 
 the gas. On hearing her, Fanny had abruptly inter- 
 rupted the formal nothings with which he was greeting 
 her, by suddenly turning to a large Vienna music-box 
 which stood in the corner, and started it playing, and 
 then when her servant pulled aside the portiere which
 
 X 8 / SWEAR. 
 
 connected " the den " with the parlor, said in an off-hand 
 way: 
 
 " No, you need not light the gas in here. Mr. Morri- 
 son and I will only wait to hear this cylinder through, 
 and then return to the parlor." 
 
 It was no wonder, then, that he had mentally assured 
 himself of a very interesting and charming repetition, 
 with complete and perfect stage setting, of the scene in 
 the conservatory, which had already taken a place 
 amongst his many little remembrances of "confidences 
 in external expressions of affection," as a charming and 
 popular society chaperone friend euphemistically termed 
 such scenes. 
 
 So when he had carelessly sauntered over to the large 
 easy-chair against the arm of which she half reclined, 
 and in contrast with the red covering of which she made 
 a charming and altogether enticing picture in the dim 
 light which was reflected through a slight opening in the 
 portieres, and attempted an embrace with the ill success 
 just related, he was nonplused, assumed an injured air, 
 put both hands in his trousers pockets, leaned up against 
 the mantel, and quietly surveyed the beautiful girl in a 
 quizzing sort of way, waiting for an answer to his last 
 question. 
 
 She did not seem to be in a hurry to give it. 
 
 She twirled and twisted the lace on her gown over and 
 over again, evidently in a deep study. 
 
 Not a word was spoken by either. His eyes seemed 
 riveted on her. 
 
 Suddenly the music-box stopped. The silence became 
 oppressive. 
 
 She took up a new cylinder of light waltz tunes and 
 started the box playing again ; then suddenly turned tc 
 him and said ;
 
 I SWEAR. 19 
 
 "You don't respect me now nearly as much as you did 
 before you kissed me, do you ? " 
 
 " I am awfully sorry you asked that, Miss Northrop," 
 he said in an injured tone. 
 
 " Why ? " she said quickly, surprised at his peculiar 
 answer. 
 
 "Because it is so like every other girl I ever kissed," 
 he replied with exaggerated nonchalance. 
 
 "They all say that sooner or later, and I thought you 
 were original enough and broad-minded enough not to 
 run into that strain," hj added, with a tone of consider- 
 able earnestness. "Really, if you only knew what 
 charms your originality in taking scenes, and the absence 
 of use of those much-worn formulas of girls who have 
 let you kiss them and want to impress on you that they 
 have done you a. great favor, have for me, you would 
 immediately ask me to forget you had asked it." 
 
 She did not answer, so he continued : 
 
 "As a matter of fact, I can almost go through the 
 whole list of formulas, from 'You don't respect me' 
 down to ' What would you do if you found your sister in 
 such a situation ? ' Every man will tell you the same 
 thing. Please now drop the stoic, and come back to com- 
 mon-sense broad-mindedness." 
 
 " Well, that is all very clever and bright, and you have 
 turned the subject of conversation very neatly, but 
 
 She hesitated, and immediately a peculiar expression 
 came over her face as she again took to twirling her lace. 
 Finally she continued : 
 
 " But now redeem your boast of the other night that 
 you never told a young lady friend a lie in your life, and 
 answer my question, even though it be a 'chestnut,' as 
 the boys say in California." 
 
 Before he could answer, however, she quickly turned 
 and looked at him, as she said :
 
 20 / SWEAR. 
 
 "That last speech was the most egotistical I ever 
 heard. ' Every girl I ever kissed,' to be sure ! I sup- 
 pose they can be counted by the thousands. I do hate 
 'men flirts,' and here you are boasting of your experience 
 in that line, and to my face, too." 
 
 " I have understood women always dislike their male 
 prototypes," he answered, trying to appear testy as an 
 excuse to divert her mind from her question, for as sur- 
 mised, he bore a very interesting position toward her 
 cousin ; in fact, because of his relations to Miss Brooke he 
 found considerable trouble in giving a safe answer. 
 
 She, however, was too clever and too much in earnest 
 to be so easily distracted. 
 
 " No, no ! come back and answer my question. Do 
 you respect me as much as you did before you kissed 
 me ? " she said deliberately and determinedly. 
 
 He stood and thought pushed the money in his pocket 
 over and over again, each piece making a direct snap as 
 it parted from the others. It was now evident to her 
 that he did not desire to answer the question. 
 
 Finally he went slowly over and took her cheeks in 
 his hands, and looked down into her eyes for a full min- 
 ute. She returned his gaze as if trying to divine his 
 object. Neither spoke. At last he bent his head to kiss 
 her. 
 
 Just before his mustache touched her lips, she drew her 
 head back and said : 
 " No, I want your answer." 
 
 He resumed his air of study and his place at the man- 
 tel, and his hands resumed their place in his trousers 
 pockets. 
 
 After a while he said, as if having settled a long debate : 
 
 "Yes, I do. I always respect consistency. You know 
 
 that you ha ve a strong will, and that your will controls 
 
 your passions. You know also that I am a gentleman
 
 I SWEAR. ax 
 
 a man of breeding, and that your command will prevent 
 me from continuing in a course antagonistic to your ex- 
 pressed desire. If you like a beautiful horse, a pretty dog, 
 or a lovely cat, you like to caress it. So with me. If I 
 see a pretty girl, bright, original and clever, I like to 
 caress her. And, if she likes the caress free from any 
 passion on the same principle as the horse, the dog, or 
 the cat, why I hold her in respect even though she per- 
 mit the caress." 
 
 "But our chaperones say it is impossible; passion is 
 the motive power in the affection of all humans," she re- 
 plied, as she looked steadfastly at her hands. 
 
 " Not in all. It depends on the will power of the in- 
 dividual," he said slowly, as if hesitating whether to con- 
 tinue ; and then finally added with an air which indicated 
 that he had made up his mind upon the course to pursue : 
 " There are two kinds of kisses : one, the end the fin- 
 ishing, complete acme of one course of action ; the other, 
 the initiative the introduction to another course, the 
 heightened fervor of whose acme causes the kiss to fade 
 into insignificance." 
 
 At this she looked up at him for the first time ; only a 
 quick, furtive glance out of the corners of her eyes, which 
 she immediately lowered. 
 
 " I speak plainly, because I want honestly to explain my 
 position," he continued. " Educated in the modern 
 school as you are, with ready access to Ouida, Zola, 
 Balzac, Tolstoi, and Amelie Rives, you are not alto- 
 gether ignorant of the existence of a master passion in 
 humanity. Now, there is not the least infinitesimal pos- 
 sibility of a doubt that our kiss comes in the former 
 class, and there is no reason save an unwritten custom 
 why I should not kiss you. If you were a married woman, 
 with absolutely definite, man-made, law-manufactured 
 reasons why you should not permit me tokiss you, and you
 
 22 I SWEAR. 
 
 then did, there would in that act itself be sufficient indi- 
 cation that your passion had control over your will to 
 prove that our kiss should be placed among the latter 
 class. And in that event I frankly admit 'the probabili- 
 ties are, that my desire to have my kiss fade into insig- 
 nificance, according to the rules just laid down, would 
 cause me to become so certain of the completion of the 
 remaining acts of the series that I would forget the kiss 
 itself was innocent, and lose respect." 
 
 She looked up at him through the corners of her eyes 
 several times during the course of his diatribe, but when 
 he had finished, continued to sit and look at her hands 
 for a few minutes. Finally she turned and looked in- 
 tently at him with a sharp expression to her eyes. 
 
 He did not try to evade the gaze ; in fact returned it, 
 in an earnest, inquiring way for a time, and then smiled. 
 
 She tried to appear obdurate, but at last smiled also. 
 
 He then sauntered over to her, took her hand, drew 
 her over to him very close, and said : 
 
 " If love is a crime, a sinful passion, 
 
 Then why did our God, so good and so wise, 
 Make man's heart after such a peculiar fashion 
 That naught but love e'er satisfies ? " 
 
 As he finished the quotation, he drew her over still 
 closer and kissed her. 
 
 This brought her to her feet ; she withdrew herself 
 from his embrace, and said in a serious voice : 
 
 " But, just the same, when you want to marry a girl 
 you are very careful to pick out one who has not been 
 broad-minded, as you call it." 
 
 " Why, Fanny, what is the matter ? " he said. "I hope 
 you do not consider this a personal discussion." 
 
 " No, no, do not evade me that way," she answered, 
 still more seriously. " Let us talk sense : when we girls
 
 I SWEAR. 23 
 
 do, you, like all the rest of the Somerset Club men, suc- 
 cessful flirts that you are, jest and evade everything 
 which tends to disappoint you in your desires. It is all 
 in unison with your ideas, as you have just given them. 
 
 " You lay out a great plain of society, and over on the 
 edge of that plain you put a chasm which divides us poor 
 girls from a something, the nature of which we know of 
 only in a story-book sort of a way. 
 
 " On the brink of that chasm is a barbed-wire fence. 
 We poor girls have an idea there is something very in- 
 teresting over the brink of the chasm. Our worthy mam- 
 mas and all our good old maid friends and chaperones 
 instruct us to keep on the straight and narrow paths, 
 which lead, by more or less divergent ways, to a gate in 
 the fence carefully guarded by a marriage license clerk 
 and a minister ; while we giddy little things are tempted, 
 tout de meme, to gambol off to get a look over the chasm 
 before we get to the gate. And we always can find some 
 of you interesting and philosophizing flirts of club men 
 to assist us in getting as close to the barbs as possible. If 
 we have strength of character enough to get back into 
 the paths without getting scratched, or any of our chap- 
 erones detecting our wandering, all well and good ; and 
 sooner or later we find some meek and sweet young 
 man, who either hasn't knowledge of life enough to 
 know that there is a barbed-wire fence out there, or 
 else has no idea that we know it, and on we go through 
 the gate with him. But you know as well as I do, that 
 the chances are ten to one that you, who assist us over 
 toward the barbs, when you get back to the paths, 
 choose another girl who either is so innocent that she 
 does not know of the barbs, or else is clever enough to 
 hide the fact that she is not thus innocent, and quietly 
 meander through the gate with her. Now be honest, 
 don't you?"
 
 24 / SWEAR. 
 
 He winced several times during the course of her 
 speech, for he saw that she had him cornered. 
 
 He tried to turn it off. 
 
 " Oh, well, if you are going to run along and question 
 a man concerning things he has never thought about, I 
 suppose the best thing to do is to commence with Whew- 
 ell's Moral Philosophy, and get coached on the subject 
 well enough to answer your question." 
 
 She saw from this that he was trying to evade her at- 
 tempts at finding out whether he was engaged to Wa- 
 wona, and so did not answer for a few minutes, but re- 
 turned to the pastime of twirling the lace on her dress. 
 
 The music-box had stopped, but neither of them seemed 
 to notice it. Each was too engrossed in the pastime of 
 trying to fathom the thoughts of the other. 
 
 She cannot bring herself to believe that he is engaged 
 to her cousin, because he is willing to carry on such a 
 desperate flirtation with her at the same time. She be- 
 gins to realize that she would like to have him very much 
 interested in herself, but was not exactly certain whether 
 she cared enough for him to marry him. 
 
 However, in the last few seconds she had made up her 
 mind that she did not want him to feel that he was com- 
 ing off best in the little tilt of affection which the flirta- 
 tion now amounted to. She determined, therefore, not 
 to pursue the advantage she had gained, but to attempt 
 to learn his position in another way. 
 
 So she turned to him, and in a frank tone said : 
 
 " Now, Mr. Morrison, I want to ask a really straight- 
 forward question." 
 
 He did not answer, but assumed a waiting expression. 
 
 " Am I more interested in you than you in me ? " 
 
 He would have given a great deal to have had time to 
 study her intent, but fearful that she might return to the
 
 / SWEAR. 25 
 
 other line ot conversation in which she had just cornered 
 him, he hastened to answer : 
 
 " Most certainly no, else why should I have acted as I 
 have ?" 
 
 Then, as an excuse to give him time to collect his 
 thoughts, he turned and wound up the music-box. It 
 began playing a popular waltz. After a time an expres- 
 sion came over his face which showed that he had caught 
 an idea. 
 
 He turned to her and said : 
 
 " What a lovely waltz. Do you know, I think ' My 
 Queen' is the best marked time I ever danced to ? It is 
 the same music we had over at Walling's the other 
 night. Can't we have a trifle of a waltz now ? " 
 
 "But it is Sunday night," she said, doubting whether 
 his desire to waltz was his only object. 
 
 "Oh, come along, anyhow." 
 
 He took her by the hand, and assumed a waltzing po- 
 sition, which she permitted in a passive way. 
 
 Then having her thus, he said : 
 
 " But you really do not want to break the Sabbath ? " 
 
 He did not release her, however. 
 
 She now saw that the position really amounted to an 
 embrace. 
 
 Her first impulse was not to permit it ; then a way- 
 ward feeling took possession of her, and, for a moment 
 forgetful of her main object, she realized that she en- 
 joyed the position. 
 
 " I suppose we ought not to dance, as papa objects so,'' 
 she answered, as she involuntarily nestled closer in her 
 already close quarters. 
 
 " Then, as I cannot kiss you, and cannot dance with 
 you," he said, as he dropped his left arm from its danc- 
 ing position to j oin his right, which was already round her 
 waist, "I presume we had better return to the parlor."
 
 26 I SWEAR. 
 
 Nevertheless, he did not loosen his hold nor attempt 
 to move. 
 
 " But suppose I don't want to ? " she asked, suddenly 
 looking up at him, with her face dangerously near his. 
 
 "Well, then, we won't ! " he answered, as he impet- 
 uously drew her up to him and kissed her once, twice, a 
 dozen times. 
 
 Suddenly he held her off at arms' length an instant, 
 and they both smiled. 
 
 Then he said : "Well, you are a conundrum." 
 
 " I know it," she said ; "and you are another." 
 
 He turned to the mantel, leaned back against it, and 
 drew her, a not unwilling prisoner, once more into his 
 arms, in a very warm embrace. 
 
 She was fully in unison. 
 
 "Well," she said, after a few minutes' revelry, "this 
 is a nice set of spoons. I think I had better be looking 
 for the barbed-wire fence. Here, my hair is all rumpled, 
 my bangs out, my face flushed, and pulse throbbing. 
 You had better take those kisses back, and I will run up 
 stairs and change my dress." 
 
 Hardly had she said this, when " Um-m-m " sounded 
 from the parlor in a man's deep voice. 
 
 She sprang from him with a look of horror. 
 
 "Great heavens !" she exclaimed, in a terrified whis- 
 per, " it 's my father ! " 
 
 He realized that it was time for action. 
 
 " Pretend we were dancing. Come in with me ; I will 
 do the talking," he interjectedly whispered, as he pulled 
 her hand through his arm, and opening the portiere made 
 his entrance into the back parlor. 
 
 A more shame-faced, childishly awkward picture than 
 that young man and young woman made could not be 
 imagined. 
 
 Amos Northrop stood out in the center of the room,
 
 / SWEAR. 27 
 
 his face the picture of suppressed rage and disgust. The 
 silence could almost be felt. 
 
 Finally Morrison summoned up courage enough to say, 
 as he drew his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped 
 his forehead in a conspicuous manner : 
 
 " I suppose we can expect a well-deserved lecture for 
 dancing on Sunday night ; but really, if you only knew 
 what a charming waltzer Miss Northrop is, and could 
 appreciate the truly wonderful time kept by your music- 
 box, I feel that you could almost forgive me for having 
 induced your daughter to dance with me, even on Sun- 
 day night." 
 
 The banker continued to look at him coldly, without 
 saying a word. 
 
 Fanny withdrew her arm from his and moved over 
 to the piano, and stood there nervously fingering her 
 bangles. 
 
 Morrison returned Mr. Northrop's gaze as best he 
 could, trying nobly to keep up appearances. 
 
 Finally the father broke the silence by saying in a 
 frigidly cold, sarcastic voice : 
 
 " I do not think I should, sir. But if I attempted to 
 dance, I should expect the young lady to have sufficient 
 respect for her good name, if not for herself, to have 
 light enough so that it might be evident I could dance 
 without endangering the furniture." 
 
 Then, turning to Fanny, he added in the same sarcastic 
 tone : 
 
 " The nursery is upstairs. You can have Parker put 
 you to bed. I will return you to school soon, so that you 
 may learn what is due from a young lady of good family." 
 
 As she started to shame-facedly leave the room, he 
 added : 
 
 " And you had better choose a companion next time
 
 28 / SWEAR. 
 
 who is not so egotistical as to think he can mislead oth- 
 ers by untrue innuendo." 
 
 Immediately there came a revolution of feeling, for he 
 detained her with : 
 
 " No, wait a moment ; I presume you had better wish 
 'good night ' to your guest." 
 
 "Mr. Northrop, you misunderstand the situation," 
 Morrison tried to say. " I called to see you, and can 
 explain " 
 
 " Not at present," interrupted the banker. " I con- 
 sider scenes ill-bred." 
 
 " Good night. I will explain at another time, then," 
 answered Morrison, as the banker turned and walked 
 over to the door of the back parlor. 
 
 Morrison politely again said " Good night," as he bowed 
 himself out. 
 
 Mr. Northrop waited until Fanny had, without a word 
 other than " Good night," shaken hands with Morrison 
 at the front door. 
 
 When the door closed the banker turned and entered 
 his private study, within whose sacred portals the family 
 seldom intruded under ordinary circumstances, and Fan- 
 ny knew that it was best not to do so at present, even if 
 she had not been too glad to run up to her own room and 
 have a good cry. 
 
 Amos Northrop dropped into his office chair, a troub- 
 led look overshadowing his face. He sat there lost in 
 thought for a considerable time. 
 
 For a man with his active business life and outside 
 distractions, he was more than ordinarily conversant with 
 the little social happenings of his household. Fanny had 
 been a source of great worriment to him ever since 
 her mother's death, five years before. He had been con- 
 siderably relieved when her aunt, Mrs. Florence Gaylord,
 
 I SWEAR. 29 
 
 of San Francisco, had invited her to make an extended 
 visit in California. 
 
 On her return he had hoped that Fanny and her cousin 
 Wawona might become intimate friends. But while they 
 were on the very best of terms, there never seemed to be 
 that spontaneity of fellowship which bespeaks complete 
 unanimity of feeling. Each had her circle of callers and 
 admirers, and, until the arrival of Paul Morrison, there 
 had never appeared to be anything like rivalry between 
 them. Miss Brooke's friends were all inclined to litera- 
 ture and the arts, and Fanny's to inclinations which 
 brought out the lighter capabilities of the mind. 
 
 Morrison's attentions to Wawona had assumed such a 
 shape that he had quietly made inquiries concerning him, 
 and found that, so far as family connections and finances 
 were concerned, he was a very desirable parti. But 
 he also found that he and Fanny were on better terms 
 than seemed consistent with his intentions toward Miss 
 Brooke. 
 
 Had he not been Wawona's guardian, and known that 
 outside of her mother's share of his father's estate, some 
 twenty-five thousand dollars, she had nothing except an 
 unknown possibility of something from her father's pos- 
 sessions in the Indian Territory, which, on account of the 
 peculiar shape of the title and the Indian laws, seemed 
 to him valueless, he would have been convinced that 
 Morrison was actuated by financial considerations. As 
 it was, the thought that Fanny's dowry would undoubt- 
 edly exceed Wawona's expectations very greatly, removed 
 this theory, and left him in a great quandary, as he could 
 evolve no other. 
 
 It was not his policy to talk to his wards of their pri- 
 vate affairs, so he quietly waited for matters to form 
 themselves. He now felt that they were about to take 
 definite shape.
 
 3 o / SWEAR. 
 
 Morrison's two-facedness had occasioned a feeling of 
 antipathy in the mind of the straightforward, honest 
 banker. He almost dreaded a meeting with him, for as 
 he had remarked to that unfortunate young man, he dis- 
 liked " scenes." 
 
 He knew that Wawona Brooke was completely oblivi- 
 ous to the flirtation which he was carrying on with Fan- 
 ny, but dared not say anything to her ; both because he 
 was not certain that there was anything definite in Mor- 
 rison's intentions, and also because he had been afraid 
 of antagonizing her, being fearful that some of her In- 
 dian traits would assert themselves. Up to this time, 
 her education and refined surroundings had but brought 
 out the nobler qualities of her nature, and he feared to 
 attempt anything which in anyway might cause her to 
 exert the savage and lower traits of her mind which 
 he feared antagonism to any much desired wish would 
 do. 
 
 Finally, he threw it all off his mind with a deep sigh 
 of relief, when the thought came to him that neither of 
 his wards had been asked for, and that he might be 
 "crossing a bridge twice." Then he turned to his read- 
 ing, with the determination not to worry until affairs 
 developed themselves more fully.
 
 /SWEAR. 31 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 FANNY NORTHROP lay on her bed with her face in her 
 hands, and sobbed until she was physically weary of sob- 
 bing. 
 
 At last she sat up, rubbed her eyes, lit the gas, and 
 then went back and sat on the edge of the bed, with her 
 right knee embraced between her hands. 
 
 She finally looked up, and caught the image of herself 
 in the mirror on her bureau. 
 
 The disheveled appearance of that image impressed 
 itself upon her, and she addressed it tearfully and hys- 
 terically : 
 
 "Well, you are an old goose ! Here you are with half 
 a dozen men ready to pay you any kind of attention ; three 
 half daft over you, and one a perfect slave ; and yet you 
 go off and make a regular fool of yourself with a man who 
 is trifling either with you or your cousin." 
 
 " Yes," she said quite vehemently, " and get yourself 
 into such a situation that your dear old father will mis- 
 trust everything you do hereafter." 
 
 Then she sat and watched a tear trickle down the 
 face of the image, as she tried to make up her mind what 
 that dear old father was thinking about at that moment. 
 
 Finally she dashed the tear off her cheek, and turned 
 again to lecture the image : 
 
 " So you are a 'job lot,' are you ? Let a man say, 'that 
 is just what every girl I ever kissed says ! ' Well, it has 
 taught you one thing, my girl ; you are getting about 
 old enough to stop this giddy nonsense. Besides you 
 stand in imminent danger of having the world say you're 
 jilted, my pretty miss."
 
 3 2 I SWEAR. 
 
 This funereal attempt at jollity was followed by another 
 silence with its staring accompaniment, as she wondered 
 whether or not he was engaged to Wawona Brooke. 
 
 At this, she fell to analyzing her own feelings toward 
 Morrison, and had about made up her mind that she was 
 really in love with him, and had sufficiently let her desire 
 work on her reason to cause her to be in doubt whether 
 her father's appearance and termination of the scene had 
 not prevented him from expressing a similar emotion for 
 her, when she heard a tap at the door. 
 
 She hastily concluded that her father had come up 
 to have a talk with her something he had never done 
 before in his life. 
 
 Her heart seemed to leap to her mouth and her knees 
 to weaken. 
 
 She realized that she must do something to alter her 
 appearance. She jumped to her feet, hastily tried to 
 powder up her eyes to remove the tell-tale traces of her 
 emotion, and then, as an excuse for her delay, suddenly 
 tumbled down her hair, put two or three hairpins in her 
 mouth for effect, and half smotheredly called from in 
 front of her bureau : 
 
 "Come in!" 
 
 The door opened, and much to her relief in came Wa- 
 wona Brooke, with her hat and walking-coat still on. 
 
 " What in the world is the matter, Fanny ? Everything 
 seems to be disarranged, the gas is burning full head in 
 the parlor, and not a soul there. Uncle is locked up in 
 his room and would not admit me. Frank suggested that 
 a burglar had probably gotten in and kidnaped the whole 
 family." 
 
 A thousand thoughts flooded poor Fanny's mind. 
 
 Would it be better to "pump " Wawona now, or wait 
 until she should make up her mind whether to carry out 
 Morrison's lie about the dancing?
 
 I SWEAR. 33 
 
 At first she determined to try " now," for she thought 
 that if her father said anything about the scene in the 
 early part of the evening, she had better prepare Wawona 
 for it. This latter thought she dismissed at once, how- 
 ever, because she knew that her father's dislike to 
 scenes would prevent him ever referring to the matter. 
 And, therefore, she hastily reasoned, it would never 
 reach Wawona as, of course, Morrison would be the 
 last person in the world to refer to it. 
 
 Thus occupied with her thoughts, she said not a word 
 until she had finished doing up her hair, and then con- 
 spicuously inserting the hairpins she held in her mouth, 
 to be certain that her cousin should observe the excuse 
 for her silence, she answered, without turning around : 
 
 " Oh, nothing ; I was down in the parlor. Take a seat, 
 I '11 be through in a second." 
 
 Then once more taking an inventory of her eyes, to be 
 sure there were no traces of tears apparent, she turned 
 to her cousin and said : 
 
 " You see, I got one of my harum-scarum ideas in my 
 head to try to see how Ethel Servier's scheme for dress- 
 ing the hair would go with this frock ; so I ran up to try 
 and forgot all about the gas. I am always doing some- 
 thing impulsive that way, ain't I, Wawona ? " 
 
 " I am really beginning to get afraid of myself in my 
 impulsive moods," she continued, with a listless air, 
 which showed that her thoughts were back on the hap- 
 penings of an hour before, notwithstanding her brave 
 attempts at nonchalance. 
 
 "But why do you not restrain your impulses, my 
 dear ? " Wawona answered. " Why do you not exercise 
 your will power ? " 
 
 Fanny saw that if she was to learn anything from her 
 cousin, she must take the initiative at once, and turn the 
 subject of conversation into another channel.
 
 34 / SWEAR. 
 
 "Are you never impulsive, Wawona?" 
 
 " No, Fanny, I am not given to impulses. And to be 
 really frank with you, it does not seem to me to be en- 
 tirely well-bred to act on first impulses. I do not mean 
 to say that one cannot be natural without being ill-bred ; 
 but what I want to say is, that we often do things that 
 are awkward, and say things that are unnecessarily 
 brusque, from following first impulses," answered Miss 
 Brooke, wondering what had come over her cousin, for 
 her distrait manner proclaimed that something was 
 troubling her mind. 
 
 Fanny also realized that her efforts to appear indiffer- 
 ent and undisturbed were not entirely successful. So, 
 as she saw no other resource to divert the conversation 
 from her own affairs, she plunged into this discussion : 
 
 " Do you mean to say that one must throttle every de- 
 sire and natural inclination, and study the effect on 
 others, before they decide whether or not to act ? Why, 
 we would be a nice lot of long-faced Quakers if we fol- 
 lowed that rule. Now, I will confess that I am never so 
 tired of myself as when I have been doing the ' exceed- 
 ing proper,' as, for instance, calling on Ethel Servier's 
 aunt, Mrs. Springster, who has just returned from a two 
 years' visit to a brother in England, who is a baronet, or 
 a duke, or something like that. Really, at such times I 
 begin to doubt if I am a human being or a mere talking 
 automaton. It may not be well-bred to be impulsive, 
 Wawona, but it is honest. When you have talked over 
 a person or subject with me in my impulsive moods, you 
 have my real, true, honest ideas ; but when you have fin- 
 ished a discussion with Mrs. Springster, you have merely 
 gotten what she thinks ought to be the sentiments of 
 that conscienceless and indefinable class known as well- 
 bred people. As for me," she said warmly, now that she 
 felt that she had turned the conversation into lines which
 
 / SWEAR. 35 
 
 dissolved any suspicions which her cousin may have 
 had of wet eyes, "give me for friends or companions the 
 people who appreciate and do things because their own 
 ideas and their own desires impel them, and not because 
 they think it is the 'proper caper' to do so." 
 
 Wawona Brooke was somewhat surprised at the 
 amount of thought displayed by her cousin, and felt that 
 she had misjudged her to a certain extent, and was try- 
 ing to formulate an answer, when the necessity for it was 
 prevented by Fanny turning to her, and saying in an 
 off-hand, girlish way : 
 
 "Mr. Morrison was here tonight." 
 
 Had she not been so interested in her own thoughts, 
 she might have noticed that Fanny watched her very 
 closely to see the effect the announcement would have 
 upon her. 
 
 As it was, Wawona answered quite unconcernedly : 
 
 " I expected he would be," and then added : " Did he 
 have a chance to see Uncle Amos ? " 
 
 " No, why ? " said Fanny, trying to repress the beating 
 of her heart, which she felt certain her cousin must hear, 
 because it sounded so distinctly to herself. 
 
 "Well, I suppose I ought to make a confidante t)f you, 
 Fanny," she said thoughtfully, not having noticed any- 
 thing out of the way in Fanny's manner, " and I cannot 
 determine exactly how to commence, as it is my first 
 experience in such matters. But I suppose the best way 
 to do is to accept your theory, and follow first impulses, 
 so I will begin. Mr. Morrison has proposed to me, and 
 I have consented to allow him to ask the permission of 
 your father, as my guardian, to our marriage. There ! " 
 she said, looking up at Fanny, " I suppose you think 
 that frightfully ill-bred and lacking in impulse, but nev- 
 ertheless it is my way."
 
 36 I SWEAR. 
 
 Fanny wondered what Wawona's feelings would be, if 
 she could realize what those few words meant to her. 
 
 There came over her a sort of numbness a feeling as 
 though her thoughts had become chaotically entangled. 
 She could not tell where to begin to disentangle them. 
 
 She had been prepared for something like this an^ 
 nouncement for the last week ; but now that it had come, 
 it fairly stunned her. 
 
 The thought flashed across her mind that she must 
 congratulate her cousin at once, or else arouse her sus-> 
 picions. She hardly dared to trust herself, but finally 
 summoning up all the sang-froid she could, said hesitat- 
 ingly : 
 
 " Allow me to congratulate you, my dear Wawona ; are 
 you sure he is good enough for you ? " 
 
 She knew that she ought to kiss her, but hardly dared 
 to trust her emotions so far. 
 
 " Of course he is good enough for me. What a peculiar 
 question," Wawona answered, without taking her eyes 
 from the purse she held in her hands, a position she had 
 assumed after having made her announcement to Fanny. 
 
 " Do you know, I think everything about this courtship 
 has been peculiar ? We have been, from the first, more 
 than ordinarily interested in each other, yet he has kissed 
 me but once, and then he seemed to feel as if he ought 
 to apologize for doing it." 
 
 Kissed her but once ! And yet kissed me fifty times 
 tonight ! What can he mean ? came over the poor girl's 
 mind, as she tried bravely to check her emotions. 
 
 Again she realized that she must do something, or her 
 courage would fail her. So, with a mighty effort at non- 
 chalance, she said : 
 
 "Why does it seem so strange? Are you accustomed 
 to being kissed more than once ? " 
 
 Immediately after she had asked the question, she
 
 I SWEAR. 37 
 
 would have given half her chances of heaven to have it 
 unsaid ; for Wawona blushed, became very confused, and 
 having looked down intently at the purse in her hand for 
 a few minutes, began to nervously open and shut it, as 
 if trying to determine what and how to answer. Finally 
 she said in a slow and measured way : 
 
 " No : you know, Fanny, I am not accustomed to being 
 kissed." 
 
 "There, there, Wawona, that was only a joke. Of 
 course not ; I only meant that in fun. Don't be angry 
 with me," hurriedly returned Fanny, fearful that in her 
 desire to dispel her own uneasiness, she had caused her 
 cousin, whom in reality she dearly loved, more confusion 
 than she really intended. 
 
 Wawona felt that she had shown more temper than 
 she should, and answered : 
 
 " Oh, no, that is all right, my dear little cousin. That 
 was not the occasion of my hesitation. Truth to tell, I 
 was deliberating whether to confide a little happening in 
 my life, when I was kissed. And as you are the only per- 
 son to whom I ever gave confidence, I suppose I might." 
 
 "Oh, please do. I just love confidences ; and I know 
 how to keep them, too, if I am a girl," she said, some- 
 thing of her old piquancy having returned, now that she 
 felt assured that her feelings had escaped detection. 
 
 "Yes, I know you can," Wawona said deliberately, as 
 if weighing in her mind how to proceed. 
 
 " And as this one is so dear a confidence, I want you 
 to be more than usually circumspect. Uo you remember 
 that I was once very much in love with a young senior 
 at Harvard? 
 
 "Oh, yes ! We all thought you were engaged to him," 
 said Fanny, glad to know that the confidence had noth- 
 ing to do with herself. 
 
 302410
 
 38 I SWEAR. 
 
 " Let me see ; what was his name ? I have forgotten 
 it." 
 
 "No, I do not want to recall his name to you," replied 
 her cousin, "because I prefer the confidence to be im- 
 personal. Have you any remembrance of how he looked 
 at all ? Did it ever strike you that Paul Morrison looked 
 like him?" 
 
 Fanny found herself unconsciously flinching at the 
 mention of Morrison's name. She had just been confi- 
 dently assuring herself that her self-possession had re- 
 turned, when this allusion to him somewhat disconcerted 
 her. 
 
 She gave a hurried glance at her cousin, to see if there 
 was any suspicion of her feelings, but found her still in- 
 tently gazing at her purse, whose clasp she continued to 
 open and shut, in her nervousness. 
 
 Finally Fanny said, bravely returning to the subject : 
 
 " No ; but that probably explains why I always had a 
 feeling that I had known Mr. Morrison before." 
 
 Then, to direct the conversation away from danger to 
 herself, she said : 
 
 " But about our little confidence, Wawona ? " 
 
 She went over and put her arm around her cousin's 
 waist, now completely at ease, for she was assured there 
 was no suspicion of her own position in the matter. 
 
 "Well," Wawona answered, as she turned and kissed 
 her cousin in a very impetuous manner for her, as if her 
 thoughts had completely undermined her usual compos- 
 ure : " Yes, I was kissed by a man, and I think I shall 
 remember the kiss to my dying day. You recall when 
 I went to Susie DeMarques's wedding in Albany, before 
 I started for the White Mountains that summer ? " 
 
 "Yes, I remember the exact day ; it was two days after 
 your class went to Harvard," Fanny answered, interest- 
 edly.
 
 / SWEAR. 39 
 
 "Well, Paul there," Wawona said, blushing a deep 
 red, " I did n't intend to use his name, but I suppose the 
 least said, the soonest mended. Paul came down to the 
 train to see us off. I remember now, you did not go, 
 because you were going to a party or something, so only 
 Uncle Amos and I went. Finally, Paul made up his 
 mind to run down a couple of stations with us. It was 
 the old " New York express," and left at 7:55 in the even- 
 ing. Every single detail of that long ride is distinctly 
 fixed in my memory, you see," she said, hesitating a mo- 
 ment, as if trying to determine whether to continue. 
 
 With a little toss of her head, she added : 
 
 " I never was so blissfully happy in my life. He kept 
 going from one station to the next, until it was so late 
 that the porter had made up most of the berths in our 
 sleeper," she hesitated again, and Fanny nestled closer to 
 her, without saying a word, a mark of affection, by the 
 way, which produced the desired result, for Wawona con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "I knew he wanted to propose, and I wanted him to 
 do so. I felt, too, that he thought it would be prema- 
 ture. At last, at Springfield, (I remember as well as 
 if it had been yesterday,) he said : " Well, I suppose the 
 porter will be putting me off by force, unless I go." Then 
 he arose and shook hands with me. It was almost eleven 
 o'clock. As I say, he had kept on going from station to 
 station for the last two hours. The rest of the party 
 except your father had retired an hour before. You know 
 what a lovely chaperone your father is he sat in a seat 
 just ahead of us, reading. Paul went up and bade him 
 good-night. Then he came back to shake hands with me 
 again. The porter was in the little smoking-room at the 
 other end of the car. 
 
 "As Paul took my hand, I seemed to feel my whole being 
 warm toward him. I arose and intended to walk with him
 
 40 / SWEAR. 
 
 to the platform, and see him off. You remember what an 
 odd little narrow passage there is at the end of a Pullman 
 car, with little swinging doors at both ends. Well, when 
 we got in there, he still had my hand, and it seemed to me 
 that I was never so sorry to part with any one in my life. 
 He appeared to feel so, too, for he stopped, turned, took 
 my other hand and said : ' I suppose I may not see you for 
 three long months. It will seem like an age to me. Good- 
 by !' Then he hesitated a little, turned again, and took 
 me in his arms, and said : ' Sweetheart ! ' Then he kissed 
 me ; and then " she stopped, apparently trying to 
 determine whether to proceed. 
 
 Fanny prompted. " Yes, and " 
 
 " Well, I kissed him, twice. It was only a brief little 
 second, Fanny, but it has passed into my memory as the 
 way a man ought to propose." 
 
 Her voice had gradually assumed a sad tone, as if the 
 reminiscence brought regret ; but she dashed the feeling 
 aside, and turning to her cousin, said earnestly : 
 
 "Do not for the world ever refer to this, for it is, of 
 course, the dearest memory of my life it is one of the 
 idols of my memory, an idol which I worship as I fancy 
 the Hindoos worship Vishnu." 
 
 " That almost amounted to an engagement, did n't it ? " 
 said Fanny. " How was it broken ? " 
 
 " Well," Wawona replied, " I will merely say that there 
 was a peculiar estrangement, and we have never seen each 
 other since," adding, half beneath her breath, "to speak." 
 
 Both sat there, without saying a word, for quite a time, 
 each wrapped in her own thoughts. 
 
 Then Wawona roused herself and said : " Come, kiss 
 me good-night, and say something pretty." 
 
 " Are you sure he is not Mr. Morrison, Wawona ? 
 Would n't it be romantic if it should turn out to be your 
 Harvard lover ? "
 
 I SWEAR. 41 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am certain of that : Mr. Morrison is so 
 English in his ideas. But I will confess I never before 
 saw such a resemblance in appearance between two peo- 
 ple in my life. No, we cannot give you that chapter for 
 a romance." 
 
 She again turned and kissed her cousin. 
 
 " Now, good-night, dear." 
 
 " Good-night," replied Fanny. 
 
 Miss Brooke arose to leave the room, but hesitated a 
 moment, and said : 
 
 " You have not told me yet whether he saw Uncle 
 Amos. I want to find out if I am really and truly en- 
 gaged." 
 
 Fanny started. Poor girl, she had never told a direct 
 lie in her life, and now here she was almost forced into 
 one. If not, she must confess her own weakness, and 
 at the same time ruin the peace of her cousin's mar- 
 ried life. Then, remembering she had already deter- 
 mined that the scene would never be referred to again 
 by either her father or Morrison, she summoned all her 
 self-possession to answer with technical correctness : 
 
 " I think papa had something else on his mind, and 
 put the interview off till another time." 
 
 " Oh, well, I suppose I must wait," Wawona answered, 
 and after another " good-night " she stooped and kissed 
 her cousin once more. 
 
 " Sleep well," she added, as she closed the door. 
 
 Sleep well ! The idea of that poor little harrassed 
 mind sleeping well. 
 
 Fanny locked the door, let down her hair, ran her 
 hands through her bangs two or three times in a hyster- 
 ical sort of a way, and walked up and down the room, 
 trying to gather her scattered thoughts, and recover from 
 the nervousness which the restraint of her feelings for
 
 42 / SWEAR. 
 
 the last fifteen minutes had brought on, now that the 
 necessity for restraint had been removed. 
 
 " He, of course, thinks he has jilted me, and that I am 
 dying from a broken heart. How can I prevent it ? " 
 she said half aloud. 
 
 " Proposed to Wawona and kissed her only once, and 
 yet he has kissed me a hundred times ! " she murmured, 
 as she suddenly came to a halt in her pacing up and 
 down the room. " What is he thinking about ? What 
 can he think of me ? Why does he do it ? " came flitting 
 through her mind. " He cannot think I am bad I know 
 he does not, for he always classed our kisses among the 
 former of his category of this evening." 
 
 She stopped and studied as if trying to follow a thought. 
 
 " Is he in love with me, and marrying Wawona for some 
 other reason ? " she finally said. 
 
 " No, he cannot be marrying Wawona for her money, 
 for I will have more than she. Yet if he loves her more 
 than me, why has he shown his affection to me exter- 
 nally more than to her ? " 
 
 Her thoughts crowded upon her so fast that she gave 
 up all idea of thinking. She would have given the world 
 to have been able to run over to Ethel Servier, her most 
 intimate friend, have a good cry, confide the whole mat- 
 ter to her, and receive her condolence. 
 
 She was about to make up her mind to do so, late as 
 it was, when she suddenly determined that nobody should 
 know of this not even Ethel ; that this must be one of 
 her thoughts sacred to herself, and she found herself 
 quoting a little scrap of newspaper doggerel : 
 
 " Your goods, buy them, sell them in the mart ; 
 Of your fortune to the poor give a part ; 
 Blessings on the open pocket ; 
 But your secret, keep it, lock it 
 In your heart."
 
 / SWEAR. 43 
 
 After a little time she regained her composure, and sat 
 upright on the bed, where she had thrown herself. 
 
 She began to try to analyze and understand her own 
 feelings. 
 
 She knew herself to be an " odd girl," and even felt 
 that she was at times erratically improper, if the straight- 
 laced of the world be mathematically correct in their 
 various notions of right and wrong, propriety and impro- 
 priety. 
 
 At this particular moment in her short life she seemed 
 to herself more odd than ever. Her feeling in regard to 
 Morrison was one which she could not analyze with any 
 degree of satisfaction to her own mind. That she was 
 interested in him, greatly interested, was beyond per- 
 adventure ; but was there love, or any spark of love in 
 it ? That was what bothered her just now. She knew 
 that in him or in her relations to and with him she had 
 realized more than ever before two cardinal princi- 
 ples as component, not to say vital, phases in the com- 
 position of her womanhood. The first, that, in common 
 with the world at large, in conformity with the principle, 
 Natura abhorret vacuum, her nature demanded that 
 she be interested in some one, to escape from having an 
 omnipresent longing, amounting to a social void; and 
 second, that when with Paul Morrison, she found her 
 particular void filled, as it had never been before in all 
 her life. Whether it was that she needed the excitement 
 of the natural antagonism of the sexes, and he furnished 
 it in a greater degree than any other man whom she had 
 chanced to meet, or whether there was a deeper, grander 
 arousing of her nature whether her love had budded 
 that was the question. 
 
 As she sat there, working at her problem, the lines of 
 that singer whose earlier work promised so much from 
 his genius, and whose latter songs so unhappily failed
 
 44 / SWEAR. 
 
 to bear out the promise, ran through her mind, as she 
 recalled Owen Meredith's " Lucille." 
 
 "In Rome in the Forum there open'd one night, 
 A gulf. All the augurs turned pale at the sight. 
 In this omen the anger of heaven they read. 
 Men consulted the gods ; then the oracle said : 
 ' Ever open this gulf shall endure, till at last 
 That which Rome hath most precious, within it be cast.' 
 The Romans threw in it their corn and their stuff, 
 But the gulf yawn'd as wide. Rome seemed likely enough 
 To be ruined ere this rent in her heart she could choke. 
 Then Curtius, revering the oracle, spoke : 
 ' O, Quirites ! To this Heaven's question is come ! 
 What to Rome is most precious ? The manhood of Rome ! ' 
 He plunged, and the gulf closed. The tale is not new, 
 But the moral applies many ways, and is true. 
 How, for hearts rent in twain, shall the curse be destroy'd ? 
 ' T is a warm human life that must fill up the void. 
 Through many a heart runs the rent in the fable ; 
 But who to discover a Curtius is able ? " 
 
 Fanny did not care to admit that her heart was "rent," 
 and she was even trying to combat the thought which 
 was impressing itself on her mind with almost uncon- 
 trollable force, that "'Tis a warm human life that must 
 fill up the void " in her nature if life were to be worth 
 the living. But was Morrison to be the Curtius ? 
 
 " Nonsense ! " she said, as she roused up and recalled 
 fully all she had so recently been told by Wawona. 
 "This is not Salt Lake ; we are not Mormons ; nor could 
 I share my love with another, even nominally. No, no ; 
 a Curtius may be my greatest need ; indeed, I almost be- 
 lieve it is, but Mr. Paul Morrison is not he, by a long 
 chalk." 
 
 Immediately came back the old thought : 
 
 " But how in the world am I to keep him from think- 
 ing I am dying of a broken heart ? "
 
 I SWEAR. 45 
 
 She arose and moved over to her writing-desk, then 
 sat down after a moment, and having put her elbows on 
 the desk, dropped her chin into her upturned palms, and 
 became lost in thought, gazing steadfastly before her. 
 Finally she realized that she was looking straight at a 
 bust picture of herself in full dress, a photograph, by 
 the way, which Morrison had pretended to admire very 
 much in the proof, and one of which she had, at the 
 time, promised him. The sight of it gave her a thought. 
 She took down her paper, then wavered a moment, put 
 the paper away and was about to close the desk, when 
 just before it closed she stopped with her finger between 
 the lid and desk, and hesitated again, as if arguing with 
 herself whether or not to carry out the thought. 
 
 At last she opened it with an air which plainly said she 
 had determined upon her course of action, and was going 
 to carry out that course, if it was the last thing she did 
 on earth. 
 
 " I shall get a letter to him tomorrow. I must get it 
 to him before he confides anything of this to me," she 
 said to herself, "else he will always think he has jilted 
 me, as all the rest of my friends may." 
 
 Then she thought : 
 
 " Poor Wawona ! She is the only one, in all probabil 
 ity, who does not know that he has been flirting with 
 me." 
 
 At this she said aloud : 
 
 " Yes, the picture is all the excuse I need." 
 
 Her face assumed a more determined expression, now 
 that she had decided upon her course of action, and she 
 half forgot her sorrow in her anxiety over the composi- 
 tion of her letter. 
 
 She evolved the following : 
 " DEAR MR. MORRISON : 
 
 " I inclose you the picture of myself I promised you
 
 .46 / S WEAR. 
 
 about a week ago. I hope you will like it as well as you 
 did the proof. 
 
 " Your call this evening was so charming and interest- 
 ing that I find myself paraphrasing the quotation from 
 Will Carleton's ' Gone with a Handsomer Man ': 
 
 ' To appreciate heaven well, 
 Just give a man about fifteen minutes of hell ' 
 
 into 
 
 ' To appreciate hell on earth, 
 Just let a poor girl know a little of heaven's worth.' 
 
 " I guess our scene in ' the den ' could be called a ' little 
 of heaven ' could n't it ? And perhaps you think our 
 scene with papa could be called a little of the other place. 
 
 "Now, do not think papa will ever refer to that 
 matter again, because his hatred of ' scenes,' as he calls 
 them, will prevent his ever speaking of it. 
 
 " By the way, I want to speak of another matter. Really, 
 my dear friend, we must stop our little flirtation, inter- 
 esting as it is. I suggest that we enter into an armistice. 
 You see this might become a confirmed habit, and as we 
 cannot keep it up forever, I suppose we had better de- 
 termine on the terms of the truce the next time I see 
 you. So be prepared to see me come down with the 
 white flag flying, to indicate my intention to ask for a 
 cessation of hostilities, the next time you call. 
 
 " Till which time, may it be soon, I am 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 " FANNY NORTHROP. 
 
 "BOSTON, May 26, 18 " 
 
 "There," she said with a feeling of keen satisfaction 
 as she pushed the letter back, " he will never guess the 
 girl who wrote that note was about to go to bed and cry 
 her silly eyes out. I believe it did me good to write that
 
 / SWEAR. 47 
 
 letter. I have almost regained my spirits. ' Armistice ' 
 sounds first rate ; sort of looks as if I was shaking him." 
 
 Then she started to read it over again, but before she 
 was half through gave a deep sigh, as she realized that 
 joking to herself was not going to ease the matter any. 
 
 She felt that she was on the verge of another cry, and 
 so with a mighty struggle shook off the despondency, 
 and determined to go to bed and sleep over it. 
 
 This, however, she found was easier thought than 
 done ; for her active brain fancied a thousand different 
 ways in which her friends might view the situation, and 
 this kept her from sleeping, until at last she dropped to 
 sleep. 
 
 In the morning she lay for a time trying to determine 
 whether toforward the letter. She decided to send it with- 
 out reading it again, as she feared a re-reading would 
 cause another fit of the blues. 
 
 Before she arose, however, she made up her mind that 
 it would not be safe for her to see Morrison again until 
 she had had time to compose her feelings. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EARLY in the fifties, Florence, the eldest sister of 
 Amos Northrop, had married Charles Gaylord, a rising 
 young Boston lawyer. 
 
 The young people became affected with the gold fever 
 then lately become epidemic, and started for California. 
 
 On landing at San Francisco, the keen Yankee lawyer 
 at once took in the situation, and realized that the city 
 was some day to be the metropolis and shipping and dis- 
 tributing center for the whole of this new western coun-
 
 48 I SWEAR. 
 
 try. Hence he made it a principle to obtain title to all 
 the real estate he possibly could, and had several schemes 
 on hand for the acquirement of acre property in the sub- 
 urbs, when he was accidentally drowned. 
 
 This left his estate in an involved shape, for in his 
 vaulting ambition he had mortgaged every present pos- 
 session, in order to acquire more. 
 
 The widow arose to the occasion. Suddenly thrown on 
 her own resources, she began to develop her worldly 
 capabilities. Instead of being dependent on others, she 
 gave her whole mind toward carrying out her husband's 
 ideas herself. Thus she not only developed strong inde- 
 pendence, but, with San Francisco's wonderful growth, 
 reared a handsome fortune out of what, improperly han- 
 dled, would have been a wrecked estate. 
 
 This financial independence had brought with it a com- 
 plete self-reliance which extended into her very thought. 
 She became a brilliant, brainy woman. None of the 
 bounds which usually circumscribe women in their ambi- 
 tions had any existence for her. 
 
 She acted for herself, thought for herself, chose friends 
 for herself ; and everything about her entire household 
 bore evidence of her striking individuality. 
 
 While caring little for the conventionalities which most 
 society people deemed absolutely essential, she had a 
 keen sense of honor. Her very freedom of thought 
 caused her to be unusually strict in all she felt necessary 
 to be true to herself. 
 
 A peculiar bond of friendship had grown up between 
 Fanny and her aunt, during the four years they had 
 been together. Mrs. Gaylord was very fond of the bright, 
 happy, cheerful girl. In fact, her niece and her son Fred 
 stood about equal in her affections. Nothing either of 
 them wanted was ever denied. 
 
 One of her peculiar theories was never to permit tern-
 
 I SWEAR. 49 
 
 porary local affairs to trouble her. Everything in her 
 household was controlled on the idea of attaining happi- 
 ness by causing discontentment to be absent. If Fred 
 wanted to lie in bed in the morning, all right, provided 
 it did not interfere with his duties. If Fanny wanted to 
 take the phaeton and be gone all day, all right, pro- 
 vided she made proper explanations afterward. 
 
 Her whole idea of a happy household was to study what 
 each of her charges desired, and permit them to do it, 
 if there was nothing radically wrong in the doing. 
 
 " There is none of the 'What will Mrs. Grundy say ? ' 
 atmosphere about my household," she oftentimes said. 
 
 This kind indulgence made her very dear to Fanny, and 
 they were the warmest of friends. Thus, gradually, the 
 aunt's mind and ways had formed an impression on the 
 girl, and had obtained a material control over the pecu- 
 culiarly susceptible niece. 
 
 Since Fanny's return as a young lady, her father had 
 found her an interesting study. The influence of his 
 sister was apparent. Alone with him the girl had shown 
 that she had been thrown into the company of advanced 
 thinkers, and had done considerable reading. At the 
 same time, while with others, she seemed to hide all the 
 fruits of her reading under a heedless, light address. Her 
 life, vivacity, and originality made him very proud of her ; 
 and yet her almost absolute indifference to many of the 
 conventional ideas which he had always considered indis- 
 pensable almost shocked him. 
 
 This same butterfly jollity had captivated a considera- 
 ble number of Boston's four hundred. Among her 
 numerous conquests in fact, the one whom she had 
 classed as " a perfect slave " in her tearful dialogue with 
 her image was Frank Jender, the son of a sister of the 
 first wife of Amos Northrop. 
 
 Jender was a New York man, and was at that time a
 
 5 o I SWEAR, 
 
 junior at Harvard College. His relationship to Mr. 
 Northrop gave him admission to the house at all hours, 
 and the next morning after Fanny's unhappy experience 
 he was on hand bright and early, to try to have an inter- 
 view with her before he went out to his work at Cam- 
 bridge. 
 
 Fanny had determined that she would run off for a 
 trip somewhere, so as to escape the cross-questioning of 
 her friends when the announcement of Wawona's engage- 
 ment came, and hence was in no mood to entertain even 
 " slaves." So, when Frank sauntered into the dining- 
 room, she had prepared to retire to her own room. 
 
 " Where are you going, Fanny ? " Frank asked, notic- 
 ing the absence of her usual cordiality. " What 's the 
 matter with you, anyway ? You have been treating me 
 awfully cool of late." 
 
 Fanny saw that she was caught for a chat, because to 
 evade it might arouse his suspicions of her recent un- 
 happy defeat in a social battle and that would never do 
 in a " slave." She, therefore, determined to take the 
 initiative, and turn the conversation wholly off her own 
 affairs. 
 
 In order to create the impression that her mood was 
 the direct converse of the one which the remembrance 
 of her last night's experience had brought on, she as- 
 sumed an artificially saucy, jaunty air. 
 
 "But I must do something to get rid of you, Frank. 
 And really, the easiest way to do it is to be cold. Now 
 Frank," she said, "won't you be sensible, and go away 
 for a while and flirt with some other girl, and let me for- 
 get how much you are in love with me ? I may really 
 learn to like you, if you do." 
 
 Jender would probably have admired her for her hon- 
 esty if he had not been the subject under discussion. As 
 it was, he twirled his handsome mustache, straightened
 
 / SWEAR. 51 
 
 up his boyish but athletic form to its full height of six 
 feet two, and said with a forced dignity : 
 
 " Well, Miss Northrop, if I am so tiresome, I presume 
 the best thing I can do is to say ' good day.' I suppose 
 I may count this a rescinding of our engagement for 
 Thursday. I offer you my most abject apology for hav- 
 ing caused you the weariness of which you complain, and 
 trust that the kindness I will do you hereafter by pre- 
 venting myself from intruding on your highness' pres- 
 ence, will somewhat offset and make amends for your 
 past sufferings." 
 
 " Oh, don't be a goose ! Now, see here, Frank," she 
 said, not content to let him go away angry, " you make 
 just the nicest, dearest distant relative one could wish 
 for ; but as a spoon you are not a success. You haven't 
 had practice enough you are really too much in earnest. 
 Girls don't like to know they own a man ; the fun all 
 fades away when you are sure you have him hooked. 
 Hooked ! that's just it ; it's like fishing. Who ever cares 
 to fish for catfish ? As soon as you throw your hook over 
 they snap at it so voraciously, that all you have to do is 
 to pull them into the boat. It makes very little differ- 
 ence whether the hook is baited or not. But when you 
 come to fish for black bass or brook trout gamey fish, 
 you have to be so careful about selecting the right bait, 
 and so careful about throwing the line, and so careful that 
 he does n't get away while you are landing him, or that the 
 line will break, or a thousand other little things, that it 
 really becomes interesting. It 's the fish you are not cer- 
 tain you can catch, and are not sure you have caught, after 
 you have him hooked, which interests you in fishing. 
 Now you go and get half-way in love with some other 
 girl, and I may become so interested in winning you back 
 that I shall fall in love with you myself." 
 
 He evidently could not make up his mind whether or
 
 52 / SWEAR. 
 
 not to carry out his original intention of being angry. 
 She saw this, and determined to settle it as " not," and 
 so said : 
 
 " Now don't go off and mope for two or three weeks. 
 Go over and make love to Wawona. She is not inclined 
 to trifle with people's affections, and you can get up a 
 real nice ' platonic friendship ' with her. She is enough 
 older than you are to prevent your wanting to be * spoons,' 
 and besides she is a graduate of Wellesley, and has read 
 enough and is educated enough to interest a Harvard 
 junior in something stable, in 'food for thought/ as Pro- 
 fessor Allen says. I have been out in California so long 
 that all I can do is to talk slang, and do the ' society act, 
 and carry on flirtations, et cetera, et cetera." 
 
 Then she added with a roguish air, as she took his hand 
 in a placating, pleading way, and drew herself over to 
 him in a sort of girlish cuddle which made his face 
 brighten and show .that he had temporarily forgotten 
 the pique her words caused him : 
 
 " Now promise me that you will not break our engage- 
 ment for Thursday, and I will try and put up with you, 
 and will promise to give you two dances." 
 
 Suddenly a change came over the expression of his 
 face ; he started to speak, hesitated, thought an instant, 
 then withdrew his hand, and said : 
 
 "And will give five or six dances to that unknown 
 latest, Mr. Morrison." 
 
 She started. He saw that he had touched a sensitive 
 point, for a slight flush came over her bright face ; her 
 laughing eyes sobered and became downcast. She 
 absent-mindedly began dangling her collection of chate- 
 lains from her raised hand. Then carefully sorting out 
 one, held it swinging back and forth in front of her, as 
 she sat with her eyes fixed on the floor, lost in thought. 
 Jender watched her face intently. The girl had been
 
 I SWEAR. 53 
 
 a curious study to him. Occasionally she said things 
 which indicated either a very broad reading or a very 
 astute mind, and then the next instant she would be 
 rattling away on some society nonsense, with a half 
 apology for having given him the idea that she had 
 any truly stable thoughts. The possibility of reserve 
 force made her light frivolity very enticing to the youth, 
 and he had become very much interested in his cousin, 
 as he called her. 
 
 " He is really the most peculiar man I ever knew," she 
 said, boldly returning to Morrison, so that Frank would 
 not be suspicious of the faux pas of the night before. 
 " Do you know, it rather bothers me to have him flirt 
 with me ? " 
 
 By this time she had taken to dangling three or four of 
 the chatelains, and sat back and watched them with 
 affected carelessness, trying bravely to keep up an ap- 
 pearance of utter indifference. 
 
 " I imagine it must, since I have been informed that 
 you cut dances with three or four of your best friends to 
 give him the opportunity to be alone with you in the con- 
 servatory at the Walling' s party, last Wednesday night, 
 and took the trouble to play several of your latest airs 
 on your guitar with him alone in the conservatory," 
 Jender answered, looking at her in a quizzing way, as if 
 trying to catch the effect of his words. 
 
 She saw that she dare not continue in this strain any 
 further, or else Frank might recall it when Wawona's 
 engagement was announced ; so she determined to again 
 gradually turn the conversation into other channels, and 
 answered, apparently as fully indifferent as before : 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing ; I'm used to little things like that. 
 What bothers me is to have him flirt with me, and pre- 
 tend to be ' gone on ' Wawona at the same time. There, 
 I'm awfully slangy, ain't I ? Well, it is the proper thing
 
 54 
 
 / SWEAR. 
 
 to be slangy in California," she rattled on. " You see, 
 they have an idea out there that Boston young ladies 
 are all of the kind who say ' pinks, prisms, and prunes/ 
 to leave their mouths in pretty shape, and read Dorm- 
 stardt's ' Logarithms of the Diapason,' and other musty 
 tomes, and quote Emerson and Carlyle ; and are alto- 
 gether dreary, old, prudish blue-stockings. And so, to 
 show them that we are not all of that kind, I started in 
 to catch on to their slang ; and really think I have made 
 progress, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes. So much so, that I think you are entitled to 
 the rank of professor. But to return to Mr. Morrison," 
 he added, for this Mr. Morrison and his connection with 
 his " cousins " had been an interesting problem with Jen- 
 der for over a fortnight ; " you do not mean to tell me 
 that good, sensible Wawona Brooke, with all her ability 
 and brilliancy, has any thought of that fellow ? Why, 
 from what I can learn, she meets twenty men a week 
 who are a thousand per cent more capable, more brilliant, 
 more original. I think you are wrong, and that because 
 he has paid Wawona a little attention, and she has re- 
 turned it graciously, as she always does, you are afraid 
 that your ' black bass ' is going to get unhooked, and so 
 you think she is caught as well as yourself." Then he 
 continued, with a smile : " Don't show him too plain- 
 ly that you are in love, Fanny. Remember, that it 's * the 
 fish you are not certain you can catch ' which interests 
 one in fishing." 
 
 " Well said," she answered vivaciously, " I like that. 
 You turned my own guns on me in fine style. I will be 
 more careful the next time I philosophize with you. But 
 really, Frank, you are wrong. I have never seen Wa- 
 wona so interested in any man since her little affair with 
 a Harvard student, when she was at Wellesley." 
 
 " That shows you are jealous, for if Wawona ever had
 
 I SWEAR. 55 
 
 an affair with any one, surely I would knew of it," Frank 
 answered, to urge her on. 
 
 " No, this was before you went to Harvard. The Welles- 
 ley seniors went out to Class Day at Cambridge, and Wa- 
 wona was very much struck with his oration. Nothing 
 would do but she must meet him. I have forgotten what 
 his name was now. But he was from out in Minnesota 
 somewhere. He wrote the most divine letters you ever 
 read. I think he sent her his picture, and she kept it 
 up in her room for a long time." 
 
 " But what became of him ? She is not the kind of a 
 girl to flirt with a man, and then give him up for the 
 fun of seeing him drop." 
 
 "T don't know," she answered absent-mindedly, as she 
 had determined to make an excuse to retire now that she 
 felt certain that Frank would not misunderstand her 
 action ; " she went down to Hampton Beach for her vaca- 
 tion, and after that she never spoke of him at all. In 
 fact, she seems to grow sad whenever she refers to him, 
 so I never do nowadays. By the way, Frank, come to 
 think of it, I may go down to Dover this afternoon to 
 visit Agostine Stonehill I am expecting a letter from 
 her every minute in case it comes I shall have to excuse 
 myself for Thursday. Good morning." 
 
 Frank sat and mused for a considerable time over 
 Fanny's suggestions concerning Morrison and Wawona 
 Brooke, whom the boy almost worshiped. He knew 
 that two more dissimilar characters than Fanny Nor- 
 throp and Wawona Brooke could hardly exist, and so it 
 seemed strange to him that they could both be interested 
 in the same man. 
 
 Miss Brooke had been a very earnest student while she 
 was at Wellesley, and since her graduation had given 
 most of her time to her Browning Club, and the carrying 
 out of numerous little resolves, made while at college, to
 
 56 I SWEAR. 
 
 delve deeper into certain lines of literature. She often- 
 times, however, went into what Fanny called " society " ; 
 generally with the idea of studying the social phases of 
 American life, more than of joining in with the "merry 
 throng." Occasionally, however, she met with some 
 congenial spirit who would arouse the social part of her 
 nature, and almost unconsciously she would find herself 
 accepting nearly as many invitations out as her cousin 
 Fanny. 
 
 As he sat there, Wawona entered. He determined 
 to settle the Morrison question at once, so as soon as 
 they had exchanged their morning greetings he asked : 
 
 " Who is this Mr. Morrison, of whom I hear so much 
 nowadays, Wawona ? " 
 
 " An English gentleman, a very intimate friend of Mr. 
 Vansandt," she answered evasively, as she had hastily 
 determined not to make any more confidants until she 
 knew that Morrison had had an interview with her guar- 
 dian, and its result. 
 
 " Surely, you know more than this, for I know you are 
 interested in him if interested is strong enough," he 
 said earnestly. " Now, my dear friend Wawona, whom 
 I have been hero-worshiping as the beau ideal of all that 
 is cultured and refined, is not going to do anything so 
 commonplace and giddy as to fall a victim to an empty- 
 headed society swell and flirt ? " 
 
 " Why, Frank, how can you talk so ? You have never 
 met Mr. Morrison, and know nothing about him. He is 
 not empty-headed; he is a cultured and well-informed 
 gentleman. Where did you gain your information about 
 him ? " asked Miss Brooke earnestly, yet at the same 
 time good-naturedly. 
 
 " There, there, Miss Wawona," the boy hastened to 
 answer, as he feared from her manner that he had of- 
 fended her. " Please forgive me ; I know I ought not to
 
 I SWEAR. 57 
 
 have spoken like that. But from what they tell me of 
 him, he is not the kind of a man I have pictured in my 
 mind's eye as the one in whom you were to be interested." 
 
 "Now, Frank, to be honest with you, and to repose a 
 confidence in consideration of a discretion far beyond 
 your years, and in reward for the graceful compliment 
 you have just paid me, I will say that I really do not 
 know why I am interested in Mr. Morrison for I admit 
 I am. The mere fact that the lighter and gayer young 
 ladies have not found him cultured does not prevent him 
 from being so. It is the bee, not the butterfly, that finds 
 the honey in the flowers. And the man of the world has 
 a habit of not unloading his better and sterner ideas on 
 the extreme society young lady, for fear she will think 
 him pedantic." 
 
 She saw that Frank was taken by surprise at her zeal 
 in her friend's cause. And to prevent misunderstand- 
 ing, she continued, after a moment's hesitation : 
 
 " Alone with me, I find Mr. Morrison a versatile, well- 
 balanced, clear-thinking young man. He has read at the 
 Inns of Court, and so soon as he has settled some landed 
 affairs of his family out West, intends to return and 
 practice law, or rather act as counselor in England. Of 
 course, like all society men, he has his light and bright 
 side call it giddy if you will. This he exhibits to those 
 who appreciate it. For that matter, Frank, we all of us 
 partake more or less of our surroundings. A person of 
 one disposition will bring out one phase of our charac- 
 ter ; one of a different sort, another. It seems as though 
 our souls were made up of different tones, and that the 
 tones of others, having complementary or uncomplement- 
 ary tones, will fill in with ours, and make chords, either 
 harmonious or jangling, sometimes the light and merry 
 chord of the minstrel's banjo, and from that through all 
 gradations to the grand, sonorous, and solemn chord of
 
 58 / SWEAR. 
 
 the church organ ; and as our tones have made discords 
 or harmonious chords, so are our feelings toward others 
 made. Now, I admit to you when I am with Mr. Morri- 
 son I feel as if I had found harmonious tones, which 
 unite with mine and make harmony a logical result. We 
 each bring out what is best in the other." 
 
 She finished her speech and sat gazing into space, day- 
 dreaming. He stood and watched her, until, to break the 
 silence, he finally blurted out : 
 
 "So at last you are really in love, Wawona ?" 
 
 This speech somewhat startled her by its abruptness. 
 At first she was inclined to tell Frank of her half-com- 
 pleted engagement, but immediately dismissed the 
 thought as ill-advised, and concluded to wait until she 
 had heard Morrison's report of his interview with her 
 guardian, and replied : 
 
 " Perhaps this discussion is rather premature, Frank. 
 Still, as it has been begun, and as you are such a flatter- 
 ing, clever cousin, and as you know how to keep your 
 knowledge to yourself as few men do traditions about 
 women's gossiping capabilities to the contrary notwith- 
 standing I will say this much further : I am not in love 
 with him, according to the ideas of the "Duchess" or 
 "Rhoda Broughton," or any of the other modern society 
 novelists. I really think I outgrew that phase of inter- 
 est shortly after I left Wellesley, when, if I were not 
 averse to the idea of the existence of such a thing, I 
 should say I had a case of 'love at first sight.' At that 
 time I met a young man, a senior at Harvard, in whom I 
 think I was sufficiently interested to be really in love. 
 But it only lasted a few weeks at least," she added with 
 a sigh, "with him." 
 
 Frank did not notice the sigh, however, in his eager- 
 ness to ask :
 
 / S WEAR. 59 
 
 " A Harvard man ? What was his name, Wawona ? 
 Perhaps I know him." 
 ' She thought an instant, and then said : 
 
 " No, I really feel that I should not tell you his name. 
 The remembrance, probably, would give him pain, and 
 he would not want you to know about it. While I can 
 use my own discretion in talking about my own affairs, 
 as long as they are wholly my own, I do not feel the 
 same liberty where the affairs of others are intermin- 
 gled with mine. We really were very much wrapped up 
 in each other. We spent the whole of two days together 
 such delightful, all-absorbing days. Do you know," 
 she said, as if in a reverie, "I think I had more natural, 
 physical bliss in those two days, while I thought I was 
 wholly and completely in love, than I have had in all 
 the rest of my life combined." 
 
 " Well, what was the matter ? Why did n't you keep 
 it up? He didn't jilt you, did he, Wawona?" he said 
 jokingly, but at the same time very anxious to find out 
 this secret, which had been a mystery to him ever since 
 Fanny had referred to it. 
 
 " No, and yet yes," she answered hesitatingly, as if 
 deliberating whether to continue the discussion. " When 
 I left Cambridge I told him I was going to the White 
 Mountains, and he said he was to remain in Boston for 
 a time, and then go to his people in Minnesota. I re- 
 ceived two letters from him one from Cambridge and 
 the other from Hampton Beach ; and then I had an op- 
 portunity to run down to Hampton Beach fora few days 
 before we went to the mountains. I thought I would 
 surprise him. So I ran down to see Gallic Baldwin, who 
 was at the hotel there. 
 
 " I arrived just in time for dinner. 
 
 " Something in the tone of a waiter, who was serving 
 a lady near me, attracted my attention. Turning sud-
 
 60 / SWEAR. 
 
 denly, I was face to face with him over whom my young 
 heart had been throbbing for the last week. Yes, there 
 he was, in a waiter's apron. He turned deadly pale, and 
 then scarlet, but showed no sign of recognition, and 
 hastened shame facedly out of the room. 
 
 " My first impulse was to laugh, my next to cry. Gallic 
 laughed outright, but I said not a word. You cannot 
 understand the feeling which came over me the feeling 
 of sorrow for him. I knew he was a gentleman, and a 
 man of the most delicate feelings, and so I could under- 
 stand how keenly he felt the disgrace, no, it was not 
 disgrace, the bitterness of the situation. I learned after- 
 ward that it was all on account of his pride. It came 
 out that his father had allowed him just a certain amount 
 per term for personal allowance, and one of his chums 
 had been arrested for some college prank, and Paul 
 there" flushing "I did not intend to use his name 
 Paul paid his bail, and then, not to be compelled to write 
 to his father and explain, went down to Hampton Beach, 
 to earn enough to pay his fare home." 
 
 She remained silent for a few moments until Frank 
 aroused her with 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I wrote two or three times afterward, but never saw 
 him again ; and never thought I did, until I met Mr. 
 Morrison. Do you know, that really I fancied it was he, 
 when I first saw Mr. Morrison across the room.'' 
 
 "Why do you not speak to Mr. Morrison about it and 
 see if he is a relative ? " Frank asked, interested in spite 
 of himself. 
 
 "I have been on the point of doing so a thousand 
 times, but it seems almost impossible to approach the 
 subject, as I would be compelled to disclose so much of 
 my feelings. Besides, you know several people knew of 
 my little affair, so it would be easy for him to hear of the
 
 I SWEAR. 61 
 
 story and connect my questions with the past. And the 
 only way to be safe of a secret is to keep it to yourself." 
 
 As she finished she again dropped off into a reverie, 
 following out this train of thought in her own mind, until 
 she finally gave a slight start, and turning to Frank, 
 added : 
 
 " How many times a little hint of an intimate friend 
 gives others an opportunity to gain possession of our 
 dearest secrets, by combining that hint with other little 
 occurrences and ideas previously gained. How very often 
 is that hint the keystone to their arch of testimony, 
 which completes the evidence, and without which they 
 have nothing." 
 
 " Well-, there you go soliloquizing. I suppose that is 
 your delicate way of telling me that our interview on 
 your private affairs is at an end," said Frank. 
 
 Then he added in a half playful, half pleading tone : 
 
 " But really, Wawona, I am intuitively in love with 
 your Harvard Paul, and I intuitively dislike your Oxford 
 Paul. There ! Did it ever strike you what a strange 
 coincidence, that you should think they looked so much 
 alike, and that they should both have the same first 
 name ? " 
 
 " It is strange, is it not ? " she answered in a weary, 
 absent-minded tone, which let the boy know that she 
 was ready to drop the subject.
 
 62 I SWEAR. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THERE probably never existed a young man more dis- 
 gusted with himself than was Paul Morrison, as he saun- 
 tered home upon leaving the Northrop mansion after the 
 scene with Fanny and her father. 
 
 He evidently had a problem on his mind, for he was in 
 a brown study. 
 
 " Well, I think I had better go back to my nurse," he 
 said to himself, as he called to mind the scathing sar- 
 casm of the banker. 
 
 " Here I am undoing my best plans, just as they prom- 
 ised success merely because of a pretty girl and a neat- 
 fitting dress," he soliloquized half aloud. 
 
 Suddenly he came to a dead halt and said to himself, 
 almost vehemently : 
 
 " Undoing my best plans ! Am I ? " 
 
 No one was there to answer, and probably this was just 
 as well, for the expression on his face did not bode any 
 good to an antagonist at that instant. 
 
 " Am I not doing something worse ? " he added, as he 
 resumed his walk. " Am I not ruining the peace of mind 
 of the woman I really love, because of my uncle's vault- 
 ing ambition ?" 
 
 Then, he said with a petulant air : 
 
 " Oh, I must not think of this ! " 
 
 But petulant airs and petulant ideas do not control a 
 mind which has just had such a passionate interview 
 with such an interesting girl, for he finds himself con- 
 stantly trying to return to the subject, and his will power 
 as constantly checking the tendency. His reason has 
 not yet become disentangled from his passion, and his
 
 / SWEAR. 63 
 
 pride has hardly recovered from the shock and chagrin 
 of his interview with the banker. All these conflicting 
 forces tended to prevent his will power from accomplish- 
 ing its object ; and so, when he arrived at his lodgings he 
 was still carrying on a dialogue with himself, trying to 
 assist his reason to master his passion and chagrin. 
 
 He unlocked the door quite absent-mindedly, went up 
 to his rooms, and dropped into a large lounging-chair. 
 
 After having sat there, his legs stretched out in front 
 OL him, and his hands thrust deep in his trousers pock- 
 ets, completely lost in thought for a quarter of an hour, he 
 aroused himself, went over to a handsome writing-desk, 
 which stood in the corner of his elegantly furnished 
 bachelor apartments, and from a secret drawer in it took 
 out a photograph of a hard-faced, stern-featured man, 
 the lines of whose face would have proclaimed to a phys- 
 iognomist that its owner had a will which would over- 
 come any obstacle, and a determination which would make 
 even the fairy-tale actions of " Monte Christo " a living 
 possibility. 
 
 It was the picture of John Craig, his mother's brother. 
 
 Morrison had never seen his uncle in person, and up 
 to the time of his graduation from Oxford College knew 
 little of him, except the fact that he was wealthy. 
 
 Just prior to Morrison's sixteenth birthday, his mother 
 had received a letter from this brother, advising her of 
 his whereabouts, and telling her that he had amassed a 
 considerable fortune in the fur trade among the Cher- 
 okee Indians in far-off America, and that it was his de- 
 sire some day to have Paul with him. At the same time 
 he agreed to furnish her an annuity. This was especially 
 welcome, because of the fact that the living which her 
 husband had left her was not a particularly handsome 
 one. 
 
 There was but one condition to the annuity, that she
 
 64 I SWEAR. 
 
 should give her son Paul the best education England 
 could afford, and should attempt to make him, as he ex- 
 pressed it, "such a gentleman, that any lady of breeding 
 would be willing and proud to have for a husband.'' 
 
 " Moreover," he added, "teach him to hold in check 
 his impulses ; make them, make everything, subordinate 
 to his will power. Develop the control of will over all 
 his actions. Make it so predominant that he would be 
 able to undergo any suffering to accomplish that which 
 it dictated as necessary. Make its control so strong that 
 it could force him to burn off his own right hand, if that 
 act were necessary for the accomplishment of his ends. 
 And above all, do not let him marry until you have first 
 written me. 
 
 " Advise me of the very first attachment which tends in 
 that direction, for two reasons : first, because marriage 
 in general is a display of control of impulse over will ; 
 and second, because it is my desire to inquire into the 
 disposition of her who is to assist in forming the char- 
 acter of the only relative in whom I have any interest." 
 
 After that, the other letters his mother received had 
 all been modeled from the same formula merely ad- 
 vising her of the sending of her draft. 
 
 Finally, however, about eight months before his grad- 
 uation, the monotony was broken by the following : 
 
 " DEAR SISTER : 
 
 " Inclosed please find draft for the quarter ending July 
 1st. 
 
 " Let me know three months in advance when Paul is 
 to graduate, as I have plans for his future. 
 
 Your brother, 
 
 "JOHN CRAIG."
 
 / SWEAR. 65 
 
 In compliance with this request, his mother had writ- 
 ten her brother. She had Paul write at the same time, 
 thanking him, for his kindness, and assuring appreciation 
 thereof, and his willingness to repay that kindness by 
 anything in his power. 
 
 He was not very much surprised, therefore, to receive 
 this answer : 
 
 " PAUL MORRISON, Esq., 
 Oaks, England, 
 
 " My Dear Nephew : 
 
 Your letter thanking me for the 
 drafts to your mother was duly received. 
 
 " The only portion of interest to me was this : ' I 
 shall always be ready, dear uncle, to show my appre- 
 ciation of your kindness in any way possible, so I can 
 prove to you my thanks are not mere words. And I as- 
 sure you that the portion of the letter which you wrote 
 my mother, when you advised her concerning the develop- 
 ment of my will power, which she has oftentimes quoted 
 to me, has been constantly in my mind ; and I feel I can 
 assure you that I have profited by the advice, and can 
 warrant you I have a well-trained will.' 
 
 "I now write to say that I have use for that ' well-trained 
 will.' 
 
 " In order that you may understand me, I must explain 
 something of my past. I will attempt to be brief. 
 
 " Your mother will tell you that I have but one God, 
 ' Success '; that the accomplishment of an end would 
 make me consider no exertions in that behalf as labor. 
 
 " I have now before me the possibility of accomplishing 
 one of the greatest triumphs a man could hope for in this 
 modern day. 
 
 " It was my good fortune to marry the daughter of a 
 Cherokee chief. By that marriage, I was admitted
 
 66 T SWEAR. 
 
 among the chiefs of the Nation, and since that time the 
 other chiefs have died. The only descendant from them 
 now lives in Boston, and has a legal title to an undivided 
 portion of five million acres of fertile land. The title is 
 in the chiefs, to be held by them in trust for the Indians. 
 
 "There is but one flaw to my title, and that is in the 
 young lady of whom I have just spoken. Her name is 
 Wawona Brooke. 
 
 " She has the only right antagonistic to mine, and that 
 right, at the day of her marriage, ipso facto, passes to her 
 husband. 
 
 " I have kept myself advised of her surroundings for the 
 past ten years. She is a graduate of Wellesley College, 
 is inclined to be literary in her tastes, is refined and cul- 
 tured. I have attempted to have you educated so that 
 you would have some inclinations in common with her 
 own. 
 
 "Of her past relations, generally, I can tell you all. 
 
 " The only man in whom she has been at all interested 
 is your cousin, Paul Cameron, who is at present an in- 
 structor at Harvard College. 
 
 " For some reason which I have been unable to find out, 
 they have neither seen nor heard from each other for more 
 than a year. 
 
 " She is at present the ward of her uncle, Amos Nor- 
 throp, a banker in Boston, Massachusetts, in the United 
 States. 
 
 "My plans are these : I desire that you shall go to Bos- 
 ton, and enter society there. Join the Somerset Club and 
 any of the other swell clubs, if necessary. Spare no 
 expense. Live but for one object success. 
 
 " Marry Wawona Brooke. 
 
 "Draw on me for any amount necessary, but unless 
 absolutely necessary, do not write to me direct, nor see
 
 / SWEAR. 67 
 
 me, until you can say : ' I have been successful ; I am 
 the husband of Wawona Brooke ' 
 
 " In closing, I have two remarks to make by way of 
 caution. Do not come in contact with your cousin Paul 
 Cameron, or let it be known that you are his cousin ; and 
 do not let it be known to any one, especially Miss Brooke, 
 that you are related to me. 
 
 " Let it be understood that your money comes from 
 your father's estate, and obtain your money through 
 your mother ; advising me, through her, if you need an 
 increased allowance. 
 
 "And remember, I now live but for one object, and 
 that, to have you the husband of Wawona Brooke. 
 
 " Woe be to him who stands between me and that ob~ 
 ject! 
 
 " I await your successful report. 
 
 " Your uncle, 
 
 "JOHN CRAIG." 
 
 Morrison stood and looked steadfastly at the picture he 
 held in his hand. It seemed as if he was trying to read 
 what sort of a vengeance its original would work out, 
 should his dearest scheme be thwarted. 
 
 The contents of this letter came back and impressed 
 him with all the force they had when first received. 
 
 With a shrug of the shoulders, as if the ideas were un- 
 pleasant, he put away all thoughts of his harsh uncle, and 
 for a substitute permitted his mind to wander back to his 
 own career from the time he left Oxford. 
 
 When he arrived in Boston, and found Miss Brooke to 
 be a highly cultivated and cultured girl, with a pleasant 
 person and charming address, he assured himself that 
 his uncle had set him a comparatively easy task, espe- 
 cially as he found himself making rapid headway with his 
 suit from the very outset.
 
 68 r SWEAR. 
 
 He himself could hardly understand his success. The 
 way seemed prepared for him, and she seemed to be at- 
 tracted to him at once. 
 
 They readily fell into a familiar acquaintanceship. 
 This too without any of the little preparatory sorties with 
 which love affairs are supposed to be prefaced. Indeed, 
 he seemed to become the accepted one as if by force of 
 circumstances and by natural right. 
 
 Although he appreciated the absence of spontaneity 
 in himself and his own actions, yet he felt that he might 
 have with her a union of much interest from a mental 
 standpoint, for their reading had been in the same lines, 
 and they had many interests in common. 
 
 Moreover he was so confident his will power had su- 
 preme control over his impulses, that he felt assured he 
 would be able to enjoy with her a moderately happy 
 married life, if not considerable more ; because, in a neg- 
 ative way, he must have happiness, as that self-same will 
 would crush in its incipiency any tendency toward an 
 attachment which would cause regret. 
 
 But as his thoughts approached the latest developments 
 in the situation, he realized that he appreciated to a great 
 degree, more than he really cared to admit even to him- 
 self, the originality, piquancy, and charming naivete of 
 the bright and clever girl who had unwittingly diverted 
 him from his fixed course. He felt that in his implicit 
 confidence in that will power, and the certainty of its 
 preventing him from having any true feelings, he had 
 recklessly permitted his passions to open the portals of 
 his heart wide enough for her personality to make a great 
 impression there. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, as though trying to turn 
 off the thought, and said aloud : 
 
 " I really believe I have the blues, and that, too, over a 
 girl."
 
 / SWEAR. 69 
 
 But the thought was not to be removed by a shrug. 
 He saw that he was at a turning-point in his life, that 
 he must decide at once whether he should follow out his 
 uncle's plans and consummate the engagement with Miss 
 Brooke, and by so doing crush out of his own life every 
 possibility for true, spontaneous feeling, or whether he 
 should retire from the course upon which he had just 
 commenced, and break his engagement, if it may be so 
 called. 
 
 He felt assured that if he should by such an act remove 
 the pressure of his will power from the flood-gates of his 
 true feelings, a faint stream of which he realizes has for 
 the first time escaped from its controlling pressure, 
 those feelings would burst forth with an impetus which 
 would make his love for Fanny Northrop the complete, 
 absorbing destiny of his life. For he has at last begun 
 to understand, that besides his appreciation of her ex- 
 ceeding comeliness, the piquancy and originality of her 
 conversation, the keenness and brilliancy of her repartee, 
 there is a similarity in their mental methods, in the ani- 
 mus of their actions, and in their tastes and aims, a sim- 
 ilar self-confidence, a reckless absence of veneration for 
 established methods of action, which will always make 
 them agreeable companions, and he now feels lovers, 
 whose affection will outlast the passionate fusillade of a 
 honeymoon. 
 
 He has about determined to let the flood-gates open, 
 when another woman comes into his thoughts the God- 
 dess of Liberty on the American Eagle. 
 
 He sees that, to withdraw from his engagement, he 
 must increase the disgust and dislike of Amos Northrop, 
 and must at the same time bring down upon himself 
 heaven only knows what vials of wrath of his uncle, and, 
 a most unfortunate corollary result, the forfeiture of all 
 present income.
 
 70 I SWEAR 
 
 He is too much a man of the world to think of taking 
 upon himself an establishment such as a marriage with 
 Fanny Northrop would necessitate without an income ; 
 so her ladyship the Goddess of Liberty brings the influ- 
 ence of passion to a sudden stop, and the flood-gates are 
 closed firmer than ever. 
 
 His troubled reverie caused him to pace up and down 
 the floor. 
 
 Finally he halted, and asked himself half aloud : 
 
 " Give up an assured position to obtain what ? " 
 
 Again he shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " A story-book sort of bliss which we conceive to fol- 
 low a marriage for love, because of descriptions of it in 
 love tales, written nine times out of ten by people who 
 have never known what real love is." 
 
 Then the scale seemed to turn in the other direction, 
 for he thinks : 
 
 "But surely I have had experience enough to know 
 when I am in love. If I did not feel positive that the 
 tendencies of our minds are so similiar, and that we should 
 undoubtedly have the same feelings toward each other 
 five years from now, I could throw the matter off as 
 easily as I throw away that cuff," he said, as he jerked 
 off that innocent and inoffensive appendage. 
 
 "But the truth of the matter is, we are both cranks, 
 and cranks in the same line, and I never expected to see 
 another crank of my kind. And so, if she goes out of 
 my life, I feel as though she who was ordained by God 
 for me has been taken from me by an unkind fate. Or," 
 he said as he halted again, " is it because of my coward- 
 ice?" 
 
 This stopped the soliloquy again, and he recommenced 
 the pacing. 
 
 "No,'' he said firmly, "this possibility of enjoying an 
 unknown quantity of bliss is not sufficient recompense
 
 I SWEAR. 71 
 
 for bringing down on my head Uncle John's wrath, and 
 the interminable explanations necessary to withdraw 
 from my engagement. 
 
 " Love in a cottage is all very well, but it has too many 
 drawbacks for a practical man." 
 
 He dropped into a chair, deeply despondent, now that 
 he realized that all hope for anything but the life laid 
 down by his cultivated will had passed forever. He bade 
 good-by to his true, spontaneous self with a deep sigh, 
 and returned to the struggle with the thought of an in- 
 terview with Uncle Northrop, as the banker had become 
 to him, now that his position as father had been forced 
 to fade into insignificance. 
 
 Ringing for his valet, he donned his dressing-coat and 
 dropped into a lounging-chair for a restful smoke before 
 going to bed. 
 
 Having made up his mind to keep his impulses under 
 control, he enjoyed the negative bliss of absence of care 
 and worry attendant upon the future. 
 
 He felt assured that if he put on a bold front and asked 
 for Miss Brooke's hand at once, he would be successful. 
 His goal was set, and to reach that goal it was only 
 necessary to carefully pursue the path marked out for 
 him by fate.
 
 72 I SWEAR. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WHILE dressing on the next morning, Morrison found 
 his thoughts constantly returning to the scene in the 
 "den " off the Northrop parlor, and hs will constantly 
 checking the tendency ; for he realized full well how 
 near the brink he stood. 
 
 After breakfast, Johnson, his valet, brought him his 
 papers and mail the usual assortment, two or three ad- 
 vertisements from tailors, a note inviting him to a little 
 party, and a few personal letters, among which was that 
 from Fanny Northrop. 
 
 He disliked to admit to himself that his pulse beat 
 higher as he recognized her handwriting. 
 
 He read the letter, examined the photograph carefully, 
 and then turned it over to see if she had written any- 
 thing on the back all in vain. 
 
 After that he read the letter again, and gave a lack- 
 luster, far-away smile, as he came to the paraphrased quo- 
 tation from Will Carleton. 
 
 The letter was evidently a study to him. 
 
 He read portions of it over and over again. 
 
 Finally he said : 
 
 "What does she mean by 'This might become a con- 
 firmed habit '? Docs she know of my proposal, or does 
 she intend to corner me again with a * No pop, no kiss ' 
 proposition ? Or is she trying to give me the impres- 
 sion that she has jilted me ?" 
 
 This gave him a twinge of conscience. He tried to 
 shake off the thought. 
 
 " I must stop thinking of her, or I shall have the blues 
 again. Well, there is just this much about it : I cannot
 
 I SWEAR. 73 
 
 fall in love with her, because I shall not have a penny if I 
 do. Let her think what she will of me, it must be done. 
 But how am I to meet her father ? That is the present 
 problem." 
 
 He found himself wishing that she was right, when she 
 said that her father would not again refer to the inter- 
 view of the night before. 
 
 He disliked to face the banker, but was fearful that 
 unless he did so at once he would be unable to act out 
 the lie about dancing, and also that a delay might be 
 misconstrued by Miss Brooke. 
 
 He decided to carry out his resolution of the night be- 
 fore. He hurriedly ran over a letter from his mother, 
 and one from a friend in England, and then dressed him- 
 self carefully in preparation for his call on Amos Nor- 
 throp at the bank. He had made up his mind to call there, 
 because he was afraid that if he went to the house he 
 might be upset by another interview with Fanny. 
 
 After dressing, he found his temerity trying to con- 
 vince his will that his intention about seeking an 
 interview was rather hasty, and finally compromised by 
 determining to wait until after banking hours before 
 attempting it. 
 
 As he went up the bank steps he caught himself in- 
 wardly hoping that Mr. Northrop had been called out 
 of town, or had gone home, or in fact had done anything 
 which would take him out of the possibility of being 
 reached. 
 
 No such luck, however the banker was in his office. 
 
 Mr. Northrop noticed him as he came in the door, rose 
 and shook his offered hand in a perfunctory way, and 
 then said : 
 
 " Excuse me one moment, until I finish dictating this 
 letter."
 
 74 / SWEAR. 
 
 " Do not let me disturb you, Mr. Northrop," said Mor- 
 rison. 
 
 " Please be seated," answered the banker, " I shall be 
 at leisure in a minute." 
 
 Morrison took the proffered seat, and then let his eyes 
 wander around the office. 
 
 Everything betokened a man of method ; each article 
 was evidently in its place, and seemed to have an air 
 about it which distinctly said that it was to be returned 
 to its place atter use. 
 
 As the correspondent left the room the banker turned 
 to Morrison, with the nearest approach to a smile he had 
 ever noticed on that stolid face. 
 
 " Now I am at your service," he said. 
 
 " I called for two purposes, Mr. Northrop," Morrison 
 began, finding himself somewhat nervous, in spite of 
 his determination to keep cool. " First, to explain my 
 truly absurd position of last night, and then to ask a 
 favor of the greatest moment to myself and your ward, 
 Miss Brooke." 
 
 He noticed a slight involuntary closing of the jaws of 
 the smoothly shaven banker, as he said this, and in order 
 not to be interrupted, hastened to add : 
 
 " Last Saturday morning I obtained the permission of 
 Miss Brooke to ask your consent to our marriage, and 
 I called at your house last night to do so. I found no 
 one there but your daughter, and while we were amusing 
 ourselves with a dance," he bravely continued, notwith- 
 standing a scowl began to darken the banker's face, 
 "wrong as it was we were interrupted by your appear- 
 ance. That was what I meant last night, when I said 
 you misunderstood the situation. I want to be frank 
 with you, Mr. Northrop. Under the circumstances I, of 
 course realize that my actions were very improper, and 
 I hope this will pass for an apology."
 
 7 SWEAR. 75 
 
 He stopped, waiting for an answer. 
 
 Mr. Northrop was evidently digesting what he had 
 said, and trying to make up his mind what to answer. 
 
 The silence increased Morrison's nervousness. He 
 must do something, so he added : 
 
 " I suppose I ought to say something about myself. I 
 am the only child of my father, Roderick Morrison, who 
 was the fourth son of Sir Robert Morrison, of Glen El- 
 len, Scotland. I have an income of some fifteen hundred 
 pounds a year. I have been educated at Oxford, and in- 
 tend to become a counselor at law. My American friends 
 are those whom I have met in the last eight months, and 
 you know as much of me as they do ; hence I will say 
 nothing about references to them, but I can give you 
 any English references you desire." 
 
 The banker continued to look him straight in the eye, 
 without moving a muscle. He had altered his expression 
 but once thus far during the interview, and that was when 
 the almost involuntary scowl came across his face at the 
 mention of the scene of the night before. 
 
 He continued for some time to finger his pencil. He 
 turned it over and over again on the arm of his chair, and 
 appeared to be formulating his answer.' 
 
 Finally he said in a measured way, which showed that 
 his words had been the subject of much thought : 
 
 " Mr. Morrison, I have been more or less interested in 
 you for the last six months, because you were a friend of 
 my charges. I am familiar with your financial standing, 
 and that is satisfactory." 
 
 He then stopped, and for a second lowered his gaze, 
 evidently having changed his mind about the next sen- 
 tence. But after a moment's hesitation he again looked 
 up, and said : 
 
 "You say you have been frank with me ; I intend to 
 be really frank with you. You, yourself, are not satisfac-
 
 76 I SWEAR. 
 
 tory. I do not believe that any young man who has had 
 opportunities for an open, honorable, worthy career, with 
 possibilities of doing much good for his country and him- 
 self, can have the correct principles in life, such as would 
 make a properly reared American girl a true husband, if 
 he has been contented to lead the life of a society flirt." 
 
 Again he paused, and again continued : " Moreover, I 
 cannot understand your actions with my daughter. I 
 tell you frankly, I have not said one word to her, nor do I 
 intend to do so ; but I am certain you have not been 
 ingenuous with her, nor with me concerning her." 
 
 Morrison would have interrupted him with protesta- 
 tions of the truth of his explanations, which the banker, 
 by innuendo, seemed to doubt, but a certain expression 
 in the eye of Mr. Northrop deterred him. 
 
 "For these reasons I was impelled by first impulses to 
 refuse you my consent, but I have determined not to do 
 so. I am going to give my consent under certain condi- 
 tions, and I shall now explain these conditions to you. 
 
 "As you know, my niece is the daughter of a full- 
 blooded Cherokee Indian. Her father was a man of 
 great strength of character, and one whose constancy to 
 purpose could not be shaken. The daughter has man- 
 ifested many of his physical traits. Her life hitherto 
 has been such that she has never had any tendency to 
 bring into play her inherited Indian instincts. 
 
 "I have never been compelled to thwart her in any 
 desire, and I do not care to do so now. The fact that 
 she has permitted you to ask for her hand is sufficient 
 evidence that she thinks she loves you. If I were cer- 
 tain that she did, and that you loved her as you should, 
 I would give my consent unconditionally. It is my im- 
 pression that her feelings are but a temporary fancy. 
 Still, I fear that her inherited traits would cause her to
 
 I SWEAR. 77 
 
 disregard my refusal, and this we should all regret here- 
 after ; so I am going to give my conditional consent. 
 
 " By the terms of her mother's will, my guardianship 
 ceases when she has reached her twenty-fourth year, 
 which will be three years from this time. If you are 
 willing to absent yourself from her for that time, so that 
 your love for each other may be tested by a three years' 
 separation, and if at the end of that time you are still 
 betrothed, I will, on the very day my guardianship ceases, 
 give you my consent, and the handsomest wedding 
 Boston can afford, and will settle on Wawona an annuity 
 of twenty-five hundred dollars a year." 
 
 The expression on Morrison's face during this long 
 statement was a study : in it were intermingled chagrin, 
 disappointment, and anger. He first reddened, and then 
 alternately whitened and reddened, then swallowed three 
 or four times as if preparing to interrupt ; but finally, 
 when the proposition was fully made, he hesitated. 
 
 Without changing a muscle of his face, the banker 
 asked : 
 
 " Are you prepared to give your answer now ? " 
 
 " I would prefer to consult with Miss Brooke before 
 doing so." 
 
 "Very well. Will you be able to give me an answer 
 by Monday next ? " asked the banker, not at all softening 
 in his tone. 
 
 " I think that will be time enough," Morrison answered. 
 
 "To be sure that we understand each other, I will say 
 this : I do not act until I have fully made up my mind 
 as to the course to pursue. If you accept this agree- 
 ment, and perform your part, I shall carry out mine to the 
 letter. You, of course, must know from what I have 
 said that I do not want my niece to marry you." 
 
 " You have certainly been frank with me, Mr. Nor- 
 throp, and I can assure you that, if I accept your terms,
 
 78 / SWEAR. 
 
 I shall live up to the agreement, strictly. Good after- 
 noon." 
 
 Morrison made up his mind that the best thing for 
 him to do was to have an interview with Miss Brooke 
 at once, so he hailed a coupe and was driven out to the 
 residence. 
 
 During that drive he was trying to devise what he 
 should say and do in case he met Fanny Northrop. He 
 found the problem an insoluble one for the moment. 
 
 He might have saved himself the trouble had he known 
 that she, 'being equally fearful of a meeting with him, 
 had gone to Dover, to spend a few days with a friend 
 whom she had been promising to visit for some time. 
 
 Morrison's interview with Miss Brooke was brief and 
 matter of fact for a scene between lovers. They finally 
 agreed to accept the terms, and arranged to correspond 
 once a week during the long separation. He evinced 
 more warmth toward her than he ever had in the past, 
 and kissed her, and indulged in other little passionate 
 pleasantries common to affianced couples 
 
 She felt at the time that there was an absence of the 
 fervor of the kiss which she had received on the train at 
 Springfield. 
 
 He knew that his own feelings were different from 
 those he had had in the " den " on the Sunday night be- 
 fore. 
 
 Morrison, after his return to his rooms, studied for a 
 long time, to determine how to answer Fanny Nor- 
 throp's letter. He felt that she would always misunder 
 stand him, and was anxious to evolve some method of 
 explaining his position, without compromising himself 
 with respect to Miss Brooke. He found it a difficult task. 
 
 Finally, having given up all hope of seeing her, he de- 
 termined to write, and state the facts in as plain Ian-
 
 / SWEAR. 79 
 
 guage as he could, leaving fate to work out the situation 
 for him. 
 
 After deep consideration, he wrote the following let- 
 ter : 
 
 " MY DEAR Miss NORTHROP : 
 
 " The note inclosing your photograph was as clever as 
 the original is beautiful. I shall keep both, in remem- 
 brance of some of the happiest hours of my life. That 
 our paths from this time on diverge does not rob me of 
 the satisfaction of having known one of the cleverest and 
 brightest artists at repartee. 
 
 "The necessity of your flag of truce has been removed, 
 for I am engaged to your cousin Miss Brooke, of which 
 until now I have not been free to speak ; and owing to 
 the relentless mandate of your father, who accepts me 
 only on probation as the fiancee of your all too charming 
 cousin, Miss B., I am to absent myself from Wawonaand 
 Boston for three years. So, as I sail for Europe at an 
 early date, your trip to Dover forces me to convey by 
 pen, instead of by word of mouth, my regret at what has 
 been and what can never be again. We oftentimes, at 
 impulsive moments, permit ourselves to do things which 
 we cannot afterward explain even to ourselves ; still, I 
 hope you are a friend on whom I can rely. Forget all. 
 " Your true friend now and always, 
 " PAUL MORRISON 
 
 "BOSTON, May 27, 18 ." 
 
 " Regret at what has been and can never be again 
 Forget all ! " exclaimed Fanny, as she read and re-read 
 the closing lines. 
 
 " So he does think I am dying of a broken heart. Well, 
 I must fool him." 
 
 Forthwith she reached for her writing paper, but the
 
 8o / SWEAR. 
 
 jaunty tone of her resolution faded as her feelings brought 
 her to soliloquizing : 
 
 " I suppose I must admit that I never met any one else 
 in the world who seemed to look at life through the same 
 spectacles that I do ; who has the same interests, the 
 same whims, and the same tendencies as I, but, never- 
 theless, that is all over ; I am to be the ' true friend,' 
 now and always." 
 
 Then she took up the letter, and read it again. 
 
 " So he can ' rely ' upon me, can he ? That sounds as 
 though he was afraid he could not, and was too much 
 of a coward to ask me to keep my own counsel. If he 
 had only remembered that ' self-preservation is the first 
 law of nature,' he might have saved himself the trouble." 
 
 This thought did not cheer her spirits, however, and 
 she soon found a tear trickling down her cheek. She 
 dashed it off with a petulant air, as if disgusted with her- 
 self, and said as she turned to the writing-desk : 
 
 " Well, I suppose every dog has his day, and at last I 
 have found mine. This is my Waterloo at flirtations. 
 The only thing I can do is to keep the matter to myself, 
 and try another letter to see if I cannot prevent him from 
 being assured of the truth of his impressions." 
 
 After a little more study of his letter, she determined 
 to follow his formula for opening and closing, and wrote 
 the following : 
 
 * 
 
 " MY DEAR MR. MORRISON : 
 
 " I was about to commence my letter with that old 
 chestnut, 'Your very welcome letter has just been re- 
 ceived, etc.' when I bethought myself that would not be 
 exactly the truth, because of the one sentence, ' Forget 
 all ! ' 
 
 " This was unwelcome, because it does not sound at all 
 natural it seemed too melodramatic for you. Besides, I
 
 / SWEAR. 8 1 
 
 always like to do what my friends request of me, and I do 
 not want to forget anything of the charming six months 
 I have passed, while you were attempting to keep from 
 telling me a fact which I was trying to force you to 
 confess all the time. 
 
 " Really, Mr. Morrison, you gave me one of the most 
 interesting problems in psychological philosophy I have 
 had in society for a long while ; for I assure you I never 
 before tried so many social experiments in such a short 
 space of time. And I am certain I never developed a 
 livelier interest in any problem. The only part of the 
 problem which remains unsolved is, Why did you not 
 succumb to my experiments at once ? Was it because 
 you did not think me capable of seeing the fact as it 
 existed, or was it because you did not have confidence 
 enough in my friendship to be sure that the confession 
 would not change it ? 
 
 " But enough of this. I trust you will remand that 
 objectionable 'Forget all!' sufficiently to allow me to 
 retain in memory all our experiences save those last 
 mentioned. 
 
 " I was about to say that I congratulate Wawona on 
 her good fortune in capturing the most interesting gen- 
 tleman friend I ever knew, when I happened to notice 
 the way in which you relegate her to the neuter gender ; 
 for you say, ' I am engaged to your cousin Miss Brooke, 
 of which, until now, I have not been free to speak '- 
 under those circumstances, I do not know but that I will 
 'advise her to be certain that your love is purely disinter- 
 ested and reliable. 
 
 " So much for nonsense. And, joking aside, I hope 
 your lives, when commenced three years from now, may 
 be as fruitful in pleasure as your brilliant prospects at 
 present give promise, and that you both may have all the
 
 8 2 / SWEAR. 
 
 happiness expected by your friends, and also that I shall 
 always be a close friend to both. 
 
 " It looks now as though my visit here would prevent 
 my seeing you before your departure for Europe ; but 
 whether I do or not, remember that, as the boys say in 
 California, ' I never went back on a friend,' and also that 
 I can be relied upon. 
 
 " Your true friend, now and always, 
 
 "FANNY NORTHROP." 
 
 " DOVER, June 2, 18 ." 
 
 After she had finished the letter and was ready to 
 direct it, the thought struck her that she did not know 
 his present address. She wavered a moment, consider- 
 ing whether or not to destroy the letter, and then made 
 up her mind to send it to his club. 
 
 Had she followed the impulse to destroy the letter, her 
 after-life would have been different from that which fate 
 had decreed. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FANNY NORTHROP remained at Dover until she felt 
 she could return and face her friends Frank Jender and 
 the rest of the world without flinching whenever there 
 was a reference made to Morrison. 
 
 She had had enough opportunity for reflection to rea- 
 son out the exact status of her feelings toward this 
 enigma, as he was to her, and had come to the conclu- 
 sion that, with his loss, had passed away all possibilities 
 for une grande passione in her life. She might hereafter 
 have affection for a man, but any possibility of being 
 completely and wholly given up to one man's love had 
 passed, when that peculiar friendship had its end.
 
 / SWEAR. 83 
 
 Frank Jender, she knew, was the only one in the 
 Northrop household who suspected the true nature of,; 
 her feelings, and she inwardly dreaded an explanation ' 
 with him. 
 
 She had hoped that this interview might be averted un 
 til she had been home a week or two, and had recovered 
 her old spirits. But fate was not with her ; for the next 
 day after her return, some three weeks after Morrison's 
 departure for England, she walked into the library and 
 found Frank sitting there. She made a brave effort not 
 to lose her composure, and said in her usual, off-hand 
 way : 
 
 "Hello, Frank, all alone?" 
 
 " Yes. Wawona had to go upstairs to write a letter to 
 his royal highness over the sea. I was left here to 
 amuse myself, and you appear on the scene like an angel 
 of mercy, to save me from the fate of getting interested 
 in myself." 
 
 He took hold of her hand, and turning her around, so 
 as to look her full in the face said : 
 
 " What's the matter? You do not look well." 
 
 She released her hand, and then fluttered around the 
 room, moving a vase here and arranging a seat there. At 
 the same time, she tried to collect her thoughts, and hit 
 upon some subject to divert the conversation. 
 
 " I don't know ; possibly I took too much exercise 
 when I was up country." 
 
 " I may be mistaken ; I have not seen you for so long 
 a time. Let me see I have not had a chance to chat 
 with you since that day you informed me I was a cat- 
 fish. What a world of things have happened since then ! 
 
 " And your black bass has wriggled off the hook, has 
 he, Fanny ? " he said, apparently jokmg, but in reality by 
 way of experiment, for he made up his mind that some-
 
 84 / SWEAR. 
 
 thing had gone wrong, and that he was the man to right 
 it. 
 
 He had intended to make an impression, but hardly 
 one so striking as he did ; for happening to look up at 
 the large mirror over the mantel-piece, he caught an ex- 
 pression of pain and sorrow on the reflected image of 
 Fanny's face as she stood behind him, unguarded, as she 
 thought herself unobserved. There was a revelation of 
 so much feeling in it that he would have given anything 
 to have had his words unspoken. 
 
 Fanny deliberately came around in front of his chair 
 drew up another close to him, took his hand, and with 
 a voice so earnest as to almost frighten him, said : 
 
 " Frank, we are friends, and we both love Wawona, so 
 I want to have a talk with you on that subject now, and 
 then let it drop forever ; because, if you keep teasing me, 
 sooner or later Wawona will know of it, and it may be a 
 cloud over her happiness." 
 
 Then she arranged herself for a long confidential talk. 
 
 " You are the only one who knows the extent of his 
 flirtation with me," she said, boldly plunging into the 
 subject. "If I was flirting with him, you know he got 
 the better of it, and, of course, must know that I do not 
 care to discuss my defeat. If I am in love with him, it 
 is a hopeless love, and therefore must be so deep as to be 
 one of my sacred memories so sacred, that to discuss 
 it, to make it even in the least degree the property, 
 of any one save the subject of that love, would be a des- 
 ecration. In either case, therefore, it would be best and 
 kindest to let the discussion of the ' black bass ' and his 
 influence drop forever, both because it would occasion 
 me sorrow now, and because there would be a possibility 
 of its occasioning Wawona sorrow hereafter. Now, 
 promise me you will be a dear, kind cousin and do as I 
 ask."
 
 / SWEAR. 85 
 
 He did not answer at once, but sat and looked stead- 
 fastly at her, still holding her hand. 
 
 He understood that she had suffered, and tried to think 
 of some way which would reassure her sufficiently to 
 make her feel that he did not understand her as well as 
 he knew she thought he did. However, fearful that she 
 might misconstrue his silence, he answered : 
 
 " I promise never to refer to him again. But, Fanny, 
 I never saw you in this mood before I never knew that 
 you had anything but the bright, lively, happy, don't- 
 care-whether-school-keeps-or-not mood. How much you 
 must have suffered. Can I help you in any way ? " 
 
 " I am glad it is you who have found me in this mood. 
 It will not last long, though. I have been brought face 
 to face with the realities of life for the first time. 
 
 " Up to the termination of this flirtation, I have been 
 nothing but just 'a happy girl.' The fact that every- 
 thing which required judgment was arranged and re- 
 moved from my care by all of you who love me left me 
 to plunge recklessly into my happiness with absolute 
 abandon. I had had so many flirtations and had been so 
 accustomed to have men come into my life, and be every- 
 thing while they were near me, and nothing when they 
 were away from me ; to have my interest in them cir- 
 cumscribed by the boundary of 'extreme joy of propin- 
 quity and despair of distance ' ; and to go into things in 
 a ' sporty ' sort of way ; and to expect to be one of the 
 many to him, exactly as each man was always one of 
 the many to me, that I did not conceive it possible to 
 have any one's identity sufficiently impressed on me to 
 become necessary for happiness. But now that this affair 
 has shown me what a reckless life I have been leading, 
 and has brought me face to face with the stern, real 
 world, you must never expect to see the same old reck- 
 less abandon again. I have, so to speak, been intro-
 
 86 / S WEAR. 
 
 duced to my own judgment ; and, while I am going to 
 keep up a show of life and recklessness so that no one 
 will suspect what I have confessed to you is the truth, 
 you can expect soon to see that judgment have control 
 over my actions ; and soon dear old father will begin to 
 find that Fanny's California trip has not hurt her so much 
 as he feared. 
 
 " There, Frank, now that is honest and ingenuous, is 
 it not ? And you can consider yourself flattered indeed, 
 for I was never so really confidential to any one else in all 
 my life." 
 
 He did not answer ; but sat still holding her hand, 
 while he continued alternately to gaze at her face, and 
 then at the hand. 
 
 His silence worried her. She had talked herself into 
 an unnatural calmness, which contrasted with her pre- 
 vious nervousness ; so, in order to break the silence, she 
 said, without really caring to have him answer : 
 
 "What are you thinking about, Frank?" 
 
 " Your statement that this unhappy calamity with 
 Morrison had introduced you to your judgment," he an- 
 Stwered. " What little things make great changes in our 
 lives ! What trifling happenings start us into entirely 
 different lines of existence ! " 
 
 Then the thought came to him that it would probably 
 be better to direct the conversation toward himself, for 
 her unpleasant frame of mind was apparent to him ; so 
 he added : 
 
 " I was trying to make up my mind whether I had 
 ever been introduced to my judgment." 
 
 She appreciated his motives, and took advantage of it. 
 
 " Oh, it 's lots of fun getting acquainted with yourself, 
 Frank, but you must be really stirred up in order to get 
 the introduction. Now, if everything is running along 
 smoothly, and I am not having any trouble, why I act
 
 / SWEAR. 87 
 
 upon exactly the same principles, and from exactly the 
 same motives, all the time ; theater parties, ' dancing, 
 lawn-tennis, flirtations, and all that take up my whole 
 time, and I do not get a chance to think." 
 
 " Well," he answered, " certainly that is enough to 
 take up anybody's time. You don't mean that you have 
 been compelled to do anything else with it?" 
 
 " So you think you know me, do you, Frank ? " she 
 answered, evidently in a thoughtful mood. 
 
 " Yes, of course, I do. Haven't I been almost a brother 
 to you ever since your return from California ? " 
 
 " Yes, but this is the first time you have found me in 
 one of my earnest moods. My Aunt Florence out in 
 California had a great influence over me, and could do 
 almost anything with me. She was the first one who ever 
 let me know that I could take interest in anything but 
 light society events ; and I think that I developed more 
 mental capacity from my conversations with her than I 
 would have gained had I gone through the same college 
 education Wawona has." 
 
 " Well, you are getting serious, truly. I suppose we 
 can expect to hear a sermon from you next." 
 
 " If you really want a sermon, I can give it to you * 
 because I think 'I have probably done a great deal more 
 work upon religious topics than you have. The truth 
 of the matter is, Frank, I really believe that one day I 
 was introduced to my own soul, just as this affair has 
 introduced me to my own judgment. Every once in a 
 while I have a quiet little religious visit with myself. 
 Probably, now that I have met my judgment, I shall have 
 nice little philosophical discussions with it ; and the first 
 thing you know, I shall be instructor of philosophy in 
 some college." 
 
 " Well, you are a strange girl ! " he answered, glad to see
 
 88 * SWEAR. 
 
 her joking tendency return. " I don't think you could 
 have the blues fifteen minutes, if you tried." 
 
 Then, fearing that a silence might cause her to return 
 to her unhappy mood, and in order to keep the conversa- 
 tion directed in other channels, he said : 
 
 " But about your soul who introduced you to that, 
 Fanny ? This Morrison trouble introduced you to your 
 judgment : was it another man ? I am jealous again." 
 
 "N-o-o " she answered, drawling out the monosyllable 
 as if trying to make up her mind whether to continue 
 her confidences. 
 
 "It was Nature herself, I think." 
 
 The expression on her face showed that she had made 
 up her mind to go on with her confidential talk. 
 
 " You find me in a very strange mood to-day, Frank, 
 into the channels of thought in which I often drifted 
 while with Aunt Florence, when I would be really serious 
 and was not acting on the idea that everybody thought I 
 ought to be harum-scarum." 
 
 " And in one of these moods you were introduced to 
 your soul, were you ? " 
 
 " Yes. You see it was in this way. I was spending a 
 week with Mrs. Leslie at Berkeley, a little college town 
 in Alameda County, just across the bay from San Fran- 
 cisco, the site of the University of California, and one of 
 the dearest little places in the world, cuddled up in a 
 bend in the hills which form the first approach to the 
 Coast Range mountains. 
 
 " Immediately back of the town is a series of cafions, 
 and I loved to ramble through them in search of maiden- 
 hair ferns. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, Frank, if I go into extravagant rap- 
 tures, for if there is any place in the world I am really in 
 love with, it is Berkeley. Along Strawberry Creek, as it 
 runs back into the hills, you can see every possible variety
 
 / S WEAR. 89 
 
 and character of river scenery in miniature : waterfalls, 
 ripples, cascades, valleys, recesses, caves, caftons, every- 
 thing in profuse loveliness. Well, in my impetuous way, 
 I started out about four o'clock one afternoon it was 
 in November I wandered up the creek, reveling in 
 the scene and having a lovely little visit with myself. I 
 came to a dark canon, the sides of which were entirely 
 covered with maiden-hair ferns. I went to work collect- 
 ing, and when I had gathered all I wanted it was almost 
 dusk. 
 
 " As soon as I realized how late it was I scrambled out 
 of the cafion and up to the road on the hill which leads 
 down to Berkeley. Then I beheld one of Nature's pan- 
 oramas which, had it been reproduced by a painter would 
 have been pronounced by the self-satisfied critics strik- 
 ingly beautiful, but overdrawn. 
 
 "Directly opposite me was the Golden Gate, with San 
 Francisco bay lying almost beneath my feet in the shape 
 of an irregular ellipse, with the shorter axis between me 
 and the Golden Gate ; on the left bow of the ellipse lay 
 the City of San Francisco, its towers, church steeples, 
 smoke stacks and residences standing out on the sun> 
 mits of the hills prominently in relief, looking like old 
 baronial castles. On the right bow were the Marin hills, 
 their summits topped with great pine trees, which also 
 stood out in bold relief against the lurid sky beyond and 
 thus gave the mountains a weird, uncouth appearance. 
 
 " There had been no rain for a week, and the elements 
 were just gathering for a shower. The atmosphere was 
 so jiense and still that the smoke from the furnaces in 
 San Francisco had settled over the town in one murky 
 cloud, 
 
 " The picture moved me ; I stood perfectly still, watch- 
 ing the scene, for it touched a chord which I had never 
 felt before. After a time I seated myself on a rock be-
 
 90 I SWEAR. 
 
 side the road to watch the sunset. The refraction of light 
 through the heavy air over the ocean gave the lowest 
 stratum of the sky a dense garnet color, which appeared 
 the more dense because of the contrast with the almost 
 purple hue which the woods on the eastern slope of the 
 Marin hills had assumed, on account of the absence of 
 light on them, as, owing to the steepness of the hills, the 
 sun had set there a full half-hour before. Each higher 
 stratum had assumed a fainter tinge of garnet, until, at 
 the zenith, the lighter finer clouds had but a tinge of 
 pink. It seemed as if God himself had appeared, and to 
 those perfect surroundings of coupled marine and land- 
 scape views had added every variety of tint, to make the 
 scene more striking. 
 
 " I do not know how long I sat there, leisurely watching 
 a steamer traveling from San Francisco to Saucelito 
 immediately between me and the Golden Gate, and leav- 
 ing behind it a long, irregular, sinuous trail of smoke, be- 
 fore the almost oppressive silence of my surroundings 
 seemed to overpower me I hardly breathed. 
 
 " Gradually thoughts began to creep over me I never 
 dreamed of before ; in fact, I did not conceive my soul 
 could have them. In my silly, flippant way, I had always 
 'guyed' anything inclined to be poetical ; but there, amidst 
 those surroundings, my feelings seemed to force them- 
 selves into prominence, and soon, even my mercurial self 
 realized that it would be a sacrilege not to revel in that 
 sunset. 
 
 " At first there came a feeling of sorrow, partly because 
 there was no one for whom I cared present to enjoy the 
 scene with me, and partly because I appreciated the fact 
 that I was not worthy to enjoy such a scene. Then there 
 came a softer, more impersonal and sweetly sad feeling, 
 
 ' A feeling akin to pain, 
 That resembled sorrow only as the mist resembles rain.'
 
 I SWEAR. 91 
 
 "At length I arose, and strolled slowly down the hill, 
 stopping now and then to watch some new color effect, 
 or to try to distinguish some little town on the opposite 
 hills, from which, here and there, lights had begun to 
 twinkle forth. 
 
 "When I arrived at home I found the whole household 
 in commotion over my absence. Poor Mrs. Leslie was 
 quite alarmed at my unusual soberness, and would have 
 had a worry over me if I had allowed her. 
 
 " I insisted upon their taking my excuses to some friends 
 with whom we had an engagement that night, and had 
 some toast and tea in place of supper. And then, when 
 I was all alone, I pushed a huge lounging-chair up to the 
 fire, took a big Maltese cat in my arms, and sat there by 
 myself until nearly eleven o'clock, apparently melancholy 
 and in the blues, but in reality communing with my soul. 
 
 " I actually believe for the first time I knew Fanny 
 Northrop. I ran over my whole life from beginning to 
 end how good every one had been to me, how trifling 
 my own aims had been and everything of joy and sor- 
 row, from my childhood on, came welling up in my 
 thoughts, and whatever was truly worthy in me asserted 
 itself for the first time. And for the first time, also, I 
 appreciated that I had within me a something, I suppose 
 you might call it a monitor, which was quite displeased 
 with me for my careless, aimless way of living. That 
 monitor, I suppose, was my soul ; and I was really happy 
 in meeting it. 
 
 " But it was an awfully queer and gloomy way to be 
 happy, was n't it ? Still, I am confident I never spent 
 such a pleasant evening in all my life." 
 
 Her speech was followed by silence. Frank had hardly 
 time to recover from his astonishment at this new vein 
 of character which Fanny exhibited. He knew that the 
 few years she had spent with her aunt in California had
 
 92 / SWEAR. 
 
 developed much of the girl's mental capacity and that 
 she had done a great deal of reading while there ; but he, 
 in common with the rest, had been so accustomed to 
 consider her a light, gay, jolly companion, that he could 
 hardly realize she was capable of anything else. 
 
 Fanny herself was in a reverie. 
 
 While they sat thus, Wanona Brooke entered the room. 
 
 "Why, what a lugubrious looking couple ! What has 
 happened ? Have you two lost your best friend ? '' asked 
 Wawona. 
 
 " No," answered Frank merrily ; " Fanny has been 
 giving me a picture of California sunsets, and at the 
 same time, showing me a new side to her character. 
 
 " Do you know, now, that we have only known one side 
 of this girl ? She is a poetess." 
 
 Then he turned jestingly to Fanny, who was sitting 
 in the same position as when Wawona entered, and 
 asked : 
 
 " Why don't you write a book, Fanny. You are origi- 
 nal enough to startle the woild, and if you can do that 
 your book will be talked about, and if it 's talked about 
 will sell and make a lot of money." 
 
 "Well, I may be conceited, old man, but I 'm not that 
 bad," she answered ; shrugging her shoulders as if to 
 shake off her more serious mood and resume her old self, 
 together with its reckless dialect. 
 
 " Every girl who thinks she can write English, and has 
 permitted her girlish sentimentality to deceive her un- 
 sophisticated mind into believing that she has a capabil- 
 ity of conceiving passion, imagines she can write a novel. 
 Exactly as every highty-tighty, fly-away thing, who can 
 say little declamations in the way her elocution teacher 
 instructed her, thinks she can be a great actress. But I 
 can tell you one thing, and that is, if I do write a novel 
 it will be s id generis. I will not bore my readers with
 
 / SWEAR. 93 
 
 two or three chapters of introductory trash, describing 
 the lovely valleys and beautiful scenery of the surround- 
 ing country, or the peculiarities of a lot of ill-sorted and 
 highly uninteresting and absolutely unimportant ser- 
 vants, or the oddness of the system of governments of 
 the adjoining counties, or any other of the tedious 
 twaddle they generally throw into books." 
 
 " And everybody skips," suggested Frank. 
 
 "Yes, and everybody skips," Fanny accepted, contin- 
 uing ; " I will get right at the dialogue. It will be quota- 
 tion marks from beginning to end. 
 
 " If one wants to read a treatise on philosophy, or a 
 history, or a description of places, they know where to 
 go to find them ; and if one wants to read a novel, he 
 wants to hear people talk and to get at the plot and a 
 few love scenes. If there is anything that wearies me, 
 it is a society novelist who has deluded himself with the 
 idea that he has a mission to perform." 
 
 " How, then, do you explain the fact that you were so 
 much interested in ' Robert Elsmere ' ? Surely it has 
 enough theological dissertation in it, and yet you read it 
 three times, to my certain knowledge," Wawona remarked, 
 for the first time taking an active part in the dialogue. 
 
 "You could not have been so interested in the love 
 story as not to be satisfied with one reading. And good- 
 ness knows, you are not religious, for we have all had 
 enough trouble to persuade you to go to church, and you 
 have driven poor Mrs. Matthews almost insane over your 
 criticism of what few sermons you have heard." 
 
 Fanny hesitated a second before she answered. 
 
 She realized that the exhibition she had already made 
 to Frank of the peculiarities of her lines of thought had 
 placed her in a position to be the subject of conversa- 
 tion among her friends ; and so she faltered a moment, 
 trying to decide whether to exhibit a little more of her
 
 94 / SWEAR. 
 
 solid self to Wawona, by entering into a discussion of 
 religious subjects, or to throw it all off by taking refuge 
 behind her every-day butterfly jollity, 
 
 Finally, however, her more stable self gained the as- 
 cendancy. She turned to Wawona, and said very seri- 
 ously : 
 
 "Now I am going to astonish you, too, in the same 
 way I have Frank. 
 
 "You all believe because I talk slang, and try to be al- 
 ways free from care and independent, that I never delve 
 into deeper subjects. Of course, I cannot blame you, for 
 I have kept these possibilities to myself. But strange to 
 relate, and contradictory as it may seem to Mrs. Mat- 
 thews, I am very much interested in religion and theos- 
 ophy and Buddhism and several other 'isms' in abroad- 
 minded way. 
 
 " You see, Aunt Florence was one of those iconoclastic 
 thinkers I think that is what they like to be called 
 that or agnostics, which is still newer and more aufait, 
 who really do not believe in anything and who are al- 
 ways trying to keep everybody else from belief. And 
 every Friday night she would gather together a number 
 of her friends, and they would discuss ' advanced ideas,' 
 as they called them. I used to consider them a great 
 bore at first, and only attended for fear I would hurt 
 Aunt Florence's feelings if I staid away. But, finally, 
 I became really interested in them." 
 
 "And you mean to tell me you became religious?" 
 Wawona asked, interested in the girl's earnestness, in 
 spite of herself. 
 
 " No, I do not mean to say I think I ever can be good- 
 and-go-to-church-namby-pamby kind of ' religious,' like 
 Mrs. Matthews," Fanny answered, throwing off all re- 
 serve, as she felt she would have to explain herself in 
 full, or be wholly misunderstood. "And what 's more, I
 
 / SWEAR. 95 
 
 don't want to be ; nor do I want to accept everything as 
 true because the minister says that the Bible says it is 
 true." 
 
 "Do not say that, Fanny; that is sacrilegious," Wa- 
 wona said, quite seriously affected by the force with 
 which Fanny expressed herself. " You must have faith 
 in something, or you will be wholly miserable." 
 
 " That is exactly the thought which has brought me to 
 this way of thinking," her cousin answered ; " for belief 
 is not a voluntary act of the mind. I do not want to be 
 an unbeliever. I do want to have faith in something, 
 and Robert Elsmere's sermon, before those working 
 people is the first essay sermon, or religious disserta- 
 tion I ever heard, or read, which did not make me think 
 I was being gulled from the very start, and therefore so 
 antagonistic that I would not even accept whatever of 
 the dissertations were really good sense ; and I admit 
 that the 'good sense' portion was generally in the great 
 minority." 
 
 As she said this, Mrs. Matthews entered the room. 
 
 Fanny knew that the old lady was going to be horri- 
 fied at what she was saying, and ordinarily would have 
 desisted for while she was always teasing the old house- 
 keeper and quasi governess, who was one of the most 
 devout church members of the good old Presbyterian 
 school, on ordinary subjects, she had always heretofore 
 held aloof from tilts with her on religious topics. 
 
 But now she felt that in justice to herself she must con- 
 tinue the discussion. 
 
 " Really, I have never heard a single sermon in my life 
 which did not contain something about which I could 
 not say truthfully : ' That is not so, and the minister say- 
 ing it knows it is not so, as well as I do, and he is only 
 using it to lead us to his way of belief.' Now, as soon 
 as that happens, I become disgusted and obstinate, and
 
 9 6 I SWEAR. 
 
 my thoughts are further away from true religious feel- 
 ings than when I went into the church. 
 
 "As Mrs. Ward says so truthfully, in Robert Elsmere : 
 'I turn away from the Jesus of Nazareth because he 
 has been disfigured and misrepresented by the churches.' 
 So when Elsmere began to dissertate on a religion based 
 on ' experience,' ' the record and instrument of man's 
 education at God's hands,' and talked of a ' God, the 
 Father Almighty ' as a 'force at the root of things,' 
 'an Eternal goodness,' 'an eternal mind, of which na- 
 ture and man are the continuous and only revelation,' 
 without mingling it with a lot of miracle bosh and re- 
 vealed nonsense, I had the peculiar sensation of becom- 
 ing interested in a religious book, and I have read ' Rob- 
 ert Elsmere ' three times for the theological essay, and 
 not for the love story." 
 
 Mrs. Matthews, who had been listening in speechless 
 horror up to this time, now interrupted : 
 
 "Fanny Northrop, I am ashamed of you. It is exactly 
 as I warned your father. I told him that Mr. Warton, 
 our minister, said the young and worldly minded people 
 were becoming so interested in Robert Elsmere's teach- 
 ings, that the book ought not to be permitted to be in the 
 house. And now he will find out the wrong which has 
 been done by not paying attention to my admonitions. 
 Oh, if you could only be brought to the church and learn 
 ' the way to the light ! ' " 
 
 Fanny hesitated again a few moments. 
 
 She generally had a deal of policy intermingled with 
 her apparent heedlessness, and under other circum- 
 stances she would not have felt that she had received 
 sufficient recompense from having worsted the old gov- 
 erness to cause her to follow out the discussion. But 
 now, thinking that both Frank and Wawona would think
 
 / SWEAR. 97 
 
 her rather sacrilegious unless she made herself better 
 understood, she turned to Mrs. Matthews and said : 
 
 " Yes, that's the way with you church people, who let 
 the minister do all the thinking for you. You imagine 
 you have satisfied your intellect when you have not even 
 exerted it, and go on using your minister's sayings for 
 intellect. 
 
 "You talk about your 'way to the light,' she added, 
 warming to her subject; why, 'Robert Elsmere' has 
 done a great deal more to bring me and a thousand other 
 ' worldly minded ' people, as you call us, to the 'light/ 
 than the combined efforts of your so-called ' divines ' 
 could have done in a year's preaching. They waste about 
 half their sermons in complaining that we worldly mind- 
 ed people do not go to church." 
 
 Then the expression on her face changed. 
 
 " Now, answer me one question. You may not see the 
 reason for it, but please answer it. Do you know the 
 way to Honolulu, in the Sandwich Islands ? " 
 
 " No," answered Mrs. Matthews. " Why should I ? I 
 never was there." 
 
 "That's just it. Now, suppose I should give you a 
 large sugar plantation over there, worth half a million of 
 dollars; how long would it take you to find the way 
 there ? " 
 
 "Why, I would go right down to Mr. Smith, at the 
 ticket office, and ascertain." 
 
 "That's just it, again. Now, I, and the rest of the 
 worldly minded people, are in exactly the same condition 
 as to the 'way to the light.' We do not want the light, 
 and so all the efforts of yourself and your tiresome 
 preachers cannot interest us in the ' way to the light.' 
 But get us interested in the ' light,' and we will very 
 soon find some ticket agent in the shape of a divine who 
 will teach us the way there."
 
 98 / SWEAR. 
 
 She hesitated a moment, then continued : 
 
 " The highest praise I ever heard of ' Robert Els- 
 mere' came just now, when you said your minister was 
 complaining that worldly minded people were interested 
 in it. For if 'Robert Elsmere ' can bring worldly minded 
 people to think earnestly on theological subjects, it is 
 getting them on the first step toward desiring ' light,' 
 and is doing more than your clergymen themselves can 
 do, as they confess when they complain from the pulpit 
 that they cannot get them to church. 
 
 " To my mind, the only way to keep us from being 
 worldly minded is to get us interested enough in spirit- 
 ual affairs to think on them seriously ; and to do this, 
 you must begin as Mrs. Ward did by stripping theol- 
 ogy of all this miserable miracle bosh." 
 
 " I will not listen to another word ! I will go to your 
 father at once ! " Mrs. Matthews answered, as soon as 
 she had recovered from her surprise. "Fanny Nor- 
 throp, the devil has possession of you ! " 
 
 Fanny turned to Wawona and Frank, who stood look- 
 ing at her dumbfounded. 
 
 " Whew, what a rage ! That is a fair sample of half 
 the female theologians. I suppose she really would like 
 to see me a Christian, but wants me to reach belief in 
 her way. And if I do not, I absolutely believe she would 
 prefer I should remain without any belief. Am I shock- 
 ing you, too, Wawona ? " she asked, as the silence which 
 followed the precipitate departure of Mrs. Matthews 
 made her realize that, in her earnestness she had com- 
 pletely monopolized the conversation. " I am afraid that 
 in the heat of my discussion I have been rather abrupt." 
 
 " You certainly have said very harsh things about 
 some very sacred subjects," Wawona answered, trying to 
 be truthful without hurting her cousin's feelings, "and 
 you are hardly conventionally religious ; but," she has-
 
 I SWEAR. 99 
 
 tened to add, " so long as your religion has underlying 
 it the practical principle, ' Do unto others as you would 
 that they should do unto you,' it does not seem to me to 
 make much difference what your theories are. I, my- 
 self, belong to the Presbyterian Church mainly because 
 it was my mother's church." 
 
 " Do you believe in inspiration in revealed ideas ? " 
 Fanny asked, earnestly. 
 
 " I really have not given the subject the thought I 
 should ; but I have always conceived that I did, merely 
 because it, was expected of me," Wawona answered se- 
 riously, for Fanny's earnestness had apparently become 
 contagious. 
 
 " Fanny, I begin to think that the very fact of my be- 
 longing to the church, and having all my ideas prepared 
 for me, as it were, has been the means-of causing me 
 to do less thinking on such subjects than you have done." 
 
 Frank, who had been an earnest and silent listener up 
 to this time, now came forward. 
 
 " I believe in inspiration," he said, " but in a peculiar 
 way. That is, I believe that any one who has a natural 
 aptitude for a study, and who devotes his whole time and 
 effort to the development of that study, will see and 
 know things connected therewith so original that the 
 knowledge will seem to the average person capable of 
 being acquired by no ordinary process of the mind ; and 
 therefore, perforce, to have been inspired. For instance, 
 my instructor, Mr. Cameron, with whom I am studying 
 physiological chemistry, almost every day performs some 
 very peculiar and original experiment, and oftentimes 
 obtains such astonishingly unexpected results, that if I 
 did not know the immense amount of timeand labor which 
 his wonderfully capable and highly cultivated mind has 
 devoted to the subject to enable him to accomplish these
 
 ioo I SWEAR. 
 
 results, I would be prone to consider them miracles and 
 to consider my instructor inspired. 
 
 " So, of course, any student of moral and theological 
 philosophy will have ideas on theology far in advance of 
 those of us who only think of religion when we are forced 
 to do so. And if the student have a natural aptitude for 
 such studies, he too must have ideas so far beyond our 
 capabilities that they must seem to us to be r-evealed. 
 Hence it is no wonder to me that the followers of Jesus, 
 with their grand and noble thoughts on faith and belief 
 and their comparatively highly refined natures, should 
 have seemed to the ignorant Roman populace to have 
 been inspired, and that their writings should have been 
 handed down to us and accepted as revealed thoughts 
 and teachings." 
 
 " You do not mean to say that you think there is any 
 one now living who is inspired, do you ?" asked Fanny, 
 quite as much taken aback by Frank's interest in the 
 subject, as he had been by hers a few minutes before. 
 
 It was lucky for Wawona that each of her friends was 
 such an interesting study to the other, or else possibly 
 one of them might have noticed the peculiar expression 
 which came over her face at the mention of Mr. Cam- 
 eron. 
 
 "Not in the usual acceptation of the term," Frank an- 
 swered, as oblivious as was Fanny that Miss Brooke had 
 had one of her dearest memories brought back to her 
 mind. 
 
 "But do you know, I almost thought Mr. Cameron 
 was inspired one Sunday morning. 
 
 " It happened this way. He always takes a walk on the 
 hills on Sundays. This particular morning I caught up 
 with him and asked if I might accompany him. I con- 
 fess I am awfully fond of him, in a sort of reverential 
 way ; for although he is not much older than I, he is so
 
 / SWEAR. 101 
 
 devoted to his work and knows so much on all scientific 
 subjects, that, as I say, I almost revere him. 
 
 "Well, he picked up a small piece of stone which had 
 been washed down from the hills ; and, turning to me, 
 said thoughtfully : ' Jencler, if that tiny pebble could talk, 
 it would preach a sermon in comparison to which today's 
 combined efforts of all the learned divines in the world 
 would sink into insignificance. It would teach a lesson 
 of that divine controlling force of the nature of which 
 we are unable to conceive, but which the theologian 
 has placed in the shape of an anthropomorphological 
 God, that would make the strongest sceptic listen.' And 
 then he talked on most interestingly, showing how geol- 
 ogy, chemistry, biology in fact, every science assist- 
 ed in making us believe and have faith in the true God. 
 
 " Well, during that talk, or preferably discourse, he 
 obtained conclusions which seemed to me must be in- 
 spired must be of divine origin ; but which were in 
 reality only the product of his more than ordinarily 
 capable mind. 
 
 " It is really a treat to know such a man. I have often 
 thought you would like him, Wawona, if you only knew 
 him. He has so many tastes in common with you." 
 
 The reaction in Fanny's feelings had already set in ; 
 she had become silent and almost gloomy. Wawona had 
 been in a half reverie ever since the first mention of 
 her friend's name, but she had been trying to keep up an 
 apparent interest in the discussion, because she was not 
 certain that her involuntary start at the mention of Cam- 
 eron's name had not been noticed, and therefore, she 
 felt that any tendencies to reverie might be construed into 
 some connection with that start. 
 
 Now that Frank turned to her with a direct allusion to 
 him, she felt herself redden. She knew she appeared
 
 102 I SWEAR. 
 
 conscious, and, thinking her only safety lay in apparent 
 carelessness, asked : 
 
 " Was he formerly a student ? " 
 
 "Yes," Frank answered, pleased that she took an in- 
 terest in his friend. " He was a Harvard man. Maybe 
 you knew him ? " 
 
 She was about to say, " I did know him " when she 
 realized that she was treading on dangerous ground, as 
 she had already alluded to him in such a pointed way to 
 both her hearers. 
 
 She therefore determined to turn it off, and answered : 
 
 " I do not think I did, but I would be pleased to meet 
 him, as he is such a dear friend of yours. Besides, he 
 would probably like to discuss religion with Fanny." 
 
 Frank noticed she was not at ease, and wondered what 
 was the occasion of it. 
 
 Miss Brooke felt that she must summon up enough 
 courage to start a new subject of conversation, when 
 Fanny, who had been silent for a long time, relieved her 
 of the necessity by saying : 
 
 " Frank, will you take me for a ride ? I am almost ex- 
 hausted. This being in earnest is too much for my brain." 
 
 " Certainly ; if Wawona will excuse me." 
 
 " Of course, I will, but I expect to have a further con- 
 versation with you soon." 
 
 When they were well on their ride, Fanny said : 
 
 " Now, old man, we understand each other, don 't we ? 
 You are not going to be a cat-fish nor a black bass, and 
 we are all always going to be platonic friends ? " 
 
 " Yes, I guess so. People say that is impossible. And 
 I think myself, in general, platonic friendship is merely 
 a name we like to give to our intercourse when we are in 
 love and do not care to admit it. But I think I am cured, 
 and as you will always be thinking of somebody else, I 
 feel certain that we are safe to be friends."
 
 I SWEAR, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FRANK JENDER, during the year which followed Morri- 
 son's departure from Boston, had been so wrapped up in 
 his college course, the completion of his studies, and the 
 arranging of his post-graduate work to prepare himself 
 for his course in medicine, that he had little time to ob- 
 serve the changes which were taking place in his uncle's 
 household. 
 
 He had been a commencement speaker at graduation, 
 and was somewhat piqued when Miss Brooke, who had 
 always appeared to manifest so great an interest in him, 
 had neglected to accept his invitation to the exercises, 
 especially as she gave him no better excuse than that 
 she had an engagement to make a party call that after- 
 noon. 
 
 He, of course, never dreamed that she found herself 
 involuntarily flinching from facing a scene similar to the 
 one which, a few years before, had made such an im- 
 pression on her girlish brain. However, she had com- 
 plimented him very highly on his oration, which she took 
 occasion to inform him she had cut out of the " Globe " 
 for her scrap-book, and in several other delicate ways 
 evinced so much interest in him that the pique was soon 
 forgotten. 
 
 Besides, she had been interested in his plans for the 
 future. He intended to take a two years' post-graduate 
 course in organic and physiological chemistry, under 
 Mr. Cameron, in conjunction with his work at the Med- 
 ical Department ; and was much flattered and pleased 
 that she was so interested in his scheme, and that she 
 agreed with him so perfectly in the idea that a thorough
 
 104 * SWEAR. 
 
 course in those studies might develop interests which 
 would probably open a new field of specialties to him as 
 a physician. He little suspected that the fact of Paul 
 Cameron being his instructor was a great factor in Miss 
 Brooke's interest. And, truth to tell, she herself could 
 not have told, had he asked her, the extent of this addi- 
 tional interest ; but had she canvassed her mind she 
 would undoubtedly have found that the memory of her 
 happy associations with him played a not inconsiderable 
 part in her new-found interest in abstract science. 
 
 In his post-graduate' study, Frank's social relations 
 with Mr. Cameron assumed a more familiar character. 
 The enthusiasm of the youth in his work soon dispelled 
 whatever distance the dignity of the instructor had hith- 
 erto placed between them, and soon they became more 
 like fellow-students than instructor and pupil. So Frank 
 had begun to make Mr. Cameron his confidant and he 
 in return had, during the twelve hours a week in which 
 they were thrown together almost alone, as there was 
 no one else in Frank's course learned whatever there 
 was to be learned of Mr. Cameron, although that infor- 
 mation was meager in the extreme. 
 
 There was a college tradition about what a " terror " 
 and howling swell he had been while a student, and a 
 dim rumor that because his father had lost 'a fortune 
 while he was at Heidelberg, he had been compelled 
 to accept an instructorship to enable him to finish his 
 education in the specialty he had chosen for his life's 
 work. 
 
 Frank had often wondered why a man of Mr. Came- 
 ron's charming address and attractive personal appear- 
 ance had not gone into society, but never had found an 
 opportunity to ask him the reason. 
 
 One day he determined to experiment.
 
 I SWEAR. 105 
 
 " Why don't you get married, Mr. Cameron ? " he asked 
 in an apparently careless way. 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth, Jender, I have had no op- 
 portunity," he answered evasivel) 
 
 Frank was not to be put off that easily, however. 
 
 " But you are not a man who has to wait for an oppor- 
 tunity. With your superb physique and presence and 
 ready address, you could make an opportunity easily 
 enough." 
 
 He looked at Frank attentively for a time. The thought 
 flitted across his mind that the boy might be trying to 
 find out the present status of his feelings toward Miss 
 Brooke. 
 
 Frank, in his confidences, had spoken openly of his 
 uncle and "cousins," as he called Miss Northrop and 
 Miss Brooke ; in fact, so frankly and so openly, that 
 Cameron felt he did not suspect the relations which had 
 existed between himself and Miss Brooke for the few 
 days which were still the oasis that his memory con- 
 stantly furnished him in his present social desert. 
 
 Frank had never referred to Morrison's connection 
 with the family, because that connection was very dis- 
 tasteful to himself, and also because he was certain it 
 was equally distasteful to his uncle. 
 
 The instructor had been several times on the point of 
 questioning Frank as to whether Miss Brooke had formed 
 any attachment ; but had refrained from doing so, in the 
 first place, because his refined nature rebelled from prying 
 into others' affairs, and also because he feared to excite 
 Frank's suspicion of his connection with her in the past. 
 So he had contented himself with what few stray refer- 
 ences the young man had made to her in his rambling 
 talks of his own affairs. 
 
 Frank, who was waiting all this time for an answer, 
 began to grow impatient.
 
 106 / SWEAR. 
 
 " Well, have you figured it out ? One would think I 
 had given you an abstruse problem in mechanics, from 
 the amount of gravity you have assumed." 
 
 Cameron had become assured by this time that the 
 boy knew nothing of his past, and so answered : 
 
 " Oh, excuse me ! You brought me back to my college 
 days and I dropped off to thinking over the good old 
 times I used to have before time, fate, and an.bition com- 
 bined to remove all possibilities for anything but work. 
 Yes," he said, in what Frank thought a very sorrowful 
 tone, " I was something of a society man in those days ; 
 but that was before my father lost his money and I my 
 prospects." 
 
 " But are you not fond of women's society, of dancing 
 and amusements ? It seems to me that you would be a 
 great social success, if you would only go out." 
 
 " I was very fond of society in my day, Frank. Now, 
 all I have for pleasures in that line are the evergreens in 
 my memory." Frank thought he displayed more inter- 
 est than he had ever before known him to do in anything 
 but a scientific discussion. 
 
 " Do you know what I think, Mr. Cameron ? I think 
 you have been in love, and that you are trying to be true 
 to a memory." 
 
 Cameron gave a hasty glance, to see if he had unwit- 
 tingly disclosed his secret ; then, fearing his silence 
 might be misinterpreted, hastened to say : 
 
 " No, it is that my science is so jealous, she will not 
 let me have even a memory." 
 
 He knew that he appeared conscious and ill at ease, 
 and was at a loss how to act, to prevent Frank from 
 noticing his nervousness. Out of sheer desperation, 
 he picked up a wash bottle from Frank's desk and going 
 into the next room, conspicuously filled it with distilled
 
 I SWEAR. 107 
 
 water, so that the boy would not understand that he was 
 doing it merely to gain time to collect his thoughts. 
 
 He might have saved himself the trouble, had he 
 known that Frank's mind was so busy trying to evolve 
 some way to probe further the vein of information he 
 had hit upon, that he had not noticed the instructor's 
 evasion of his question. 
 
 Frank was confident that he had accidentally stumbled 
 upon a secret. At first he determined to unearth this fur- 
 ther, and then immediately decided that this would not 
 only be ill-bred, but would probably be the means of rais- 
 ing a barrier between himself and this friend, who was 
 beginning to be very dear to him. 
 
 He concluded to try to make him think the conversa- 
 tion had made no impression on him. 
 
 So when Cameron returned with the bottle, and care- 
 fully began to wash a precipitate he had been filtering, 
 in order that his mouth might be so busy that he would 
 have an excuse to discontinue all conversation, Frank 
 said: 
 
 " I wish that you would come down with me and call 
 at my uncle's house some day. You would find my cou- 
 sin, Miss Brooke, especially congenial, and they would all 
 appreciate you. This must be an awfully empty life for 
 you to be leading, even though you are making such a 
 position for yourself in the scientific world." 
 
 Frank thought he was disabusing any suspicions in the 
 mind of his friend that he was trying to "pump" him 
 concerning his past life. The effect, however, was pre- 
 cisely the reverse. 
 
 Cameron saw he must turn the conversation, and 
 answered : 
 
 "Thank you ever so much, Jender, but I am so 
 wrapped up in my work I cannot spare myself the time."
 
 io8 / SWEAR. 
 
 Then seeing that Frank was preparing to push the 
 invitation further, forced himself to add : 
 
 "Instead of my life being empty, I consider it just the 
 opposite. 
 
 " In my scheme of life, the only happy man is the 
 contented one. And he only is contented who is accom- 
 plishing the aims for which he is living. Social life has 
 such an indefinite aim that it is incapable of accomplish- 
 ment, and hence knows not what contentment is. 
 
 " For that matter," he added, more at ease now that 
 he saw his way clear to lead the conversation where he 
 wished, " I do not pretend to be living at present. I am, 
 as it were, merely in a transition state, storing away 
 forces in a latent form, which are going to be useful and 
 apparent when I do begin to live; 
 
 " I have often thought our lives were built by ages and 
 divided into eras, much as the geologists teach us the 
 world's life has been buiit up and divided. 
 
 " There are periods of slow growth and periods of rapid 
 growth. During the periods of slow growth are left the 
 traces of animal and vegetable life, which enable the 
 geologists to determine the characteristics of the fauna 
 and flora of that period. And while the forces which 
 produce the onward change are apparently inactive, they 
 are, in reality, depositing strata after strata on the out- 
 lines of the seashore, and storing up within the earth by 
 their superincumbent pressure latent forces, which, at 
 the proper time, react and become apparent, and cause 
 the rapid change which produces the new and advanced 
 era. Now I am developing traits and absorbing ideas 
 which are some day going to be matters of my personal 
 history, and at the same time, I am storing up the latent 
 forces which are to enable me to open up a new era in 
 my own life, and with those latent forces as apparent ones,
 
 / SWEAR. iog 
 
 to revel in the life of a savant on account of my consci- 
 entiousness to duty as a student." 
 
 "Yes," Frank interrupted, fate seeming to drift him 
 into matrimonial lines, "but you may continue in this 
 age of slow growth so long as to cut out all possibilities 
 of domestic happiness. I should like to see you the head 
 of a home. You would, in my mind, make an ideal hus- 
 band." 
 
 Cameron saw that his attempt at distraction was not 
 successful. The boy seemed possessed, and must be 
 answered. 
 
 "You speak of my marrying. How absurd that would 
 be in my present surroundings," he said earnestly. 
 
 " My wife must, of necessity, have culture, and must 
 therefore have been accustomed to the pleasures and 
 conveniences of a home of refinement of wealth. 
 
 "Now I, with my salary of twenty-five hundred dollars 
 a year, have barely enough to live as I desire, and supply 
 myself with the necessary apparatus and appliances for 
 pursuing my chosen work. What fool-hardiness, then, to 
 ask some highly bred girl to sacrifice the pleasant acces- 
 sories of wealth which have become almost a necessity 
 to her, to join me in a search for honor, which is entirely 
 dependent on my mental capacity for success." 
 
 "But if a woman of that kind should ever know you 
 well enough to appreciate your true worth," Frank inter- 
 rupted, not appearing to notice the air of uneasiness 
 which the instructor had assumed, " tho.:e sacrifices you 
 speak of would fade into insignificance when compared 
 with the pleasure of companionship, and the joy and ela- 
 tion of being a party to your successes." 
 
 At first the thought came to Cameron, " Wawona has 
 sent him as a forerunner to try me." But a glance 
 at Frank showed him that his wish was father to the 
 thought, and he said aloud, somewhat in sadness, due no
 
 no I SWEAR. 
 
 doubt partly to disappointment because his suspicion 
 was not well grounded : 
 
 "No, Frank, that is a thing of the past ; that is the 
 ignis fatuus of youth. But enough of me. How are you 
 getting along with your analysis ? " 
 
 Frank felt this meant an end to the discussion of 
 his private affairs. He would have liked to push the 
 matter further, but Cameron's air showed plainly that he 
 felt he had been led into saying a great deal more 
 than he intended.' So he reluctantly answered : 
 
 " Fairly well ; I am having some trouble with that last 
 one." 
 
 " Can I help you ? " the instructor asked, anxious to be 
 alone, but careful to act so as not to excite suspicion. 
 
 " I don't think so, thank you ; but I do hope you will 
 think favorably of my invitation." 
 
 " Well, we will see," he answered, and walked into his 
 private office, much relieved at escaping from his danger- 
 ous cross-examination. 
 
 Frank wondered if it were only his imagination which 
 caused him to detect a tendency to sadness in his friend's 
 tone when he said, " That is a thing of the past." Alto- 
 gether, the whole interview had been very interesting 
 to him, and he was convinced that there was a " woman 
 at the bottom of it." How much greater would his inter- 
 est have been, had he known that his Wawona was that 
 woman !
 
 / SWEAR. in 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAUL MORRISON had always thought that he would 
 find it no trouble at all for him to throw from his mind 
 any object, person, or occurrence he desired forgotten. 
 He had accepted his uncle's theory that a properly cul- 
 tivated will could compass anything in the way of mental 
 action. But during his trip across the ocean back to 
 Europe, he discovered that his will power, while it might 
 accomplish wonders in the way of controlling the action 
 of the mind, had considerable trouble in controlling inac- 
 tion. 
 
 Every novel he read contained some little passage 
 which reminded him of something which had happened 
 to himself and Fanny Northrop. Every quaint or origi- 
 nal squib, or bit of doggerel verse, which attracted him 
 because of its uniqueness or originality, produced in him 
 a fleeting wish that he might quote it to her and enjoy 
 her criticism of it. And in a thousand other ways mem- 
 ory apparently sought to prove to him that she and her 
 manners had taken a much stronger hold on him and his 
 mind than he had at first thought. 
 
 Then, to cap the climax, he met an old lady whose 
 name Miss Goodfellow proclaimed her to be an old 
 maid, but whose constant recurrence to topics which 
 gave her an opportunity to philosophize on the fact that 
 "marriage was a failure" made him accept as true the 
 rumor that she had been a great flirt in her youth, 
 had been married for her money, and after obtaining a 
 divorce had taken her maiden name and attempted to 
 revenge herself on the world at large by pessimistically 
 informing her matrimonially inclined young friends of
 
 ii2 I SWEAR. 
 
 the trials, troubles, and tribulations of ill-assorted mar- 
 riages. 
 
 "The man I pity most," she said one day to Morrison, 
 when she had him alone in a tete a-tete corner of the la- 
 dies' cabin on the steamer, and had forced the conversa 
 tion around to her pet hobby "is the man who reasons 
 himself into marrying one girl, while in reality he is in 
 love with another. Of course I mean really in love." 
 
 " I do not agree with you, Miss Goodfellow," answered 
 Morrison ; " I think it is not so in all cases. If a man 
 really cares for the girl he is going to marry, and feels 
 that her charms are not of the kind which will pall on 
 his interest, and has will power enough to crush in their 
 incipiency any thoughts of the other, he must sooner or 
 later become so enamored of the girl he has married as 
 to deaden all thoughts of the other, and ultimately to 
 cease to need the use of his will." 
 
 " That is all very well in theory. But you will find, 
 with Dryden, that % 
 
 ' The more we raise our love, 
 The more we pall and cool and kill his ardor/ " 
 
 answered the old lady. " You will find in life that, as to 
 true affectionate love, your mind will be like the works 
 of an elegant watch, into which, no matter how carefully 
 the case is constructed, dust will invariably penetrate. 
 The only way to prevent the works from being reached 
 is to put it away in its case and let it stop. So with the 
 mind which has once known true affection the only 
 way to prevent remorseful thoughts is to absolutely stop 
 its workings ; for, if you do not, every mental effort, 
 every mental function, will have in it something to bring 
 back memories of the other. And no matter what one's 
 theories may be, she who is the present one will never 
 be able to replace that which we conceive might have 
 been, had we been joined with the other."
 
 I SWEAR. 113 
 
 " Then you think, with the essays of the ' sweet girl 
 graduates ' of the seminaries," he said jokingly, trying 
 to convince himself that he did not agree with her, "that 
 'anticipation is sweeter far than reality ' ? Now, I think 
 a man of the world, with worldly instructions of the 
 value of the homely maxim, ' A bird in the hand is worth 
 two in the bush/ is assured that Dryden's 'palling' 
 would be out of the question, since there would never 
 be any necessity for his love to be 'raised.'" 
 
 "That is begging the question. If all three birds were 
 of the same kind linnets, for instance your maxim 
 would do very well. But if your man of the world was 
 one who happened to be particularly fond of the song of 
 the canary, and only passingly fond of the chirp of the 
 linnet, and in his attempts to hold the linnet which he 
 had in his hand he had permitted the canary, now in 
 the bush, to escape and join the other linnet, I do not 
 think his will power would ever be strong enough to en- 
 able him to become sufficiently in love with the chirp of 
 the linnet but that, when he heard another canary sing, 
 memory would cause his love to pall a la Dryden, and he 
 would regret not having dropped the linnet and spent 
 his time in recapturing the canary. And this feeling will 
 be increased if his imagination happens to be such that 
 the excellence of this particular canary's song is intensi- 
 fied by an over-appreciative memory." 
 
 The thrust was so decidedly at the home of Morrison's 
 thoughts, that he soon found an excuse to withdraw and 
 be alone. 
 
 From that time on, the memory of Fanny Northrop in 
 his mind assumed the shape of an escaped canary. Plan 
 as he would for distractions, there would always be a 
 something to bring her back into memory. 
 
 As soon as he had reported progress to his mother at
 
 n 4 I SWEAR. 
 
 their old home, he tried traveling, drifting hither and 
 thither, from one capital on the continent to another. 
 
 It was in vain. He always had one problem uppermost 
 in his mind. 
 
 At one time the thought came to him that if he could 
 only conquer the influence which the almighty dollar 
 had over his reasons for action, that if his financial de- 
 pendence on his uncle could be removed, possibly fate 
 might step in and assist him in undoing what she had 
 forced him to do. But as he saw no immediate prospect 
 for a sufficient income in the study of law, he gave up 
 hoping to try to act without his uncle. 
 
 Finally he drifted back to London, and was about to 
 make arrangements to commence his studies at the Inns 
 of Court, when, as luck would have it, he received a let- 
 ter from an old classmate at Oxford, Arthur Seymore, 
 now a Master at Eton, with whom he had done a great 
 deal of work while at college. Seymore invited him to 
 run up and spend his Christmas holidays with him. 
 
 He did so. After he had been at the old school town 
 a few days, he found the memories of his college asso- 
 ciations, brought back to him by his old college friend, 
 were the first distractions which were at all likely to be 
 permanent. The society phase of his character was Jost 
 sight of in this reveling in his scholastic reminiscences, 
 and he found himself involuntarily drifting into lines of 
 conversation and thoughts which were in no way con- 
 nected with "her." It gave him hope. So, when he 
 found the position of master of the third form vacant, 
 with a salary of two hundred and fifty pounds a year, 
 he determined, much to Seymore's astonishment, to 
 accept it. 
 
 " Merely to keep my mind busy," he explained to him- 
 self ; " and besides, I think Wawona would like the idea."
 
 I SWEAR 115 
 
 He made arrangements to enter upon his work a 
 month after the beginning of the new term. 
 
 He realized that he could no longer be of society ; so 
 he returned to Edinburgh, gave up his apartments, packed 
 away his dress clothes, ordered a complete new outfit of 
 somber garments, discharged his valet, and entered into 
 preparations for his duties in dead, sober earnest. 
 
 At the time appointed for him to commence his new 
 work, it would have taken a very clever man to discover 
 Paul Morrison, the friend of Erylc Vansandt, of the 
 Somerset Club, in P. C. Morrison, Esq., Master of the 
 third form at Eton. 
 
 His labors proved to be the best means he had yet 
 found to distract his mind from his memory, and he was 
 about congratulating himself that the chirp of the linnet 
 had reached the same stage of appreciation in his mind 
 with the song of the canary, and that his uncle's theory 
 about the capabilities of a well-trained will accomplishing 
 any desired end in mental control, even though antagon- 
 ized by affection and passion, was proven, when he re- 
 ceived the answer to his last letter to Fanny Northrop. 
 
 The envelope was so covered with post-marks as to 
 suggest small-pox. It had followed him from Edinburgh 
 to London, to Liverpool, to Paris, and so on for nearly 
 nine months, and now it found him in this quiet little 
 English town. 
 
 It burst upon him like a clap of thunder from a clear 
 sky. The sight of her handwriting at once brought 
 back to him with renewed intensity all those feelings 
 which had troubled him that night after the scene in the 
 "den." 
 
 He sat and gazed at the much-traveled epistle for a 
 long time before opening it. 
 
 Finally he opened and read it, re-read it and then 
 there flitted over his face a peculiar smile which seemed
 
 n6 I SWEAR. 
 
 to say, " That 's clever, but do you mean it ? " At last he 
 laid it down and dropped off into a reverie. Had any 
 one observed him very closely, he would have concluded 
 at once that there were many bitter thoughts running 
 through his unspoken soliloquy ; for, now and then, an 
 unpleasant smile would come across his thoughtful face. 
 Still, the prevailing expression was that of a student over 
 a problem in which he was much interested, and which 
 he feared he could not solve. 
 
 Then he said aloud : " If it were not for that sarcastic 
 finish, ' Remember that I never went back on a friend/ 
 I could believe her to mean what she says, But that, and 
 the clever thrust at advising Wawona to doubt the 'reli- 
 ability ' of my love, show so much smothered vindictive- 
 ness that I fear it is just a clever ruse to make me 
 think she is master of the situation." 
 
 Then sitting bolt upright, he said : 
 
 "And isn't she?" 
 
 He did not answer himself, but permitted his thoughts 
 to wander off to America for a time, till a deep sigh 
 found him saying meditatively : 
 
 " Could she know how much I long for that complete, 
 unconcerned, free-from-care companionship which we 
 enjoyed, I wonder if she could forgive my being my 
 uncle's tool ? " 
 
 Again the wrinkles on his forehead deepened, while 
 his thoughts forced him into such a nervous state, that 
 he walked restlessly up and down his room. 
 
 " Why did I let myself kiss her that night in the " den '' ? 
 Why did I trifle with my feelings ? " he said vehemently. 
 " I should never have known how much I cared for her 
 if I had not permitted my passions to lead us into a posi- 
 tion which made me act with her to protect her from her 
 father's suspicions." 
 
 He was now pacing back and forth like a caged lion.
 
 / SWEAR. 117 
 
 " Why ? " he said in a fierce voice, coming to a halt in 
 his mad charge across the room, " Why ? Why, for the 
 same reason that Napoleon permitted Grouchy to take 
 thirty-five thousand of his very best men from the 
 center of his line of battle the night before Waterloo. 
 How was he to know that Wellington was massing his 
 forces, any more than I to know her father was coming 
 into that parlor. Why ? " he repeated, becoming almost 
 tragic in his earnestness, " why, because he thought he 
 was invincible ! So much for conceit." His tone was 
 pregnant with disgust. " Self-reliance is a good thing, 
 no doubt, but too much of it can play the devil ! " The 
 pent-up feeling was almost exhausted as he threw him- 
 self into a lounging-chair, the picture of abject despair. 
 
 He had lain there with his hand over his eyes for ten 
 minutes perhaps, when Arthur Seymore entered. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, Paul, what is the matter ? " he 
 said, alarmed at Morrison's appearance ; for the last few 
 minutes had left their impression on his face. 
 
 Morrison arose and resumed his hurried walk without 
 answering. 
 
 "See here, old man," Seymore exclaimed, "you have 
 something on your mind, and the best thing for you is to 
 unburden it. Ever since you took that wild idea of 
 accepting a poky tutorship down here, and shipped your 
 valet, and started in to be an economical, plodding ped- 
 agogue, I have been trying to have a chance to talk to 
 you. Come, old fellow, relieve yourself. You can trust 
 me, can you not ? " 
 
 Morrison came to a halt, and turning to him the sad- 
 dest, most thought-marked face he had seen in many a 
 long day, said : 
 
 " No, I cannot ; I am such a confirmed ass, I almost 
 feel as though I am almost a criminal. So much so,
 
 n8 I SWEAR. 
 
 indeed, I fear you would cease to be a friend if you knew 
 what my conceit had led me to doing." 
 
 He was so nervous and excited that Seymore was 
 troubled. 
 
 " It is not money matters, is it, old fellow ? " 
 
 "No, have you not seen me receiving my allowance 
 every quarter, and have. I not my salary " and. then he 
 stopped and said with a sorry attempt at a smile, " and 
 have I not proven myself a practical business man by 
 buying a farm ? No," he continued, as if about to give 
 vent to his thoughts. Then he stopped and meditated. 
 Seymore, who was watching him intently, saw his mouth 
 set firmly. A look of determination came over his face, 
 and his friend realized that he was having a struggle with 
 his inner consciousness. 
 
 " No, it is not money that worries me," Morrison finally 
 said in a despondent tone, " it is fate. If the Pythago- 
 rean theory is true, Seymore, my spirit must have been 
 guilty of an awfully peculiar crime." 
 
 He turned and recommenced his pacing, but in a much 
 calmer manner. At last he said : 
 
 " Seymore, I have made up my mind to ask your ad- 
 vice, I am going to tell you enough of my story to base 
 such advice upon, and then I want you to keep it as 
 sacred as you can. It is a matter very close to my heart 
 there is a woman in it." 
 
 He drew a chair close to his friend, and continued 
 without looking up. 
 
 " You know what a queer theory I had at Oxford about 
 will, and how I was always trying idiotic experiments to 
 be sure that I was not being controlled by my passions ? " 
 
 " Yes," Seymore answered, glad to welcome this qui- 
 eter mood, " and were always getting the blues because 
 you felt you were not acting as other men did." 
 
 "Well, that was all done on the suggestion of my
 
 I SWEAR. 119 
 
 uncle, John Craig. He was training me so that I could 
 prevent my feelings interfering with his business plans," 
 he said, determinedly checking an impulse to tell his 
 story without confessing his weakness. 
 
 " It seems he found it necessary to have control of 
 the husband of a young lady named Wawona Brooke, of 
 Boston, Massachusetts, out there in America, and he 
 determined to have me that husband. So, as he had 
 always been very kind to my mother and myself from a 
 money standpoint, and as I had no female incumbrances, 
 I ventured to undertake the delicate service for him." 
 
 " I do not exactly understand you, Paul," Seymore in- 
 terrupted. "You cannot mean to say he planned from 
 your boyhood to have you marry a girl you never saw ? " 
 
 "Yes, I do," Morrison answered unswervingly. "Please 
 do not interrupt me, or judge me too harshly before you 
 hear the whole story. Yes, that is exactly what he did ; 
 educated me into being a mere automaton to be directed 
 at his pleasure. 
 
 " But I assure you, when I first arrived in Boston, and 
 found Miss Brooke a very charming woman, I did not 
 bear my uncle any ill will. For some reason or other, 
 I cannot explain exactly to myself the reason, she was 
 from the outset interested in me. I have sometimes 
 thought I had taken the place in her mind of some one 
 whom she had known before and as I know she was once 
 in love with my cousin, Paul Cameron, now an instructor 
 in Harvard College, I have often thought it was he, and 
 have felt as though I were, in a manner, a criminal ob- 
 taining affection under false pretenses. Well, she has a 
 cousin 
 
 " Ah ! " interrupted Seymore, venturing to joke, now 
 that his friend had assumed his natural tone, " the plot 
 thickens." 
 
 "Who is in disposition and tendency of thought,"
 
 i 2 o I SWEAR. 
 
 Morrison continued, not noticing the interruption, "so 
 like my true self, or rather what that self would have 
 been had I not this constant introspective^ guard upon 
 my thoughts, that she interested me greatly from the 
 outset." 
 
 " A sort of prototype, as it were," Seymore said, in 
 order to assure his friend he was keeping track of his 
 narrative. ' Well, now the plot does thicken ; it must 
 have been a very absorbing study." 
 
 " To tell you the truth, it was. In fact, I think I never 
 would have been interested in her at all; if some of her 
 peculiar traits had not impressed themselves upon me as 
 being particularly like my own. In my feeling of security 
 at possessing a cultivated will, I never deemed it possi- 
 ble that my heart could be really touched and continued 
 right along, heedless of the fact that I might be injuring 
 my uncle's plans. This cousin has a society phase to her 
 character too. In fact, that was the side of the shield 
 she ordinarily exhibited, and now I think of it, I believe 
 I am one of the few who know she has any other side; 
 who have been permitted to know she has an original 
 mind, stored with original ideas in reserve." 
 
 " Ah, I see," said Seymore, " it was a case of diamond 
 cut diamond." 
 
 " No," said Morrison thoughtfully, for like most men 
 who are seldom deeply moved, when he was in earnest, 
 he was dreadfully so, " there was no idea of a battle on 
 either side. Each of us considered ourselves affection 
 proof. She had had flirtation after flirtation, and it was 
 reported had refused six men in one season at Newport. 
 So she plunged into our flirtation with as much confi- 
 dence as I did. 
 
 " The fact that Miss Brooke was her cousin made it 
 necessary for her to act sub rosa. And of course, my
 
 I SWEAR. 121 
 
 desire to win her cousin made me keep my movements 
 under cover also. 
 
 " Finally we had a most peculiar scene. I do not know 
 what her aim was, but really think she intended to find 
 out the nature of my relations to Miss Brooke, which, 
 by the way, at that time was that of an accepted lover." 
 
 He had apparently been rambling on, but now he hesi- 
 tated as if deliberating whether to proceed. Finally the 
 thought came, " I might as well be killed for a sheep as 
 a lamb," and so when Seymore ventured to prompt him 
 with, " Well ? " he continued : 
 
 "That is, I had asked Miss Brooke to be my wife. 
 And she had given me permission to try to gain her 
 uncle's consent." 
 
 "He was her guardian ? " his friend asked. 
 
 " Yes," Morrison answered, absent-mindedly. 
 
 The question seemed to suggest something to him, for 
 he arose and walked back and forth across the room, 
 slowly but nervously. 
 
 "It has just come to me that 'automaton' is exactly 
 the word to define myself. I was so clearly and simply 
 an instrument in the hands of that well-trained will of 
 mine, that I went on carrying out the details of its plans 
 to accomplish Uncle John's wishes, without realizing 
 that all my better and nobler desires were being frus- 
 trated by my own acts. I really believe I never thought 
 of that until this minute. I mechanically followed the 
 course laid out without even asking myself why." 
 
 He had become so wrapped up in this thought, that 
 the last sentence was almost a soliloquy. 
 
 Seymore watched him in his journey back and forth 
 without saying anything. 
 
 At last Morrison realized that his friend was waiting 
 for him, and so resumed his chair, and said : 
 
 " Well, as I was saying, I proposed on Saturday morn-
 
 122 I SWEAR. 
 
 ing and called on Sunday night to ask her uncle's con- 
 sent. As luck would have it, no one was there to re- 
 ceive me but Fanny, and she was a picture whom Jupiter 
 himself would have fallen in love with, had he had the 
 good fortune to have seen her. Enough of that, how- 
 ever. We had a most peculiar scene in a little room off 
 the back parlor I think she was experimenting with 
 me ; I was with her. We both were counting without 
 reference to fate ; and somehow or other I kissed her. 
 In fact, we were kissing each other when I heard a man's 
 voice in the next room." 
 
 Again he stopped, a sorrowful feeling having taken 
 the place of the nervousness which interest in his story 
 had kept up. 
 
 After a time he continued : 
 
 " It was her father. Of course, I was politely shown 
 out of the house. The peculiar climax brought me to 
 my senses. I realized that I was in love with Fanny 
 Northrop, and that, at the same time, I had a very great 
 liking for and appreciation of Miss Brooke. In fact, if 
 Fanny Northrop had not existed, I think I should have 
 thought more of Miss Brooke than of any woman living. 
 She pleased my scholarly and intellectual self ; the other 
 captured and controlled my natural and spontaneous self, 
 both in a mental and physical way." 
 
 Something in Seymore's expression seemed to make 
 him feel that he was taking too much time with inter- 
 polations, and so he returned to his story. 
 
 " My pecuniary dependence on my uncle made it base 
 ingratitude to retire from his plans ; and at the same 
 time, the fact that his support would be removed, and 
 leave me absolutely penniless if I proposed to Fanny, 
 coupled with the idea that I had already heedlessly en- 
 tangled myself with Miss Brooke, left me but one re- 
 course : I must ask Mr. Northrop for Miss Brooke, and
 
 I SWEAR. 123 
 
 leave Fanny Northrop to think that for once she was 
 worsted in a flirtation." 
 
 He hesitated, faltered, and his eyes filled with tears, as 
 if he were about to give way ; but he recovered himself, 
 arose, and recommenced his nervous saunter. At last he 
 said, in a tragically sad voice, as he dropped into a chair, 
 and buried his face in his hands : 
 
 " You must think me almost a villain to confess this ! " 
 
 Then, with an effort, he shook off the mood, and con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "Next day I put on a bold front and spoke to Mr. 
 Northrop for Wawona. He gave me the most scathing, 
 yet polite, verbal castigation I ever heard of ; then con- 
 sented to the match because, as he said, he was afraid to 
 thwart Miss Brooke for certain reasons. He modified his 
 consent with the provision that we should try the strength 
 of our affection by a three years' separation ; that is, un- 
 til the termination of his guardianship. In return for so 
 doing, he agreed to give us a wedding the day of the ter- 
 mination of his trust, and present my bride" with an an- 
 nuity." 
 
 " And there was but one thing to do," Seymore said, 
 to assist him. 
 
 " He gave me a week to decide, and, as you say, there 
 was but one course to pursue. I had to trust fate to 
 extricate me. Miss Brooke and I arranged to correspond 
 once a week, and here I am." 
 
 " What became of Fanny ? " 
 
 " Well, that is the point of my story. She wrote after 
 I left that evening I think she must have been in- 
 formed of my engagement before doing so. In her note 
 she very cleverly gave me the mitten by innuendo. The 
 next morning she took a hasty trip to Dover to visit a 
 friend. I answered her there, informing her of my en- 
 gagement as if I had not suspected she knew it already,
 
 124 I SWEAR. 
 
 and this is the answer I get," he said, as he handed the 
 letter to his friend. " You see, it has followed me nearly 
 over the entire continent." 
 
 After carefully reading the letter, Seymore turned to 
 him, still holding the letter in his hand, and said : 
 
 " Morrison, do you know, I would like to meet that 
 girl. I think from this letter, and what you have said of 
 her, that you are making the mistake of your life." 
 
 " I know I am ; but what am I to do ? You don't think 
 a girl of that spirit is ever going to stand being made 
 second choice, even if I were willing to risk the chance 
 of my uncle's wrath by withdrawing from my engage- 
 ment with Miss Brooke ? " 
 
 " No," his friend answered, absent-mindedly, as he 
 seemed to be developing an idea. 
 
 Finally he took to walking the floor, as he, too, be- 
 came nervous in his attempt to solve the problem of his 
 friend's life. , 
 
 At last he turned to Morrison and said : 
 
 " Has she any common sense ? Could she be econom- 
 ical?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Miss Northrop." 
 
 " That is a new question." 
 
 Then, after some deliberation, he answered : 
 
 " Yes, she could. I remember she told me that an aunt 
 out in California made her go to cooking school, and now 
 that I think of it, made her learn dress-making also. But 
 why?" 
 
 " Well, then, now that you have demonstrated you can 
 be a pedagogue, why not take it for granted that it was 
 intended you should get happiness out of a quiet domes- 
 tic life in our little English country town, and casting 
 aside all aspirations based on high incomes, give up 
 your next few years to becpming so well established as
 
 I &WEAR. 125 
 
 to be able to throw off all financial dependence on 
 others ? " 
 
 " I do not catch your idea," Morrison answered, mysti- 
 fied at his friend's answer. " How is that to extricate 
 me?" 
 
 Seymore did not answer for a time. He seemed to feel 
 that he had not developed his plan to his own satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 At last he said : 
 
 " Well, my idea is for you to write to Fanny Northrop, 
 and try to learn whether your suspicion that she is inter- 
 ested in you is well founded. If it is, 'jump the life to 
 come,' and boldly undo the false position in which you 
 have put yourself, make a full explanation to your uncle 
 and then trust to yourself and your own capabilities. 
 Very soon fate will show you an opportunity to accom- 
 plish your object." 
 
 "I don't think I have the same confidence in fate that 
 you have. The fickle jade has not played such tricks on 
 you as she has on me. Yet, I suppose we are all children 
 of circumstances." 
 
 " Man is a creature of circumstances, no doubt ; but 
 most of us follow out Micawber's principles, and wait for 
 circumstances to assist us, instead of taking hold of every 
 opportunity which offers, to be absolutely certain that 
 we do not miss the circumstance which is our particular 
 opportunity." 
 
 " Well, I will think of it ; and I certainly thank you 
 very much for your earnest interest, Seymore," Morri- 
 son answered, after a short study. 
 
 " It seems to me to be the best plan," Seymore an- 
 swered, as he rose and prepared to retire. " You will 
 find, I think, that an open, straight-forward explanation 
 will ultimately right things."
 
 126 I SWEAR. 
 
 Morrison continued in a brown study for a long time 
 after his friend had departed. 
 
 Finally he thought : 
 
 " One open, straight-forward explanation would be an 
 easy thing; but I have about five to make." 
 
 However, he concluded to write Fanny in order to 
 find, if possible, whether there was any hope of a recon- 
 ciliation in case he should determine to attempt such a 
 thing. 
 
 The receipt of her letter gave him sufficient excuse for 
 making the attempt. 
 
 The result of much thought and revision was the fol- 
 lowing letter : 
 
 " MY DEAR Miss NORTHROP : 
 
 "After many days, I answer your letter of June 2, 
 1 8 , written from Dover nearly a year ago, and ad- 
 dressed to me at the Club. 
 
 " It was delivered to me today, here in Eton. I inclose 
 its envelope to show you its fate. You will find, I think, 
 eight different post-marks from as many different post- 
 offices. 
 
 " Since its departure from New York, nine days after 
 my own, much has happened. I have been busy trying 
 every device possible to prevent my desires leading me 
 back to thoughts of Boston, and had about concluded I 
 had found the panacea here in Eton, where I have ac- 
 cepted a mastership in my old school, when your letter 
 arrived, and proved to me the fallacy of such a conclu- 
 sion ; for at this writing I confess I am tempted to run 
 back to Boston and have another of our interesting talks. 
 
 " You are a particularly happy mortal. I believe I envy 
 you, or would if it were not a sin. You were always so 
 cheerful and happy, that whenever I have the blues I 
 feel like crossing the pond and having you cheer me up.
 
 I SWEAR. 127 
 
 " Would you treat me as kindly as you did in the past ? 
 If so, I verily believe I would return to Boston, come 
 what would. 
 
 "Under the circumstances I suppose your father would 
 not consider me a welcome guest. However, I feel cer- 
 tain that he never entirely understood our last meeting, 
 and hope he has forgotten it by this time. Would that 
 I could also, for I must confess it constantly recurs to 
 me. 
 
 "Wawona said in her last letter something about your 
 being restless, and that possibly you might take a flyer 
 over here, or on the continent. If you should think of 
 it, let me know, and count me as one of your retinue." 
 
 " You see I have hastened to write at once, so as to 
 explain the reason for my long delay in answering ; if 
 you in return will write me all the news, I promise you 
 a long letter next time. 
 
 " Your sincere friend, 
 
 "PAUL MORRISON. 
 
 "August 16, 18 ." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FANNY NORTHROP had quite surprised Frank Jender by 
 the way she kept her resolution to cultivate her more 
 elevated and mental qualities at the expense of her light, 
 gay, society enjoyments. 
 
 He began to feel she was quite Bostonese, and she 
 herself could hardly realize she had ever had a California 
 training in ease and abandon of manner. 
 
 The truth of the matter was, that of the lighter men 
 she knew none seemed to her so clever as Morrison had
 
 i 2 8 I SWEAR. 
 
 been, and all were brought in contrast with him by her ; 
 so, the very tendency to be light and frivolous, brought 
 with it its antidote ; and she had readily returned to the 
 line of action on which she had resolved. 
 
 All growth is gradual ; and so, in general, is all dis- 
 solution. This was the history of Morrison's influence 
 with Fanny. Within three months after his departure, 
 she and Wawona had become much more companion- 
 able. They undertook a course of reading together, and 
 finally took up some work in advanced French under 
 the same tutor. 
 
 Fanny saw that her interest in these subjects was ar- 
 tificial ; but they, at first, served to keep her mind busy, 
 and away from thoughts of the past, and finally became 
 to seem natural from long habit. 
 
 Morrison's letter from Eton surprised her nearly as 
 much as her letter had surprised him. Its receipt 
 effaced the effect of her year's work instanter. She was 
 again back to her old self, and was quite astonished to 
 'see how easily the sight of his handwriting set her heart 
 to beating violently. She was afraid that Parker had 
 noticed it as she handed her the letter ; and immediately 
 determined not to open it until she had arrived safely 
 within the sacred confines of her own room. 
 
 After having read it twice, she said to herself : 
 
 " Well, I verily believe he is caught, too. It would be 
 awfully funny if it were not my own funeral." 
 
 She picked up the letter again. 
 
 " So he, too, has taken to books for solace." 
 
 Then there came the thought that he would write 
 just such a letter if he were trifling with her affections, 
 and this caused her to again analyze the letter as a whole. 
 
 " No, he has left himself too open to be flirting with 
 me ; but I must be careful and not permit myself to be 
 led into another ' scene in the den,' " she concluded.
 
 I SWEAR. 129 
 
 At last she determined to answer him in a guarded 
 way and to experiment to see if he were sincere, taking 
 care, at the same time, not to appear too willing to meet 
 his advances. 
 
 After many corrections and amendments, she satisfied 
 herself with this response : 
 
 " DEAR MR. MORRISON : 
 
 " Your long delayed answer came today, and I am show- 
 ing my appreciation of it by replying at once. 
 
 "You have neglected to notice several of my most 
 pointed inquiries. I want them answered in your next 
 and principally the one, ' Why did you not succumb to 
 my experiments ? ' 
 
 " I, too, have taken to literary pursuits, not in the way 
 of becoming an instructor, but merely as a student. Wa- 
 wona and I have been devoting two hours a day to study 
 for nearly six months. 
 
 " You ask me if I would treat you as kindly as before in 
 case you should come back ? All I can say is, that I am 
 eminently selfish and so would, of course, welcome you as 
 the means of giving me many pleasant hours. But do 
 you realize what a return to Boston means ? You must 
 remember that my father's word is law, and when he says 
 a thing he means it. 
 
 " By the way, you are mistaken. My father did under- 
 stand our last scene in the den. How do I know ? Not 
 through him directly. He always finds some delicate 
 little way to hint, which explains everything 
 
 " You see, about two days after I returned from Dover, 
 I was waiting with him for the coachman to bring up the 
 carriage and drive us over to Maiden for a call. It 
 was quite dark. He was on the step below me. I leaned 
 over and kissed him. He pretended to be quite discon- 
 certed, and said jokingly, ' Be careful, be careful, Fanny,
 
 130 1 S WEAR. 
 
 Job might see you and fancy I was Mr. Morrison.' I did 
 not say anything, but I knew then that he knew, though 
 he has not referred to the subject since. 
 
 " I know you would have to completely rearrange your 
 plans to return here. So I feel you would hardly find 
 yourself recompensed by one of our 'interesting talks,' 
 as you so kindly call our chats. Still, if it does you any 
 good to know it, I will confess that the memory of the 
 hours spent in conversation with you are remembered as 
 some of the pleasantest of my life, and I sincerely hope 
 that when you again return to Boston we can have more 
 of them. 
 
 " We have been having quite fair weather of late, but 
 tonight there is one of our erratic thunder storms. 
 Frank Jender is here even more than usual ; but I for- 
 got, you never met him, did you ? He is a sort of cousin 
 to us, you know, one of the kind of boys you can have 
 for a brother, without being fearful that they may pro- 
 pose. 
 
 " Now I feel I have quite complied with your condi- 
 tions, and can expect the promised ' long letter ' in re- 
 ply. 
 
 "Please do not forget to answer my unanswered ques- 
 tions. 
 
 '' Your sincere friend, 
 
 " FANNY NORTHROP. 
 
 " NORTHROP HALL, 
 
 "September 10, 18 ." 
 
 When she had finished the letter she half determined 
 not to send it. 
 
 She feared at first that he might think her altogether 
 too easy prey ; and then, she felt that if she missed this 
 opportunity to put him to a test, she might lose the chance 
 of her life to prevent the man of her choice marrying
 
 I SWEAR. 131 
 
 some one whom she was almost certain he did not care 
 for as much as he did for herself. 
 
 At length, to end all vacillation she addressed it and 
 rang for Parker. 
 
 " Parker, I want you to mail this letter at once." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," Parker answered. 
 
 Then came the thought : 
 
 "What if Frank should know I am corresponding with 
 him?" 
 
 She started to call Parker back, and tell her to be care- 
 ful and mail it herself, when she recollected that the 
 girl was always discreet, and also that such an order would 
 cause the dear old servant to become suspicious. She 
 dismissed the thought and determined to trust to her 
 order being obeyed. 
 
 Had she remembered how careful Parker was not to 
 expose her ancient person out of doors on blizzardly 
 nights, she would have wavered in her trust. 
 
 As it was, that good old servant meekly waited until 
 Frank Jendcr was ready to go home after a call he had 
 been making on the family, and following him to the 
 front door, slyly asked him to mail the letter for her. 
 
 How was she to know that such an act was to occasion 
 the frustrating of her beloved Fanny's dearest wish ? 
 
 Frank Jendcr put the letter in his overcoat pocket. 
 By the time he had jumped four or five mud puddles in a 
 wild attempt to -catch a car, he had forgotten all about it. 
 
 When he arrived at his rooms and took off his much 
 soaked coat, he noticed it, and said with a petulant air : 
 
 "Hang it, there 's Parker's letter." 
 
 He took it out, and was about to place it on his work 
 table to insure certain notice in the morning, when the 
 address caught his eye. 
 
 " What 's this ? " he almost yelled, " ' Paul Morrison "
 
 1 32 I SWEAR. 
 
 in Fanny's handwriting ! What can have come over the 
 girl?" 
 
 At first he felt he ought to open the letter and see if 
 he could not prevent a great harm being heedlessly done 
 to the two friends he loved as sisters, but he at once dis- 
 missed the idea as a breach of honor too heinous to be 
 entertained for an instant. 
 
 " But I can forget to mail it ! " he said to himself, and 
 forthwith he proceeded to put it in the fire, so that he 
 would not forget to forget. 
 
 Had he known how he was hindering fate from extri- 
 cating his two best loved friends from their unhappy 
 entanglements, he would have preferred putting his 
 right hand in the flame rather than the letter. 
 
 Had he known what bitter self-reproaches Fanny Nor- 
 throp later on unnecessarily cast upon herself for having 
 been too warm in an answer to a letter which she was 
 made to feel was only intended to be a friendly one, and 
 not intended to try her feelings toward him ; had he 
 known that by preventing Morrison from answering her 
 letter he had almost driven her insane from shame at 
 having twice humbled herself, by being too willing to 
 receive the approaches of a man whom she thought 
 loved her he would have willingly permitted his whole 
 right arm to follow the hand. 
 
 Now, blissfully ignorant of all this, he thought he was 
 preventing a heedless girl from interfering with his 
 beloved Wawona's love affair.
 
 I SWEAR. 133 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " FRANK, I would like to see you in my library when 
 you are at leisure," said Amos Northrop to Frank Jen- 
 der, as he was chatting with Fanny and Wawona in the 
 " den," about a year and a half after the episode referred 
 to in the last chapter. 
 
 " Yes, uncle," Frank said, wondering what could be 
 the occasion for the unusual request. " I am at leisure 
 now." He followed the banker into his sanctum. 
 
 " Take a seat, Frank. I want to have a talk with you 
 on a very serious subject. You know, I suppose, that 
 Wawona is engaged to be married to Mr. Paul Morri- 
 son ? " he said, coming to the point at once in a business 
 way. " Have you any idea why he is marrying her ? " 
 
 "No," answered Frank. " I suppose because he loves 
 her." 
 
 " Have you any reason to suppose he cares for any one 
 else ? " he asked, looking directly at the boy. 
 
 Frank flushed ; he did not like to be a tale-bearer on 
 Fanny. He determined to evade the question. 
 
 " I have never met Mr. Morrison, you know." 
 
 "That is not an answer to my question. This is too 
 serious a matter for us not to be open and frank. I have 
 given my word, and if I cannot have it recalled, I will 
 live up to that word to the letter so long as I have life. 
 What I want to know is, how deep his interest is in 
 Fanny ? And with what intensity she responds to that 
 interest ? " 
 
 Frank reddened as if he were making a confession him- 
 self. He started to speak two or three times, before he 
 finally said :
 
 1 34 * S 
 
 " Uncle Amos, I can't answer that question without 
 breaking a confidence." 
 
 " That is right, Frank. I honor your principle, but in 
 this case there is too much at stake to stand on such a 
 fine point of breeding in a private conference with the 
 guardian of one and the father of the other of two of the 
 interested parties. I wish you to tell me all you know 
 for I shall have to take a very serious step in a few 
 days." 
 
 "Well," Frank said, after a little thought, "I think 
 Fanny was in love with him when he left, but that she 
 has recovered herself now." 
 
 " Why do you think that ? " 
 
 " Because" he hesitated again, but finally said : " I 
 will tell you all I know, and you can judge for yourself." 
 
 And forthwith he related everything : about the talk 
 he had with her after her return from Dover, and also 
 about the letter he destroyed. 
 
 " Frank/' the banker said, when the young man had 
 finished, " I should almost feel justified in opening that 
 letter if I had it here now." 
 
 Then he studied a few minutes, as if trying to deter- 
 mine upon his course. 
 
 " I can see no way out of it. I intend to live up to my 
 word, strictly. I promised Mr. Morrison that he should 
 marry Wawona the day my guardianship ended ; that 
 will be on June 5th, a little more than four months from 
 now. Wawona still stays true to him, is having her 
 trousseau made and so, I suppose, I can do nothing else 
 than arrange for the wedding. I desire you to take charge 
 of the affair, Frank, and carry out my promises to the 
 letter; nothing more, nothing less. 
 
 " I promised to give them the handsomest wedding 
 that Boston could afford, and to settle twenty-five hun- 
 dred dollars a year on Wawona, and that they should be
 
 I SWEAR. 135 
 
 married the day my guardianship ceased provided he 
 remained in Europe three years. Arrange all the details 
 in strict compliance with my promise." 
 
 " But how can he be in Europe three years ? " Frank 
 asked. 
 
 " I do not care," he answered almost doggedly. " If 
 Wawona insists on the marriage, arrange it so that he 
 comes to my house to be married the night of his wed- 
 ding, and leaves it after the ceremony is performed. My 
 sister's daughter will always be welcome to my house 
 he, never ! " This was said firmly and rather harshly. 
 Then his voice softened a little, as he added : 
 
 " You had better have a consultation with Wawona, 
 and arrange it as nicely for her as you can ; but live up 
 to my directions strictly, and see that he lives up to his 
 promises." 
 
 Everything was bustle and hurry about the Northrop 
 household from that time on. 
 
 Wawona could not understand her uncle, but gave way 
 to his ideas, as the thought that she was marrying con- 
 trary to his wishes made her very miserable, and she did 
 not care to have him feel any more unkindly toward her 
 than she could help. 
 
 At Morrison's suggestion, she had prevailed on Frank 
 to try to arrange with her uncle to have the wedding a 
 week later, so that the fiancees might have a few days to- 
 gether before the wedding, but the old banker was inex- 
 orable. 
 
 " The wedding shall take place exactly as I promised, 
 and not otherwise," he had said to Frank, and that young 
 gentleman knew by his tone there was " no power in the 
 tongue of man to alter him." 
 
 Ever since his conversation with his uncle, Frank had 
 tried to have a talk with Fanny, but she evaded him un- 
 less some third person was present. He knew that she
 
 136 
 
 felt he suspected she was not entirely cured of her inter- 
 est in the "black bass." 
 
 When Wawona had asked Fanny to be a bridesmaid she 
 had attempted to excuse herself on the ground of super- 
 stition, because she had already been a bridesmaid twice 
 that year. She was afraid, she said, of the old adage : 
 " Thrice a bridesmaid, never a bride." However, she at 
 last consented to act. 
 
 Frank began corresponding with Morrison, and, after 
 considerable writing everything was at last arranged. 
 
 Morrison was to arrive in New York on June 2d, and 
 to come to Boston on the evening of the 5th. Mr. 
 Northrop had been forced to consent that he should be 
 in America before the time set, but satisfied himself by 
 requiring, more strictly than ever, that he should not be 
 in Boston until the termination of his guardianship. 
 
 His conditions were submitted to with comparatively 
 little protest. "We can make up for lost time after- 
 ward," Wawona had said. 
 
 Finally, one day about five weeks before the wedding, 
 Frank and Wawona were reading Morrison's unwilling 
 assent to her guardian's conditions. The boy suddenly 
 turned to her and said : 
 
 "Is n't it odd that I have never seen Mr. Morrison, 
 Wawona ? I have talked of him, written to him, heard 
 of him nearly every day, and he is even going to marry 
 my dearest friend, yet I have never seen him." 
 
 " It is, is it not ? I never thought of it before. Wait 
 one moment ; I will run upstairs and get his last photo- 
 graph, which he sent me about a month ago from the 
 'Oaks.'" 
 
 While she was away, Frank had dropped into a brown 
 study, thinking of Fanny and her feelings. So when she 
 handed him the picture he at first glanced at it absent- 
 mindedly, intending merely to say, "Thank you," and
 
 / SWEAR. 137 
 
 return it. His intentions were materially changed the 
 instant the face caught his eye. 
 
 He started; looked at it again; this time took in the 
 whole detail ; then looked down at the name of the pho- 
 tographers to see if it had really been taken in London. 
 
 It was the exact picture of his friend, Paul Cameron ! 
 
 " You are fooling me, Wawona ; this is not his pic- 
 ture ? " 
 
 " Yes it is. Why do you ask ? Have you seen him 
 before ? " she asked in rapid succession. 
 
 A flood of thought came pouring over his brain. The 
 fact that she had always said Morrison looked like her 
 former lover, her uneasiness when he mentioned Cam- 
 eron the day when Fanny and he discussed religion, 
 Cameron's uneasiness at the mention of Wawona's name 
 that day in the laboratory all came flashing across his 
 brain. 
 
 He determined to evade her question until he could 
 have time to gather his disconcerted wits, and so an- 
 swered : 
 
 " I was only joking, Wawona. He is a much hand- 
 somer man than I thought. I did n't know he wore a 
 beard." 
 
 "He has grown one at my request in the last six 
 months." 
 
 Then, to Frank's infinite relief, the maid came in and 
 summoned Miss Brooke to attend a fitting with the dress- 
 maker, who was awaiting her in the work-room. 
 
 " So this is the reason why Mr. Cameron does not go 
 into society ! " he said. " And I verily believe he still 
 loves her, and " hesitating, he was about to say, 
 "and she does him," when he determined that it was a 
 problem too difficult to decide off-hand. 
 
 He attempted half a dozen times to gather up courage 
 enough to go to his uncle with the whole story, but each
 
 138 / SWEAR. 
 
 time found himself deciding that he was not certain of 
 his facts, and might be borrowing trouble. 
 
 This was on his mind for the next three weeks. He 
 had vaguely determined to take his first opportunity to 
 question Cameron, and find out if he was in reality the 
 old lover, for whom he felt certain Wawona had a linger- 
 ing fondness. 
 
 The preparations for the wedding, however, kept him 
 so busy that he had been unable to find time enough to 
 make the attempt. 
 
 One evening, happening to be out at Cambridge, he 
 suddenly came across Cameron. The resemblance to 
 the photograph was most striking, the expression, the 
 eyes, the beard everything the same; not a detail 
 missing. 
 
 " What is the matter, Frank ? Why are you staring at 
 me in that way ? " Cameron finally asked him. 
 
 " Oh, nothing ; was I staring at you ? " Jender replied, 
 trying to appear innocent, as he suddenly realized that 
 he must be very discreet in his inquiries or their intent 
 would be misinterpreted. 
 
 "You see, I have so much on my mind at present, I 
 hardly know what I am doing. By the way, I am going 
 to insist on your coming to a party at my uncle's house 
 in a week or so." 
 
 Had Frank suddenly offered to shoot his friend he 
 could not have created greater disturbance in the poor 
 fellow's mind. He blushed, became nervous, and finally 
 stammered : 
 
 " No, Frank ; really, I cannot," he said nervously, and 
 interjectedly added, as he blindly groped from one excuse 
 to another, "you see, I have not been in society for so 
 long I could not ; besides, I would have to shave my 
 beard. And then, I have not been invited." 
 
 A happy thought came to Frank. It almost took him
 
 I SWEAR. 139 
 
 off his feet. He would have danced for joy had he been 
 alone the problem was solved! It all flashed across 
 him in an instant. He must get Cameron at the wed- 
 ding with his beard unshaven ; and then, if Wawona was 
 actually in love with him, she would, of course, postpone 
 the marriage with Morrison. No, he must have him 
 see Wawona before the wedding. 
 
 This decision arrived at, he determined to defer fur- 
 ther experiments till he could have an opportunity to 
 decide upon the detail of his plan, so he answered : 
 
 " Oh, you will be invited. I am master of ceremo- 
 nies." 
 
 Frank resolved to develop a new line of conversation, in 
 order to gain the necessary time for formulating his plan 
 of action, but before he could do so, Cameron asked : 
 
 " Are you going to neglect your work entirely, Frank ? '' 
 
 " Oh, no, I will be back at work, and all the more en- 
 thusiastic when I have this little affair off my hands. 
 But I must return to town. Good night." 
 
 He could not get the thought out of his head, that his 
 two idols loved each other ; and he, powerless little-hero 
 worshiper that he was, was one of the instruments mak- 
 ing preparations for his heroine to marry another. 
 
 He dared not discuss the affair with his uncle. He was 
 afraid to approach Wawona. He was not absolutely cer- 
 tain that Cameron would give up his ambition for his 
 love. So all that seemed left for him to do was to bring 
 them together the night of the wedding, and see if their 
 meeting would not cause Wawona to feel she was mar- 
 rying the wrong man. 
 
 " But will Cameron come ? That is the next problem," 
 he said to himself, as he entered the Northrop mansion. 
 " I '11 fix that. I '11 ask Wawona to write a personal in- 
 vitation to a friend of mine, without letting her know who 
 he is."
 
 i 4 o / SWEAR. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AT length all is finished, and in readiness for the cer- 
 emony. 
 
 It is to be a home affair. Frank has everything well 
 in hand, and is radiant over the success of his plans. 
 
 He has developed a scheme which he feels certain is 
 going to bring Cameron and Wawona together the night 
 of the wedding. 
 
 He had prevailed upon Wawona to write a personal 
 invitation to an unnamed friend for him, saying : " Frank 
 has spoken of you so often, I cannot but follow his sug- 
 gestion, and insist that you be present a week from 
 Thursday night. Every one will see that you are made 
 perfectly at home." 
 
 Frank had dictated it in order to be absolutely certain 
 that she would not say anything about it as a wedding. 
 
 He had already given Mr. Cameron the idea that it 
 was to be merely a party ; for he feared that if his in- 
 structor knew it was to be the wedding of his former 
 love, it would interfere with the possibilities of his ro- 
 mantic little plot. 
 
 He had very cleverly persuaded Cameron to promise 
 to go to the party, and also to permit him to arrange for 
 his dress suit. Frank had induced him to have his beard 
 trimmed in English style, in exact imitation of the pic- 
 ture of Morrison which Wawona had shown him. After- 
 ward, he had gone with him to the tailor to see him try 
 on his dress suit. 
 
 The impulsive boy could scarcely restrain himself from 
 telling him his plans when he saw him dressed, and he 
 felt assured that had Wawona but a chance to see him as
 
 2 SWEAR. 141 
 
 he did, no one could win her from the man he felt she 
 really loved. 
 
 There was one of the household whose actions troubled 
 Frank exceedingly. That one was Fanny. She had not 
 been herself for the past month, and for the last few 
 days he had noticed that she almost openly avoided him. 
 He determined several times to question her about the 
 matter ; but, in the hurry and bustle of the wedding prep? 
 arations, he found no opportunity. He remembered noticT 
 ing in Fanny a tendency to hesitate, when Mr. Nor- 
 throp suggested that he and Fanny should stand up 
 with the bride and groom during the ceremony. But 
 something else came up to distract his mind, and it was 
 forgotten. 
 
 Frank tried several times to induce Mr. Northrop to 
 relent, and reconsider his determination not to allow the 
 groom to come to the house till the night of the wed- 
 ding, because this interfered with the possibility of bring- 
 ing Wawona face to face with Cameron before the time 
 for the ceremony, but the stern old banker steadfastly 
 adhered to his first proposition, to stand strictly to his 
 agreement of three years before. 
 
 The eventful night arrived. Frank felt that everything 
 was going well, and he was happy in the idea that his 
 plan to bring Wawona and Mr. Cameron together gave 
 such good hopes for success. 
 
 His arrangements were perfected even to the minutest 
 detail, and he had been to report to Mr. Northrop at 7 
 o'clock. 
 
 The groom was to arrive at the house at 8.30 ; the cer- 
 emony was to be performed at 9 o'clock sharp. The bride 
 and groom were to take the Shore Line for New York at 
 10:30, and from there an extended trip through the West.
 
 i 4 2 I SWEAR. 
 
 Mr. Northrop approved the plans. 
 
 "There, Frank," he said, handing the boy a check, "is 
 twenty-five hundred dollars for Wawona's first year. The 
 agreement for the balance is in this envelope. The wed- 
 ding ring is there in that box. I am proud of the way 
 you have arranged this affair, and when you are married 
 I will do even more for you. There is one thing more I 
 must ask of you, and that is, insist that everything shall 
 be exactly on time. Remember, with me 9 o'clock means 
 exactly sixty minutes after 8 o'clock." 
 
 "Never fear, uncle," Frank replied, pleased with his 
 uncle's commendation ; " I understand the ruling pas- 
 sion of your life, and you shall not be disappointed to- 
 night " " unless Wawona has sense enough to see that 
 Paul Cameron is the man she really loves, and not Paul 
 Morrison," he added to himself. 
 
 Little did he think that his subsequent conduct was 
 to be the means of driving his uncle almost insane from 
 his delay in management. Fate, fickle dame that she is, 
 often makes us most sure of ourselves just before she 
 gives some particular example of her fickleness. 
 
 As it was, Frank hastened down to instruct Job, the 
 family coachman, to call at the Vendome for his friend 
 Cameron, who had taken rooms there over night. Then 
 he turned to give final instructions to the servants con- 
 cerning the arrangements for the groom's reception. 
 
 Scarcely had the carriage left when Parker came to 
 him with a most distressed look on her usually placid face. 
 
 " Mr. Jender, I want to see you a moment, please, sir," 
 she said in an unsteady voice. 
 
 "Yes, in a second." Frank replied somewhat sharp- 
 ly, for he was too busy to talk to servants, and had not 
 noticed her manner. 
 
 His mind was entirely occupied trying to develop some
 
 / SWEAR. 143 
 
 plan by which Wawona could have a few moments with 
 Cameron before the arrival of the groom. 
 
 " No, now, this instant," said Parker nervously, " this 
 is a matter of life and death. Quick ! " 
 
 There was no mistaking her tone. Frank saw that she 
 was almost white with excitement. 
 
 "What is it, Parker?" 
 
 Then, fearing her excited manner might cause the other 
 servants to notice them, and expecting there was some- 
 thing private to be revealed, he said : 
 
 " Come into the library here, and explain." 
 
 "There," she began as soon as they were alone, hand- 
 ing him a note in Fanny's handwriting, " read that. I 
 think it will explain all. Miss Fanny told me not to give 
 it to you until just before the ceremony, but I think there 
 is something wrong, for she has gone off with the phae- 
 ton and I think she is almost crazy, so I came to you 
 now." 
 
 A thousand conjectures shot through his mind, and 
 made him so nervous that he could scarcely tear the en- 
 velope open. He read : 
 
 " DEAR FRANK : 
 
 " You are the only one who knows my feelings in this 
 matter. I cannot see him wedded to another. Make 
 what explanations you can for me. God knows what I 
 shall do I do not. For every one's sake, never let any- 
 body know why I do this. Good -by. 
 
 " FANNY." 
 
 " Do what ?" he thought, as he turned to the maid, 
 
 and asked excitedly, 
 
 " For heaven's sake, Parker, what does this mean ? " 
 " I do not know, sir ; she has not been herself for the 
 
 past two weeks. Today she has been crying as though
 
 I 4 4 
 
 her poor heart would break. For the last hour she's 
 been sobbing and talking of drowning and her grand- 
 mother's cottage at Swamscot, I 'm afraid there is some- 
 thing wrong." 
 
 Frank knew that Fanny had been in the habit of driv- 
 ing down to the beach close by a cottage in which her 
 grandmother lived, and remembering that she was thor- 
 oughly familiar with this road, he felt that it would prob- 
 ably be the first place her thoughts would suggest in 
 case she, in her hysterical mood, contemplated suicide 
 by drowning. 
 
 All this flashed through his mind, and he turned to 
 Parker, saying : 
 
 " How long has she been gone ? " 
 
 " Only about five minutes. I came to you as soon as 
 I was sure she was going." 
 
 " What shall I do ! " he exclaimed, almost beside him- 
 self. " I must explain this matter to uncle." 
 
 He rushed to his uncle's library, but found he had 
 gone to his barber. He must go without seeing him. 
 He rushed back to Parker. 
 
 "Do not," he said, "let uncle know anything about 
 this note or this affair. Tell him I have received a tel- 
 egram about some business which must be attended to 
 at once, that Fanny has gone with me, and that I said 
 if I did not return in time, to let the wedding proceed 
 without me. Tell him the arrangements are all perfect." 
 
 As he buttoned up his overcoat he hurriedly asked : 
 
 "You are sure she started for Swamscot ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 He bolted for the stable. 
 
 " Saddle me Miss Northrop's horse ! " he shouted to 
 the boy, who was almost speechless with surprise. As 
 soon as the mystified young hostler had the animal sad-
 
 I SWEAR. 145 
 
 died, Frank galloped away on the fleetest horse the stable 
 contained. 
 
 What a change in his plans the last five minutes had 
 made! 
 
 Here he was on a wild chase for a bridesmaid at the 
 very time he hoped to be uniting two of his best friends 
 in the face of adverse fate. 
 
 He little suspected that he was a powerful agent in 
 accomplishing this end, despite his journey. His very- 
 absence was doing more than his best laid schemes could 
 have done. 
 
 Mr. Northrop was almost livid with rage when he 
 returned and found Frank gone. 
 
 The banker realized at once that he must take the 
 affair into his own hands, or that matters would not 
 come off on time. 
 
 The hobby of his life was punctuality, and he hastily 
 determined that he was not to be disconcerted by the 
 waywardness of a boy. 
 
 So excited was he, that when a messenger boy arrived 
 with a telegram for Jender, he dictatorially ordered the 
 servant to take it to the room set apart for Frank as 
 master of ceremonies, not thinking it might be of impor- 
 tance concerning the wedding. He probably would have 
 been less dictatorial and less hasty, and undoubtedly 
 more phlegmatic and irascible, had he read the contents. 
 
 " Train delayed 40 minutes ; hold the ceremony. Love 
 to Wawona. PAUL MORRISON." 
 
 Not knowing this, however, when he saw the family 
 carriage drive up and Mr. Cameron alight, he at once 
 made up his mind it was the groom. 
 
 He hastily determined to receive him warmly, so the
 
 i 4 6 / S WEAR. 
 
 outside world should never know, except by conjecture, 
 that he and his ward's husband were estranged. 
 
 Acting under this impulse, he stepped forward, grasped 
 Cameron's hand, and said : 
 
 " Welcome to our home. Wawona will be with you in 
 a few moments." 
 
 " Thank you," Cameron answered, somewhat mystified 
 as he thought : " Well, they are making me at home, 
 aren't they?" 
 
 How his thoughts would have changed had he realized 
 that he was masquerading as his English cousin. 
 
 " Here, Charley," the banker said, addressing the near- 
 est servant, " Show the gentleman to the boudoir off 
 Miss Wawona's room." 
 
 Then again addressing Cameron somewhat stiffly : 
 
 " I will join you as soon as I have arranged matters 
 down stairs." 
 
 Cameron had not noticed the coldness in the last re- 
 mark, for his mind was busy with the odd turn affairs 
 were taking with him. 
 
 "To the boudoir of her room ! Well, they are 'making 
 me at home ' with a vengeance. I wonder where Frank 
 is ? I had no idea this was tq be such a grand affair as 
 these decorations indicate. Frank told me it was to be 
 only a little party." 
 
 His surprise was increased when he was ushered into 
 a large, handsomely furnished boudoir, evidently intend- 
 ed for one person alone. He had noticed that the ser- 
 vant had passed the general dressing room for gentlemen, 
 and had ushered him into this apartment, so he evidently 
 was that person. 
 
 He fancied he had detected announcements in under- 
 tones from several of the guests whom he passed, " That 's 
 he, that 's he," and altogether he began to feel uncom- 
 fortably certain that he was being made a lion of.
 
 I SWEAR. 147 
 
 Down stairs Mr. Northrop was trying to arrange mat- 
 ters without Frank's assistance, and found so many little 
 things unattended to, that he was almost distracted. 
 
 The fear had come over him that the ceremony was 
 not going to be on time. 
 
 His nervousness increased suddenly, as he thought of 
 the allowance which he had made to Wawona, and the 
 annuity and wedding ring which he remembered to have 
 given to Frank as master of ceremonies. 
 
 He rushed to Frank's room to look for them, but did 
 not find them. 
 
 He then thought of Fanny, and started to her room to 
 see if she could tell him anything of them. Then, for 
 the first time, he learned she, too, was to disappoint 
 them, and not be at the wedding. Parker had stoically 
 faced the music, and told him that she had gone with 
 Frank. 
 
 By this time the banker was furious. 
 
 He had no time to ask further questions ; it was now 
 ^o4C 2 and he had not found the papers. 
 
 T ;t of the guests had arrived, and everything but the 
 papers, the ring, and Frank and Fanny were ready. 
 
 He was growing more nervous each instant. 
 
 As a last resort, he determined to try the library, 
 where he had handed the packages to Frank, and as luck 
 would have it, there they were, where he had placed them 
 while talking with his nephew. 
 
 He gave a sigh of relief and had almost regained his 
 composure, when another thought suddenly came to him. 
 
 " Frank and Fanny are both gone. I must make some 
 'new arrangements for the wedding ceremony. Where is 
 #hc minister ? " 
 
 He sent the first servant he could reach to ask the 
 clergyman to meet him in his office. 
 
 Then he looked at his watch: 8.52. Would he never
 
 148 / SWEAR. 
 
 come ? The ten seconds required for the minister toi 
 reach his office seemed to him an are. 
 
 "Mr. Wellington, some very important matters have 
 taken my nephew to town. I have, therefore, determined 
 to have no best man or bridesmaid, and we will have to^ 
 make some new arrangements. You will proceed with-- 
 out them," he said hastily. 
 
 " But, where is the marriage license ? " 
 
 " Have n't you got it ? " almost shrieked the banker. 
 
 "No," answered the minister ; "your nephew had it.''] 
 
 "Wait right here. I will see if it is about the house,"i 
 cried the infuriated banker, as he rushed out to make in- 
 quiries of Parker, Charley, and everyone else from whomi 
 he thought he might be able to get the least information ;j 
 but all his inquiries were without result. 
 
 By the time he returned to the minister he was the"' 
 personification of nervousness. 
 
 " I cannot find it, but I am absolutely certain there 
 was one issued. Can you not marry them without it & 
 The names of the parties, as you know, are Paul Morri-* 
 son and Wawona Brooke. ' 
 
 The reverend gentleman hesitated an instant, and then, 
 saic? with a calmness which acted as a severe irritant to 
 the already thoroughly irritated banker : 
 
 " I can marry them : but there may be some doubts as 
 to the legality." 
 
 " Legality ! " the banker stormed, " I can arrange that. 
 You give each of the parties a little book, do you not, 
 signed by yourself ? " 
 
 " Yes," unctuously and slowly answered the minister, 
 fc containing the creed and obligations taken at the mar- 
 riage." 
 
 "Well," said the banker, growing more impatient every 
 second, " we will have a marriage by contract, in addition 
 to the ceremony. You can write in each copy a short;
 
 I SWEAR. 149 
 
 contract, 'We hereby mutually agree to become man 
 and wife,' or something like that. We can attend to that 
 matter after the ceremony. As it is, you meet the couple 
 under the marriage bell, and commence the ceremony as 
 soon as they are in position, so that the absence of best 
 man and bridesmaid will not be noticed." 
 
 He hesitated, then looked at his watch, and found to 
 his horror that it was fifty-four seconds to nine ! 
 
 "I see it is the appointed time," he remarked, and 
 added as he rushed out of the door, " take your position, 
 and instruct the orchestra to commence the wedding 
 march. I will go for the bride and groom ; I fear we are 
 late." 
 
 The commanding tone almost took the breath away 
 from the reverend gentleman, but he hastened to comply 
 with the request. 
 
 The uppermost thought in the troubled banker's brain 
 was, that for once in his life he must acknowledge de- 
 feat of his ruling passion this wedding was going to be 
 late ! 
 
 He would have run up stairs to summon the bride and 
 groom, had he not realized that he was the focus of the 
 eyes of the assembled "four hundred " of Boston. 
 
 As it was, he made the most rapid ascent up the broad 
 front stairs that his years and dignity would permit. 
 
 In the meantime, Cameron had first wandered around 
 the boudoir, studying over the developments of the first 
 five minutes of his second advent into society life, a life 
 which he had imagined to be shut out for him forever. 
 
 " Why in the world does not Frank appear ? " he 
 thought ; and then returned to wondering what Mr. 
 Northrop meant when he said, " Wawona will be with 
 you in a few moments." 
 
 Had he known that, with his full beard and dress suit, 
 he was the exact image of Paul Morrison, he might have
 
 150 I SWEAR. 
 
 understood the importance of his position, and been able 
 also to have prevented himself and the woman whom he 
 had loved in secret ever since they parted five years be- 
 fore, from being actors in a series of misunderstandings. 
 
 In his nervousness he had gone to a large mirror over 
 the mantel, and was fingering his mustache, when, to his 
 surprise, he noticed the reflection of the handsome por- 
 tiere in the mirror quickly open, and then saw the charm- 
 ing face of her with whom his heart had been buried so 
 long appear, radiant with smiles. She saw him turn, and 
 of course thought him his cousin, her husband about to 
 be, the one from whom her uncle's unhappy whims had 
 separated her for the last three years. 
 
 " There you are ! " she said, as she ran forward and 
 threw both arms around his neck, in an abandon of affec- 
 tion she had never permitted herself before. 
 
 He realized that the reception was one of altogether 
 too much warmth to be an ordinary greeting. 
 
 Immediately there followed the memory of the im- 
 pressions he had gotten from his conversation with Frank 
 Jender that day in the laboratory. 
 
 His suspicions of that time were confirmed, and he 
 thought : 
 
 " She loves me still." 
 
 He hardly knew what to do. The ecstacy of the 
 thought so took possession of him he could hardly think. 
 
 Wawona did not know how to interpret the absence 
 of response to her affectionate greeting. 
 
 "Why don't you kiss me ? " she said. 
 
 " Shall I ? " he asked, half frightened at himself. 
 
 " Of course ; I have not seen you for so long," she 
 answered, drawing herself still closer to him. 
 
 "Oh, Paul, it seems a century since you kissed me 
 last ! " 
 
 " And to me, too," he said, thinking of that iast kiss
 
 I SWEAR. 151 
 
 on the train at Springfield, as he proceeded to act upon 
 the desire of both. 
 
 After they had silently expressed themselves passion- 
 ately several times, she turned, and with, as he realized, 
 the sweetest tones a voice could utter, asked him : 
 
 " And have you found no one in this long separation 
 you care for more than me ? " 
 
 " Absolutely none," he answered earnestly. " You are, 
 and, ever since our last kiss have been, my life, my heart, 
 my only thought." Immediately he returned to the oc- 
 cupation which both of them had found so pleasant a 
 few seconds before. 
 
 " And I love you more than all the world could tell," 
 she answered. " If the thought of affection for another 
 should come to me, one look at your face would dispel 
 all." 
 
 Again they smothered themselves in an embrace. 
 
 After a little she disengaged herself sufficiently to say : 
 
 " You have been wonderfully good not to make any 
 objections to the peculiarity of this affair. Now, for my 
 sake, promise me you will be patient, no matter what 
 happens tonight ; promise me you will not worry uncle. 
 You will bear with all his brusque ways for my sake, 
 won't you, dear ? " 
 
 Cameron hardly understood her, but promised. Truth 
 to tell, at that moment he would have promised her any- 
 thing. Then he drew her to him again, and was about 
 to say : "It seems so strange that we should have been 
 within ten miles of each other for the last five years, and 
 neither know the other's feelings," when Mr. Northrop 
 burst into the room. 
 
 " Here ! " he said ; " excuse me, Wawona ; I suppose I 
 should have knocked, but everything seems to have gone 
 wrong. Frank and Fanny cannot be found, and every- 
 thing has been left on my hands at the last moment.
 
 152 I SWEAR. 
 
 We are already late, and all our friends are talking about 
 it. Take Mr. Morrison's arm, and follow me." As he 
 said this, he half led, half pushed them into the hall. 
 
 Cameron was so surprised that he hardly knew what 
 he was doing. 
 
 He thought Mr. Northrop had addressed him as "Mor- 
 rison," but the situation, the bustle, in fact everything 
 alike, precluded present explanation, and the first thing 
 he really definitely knew was, that he was going down the 
 broad front stairway with Wawona on his arm. The next 
 was, that he was entering the parlor, and marching up to 
 an awaiting minister, with an orchestra playing " Men- 
 delssohn's Wedding March." 
 
 In an instant the whole position flashed across his 
 mind. He was to be married to Wawona. 
 
 What did it mean ? Was this what Wav/ona meant 
 when she made him promise to be patient no matter 
 what happened ? 
 
 It was the dearest wish of his life ; but how suddenly 
 and strangely brought about. He found no time to col- 
 lect his scattered thoughts. Of course Wawona had 
 declared she loved him. He loved her. 
 
 What could he do ? Everything, everybody was ready ; 
 in fact, the minister had prepared to proceed. 
 
 He tried to prevent his erratic fancies from cloud- 
 ing his mind, and to collect his ideas in order to be able 
 to act. Before he could do so, the minister, in a calm, 
 resolute voice, began the ceremony, and Cameron found 
 himself mechanically repeating after him : " I, Paul, take 
 thee, Wawona, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold 
 from this day forth." 
 
 And almost immediately after heard his beloved repeat : 
 
 " I, Wawona, take thee, Paul, to be my wedded hus- 
 band, to have and to hold " 
 
 Then he found himself slipping a ring, furnished by
 
 I SWEAR. 153 
 
 the minister, on Wawona's finger, and saying : " With 
 all my worldly goods I thee endow." 
 
 He made a mighty effort to clear his brain while the 
 minister was pronouncing the benediction, but found 
 himself too dumbfounded to act, to remember anything, 
 almost that he was expected to kiss his bride and be con- 
 gratulated. 
 
 He heard the minister's voice say : " May you so live 
 together in this life that in the world to come you may 
 have life everlasting," and summoned up courage enough 
 to turn to Wawona to kiss her. He noticed she was un- 
 usually pale. 
 
 As he leaned over, he heard her say, tremblingly : 
 
 " Catch me ; I am faint ! " 
 
 Instantly all was confusion. 
 
 Assisted by the minister and Mr. Northrop, he led his 
 bride to the library, where Parker, Mrs. Matthews, and 
 several lady friends took charge, and loosened her dress. 
 
 " It is merely a faint," Mrs. Matthews said, " the ex- 
 citement has been too much for her." 
 
 Mr. Northrop seized the opportunity to take the sup- 
 posed Morrison to one side. 
 
 Cameron started to explain himself, but was prevented 
 by the banker, who said : 
 
 " I have all the papers ready for Wawona's annuity ; 
 the minister is preparing the contracts now." 
 
 Then he suddenly seemed to have caught an idea. 
 
 " But where are your traveling traps. I have the draw- 
 ing room engaged for the 10 : 30 train." 
 
 " Traveling traps ? " asked Cameron. 
 
 Then suddenly thinking, " Oh, yes, I must take a bridal 
 tour," he answered somewhat stammeringly : 
 
 "They are at my apartments. Frank forgot to tell 
 me about that. I have not packed them yet."
 
 154 1 SWEAR. 
 
 Then resolution came to him, and he determined to 
 make an explanation of his suspicions. 
 
 " Mr. Northrop, I fear there is some mistake in this mat- 
 ter ; permit " 
 
 " Of course, there is some mistake," interrupted the 
 banker. " You must have your traps. There has been 
 enough delay already. The train goes at 10:30 sharp. 
 It is now 9:16; I will send for the carriage at once." 
 
 "Here," he called to a passing servant, " run up stairs 
 to the spare boudoir, and bring this gentleman his hat and 
 coat." 
 
 Turning again to Cameron he hastily said : 
 
 " Excuse me a moment, while I order the carriage." 
 
 Off he dashed, leaving the poor fellow with his already 
 muddled brain in a complete whirl. 
 
 The servant came down with his hat and coat, and he 
 mechanically permitted him to put them on for him. 
 
 Hardly had he done so when the bustling, troubled 
 host appeared. 
 
 " The carriage is all ready. You must hurry, or you 
 will be late. Come, quick." 
 
 With that he half pushed, half led him to the carriage. 
 Cameron told him, how he hardly knew, that his rooms 
 were at the Vendome. 
 
 " Take Mr. Morrison to the Vendome at once, and get 
 him back here for the 10:30 Shore train," Cameron heard 
 Mr. Northrop command the driver as he closed the door. 
 
 He thought he was certain of the " Morrison " this 
 time. This confirmed his former half-conceived suspicion 
 that he had been mistaken for his cousin. 
 
 He attempted to open the door and explain the matter 
 to Mr. Northrop ; but the carriage had already started, 
 and the banker, half distracted on account of the many 
 delays, had entered the house, and Job was driving pell-
 
 I SWEAR. 155 
 
 mell for the hotel. Then there came a doubt about 
 whether or not he had actually heard aright. 
 
 He thought it very strange Frank should have acted 
 as he did, and had about made up his mind that possibly 
 Frank, knowing of his love for Wawona, had arranged 
 this plan to bring them together. 
 
 Then again he remembered to have been mistaken by 
 strangers at other times for his cousin, Paul Morrison. 
 
 He sat there through that wild drive, trying to deter- 
 mine whether the peculiar transactions of the last hour 
 were wholly due to the similarity in appearance of his 
 cousin and himself, or if he had in reality been married 
 to his old love, for himself. 
 
 Before he could solve the problem the carriage pulled 
 up at the Vendome, and Job, looking at his watch, oracu- 
 larly said : 
 
 " Sure, sir, I don't think you can make the 10:30, you 
 better take the 11:30. I think, sir, I'd better go back 
 and tell Mr. Northrop you 've changed your mind, and 
 you can take a cab back when you 're ready." 
 
 Cameron was too much engrossed in thought to put in 
 any objections. 
 
 "Certainly ; all right ; make it 11:30." 
 
 He mechanically went to the office for his key, took 
 the elevator, and after arriving at his room, deliberately 
 sat down and pinched himself, to see that he was not in 
 a dream. 
 
 At first he made up his mind he would not go back, 
 and then he determined that the only thing to do was to 
 return to the house and force the nervous banker to take 
 sufficient time for an explanation, and then find out if 
 he had really been married. After this determination, 
 he coolly packed what few things he had at hand, and 
 prepared to return to the office.
 
 i 5 6 I SWEAR. 
 
 At once the thought came to him : " Where is the 
 house ? " 
 
 Frank had sent the family carriage for him, and he 
 had never been there alone. He consulted the direc- 
 tory. 
 
 " Amos Northrop, President Fifth National Bank, res. 
 Northrop Hall, Chester Park." 
 
 The next question was, "Where is Northrop Hall, 
 Chester Park ? " 
 
 The hotel clerk was a new arrival and did not know. 
 
 No more did the cabman whom the hotel clerk called, 
 but he thought he could find out at the head office. 
 
 The only thing to be done was to drive to the head 
 office. There he obtained directions. 
 
 Cameron glanced at his watch. It was 10:25. 
 
 The clerk at the cab office told him it was a twenty 
 minutes' drive to the Northrop mansion. The coach- 
 man's idea must be accepted, and of course they must 
 take the 11:30 train, if they took any. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SOME ten or fifteen minutes after Job's return from 
 driving Cameron for his luggage, a carriage drove furi- 
 ously up to the Northrop mansion, and, as soon as the 
 cabman opened the door Paul Morrison stepped out of 
 it, with the air of a man who knew he was late for an 
 important engagement. 
 
 The first person he met after entering the house was 
 Mr. Northrop. The hearty manner with which the 
 banker received him quite astonished him. He did not 
 know that the heartiness was entirely due to what the
 
 I SWEAR. 157 
 
 banker considered his unusual promptness, (or rather the 
 unusual promptness of his cousin counterpart,) in getting 
 his traps, so as not to force a change of the arrangements 
 in reference to departure by the 10:30 train. . 
 
 " I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Northrop, 
 but everything has been arranged so peculiarly we could 
 hardly hope to get through without some mishap," Mor- 
 rison said, as soon as he had recovered from his aston- 
 ishment. " Have you been waiting long ? " 
 
 " Not at all," answered the banker, quite cordially for 
 him. "You are here much sooner than I expected. 
 Wawona and the minister are waiting for you in the 
 library. I was afraid we would be compelled to accept 
 Job's suggestion, and have your drawing-room changed 
 for the 11:30. I am glad your promptness has prevented 
 the necessity ; but you will have to be expeditious, and 
 so you had better go to the library at once. I will join 
 you as soon as I obtain the papers you left a few mo- 
 ments ago." 
 
 Morrison was so preoccupied in thinking of the pecu-- 
 liarity of meeting the minister and bride in the library, 
 that he failed to notice the allusion to his having been 
 in the house a few moments before. He could not under- 
 stand exactly what all the bustle meant ; but he hur- 
 riedly determined to follow the banker's instructions, 
 and go to the library. 
 
 There, to his surprise, was Wawona, with all her wraps 
 on, ready for instant departure. 
 
 " Oh, Paul ! " she said, as she kissed him, " how strange 
 this all is. Everything seems to have gone wrong." 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " I cannot comprehend why all 
 this hurry is being made. I consented to all these ar- 
 rangements merely because I did not want to put your 
 uncle to any more trouble than I could help. But where 
 is Mr. Jender ? "
 
 i 5 8 I SWEAR. 
 
 "That is what is the matter. It is very strange that 
 neither Frank nor Fanny is here." 
 
 "But where are they?" asked Morrison. 
 
 " Heaven only knows," answered Mr. Northrop, com- 
 ing in just at that moment. 
 
 Then he turned to the minister : 
 
 "Mr. Wellington, have they signed those contracts?" 
 
 " No, I have them all prepared however," the minister 
 answered rather flurrledly ; the bustling of the nervous 
 banker had begun to tell on even his apparently nerve- 
 less temperament. 
 
 " Mr. Morrison, you sign there, and Mrs. Morrison, you 
 sign here." 
 
 " We are not going to be married by contract, are we ? " 
 Morrison asked, thoroughly mystified. 
 
 " This is an additional form," answered the minister, 
 "which your uncle suggested, because we cannot find 
 the marriage license. You see it will probably save any 
 questions as to the legality. It is a mere acknowledg- 
 ment that you and Wawona Brooke have become man 
 and wife, which," he said jokingly, "I now pronounce 
 you." 
 
 " But is there going to be no ceremony ? No wit- 
 nesses?" he asked in rapid succession. 
 
 "This completes the ceremony," Mr. Northrop inter- 
 rupted, almost crossly, as if he thought the Englishman 
 were casting a slur upon the American ceremony. " Mr. 
 Wellington and I are witnesses." 
 
 A little abashed at this explanation of the affair, Mor- 
 rison signed his name to the agreement, and accepted 
 the copy the minister tendered him Wawona did like- 
 wise, without saying a word. 
 
 " And now, Mr. and Mrs. Morrison," said the minister, 
 trying to smooth the brusqueness of the situation, " I 
 wish you a long life and happiness."
 
 I SWEAR. 159 
 
 " And are we married ? " Morrison asked, still deter- 
 mined, in spite of the banker's abruptness, to learn the 
 reason for what seemed to him this almost foolhardy sim- 
 plicity, not to say want of ceremony. 
 
 " As fast as the laws of Massachusetts can make you," 
 replied the minister, becoming quite verbose in his haste 
 to precede the banker in a reply. " That contract, a copy 
 of which you both hold, together with your agreement in 
 the presence of witnesses, makes assurance doubly sure, 
 and takes a bond of fate." 
 
 Morrison hesitated a second, as if to make up his mind 
 whether to push his doubts any further and hastily 
 determined that, as he had borne all the inconveniences 
 caused by the banker thus far, it would be better to bear 
 with this. Accepting as final the assurance of the min- 
 ister, he turned to Wawona and said, as he clasped her in 
 his arms : 
 
 "Then you are mine ! " 
 
 Suddenly a thought occurred to him. He picked up 
 his traveling-bag, and from it took a very handsome jewel- 
 case, saying : 
 
 " I have a present for you. It was a gift to my mother 
 at her marriage. She sent it to you with her very best 
 love." 
 
 " Oh, how lovely ! " Wawona cried, enthusiastically ; 
 and kissing him again, turned to examine the old-fash- 
 ioned diamond brooch which the case contained. 
 
 " What is this peculiar little mark on the back," she 
 asked "like a catch ? " 
 
 " I never noticed it," Morrison answered, absent- 
 mindedly, as he turned to accept the annuity papers 
 which Mr. Northrop, who had at that moment reentered 
 the room, handed him. 
 
 Wawona investigated for herself. 
 
 She pressed on what seemed to be a concealed knob,
 
 160 / SWEAR. 
 
 and lo ! the whole gold back raised, and there she saw a 
 miniature of a stern-featured man, beneath which was 
 this inscription : 
 
 "From your long-lost brother, John Craig." 
 
 The sudden sight of that hated name, which she had 
 not seen for so long, nearly stunned her. 
 
 The revelation of the fact that notwithstanding her 
 oath to her father, she was married to the nephew of 
 John Craig, seemed in an instant to completely destroy 
 the ecstacy of being a bride. 
 
 The unhappy scene of so long ago had never left her 
 mind. With terrible vividness the picture of that night 
 recurred to her. The sound of her own little voice, when 
 she said to her dying father, "I swear never to have 
 anything to do with John Craig or his, so long as I live," 
 came echoing back. The thought that she had broken 
 that oath left her powerless for a moment, but the next 
 moment brought with it a resolution to act at once. 
 
 All the vengeful ire of the explosive Indian blood 
 coursing through her veins sprang to life. Only the re- 
 finement produced by careful education prevented that 
 ire from entirely mastering her. 
 
 She felt that there must be no mistake. She nerved 
 herself for a supreme effort. Bracing herself against the 
 desk at which she was standing, she turned to the minis- 
 ter, and said in a firm voice : 
 
 " Mr. Wellington, will you kindly leave me alone with 
 my uncle and Mr: Morrison ? " 
 
 "Certainly," he said, wondering at her changed ap- 
 pearance. He turned and left the room, closing the door 
 behind him. 
 
 The harsh tone of her voice drew the attention of both 
 her uncle and Morrison. 
 
 She looked Paul straight in the face. Her great black 
 eyes, ablaze with restrained feeling, gave her strong face
 
 I SWEAR. 161 
 
 an almost fierce expression. She was visibly under the 
 influence of some great excitement ; yet there was no 
 tremor in her voice when she asked him, enunciating 
 each syllable distinctly : 
 
 " Are you a nephew of John Craig, of the Cherokee 
 Nation ? " 
 
 Morrison was thunderstruck. He hesitated, hung his 
 head, then looked up, evidently determined to make a 
 denial ; but his startled manner and guilty confusion dis- 
 closed what his tongue dared not utter. 
 
 " You are ! You are ! " came almost in a shriek from 
 the poor girl. The next instant she fell to the floor in a 
 dead faint. 
 
 Her over-wrought nerves had given way. 
 
 The face of the banker was a study, as he stooped to 
 pick up the brooch and read the inscription. 
 
 His feelings toward this man, who had already aroused 
 his dislike by his questionable attentions to his daughter, 
 so moved him that he could hardly contain himself. 
 
 As he turned from the apparently lifeless form of the 
 daughter of his dead sister, his frame shook with sup- 
 pressed rage. 
 
 "So, sir," he hissed, "this is your motive ! You are 
 the nephew of John Craig. My God I don't know why 
 I don't kill you on the spot ! Go ! Leave this house, 
 and " he suddenly hesitated, his ruling passion not to 
 permit himself to be a party to "scenes" sufficiently 
 taking possession of him, even in the midst of his now 
 almost tragic grief, to make him realize that he must be 
 circumspect in his actions or else the entire company 
 would know more or less of the unhappy denouement. 
 
 Morrison misinterpreted the hesitation. 
 
 " Sir, give me an opportunity to explain. I - 
 
 " None, sir ! " thundered the banker, the sound of Mor- 
 rison's voice having revived with even greater force the
 
 1 62 / SWEAR. 
 
 anger which had been temporarily checked. " Leave my 
 house at once leave it before my feelings make me do 
 what I shall regret ! Go ! " 
 
 " But permit " Morrison was about to insist, when 
 Parker entered the room in response to a bell the banker 
 had rung. 
 
 "Stop not a word," he said beneath his breath, to 
 Morrison. 
 
 " Here, Parker, attend to Wawona, while I show Mr. 
 Morrison out." 
 
 Wawona gave signs of reviving. 
 
 " Hurry," the banker said, almost pushing Morrison 
 along the hall toward the side entrance. " Do not let her 
 eyes be contaminated by the sight of you when she re- 
 covers her senses." 
 
 Morrison, nearly dazed, permitted himself to be half 
 lead, half thrust out of the side door. 
 
 Mr. Northrop returned to the library, gave a few hasty 
 instructions to Parker concerning her deportment toward 
 the other servants-, and ordered her to conduct Miss 
 Brooke to her own apartments. 
 
 Then he realized that his guests must be wondering at 
 the long absence of the bridal party. 
 
 He determined to calm himself, and return to them to 
 make the necessary explanations. 
 
 As he passed the front door, he noticed that the ser- 
 vant was opening it in response to a ring of the bell. 
 Mr. Cameron appeared, valise in hand, returning on his 
 mission to obtain an explanation from Mr. Northrop. 
 
 At the sight of what he thought was the perfidious 
 Morrison again, the banker, in an almost ungovernable 
 rage, advanced to meet him. Before Cameron could en- 
 ter the door, he stepped out, pushed Cameron with him, 
 and closed the door behind them. 
 
 " Sir," he hissed, " have you not caused enough trouble
 
 / SWEAR. 163 
 
 in my household ? If you ever dare set foot in my house 
 again, by the Eternal, I '11 kill you, you you snake ! " 
 
 With this imprecation he entered the house, leaving 
 Cameron to sadly turn away, and order his carriage to 
 return to his hotel. 
 
 His poor troubled mind could not distract itself from 
 the problem why fate had given him this night's expe- 
 rience, the unhappiest, it seemed to him, that ever mor- 
 tal could have suffered He couM not understand on 
 what theory the most optimistic philosopher could find 
 justice in thus making his already lonesome life infinite- 
 ly more sad and lonely because of that one passing glimpse 
 of what happiness might have been his had he been per- 
 mitted to reenter the social world with Wawona for a 
 companion. 
 
 What return was fate making him for the blameless 
 life he had always led ? What return for his uncom- 
 plaining acceptance of reverses in fortune ? 
 
 Why should his fidelity to his love for this girl, which 
 had made him give up all thoughts of social enjoyment 
 without her, be made the means of causing him this in- 
 creased sorrow ? 
 
 Why had that fleeting ecstacy of love been changed 
 into the perfect agony of loss by one swift transition ? 
 
 He recalled a sonnet memorized in the long ago : 
 
 " To look upon the face of a dead friend 
 Is hard ; but 'tis not more than we can bear, 
 If, haply, we can see peace written there 
 Peace after pain, and welcome so the end, 
 Whate'er the past, whatever death may send ; 
 Yea, and that face a gracious smile may wear, 
 If love till death was perfect, sweet, and fair ; 
 But there is woe from which may God defend, 
 To look upon our friendship lying dead, 
 While we live on, and eat, and drink, and sleep
 
 1 64 / SWEAR. 
 
 Mere bodies from which the soul has fled 
 And that dead thing year after year to keep 
 Locked in cold silence in its dreamless bed ; 
 There must be hell while there is such a deep. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MEANWHILE Frank Jender was wildly riding after the 
 bridesmaid in the direction of Swamscot. 
 
 As luck would have it, thanks to the speed of Fanny's 
 own horse, he overtook the almost frenzied girl shortly 
 before she reached the bridge. 
 
 As soon as she recognized Frank, all the sorrow she 
 had been restraining so as not to attract attention from 
 those whom she chanced to pass on the road, burst forth 
 in a half sob, half wail. 
 
 Frank merely said : " I will get in and drive, Fanny." 
 
 He suited his actions to his words, after tying his horse 
 behind the phaeton. 
 
 " But what shall I do, Frank ? " she managed to ask, 
 through her sobs. 
 
 " Cry," he answered laconically. 
 
 She accepted his advice. 
 
 Her grandmother's house was only about a mile further 
 on. Frank drove directly to it, Fanny meanwhile pour- 
 ing out her nervous grief in deep, long-drawn sobs. 
 
 " Where are you taking me, Frank ? " she inquired. 
 
 " To your grandmother's," he answered firmly, but not 
 harshly ; "there you can recover from this fit of nervous- 
 ness without any one knowing it." 
 
 Silence followed until they arrived at the house. 
 
 As he turned to help her out of the buggy she began
 
 I SWEAR. 165 
 
 to cry hysterically, and he was finally compelled to carry 
 her in-doors. 
 
 The old lady and her one servant were very much as 
 tonished at the unusual visit, and could not understand 
 the situation. Frank simply explained that Fanny was 
 ill, and they had deemed it best not to return while the 
 wedding was in progress. 
 
 Then he hurried off for a physician. 
 
 By the time they had gotten her quiet and sleeping 
 under the influence of opiates, it was nearly ten o'clock. 
 
 Frank knew it would be fully eleven before he could 
 get back to his uncle's house, and that the ceremony 
 would be over. As he felt that his entrance on the scene 
 at that late hour would occasion remark and require ex- 
 planations, he assured himself that he need not hurry, 
 and drove back slowly, giving himself time to muse over 
 the sad termination of his phantom hopes. 
 
 Shortly after eleven o'clock he reached Northrop Hall. 
 
 Much to his surprise, instead of finding the reception 
 at its height, he saw almost the last of the carriages dis- 
 appearing. In one of those inexplicable ways the guests 
 had learned that something unfortunate had happened, 
 and had thoughtfully retired. 
 
 Frank could not fathom it. 
 
 Was it possible his hopes had been realized, and Wa- 
 wona had deserted Morrison for his friend ? 
 
 His sad, listless air left him at the thought. He rushed 
 to his uncle's library. There he found Mr. Northrop alone, 
 and learned that his hopes were not to be realized, for 
 almost the first thing which met his eye as he entered 
 the room was the book Mr. Wellington had presented 
 Wawona, on the first page of which he saw the contract 
 of marriage signed "Paul Morrison" and "Wawona 
 Brooke." 
 
 Mr. Northrop was alone and at once demanded an ex-
 
 1 66 / SWEAR. 
 
 planation. Then both described their parts in the night's 
 romance. 
 
 The banker finally said : 
 
 " Frank, I do not know what to think of that man. He 
 has been leading a most exemplary life for the last three 
 years. I had almost become reconciled to the thought 
 of the marriage. Now I fear he has ruined the lives of 
 both my wards ; Fanny because of her blighted love, and 
 Wavvona in that he has made her break her solemn oath 
 at her father's death-bed. What will come of it, I can- 
 not think." 
 
 " What shall we say to our friends ? " Frank asked. 
 
 " Nothing, for the present. I am afraid we have not 
 seen the end. John Craig has not yet shown what his 
 part is in this affair ; so the least said, the better," an- 
 swered the banker. 
 
 Frank withdrew, to try to reason put a plan for him- 
 self. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WHEN Paul Morrison found himself outside the 
 Northrop mansion he was as near being insane as one 
 possessed of his senses could be. 
 
 The peculiar manner of this his second unhappy evic- 
 tion from the house, and the strange effect the discovery 
 of his connection with John Craig had on his wife (?) 
 and her uncle, coupled with the odd haste and hurry in 
 which the transactions of the last fifteen minutes had 
 been carried on, left him so completely dazed that it 
 was some time before he could sufficiently collect his 
 thoughts to even decide to order a cab and drive to a 
 hotel.
 
 I SWEAR. 167 
 
 His life for the last three months had been one of con- 
 stant introspective philosophizing. He felt he was do- 
 ing both himself and Wawona Brooke a great wrong by 
 consummating this marriage ; but the realization of the 
 fact that not to do so would alienate forever the only 
 friend who had ever shown enough interest in his wel- 
 fare to help him in a practical way, assisted possibly by 
 a little Scotch determination not to be forced out of his 
 line of action by the petty, and as he thought childish, 
 restrictions of the Yankee banker, had caused him to 
 complete the arrangements with Frank Jender. 
 
 When everything was settled, and he was certain that 
 fate had left him no loophole to escape, he had written 
 to John Craig of his intentions. The letter went by 
 the steamer which sailed the week before he did, and 
 merely announced the fact that he and Wawona Brooke 
 were to be married on the 5th of June following, and 
 that as soon as he was able to do so, he would telegraph 
 to him the message for which his uncle had been wait- 
 ing so long : " I am the husband of Wawona Brooke." 
 
 On Morrison's arrival in New York he had gone di- 
 rectly to the Hoffman House. 
 
 Hardly had he completed his toilet when, to his aston- 
 ishment, a bell-boy appeared with a card JOHN CRAIG. 
 
 " My uncle ! what can this mean?" thought Morri- 
 son, almost hesitating to instruct the boy to "show him 
 up " first, as for some reason he felt an instinctive dread 
 of meeting this man who had been so mysteriously kind 
 to him. 
 
 Possibly the fact that the carrying out of his expressed 
 wish had been the means of placing him in such an 
 anomalous position with the woman he loved had some- 
 thing to do with this feeling. 
 
 He had never seen his uncle, but from his photograph 
 and the tone of his letters he had pictured him as a tall,
 
 1 68 / SWEAR. 
 
 erect, commanding backwoodsman. He was quite sur- 
 prised when the boy, a few moments afterward, ushered 
 in a rather undersized old man, bent over, apparently, 
 with sickness. 
 
 "You hardly expected to see me yet, Paul," the uncle 
 said as soon as he had introduced himself. 
 
 "No, I thought I should first have the pleasure of 
 calling on you with my bride out in the Indian Territory," 
 Morrison answered. 
 
 " Something of that sort was my original intention," 
 the old man answered. "But I could not bear to wait. 
 You see I have had two hemorrhages of the lungs, and 
 the doctor tells me the next will be my last. I was afraid 
 something would happen before I should see you." 
 
 The look of determination which came over his face as 
 he said this proved plainly that his old firmness of pur- 
 pose was still there, notwithstanding the effects of his 
 illness. 
 
 The speech brought OH a fit of coughing. 
 
 "There, there, uncle," Morrison said, alarmed at his 
 relative's appearance, " do not distress yourself. Wait 
 until you are rested." 
 
 "No, I must tell you now," the old man nerved himself 
 to say. " When you are married to Wawona Brooke I 
 have nothing more to live for ; my life's work is done. 
 My revenge is then complete ! " 
 
 "What do you mean ? " Morrison asked. 
 
 The old man was overcome by another fit of coughing. 
 Evidently he had determined that he had said too much 
 already, and intended to pass it over. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," resumed Craig as soon as he had 
 caught his breath. "You are heir to all my personal 
 property it will be enough at least one hundred thou 
 sand dollars, and the land, when you are her husband 
 you will have control "
 
 I SWEAR. 169 
 
 "I don't understand, uncle," Morrison interrupted 
 interestedly. 
 
 Then noticing that the old man was nearly exhausted, 
 he rang for some stimulants. 
 
 As soon as Craig had revived, he said : 
 
 " You go about your preparations, Paul. I may go to 
 Boston tomorrow, but I will see you here, in New York, 
 after the wedding." 
 
 Morrison deemed it advisable not to tax the old gen- 
 tleman's strength too much, as the ravages of his disease 
 were very apparent, and he assisted him to his room 
 without asking any further explanation of that mysteri- 
 ous and melodramatic allusion to " revenge." 
 
 This interview came back to Morrison with its full 
 effect as he was driving to the hotel after his scene with 
 his wife (?). Evidently that " revenge " was the clew to 
 the mysterious actions of Wawona when she found he 
 was the nephew of John Craig, and also the probable 
 explanation of that mysterious imprecation of Amos 
 Northrop, " You have made this poor girl break her oath 
 to her father at his death-bed ! " 
 
 What it all meant he could not fathom ; he felt that the 
 only course left for him was to see his uncle and demand 
 an explanation. 
 
 By the time he arrived at the hotel and was installed 
 in his apartments, he had worked himself into a gangli- 
 onic fever. 
 
 All sorts of fitful conjectures were weaving themselves 
 around savage Indian chiefs, death-bed oaths, and awful 
 revenges. They left his mind so entangled that he had 
 about concluded to defer his attempt to unravel the sit- 
 uation until morning, when there came a rap at the door. 
 
 To his surprise it was the bell-boy, with his uncle's 
 card. In his present nervous state his first impulse was 
 to order the boy to announce that he would not see him
 
 170 I SWEAR. 
 
 until morning and then a determination to bring to a 
 conclusion this unhappy and awful uncertainty, and to 
 press the matter to its "bitter end," prompted him to 
 instruct the boy to admit him. 
 
 As John Craig entered, Morrison turned and handed 
 him the book and contract which the minister had given 
 him, saying in a tragically despondent voice : 
 
 " I am the husband of Wawona Brooke, and the un- 
 happiest man on the face of the earth." 
 
 " Thank God ! Thank God ! " said the old man, as he 
 read the announcement of the marriage on the first page 
 of the book, not appearing to notice his nephew's other 
 announcement. 
 
 " Now, uncle," Morrison said firmly, " I have paid the 
 debt I owe you, and in doing so have wrecked the happi- 
 ness of myself and two women, one of whom I love bet- 
 ter than my life. What do you propose to do ?" 
 
 With this he disjoinedly, almost fiercely, told of the 
 occurrences in the Northrop library, and his eviction 
 from the house. 
 
 "And you do not love Wawona Brooke?" asked the 
 old man, a look of joy stealing over his face. 
 
 " I do not," answered Morrison dejectedly, the vehe- 
 mence of his anger having been toned down to dejection 
 by the master will force of his uncle, a power which had 
 subdued his passion even before it found opportunity to 
 vent itself. 
 
 "And you do love Fanny Northrop ? " he inquired. 
 
 "Yes," Morrison replied, with a deep sigh, after a 
 slight hesitation. 
 
 "'Tis well, 't is well," mused the old man, as if to him- 
 self, apparently having forgotten his nephew's presence. 
 
 Finally he walked over to Morrison, and said in the 
 firm tone of a man who is accustomed to command : 
 
 " You shall marry her."
 
 I SWEAR. 171 
 
 " Whom ? " asked Morrison, impressed in spite of his 
 despondency. 
 
 "Fanny Northrop." 
 
 " But I am already married to Wawona Brooke." 
 
 " Yes, but we will let her have a divorce as soon as she 
 has deeded all her interest in the lands to us. I will at- 
 tend to this in the morning. Leave it all to me. Good 
 night," and before Morrison could answer he was gone. 
 
 The poor fellow sat there, infinitely miserable. It was 
 a relief to be alone. The towering will of his uncle left 
 him almost helpless in his presence. He could not 
 understand himself ; his whole individuality seemed to 
 be lost immediately upon his uncle's appearance. 
 
 His original intention had been to hurl defiance in the 
 old man's face, but at his approach his every motive be- 
 came subservient to that monster will. 
 
 He gave up all thought of independent action, and 
 meekly submitted his future to his uncle and fate. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AFTER leaving Mr. Northrop, Frank Jender had gone 
 to the room set apart for him, so engrossed in his at- 
 tempt to solve the reason for Morrison's actions, that all 
 thoughts of Cameron had passed from his mind. In fact 
 he was so absorbed in his musings that he had taken no 
 notice whatever of his surroundings ; thus the telegram 
 which Mr. Northrop had sent to his room entirely es- 
 caped his notice, although the servant had placed it in a 
 conspicuous place on the mantel. 
 
 He passed a restless night and awoke very early in the 
 morning. After tossing about in bed for a few moments,
 
 172 I SWEAR. 
 
 reviewing the peculiar happenings of the evening before, 
 the thought suddenly struck him 
 
 "What in the world became of Paul Cameron ?" 
 
 He remembered, now that he thought of it, that not 
 one word had been spoken about Cameron and his re- 
 ception by any one. 
 
 Two theories suggested themselves : one that he had 
 changed his mind and determined not to come ; the other 
 that he had come and kept himself in the background. 
 
 Frank made up his mind to inquire into the matter, 
 and immediately got out of bed with that object in view, 
 although it was not yet seven o'clock. He had scarcely 
 commenced making his toilet when the telegram on the 
 mantel caught his eye. 
 
 " That will explain it. Cameron weakened at the last 
 minute, went back to Cambridge and telegraphed me," 
 was the mental comment as he broke open the telegram, 
 smiling to himself meanwhile at the additional thought, 
 "Those educated men are such cowards." 
 
 But the smile left his face as he read : 
 
 " Train is delayed forty minutes. Hold the ceremony. 
 Love to Wawona. PAUL MORRISON." 
 
 What could this mean ? His uncle had said nothing 
 about any delay. 
 
 Again a series of attempts at explanation racked his 
 brain ; but he knew that they were aH futile. 
 
 The real truth never entered his mind. He dressed 
 as rapidly as his tendency to come to a full stop and 
 study over the situation would permit him, and then 
 hastened directly to the stable to interview Job. 
 
 To his surprise he learned that Job had not only 
 brought Cameron from the hotel to the house, but had 
 driven him back to his hotel after the ceremony, and that
 
 I SWEAR. 173 
 
 Mr. Northrop had seen him to his carriage. Would won- 
 ders never cease ! 
 
 His next thought was Parker. She had been with the 
 family so long that he could trust her by making more 
 pointed inquiries. He did not have an opportunity to 
 see her until after breakfast, however. 
 
 To his surprise she knew nothing of Mr. Cameron. 
 
 "I mean the man who looks exactly like Mr. Morri- 
 son," Frank said somewhat impatiently. " What became 
 of him while they were waiting for the groom to arrive ? " 
 
 " Waiting for the groom to arrive, when ? " 
 
 " While they were holding the ceremony ! " Frank an- 
 swered, impatient at what he considered her stupidity. 
 
 "They did not hold the ceremony. The groom was 
 here on time. Mr. Northrop saw that nothing was late, 
 sir," Parker answered, puzzled at his questions. "You 
 know well enough Mr. Northrop never allows anything 
 to be behind time in this house." 
 
 Frank did not say a word. For the first time a sus- 
 picion of the true state of affairs came to him. 
 
 " My Paul has been married to Wawona by mistake," 
 he thought, but immediately he remembered to have 
 seen the book which the minister had given Wawona, 
 containing a marriage agreement signed, " Paul Mor- 
 rison." Hence, of course, this mistake must have been 
 discovered and corrected. 
 
 " But what became of Mr. Cameron ? I Ml see Uncle 
 Amos' about that." 
 
 He looked at his watch ; it was already 8:35. Remem- 
 bering Mr. Northrop's habit of leaving for the bank at 
 a quarter of nine, he hastened to the library. 
 
 He found his uncle with a very worried countenance. 
 
 " Frank, I am glad to see you ; be seated. I was about 
 to send for you." 
 
 " I am delighted to have saved you the trouble, uncle.
 
 i 7 4 I SWEAR. 
 
 I have something I want to ask you about last night. 
 j " 
 
 " Yes," interrupted the banker. " But I have some- 
 thing of more importance which I want you to help me 
 with. I must leave in a few moments, for I want to con- 
 sult my attorney before going to the bank, as I try.never 
 to allow my private affairs to interfere with my banking 
 hours." 
 
 Turning to his desk he picked up a letter. 
 
 Frank was so impressed with the banker's air of se- 
 rious concern that, for the time being, all thought of 
 Cameron's affairs left him. 
 
 " I received this letter by the morning's mail. I want 
 you to go to 'Parker's,' and judiciously obtain all the in- 
 formation you can concerning the writer. It reads : 
 
 "BOSTON, MASS., June 6, 18 ,i A. M. 
 "AMOS NORTHROP, 
 
 " Dear Sir : 
 
 " My nephew, Paul Craig Morrison, a few 
 moments ago informed me of last night's transactions. 
 
 " He sees that you are attempting to estrange his 
 recently-made wife from him. 
 
 "I, therefore, feel it is time I should explain my posi- 
 tion. I shall be brief. 
 
 " Wawona Brooke, as the daughter of John Brooke, has 
 an interest in the title to the lands of the Cherokee Na- 
 tion. 
 
 " At her marriage the control of that interest by the 
 laws of the Nation passed to her husband. Your at- 
 tempt to estrange his wife from him injures him to 
 such an extent that I am about to advise him to com- 
 mence an action for damages against you. He is very 
 loathe to take such a step, but is ready to follow my ad- 
 vice. Possibly, under the circumstances, it would be
 
 / SWEAR. 175 
 
 better for him to permit you to advise Mrs. Morrison to 
 give him, or rather me for him, a quitclaim deed to any 
 and all interest she may have in the Cherokee lands in 
 consideration of his dropping the matter entirely, and 
 leaving the State ; so that, in course of time, she may be 
 divorced from the nephew of the man who was once a 
 fellow-chief with her late father^ 
 
 " My nephew does not know of this letter ; but I feel 
 certain he will follow my advice. 
 
 " The matter must be attended to immediately. I will 
 call at your house at four o'clock this afternoon, June 6th, 
 to receive your answer. .1 shall have a deed ready for 
 signature. 
 
 "Yours, etc., 
 
 "JOHN CRAIG." 
 
 " That is the letter of a shrewd schemer ? You see he 
 is too clever to make the proposition direct from his 
 nephew. They have at last shown their hand. Thi 
 evidently has been their whole animus in the matter. We 
 cannot permit Wawona to be in any way connected with 
 this rascal ; neither can we permit her to break her oath 
 to her father," he said nervously, as he folded the letter 
 and put it in his pocket. Then turning to Frank, who 
 sat seemingly dazed, he remarked : "I must go now and 
 consult our attorney. Be discreet in your inquiries, 
 Frank, and report to me at the bank. Learn all you can. 
 Good morning." 
 
 Poor Jender continued to sit there, pondering over the 
 revelation of perfidy contained in that letter for some 
 time, finally commenting: 
 
 "And to think that poor Wawona is married to such a 
 wretch ! " 
 
 Then the suspicions which had brought him to his 
 uncle suddenly returned to his mind.
 
 176 / SWEAR. 
 
 " Is she ? " he thought. " Suppose she was married to 
 Paul Cameron first by mistake ? " 
 
 He almost leaped for joy. 
 
 His first thought was to rush after his uncle and ex- 
 plain his hopes, but the remembrance of the contract 
 signed by Morrison made him determine to first hunt 
 up Cameron, and be certain of the facts. 
 
 The telegram from Morrison asking for the delay, 
 Job's certainty of Cameron's presence, and Parker's cer- 
 tainty that the ceremony was not delayed, left a last lin- 
 gering ray of hope that Cameron had been married in 
 Morrison's place by mistake due to their exact similar- 
 ity in appearance, in spite of the contract signed by Mor- 
 rison. 
 
 He determined to go at once to his friend, and learn 
 from his own lips what part he had played in the un- 
 happy proceedings. 
 
 At the Vendome he found that Cameron had returned 
 to Cambridge quite early. 
 
 Frank hastened to his apartments, learned he was out, 
 and would not return till one in the afternoon. 
 
 The delay drove him nearly frantic. He could not 
 decide whether to return to (: Parker's," and make the 
 inquiries concerning John Craig for his uncle, or to con- 
 tinue his search for his friend. 
 
 He finally determined on the latter course, and rushed 
 over to the laboratory. There he found that Cameron 
 had left for his rooms but a few moments before. Frank 
 followed. This time he was in. Jender immediately 
 concluded from his appearance that something very seri- 
 ous had happened. 
 
 " Oh, it is you, is it, Frank ? I am glad to see you, 
 and yet I feel like being angry with you. Were I not 
 sure that fate, for some unknown reason, has given me 
 this keen agony, and that you were a mere factor in her
 
 I SWEAR. 177 
 
 hands, I should feel harshly toward you. Where were 
 you last night ? " 
 
 " I was called away by a matter of life and death only 
 a few moments after I sent the carriage for you. There 
 has been an awful calamity at our house, and I want you 
 to help me get at the bottom of it. Mr. Cameron, please 
 explain to me all you know of the affair," the boy asked 
 awkwardly, not knowing how to commence. 
 
 "Do you not know? Has your uncle not told you?" 
 he asked, never dreaming that Mr. Northrop did not 
 know of the mistake, having accepted the exclamations 
 during his last interview with him as conclusive proof on 
 that point. 
 
 " My uncle has explained nothing except that Wawona 
 was married to Paul Morrison last night ; that Morrison 
 gave her a diamond brooch for a wedding present, and 
 that in examining it she discovered he was the nephew 
 of John Craig, the man who had ruined her family and 
 murdered her father and grandfather, and that she had 
 taken a most solemn oath to her father on his death-bed 
 to have no connection with him whatever. Since then I 
 have read a telegram which, unhappily, I did not see 
 until this morning, announcing to me, as master of cere- 
 monies, that Paul Morrison was on the train which was 
 delayed forty minutes." 
 
 Up to this time Cameron had been listening in a dull, 
 heavy way his own acute unhappiness for the last eigh- 
 teen hours having apparently so clouded his mind as to 
 prevent his face from displaying any expression of appre- 
 ciation for the excessive sorrow which he knew she whom 
 he so dearly loved must be suffering on account of the 
 unhappy incidents Jender was relating. 
 
 But this last announcement brought him to himself at 
 once
 
 178 I SWEAR. 
 
 Frank's heart gave a bound as he noticed his expres- 
 sion change, and he continued in his nervous way : 
 
 "I learned from the servants that, notwithstanding 
 this, the wedding took place without delay, and the fact 
 that no one could tell anything of your whereabouts left 
 me to indulge in all kinds of fantastic conjectures. I 
 have come to you for a full explanation." 
 
 " Do you not know ? Has your uncle not explained ? " 
 
 "Know? What?" 
 
 " The unhappy part I played. " 
 
 "No; please tell me." 
 
 Cameron was speechless. He scarcely knew how to 
 explain. In his modesty he had beei: castigating himself 
 all night over his conceit which he fek had permitted him 
 to think that Wawona's caresses had been intended for 
 him and not his cousin counterpart, and had led him 
 into being such an important factor in her present unhap- 
 piness. 
 
 He hesitated for a second, and then determined to 
 swallow all pride and confide the matter in full to Frank, 
 whom he felt to be a friend sincere enough to judge 
 leniently. 
 
 " Well, thinking that I was going to attend a party, and 
 not knowing it was to be a wedding, and not imagining 
 the connection of my cousin, Paul Morrison, with Wa- 
 wona " 
 
 " His cousin that explains it," Frank thought. 
 
 He could have shouted for joy, and almost pinched 
 himself to keep from interrupting his friend. 
 
 " I entirely misunderstood Mr. Northrop's welcome. 
 The telegram you spoke of explains the matter. You 
 probably do not know that five years ago I and Wawona 
 Brooke were I was going to say engaged to be married ; 
 but to be more accurate will say, that without having 
 definitely proposed because of the indefiniteness of my
 
 I SWEAR. 179 
 
 prospects we had acted as if there were an engagement 
 for a short time, and then a series of untoward incidents 
 broke off our intercourse 
 
 The unhappy recital made him sigh, and he hesitated 
 an instant. 
 
 "Go on ! Go on tell me about last night !" Frank 
 urged, almost beside himself with expectancy. 
 
 " So," his instructor continued, too much wrapped up 
 in his own thoughts to properly appreciate the boy's 
 eagerness, " when I was shown to what I now know to 
 have been Mr. Morrison's apartments, and Wawona met 
 me with open arms, I was fool enough to suppose she 
 loved me still, and not knowing that she was about to 
 marry my cousin, whom I know to resemble myself very 
 closely, I idiotically accepted her caresses as a renewal 
 of our relationship, the invitation which you caused her 
 to write me giving my conceit the grounds to persuade 
 myself into that unhappy conclusion. Thus prepared, 
 the peculiarity of my former connection with her left me 
 to wholly misunderstand her conversation. I was in- 
 dulging in a caress intended for another when your uncle 
 entered, and announced that everything was late, and 
 then, without giving me an opportunity for explanation, 
 in fact before I knew any explanation was necessary- 
 he rushed us down to the parlor. There, to my surprise, 
 I found myself, with Wawona, facing the minister. 
 
 On account of the precipitate haste of every-one to 
 commence the ceremony, my already puzzled brain per- 
 mitted me to misconstrue your actions, and for the in- 
 stant to delude myself into believing that you had deter- 
 mined that this marriage was the wish of both, and had 
 taken that means to surprise me. Luckily, Wawona 
 fainted when I turned to kiss her, and your uncle, with- 
 out permitting me to explain my doubts, bundled me into 
 my carriage, so that I could get back to my hot el for my
 
 i8o / SWEAR. 
 
 traps. As I entered the carriage I heard him instruct 
 the driver to take ' Mr. Morrison to the Vendome. ' Then, 
 for the first time, I understood the situation. I had felt 
 all along that there was a mistake ; but in the first place, 
 my insane love for Wawona, revived by her caresses, left 
 my mind in anything but a clear state ; and then the un- 
 usual and precipitate haste of your uncle and the minis- 
 ter, together with the rapidity with which everything 
 happened, left me no opportunity to ask for an explana- 
 tion without causing a most serious commotion. 
 
 " Well, to be brief, I went to my hotel, trying to un- 
 ravel the situation. I then determined to return and be 
 certain that my suspicions of the error were correct. As 
 you know, in the mean time the mistake had been found 
 out and corrected, and your uncle properly, though I 
 must say unnecessarily very forcibly, ordered me out of 
 the house." 
 
 He had not noticed the expression of delight which 
 had come over Frank's face, and was consequently start- 
 led at his unexpected ejaculation : 
 
 " Thank God ! Thank God ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked. 
 
 " Mean ! " almost shouted the boy. " Why, my idiotic 
 pranks and your peculiar connection with last night's 
 proceedings have thwarted the plots of a couple of the 
 vilest villains the world ever car/." 
 
 Then, realizing that in his melodramatic excitement 
 he was losing valuable time, he said : 
 
 " Enough of this ; come with me, quick. I must tell 
 my uncle about this at once. Come, I will explain it all 
 to you in the carriage." lie pulled Cameron, now almost 
 thoroughly convinced that he and all his friends had be- 
 come insane, into the first cab he could find. 
 
 On the way Frank explained his suspicions : that the 
 mistake had not been rectified, that Cameron was in re-
 
 / SWEAR. 181 
 
 ality the husband of Wawona Brooke, and that, unwit- 
 tingly, he had saved Wawona from being the victim of 
 John Craig and his scheming nephew. 
 
 He incidentally mentioned his conversation with Miss 
 Brooke when she had referred to his companion, and al- 
 most gave him hope by saying : 
 
 " Absolutely, Mr. Cameron, I am convinced that she 
 merely persuaded herself she loved Morrison because of 
 his resemblance to you, and, in reality, she has always 
 been and still is in love with you, and you alone." 
 
 Mr. Northrop was probably never more surprised in 
 his life than when Frank bolted into his private office at 
 the bank with his friend. 
 
 His surprise was followed by perfect amazement when 
 Frank said, " Uncle Amos, permit me to introduce to you 
 Mr. Paul Cameron, my very dear friend and instructor, of 
 whom you have heard me speak so often. Mr. Cameron 
 Mr. Northrop." 
 
 The banker took his hand in a mechanical way, not 
 having recovered from the shock at hearing he was not 
 Morrison. 
 
 " Let me explain everything, uncle ; my idiotic pranks 
 have come to some service at last. I think they have 
 saved Wawona from those devils," and forthwith he pro- 
 ceded to relate in detail to the now thoroughly antonished 
 listener his and Cameron's connection with the romance 
 of the night before. 
 
 Mr. Northrop looked at his watch, 2:15, business 
 hours, but for once in his life he broke rules, and per- 
 mitted social life to interfere with his routine work. 
 
 " Please come over to Mr. Curtis, our attorney. We 
 must understand the effect of this peculiar marriage im- 
 mediately," the banker said, so soon as he had apolo- 
 gized to Cameron for his brusqueness of the evening be- 
 fore.
 
 i8a I SWEAR. 
 
 When they had set forth the facts of the matter in full 
 to the attorney, he deliberated a short time and then 
 said: 
 
 " Well, that is apparently a very knotty problem. My 
 opinion, without referring to the authorities, is, that Wa- 
 wona Brooke is married to no one. 
 
 " The marriage with Paul Morrison is probably void, 
 at all events is voidable, as our statutes do not provide 
 for a marriage by contract. The other marriage is a lit- 
 tle more difficult. Marriage is a civil relation arising 
 out of a contract. And a contract must be made by the 
 meeting of two or more minds on one and the same prop- 
 osition : that is to .say, they must each and all agree to 
 the same thing in the same sense at the same time. 
 Now, if at the time Wawona Brooke pledged, " I take 
 thee, Paul," during the ceremony, she meant Paul Mor- 
 rison, and not Paul Cameron, she did not agree to the 
 same thing in the same sense that Mr. Cameron did when 
 he took his pledge ; hence there was no contract, and 
 consequently no marriage " 
 
 "Of course, the only person who can testify to that in- 
 tent is Miss Brooke, herself," Frank suggested in a hope- 
 ful voice. " And if she is willing to say that she meant 
 Paul Cameron, then she is married to him, is she not ? " 
 
 The lawyer did not answer at once, he pulled down two 
 or three books, and referred to several others, then said: 
 
 " The General Statutes of Massachusetts provide that 
 a marriage is not to be ' deemed or adjudged void, nor 
 shall the validity thereof be in any way affected, by want 
 of jurisdiction or authority in such person ' (meaning the 
 minister in this case) 'if the marriage is in other respects 
 lawful, and is consummated with a full belief on the part 
 of the persons so married, or either of them, that they 
 have been lawfully joined in marriage.' And it is my 
 opinion, from the decisions interpreting that statute, that
 
 / SWEAR. 183 
 
 if Miss Brooke asserts it was her intent to marry Paul 
 Cameron at that time, and the marriage is consummated, 
 that it is legal. 
 
 " To be perfectly safe, I should advise, however, that 
 they have the minister re-perform the marriage cere- 
 mony. And that he be seen at once, so that the 
 record which the law requires he shall keep, and a copy 
 of which he must return each month to the clerk, will 
 show that she was married to Paul Cameron, and not to 
 Paul Morrison. This being done the record being 
 straightwe must find some means to obtain and destroy 
 that book containing the contract, now in the hands of 
 Paul Morrison. For while it is not binding, it would be 
 a very serious piece of evidence in case the matter was 
 brought into court, as it might force us, for safety's sake, 
 to file a libel in order to have a legal adjudication of nul- 
 lification of the alleged contract. However, for the pur- 
 pose of dealing with this man, John Craig, this afternoon, 
 if Miss Brooke is willing to claim that she intended to 
 marry Paul Cameron when she entered into the contract 
 before the minister in the presence of witnesses, and is 
 willing to complete the marriage with him, we can 
 treat him as her husband." 
 
 Frank had a wild idea of dancing a jig or doing some- 
 thing else equally idiotic, but finally quelled himself on 
 account of the solemnity and dignity of his company. 
 
 After considerable discussion it was determined that 
 Frank and his friend should return to Northrop Hall at 
 once. The former was to interview Wawona to see if his 
 theory as to her feelings were correct, and in case they 
 were, she and Mr. Cameron were to appear at the 4 
 o'clock conference with John Craig. Mr. Curtis and Mr. 
 Northrop were to follow at 3 : 30 to hear the result, so as 
 to be able to determine on a different plan of action in 
 case Wawona was not to be " Mrs. Cameron.' 1
 
 1 84 / SWEAR. 
 
 Upon arriving at the house Frank had Parker announce 
 him, and then he left poor Cameron in the library while 
 he followed the maid to Wawona's sitting-room. 
 
 Frank expected to notice that Wawona had suffered, 
 but was unprepared to find such a change as she now 
 presented. 
 
 All hope seemed to have left her. As he entered the 
 room she gave him her hand and led him to a divan upon 
 which they had often lounged on former and happier 
 occasions. 
 
 " Frank, what have I done to deserve this awful, awful 
 blow ? " she said, in a tone pregnant with woe and hope 
 abandoned : "to thmkthat this, which should have been 
 my happiest day, is the most unhappy of which mortal 
 can conceive." 
 
 She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. 
 
 Frank determined to enter upon his errand at once, so 
 he said, without attempting to answer her question : 
 
 " Wawona, do you remember Paul Cameron ? '' 
 
 She gave an involuntary start as he spoke the name, 
 and instantly looked at him to see, if possible, what he 
 meant ; then she answered in an expectant tone : 
 
 " Yes. Why ? " 
 
 " Do you remember a talk we had long ago, when you 
 told me of a Harvard lover you once had, and how Mr. 
 Morrison at first reminded you of him ? Did you then 
 mean Paul Cameron ? " he asked earnestly. 
 
 She was equally intent in scanning his face. "Yes, 
 and Frank "then she hesitated, wavered an instant 
 and finally continued, "Frank, knowing what a true 
 friend you are to me, and knowing how you feel toward 
 Mr. Cameron, I am going to tell you what I thought I 
 would never say to a living being." 
 
 She dropped her eyes and gazed silently at her hands
 
 / SWEAR, 185 
 
 for a few moments. Frank could hardly rest in his im- 
 patience. 
 
 At last she said, without lifting her eyes : 
 
 " Frank, I have several times thought that my whole 
 love for Mr. Morrison was due to the fact of his resem- 
 blance to Mr. Cameron. I now know that many of the 
 qualities which I supposed him to possess are absent ; 
 and I feel I had built in my mind's eye such a noble, 
 ideal man around my dear memories of Paul Cameron, 
 that when Mr. Morrison appeared, I permitted his re- 
 markable resemblance to Paul Cameron to give him that 
 ideal's place in my mind; and I thought, also, injny 
 heart. The last few hours have taught me that he never 
 did fill the place in my heart which was once occupied 
 by Paul Cameron." 
 
 " And do you love Paul Cameron ? " he asked precip- 
 itately. 
 
 " Yes," Wawona answered, calmly and sadly, the deep 
 despondency in her tone coming in marked contrast 
 with the hopeful inflection of the boy. 
 
 " Wawona, we are saved ! " he shouted, as he took her 
 in hie arms. " Paul Cameron is your husband." 
 
 "What do you mean, Frank? Explain yourself." 
 
 The faithful fellow hurriedly narrated the whole affair, 
 and the decision of the lawyer, and ended with 
 
 " And you will have him, Wawona, won't you ? I know 
 he loves you." 
 
 " Kcive him, Frank ? If you knew, as I do, how my 
 heart has been yearning for him all these years, you 
 
 " Well, wait half a second, and I 11 bring him up," in- 
 terrupted the impetuous youth, as he rushed out of the 
 room. 
 
 Wawona knew not what to do. Her woman's instinct 
 the ruling passion strong even now impelled her to 
 go to the mirror, and arrange her hair.
 
 1 86 / SWEAR. 
 
 She heard footsteps, the door opened, Frank and her 
 lover appeared. 
 
 The two looked at each other a second, then she 
 stretched forth her arms, and said : " Paul ! " 
 
 He answered : " Wawona ! " and then they were close 
 together, heart to heart. 
 
 Frank, though completely forgotten, was probably the 
 happiest "third person" the world ever held. 
 
 He heard, between kisses, " My husband ! " and " My 
 wife!" That was enough. He immediately bolted for 
 the library, to tell his uncle and Mr. Curtis of the suc- 
 cess of his plans. 
 
 They hastily determined to have Wawona present at 
 the interview, and to have Mr. Cameron stationed in the 
 parlor directly opposite, where he could be called at a 
 moment's notice. 
 
 Frank delayed entering " paradise," as he had mental- 
 ly dubbed Wawona's boudoir, during that to him ever 
 memorable twenty minutes, until he had, from his out- 
 look at the front window, seen a carriage drive up at pre- 
 cisely 4 o'clock, and watched a hard-faced, bent-over 
 old man alight from it. 
 
 He made all the noise he could, as he approached " par- 
 adise." He knocked at the door, and waited until he 
 heard a voice, evidently smothered but a short time be- 
 fore, say, " Come in." 
 
 He hastily explained the plan agreed upon, and con- 
 ducted them to the floor below. 
 
 Had John Craig seen that trio coming down the stairs, 
 Cameron with his arm around Wawona, and the six-foot 
 young man with his arms around both, he would have 
 saved himself the unhappy interview. 
 
 As it was he sat near the door, waiting to see the face 
 of his niece, the girl whom he knew had been so deeply 
 wronged. He had expected to find her in the deepest
 
 I SWEAR. 187 
 
 distress. But as she approached her uncle not noticing 
 him, he saw, to his surprise, that nothing but the som- 
 ber hue of the dress she wore betokened sorrow. 
 
 He credited her with being a wonderful actress. 
 
 Wawona's face, as she turned to him when her uncle 
 said, " Wawona, this is Mr. John Craig," was a study. 
 
 She confessed, afterward, that she could hardly un- 
 derstand herself and her own feelings, as she stood there 
 gazing at the man who had robbed her of her lineage, 
 who had at one fell swoop murdered her father and 
 grandfather, and ruined the life and prospects of her 
 mother. An almost irresistible desire to spring on him 
 and tear him to pieces suddenly took possession of her, 
 but as suddenly gave way to feminine pity, for the old 
 man, who had grown uneasy under her steady gaze, was 
 suddenly convulsed with severe coughing. 
 
 When he had recovered, he said : 
 
 "I presume we had better proceed to business at once. 
 Mr. Northrop, as you know, you are estranging Mrs. 
 Morrison from her husband, my nephew, Paul Craig 
 Morrison. As I explained in my letter, it is not his de- 
 sire to cause publicity in this matter, and he has agreed 
 that if his wife signs this quitclaim deed to all her in- 
 terest in the lands of the Cherokee Nation, the control 
 of all of which during his lifetime has already passed to 
 Mr. Morrison, we will leave this State, and you can take 
 immediate steps to free her from what you deem an ob- 
 jectionable marriage." 
 
 With this he produced the deed and added : 
 
 " I have a notary waiting in the carriage." 
 
 Mr. Northrop accepted the paper which Craig offered 
 him, and was about to speak, when Wawona prevented 
 by saying in the same firm tone she had addressed to 
 Morrison on the night before : 
 
 " Sir, on my father's death-bed I swore never to have
 
 1 88 I SWEAR. 
 
 any connection, in any manner whatsoever, with you or 
 yours, and I refuse to sign that or any other paper with 
 which you or yours are connected." 
 
 A demoniacal expression came over the face of the 
 backwoodsman as he hissed : 
 
 " Then your husband will drag you from this house, or 
 else drag your name and that of your uncle into public 
 disgrace." 
 
 To the surprise of all, a clear strong voice sounded 
 from the door. 
 
 " No, he will not." 
 
 It was Paul Cameron ! 
 
 " But if you do 1 not leave this house this instant, and 
 never address my wife again, her husband will drag you 
 out, and will revenge the deep wrong your devilish 
 scheming has done her people in the past ! " 
 
 "Paul Cameron ?" the old man gasped, as he turned 
 to see from whom and whence the voice cams 
 
 "Yes, Paul Cameron and thank God I became the 
 husband of this poor girl ten minutes before she signed 
 that contract with your rascally nephew." 
 
 " My God " gasped the old man as he began to cough, 
 " the fatal hemorrhage " and blood burst from his mouth 
 in a torrent. 
 
 Frank and Mr. Curtis hastened to place him on a 
 lounge, while Mr. Northrop hurriedly instructed Cameron 
 to take his bride to her apartment, and then hastened to 
 telephone for a physician. 
 
 He might have saved himself the trouble. 
 
 The excitement had been too much for the old man. 
 Even the iron will was not. -.ing now. His malady had 
 conquered. John Craig was dead !
 
 I SWEAR. 189 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AFTER Paul Morrison had arranged for the shipment 
 of his uncle's remains to Scotland, he turned his atten- 
 tion to his own affairs. 
 
 He found from examination of John Craig's papers 
 that he was made, by will, sole heir to about one hundred 
 thousand dollars' worth of property, mainly in cattle and 
 live-stock in the Indian Territory. 
 
 He delayed for a time, trying to determine what course 
 he should pursue. He would gladly have given a moiety 
 if not all he possessed to have had an opportunity to 
 explain himself and his part in the unhappy affair to 
 Fanny Northrop. 
 
 When Frank Jender had come to him and asked for 
 the book containing the contract which the minister had 
 caused him and Wawona to sign, he had been on the 
 point of stating his position with reference to Fanny. 
 
 But pride stepped in and he contented himself by 
 saying : 
 
 " I trust you will inform Mr. Northrop that I was not 
 aware of any of my uncle's reasons for action, and that 
 knowing as I now do their malignity, I am ready to do ' 
 anything in my power to relieve Mrs. Cameron from any 
 injury occasioned by me or him in my name. Pray bear 
 to both Paul Cameron and his wife my sincere regrets 
 over the unenviable part I was compelled to act in the 
 tragedy, and say that I hope to show them and you all 
 that I am not such a villain as my unexplained actions 
 now proclaim me." 
 
 " I will do so, and permit me to thank you very much 
 for this book," Frank answered. His joy at obtaining
 
 T 90 I SWEAR. 
 
 that one and only piece of adverse evidence of Cameron's 
 marriage for the time being, prevented him from thor- 
 oughly understanding the depths of Morrison's sorrow. 
 
 But he hastened to add, as he took his hand : 
 
 " Mr. Morrison, your actions for the last two weeks 
 certainly entitle you to belief. I shall deliver your mes- 
 sage and can truthfully say, I pity you with all my heart." 
 
 Subsequently Morrison was several times on the point 
 of hunting up Frank Jender with a view of righting him- 
 self, but he always met obstacles, raised by his own 
 doubts. Principal among these was the fact that he was 
 not certain that Fanny Northrop still retained any inter- 
 est in him. 
 
 Her absence from the wedding he felt could be 
 explained on two theories : either that she had come 
 to hate him, and so did not care to see him again ; or that 
 she still loved him as madly and as vainly as he did her, 
 and so could not bear to see him married to another. 
 
 Working on his old idea that their minds were proto- 
 typical, he had tried to persuade himself that the latter 
 theory was the correct one, but the memory of the 
 innuendo in her last letter received at Eton, and the 
 thought that she had not answered his letter to her in 
 answer to it, wherein he had covertly offered to return 
 to Boston should she give him encouragement, made 
 him hastily dispel that hope, and accept as a certainty the 
 conclusion that his apparent two-facedness had effaced 
 from her mind such affection as she may have had for 
 him in the days of long ago. 
 
 Had he but known that within those two weeks Fanny 
 Northrop had been several times on the verge of writing 
 to assure him she now thoroughly understood his actions 
 and realized that he had loved her ever since that night in 
 the "den," and that she was only deterred from doing so 
 by remembering that the last letter she had written him
 
 I SWEAR. 191 
 
 in answer to his note asking permission to return, where- 
 in she had tacitly opened. her heart to him, (the document 
 which Frank burned) had remained wholly unnoticed, he 
 would have hesitated not a moment longer, but would 
 have saved himself and the only woman his erratic will 
 had ever permitted him to love much unhappy loneli- 
 ness. 
 
 Had Frank Jender known that his action in destroy- 
 ing the letter, handed to him by Parker that blizzardy 
 night, had created the one insoluble problem in the 
 minds of those two now thoroughly miserable lovers, 
 which, because of its incapability of solution, left each to 
 think that the love for the other was in vain, and there- 
 fore so servile as to be regretted, he would have waived 
 all thoughts of chagrin at being compelled to confess 1 in- 
 termeddling, and told all he knew. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 WHEN the excitement attendant on the clearing up 
 of the record of Wawona's marriage with Paul Cameron, 
 and the completion of their arrangements for an extend- 
 ed bridal tour were over, Frank Jender found himself in 
 almost daily consultation with Fanny's father, trying to 
 evolve some scheme to divert Fanny's mind and remove 
 the unhappy tendency she had developed of shunning 
 society and allowing free vent to a morbid desire to be 
 alone. 
 
 At last they determined on a second trip to California. 
 
 Her aunt had written, inviting her to make another 
 visit, and at their suggestion she had accepted. 
 
 Fanny had been an absorbing study to herself. She
 
 192 / SWEAR. 
 
 was much astonished at the depth of her own feelings, 
 having always maintained to herself that her active mind 
 could develop enough light and trivial amusement to dis- 
 tract it from any sorrow. But the omnipresent thought 
 that she was losing the one soul thoroughly in unison 
 with her own whose very peculiarities precluded the 
 hope of there ever existing another such peculiar one 
 overpowered even the activity of her mind, and left her 
 but a sorry phantom of her old gay self. 
 
 Pride had forced her to keep up a little external show 
 of life, but the very emptiness of her artificial happiness 
 made her more disheartened. 
 
 And as this invitation of her aunt gave her an op- 
 portunity to enter an entirely different society, where 
 her acquaintances would not be constantly contrasting 
 her present moodiness with her past liveliness, she ac- 
 cepted it gladly. 
 
 Within a month after Wawona's marriage, and about 
 a week after Morrison's departure for Indian Territory 
 to administer upon the affairs of his uncle, or rather, now 
 that he was the heir, his own personal properties, the 
 overland train was once more carrying Fanny Northrop 
 toward California. 
 
 Amos Northrop had written his sister a full account of 
 the incidents attendant upon the marriage of Wawona 
 and Paul Cameron, and Fanny's connection therewith, 
 and had given her the final injunction : 
 
 " By all means do not permit Fanny to see or meet 
 this Mr. Morrison. My main idea in sending her to you 
 is to take her away from her present surroundings, 
 where everything reminds her of him, and to put her 
 amid new surroundings and with new people, where, I 
 hope, she can once more gradually become her dear old 
 self."
 
 7 SWEAR. 193 
 
 He knew his sister's nature, and was assured that his 
 wish would be respected as law. 
 
 Fanny was once more installed in the same rooms 
 she had occupied on her former visit. 
 
 So soon as she had donned a home dress she went 
 down to her aunt's study, to nestle up to her on a huge 
 divan, ready for a long talk. 
 
 Mrs. Gaylord was not in unison with her brother's 
 sturdy, straight-laced Bostonian notions of propriety, 
 and she found herself very much interested in the man 
 Morrison, even from Mr. Northrop's biased description 
 of him. 
 
 Ordinarily she would have been so interested in him, 
 and in Fanny's connection with him, that she would 
 have spared no pains to hunt him up, and for herself 
 find out exactly his feelings toward Fanny. But now 
 that her brother had written her concerning his wishes 
 so plainly, she concluded to follow the principle taught 
 her in her business life " Obey orders, though you break 
 owners." 
 
 She never had any secrets from Fanny, and so, as soon 
 as they had finished their preliminary talk about the 
 thousand and one little things which suggest themselves 
 to friends who have been separated for a long time, she 
 brought out her brother's letter and handed it to her 
 niece. 
 
 She had hoped that Fanny would make a confidante of 
 her. She said not a word while Fanny was reading the 
 letter. Fanny gave a sweet though sad smile as she read 
 her father's good old Puritanical idea of her Paul's 
 scheming (?) to win her affections. 
 
 " Poor papa," she finally said ; " the dear old thing has 
 not the least idea how worldly-wise you and my Cali- 
 fornia trip taught me to be." 
 
 Then came a sigh and a silence.
 
 i 9 4 / SWEAR. 
 
 She finally threw off the mood with a shrug of her 
 shoulders, and said, looking at her aunt with the nearest 
 return to the old twinkle in her eye which that organ had 
 shown for a long time : 
 
 " Aunt Florence, do you know you were the cause of 
 my falling in love with Paul Morrison ? " 
 
 " I ? You odd girl, how ? I never saw the man." 
 
 " Well, you made me peculiar, and he is peculiar in 
 just the same way. One of those fellows it is a relief 
 to find, who thinks for himself. He has a few general 
 broad principles on which he is firm, and while using 
 which he is in dead earnest ; but when not, easily and 
 carelessly assumes the airs and ways of the average soci- 
 ety man, keeping from all but the favored few who know 
 him the fact that this society air is his artificial self, and 
 that the true man is hidden by that artificiality." 
 
 "Just the sort of man to completely disgust your 
 father." 
 
 "Exactly; because it would take him so long to know 
 him. You see, father is so wrapped up in the theory of 
 doing things because it is the 'right thing' to do them, 
 and of not doing things because ' people will talk,' that 
 it would take him a dreadfully long time to know Paul as 
 he really is ; but if he ever should, I know he would re- 
 spect him for the good, sound principles he has under- 
 lying his actions." 
 
 " No, Fanny, you cannot tell whether he would or not. 
 It is very hard to overturn prejudices inculcated by a 
 lifelong training, you know." 
 
 " Yes, but he likes me, does n't he ? " 
 
 " But if he had a son about to marry you would he like 
 you for a daughter-in-law ? " 
 
 That was a new way of putting it. It made her think. 
 
 " No, and yes. He would not want me if he only knew 
 me in society, but he would if he actually knew me. And
 
 / SWEAR. 195 
 
 that is just the way with Paul Morrison. I know papa 
 likes me now, so he would Paul if he really knew him ; 
 for we are the very prototypes of each other, so far as 
 mentality is concerned. 
 
 " Honestly, Aunt Florence, you would be astonished to 
 see how two minds, brought up under completely differ- 
 ent surroundings, should have the same peculiarities, and 
 should have arrived at so many peculiar theories which 
 were almost identically the same." 
 
 " Fanny, you interest me very much. But your dear 
 old Bostonese father has this affair in hand, so we must 
 obey orders. I suggest that we talk Morrison over fully 
 tonight, and then let him become a tabooed subject for- 
 ever after." 
 
 "All right, dear," Fanny answered, as she kissed her 
 aunt. Then, after a moment's hesitation she gave her 
 a general description of the gentleman and his mental 
 peculiarities as she knew him. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MRS. GAYLORD found Fanny much changed. 
 
 There was a subdued tone to the vivacity the girl tried 
 to display to her friends, which showed to the aunt how 
 much she had suffered. 
 
 Fanny was going through the same experience Morri- 
 son had on his ocean trip, while he was trying to drive 
 her from his mind. Every thought seemed to have con- 
 nected with it something which brought him back to 
 her. 
 
 For distraction she dabbled in society in a dilletante 
 way, but felt that she had become blase". It was like drink- 
 ing cider after having had champagne.
 
 196 I SWEAR. 
 
 At last her cousin Fred bought a yacht and became an 
 enthusiastic member of the Pacific Yacht Club. She 
 thought outdoor life would be a distraction, and so joined 
 him with equal enthusiasm in his ambition to make the 
 " Sea Foam " the handsomest boat in the fleet. All her 
 spare time was spent in working silk banners and design- 
 ing new schemes in the way of decorations for the yacht. 
 
 She spent about half her time with Fred over at Sau- 
 celito, a little town across from San Francisco, where the 
 " Sea Foam " was anchored at the house of the club. By 
 the time Fred began to plan for his summer's cruise she 
 had become quite " aquatic," as she expressed it. 
 
 To Fred's surprise, she actually talked his mother into 
 chaperoning a party for a trip down the coast as far 
 as Los Angeles. Mrs. Gaylord had a summer cottage 
 near the sea-shore at Santa Monica, and Fanny arranged 
 for their party to go down by water, stopping at Monte- 
 rey, Santa Cruz, Santa Barbara and other seaside resorts 
 on their way. 
 
 There, at Santa Monica, she had almost persuaded 
 herself into feeling that she had completely forgotten 
 Morrison, until one morning as she swam out to the 
 raft, she noticed a man swimming toward her with the 
 same long, strong, powerful stroke he used to have that 
 summer she spent with him four years before at Bar Har- 
 bor. 
 
 " Can I never forget him ? " she thought. 
 
 Her whole life of that season came back to her, and 
 she sat there on the raft in the balmy, soft, California 
 July morning, day-dreaming, until Fred happened to no- 
 tice her, and called : 
 
 " What are you trying to do, Fanny, bake your com- 
 plexion ? " 
 
 She did not answer, but slid softly down into the water, 
 and with a long, easy, graceful stroke slowly swam back
 
 I SW&AR. 197 
 
 to shore. Then she picked up the morning paper and 
 strolled down to a secluded spot on the beach, where hav- 
 ing arranged herself behind a huge sunshade, she unfolded 
 the paper and lazily began to read it. 
 As luck would have it a little sonnet caught her eye : 
 
 " Tell me, O Time, the utmost of thine art, 
 Thy wondrous healing art that men so praise ; 
 For which no feat too hard is, but to raise 
 The dead once more and lost life re-impart. 
 Men say that thou canst ease the burdened heart, 
 And bring new dower of light to darksome days, 
 And new companionships to lonely ways, 
 New joys whose charms hold back the tears that start. 
 Hast thou no cup save cold Lethean draught, 
 Which blots the past when I its virtues drain ? 
 Give me the wine of love that once I quaffed, 
 Tho' but in dream I'll drink it once again. 
 No comfort may I find in all that craft 
 If death of love alone can heal love's pain." 
 
 Fate seemed possessed that morning ; everything 
 tended to bring her thoughts to him, and she again un- 
 consciously became lost in sad reveries, fancies in which 
 there were intermingled yearnings for the man of her 
 heart, or at all events of her thought. 
 
 " Why should not fate send him to me here ? " she 
 found her heart saying. " In this perfectly lazy, lover-like 
 weather : in this perfectly lazy, dear old humdrum town, 
 midst these perfectly lazy, uninteresting, society nonen- 
 tities." 
 
 Something seemed to have given her a premonition, for 
 she was interrupted by Fred's voice 
 
 " Ahoy ihere, behind the red sunshade ! Am I spoil- 
 ing a spooning match ? " 
 
 " Only one with my memories, Fred," she answered, 
 and liftmg the sunshade turned to see why he had hunted 
 her up.
 
 198 I SWEAR. 
 
 " Guess what I have for you ? " 
 
 " Can't," she said listlessly, her whole nature having 
 been so wrapped up in her thoughts of a moment before 
 that she could not command the force necessary to as- 
 sume an artificial interest. 
 
 " V/ell, I have a letter for you from Los Angeles in a 
 strange man's hand," he said, as he tossed it to her. 
 
 It was lucky for her that she missed it, and that it fell 
 with the direction down, for had Fred not turned away 
 before her eyes caught the address, he would have seen 
 the blood leave her face so suddenly that she nearly 
 fainted. 
 
 The address was in Morrison's handwriting ! 
 
 It seemed to her as though she could almost hear her 
 heart beat, it throbbed so violently. 
 
 With a mighty effort at composure she called after 
 him : 
 
 "Thank you awfully, Fred. I suppose I must dress 
 for luncheon." 
 
 She hurried to her room at the bath-house as rapidly 
 as she could without attracting attention. 
 
 When she was at last safely alone she found herself 
 almost too nervous to break open the envelope. 
 
 It read : 
 
 " HOLLENBECK HOTEL, LOS ANGELES. 
 
 " I thought fate had intended I should return to Kng 
 land without having had an opportunity to explain t& 
 you how she had forced me to play the unhappy, almost 
 unmanly part I have in your life and that of your cousin. 
 
 " With that idea in mind I arrived in Los Angeles this 
 morning en route home, via Portland, Tacoma and the 
 Canadian Pacific. As luck would have it, I picked up 
 the morning paper, where to my astonishment almost 
 the first article which caught my eye was the announce-
 
 / SWEAR. 199 
 
 ment from Santa Monica that 'Fred Gaylord brought 
 down a party from San Francisco in his new yacht " Sea 
 Foam." Mrs. Gaylord intends to spend the summer at 
 her cottage in Santa Monica, and will probably entertain 
 extensively, assisted by her niece, Miss Fanny Northrop, 
 of Boston.' 
 
 . " Both of us always were fatalists. Hence the pecu- 
 liar coincidence of our both being in this out-of-the-way 
 country so unexpectedly at the same time, gives me the 
 hope that fate has, at last, offered me an opportunity to 
 right myself before you, and that I may go back to my 
 country knowing that you at least understand me, and the 
 reasons for my unfortunate actions. 
 
 " I write to ask you to grant me an interview. I 
 assure you on the word of a gentleman that I will merely 
 detain you long enough to explain my position, so that 
 you may learn to think of me without loathing. 
 
 " I had intended remaining in Los Angeles but one 
 day. I will now stay here two, to await your decision. 
 
 " In memory of our many happy moments together at 
 Bar Harbor that summer and in Boston afterwards, grant 
 me an opportunity to regain an honorable standing 
 in your mind. 
 
 "Yours faithfully, 
 
 "PAUL MORRISON. 
 
 "Los ANGELES, July 7, 18 " 
 
 " I wonder," she said half aloud as she kissed the let- 
 ter, " if fate has relented." 
 
 All sentimentality, however, gave way before the prac- 
 tical problem, where to meet him. 
 
 Of course she could not see him at the house her 
 aunt would not permit it. What should she do ? She 
 stopped in her dressing, she was so engrossed with her 
 thoughts.
 
 200 / SWEAR. 
 
 Finally a happy thought struck her. 
 
 She remembered, as it was full moon, the weather so 
 balmy and soft, and the nights so lovely, that Fred and 
 the manager of the hotel had arranged for a moonlight 
 swim from the beach that evening. 
 
 The facts that both she and Morrison were excellent 
 swimmers, that she was the only lady who had ever swum 
 to the outer raft near where the " Sea Foam " lay 
 anchored, that few of the gentlemen ever swam out 
 there even in the day-time, that moonlight swims gener- 
 ally meant lolling on the beach or merely playing in 
 shallow water, all came to her, and left her to reason 
 that the outer raft would be the one place where she and 
 he could be alone without her aunt knowing of it. 
 
 Her mind was made up at once ; the raft was the place. 
 
 How was she to get him word ? She studied over the 
 matter while dressing, and determined to telegraph him. 
 
 With this idea in view she embraced the first oppor- 
 tunity to withdraw from the party without attracting 
 attention, and hastened to the telegraph office. 
 
 " PAUL MORRISON, 
 
 " Hollenbeck Hotel, 
 
 " Los Angeles. 
 
 " Come down tonight. Call for letter in general post 
 office here. 
 
 "FANNY." 
 
 She knew that he would arrive at thirty-five minutes 
 past four that afternoon, and that in the mean time she 
 could evolve the details of her plan. 
 
 After considerable thought she determined to write 
 him to meet her at the raft. His letter had no super- 
 scription so she decided to have none. She mailed the
 
 / SWEAR. 201 
 
 letter herself, and then went home to wonder what that 
 night was to bring forth. 
 She said in the letter : 
 
 "Our motto in our halcyon days was 'Give fate a 
 chance.' I have concluded to do so now, as I confess I 
 would like to have a more pleasant memory of you. 
 
 "My father gave my aunt instructions not to let me 
 see, hear or think of you. Therefore, we must be dis- 
 creet. 
 
 " My cousin and the people at the hotel give a moon- 
 light swim on the beach from eight to ten tonight. 
 
 "There is a raft anchored near a white yacht in the 
 harbor. I will be on that raft at nine o'clock sharp. It 
 is so far out that none of the ladies saving myself ever 
 dare swim out to it, and is the only place I can think of 
 where I can meet you alone without exciting suspicion. 
 " Till then I am 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 " FANNY NORTHROP." 
 
 "SANTA MONICA, July 7, 18 " 
 
 Paul Morrison had gone through a very trying experi- 
 ence during the ,ast year. 
 
 Whatever John Craig's faults had been, he certainly 
 was very thoughtiu; of his nephew in a worldly way. 
 The will province: for him to form a corporation with some 
 speculators ::?. New Mexico who owned an r.idivided share 
 with his uncle in a large range, ,:.d a stock a:id cattle 
 business. 
 
 Mjrrhon found plenty cf detail to engage his mind, 
 carrying o v,t a:is uncled plans.. He seemed to be under 
 a lucky si:a: ::o far as busines; war; concerned for, as 
 soon as he h:ii! waiters wel in h~ncV - n n opportunity pre- 
 sented itself to seJil a co-.iitreling interest to an English
 
 202 / SWEAR. 
 
 syndicate. He completed the negotiations and was thus 
 enabled to return to Europe with a large ready cash capi- 
 tal and an assured incone. 
 
 With possibilities for leisure came plans for tiie future. 
 
 Then the pent-ap memories which his active business 
 life had been holding in check came bursting upon him 
 with irresistible impulse. 
 
 He had heard no word from Fanny Northrop since 
 the receipt of that long delayed letter at Eton, yet he 
 lo^ed for one more opportunity to hear that happy mel- 
 lifluent voice, to see the sparkle of those eyes as she gave 
 some original response in her vivacious way, and to ex- 
 perience that feeling of complete unison which had made 
 her companionship so agreeable to him. 
 
 But he dashed all such thoughts aside as not to be 
 dreamed cf, when he remembered that his letter making 
 advances in that direction had been unanswered. 
 
 He stoically determined to give up all hope for domes- 
 tic happiness, and to return to his home and devote him- 
 self to the life of a man of letters. 
 
 ****** 
 
 After sending his letter to Fanny Northrop at Santa 
 Monica, Morrison roamed around Los Angeles in a ner- 
 vous sort of a way, scarcely knowing what to do with 
 himself. He tried all sortc of expedients ; even going so 
 far as to permit one of the cohort of real estate agents 
 infesting that otherwise lovely city to get an impression 
 that he was a prospective purchaser. 
 
 In vain, however ; for, between rhetorical phrases des- 
 criptive of " heaven-sent climate," and hard business 
 expressions of " cheapest corner in the city ; double it- 
 self in a month," he found his thoughts sandwiching in 
 conjectures about the possibilities of an answer to his 
 note. 
 
 At last the telegram arrived.
 
 I SWEAR. 203 
 
 His real estate friend would have been sure that the 
 expression of happiness which lighted his face, after read- 
 ing it, meant news of the receipt of a fortune, had he 
 been given time to do so, before Morrison hastened to 
 the clerk of the hotel to ask what time the next train 
 started for Santa Monica. 
 
 On the train, Morrison had been counting the seconds, 
 and each second seemed to him a minute. After he had 
 rushed to the postoffice at Santa Monica, and found out 
 Fanny's arrangement for the meeting, each second 
 lengthened itself into an hour. 
 
 He dared not let himself think of what the night might 
 bring forth, for fear that hope, " which springs eternal 
 in the human breast," would build air-castles, which, 
 when broken, should add another wound to his already 
 much-scarred heart. 
 
 It might have been a little comfort to him had he known 
 that she who was the cause of all this nervous expec- 
 tation was in exactly the same condition. Which of the 
 two awaited the slow advance of time toward the ap- 
 pointed hour with the greater impatience, would have 
 been hard to determine. 
 
 About eight o'clock Morrison sauntered down to the 
 beach, and found quite a party gathered there. 
 
 A huge canvas had been stretched for a canopy, and 
 formed a sort of open pavilion on the beach, wherein the 
 chaperones could enjoy themselves planning matches, 
 while their proteges were wandering down the moonlit 
 beach, or leisurely floating on the brine, trying to render 
 their chaperones' plans futile. 
 
 The tent was gaily decorated with colored lights and 
 Chinese lanterns. At one end a string band, composed 
 largely of a harpist and several Mexican mandolin art- 
 ists, discoursed odd Spanish waltzes and soft Italian
 
 204 I SWEAR. 
 
 melodies. Not a breath of air seemed moving on the 
 beach. 
 
 Los Angeles does have some of the balmiest, most 
 charmingly soft evenings and nights. They remind the 
 traveler of the South Sea tropics. 
 
 This particular night was especially warm and delight- 
 ful, even for Los Angeles. 
 
 The most enthusiastic land boomer, at the height of 
 his rhetorical enthusiasm, would have been unable to 
 have exaggerated its loveliness. 
 
 It was the kind of a night that leads the sentimental 
 love-sick swain into beguiling her who is the idol of his 
 heart to some sheltered corner, there, a la Claude Mel- 
 notte, to pour into her willing ear quotations from the 
 passionate Lorenzo, 
 
 " In such a night as this, 
 When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 
 And they did make no noise in such a night 
 Troilus, methbJcs, mounted the Trojan walls 
 And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents 
 Where Cressid lay that night." 
 
 Very little more of this sort of thing, and Morrison 
 could have closed his eyes and fancied himself carried 
 into fairyland. 
 
 However, the poor fellow deemed it best to keep him- 
 self as much in the background as possible, and watch 
 the others. 
 
 Finally, from sheer nervousness, although it was fully 
 twenty minutes before the appointed time, he took to the 
 water to try the distance to the outer raft. He was a 
 gallant swimmer, but he acknowledged to himself that it 
 was a big swim. Hardly had he accustomed himself to 
 the situation, when he heard some one making for the 
 raft.
 
 I SWEAR. 205 
 
 "We are not to be alone. The fates are not kind," he 
 thought, as he prepared to strike out for the shore. 
 
 All at once the peculiar, graceful, sinuous stroke 
 seemed familiar to him. He strained his eyes in the di- 
 rection of the daring swimmer. 
 
 "Yes. It was she ! " 
 
 How his heart leaped. He could hardly contain him- 
 self as he waited for her to come closer. 
 
 As she approached he leaned forward to assist her to 
 the raft. 
 
 "Miss Northrop, let me help you. You are very kind." 
 
 "Thank you," was all she could manage to say, the 
 long swim having nearly exhausted her breath. 
 
 But that dear tone of that dear voice made those two 
 words more eloquent to him than the most beautifully 
 balanced flourish the most finished rhetorician could 
 have used. 
 
 While she regained her breath he sat watching her, 
 drinking in the sight of her comely outlines, and gazing 
 at that bright face with a look of affectionate interest, 
 which gave him a completely changed expression. 
 
 " This was very kind of you, Miss Northrop," he finally 
 repeated. 
 
 " Not at all. Our feelings in this matter are mutual ; 
 I wanted to have a chance to ask you some questions 
 also," she answered, and then waited for him to com- 
 mence. 
 
 "Miss Northrop," he began, trying bravely but inef- 
 fectually not to permit his feelings to cause his voice to 
 quiver, " I have asked for an interview so that I can re- 
 turn to my old home, knowing that you understand the 
 cause for my actions. I am not going to be melodra- 
 matic, nor permit myself any display of the feelings which 
 you must know I have in check this instant. I am going 
 to tell a plain, unvarnished tale.
 
 206 I SWEAR. 
 
 " From my relations toward you, and my last letter 
 from Eton, you must know how much I have been inter- 
 ested in you. My unhappy connection with the lady 
 who is now Mrs. Cameron has, of course, left you with 
 the impression that I am a miserable, scheming scamp, 
 if that expression is harsh enough. I am fearful, also, 
 that you think me a hypocrite. I want to do myself the 
 justice to have you thoroughly understand my position, 
 for, believe me, your opinion of me is of more importance 
 than everything else in the world. 
 
 " I will try to be brief. From the time of my father's 
 death I was trained with but two ideas : one to develop 
 my will power over the control of mental action ; the 
 other that my uncle, John Craig, whom I had never seen, 
 was so much my benefactor that he was entitled to my 
 reverence, respect and gratitude. 
 
 " He furnished my mother with the financial means of 
 giving me a University education. At my graduation I 
 tendered him my thanks and my services. 
 
 " To my great surprise, he accepted the latter, and an- 
 nounced that he desired I should go to America and 
 marry Wawona Brooke, merely explaining that by so do- 
 ing I would be uniting two adverse titles to the Chero- 
 kee lands, one of which he already held. 
 
 "He enjoined secrecy, particularly of my relationship 
 to him ; as I then thought, merely to expedite his scheme 
 for a title. 
 
 "You know the rest of my story. How Wawona 
 Brooke became interested in me because of my resem- 
 blance to my cousin, her former lover. Of her love for 
 him, of course, I then knew nothing. I did respect Miss 
 Brooke most highly. In fact, had I not met you I feel 
 I should never have known that I had not cared for her 
 as much as my peculiar mind could care for any one. In 
 truth, had not that last unhappy scene with your father
 
 I SWEAR. 207 
 
 brought me to a realization of my feelings toward you, 
 I would probably never have known that my will power 
 would have permitted me to love any one." 
 
 He stopped. She had not said one word, but had 
 maintained an earnest interest. An almost irresistible 
 desire to clasp her in his arms took possession of him ; 
 he overcame it, however, and continued : 
 
 " How our friendship grew, you know as well as I. 
 The peculiar traits of mentality which my will gave me, 
 you had acquired by some other means. I have always 
 felt that it was greatly owing to the influence of your 
 aunt. Your ready appreciation of every reference ; your 
 intuitive comprehension of every thought ; in fact, our 
 complete similarity of mental action from the first, made 
 you an exquisite study to me. I had no idea, however, 
 of being untrue to you or to Wawona. 
 
 " After I had, in my blind following of the dictates 
 of my will, heedless of my great interest in you, proposed 
 to Wawona, we had that scene in the 'den.' That night 
 I saw it all. I understood that God had made me appre- 
 ciate you more than would be wise for me to attempt to 
 explain possibly, as a punishment for having, in my 
 confidence in my own will, permitted myself to have a 
 reckless lack of appreciation of the divinity of His power. 
 As I say, that night I had a most peculiar contest be- 
 tween natural, spontaneous love and hard, worldly com- 
 mon sense. I knew I had already antagonized your 
 father, and I had already spoken to Wawona. If I had 
 then withdrawn from my engagement, your father's an- 
 tagonism would have been increased, and Wawona's feel- 
 ings would, have been outraged. At the same time, I 
 would have estranged my vindictive uncle, and would 
 thus have completely cut off my revenue and effectually 
 have prevented myself from honorably making a proffer 
 to you, It seemed as though fate had left me nothing
 
 2 o8 / S WEAR. 
 
 but to act as I did, and trust that time would give you an 
 opportunity to know the real truth. 
 
 " As luck would have it, your long delayed letter from 
 Dover reached me at a time when I had demonstrated 
 my financial independence of my uncle ; then it was I 
 wrote you that letter from Eton, in which I covertly of- 
 fered to break my engagement with Miss Brooke, if you 
 would give me a word of encouragement. As you know, 
 you never answered my letter." 
 
 At this, her face lighted up with an expression of joy 
 the last impediment which had troubled her mind was 
 removed by the thought : " He never received my an- 
 swer !" 
 
 Not knowing this, he continued : " And nothing was 
 left me but to do as I have done." 
 
 He gave a sigh of the deepest sorrow, as the whole un- 
 happy scene came back to him. 
 
 How different his thoughts, had he been able to read 
 those of his companion. 
 
 " Covertly offered to break his engagement never re- 
 ceived my answer " were running through her mind. 
 " He meant what his letter said he loves me ! " She 
 could have jumped into his arms, but she controlled her- 
 self, contented to wait for what she now knew the de- 
 nouement would be. What a change those few words 
 had made. Her whole, old self seemed to come back. 
 It was as if an immense restraining weight had been taken 
 taken off her soul, allowing the old buoyancy of feeling 
 to well forth. 
 
 Morrison remembered his resolve not to be dramatic, 
 and hastily checking a melancholy tendency, continued : 
 
 " Finally, however, I had made up my mind to give up 
 all hope of ever seeing you, and to return to the Conti- 
 nent. Had not my eye lighted upon that notice in the
 
 I S WEAR. 209 
 
 paper this morning, I probably would have been on my 
 way there now." 
 
 He had done. There was nothing more for him to 
 say, looking at the matter from his particular point of 
 view at just that particular moment. However, there 
 was yet another standpoint from which the circum- 
 stances might be judged. About the very last thing he 
 could have guessed as the basis of Fanny's mental pro- 
 cess, at this identical moment, was the precise one with 
 which her mind chanced to be busied, that is, wonder- 
 ing how fate was to bring about their engagement ; for 
 she felt, in her now thoroughly happy mind, that it was 
 coming. She had about made up her mind to precipitate 
 matters, when she determined to be governed by their 
 old maxim, and let fate have its way in this, as it had 
 taken so much upon itself in her past connection with 
 her great, unhappy lover, who had been so much to her 
 for so long a time. 
 
 After a while silence became embarrassing, and he 
 said : 
 
 " I had hoped to meet you in a parlor ; and, after I had 
 made myself understood, that you would grant me one 
 request." 
 
 " Which was ? " she said, with a dash of her old chic, 
 quite surprising to him. 
 
 " That you would take your guitar ; and, as a last re- 
 quest, sing me ' Marguerite,' as you did in the Walling's 
 conservatory on the night of the reception. Do you re- 
 member it ? " 
 
 His voice trembled. 
 
 " As if it were yesterday. I will sing it for you." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Now. I left my guitar in the cabin of my cousin's 
 yacht the other night. We can easily swim over there 
 and get it ; I know where he keeps the key."
 
 2io I SWEAR. 
 
 He did not know what to make of her. He had deter- 
 mined not to give way to his feelings ; that he would 
 plainly state the facts, and then being assured that he 
 had at least regained her respect, would follow the course 
 he had marked out ; and his restrained desire to break 
 that determination made him very nervous. 
 
 She, on the contrary, was perfectly at ease ; for, know- 
 ing what the end was to be, and having made up her 
 mind to let fate have its way, she gave up all idea of plan- 
 ning, except to permit that long-troubled soul of hers to 
 be impulsively happy as a reward for its fearful punish- 
 ment. 
 
 Neither spoke a word as they quietly swam to the 
 " Sea Foam." When he had assisted her to climb on deck, 
 she quickly went to a hidden drawer forward, and having 
 procured the key, unlocked the door of the cabin. 
 
 She excused herself and went in alone. Morrison 
 thought she was gone an age. In reality it was a very 
 few moments. 
 
 His waiting had its reward, however, for when she ap- 
 peared he assured himself she was the most charming 
 picture he had even seen. 
 
 In place of her bathing dress, she had donned a com- 
 plete tennis suit which she had found among the things 
 they had not yet taken ashore. 
 
 Guitar in hand she made a perfect picture in the moon- 
 light. Evidently she intended to stay, for she tossed 
 him a long heavy ulster, saying, " Probably you will find 
 that comfortable over your wet suit. I think it will fit. 
 Fred is about your size." 
 
 Then without appearing to notice the effect which her 
 fantasically enticing appearance had on him, she sug- 
 gested : 
 
 " Come around here to the ship chairs, this side the 
 cabin, so we will not be seen from the shore."
 
 I SWEAR. 211 
 
 He followed her forward and took the chair to which 
 she motioned. She leaned against the rail of the 
 schooner, her guitar still in hand. 
 
 Morrison could not make up his mind what to do. 
 Her manner gave him hope, yet he felt it were well not 
 to delude himself with false promise. 
 
 Had she studied effects all her life, she could never 
 have made a more enticing picture to him than she did 
 leaning there against that rail in the moonlight. 
 
 " And you want to hear ' Marguerite ' ? " she asked. 
 
 " If you will be so kind." 
 
 Oh, how that sweet, sad song, uttered by that sweet, 
 dear voice, moved him ! 
 
 She knew it would, and poured all the feeling her well- 
 trained and naturally flexible voice was capable of into 
 the song. 
 
 As she finished the last strain " And oh the thought 
 you'll not be mine will break my heart, Marguerite ! " 
 he would have given his fortune to have taken her to his 
 heart. She was singing in a very low tone to avoid at- 
 tracting attention, and when she finished she resumed 
 her former position at the rail, and lazily looked at her 
 lover. 
 
 Morrison sat as if riveted to his seat. 
 
 Neither spoke for a time. Finally her face lit up with 
 a smiling look of determination. Evidently she was go- 
 ing to help fate. 
 
 She stood erect and asked : 
 
 " Paul, can I sing you another song ? " 
 
 That " Paul " nearly took him off his feet, or rather off 
 his chair. 
 
 His heart leaped into his mouth. He could not readily 
 believe his senses. 
 
 He had a fleeting idea of speaking something of his
 
 212 / SWEAR. 
 
 feelings, but dismissed the thought as ill-advised and con- 
 tented himself with, 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 She saw that she had "met the enemy and he was 
 hers," and after several times picking the accompaniment 
 to " Dear Heart," a song which had become very dear to 
 her because she had practiced it so many times with the 
 same dear old fellow before her, in her mind, she began 
 to sing : 
 
 " So long the day, so dark the day, 
 
 Dear heart, before you came, 
 It seems to me it cannot be, 
 
 The world is still the same, 
 For then I stood as in some wood 
 
 And vainly sought for light, 
 But now day dawns on sunlit lawns, 
 
 And life is glad and bright." 
 
 Then, summoning all her power, she drifted into the 
 chorus, as if pleading to him : 
 
 "Leave me not, oh leave me not, 
 
 Dear heart, dear heart ! 
 I did not dream that we should part, 
 I love but thec, oh, love thou me 
 And leave and leave me not, 
 Dear heart, dear heart, 
 Leave me not, dear heart." 
 
 He could not imagine what to do. 
 
 He felt that she could not be trifling at such a time as 
 this, yet he could not hope that all the song and manner 
 implied was really true. 
 
 She saw his emotion, and realized that the despond- 
 ency which fate's unkind treatment had put on his cour- 
 age was preventing him from acting as his heart dictated. 
 She determined to assist him further. 
 
 " I said I wanted to ask you a few questions. May I ? " 
 
 " Certainly."
 
 I SWEAR. 213 
 
 "Did you mean everything you said in that letter from 
 Eton ? " 
 
 " Every word ! " he answered, in a tone that would 
 have carried conviction with it, even if she had not been 
 already convinced. 
 
 "What would you say if I said I had answered it ?" 
 
 "Answered my letter?" he shouted, as he jumped to 
 his feet '-' Then it must have been lost ! " 
 
 At last he hoped again, and with that hope came cour- 
 age. 
 
 "And may I ask what you said in it?" 
 
 This was her chance ; he now stood almost beside her, 
 his handsome, manly figure showing to better advantage 
 than ever in the rough old r;ea coat. All the pent-up 
 love for the man whom fate, by fantastic tricks, had kept 
 from her so long, exhibited itself in her voice as she 
 replied : 
 
 " That I loved you ! " 
 
 "Fanny ! " was all he could say as he took her in his 
 arms. 
 
 What joy there was in expressing their pent-up love. 
 
 In that embrace the better, grander nature of each 
 seemed to tell the other they were nevermore to part. 
 After a time he released her sufficiently to say : 
 
 " But we must not do this, must we ? " 
 
 "Not unless we are engaged," she answered with the 
 old twinkle in her eye. 
 
 " Well, then, let me propose Miss Northrop, will you 
 marry me ? " 
 
 With an appreciation of the fact that, at last, they 
 understood each other., that all this old omnipresent 
 yearning for a love she felt belonged to but could not be 
 claimed by her, was over, came back her willful playful- 
 ness, and she asked in a cheery way : 
 
 "Are your intentions honorable ? "
 
 214 I SWEAR. 
 
 He caught the spirit and answered : 
 
 " They are." 
 
 " Are you sure you love me ? " 
 
 " I swear it." 
 
 "Then," she said, as she took his hands to make him 
 automatically gesticulate to suit her words, " do as Wa- 
 wona did with her father. Put your left hand on my 
 heart and hold your right hand " he interrupted her 
 with an embrace, for as she had taken his left hand and 
 put it on her heart in conformity with her words, the first 
 touch of that wildly beating organ was too much for the 
 lover's warm blood to resist. He had better use for his 
 right hand, and his left hand was with it. 
 
 Presently she withdrew herself sufficiently from his 
 embrace to look him full in the face, and said, with an 
 affectation of earnestness : 
 
 "Well, I am convinced, you need not swear." 
 
 "Thank you," he said, entirely releasing her from his 
 arms, as he felt that she had meant that as a hint to re- 
 turn from the realms of bliss to this mundane sphere. 
 
 The next instant the thought came to him : 
 
 "How are we to break the news to her aunt?" and 
 immediately the further thought, " I had better be abso- 
 lutely certain of my engagement first," so he said : 
 
 "But I want an answer to my question. Will you 
 marry me ? Do you love me ? 
 
 " With all my heart, and all my might, and all my soul. 
 So much so that all the trips to Europe and all the trips 
 to California that father could plan, could not make me 
 forget you." 
 
 " Well," he said, jokingly, as soon as he had completed 
 an embrace which the occasion seemed to require, " I 
 suppose I need not ask you to swear?" 
 
 "Well," she said, looking up at him with an exagger-
 
 I SWEAR. 215 
 
 atedly earnest look on her face, " I will if you want me 
 to." 
 
 " All right, then, I want you to," he answered, the 
 smile on his face showing at last that he was thoroughly 
 eu rapport with her happy mood. 
 
 " Well, I suppose if I must I rn^st," she answered, the 
 look of piquant deviltry which came to her eyes showing 
 that the old, happy Fanny Northrop of four years before 
 had entirely returned. 
 
 With that she drew herself close to him, put her mouth 
 up to his ear and roguishly asked : 
 
 " Do you really insist ? '' 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Well, then," she whispered : 
 
 " Damn." 
 
 THE END.
 
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