FOOLS 
 OF 
 
 NHTURE 
 
 ALICE BROWN
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 FOOLS OF NATURE
 
 For the action of these influences is from a property the principles of 
 whose origin we cannot comprehend. GALEN. 
 
 No superstition can ever be prevalent and widely diffused through ages and 
 nations, without having a foundation in human nature. ScHLEGKL. 
 
 And hence in most cases of superstition . . . those who find pleasure in 
 such kind of vanities, always observe where the event answers, but slight 
 and pass by the instances where it fails. BACON.
 
 FOOLS OF NATURE 
 
 Nobel 
 
 BY 
 
 ALICE BROWN 
 
 BOSTON 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY 
 
 211 Cronont Street 
 1887
 
 Copyright, 1887, 
 
 BY TlCKNOR AND COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Printed by Addison C. Getchell, 55 Oliver St., Boston.
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 CHAl'TKR. 
 
 I. A PRIZE .... 
 
 II. THE PROFESSOR ARKIVKS 
 
 III. THE INITIAL STEP . 
 
 IV. AT Miss PHEBE'S 
 
 V. TAKING A PLUNGE . 
 
 VI. LAYING A TRAIN 
 
 VII. REVELATIONS 
 
 VIII. BURNING His BOATS 
 
 IX. A HIGHER COURT 
 
 X. NEWS FROM COVENTRY 
 
 XI. A VERDICT 
 
 XII. SPRING . 
 
 XIII. A NEW DEPARTURE 
 
 XIV. IN TOWN . 
 
 XV. LlNORA . 
 
 XVI. AN UNEXPECTED CHECK 
 
 XVII. OUTSIDE AND IN 
 
 XVIII. A FLAW . 
 
 XIX. IN EXILE .... 
 
 XX. FROM DAY TO DAY . 
 
 XXI. PROGRESS . 
 
 XXII. A MESSAGE 
 
 XXIII. BEYOND RECALL 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 7 
 
 20 
 
 38 
 
 51 
 
 G5 
 
 81 
 
 97 
 
 113 
 
 131 
 
 145 
 
 158 
 
 176 
 
 185 
 
 199 
 
 213 
 
 232 
 
 248 
 
 259 
 
 269 
 
 282 
 
 294 
 
 304 
 
 31G
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. 
 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 
 FOUR THREADS .... 
 BERNARD GOES HOME 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 324 
 334 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THE ORACLE SILENT 
 
 344 
 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 
 NEMESIS LOOKS ABOUT HER . 
 UNDER THE RED CROSS . 
 PROSPECTIVE REFORMATION . 
 THE SHADOW OF DEATH 
 THE USUAL RESULT 
 LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE 
 SAM TO THE RESCUE 
 AT HOME , 
 
 355 
 
 3G2 
 376 
 381 
 389 
 403 
 412 
 424
 
 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A PRIZE. 
 
 A GRAY farm-house, sunken on its sills, be- 
 -*"* hind enormous chestnut trees. Miss Maria 
 frequently suggested that the chestnuts should be 
 cut down, as shutting off the light from the south 
 side of the house, and producing only an abundant 
 yearly crop of empty burrs, but her father could 
 not bring himself to make the sacrifice. In busy 
 times, when no reasonable being could expect him 
 to put off haying or planting for cutting trees, he 
 acquiesced most cheerfully in his daughter's hints ; 
 but when the feasible opportunity came, he proved 
 either forgetful or indolent. So the trees stood. 
 
 This was a cold November night, or rather the 
 late afternoon merging into twilight. Miss Maria 
 had the kettle on and the table set, ready for a 
 somewhat later tea than usual. Her father was 
 making one of his frequent visits to the poor-farm, 
 
 7
 
 8 FOOLS OF NATUKE. 
 
 and they were never short. She had fritters to 
 fry, and they must be light and hot. Therefore 
 there was nothing to do now till she should hear 
 the rattle of wheels. The room where she waited 
 was dark enough without the help of outside shade ; 
 the walls were low, the ceiling smoky, and the great 
 beams overhead dingy with age. Still, everything 
 was so severely clean, from the middle-aged woman 
 in her starched calico and white collar to the very 
 floor, that the evident extreme age of the house 
 seemed no ruinous, unkempt one. Miss Maria, as 
 she stood by the stove, bearing her idleness a little 
 impatiently, was of a wiry, absolutely alert Yankee 
 type. Her crimped hair, the stiff little plaid bow 
 at her throat, could not soften her in a line or hue. 
 
 Some one was pushing the heavy side door, 
 which sagged so that even the daughter of the 
 house could not always force it to obey her ener 
 getic will. She took the lamp into the entry, as 
 the great piece of timber swung in with a sullen 
 creak, to admit a slender, straight, girlish woman 
 of seventy. Aunt Lomie always insisted that her 
 figure was owing to the early use of the busk, and 
 it was greatly to her mortification that her own 
 girls, long since married, had declined to wear that 
 article of torture. 
 
 " I brought you in some of our barberry," she 
 said in a soft, even voice, like a skein of silk. 
 " We begun on it to-day. I believe I put in more
 
 A PRIZE. 9 
 
 sweet apple'n common, an' that made me think of 
 your father." 
 
 " I'm sure I'm much obliged," said Miss Maria, 
 tasting at once. " So'll father be. He don't say 
 he don't take to my sugar barberry, but I'm awful 
 sorry I didn't do any in molasses. Seemed as if 
 sugar'd be so much nicer that I done it all that 
 way." 
 
 Aunt Lomie had taken a chair by the stove, 
 where she sat bolt-upright, patting her knees softly 
 and reflectively. 
 
 "Where's your father?" she said, breaking the 
 silence, that was perfectly easy, since neither of 
 the two felt a necessity for talking. 
 
 " Gone to the poor-farm," returned Miss Maria, 
 something aggressive developing itself in her tone. 
 
 "He's all carried away with that boy, ain't 
 he?" 
 
 " Seems so ; " and Maria put all the emphasis of 
 her sentence into the stove with an obstinate stick 
 of wood. 
 
 " It does seem a pity, Maria, don't it, that he 
 should be given to such folderol ? " 
 
 After a silence, "Father can think and do just 
 what he's a mind to, for all me. His ways ain't 
 my ways , but they're better'n mine. He's got more 
 goodness in his little finger than all the rest of the 
 town in their whole body." 
 
 "You always would stand up for your father,"
 
 10 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 said Aunt Lomie, looking at her with mild ap 
 proval. " Queer you should, too, when you don't 
 jine in with him." 
 
 "That ain't the question," said Maria stoutly. 
 "It ain't what I believe or don't believe. I may 
 be too ungodly to believe it. Anyway, I never 
 shall badger father's life out of him. There he is 
 
 now ! " 
 
 Old Dolly's hoofs had a peculiar beat, and the 
 red wagon a rattle all its own. Maria's quick ears 
 caught both sounds before the wagon turned into 
 the driveway, where it was now hurrying gayly 
 along, hobnobbing with the frozen ruts. 
 
 " 'Tis your father, sure enough. I guess I won't 
 wait, he'd keep me so long talking, and it's our 
 supper time, too." 
 
 When Miss Maria had closed the unwilling door 
 on her visitor, she hurried back to her fritters, all 
 alive at the immediate prospect of work. By the 
 time Uncle Ben, as he was called by the town 
 in general, had finished unharnessing and feeding 
 Dolly, and given the cows their last fodder, the 
 table was ready, and the lamp waiting in the little 
 back kitchen where he was accustomed to attend 
 to his toilet. 
 
 " Here we are. Mind the step ! " came a voice 
 full of loving quality. "Here we are, Maria ! " 
 
 Maria had, so to speak, pricked up her ears at 
 the sound of lighter steps beside her father's.
 
 A PRIZE. 11 
 
 " I'll be buttered if he ain't brought the poor-house 
 boy back with him ! " she ejaculated under her 
 breath. 
 
 " Here's Lenny, Maria," said the old man, fairly 
 inside by this time. " Let him run right in and 
 warm him. His hands don't need so much washin' 
 as they do thawin' out. We kep' 'em under the 
 robe, but they're pretty cold, pretty cold ! " 
 
 Maria, without a word, preceded the boy to the 
 larger room, and, still silent, drew forward a chair. 
 The child, a somewhat shapeless, stocky boy, stood 
 still in the background. 
 
 "You can sit down," said his hostess ungra 
 ciously. Then she went back to her father. "Is 
 he going to stay ? " The voice was carefully mod 
 ulated. There was neither displeasure nor re 
 proach in it, yet Uncle Ben was quite well assured 
 that Maria was not gratified. 
 
 " Well, now, if he wouldn't be a great deal of 
 trouble, Maria," he began persuasively, from the 
 roller towel. "Now really, Maria, he's goin' to 
 be a wonderful medium ; somethin' out o' the com 
 mon course, and he'll never develop there. The 
 conditions ain't right. An' he could help about 
 the chores." But Maria had disappeared, as he 
 found on emerging from the roller. " Oh, well, 
 well, well," said the old man. "Sorry! sorry! 
 Wish Maria'd see these things, but she don't, and 
 you can't expect everybody to. Willin' the old
 
 12 FOOLS OP NATURE. 
 
 man should have his own way?" he went on in 
 his sing-song manner of speaking. " You ain't said 
 much." 
 
 " I didn't have time to wait," said Maria dryly. 
 " I had to go in and put on another plate." 
 
 Then the two looked in each other's faces and 
 smiled the smile of perfect understanding, a mo 
 mentary twinkle from Maria and a folding of 
 wrinkles in the old man's face, for all the seams 
 there had been made by much smiling. 
 
 " Now, if you could get a test such as I've had 
 tune an' again," he went on, rubbing his hands at 
 the fire, " you might begin to see your way to hav- 
 in' faith. An' with Lenny in the house you may 
 get a test." 
 
 Miss Maria set her lips firmly, and went on 
 pouring the tea, having done which she drew up 
 the third chair for the boy, and motioned him to 
 take it. He obeyed with a shiver, suggesting a 
 young robin out in the cold. Miss Maria had 
 made an impression on him. 
 
 No one paid any attention to him during the 
 meal, Uncle Ben contenting himself with heaping 
 the child's plate, once giving him a pat on the head 
 in passing. But when her father had gone out to 
 shut the barn, Maria said her say. She emphati 
 cally set down in the sink the cups she was carry 
 ing, and then placed herself directly opposite the 
 robin, who was again huddling over the stove.
 
 A PRIZE. 13 
 
 She looked at him steadily, while he as steadily 
 regarded his cracked, stubby hands. 
 
 " An' so you see things spirits ? " said Miss 
 Maria at length, in a biting tone. 
 
 "I don't know what they be. How should I 
 know ? It's always a lady," said the boy, begin 
 ning to whimper a little. 
 
 " And you're going to get up a test to convince 
 me, are you?" still regarding him as curiously 
 as severely. 
 
 " I don't know what a test is. I don't care any 
 thing about it. I wisht I was back to the farm ! " 
 said the whimperer. 
 
 This protestation only served to disgust Maria 
 the more. So he was a hypocrite also ! 
 
 "Well, there's one thing for you to remember. 
 Ever go to school ? Ever learn anything? Well, 
 you learn this ! If you take it into your head to 
 get up tests for me I'll take your head off; and if 
 you ever tell my father a lie say you see things 
 when you don't, or say you've seen 'em when you 
 haven't I'll take your head off again. And 
 heads aint like lobster claws ; they don't grow on, 
 once they're off. Understand?" 
 
 The robin evidently did not, but he was suffi 
 ciently impressed, Miss Maria thought; and her 
 father coming in just then, she went on with her 
 dish-washing. 
 
 "Been cryin', sonny? Homesick? Oh, that
 
 14 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 never'll do ! Never in the world ! Folks have to 
 make up their minds to things. Maria, where's 
 that old fox-and-geese board ? " 
 
 It was in the corner cupboard, and Maria brought 
 it without a word. The old man and his little 
 friend began their game, interrupted only by the 
 robin's nervousness. He watched Miss Maria too 
 incessantly to show much generalship in his moves, 
 and became so distraught that Uncle Ben sent him 
 to bed, going with him to see him comfortably dis 
 posed. When the child had drawn the great com 
 forters up to his ears, looking as if he felt himself 
 in safety for the first time that night, Uncle Ben 
 took the candle and paused to say, hesitatingly, 
 before leaving the room, " You ain't seen anything 
 since you've been in the house, Lenny? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Nor heard anything?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, well, that's all right I It'll come, all in 
 good time. I'll call you in the mornin'." 
 
 "Be you going to keep him, father?" asked 
 Miss Maria, later in the evening, looking up from 
 her rapid knitting. Her father had finished the 
 county paper, and sat toasting his stockinged feet 
 at the stove-hearth. 
 
 " Well, no ; I ain't got so far as that yet. No, I 
 do' know's I mean to keep him on'y till he gets a 
 good place. But I mean to see he ain't starved as
 
 A PRIZE. 15 
 
 he was up country before he come to the farm. 
 Skin an' bone he was ; but he begun to pick up 
 right off." 
 
 "Yes," said Maria dryly, "he don't seem to 
 have many bones now." 
 
 " Fatted right up ! I told 'em at the farm they'd 
 better have his mini'ture took an' send it round to 
 show folks how we treat our paupers. Maria, 
 that boy begun to see spirits when he wa'n't more'n 
 ten year old, when he was up country." 
 
 Maria was setting her heel, and bent over her 
 work too closely to reply. 
 
 " He says he always sees a lady, a lady in a cap. 
 Somehow I felt as if it might be your mother." 
 
 Maria gave an indignant twitch, setting loose 
 half a dozen stitches, but she did not answer. 
 
 " The trouble is, she never speaks, ain't spoke 
 yet, that is, on'y makes signs. But he'll 
 develop yet, just keep him where the influences 
 are harmonious." 
 
 The next morning, before breakfast, Uncle Ben 
 took the boy to the barn, but once inside the door, 
 he did not set him a task. Putting down his milk- 
 pail, he turned to the child eagerly. 
 
 " Anything yet, Lenny ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the boy in a whisper, looking 
 behind him, to see if perchance Maria might be 
 there. 
 
 " You don't say so ! What ? "
 
 16 FOOLS OP NATURE. 
 
 "The woman." 
 
 "Say anything? Now she did say something 
 this time?" 
 
 "No, she didn't ; only motioned. Put both her 
 hands on her head so and shook it and cried." 
 
 The old man took off his hat in order to con 
 sider the better, and stood with the brim of it 
 over his mouth. 
 
 " Yes, that's it ! It's Aunt Peggy ! " he cried at 
 last triumphantly. " She died with brain-fever. 
 Strange I shouldn't ha' thought o' her before. 
 An' what else ? " 
 
 "Nothing. Yes, there was. She went to the 
 fire-place and kept putting her finger on the 
 squares marked out on the mantel-piece. She'd 
 count up to seven and then stop, and go over 'em 
 again." 
 
 " Seven ! Now I wonder what that meant. 
 Seven year? No, she must ha' died over forty 
 year ago. Maria wouldn't remember. Seven in 
 the family? No, there was three. Sure it was 
 seven, Lenny?" 
 
 " Course I am," said the boy, a little fretfully. 
 " Didn't she keep me awake with her old count- 
 in'?" 
 
 " Sh-sh ! You mustn't say anything about them 
 that's gone to the spirit world that you wouldn't 
 want 'em to hear. But then it ain't right neither 
 to treat folks in this world worse'n you would
 
 A PRIZE. 17 
 
 angels. An' you see everything she was doin'? 
 See the squares on the mantel-piece ? " 
 
 " Why, there's a light round her, bright," said 
 the boy, stuffing his hands in his pockets and 
 thinking of breakfast. " There's always a light." 
 
 "So there is, so there is. I forgot that. Now, 
 Lenny, you be sure you don't hear nor see a thing 
 you don't tell me." 
 
 When the two went in to breakfast, Maria, cut 
 ting bread at the table, detected news in her 
 father's livelier step. 
 
 " Maria, he's seen Aunt Peggy ! " said the old 
 man, coming in and looking at her triumphantly 
 across the stove. Miss Maria paused, with the 
 bread knife in her hand. Leonard, just behind, 
 noted the glittering blade with a sickening heart- 
 thump, sure of his impending doom. But the 
 ogress went on cutting. "Leastwise, I can't help 
 feelin' as if 'twas Aunt Peggy. Seems to answer 
 to her looks, an' what she died of. But there's 
 somethin' about it I don't understand ; seven, the 
 number seven. Maybe she wants to tell us some- 
 thin'." 
 
 " Seven wise men of Greece ! " said Miss Maria, 
 grimly. " Maybe she wants to warn this boy here 
 he'd better be careful not to grow up and make 
 eight." 
 
 As the days went on, Leonard outgrew some 
 of his first fear of Miss Maria. He took a cold,
 
 18 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 which for the time being obliterated his ill quali 
 ties in her eyes. The nursing instinct was strong 
 in her, and to take her ginger-tea and thorough- 
 wort was equivalent to eating her salt. With his 
 returning health, her severity also returned in part ; 
 but though there were days when, as her father 
 told of new visions, she was only restrained by 
 principle from laying violent hands on the lad, she 
 did not prove an incessant north-wind to him. He 
 was a frank, well-disposed fellow. No one could 
 help liking his absolute honesty and his gratitude 
 for slight favors. Sometimes his truth-telling 
 propensity was so apparent, even when it militated 
 against his own advantage, that Maria had intervals 
 of wondering if his vision might not be " an honest 
 ghost." That was almost inconceivable to her. 
 She had only as much appetite for the supernatural 
 as would enable her to swallow a few scriptural 
 doctrines, not by any means all, and not enough 
 to render her an eligible candidate for church-mem 
 bership. She confined her belief in the unknown 
 to a faith in the immortality of the soul, and in the 
 incomprehensibility of the Holy Ghost. With 
 Miss Maria the Holy Ghost stood for a sort of 
 fetich, a mystic symbol to be pronounced by way 
 of a charm with the names of the Father and the 
 Son. Miracles she rejected, and only received 
 Christ as a leader on the ground of his preaching 
 sound doctrine. She would not have said he was
 
 A PRIZE. 19 
 
 a juggler ; doubtless she gave him the credit of 
 honestly believing in his own miracles, but she 
 pityingly ascribed to him the same sort of diseased 
 mind with which she accredited her father in his 
 belief in the manifestations of spiritualism. The 
 whole subject she hated rancorously ; yet when 
 her father's finger touched it, she was tolerant, 
 even cherishing him the more for his weakness. 
 
 "Everybody's got a crack somewhere in his 
 head," she would say, when most kindly disposed 
 towards Leonard. " I don't know what mine is, 
 but I s'pose other folks do."
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 
 
 T EONARD was perhaps thirteen when Uncle 
 -*-* Ben Adams took him home from the poor- 
 farm that night. In five years he had grown into 
 a clownish sort of fellow, with long legs and a 
 superfluity of flesh, cheeks of apple redness and 
 eyes of a china blue, in which pure honesty lay 
 looking up at the world. Every one of the neigh 
 bors liked Len, he was so ready to do a service, 
 so destitute of boyish freaks. When Aunt Lomie 
 baked pies, she brought him in a turnover, a mar 
 vel of horrible richness ; and if her sons went to 
 caucus, or to town for the weekly supply of gro 
 ceries, she was liable to send for Len to sit with 
 her through the evening. Cap'n Sol, Aunt Lo- 
 mie's husband, had died since we first saw her, and 
 she, with the two giants of sons, kept up a peace 
 ful little household. 
 
 Although Leonard had every educational advan 
 tage the town afforded, going to the district school 
 through the winter with the other well-grown 
 lads, he showed little inclination for books. Miss 
 Maria hurled the abstruse truths of Colburn at 
 him until he could prove, parrot-like, the feasi-
 
 THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 21 
 
 hility of a man's driving fifty and one-half geese 
 to market, but the inner meaning of the problem 
 never suggested itself to him. This was much to 
 Miss Maria's scorn ; she had herself been accounted 
 a " smart scholar " in her day, and she still pre 
 served her rewards of merit with much satisfac 
 tion. Uncle Ben was not disturbed by the boy's 
 slight intellectual bent. In fact, his frame of 
 mind showed a wavering balance between what he 
 ought to feel and what he really did feel. It was, 
 of course, a subject of regret that the boy was 
 growing up to be accounted stupid ; on the other 
 hand, that very stupidity, a neutrality of mind 
 which allowed it to be swayed by any and every 
 influence, could only increase his ability for becom 
 ing a medium. 
 
 " Out o' the mouth of babes," said Uncle Ben, 
 " it is ordained the great truths shall come. 'Tain't 
 the wisest of us that learn 'em first. If 'twas, the 
 great revelation'd come too soon, an' it's got to be 
 worked out slowly, through much tribulation." 
 
 That Len had in five years made no advance in 
 development as a medium, caused the old man no 
 uneasiness. His patience was as absolute and 
 grand as the patience of Nature. 
 
 "An' maybe 'tain't comin', Lenny, my boy," he 
 would say, in the frequent talks they had on the 
 subject. " It may be 'tain't you, after all, that's 
 goin' to convince folks. But whether 'tis or not,
 
 22 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 you an' I mustn't care. 'Twon't make any differ 
 ence who the good news comes through." 
 
 Leonard himself would have been quite well sat 
 isfied to be sure that his evident ministry between 
 the other world and this was not to come about. 
 Even for so good-natured a boy, it was something 
 of a bore to be asked every morning if he had had 
 a spectral visitant the night before, and to be re 
 quired to give advice the bearing of which he could 
 scarcely comprehend. Mingled with the misery 
 of having greatness thrust upon him, however, 
 grew a sort of honest vanity in considering himself 
 gingled out from others by reason of an exceptional 
 gift. He still insisted that he saw the old lady of 
 his childhood, who was now familiarly known as 
 Aunt Peggy; often, indeed, she talked audibly. 
 It was somewhat strange that, although the whole 
 town had heard that fact, no one set him down for 
 a hypocrite. His little world passed over the foi 
 ble, and if it had been called on to give the reason, 
 would doubtless have excused him as not responsi 
 ble, as being a natural in that one direction. 
 
 Just now, in his nineteenth year, it was an 
 nounced that Professor Biker would give an inspi 
 rational lecture on Spiritualism, as the circulars 
 stated it, in the town hall. Uncle Ben, who had 
 been for years in correspondence with various 
 mediums and was the representative spiritualist of 
 the town, had undertaken the management of the
 
 THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 23 
 
 whole affair. It was he who proposed entertain 
 ing the guest, undeterred by Maria's grim silence. 
 That sceptic's housewifely pride, which was en 
 tirely independent of any bias of feeling, rose to 
 the surface, and her most plummy cake and rich 
 est pie were in hospitable readiness for the guest. 
 Uncle Ben met him at the station, and the fall twi 
 light had begun to settle before Dolly compassed 
 the eight miles of the return. Professor Riker 
 did not ride past the house to the barn, but 
 alighted at the front door. This circumstance 
 alone was enough to arouse Miss Maria's scorn. 
 
 " Let father drive along to unharness by him 
 self ! " she muttered, standing well back in the 
 shadow to take an unobserved inventory of the 
 stranger's appearance. "If I was a man I'd be a 
 man ! " 
 
 And yet, under ordinary circumstances, she 
 would have considered herself an offender against 
 the laws of hospitality, had she allowed a guest to 
 lift a finger in service. 
 
 He had knocked three times before she saw fit 
 to go to the door, clattering the cups meanwhile 
 to justify her inattention, even to herself. The 
 stranger lifted his hat with a flourish, when he was 
 finally allowed to set foot in the entry, extending 
 a daintily gloved hand which Maria, pushing the 
 door open, was too much occupied to notice. 
 
 "Miss Adams, I believe?"
 
 24 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "Walk in and take off your coat and your 
 hat and let me take 'em," said his hostess in 
 jerks, as if the words had a bad taste in her mouth 
 and she was anxious to finish the operation of 
 ejecting them as soon as possible. 
 
 Divested of his outside apparel, Professer Biker 
 proved to be a well-made, broad-shouldered man 
 of perhaps forty-two. His eyes were somewhat 
 near together and his nose was inferior, but a long 
 waving beard, delicate hands, and a superfine 
 nicety of attire were sufficient to stamp him, 
 among the many, as fine looking and a gentleman. 
 Maria noted with contempt that his watch-chain 
 was of many bands, and that he wore a large and 
 dangling bunch of seals. For five minutes she 
 was too incessantly on the wing to admit of 
 falling into the trap of conversation. Finally she 
 could make no more honest errands into the little 
 back kitchen, and, with some shame at her evil 
 humors, took her station opposite the visitor. 
 
 " You are not a believer in the cause ?" said the 
 professor, keeping up an incessant rubbing of his 
 hands. Maria was sure it was to prevent the red 
 ness of cold from settling in them. Her heart 
 hardened immediately. Why need he hare 
 chosen so unlucky a subject? 
 
 "No, I'm not," she said shortly. "It's the 
 greatest humbug the Lord ever allowed ! " 
 
 The professor looked at her with obtrusive pity.
 
 THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 25 
 
 "You'll come to it by and by," he said with 
 great cheerfulness. " I perceive you have medium- 
 istic qualities. Once developed, I have no doubt 
 you'll be a burning and shining light." 
 
 The toad in the fable could not have felt himself 
 more perceptibly swelling with pride than did 
 Miss Maria in her indignation. Fortunately, her 
 father's step was heard at this moment, suggesting 
 the self-control which was the outgrowth of her. 
 love for him. 
 
 "Well, well, all right? Warm enough? Not 
 tired ridin' in the cars? Terrible tiresome work, 
 ain't it, makin' journeys? Uses my head all up 
 for a week." 
 
 "Ah, well, I'm used to it," said the professor 
 wearily. "I'm going about incessantly, you 
 know. But this speaking from inspiration is 
 wearing work. Sometimes I am afraid my poor 
 head won't stand it. However, we intellectual 
 people must expect to break down, die at the 
 top." 
 
 " Supper's ready, father," said Maria. " I don't 
 see," she was unable to resist saying, as she poured 
 the tea, " why it should tire anybody to be 
 inspired. If the words come to you without any 
 composing, I shouldn't think 'twould be anything 
 great of a tax." 
 
 "Ah, you don't know, "said the professor. He 
 had always the air of commiserating one's igno-
 
 26 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 ranee. "It takes a great deal of nerve force to 
 place one's self in a purely receptive state. My 
 surroundings have to be harmonious. I am as 
 sensitive to bleak winds as a flower. " 
 
 Maria drank some tea hastily to cover an incip 
 ient sniff of disgust, and ended by choking herself. 
 
 "Yes, yes, now I can see how 'twould be," said 
 her father, passing cheese and butter with an 
 eagerness that was more than hospitable, his sim 
 plest services seeming to grow out of loving kind 
 ness. " Now it don't make no difference about us 
 common folks, but I can see how 'twould with 
 you. Great gifts you've got ; and then you're 
 educated up so ! " 
 
 The professor, with a wave of his fork, indul 
 gently deprecated the last remark. 
 
 "My wife doesn't always feel it," he said. "I 
 don't blame her for it, but sometimes I have to 
 say to her, ' Julia, can't you see I want to be let 
 alone?'" 
 
 "Well, I should think she'd be glad enough to 
 let you be ! " said Maria, taking his cup rather for 
 cibly to refill it. 
 
 " You would think so indeed," said the uncon 
 scious guest. "You would think she would see 
 the necessity of helping on a great work by doing 
 her little best. And there are times when I must 
 be alone. Often, when I commit my lectures to 
 memory, I walk the floor for hours."
 
 THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 27 
 
 " Commit your lectures ! There's a mistake, 
 then, father. You got out the handbills to say 
 they were inspired." 
 
 " Oh, yes, the thoughts, they are the result of 
 direct inspiration," said the professor imperturba- 
 bly . " But I have to formulate them a little, and re 
 duce them to the level of an ordinary audience." 
 
 Again Maria was saved, by an arrival, from the 
 open disgrace of speaking her mind, this time 
 Leonard. 
 
 "Well, well, sonny ! where've you been?" said 
 Uncle Ben, as the great fellow came in shyly, and 
 began to dispose a part of his inconvenient person 
 under the table. 
 
 "Aunt Lomie asked me to do the barn work to 
 night. The boys have gone down to see about 
 buying Pete French's ma'sh." 
 
 " This is my boy, the one that's goin' to do 
 suthin' yet, we hope," went on the old man. 
 " Lenny, this is the lecturer." 
 
 The two pairs of eyes met, Len's shy and the 
 other man's searching. The end was that the 
 stranger, with flattering cordiality, held a white 
 hand across the table for the boy's awkward 
 grasp. 
 
 "You need not have told me who he is," he said, 
 smiling at him. " I knew as soon as he came in. 
 A spirit voice whispered, ' Great light ! prophet ! 
 help him develop ! ' "
 
 28 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " You don't say so ! " cried his host, laying down 
 his knife, and leaning back in his chair in sheer 
 delight. "Now you can't mean that! Maria, 
 ain't that a test ? " 
 
 "You can't expect your daughter to consider 
 anything short of the ocular proof as a test just 
 yet," said the professor, with an apologetic defence 
 of her which seemed to Maria as sheer impudence, 
 as it stood for charity in her father's eyes. " Sci 
 entists, with all the paraphernalia of philosophy 
 on their side, deny us the right of existence as a 
 sect : what should be expected of the unthinking 
 multitude ? " 
 
 " There's no call for you to use your lecture all 
 up on us," said Maria, this time with intentional 
 sarcasm, as they rose from the table. " Be a pity if 
 it should be second-hand when you get to the hall, 
 and your inspiration should give out." 
 
 But the professor was either too magnanimous 
 or too obtuse to take offense. 
 
 At seven old Dolly was harnessed to take the fam 
 ily to the hall, all but Maria. Just before they 
 went, she ventured on what was rare with her 
 an open remonstrance. 
 
 "Father," she said, taking him into the back 
 kitchen, "that man is a lying humbug, and you'd 
 never see it if you was to live with him till he 
 made you think black was white. And I don't 
 want him bamboozling Len. The boy's head's
 
 THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 29 
 
 half turned now, thinking he's some great shakes." 
 
 "Now, Maria, le's leave it in the Lord's hands," 
 said her father, his perpetual good-will to men 
 mantling all over his face in a radiant smile. "His 
 ways ain't our ways, an' the truth'll come upper 
 most. If Len's to help work it out, le's not be 
 stumbling-blocks in the way, an' if he ain't, the 
 Lord an' his niinisters'll defend the boy." 
 
 Maria could say no more. She went back into 
 the sitting-room with wet eyes, softened in spite 
 of her judgment. Her father alone woke in her 
 something like the maternal instinct. But there 
 was some little relief in asserting her own right so 
 far as to refuse to button Len's collar or tie his 
 cravat, and to indulge in one other bit of belliger 
 ent resistance. 
 
 " Would you give me that flower and a gera 
 nium leaf for my buttonhole ? " asked the professor, 
 pointing to the flourishing window plants. " There 
 is something harmonious about flowers." 
 
 " Here's the scissors," said Maria, passing them 
 with the points bloodthirstily foremost, and the 
 professor was obliged himself to cull and pin in 
 his floral ornaments. 
 
 The lecture was scantily attended, and the audi 
 ence was not too quiet during its florid eloquence. 
 A few boys fell into a scuffle about the stove, and 
 some one started that time-honored joke, a turnip 
 rolling down the aisle, at which there was a general
 
 30 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 titter. The town held Uncle Ben in high regard, 
 except in his capacity of spiritualist ; there he 
 commanded only lightness. When the professor 
 announced, at the close of his lecture, that he 
 would proceed to give tests, a hush settled even 
 upon the most sceptical. 
 
 "This room is filled with spirits," he began, 
 " townsmen of yours, most of them ; some, friends 
 who have passed over into spirit life at a distance 
 from here." 
 
 Several boys near the stove involuntarily looked 
 over their shoulders, and then by common consent 
 went into the front and more occupied portion of 
 the house, making but a subdued clatter. 
 
 " Here's one who says his name is Peter Dana. 
 He was hanged for the murder of an old woman. 
 Says his mother was an Indian. Anybody know 
 him?" 
 
 Glances were exchanged from large and wonder 
 ing eyes. Uncle Ben almost hugged himself with 
 delight. He would not pronounce his recognition 
 first, however. That should be left for the scep 
 tical. 
 
 "Half-breed Pete!" "That's him!" came in 
 murmurs, until one voice took courage to speak. 
 "I know him," when there came a chorus of cor- 
 roboration. 
 
 " Says he's been a long while in the first sphere ; 
 hopes to go on ; hopes you'll take warning by him."
 
 THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 31 
 
 The professor was standing behind his table with 
 closed eyes, and hands occasionally waving before 
 his face. He had turned down the lights, and in 
 the uncertain dusk was surprisingly pale and un 
 earthly. It was astonishing that the corners about 
 the hall could look so dark to the boys who came 
 to scoff. 
 
 " Somebody says her name is Mary, and she died 
 of consumption. Ugh ! what a pain it gives me 
 in my chest ! How she did suffer before she passed 
 away ! " 
 
 A woman's sob broke the stillness. Two 
 women's voices exclaimed simultaneously, " I know 
 her ! " " She's mine ! " 
 
 The medium paused for a moment and pointed 
 in the direction of the first voice. " You're right , 
 she's your Mary," he said decisively. " The other 
 one is here too, but isn't able to communicate as 
 well as your Mary." 
 
 The woman, the tears streaming down her face, 
 had risen and bent over the settee in front of her, 
 regardless of the pitying eyes upon her. 
 
 "What does she say? Tell her to speak. I 
 must hear her speak ! " 
 
 " She says it's all bright, all wonderful ! no more 
 pain ! and she's always near you." 
 
 " The Lord be thanked ! " said the woman, sink 
 ing back into her seat, and shamefacedly trying 
 to suppress her sobs.
 
 32 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "There are three babies dressed in white. Oh, 
 how they do hover over here, and how bright 
 their wings are ! " 
 
 There was more sobbing recognition, in the 
 midst of which the medium opened his eyes with 
 a start and twitch, ejaculating loudly, " Where am 
 I? " Uncle Ben, triumphant and happy, drew him 
 away from the circle of awestruck people who 
 were desirous of regarding him, and yet exceed 
 ingly careful not to approach too closely. 
 
 "He ain't like us," said the old man in gentle 
 apology. " He can't stan' things as we can, an' I'll 
 warrant he's all wore out. Get Dolly round, Len, 
 an' we'll be on the road home." 
 
 Arrived there, they found Maria and Aunt Lomie 
 knitting by the table. Aunt Lomie looked at the 
 medium mildly, as she might regard an animal 
 born a scorpion and not able to help it, yet by no 
 means to be taken into one's bosom. The professor 
 asked leave to lie down on the sofa, and stretched 
 himself at full length there, his eyes closed, the 
 tips of his fingers together in the attitude of one 
 
 whose 
 
 " bones are dust ; 
 His good sword rust." 
 
 Once the great Maltese cat walked up and sniffed 
 at his coat, whereupon Miss Maria called sharply, 
 "Puss, puss! come away!" showing a laudable 
 resolution that puss, at least, should not be con-
 
 THE PROFESSOll ARRIVES. 33 
 
 taminated. When Uncle Ben and Leonard had 
 come in from unharnessing, quite a brisk con 
 versation sprang up, broken by the lurching arrival 
 of the two Wasson boys, as they would probably 
 be called to their seventieth birthdays. 
 
 "Thought we'd come in to see ma'am home," 
 said Sam, drawing a chair to the stove and dang 
 ling his hat between his knees, while the other 
 took quite the same attitude in fondling the cat. 
 
 "You needn't ha' done that, both on ye," said 
 Aunt Lomie, holding her forefinger on the needles 
 to keep the place, and looking mildly over her 
 glasses. 
 
 "Oh, it ain't all you, Lomie," said Uncle Ben. 
 " I spoke to 'em myself. I give 'em some hope of 
 a sittin'. He's tired all out now," nodding to 
 wards the sofa, and speaking in a whisper. 
 '' 'Tain't to be expected he won't feel what he's 
 been doin' to-night." 
 
 It was natural, after this, that the conversation 
 should drop into whispers, and then cease 
 altogether. When that consummation had beei. 
 reached, the professor came to a sitting posture, 
 and opened his eyes with a snap upon the com 
 pany. 
 
 "You spoke of a sitting, Mr. Adams? Any 
 thing I can do for you is at your service." 
 
 So the table was cleared and the light turned 
 down. Nobody had thought to notice Len since
 
 34 FOOLS Or NATURE. 
 
 he came in. Only when his finger-tips touched 
 hers in laying them on the table, did Maria feel 
 that they were clammy and trembling. This was 
 his first experience of the common phenomena of 
 spiritualism. 
 
 " Now if you will place your fingers lightly on 
 the table, the little finger touching the next hand, 
 and so on," a result brought about as soon as 
 Sam Wasson could realize that the whole of his 
 tremendous hand was not to be deposited on his 
 neighbor's. Maria never refused to take part in a 
 " sitting." It was the public sanction she was 
 glad to give to her father's wishes. 
 
 The medium closed his eyes and waited ; Aunt 
 Lomie was preternaturally solemn ; and Maria 
 fixed so wrathful a gaze on the professor's coun 
 tenance that Henry Wasson, chancing to meet it, 
 burst into a strange and monstrous laugh, which 
 he instantly suppressed, growing purple with 
 shame. 
 
 " Henry, I shouldn't think you was grown up ! " 
 said Aunt Lomie. 
 
 " Oh, never mind," said the professor, opening 
 his eyes for a moment. " It's merely nervousness. 
 Give way to it, by all means, and it will be over 
 the sooner. Your son is mediumistic, madam, 
 very impressionable in his nature." 
 
 A longer silence, and nothing occurred. 
 
 " S'pose we should sing," suggested Uncle Ben.
 
 THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 35 
 
 " That would be well. Singing brings harmo 
 nious influences. And make yourselves as recep 
 tive as possible. 
 
 " Maria, ' Sweet Hour ' or ' Nearer to Thee ' ! " 
 
 Maria had a high, clear soprano which had led 
 the choir this many a year. 
 
 "Yes, father," she answered. It should be per 
 fectly apparent that she complied to oblige her 
 father only. When she struck into " Nearer, my 
 God, to Thee," Sam's tenor and Henry's bass were 
 ready. It was considered a great treat in Coven 
 try to hear the cousins sing. . Uncle Ben had a 
 tenor voice. It cracked frequently, indeed, and 
 became at some points a husky whisper, but he 
 always sang on undiscouraged. 
 
 " I think," said the medium, after the singing 
 had ceased, having proved of no avail, "I think 
 I must tell you what they whisper to me. There's 
 somebody here who is a real sceptic, and she 
 breaks the circle." 
 
 Uncle Ben knew well enough who it must be. 
 The look of genuine grief, which was heart-break 
 ing to his daughter, stole over his face. Seeing 
 it, Maria herself hung her head. In that minute 
 of feeling herself the cause of his pain, she would 
 willingly have bound herself hand and foot to 
 spiritualism, if that could have been possible. 
 
 " Maria, I think's likely they mean you. P'raps 
 you'd better set back ti little till we get started ! "
 
 36 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " Yes, father ;" and Maria retired to the corner of 
 the room. 
 
 " They say there's too much vitality in the 
 room ; it draws from the medium," went on the 
 professor after another pause. "They are not 
 able to manifest themselves when there is so great 
 a flow of animal magnetism." 
 
 " That's you, boys, I'm afraid," said Uncle Ben, 
 shaking his head with disappointment. " I guess 
 you'd better set back a little too." 
 
 The boys pushed their chairs back somewhat 
 sulkily, and went over to join Maria where she'sat 
 stroking the cat. There was a chivalrous pleasure 
 in being her companion in disgrace. Henry shook 
 his fist at the medium's back and deftly executed 
 a grimace, at both of which Maria smiled and then 
 did her duty by frowning. 
 
 " Ah, this is better. The air is clearer ! " After 
 a series of twitches and noddings, "No, no, it's 
 of no use. The medium is exhausted and they 
 won't use him to-night." Professor Riker came to 
 himself, and Uncle Ben took his hands from the 
 table with a sigh. 
 
 "Well, well, too bad ! Can't be helped, though ! 
 It'll all come right another time. Boys, you're 
 too strong by half, and Maria, she's got a doubtin' 
 spirit." 
 
 "Miss Maria is a repellent force," said the pro-
 
 THE PROFESSOR ARRIVES. 37 
 
 fessor, "and a concentrated one, owing to her 
 being so entirely individualized." 
 
 " The cat's foot ! " said Miss Maria boldly, for 
 her father had gone out of the room. 
 
 Aunt Lomie discreetly rolled up her knitting 
 and drew her two giants away before they burst 
 into loud guffaws of approval. 
 
 366224
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THE INITIAL STEP. 
 
 TT was Maria's first consolatory thought, in the 
 -*- morning, that the medium must take his leave 
 in a few hours ; but it was not so to be. At break 
 fast her father announced, with a sort of apologetic 
 delight, that the professor had decided to remain 
 until the afternoon train. While Maria was about 
 her work she heard a busy hum of conversation 
 in the sitting-room, conversation always quenched 
 by her entrance. That was not a suspicious cir 
 cumstance ; it was but natural that Eiker should 
 avoid wasting pearls within her sceptical hearing. 
 
 To enter the room when Len was admitted and 
 the three sat in conclave, revealed the fact that 
 Professor Eiker was offering to take the boy away 
 with him, "for development." 
 
 " It's a great offer," said Uncle Ben ; " my old 
 Adam seems to stan' in the way, that's all. Self 
 ish, you know, we all are, an' I can't seem to 
 make up my mind to partin' with the boy. Some 
 how I've been growin' into the feelin' that he was 
 goin' to do for Maria an' me in our old age." 
 
 "True, my dear sir, true," said the medium. 
 " We all have those impulses, which are, as you 
 
 38
 
 THE INITIAL STEP. 39 
 
 say, selfish. But you wouldn't stand in the way 
 of the cause ? You wouldn't hinder Leonard from 
 making his fortune and having his name printed 
 all over the world ? " 
 
 " 'Tain't that ; we've got enough to do with, an' 
 after I'm gone Maria'd see that Lenny shouldn't 
 suffer. An' gettin' his name up ain't no temptation. 
 Why, you don't 'spose I don't know this great rev 
 elation ain't intended for us poor creatur's to make 
 ourselves whole with ! I ain't got such a miserable 
 spirit as that. It's missin' the boy I mind." 
 
 " He shall come home two or three times a year ; 
 more, even," said the other, glibly. "Why, you 
 won't lose sight of him ! Think how safe you'll 
 feel about him, knowing he is travelling about 
 with me." 
 
 "Yes, yes, that's so. Lenny, how is it; what 
 say ? Do you want to go ? " 
 
 The boy sat between the two, turning his gaze 
 from one to the other as they spoke, his face show 
 ing only absolute awe and admiration when his 
 eyes rested on the stranger, and a kind of boyish, 
 blubbering sorrow in meeting those of his old 
 friend. 
 
 "I like him," ho said shyly, " and last night the 
 lady come, and she said I was going away." 
 
 " That settles it ! " said the old farmer solemnly, 
 and at once ; " with you he goes. 'Tain't for me to 
 withstan' them that knows more'n I do. Now
 
 40 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 'tain't because I don't have faith in you, sir, but 
 I should like to know jest about what you'll do 
 with him, so't I can say to myself, one day after 
 another, Lenny's doin' so an' so." 
 
 " Well," and the medium, who was leaning 
 back in his chair, put his hands in his pockets, "I 
 shall take him about with me wherever I go. I 
 shan't require him to do anything, but just place 
 him wholly among spiritual influences, where he 
 can develop unconsciously as a flower opens in the 
 sun." 
 
 "Yes, yes ! " s.aid his host eagerly. "Like the 
 grass-seed comes up in the spring ; you know how 
 that is, Lenny. An' when he develops, then 
 you'll set him to work ? " 
 
 "Yes ; then he'll see people, and begin to make 
 begin to do good." 
 
 " The Lord grant it ! " said the old man fervently. 
 " The Lord bless the sproutin' an' the comin' up 
 an' the bearin' fruit. Lenny, you don't know how 
 favorable things are goin' to be for you. Now 
 my spiritual experience was born out of great 
 tribulation." 
 
 "Ah? How was that?" 
 
 "I was brought up strict. We used to hear 
 hell preached every week, an' gran'ther'd mention 
 it every mornin' when he prayed. Well, it sort 
 o' wore on me. Long before I was as old as Len 
 here, I used to be out hoein' near the road some-
 
 THE INITIAL STEP. 41 
 
 times, and when one neighbor an' another'd go by 
 I'd say to myself, He drinks ; he'll go to hell. He 
 ain't a professor ; he'll go to hell. An' one day 
 it come over me, Ben Adams, you ain't been con 
 verted, and you'll go to hell. That made it seem 
 kind o' personal." 
 
 " Yes, I should think likely. You don't mind 
 my using my note-book? Now go on." 
 
 " Well, I read Revelations till my hair stood on 
 end. You know sometimes you can't help readin' 
 the things that scare you, over'n over. It don't 
 seem to me I slep' much. One night I was awake, 
 starin' into the dark an' wonderin' if I should die 
 before light, when it come into my head all at 
 once, 'the angel rolled away the stone.' I don't 
 know how it comforted me, but it did, an' I went 
 to sleep sayin' it over an' o\er. The next mornin' 
 when I got up it was bright sunlight, an' I went 
 to the door an' looked right up to the sky an' says, 
 out loud, Lord, if you punish me for it, I can't 
 help it, an' I'll bear it ; but as long as I live, I ain't 
 agoin' to think one o' thy creaturs will be de 
 stroyed." 
 
 "But how did you get from that to spiritual 
 ism?" 
 
 "Well, I kep' thinkin' of them that had died, 
 an' wonderin' where they were an' what they were 
 doin' ; an' a good many years after, I got hold of 
 a newspaper with the doin's of the Fox girls in
 
 42 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 New York ; an' that cleared up my mind, so't I 
 ain't doubted since." 
 
 " How did your friends take it ? " 
 
 " Oh, I kep' still an' thought the harder, till I 
 got more light. The first circle I went to was 
 over to Creighton, an' I got great tests. Look 
 here, this is the first test I ever got : one night 
 there was a spirit come that said his name was 
 Bonnivard, an' that he'd been put in prison ; seemed 
 to want to be recognized, but we'd none of us 
 ever heard of him. When I got home I kep' 
 studyin' on it, but I knew if I'd ever known such 
 \ queer name I should ha' remembered it. I went 
 to the minister an' asked him if he knew ; an' he 
 said there was a man named so died in Switzer 
 land over three hunderd year ago. Now wa'n't 
 that wonderful ? The medium didn't know about 
 him, an' we didn't ; an' there he come an' spelled 
 his name out I " 
 
 The professor smiled, saying rather dryly, if 
 that unctuous manner could ever be dry, that it 
 was all very convincing. 
 
 " Well, it stan's to reason there should be a new 
 revelation," went on the old man, after a pause. 
 " 'Taint likely the Lord would give all He'd got to 
 give, an' stop there. 'Taint in reason He shouldn't 
 keep any truth on hand by Him." 
 
 " So you are perfectly convinced, and never have 
 any doubts?"
 
 THE INITIAL STEP. 43 
 
 "No, I don't have any doubts, but I keep on 
 lookin' into it all the time. Truth's a mighty 
 queer thing, sir ! You think you've got her, an' 
 set down an' go to sleep ; an' when you wake up, 
 she's run away. Truth's a good deal like a puppy 
 that ain't got wonted to you." 
 
 The stranger again used his note-book, behind 
 the family Bible. 
 
 " No, no ! an' I don't by any means think I've 
 got at the whole on't yet. The Baptists have got 
 some, an' the Methodists ; on'y we've got the 
 newest revelation, an' they '11 come to it sometime. 
 We ain't all on us ready for it yet. But I guess 
 Maria's ready for some short wood. No, Lenny, 
 I'll go ; I've got to speak to her." 
 
 "If you would allow me to suggest," said the 
 medium, placing a detaining hand on his shoul 
 der, " Miss Maria should not be told until Leonard 
 is gone. I heard her say she should spend the 
 afternoon away, and I think she would ob 
 ject." 
 
 "No, Maria won't like it, but I shall tell her 
 now ; I can't be underhand with Maria," said 
 Uncle Ben, and, going into the kitchen, he made 
 the story short. The door between the two rooms 
 had been closed, and it was from pity only that he 
 lowered his voice. He was sorry for her. 
 
 " Father," said Maria, stopping short in rolling 
 pastry, " father, you can't mean to do that ! "
 
 44 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "Now, Maria, if you could on'y think 'twas for 
 his good ; if you could on'y believe 'twas the Lord 
 speakin'." 
 
 " The Lord ! The " began Maria, and then 
 
 closed her lips, rolling crust energetically for a 
 second. Then she put down her pin and wiped 
 her hands on her apron, an action according well 
 with her disordered frame of mind. "Father, I 
 wasn't going to say anything more against him, 
 seeing he was going away so soon, but that 
 that man in there is a humbug and a hypocrite." 
 
 " Now, now," said her father, soothingly, " don't 
 let your heart be hardened to think such things of 
 your fellow bein's." 
 
 "And you're responsible for Len, father. 
 You've took him from the poor-house, and if he 
 goes to ruin, who'll be to blame? And ruin him 
 that man will ! It'll be easy, too ; some ways Len 
 ain't more'n half-witted." 
 
 "He must leave father and mother, an' the 
 Lord'll provide for him. It's hard, Maria, but we 
 must give him up." 
 
 Maria stood an instant looking into the bare 
 branches of the chestnut trees, where a flock of 
 snow-birds were twittering. Then she took up her 
 rolling-pin, and went stolidly to work. " All right, 
 pa, I shan't say any more." 
 
 One question only did she ask, " When is he 
 going, father?"
 
 THE INITIAL STEP. 45 
 
 "To-night, with the professor. He seems to 
 think it'll be better." 
 
 "Well, I've got half a dozen shirts to make 
 him. He's got enough now, but they're wore 
 thin. If he should wait a week, seem's if he could 
 go fitted out better." 
 
 But the professor, on being consulted, thought 
 it would be better not ; in fact it would be impos 
 sible to leave him. In a week or two he should 
 be on an extended lecture tour, and should want 
 Leonard's company. Naturally he did not state 
 that, if he should leave him, he feared Maria's 
 influence. The day was a hurry of packing. 
 Luckily the boy's clothes were in perfect condition, 
 and his china-blue eyes danced when the professor 
 casually remarked that he should buy him a ready- 
 made suit when they reached town. No one but 
 the medium made a dinner that day. Maria, re 
 marking shortly that she must "see to the pies," 
 left the table and was seen no more. 
 
 When Len was dressed in his Sunday best, 
 looking more than ever like a" fat-cheeked squirrel 
 in holiday attire, she took him aside into her own 
 room. 
 
 " Now, Lenny, if you don't have a good time 
 if it's hard if he (O Lord ! I mustn't make 
 him suspicious and miserable," she said to her 
 self) "well, if things ain't pleasant, they ain't 
 always, you know, and you want to come home,
 
 4f> FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 you privately put a letter into the post for me, 
 and I'll send you the money to come with. And 
 if you're sick, you send to me just the same, and 
 I'll be there in a jiffy. Understand? 
 
 " Yes," said the boy, a suspicious choking in his 
 voice. "I wisht I hadn't got to go. Do you 
 s'pose he'll buy me a suit ? " 
 
 " I don't know anything about suits, but, Lenny, 
 did you say you didn't want to go ? " 
 
 "I I guess I do," said the boy, the glories of 
 possible checkered trousers looming up before him. 
 " I guess I'll try it." So Miss Maria hardened her 
 heart to hope, and sped the travellers. 
 
 " You'll have to tell us where to direct to you," 
 she said, loftily, to nobody in particular, when 
 they had gone down to the kitchen. " I shall 
 want to send Len some shirts. Thank the Lord, 
 they'll fit nobody but him !" she added, in not too 
 low an aside, when her father left the room. 
 
 Hiker was deaf to innuendoes. Perhaps if he 
 had not treated her with such indulgent gravity, 
 Maria might have been better able to endure him. 
 She had her interview with him before he left, 
 however, calling him back when her father and 
 Len had gone out to the wagon. 
 
 "Now there's no need of thinking I don't see 
 through you, inspiration and all. I do ! " 
 
 " I am glad," said the professor, looking up from 
 his glove-buttoning, with an expression of frank
 
 THE INITIAL STEP. 47 
 
 innocence; "you can't find much to disapprove 
 of." 
 
 "I know just what sort of a wolf in sheep's 
 clothing you are likely to be. Now if any harm 
 conies to the boy through you, you'll be sorry ! " 
 
 "I certainly shall," said Hiker, smiling slightly. 
 
 " I mean I'll make you sorry ! " cried Maria, ex 
 asperated beyond bounds. "If there's any law in 
 the land, I'll make you suffer ! Oh, go along, go 
 along ; I don't want to talk to you ! " and the pro 
 fessor lifted his hat and went, with the same grace 
 which had encircled his arrival. 
 
 At the station, Uncle Ben, who on the way had 
 addressed his remarks exclusively to the horse, 
 pressed a dingy roll into Hiker's hand. " 'Tain't 
 much," he whispered, " but you know you spoke 
 of that suit for Len, an' you didn't get much for 
 your lecture. Admission don't count up much, 
 an' I want you to be paid ; it's a great thing for 
 us to have a speaker. Lenny, I guess I'll go. 
 Dolly'll want to get home ! " and in an inextricable 
 confusion of blessing and sorrow, he had clambered 
 into the wagon and lashed old Dolly so suddenly 
 at starting, that that sober animal threw up her 
 heels in a very coltish fashion, before settling down 
 to her ordinary gait. 
 
 That night Leonard slept in a room which seemed 
 to him a marvel of splendor. There was no 
 vacant place in Hiker's own boarding-house, and
 
 48 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 he had left the boy at a near hotel, where he called 
 in the morning to take him to breakfast. Len 
 was too bewildered to eat, but sat, with open- 
 mouthed awe, watching Eiker break his egg. 
 
 " Now we shall have to talk a little about busi 
 ness," said the medium, after his first roll. " How is 
 it about this lady of yours ? Do you see her often ? " 
 
 "Almost every night," said the boy, whispering, 
 in fear of disturbing the waiters. 
 
 " What does she talk about? " 
 
 "Oh, I don't know ; all sorts of things." 
 
 "Well, now," said the professor, insinuatingly, 
 " suppose I should fit up a nice room for you, and 
 put your name printed on the door, Professor 
 Sparrow (you're a professor now, remember ; I've 
 made you one). Suppose I should put up that 
 black-and-gilt sign, and people should come and 
 ask your advice ? " The sign and the title were 
 mightily taking ; the advice struck Len as an 
 unknown quantity. "Then they would come in, 
 and you would shut your eyes and try and see the 
 lady. You could sec her almost any time with 
 your eyes shut, couldn't you?" 
 
 "I don't know ; I never tried." 
 
 " Well, you must try when you have your office. 
 And you'll say to the people, ' I see an old lady,' 
 and tell just how she looks; and when they ask 
 questions of you, you'll tell them whatever she 
 seems to say."
 
 THE INITIAL STEP. 49 
 
 " But s'posin' she shouldn't say anything ? " 
 
 "She must. You must make her," answered 
 Riker, with meaning. 
 
 " But I don't know how I could," rejoined the 
 other, distressed. 
 
 " Stupid ! " muttered the medium, under his 
 breath ; but presently his lips parted with a very 
 engaging smile. " I guess she will talk if she 
 remembers you can't go on being a professor unless 
 she does. Then, by and by, you might get to 
 seeing other people, and giving them names in 
 your mind, not last names, but good, easy first 
 names, such as Mary and John ; and when people 
 came to you, you could say, * I see Mary,' or, ' I 
 see John,' 'Mary wants you to know she is happy, 
 and is waiting for you.' That's all easy enough, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Is that all I've got to do?" asked the boy, his 
 very cheeks shining with delight as well as fatness. 
 But his face fell. " And what if I can't see 'em ? " 
 he said again. 
 
 " You must ! " answered the professor, fixing a 
 narrowed gaze on him, across the table. "Oh, 
 you don't know what talents you have ! " he went 
 on quickly. "Why, I never saw a young fel 
 low with such chances ! It won't be three years 
 before you'll be a rich man, and then you can 
 go home to Uncle Ben and buy him a smart 
 horse and build him a new house, and give that
 
 50 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 lovely Miss Maria bless her ! a handsome silk 
 dress." 
 
 No wonder Len was quite intoxicated with joy. 
 
 " I shall be in again and give you something to 
 do," said Biker as he left him. "I'm going to 
 find a room where you can live ; you'll always go 
 to your meals with me." 
 
 In the course of the forenoon he was back again, 
 bringing a set of printed slips which he proceeded 
 to pin on some sheets of paper. 
 
 " Now," he said when that was finished, placing 
 them before Len, " I want you to learn these. You 
 never went to school much, you know, and you 
 must have an education. Learning these will help 
 you to use good language when you go into society. 
 Get one perfectly, and try saying it over with your 
 eyes shut, before you read another." 
 
 He left Len droningly reading them over to him 
 self. One of the extracts is a fair specimen of the 
 whole : 
 
 " I have been some time in the spirit land. I 
 am beginning to progress slowly, and hope soon 
 to enter another sphere. Dear friend, I am always 
 near you."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AT MISS PHEBE'S. 
 
 ~VT EARLY a year after the fall when Leonard 
 -*-^ began his education in Boston, a boarding- 
 house at the West End received an expected 
 arrival. A young man and woman were shown 
 into the hall, where they waited, somewhat uncer 
 tainly, while the trim maid-servant went, as she 
 announced, to call Miss Phebe. 
 
 " It looks clean," whispered the girl. " I 
 thought boarding-houses were always dirty." 
 
 " Didn't she show you into the parlor ? " came a 
 great fresh voice up the basement stairs, in ad 
 vance of a very tall woman. * I declare, a new 
 girl always acts as if she was just born, and hadn't 
 an idea of how things went in this world ! Glad 
 to see you. I'll have your trunks carried right 
 up," she went on. "I suppose a hackrnan wouldn't 
 carry up a trunk if his eternal salvation depended 
 on it. I'll show you your rooms now." 
 
 The girl's bedroom, up one flight, was a clean 
 little nest of a place, opening into a larger sitting- 
 room. 
 
 "Your sleeping-room is upstairs," said Miss 
 Phebe to the brother. " I'll show it to you in a 
 
 51
 
 52 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 jiffy." She stopped to run her finger along the 
 mantel, and looked keenly at the member. " She 
 did dust, then ; I'm surprised. Strange that I 
 can't teach a girl to turn the handles of the pitch 
 ers out," she added, giving the water-jug a twist 
 in passing. "Supper at six, down stairs." 
 
 Before that time, Bernard, ready for tea, ran 
 down to his sister's room, to find her sitting on her 
 trunk, in an attitude of rather disconsolate medi 
 tation. 
 
 "Well," he said, closing the door, "what do 
 you think, Sarah?" 
 
 " Everything is in beautiftu order, Miss 
 Phebe is queer, and I've got a lump in my 
 throat." She rose with a little defiant toss at the 
 last admission, and began brushing her dress. 
 
 "Oh, no, dear, no," said Bernard, putting a 
 hand on her shoulder. "No, we'll have a good 
 time. Be a man, Sarah ! " 
 
 " So I will ! " turning her head with a kind of 
 resolute shame, to let him see the teardrops 
 through which she was smiling. " There's a bell. 
 Come. Oh, how I hate to meet the other board 
 ers ! I wonder if we have to be introduced all 
 round ! " 
 
 Miss Phebe was at the head of the table, and 
 gave them seats near her. They had time to notice 
 that she was a very bony woman with a long face, 
 which irresistibly suggested a horse.
 
 AT MISS PHEBE'S. 53 
 
 " Just give me a hint as to your name," she 
 whispered in a loud aside. "Ellis?" 
 
 Sarah was conscious that she was being intro 
 duced to Mr. Mann and Miss Reynolds, and won 
 dered afterwards if she had bowed in the wrong 
 direction, and how Bernard had got through with 
 it. Then there was silence, and a clatter of cups. 
 
 "I wonder how Miss Gale is," came an even 
 voice from the other end of the table, belonging 
 to a white face and very smooth, black hair ; this 
 must be Miss Reynolds. 
 
 " She's had a hard day," answered the hostess, 
 solemnly. "Miss Linora's to be pitied, if any 
 body ever was. Mr. Mann, do you think she's 
 having a harder time than usual?" The tone 
 suggested the inference that Mr. Mann was re 
 sponsible for the suffering absent one, a tone 
 which he evidently resented. 
 
 " I'm sure I couldn't say," he answered dryly, 
 at which Miss Phebe looked at him with great 
 severity. 
 
 Sarah glanced up too, to find him a young 
 man, blond and handsome, but with an irritating 
 weariness of face and manner. 
 
 "I wish that poor child had more friends, and I 
 wish what she had would be true to her," announced 
 Miss Phebe, apparently to nobody ; adding imme 
 diately, " Sh-sh, she's coming ! " 
 
 She was a little thing in a suit of dove-gray,
 
 54 FOOLS OF NATUKE. 
 
 with a pale Madonna-like face, and smooth brown 
 hair. Her mouth had a droop, her eyes were cast 
 down, and their fringes were like shadows of a 
 grief. Sarah longed to immolate herself at once 
 in service as to a maiden dolorous. Miss Phebe 
 left her own place to draw out the girl's chair, and 
 seated her in it with a little pat on the shoulder. 
 Miss Gale acknowledged the introduction to the 
 two strangers with a sweet little smile and a lifting 
 of her gray eyes. Then Sarah lost her timidity 
 in watching Miss Phebe serve the new-comer, 
 ordering for her a peculiarly strong libation of tea 
 and a hot supply of dry toast. Conversation 
 languished, and, the meal over, everybody with 
 drew to his own room. 
 
 Bernard had run up stairs, to go to his sister's 
 sitting-room later. Busy in unpacking, Sarah 
 heard a little rap which could be only his, and 
 called " Come in ! " without lifting her head from 
 the trunk-tray. 
 
 "I wonder if I shall intrude," came a soft 
 voice from the door. It was the dove-colored 
 Linora. 
 
 " Oh dear me ! Excuse me ; come in," said 
 Sarah, flushing brightly. "Everything is scat 
 tered about ; only wait till I can clear a chair." 
 
 "No," said the celestial sort of visitor, putting 
 her hand on the other girl's shoulder and arresting 
 her. "No, I only want to say a word. I like
 
 AT MISS PHEBE'S. 55 
 
 you so much ; I like your face, and your eyes are 
 so good. You will be a great comfort to me." 
 
 Before Sarah could do more than laugh and 
 blush a little, Linora had risen on tiptoe to deposit 
 a kiss on her cheek, and was gone. When Ber 
 nard came in Sarah did not tell him. Everything 
 about Miss Linora seemed so mysteriously confi 
 dential that she began now to feel herself in the 
 secret. 
 
 " What shall you do in the morning, Bernard ? " 
 she asked, as they said good-night. 
 
 "Go to the library and begin to read. You 
 won't be lonesome if I do ? " 
 
 "No, for I shall go with you," with a little 
 grimace which Bernard loved, for it never came 
 except when she was at least moderately happy. 
 
 " Sarah, there's one thing," he said, coming 
 back. "I wish you wouldn't tell any one I'm not 
 your own brother." 
 
 " Of course not. Why should I ? " 
 
 It had never seemed to weigh on Bernard that 
 he was an adopted son, although he had been de 
 voted to his second mother. Perhaps he was too 
 jealously fond of Sarah to care to pass as a brother 
 merely ; it was better to hold at once the rights of 
 a brother and friend. There was no mystery 
 about his parentage. Mrs. Ellis had offered to 
 tell him all about it when he came of a suitable 
 age, and he had refused, for some reason inexplica-
 
 56 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 ble to himself. So she put the bare facts on paper 
 and gave it to him ; a paper which he had never 
 been tempted to read. 
 
 There was unlikeness enough between him and 
 Sarah to suggest some freak of nature, if they 
 had come of the same parents. Sarah was brown- 
 eyed and brown-haired, with a stain of red on the 
 cheeks ; Bernard's face was heavy, his head large, 
 almost overtopping his slight frame ; his hair, a 
 mat of yellow with a shade of drab, was combed 
 back from the great forehead, and he had a way 
 of throwing back his head when he walked which 
 was suggestive of seeing only the sky. He was 
 here to read in connection with a book he meant 
 to publish for children, stories from all the 
 mythologies ; Sarah, because her mother had died 
 six months before, and she had no one in the 
 world nearer her heart than Bernard. They had 
 heard of Miss Phebe through acquaintances, and 
 here the two country mice were established. 
 
 Bernard went to the library in the morning, but 
 Sarah stayed behind. 
 
 "Would you let me come and sit with you a 
 little while this morning?" whispered Linora, as 
 they came up from breakfast. " Or, if your un 
 packing isn't done yet, come to me." Sarah ran 
 down to the little lady's apartments. These were 
 two large rooms, running over with luxuries of 
 furnishing and littered with bric-a-brac.
 
 AT MISS PHEBE'S. 57 
 
 "Come to the fire," said Linora, drawing an 
 easy-chair to the grate and placing a footstool 
 beside it for herself, where she sat clasping her 
 knees and looking up to Sarah with a childlike 
 seriousness. "Now talk." 
 
 " But what shall I talk about ? " said the other 
 girl, not so much embarrassed now as amused. 
 
 "About yourself." 
 
 "I'd rather talk about you." 
 
 " No," said Linora, the corners of her mouth 
 drooping again. " There's nothing but trouble 
 when you come to me." 
 
 Sarah was thereupon angry with herself for her 
 stupidity. It seemed coarseness at which Linora 
 might reasonably be disgusted. 
 
 " There's one thing I wanted to speak of," she 
 said, veering in haste. "Your name how 
 pretty it is ! " 
 
 " Do you think so ? That isn't all of it, though. 
 Don't laugh, now ; they named me Eleonora. 
 Think of that, little me ! 1 knew you'd laugh." 
 
 " Who changed it?" asked Sarah, venturing to 
 stroke the brown head. 
 
 " Well, they nicknamed me variously at first. 
 Once it was Norah, but that's red-cheeked and 
 Irish ; then it was Leo, for little me again ! 
 But when I grew up enough to realize the emer 
 gency, I took matters into my own hands. If you 
 like the name, will you use it?"
 
 58 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "Why, if you let me." Linora gave Sarah's 
 little finger, which she was caressing, a soft little 
 kiss. 
 
 "Now how shall I entertain you?" she asked. 
 
 "Tell me about the people in the house." 
 
 "Well, there's Miss Phebe, she's pure gold : 
 there's Miss Reynolds, born to make mischief; 
 and Mr. Mann, I don't know what to say about 
 Mr. Mann." 
 
 " You know him better than you do the rest," 
 thought Sarah. " What does Miss Reynolds do ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Collects her dividends chiefly, and also collects 
 personal items about her acquaintances. If she 
 tells you I am an offspring of evil, don't believe 
 her." 
 
 V 
 
 " Not I ! " with another stroke of the brown head. 
 
 "About Mr. Mann," Linora went on, reflect 
 ively, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't 
 know, yes, I think I'd better tell you. Mr. 
 Mann hasn't been quite kind to me. I was in 
 great trouble when I first came here. He was, or 
 I thought so, a firm friend. Why, he called him 
 self my brother. But he changed. I have thought 
 since that he only likes new people, new things ! " 
 
 Sarah had one throb of compassion for her new 
 friend, to ten of indignation at the recreant knight. 
 
 " Perhaps I'd better tell you everything, if we 
 are to be friends," said Linora, after another pause
 
 AT MISS PHEBE'S. 59 
 
 of gazing abstractedly at the coals. " Would it 
 bore-you to hear all about me ? " 
 
 " Oh, if you could trust me as much as that ! " 
 
 "Anybody would after seeing your face, my 
 dear. You will find me sad so many times, that 
 I'd rather you should know just why. My mother 
 and father are dead, and my uncle has charge of 
 my property ; that's considerable, by the way. My 
 uncle does not care for me, and it only bores him 
 to have me with him ; and as he is travelling most 
 of the time , I drift about wherever I can . I heard of 
 Miss Phebe through a friend of hers, Mrs. Win 
 ter the singer, you know, and I felt as if I could 
 come here in her charge without a chaperone." 
 
 Sarah's assent was slightly perplexed ; she had 
 not been bred on the tradition of the necessity of 
 chaperones. 
 
 "Once I had a voice, a contralto. It showed 
 the most flattering prospect of developing, and I 
 was going on the operatic stage. Singing was 
 life ; looking forward to my profession was my 
 heaven ! " She told her story well. Doubtless 
 she had the dramatic instinct. " While I was study 
 ing, I met a young priest. I was interested in 
 Catholicism then, and once I went to confession. 
 We met often after that. We fell in love with 
 each other." 
 
 Sarah scarcely dared breathe, fearing to disturb 
 the sacred stillness of the air.
 
 60 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " Think what that meant for him ! lie could 
 not marry. There were his vows on one side, his 
 God, his sacred calling ; there was I on the other. 
 We gave each other up a thousand times ; a thou 
 sand times we met and swore fidelity. Sometimes 
 he gave up his priesthood and chose me. Then 
 we were happy ; but by the time I saw him again, 
 his conscience had begun to gnaw him, and we 
 had the same struggle to go through from the 
 beginning. I was not strong. I could not help 
 him give me up ; I was too much a woman." Her 
 voice failed in tears. " At last, one day, he swore 
 it should end ; he would marry me, and I was to 
 meet him to have the ceremony performed. I 
 went, and waited hours at the appointed place ; 
 finally a letter came that bade me good-by ; he 
 could not break his vows to the Church. I had 
 gone through too much, and that last blow crushed 
 me. I fainted, and, days after, when I tried to 
 sing, my voice was gone ! " 
 
 Sarah sat speechless and still, clasping her hands 
 in her lap. She was sure if she tried to utter a 
 word it would only result in a sob. 
 
 " That is the end," said Linora at last, looking 
 up pitifully through tears. "I have not seen him 
 since. I lost my lover and my voice at one blow. 
 What is there left for me? " 
 
 " If I could make any difference," said Sarah, 
 timidly, after a long silence. "I know it sounds
 
 AT MISS PHEBE'S. 61 
 
 presuming ; but I could be trusted if I couldn't 
 do any real good ! " 
 
 " My dear, you're just the friend I've always 
 needed," said Linora. In consequence of which 
 assertion Sarah felt a thousand times more at home 
 in her new surroundings by the time Bernard came 
 back. 
 
 "What luck? Ship-ahoy!" she called to him 
 as he came up, waiting at the head of the stairs. 
 
 " You never saw so many books in your life ! " 
 said Bernard, out of breath. " You must go to 
 morrow. But, Sarah, my book has been writ 
 ten." 
 
 " It has ? What shall we do ? Go on writing ? " 
 
 "No, give it up and read. I don't want to 
 work ; I want to browse." 
 
 Sarah only told her brother that she found Miss 
 Linora charming, and his own acquaintance with 
 her amounted to little more than an interchange 
 of the ordinary civilities of life. The two girls 
 were almost constantly together, and Bernard 
 wondered a little that Sarah was not more ready 
 to go out with him. The wonder did not last, 
 however ; he was too busy among the books. 
 
 "You would scarcely believe me, I'm afraid, if 
 I told you where I get great comfort," said Lin 
 ora, one day. Almost their entire conversation 
 had some bearing on her own afflictions. "In 
 spiritualism. Yes, I was afraid it would shock
 
 62 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 you. My dear, you don't know. I went first to 
 ask about my voice. They gave me hope of its 
 coming back." 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad ! That is, I should be if I 
 believed in it ; but how can it be true ? It shocks 
 me ; it is vulgar for people who have died to come 
 back to tip tables." 
 
 "Ah, those arc only the first coarse manifesta 
 tions ; we are beyond that now. I see ! you have 
 the common idea. What should you say if a 
 medium should talk to you in the voice of your 
 own mother and say things she would say ? " 
 
 " Don't ! " cried Sarah, with a quick backward 
 motion of her hands, the tears springing into her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Forgive me ! I wouldn't wound you for any 
 thing. But go with me sometime ; go to Madame 
 Swift's." 
 
 They were standing at Sarah's door when 
 Stephen Mann passed them on his way up stairs. 
 Five minutes after, when Sarah was alone, some 
 one knocked at her door. She opened it to find Mr. 
 Mann, evidently a little embarrassed ; it was the 
 first time he had offered to exchange a word with 
 
 O 
 
 her, beyond a good-morning. 
 
 " You must excuse me for overhearing you, but 
 I couldn't help it. Are you going to see a medium 
 with Miss Gale?" 
 
 "I haven't decided," said Sarah, telling a lie as
 
 AT MISS PIIEBE'S. 63 
 
 a species of loyalty. He was Linora's enemy, 
 therefore he was hers. 
 
 " You may think I'm interfering, it is interfer 
 ence ; but I shouldn't advise you to go. In fact, 
 I should advise you not." 
 
 "You mean if there were a question of your 
 advising at all," said Sarah, bitingly, and feeling 
 a little ashamed of herself in consequence. 
 
 "Exactly; but I mean for Miss Linora's sake, 
 you know ; of course I shouldn't presume to inter 
 fere with you. It excites her ; it's very bad for 
 her." 
 
 Sarah softened in spite of herself. Perhaps he 
 was misunderstood, after all, and not as false as 
 circumstances painted him. 
 
 " I see ; and I didn't really mean to go," she 
 said, smiling grudgingly. Ought she to smile, 
 after all? 
 
 " And you won't say anything to Miss Gale ? 
 She might think I'd no business to feel inter 
 ested." 
 
 " Yes, I see ; " and Sarah withdrew into her room 
 to wonder if she could play peacemaker. His 
 face was marvellously changed by its smile ; made 
 radiant as some few faces are. 
 
 That night Bernard gleefully produced tickets 
 to the Mozart Club. " Mann gave them to me ; 
 he's a member." 
 
 "I didn't know you were acquainted with him,"
 
 64 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 said Sarah, looking at the tempting slips, and won 
 dering if she ought to accept her enemy's favor. 
 
 " I've been getting acquainted while you and 
 Miss Gale have been, colloquing. He's a good 
 fellow; handsome and musical, and all that. He's 
 a tenor, too. Did you ever imagine an attractive 
 chap singing bass ? " 
 
 "An attractive chap may have no voice at all, 
 dear raven ! " 
 
 ' The raven is hoarse ! ' " cried Bernard, throw 
 ing himself into an attitude. " Sometime his voice 
 will clear, and then, what melody ! "
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TAKING A PLUNGE. 
 
 A NIGHT came when a celebrated man was to 
 *"*- speak on immortality. Sarah had a great 
 longing to hear him. Half her life lay in an unseen 
 existence, where her mother dwelt. Her mood in 
 these days was not her habitual one ; her heart 
 rose in brief flashes of cheerfulness, but her 
 thoughts were too much with the dead. Something 
 haunted her, which not even Bernard suspected. 
 She was one of the people who love passionately, 
 with pain ; in whom conscience is often stricken 
 because there has been no adequate expression of 
 the love. There are such people, to whom love 
 has been in some degree violated if the torch is 
 not always flaming ; as there may have been poets 
 who grieve that the necessities of life call upon 
 them to drop from singing to speech. Did her 
 mother, one of the perfect mothers, whose un 
 derstanding was as marvellous as her silence was 
 fine, did she surely understand now, and had she 
 always understood her child's longing to serve her ? 
 When the evening came, Bernard yielded to 
 a headache, and Sarah, in spite of his protesta 
 tions, set forth alone. There was no one else to 
 
 66
 
 66 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 go with her. This was one of the days when 
 Linora betook herself to solitude in her room, and 
 was supposed by the household in general to be 
 devoting herself to grief. 
 
 Stephen Mann was drawing on his gloves at the 
 door when Sarah reached it ; it was natural enough 
 to accompany her down the steps, and his way 
 proved hers. Sarah had been in doors all day, 
 and was eager for a walk. It did occur to her 
 that Stephen might possibly drop off, until they 
 reached the Common and he took her path. He 
 was a new thing to her exceedingly ani 
 mated ; a sign, if she could have known it, that he 
 was holding himself in leash. 
 
 "You are going to Kay Street? So am I," he 
 announced. " Would you allow me to find you a 
 seat? Then I can put you in a car afterwards, 
 and that will be pleasanter than finding one your 
 self." 
 
 Sarah hesitated an instant to wonder if this 
 would be proper in the city. It would in the 
 country, and Mr. Mann was so fine a gentleman 
 that he might be trusted to know. Then the city 
 itself still frightened her, like a monstrous animal, 
 and she never knew which way the car she wanted 
 ought to go. So she agreed ; and Stephen, with 
 the air of having tossed some doubt and apprehen 
 sion to the winds, ran on in a scamper of conver 
 sation. Sarah had at the bottom of her reasons
 
 TAKING A PLUNGE. 67 
 
 for saying yes, or was it a surface bubble ? a 
 thought of Linora and her own possible mission as 
 peacemaker. She would broach the subject pres 
 ently. 
 
 The sermon that night was no revelation to 
 her ; it only responded like an ecstatic chorus to 
 her own certainty of eternal life. She was one of 
 those fortunate souls who never really doubt it. 
 At the close, the choir melted into a sweet con 
 firmation of the preacher's wisdom. The tenor 
 pierced through it like a bugle note, ecstatic, 
 triumphant, a conquering Michael. Sarah threw 
 back her head ; she felt like challenging the voice 
 with answering joy. It upbore the harmony, and 
 ended at a triumphant height. She could not bow 
 her head for the benediction ; it -was the natural 
 worship, for the moment, to look up into the face 
 of the Almighty. But Stephen looked at her. 
 
 " Will you ride down ? " he said, as they left the 
 church. 
 
 Sarah, quivering, and on the verge of excited 
 tears, answered hastily, "No, I must walk! that 
 is " 
 
 "No," said Stephen, his voice no more even than 
 her own. "I must walk too. Is it proved to 
 you?" he asked, when the stars and clear air had 
 calmed her. " Are you surer of being immortal ? " 
 
 " More sure than I was ? " cried the girl triumph 
 antly. " I did not need to be."
 
 68 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " Are you so positive ? " 
 
 "You may take my word for it, if you are not," 
 said Sarah, with an audacity that seemed like in 
 spiration. " I am sure, if the universe is destroyed, 
 that I shall live." 
 
 They did not speak again till, striking the Com 
 mon, Stephen stopped her to say, almost in a 
 whisper, "Look at the moon. How young she 
 seems ! A month or so ago I thought the world 
 was rather an old affair ; now I could swear it is 
 just born." 
 
 When she would have gone on he arrested her 
 again by a hand on her arm. 
 
 " Just one minute. Give me that to think," he 
 said in a husky voice. Sarah turned to look at 
 him curiously, but it occurred to her that, after 
 Linora and Miss Phebe, it must not surprise her 
 to meet any out-of-the-way type. 
 
 "Well," said Stephen, looking up from his 
 moment's meditation. "If a man has burned his 
 boats behind him, he must e'en go on. I shouldn't 
 have come out with you to-night." 
 
 "I'm sure you needn't have," said Sarah, flip 
 pant, to cover the fact that she was a little fright 
 ened. 
 
 " I suppose it must out sometime ; there's a fate 
 about such things. I love you ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ! " she cried, losing every 
 other feeling in indignation. "How dare you
 
 TAKING A PLUNGE. 69 
 
 make fun of me ? That was the way you began 
 with Linora." 
 
 " Linora be don't mention that girl's name to 
 me ! " with a sternness under which she quailed a 
 little. " And don't even think so blasphemous a 
 thing as what you said first. Does a man feel his 
 whole frame convulsed by his jokes ? I'm not so 
 dramatic." His voice was hoarse ; she felt a cur 
 rent through the arm she held, not a trembling, 
 but such a thrill as results in music from vibrating 
 atoms. "There! It's said," he went on dryly. 
 "Now, having made a donkey of myself, I'll stop. 
 Doubtless I shall feel better after the disclosure, 
 though you probably won't speak to me to-morrow. 
 I don't suppose that, by any chance, you are at 
 this moment madly in love with me ? " The specu 
 lation in his tone was sufficient to provoke a laugh, 
 most of all from Sarah, who was nervous enough 
 for any outbreak. " No ? I thought not. Well, 
 shall you speak to me to-morrow ? " 
 
 "Yes, I hope so. Oh, don't make your voice 
 so hard ! " she cried, overcome by an irresistible 
 pity. " I don't care if you did mean it for a joke. 
 Just don't say it any more." 
 
 " So you don't feel disposed to have me decapi- 
 ated? I dare say not. A woman likes well 
 enough to see a man crawling." 
 
 " You insult me ! " flashed the girl. "You need
 
 70 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 not class me in such vile generalities. What sort 
 of women have you known ? " 
 
 "None like you," he said softly. "I know 
 what you are, though I am trying to be rough 
 to you and sneer myself into good behavior. You 
 would not like to have me incontinently stop here 
 to kiss the toe of your overshoe. I might." 
 
 "Because," Sarah went on, with an awkward 
 feeling that something must be settled, "you've 
 only known me a month. We shall be very good 
 friends, though, I feel, after we're better ac 
 quainted." Here she was a little stung by the 
 thought of Linora. 
 
 " Only a month ? I loved you the first night I 
 set eyes on you. You'll say that's a thing of 
 the senses and you'll have nothing to do with it. 
 I know your practical little hard-headedness. If 
 I were a hero in a German romance and wore my 
 soul outside, like a frock-coat, you wouldn't object 
 to my abruptness. You came, and I said, it is 
 my angel, my deliverance, my soul. No, I didn't 
 say anything ; I knelt before the altar and covered 
 my eyes." 
 
 They were almost home. Sarah was absolutely 
 overawed by the consciousness of a great fact. 
 The man might be wild, but he was talking truth ; 
 he loved her in this strange fashion. 
 
 " If you think you're to be annoyed by opening 
 your door and stumbling over me," began Stephen
 
 TAKING A PLUNGE. 71 
 
 again, lightly, "you're mistaken. I shan't sigh 
 across the table ; I shan't leave verses under your 
 plate. The world will go on and the boarders stag 
 nate in ignorance that I am your subject. But just 
 what I shall do I can't decide to-night : when I 
 do, I'll tell you." 
 
 He was fitting in his key as he finished, and let 
 Sarah in, as bewildered as humanity has capacity 
 for being. Stephen laughed, though his eyes were 
 like blue fire, quenched in suspicious moisture. 
 
 "I hope Bernard's head is better," he said, com 
 fortably, going up stairs. "Good-night, Miss 
 Ellis. I hope I haven't talked too much." 
 
 Miss Phebe was in Sarah's sitting-room, putting 
 coal on the grate. " I thought maybe 'twouldn't 
 keep till you came back," she said, without turn 
 ing, vigorously poking, and besprinkling herself 
 with ashes. " I'm glad you're getting acquainted 
 with Mr. Mann. He is as good as gold. The 
 only thing about him I ever had to complain of 
 was his treating Miss Linora so. But we can't 
 all be perfect." 
 
 Next day, at tea, Miss Phebe announced that if 
 the boarders were in no hurry she would like to see 
 them in the parlor for a few minutes. Accordingly, 
 there they assembled after the meal. Sarah had not 
 dared look at Stephen all day, but he had said 
 good-morning and offered her the butter in so un-
 
 72 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 
 
 concerned a manner that she blushed at herself for 
 having had a bad dream and one of which she was 
 
 O 
 
 ashamed. 
 
 The parlor at the boarding-house was less 
 attractive than any other room, with its stiff 
 bouquets of dried grasses and its family photo 
 graphs. 
 
 "I've been trying to make up my mind about the 
 board," said Miss Phebe, coming in at last, and 
 sitting down on a camp-stool with the air of a 
 darning-needle stuck in. 
 
 "I vote we raise the price a dollar a week," said 
 Stephen, breaking in. 
 
 "No, you needn't take the trouble," said Miss 
 Phebe, smiling at him. " The fact is, I mean to 
 give up my table." Everybody looked dismayed, 
 Miss Reynolds severe. "You know I never 
 started to keep a boarding-house, only one for 
 lodging, and you sort of persuaded me into having 
 a table; and it's too much care. I do this for 
 fun ; just to earn my living and stay in Boston. 
 I don't want to make money." 
 
 " Pm surprised ! " said Miss Reynolds, with a 
 cutting emphasis which left it in doubt whether her 
 emotion had reference to the last iact or a preced 
 ing one. "It's very inconvenient to go out for 
 meals this weather." 
 
 "There's a good table next door," said Miss 
 Phebe, with not much feeling for that particular
 
 TAKING A PLUNGE. 73 
 
 member of her family. w And I guess they've got 
 vacant rooms there, too ! ; ' 
 
 " We don't want to work Miss Phebe to death," 
 said Stephen, coming to the rescue. " We want 
 to stay with her, but we can't, so let us be good." 
 
 "Is that all? " asked Miss Reynolds, rising. 
 
 " Yes, it is ! " said the landlady, with emphasis. 
 
 "Miss Phebe, how did you happen to take 
 lodgers in the first place ? " asked Linora, getting 
 up to lead Miss Phebe over to the sofa, where she 
 sat patting the bones which stood for that lady's 
 hand. 
 
 "I needed money, bless you, for I wanted to 
 live in Boston." 
 
 " Yes, but how ? When did you come to Boston ? 
 What did you do before? " 
 
 " Well, I took care of mother ; she was para 
 lytic. Then, when she died, I came here and took 
 a house, and took singing-lessons." Stephen 
 looked up with sudden interest. " Oh, you didn't 
 think I'd had anything happen to me, did you ? " 
 sa'id Miss Phebe, with good-natured sarcasm. 
 " You thought I was only old Phebe Kane, just 
 about up to answering the bell and bringing up 
 fresh towels. I can have my history, too, as well 
 as the rest of you ! " 
 
 w I wish you would tell us about it," said Sarah, 
 shyly. 
 
 "There's nothing to tell. I sang in choir at
 
 74 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 home, and I meant to sing here. I meant to sing 
 in concerts." 
 
 " And did you ? " asked Linora, alone in not 
 fearing to stir up painful suggestions. 
 
 " Once." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "In Music Hall." 
 
 " Was it a success ? " 
 
 "No, I failed." 
 
 "OMissPhebe, why?" 
 
 " Because I was so homely." 
 
 No extreme of delicacy could have kept down 
 curiosity at this. Her audience hung on her next 
 words. 
 
 " It was an air from an opera. I shan't tell you 
 what it was. I used to feel that I was meant to go 
 on to the stage ; I couldn't help acting. That 
 night when I sang I suppose I nodded my head 
 round, and behaved like a fool generally. You 
 can guess how anything would look acted out by 
 such a face as I've got. When I got through 
 there was a titter, and all the rows I could see 
 were one broad smile. I came home and burnt 
 my music, and said to myself that no living be 
 ing should ever hear me sing again, and they 
 shan't ! " 
 
 Linora's nostrils were dilating and her mouth 
 was quivering. "O Miss Phebe, and you didn't 
 tell me, when I told you all my story ! " At which
 
 TAKING A PLUNGE. 75 
 
 remark Stephen began turning over the photograph 
 album. 
 
 "There was no call to," said Miss Phebe, 
 shortly. " What happened to you was a trial. I 
 lost my chance through my own stuffiness. There, 
 I've talked enough." 
 
 She left the room, followed by Linora, who in 
 sisted upon fondling her in sympathy, a kindness 
 Miss Phebe bore with commendable patience and 
 great awkwardness. 
 
 Bernard rose, too, to go to the library for an 
 evening's reading. With a wild fear that she was 
 to be left alone with her new and embarrassing 
 acquaintance, Sarah made her way to the door, with 
 as much dignity as could be indicated by lack of 
 haste. 
 
 " Miss Ellis," came softly from the table, just as 
 Bernard found his hat and went out. Sarah 
 looked round ; Stephen was still turning over the 
 album. " I'm very anxious to say something to 
 you, and I don't want to say it in the hall." Sarah 
 came a few steps nearer, and Stephen drew for 
 ward a chair. 
 
 " Please sit; well, then, I must stand too. I've 
 decided." 
 
 ' : About what?" 
 
 " What to do in regard to being in love with 
 you." Could mortal man be serious and yet speak 
 in so softly reflective a tone ? And yet she could
 
 76 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 not doubt him. She took one step away and then 
 paused again. " I've decided to keep on." Now he 
 was looking at her, and her eyes would not sustain 
 her in the combat. "It isn't the point as to 
 whether I keep on loving you ; that's decided for 
 me. I shall do that in my grave. But as to 
 troubling you with the tender of it, that was 
 what weighed on me." 
 
 " Well ? " said Sarah, gaining courage and mis 
 chief at the same moment. 
 
 " I have decided that I remain a suppliant till 
 you reach me a gracious hand." 
 
 " I shall never do that ! " flashed the girl, the 
 suggestion of surrender like a sting. 
 
 "Very well, then, I shall stay." 
 
 " Mr. Mann, if you say such things to me, I 
 shall be obliged to avoid you. I'll do anything 
 I'll move away from here." 
 
 Stephen looked at her with an admiring smile. 
 His eyes were dangerous in their mastery. He 
 seemed to himself dangerous. 
 
 "Are you honestly sure," he said, compelling 
 her eyes to meet his, " that you are not willing I 
 should love you ? " 
 
 A slow blush came into her cheeks and stung 
 her forehead. "No," she said at last. " I daresay 
 I like it if I don't see you. Oh, what a shame 
 ful creature I am ! " 
 
 "If you don't see me? Then I'm a monster?"
 
 TAKING A PLUNGE. 77 
 
 " How can you lead me on so ! I mean if I were 
 never to see you again." 
 
 "I understand. You'd like to have me in China, 
 wearing the willow under your feet. That cannot 
 be, unless you become a celestial citizen. Now it 
 is a very painful sort of thing to love and have no 
 expression of one's feelings ; therefore I shall not 
 be silent. To-morrow morning I shall send you 
 a rose, and you will wear it at your throat, or in 
 your hair just behind the ear." 
 
 " You may be sure I shall not," she cried, flying 
 baffled up stairs. And she kept her word, leaving 
 the great velvet creature to wither on her bureau, 
 and there it looked so pathetic that, after breakfast, 
 she put it in a glass of water on a shelf in her 
 closet. 
 
 " So you didn't wear it ? " said Stephen, glancing 
 at her incidentally as they were left alone at table. 
 She had gone late to avoid him ; he proved late 
 also. Sarah vouchsafed no answer. " Never mind ," 
 said he, placidly, as he rose to go. "I think, on 
 the whole, I'd rather you would not wear flowers 
 till I pin them on for you." 
 
 Bernard had guessed at their secret understand 
 ing, though he had not accredited it as going so far. 
 It was like a blow to see any other man's time 
 and service at her command. He grew moody 
 and churlish, refusing to drop into Stephen's room, 
 as he had once done every night. The other man
 
 78 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 wondered a little, and then set his coolness down 
 to jealousy, though necessarily of a fraternal sort. 
 
 Stephen went on his way, apparently careless 
 and at ease. He exchanged a word with Sarah 
 now and then, sometimes neglecting her for so long 
 that she began to draw a breath of relief and re 
 gret that it was all really over. Being honest, she 
 shamefacedly confessed to the regret in her own 
 heart. She was young and full of a nervous vital 
 ity ; the new circumstances filled her with a kind 
 of animal elation ; moreover, she was recovering 
 from the physical strain attendant on her mother's 
 illness, asod was still in a supersensitive mental 
 state from the fact of her death. Excitement was 
 welcome, and Stephen had been food for thought. 
 
 " Promise me, dear," said Linora one day, after 
 a protracted account of her latest troubles, "prom 
 ise me you won't talk me over with Stephen Mann. 
 No, I know you don't exchange three words a 
 week with him, but you may. Promise ! " 
 
 "I can't, dear," said Sarah, angry with herself 
 for flushing, with those clear eyes on her face. "I 
 might want to praise you, you know. But I do 
 promise I never will except for your good." 
 
 " What people invariably say before a particu 
 larly nasty dose ! " said Linora, with a grimace. 
 
 But Sarah laughed and shook her head, and the 
 postman saved her. A letter was brought in for 
 Linora. She came back to her seat, and, holding
 
 TAKING A PLUNGE. 79 
 
 it tightly, looked at Sarah with slowly dilating 
 eyes and quivering lips. 
 
 " What is it, dear? " cried Sarah in quick sym 
 pathy. Linora's universe, to her thinking, was a 
 fabric always in imminent danger of being dis 
 solved. "Open it ; it may not be bad news." 
 
 " Oh my dear, my dear ! " said Linora, shaking 
 her head mournfully, " if you knew what his let 
 ters can be ! Some new calamity, some new 
 cruelty in each ! " 
 
 " Come, let me tear it open." 
 
 " No, no ; you couldn't save me from reading it 
 finally.'' She walked to the window and stood 
 there, reading slowly. Sarah watched her, her 
 heart in arms, ready to succor. At last Linora 
 crumpled the sheet in her hand, and came back, to 
 sink at the other girl's feet and bury her face in 
 her lap. " Oh, I deserve pity I know I do ! " 
 she sobbed. "And he has always been cruel to 
 me, always ! " 
 
 Sarah stroked her hair and dried her eyes in 
 pitying silence. Then she tried to be equal to the 
 emergency in some sort of practical help. She 
 had always occasion to flagellate herself after a 
 one-sided confidence of this kind, at the remem 
 brance that she had only sympathized and never 
 proposed a remedy. 
 
 "Now let us consider, Linora," she said, men 
 tally stiffening her own backbone. "You are not
 
 80 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 in your uncle's power. He can't treat you like a 
 child, or shut you up in a convent." 
 
 " No, but I am so young, you see ; only seven 
 teen, Sarah, and he can call me about from place 
 to place, or put an end to my winter here, for I 
 haven't a cent out of his control." 
 
 "Ah, that is a difficulty, an actual one," said 
 Sarah, tightening her lips and musing. " But it 
 isn't at all likely he will do it, Linora. It isn't in 
 nature." 
 
 "You don't know his nature. And there are 
 other things I can't tell you things you wouldn't 
 believe. My dear girl, you don't know what 
 trouble is." 
 
 So the usual petting followed, and the practical 
 sympathy proved as unsubstantial a phantom as 
 ever.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LAYING A TRAIN. 
 
 HHHE course of events brought about the fulfil- 
 -*- ment of Riker's prophecy with marvellous ex 
 actness. Leonard Sparrow was now Professor 
 Leonard, Test Medium, and saw his name at last 
 on a black sign in letters of gold. He had adopt 
 ed his Christian name as his professional one, at 
 Riker's suggestion. Riker had conceived the idea 
 that when the young man should become well 
 known and prosperous, a score of relatives might 
 start up to divide the proceeds. This his tutor 
 had no idea of allowing. Uncle Ben demurred a 
 little at the assumption of the name, but submitted 
 when Riker told him that the influences had stren 
 uously insisted on it, without giving a reason. 
 
 Mrs. Riker had gone West, as her husband said, 
 with a sigh, because he and Julia were no longer 
 congenial ; therefore he had moved into a room 
 adjoining Len's office and kept a constant and vigi 
 lant guardianship over him. Len was not sorry 
 for this, and would not have objected had it im 
 plied a companionship ten times closer. Riker 
 was invariably kind to him, even good-natured, 
 when the boy's scruples proved a dead wall to his 
 
 81
 
 82 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 suggestions ; and, indeed, Len's simplicity often 
 stood in the way of his choicest plans. One day, 
 soon after the sign had been hung out, a visitor 
 was shown into the waiting-room, whose circum 
 stances Riker chanced to know. He called the 
 medium into his own room, and briefly rehearsed 
 them to him. 
 
 " Her name is Vincent ; she has lost a daugh 
 ter," he said, rapidly, while Len stared at him in 
 the vacuous way he sometimes had. " Her 
 daughter died two months ago, a blond light 
 hair and eyes, remember name, Mary. Under 
 stand?" 
 
 "Yes," said Len. "Poor woman ! Shall I go 
 in now ? " 
 
 "Yes, and you'd better tell her to keep on try 
 ing to find means of communicating with her daugh 
 ter, and soon they will be satisfactory. Tell her 
 to go among mediums, into a spiritual atmosphere. 
 I've just had a communication to that eflect. Go 
 along." 
 
 It was not half an hour before the medium came 
 back again. " Well ? " asked his master, impa 
 tiently. Mrs. Vincent, once secured, would be a 
 valuable patron. Len was evidently much moved. 
 
 "I can't help it," he said, wiping his eyes. "It's 
 awful to see anybody cry so." 
 
 "What did you tell her?" 
 
 "I told her I couldn't see a thing, and gave her
 
 LAYING A TRAIN. 83 
 
 back her money," said Len, unconscious of the 
 effect he was producing. " Wa'n't it too bad, when 
 she cried so ? " 
 
 Riker laid down the pencil with which he was 
 writing his next inspired lecture, and looked at 
 the boy in silence. Len went to the mirror and 
 brushed his hair, with a growing smile over his 
 eminently satisfactory appearance. His watch- 
 chain had been new only the day before, and had 
 not yet lost its power of keeping his undivided at 
 tention. 
 
 " Didn't you see Aunt Peggy ? " asked his mas 
 ter, at last, in a scrupulously even voice. 
 
 "No, I couldn't see a thing but the chairs and 
 tables," trying the effect of a longer loop in his 
 chain. 
 
 " Didn't you say anything to comfort her ? " 
 
 " Yes, I told her you said she'd better keep going 
 around among mediums." Biker groaned ; then 
 he made one more effort at the instilling of first 
 principles into Len's benighted mind. 
 
 " Len, it's your duty to say something to com 
 fort people," he began, gravely. " The spirits 
 have put you here to do a great work, and when 
 you refuse to do it, you are committing sin. When 
 people come to you, you can always say something 
 that will be satisfactory." 
 
 " I can't," said Len, almost in tears. " I ain't 
 bright, like you ; bright things don't come into
 
 84 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 my head. And how can I say I see things when I 
 don't?" he added triumphantly, as a final and un 
 answerable argument. Biker could say no more. 
 He dared not hint at the advisability of lying, 
 until the pupil's mind should be ready for such an 
 advance. 
 
 But Len, in spite of his unambitious simplicity, 
 was wonderfully prosperous. His honesty im 
 pressed people, a circumstance Riker was not 
 slow at marking, and which made him all the more 
 anxious not to conceal this trump-card too effect 
 ually. When the real virtue was gone, its coun 
 terfeit must be left. It was surprising that so 
 many people were satisfied by the few things the 
 boy had to say. He saw an old lady ; that almost 
 invariably stood for the dead-and-gone ancestor of 
 the questioner. Often she had much to say ; how 
 ever it might have been accounted for, most of 
 Lcn's simple reflections seemed to him to come 
 from her lips, and, clothed in the high-flown 
 phraseology he caught from Riker on the lecture 
 platform, they were generally satisfactory. He 
 had certain office days in the week ; on others he 
 accompanied Riker in his shortest trips about the 
 country. It fed Len's vanity to be regarded, in 
 small towns, as the friend and colleague of a great 
 man. There was usually a circle of spiritualists 
 wherever they stopped, who received them hos 
 pitably, heaping social honors upon thorn. Simple
 
 LAYING A TRAIN. 85 
 
 and worshipping women sent Riker buttonhole 
 bouquets to be worn on the platform, and some 
 times Len came in for his share of floral tributes. 
 His simple, innocent vanity grew like a mushroom. 
 He was a great man now ; what a pity the poor- 
 house boys could not see him ! Still, they never 
 would guess who he was. 
 
 One day of this same winter, an early visitor 
 stood nervously in the waiting-room, grasping his 
 stick and hat, and smiling with impatience. It 
 was Uncle Ben in company array ; all excitement 
 at the prospect of meeting his boy again. This 
 was the fiit time since their farewell at Coventry. 
 Len came in, giving his faultless coat a last affec 
 tionate brush with his fat white hand. 
 
 " Why, Uncle Ben ! Why, why ! " he began, 
 and then ran forward to seize the old man by both 
 hands and smile speechlessly in broad delight. 
 
 " Well, well ! " said Uncle Ben at last, extricat 
 ing himself and stooping to pick up his hat and 
 stick, which had fallen unobserved, and then care 
 fully wiping the hat with his handkerchief as a 
 diversion for his feelings. Len kept one hand on 
 his shoulder, stroking the homely gray coat. He 
 had not known how dear the old life was until the 
 breath of its atmosphere drifted in. 
 
 " Well, well, Lenny," said Uncle Ben, when the 
 hat no longer served as a pretext, " we old folks 
 get into a second childhood before we know it ; but
 
 86 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 it ain't any disgrace to have to wipe your eyes," 
 suiting the action to the word. "You look well, 
 Lenny. You look prosperous." 
 
 Len glanced down at his well-made clothes, and 
 involuntarily settled his blue necktie. 
 
 " You've made it well by going away ; but that 
 ain't the main thing. It's everything to be doin' 
 such good ; bein' such a medium as you have made 
 is a great callin', Lenny. Don't you forget your 
 responsibilities." 
 
 "No, Uncle ; but how's Aunt Maria? " 
 
 " Maria, she's well, an' she sent you a whole 
 carpet-bag full of things. It'll do Maria's heart 
 good to know how well you look ; she won't have 
 it but the professor's cross to you." 
 
 " Oh my, no ! " cried Len, laughing at the very 
 idea. 
 
 " Needn't tell me, boy ; I know him. He's got 
 your good at heart, if ever anybody had a good 
 heart for anybody else. I wanted Maria to send 
 him some things, too, for fear he should feel sort 
 o' touched, you know, but she wouldn't. When 
 Maria gets anything into her head, it's there ! an' 
 she never liked the professor. Now, Lenny, 
 you'll give me a sittin' ? " 
 
 " O Uncle, I can't bear to take up the time so ! " 
 cried Len, in weariness at being perpetually hag 
 ridden. " I'd rather talk. " 
 
 '* Yes, yes, so you shall ; that's all right enough
 
 LAYING A TRAIN. 87 
 
 but you don't want me to come all the way up 
 here an' go home without seem' how you've de 
 veloped ! No, no ! Well, if there ain't the pro 
 fessor ! " 
 
 Kiker came in, with beaming countenance and 
 outstretched hand. It did Len's heart good to see 
 the two people he so admired and loved, on such 
 terms with each other. 
 
 "Now I begin to get over being hurt in think 
 ing you haven't been to see us ! " cried Riker. " I 
 hope you're going to stay a month ! " 
 
 "No, no, that wouldn't do," said Uncle Ben, 
 beaming at what he considered a reception far be 
 yond his deserts. " Maria wanted me to make a 
 visit on't, but I am too old for that. We old ones 
 are better on't at home. This changin' beds in 
 winter time can't help bein' bad for old bones. 
 No, I shall have to go home to-night." 
 
 " Oh, not to-night, uncle ! " cried Len. 
 
 "Yes, Lenny, so it's got to be. I don't know 
 what possessed me to come on a journey in winter 
 weather, but a while ago it was borne in on me I 
 must see Lenny, an' I said, if there's a warm spell 
 I'll go. So when this thaw come, I couldn't go 
 agin my word." 
 
 A caller for Professor Leonard was shown into 
 the hall. Len looked appealingly at his master. 
 " I can't see anybody when uncle's here." 
 
 "No, no, Lenny, don't turn anybody away
 
 88 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 empty," said the old man. "It might be some 
 good you never could make up in all your life. 
 No, I'll talk with the professor a little while, an' 
 if he's busy, I'll take a nap." 
 
 The professor was unctuously ready to be of 
 service, and was not at all busy. He proposed a 
 walk, a look at the State House, and a call 
 upon a medium of great popularity. So they 
 left Len sorely and boyishly disappointed, feeling 
 his vocation to be more of an old man of the sea 
 than ever. 
 
 This was the opportunity Biker had longed for 
 and for which a visit to Coventry within Maria's 
 jurisdiction would hardly have sufficed. 
 
 " Well, an' how's Lenny gettin' along ?" asked 
 Uncle Ben, when they were once outside. "You 
 think he develops, don't you? " 
 
 "Think, my dear sir ! I know there isn't a more 
 wonderful case in the country. He develops 
 slowly, but we must have patience, you know." 
 
 "Yes, yes; the Lord brings out His revelation 
 pretty slow. We musn't get our backs up an' 
 pretend we could plan things better. I've got 
 beyond that, little's I know. Now how is it 
 about money ? Does Lenny need more for his ex 
 penses ? " 
 
 "No," said. Hiker thoughtfully, wondering how 
 far he dared go. " No, not for his immediate ex 
 penses. He makes enough for those, and when
 
 LAYING A TRAIN. 8U 
 
 he doesn't regularly, I always supply what he 
 lacks." 
 
 " That mustn't be ! " said Uncle Ben promptly. 
 "You've got ways enough for your money, I'll 
 warrant, a man that does as much good as you 
 do. No, you must let me send Lenny a bill once 
 in a while." 
 
 "Ah, that's very kind," said Hiker, smiling, 
 " but you don't know how independent he has 
 grown. I don't believe he'd take it ; when I help 
 him out, I have to do it on the sly." 
 
 "Now you don't say!" cried Uncle Ben, de 
 lighted. " Well, I do' know as I like him any the 
 worse for that. He'll get over it by the time he's 
 as old as I am. We all have to find out there's 
 nobody but what has to have things done for him. 
 But I'd rather he'd begin by bein' independent. 
 Now what say to my sendin' the money to you ? " 
 
 " Capital, if you can trust my judgment about 
 spending it." 
 
 " Don't you say another word ! You'll know how 
 to lay it out, an' you can do it so he'll never have 
 to be worried. It's pretty hard for you that have 
 so much hard work to do, to have to think about 
 what you shall eat and wear." 
 
 " Well, I'm greatly relieved," said Hiker, watch 
 ing him furtively. " At least Leonard never will 
 want while you live, and if he should survive you, 
 I should try to look out for him." They walked
 
 90 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 along in silence for a few minutes, Biker still 
 craftily keeping the corner of his eye open to the 
 old man's expression. 
 
 " I do' know but what I've done wrong not to 
 make some provision for Lenny," said Uncle Ben, 
 thoughtfully. "I ain't likely to last forever, nor 
 Maria after me, an' I meant what property I 
 had should go to him. I sort o' wish I'd made 
 my will before I put myself in a place of danger 
 comin' up here on the cars. But then, what's the 
 Lord's will's sure to come, whether you're asleep 
 in your bed, or in a train of cars." 
 
 "A will is the only safe thing," said Hiker 
 quietly ; then, turning suddenly, with a great 
 burst of frankness, he went on: "You must not 
 think I speak too plainly. I do speak plainly, I 
 know, but it comes from my great affection for 
 Leonard." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand," said Uncle Ben, 
 trudging sturdily along, emphasizing the points of 
 his sentence with his stout stick. " You've got a 
 great heart as well as a clear head. 'Tain't every 
 body's got such feelin's as you have ; an' I always 
 feel as if you was under influence to speak." 
 
 " Then perhaps I might as well go on and speak 
 further. If you ever do make a will in Len's 
 favor, I hope you'll do it in the safest way. I 
 wonder if you've noticed one of his traits ? He's 
 as good as gold, but he's what worldly people
 
 LAYING A TRAIN. 91 
 
 would call simple about some things, business 
 and money, you know." 
 
 "Yes, he's one of the Lord's triumphs; I've 
 always thought of that. He's bringin' the revela 
 tion out o' the mouths o' babes." 
 
 "Now if Len should have absolute control of 
 money, it would be cheated out of him in a year. 
 He'd never go to the bad, but he'd fall into the 
 hands of sharpers and speculators." 
 
 "Yes, yes, there's reason in that." 
 
 " And you know there are periods in spiritual 
 development when we must rest ; we can't do 
 anything but render ourselves receptive. Now 
 such a period might come upon Len when his 
 money was all spent. What could he live on ? I 
 should help him, but I am a poor man, and likely 
 to be, and I have my family troubles that take 
 money." 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure. It's everything to be 
 long-headed, ain't it? I never was. You just go 
 on an' talk it out for me." 
 
 "Well, I should suggest that you leave what 
 money you have for Len in the hands of some 
 competent business man, who, though Len might 
 be of age himself, would act as a sort of guardian 
 over him." 
 
 " That's a good thing, an' I'm obliged to you," 
 said Uncle Ben ; and here, at the medium's door, 
 the subject was dropped.
 
 92 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 When they were once more at home they found 
 Len busy with waiting visitors. Uncle Ben 
 seemed not to be disappointed, but sat down by 
 himself in Hiker's room, evidently turning things 
 over in his mind. Riker left him to himself for a 
 while and then came in, proposing to give him a 
 sitting. Leonard was busy, and might be so half 
 the afternoon, and there were influences crowd 
 ing round. The room was full of faces, Riker 
 said. 
 
 " I guess so, now ! " cried Uncle Ben delight 
 edly. " Ain't willin' I should have to have my 
 journey for nothin', are they? I told Maria so. 
 But they must just wait a minute. Professor, 
 I've got a great favor to ask of you." 
 
 " Anything in my power to do," said Riker, his 
 small eyes gleaming impatiently. " Anything in 
 the world in my power is at your service." 
 
 " It's to let me appoint you Lenny's guardeen 
 in my will." 
 
 " My dear sir ! " said the professor, standing 
 back and shaking his head. " Such a trust as that ? 
 No, no, I'm not fit for the responsibility." 
 
 " Now I begin to feel disapp'inted," said Uncle 
 Ben. " I thought you was the right man for it, 
 an' I thought you'd jump to do good to anybody." 
 Riker held up a warning finger. 
 
 " Sh-h ! " he whispered, inclining his head to 
 listen. His eyes closed and his face twitched con-
 
 LAYING A TRAIN. 93 
 
 vulsively. "Well, it's settled!" he went on, 
 presently, opening his eyes and smiling faintly. 
 " The influences are too much for me ; I often have 
 to submit my will to theirs. They tell me to do 
 as you say, and if I feel myself unfit for such a 
 task, they will aid me." 
 
 " There ! how bright things do turn out in the 
 end ! " cried Uncle Ben. "Here I was, five min 
 utes ago, all worried and unsettled ; and here I am, 
 my way all marked out for me by them that knows 
 more'u I do. No w r onder I was impressed to come 
 to Boston ! " 
 
 In the course of the next hour's discussion as 
 to the provisions of the will, Riker had also pre 
 pared for a stance. The curtains were drawn, the 
 door locked, and his arm-chair placed beside Uncle 
 Ben's. Then they went on talking, in the midst 
 of which Riker suddenly closed his eyes, his face 
 becoming set and his voice unnatural. 
 
 " I s'pose the medium hasn't got anything to do 
 with what's goin' to be said to me ? " began Uncle 
 Ben. " I mean, he won't hear it." 
 
 " The medium is quite unconscious," returned 
 Riker. 
 
 "Well, now, I want to ask for a test; not for 
 me ; for somebody else that don't believe. Some 
 body told me, when I was talkin' of comin' here, 
 that I'd better not have a sittin' with the professor, 
 because he's talked me over with Lenny and Len-
 
 94 FOOLS OF NATUliE. 
 
 ny's told him all about our family and the folks 
 that's died. Now who told me that?" 
 
 " The name is quite clear," said the medium, 
 slowly. " We will spell it. Ma-ri-a, Maria." 
 
 "Now if that ain't a test ! " cried the old man, 
 rubbing his hands. " Why, this is wuth comin' to 
 Boston for. Now how about what I was talkin' 
 over with the professor ; had I better do it ? " 
 
 " It was what we brought you to Boston for," 
 returned the voice. " We have been influencing 
 you Tor a long time. Your mind was all ready, 
 and then we brought you up here. We knew 
 what to do." 
 
 " I guess you did ! I guess you mostly do know 
 more'n we poor creatur's that don't have no 
 wisdom but what comes to us here. You must 
 help me write the will ; put me up to what to say 
 to the lawyer." 
 
 "Yes, we'll be there; but we want you to re 
 member one thing, don't tell Maria." 
 
 "Not tell Maria about the will? Now I should 
 like to know why." 
 
 " She would be unhappy. Some bad spirits 
 have got hold of her, and they make her hate the 
 medium. She thinks he would cheat the money 
 all away." 
 
 "Now ain't that queer?" said the old man to 
 himself. " Maria don't like him ; she can't bear 
 him. Strange folks shouldn't believe, when tests
 
 LAYING A TRAIN. 95 
 
 come out like this. What shall I do about Maria 
 in the will ? " 
 
 " Leave her half, and let it go to the boy after 
 her death." 
 
 "I do' know's I can do that," said Uncle Ben 
 slowly ; " still, Maria's got bank-stock. She'll 
 never want. Who is it talkin' to me ? " 
 
 " 'Squire John." 
 
 "I might ha' known it. There ain't a lawyer 
 round anywhere to compare. How about your 
 fee this time, 'squire?" 
 
 " Give it to the medium," returned the voice ; at 
 which Uncle Ben laughed, as having got the worst 
 of it. 
 
 The interview lasted over an hour, at the end 
 of which time Len came in exhausted, having 
 finished his own engagements. Eiker opened his 
 eyes, and conversation resumed its ordinary tone. 
 
 "Professor, do you know what you've been 
 doin'?" asked Uncle Ben, solemnly. 
 
 "No," answered the professor, with a start that 
 might have been ascribed to guilt. In fact, the 
 answer was true ; his deeds were too numerous to 
 be classified. 
 
 "You've gi'n me more'n twenty names of folks 
 that have passed into spirit life from Coventry 
 alone, an' messages from more'n half. I ain't had 
 such a feast, no, nor such tests, since I've been a 
 believer."
 
 96 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 The professor declared himself humbly de 
 lighted, and only accepted a fee of ten times the 
 usual amount, with the second thought that he 
 could use it in sending specimen copies of the 
 " Spiritual Messenger " to unbelievers. 
 
 Uncle Ben went home scarcely disappointed at 
 having had merely a glimpse of Leonard. That 
 was enough to show him as well and happy ; and 
 finding him a man of business amply compensated 
 for the loss of his society. Len insisted on pack 
 ing into the emptied carpet-bag, with his own 
 hands, a parcel for Maria containing a dress and 
 a pair of long ear-rings. 
 
 " You tell her I'm well, and having a jolly time," 
 he called in at the window, as the train moved 
 away.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 REVELATIONS. 
 
 TT7HEN Miss Phebe's entire household were 
 * asked to leave her hospitable table, two of 
 the members made a pleasing amendment to that 
 proposition. One night, as Sarah and Bernard, 
 jubilant after a long walk, were passing a kitchen- 
 furnishing store, Sarah stopped before the window, 
 bright with tin and illuminated with brass. 
 
 " Bernard, come ! " and she drew him in. He 
 stood by in wonder, while she bought a small 
 tea-pot ; but questions were to no purpose till he 
 had been eonvoyed here and there for sugar, 
 tea, and a couple of cheap little cups. 
 
 " We shall not go to the ogress' den to-night, 
 my hearty," said Sarah, on tiptoe with delight at 
 a new thing. " We shall buy a frugal lunch, and 
 then we shall make a festive cup of tea in our 
 sitting-room." 
 
 So that evening the tea was steeped over the 
 coals of the grate, and two spoons borrowed of 
 Miss Phebe. Spoons had been forgotten in the 
 midst of household purchasing. Bernard was in 
 high feather that night ; he had been happy all 
 that afternoon, with Sarah to himself. But there 
 
 97
 
 98 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 came a knock at the door which was destined to 
 overturn his cup of joy. Sarah went to the door, 
 to find Stephen in gala array. 
 
 "I have come to call," he said, with great gravity. 
 "I have never called on my new neighbors. I 
 have put on a claw-hammer coat, in which I am 
 sufficiently miserable, and I have a flower in my 
 button-hole." 
 
 " Come in, by all means," said Sarah, merry and 
 annoyed. Seeing him always brought some change 
 of her mood, a curious disturbance of her life- 
 forces. "Bernard, Mr. Mann, has come to be 
 polite to you." 
 
 Bernard shook hands with him, and hated him 
 self for hating Stephen's air of general adaptability. 
 
 "We are having tea," said Sarah shyly, not 
 quite knowing what to do with her guest, now he 
 was there. " Will you have some ? " 
 
 "I will have some by all means," said Stephen, 
 disposing himself comfortably. " Are there only 
 two cups? Then give me yours and improvise 
 another." 
 
 His manner, his look, were enough to inflame 
 Bernard. He was sure that he should not have 
 resented the familiar gallantry of men in general, 
 but Stephen in particular was especially irritating. 
 And this was a new experience ; until now he had 
 only seen his sister interested in a few old friends 
 she had known from her cradle.
 
 REVELATIONS. 99 
 
 "I'll borrow a cup of Miss Phebe," he said, 
 hastily rising. " Sarah, keep your own." 
 
 Sarah would not meet the look Stephen turned 
 on her when they were alone. 
 
 "I came to-night because I could not stay 
 away," he said in a low voice. " I am making a 
 joke of it because I am terribly in love with you. 
 How long do you think I can live like this, 
 darling?" 
 
 " How dare you ! I hate you I " she cried, with 
 an instinct of self-defence. 
 
 " If you like oh, if you will ! A hot hate 
 up to the measure of my love ! yes, give me 
 that ! " 
 
 Bernard came in, frowning, his face to light up 
 with a flash of suspicion as he caught his sister's 
 confusion. She filled the three cups with a trem 
 bling hand, and would have passed Stephen his, 
 but he quietly took her own from the table and 
 talked to Bernard about the latest additions to the 
 library. It was too much ; his coolness struck 
 the boy like insolence, and he was too much a boy 
 for concealment. 
 
 " Sarah, I'm going out to buy a paper," he an 
 nounced, suddenly putting down his cup, having 
 made Stephen no answer. 
 
 "O Bernard, no!" said Sarah appealingly. 
 " Stay ! " But was she altogether displeased at the 
 chance of listening again ?
 
 100 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "No, I must go." There was a grain of pleas 
 ure in doing the penance which lay in refusal. 
 
 "He is very kind," said Stephen, putting down 
 his cup the instant Bernard had gone. "Do you 
 object to being loved ? " 
 
 " Yes, in this way." 
 
 "This way is my way, and you must learn to 
 like it. What do you mean by this way ? " 
 
 "Suddenly, without knowing me. I want 
 people to like my qualities." 
 
 "I love you!" said Stephen irrelevantly, lean 
 ing his chin on his hand and musingly regarding 
 her. 
 
 "That is no answer!" said the girl, waxing 
 wroth. " You are like a parrot. Say something 
 new." 
 
 " Anything you teach me, sweet mistress ; being 
 a parrot, I can only learn." 
 
 "Besides, I don't approve of you ; I don't like 
 your character," she went on, satisfying her con 
 science by having it out at once. 
 
 "Nor I, but I will improve. I will be whatever 
 you like." 
 
 " Then I don't like fickleness. You have been 
 false to Linora." 
 
 " Bother Linora ! I mean I know I have. 
 The parrot pleads guilty." 
 
 "Well, if you have done wrong, why not apolo 
 gize and let her forgive you ? "
 
 REVELATIONS. 101 
 
 " Because I don't choose to, not even for you. 
 I shall never again label myself Miss Linora's 
 friend : you must like me without the label." 
 
 " Are you tickle ? " suddenly asked Sarah. Her 
 eyes were very soft and searching. The question 
 might have arisen from an impulse of coquetry ; 
 its effect was entirely charming. Stephen looked 
 at her more than an instant in silence. 
 
 "My dear little girl, I honestly think not," he 
 said, slowly, and with a gravity that lent him a 
 dangerous charm. " I have been fickle, but it has 
 been to the false. You can't blame a man for not 
 worshipping false gods." 
 
 " No," said Sarah, softly, " and I believe in 
 you." 
 
 Perhaps he might have taken a confession of love 
 like one of the world-old race of lovers. This 
 serious little speech was like a blow of knighthood. 
 He hid his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, don't ! " said Sarah, instinctively stretching 
 her hand out, and as quickly drawing it back. 
 
 " I won't disgrace you," said Stephen, throwing 
 back his head with a toss of his bright hair. " You 
 put out your hand then. Do it again." Sarah 
 laughed and shook her head. "No, trust me. 
 Put it out and hold it there." He knelt and bent 
 toward the round white wrist, not touching it with 
 lips or hand. " That is my regard for youj" he 
 said, rising. " If my love were less I might long
 
 102 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 to kiss the hand. I am willing to worship at a 
 distance." 
 
 The task of setting their acquaintance on a com 
 monplace basis was greater than she had anticipa 
 ted ; she despaired of it. She took her sewing, 
 then laid it down to make one more effort. 
 
 "Mr. Mann, I like you ever so much, and I 
 want to know you." 
 
 " Very well ; that's a good beginning." 
 
 " But I can't be comfortable when you say such 
 silly things. You call me names, too, that you've 
 no right to." 
 
 " What names ? " Sarah blushed deeper and 
 deeper, and took a stitch that would hardly have 
 done credit to basting. " How cowardly you are ! 
 How can I know what you mean, till you tell me ? " 
 
 "Well then, * darling '!" with a sort of des 
 perate bravery. 
 
 "Oh, the sweet word ! " said her lover, his eyes 
 feeding dreamily on her face. " When will you 
 say it to me in earnest ? " 
 
 Bernard was soon back again and without his 
 paper. He had taken a walk in hot haste, lashing 
 himself all the way for a suspicious fool. Coming 
 back sane, it was only to fall into the same pit of 
 jealousy at finding Stephen still there. 
 
 " What a dandy he is ! " he exclaimed as soon 
 as Stephen had taken his leave, and then hated 
 himself for his injustice.
 
 REVELATIONS. 103 
 
 "He isn't at all," flamed Sarah. "And you 
 didn't think so at first. What has happened? " 
 
 "Nothing. I've grown envious, that's all. His 
 nose is handsome and mine is not," sneered Ber 
 nard, bolting out of the room, leaving Sarah to 
 wonder at the general disjointedness of the char 
 acters she had to do with. She could not be 
 angry with Stephen. No woman can be with the 
 worship of a man in whom she finds a charm, and 
 who keeps at a respectful distance. Then his 
 audacity of word was so delicately excused by the 
 reverence of his look and manner that she could 
 not feel herself to be held lightly. 
 
 Her coming here had been like stepping from 
 the fireside to the stage. The foot-lights dazzled 
 her. Perhaps this hurry and rush of events, this 
 outcropping of the unknown in character, was the 
 ordinary and expected thing in city life. She 
 would not shrink from her draught of elixir, but 
 take it with the high courage she would like to 
 show were it hemlock. She had often said she 
 longed to know every emotion and every possible 
 experience of life. Fate \vas taking her at her 
 word. And yet often when she went to her bed 
 at night the thought of her mother came like the 
 sound of a clear stream in deep woods, after one 
 has shouted with revellers in a garden of artificial 
 beauty. She longed for counsel ; for aged woman 
 hood and placid experience to place a cool hand on
 
 104 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 her forehead and still her pulses, before the next 
 glowing dream of the panorama. 
 
 Linora was keeping her room most of the time, 
 as Miss Phebe said, "all broken down by some 
 new villany of that uncle. Do you know what I 
 should like to do ? " she said, with emphasis, one 
 day, passing Sarah's door on her way to carry Lin 
 ora a cup of coffee. "I should like to take him 
 by the ear and walk him up to that little angel 
 and say, now do you see this dear little thing? 
 Well, you've most broken her heart and drove her 
 to the grave with your carryings on ! " and Miss 
 Phebe passed by, having spoken her righteous 
 mind. Sarah, having exhausted her imagination 
 in trying to be of use to Linora without full know 
 ledge of her troubles, was at last admitted to a 
 further confidence. One day she went to Linora's 
 room, to find the atmosphere heavy and fragrant 
 with smoke. Linora lay upon the sofa, in a bar 
 baric-looking costume, with colored wraps disposed 
 about her. She was very different on occasions, 
 sometimes rakishly so, from the Madonna-like 
 Linora whom Sarah had first seen. 
 
 " Dear girl ! " she said with her most sorrowful 
 smile, holding out her hand ; " take the little has 
 sock and come here. Don't be shocked at my 
 cigarette ; come and have one too." 
 
 "Cigarette?" 
 
 " Oh, I was in fun, of course," said Linora,
 
 REVELATIONS. 105 
 
 quickly, withdrawing the little case. "I am 
 ordered to smoke them for my head ; it is very 
 disagreeable. Please don't mention it to any one. 
 It seems so unwomanly, even under orders." 
 
 " Poor little thing ! 1 don't believe anybody 
 would suspect you of un womanliness," said Sarah, 
 seating herself and patting the soft cheek. "And 
 how do things go to-day ? " 
 
 " Quite as one might expect badly," said 
 Linora, more pitiful than ever, when she tried to 
 smile. " I had a letter from him to-day uncle." 
 
 " Another ? How often he writes ! " 
 
 " He speaks of a widow who is in their party. 
 He has fallen in with a party abroad. Suppose he 
 marries her ! " 
 
 "Well, suppose he does? You may like her, 
 and it may make things twice as pleasant for 
 you." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, there is more behind. I could 
 tell you a reason why he should not marry. There 
 is insanity in the family." She buried her face in 
 her wilderness of wraps and sobbed aloud. 
 
 "Poor, poor child ! " said Sarah, thinking of the 
 slight proportions of her own sorrows, in compar 
 ison with those heaped upon this little creature. 
 
 " And that is not all," whispered Linora. " Don't 
 fear me ; don't shun me afterwards, but I 
 dread it for myself ! " Sarah could only put her 
 arms about her and hold her in motherly fondness.
 
 106 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " That is why my uncle hates me ; because, when 
 ever I find him in danger of marrying, I feel 
 obliged to warn the woman in question. He 
 never would tell her, and how can I see any one 
 so sacrificed without knowing what she was bind 
 ing herself to ? " 
 
 " But," said Sarah, a sudden thought striking 
 her, " you were going to marry, yourself." Linora 
 paused, as if an unforeseen obstacle had presented 
 itself. But she was ready for the emergency ; no 
 one was ever quicker-witted than she. 
 
 "That was my sin. That was where I was 
 weak," she cried, in bitter self-reproach. "I 
 loved him so much that I was ready to deceive 
 him. Sarah, don't despise me ! " But Sarah 
 pitied her the more, and spent hours in reading to 
 her, and soothing her when she seemed in hope 
 less paroxysms of sorrow. 
 
 She, too, had some growing need of Linora, as an 
 affectionate, clinging creature who frankly owned 
 dependence on her help. She was more and more 
 alone, shunning Stephen, as his power of moving 
 her grew, and shunned by Bernard. He had 
 fallen into the habit of staying whole days away 
 from her, coming back at night surly and moody. 
 Their old companionship was dead, and she grieved 
 over it. Sometimes she was too hurt by his evil 
 humors to do more than keep silence, and leave him 
 to his own ways. Then Bernard was only more
 
 REVELATIONS. 107 
 
 bitter, and was sure she was comparing his churl 
 ishness with Stephen's readiness and grace, 
 hating the other man less than he did himself. 
 
 In one of these moods of self-torture, he went to 
 the box of papers where lay the statement of his 
 birth, written by his second mother. He began 
 to formulate his reasons for leaving it unread ; 
 chief among them must have been the feeling that 
 it could only amount to a weakening of the tie 
 made only by affection, if the n^ame and locality of 
 his kindred should assume a practical value in his 
 mind. Now, when the superfine texture of Ste 
 phen's manner and beauty mocked him continually, 
 he was driven back and out of himself to find 
 further cause for misery. Stephen faced the world 
 coolly, and looked as if he might do it arrogantly, 
 with an eye single to his future, knowing the past 
 contained no stain. Bernard had been trans 
 planted ; no doubt taken from a soil that grew 
 only weeds ; and if that were so, it was no wonder 
 that the rankness and grossness of the weed lay in 
 his nature. Sarah tapped at his door while he was 
 unlocking the box. The sound was like the dis 
 suading whisper of a guardian angel. He stopped 
 and listened, his finger still on the packet. 
 
 "Not now, Sarah; go away!" he called, 
 harshly, hoping she would insist, but her footsteps 
 retreated slowly down the stairs. Then he opened 
 the paper, committed himself to the severe mercies
 
 108 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 of truth, and read. There was no attempt at 
 melodramatic surprise in the document, and there 
 was need for none. He knew the main fact before, 
 being ignorant only of name and place. 
 
 '' My dear son," his mother wrote. "I thank 
 you for being so willing to belong to me that you 
 are not curious as to your natural ties. The year 
 my little son died, I found you in Freeport, a 
 country town where I boarded a few weeks. Your 
 mother did some work for me, and brought you 
 with her when she took home the clothes. You 
 were very precocious ; Sarah, who was a month 
 younger, took a great fancy to you, and I fell in 
 love with you. Your mother was very poor just 
 then, and was willing I should take you to educate. 
 I think she was the more willing because she was 
 about to marry again, a very respectable mechanic, 
 who objected to a child not his own. I adopted 
 you, and she promised not to find you out, when 
 you had once taken my name. She still lives in 
 Freeport, I have recently taken the trouble to 
 ascertain. Her name was formerly Bridget Mac- 
 Claren, and she married a man by the name of 
 Mason. They are in good circumstances, and have 
 a large family of children. I do not think she 
 needs you, but it is unnecessary to remind you to 
 consider though you may not acknowledge 
 the ties of blood, if you should ever see an occa 
 sion of duty for doing so."
 
 REVELATIONS. 109 
 
 Bernard dropped the paper, and, in taking it up, 
 looked curiously at his hand. The white length 
 of Stephen's fingers ranged itself beside his square 
 ones. 
 
 " Anybody could tell, to look at that," he said 
 aloud. "A workman's hand, through generations 
 of ditchers and road-menders." He took the lamp, 
 and, placing it on the bureau, studied his face in 
 tently in the glass. It had before only struck 
 him as not being handsome ; now it classified him. 
 
 "Features thick, "he went on relentlessly, every 
 word stabbing ; " skin coarse, eyes no-colored 
 and watery. And I dared to dream of marrying 
 her. Faugh ! " Moved only by pure physical 
 disgust, he threw himself into a chair, to think it 
 all out. 
 
 " Bridget MacClaren. She must be Irish ; that 
 accounts for my temperament. So she brought 
 home the clothes ; that means she was a washer 
 woman. And I'm not even gentleman enough to 
 be willing to be a washerwoman's son 1 " 
 
 It occurred to him that Stephen for Stephen 
 would always now stand opposite himself for a 
 contrasting type would have inherited such 
 chivalry of feeling that he could believe himself 
 sprung from a muck-heap without losing self- 
 respect. 
 
 "He is too fine to despise anybody," went on 
 the sharp tongue of his consciousness. " He could
 
 110 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 hold up his head anywhere ; he could win his 
 spurs if they were withheld. I am too coarse not 
 to despise coarseness." 
 
 A beautiful and ideal state of mind arose tempt 
 ingly before him, that which counsels one to 
 condemn no man on account of his birth, and love 
 no woman better for the fineness she borrows 
 from station. All the maxims relating to man's 
 intrinsic worth, and the transitory nature of advan 
 tages that lie outside himself, passed through his 
 mind with a monotonous iteration, but he could 
 not absorb them. He told himself that he could 
 appreciate them in an intellectual sort of manner, 
 could see their beauty from an artistic point of 
 view, finding nothing akin to them in the sponta 
 neous utterances of his own heart. That blank 
 feeling of having no part or lot in what his spirit 
 ual eye saw to be finest, moved him to despair. 
 No other man, except one with his inherited igno- 
 bility, would have taken Stephen's intrusion on 
 his life in just this way. Another lover and 
 he shuddered to think how Sarah would shrink 
 from the word applied to himself would have 
 risen to meet his rival in noble and generous 
 combat, thinking first of the lady's happiness, and, 
 if he must leave the field, withdrawing in all 
 courtesy. But he had merely fostered in his 
 heart a noisome growth of envy and hatred. With 
 a sudden thought of Sarah, he seized the paper and
 
 REVELATIONS. Ill 
 
 ran down to her room, afraid of waiting a second 
 lest his resolve should fail him. She looked up in 
 surprise at his wildness. 
 
 " Read it ! " he cried, thrusting it into her hands. 
 " Don't wait an instant or I shall tear it up. The 
 devil is tempting me ! " 
 
 He could not watch her. He felt like imploring 
 her not to let her voice change when she should 
 speak. With his eyes covered, his heart beating 
 a cruel death-march to his hopes, it seemed ages 
 before she finished, though she had run her eye 
 over it rapidly. 
 
 "Well, dear boy?" with surprise in her voice, 
 which held also a sweet intonation. He could not 
 believe his ears : his heart broke its monotonous 
 time for a suffocating leap into a quicker measure. 
 "Bernard," said Sarah, her tone all gravity, 
 one that would compel an answer, "are you 
 so fond of me you are sorry you are not my 
 brother?" 
 
 An impetuous answer rose to his lips, to be 
 choked there. 
 
 " If you read such a thing about yourself," said 
 he, "if you knew your mother " and then he 
 stopped. 
 
 " I hope I should respect her name because she 
 was my mother," said the girl, hotly. Whatever 
 could be construed as a slur on the sacred name 
 touched a wound.
 
 112 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 Bernard's head sank lower. He deserved it ; 
 but it was hard that she too must recognize the 
 pettiness of his soul. Still that was not, after all, 
 the main point. Nothing stood before his rela 
 tion to her, and the manner in which she would 
 regard him. 
 
 " Do you mean that you wouldn't despise a man 
 who came from such a family?" he asked, with a 
 shamefaced resolution. "Now you know all 
 about me, don't you half wish your mother had 
 never adopted me? Shan't you treat me differ 
 ently to-morrow from what you did yesterday ? " 
 
 He had an instant to wait for his answer. It 
 was a ringing laugh that startled him into looking 
 up. 
 
 " You silly child ! " said Sarah, a delicious mirth 
 about her mouth, and a motherly compassion in 
 her eyes. "Do you think this is news to me? I 
 could have told you the facts ten years ago." 
 
 Bernard looked at her in blank amazement 
 before he rushed up to his own room, where he 
 locked himself in. If that was a precautionary 
 measure against the betrayal of unmanly weakness, 
 I am afraid his Irish temperament must be held 
 responsible for the latter.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 BURNING HIS BOATS. 
 
 SARAH came in from a walk, slow and full of 
 reflection, to be met in the hall by Miss 
 Phebe and a smell of camphor. 
 
 " I've got to go to Linora," said Miss Phebe, in 
 passing. " Mr. Mann's been thrown from his horse 
 and hurt. Go in and see that he don't faint again, 
 till I come back." 
 
 The sickness of sudden calamity came upon 
 Sarah, blinding and choking" her. Above and 
 through this purely physical sensation, sounded 
 like a clear full note of music the consciousness 
 that Stephen belonged only to her. After that 
 recognition, she walked steadily to his half-opened 
 door, expecting to find him shattered, perhaps 
 unconscious. He was sitting by the fire, his pale 
 ness the only apparent flag of distress. 
 
 "You?" trying to rise, and then giving it up 
 with an annoyed sense of its awkwardness. 
 " What is it? What has happened? " he went on, 
 in some sudden, vague fear, when she did not 
 answer. 
 
 Sarah stood looking at him, her eyes radiant, 
 her face quivering. Not an impulse rose in her 
 
 113
 
 114 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 and this was the most purely impulsive moment 
 of her life but one of joy, and honest willing 
 ness that he and the universe should know its 
 cause. Indeed, they must, taking the burden 
 from her own heart by sharing it. 
 
 "I thought you must be dead ! " she trembled, 
 her voice full of musical suggestions. " I don't 
 care for anything now. I don't care how much 
 you are hurt ! Oh, you are alive ! " 
 
 Stephen sat quite still, but his eyes were like 
 two living creatures. 
 
 "Very much alive," he said dryly. "Do you 
 want to feel my pulse ? For God's sake ! " he 
 burst forth, his self-control swept away by the 
 tide. "Is it so?" 
 
 She faced him with an unfaltering look. The 
 time for blushes had not come. She would take 
 love like a goddess, not like a coquette. 
 
 " That I am yours ? " she said clearly. " Yes ! 
 Then came the instinct of flight, and she turned 
 to the door. 
 
 " Go, dear," said Stephen gently. He had 
 turned his face from her, and his voice shook. 
 "Go, I shall come to you." 
 
 When Sarah reached her own room, instead 
 of going through any dramatic yielding to emotion, 
 she quietly drew off her gloves and hung up her 
 wraps in unwonted order. Then she sat down by 
 the grate, and began to shiver. The word had
 
 BURNING HIS BOATS. 115 
 
 been spoken, and withdrawal was beyond her 
 power. Miss Phebe came to ask if she would sit 
 an hour with Linora. The poor child was so ex 
 hausted ; the fright of Mr. Mann's accident had 
 sent her into a fainting fit and then into hysterics. 
 Sarah was ashamed of herself for a momentary 
 hardness and disgust. These seemed such trifling 
 emotions, compared with the real convulsions of 
 life. She would not sit with Linora ; she could 
 not bear to see her when she longed to look only 
 in the face of her own awe and joy. 
 
 "I can't, Miss Phebe," she said, desperately. 
 "I'm busy." 
 
 " Then if you can't, you can't," rejoined Miss 
 Phebe. "I've got to see about Mr. Mann. He's 
 only got a million bruises, but he's none too com 
 fortable." 
 
 That evening Sarah refused to go out with Ber 
 nard, and he jealously sought for a reason. Was 
 it somehow for Stephen's sake ? though Stephen, 
 in his disabled condition, would probably not make 
 calls. The sharing of his own gnawing discovery 
 with Sarah had not proved to be of much perma 
 nent comfort. With the next day, and u look in 
 the glass, he was again his most jealous and sus 
 picious self. But, though his own evening was 
 spoiled through anticipation, he would not intrude 
 on hers. She would doubtless hate him enough, 
 even if he refrained from becoming a spy upon
 
 116 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 her. So he betook himself to his room, and locked 
 himself in with his changing moods. 
 
 And Sarah was waiting ; her heart giving the 
 lie to her judgment, and declaring Stephen's com 
 ing. Presently his knock announced it. He was 
 there, pale as much with mental disturbance as 
 physical discomfort. Sarah held the door open, 
 and when he had come, retreated to the fire-place. 
 
 "Shall I sit down?" asked Stephen. "I am 
 heartily ashamed of behaving like a rheumatic old 
 lady." 
 
 " Oh, please, and in this great chair. Was it 
 a dreadful hurt?" coming a little nearer in voice. 
 
 "No hurt at all, to speak of, and I wonder I'm 
 so voluble about it. Ridiculous to be faint, wasn't 
 it ? Perhaps it isn't quite fair to come to you to 
 night." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "You may pity me. I don't want your kind 
 ness to spring from that ; I'd rather not be indebt 
 ed to my bruises." 
 
 Sarah stood looking down at the coals, and trac 
 ing the diamond-shaped pattern of the rug with her 
 foot. 
 
 "Dear, let me speak seriously to you," said 
 Stephen, his voice shaking out vibrations from her 
 own heart. " I have been half laughing about it 
 all these weeks ; it was because I didn't dare to do 
 anything else, for fear of frightening you. Now
 
 BURNING HIS BOATS. 117 
 
 I can tell you everything I meant." He moved a 
 cricket near her. " Will you take it ? I want to 
 see how you will look beside my hearth." 
 
 At the last sentence, she arrested her movement 
 to draw it forward, with a sweet contradictoriness. 
 
 "Oh," said Stephen beseechingly, "let me have 
 the comfort ! I've got some hard things to say to 
 you. The cricket commits you to nothing." 
 Thereupon she smiled a little proudly, as if assert 
 ing her continued freedom, and obeyed him, sitting 
 with her hands clasped over her knees and looking 
 persistently at the fire. 
 
 " I wonder if you will answer me as it is natural 
 for you to do," he said at last, evidently making 
 an effort; "truly, not coquetting nor trifling?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then, shall you love me? I don't ask if you 
 do ; I could not quite believe that. But shall you 
 sometime ? " 
 
 " Not more than now I " 
 
 He bent forward quickly, but pulled himself 
 up. 
 
 "Not yet, dearest, don't say it yet ! " he cried. 
 " How could I let you take it back I " 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 "Because you may hate me instead. Once I 
 thought I loved another woman." He had turned 
 away his face, and his lips were ashen. 
 
 "Do you care for her now?" asked Sarah,
 
 118 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 steadily. His hand framed a quick gesture of dis 
 gust. 
 
 "No, no ! How could you think so poorly of 
 me? What should I deserve for offering you 
 this?" 
 
 " Then " began Sarah. 
 
 " Not yet. Hear it all and condemn in one 
 breath. I married her. We were married three 
 years." 
 
 " Were you happy ? " 
 
 "I was a fool, but even a fool can suffer 
 torment." 
 
 "Darling ! " said Sarah, softly, a swell of love 
 and pity urging on her voice. " You said it was 
 a sweet word." 
 
 Stephen turned to look at her. Her face daz 
 zled him. 
 
 " Do you want to hear the miserable story, 
 dear?" 
 
 "No, I shall never want to hear it." 
 
 " But sometime you must. You must know all 
 about me." 
 
 " Then let it be afterwards . Bernard will come , " 
 she added ; "don't tell him, please." 
 
 "WTiynot?" 
 
 " I don't know, except that he is so strange and 
 moody of late, and I can't bear to have this one 
 night spoiled." 
 
 " But he is your next of kin."
 
 BURNING HIS BOATS. 119 
 
 " No kin at all," said Sarah, laughing. "Hadn't 
 you guessed that he was an adopted brother? " 
 
 "Powers that be!" whistled Stephen. "That 
 accounts." 
 
 " For what, if you please ? " 
 
 " For his not seeming fraternal." 
 
 " Ah, but he is ! He's very fond of me ; only 
 he's troubled of late." 
 
 Stephen said no more, but thanked his particu 
 lar divinities that he came in time. 
 
 The following days were sweeter for being full 
 of a hidden joy. Stephen carried the feeling that 
 he had an appointment at a secret place with one 
 of whom the world did not know ; but the source 
 of joy could not lie long concealed. He was too 
 desirous of her presence, and hung too boldly on 
 her words and face, ever to feign indifference ; more 
 over, when there was no good reason for subter 
 fuge. 
 
 Sarah lived in a dream, seeing little of Bernard 
 and avoiding Linora. She was blinded by the 
 haze of her own happiness, and did not see the dis 
 turbance in her brother's manner. The world was 
 shrouded in mist, through which she beheld the 
 figures of men dimly, but before and above her 
 vision hung the dazzling globe of love, striking 
 white light from the surrounding veil. She and 
 Stephen took long walks, their best chance of being 
 alone together. He talked rapturously, but only
 
 120 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 of her, and she was often silent. She had taken 
 the wonder of love royally, after her first wide 
 glance of amazement at its shining form. Stand 
 ing where he placed her, high above him, she dis 
 pensed her favors with a gracious hand, bewil- 
 deringly shy, motherly, and stately, all in one, until 
 his tongue was well used to swearing there was 
 no woman like her. 
 
 That quick egotism which usually springs to 
 life in a man, with love, prompting him to dwell on 
 his past life, even if he scarcely chooses to lay its 
 incidents bare, was quite absent from Stephen's 
 mood. He was rather like a man born to life on 
 a new planet, looking forward with exultant hope, 
 and spurning memories of the old dark days. Yet 
 he reminded himself sometimes, with a shiver, 
 when he was not with her, that a miserable story 
 was still to be told. To put it off longer would 
 be cowardice rather than the forgctfulness that 
 comes with happiness. It would be easier to do 
 it on the road, her hand in his arm ; so, one night 
 at the early dusk, he called her to equip herself for 
 walking. 
 
 Sarah was in high spirits, " like a cat when the 
 wind is rising," she said. It oppressed Stephen. 
 He had made up his mind at last, and it roused 
 in him that sickening feeling which comes when 
 some are talking glibly and others must listen, yet 
 hear at the same time the insistent inner voice of
 
 BURNING HIS BOATS. 121 
 
 a concealed anticipation. They were barely out 
 side the house when he began. 
 
 " I want to tell you about myself to-night." 
 
 "How like spring it is ! " said Sarah, not heed 
 ing him. " Feel the softness in the air, and see 
 the moon. I can almost hear the little brooks 
 that come from the melting of the snow. Stephen, 
 I wish you had had my country life, years and 
 years, with me." 
 
 "I wish to God I had!" broke out the man, 
 startling her. "Perhaps I might have been some 
 thing different if I could have been delivered over 
 to an angel instead of other people." 
 
 " You need not be different for me, dear," said 
 the girl, serious in an instant. "You are my true 
 and loyal knight." 
 
 "Now, yes. But I must tell you it all. Sarah, 
 I was once desperately in love with a beautiful 
 woman. I married her at twenty-one, and was 
 divorced three years after." 
 
 He threw the words out as the skeleton of his 
 spectre. It would be easier to add details, hav 
 ing the main, hard facts before him. Sarah had 
 stopped short, and was looking at him in the 
 moonlight, her eyes growing wide, and her throat 
 constricting itself too closely for speech. 
 
 " What was it ? Divorced ? " 
 
 "Yes, I told you the other night." 
 
 " But not that ! "
 
 122 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " I must have. What did I say ? " 
 
 " I don't know I thought she died. But she 
 did die, she died afterwards?" 
 
 The appeal told its story. Stephen understood 
 that the spectre had risen between them. He had 
 believed that the fair white hands could thrust it 
 aside. 
 
 " She is alive," he said, doggedly. 
 
 Sarah's steps faltered a little, but she did not 
 lift her face. 
 
 " Only speak to me ! " cried Stephen, at last. 
 "I'd rather have died myself than hurt you, 
 and that means I'd rather have gone to perdition ; 
 that was where I was going when you stood in the 
 way." 
 
 " Tell me about it, though it can do no good 
 now," she said, miserably. Her voice, no matter 
 what its tone, was like a sudden light through 
 fog. Stephen hated his work too much to think 
 of anything else till it should be over. 
 
 "I was twenty when I saw her," he began, hur 
 riedly, " more of a boy than most boys, romantic, 
 dreaming about music, and in my sophomore year 
 at college. She was the sister of a fellow who was 
 ill a long time, and she came to nurse him. I 
 used to visit him. After she came, I used to take 
 night after night to watch with him. You will 
 despise me more than I deserve, when I tell you 
 why I think I fell in love with her. I know how
 
 BURNING HIS BOATS. 123 
 
 you feel about such things, like an angel that was 
 never human. She was beautiful flesh, enough 
 to prove an artist's life-long discouragement, with 
 her tints and outlines. I had the sort of nature 
 that worships beauty ; I was at the age for falling 
 in love ; so I took the first material at hand. I 
 fell in love with her." 
 
 " How did she look? " asked Sarah, in a whispei% 
 
 " Like a sunset, I always told her. You won't 
 understand when I tell you that an indescribable 
 purple always seemed to me to be the tint hanging 
 about her. Her eyes were a strange blue, and 
 her hair black, but her skin always seemed to lie 
 under a veil, like the bloom on a plum. As I 
 told you, she looked to me like the rosy sunset of 
 a moist day." 
 
 Sarah felt herself at the brink of shivering, and 
 clenched her hand on her nerves. There was more 
 pure dramatic interest than jealousy in her ex 
 citement. 
 
 " She was five years older than I, and she was a 
 coquette to the very marrow. She liked my wor 
 ship, you may be sure of that. She'd had a good 
 deal before, but young adoration has a flavor about 
 it, I have come to think since. She used to come 
 in to relieve me or bring me a glass of wine, when 
 I watched with Fred, and look at me across his 
 bed. When he was delirious, she could make 
 eyes at me. I saw then that she had no feeling
 
 124 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 for anybody but me, I suppose I thought ! I 
 knew she hoodwinked me and lied to me. I 
 heard her lies with my ears, but they made no dif- 
 feyence with niy heart. I must have been a fine 
 sort of fellow ! " 
 
 " But if you saw she wasn't your ideal," began 
 Sarah, in her perplexity, " why did you go on lov 
 ing her ? " 
 
 " Because, I suppose, I had no ideal. Yes, I 
 had. Yes, it is fair to tell you all the good there 
 is to tell of me. I had. I had all my short life a 
 woman in my mind made up of all perfections, 
 whom I should sometime love. But when my 
 senses said ' she has come,' I tore off the crown 
 and put it on her head ; and I could not see 
 straight after that. 
 
 " She treated me like a boy ; scolded and flirted 
 with me, but she said she loved me, and I was in 
 fatuated. Fred got well and she was going home. 
 She lived West, fifty miles from what was my own 
 home then. I remember wondering, when I 
 found out her birthplace, how such a creature 
 could have grown up so near me without my hear 
 ing of her. Somehow I was afraid of losing her, 
 she seemed so beautiful and my deserts so small. 
 I' suppose I thought little Skeriton, where she 
 lived, a sort of Belmont, and that suitors flocked 
 there night and day. I proposed that she should 
 marry me, and she consented. I thought it was
 
 BURNING HIS BOATS. 125 
 
 because she was an angel, and the gods were in 
 love with me : afterwards I saw she found my po 
 sition good and my money an object. 
 
 " So we were married secretly, because I was still 
 in college, and she went back to Skeriton. I saw 
 her twice a year, on vacations. She forbade my 
 coming often, though I could always have done so 
 on my way home ; and I stood back and rever 
 enced her commands. Now guess, for once, why 
 she wouldn't allow me to come and see her," said 
 Stephen, with an unpleasant sort of amusement in 
 his tone. 
 
 "I can't." 
 
 "You never would. Your eternal salvation 
 would be lost if it depended on that. She was en 
 gaged, and was afraid the other fellow would see 
 me and ask unpleasant questions." 
 
 " I don't understand. How could she be en 
 gaged?" 
 
 " Easily. Why not ? Nobody knew I was her 
 husband but myself and an old Methodist minister, 
 and we weren't on the spot." 
 
 M But she couldn't marry him." 
 
 " Naturally not ; but that didn't detract from the 
 pleasure of the experience. I don't .suppose she 
 had debated on consequences. She'd been engaged 
 to more than one man, I found out afterwards." 
 
 "That is very strange," said Sarah, more to her 
 self than to him.
 
 126 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " One might call it so indeed. But let me open 
 your ears which, to be sure, ought to be sacred 
 temples to an unclean truth ; it may help you to 
 understand the kind of ideal, as you say, I had 
 chosen. There is a variety of woman, as there are 
 men, with whom a sort of commerce of looks and 
 small change of caresses is a necessity of life. 
 Well, when I graduated, it was not with honors, 
 as it might have been. My mind had been too 
 much engrossed by writing a poetic epistle daily. 
 I told my father what I had done, and asked per 
 mission to take my wife home. I am sorry to say 
 my father swore and my mother cried. I had no 
 patience with either of them. I thought they 
 ought to go down on their knees and be thankful 
 for what they were about to receive. I was very 
 obstinate, and they were too fond of me to go 
 through any such dramatic business as cursing me ; 
 so the marriage was acknowledged and Dora taken 
 home. Her relatives were quite as electrified as 
 mine, though not displeased. My father, being 
 Judge Mann, was too well known. The young 
 man to whom she was engaged at the time was 
 also surprised, I believe ! 
 
 " I was in a sort of maudlin Elysium. I was to 
 gtudy law with my father, and tried faithfully, but 
 the reading did not make its deepest impression on 
 nie. I was beginning to be uneasy. I should 
 have been glad enough to spend my time at her
 
 BURNING HIS BOATS. 127 
 
 feet if that would have made her contented, but 
 it did not. She wanted to be taken into society, 
 wanted me to spend a winter in Washington or 
 New York and read law there. I refused flatly. 
 I had an instinctive jealousy, such as would sicken 
 a loyal wife. I did not dare, somehow, to trust 
 her with people more worthy her liking than I. I 
 suppose I told myself that it was because she was 
 such a gem that everybody must covet her. Per 
 haps if I had let her have her own way, the end 
 might not have come so soon. She was dull 
 enough in our dull town, and finally her old lover 
 nioved there. By the way, I knew that story of 
 the previous engagement ; Fred divulged it one 
 day when he was angry with her ; but she told me 
 it was a lie, and I believed her. The lover had 
 struck silver in a mine near town, and it had filled 
 his pockets fuller in a week than mine would be 
 in ten years, if I doubled my father's business. 
 
 " One fine morning she walked away with him, 
 leaving a note telling me where to express her 
 clothes." 
 
 A strange revulsion was coming about in Sarah's 
 mind. She was too oppressed with pity for the 
 boy to remember her own relation to the man. It 
 seemed impossible to live unless she could restore 
 his betrayed trust, lead him back to his boyish 
 love to find her pure, and say, " It was a bad 
 dream ; wake and behold everything you imagined."
 
 128 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "My father and mother were very good to me," 
 said Stephen, gravely. " They had reason for say 
 ing, ' I told you so,' and for being glad I had 
 come to the end. Everybody had seen what she 
 was, but everybody had been forbearing for my 
 sake. Through my father's influence I got a 
 divorce as soon as possible, without much publi 
 city. Then I came East.''' 
 
 " And how long did you care for her ? " asked 
 Sarah, in a whisper. Stephen turned upon her in 
 amazement. 
 
 " Care for her ? Never one instant after I really 
 knew her. Do you think a man could stay on his 
 knees to carrion after he was sickened by it, even 
 if his senses had been once so vilely ordered as to 
 love it? That was partly why I had the divorce, 
 because I could not bear having the least connec 
 tion left between us. Then, too, I thought it 
 would be better for her to feel she had some sort 
 of sanction." 
 
 " Have you ever seen her ? " 
 
 "Not once. I see her name in the papers some 
 times. She has left that man, and joined a troupe 
 of travelling comedians. Once I was in the town 
 where they played a night. You can imagine I 
 didn't go to see them." 
 
 " Is there anything more ? " asked Sarah, with 
 sick apprehension that there might be new kor- 
 rors.
 
 BURNING HIS BOATS. 129 
 
 " No, nothing so pleasantly dramatic ; only that I 
 didn't study law after all. My heart wasn't in it, or 
 in anything. I gave up music, too ; I felt that I 
 had lost my chance in life. Father had this man 
 ufacturing interest here in Boston, and when he 
 died mother had died the year before I took 
 charge of the factory." 
 
 They had come round the great square that had 
 become a familiar walk, and were again before 
 Miss Phebe's door. Stephen followed, when Sarah 
 went into her room. She turned on the gas, and 
 as the light fell on her slight figure and pale, work 
 ing face, his eyes came back to her with a kind of 
 amazement. Then he fell on his knees before her. 
 
 "I had .almost forgotten my heaven," he cried, 
 brokenly, "I had gone so far back into hell. 
 Yes, hear the rest of the story ; oh, let me tell it 
 here ! When I was tired of life and had only base 
 ness and my own base responses to remember, I 
 saw you. Every dream I ever had, every worship 
 ping thought of a woman's nature, confronted me. 
 I was dazzled by your radiance. Not my senses, 
 dear ; my heart and soul knelt there, and God, 
 I will deserve her ! " 
 
 Sarah bent over him with slow, bitter weeping 
 that pitifully contracted her face. In the cry of 
 his vow to heaven, Stephen had lifted his face, as 
 full of hope as hers of misery. 
 
 " O dearest, no ! " he cried, starting to his feet to
 
 130 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 dry her tears. "You must not cry for me. It 
 was worth it, if I must have gone through even 
 that, to be able to love you when I found you ; 
 or " with breathless suspicion " are you crying 
 for lost faith in me ? You think me too stained to 
 be lifted by such hands ! " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " cried she, hushing herself. " No, 
 you have only suffered, not sinned never that. 
 You were 'deceived ; you could not do wrong." 
 
 "It is all right, then ! " asked Stephen, still un 
 satisfied. " You love me ? " 
 
 W I love you more," she said, sorrowfully. " Go 
 now." 
 
 Sne kissed his forehead, and softly touched the 
 bright hair above it with her hand. It was like a 
 blessing, and he could not ask for a more lover- 
 like good-night.
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 A HIGHER COURT. 
 
 TTALF that night Sarah sat by the fire, facing 
 -*--- her problem. In the one moment of 
 realizing Stephen's disclosure, a fatal denial had 
 branded itself into the living flesh of her heart. 
 It burned there now. Stephen's wife was alive ; 
 iio human law could part the two so irrevocably 
 that either would have a right to form new ties. 
 She had no jealousy of the other woman ; her 
 falsity seemed to debar her from Stephen's life 
 as entirely as it would have done from Sarah's 
 own. In her pure young love of the highest, she 
 could imagine no longing for a beautiful dream 
 when a waking moment had pronounced the out 
 lines distorted, and transformed the bewitching 
 haze into poisonous vapor. As it happened, she 
 was right. Stephen had nothing but repugnance 
 for his past, a repugnance that was tainting his 
 life till he found a star in his low sky. She felt 
 a deep compassion for him, nothing yet for her 
 self. She was young and strong, fresh from her 
 mother's side, new to trouble and able to bear it. 
 He was jaded and worn ; he needed sunshine 
 rather than continued struggling through mists. 
 
 131
 
 132 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 The wisdom quickly born of love taught her 
 this. A motherly instinct of sparing him had 
 kept her that night from outward decision. The 
 next day it must come. Then, when his low tap 
 came at her door, she called a good-morning and 
 said he must excuse her for not appearing at 
 breakfast. She had risen late ; she might be away 
 at noon ; he need not come home with the hope of 
 seeing her. 
 
 "You are well, dear?" came his voice, the last 
 word in a whisper. 
 
 "Quite well," she said, clearly. So Stephen 
 had a few more hours of confidence. 
 
 Sarah entered upon a busy day, almost solemnly. 
 Did any one ever pledge himself to a great renun 
 ciation or purpose without a new sense of conse 
 cration to all other duties ? She ran up to Linora's 
 room, finding that excitable young woman in a 
 fever of discovery. 
 
 "I have found the most wonderful medium," 
 she said, impressively. "You really must see 
 him. He is controlled by an old lady, and she 
 told me all sorts of things about what has hap 
 pened to me." 
 
 " Don't go again, dear," said Sarah. All the 
 world seemed younger than herself just now. 
 She wanted to protect it, and save it from further 
 danger of fall. " I don't believe it's good for any 
 body."
 
 A HIGHER COURT. 133 
 
 M But I must investigate," cried Linora, rising 
 from her nest of pillows and looking, with her 
 hair rumpled, like a little goblin. " I don't care 
 so much for my private affairs nobody can help 
 them much " with the old dropping of her lids, 
 "but I feel it my mission to investigate. Miss 
 Phebe," she called, as that lady went past her 
 door, bearing rattling impedimenta of coal-scuttle 
 and dust-pan. "Just a minute! Won't you go 
 with me to see a medium?" 
 
 Miss Phebe, her head temporarily swaddled in 
 a red handkerchief, the insignia of sweeping, 
 smiled grimly. She always did smile at Linora, 
 regarding her pranks with much the same indul 
 gence due to a kitten's whisking of tail. "I'd 
 rather go to a good play." 
 
 "But, Miss Phebe, if you went once you'd go 
 again." 
 
 " Fiddle-dee-dee ! " said Miss Phebe, withdraw 
 ing the length of her countenance. 
 
 " The Bible says the witch of Endor " called 
 Linora. 
 
 " The Bible speaks of answering folks accord 
 ing to their folly," came tartly , with an undercurrent 
 of amusement at the cleverness involved in her 
 repartee ; and the coal-scuttle and dust-pan moved 
 on. 
 
 "I should think your brother might be inter 
 ested," said Linora, when they turned to each
 
 134 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 other, with a smile over Miss Phebe's memory. 
 " Ho seems to have a very nervous, impressible 
 nature." 
 
 "Poor Bernard, yes," said Sarah, with a sigh 
 for his recent strange moods. " But don't ask him. 
 I think it would be worse for him than for any one 
 I know. But, Linora, why do you try to draw 
 your friends into the belief? Is it from a mission 
 ary spirit ? " 
 
 "Partly," said Linora; then, with a childish 
 frankness, " Not altogether, either. Half of it is 
 selfishness. You know I was brought up to think 
 a chaperone one of the necessities of life. Now 
 here in this democratic Boston, girls as young as 
 I am seem to go about alone, and so I try to 
 make myself. But it is a comfort to have some 
 one with me, even if it is not an older person." 
 
 "Very well, dear. I'll go anywhere with you." 
 
 " Go to Professor Leonard's ? I shall go, in any 
 case," with a quick leap at her own purpose. 
 
 "If you are determined to go, I'll walk there 
 with you and wait till you see him. Not to-day, 
 though. Now I must find Bernard." 
 
 He proved to be in his own room, ready to go 
 out. A portfolio of blank paper under his arm 
 indicated the library. 
 
 "O Bernard," said Sarah, eagerly, "let me 
 go with you. How I should like to spend a long 
 day with you and a book ! "
 
 A HIGHER COURT. 135 
 
 "You'll disturb me," he said roughly, though he 
 wanted her more than anything in the world. 
 
 " Disturb you ? I never do ; I'm not a child ! " 
 
 "I can work better alone," pulling his sleeve 
 away from her hand. 
 
 " Bernard, what is it, lately? " asked Sarah, with 
 the patience of wounded affection. " You are so 
 changed. You never spend your evenings with 
 me ' 
 
 "Arc you lonely, then?" he sneered. 
 
 A quick blush stained her face, as memory 
 threw before "her eyes the record of happy hours. 
 
 " No, I have been very happy," she said. " But, 
 Bernard, I care for you ; I miss you," she added 
 softly, seeking to heal whatever wound he had. 
 "Don't be so unjust ; you are not generous." 
 
 He looked at her, with his face contracting. 
 
 " You see it in me too ? You are right ; I've 
 got in me every vile trait a man ever had. Don't 
 speak to me again. Don't come near me ! " 
 
 He ran down stairs, and left her to follow in 
 sore bewilderment. But she put thought of him 
 aside. There would be time enough later to make 
 things right there ; the coming moments must hold 
 her good-by to Stephen. He came that evening, 
 boyish, radiant. Now she knew him as he was, and 
 did not love him less. He was ready for the fut 
 ure ; the past had received its cancelling stroke. 
 He held out his arms ; she must fly to him, sharing
 
 136 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 his fulness of joy. But she shook her head with an 
 effort at smiling. Her shyness disappointed him. 
 
 "Well," he said, with his habitual shrug of 
 the shoulders, "must I beg my way? " 
 
 "No," said Sarah, trying to speak lightly, but 
 feeling her heart die within her. It was going to 
 be harder than she thought. " Sit down, please. 
 I want to tell you something." 
 
 Stephen began to look at her searchingly. She 
 felt her limbs trembling. Her mouth seemed to 
 stiffen, and her teeth chattered with cold. 
 
 " Did you ever think " 
 
 "Dear, if it's something hard to say, why not 
 say it here ? " He held out his arms again, but 
 Sarah shook her head and turned her eyes from 
 his. The gas-lamp opposite was being lighted ; 
 it flamed up as he spoke. 
 
 "Did you ever think," she went on, still frozen, 
 "that, the woman being alive, you had no right to 
 marry ? " 
 
 All Stephen's jubilance died down like a fire 
 suddenly extinguished. So he must face the old 
 spectre once more ! Now it had become more hor 
 rible, a ghoul, with malicious eyes. 
 
 "No, the law gave me full liberty to do so. I 
 have always known that, though I never expected 
 to use it." 
 
 " Did you ever think that the law had no power 
 to give you liberty ? "
 
 A HIGHER COURT. 137 
 
 "Do you mean," he asked, in a hard voice, 
 " do you mean you will not marry me ? " 
 
 "Not while she lives," she said, in a whisper. 
 
 The silence was so long that Sarah felt it might 
 be broken by a shriek from her own lips. Then 
 she durcd turn to him. Stephen was looking into 
 vacancy, his face haggard and old. 
 
 " God ! isn't it a little too hard ? " he said qui 
 etly. " Do you punish crimes as you punish me 
 for being a fool?" 
 
 " Oh, I know how your throat feels ! " cried 
 Sarah, childishly, at the sound of his voice. "It's 
 dreadful, isn't it?" 
 
 She moved swiftly towards him and stood by his 
 side, her beautiful eyes full of compassion. Ste 
 phen slowly raised his own to them ; they gathered 
 flame. He put his hand on her wrist and held it 
 firmly. 
 
 " Is it your personal feeling for me ? " he said, 
 searching her face with eyes that must have com 
 pelled the truth. "Are you changed? Is it 
 disgust?" 
 
 "Oh, no, no, no!" she cried, quickly, with a 
 momentary impulse towards him. " I love you. 
 You are everything to me ! It is God's law." 
 
 The change that swept over his face was like the 
 light and shade from flying summer clouds. Now 
 there was light. 
 
 " To the winds with your silly scruples ! You
 
 138 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 are mine ; I will never give you up ! " He had 
 drawn her into his arms, his heart beating in tri 
 umphant mockery of her fallen resolutions. A 
 sense of despair seized her. She must yield, she 
 felt, only to repent to-morrow. 
 
 "You hurt my wrist," she whispered, with a 
 feminine instinct as to her choice of weapons. He 
 was still holding it with all the energy of pain. 
 She was released, and the red, bruised flesh cov 
 ered with kisses. 
 
 "Darling, how can you love a brute? You will 
 never forgive me this, even if you can forgive me 
 for loving you ! " 
 
 Sarah drew her hand away and retreated to the 
 hearth. There were the two chairs where they had 
 so often sat like married lovers and dreamed of 
 an assured future. 
 
 "Come and sit here, please. Now let us be 
 serious, and quiet. Stephen, it may be right 
 for you to marry, if you feel it so, but it is not 
 right for me." 
 
 " Has the law pretended to free me, and left me 
 bound?" 
 
 " I think it has only freed you from present un- 
 bappiness. It hasn't given you a right to choose 
 new ways of happiness." 
 
 " Then the law, according to your idea, is an 
 infallible vengeance, not reformatory in the least? " 
 
 " I don't know what you mean. Don't be bitter.
 
 A HIGHER COURT. 139 
 
 Stephen, not yet ; it is so much easier to talk if 
 you are not." He bent forward and touched her 
 hand softly. 
 
 " I'll try not, dear. Go on." 
 
 "I have only this one thing to say over and 
 over. When you were married, your promise 
 was made for life." 
 
 A flush rose to his face, a savage shame at 
 what he had to remember. 
 
 "Sarah, you must hear hard facts. Do you 
 realize that when the woman went from my house 
 to another man's arms, the promise was broken?" 
 
 " For her, not for you." 
 
 " You are a strange physician," he said, bitterly. 
 " You think my moral health would have been im 
 proved if I had carried about with me this eating 
 sore." 
 
 " No, not that. You were free. It would have 
 been horrible to live together after that. But a 
 new marriage would have no sacredness." 
 
 " Not even with you ? " He was only the lover 
 now, adoring but conquering. She feared her 
 own strength, set face to face with his charm. 
 
 "Not even with me," she said, steadily. "I 
 should only be your mistress." 
 
 " God forbid ! " said Stephen, rising and walk 
 ing to the window. "Your purity shall never 
 feel itself sullied by me." 
 
 To be protected was too much, after standing
 
 140 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 BO wearily alone. She fell into soft weeping. He 
 came back to stand before her. He was armed 
 with reason this time, not persuasion. 
 
 "Don't cry, dearest, don't cry. Nothing is 
 worth one of your tears. Listen. In this world 
 everything is so full of contrariety and we are 
 such weak fools, that it is almost impossible 
 to get along without mistakes. You don't believe 
 in eternal punishment hereafter, why do you 
 insist on life-long punishment here ? " 
 
 "I don't. But happiness isn't all." 
 
 "No, but in this case it is not my happiness 
 alone that is in question. It is my good, my one 
 chance of life. Sarah, you know well enough what 
 I was when I found you, sneering at pretences 
 of good, unbelieving, forsaken of ideals. You 
 know what will surely happen if you marry me. 
 I shall live as I never have as I only dreamed it 
 was possible to live, when I was a boy." 
 
 He had meant to meet her argument for argu 
 ment, but his heart would make itself heard in 
 defiance of resolutions. 
 
 Sarah could only repeat wearily, " It would be 
 no marriage." 
 
 M Dear, there have been a few high souls who 
 were not afraid to choose for themselves. If you 
 think it would be no marriage, still come, and be 
 everything to me." 
 
 "I cannot ! I cannot ! " she repeated, the word
 
 A HIGHER COURT. 141 
 
 ending in a cry. She could only belie her heart, 
 that had lost all voice but one of pleading in his 
 cause. 
 
 " Shall I take off the little ring? " asked Stephen. 
 In his dying hope, he caught desparingly at what 
 ever trifle might move her. Sarah looked at it on 
 the hand that lay in her lap. The moment of his 
 putting it on, his joy in the symbol, flashed upon 
 her and roused her. 
 
 " Oh, no, not you ! " she cried, longing to save 
 him pain. "Let me do it. It will be easier." 
 
 Stephen stayed her other hand as it came to do 
 his work. He bent on one knee to look at the 
 stone. 
 
 " See, princess ! " he whispered. " See how it 
 burns ! " 
 
 In the shadow of her dress, the opal was like 
 flame, a heart of fire in a shimmering sea of 
 green and violet and milk. 
 
 .. "Take it for an omen. It means nothing but 
 love." 
 
 The mighty bond of nature which lies between the 
 man and woman tightened, like an invisible chain; 
 Their eyes met. Some blinding consciousness 
 came to her that in another moment her lips would 
 passively confess surrender. The saving, valiant 
 right hand did its work, snatched off the ring 
 and held it, while she rose and looked at him, 
 trembling. Stephen rose too, flushed with an
 
 142 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 adoring admiration, too much in love with her for 
 pain. 
 
 " The spirit of all the Romans was nothing to 
 yours ! " he said, between his teeth. " My darling, 
 do as you will. Make me serve all my life, wheth 
 er you are mine or not." 
 
 " Then go ; I am so tired ! " she said, brokenly. 
 
 It was best, he saw. He could only excite her 
 now ; he bent to kiss the little hand that held the 
 mantel, and was gonet The ring lay still clenched 
 in her palm. She looked at it, when she was 
 alone, as her heart had begged her to look at him, 
 kissed it good-night, and slept with it under her 
 pillow. 
 
 Though she could tell no one, and could scarcely 
 conceive of asking even her mother for help, had 
 she been there, Sarah's greatest grief for herself 
 lay in the fact that she must be entirely alone. 
 Stephen was thenceforth to be resisted as her ene 
 my. There was needed some one who, by a com 
 forting and ennobling presence, could hold her up 
 to the demands of her best self. She could not 
 turn to Bernard ; he was too hopelessly changed. 
 
 Bernard, too, longed for companionship; his 
 days were growing sadly lonely, though the lone 
 liness was the result of his own caprice. But the 
 consequences of one's deeds are no pleasanter for 
 coining logically. A little obliquity in cause and 
 effect would be far more palatable. Bernard re-
 
 A HIGHER COURT. 143 
 
 fleeted, with a morbid self-pity, that there was no 
 one in the world to whom he could turn for eom- 
 panionship. Stephen he hated ; his easy good- 
 humor was but patronage. With Linora he had 
 always been at sword's points, feeling sure she rid 
 iculed him. That was true, though her jesting 
 was merry enough to pass unchallenged before a 
 less critical judgment. Only Bernard knew how 
 it stung. The uncouthness that shrouded his set 
 of tingling nerves was very ridiculous to Linora. 
 He reminded her of some strange animal, and she 
 was always privately trying to guess what it might 
 be. It amused her better to ilay him, bit by bit, 
 with satire, than to win him over to her set of ad 
 herents. 
 
 "You should sing, Mr. Ellis," she said once, 
 innocently. Her shots were always despatched 
 when some one was by, before whom they could 
 be delivered without fear of too blunt retaliation. 
 "You look so musical." 
 
 Bernard writhed and trembled, while Sarah won 
 dered at his disturbance. 
 
 " You arc right, Miss Gale, though I don't know 
 that you are aware of it," said Stephen, coining to 
 the rescue. "Ellis has a musical face. He has 
 sometimes a turn of expression which suggests 
 the great composers." And though Stephen was 
 honest, Bernard set him down as gibing with the
 
 144 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 rest. All the world would soon be ready to mock 
 at him. 
 
 Sarah had been won by Stephen ; Bernard was 
 sure of that. He had hated her for not telling him, 
 if it were so, and shrank back shivering at the fear 
 that she would. And while he wept and prayed 
 by himself for even her toleration, not her love, 
 he met every advance she made with roughness. 
 Through all his moods beat, like the throbbing of 
 a wound, the consciousness that he was not akin 
 to the pure-minded ; that his soul was indelibly 
 stamped from birth with some stain that impressed 
 it through and through.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 
 
 OTEPHEN had only retired from the field, confi- 
 ^ dent that on his side no surrender was possible. 
 Sarah's denial represented nothing more than an 
 illogical scruple, to be overcome by persuasion of 
 love or reason. Able to estimate very fairly the 
 amount of suffering meted out to him from his un 
 lucky past, he decidedly refused further retribu 
 tion ; and what, but a voluntary sacrifice to Neme 
 sis, would be the withdrawal of his suit? He 
 loved Sarah the more for her decision ; it stood as 
 proof of her pure adherence to an immaculate 
 standard of right, though he confidently foresaw, 
 in the growth of her heart, the promise of a higher 
 revelation. When that should come, as it must 
 speedily, he having access to her ear, she would 
 choose with him the mountain-tops of exaltation, 
 leaving these cold valleys where prevailed only a 
 meaningless rigor of law. Their future should 
 win from her many a smile over the childish scru 
 ples of her past. 
 
 If he could have known how his arguments had 
 shaken her he would have grown more hopeful still. 
 Sarah remained by no means convinced of having 
 
 146
 
 146 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 done right. She had religiously adhered to her 
 preconceived theories, but did those theories rep 
 resent the highest wisdom ? Might not great love 
 give an insight of its own, transcending every 
 thing learned of tradition ? She could but remem 
 ber the great cases, destined always to be cited in 
 morals, wherein the highest course has proved that 
 of transgression, the choice of a liberty which has 
 become in its turn law. Might not her own prob 
 lem be of the color of these ? 
 
 She had been moved by no argument or per 
 suasion as by his picture of the barrenness of his 
 life without her. She felt its perfect truth. In 
 this short period of their courtship she had some 
 times trembled before his reverence of her nature 
 and its demands. Whenever that had arisen 
 which required the pure heart and keen vision 
 which make and uphold moral decisions, he had 
 always virtually retired, leaving her the field as 
 one whose paths were familiar to her tread. That 
 he by no means bowed to her judgment in this 
 last case, shook her own belief in herself. Stephen 
 must be absolutely confident on his side of the 
 question. Could he be so without some measure 
 of right on his side ? 
 
 The next night he came again, at his usual time, 
 apparently neither perplexed nor troubled. 
 
 "I know you have reconsidered dear," }ie saM-> 
 with a smile.
 
 NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 147 
 
 Sarah shook her head. 
 
 "Not thought it over? I have, and I can't give 
 you up." 
 
 The same battle was to be fought over again ; 
 she trembled with anticipation. 
 
 " If you could tell me your respect or love had 
 waned, that you could not forgive rue for being such 
 a poor fool, I would leave you at once. Is it so ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then I can make you happy. Moreover, I 
 will." 
 
 A confident lover could be better withstood than 
 one despairing. Her spirit rose to meet his chal 
 lenge. 
 
 " You never shall ! " 
 
 Stephen's eyes flashed ominously. 
 
 " You cannot rid yourself of me so long as you 
 confess you love me. I will not go. I have no pride 
 where you are concerned ; I have no chivalry, 
 cither. As to the last, you will be far happier if I 
 stay with you and make you miserable, than if I 
 obey you and go." 
 
 It was true. She felt it and flushed consciously, 
 though her head was still high with pride. 
 
 "You are very beautiful ! " said Stephen, in low- 
 toned admiration. "You are more like a splendid 
 young horse than anything. Toss your head, dear 
 creature ! You shall never be tamed, though you 
 shall love your master."
 
 148 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 It was becoming an encounter of lovers' wits. 
 The great question was falling far behind. Sarah 
 felt that, and bravely dragged it to the front 
 again. 
 
 " Stephen, all this is not to the purpose. You 
 have no right to admire me or caress me, when 
 I take away the right." 
 
 "I have my soul to save as well as you, fair 
 saint. You are my heaven ; I shall not give you 
 up." 
 
 " But I have given you up. Our paths are dif 
 ferent." 
 
 " Truly ? Then one of us must forsake his own 
 road, for we go together." 
 
 She was not of less inflammable matter than he. 
 
 "I refuse to marry you! You are rejected. 
 Are you so little of a gentleman as to stay ? " 
 
 "Just that. I am your slave ; you can't trans 
 mute base blood into noble." 
 
 " Stephen, go ! " she cried at last, humbling her 
 self to appeal. " Only go to-night. I must 
 think." 
 
 "Will you leave your door open while I play?" 
 
 " Yes, anything only go." 
 
 That approach to her ear was well chosen, for 
 Sarah must take her place among the untaught 
 worshippers of music. Her face covered by her 
 hands, she listened, and was moved, as he was 
 praying that she should be. The appeal and an-
 
 NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 149 
 
 guish, the supplication of minor chords, she could 
 withstand ; but not the flowing of the melody his 
 fingers presently wove, that was like an endless 
 marriage-song of joy. Jubilant at first, full of 
 ecstasy at its triumph, it led into mazes of sweet 
 wandering through the green fields of wedded con 
 tent. It stopped on a hasty chord, and he was 
 hurrying down to her. She could deny him no 
 longer, but she could not decide in hot blood, 
 and Stephen found the door closed and silence 
 within. 
 
 After this, she scarcely saw him for a week. 
 She knew him too well to hope he had taken 
 her at her word. The battle between the two 
 wills must be renewed, and she must somehow 
 gain strength and confidence. For every day her 
 consciousness grew that there were two balancing 
 sides to her question, and she wondered more and 
 more if the spirit of her love might not be fuller 
 of divine life than the letter of her belief. 
 
 During this time Linora was beseeching her to 
 visit Professor Leonard. Linora herself went al 
 most daily, now, to one medium or another ; and 
 though Sarah still reasoned and pleaded against 
 such mistaken zeal, she was conscious that the 
 subject had aroused a vivid curiosity in her own 
 mind. In consequence, she one day agreed to 
 witness an interview with the man of magic, 
 this to Linora's great delight. But with their
 
 150 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 entrance into the medium's little waiting-room her 
 courage failed, or her disgust arose, and she re 
 fused to go further. Linora was injured, indignant, 
 and coaxing to no purpose ; if she would keep her 
 appointment, it could only be by leaving Sarah 
 without, as she presently realized. 
 
 An old man was turning over the album in the 
 waiting-room, Uncle Ben himself. He had come 
 up that morning, and had not yet announced his 
 arrival to Leonard. He meant to take his turn 
 and go in after Linora, standing hidden in the 
 shadow of the curtain, when the latter was 
 beckoned in. 
 
 " You goin' to have a sittin' after your friend ? " 
 he began, when Sarah put down her newspaper. 
 She looked up to catch his sunny smile, and trust 
 him immediately. 
 
 " No, I am only waiting for her." 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes ! Well, young folks don't have 
 so much call to get comfort from them that's on 
 the other side as some of us do. But I like to 
 have the young believers. They can help on the 
 cause better than we can." 
 
 Sarah's interest rose. "I see you believe," she 
 said, smiling. 
 
 " Yes, anybody could see it, I hope. I mean to 
 speak a good word for it everywhere I can. It's 
 meat an' drink to me." 
 
 " I wish you could tell me something about it,"
 
 NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 151 
 
 she began, hesitating between a sudden loving 
 interest in him, and a fear of encroaching. " It is 
 quite new to me." 
 
 "I see, I see; there's a good many so," said 
 Uncle Ben, nodding. "Never lost anybody, I 
 s'pose, an' don't feel the drawin' we do, that have 
 folks on the other side ? " 
 
 The quick tears sprang to her eyes. 
 
 " There, there I anybody but me'd have known 
 bctter'n that ! " said Uncle Ben, in distress, hastily 
 removing his hat from the floor to a table, as a 
 delicate excuse for looking away from her. 
 
 " You needn't be sorry for speaking," said Sarah, 
 at once. " My mother died last year. My father 
 is dead, too, but I can't remember him." 
 
 "Pretty hard! pretty hard !" said Uncle Ben, 
 " unless you can have a word from 'em now and 
 then. I al'ays think, too, how hard it must seem 
 to the young to wait, with so many years afore 
 'em, an' we almost through." 
 
 " But it's a beautiful world," said Sarah, quickly. 
 It was always a point of honor with her to uphold 
 the praises of her birthplace. 
 
 "Yes, yes, that's so. I like to hear the new 
 generation say that. It shows they'll make the 
 most of their privileges, an' they've got a good 
 deal to answer for. Now I hope you remember 
 to think what a privilege 'tis to be sound in wind 
 an' limb?"
 
 152 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 Sarah laughed. "Perhaps; not often, though, 
 I'm afraid ; but I enjoy my strength." 
 
 " That's so ; that's just it ;" nodding to her over 
 his stout cane. " You don't have to think about 
 your hearin', nor your eyesight, nor your sciatic 
 nerve. I often think if I could go out mo win' 
 an' feel gallons of blood goin' like coach-horses 
 through my veins, as I used to, I should be some 
 good in the world. All I can do now is to have 
 faith an' believe." 
 
 " That is a great deal, I think," said Sarah, shyly ; 
 "a very great thing to do," 
 
 "Well, well, we must all be contented with our 
 powers," said Uncle Ben, the smile coming back, 
 to wrinkle his face into sunny ridges. " Some are 
 made prophets, and some of us can't be anything 
 but sort of underwitted bein's, clingin' to the hand 
 that feeds us. But now about spiritualism ; if you 
 should ever feel a drawin' towards it, you'll find the 
 medium in there can tell you things worth hearin'." 
 
 "Is he a good medium ?" asked Sarah, chiefly 
 from the desire of leading him on. 
 
 " I've known him ever since he was a boy and 
 had just begun to develop. He's got great 
 powers, an' he's gentle an' tender an' honest in his 
 heart. Oh, you can trust him ! I al'ays feel 
 bound to think o' that, too, in a medium ; there's 
 just as much lyin' an' cheatin' in this as there is in 
 any faith. Even religion ain't free from it."
 
 NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 153 
 
 Linora presently appeared, and Sarah bade her 
 new friend good-by, offering him her hand, with 
 a sudden impulse of reverence. As they were on 
 their way down stairs she heard him calling, and 
 going back, found him hurrying to meet her. 
 
 "I was most afraid I shouldn't overtake you," 
 said he. " There's one thing I ought to ha' said. 
 I told you where to go if you should feel any 
 drawin' towards spiritualism ; but if you shouldn't 
 come to be interested in it nat'rally, I wouldn't 
 force it. Some are ready for it an' some ain't ! I 
 wouldn't force it." 
 
 " If your Professor Leonard were like that dear 
 old man, Linora," said Sarah, as they walked 
 away, "I might be willing to make him my con 
 fessor. Did you notice the sweetness of his ex 
 pression ? And he is wise." 
 
 " Would you truly go ? " said Linora, her eyes 
 beginning to dance. " Well, they're very much 
 alike. Professor Leonard is a dear old gentle 
 man." 
 
 " Old ! I thought you said he was young." 
 
 " You're thinking of the young man who showed 
 me in. Professor Leonard is white-haired and 
 venerable. Now I hold you to your word." 
 
 Uncle Ben had gone back and succeeded in sur 
 prising Leonard. It warmed his heart to find the 
 boy so fond of him, and so unspoiled by pros 
 perity.
 
 154 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "But we'd better get to business, Lenny," he 
 said, interrupting an avalanche of questions about 
 the farm. "You must give me a sittin' this time. 
 We've got to see trouble, Lenny, you an' me, I'm 
 afraid. Maria ain't well." 
 
 " Aunt Maria ! How long's she been sick ? " 
 
 " She's up an' around this mornin', but she's had 
 a pretty ill turn. When I come in from the barn 
 day 'fore yesterday, she was on the lounge an' 
 couldn't move nor speak." 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 "Her heart. She had to tell me all about it 
 then, though she was a good deal put out with 
 herself for lettin' me know. She's had the spells 
 nigh onto two year, an' ain't told nobody but 
 Lomie, an' wouldn't ha' told her if Lomie hadn't 
 found her in one an' promised to keep it from me." 
 
 " O Uncle Ben ! " cried Leonard, his eyes full 
 of great tears ; " what are we going to do ? " 
 
 "Lenny, boy, we shall have to do exactly as the 
 good Lord says," said the old man, patting his 
 shoulder and smiling at him. "Just exactly. It 
 ain't been easy for me to be reconciled. For two 
 nights, I've been almost questionin' the Lord, an' 
 wonderin' how, if 'twas to be, I could give Maria 
 up. An' then somethin' says to me, 'You selfish 
 old creatur', when you ain't got a day to live your 
 self, here you are grudgin' your girl goin' to find 
 out her home afore you.' Then I give up."
 
 NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 155 
 
 " Will she die right away ? " asked Len. 
 
 "I don't think it's likely," said the old man. 
 " She's had the spells two years, but they've been 
 comin' on faster for a couple o' months, so Lomie 
 says. An' she may be here longer'n any of us, 
 an' she may go 'most any time. Now, Lenny, I want 
 to have a sittin', an' have you ask if there ain't 
 somethin' can be done for her." 
 
 " Oh, get a doctor ! Don't stop for sittings ! " 
 
 " Lenny, don't speak so. You're young, an' you 
 ain't reverent, sometimes. No, set down an* see 
 if the influences won't come." 
 
 Leonard yielded with a sigh, and led the way 
 into the inner room. Then he closed his eyes, 
 and seemed to fall at once into an abnormal 
 state. 
 
 "The old lady's here," he said, in a voice not 
 quite his natural one. 
 
 " Aunt Peggy ! Yes, go on ! " 
 
 "She puts her hand on her side as if she had 
 pain there." 
 
 "Yes, she takes on Maria's conditions. Now 
 what does she say we shall do ? " 
 
 Leonard's face gathered an expression of gen 
 uine misery, until he burst forth, 
 
 " She doesn't say anything, only keeps her hand 
 on her side. She don't say a word." 
 
 "Try, Lenny, try ; be patient," said Uncle Ben, 
 an extremity of impatience in his own voice.
 
 156 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 The door opened softly, and Biker walked in, 
 his eyes closed, his hands tightly clenched. 
 
 "This medium is under control of those who 
 have most interest in you," he began monoto 
 nously. " The other medium is tired ; listen to 
 this one." 
 
 " Thank the Lord ! " said Uncle Ben fervently. 
 "I knew they would have something for me." 
 
 So Leonard opened his eyes and listened, while 
 Biker went on. 
 
 " Me big Injun medicine man," he said guttur- 
 ally. " Squaw much sick ; me make her live 
 many moons more. Me put hand on heart and 
 stroke it. Squaw not get well, but live many 
 moons." 
 
 "That's good news," said Uncle Ben. "You'll 
 be with her, won't you? An' ain't there some 
 thing we can do for her ? " 
 
 " No what you call it ? excitement. Not let 
 her see folks she would be much glad or much 
 sorry to see. Don't let young brave here," put 
 ting his hand on Len's knee, " not let him go there 
 yet. She be too heap glad." 
 
 "Oh," cried Len, in a sorrow long drawn out, 
 "I wanted to go down right away." 
 
 "Brave not go yet, go sometime. Now we 
 want to send medium out on smoking steam horse, 
 to give big talk." Biker came to himself with a 
 start, and opened blank eyes on the two tearful
 
 NEWS FROM COVENTRY. 157 
 
 people before him. " Ah ! I've either pleased or 
 troubled you," he smiled. "Dear Uncle Ben, 
 how glad I am to see you ! " 
 
 "The Lord forever bless you, sir!" returned 
 the old man, fervently. "I wish I could do one 
 quarter as much for you as you have done for me 
 an' mine." 
 
 And before he left, he had decreased the obliga 
 tion by fifty dollars.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A VERDICT. 
 
 TTE who hesitates is lost, says the proverb. He 
 -**- who looks too closely on both sides of a 
 question sees himself in danger of offending the 
 truth on either. When Stephen came in for his 
 next evening with Sarah, it was with softened and 
 graver air. He was no longer disposed to take 
 her audaciously by storm. Further waiting had 
 placed her scruples in a light which made him 
 shrink with fear lest they might indeed prove irre 
 vocable. 
 
 " You know why I have come ? " he said, smil 
 ing faintly. 
 
 " Yes, to ask if I have any further light. I have, 
 Stephen, but it confuses me the more. I see so 
 much reason on your side." 
 
 His heart leaped, though a generous impulse 
 checked the coming jubilance of word. She should 
 take her own course. Yet, so deserving of victory 
 did his arguments seem, that over-persuasion had 
 begun to assume the guise of charity. 
 
 "In the first place, I know you would never ask 
 me to do what you thought wrong," she said, lift 
 ing her innocent eyes to his. 
 
 158
 
 A VERDICT. 159 
 
 "I hope not." 
 
 " And your standard of right is likely to be quite 
 as high as mine ; higher, since you know more." 
 
 "No, you are wrong there 1 ," said Stephen, hon 
 estly. "My intuitions as to fine questions are 
 smoke compared with yours. I can plod along 
 very well in every-day life, but as to very ideal 
 aspirations, I am a beast of the field." 
 
 " Don't say such things, Stephen. Now I sup 
 pose, in the sight of God, you are free." 
 
 " I hope so ; I've done my best to become so." 
 
 " And it seems only just that you should be al 
 lowed to choose a new life after shaking off the 
 old." 
 
 " I agree with you." 
 
 "But, after all is said, marriage ought to last till 
 death, the sacredness of having one wife or one 
 husband," she cried, piteously, " that is the only 
 right thing." 
 
 Stephen was silent, debating within himself. 
 Then he said, gently, " Sarah, in all your thinking, 
 have you thoroughly considered the cause of my 
 divorce ? Not incompatibility, you know ; no 
 sentimental reason, but the old sin, the one that 
 snaps a marriage bond like rotten thread." 
 
 Sarah's face flushed painfully. " I know," she 
 said ; "I have thought." 
 
 " Dear, laws are for the protection of society. 
 The law allows me to marry without reproach to
 
 160 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 myself or danger of injuring other people. And 
 you know there is a law of human development ; 
 we must cast off old fetters and take on new hab 
 its. You are going to refuse me that privilege." 
 
 "No, oh, no, but something not my heart or 
 reason denies every word you say. Stephen, 
 give me a little time to think, and don't come near 
 me till it is over." 
 
 "Have it as you please, dear," said Stephen, 
 rising to go, and touching her hand softly. But 
 he knew well that if she decided against him, he 
 should return to the siege, and that with a more 
 desperate courage than before. 
 
 The outward actions of life lost their savor with 
 the girl. She scarcely knew what she ate or when 
 she slept. All action seemed concentrated with 
 in ; her brain had become a whirling maze of what 
 might prove sophistry or truth. She could no 
 longer distinguish between the two. Bernard eyed 
 her jealously, and saw her less and less often. But 
 Linora grew violently curious, her fertile little 
 mind suggesting Stephen as the moving cause of 
 disturbance. He had been constantly with Sarah 
 of late ; now they met less often, and Sarah was 
 growing ghostly every day. 
 
 " Ah, dear, if you had only taken my warning ! " 
 Linora said to her in her softest, saddest tones. 
 " I told you he was fickle."
 
 A VERDICT. 161 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " You know, Stephen Mann. Why should you 
 mind talking it over with ine?" Annoyed as 
 Sarah was, her bright sense of humor flashed 
 up. 
 
 "Linora, what a sentimental goose you are! 
 Mr. Mann and I have not quarrelled." 
 
 "No, very likely not; we had no out-and-out 
 quarrel." 
 
 " I shall need to visit your favorite medium to 
 procure balm for my wounded spirit," said Sarah, 
 jestingly. 
 
 "Will you, really? " Linora scented emotions, 
 fainting-fits, tears, afar off, and neighed like the 
 typical war-horse. 
 
 " No, assuredly I shall not. There is nothing to 
 moan over, and if there were, you may be sure I 
 should not trust it to a man in a trance." 
 
 But her jest nevertheless fulfilled itself in earn 
 est. There come times when, to a nature like 
 hers, excitement, abandonment, are as necessary 
 as food on ordinary days. She was worn out with 
 struggling. How weak she felt herself, how pow 
 erless to choose the wisest right, and how unable 
 to cling to it after it should be chosen, only she 
 knew. Stephen, though he saw her grow paler 
 day by day, would have said it was her reason only 
 which held debate. lie was wrong. Her whole 
 nature was bound upon the rack of a torturing
 
 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 question, rising wearily after every ordeal, only 
 to fall into stupor. 
 
 In a mood which made her anxious only to es 
 cape harassment, Linora found her, and reminded 
 her of a half promise to see Professor Leonard. 
 Sarah agreed at once. She would have accepted 
 a ride to Tartarus in the same reckless spirit. 
 
 " Now remember what I told you," said Linora, 
 as they were going up the stairs. "He is a ven 
 erable old gentleman, and you will like him a great 
 deal better than your farmer friend. But promise 
 me one thing, that after you are in the room 
 you won't change your mind and come out." 
 
 " Of course not. Why should I ? " 
 
 "You did before, you know, and this time I so 
 want you to go through with it ! " 
 
 Professor Leonard was at liberty, and ushered 
 Sarah at once into his private room. She had 
 made the condition, also, that whatever was told 
 her should be said in private. 
 
 Leonard was in an excited frame of mind. A 
 letter from Uncle Ben that morning informed him 
 that Maria had been ill again. A rare occurrence, 
 his own cheeks of cherubic plumpness were pale, 
 and Sarah's first thought was that he seemed a 
 pretty, though overgrown youth. 
 
 " Take a chair here, if you please," said Leonard, 
 regarding her with a good deal of reverence. He 
 was always on his knees before women, and this
 
 A VERDICT. 163 
 
 was a lady, liner even than her clothes. He hoped 
 with all his heart he might help her, since she 
 bore the facial marks of mental illness. Sarah 
 had seated herself, and noticed that he was draw 
 ing up a chair at a little distance. 
 
 " Is Professor Leonard ready to see me ? " 
 
 "I am Professor Leonard," said the young man, 
 smiling. He had grown to feel himself almost as 
 well known as the State House. 
 
 As the meaning of Linora's cunning flashed over 
 her, Sarah's first provoked impulse counselled her 
 to take summary leave ; but that would only give 
 rise to a scene. She would go through with the 
 interview now, reserving her indignation. This 
 boy was no more objectionable than if he wore 
 gray hair. 
 
 " Would you mind having the windows darkened ? 
 We find it better. Now if you will be patient, I'll 
 see if anybody will come." 
 
 . He closed his eyes and waited, while Sarah 
 looked curiously around the room. It was fur 
 nished simply, in neutral tints that gave back a 
 solemn twilight when the day was partially shut 
 out. Hiker had been wise enough to please the 
 eye while the ear waited for heavenly utterances. 
 
 " I see an old lady, and she calls you, ' My child, 
 dear child,' " said Leonard, in a subdued voice. In 
 spite of her scepticism, Sarah's heart leaped in 
 answer. " She is your mother. She sees you
 
 164 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 are troubled, and comes to tell you she tries to 
 help you." 
 
 She had honestly thought it would be profana 
 tion to suffer her mother's memory to be tampered 
 with by vulgar clap-trap. The influence of the 
 softened light, the quick yearning impulse that 
 arose towards whatever could address her in her 
 mother's guise, overbore every other feeling. 
 
 " Well ? " she said, breathlessly. 
 
 "She says, 'You poor child; how you have 
 suffered ! ' " 
 
 A quick sob rose in her throat. She had suf 
 fered indeed. No mortal being, even the two 
 nearest her, had guessed how much. It was 
 likely that only the finer ears of the dead should 
 have heard her cries. 
 
 " She says there are two paths ahead of you. 
 You have been trying to choose between them till 
 you're all worn out. And she says you needn't 
 be so unhappy." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " You think you can't be happy ; but you can."' 
 
 " I must do right," whispered Sarah. She had 
 not meant to speak, but the words forced their 
 way. 
 
 " You will do it. She won't let you do anything 
 else. The first thing you've got to do is to take 
 the pleasant road. I see it now. It's all flowers, 
 white flowers, and oh, how sweet they are ! "
 
 A VERDICT. 165 
 
 " Tell me more. Tell me plainly." 
 
 " She says she could talk different if the medium 
 wasn't so ignorant. His tongue gets all twisted 
 up, and he can't talk well. But the lady wants you 
 to take the beautiful road and be happy." 
 
 " Tell me more." 
 
 "Not now; not to-day. This is enough, if you 
 follow it. Only take the path with flowers ; don't 
 be afraid, and don't worry any more." 
 
 Leonard opened his eyes, and Sarah hastily 
 rose, leaving his fee on the table. She could not 
 speak to him. A further word from him in his 
 own proper person could only vulgarize what bore 
 the stamp of the supernatural. 
 
 " Well, tell me," said Linora, meeting her. 
 
 " I can't." 
 
 " That means he told you something," said Lin 
 ora, in triumph. " I know well enough you'll go 
 again." 
 
 " Never, as long as I live. This was enough. 
 I can't have it made common." And in spite of 
 entreaties, and even pettishness, she would say no 
 more. Linora began to think there had not been 
 quite as much entertainment as might have been 
 expected from the conversion of an unbeliever. 
 
 Sarah was penetrated by the solemn sense of 
 having been face to face with the unknown. In 
 spite of her overwrought sensibilities she might not 
 have fallen so quickly into belief had the medium's
 
 166 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 personality carried any offence with it. But Leon 
 ard always affected people with a peculiar tolerance. 
 They saw him to be simple and untrained, but 
 there was so much gentleness and honesty about 
 him, so much reverence for higher powers than hi.s 
 own, that even his childish vanity never led him 
 into arrogance or presumption. Nothing he had 
 said to her was beyond dispute, but it bore so un 
 mistakably the stamp of reality that she tried it by 
 no cross-questioning of reason. Her problem had 
 hung in a nicely adjusted balance, and a weight of 
 influence from a higher region had turned the 
 scale. Mountains seemed to have rolled from her ; 
 she was free to breathe and live ; and such a life, 
 fed by such rarified air ! She caught her breath, 
 as she sat waiting for Stephen that night. She 
 was sure he had read her smile, as he passed while 
 she and Miss Phcbe were talking, and that he 
 would come. He was early in coming, hesitat 
 ing and afraid of his welcome. What had seemed 
 to be betokened by her new look of brilliant joy 
 could scarcely be true. 
 
 "Shall I come in?" 
 
 " Yes." She blushed vividly as a daring impulse 
 prompted her to add, " and never go away again." 
 He stopped midway, arrested by her hand. Since 
 the ring had left it, he had not once seen her with 
 out involuntarily wounding himself by letting his 
 eyes seek the naked white linger.
 
 A VERDICT. 167 
 
 "Sarah, why do you wear it?" 
 
 "I took it off; why shouldn't I put it on?" 
 
 "Yes, but why did you?" 
 
 He was not to be put oft'. A coquette would 
 have found her archness go down like grain before 
 a mighty reaper. Sarah took oft' the ring and 
 gave it to him. 
 
 " Do what you please with it." 
 
 "I choose to put it on again." 
 
 Accomplished summarily, almost roughly, he 
 looked at her like a Hash to see whether denial 
 would follow. But she was far beyond mischief; 
 that had been a momentary weakness to save them, 
 both from tragic outbreak. Her eyes were wet 
 and shining, but lifted to his most trustfully. 
 
 "Stephen, I have decided; it has been decided 
 for me. We can be happy ! " 
 
 The violence of his possession almost frightened 
 her. How could her weak hand guide a love that 
 was like a torrent? 
 
 "Whatever you say, I shall never let you go 
 again, "he said, assuming a harshness which might 
 cover the break in his voice. " This has been too 
 much ; a man can't bear more. I never will yield 
 to the trial again." 
 
 "Oh, you will let me make up to you? " 
 
 " You have made up everything, when you look 
 at me with such divine eyes. When will you 
 marry me ? "
 
 168 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " Oh, talk of that to-morrow." 
 
 " No, to-night, to-night ! " You have nobody 
 to consult ; you have no clothes to buy. I adore 
 this little black dress. Put a red rose at your 
 throat and come to the wedding." 
 
 " Stephen, you are wild ! " 
 
 " So I am, but I will have my way. After 
 wards, when you are safely between my four walls, 
 you may take your turn. Then I will obey ; now 
 it is you who must yield." Sarah lifted her head 
 a little proudly. The wild-horse instinct rose in 
 her, and challenged mastery. "Love, forgive 
 me," he whispered, all gentleness. "Do with me 
 as you will. You know you can. I am bound 
 hand and foot with silk, no, with this," bringing 
 forward a clinging lock of her hair. 
 
 When she told what had influenced her, he 
 listened in wonder, but without expression of it. 
 That a girl of clear sight could be moved by 
 quackery was not to be accounted for ; but he laid 
 the great effect at the door of her fine sensibilities, 
 always liable to be swayed by the figments of her 
 brain. Whatever the cause of her new decision, 
 he was exceedingly grateful to it, and by no means 
 so curious as to dare risk weakening the effect by 
 discussion. Instead, he expended his efforts in 
 convincing her that, as a first preliminary of mar 
 riage, Bernard must be informed of their settled 
 relation. As they could not well be married
 
 A VERDICT. 169 
 
 under the rose, other people might as well begin 
 to make up their own minds to the ceremony. 
 The task was not too easy of performance. Sarah 
 had the feeling, of late, that Bernard scarcely saw 
 her, or listened when she spoke. He seemed to 
 carry ubout some irritating wound which stung at 
 intervals too short to serve as breathing-spells, 
 in which his mind could fix itself elsewhere. 
 
 "Bernard, I want to tell you something," she 
 began, decoying him into the room one night, with 
 hand and .smile. 
 
 "I know all about it," said Bernard, walking 
 back and forth. "You need not have told at all. 
 I've known it all the time." 
 
 "But to have nobody to tell !" she said, the 
 tears coming. " To be all alone and have nobody 
 glad ! Bernard, don't leave me alone." 
 
 " I can't wish you happiness ; I'm not good 
 enough," he went on, rapidly, hastening his steps. 
 " I don't wish you suffering ; I suffer too much 
 myself. You are going to marry Stephen Mann ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I hope you won't find him vile, a wretch like 
 me. He may be. That's a part of my curse ; I 
 ean't believe in anybody." 
 
 " Bernard, it is not so bad as that ! You believe 
 in me, at least." 
 
 " I suppose I do. It may be foolish to do even 
 that. The taint has come out in me after all
 
 170 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 these years. Every coarse thing I ever read or 
 heard, every wicked thing, every blasting, dis 
 trustful thing, has started up in me. You played 
 with me when we were children ; aren't you afraid 
 of having been contaminated ? " 
 
 " Bernard, what have I done ? What have we 
 all done ? It must be something ; we have been 
 unkind " 
 
 "Nobody has been unkind but the God who 
 made me, and made me of such clay. I can't for 
 give Him that." 
 
 " My dear, you are childish and foolish," said 
 Sarah, calm only by an effort. " You can esti 
 mate yourself as well as the rest of us. Who that 
 I ever saw was as bright as you? Who had such 
 fancies and so much ambition ? " 
 
 "Who, indeed? And who would have lost am 
 bition so ? Everything noble in me died down the 
 instant I lost you." 
 
 "Lost me! Why, you have me! I love you 
 dearly." 
 
 Bernard bit his lip. He had not meant to dis 
 close that first grief which had stirred all the 
 
 cu 
 
 others to light. He would not be pitied for de 
 spised love. 
 
 " Well, lost your society ; lost the right to be 
 with you. When are you going to marry him ? " 
 
 "I do not know."
 
 A VERDICT. 171 
 
 " You must know something about it ; in a year, 
 or a day ? " 
 
 " In less than a year. If you knew how much he 
 needs to be made happy ! His life has been sad." 
 
 "I don't want to know. Why should I pity 
 him? Ho has eaten his bitter bread, and is ready 
 for his reward. Some of us are in the slough, 
 still." 
 
 At any other time his moods must have filled 
 her with fear and a deep anxiety. That was so 
 now in a measure, but every emotion which did 
 not have to do with Stephen, was seen through 
 haze, touching her sensibilities but numbly. The 
 world can scarcely keep its just proportions in 
 eyes newly opened to the value of the one. 
 
 It would save the trouble of surmise, to tell 
 Linora her great fact. To her surprise, the tears 
 gathered in the girl's eyes. They were there very 
 often, but there was a spontaneity about these which 
 bespoke them as uusummoned. While Sarah was 
 perplexedly trying to comfort her, Stephen camo 
 in, and to him walked Linora. 
 
 "She has told me," she said. "Will you let 
 her keep on liking me ? " 
 
 Stephen looked doubtfully into the appealing 
 eyes. " Yes, I will," said he, the doubt vanishing. 
 
 " It's a promise ! "said Linora, drawing a breath 
 of relief. " Thank you. Then I wish you both 
 
 joy."
 
 172 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "What does she mean, Stephen?" asked Sarah, 
 as Linora left them together. " How could you 
 help my liking her ? " 
 
 tr By incantations and the black art." 
 
 "Will you tell me why you were unkind to 
 Linora, or were you unkind to her? Why did 
 you drop her friendship ? " 
 
 " To be plain, I didn't like her as well on ac 
 quaintance as I did at first. Set me down as 
 fickle and hard-hearted, dear, but don't bother 
 me about her any more. I haven't time for her ; 
 I have to think about my wedding." 
 
 Sarah was forced to be content, but there re 
 mained in her heart some blame of him which loy 
 alty forbade her acknowledging. He had not been 
 quite kind or unselfish, said that persistent inner 
 critic. She was annoyed at herself from time 
 to time, by detecting the lurking of a wish that he 
 had been different. 
 
 As spring came on, Linora divulged a new plan. 
 According to the advice of Professor Leonard, 
 she had decided to spend her summer at Coven- 
 try. 
 
 " And with your divine old man and his daugh 
 ter," she said, gleefully, to Sarah. " I asked Pro 
 fessor Leonard if he knew of any place where I 
 could find rest and quiet, real country, you know. 
 It seems he grew up in this most idyllic place, 
 where all the people are good and everything bios-
 
 A VERDICT*. 173 
 
 soms and bears. And he thinks your old man 
 might take me." 
 
 " Don't call him my old man ! He looked like 
 a prophet." 
 
 " Well, it seems his name is Adams. The pro 
 fessor calls him ' Pa,' in the most pastoral manner, 
 varying it with ' Uncle.' ' Pa ' adopted him in his 
 early youth." 
 
 " Linora, how you run on ! How much you 
 have changed since I saw you first ! " Linora's 
 face fell into its most dove-like innocence. 
 
 " If you knew how I try to be light and gay, to 
 prevent you from getting tired of me ! " 
 
 "Dear child, do you think I complain? I am 
 only surprised at finding you so different. Oh, 
 don't cry, dear ! " 
 
 " So many new blows to bear," sobbed Linora, 
 throwing herself on the floor and putting her head 
 in Sarah's lap. "Now, with the prospect of a 
 beautiful summer before me, with these simple, 
 good people, I am likely to be ordered anywhere 
 else, perhaps into a whirl of gayety, and that I 
 dare not think of." 
 
 " Poor child ! But you have been allowed to 
 stay here all winter." 
 
 " Yes ; though, after any time of peace, I am 
 always afraid of a new calamity. It has always 
 been so." 
 
 Stephen came in the two were in Miss
 
 174 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 Phebe's parlor and critically surveyed the tab 
 leau. There was a good deal of latent amusement 
 in his eyes. Sarah indignantly shook her head at 
 him, fearful of its cropping out in a smile. His 
 total indifference to Linora's sorrows annoyed her 
 sorely. How could he be so unfeeling in this case 
 alone ? Linora felt his presence, and, glancing up, 
 rose at once, wiping her eyes with real shame. 
 
 " Is it some new trouble? " asked Stephen, lift 
 ing his brows rather quizzically. 
 
 "Linora is expecting bad news," volunteered 
 Sarah, putting her arm round the little shrinking 
 figure and looking at Stephen defiantly, as if to 
 say, " Here am I ! take the other side if you can." 
 Stephen read the look, and smiled. His valor was 
 discretion, it seemed, for he only said, quietly, 
 
 " From your uncle ? I had a letter from him 
 this morning ; he w T as quite well." 
 
 "Why, you didn't tell me you knew him!" 
 cried Sarah. Linora's eyes implored him to be 
 silent. 
 
 " I knew him at college, though I was not aware 
 he was related to Miss Gale until I chanced to 
 meet them together in New York." 
 
 That was all ; but after Linora had gone, as she 
 did go speedily, Sarah looked at him with a keen 
 sparkle in her eyes, saying, 
 
 " Stephen, you know something about Linora 
 that you won't tell me."
 
 A VERDICT. 175 
 
 "Many things," answered Stephen, smiling at 
 her prim little air of wisdom. 
 
 " Anything I want to know ? " 
 
 " No, something you don't. You wouldn't 
 choose to know her secrets till she told you ? " 
 
 "Naturally not," with reproving dignity. "I 
 like Linora; I sympathize with her, yes, deeply, 
 Stephen. You think her sentimental because she 
 cries so often, but that is only from her being so 
 sensitive. And since she is my friend, I don't 
 need to be told anything about her." 
 
 "You purest, finest of souls ! " cried Stephen, in 
 a transport. He admired her at such odd times, 
 found her a paragon in what seemed to her such 
 ordinary moments, that she had begun to cease 
 wondering, accepting worship with a pleased ac 
 quiescence, and querying, " Is this a lover's manner 
 of thinking? How beautiful, but how strange ! "
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 ) linger over spring-time is the temptation of 
 the story-teller, as lingering in memory over 
 the first days of love is common to the world. 
 But when spring-time and love-time come together, 
 who can resist an attempt at his own imperfect 
 rhyming of the poem ? He has not known spring 
 who has only watched her advent in the country. 
 There she is winged, and comes floating on a thou 
 sand breezes, bending for sweetening touch of 
 apple-bough or violet. She cannot walk, poor 
 princess ; the ways are too muddy. But look for 
 her, you in city streets, and you shall see her 
 tripping blithely into town, her skirts held daintily, 
 though her feet kiss the pavements without fear. 
 I would not miss seeing her walk into town for 
 anything, not for all her coquetting with springing 
 grass and swelling buds. And it is good to catch 
 the first news of her from happy faces, when the 
 air softens and the sky melts, and human hearts 
 and features are played upon by the change. 
 
 The warmer months would have brought a dear 
 delight to Sarah, even if she had met them alone, 
 or herself in tears ; but without her, Stephen must 
 
 176
 
 SPUING. 177 
 
 have found himself jaded and dull in his once keen 
 scent of beauties. The emotional nature dies 
 quickly down, touched by blight, though in time 
 it rises again to the sun's kiss, venturing to enjoy 
 once more the mildest of heaven's breezes. Stephen 
 had but now lived in the intermediate stage of 
 clinging to the earth and declaring he dared accept 
 nothing from life beyond the commonplace. He 
 had doubted, he grovelled in spirit, he was neutral 
 of mind, only keeping himself from sin, but never 
 aspiring to heights beyond innocence ; and lo ! in 
 the midst of this half-light, arose a dazzling sun of 
 love, no marshy will-o'-the-wisp, but the god of 
 the world. 
 
 Slowly came back to him the sense of divine 
 mystery that wraps the world from the eyes of the 
 child and the poet. He loved Sarah with a youth 
 ful, adoring love, as distinct from reason as if 
 reason hud given no sanction to what his heart 
 declared of her. He could not tolerate in her the 
 sense of mysterious sadness brought by the young 
 months. It seemed a reproach to his exultation. 
 There should henceforth be no sorrow in the world. 
 But the more she loved him, the more her distance 
 from him widened, until her delicious reserves of 
 confidence and denials of love's rights pained, 
 bewildered, and charmed him a dozen times a 
 day. 
 
 " Once you let me pin your roses there myself,"
 
 178 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 he said, jealously. Sarah half turned, with the 
 daring coquetry that grew in her day by day. 
 
 " That was because I loved you less than now." 
 
 " Oh, sweetheart, if that were true " She 
 eluded his caress, and sparkled at him from a dis 
 tance. 
 
 " I don't blame you," said Stephen, huskily. 
 "I see what you have to lose by love, your 
 freedom, your personality, everything. And you 
 shall not have a thought that is not mine ; you 
 shall not look away from me. I will devour you, 
 roses and all ! " 
 
 " So much ? Am I to pay so large a price ! " 
 with lifted brows. "And you, sir; do you go 
 free?" 
 
 " I have given everything, now," said Stephen, 
 humbly. " I am no longer myself. I have no 
 self away from you. Quick ! see that star sink 
 into the night." 
 
 After such a passage, she was likely to seek him 
 with downcast eyes, asking him to take back the 
 ring. Not for always, oh, no ! she would wear it 
 again, but she must be her own for one day at 
 least. Then, when the period of her resistance 
 had passed, she would as timidly beg him to re 
 place her fetters. The first time it, happened, he 
 was cruelly wounded ; the sun would never shine 
 again. But when she had once come back to him, 
 he learned to bow to the whimsical shifting of her
 
 SPRING. 179 
 
 moods, and in what full measure did she thank 
 him for forbearance ! In those days he was most 
 bewildered by her caresses and humility ; it was 
 perhaps easier to bow to her imperious phases. 
 
 Sarah had conceived a great fancy for going with 
 Linora into the country. The green fields drew 
 her ; and might they not bring some healing to 
 Bernard's diseased spirit ? For of course he would 
 go with her. 
 
 " I think he will do nothing of the kind," said 
 Stephen, deliberately, when her plan was broached. 
 
 " If anybody goes with you it will be your 
 husband and lover. The two offices are to be 
 combined." 
 
 " I will have only the lover," laughed the girl, 
 defiantly. " But seriously, dear, Bernard, what 
 can we do for him ? " 
 
 "I don't know. I am anxious first to do some 
 thing for myself. Marry me now, and in six 
 months set me any task you please." 
 
 As it proved, Linora was not to go to Coventry, 
 having, as she said, been ordered to join her uncle 
 for the summer. Bernard also ceased to furnish 
 motive for delay. One morning he was missing, 
 leaving his trunks ready to be sent, with a letter 
 asking Sarah to take the trouble of starting them 
 to New York ; he would write her from there and 
 give her his address. This was no sudden freak. 
 He had long meant to go, and this suddenness of
 
 180 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 action did away with the misery of farewells. He 
 did wish her happiness, if the wish of such a man 
 could do her good, and Sarah hugged that to her 
 heart as some slight comfort. She was for going 
 with the trunks and prevailing upon him to return, 
 but Stephen forbade it, and then reasoned her into 
 compliance. 
 
 " He is old enough to take care of himself," said 
 he. " Besides, he has acted neither like a brother 
 nor a gentleman. Taking the consequences of his 
 own freak will be good for him." 
 
 There was nothing to wait for now but the 
 bride's whims, and in the temporary sadness 
 brought on by Bernard's disjointed course of ac 
 tion, she fell into gravity and constancy of mood. 
 In that she was easily influenced ; and one June 
 morning, the two walked to a little church and 
 were married, going immediately away to the 
 sea. 
 
 They found Linora drenched in tears when they 
 returned from the church. In spite of Stephen's 
 laughing beyond the verge of mercy, she did her 
 duty heroically as chorus. 
 
 "O my dear," she said, clinging to Sarah as 
 they said good-by, " you will not be alone : you 
 will not be at the mercy of every wind that 
 blows." And I" 
 
 " Come right here, you little lamb," said Miss 
 Phcbe, drawing her into her own bony embrace.
 
 SPRING. 181 
 
 " You're not the only one. Folks don't lose two 
 such lodgers every day." 
 
 So the prince and the princess were married, 
 and went away to seek their fortune in a land 
 where every one should be happy ever after. 
 
 Was there ever before, thought Stephen, a 
 woman for whom the bridal chest of linen would 
 not have delayed the wedding-day, or from whom 
 the consideration of the house-furnishing would 
 have provoked no question ? Sarah came to him 
 in her simple gowns, tied her bright hair with a 
 little black snood, and let the wind sweep it back 
 in defiant tangles, as freely as the sun had leave 
 to burn in it. She opened her eyes wide at the 
 jewels he brought her ; he had inherited his 
 mother's small magnificence, and spent his own 
 fancy in exquisite devisings for his bride. 
 
 "They must cost a great deal of money," she 
 said, gravely, at the first. 
 
 " Not too much, sweetheart. We can afford it." 
 
 "I must be a prudent wife, you know. I must 
 not let you ruin yourself for me." 
 
 After the assurance, however, she objected no 
 more, but worshipped her gems in lightness of 
 heart. Years after, nay, as long as he lived, 
 Stephen never thought of that bridal stay away 
 from the rest of the world, without seeing one 
 picture struck out by a throb of mental light. A 
 slender figure in black, by a window through
 
 182 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 which came the sound of the monotonous wash of 
 the sea ; all her attire dead simplicity, but her hair 
 a glory, and her face a joy. In her lap a glitter 
 ing handful of gems and gold, and she turning 
 and twisting a necklace in the sun, flushing at its 
 ilashes of light. She never wore her jewels out 
 of her own room ; not from that conventional idea 
 that gems are only suited to magnificence of ap 
 parel, but because they were put on solely for 
 her own pleasure in them. When she must give 
 her attention elsewhere there was no reason for 
 their being outside their casket. 
 
 "If I were a prince of the Indies," Stephen 
 would say, watching her, as he always watched 
 her, " I should be able to make you happy. When 
 I went out you would say, ' Bring me a box of dia 
 monds, most worshipful sir, and let them be of 
 the purest water and the most marvellous cut- 
 ting." 
 
 "No, not that, but bring me moonstones, cat's- 
 eyes, opals, emeralds for light, and rubies for 
 blood, and a great yellow topaz. Diamonds are 
 for the senseless rich ; they ought to have some 
 compensation." 
 
 " Sarah , how lucky it is I am not poor ! " 
 
 " No, no ! we could live, with buttercups for yel 
 low, and roses for red." And she hid the gems 
 away, as having done him wrong, and would not 
 touch them again for many a day.
 
 SPRING. 183 
 
 When summer was half done, he tried her curi 
 ously with a question : " Sarah, where are we going 
 to live when we go back ? " 
 
 " Why, at Miss Phebe's, I thought." 
 
 " Is Miss Phebe's the place for a princess ? " 
 
 "You used to think you saw one there, sir! 
 Miss Phebe's was good enough for me and good 
 enough for you ; why isn't it good enough for us 
 together ! " 
 
 " Not for a princess come into her kingdom. 
 There is a house in town, not too small, large 
 enough for breathing-space and for a wayward 
 woman to indulge her moods " 
 
 "Am I, Stephen? " creeping up to him, all sub 
 mission and softness. 
 
 " When you gave me that hard month of wait 
 ing last winter, it was planned, and since then a 
 hundred Pucks have been girdling the earth to fur 
 nish it." 
 
 " Stephen, in that month? Then you were sure 
 I should say yes ? " 
 
 "No, though I was sure you must. I think I 
 spent my time so, to keep myself quiet. Shall 
 I tell you how it looks? I don't want you to 
 expect different things, and be disappointed." 
 
 "Yes, please." 
 
 " I meant it to be like a great carven casket for 
 my jewel. There are rare woods everywhere, and 
 heavy red hangings. Here and there the glass is
 
 184 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 stained ; I knew then, even, how you fed on 
 color." 
 
 " Stephen, it is marvellous ! " cried his wife. 
 " I love you, but you think of me, you do for 
 me, you serve Love." 
 
 " It is the one god," said Stephen, reverently. 
 " and you are his prophet ! You are my best." 
 
 "No, dear, don't believe that, or I shall fail 
 you." 
 
 "You can't fail me. Does it frighten you? I 
 don't wonder. You look up to strange white 
 angels of ideals ; I look up to you." 
 
 It was well Stephen had no pressing business, 
 and that his place of oversight at the factory could 
 be taken ; for that summer, in spite of herself, 
 Sarah drew him to forgetfulness of action, as Enid 
 drew Geraint. 
 
 Yet he was not to find his rose-garden lacking 
 in thorns, the expression of an honest coquetry, 
 which sprang so directly from his wife's nature 
 that he could but yield to it. He could never 
 cease to think of her for an instant, he said and 
 believed. She was a thousand things in one ; an 
 elusive, submissive, untamed creature. The gods 
 must have intended her for the wife of a fickle 
 man.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A NEW DEPARTURE. 
 
 T)ROFESSOR RIKER became afflicted with that 
 -*- noble discontent which reproves a, man for 
 not having done the utmost in his chosen profes 
 sion. Heretofore he had been satisfied with gorg 
 ing himself to repletion on the sentimental side of 
 his victims. With such a man, however, no in 
 come remains sufficient when he once espies 
 heights of mammon beyond. As an inspirational 
 lecturer, his travelling expenses were always paid ; 
 beyond these he received the proceeds of the 
 evening, greater or less, as it might happen. His 
 income from private patronage was not small, but 
 here he lost time in travelling. 
 
 " I diffuse myself too much," said he, with mod 
 est self-estimate. " Jack-at-all-trades is master of 
 none. I will become a specialist." Therefore it 
 happened that he gave no more lectures, but live 
 days in the week received visits from private 
 patrons, devoting his remaining time to prepara 
 tions for a new departure. The professor was 
 about to materialize the heavenly visitants who 
 had previously sought him as a medium of verbal 
 communication only. 
 
 185
 
 186 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 It was at this point that Leonard became a source 
 of exasperation to his master. Biker could not 
 say that his pupil had belied his prophecy ; in 
 spite of his honesty, Lent had proved a good in 
 vestment. But it was when the professor reflected 
 on what might be made of him if that transparent 
 honesty were not in the way, that he was tempted 
 to wish he had never seen the boy. Here were 
 shining qualities, needing only for their perfection 
 to become the creatures of a master will. Had 
 Riker not recognized in Len such marvellous pos 
 sibilities of duping by the wholesale, he could have 
 borne his daily discomfiture more calmly. From 
 a man of moderate endowments, you take what you 
 get and are thankful ; but it goes to the heart to 
 see exceptional ability wasted. 
 
 Still, in considering the boy's simplicity and 
 capacity for dog-like attachment, Riker caught a 
 gleam of hope; it seemed almost possible to lead 
 his pupil blindfold into the acts his stiff-necked 
 judgment would have condemned. His honesty 
 had never seemed to sleep ; it was pugnacious, 
 alert. If his master counselled him to report what 
 his strangely hazy intellect refused to corrobo 
 rate, he would cry in acute regret, " But I can't ! " 
 Now, though his conscience was no less alert than 
 formerly, it was rapidly losing its power of vision. 
 He vyas confused between the supernatural and the 
 actual. Urged on by Hiker's cloudy expositions
 
 A NEW DEPARTURE. 187 
 
 of what the spirits demanded, impressed by the 
 certainty that Hiker knew a thousand-fold more 
 than he, he followed devious ways, believing them 
 with all his heart to be straight. 
 
 When Len was informed that the spirits had 
 selected Riker as a medium through which to ma 
 terialize, he regarded his master with an increased 
 reverence. He had been kept as much as possible 
 from communication with other members of his 
 profession, and had never seen the phenomenon in 
 question. He could but conceive of winged creat 
 ures floating down and about. Would there be 
 anything he could do , and might he help ? There 
 was much he might have done, had he been capa 
 ble of becoming his master's actual confederate. 
 As it was, qualified only by obedience, he might 
 assist in a measure. 
 
 Mrs. Riker had returned, after her vacation 
 from domestic wrangling, urged into compliance 
 by her husband's promises of sharing his business 
 proceeds with her, and also by an interpolated 
 clause that if she refused he might call for her in 
 person. He needed an assistant, and the wages 
 of the woman legally belonging to him would be 
 only a fraction of those demanded by one who 
 had no part in his lot. Also, in spite of her one 
 rebellion, she would be less a partner than a ser- 
 vant, and that was what he wished. Mrs. Riker 
 was a woman of nerves rather than nerve. IIuv-
 
 188 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 ing more than once felt the weight of her husband's 
 hand, she had sunk into quivering submission. 
 Rebellion and she had ventured upon it but once 
 had been the result of a sudden, simultaneous 
 jangling of the irritated nerves, ringing the alarm 
 to an action that frightened even herself. Away 
 from him, though she had fled to a brother who 
 vowed he would protect her, she could never feel 
 safe. The time for settlement must come, how 
 ever long it might be deferred, and when her 
 master did at last beckon, she dared do nothing 
 less than creep back to him. 
 
 It must not be supposed that Biker could dash 
 into this channel of his profession without laborious 
 preparation. That had gone on for some months. 
 He hud been long tending towards this goal, with 
 a concentration of attention, a power of will and 
 constancy of thought which put to shame such 
 among us as do slovenly, intermittent work. But 
 it was not without trembling that he ventured on 
 his first public exhibition. Even he was capable 
 of stage-fright, though he had the privilege of 
 choosing his audience. There were certain dis 
 ciples of his who came often for interviews. The 
 most constant were the most credulous ; these he 
 informed, from his trance, that the medium would 
 be influenced to materialize on a specified night. As 
 the medium was not accustomed to the work, and 
 it might at first be difficult for the influences to
 
 A NEW DEPARTURE. 189 
 
 make use of him, the atmosphere must be har 
 monious. Therefore the audience must consist 
 of a chosen few, and the conditions imposed would 
 be rigid. 
 
 Leonard was somewhat hurt on finding himself 
 relegated to the position of second assistant, in 
 fuvor of Mrs. Riker, but submitted, as he always 
 did when Riker cited the commands of the in 
 fluences. Riker and his wife were to take charge 
 of the cabinet whence the spirits would issue, 
 while Leonard regulated the lamp at the back of 
 the room. The condition of absolute obedience 
 was imposed also on him. If the sky should fall, 
 he was not to approach the cabinet. 
 
 The little company of ten arrived in the state 
 of excited interest with which the enthusiastic 
 theatre-goer hurries to his place. Nearly all had 
 seen materializing before, but to witness it through 
 the mediumship of their trusted, their admired 
 professor a man of such marvellous gifts was 
 a blessing, and as such to be received. The cab 
 inet, a light frame covered with cloth, was set up 
 before their eyes, and one and another tested it, 
 at Riker's request. This was apologetically done, 
 their faith in him being absolute, but he insisted 
 that the evidence of their senses should be on his 
 side. The parlor doors, three in number, were 
 locked by one of the company, and the key was 
 retained in his own pocket. Then Riker, at his
 
 190 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 own suggestion, was bound to a chair in the cabi 
 net, the two men who tied him affirming with self- 
 laudatory smile that only Samson himself could 
 escape from their bonds. The gas was turned off, 
 and Len had been previously instructed to keep 
 the lamp at a faint glimmer of life. Mrs. Riker, 
 who stood beside the cabinet, broke into a droning 
 song, in which the audience discordantly joined. 
 The stanzas had been twice repeated before the 
 slightest manifestation appeared, and then a hand 
 was waved from the little window of the cabinet. 
 The song was continued, though in tones hushed 
 by awe. Leonard felt himself almost overcome 
 by a shuddering wonder. His knees trembled 
 beneath him, and he was very near begging that 
 the light might be turned up. 
 
 Suddenly the curtain was thrown aside by a 
 white-robed figure, which remained visible in the 
 opening. The light was too indistinct for disclos 
 ing more than its outline and the ghostly sheen of 
 its garments, but to the honest senses it was with 
 out doubt a figure of life size, with human form 
 and power of motion. It proved likewise to pos 
 sess the power of speech. * 
 
 " Dear friends," came a whisper, and in that 
 twilight and silence, the tones were nothing if not 
 unearthly, " dear friends, I have never been able 
 to materialize before, though I have tried ever 
 since I passed over. The medium has a wonder-
 
 A NEW DEPARTURE. 191 
 
 ful power of helping us. I have just entered the 
 second sphere. Dear husband my strength is 
 is failing I - It vanished into the cabinet. 
 
 " It was Jenny ! " cried a man among the circle. 
 f 'O Jenny, can't you say more?" 
 
 " She has gone into the cabinet to get strength," 
 explained Mrs. Riker. Her face was white and 
 set as that of one dead. Evidently she was at an 
 extreme pitch of anxiety or interest. Her voice 
 shook perceptibly, and one whispered to another 
 that Mrs. Riker seemed to be " under control." 
 
 " Be patient," came the whisper from the cabi 
 net. '" Sing ; I will appear again as soon as I get 
 more strength." 
 
 The slow dirge of aspiration for the " By-and- 
 by " began again, and again the curtain was drawn 
 aside to admit the same figure, brighter, more dis 
 tinct, with a glow about the drapery of the head 
 that was either celestial or phosphorescent. Then 
 the curtain was hastily swept together as the hus 
 band seemed at the point of rushing towards his 
 wife's semblance. 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Mrs. Riker, holding him back 
 with a trembling hand, "you will hurt her. She 
 can't gather strength enough yet to bear a touch." 
 
 "I know it," said the man, retreating humbly, 
 "but I couldn't think. Won't she appear once 
 more to-night ? " 
 
 "Perhaps," came a whisper from the cabinet;
 
 192 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "but there are a great many more behind that 
 want to come, and I am so tired." 
 
 Leonard watched the man who had received the 
 manifestation, with heart swelling in sympathy. 
 Every day confirmed in him the certainty that 
 Kiker was a lover and helper of his kind. This 
 was but additional proof. 
 
 An old man appeared next, and even stepped 
 outside the cabinet, making a little speech in 
 Quaker phraseology. Then, with a nerve-tingling 
 war-whoop, an Indian, with feathered crown and 
 floating hair, sprang into the very middle of the 
 circle, brandishing a tomahawk and chattering 
 voluble gibberish. His disappearance was fol 
 lowed by the arrival of an old lady in a cap, and a 
 gray gown of some soft fabric. She could not 
 speak, "because," Mrs. Hiker explained, "the 
 medium was growing weaker ; too much strength 
 had been drawn from him." 
 
 In the subsequent interval of rest, the audience, 
 according to Mrs. Hiker's direction, strove to 
 calm the influences by renewed song, in the midst 
 of which Hiker's own voice, exhausted of all its 
 vitality, was heard asking that he might be un 
 bound. The lights were turned up and the cab 
 inet curtains thrown back. The professor, flushed, 
 trembling, was seated, bound to his chair as he 
 had been left. The committee of two who had 
 bound him, declared the knots to be intact,
 
 A NEW DEPARTURE. 193 
 
 No religious sect bows to its pastor more sub 
 missively than the spiritualist to his chosen leader. 
 Kiker was a sort of high-priest among his fol 
 lowers. They crowded about him when he was 
 released, with hand-shakings and profuse congrat 
 ulations. 
 
 "How was it?" he asked, faintly, allowing him 
 self to be fanned, " Was it at all satisfactory ? " 
 
 After their assurances of perfect success, and his 
 promise to give other exhibitions weekly, they 
 took their leave, at Mrs. Biker's anxious request, 
 because, she said, her husband could not bear fur 
 ther excitement. 
 
 One curious incident was connected with the 
 evening. At the last appearance, that of the old 
 lady, some one remarked in quick surprise, " See, 
 she has a seal ring on her finger ! " Mrs. Kiker 
 started, and possibly turned pale, though she had 
 before been sufficiently spectral, and it was im 
 mediately after that the old lady disappeared. 
 While the following ovation to Riker was in 
 progress, the husband who had received such 
 indisputable proof of his wife's existence, began, 
 shamefacedly, but as if constrained, 
 
 "Professor, besides taking your strength, do 
 they take anything else ? part of the medium's 
 form, or anything?" 
 
 " Sometimes," said Riker, with bland readiness. 
 "I believe it often happens that they draw so
 
 194 TOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 much from the medium as to resemble him in face 
 or voice. Was it so to-night ? " 
 
 "No," hesitated the man. "No, but I could 
 have sworn that the ring on the old lady's finger 
 was the one you always wear." 
 
 Biker smiled indulgently, and extended both 
 his hands. There was no ring on any finger. 
 
 "It could hardly be, for I lost the ring this very 
 day, and have been worrying about it. It may be 
 that the spirit wished to indicate to my wife that 
 it would be found, or my thinking so much about 
 it may have brought about an appearance of it on 
 the spirit's finger. Why, did any of you see the 
 ring on my finger when I went into the cabinet ? " 
 
 Nobody had noticed it. 
 
 "You did not think I was the spirit myself, 
 when I was tied in the cabinet?" asked Riker, 
 smiling heartily. 
 
 "No," said the questioner. "I know every 
 thing is above-board, but you see, Mr. Biker, I've 
 got something at stake. It's a good deal to me to 
 know whether I saw my wife or not, and I. don't 
 want to have any little doubt picking at me when I 
 go away. I ask your pardon, sir." Which Biker 
 granted with patronizing affability, and the doubter 
 speedily took his leave, glad to escape the re 
 proachful glances of the more devout. 
 
 When the hall door closed on the last guest, 
 Biker turned to his wife in triumphant elation ; but
 
 A NEW DEPARTURE. 195 
 
 she had thrown herself on the sofa, and was sob 
 bing in hysterics. At another time, Biker might 
 have resuscitated her with some roughness. To 
 night he was too beamingly grateful to fortune. 
 
 "There, there, Julia !" he said, affably, walk 
 ing up and down the parlors, his hands in his 
 pockets. "You've done well, for you. You 
 shan't regret it, either. Len, let the cabinet 
 alone ! " 
 
 The tone was as sudden as a pistol-crack. It 
 did almost as effective execution. Len dropped 
 the curtain, which he had begun to remove, and 
 stood petrified in sheer fright. 
 
 " There ! don't look so scared," said Riker, 
 dropping into his affectionate manner of speech. 
 " I wanted to stop you quickly, that was all. 
 The influences have just told me that you mustn't 
 work a stroke to-night, or you'll be too tired for 
 your sittings to-morrow. Good- night. Julia and 
 I will take down the cabinet." , 
 
 Suspicion had no place in the boy's mind. Ap 
 peased at once, he obeyed, and the door was 
 locked. Riker, his first flush of triumph over, 
 turned upon his wife with an oath. 
 
 "Now stop whining, and take down the cab 
 inet." 
 
 The woman dried her eyes, and set about tho 
 task. 
 
 " It was the ring that frightened me so ! " she
 
 196 FOOLS OP NATURE. 
 
 said, stopping now and again to wipe away the 
 persistent tears. " I thought it would be all over 
 then. What made you think to take it off? " 
 
 " Didn't I hear them talking about it ? You 
 must think me a fool. Now it goes into my desk, 
 and nobody sees me wear it again for one while. 
 No, see here ! " He dropped it carefully into the 
 depression between the seat and back of the sofa. 
 " Some fool will find it. People are always run 
 ning their fingers along there, when they are talk 
 ing. Mark my words, it'll be brought out at 
 another meeting ! " And it was, as it happened, 
 by a sort of poetic justice, by the very man who 
 had questioned Biker about it. 
 
 After this, his success as a spirit-producer being 
 assured, Biker bent his energies afresh towards 
 educating Leonard according to his own standard. 
 To enjoy through him u double income was not 
 suflicieiit ; he saw new ways of utilizing him. 
 Moreover, it was becoming too great a task to 
 keep up the same system of deception towards him 
 that must be used for the public. Philanthropic 
 motives had failed. He had set forth to the boy 
 in glowing colors the good he might do by at 
 tempting more ambitious consolation. Leonard 
 recognized the possibility, longed for it, and almost 
 wept over his inability to grasp it. 
 
 He had sufficient vanity to be led thereby into 
 an infinite number of deeds, good or bad. Biker
 
 A NEW DEPARTURE. 197 
 
 worked now upon that vanity. He took the boy 
 it is impossible to call him anything else, 
 though he had now reached manhood to the 
 theatre, to the tailor to be measured for superfine 
 clothes, and to examine fur which, Biker declared 
 with a sigh, would make just the garment for 
 Len's princely figure. Len had a childish delight 
 in finery ; Kiker fed it by spending exorbitant 
 sums in chains and rings. He took him to drive 
 behind fast horses, and discussed buying a house, 
 they two together, to be furnished like a palace, 
 where Uncle Ben and Aunt Maria might sometime 
 be persuaded to spend the winter. 
 
 "Just think, if Miss Maria should pass over 
 into the spirit life, and leave Uncle Ben all alone, 
 you'd have to take care of him," he said one day, 
 as they drove along, looking, as Len exultantly 
 thought, like gentlemen and millionaires. " There'd 
 be nobody to keep house for him then, you know, 
 and if there was, he'd be lonesome. Now if you 
 had a house where you could invite him to spend 
 his old age ! " 
 
 " Oh, how I wish I had ! Do you think it will 
 ever happen ? " 
 
 "If you should work hard, there's nothing you 
 couldn't do. What should you to say to a house 
 all white marble ? " 
 
 " Like mantel-pieces ? " 
 
 "Yes. I tell you it would cost a fortune, but
 
 198 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 you could afford it, Lenny, if you tried. And a 
 pair of diamond ear-rings for Aunt Maria ! " 
 
 Len's face was all beaming delight. 
 
 " But you must give way to the influences more 
 than you have done. When anybody comes for 
 comfort, say all you can." 
 
 "But I do!" 
 
 "You must put your mind on it. Sometimes 
 the spirits want help. It's just as it is when they 
 materialize ; they have to draw strength from you. 
 And if you think they want to say something, you 
 must help them say it. O Lenny, spiritualism is 
 a wonderful blessing to people ! " 
 
 Len listened respectfully, but flicked the horse 
 with more interest. Sometimes he tired of this 
 monotony of topic. 
 
 "And even," went on Riker, feeling his way, 
 " even if there was no truth in it, it is such a com 
 fort to people, that I should hate to give it up." 
 
 Len laughed at the idea of holding to a pretence. 
 
 "TeU'emlies?" 
 
 "Tell some good, pious truth, and if they 
 thought it came from spirits, why, so much the 
 more good would it do them ! Lenny, we could 
 do more good than all the ministers put together, 
 even if that was so."
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 IN TOWN. 
 
 T> ETURNED to the city, the friends of a winter 
 -*-*' drifted at once together. Linora was again 
 sit Miss Phebe's, and had descended upon Sarah's 
 door-step like a sorrowful little thistle-down. 
 
 " Are you happy ? " she asked Sarah, drawing 
 back after a light little kiss. 
 
 "Naturally," answered Sarah, laughing. She 
 seemed to herself made only for laughter now. 
 "Are you?" 
 
 Linora began slowly pulling off her long gloves, 
 her mouth quivering as she looked down at them. 
 " You can guess. Look at me." She was indeed 
 much worn. Eloquence of mouth and nostrils 
 emphasized the change. 
 
 " Poor child ! Your summer has done you no 
 good. Sit down and tell me about it." 
 
 Linora threw herself into a chair, and stared 
 straight before her. 
 
 " I've begun to find out that there can be nothing 
 but misery before me," she said. " I have spent 
 the summer with him." 
 
 "Your uncle?" 
 
 " Yes ; we have been from one resort to another. 
 
 199
 
 200 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 I have danced night after night ; he forced me to 
 do it." 
 
 " I can't believe it was necessary for you to do 
 what you didn't choose," said Sarah, indignantly. 
 " If you had shown some spirit, now ! Suppose 
 you are young, you are a woman. If you resisted, 
 he would have to yield." 
 
 " Never," said Linora, with all the quiet of a 
 sad conviction. "You don't know him. Besides, 
 you forget, he can turn me away to earn my liv 
 ing, and that I cannot do. But there is more 
 worse. I have seem him." 
 
 "The priest?" whispered Sarah. 
 
 "Yes, and he has followed me here." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh, he is so troubled ! He cannot forget me, 
 any more than I can forget him. It is wild, in 
 sane of him, but he has come only because I am 
 here." 
 
 " My dear," said Sarah, " unless he has made 
 his choice between you and the Church, what can 
 this do but harm ? " 
 
 A fortunate love had given her a prophetic 
 sense of the shipwreck which might come of one 
 having no right to exist. Linora's only answer 
 lay in tears. Sarah was right ; only sorrow could 
 come of it all, but they were too weak to resist. 
 
 " He is here, and I must see him. It would be 
 cruel to refuse him that," she said, slightly recov-
 
 IN TOWN. 201 
 
 ering from her sobs. "And I have something 
 to ask of you. If you love me, do it ; go with me 
 when I meet him." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " We shall walk together after dark. I am to 
 meet him on Park Street to-morrow night." 
 
 "Impossible, Linora 1 If you are to see him, 
 let him go to Miss Phebe's." 
 
 M I would gladly, but he is so sensitive, so mor 
 bidly sensitive, so afraid of being detected and 
 disgraced ! " 
 
 Sarah began to be confirmed in her former 
 opinion of the young man. "Linora," she said, 
 after a moment's thought, " spend the night with 
 me, and let him call on you here. You ought 
 not to meet ; if you must and will, this will be 
 best." 
 
 "You are so kind! and if he consents, it will 
 take a terrible load off my heart. These secret, 
 dark ways fill me with horror. Dear, you are so 
 good to me ! " 
 
 So she took her leave, specifying that Stephen 
 should not know ; all her confidences must be kept 
 from him. Sarah agreed, after a little remon 
 strance. It seemed to her that no one could help 
 as much as Stephen ; she privately thought that it 
 might do good to this young priest of tortuous 
 ways, to make Stephen's acquaintance. But she 
 also reflected that she herself should scarcely care
 
 202 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 to confide in a friend's husband merely because 
 she might wish to confide in the friend. 
 
 The next day, instead of Linora, came a sor 
 rowful little note saying he had refused. More 
 than that, his conscience was again roused, and 
 he had vowed not to see her at all. She could bear 
 anything better than this ; even a final renunciation 
 would be preferable to uncertainty. Sarah went 
 to Miss Phebe's without delay, asking that lady, 
 who opened the door, how Linora seemed to 
 be. Miss Phebe regarded her with stony benevo 
 lence. 
 
 " I'm not a mite sorry I lost you," she said. 
 "You've found better quarters than mine. Lin 
 ora ! Poor little soul ! Up and down, here and 
 there ! I'll see if she's ready for you." 
 
 It was along time before Linora answered, and 
 longer still before Miss Phebe was informed by 
 the little maid that she would see Mrs. Mann. 
 Meanwhile Miss Phebe had sat tenderly recount 
 ing the girl's last mental symptoms. 
 
 Sarah found her sunken among billows of cush 
 ions, her face pale, her hands folded. 
 
 " You wonder at not seeing me more overcome," 
 she said, with her piteous smile. " I have done 
 crying. I can shed no more tears." 
 
 Sarah silently stroked her hair, and then ven 
 tured to say, 
 
 " But isn't it better as it is, my dear? It seems
 
 IN TOWN. 203 
 
 to me wise and conscientious of him to refuse to 
 see you, if he has chosen the Church." 
 
 " I shall come to you to-night," said Linora, 
 restlessly. "I am all unstrung; you will rest 
 me." 
 
 Stephen found her there when he went home to 
 dinner. Linora amused him, though he had his 
 own private reasons for not subscribing to her. 
 As to that, however, he could afford to show her 
 more cordiality than formerly, because his own 
 heaven had grown so bright as to shed its friendly 
 radiance over everybody. That evening it hap 
 pened, as it inevitably must, with Linora in the 
 room, that the conversation drifted to spiritualism. 
 Linora had some excellent " tests " to report. In 
 her wanderings, she seemed able to find every 
 where mediums for the transmission of spiritual 
 messages. 
 
 " The best society is open to you ; why do you 
 go into this sort of limbo ? " asked Stephen, lazily 
 regarding her. 
 
 " Think of investigating such a thing ! " cried 
 Linora, her little hands fluttering in dramatic com 
 mentary. "Think of establishing immortality ! " 
 
 Stephen laughed, but his wife looked grave. 
 When they were alone that night, she touched on 
 the subject again, though with hesitation. 
 
 " Stephen, you used to doubt immortality." 
 
 " I doubt nothing now,"' said he with smiling
 
 204 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 fondness. "I believe whatever you tell me to 
 believe." 
 
 Sarah knitted her brows. 
 
 " Dear, I am in earnest." 
 
 " So am I. Deeper than that ; I am in love." 
 
 " You laughed at Linora. Are you sure spirits 
 cannot appear, or cannot communicate with us ? " 
 
 " Quite, if you force me to say it. It is a phys 
 ical impossibility." 
 
 "Stephen, if you were convinced that they 
 could, wouldn't it prove immortality to you ? " 
 
 "Undoubtedly. If the dead can speak, they 
 exist." 
 
 " Should you object to investigating it with me, 
 if I wanted it very much ? I don't know that I 
 do want it, but suppose I should?" 
 
 Stephen hesitated. 
 
 "I don't know," he said finally. "I suppose I 
 could be brought to it, but I should be exceeding 
 loath. I should be sorry to take you into such 
 villanous company." 
 
 It was on the tip of his wife's tongue to remind 
 him of the spiritual old man she had seen at Leon 
 ard's, but she checked herself. For some reason 
 she felt disinclined to run the risk of dimming the 
 halo about her own experience there, by making 
 it the subject of conversation. Stephen went on. 
 
 "You don't know as much as I do about the 
 people who engage in that sort of thing. Hun-
 
 IN TOWN. 205 
 
 dreds of fine, sensitive natures are misled by it, 
 but the mediums themselves are simply vile. Do 
 you want to see a man through whom Shakspeare 
 recites doggerel purporting to be original ? " 
 
 "All mediums may not be alike," ventured 
 Sarah. 
 
 "No, but when you find an educated man of 
 known integrity, who offers himself as a medium, 
 I'll visit him with pleasure." 
 
 It was inevitable that Sarah's own experience 
 should have lingered in her mind, asserting from 
 time to time its right to be heard. And as she 
 refrained from speaking of it, she protected it even 
 from her own thought. But the subject in general 
 attracted her craftily. It might be possible, she 
 argued ; spiritualism might be the great coming 
 revelation. For the world is not at a standstill, 
 as priests would have us believe. A faith not yet 
 established need not of necessity be false. That 
 the formless embryo is destitute of grace in the 
 artistic eye, furnishes no proof that a Venus may 
 not expand from the lump. 
 
 "Men laughed at Galileo, and Newton, and 
 Stevenson," she said to herself, again and again, 
 "yet they were right." 
 
 Linora was often with her, and when her per 
 sonal griefs were not the subject of conversation, 
 this one topic held the floor. One evening, as 
 the three sat together, without announcement, in
 
 206 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 walked Bernard. Haggard, care-ridden, he seemed 
 ten years older than the Bernard they remem 
 bered. All her past love for him, mingled with 
 present grief, surprised Sarah into a show of ten 
 derness unusual in her. She gave him both her 
 hands, and when she lifted her face, Bernard saw 
 that she was crying. A sword welded of opposite 
 emotions pierced him. Her gladness at renewing 
 old associations scarcely argued well for the pres 
 ent. Stephen must be neglectful of her, and he 
 was angry and exultant in a breath. Stephen, 
 seeing his wife so moved, was gently kind in his 
 own greeting. Sometimes his manner towards 
 Bernard was half ironical. An unrestrained dis 
 play of the poetic temperament struck him as 
 something ridiculous. Bernard was too suggestive 
 of tragedy in every-day life ; he seemed ill-adapted 
 to anything outside Wagnerian opera. 
 
 " Did you come to-night, Bernard ? " asked 
 Sarah, hovering about him. "Do tell me it was, 
 so that I may be sure you came straight to us." 
 
 "Yes, it was to-night," said Bernard. 
 
 "And you will make your stay with us, I hope," 
 said Stephen, courteously. 
 
 " No, thank you. I am at Miss Phebe's." Here 
 Linora broke in for the first time, with a fervor 
 which drew Bernard's eyes suspiciously upon her. 
 
 " How glad I am ! Do you know, I am still 
 there, Mr. Ellis, and your coming will bring a bit
 
 IN TOWN. 207 
 
 of dear last winter back again. We must help 
 each other in our loneliness ! " 
 
 Bernard murmured something unintelligible, 
 turning of a brick-red. Stephen regarded Linora 
 quizzically, and Sarah again wondered what he 
 could possibly know to the girl's prejudice. Con 
 versation flagged, as it has a way of doing when 
 its participants are thus at cross-purposes, and 
 Bernard soon rose to take his leave, promising to 
 return the next day to be catechised. 
 
 "And am I going, too, Mr. Ellis," said Linora, 
 rising also, and looking up through her lashes. 
 "The same way, to the same house. What does 
 that imply?" Bernard rather awkwardly stated 
 that he should be grateful for her company, and 
 the two set off together, Stephen smiling after 
 them, and informing his wife that the girl was 
 better than any comedy. 
 
 Once outside, Linora alluded to the beauty of 
 the night and the probable closeness of the horse- 
 cars. Bernard consequently inquired if she pre 
 ferred walking, and Linora did prefer it. Her 
 manner towards him was wonderfully softened, 
 Bernard thought. Could he possibly have been 
 mistaken in thinking she ridiculed him? Linora 
 led him on with gentle interest to speak of himself. 
 He had been in New York, he told her, through 
 the hot summer months, trying in vain to get 
 work as a journalist. He had served no appren-
 
 208 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 ticeship, and nobody wanted him. And yet he 
 must find work to do ; it was absolutely necessary 
 that he should earn money. Here, however, he 
 checked himself, and would speak no more of his 
 own affairs. He catechised Linora in her turn, 
 with a suppressed eagerness which she set down 
 as fondness for his sister. Did she think Sarah 
 was happy? Yes, Linora was sure of it. After 
 that Bernard seemed to withdraw within herself, 
 wrapped about with his own musings. 
 
 He had come back, as he doggedly acknow 
 ledged to himself, to be near Sarah. Perhaps his 
 homesick loneliness through those hot months in a 
 strange city had made him exaggerate his fondness 
 for the one creature in the world who was dear 
 to him ; and the more irresistible his longing to 
 see her face, the more harshly did his perverse 
 spirit set it down as springing from the devilish 
 side of his nature. He was most evidently in love 
 with her. No man but one tainted, like himself, 
 with hereditary disposition towards the base would 
 boldly acknowledge such a thing and tolerate it 
 a day after. Taunting himself thus, driven be 
 yond endurance by his own flagellations, he turned 
 upon himself one day, declaring, " I might as well 
 commit base deeds as plan them. I long to see 
 her ; the sight can be no worse than the longing. 
 I will go ! " Therefore he was here, not abandon 
 ing his purpose of finding work, but relinquishing
 
 IN TOWN. 209 
 
 it for the present. He had been living with all 
 possible frugality, because it had seemed to him of 
 late impossible to use the money given him by his 
 adopted mother. She had not known him, he 
 said bitterly. If she could have understood the 
 vile nature of the creature she took to her heart, 
 she would have shuddered and cast him from her. 
 In common honesty, the least he could do towards 
 preserving his self-esteem was to earn his own 
 bread, and render up his ill-gotten legacy to 
 Sarah. 
 
 Next day he went to Sarah while her husband 
 was sure to be out. She was waiting for him at 
 the window, her bright hair and white hands points 
 of brightness and beauty against her black dress. 
 He forgot to taunt himself by declaring to his re 
 sisting heart that he loved her. He could only 
 think, with a dull pain in recognizing his distance 
 from her, that she was not only fair, but pure 
 as a statue. She smote his eyes as the bliss 
 of heaven is said to pierce the heart of the sin 
 ner. 
 
 "Your dress is the same," he said, slowly, after 
 she had seated him and was fluttering about like 
 a radiant butterfly. "The same black clothes.. 
 But your face is like the sun ; it never used to be 
 so." 
 
 Sarah seated herself opposite, folding her hands 
 in her lap. A laugh and blush came together.
 
 210 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "I put on the black dress for you," she said. 
 "I wanted to be the same. I wanted you to see 
 I had not changed." 
 
 There was such candor in this assurance of the 
 constancy of her love, that he felt the tears strike 
 a hot flash into his eyes. Contrasted with his 
 sickly fancies, her affection fell like pure sunlight 
 after the blackness of underground passages. He 
 bent forward to kiss her hand, and Sarah gave 
 his head a reassuring little touch with the other 
 palm. 
 
 "You say I have changed," she went on. "You 
 see it in my face? So do I. Do you know, a 
 girl is only half alive ; she begins to live when she 
 becomes a woman." 
 
 Bernard was leaning back, regarding her blindly. 
 It had been more unsafe to come than he had 
 thought. She dazzled him, and, he stopped to 
 think, not from his worship of her. She would 
 have dazzled any one. 
 
 " I am so happy, you see ! " went on Sarah, 
 rapidly. " See this, all this he has placed me in," 
 indicating with a sweep of her hands the room 
 about her, a soft, deep wonder of color. 
 
 " So you worship your household gods ? " said 
 Bernard. Sarah looked at him gravely ; he met 
 her glance, and hated his own flippancy. 
 
 "Yes," she said, simply. "They are symbols 
 of the whole."
 
 IN TOWN. 211 
 
 She was giving him a great deal, he realized, in 
 admitting him to her sacred inner confidence. He 
 must lose it if he received it lightly. Therefore he 
 tried to regain his ground. 
 
 "You must forgive me, Sarah; I am tired. 
 The hot summer has been too much for me. 
 Tell me more about yourself, and let me snarl if 
 J like, but don't punish me as I deserve." 
 
 She was ready to prove her quick forgive 
 ness. 
 
 " I'll tell you anything to show you how happy 
 I am ; but it won't come all at once, without ques 
 tioning. Stay, yes, I can prove it without many 
 words. Bernard, when I'm not putting on a black 
 dress to please you, I wear deep reds and amber, 
 in velvet and soft cashmere. I put jewels on my 
 wrists. I hear wonderful music, and I dream at 
 night that I can sing in a wonderful soprano. Am 
 I happy ? " Bernard almost groaned. She seemed 
 ages distant, in a radiant heaven all her own. 
 Her changes were like a bird's darting from bough 
 to ground. " And now about your summer ? " she 
 said, quietly. " Tell me it all ; why you went, 
 why it was so sudden and secret, and what you 
 did when you were there." 
 
 He gave her the briefest facts, laying the eccen 
 tricity of the proceeding on the shoulders of his 
 known moodiness of nature. It seemed perfectly 
 reasonable to Sarah that he should care for work ;
 
 212 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 she was sure she could not be content, if she were 
 a man, without some stated business. Stephen 
 might prove of practical use to her brother, and 
 she privately resolved to speak to him on the 
 subject.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 LINORA. 
 
 TT grew into a habit for Bernard to spend much 
 -- of his time with Sarah, and as Linora was 
 often there, it gradually fell out that the two came 
 and went together. Bernard slowly, suspiciously, 
 recovered from his fear of Linora. How could it 
 be otherwise, when she one night threw aside her 
 reserve and frankly confided in him, as she had in 
 others? He listened with painful sympathy; he, 
 too, knew the suffering involved in hopeless love. 
 Again the priest had returned to the city, because 
 he was unable to remain away. 
 
 " We must meet ! " cried Linora, almost wring 
 ing her hands. "And yet, how can it be done, in 
 the very face of propriety? Sarah will not go 
 with me, and how can I alone keep a clandestine 
 appointment, even with him?" 
 
 " Miss Phebe," suggested Bernard. 
 
 " I couldn't ask her ! She is so literal, so sure 
 everything can be settled by the card ! She would 
 charge him with having been unkind to me." 
 
 " If I could be of any use " Bernard hesitated. 
 Linora clasped his arm with both her hands, her 
 tearful eyes raised to his. 
 
 m
 
 214 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " Do you mean you would really take me to the 
 place, wait with me, walk behind us while we 
 talked, and take me home again?" 
 
 " That, or more," said Bernard, smiling. " Any 
 thing." 
 
 Linora made an appointment for seven o'clock, 
 and at the hour Bernard found her waiting for 
 him outside her door. She was dressed in black, 
 and closely veiled. The general funereal look of 
 the little figure inspired him with an additional 
 pity. She did not speak on their way to the tryst- 
 ing place, a lonely street of unused building lots. 
 When they neared the spot she whispered excit 
 edly, 
 
 " Do you see him ? " 
 
 "No," said Bernard, straining his eyes, "there 
 is no one there." 
 
 "Walk! walk! "said Linora, eagerly, tighten 
 ing her grasp on his arm. "Let us use up the 
 time till he conies." 
 
 They hurried back and forth, Bernard awk 
 wardly adapting his steps to her uneven ones. 
 Sometimes he fancied a suppressed sob shook her 
 frame. So a half hour passed, varied only by an 
 occasional meeting with some pedestrian , at whom 
 Bernard would stare with sickening suspense, till 
 he was proven beyond a doubt to be no errant 
 priest. He was so sorry for the little creature, 
 that the torture of waiting fastened itself also
 
 LIN OK A. 215 
 
 upon him. Finally , Linora threw back her veil and 
 looked at him with a despairing face. 
 
 "He will not come, my friend ! " she said, in a 
 dull voice. " Let us go home." 
 
 They went back again in silence. Linora had 
 veiled her face, as before, and, as before, Bernard 
 caught the sound of her sobs. When they had 
 nearly reached the house, she broke out, to his 
 horror and surprise, into an uncontrollable fit of 
 laughter. 
 
 "You must forgive me ! " she said, chokingly, 
 as soon as she could muster voice. " Have pa 
 tience. This is my way of weeping. Other women 
 cry ; I have hysterics." She laughed on and on, 
 until Bernard was in despair, and chiefly anxious 
 at last to get her safely into her own room before 
 she fainted or died ; he was prepared for anything. 
 
 Once there, she insisted on being left alone, and 
 also that he should not call Miss Phebe. Bernard, 
 too distressed to leave her entirely, sat on the 
 stairs near her door, and from that post heard her 
 laughing at intervals for half an hour. The next 
 morning she was perhaps more quietly sad than 
 usual. When Bernard ventured to speak to her, 
 
 " It is all over, my friend," she said, with a weary 
 smile. "He can be unkind to me. He does not 
 love me as I thought, if he can let me suffer what 
 I did last night. Don't tell Sarah ; and forget it, 
 as I shall. I have given him up."
 
 216 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 After this, a further intimacy could hardly help 
 following. It is not to be wondered at that, on 
 one of their walks, Bernard was led into speaking 
 of his own mental troubles ; not of his love for 
 Sarah, or the sore topic of his birth, but the fact 
 that he was haunted by thoughts too vile to be 
 claimed as his own. He was not altogether actu 
 ated by desire of sympathy. A disclosure of his 
 true nature, as he believed it to be, seemed neces 
 sary in common honesty. She had trusted him ; 
 she must be told that he was unfit for trust, that 
 he had a second self which scoffed at virtue and 
 laughed at profanation. Linora listened with bird- 
 like attention, her head on one side, eying him as 
 if he were indeed a rare specimen. 
 
 "You mean, in short, that you think wicked 
 thoughts ? " she said, as soon as he had finished. 
 
 "It isn't that I think wicked thoughts," burst 
 out Bernard. " It is that I am naturally bad, 
 coarse. I have a surface polish which misleads 
 you ; that is education, intercourse with respectable 
 people. If I had been let alone for the untrained 
 Adam to develop in me, I should have been a thief; 
 not a murderer, I'm too base for courage." 
 
 "My friend," said Linora, impressively, "you 
 must go to Professor Leonard." Thereupon she 
 descanted upon Professor Leonard, and the skill 
 with which he ministered to the sorrowful. 
 
 Bernard had never been called on to form a very
 
 LINORA. 217 
 
 positive opinion on the subject of spiritualism. 
 He regarded it, in a general way, as rude quack 
 ery ; after Linora's preface he was open to convic 
 tion. No one could be more easily captivated by 
 the strange in psychology. The next morning 
 found him inquiring for Professor Leonard. As 
 it happened, Leonard was so ill with headache that 
 Hiker, kindly inexorable master as he was, had 
 been obliged to excuse him from the office. At 
 some inconvenience to himself, since there were 
 preparations to be made for materialization that 
 evening, Hiker took his place. 
 
 When Bernard was shown in, Biker met him 
 with an effusive apology for Professor Leonard's 
 absence. Might he do his best to act instead? 
 Bernard saw no reason to the contrary, and Riker 
 accordingly went* through the preliminaries of 
 seating him, taking his own place, and going into 
 a trance. The first result was a very clever anal 
 ysis of Bernard's own character, independent, how 
 ever, of the late conclusions Bernard had himself 
 drawn. He listened, quite unconscious that he 
 was now and then helping along the disquisition 
 by volunteering confirmation or disapproval. 
 Riker made some telling hits, and Bernard, in his 
 interest, became more and more involved. Not 
 at all to his surprise, since it came about so grad 
 ually, he was soon describing his mental troubles 
 and asking for advice.
 
 218 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " We are glad you came to us," said Riker, after 
 keen listening. " We have been wanting to help 
 you for a long time. Do you know there is a shin 
 ing throng waiting to see you? They are your 
 own relatives ; some of them have been years in 
 the spirit land. Mary, Aunt Mary, is here." 
 
 How could Bernard accept or deny? He 
 thought with shame that he might be presented to 
 generations of ancestors of whose very names he 
 was ignorant. 
 
 " One I think she passed over when she was 
 very young " Riker went on. " May be an aunt 
 or a cousin, a sister even. She seems to know 
 all about your condition ; she tells me what it is, 
 and what you must do. Did you ever know a 
 tall, stooping, broad-shouldered man with a heavy 
 face? He has thick black eyebrows and cruel 
 little eyes. He wears a great coat with a cape, 
 and a queer little cap. Did you ever know him? " 
 
 Bernard considered, and then said, " No." 
 
 " How could you ? " said Riker, with an apolo 
 getic laugh. " She, the bright spirit, tells me he 
 lived a hundred years ago. He was a great stu 
 dent. She seems to tell me he lived in some for 
 eign country." 
 
 " What have I to do with him? " asked Bernard. 
 
 " She shakes her head and smiles. There are 
 some things they are not allowed to tell. She 
 says he haunts you ; he whispers those things into
 
 LINORA. 219 
 
 your cars. You believe you think them yourself, 
 but you don't." 
 
 " What can I do to get rid of him? " 
 
 " Put yourself under better conditions. The 
 best way to keep off bad spirits is to put yourself 
 under the influence of good ones. There are 
 many beautiful spirits ready at any time to talk 
 with you. Go where they can have a chance to 
 do it, and the black student will find he has lost 
 his hold on you." 
 
 This was followed by much more to the same 
 purpose, together with a very positive declaration 
 that Bernard was " mediumistic," and might be 
 easily developed if he chose ; a compliment usually 
 paid by mediums to whomsoever they chance to 
 address. 
 
 It would have been hard for Bernard to formu 
 late his impressions. Indeed, it was, when Linora 
 demanded them. He was, of all people, one of 
 the most credulous. It was by no means neces 
 sary to demonstrate that two plus two equal four, 
 to insure his acceptance of the fact. Two results 
 certainly followed the visit, he was aroused to 
 a vivid interest in spiritualism, and he found him 
 self haunted by a visual image of the man Riker 
 had described. His sensitive condition, acted upon 
 by the vividness of his imagination, readily brought 
 that about. If he went into a room, the malicious 
 student was likely to confront him. If he took a
 
 220 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 chair, the chances were that the image was already 
 in possession of it. It was, he told himself, 
 merely a freak of the imagination, but it was, nev 
 ertheless, productive of decided discomfort. 
 
 Gradually Linora drew him into her own fervor 
 of zeal as to investigation , and the two consulted 
 clairvoyants and mediums, growing more and more 
 credulous. 
 
 Nothing amused Stephen more than to hear the 
 two fanatics marshal their arguments. Though 
 she had less to say, it was evident that his wife 
 .shared their interest. He was sorry for that. It 
 was perfectly evident to so keen an observer that a 
 double motive spurred Linora on to discuss and 
 question. She was interested in the subject ; she 
 was doubly interested in exciting Bernard to en 
 thusiastic exposition of his views. Zeal is apt to 
 lead a man into ridiculous display, and Bernard 
 was mirth-provoking at his best. Even Sarah, 
 who loved him, could see that, and caught herself 
 wishing that, for the sake of impartial eyes, he 
 would not rumple his hair and snap his eyes in 
 the heat of argument. 
 
 " For either one of two things," said Bernard, 
 when the four were together, " either one of two 
 things ! " He put one lean finger on the table to 
 mark a point, and sat blinking rapidly at Stephen. 
 Linora, having plied the subject as bait until he 
 had once vigorously seized upon it, lay back in her
 
 LINORA. 221 
 
 chair and watched him. " Either these phenomena 
 come from some strange faculty of the mind, un 
 classified as yet, or they are literally communica 
 tions from the spirits of the dead. In either case 
 we are bound to investigate." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Stephen, his coolness in striking 
 contrast with Bernard's perturbation. 
 
 "Because we are the better for all knowl 
 edge," went on Bernard. "We have the revela 
 tion by faith ; perhaps we are going to have it by 
 sight." 
 
 " Half of it," said Stephen, " does come from 
 unclassified action of the mind, as you say ; half 
 is clever guessing. I am willing to stake ten to 
 one that, if I chose to barter for it the simple 
 practice of not lying, I could act as medium for 
 five years, and retire on a princely fortune, with a 
 prime reputation." 
 
 "You may be a genuine medium," suggested 
 Linora. 
 
 "No, I have only my quota of senses. But 
 added he, glancing at her mischievously, "I'll 
 prove my point, if you like. Shall I tell your past 
 history, and let you judge my guessing powers for 
 yourself? " 
 
 Sarah laughed, but instantly stopped when Lin 
 ora shrank into herself, saying, with real earnest 
 ness, "Not that! Be kind!" Sarah at once 
 thought of the priest, and tingled with shame and
 
 222 FOOLS OF NATDEE. 
 
 sorrow that they should have reminded the poor 
 little creature of her sufferings. 
 
 It happened about this time that Miss Maria 
 broke through a custom of long standing, and made 
 a visit to Boston. She had not once seen Leonard 
 since he left Coventry. Through one pretext or 
 another, Riker had prevented his pupil from going 
 down to the old home. Miss Maria knew the 
 reason quite as well as Eiker himself. He was 
 well aware of her hatred of him, and her continual 
 mental remonstrance against Leonard's stay with 
 him. The medium feared her influence ; he would 
 never allow her to exert it if he could prevent it. 
 Therefore, since her boy could not go to her, she 
 would find him in Boston. She wished, if possi 
 ble, to go when Eiker was away from home, but 
 there was no certainty of being able to do that. 
 One morning, as she was pondering over the ques 
 tion in the midst of breakfast-getting, a neighbor 
 brought in a letter from Leonard. In the course 
 of it, he mentioned, incidentally, that the pro 
 fessor had consented to give a lecture in the west 
 ern part of the state. Some wealthy resident of a 
 town had begged him to do so as a great favor, and 
 in consideration of a large sum of money. The 
 date mentioned was the very day on which Miss 
 Maria was reading the letter. Her resolution was 
 formed and matured in a flash.
 
 LINORA. 223 
 
 "Pa," she said, when Uncle Ben came in from 
 milking, "I'm going to Boston." Uncle Ben 
 straightened himself after putting down the pails, 
 took oft' his hat, aud passed his hand over his hair. 
 
 " Sho ! " was his final exclamation. 
 
 "You see," went on Maria, discreetly reserving 
 a part of her motives, " I ain't seen Leonard for 
 nobody knows how long, and this morning it's 
 come over me, so that I guess I'll go to-day, if 
 you'll get me to the depot." 
 
 " Now how pleased he'll be ! " said Uncle Ben, 
 the smiling wrinkles deepening in his face. Then 
 the shadow of an anxious thought flitted across it. 
 " It ain't another arrant, Maria? " he said, taking 
 a step towards her. " Is it because you want to 
 see a doctor up there, an' are keepin' it away from 
 me?" 
 
 Maria laughed, half in genuine pleasure at his 
 constant thought of her, half in ridicule of the 
 thought. 
 
 " You've never known me to tell a lie when I 
 did speak, have you, Pa? I've kept a good many 
 things close, but I never lied out-and-out. I don't 
 want to see any doctor, and I won't see any doc 
 tor, and there's the whole ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, that sets my mind easy," said Uncle 
 Ben, beginning to bustle about. " Now you fly 
 round an' get off, an' leave the dishes to me." 
 
 In two hours' time Miss Maria was sitting in the
 
 224 FOOLS OP NATURE. 
 
 train flying towards Boston, her bag in her lap, 
 tightly clasped by both hands, and an expression 
 of determination on her face. As the magnitude of 
 the occasion impressed her more deeply, and she felt 
 that it would be impossible, in the nature of 
 things, for such wild trips to occur often, she be 
 came a little dismayed at the thought that Leon 
 ard himself might not be at home. That she might 
 telegraph and ask him to remain at home, should 
 he still be there, did occur to her, but though 
 she was not sparing of money, she could not tele 
 graph. That adaptation of the lightning seemed 
 sacred to the uses of adversity, the announcement 
 of illness and death. There seemed, although she 
 did not so state it to herself, an impropriety in 
 using it for trivial purposes. 
 
 When she reached the house in Kay Street, her 
 eye was at once arrested by the sign which set 
 forth Professor Leonard's name. She stopped to 
 contemplate it. Despite the fact that she firmly 
 believed Leonard to be a dupe, in his turn duping 
 others, she did feel a thrill of pride in regarding 
 that sign ! 
 
 Professor Leonard was in, and Maria awaited 
 her turn in the reception room, with Linora, as it 
 happened. Linora became instantly observant of 
 the woman's village smartness of dress, and her 
 New England type of face. Placing one's self in 
 these semi-spiritual surroundings seemed to do
 
 LINORA. 225 
 
 away with the small restraints of conventionality. 
 People never waited for an introduction in Professor 
 Leonard's reception room. Linora drew her chair 
 nearer, and asked in a gentle voice, the deprecation 
 of which itself apologized for the liberty, 
 
 "Pardon me, but are you a spiritualist? " 
 
 "No," said Miss Maria, stiffening, and embrac 
 ing with delight the opportunity of displaying her 
 true colors in a place where they could by no 
 means offend her father. "No, I thank the Lord 
 I'm not." 
 
 " Excuse me ; I thought from your being 
 here " 
 
 " I'm here to see the medium. I've known him 
 ever since he was a little boy. My father brought 
 him up." 
 
 " Then your father is the old gentleman I have 
 sometimes seen here," said Linora, assuming the 
 air of the interest she really felt. " But he be 
 lieves in it?" 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Maria, shortly. She was not 
 drawn to Linora. Having justified herself in re 
 gard to the imputation of belief in spiritualism, 
 she meant to go no further in the catechism. 
 
 A second visitor was shown in, Sarah. Lin 
 ora had begged for her companionship an hour 
 before, and Sarah had refused it. When Linora 
 had gone, however, she thought over the girl's 
 erratic ways, and felt impelled to meet her at
 
 226 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 Leonard's, in spite of her own shrinking from the 
 place. She still saw no reason why a girl of re 
 spectable training should be attended through her 
 maiden life. That was true of the generality of 
 girls, but she began to have a faint glimmering of 
 an idea that Linora personally needed a duenna. 
 
 " How good you were to come ! " called Linora. 
 "And you want to see this lady. She is the 
 daughter of the old gentleman you liked so much." 
 In the instant before acknowledging the awkward 
 introduction, Sarah was conscious of thankfulness 
 that Linora had not phrased the description as her 
 "wise old man." 
 
 Miss Maria was as quick in her likings as her in 
 antipathies. Sarah's face was not only bright but 
 frank, and the elder woman put out her hand to 
 her. 
 
 "How did you know my father? " she asked. 
 
 "I saw him here one day, and he was kind 
 enough to talk with me," answered Sarah. "I 
 was very grateful to him." Maria smiled, well 
 pleased. "Suppose," Sarah went on, turning to 
 Linora, " suppose you make your visit some other 
 day? This lady will have more time for her call, 
 and you can come again better than she." 
 
 It was for Linora's sake also. Sarah could but 
 feel that whatever good spiritualism might hold, 
 it was not meant for precisely this sort of nature. 
 Linora would gladly have demurred, but as Miss
 
 UNORA. 227 
 
 Maria did not refuse the sacrifice, she yielded, and 
 the two took their leave, Maria going to an ex 
 cess of cordiality that was surprising even to 
 herself. "If you should ever come my way 
 Coventry come and see us," she said, pointedly 
 to Sarah. 
 
 The visitor closeted with Leonard came out 
 alone, and presently Leonard followed. Maria 
 heard his step, and her heart beat high, but she did 
 not turn her face. 
 
 "This way, if you please," said the familiar 
 voice, not so strikingly changed as she had expect 
 ed it to be. Maria did not move. The young 
 man came nearer, and looked curiously at her. 
 His astonished blue eyes seemed to start from their 
 sockets. 
 
 "Auntie I it isn't I it can't be I " 
 
 " Ain't it ? " said Maria, composedly, though her 
 own cheeks were flushed and her eyes full of 
 tears. "Well, I should like to know why it 
 ain't?" 
 
 Leonard was quite beside himself, but none too 
 demented for her. She had a jealous heart ; it 
 demanded much from the few who occupied it. 
 Leonard told the servant to deny him to other vis 
 itors, and led Maria into his private room. There 
 she was about to throw off her shawl, but paused 
 midway to ask, 
 
 " Is he gone?"
 
 228 POOLS OP NATURE. 
 
 Professor Riker? Yes." 
 For all day?" 
 
 "Yes." Then she put aside her wrappings, 
 settled her collar and bow, and began, abrupt- 
 
 iy>- 
 
 " Well, how's he treated you?" 
 
 "Well I splendidly ! " answered the boy, heart 
 ily. "He's always been good to me, and I have 
 more money than I want to spend." 
 
 " Do you lay up any ? " 
 
 "Yes ; the professor does for me." 
 
 " Where has he put it?" 
 
 "In a bank here." 
 
 " In your name ? " 
 
 " No, in his. He does all my business for me ; 
 he understands business." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Maria. " Lenny, you take my 
 advice, and have every cent you own put under 
 your own name. It's safer; something might 
 happen," she added, with an afterthought that 
 there was no necessity for arousing in him a dis 
 trust to no purpose. " The professor may die, 
 you know." 
 
 "Yes," said Len, with easy assurance, "but if 
 he did, Mrs. Eiker'd look out for me." 
 
 Maria groaned in spirit, and held her peace. 
 As she looked at Len, in his fashionable dress, 
 and it struck her with even more awe for its 
 gaudiness, she felt herself slightly dazed by his
 
 UNORA. 229 
 
 elegance and that of the room. She was still 
 firmly convinced that his money was ill-gotten, 
 but there is, nevertheless, something very impos 
 ing in the sight of prosperity, even that of the 
 wicked. A thing may have no right to exist, 
 yet when it stares you calmly in the face, saying 
 " I am ! " there seems some practical difficulty in dis 
 puting its claim point-blank. The personal change 
 in Len did not deeply affect her. She had been 
 training herself during his absence to the expecta 
 tion of finding him altered beyond recognition, 
 and the reality lay far behind her fears. 
 
 " Lenny," she began again, fixing her keen gray 
 eyes on his, " do you honestly and truly believe in 
 what you tell folks here, in this spiritualism 
 business ? " 
 
 "Honestly and truly, auntie," answered Lcn, 
 without hesitation. 
 
 " Do you believe you see things, and hear people 
 talk to you ? " 
 
 " I know I see the old lady I've always seen, and 
 she does talk to me," said Len, meeting her gaze 
 unflinchingly . " Sometimes I don't see her for days, 
 and then again she won't leave me for weeks." 
 
 " What do you think she is ? " went on Maria, 
 making a last despairing effort to reach the bottom 
 of his consciousness. 
 
 " Why, my control ! " said he, surprised at the 
 intimation that there might be another theory.
 
 230 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 '"The professor says so, and Uncle Ben says so. 
 They know more'n I do." 
 
 " You say she talks to you ; do you hear her 
 voice ? " 
 
 " No, not exactly, not in my ears ; in my 
 mind. I can't seem to tell you about it, auntie. 
 I seem to hear it and feel it together." 
 
 Aunt Maria gave up the solution, in pure de 
 spair, and turned to the less vexing point of gaining 
 a promise from him to visit Coventry. That proved 
 impossible. Len acknowledged his longing to be 
 there again ; homesick tears came into his eyes, 
 confirming his words, but he could only promise 
 provisionally. He must do whatever the professor 
 said. Maria realized that, in some mysterious way, 
 he was held under the influence of a will beside 
 which her persuasion had little weight. When 
 she took her way home that night, she was very 
 doubtful as to her own satisfaction in her visit. 
 So far as coming to any right understanding of 
 Len's position was concerned, it had ended in 
 smoke. The sight of him, however, had satisfied 
 her affection. Strange, too, as it was, and as she 
 felt it to be, his simple declaration convinced her 
 of his continued honesty, in the face of evidence 
 to the contrary. 
 
 Leonard had not told her everything in regard 
 to his manner of working, simply because he 
 could not. He himself did not know how deeply
 
 LINORA. 231 
 
 he had been drawn into Biker's own methods. 
 His master still kept him, at intervals, conning 
 high-sounding diction, suited to the consolation of 
 the afflicted, and descriptive of the occupations 
 and emotions of those who had " passed over into 
 spirit life." He accepted such tasks unquestion- 
 ingly, as part of his education, and was quite 
 unconscious of their influence on his business 
 interviews. He would have been horrified at the 
 thought of interpolating ideas of his own in the 
 messages given to him by his " control," but as 
 time went on, those messages became inextricably 
 mingled with fragments of remembered rote. On 
 the days when he firmly declared that he could 
 not see his phantom, Riker was obliged to excuse 
 him to visitors, though thereby was lost many a 
 fat fee. But as his master pressed him with 
 hourly repeated inquiries as to his possible ability 
 to recall her, the boy was inevitably driven into a 
 nervous trepidation which always ended in her 
 appearance. So, with this resource of harassment 
 at his command, Riker was able to take care that 
 the periods when Leonard was not " under control " 
 should be of short duration.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 
 
 "OERNARD had not resigned himself to the 
 
 ~~^ 
 
 -*-* prospect of idleness, though, as it seemed, 
 he was not to find work as a journalist. There 
 was no place for him in Boston, as there had been 
 none in New York. He had had no experience, 
 and editors showed a surprising unanimity in 
 refusing to take the will for the deed. In the 
 mean time, he must live on the money of which he 
 felt himself wrongfully possessed, though when 
 the hour for work should come, as it must, he 
 would pay it back to the last penny. In these 
 days, Sarah was not his chief adviser ; that place 
 was held by Linora. If Bernard did not tell her 
 all the facts which weighed upon him, he hinted 
 so constantly at his overmastering emotions that 
 the clever little creature finally knew him far 
 better than he knew himself. Sarah, in secret, de 
 plored her inability to approach him, but noted 
 his growing intimacy with Linora, and was glad. 
 He must become fond of her. If Linora could 
 forget her priest, and sometime return his possible 
 love, it would be well for them both. She had 
 begun to realize that there were strange inconsist- 
 
 232
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 233 
 
 ences in Linora's nature, but she reflected that 
 marriage and happiness might assimilate them into 
 the consistently good. 
 
 The time came when Bernard spoke cautiously 
 to Linora of his parentage. Linora immediately 
 assumed the existence of a thrilling domestic 
 drama, evolving from her sentimentally disposed 
 brain the conclusion that, beyond the bare facts he 
 had mentioned, lay some dramatic mystery. For 
 the solution of that she insisted upon his consult 
 ing Professor Leonard. Bernard refused, thought 
 it all over, and went. Could the medium describe 
 his mother? Bernard was conscious of a great 
 curiosity as to whether the tie of blood or the 
 ignobility of his nature might be stronger. Should 
 he hate her because she was not of the manner of 
 life he coveted, or love her simply because he was 
 of her flesh? 
 
 Leonard was that day sadly homesick, a state 
 of emotion for which Maria was responsible. 
 The sight of her had renewed his longing for the 
 old place, the farm-house, the little river flowing 
 near, the peaceful faces of the two people dearest 
 to him. He had asked permission to go down at 
 once, and Biker had refused. His denials were 
 still kind ; they lay in an indefinite postponement. 
 
 Bernard's first question was, "Tell me about my 
 mother." And Leonard began with his stereo 
 typed phrase, "I see an old lady." Thereupon
 
 234 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 followed the description he had given Sarah, and, 
 like Sarah, Bernard fitted the words to his adopted 
 mother. 
 
 "Not that one," he said. "I mean my real 
 mother, not my adopted one. The one alive ; the 
 one I haven't seen for so long." 
 
 Leonard's heart, big with his own longing for 
 home, pictured to him a mother neglected, de 
 prived of her son for many years. 
 
 " Oh, go and see her ! " he broke forth, earnestly, 
 "go back to her and ask her to forgive you." 
 Bernard could not protest against the latter phrase. 
 There lay much need of forgiveness, he thought, 
 in his disloyalty. 
 
 " Would she be glad to see me ? " he asked, his 
 heart sinking under the thought that he might in 
 deed feel called upon to go. 
 
 " She thinks of you all the time. She is waiting 
 for you to come back." Further questioning elici 
 ted nothing of a different nature. Leonard owned 
 that the " control " had left him and he could say 
 no more. 
 
 Whether Bernard was or was not influenced by 
 this as being supernatural, and therefore weighty 
 advice, it gave him a new idea. All these months 
 he had been longing to perform some sort of 
 exaggerated penance. Might it not be the true, 
 the noble tiling, to go back to his own people and 
 live in their midst? He, with his evil nature,
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 235 
 
 seemed to hold no place among the irreproachable 
 in life and pure in heart. Let him return to the 
 place and rank where nature placed him, and be 
 come at least an honest laboring man. He went 
 home and told Linora of his decision. To his 
 srreat delight she combated it. What could be 
 
 r? o 
 
 more welcome than the declaration of one knowing 
 his position, that he was expecting too much of 
 himself? 
 
 " Now," said Linora, in a business-like manner, 
 " where is the duty ? You are trying to make 
 one where none exists. Your mother gave you 
 away because it was best for you and convenient 
 for her. It is still best for you to stay away ; no 
 doubt it is still convenient for her to have you." 
 
 The advice coincided entirely with his own in 
 clinations, but it did strike him as being slightly 
 cold-blooded. Linora was marvellously quick in 
 response to the mood of her listeners. She de 
 tected in his face the surprise that held no approval , 
 and her own expression changed at once. She 
 broke into tearful appeal. 
 
 " I am selfish ! " she said, putting her hand on 
 his arm. "I am not to be trusted for advice. 
 You see, I need you here so much that I can't ask 
 you to go." 
 
 What man or woman was ever ungratified by a 
 just appreciation of himself? Bernard, like most 
 unprepossessing people, was gifted with a large
 
 236 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 quota of vanity, and sought Linora oftener because 
 her friendship for him seemed to be growing in 
 warmth. And she was sincerely anxious to keep 
 him. He represented a punctual and attentive 
 audience. 
 
 Now came one of her periodical seasons of 
 grief. What wonder ? The priest had again re 
 turned, again insisted on seeing her, and again 
 she was unable to deny him. By this time both 
 Bernard and Sarah had settled into a very decided 
 disgust at the proceedings of the invisible lover. 
 Either would have been glad to offer him salutary 
 advice. This time Linora confided in them both, 
 stipulating over and over again that every syllable 
 should be kept from Stephen. This time, too, 
 she proved herself amenable to reason, and gently 
 submitted to Sarah's determination that at least 
 the errant lover should come respectably to call 
 at her own house, or that Linora should refuse to 
 see him. The girl wearily acquiesced. She was 
 tired of struggling, so she said ; perhaps even the 
 sight of him would lead to no good. She was 
 distrustful enough now of her own wisdom to allow 
 others to choose for her. Finally she announced 
 to Sarah that she had written him, and he had con 
 sented to a meeting under conventional sanctions. 
 The evening was appointed, and when it came, 
 Linora insisted on Bernard's being also in the house. 
 She seemed nervously to dread the ordeal, declar-
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 237 
 
 ing that she needed his support, and Bernard was 
 flattered into thinking himself of some slight use 
 in the world, after all. 
 
 Stephen was away that evening, to Linora's 
 apparent relief. Perhaps, as she knew of his en 
 gagement, she had purposely made the appoint 
 ment for that night. As the time drew near, 
 Bernard and Sarah found themselves afflicted by 
 a sympathetic nervousness. Linora was so evi 
 dently beside herself that it was impossible to re 
 sist the influence of her mood. As the hour 
 approached, she pathetically begged to be allowed 
 to wait alone in a chamber which she had often 
 occupied. Sarah and Bernard remained together. 
 The clock struck, and the priest had not come. 
 Five and ten minutes passed. Sarah ventured to 
 look at Bernard ; his glance prophesied ill. 
 
 "He won't come," he said. "He has a way of 
 not coming." 
 
 Overhead they could hear Linora hurry up and 
 down the room, all her fever of impatience made 
 audible in her hastening footsteps. The bell sud 
 denly rang, and the watchers started, exchanging 
 another quick glance. 
 
 Sarah stole on tiptoe to the head of the stairs. 
 A masculine voice was just asking for Miss Gale.* 
 Sarah came back, her face aflame, her eyes bright. 
 Bernard forgot Linora in looking at her. 
 
 " Bernard," she announced, firmly, "I am go-
 
 238 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 ing to see him myself before she does. He must 
 be warned not to excite her. The poor little thing 
 is beside herself now." 
 
 She ran rapidly down the stairs, dismissing the 
 servant whom she met, and entered the room 
 where the stranger was still standing. There was 
 nothing of the priest about him, she thought. 
 His thin face was clean shaven, indeed, but his 
 mouth was not of the priestly order. He had 
 rather the air of a languid man about town. 
 
 " May I say a word to you before you speak to 
 Linora?" she began, without preamble. "The 
 poor child is very nervous, almost ill. I beg of 
 you to make this interview as little exciting as you 
 can." 
 
 "By all means," said the stranger, in evident 
 surprise. His voice was neutral, even when enliv 
 ened by that emotion. " What I have to say to 
 her is of the most commonplace nature." 
 
 That seemed too unnecessarily deceptive, and 
 Sarah was betrayed into a retort. 
 
 " That can scarcely be, when she has suffered so 
 much on your account." 
 
 Immediately she was ashamed of having spoken. 
 The stranger lifted his eyebrows increduously. 
 
 " May I ask," he said, as Sarah turned to leave 
 the room, "for whom you take me?" 
 
 "Naturally," returned she, with emphasis ; " for 
 the priest she has never told me your name
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 239 
 
 who has been so unhappily connected with 
 her." 
 
 The man looked thoughtfully at the floor an in 
 stant, a smile curving his lips, and growing upon 
 them until it brooded into a laugh. It was a very 
 pleasant laugh. 
 
 "You," he said then, looking up suddenly, 
 "must be Mrs. Mann." Sarah bowed, not sur 
 prised. "Mrs. Mann," said the stranger, with a 
 change to great frankness, " may I have five min 
 utes' talk with you ? " 
 
 It was certainly extraordinary. Here was no 
 lover-like haste. Sarah came back and gave him 
 a chair opposite the one she took. 
 
 "Now," he said, looking at her quizzically, "I 
 am going to surprise you. I am no priest. lam 
 Miss Gale's uncle." She looked at him in a 
 dumb astonishment which she was conscious ought 
 to transform itself into horror. " She told you I 
 was a monster, now, didn't she ? " he went on, with 
 great enjoyment. Sarah made no reply, but her 
 eyes spoke for her. "I'm not," he rejoined, 
 coolly. " She is simply a very theatrical young 
 woman, with tastes adapted to the stage. It was 
 a great pity it did not occur to her to go on, in her 
 earlier youth. Now shall I tell you the little 
 fiction she has been rehearsing to you of late 
 months ? " 
 
 Thereupon he told the entire story which had
 
 240 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 been Sarah's constant food when with Linora, 
 ending with the declaration, made with great calm 
 ness, " And there is not one word of truth in it 
 all ! " Sarah had been recovering her self-posses 
 sion. Once mistress of it, she said, stoutly, 
 
 " It is exactly the story Linora tells. When the 
 details agree so well, why should I not believe 
 them?" 
 
 Mr. Gale smiled. 
 
 " You will need to ask Linora for confirmation. 
 Trust me, she enjoys the denouement of her drama 
 quite as well as the intermediate stages. The little 
 wretch has a marvellous appreciation of her own 
 cleverness. Now, Mrs. Mann, I must ask pardon 
 for expecting you to entertain Ella's visitors, 
 yes, we who have always known her call her Ella, 
 but I intend to stay but one night in the city, 
 and they told me at her boarding-place where to 
 find her. I had hoped also in coming here to see 
 your husband, my old friend." 
 
 That last clause went far towards confirming 
 Sarah in her growing faith in him. Her anger was 
 rising now. If Linora had duped her, had cheated 
 her out of a year's steady drain of sympathy ! 
 Two little spots of red burned on her cheeks ; it 
 used to be said in her village home that Sarah 
 Ellis was "high-spirited." 
 
 "My husband is not at home," she said, rising. 
 " He will be sorry, and you must come at another
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 241 
 
 time. Now will you come with me where we shall 
 not be disturbed, and I will send for Linora." 
 
 He followed, apparently gently amused, but in 
 capable of taking very vital interest in anybody or 
 anything. There was tune to introduce him to 
 Bernard before Linora came, and time to add 
 meaningly, " This is Linora's uncle." Bernard's 
 eyes also began to devour the monster, a proceed 
 ing the monster evidently understood and which 
 did not displease him. Linora came softly in, her 
 drooping form and woeful expression making an 
 artistic whole. 
 
 "Well, Ella," said the uncle, dryly, putting out 
 his hand. 
 
 Blank astonishment usurped her features, effect 
 ually disposing of their misery. Then she made a 
 swift attempt to recover herself and assume a 
 natural trepidation. Bernard and Sarah were not 
 losing a look, the former quite dazed by the turn 
 affairs had taken. 
 
 " Now, Ella," began her uncle, quietly, but not 
 without a certain authority, "this is the last 
 scene, you know ; don't try to prolong it. I have 
 been telling Mrs. Mann that your priest-ridden 
 love-story is all a myth. Is it? " 
 
 The girl hesitated a moment, in thought ; then 
 she laughed in genuine enjoyment. 
 
 " I must sit down if I'm to be cross-examined," 
 she said, taking a chair, and crossing her little feet
 
 242 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 and hands. "Yes, I suppose I might as well con 
 fess that it was the fruit of my invention." 
 
 "As to my tyranny?" suggested Mr. Gale, 
 gently patting the arm of his chair. Linora 
 smiled at him in the most serene good-nature. 
 
 " You've always been a dear thing," she said, in 
 what seemed real affection. " I wouldn't slander 
 you for the world, if life wasn't so awfully stupid." 
 
 "And ah, there is one point I seem to have 
 forgotten," he went on, with somewhat weary 
 conscientiousness. "Did you make the loss of 
 your voice one item of your drama? It usually is, 
 as I remember it. This young lady, Mrs, Mann, 
 was born without capacity for musical training. 
 She never had a voice, consequently she never 
 lost it. Now, I think that is all." 
 
 "One thing," said Sarah, indignantly, "one 
 thing I should like to know, Linora. What 
 earthly object did you have in telling this host of 
 lies?" 
 
 Linora looked at her with the first real com 
 punction she had shown. Shallow as she might 
 be, she would have preferred that Sarah, at least, 
 should continue to believe in her. Her uncle left 
 her no time to reply. 
 
 " I see I must briefly sketch this young lady's 
 career," he said. " Her mother died when she was 
 very young. She never had advisers, or pastors, 
 or masters of wise repute. Her father let her go
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 243 
 
 into society when she pleased. That was when she 
 was sixteen. From that time to her twenty-eighth 
 year she was steadily busy in the rather ill-bred 
 pastime known as flirting. I suppose she num 
 bers her victims by the hundred." Here Linora 
 smiled, in retrospective enjoyment. "About that 
 time I became her guardian, and, as I proved 
 somewhat of a damper on her amusements, she 
 preferred to live away from me. I had no objec 
 tion. For the last four years she had been gulling 
 people with the little dramatic fiction 1 have just 
 told you. Society was wearing her out, body and 
 mind, and she was tired of it. Most people under 
 such circumstances, embrace religion ; Ella had 
 dramatic instincts, and she took to private theat 
 ricals. Last summer, however, they seemed to 
 have palled upon her, and she begged me to take 
 her to various fashionable resorts, where she 
 danced and flirted to her heart's content. I did it 
 as a precautionary measure ; I thought it quite as 
 well that she should exercise her inclinations in 
 my care. I can't take it upon myself to watch 
 her all the time, but whenever I find it possible, I 
 drop down and expose her to her last victims. It 
 not only saves* them from being too deeply 
 deceived, but I fancy in time it may prove salutary 
 for her. Possibly, with public exposure always 
 before her, she may not continue to indulge in her 
 intemperance."
 
 244 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 His manner was still languid and his tone 
 unconcerned, but Sarah thought she detected an 
 undercurrent of real annoyance and displeasure. 
 
 "Is that all?" asked Linora, airily, from behind 
 her archly uplifted fan. She was not defiant nor 
 ashamed, only amused at her own cleverness, 
 and at the unexpected blow of finding the tables 
 turned upon her. At that moment she caught 
 sight of Bernard, bending forward, his hair dishev 
 elled, his mouth and eyes distended. She broke 
 into overwhelming laughter ; peal upon peal it 
 came, till the tears rolled down her cheeks. Angry 
 and disgusted as she had been, Sarah's inevitable 
 sense of humor came to the surface, and she smiled 
 against her will. Even Gale looked at Linora with 
 a twinkle in his eye, his mouth curving almost 
 imperceptibly. 
 
 " Whenever I see him," panted Linora, in the 
 midst of inextinguishable bursts of merriment, 
 " whenever I see him I think of that night when 
 we paced up and down at our rendezvous. I 
 nearly died over it; I'm so glad I can laugh it 
 out ! " 
 
 It is difficult to realize that one's self is included 
 in a deception. In some strange manner Bernard 
 had overlooked his own share in the farce ; now he 
 started, flushing irritably. 
 
 "Do you mean to say " he began, and then 
 stopped, trembling.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 245 
 
 "The way we paced up and down, and he so 
 sorry for me ! " went on Linora, still pointing at 
 him, and trying to wipe her tears. "His delicate 
 sympathy ! His patience, and the heroism with 
 which he kept down his shivers ! It was a fear 
 fully cold night, but I was muffled and veiled. Oh, 
 how I have laughed at it since, and how I laughed 
 that night ! And when I could contain myself no 
 longer, he thought I sobbed." 
 
 Bernard waited for no more ; he walked from 
 the room, looking at no one, and presently they 
 heard the street door close behind him. There 
 was a slight flush on Gale's face. 
 
 "Mrs. Mann," he said, rising, "I hope you will 
 do me the justice to believe that I am very much 
 ashamed. Perhaps it was not wise to make a scene, 
 but my good angel isn't always at hand, and I am 
 afraid I was too well, displeased with Ella to 
 be very delicate." 
 
 Sarah gave him her hand, looking at him with 
 frank cordiality. 
 
 "I thank you, and I want to know you," she 
 said, simply. You must come to us at your first 
 opportunity." 
 
 Linora put her palms together and approached 
 them, a humble little penitent. 
 
 "Don't try anything of that sort again," said 
 Sarah, her anger breaking bounds. "If you wish 
 me to tolerate you, be your real self, if there is
 
 246 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 any real self to you." Linora turned away, brush 
 ing aside what might have been a couple of genuine 
 tears. 
 
 "I did care for you," she said, bluntly. "I 
 didn't lie there." 
 
 Sarah waited for her husband that night, and, 
 when he came, ran to meet him like a whirlwind. 
 
 " Stephen, what do you know about Linora?" 
 
 "What do you know?" asked he, shaking the 
 rain-drops from his hat, and then turning to con 
 front her with a mischievous face. 
 
 "Everything!" 
 
 "Well, so do I," returned her husband, as they 
 went up stairs. " How did your revelation come ? " 
 
 Sarah told him the story from beginning to end, 
 finishing with the exclamation, "Now, Stephen, 
 why did you allow me to be deceived ? " 
 
 "My dearest," said Stephen, reflectively, "I 
 suppose that was one of the few humane impulses of 
 my life. You remember she asked me to let you 
 keep on caring for her. Just at the time you were 
 promising to bless my own life, and that made me 
 soft-hearted. I knew the girl felt about you exactly 
 as I do, that you are as pure as an angel and as 
 true as truth. I thought you might do her good." 
 
 "And I haven't ! " cried Sarah, conscience- 
 stricken. 
 
 " You must have, little heart. You couldn't ex 
 pect to change her nature ; that's warped out of all
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CHECK. 247 
 
 symmetry by this time. But it would do the arch 
 fiend himself good to see you often." 
 
 " But why didn't you tell me before we were 
 engaged, when you saw she was deceiving me?" 
 asked Sarah, willing to draw the conversation 
 away from her own perfections. 
 
 " I couldn't ! It seemed such an underhand 
 thing to do, especially as I was sure you couldn't 
 be injured by her. I suppose she took me in as 
 thoroughly as she ever swallowed a victim." 
 
 " Tell me about it." 
 
 "Well, she told me her story, and I was so 
 sorry for her that we swore an oath of eternal 
 friendship ; and she used to call me her champion 
 and brother. Then, after I met Gale with her in 
 New York, and he gave the true version, because 
 it was necessary, you understand; he saw I was 
 too thoroughly gulled, I was so furiously angry 
 with her, and disgusted with myself, that I acted 
 the ruffian to her fair penitent, ever after ; at least 
 until you came, and your fingers smoothed out all 
 my rage and wrinkles." 
 
 "I wonder how I shall treat her if we meet 
 again," mused Sarah. 
 
 " You will meet again," sajd Stephen, smiling 
 broadly. " She won't give you up so. She's the 
 coolest little piece that ever told a lie. And she 
 is amusing ! " he added, emphatically. " I can 
 forgive her much, in consideration of that."
 
 CHAPTEE XVH. 
 
 OUTSroE AND IN. 
 
 T INORA had, indeed, no idea of giving up her 
 -*-^ friends. It was on the very evening after 
 the end of her comedy that she made her appear 
 ance unannounced, in the room where the three 
 sat together. Bernard himself had just come. 
 His evil humors were strong upon him. His 
 thoughts were troubled by demons of iniquity ; his 
 room was haunted by the malicious visitant Hiker 
 had described. Choosing rather to be made jeal 
 ous of the human than afraid of the unsubstantial, 
 he had rushed away to find such comfort as he 
 might in companionship. 
 
 Linora came in brightly, by no means defiant 
 in ignoring what had passed the night before. She 
 had not forgotten it, and remembrance involved no 
 shame. She had enjoyed it, and was ready for a 
 new play. 
 
 Sarah rose hesitatingly, divided between the 
 promptings of her quick instinct of hospitality, and 
 an irrepressible distrust. Linora was equal to the 
 occasion ; she seemed to bear about her the airs 
 from a thousand drawing-rooms. Bernard would 
 
 248
 
 OUTSIDE AND IN. 249 
 
 not look at her. Only with Stephen did she ex 
 change an amused glance. 
 
 " I know you are talkingabout my iniquities," she 
 said, coolly, taking her favorite corner of the sofa. 
 " Don't deny it. What was the verdict, the 
 average verdict?" 
 
 "You may exaggerate our interest," returned 
 Sarah, quickly. "And you were mistaken; we 
 hadn't mentioned your name." 
 
 "Not once? Then I'm glad I came," said Lin- 
 ora, imperturbably ; "for you would have done it 
 in five minutes more. Mr. Bernard, you haven't 
 spoken to me." 
 
 Bernard was beyond consideration of rules 
 and precedents. She had deceived him ; he had 
 given his most sacred confidences into soiled 
 hands. 
 
 " I don't speak to you because I can't," he 
 answered. "I don't like you; I distrust you." 
 That seemed so plainly brutal an assertion that 
 Sarah, with her idea of the growing relation be 
 tween the two, was moved to pity. She made an 
 involuntary motion to prevent his going further. 
 But Linora was not disconcerted. 
 
 "I knew you wouldn't like me," she said, smil 
 ing kindly. " But I like you, though you are 
 rather more pastoral in your tastes than I should 
 choose a young man to be." While Stephen in 
 lazy interest, and Sarah more earnestly, were
 
 250 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 looking their inquiries, she broke forth into peals 
 of laughter. 
 
 M I have a vision of you," she said, when she had 
 recovered herself, " returning to the home of your 
 ancestors ! " 
 
 " Linora, Bernard, what does this mean ? " 
 asked Sarah, looking from one to the other. Ber 
 nard sat nervously clenching and opening his 
 hands, his face growing every instant more and 
 more flushed. 
 
 " After you are fairly domesticated, you take 
 up rural pursuits," went on Linora. "You wear 
 shepherd's costume, with pink and blue ribbons 
 round your knees ; and you strike attitudes all 
 day long, playing on an oaten pipe. Isn't it 
 an oaten pipe, Mr. Mann?" Stephen looked at 
 her indulgently. " You must stand cross-legged," 
 continued she, in solemn reflection, "one toe on 
 the ground. You will lead forth the flocks, and 
 the feminine portion of the household will twine 
 garlands and wreaths about their horns. I also 
 may go there and twine. Sarah, will you not 
 twine ? " 
 
 "Linora, don't be absurd," said Sarah, watching 
 Bernard in apprehension. "Or, if you must make 
 fun of anybody, take me." 
 
 " I must eulogize Colin ; indeed I must," went 
 on Linora, turning again to Bernard. " Colin, you 
 will remember the blue ribbons and a largo hat
 
 OUTSIDE AND IN. 251 
 
 and a crook ? You'd better take the crook down 
 with you." 
 
 The cold sweat had broken out on Bernard's 
 face. He was miserable enough at finding him 
 self the butt of a joke ; he suffered acutely when 
 the jest touched a wound. Stephen, glancing at 
 him, forbore to smile. 
 
 " Has your uncle left town? " he asked, merci 
 fully changing the topic. 
 
 " On the contrary, he has sent for his trunks," 
 returned Linora, lifting her brows and plaiting a 
 fold of her dress. " I think I should object to 
 the entire area of Gath becoming acquainted 
 with the suspicion, but I really think he is on 
 the brink of falling in love with Miss Phebe." 
 Stephen was evidently willing she should go on, 
 and she did not wait for encouragement. " I intro 
 duced them this morning, and a wonderful com 
 munity of feeling already exists between them ; 
 that is, on all subjects but one. You couldn't 
 expect them to agree in their estimate of me." 
 
 " No, hardly," said Stephen, with dry frankness. 
 
 "But Uncle Will has not yet confided my 
 idiosyncrasies to her. I extrated a promise 
 from him to that effect. On condition that I leave 
 the priest to rest in unhallowed earth, Miss Phebe 
 is not to be told that he has never existed. Is it 
 too much to ask you all to refrain from confiding 
 in her?"
 
 252 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 The request was put in an off-hand, incidental 
 way, and she apparently took the answer for 
 granted. 
 
 "I like Miss Phebe," she stated, "just as I 
 like you, Sarah, though not as much. I object to 
 losing her toleration. And with all this hideous 
 frankness buzzing about the air, I am likely to 
 have no friends left." 
 
 "Don't talk about it," said Sarah, longing to 
 help her into a clearer atmosphere. "Let us all 
 forget it, Linora. Life is too good and too short 
 for such play." 
 
 "Will you forget it?" said Linora, looking up 
 in what seemed earnest gratitude. But her glance 
 took in Bernard on the way, and her demon of 
 absurdity triumphed. " But when I think of 
 Colin ! " she reiterated, her laughter beginning 
 afresh. "Colin, cross-legged, and piping out his 
 distrust of me to the vales and hills, it is too 
 much ! " 
 
 As it had previously happened, Bernard was 
 driven from the field ; he literally ran away, and 
 Linora followed, uttering some indulgent con 
 demnation of her own hardness of heart. Then 
 Stephen and Sarah could but exchange glances of 
 puzzled amusement. Possibly there awoke in 
 Sarah something of the righteous indignation of 
 the reformer who finds his seed scattered by the 
 four capricious winds of heaven. Since Stephen
 
 OUTSIDE AND IN. 253 
 
 had told her that he had hoped good would spring 
 from her influence over Linora, she had felt 
 bound to drag the girl to the firm ground of 
 truth. And lo ! her first weak effort had ended 
 in laughter. 
 
 "I am a haunted man," said Bernard to himself 
 that night, hurrying to his lonely room. " They 
 must be right, these spiritualists. Some unclean 
 devil has me in his power." 
 
 With his hand on the key, he paused, half fear 
 ing to enter. What might he not find there ? The 
 bodily presence of the man who was said to haunt 
 him? 
 
 
 
 " No one can look upon a spirit and live," he 
 whispered. " My time for seeing may have come." 
 
 He threw open the door, and took one wide, 
 defiant glance, which swept the room. Nothing 
 unusual was there, though the dim light of the 
 lowered gas softened all outlines, and transformed 
 the common furniture into a menagerie of strange 
 monsters. He turned on the gas to a full blaze, 
 and drew a breath of relief. Sitting down to the 
 brooding which now occupied half his time, he 
 chose a corner, that he might hold the entire room 
 under survey. Nothing should creep behind him. 
 A fear was gaining upon him, day by day, that 
 the mediums might be right in calling him " me- 
 diumistic." He might indeed possess this horri 
 ble faculty; it might develop itself in spite of
 
 254 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 him, and, at some moment, a vision would burst 
 upon him, and he must die in spasms of terror. 
 His sick mind had still the power of reflection ; it 
 reached the certain conclusion that its own weak, 
 shattered condition was not that in which the 
 supernatural might be faced. Threads of reverie 
 on the unseen and the material braided themselves 
 in and out within his mind. Now he pictured to 
 himself the form of his unseen visitant, who nrght 
 at the moment be lowering at him from some cor 
 ner. Now he thought of Linora with a pang of 
 disgust. And yet she was not so much to be 
 blamed for making him the butt of her scorn. He 
 was sufficiently ridiculous to furnish food for laugh 
 ter to both gods and men. 
 
 The thought of Sarah lay upon his mind like the 
 one cool drop which must rather aggravate than 
 allay his thirst for consolation. It borrowed heat 
 from his own blood, and became scalding. She 
 was the one pure thing that held place in his life, 
 but being pure, she was not for him. Just what 
 he would have chosen, after the inconceivable 
 good of her love, he could not have told. Chiefly, 
 perhaps, to be in some manner, and through her, 
 less lonely ; to feel her fingers smooth out the 
 knotted lines of life, her sweet breath purify the 
 air like garden pinks. She inevitably suggested 
 things homelike, sweet, and natural. And yet, 
 while he acknowledged his need of the loving 
 
 o o
 
 OUTSIDE AND IN. 255 
 
 friendliness she had for him, he could not bring 
 himself to the point of accepting it. 
 
 All this time he was trying, in an inert, leaden 
 fashion, to bring himself to do his penance, in go 
 ing back to his own people. 
 
 Another night came when, beside himself with 
 loneliness and the misery of dreams, he took his 
 way to Stephen's street and number. He stopped 
 outside the house, arrested by two figures passing 
 and repassing the window of the large library. 
 There was no light in the room but that of the 
 fire ; had it not been for sharp-eyed Envy at his 
 side, he might not have noticed them. He would 
 not go in. They wandered up and down their 
 paradise in interchange of articulate love. He had 
 no part in their lot ; no one could have. This 
 was the greatest miracle and paradox of creation, 
 the dual unit which makes its own complete 
 ness. He ran on, almost gnashing his teeth, 
 striving so to tire his body that it might lead the 
 mind to forgetfulness. 
 
 The two people within were altogether happy, 
 and unconscious of possible pain elsewhere. The 
 glow of the fire was red in the room where they 
 walked. It struck out red from hangings and 
 couches. Sarah, dressed in a white gown of some 
 soft, clinging stuff, gathered a rosy flush over face 
 and drapery. There is, perhaps, nothing more 
 sweetly absurd than the fact that two people, dcs-
 
 256 FOOLS OP NATURE. 
 
 tined in all probability to spend their entire life 
 together, should steal moments and hours wherein 
 to talk to each other with desperate eagerness, as 
 if eternal separation might, at any instant, over 
 take them. These two were laughing over it 
 now. 
 
 " And it is as if I found you alone for only five 
 minutes, and a duenna might be lurking behind 
 the Yenus there," said Stephen, smiling at himself , 
 and caressing her hand. "I want to whisper; I 
 am almost at the point of begging you to fly with 
 me." 
 
 "And I shall," said Sarah, meeting his glance. 
 "I need but a hint." 
 
 His face contracted with the sudden pang of a 
 remembered pain. 
 
 " We have escaped fiercer dragons than any the 
 story-books put down," he said. " Sweet woman, 
 I could not have escaped alone." 
 
 Part of her loyalty to his present lay in helping 
 him to forgetfulness of his past. That was pos 
 sible, since he had no morbid, poetic joy in remem 
 brance. 
 
 " We are safely away, and on the high road to 
 paradise," she said, lightly. "No, Stephen, how 
 dare I forget the present? We are not on any 
 road ; we are at home." 
 
 " I may be a weak fellow to say that, if you had 
 come earlier, my life might have been something
 
 OUTSIDE AND IN. 257 
 
 of itself. I ought to have been able to live down 
 discouragement alone, but I wasn't." 
 
 "You have always kept yourself head and shoul 
 ders above common things," she said, steadily, 
 "always." 
 
 " If it had been any other sort of thing, I might 
 perhaps have lived it down. If I could have 
 fought it I but it crept over me like a mildew. I 
 couldn't breathe through remembering how base 
 I had made my life. Sarah, sometimes I can't 
 breathe now ! " 
 
 It was true that, the more radiant became his 
 joy, the more did it seem to illuminate the stains 
 gathered in the slough where he had lain faint 
 hearted. Plis wife seemed to awaken in him a 
 peculiar worship. He did not merely thank God 
 for the gift of a good woman ; he regarded her with 
 a species of awe, and was conscious of a half-super 
 stitious feeling that she had entrance to high regions 
 inaccessible to him. The belief gave birth to a 
 jealous idolatry. He feared denial of admission 
 to the least of her meditations. He felt the neces 
 sity of purifying himself sufficiently to live with 
 this virgin mind. 
 
 "You are on your knees too much before me," 
 she said, that night, between earnest and lightness. 
 "I am so happy, oh, a woman loves to play the 
 queen ! but you are there because you think I 
 am good, and I am not." They had passed into
 
 258 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 the circle of fire-light where her face was more 
 clearly visible. 
 
 "I worship you as the symbol of all woman 
 hood," said her husband. 
 
 "Not that, Stephen," she said, her own voice 
 vibrating as she put both her hands on his shoul 
 ders and looked at him. "I am not worth that. 
 Do as I do, and worship the Love instead. I 
 think of it as a great white-winged creature above 
 us, noble, majestic, who must not be offended 
 by anything ignoble in us." 
 
 He took her in his arms, and again their talk 
 went on in a corner of their fireside. Safe, shield 
 ed, their bliss assured from all calamity but that 
 of death, they could map out the happy years in 
 dreams, years that were gently to soothe this 
 ecstasy of loving into a calm delight of growth 
 together.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 A FLAW. 
 
 HPHE next day, Stephen was going out of town 
 -*- on business, and Sarah walked to the station 
 with him. There had hitherto been no partings 
 for them, and she was laughingly bemoaning her 
 self at the prospect of saying good-by. They 
 laughed at themselves and at the world in general 
 a great deal, in those days. There is something 
 rarely childlike in pure human joy. 
 
 The spring was coming, and they had the summer 
 to dispose of, in anticipation. 
 
 " You have had no mountains yet," Stephen was 
 saying as they waited at a crossing. "I good 
 God ! " he exclaimed, under his breath. Sarah 
 turned to him, startled. His eyes were fixed on 
 a woman standing near them, whose glance inci 
 dentally met his at the same moment. 
 
 "What is, it Stephen?" whispered his wife. 
 
 " Don't ! " he answered, hoarsely. " Come ! " 
 
 He hurried her across the street and into the 
 station, dropped her arm when they were once in 
 side, and drew the long breath of a man unnerved. 
 An inspiration of knowledge struck his wife like a 
 throb of pain. 
 
 2S0
 
 260 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "Stephen, is it the woman?" she whispered. 
 
 A dull flush branded his face. He turned to 
 her with the dogged obstinacy of one forcing his 
 unwilling eyes to meet an accusation. 
 
 "Yes." He saw in her the instant almost im 
 perceptible yielding of the frame, its cowering 
 under a blow. " Let us go home. Only have 
 courage till we get there ! " he said. But she had 
 gathered herself for action. 
 
 "No, of course not. Why should we change 
 our plans? Nothing has happened." She smiled 
 up at him. The glance brought a sob to his throat. 
 
 " Heaven bless the brave brown eyes ! " he said. 
 But he ran back as she was turning to leave him, to 
 say again, " Let me stay with you." 
 
 "No," she answered, still smiling. "There is 
 no need. I am not foolish ; believe in me, and 
 
 go." 
 
 She hastened out at another door, her head 
 bent, her eyes on the ground. She was possessed 
 by a sickening fear of again meeting the woman. 
 Nothing had happened. Ah, but something had, 
 and she was hurrying home to meet it alone. 
 She tried not to think until she was locked in her 
 own room, with the time before her to scan and 
 lay her ghost, if it could be laid. For a while 
 she sat silently listening to an insistent voice. 
 Then she spoke aloud the words that were beating 
 themselves into her throbbing brain.
 
 A FLAW. 261 
 
 "I have been mistaken," she said, clearly, look 
 ing up and speaking to the four walls. " We had 
 no right to marry. It was a lie ; my mother did 
 not speak through that man." 
 
 To have grown up with an ideal of right, to 
 have been led away from it by what seemed wiser 
 intuitions, and to behold then the forsaken goddess 
 stretching out reproachful arms, - this was what 
 had happened to her. 
 
 Could one go back to forsaken aspirations with 
 out as much pain as joy the joy of possession 
 pierced by the vibrating chord of repentance at 
 having once renounced them? And with noble 
 souls, what second fickleness would be possible? 
 All that day there rang in her heart the reiteration 
 of the certainty that she could not change again, 
 however she might long to do so. She had been 
 right at first, and had fallen from a just decision 
 through what she had felt to be divine counsel. 
 She had placed herself under the new laws of an 
 unfamiliar world of love. What was to be done? 
 
 The sin of a wrong decision had been committed, 
 and, bitterly as she might repent, repentance would 
 not suffice. The past could not be retraced, but 
 there must be some steep and thorny by-path lead 
 ing to the one she should never have left. She 
 laid her finger on this one day of her life, saying, 
 "It ends here." 
 
 In these first moments, the one right assumed
 
 262 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 such gigantic proportions, that she scarcely thought 
 of the pain involved in serving it. Stephen and 
 she had been bitterly unfortunate ; their love had 
 led them towards what seemed the most beautiful, 
 but which was not, in this one case, the most true. 
 They were mistaken ; they would retrieve their 
 mistake. So long as the question bore only an 
 abstract significance, she thought entirely of the 
 end, overlooking the common, heart-sickening 
 means to be traversed. It was a trifling incident 
 that recalled her to the sight of the' rack, from 
 dreamy contemplation of the heights to which it 
 must lead. At twilight, she went to the mirror 
 to put her hair in order ; a rose in a glass caught 
 her eye. Stephen had put it there with a lover's 
 foolish care, that she might pin it at her throat in 
 the morning, when he should not be by to do it. 
 She held her hand over the petals, not touching 
 them, a slow horror gathering in her eyes. 
 " To give up this ? " she said aloud. " This, all ! " 
 Her glance had flashed rapidly about the room, 
 furnished with a hundred thoughts of her. She 
 had been right in telling Bernard that these were the 
 symbols of married love. There had been a time 
 when she could have parted from her lover, feel 
 ing only the pain of loss. She might now as well 
 think of tearing limb from limb, expecting still to 
 live, as to give up the sweet habit of dual exist 
 ence.
 
 A FLAW. 263 
 
 The night passed, and he came. They con 
 fronted each other like two ghosts held asunder 
 by an irrevocable decree. When he entered, 
 Stephen had made an eager, involuntary move 
 ment towards her, but he was not surprised that 
 she only smiled at him. lie had expected to find 
 distance between them at first. 
 
 " Well ?" he said, regarding her hopelessly. She 
 had meant to take the burden of decision on her 
 self. Now that the time had come, her dry lips 
 refused their task. 
 
 "I couldn't help it, you know," he went on. 
 " If I could, I would put you under another heaven, 
 but I can't deny the earth to the creatures born 
 on it." 
 
 Then she found her breath. " My darling, do 
 you think I could blame you? do anything but 
 love you pity die for you ? " she said, going 
 up to him, her eyes all eloquence, regardless of 
 the endearments she had promised herself to use 
 no more. 
 
 Stephen's face quivered. He could have gone 
 on his knees to her in pure gratitude. But her 
 next words roused him. 
 
 " Whatever we decide, you will remember that 
 I did not change, that I loved you, and found you 
 worthy any woman's love." 
 
 He regarded her in breathless amazement.
 
 264 FOOLS OP NATURE. 
 
 " Decide ? What is there to decide ? That was 
 done once for all." 
 
 "No," she said, not daring to look at him. "I 
 was wrong then. You must help me to be right 
 now." 
 
 He was silent so long that she turned to him in 
 fear. His face showed only a great weariness. 
 
 " I thought that ghost was laid," he said, in a 
 low voice, turning to walk up the room. "It 
 seems ghosts never are. Well, what am I to do ? " 
 
 " Our marriage was no marriage. I am not 
 your wife. We must live accordingly apart." 
 
 He turned upon her with a power of passion 
 that made her shrink. 
 
 " Not my wife ! " he cried, holding her before 
 him and forcing her eyes to meet his. " Do you 
 dare say that ? Think what we two have been to 
 each other; think of the life we have led here, 
 and then call it no marriage ! " 
 
 Her heart rose to the level of his passion, ready 
 to join its flood with that torrent, but the pale 
 ghost of the ideal did not flinch. There, it must 
 be obeyed. 
 
 " If our marriage is a true one, it ought to stand 
 every test," she said. " It cannot stand the test 
 of my meeting that woman." 
 
 He left her again and walked to the window. 
 When he came back, it was after reflection, and his 
 tone was gentler.
 
 A FLAW. 265 
 
 " I want to say one thing. It will sound hor 
 ribly. May it not be the feeling you evidently 
 have the inevitable disgust, shame, that I my 
 self feel?" 
 
 "No," she said, steadily. " I have thought of 
 that. It is not jealousy. I \vish it were. It is 
 seeing in her the law I have broken." 
 
 Stephen sat down with the air of a man who 
 had abandoned hope. 
 
 " Then I give it up," he said. " There seems 
 to be no outlet." 
 
 " If I could think I had decided through my 
 own free will," she broke forth, in irrepressible 
 disgust at the manner of her former change, "I 
 could bear it. But I was juggled with. I took a 
 medium's misty commonplaces for a message from 
 my mother. I thought that supernatural wisdom 
 was setting me above law. I hate myself for my 
 weakness. You should hate me, too." 
 
 He made no answer. He was scarcely thinking 
 of her. So the years he had cast behind him were 
 to repeat themselves ! The shining fabric of this 
 beautiful dream was ruined forever. 
 
 " It's of no use to tell you how much I would 
 sacrifice to have saved you," he said, at last. " We 
 must go on as we can. When you repent, try to 
 think what it has done for me. Your error if 
 it is error has made me very happy." 
 
 " But, Stephen," she said, in a voice that feared
 
 266 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 itself and shrunk back, " we must not go on to 
 gether." 
 
 Mastery flashed up in him again. 
 
 " Yes, by the God that made me ! " he cried, 
 his voice ringing like that of a conquering host, 
 "you are mine! I suppose they can kill you, 
 these higher powers, but as long as I am a man 
 with my breath and senses, they shall take you in 
 no other way. Let me see the being that dares 
 to tell me you are not mine ! Every law in nature 
 declares it. If it is true that you do not belong 
 to me, let the old universe rock for God denies 
 his own law, and chaos will come next ! " 
 
 With all her senses fighting on his side, she, a 
 speck in that whirlwind of struggling atoms, clung 
 to her one conviction. 
 
 " I do not belong to you. We both belong to 
 the law." 
 
 He turned from her and left the room. She 
 heard him pacing the next floor, and knew he 
 would return, winged with persuasion. She sank 
 on her face upon the pillows, great floods of tears 
 coming. They were all for him. She was his 
 wife, not an imperious mistress who might accept 
 or reject at will, but the woman who had cherished 
 him as tenderly as mothers soothe and nourish their 
 children. She was even willing that he should 
 storm her with arguments. She felt an infinite 
 patience with his rebellion, growing out of an in-
 
 A FLAW. 267 
 
 finite pity for his sorrow. She would answer him 
 as fully as he chose to ask ; he should know all 
 her reasons as she knew them. But this time she 
 was sure she should not yield. 
 
 In the next room, Stephen was fighting out his 
 battle alone, conscious only of placing himself in 
 defiant antagonism to the powers that warred 
 against him. One rage of resistance possessed 
 him ; an angry madness against the world. Sud 
 denly there swept upon him, like a soft pall cover 
 ing the corpse of noisome passions, the old sense 
 of sweet worship for his wife. His belief in her 
 goodness attacked him with such melting force that 
 he could have wept himself into childishness. 
 Sometimes he had thought, in these throes of ec 
 static woman-worship, " to be her child, her dog, if 
 one could be no more ! Anything to be near her ! " 
 
 Remembering that, he would not resist. The 
 better part of her nature demanded some sacrifice 
 which he could not, of his own accord, give. He 
 would have left the altar bare, hiding his one 
 lamb in his breast, though the gods had thundered 
 for a victim ; but if she chose to place herself 
 thereon, he would see that she died painlessly. 
 With this mood upon him, he went back to her. 
 She had wept herself tired, and lifted a wet but 
 very patient face. He knelt by her couch, and 
 her tears started afresh when she saw his eyes, 
 like dumb things pleading for pity.
 
 268 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "I haven't cared for some things you care for," 
 he began, hoarsely, making sudden pauses between 
 the words. " I am contented to live along and be 
 happy. Your nature is so high that your happi 
 ness lies in renunciation. I can't bring myself up 
 to your level, but there is one way in which I 
 won't fail you ; you shall choose your right, and I 
 will help you do it." 
 
 She could only kiss his hand again and again ; 
 but he went on, to make sure of finishing while 
 he could. 
 
 " I must take care of you ; nobody can deny me 
 that. The first thing is to rest the dear body ; so 
 you will promise me to go now and try to sleep ? 
 In the morning we can talk again." 
 
 She rose obediently. Turning when she had 
 reached the door, she hastened back. 
 
 " If you could forgive " 
 
 " Look at me ! " he said. She raised her eyes, to 
 find his face lighted with a great love. " There is 
 no such word possible between us," he went on, 
 firmly and slowly. She must remember it, to be 
 less unhappy. " You have given me such immor 
 tal happiness that I am willing to pay for it by 
 going to hell ! And you shall have made it possi 
 ble for me not to drag you down an inch. I swear 
 that."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 IN EXILE. 
 
 HPHE two met for days in a constrained kindli 
 ness which, in contrast with remembered 
 hours, had about it some thing of horror. Stephen 
 was waiting, his wife felt, for some further word 
 from her. His compliance with her decision had 
 thrown the burden of responsibility upon her, but 
 she was not doubtful as to her course. 
 
 " Stephen," she said, at length, "you will let me 
 go wherever I think best?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " It may seem romantic, but I should like to go 
 to the house of that old man down in the country ; 
 the one I met and liked. I fancied I saw in him 
 something very good, almost holy." 
 
 " Anywhere you like," he said, with the same 
 forced kindliness which pained her so much. If 
 it had concealed impatience, disapproval, she could 
 have taken it with gratitude. Instead, it covered 
 an ocean of waiting love for whose expression she 
 was athirst. 
 
 " Then I will write and find out about it," she 
 went on, half timidly. 
 
 " No, let me do all that. Take no trouble. And
 
 270 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 shall I say you intend staying any given length of 
 time?" 
 
 "No, I may not want to stay ; and I can't tell 
 now where I may want to go next." 
 
 " Except that you won't come back to me ! " 
 
 The next day he was away, and came back late 
 in the evening. 
 
 " I have been down there Coventry," he said, 
 as soon as he had thrown himself into a chair by 
 the fire. "I liked the old man, too. They will 
 take you." 
 
 "You went, Stephen? There was no need of so 
 much trouble ; you might have written." 
 
 "Yes, but of course I couldn't send you to a 
 place without first knowing about it. Then I 
 wanted to see it, to think of you there." 
 
 His face contracted painfully, and he passed his 
 hand over it. Sarah held herself silent, by the 
 greatest effort she was capable of making. How 
 often in this miserable time had she been drawn 
 to throw herself into his arms, and heal his wounds 
 by the flood of the tenderness that possessed her ! 
 For the next few days she saw him but seldom. 
 He could not trust himself to be near her, but 
 often when she supposed him to be away he was 
 in the next room listening for her footsteps, feel 
 ing her presence in a dumb anguish, with dull pre 
 sentiment of the loss that would settle upon him 
 when she should indeed be gone.
 
 IN EXILE. 271 
 
 Bernard had not been heard from, and she had 
 no wish to see him. She would write him a note 
 before she left, saying that she was not well and 
 needed change. If she should see him again, his 
 quick eyes might detect more than ill-health in the 
 alteration she felt sure must be wrought in her. 
 Once only did Stephen break through his resolve 
 of unquestioning loyalty to her decision. On their 
 last morning together, at the very instant before 
 they set out for the station, he caught her look. 
 It was as if each suffering soul saw itself reflected 
 in the other face. 
 
 " Are you sure you are not making a mistake ? " 
 he said, hoarsely. " It is a good deal to do for 
 an abstract sort of sacrifice." 
 
 His arms and her home lay before her on one 
 side ; on the other, barren days among strangers. 
 Still there was no doubt, and she shook her head. 
 
 " I have told them at Coventry that you have 
 had trouble and need rest," he said, as he left her. 
 " And you promise to write if you are ill, or if you 
 need me ? You couldn't deny me that." 
 
 She promised, and they looked at each other no 
 more. It was easiest to part in haste. 
 
 When she reached Coventry, Uncle Ben had been 
 waiting for her half an hour, patiently sitting in 
 the old sleigh and discussing spiritualism with a 
 sceptic. There was something Socratic in his 
 longing to turn market-place and hall into sympo-
 
 272 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 sia ; he had, moreover, the rare faculty of issuing 
 with undisturbed serenity from debates wherein 
 his dear belief had been scoffingly received. 
 
 "It's the works of the devil, I tell you ! " shout 
 ed his opponent, hurling his last arrow as the 
 train came in, and winking at the bystanders. 
 "The works of the devil, an' nothin' else." 
 
 " Well, well ! " said Uncle Ben, smiling, " then I 
 must be one of the devil's followers ; an' as long as 
 there ain't anybody but what's got some good in 
 him, perhaps he won't lead an old man fur out o' 
 the way. I guess it's you, as long as there ain't 
 no other passenger," he said, walking up to Sarah 
 and offering his hand. " Come right along. I'll 
 take your bag, an' Sam he's comin' up from the 
 ma'sh byme-by he'll take your trunk on his 
 sled." 
 
 Sarah cast a quick glance at the landscape, as 
 soon as they had turned away from the dingy 
 little station. A country of bare trees and un 
 clean, melting snow. The trickling of water here 
 and there from little runnels by the side of the 
 road sang the tinkling prelude to the spring 
 song. 
 
 " Seems queer to have you down here," began 
 Uncle Ben, when they were on the straight road. 
 " I never thought o' seein' you ag'in till we got 
 over on the other side, after that day in the city. 
 But (hen you never can tell how things are goin'
 
 IN EXILE. 273 
 
 to come round. Perhaps you've seen Lenny 
 lately." 
 
 "Lenny?" 
 
 " Now it's no wonder," laughed the old man. 
 " We've al'ays called him so. He's our little boy, 
 you know, an' I s'pose he al'ays will be. Pro 
 fessor Leonard, you know, test medium," with 
 the air of reading the sign, and that with great 
 relish. 
 
 "No, I have not been there for a long time," 
 said Sarah, the mention of the name bringing back 
 her sickness of heart. 
 
 "An' have you got any new light?" said the 
 old man, earnestly. " Somehow I expect the new 
 lights are comin' from you young folks. Likely 
 you're nearer the kingdom of heaven than some 
 of us." 
 
 " No, no light anywhere." After their utterance, 
 she felt that the words must have sounded like a 
 cry. The old man answered them gently and pa 
 tiently. 
 
 " Sometimes you have to wait a great many 
 years. Little as I know, I can tell you that." 
 
 Maria was at the door when they drove up, 
 starched of dress and very stiff of collar, but 
 evidently in some trepidation. "When she had 
 fairly seen Sarah's face, she uttered a fervent 
 " Lord be praised ! " The ejaculation was explained 
 later, while she was, as she would have said,
 
 274 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 "flyin* round," making the last preparations for 
 tea, and Sarah sat by the window watching her. 
 
 "Ever since pa said he'd take you," said Maria, 
 cutting a pie with dexterous little strokes, " ever 
 since, I've had sort of a sickening feeling for fear 
 'twas the other one." 
 
 " The other one ? " 
 
 " The one that come with you that day to Lenny's. 
 And if she's your own flesh and blood, I should 
 say the same I couldn't abide her." She com 
 pressed her lips, evidently challenging reproval of 
 her defiant honesty. But Sarah laughed. 
 
 "You mean Miss Gale. Many people like her, 
 but I'm very much obliged to you for liking me 
 better." 
 
 "Pa took a fancy to you, too," went on Maria, 
 setting the last chair in place at the table. w That's 
 how we happened to tell your husband we'd under 
 take it. Not but what we both wanted you," she 
 added, hastily, " but I never took a boarder in my 
 life, and I'm going to say it beforehand so't you 
 can put up with our ways. Pa likes young folks, 
 and you must cheer him up. I ain't so chipper as 
 I used to be." 
 
 Through the tea-time Uncle Ben kept up his 
 soliloquizing reflections, chiefly o spiritualism and 
 the other life. Sarah noticed that his thoughts 
 seemed to tend irresistibly towards some centre out 
 side mundane affairs. And yet, constantly as he
 
 IN EXILE. 275 
 
 harped upon his one string, the tune was not weari 
 some ; possibly because he never insisted upon an 
 answer, and never attempted to convince. He 
 seemed to be holding the shell to his own ear, 
 smiling to himself at its song of eternity. 
 
 When he had gone out after tea, Maria stationed 
 herself before Sarah and transfixed her with keen 
 eyes. 
 
 "Do you believe in it?" she asked, abruptly. 
 
 " Spiritualism ? No, I think not." 
 
 " Thank the Lord again ! If there was only one 
 spiritualist in the world, and that was pa, I could 
 get along well enough. But the rest of 'em make 
 me sick." 
 
 Sarah smiled at her in understanding. Her ex 
 treme shrewdness and honesty were refreshing. 
 
 " You needn't be afraid," she said, still smiling. 
 "I shan't try to convert you, and I'm enough in 
 terested in it not to offend your father." 
 
 When Sarah went to her own room, she started 
 with a low cry. In contrast with the rest of the 
 old house, it was a princess' bower. Books were 
 there, the pictures she loved most, the red hang 
 ings that suited her fancy, and the fragrance of 
 fresh flowers her red roses and spicy pinks. 
 How he had brought it all about in so short a 
 time she could not guess. She remembered that, 
 as he had once before in separation planned the 
 home he meant to offer her, so now his pain had
 
 276 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 been lessened by serving her. She wandered 
 about the room until late, touching one thing after 
 another. Here was almost his visible presence. 
 She was indeed less unhappy than the morning had 
 found her. The strangeness of the place, with these 
 reminders of his care over her, suggested the fact 
 of a temporary separation. And as an absence of 
 years would have seemed slight, if she might go 
 back to him at last, she comforted herself with the 
 delusion, and slept. 
 
 Aunt Lomie came in the very next morning, 
 ostensibly to bring the week's " County Times ; " in 
 reality to see the new-comer. She had a mild 
 curiosity as to the person Maria had been willing 
 to receive into the family. Her sense of awe 
 vanished, however, when she found Sarah to be a 
 girlish creature with short hair, " sittin' round doin' 
 nothin' in particular," as she reported to the two 
 boys. 
 
 " We should like to have you come in an' be 
 neighborly, if you feel to," she said, with her air 
 of prim courtesy, instantly suggesting the day of 
 busks. 
 
 The boys, Aunt Lomie privately told Maria, had 
 indicated their purpose of " fightin' shy " of the 
 house so long as the stranger should remain in it. 
 
 In the following days, Maria more than once 
 caught herself wondering how she had ever dared 
 try the experiment of admitting a stranger within
 
 IN EXILE. 277 
 
 her kingdom. That pa had been inclined to do 
 so, furnished a strong argument, but the course 
 seemed in itself almost beyond reason. She had 
 also agreed that a woman might come in on certain 
 days of the week to help with the hard work, 
 she who had once religiously reserved her rights 
 of doing with her own hands every part of the 
 housekeeping. 
 
 " I wouldn't have believed any body 'd be so little 
 under foot," she said one day, when Sarah was 
 slicing applies for pies, " nor that I'd have any 
 body touching a dish round the house. But here 
 we are I " 
 
 " Here we are, indeed," repeated Sarah, looking 
 up in quiet triumph. "But it's pure charity in 
 you. How can you let me meddle, when I do 
 things wrong so many times ? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Maria, with uncom 
 promising candor. "Maybe it's because you're 
 willing. But that don't make it clear how I can 
 let you do housework, and take your money for 
 board." 
 
 "I'm an apprentice," said Sarah, soberly. 
 " When I graduate, perhaps you'll give me wages." 
 
 There was something ideal and charming in the 
 homely work about the old house. Everything 
 was so exquisitely clean, Maria herself was always 
 so starched and immaculate ! There was even a 
 delicious flavor about the sweeping and dusting.
 
 278 FOOLS OP NATURE. 
 
 " It is more than clean," said Sarah, as she stood 
 by the hearth after the final setting to rights of a 
 washing day. " I can smell and taste it.** 
 
 w What ? " asked Maria, practically. 
 
 w It the flavor the essence of the honse, and 
 the cooking, and the sweet country life." And 
 they laughed together. 
 
 As time went on, Aunt Lomie often came for an 
 afternoon, with her knitting carefully rolled in a 
 gingham kerchief. Sarah used to watch her as 
 she made ready for work, to see if she ever devi 
 ated by the hair's breadth of a gesture from one 
 established programme. It never happened. She 
 sat bolt-upright in the straightest chair to be found, 
 unrolled the kerchief, pinned on a knitting-sheath, 
 stuck the needle in the quill, and cast the yarn over 
 her little finger. Such trifles made Sarah's daily 
 food ; her study even of still life had become mi 
 nute. Aunt Lomie had therefore assumed place 
 in her mind, but the boys remained unknown 
 factors. She saw them pass with their oxen, or 
 alone, giants in stature and stentorian of voice, 
 but they had not ventured within possibility of 
 meeting her. One day, however, she ran away. 
 She had had a longing to take the cart-path that 
 wound round the barn and over the hill to the 
 woods, but Maria had laughed at her. Surely 
 there was something to be found in the woods, 
 even in so early a spring !
 
 IN EXILE. 279 
 
 "Slush!" said Maria, sententiously. "And 
 there's plenty of that out the back door." 
 
 So, saying nothing of her purpose, on this day 
 she essayed the path where there lay the least 
 possible snow and the deepest ponds of water 
 compatible with a roadway. Half way up the 
 hill, she heard the laborious tramp of oxen behind 
 her, with Sam's step regardless of the water, and 
 his bold " Gee, Bright ! " She stepped to the ex 
 treme edge of the path and waited for them to pass. 
 She had thrown back her jacket, and her cheeks 
 were pink from the moist, warm wind, her lips 
 parted by exertion. Even Sam, with his bashful 
 half glance, took in her bright freshness. 
 
 " Ride ? " he called, not stopping the oxen, but 
 ready with uplifted goad if she should assent. 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" came the fresh young voice, 
 much to Sam's surprise. Henry, sitting on the 
 sled and dangling his feet, cast a reproachful 
 glance at his brother before helping her on. But 
 the deed was done, and the gee-hawing went on, 
 Sam slyly congratulating himself on having chosen 
 to drive. Henry would be obliged to talk to her, 
 not he. 
 
 w How fast the snow is going ! " began Sarah, as 
 an easy commonplace. 
 
 " Most gone," returned Henry, briefly. 
 
 * Sleddin's over. We thought we'd be sure o* 
 one more load," called Sam, willing to earn fra-
 
 280 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 ternal gratitude. "It's the last we shall get on 
 runners." 
 
 "I should think so, indeed. How far do you 
 go for the wood ? " 
 
 "Oh, a matter o' two mile, through Uncle 
 Ben's lot here, an' another pastur', an' then we 
 come to our'n ! " 
 
 Explorations in six inches of damp snow within 
 the woods had ceased to hold a charm. 
 
 "Suppose I should go with you, would you let 
 me ride back on the load ? " she suggested. 
 
 Sam glanced at her dubiously. 
 
 " It ain't good for clothes, wood an' pitch ain't," 
 he said, this time looking straight in her eyes, his 
 own holding a spark of mischief. Sarah's laughed 
 in answer. 
 
 " And my clothes are only good to go where I 
 choose to have them." 
 
 So she kept her state, and was soon on an ex 
 cellent footing with her charioteers. While they 
 were loading, she sat by, musing admiringly over 
 their splendid control of matter. They seemed 
 great, rude forces ; a choking arose in her throat 
 when the thought suggested the trained muscle 
 and fine poise of nerve in another man. He, too, 
 had the true manhood, that intangible quality as 
 elusive of definition as genius, and yet as palpable 
 to the consciousness. But, the load ready, she 
 woke from her musings, climbed to her perch, and
 
 IN EXILE. 281 
 
 the oxen swung slowly back over the fields. After 
 that, Sam came bashfully in for an evening; 
 Henry followed, and her place in the family circle 
 was secure. So her double life began, active, 
 wholesome, and sweet on the surface ; filled with 
 cries of longing for the pleasant land behind her, 
 of prayers for his consolation who was left sole 
 watcher by a lonely hearth.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 FEOM DAY TO DAY. 
 
 O TEPHEN had lent his aid to an act of abstract 
 justice, which could do no one, so said his 
 practical sense, an iota of good. Some unknown 
 consummation was to be reached through an infi 
 nite amount of suffering . Was it all worth while ? 
 He had scarcely returned to his lonely house, 
 haunted still by her warm presence, before the doubt 
 assailed him. Worse, he knew that the struggle 
 must continue, as the doubt should grow, unless 
 that could be at once strangled. The staff on 
 which he leaned was the certainty that it w r as like 
 a loyal lover to submit to the dictates of a good 
 woman. She might have set her soul to folly, be 
 lieving it to be a higher wisdom. If that were so, 
 she should turn her steps homeward of her own 
 accord. Unless he should be overcome by his 
 weakness of longing, he would not influence her 
 choice. He did not delude himself into feeling 
 that his acquiescence arose from any aspiration for 
 a satisfied sense of right. A sweet human happi 
 ness would have contented him. It had contented 
 him, and he would again have been supremely 
 satisfied to sit with her beside his hearth, feel-
 
 FROM DAY TO DAY. 283 
 
 ing that the gods could bear no enmity towards 
 such unambitious serenity of joy. But she had 
 wished something different. She longed for a 
 wine of sanctification ; he would not put the cup 
 away from her lips. 
 
 To him came Bernard, more beside himself than 
 usual. 
 
 " What does her note mean ? " he asked, without 
 preamble, running his hand through his long hair. 
 " She wanted rest, quiet ? Why ? She wasn't ill." 
 
 " No, not ill," said Stephen, leaning wearily back 
 from the table where his head had been resting on 
 his arms. " It is true, she needs rest." He scarcely 
 saw Bernard, vaguely conscious that he was being 
 disturbed, and that the cause of annoyance lay in 
 some one always slightly antagonistic to him. 
 
 " There is trouble between you," said Bernard, 
 suddenly, watching him. In these days he was 
 animated by something like the malicious cunning 
 of the insane. "I see it in you, too." 
 
 The words roused Stephen like a sudden shaft 
 of bright sunlight. He awoke from his torpor ; a 
 smile shot over his face. 
 
 " No, no trouble between us, thank God ! That 
 can never be. Whatever there is, is outside, and 
 we bear it together." 
 
 "Well, and as long as I am outside, I suppose 
 I am not to know," sneered Bernard. "You can't 
 deny that something has happened."
 
 284 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " No, something has happened. She is in trouble, 
 and she felt it could be borne best away from 
 me." 
 
 Bernard walked to the farther side of the room. 
 There he flung up his arms desparingly. 
 
 " My God ! " he cried. " It is only a year, and 
 what shipwreck has overtaken us both ! We came 
 here a year ago ; we were young, and had no 
 trouble except from losing her. And since then 
 Sarah has lived centuries, and I am in hell ! " 
 
 Stephen looked at him in some distaste. Ber 
 nard's paroxysms could scarcely have been inter 
 esting to any man, except a physician. There was 
 something womanish in this j T ielding to over 
 strained nerves. Stephen thought it might prove 
 salutary for the man to be placed under the pump, 
 for baptism into brotherhood with the sane. 
 Bernard walked back, and stopped in front of him. 
 
 " I lived in disguise for over twenty years of my 
 life. Then I found out that I was rotten to the 
 heart's core. I am haunted, I am cursed by my 
 own thoughts ; I am betrayed, ridiculed, forsak 
 en. And all this is nothing to the thought that 
 she is in trouble. You don't know what she was 
 to me ! " He made the last declaration slowly, 
 looking Stephen daringly in the eye. He expect 
 ed vengeance. But the poor creature was too 
 broken to excite anything but pity. 
 
 "I know it," said Stephen, gently. "I have
 
 FROM DAY TO DAY. 285 
 
 always known all about it. I wish you could 
 have been happier." 
 
 The surprise took Bernard by storm. He laid 
 his head on the table and burst into weak tears. 
 Stephen sat looking at him with listless specula 
 tion. "And yet she was fond of him," suddenly 
 formed itself in his revery . " She would wish him 
 helped." He endeavored to recall his scattered 
 energies, to throw his own trouble behind him and 
 cast sad fancies out of the moment. When Ber 
 nard had recovered himself and sat up shame 
 facedly, it was to find Stephen standing before the 
 fire, graver than usual, but possessed of all his 
 ordinary coolness of demeanor. 
 
 " Now, Ellis," he said, in a most business-like 
 tone, " you and I have been hard hit, in different 
 ways, but we've got to live through it. Would 
 you do a fellow-creature a favor, even if that in 
 dividual happened to be the one before you ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Anybody else might, but I 
 don't reckon myself among other people." 
 
 " That's nonsense ; you are no worse off than 
 other men, and you have no more right to ex 
 cuse yourself from common courtesies. You may 
 have more black humors, but there are practical 
 troubles that overbalance such a million times 
 over." 
 
 Bernard clenched his hands, in his hopeless ina 
 bility to explain.
 
 FOOLS OP NATURE. 
 
 " If you only knew ! " he began, sure that his 
 sum of miseries must "make Ossa like a wart." 
 
 " I don't want to know. There's no reason why 
 either of us should read the other's private history 
 in order to behave like a human being. Now you 
 don't like me, and I don't especially like you, but 
 for my own satisfaction I want you to stay here a 
 week. Will you ? " 
 
 " In this house ? Here, with you ? " 
 
 " With me, so to speak. I sha'n't lay veiy 
 heavy demands on your society." 
 
 " I can't do it. There are duties before me 
 that must be done. Anybody else would have 
 done them long ago. I have a debt to pay, of 
 money that I should not have used." 
 
 "Ah?" said Stephen, regarding him keenly. 
 "Is that your trouble? If it lies in a stolen 
 money-bag I don't wonder at your heroics." 
 
 Thereupon, in a manner forced to it, Bernard 
 told him a part of his haunting story, touching 
 chiefly on the point that he had no right to the 
 money he had inherited, and must provide himself 
 with an honest living. 
 
 " More abstract justice ! " thought Stephen. 
 " And I the instrument to help work it out." The 
 last struck him as being irresistibly amusing. He 
 remained in thought so long that Bernard, feeling 
 himself forgotten, rose to go. Then Stephen 
 looked up.
 
 FROM DAY TO DAY. 287 
 
 " I have been wanting for some days a man to 
 take charge of the correspondence at the mill, and 
 to attend to various items not the business of the 
 book-keeper. Will you take the place ? It's no 
 favor to you." 
 
 "If I could go in as a workman, where I 
 belong." 
 
 "Mere sentiment," interrupted Stephen. "If 
 you want to earn your living, here is a respectable 
 chance, that is, if j'our handwriting is decent 
 and you can compose a coherent letter. Take it, 
 or leave it." 
 
 The tone disarmed Bernard of his suspicion that 
 the offer might have arisen from pity. He would 
 have refused, but Stephen's practical, off-hand 
 manner made him ashamed of meeting it senti 
 mentally. 
 
 " Very well ; shall I begin to-morrow ? " 
 
 "Yes, be there at eight. And you refuse to 
 come here as my lodger ? " 
 
 " I must." 
 
 "Very well." They said good-night with no 
 expenditure of feeling on either side. Neither 
 man was much more surprised at what had passed 
 than the other, Stephen at his own offer, and Ber 
 nard at his acceptance. After all, Stephen was not 
 sorry that Bernard had rejected his proposal of 
 making his house a home. It had arisen from a 
 feeling that in his present frame of mind Bernard
 
 288 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 might do harm to himself. In that would lie an 
 other sorrow for Sarah, which perhaps could be 
 averted. 
 
 Bernard was at his duties early and late, show 
 ing an irritable dissatisfaction if he finished work 
 in time to give himself rest within the prescribed 
 hours. It made him suspicious of leaving some 
 credit on Stephen's side ; there should be no favor 
 between them. In his hatred of himself he took 
 a fierce delight in working his energies to their 
 fullest extent, going home enfeebled and dazed of 
 mind. He was away from Miss Phebe's early in 
 the morning, and returned late at night, to avoid 
 Linora. He feared her laughter almost as much 
 as his own malicious ghost. With his growing 
 weariness of nerve, that apparition increased in 
 clearness of outline. It seemed to feed upon him, 
 vampire-like, distending itself on his blood, and 
 smiling in bloated fatness while he paled and shiv 
 ered before it. It had not at first been visible to 
 his bodily eyes ; he had then been conscious that 
 it lay within fancy's field of vision. Now, so 
 diseased had all his senses become that he could 
 have sworn to a visible shape standing before him. 
 How could that fail to complete his potential be 
 lief in spiritual phenomena? He had been told 
 to frequent circles where good spirits would ap 
 pear. More than one evening in the week found 
 him with a medium, sometimes receiving raps
 
 FROM DAY TO DAY. 289 
 
 from mysterious hands, often watching shadowy 
 forms appearing and disappearing, and always 
 in weariness of heart. His spiritual guides gave 
 him ambiguous counsel, but none in which lay 
 strength or comfort. He came away from them 
 each time, not with any weakening of belief in 
 their honesty, but with his faith in the nobility of 
 existence, in this or any other sphere, hopelessly 
 damaged. The plane of his conception of life 
 sank by steady degrees. Stephen, seeing such 
 change wrought in him, exerted himself as a phy 
 sician might, to minister to him secretly. He sent 
 him out of town on slight errands, making various 
 pretexts for his driving a horse which brooked no 
 listlessness nor inattention. Stephen had an un 
 spoken theory, which he constantly acted upon in 
 his own case, that there exists no more effectual 
 remedy for a sick mind than lies in the company 
 of a horse full of nerve and muscle. 
 
 And in the mean time how should Linora amuse 
 herself? She had no new confidant, and her uncle 
 had taken up his residence at the nearest hotel, 
 whence he made a daily pilgrimage to Miss Phebe's 
 parlor. There was, indeed, the briefest sort of 
 satisfaction for the retired actress in playing her 
 new part of repentant sinner with such quiet clever 
 ness as to ward him off from discussion of her 
 errors, and in preserving with Miss Phebe her most
 
 290 FOOLS or NATURE. 
 
 Madonna-like deportment. It did indeed puzzle 
 that lady to find the niece on terms of good-fellow 
 ship with an uncle who had been painted as a ser 
 pent full of guile ; but here she brought to bear her 
 theory of the sweet resignation and forgiveness 
 which made up Linora's character. That the uncle 
 showed no trace of his innate depravity did not 
 surprise her, since deceit lay at the very founda 
 tion of his character, the point on which all this 
 villany hinged. Contrary to her nature as it 
 might be, she did not give way to her outspoken 
 opinion of him. She meant, for Linora's sake, 
 first to tolerate, to rouse in him some sense of the 
 girl's worth, then to speak her mind with a ven 
 geance and swear him to future well-doing. Miss 
 Phebe had constituted herself a reformer. She 
 realized the humor of the situation, and smiled 
 grimly. 
 
 One day she found Gale waiting in the parlor, 
 idly and execrably picking out an air upon the 
 piano. She had intended dusting the room, but 
 confined her operations to the hall till he should 
 have gone. Linora, she knew, was not in, but 
 she waited for the servant to tell him so. The 
 false notes and purposeless retracing of steps went 
 on at the piano till Miss Phebe could bear it no 
 more. 
 
 "You'll never get it in the world," she said, 
 suddenly appearing in the doorway, duster in hand,
 
 FROM DAY TO DAY. 291 
 
 her head enveloped in a blue kerchief. "It's as 
 wrong as it can be." 
 
 "So I see," said Gale, with unimpaired good- 
 humor. " But I wish it wouldn't haunt me. I 
 daresay I shall get it by and by, if you don't mind 
 my trying." And he placidly began his stumbling 
 way again. 
 
 " Not if I go up into the fourth story," muttered 
 Miss Phebe. 
 
 " Perhaps you will play it for me ? " 
 
 "I can't play. Why, see "the temptation 
 becoming too strong for her, " listen ; it goes like 
 this." 
 
 She burst forth into the soaring melody, and, with 
 no more attention to her listener than if he had 
 been a statue, sang on to the end. She waved her 
 turbaned head in time, she held the duster like a 
 banner, she was grotesque in the extreme ; her 
 voice, in its contrast with the common surround 
 ings and her own person, seemed almost divine. 
 
 " Ye gods ! " muttered Gale, startled out of his 
 composure. " More, more ! " he called, as stormily 
 as if he represented an entire gallery. " Go on ; I 
 will have more ! " 
 
 Miss Phebe had forgotten ; it was true that she 
 had not sung for years. She began an aria from 
 " Semiramide." What she had once hoped from 
 her voice came back to her. She was a girl again, 
 dreaming ambitious dreams. When she had fin-
 
 292 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 ished, Gale laid his hands together in noisy ap 
 plause, and Miss Phebe looked at him for one 
 instant, buried her face in the duster, and sobbed 
 aloud. 
 
 * Shut the door ! " came incoherently from the 
 folds of her temporary refuge. " Shut it ! lock it ! 
 Somebody's coming down stairs, and I wouldn't 
 have the angel Gabriel see me so ! " 
 
 Gale promptly shut out the public, and then, too 
 much distressed to utter a word, stood waiting for 
 the termination of the sobs. He had not long to 
 wait. Miss Phebe presently emerged, her face 
 covered with shame and tears. 
 
 "Am I all streaks?" 
 
 "On my honor, no; not a streak," said Gale, 
 solemnly. If he himself had been in the habit of 
 indulging in tears, he would have given way to 
 them. 
 
 " It's well I've got such a clean house," said Miss 
 Phebe, philosophically. "I shouldn't want to cry 
 into some dusters." She had produced a handker 
 chief by this time, and carefully dried her face. 
 " What sort of a memory have you got ? " 
 
 w Short, deplorably short," answered Gale, with 
 a twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 "Well, by the next time I see you, or you see 
 somebody else " 
 
 " I sha'n't remember that Fv<s heard a heavenly 
 voice this morning ! "
 
 FROM DAT TO DAT. 293 
 
 "Then I think I'll dust here. And Linora isn't 
 in. I forgot to tell you." 
 
 Gale walked out, and had inadvertently gone 
 two miles before he had collected his scattered 
 wits.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 PROGRESS. 
 
 T)ROFESSOR LEONARD, medium, was in 
 -*- deep trouble of mind. It had frequently been 
 suggested to him by Riker that they were not 
 earning money enough to support their present 
 style of living, and to carry on what Riker des 
 ignated as his charities. He presented himself 
 in the young man's room one evening, after rather 
 an unsuccessful materialization, and threw himself, 
 with an air of great frankness, upon his pupil's 
 sympathy. 
 
 "Luck is going hard with me, Len," he said, 
 stretching himself upon the sofa, and stroking his 
 long beard. 
 
 " Maybe 'twill be better another night. Did you 
 think it was because they didn't seem so strong ? 
 Did they draw from you as much as common ? " 
 
 " It isn't that. The fact is, Len, our income isn't 
 what it ought to be." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," said the boy, relieved. 
 " Why, there's dozens of things we can live with 
 out ! There's everything you've been planning for 
 me." 
 
 "My dear boy," said Riker, in his most engag- 
 
 294
 
 PROGRESS. 295 
 
 ing lecture-room manner, " I must tell you some 
 thing I meant nobody should know. For five years 
 1 have been more than half supporting a hospital, 
 I won't tell you where. Its expenses are increas 
 ing, and my income isn't. Can I leave those poor 
 people to be turned away from its doors because 
 there isn't room for them ? Can I beg the purse- 
 proud millionaire for a pittance of his gains, to be 
 refused in scorn ? No ! " 
 
 It was a burst of truly inspirational eloquence, 
 which would have elicited rounds of applause from 
 his kind. Leonard paid tribute in quickly starting 
 tears. 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me before?" he cried. 
 "Use the money you've been investing forme. I 
 take this hard of you, Biker ! " 
 
 The money he had been investing ! Hiker 
 looked sharply at him at that clause, but the in 
 nocence of his face was reassuring. 
 
 "No, Lenny. Your savings never shall be 
 touched. If I should die, you would need a little 
 capital to start on again, and you might fall sick, 
 you know." Leonard entreated, but to no purpose. 
 " But I won't deny," added Riker, frankly, " that 
 if you made more than you do at present, I'd take 
 a percentage besides what I mean to lay up for 
 you. I wouldn't ask you to see more people, Len, 
 if I wasn't sure you could do 'em justice, and with 
 your talents, I know you can. When I think of
 
 296 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 those orphans and widows turned away from the 
 hospital doors, my heart bleeds, Len, bleeds ! " 
 striking a resounding blow in the locality of that 
 organ. 
 
 Len, too, had some experience of the figurative 
 discomfort in question as he lay awake that night, 
 with him an unusual proceeding. His fancy formed 
 a procession of the halt and maimed, refused heal 
 ing and comfort because he, Professor Leonard, 
 was too sparing of his talents. Hitherto he had 
 denied himself to those he was sure he could not 
 serve through lack of the one vision. The next 
 day, he recklessly invited in one after another, 
 beyond his hours of seeing visitors. There were 
 runs of custom, as in all trades, and just now the 
 world seemed bound on spiritual investigation. 
 Leonard silenced his inward protest by an indig 
 nant remembrance of last night's appeal ; he felt 
 that he should despise himself if he did not re 
 spond to it. Therefore it was that to the last two 
 or three of his visitors he contented himself with 
 uttering some of the platitudes which Biker had 
 set him*as lessons. And at night he ran with his 
 gains to his master, his heart overflowing, begging 
 him to use them at once. Hiker's face glowed 
 with approval. At last he had a hold on his crea 
 ture, on whose simple and stubborn honesty no 
 wile had hitherto been able to produce much real 
 effect.
 
 PROGRESS. 297 
 
 w My dear boy ! my son, I should be proud to 
 call you ! " he cried, again in his lecture-room man 
 ner. " You never can guess how you can relieve 
 my load ! This very afternoon a call came for 
 medicines and wine. My last cent is gone except 
 what I must use to pay my honest debts, and this 
 saves me. I need not refuse my poor." 
 
 His transport was no more than equal to Len's 
 honest delight. Len seemed to himself a new 
 man, with a part of the world on his shoulders. 
 The deed not only ministered to his vanity ; it 
 satisfied a legitimate quality of the human mind, 
 the longing to be of use. He worked un- 
 weariedly ; there was no need of justifying him 
 self for making little distinction between the les 
 sons rooted in his own mind and what he believed 
 to be spiritual utterances. Doubtless he might 
 have done that and still considered himself honest, 
 but constant occupation saved him .the trouble. 
 His overpowering interest in the unknown hospital 
 occupied his mind to the exclusion of metaphysical 
 problems. 
 
 Soon after this, Bernard was present at one of 
 the many " dark circles " he was in the habit 
 of frequenting. Biker was becoming exceedingly 
 versatile in the various branches of his profession. 
 He had attempted some of the physical feats in 
 dulged in by mediums, but always apologetically, 
 referring to them as the lowest form of manifesta-
 
 298 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 tions, which were yet sometimes necessary for 
 the conversion of sceptics. The usual formula 
 followed the darkening of the room. Previously, 
 however, visitors had been seated according to 
 Hiker's direction, who announced that he was 
 guided in his choice by Mixy-Maxy, an exceed 
 ingly hilarious and unconventional Indian maiden. 
 Her dialect lay in an indescribable corruption of 
 the English language, which Mrs. Biker inter 
 preted at intervals, always with the air of standing 
 on hot coals and waiting for permission from her 
 master to seek a cooler resting-place. 
 
 " That ol* chief one with white top-knot, he set 
 down by little papoose . Why , you big squaw , too ! " 
 This to a rather diminutive woman whom the eyes 
 of the crowd, concentrated to a focus on herself, 
 greatly embarrassed. " Well, you sets yourself 
 right down 'ere. Ol' chief, has you ever been in a 
 snircle before ? " 
 
 " Circle, she means," explained Mrs. Riker to 
 the tittering assembly. 
 
 The monologue was hailed with the enthusiasm 
 elicited by the points of good comedy. Finally, 
 when the circle had been formed to Biker's satis 
 faction, and it was to be observed that no 
 acquaintances sat together, except such as were 
 known to be fervent spiritualists, each member 
 was directed to hold the wrist of his next neighbor, 
 and in like manner to allow his own to be held on
 
 PROGRESS. 299 
 
 the other side. Hiker adjured the company on no 
 account to drop this hold, as it would break the 
 current and the circle at once. Leonard was 
 placed between two strangers, Kiker knowing well 
 that nothing short of paralysis could weaken his 
 grasp when once he had been told to keep it. The 
 usual line of action followed, though none of the 
 phenomena were of a complicated nature. Riker 
 was not yet an adept, and was too cautious to trust 
 himself on uncertain ground. 
 
 Balls of fire were to be seen hovering over the 
 heads of the company, and were greeted with 
 little shouts of delighted wonder. Riker, who sat 
 in the centre, kept up an incessant patting of his 
 hands, to keep up also the delusion that he had no 
 share in the coming manifestations. Presently 
 one cried out that his face had been touched ; then 
 a hoarse whisper was heard, now here, now there. 
 Riker had taken a ring from his finger, and one of 
 the company had placed it on his own hand. A 
 spiritualist at some distance from him requested 
 that the ring should be carried to him, and, after 
 several seconds, delightedly thanked the unseen 
 messenger. One of the women present had brought 
 a bag of candy which she laid in her lap, as an 
 offering to the very active Mixy-Maxy. From 
 time to time was heard a rustling of the bag, ac 
 companied by an exuberant, "Dear little soul, help 
 yourself ! " from the donor ; and the generous
 
 300 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 Mixy distributed the candy about the circle. 
 Meanwhile Bernard sat in the midst of this rather 
 broad comedy, listless and sick at heart. Believ 
 ing that the phenomena were really manifestations 
 of an inconceivably noble science, he would not 
 have owned that they were disgusting to him. 
 He would probably rather have ascribed the feel 
 ing which they certainly inspired, to his own im 
 perfections. He had come here hoping for some 
 sort of spiritual stimulus to whet his purpose. 
 Suddenly he was roused from the dead level of 
 re very by a whisper in front of him, " My son, do 
 you know me ? " 
 
 " Speak to me ! " called Bernard, loudly and im 
 petuously, as if to arrest the voice before it fled. 
 "Tell me what to do." 
 
 "You know." 
 
 "Shall I go back?" 
 
 " Yes, go back, but don't stay. Come here often 
 for strength." And it would speak no further. 
 
 Bernard went home determined. He seemed to 
 be nearing the end of a narrowing path. Celestial 
 fingers pointed out his way, and always in one di 
 rection. He must go back to his mother. With 
 a half formed purpose of asking Stephen for leave 
 of absence, he went next day to the office. He 
 found Stephen there alone, and as soon as he set 
 eyes upon him, felt and saw a marvellous change. 
 Stephen's struggle of renunciation was growing
 
 PROGRESS. 301 
 
 no easier. It was like a constant gnawing of pain, 
 in the midst of which a tearing tooth would some 
 times more cruelly lacerate the flesh. He had set 
 himself the task of neither writing nor seeing his 
 wife until she herself should give him leave. Per 
 haps in that lay not only loyal submission to her 
 wishes, but a knightly desire to purge himself 
 from a sin against love by an act almost too great 
 to be accomplished. He was becoming conscious 
 that he, too, had been born with an enthusiasm 
 for noble deeds, though he had recognized the 
 longing, as it lay half formless, only as love of the 
 beautiful. He had begun vaguely to feel that it 
 was changing in form, growing to be less sensuous 
 of outline and warm of color ; that it need not 
 demand serene conditions of life for its ripening, 
 but, like a severe goddess, was able to reflect the 
 godlike in the midst of arctic snows. Was it one 
 and the same thing they worshipped, he with his 
 emotional temperament, and this New England 
 girl, whose will was as unyielding to sunshine as 
 the granite of her own hills ? But there were times, 
 in spite of this growing change, when heart and 
 brain cried together in loud protest against his 
 loss. Often he felt that going to her would be the 
 only deed that the universe held for him. He 
 loved too well to feel a small pride where she was 
 concerned ; there would be no shame in confessing 
 to himself, " I failed because my will was weaker
 
 302 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 than my love." But here a dull restraint lay 
 heavy upon him, in the thought that she might 
 feel shame for him. The bliss of their meeting 
 might with her be secondary to the wish that he 
 had not yielded. That must never be. 
 
 This morning, the inward protest against his 
 task had quite destroyed his composure. He was 
 in a state of quivering sensitiveness which no one 
 could understand better than Bernard, and which 
 could not be more despicable to any one than to 
 Stephen himself. It seemed to Bernard that he 
 could almost see the quiver of the nerves beneath 
 the thin face. 
 
 "Have you heard from her? " he asked, hastily, 
 breaking the restraint of weeks in his instant 
 thought of her. 
 
 " No ; and I'll sell my soul to anybody who has 
 seen her and can tell me how she is." Then he 
 recollected himself, and returned to his desk, 
 ashamed enough of the self-betraying outbreak to 
 remain sane for the rest of the day. Later, Ber 
 nard told him that he was going to his mother, 
 and asked leave of absence, which Stephen granted 
 without looking at him. 
 
 But Bernard's plans had changed in that mo 
 mentary perusal of Stephen's face. He had re 
 strained himself from questioning about Sarah, 
 and even from writing to her. If he had not been 
 born with the instincts of a gentleman, he would
 
 PROGRESS. 303 
 
 supply their effect by power of will. There was 
 a fierce emulation of Stephen in this thought. 
 Since Stephen chose to reserve his confidence, he, 
 Bernard, would reserve his curiosity. But now, 
 with a blind grasping after knight-errantry, he 
 determined on going to Coventry, to bring Stephen 
 news of his wife.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A MESSAGE. 
 
 T>ERNARD arrived at Coventry without pre- 
 -*^ vious announcement, and walked from the 
 station. Sarah was stricken white and trembling 
 with joy at sight of him, but, as he was able bit 
 terly to tell himself, a joy not for him. 
 
 "Have you seen him, Bernard? " she whispered, 
 as soon as they were alone. He stoically began 
 the recital of all that had happened. Her eyes 
 flashed with delight when he came to his own en 
 gagement at the office. It was for her sake, she 
 knew. 
 
 Later in the evening, when the family sat 
 together, Bernard watched her absently while the 
 others talked. He remembered, with a start, the 
 old simile of the lamp burning within its fine 
 porcelain vase. Her face had become refined to 
 something pure and transparent, through which 
 shone an eager soul. The ultimate stage had 
 been reached ; she had at last realized, in spite of 
 insistent and unreasonable hope, that the step she 
 had taken was final . The heart of many a woman 
 possessing as great strength of will might have 
 died down, leaving the token of its fall in a shat- 
 
 304
 
 A MESSAGE. 305 
 
 teved frame. But there was a strong joyousness 
 inherent in this soul, which never asserted itself 
 more actively than now. Having sacrificed to a 
 god, every fibre of her nature insisted that the 
 struggle must avail ; to believe otherwise was to 
 hurl blasphemy against nature's mercy. Over the 
 sharp undertone of her pain soared this triumph 
 ant melody of prophecy. Such dramatic living 
 might, indeed, of itself wear her out. The body 
 might be wasted and consumed by such vibration ; 
 but it was not likely. She had been born a crea 
 ture of fine flesh, fitted to endure the burning of 
 the intense spirit. 
 
 Half unconsciously to himself, Bernard was 
 soothed by the atmosphere of the place. He had 
 grown of late to regard outward objects with the 
 eyes of a dreamer. They were unsubstantial, 
 wavering ; assuming lessening proportions as his 
 phantom took on flesh. He hardly noticed Maria, 
 who in turn was not attracted to him. He im 
 pressed her as a poetizing mind is likely to affect 
 one of aggressive practicality, as having no particu 
 lar fitness in reference to things in general. But 
 by Uncle Ben, with his love to all mankind, he was 
 fathered at once. 
 
 As he sat by the fire, leaning his head upon the 
 old-fashioned wood-work, and letting his eyes 
 wander, he was arrested by the old man's voice. 
 
 "You two don't seem to favor each other much.
 
 306 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 Well, well ! one 's father an' one 's mother, I 
 s'pose." 
 
 A dull blush stained Bernard's face. He seemed 
 to be pursued by little imps of words, grinning!}- 
 pointing at his griefs. With his belief in the su 
 pernatural, he could easily imagine that the most 
 innocent speech had been suggested to its utterer 
 by his own evil spirit, with an occult meaning 
 manifest to him alone. 
 
 "Whenever I think o' the young," went on 
 Uncle Ben, "it seems to me to be a great privi 
 lege great to be in their places. Folks talk 
 about gettin' wisdom as they grow older. Now I 
 never took it that way ; 'pears to me there's a 
 wisdom young folks bring right from their Father 
 in heaven." 
 
 Maria was trying a blue mitten on his gnarled 
 hand, to fix upon the length of the thumb. She 
 stroked the hand, ostensibly to smooth its cover 
 ing, but honestly, perhaps, as some admissible 
 expression of her father-worship. 
 
 "An' they have so many privileges nowadays, 
 that I often think how deservin' of credit they are 
 not to cut loose from us an' our old-fashioned 
 ways." 
 
 " I should think so ! " muttered Maria. " Pre 
 cious credit, indeed ! " 
 
 "There seems to be somethin' in relationship 
 that makes folks tender, even when there's nothin'
 
 A MESSAGE. 307 
 
 in common between 'em. An' whatever they say 
 about unthankfulness, I'm sure I've seen more 
 child'en honorin' their fathers an' mothers than I've 
 seen hard-hearted." . 
 
 Bernard moved uneasily upon his chair. The 
 homely philosophy touched him like a sting. Was 
 it indeed in nature that a tie of blood should pre 
 suppose kindliness? In this, too, his denial of 
 his own, was he against nature? He left the 
 family circle soon after ; the sweetness of its air 
 had become oppressive. 
 
 Next day Sarah took him for a long walk over 
 the muddy country road, bordered on either side 
 by a narrow path of spongy sward. They wanted 
 to be alone together, and the damp spring air 
 seemed a freer medium for speech than that within 
 doors. Bernard was surprised, after a longer in 
 terval of her presence, to find that Sarah's position 
 within his horizon had changed. For so many 
 weeks had his eyes been turned inward upon his 
 own diseases, and towards that misty boundary be 
 yond which seemed to lie the spiritual, that earthly 
 things had dropped away from their former rela 
 tion with him. Sarah was no longer a woman of 
 flesh and blood whom he guiltily loved ; she rep 
 resented, in a somewhat abstract way, one more of 
 the many goods which had been denied him. With 
 his growing faith in spiritual phenomena, there 
 seemed to have woven itself over his eyes a film
 
 308 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 which he did not even care to pierce. He had 
 just told her the story of his haunting demon. 
 Sometimes it seemed to him that the ghost might 
 
 O O 
 
 be laid if he could place its existence upon an 
 other's consciousness. 
 
 " O Bernard," she cried, stopping short to look 
 at him, " how strange and dreadful it is that we 
 two should have walked into this snare, this 
 spiritualism ! Other people seem to believe in it, 
 and continue to carry on their lives. We have 
 meddled with it, and it has poisoned us." 
 
 He looked at her curiously. " So you are bit 
 ten, too ; that is your trouble ! " 
 
 Sarah blushed a little. She had not meant to 
 commit herself; but she went on bravely, because 
 he might need her own experience, spoken from a 
 still bleeding heart. 
 
 "I made a decision against my own conscience. 
 My conscience seemed to go to sleep, and I 
 believe, though I was half way on the road to the 
 same decision, that I should have kept my clear 
 ness of sight if this jugglery had not interfered." 
 
 " Did you ask advice ? " 
 
 " I went to a medium out of curiosity, not to 
 ask anything. It seemed so low a thing, that I 
 should have been ashamed to hint at one of my 
 own affairs. But he told me what had the ap 
 pearance of coming direct from heaven." 
 
 "You may have been advised by an evil spirit."
 
 A MESSAGE. 309 
 
 " Bernard, don't ! It makes me sick to hear their 
 queer clap-trap and ignorant definitions of what 
 meddles with our sacred lives. I don't mind 
 Uncle Ben's talking about it ; his life is so beauti 
 ful and sheltered that I don't believe it can ever 
 harm him. With you it is different. It breaks 
 my heart to think you may believe it, and be led 
 away and destroyed." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that, having found one 
 flaw, you would condemn the whole system? " 
 
 " No, only that I shall never meddle with it 
 again. If it is to be investigated and immortality 
 proved, I leave the deed to stronger hearts and 
 wills than mine." 
 
 "It is true, Sarah," said Bernard, doggedly, not 
 as if he greatly cared, but as if the truth compelled 
 him. " I have seen what amounts to scientific dem 
 onstration." 
 
 "It may be so ; until my own share in it so dis 
 gusted me, I used to hope it might be so. But 
 this is the only conclusion I have been able to 
 reach, and I have had a great many dull, still 
 hours for thinking, down here. If it is a fact, such 
 a great fact can't exist without tremendously in 
 fluencing moral relations. Don't you see that it 
 brings into play all the strongest emotions we 
 have ? Old people see their dead through it ; 
 young, imaginative people find something more 
 bewitching than there is in all the natural world ;
 
 310 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 and it is a thing which is unfit to influence our 
 moral lives." 
 
 Bernard looked at her in surprise. She had 
 changed as much as he. Once her emotions 
 light and iridescent as bubbles, her ideas of right 
 and wrong like inspirational flashes she would 
 never have formulated her opinions. 
 
 "But if it is true, why shouldn't it influence 
 moral decisions ? " he suggested. 
 
 " Because it would be next to impossible to reach 
 its truth. Think what a chance mediums have to 
 lie ! To consult them is to place ourselves at the 
 mercy of an ignorant, possibly a designing, set of 
 men. And somehow, though I can't support it, I 
 have a feeling that we are intended to live now 
 only in this world, and under its laws." 
 
 " But spiritual intercourse may be an undiscov 
 ered law. The fact that a thing has not been 
 demonstrated does not prove its non-existence ; I 
 heard you say that once, about this very thing." 
 
 " It is true in theory, I suppose ; it may be true 
 as applied to this particular case. I only feel that 
 it would take the announcement of an archangel 
 to make me a believer, and an archangel of 
 solid, reliable flesh and blood, too ! " she added, 
 with her old laugh. 
 
 Another theory was growing up in her mind, 
 though as yet too much a matter of feeling to be 
 put in words. Suppose this were indeed a truth,
 
 A MESSAGE. 311 
 
 she thought, and the universal uncertainty of im 
 mortality were to be quite set at rest, the battle of 
 life would be reduced from its proportions of 
 deadly struggle to a harassing fight enough, but 
 one assured of victory. Would earthly warfare 
 1 >e then as noble ? Could humanity grow to such 
 godlike stature as that reached by great souls, 
 when its most gigantic foes should have proved 
 phantoms? With her, such a suggestion had 
 weight ; the greater the odds against which it coped, 
 the more eagerly rose her soul in bright armor, 
 crying " I will not faint ! " 
 
 For Uncle Ben, Bernard's coming made an era ; 
 (he young man was fresh from one of the centres 
 of spiritualism, where signs and wonders were 
 of daily occurrence. Then, too, he brought direct 
 news of Leonard. He talked of it all as if it were 
 a duty to answer, being asked, but he showed no 
 especial interest of his own. Spiritualism in 
 volved many an hard saying, only to be entertained 
 because they were unfortunately true. One con 
 versation began in the barn, and as it progressed 
 in interest, Uncle Ben brought two milking-stools 
 to the door, outside which the spring sunlight fell 
 over a great heap of brown manure where the hens 
 scratched, and prated of spring. With the stir 
 ring growth of the season and the contact of these 
 simply good lives, Bernard felt again the moving 
 of healthier impulses within himself, the shadow
 
 312 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 of a wish to touch with his own hands the happi 
 ness that is goodness. But he discoursed of 
 spiritual phenomena, and, led on by the same 
 motive which had drawn him into confiding in 
 Sarah, went on to speak of his ghost. Uncle Ben 
 listened, and at the end of the story sat looking 
 down at his feet, absently chewing a straw. 
 Finally he looked up with a bright smile that 
 seemed to flow in little runnels all over his face, 
 in the dry water-courses of wrinkles. 
 
 " If I was you, I believe I wouldn't have a 
 thing more to do with circles ! " he said, placing a 
 sympathetic hand on Bernard's knee. 
 
 tr You, when you believe in it ! " 
 
 " Yes, I do believe in it, sure enough ; but what's 
 one man's meat's another man's p'ison. We wa'n't 
 all created to live in one climate, else why should 
 the equator ha' been made ? " 
 
 " But they told me to seek out good spirits ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, an' so we all must ; but we've got to 
 use our common sense, even if we are spiritual 
 ists. Now there couldn't any spirits do more 
 for you I won't say they couldn't do so much 
 as new-laid eggs, an' good air, an' hearin' young 
 folks laughin'." 
 
 Bernard had it on his tongue's end to say, " I 
 supposed you thought of nothing else 1 " but he rec 
 ollected himself, and forbore. 
 
 w It's a fact, I do think about this new revela-
 
 A MESSAGE. 313 
 
 tion night an' day," went on the old man, as if he 
 were capable of mind-reading ; " but that don't 
 keep me from lovin' the good world. I seem to 
 love it more an' more, the older I grow an' the 
 likelier to leave it." He was looking at the ever 
 greens beyond the orchard, his blue eyes dimmed 
 with happy tears. 
 
 " Tell me what to do ! " burst out Bernard, 
 moved by an impulse beyond his control. 
 
 '' I wish I could ; but I'm as ignorant as you can 
 think ! Seems to me, if you was my boy, I should 
 want to get your body into a good nat'ral state, 
 an' then I should try to have you set your mind on 
 doin' for other people." He looked away in utter 
 ing the last sentence. There seemed an indelicacy 
 in hinting that the youth struck him as being too 
 impregnated with fears for self alone. "Why, 
 sometimes," he went on, quickly, "sometimes I 
 feel such a love for the ground, the dirt under-foot, 
 that it seems as if I must ha' been born from it. 
 The earth is like a great, good mother to us. You 
 see, if you had a mother I should tell you to go to 
 her, an' find out if she couldn't make you well ; as 
 long as you ain't, what is there better than goin' 
 into the country? No matter how homely the 
 earth is, she'll do you good, just as your mother 
 could help you as nobody else could, even if she 
 was homely an' old."
 
 314 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " Go back to my mother ! " said Bernard, mus 
 ingly ; " I wish I could ! " 
 
 "I wish you could," said Uncle Ben, rising to 
 finish his work. " An' if she was old an' there was 
 things to do for her, you'd seem to stan' on your 
 feet right away. There's nothin' like havin' to do 
 for the folks the Lord's given you." 
 
 There began in the younger man's heart that 
 day the least possible vibration of the string that 
 forms the tie of blood. Slight though it might be, 
 it was indeed a recognition of the sacred duty 
 arising from birth and nourishment. 
 
 "I am going back to-morrow, Sarah," he an 
 nounced, when they were next alone together. 
 " What message is there for him ? " 
 
 The girl stood with hands tightly clasped before 
 her. " Tell him " she began, and then stopped. 
 " I will not send a message, except that I am well." 
 
 Next morning, however, when he was bidding 
 her good-by, she gave him a note. 
 
 " I changed my mind," she said. '' I could have 
 given it to you by word of mouth, but I think he 
 will like it so." 
 
 Tnat night Bernard sought out Stephen as he 
 was leaving the office, and gave him the note, say 
 ing only, "I have been down to see her for you." 
 
 The flash of the other man's eyes was ready on 
 the instant ; then he said, searchingly, "Why, 
 did you say ? "
 
 A MESSAGE. 315 
 
 " I saw you were in misery because you wanted 
 to know, and so I went to find out." The state 
 ment was full of a studied carelessness. 
 
 Stephen's hand had closed upon the note, which 
 shook in his grasp. He could not now waste time 
 in gratitude, nor even in loving queries ; he must 
 first read that by himself. He hurried away, and 
 at home read with blinded eyes : 
 
 " I begin to see why Christ died, for I would die 
 for you to save you this pain, or any sin. I shall 
 live, and so must you." 
 
 The words were like wine. He lived on them 
 for hours, and then went to Bernard, saying 
 abruptly, as he entered, "Tell me all there is to 
 tell." 
 
 Bernard did so obediently, though rather 
 drearily. He described the people and the place, 
 not knowing Stephen had seen them ; he repeated 
 her words, carefully omitting those which touched 
 upon spiritualism. Instinctively he felt that this 
 one topic must be avoided, as being too closely 
 connected with what he had no right to know. 
 When he had finished, Stephen rose like a man in 
 a happy dream. " Good-night," he said, offering 
 his hand. That was the only sign that he knew 
 how honestly the other man had served him ; but 
 even Bernard was sure he did know.
 
 CHAPTER XXTTT. 
 
 BEYOND RECALL. 
 
 npHERE came a day when sorrow and confusion 
 -- swept down upon the peaceful house at 
 Coventry. Maria had what she called one of her 
 "turns," and in the midst of it her life went out 
 like a candle. 
 
 "He does take it hard, don't he," whispered 
 Aunt Lomie to Sarah, eying Uncle Ben with some 
 awe. " I always had it in mind he'd be calm," with 
 an audible "1," which added to the force of the 
 word. " He seemed so somehow lifted up by be- 
 lievin' on unnat'ral things. But he's human, 
 after all." 
 
 Ah, he was indeed human, lost in speculation 
 on the workings of a law beyond his grasp. 
 Loneliness seized upon him, that of the young 
 child without the mother, of the husband without 
 the wife. There had been greater than a filial 
 bond between them ; the relation had been a deep 
 and clinging friendship. 
 
 " My faith don't fail me, not a mite," he said, 
 with a pitiful smile. "I know she's passed over 
 into the spirit life, but she ain't here ! " 
 
 Aunt Lomie, most conscientious of women, es- 
 
 316
 
 BEYOND RECALL. 317 
 
 sayed comfort by the aid of the faith she despised. 
 "Benjamin, time an' again you've said they're all 
 round us, dead folks, you know. Accordin' to 
 that, Maria ain't gone away." 
 
 "No," said the old man, a glow sweeping over 
 his face. " No, she ain't gone, an' I thank my 
 God for His mercy in not lettin' us die down into 
 the dust forever ! But somehow I ain't able to 
 feel calm, Lomie, not yet. Maybe the evil 
 spirits have got dominion over me." 
 
 Leonard was summoned, and Biker gave an im 
 mediate consent to his going. There was now no 
 reason for keeping the boy away. 
 
 When the funeral was over, the near future 
 arranged itself, with Aunt Lomic's help. She 
 proposed that Uncle Ben should make one of her 
 household. Sarah saw him shrink, before she 
 took up the word and answered for him. 
 
 " If you will let me stay ! There is very little 
 work that I cannot do." 
 
 Uncle Ben made no civil demur; he wanted 
 her, and believed in her sincerity. w I seem to be 
 greatly favored," was all he said ; and Sarah be 
 came his housekeeper. Personal intercourse with 
 Leonard was what she would have dreaded, had 
 she been warned of it ; coming unexpectedly as it 
 did, she was surprised at bearing it so well, and 
 hating him so little. To her shame at having 
 been influenced by him, had been added a disgust
 
 318 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 at remembering that he must have been of common 
 fibre. As one is apt to do after a distance of time, 
 she had allowed her inclination to wash out the 
 tints of memory, before fancy painted thereon a 
 new image. The Leonard she remembered was a 
 coarse creature, the contact of whose mind had 
 soiled hers ; the Leonard she saw with her bodily 
 eyes awoke, against her will, the mysterious con 
 fidence she had previously felt in him. It was not 
 to be explained, this efiect he still produced on 
 minds as far above his own as he above the oyster 
 that contributed to his dinner. In spite of his 
 growing faults of character, men felt in him an 
 intrinsic sincerity and simple reverence for high 
 things. In those days of his stay in Coventry, 
 Sarah repeatedly saw him at the little kitchen 
 mirror anxiously disposing his hair, spreading his 
 blue tie in more luxurious abandon, and pulling 
 his extensive watch-chain a trifle this way or that, 
 but, strange to say, she never despised him. She 
 told herself over and over again that he must be 
 classed either as a clever deceiver, or the instru 
 ment of some mysterious law. There was quite 
 as much reason for placing him in the first cate 
 gory as in the second, and yet she believed in his 
 simple tenderness to Uncle Ben, his unrestrained 
 sorrow over his dead friend, and his bashful rev 
 erence for herself. 
 
 On the night after the funeral, the three sat
 
 BEYOND RECALL. 319 
 
 alone in the dusk. Aunt Lomie had lingered to 
 put things in order after the great funeral supper, 
 and the boys had done the " chores," with some 
 undefined feeling that Uncle Ben had been physi 
 cally incapacitated by his trouble. But now even 
 these had gone, and left the inner circle alone to 
 adapt itself to its woful break. 
 
 "I've been wishin' for this all day," began Uncle 
 Ben, with the smile which had lost its brightness 
 for a sad patience. "Lenny, I guess we'll have a 
 little circle." 
 
 "Oh, no, I wouldn't ; not to-night ! " 
 
 But the old man was busy in drawing two chairs 
 nearer the sofa where Sarah was sitting. Leon 
 ard unwillingly took one as Uncle Ben did the 
 other. 
 
 "You don't need a table, do you? We used to 
 bo so careful to draw round a table, but that was 
 in early days. You don't mind our talkin' while 
 the influences gather? We might sing, but I 
 guess we don't any of us feel as if we'd got much 
 voice to-night." 
 
 "No, talk," answered Leonard. He felt a little 
 sick at the prospect. He was tired of exercising 
 his trade, and would gladly have rested from 
 it; more than that, he was conscious of a creeping 
 dread in the thought of summoning Aunt Maria 
 from the link no wn land. The dead we have never 
 seen, the dead who have lain years in their graves,
 
 320 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 may be safely dealt with ; the dead one has just 
 looked upon in the majesty of sleep, bear an awful 
 distinctness of personality. Sarah added a dis 
 suading voice. In her pity for Uncle Ben, she 
 could not refuse sharing the experience, if he 
 should insist. Her own righteous anger against 
 the whole system gave way to the necessity of 
 nursing him through his trouble. 
 
 " The quickest time's the best time," Uncle Ben 
 said. He had lowered his voice, that it might not 
 disturb the crystallizing of influences. The tone 
 and the twilight made the moment impressive. 
 " How often we hear about their waitin' round for 
 a chance to communicate, an' not gettin' it for 
 years an' years ! Now how hard that seems, an' 
 how careful we ought to be to open the way to 
 'em ! " 
 
 Leonard was growing more and more sick with 
 dread. He had an insane impulse to rush from the 
 room, never to come back. Vain as he was, 
 wholly as he believed Eiker's assertion that he was 
 one of the great men of the age, he was writhing 
 under the consciousness that too much was ex 
 pected of him. Had it not been that the day had 
 inspired him with awe, and a loving tenderness for 
 Uncle Ben, he might have begged off, with the 
 peevishness of a child. As it was, he only dared 
 sit in silent misery, waiting for things to take their 
 course.
 
 BEYOND KECAUL. 321 
 
 " Anything yet, Lenny ? " 
 
 "No, nothing." 
 
 "We mustn't be downhearted," went on Uncle 
 Ben, some of his old brightness of demeanor 
 returning with the impatience he could not curb. 
 " I had a feelin' Maria would be right back, but 
 perhaps she ain't got her bearin's yet. Sometimes 
 they don't get into a sphere where they can com 
 municate for a good while, but I thought Maria 
 would be round with the rest, right away. She's 
 so chirk, she'll never lay by if she can help it." 
 
 Sarah felt the choking of a great pity, a wish 
 to save him from such magic. Deception would 
 make him happy ; but though she wanted him 
 happy, she could not have him deceived. She 
 almost smiled at her own childishness when she 
 caught herself repeating under her breath, "Oh, 
 let it be true ! Let it be true, just for him I " 
 
 "It's no use, pa," said Leonard, after half an 
 hour's silence, when he had suffered an agony of 
 suspense too great to be borne longer. " It's no 
 use. Give it up ! " 
 
 "Do you think so?" with great wistfulness. 
 "Perhaps you're too anxious yourself; perhaps, 
 bcin' so fond of her, you can't give yourself up to 
 control. You just try a minute more, an' pre 
 tend not to care, if you can. Hear me tellin' a 
 great medium how to do ! " he added, apologet 
 ically, with a nervous laugh.
 
 322 FOOLS OF NATUEE. 
 
 Leonard wretchedly set himself to his task. 
 He tried to clear his mind of thought and fear, 
 and did succeed in so blurring them that they re 
 mained only as vague and general pain. No, the 
 shadows in the room were the honest shadows of 
 this world, enfolding no pale shapes from another. 
 He heard the ticking of the clock, but no spirit 
 whispered. Even the wraith that had haunted 
 him from childhood, figment of his brain or vis 
 itant from another world, even she was not pres 
 ent. The reality of things, the solidity, embod 
 ied by the heavy old furniture, oppressed him as 
 they had never done in all his life. Much as his 
 very marrow shrank at thought of her, he would 
 have given all his small fame for the power of con 
 juring up the spirit the old man awaited. 
 
 ''It's no use, I tell you ! " he broke out at last, 
 with a cry. " I can't do it, pa ; I can't I " 
 
 "Well, well, never mind! don't you feel bad. 
 It'll come ; she ain't got her bearin's yet. She'll 
 be round before we know it." 
 
 Sarah brought the lights, and made a great stir 
 of excitement over Trot, who was discovered to 
 have carried her four kittens in from the barn and 
 surreptitiously put them to bed in Uncle Ben's 
 room. What with Trot's underhand ways and the 
 charms of her Maltese family, the evening passed 
 not too dismally, and there came the blessed time 
 for sleep.
 
 BEYOND RECALL. 323 
 
 Next morning Uncle Ben said at table, "You 
 won't go back yet, Lenny, now will you? An' 
 every night we'll have a sittin'. We've got to be 
 faithful, or how can we expect them that are in 
 the spirit life to keep us in mind, an' wait for their 
 chance to come ? " 
 
 Leonard murmured something unintelligible ; but 
 receiving a letter from Riker that forenoon, he an 
 nounced that he must return on the evening train . 
 It was true that Riker had, on the contrary, given 
 him permission to remain some days, the real rea 
 son, which it is needless to say he did not state, 
 being a new attempt at some daring departures 
 in the way of materialization. His pupil, not 
 being as yet his accomplice, would only be in the 
 way. Leonard, however, stoutly declared that 
 he must be gone. He felt unable to bear another 
 word of importunity.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 FOUR THREADS. 
 
 HHHE tableau that confronted Stephen Mann as 
 he entered Miss Phebe's parlor one evening, 
 did not astonish him. Used to Linora's dramatic 
 climaxes, he was passively expectant of them. 
 She was kneeling by a large chair, in which Miss 
 Phebe had evidently been sitting. That lady was 
 now seated on a sofa at the farthest possible point 
 from Linora, bolt-upright, her hands on her knees, 
 her face wearing an indescribable confusion of 
 expressions. Stephen hesitated on the threshold. 
 
 "I came to make you a call, Miss Phebe," and 
 Miss Phebe starkly motioned him to a seat. Lin 
 ora rose from her posture of humility with great 
 self-possession. 
 
 "I wish you had come earlier, Mr. Mann," she 
 said, sweetly. " Miss Phebe has received a great 
 shock." 
 
 Miss Phebe's eyes began to glow with wrath. 
 " I have ; a great shock. I don't know as I shall 
 ever believe in anybody again." 
 
 "Oh, yes," Linora said ; "believe in me ! " 
 
 Something of the grim humor of the situation 
 seemed to strike Miss Phebe also. She smiled 
 
 324
 
 FOUR THREADS. 325 
 
 slightly, and Linora, seeing the opportunity, made 
 haste to put in a wedge. 
 
 "Miss Phebe's kindness has made me so 
 ashamed," she continued, her delicate nostrils dilat 
 ing, her fine eyes growing suffused, "that I felt 
 obliged to confess to her that I am, to speak 
 mildly, a little humbug." At the close of her sen 
 tence, catching Stephen's glance, she could not 
 restrain a smile of genuine mirth, and Stephen 
 found himself answering it. Her effrontery con 
 tinued infinitely to amuse him. 
 
 " I hope Miss Phebe makes some allowance for 
 the temptations of a dramatic temperament," he 
 remarked. 
 
 " I don't know what I make allowance for ; I 
 don't know whom I believe. Yes, I do ; I believe 
 in your wife. How is she? where is she? " 
 
 "Well, and away with some quiet people in the 
 country." 
 
 " So she has been for weeks," said Linora, com- 
 plainingly. " Is she never coming home ? " 
 
 Stephen was saved from the necessity of answer 
 ing by Miss Phebe. She had evidently thought for 
 no one but Linora ; she could not take her eyes 
 from her. " And you've had your own way and 
 been comfortable all this winter ! and I've been 
 awake night after night, almost saying my prayers 
 for you ! Mr. Mann, you'll have to excuse me. 
 Come another day. I must go up stairs and settle
 
 326 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 my head." She left the room precipitately, shak 
 ing the head in question as she went. Left alone, 
 Stephen and Linora smiled again, though his look 
 contained a real and grave reproof. 
 
 "Linora, why don't you take less honest people 
 to humbug, if you must do it?" 
 
 " I wouldn't have done it for the world, if I'd 
 thought. But honestly, now, I didn't realize that 
 such good people existed. Uncle Will is respect 
 able enough, but he has a spice of the unmention 
 able one which makes him kin to me, and J never 
 have much compunction about deceiving him." 
 
 " Why confess ? " 
 
 Linora made her eyes very large and her mouth 
 very small. " There was a reason," she whispered, 
 solemnly. " My uncle, I am convinced, is about 
 to marry a wife. That wife will be Miss Phebe ! " 
 
 " Impossible I " 
 
 " I saw his intentions ; I saw that she tried to 
 smother her preference, because she had precon 
 ceived ideas about him, gathered from my airy 
 fabrics of fancy. If I had been his rival, I should 
 have gloated over my hold on her. Being his 
 niece, I preferred placing myself in an unfavor 
 able light, that his suit might prosper." 
 
 " You're a very generous creature," said Stephen, 
 dryly. 
 
 " Not altogether so," returned Linora, with great 
 impartiality. "I had reasons of a prudential na-
 
 FOUR THREADS. 327 
 
 ture. I realized that love would win. Love usually 
 does win, you know. And in the confidence ex 
 isting between husband and wife, Uncle Will would 
 be sure to give her my mental photograph. I pre 
 ferred giving it myself. And then I enjoyed the 
 surprise. Mr. Mann, do you think your wife 
 hates me ? " 
 
 " I don't think she does in the least," returned 
 Stephen, restraining his hand from its quick move 
 ment towards his throat. He wished at least for 
 freedom from the constriction that answered there 
 the mention of her name. 
 
 " Do you think she will see me when she comes 
 back?" 
 
 " Certainly ; she would have done so before she 
 went away, but she decided suddenly. Do you 
 ever meet Bernard now ? " 
 
 "Never ; and he has moved, you know." 
 
 Stephen did not know it, and, wondering if the 
 reason might lie altogether in avoidance of Linora, 
 it occurred to him that, so far as his knowledge 
 of Bernard's whereabouts was concerned, the man 
 might be buried every night, to be resurrected at 
 the office hour. He could not forget the service 
 Bernard had done him ; that had built up in his 
 mind an enduring gratitude. He was conscious 
 that he could never like him, and the thought 
 clung to him like an irritating reminder that, for 
 Sarah's sake, he must not lose sight of him. As
 
 328 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 some concession to a requirement that was distaste 
 ful, next night he walked away from the office 
 with him. The haunted man had wofully changed 
 since his return from Coventry. He had seen in 
 Uncle Ben's words the green fields and brilliant 
 skies of a new land of hope ; the possibility of 
 not sinking in these dark waters, but of reaching 
 the shore. Such a first trembling of hope, instead 
 of quieting the fever of his blood, shook him 
 painfully. He had been sinking in despair ; hav 
 ing resigned his will to the machinations of evil, 
 he had little more to suffer with the old acuteness. 
 Visions might press upon his eyelids, but the dull 
 eyes beneath would only feel an accustomed weight. 
 If, however, he must force his way through these 
 forms of horror to a possible goal, his eyes must 
 be fully opened upon the phantoms, the brain 
 must be roused to comprehend them. Thus a 
 new warfare had begun within him. 
 
 "Your work wears on you," said Stephen. 
 " Or is it the hot weather? " 
 
 " It is the impossibility of living. Mann, the 
 whole universe sickens me ! " 
 
 "I should like to see you in some practical 
 trouble. Forge a note, or go out West and get 
 scalped. Then you might not devote so much 
 time to the pleasures of the imagination." 
 
 Bernard scarcely heard him. "To think of all 
 things as noisome, as containing a horror ! " he
 
 FOUK TIIKEAD8. 329 
 
 mused. w To be compelled to that, and yet not 
 dare to die, for fear the one spark of hope you had 
 might have been justified." 
 
 Stephen thought of his own desolate home, of 
 the common pleasures which would be sufficient to 
 fill him with a heart-breaking joy. " What do you 
 chiefly complain of? " he asked. 
 
 " Of having no part in what is clean, and healthy, 
 and fair ; of a ridiculous body and a filthy mind ; of 
 being haunted by a ghost that I see plainly, 
 plainer than I see anything real, nowadays." 
 
 " Ellis," said Stephen, with a sudden thought, 
 " how should you like to go West and raise stock ? " 
 
 " The air is cleaner there ; it has not been 
 polluted by the breath of men." 
 
 " I have a stock-farm out there, and I used to 
 think of going myself. It is leased to John 
 O'Brien, and his lease expires in November. If 
 you like, you shall take it and manage it for me. 
 O'Brien would probably stay some months to get 
 you started." 
 
 "Do you mean that I could work, and earn 
 money honestly ? " 
 
 "I mean just that. For heaven's sake, doa't 
 keep on accusing me of being a charity bureau." 
 
 " I'll go ; that is, unless I am wanted at home. 
 I must find my mother first, and see if she needs 
 me. If she does, I shall settle among my own 
 people, working men and women."
 
 330 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " And what to do there ? " 
 
 " Learn a trade, it may be." 
 
 "Stuff! "said Stephen. Mr. Gale had over 
 taken them, and Bernard, not stopping to exchange 
 a word with him, disappeared round a near corner. 
 
 "Peculiar, your friend?" asked Gale, with a 
 whimsical lifting of his brows. 
 
 "Peculiar." 
 
 " I seem to remember him. Wasn't he present 
 at the dramatic disclosures at your house ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The social world, that small orb we all have 
 to deal with, seems to me more and more worthy 
 of study. I discover queer breaks in its spectrum 
 every day, indicating, no doubt, new elements. 
 I begin to regret writing a history of races. It 
 would have been of more interest to make a social 
 study." 
 
 "A novel?" 
 
 " No, a disquisition, an analytic comparison of 
 strange elements in character. Mann, I am under 
 the impression, though it has nothing to do with 
 the present subject, that I am to be married." 
 
 " I congratulate you. Nobody deserves happi 
 ness more." 
 
 "Many, my dear fellow, many do; but I con 
 sider myself very fortunate. I feel, too, that the 
 preliminary stage has had a good effect on me. 
 Do you see no change in my manner ? "
 
 FOUR THREADS. 331 
 
 w A great change ; I was about to remark it. 
 It strikes me that you have brightened, lost your 
 indifference." 
 
 " Yes, I think I have ; I feel freshened, invigo 
 rated. The lady I forgot to tell you it is Miss 
 Phcbc has all the effect of old wine on me. No, 
 I withdraw the comparison, of good, stout old 
 cider." 
 
 Stephen wondered how much in earnest he might 
 be. Judging from his word and air, he was en 
 tirely so. 
 
 "I see in her," continued Gale, "a vista of 
 healthy, happy things. Still keeping up the 
 simile of cider, I see great plump-cheeked apples, 
 and a carnival of harvest time ; I see pink blos 
 soms, and a pageant of spring." 
 
 Much as he admired Miss Phebe, Stephen could 
 not help wondering that she should prove such 
 an efficient guide into regions of poetry. 
 
 " I am sure she will be good for you," he said. 
 " She is hearty and wholesome. I always feel 
 that seeing her is like breathing good air." 
 
 w I confess I have lingered here entirely on her 
 account," said Gale, evidently much interested in 
 his own state of feeling. " I haven't thought of 
 womankind since I was in my early twenties. I 
 felt in her from the very first a sort of repression ; 
 I was sure she had a thousand springs of concealed 
 romance in her nature. I think she has."
 
 332 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 He seemed to have become ten years younger. 
 Stephen devoted his thoughts, for the rest of his 
 walk, to the rejuvenating power of love. How 
 long could he follow the course of fancy in regard 
 to the romance between any man and woman, with 
 out touching on his own tragedy? Love had 
 changed Gale as completely as if some veil had 
 been drawn away from his earthly garments, dis 
 closing the gorgeous apparel of a shining young 
 bridegroom. 
 
 What deed had Love wrought in his own life ? 
 She had led him into a fair country, by gently 
 flowing streams, where he might bathe from his 
 limbs the dust of travel and pollution. And in a 
 moment the heavens had frowned, the flood had 
 pursued him ; Love had left him in a barren land 
 of sand and darkness. A great wave of pity for 
 himself surged over him as he entered his house 
 that night. He half expected to find a letter from 
 her. Though she had said she would not write, 
 the world seemed to have come to a stand-still, and 
 miracles might follow. No letter was there. Try 
 ing to smile at himself for his weakness, he went 
 from room to room looking for a token. He 
 opened her closets, and pressed her dresses to his 
 lips with a despairing prayer for some breath of 
 hers left in their folds. In vain ; the house was 
 desolate. He tried to reason himself into a san 
 ity of endurance, by remembering that she was
 
 FOUR THREADS. 333 
 
 still alive, that not many miles divided them, and, 
 if his heart and will failed utterly, he might creep 
 there to her feet. No help in that ! If he broke 
 his pledge of abiding by her decision, he was no 
 more worthy even to lie there. 
 
 Sometimes, closing the house seemed the only 
 possible thing to do. Living there held in it but 
 an agony of comfort. Her presence still lingered 
 there as it could nowhere else, but as nowhere else 
 her absence stung him. And it might be a 
 pitiful sob rose in his throat at that it might be 
 she would return, and then her hearth must be 
 found lighted.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 BERNARD GOES HOME. 
 
 day it happened that Linora and Stephen 
 met on their way across the Common, and 
 that she made his path her own, saying frankly 
 that, as he walked presumably for business and she 
 for pleasure, it was only fair that she should make 
 the concession. 
 
 "Needs must," she said, skipping over a puddle 
 with great dexterity, "since a certain estimable 
 person has become my coachman. If I want 
 company, I have to swallow my pride and go out 
 of my path to get it. By the way, that worthy 
 brother-in-law of yours avoids me as the plague. 
 Where is he?" 
 
 " At this moment ? In niy office. To-morrow 
 he goes down to Freeport, to visit his mother." 
 
 " Really ? " Linora stopped an instant, and then 
 went on, with a somewhat soberer face. "Still 
 sentimental over certain ideas ? " 
 
 Stephen shrugged his shoulders, with a look 
 which might mean anything. Incapable of sym 
 pathy with Bernard's diseased views as he pro 
 nounced himself, he still felt the demands of a 
 certain loyalty concerning them. 
 
 334
 
 BERNARD GOES HOME. 335 
 
 "Do you know, I think I must see him before 
 he goes," she continued. " But then I can't ; he 
 won't come, if I ask him. Why do all you people 
 regard me as a leper because you think I tell lies ? 
 And after all, it's only your thinking so that makes 
 the mischief. I don't half believe I do ! " 
 
 " And I don't believe you believe so. I'll wager 
 much, your conscience is white as any lamb. As 
 to Bernard, besiege the castle if you like. You 
 can see him alone in the office. I hope I'm not 
 offending any special propriety by suggesting it." 
 
 " I hope not ! Yes, I do like. I'll go with you 
 now, if you let me." 
 
 Stephen opened the door, and left her to make 
 an entrance. Bernard sat with his head very low 
 over his desk, not meditating on the morrow's step, 
 but studiously writing up the correspondence, that 
 he might leave his work square at the ends. Lin- 
 ora closed the door, put the point of her parasol 
 on the floor, and, resting both hands on it, said 
 dramatically, "Well!" 
 
 Bernard looked up with the start she mischiev 
 ously expected, his face instantly taking its brick- 
 red suffusion. 
 
 "Promise not to basely run away, if I leave the 
 door ? " she asked with her air of good-comrade 
 ship. Where was the pale, Madonna-like creature ? 
 Not certainly this little thing, in a gay spring cos 
 tume, with a striped umbrella. Bernard was
 
 336 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 nervously rolling his pen between his thumb and 
 finger. Now he rose and drew forward a chair, 
 hesitating beside his own seat while she took the 
 other. 
 
 " Sit down, please," said Linora, graciously 
 transforming the office into her own reception 
 room. " I've come for a serious talk with you. 
 I hear you are going away to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes," said Bernard, with difficulty. Noting 
 the huskiness of his voice, he vigorously cleared 
 his throat, and sat down with resolute hardihood. 
 
 " Now you know I know all your fancies and all 
 your whims," Linora continued, with a cheerful 
 ness of wholesale accusation which promised to 
 leave him no loop-hole of escape. " But I wish 
 you'd tell me further why you should go down 
 there to make the acquaintance of your mother 
 after twenty years or so." 
 
 " To find out whether I belong there ; to learn 
 whether I can work out something, in the class 
 where I belong, from which my diseases spring." 
 
 "You think so, but it is nothing of the sort." 
 The assault was so vigorous that he looked up at 
 her in surprise. " You are going down to patron 
 ize them ! " 
 
 After this extraordinary statement, she looked 
 at him in silent enjoyment of its effect. Bernard 
 only repeated her words. 
 
 w Yes," she went on. " I've been meaning to tell
 
 BERNARD GOES HOME. 337 
 
 you, ever since last winter, what an abominable 
 way you have of throwing your sins on other 
 people's shoulders. You used to tell me you were 
 a monster ; I daresay you are, but for heaven's 
 sake don't cast all the credit of your monstrosity 
 on your ancestors. I suppose your nose and 
 eyes you were born with, but do give yorself the 
 credit of committing your own sins." Linora was 
 enjoying herself, confident that she was producing 
 an effect.. It is true that she had an honest pur 
 pose in mind, but she could no more help seeing it 
 through the medium of its action on another mind 
 than she could help breathing. " You think you 
 are making a great sacrifice in going down there to 
 present yourself to your relatives. I don't ; no 
 right-minded person would. The obligation is on 
 the other side. They've done without you all these 
 years, and no doubt they are enjoying themselves 
 very well. If they take you in and put up with 
 your whims, I'm sure it's very kind of them, and 
 the nobility is their own. I'm going now ; don't 
 look dazed. I only came in to tell you not to pat 
 ronize them." 
 
 When she reached the street and put up the 
 gorgeous umbrella, Linora also offered a slight 
 smile to the sunlit day. 
 
 " I flatter myself that was well done," she re 
 marked to her inner hearer. "A very good part, 
 and exceedingly like Miss Phebe. Indeed, I
 
 338 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 think I not only said what Miss Phebe would have 
 said, but as she would have delivered it." 
 
 Do not think too hardly of Linora if she could 
 not separate her enjoyment of the shows of life 
 from the serious matters of life itself. How could 
 she, when the importance of her own amusement 
 had grown to be of primary value ? Possibly, if she 
 could have seen the true, she might have chosen its 
 severe beauty ; but alas ! there is no pit of distinct 
 demarcation between it and the false. The soul 
 does not often say, "I will tell a lie ; " merely, at 
 most, "How pleasant if things could look so ! " or 
 " How necessary ! " and presently the eye sees it, 
 and the tongue declares it thus. There is appar 
 ently nothing so fraught with unconsciousness as 
 lying. 
 
 Meantime, Bernard was left to feel the uncom 
 fortable pricking of the little germ she had dropped. 
 Whether it might be a germ of truth or not, it 
 certainly contained an atom of justice which had 
 not before occurred to him. Even after he had 
 sufficiently recalled himself to go on with his 
 work, his mind continued its brooding, its attempt 
 at reducing his new purpose to some distinct form 
 ula. " I have chosen to go because my place is 
 there ; because I am unfit for the class of people 
 into which I have found my way," he answered 
 himself, with the aid of his previous theories. All 
 vague, much too vague to bear utterance.
 
 BERNARD GOES HOME. 339 
 
 He had greatly changed in the past weeks, ever 
 since that green spring morning with Uncle Ben. 
 His will was as weak, his fancies diseased as 
 before, but the alert imagination, having caught 
 at that vision of hope suggested by the old man, 
 had reanimated him for a struggle. Vague as the 
 intention sounds, he was in reality going down to 
 give himself to his people, to become one of them. 
 After Linora suggested it, the truth remained with 
 him that, after all, he had nothing to offer worth 
 the taking. Worn in body, incapable even of 
 using his eyes without deception, stained in 
 thought, he was the wreck of the perfect man. 
 On their part, she had said, would be the nobility 
 in receiving him. Be it there : he would go to be 
 healed, to be made capable of becoming something 
 to them yet. 
 
 It was in a very humble frame of mind that he 
 set out on his journey next day. The earth was 
 bright with sunlight, the air sweet with the new 
 growth of leaf and bud. Worn by thought, 
 by work, and the spectre of his brain, he saw 
 all darkly, felt only the lump in his throat which 
 makes a horrible spiritual nausea, and was con 
 scious that he was being whirled through a beau 
 tiful land, the forms of which were strangely 
 undefined. It was six o'clock when he reached 
 Freeport, a village resting between hills. The
 
 340 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 very air was green from the million-leaved trees, 
 green with new sunlight filtered through it ; even 
 in his feverish haste to have his errand done 
 and reach his journey's end, Bernard stopped to 
 draw a long breath of the sweet peace of the place. 
 Then he recalled himself, and went to ask the 
 baggage-master, " Can you tell me where John 
 Mason lives, a carpenter?" 
 
 " Down Summer Lane," began the man ; but 
 glancing across the track he amended his sentence. 
 " There's Mason's girl; she'll show you the way. 
 Mary!" 
 
 Mary turned at once, and waited for further 
 speech. Bernard took his bag, and crossed the 
 track towards her. She represented the next point 
 in his journey ; let her be reached quickly. The 
 girl, of fifteen perhaps, waited with a certain selt- 
 possession which might have passed for stolidity 
 till you had seen her face, square of chin, with 
 cheeks of splendid health. Her brown eyes had 
 a straightforward gaze, and they, with the two 
 thick, hanging braids of hair, made up her only 
 beauty. 
 
 "Do you want to go to father's?" she asked, 
 quietly, as Bernard reached her. His breath came 
 a little faster. This was a slight check ; " father " 
 was a personality he would rather not consider 
 at all: 
 
 "Yes, if you will show me the way."
 
 BERNARD GOES HOME. 341 
 
 "I could tell father, if it was an errand," she 
 suggested, as they turned to walk on. 
 
 "No, I must see them," said Bernard, it 
 striking him with a shock that this fresh young 
 creature must be his sister. 
 
 "You see, so many people want work done, and 
 often they're glad to leave messages with mother 
 and me ; it saves time, instead of hunting father 
 up. I shouldn't wonder if we overtook him, if 
 we're spry. He's on Simpson's barn now. There 
 he is ! Father ! " 
 
 The clear young voice brought to a stand-still 
 the workman just in front of them, as they turned 
 the corner into the country road. Bernard could 
 only see, through the blackness before his eyes, 
 that he was tall and "workmanlike made," as he 
 afterwards heard John Mason say of his own 
 houses, and that he carried a tin dinner-pail. He 
 saluted Bernard with Mary's own straightforward 
 glance. 
 
 " Good-evening, sir." Then he waited. Ber 
 nard turned sick and faint. It seemed enough 
 that he had come ; why need he explain his way 
 at every step ? 
 
 " My name is Bernard Ellis," he said, not be 
 cause that offered any solution in his own mind, 
 but because it seemed the most natural thing to 
 say. But it evidently did offer a solution to 
 Mason. He turned a keen, half embarrassed look
 
 342 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 upon him . At last he said , with bluntness , Mary 
 eying them both as they went on, and wondering 
 why they were so silent, " I'm glad to see you, and 
 my woman'll be. I'll say now it's been brewin' 
 in me ever since I had a child of my own I 
 didn't see into family feelin's as I do now, or I 
 never should have asked her to give you up. 
 Maybe 'twas better for you, but folks want their 
 own. I don't believe your mother's ever give up 
 but what you'd come back." 
 
 Presently, as Bernard made no answer, Mason 
 began to watch him with as much curiosity as lay 
 in Mary's brown eyes. Bernard wavered in his 
 walk, and was evidently half unconscious of what 
 the other said. Mason wondered if he could have 
 been drinking, and was hoping, with the righteous 
 horror of slovenly living which seemed to go with 
 his love of fine workmanship, that Bernard had no 
 such bad habit, when they turned into the lane 
 leading to a very nicety of a house. A comely 
 woman, apple-cheeked, and fair of hair, was blood- 
 thirstily killing currant-worms on the bushes lining 
 the fence. 
 
 " Home together, then ! " said a voice, as she rose 
 a voice with a suspicion of the Irish brogue, and 
 full of Irish richness. Mason took a quick step 
 in advance, while Bernard unconsciously faltered, 
 trying to make out her face. 
 
 " Mother, it's him ! " said her husband, not with-
 
 BERNARD GOES HOME. 343 
 
 out some misgiving as to her manner of taking the 
 news. She never had had hysterics as yet, but 
 who can say when that latent tendency may not 
 develop ? 
 
 Mrs. Mason was staring hard into her son's face. 
 " Saints help us 1 " she cried. Then, her woman's 
 wit reading there symptoms invisible to her hus 
 band, she added, " Give him your shoulder, John." 
 (She did say Jahn, though she had indeed little 
 brogue. But that little was delicious.) "Give 
 him a shoulder. Don't you see he's ready to drop ? 
 Poor little man ! poor sonny ! " taking up her 
 cooing just where she had dropped it. 
 
 So they took him into the house, Mary running 
 in advance to open a bedroom door, and three more 
 awe-struck children peering round a corner of the 
 piazza ; and Bernard went quietly off into brain- 
 fever.
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 THE ORACLE SILENT. 
 
 ~O IKER was still not altogether satisfied with 
 -*-^ his present manner of life. The certaint}^ 
 that he was not making use of all possible appli 
 ances for success in his profession, continued to 
 grow upon him. More than that, he recognized 
 the fact that one side of his nature absolutely refused 
 to take an interest in his present severe and method 
 ical efforts. From a boy he had received applause 
 as a reward for the development and expression of 
 the purely sentimental. He had made his bread 
 thus, and a solid loaf it had always been. His beard, 
 his smile, the whiteness of his hands, had also won 
 him almost as many disciples as had his flowery 
 eloquence and ornate pathos. This traffic in sen 
 timents was attended by cash profits, a fact he 
 never overlooked. Having, however, seen those 
 of his own trade, more expert in deception, exhib 
 iting a certain admirable mastery over mechanical 
 means, he had striven to emulate them, with tol 
 erable success but with growing distaste. There 
 was too much hard work involved, and work of an 
 unintermitting nature. He was obliged to be more 
 eternally vigilant, having entered upon materiali 
 se
 
 THE ORACLE SILENT. 345 
 
 zation, and that scarcely suited him. It was more 
 in accordance with his likings to give a lecture 
 here and there, to be entertained in this and that 
 town, than to grub along from day to day in his 
 own office. 
 
 It is not strange that adulation should have be 
 come a great part of his breath of life, for he had 
 been used to it from childhood. His earliest recol 
 lections were of seeing all his small world set 
 aside for himself. His widowed mother treasured 
 him as her one jewel, as a nature of inconceivably 
 finer fibre than herself. She wondered, in simple 
 humility, how she could have given birth to such 
 a prodigy. She could only read her Bible labo 
 riously ; he was studying wonderful sciences, 
 whose names she reverenced too deeply to pro 
 nounce* Therefore she considered it bare justice 
 that he should be shielded from the cold, from 
 anxiety, and from the hard labor that her poverty 
 necessitated. 
 
 Edward honestly agreed with her. He had 
 clearer faculties, finer tastes than she ; it was his 
 duty to cultivate them. And so, without much 
 hardness of heart, but only in intense apprecia 
 tion of himself, he allowed her to scrub, and wash 
 and iron, for meagre pay, until she sank quietly 
 into her grave, humbly thankful to have been of 
 use to him. And chancing always to fall among 
 people of no high intellectual level, he had been
 
 346 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 praised for his cleverness and admired for his con 
 descension ever since. The transition from tacit 
 deception, the mere cajoling of the weak points 
 of his audiences to actual deception of their eyes 
 and ears, was not a great one. It gave him no 
 shock ; in fact, he scarcely observed it at all as a 
 moral phenomenon. It was quite in the way of 
 business. Edward Hiker must be fed and clothed, 
 and he must also boast a train of adoring disci 
 ples. Deception and this necessary consummation 
 stood for cause and effect. The effect proved 
 absolutely necessary ; therefore the cause must be 
 evoked. For all that, he had at times serious 
 ideas of going back to his lecturing, and cast about 
 in his mind for other hands in which to leave mate 
 rialization, thus supporting two geese of the golden- 
 egg variety. About this- tune, the company who 
 were accustomed to assemble in his parlors were 
 astounded by the report that Mrs. Biker had 
 suddenly shown astonishing mediumistic powers. 
 She, it seemed, could evoke spirits with even more 
 facility than that possessed by her husband. A trial 
 of her skill was promised for a certain Wednes 
 day night, and at the hour appointed the rooms 
 were filled. Biker and Leonard were engaged in 
 setting up the cabinet, while the last guests arrived, 
 the former full of gushing volubility. 
 
 " So many years as I have waited for this ! " he 
 exclaimed to those who stood near him. " It has
 
 THE ORACT-K SILENT. 347 
 
 always been the desire of my heart that Julia 
 should become a medium. I have had intimations 
 of it, though, so that my faith doesn't deserve too 
 much credit. I have been sustained from time to 
 time." 
 
 Leonard, too, was radiant, but with an honest 
 joy. He was fond of the timid little woman who 
 had become so favored. He felt, with a slight 
 self-reproach at judgment of his master, that 
 Biker might like her better now. Mrs. Biker 
 entered several minutes only before the hour ap 
 pointed for the ceremony. She was deadly pale, 
 and evidently beside herself with some emotion 
 which might be terror, but which Riker explained 
 as the effect of having fallen at once " under con 
 trol." She did not notice the men and women 
 about her, but whispered- to her husband, " Let me 
 begin now." 
 
 Riker nodded knowingly at the circle with a 
 triumphant, '' You see ! " led her at once into the 
 cabinet, and drew the curtains. Falling himself 
 " under control," he designated the seat each par 
 ticular member of the circle should occupy. Com 
 ing suddenly out from his trance-like state, he 
 stationed Leonard at the farther end of the room 
 in charge of the light, and then, having lowered 
 the gas, fell again into an abnormal condition. 
 Several spirits asked permission to come through 
 him while the "squaw-mejum," as Mixy-Maxy
 
 348 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 called her, should attain the requisite state of mind 
 and body. Mixy, in the name of the squaw-me- 
 jtim, apologized for the possible imperfection of 
 the manifestations, and begged the audience to 
 remain sitting, in no case attempting to touch the 
 spirits. That might be permitted at some future 
 time, when the medium should be more fully de 
 veloped. Now, owing to her inexperience, she 
 would need to work under favorable conditions. 
 As there came a pause in Riker's harangue, a slight 
 stir was heard from within the cabinet. He in 
 stantly ceased speaking, and the eyes of the spec 
 tators riveted themselves upon the mysterious 
 closet. The curtain was emphatically thrown 
 aside, and a white figure appeared in the door 
 way. It stood motionless for several seconds, and 
 then, throwing up the hands with a nervous 
 motion, disappeared. A murmur of interest rose, 
 but Riker cut it short. 
 
 "Sing!" he called, hurriedly, "all sing!" 
 Thereupon a hushed chorus arose. As the voices 
 died away at the end of a stanza, the curtain was 
 again removed, and a second form appeared, dis 
 tinctly an Indian, in blanket and feathers. 
 
 " Mixy herself," said Riker. " Come, Mixy, can't 
 you speak ? Are you glad to see us to-night ? " 
 
 " No," came a hoarse whisper. 
 
 "What! what! In a naughty frame of mind, 
 I'm afraid, Mixy. Not glad to see your good
 
 THE ORACLE SILENT. 349 
 
 friends ? Well, tell us something, any way. Are 
 you happy?" 
 
 " Happy ! O my God ! " came in the same sup 
 pressed tone, and the figure flitted back into the 
 cabinet. 
 
 " I think," began Biker, in easy explanation, "I 
 am pretty sure that wasn't Mixy, but her sister. 
 And I'm sorry to say that I happen to know her 
 sister is a bad spirit. I hope we sha'n't have any 
 more bad spirits here to-night. If we do, we shall 
 have to punish them in some way." With the 
 last sentence, he raised his voice warningly. After 
 this the manifestations came fast and furious. 
 Hands were waved from the cabinet windows ; 
 spectral faces were visible there, and there was 
 heard the continual rustling of garments. Fre 
 quenters of this and similar places confessed that 
 never before had anything so satisfactory taken 
 place. Before the usual time had quite expired, 
 Eiker interrupted proceedings to say that he per 
 ceived the medium to be losing strength, and must 
 defer further appearances to another evening. 
 There was a murmur of disapproval, but he was 
 firm, and ordering the lights to be turned up, went 
 inside the cabinet to assist the medium in regain 
 ing her composure. After a few moments, during 
 which the company remained seated, he emerged 
 with her, no longer pale, but flushed and shaking, 
 and led her quickly up stairs.
 
 350 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 And while Leonard was delightedly receiving the 
 wondering comments of the dispersing crowd, 
 Riker remained with his wife, stifling her shrieks 
 with a towel, and endeavoring to shake her out of 
 hysterics. 
 
 Next morning Leonard came to Biker in great 
 agitation, holding an open letter. 
 
 " He's coming here ! " he began. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Uncle Ben. I must go away. I can't see 
 him." 
 
 " Can't see him ? " repeated Riker, turning upon 
 him. "Why?" 
 
 "He will ask me about her Aunt Maria if 
 I've seen her. And I haven't, and I can't. How 
 can I tell him so again ? " 
 
 " I think," said Riker, fixing his eyes upon him 
 with the old concentration of look, " I think you 
 can see her, if you try. Have you tried ? " 
 
 "Till I couldn't breathe," returned Len, in a 
 whisper. " And I'm afraid to do it, too ; she'd 
 kill me ! But he wants it so, and I must do 
 it!" 
 
 " Yes, you are right ; you must do it. Can't 
 you see now just how she looked ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes; but " 
 
 " Brown calico dress, plaid necktie, hair braided 
 and crimped, garnet ring on left hand," said Riker, 
 sending his mind back some years. It was an
 
 THE ORACLE SILENT. 351 
 
 unerring messenger ; accuracy in details made part 
 of his business. 
 
 "Of course I see that ! " 
 
 "Then you can hear her voice, too? You can 
 think what she would be likely to say to her 
 father?" 
 
 " But I can't really see her ! I can't really hear 
 her ! " cried the boy, in desperation. 
 
 Biker made one more effort. "Think what 
 you owe him," he said, solemnly. " Think how 
 he depends on you. There's nothing in the 
 world he wouldn't do for you, and yet you refuse 
 him this little favor ! Len, I didn't think it of 
 you ! " 
 
 He went out and closed the door. That act 
 stood for precaution as well as policy. He felt it 
 necessary to utter in solitude the imprecations 
 brought to his lips by the boy's folly. 
 
 Uncle Ben's note did not long precede him. 
 Len, distressed and tearful in his own room, heard 
 his step and stick coming up the stairs. The 
 sound sickened him ; his only thought was one of 
 escape. Uncle Ben did not stay to knock. 
 
 "Any news, boy?" he began, as soon as his 
 foot was fairly over the threshold. "No? well, 
 we must be patient. You ain't had a hint nor a 
 sign?" 
 
 "No, sir," answered Len, chokingly. 
 
 " Oh, well, don't feel bad. She's busy, I s'pose,
 
 352 FOOLS OF NATUEE. 
 
 but I can't think, bein' one o' the active ones, 
 what keeps her away so long. Perhaps, bein' 
 active, they want her there to go on missions." 
 
 "Perhaps," answered Leonard, scarcely know 
 ing what he said. 
 
 " Now I've come up here with a plan for you 
 an' me to carry out. It's for us two to have a 
 sittin' together every day for a week, an' see if 
 we can't make out suthin'." 
 
 " Oh, I can't, I can't ! " 
 
 "I know 'twouldn't be right to give up your 
 other business, as long as you're sorter in partner 
 ship. That's what you think. But I've thought 
 that all over, an' this is how we'll do it. I'll pay 
 you as much as you commonly make in that time, 
 an' it'll be all right. Now don't you say ' No,' 
 Lenny. It's no more'n right to do that." 
 
 Leonard, indeed, said nothing, after his first 
 gasp of involuntary protest. He seemed to be 
 caught in too complicated a snare to admit even 
 of struggling. Just at the moment, Piker, who 
 had the faculty of appearing at critical times, 
 opened the door, to hurry forward and greet Uncle 
 Ben with ostentatious cordiality. "You, my dear 
 sir ? How glad I am to see you ! And what mes 
 sage has our Len for you ? " 
 
 "Nothin' yet, but there's no hurry," said Uncle 
 Ben, laying his hand on Len's shoulder, with vague 
 appreciation of his distress. " I ain't so old yet
 
 THE ORACLE SILENT. 353 
 
 but what I can wait, an' Lenny mustn't take it 
 hard on my account." 
 
 " If you will allow me to offer," said Riker, " I 
 venture to say I could get a message from your 
 daughter." 
 
 Uncle Ben hesitated. Then the smile which 
 must have disarmed resentment, even in a man 
 less conciliatory than Riker, rippled over his face. 
 
 " You mustn't be put out," he said, gently, " but 
 I don't believe I should be willin'. You know 
 Maria didn't take to you. Nothin' against you, 
 it ain't, for we can't control our feelin's ; but I 
 should feel as if I hadn't done the fair thing by 
 her if I asked her to do it." 
 
 Riker's face had darkened momentarily ; but be 
 fore the old man had concluded, he was ready for 
 a cordial grasp of his hand. 
 
 "You're right," he said, in his frankest voice. 
 " I honor you for it. But Len is at your service, 
 and I heartily hope he may be successful." 
 
 Leonard, still without protest, heard himself 
 condemned to his week of torture. He had laid 
 down his own will in subjection to Riker's. Obe 
 dience had become second nature, and he no more 
 thought of resisting his master than the demands 
 of his own appetite. He realized, with that heart- 
 sinking which accompanies a dismal foregone con 
 clusion, that the morrow would see him sitting 
 near his old friend, unable to offer him the cup of
 
 354 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 water for which his lips thirsted. The next day 
 and the next would bring the same ordeal. How 
 could he endure the seven? 
 
 Foreboding did indeed speak true. Day after 
 day he watched the old man growing more nervous 
 and impatient ; day after day he sat beside him, 
 giving, with parched tongue and aching throat, 
 that cruel negative. Strange that the possibility 
 of lying did not present itself, but it never did. 
 Had the suggestive devil of an active imagination 
 been more vigorous within him, it might have 
 forced some new vision upon his senses. As it 
 was, he waited for the voices of the dead, and they 
 were dumb.
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 
 NEMESIS LOOKS ABOUT HER. 
 
 TT is a question whether there are more than one 
 -* two souls in thousands with whom a just re 
 nunciation becomes final with the resolve. A 
 minority of these there assuredly is, and they must 
 imply the existence of a kindred type, but their 
 fellows are rare. Most of us, no matter how 
 firmly the obstinate will clings to its purpose, are 
 obliged to hear again and again the waging of a 
 war of argument. 
 
 It is true that Sarah had ceased to debate first 
 principles. The traitorous faction of her mind 
 had exhausted reasons in its first specious pleading. 
 Time had passed ; the fall had come again, and 
 with every flying second she realized more and 
 more that the step she had taken was final. As 
 that came to pass, nature rose up in revolt, crying 
 out, not against right, not against her judgment, 
 but in some inarticulate protest, which was enough 
 to rend her day by day. She was passing out of 
 that state of extreme youth, wherein we believe 
 something must happen because we wish it, because 
 its refusal to happen would be BO unbearable. 
 Time himself declared that no deliverance was 
 
 *55
 
 356 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 possible. She must not yield, and circumstances 
 could not. 
 
 In such extremity, it was a. merciful provision 
 that Uncle Ben should need a housekeeper and 
 friend. Her nature, demanding so much of life 
 which life was refusing, found its only relief in 
 passionate devotion to him. She performed her 
 homely duties with a religious fervor. Her mo 
 ther had been used to say that she would make a 
 fine little housekeeper. Now she thought eagerly 
 of the saying, and consulted Aunt Lomie as to old- 
 fashioned modes of cookery, and Miss Maria's 
 habits. Uncle Ben saw much and guessed at much, 
 but took her efforts as evidence of the goodness 
 inherent in humanity. That she could give such 
 loving service for his sake, he was too humble to 
 suspect ; still less that she was so deep in trouble 
 as to do it half for her own. Service simply stood 
 as expression of the universal love and brother 
 hood pervading the race, like some vital fluid. 
 
 Aunt Lomie said, " Benjamin is a good deal 
 broke up by Maria's death." It was true. He 
 began at last to waver under the weight of years. 
 A febrile unrest came upon him. It would be a 
 mistake to say that all his stock of philosophy 
 failed him at his need ; it was only true that he 
 suffered from impatience. When the message 
 should once have come from Maria that she had 
 met the dead face to face, and had been herself
 
 NEMESIS LOOKS ABOUT HER. 357 
 
 permitted to return, he felt that his life would 
 settle into a smoother channel. He looked at 
 himself sometimes in simple wonder. He had not, 
 since his young manhood, been used to taking life 
 excitedly. What had come over him ? 
 
 " You see it makes an old fellow like me feel he 
 ain't got the backbone he ought to have, if he 
 can't wait," he said to Sarah, one morning, with a 
 somewhat pitiful smile. " But you know how you'd 
 feel if somebody near you was crossin' the water ; 
 you'd want to hear as soon as they'd landed. Now 
 I ain't a mite o' doubt about Mar ia'sbein' all right, 
 but I want to know when she's got settled, an' 
 what sphere they've put her in." Sarah felt her 
 self choking with a great pity for him, and a 
 sickening distaste for the whole subject. "Yes, 
 yes," he said, cheerfully, chancing to catch her 
 eager glance. "I know you feel for me, an' I 
 ought to do better than keep drawin' on your pity. 
 But it won't be so long. I've got a sort of impres 
 sion that's goin' to send me up to Boston to-day, 
 if you'd as soon stay with Lomie." 
 
 "To Boston?" 
 
 "Yes, it's beat into me Maria'll come back 
 through Lenny. It's nat'ral she should, just as 
 you'd go to your own brother to help you carry 
 out anything. I may stay a week, as I did before. 
 Lomie will be glad enough to have you come in 
 an' be with her."
 
 358 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 She was obliged to smile sorrowfully at herself, 
 in recognizing her own feeling as to these pilgrim 
 ages. It was a worried mother-love, the precise 
 type of love that might watch over the path of a 
 son setting out on periodical fits of dissipation. 
 
 Aunt Lomie dearly liked her presence in her 
 house, and in her calm way gave token of it by 
 sundry attentions which few people elicited from 
 her. There was something in Aunt Lomie's man 
 ner of entertainment which put cultivated graces to 
 shame. She was a simple gentlewoman, equipped 
 not only with kindliness of heart, but with a man 
 ner in which drawing-rooms could have found no 
 fault. In her youth, her soberness, it seems, 
 wrought her no good among the lads. Lomie, of 
 all the family of handsome sisters, had the smooth 
 est skin and the brownest eyes, " sweet eyes," 
 the yellowed poem of a dead and gone young min 
 ister called them. Therefore it was that when a 
 stranger came to town he always asked to be intro 
 duced first to Lomie, though, when he had talked 
 to her half an hour and found her not sprightly but 
 very sedate, he was likely to desert her for the 
 more lively sisters. But, as Aunt Lomie herself 
 would say, "that's neither here nor there." It 
 only pertains to this story to state that she set 
 dulcet purple grape preserve and amber quince 
 before her guest, insisted on her taking afternoon 
 naps, a weakness she would have scorned in her
 
 NEMESIS LOOKS ABOUT HER. 359 
 
 own case, and quietly invited the boys to put 
 on their slippers before they came to the table. 
 The boys did not object. They had an excellently 
 well-founded regard for Sarah, and, as she de 
 manded no concession to her superiority, they were 
 quite ready to make any sort of free-will offering 
 of the kind. 
 
 Sam, at the present time, had something on his 
 mind. The " Original Villardini Comic Concert 
 Company " had advertised an entertainment to be 
 given in the town-hall, on a certain evening. 
 There were to be songs by Billy Harrison, a banjo 
 solo by the renowned Joe Bombei, a comic oper 
 etta, in which the most celebrated of modern act 
 resses would take part, together with sundry other 
 choice titbits. Sam was convinced that nothing of 
 equal worth had appeared in Coventry since the 
 settlement thereof, and he conceived the daring 
 project of inviting Mrs. Mann to accompany him 
 to that select entertainment. He was only deterred 
 by some doubt of his own appropriateness to the 
 occasion, his hands and feet seeming particularly 
 large whenever he thought of her, and a still more 
 potent reason lying in the doubt whether even 
 such an entertainment could be considered worthy 
 of her. Yet he knew she must be the better for a 
 comic opera. She was pale, thin, and not even 
 "set up" by thoroughwort. As an entering 
 wedge, he brought in one night, with an air of
 
 360 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 bashful unconcern, some handbills setting forth the 
 glories to be. She took one, and read it with 
 conscientious interest, to lay it down at the end, 
 feeling herself one white heat from head to foot. 
 The world-renowned actress who would illuminate 
 the operetta was Dolly Dennis. This was her 
 husband's wife. 
 
 " What think of it ? " called Sam from the kitch 
 en, where he was noisily washing his hands. But 
 Mrs. Mann had gone up to her room, and Sam, 
 ruefully regarding the bill dropped by her chair, 
 decided that it had been found wanting, and 
 disappointedly charged himself also to stay at 
 home. 
 
 As for Sarah, she longed only to hide herself 
 from pursuing circumstances. She threw up her 
 hands to heaven in denial of the justice of a pun 
 ishment which decreed that she should be haunted 
 by the embodiment of her sin. 
 
 " I have gone away," she whispered, as if to some 
 present Nemesis. " I have tried to make it right, 
 as far as I could. I will take any punishment 
 but this. I cannot bear this ! " 
 
 Infused through her horror at having sinned 
 against marriage, strengthening it into an ago 
 nizing intensity, was the traditionary protest of 
 the nations which abide by one wife. She had 
 inherited the fine ideal of love we cling to in theory, 
 however our practice may argue the right of a
 
 NEMESIS LOOKS ABOUT HEB. 361 
 
 plurality of affections. Her own existence and 
 that of the woman in question were offences against 
 each other, and against transmitted law. There 
 arose in her a physical repulsion for the bond that 
 thus united them.
 
 CHAPTEK XXVITL 
 
 UNDER THE RED CROSS. 
 
 TT is true that there are moments when the sky 
 -*- pours joyous revelation, saturating souls 
 ready to be confident. 
 
 Sarah could feel nothing but dread of her future, 
 and a horror made intense by the presence of the 
 third actor in her tragedy. This was the witness 
 to confront her as tangible evidence of her own 
 sin. No logical expedient helped her. As the one 
 subject preyed on her bodily strength, and she 
 could neither eat nor sleep like a healthy woman, 
 passion alone assumed control of her, a fierce 
 disgust for what had spoiled Stephen's life, rebel 
 lion against the chance that had given its sanction, 
 and her old self-loathing for having yielded to 
 weak or base influences. When the night came 
 on which the Villardini Concert Company were to 
 make the hall vocal, she went early to her room to 
 look distractedly in the faces of the images which 
 her imagination suggested. The woman might now 
 be standing before her rough audience, tawdry, 
 smiling, and bold. Some reflection struck her of 
 the pain Stephen would feel could he know what 
 was taking place.
 
 UNDER THE RED CROSS. 363 
 
 Sam and Henry had gone to the " show," the 
 former having been unable to resist the combined 
 influence of his brother's unctuous recapitulation 
 of the possible attractions, and his own conception 
 of them. Still, it was from some unconscious sug 
 gestion of chivalry, that while Henry went whistling 
 from the door, Sam had proposed meeting him a 
 " piece down the road," and had softly gone from the 
 shed, across lots. Sam gave himself no reason 
 for such proceedings ; in fact, he knew no more ne 
 cessity for chatechising himself than his neighbor. 
 
 Some hours of the night had passed for Sarah, 
 in that struggling that seems so futile because its 
 immediate result lies only in weariness. At length 
 she opened her eyes from the bed where she had 
 sunk, endeavoring to make her senses oblivious 
 to life. Moonlight and peace confronted her ; 
 they filled the room. She rose hastily and went 
 to the window, her strained hands locked in front 
 of her. The world also was full of light and peace, 
 and it seemed very good. Possibly the time had 
 come when the tense sensibilities could bear no 
 more, and ecstacy might come after pain, as it came 
 to the saints in torture. That makes the fact no less 
 wonderful ; if revelation may be born of fine fibres 
 of the body, one can imagine no more divine a 
 string for such vibration. Suddenly a quivering 
 sob burst from her lips, and hot tears came of an 
 ecstatic joy.
 
 364 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " I will not be ashamed I " she said. " I meant to 
 be right ; my heart was holy, and our life together 
 is sacred. There is no stain." She sank on her 
 knees at the window, bending her head and sob 
 bing, " No stain ! I am sure of it ! " 
 
 There are some souls to whom confidence and 
 joy are most natural. Such have an audacity of 
 hope which the fearful call impious. They have 
 so much to do in the present, such triumphant 
 surety in the possibilities of existence, that regret 
 has no place with them. Sarah stood by the 
 window until her sobs had spent their force, and 
 then began making ready for bed, as quietly as 
 she might while her nerves were still quivering. 
 One purpose was paramount, that of forbidding 
 failure to rest upon her life. If she had decided 
 unworthily, it had been honestly. She would in 
 deed no longer acknowledge the unworthiness as 
 criminal, even to herself. Let circumstances mil 
 itate as they would, forcing from her ignorance 
 still more unripe fruit of deeds, and she would be 
 content. She would behave honestly at the time, 
 whatever the time demanded of her. If in the 
 clearer light of further experience she should find 
 herself forced to hate her past, that must be ac 
 cepted as one of the inevitable penalties that ac 
 company human living. Remembering that men 
 and women are the sons and daughters of God, 
 she would hold her head proudly, not like a
 
 UNDER THE RED CROSS. 365 
 
 craven. So she ,slept at last, grown to fuller 
 stature. 
 
 In the morning, Henry met her with face and 
 mouth full of news, Sam preserving a counte 
 nance of stolid neutrality, as if such items lay far 
 beneath his notice. 
 
 "No show last night," said Henry. Sarah felt 
 herself painfully flushing over brow and cheeks. 
 "No, "he went on, answering her glance, "com 
 pany's all broke up and gone to the dogs. Dolly's 
 the head one, you know, an' she's run away." 
 
 "Eunaway?" 
 
 "They can't find out that she's robbed the till. 
 Fact is, I don't believe the whole company's got 
 enough to buy a baby's frock. They couldn't pay 
 their score for last night's tavern-keep. They 
 took the mornin' train, an' Prescott let 'em go 
 scot free." 
 
 " He's a gump ! " came Sam's reedy voice, fol 
 lowed by an embarrassed laugh as he realized that 
 the word might not be sufficiently elegant. " Pres 
 cott might ha' kep' their trunks. It's likely there's 
 a good deal o' gold an' silver trimmin's in 'em 
 'twould ha' paid to have." 
 
 Sarah walked to the window, and watched the 
 two men as they swung away from the house. 
 Perhaps she did not really see them ; her will was 
 intent on the proud resolve that she would to-day 
 be her ordinary self, in spite of thought. Aunt
 
 366 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 Lomie was putting up peaches, and Sarah pared 
 till her hands were black, and weighed, and 
 screwed cans with all the strength of her small 
 strong wrists. 
 
 " I don't know as you can ever go away now," 
 said Aunt Lomie. "I ain't missed the girls so 
 much since they went, as I shall after you're 
 gone, too." 
 
 The days were growing brighter and colder; 
 the air held an invigorating sparkle with its breath 
 of decay. Autumn was at its height. A very 
 royal splendor it held this year; one that has 
 been commemorated in eulogies from all New 
 England. 
 
 One day Sarah started alone for a purposeless 
 walk. She was enveloped in purple mist, the 
 bloom of the air ; she scented the fruit flavor and 
 drank in the leaf-rotting. A fine, intense exhila 
 ration fired her like a presentiment. "I should 
 think," she said, "that I must be going to the 
 opera to-night, if this were the land of operas." 
 
 The little laugh on her lips suddenly died at 
 the suggested remembrance. She went on her 
 way, effectually sobered. A mile from home, and 
 the familiar rattle of Sam's wagon was to be heard, 
 coming round a corner from the Exton road. Dill 
 had a way of throwing up her head at every step, 
 and presently Sarah descried her, making cour 
 tesies as she came.
 
 UNDER THE RED CROSS. 367 
 
 "Kide?" called Sam. "I'll turn, an' go round 
 through the North road, if you say so." 
 
 "I do," returned Sarah, her laugh coming back. 
 "Don't get out, Sam. I can mount better if you 
 give me a pull." 
 
 "Beats all how the trees look up Bear Hill 
 way," and Sam gave the unwilling Dilly a flick. 
 "The Lord !" he ejaculated, pulling the animal up 
 with a jerk. "Dill, no wonder you didn't want 
 to turn. I'm a beast, an' you're a Christian." 
 He rattled the astonished animal round once more, 
 describing a curve which forced Sarah to catch 
 simultaneously at the seat and her hat. " Tell you 
 how 'tis ; you see, I've made a discovery. That 
 woman that run away from the Concert Company 
 is sick an' out of her head, down to Joe Mitchell's 
 house, where nobody lives. I was walkin' the 
 horse by there, an' heard a groanin', an' so I got 
 out an' went up to peek in the window. There she 
 was, on the old bedstead they left. She must ha' 
 been crazed when she crawled in there. I knew 
 her in a minute, see her at the depot the day 
 she come. I was goin' home to get ma'am to go 
 down, an' it don't seem nat'ral, but when I come 
 across you it knocked her out o' my head." 
 
 Sarah was a woman of lightning impulses. 
 " Sam," she said, putting her hand on his to hasten 
 his pull at the reins, "take me back there now ! 
 Don't go for your mother ; it isn't her place ; and
 
 368 FOOLS or NATURE. 
 
 if you see her first, she'll try to prevent my going. 
 Take me back now ! " Dill had obeyed the detain 
 ing rein, and Sam sat with eyes and mouth suffi 
 ciently opened for definite facial expression. " I 
 know her ; nothing must happen to her. If you 
 don't take me, I shall walk." 
 
 Sam's chivalry overbore his convictions as to the 
 fitness of things. They were within five minutes' 
 drive of the Joe Mitchell house, when Sarah broke 
 the silence. 
 
 " I'm right, Sam, and you must help me. Will 
 you?" 
 
 " I'll do any fool's errand you're a mind to send 
 me on," said Sam, in cheerful resignation to his 
 puzzle. " An' now I've said it, go ahead an' tell 
 me what to do. We're both in for it." 
 
 "First, you must go for the doctor, and after he 
 tells what things may be wanted, you must drive 
 home to get them. And, Sam, above all, prevent 
 any one else from coming to help me. I must go 
 through this alone." 
 
 After all, it was perhaps a romantic impulse 
 which made her sure that her young shoulders 
 must bear the load. Destitute also of practical 
 calculation was she at the moment, for concealment 
 from many people seemed to be absolutely neces 
 sary ; what might not be told in the wildness of 
 delirium which would prove an additional disgrace 
 to Stephen? The poor child quite forgot, as she
 
 UNDER THE RED CROSS. 369 
 
 had been for weeks forgetting, that a very large 
 part of the world was in ignorance of her troubles. 
 
 Sam was still in grievous doubt as to his own 
 conduct in leaving her alone at the house, when 
 they finally stopped before the dilapidated pile. 
 However, the time for remonstrance had passed, 
 and he stood in wholesome fear of Mrs. Mann's 
 higher nature. They left Dilly cropping the 
 brown grass near the fence, and went silently up 
 to the blackened front door. Sarah was sick with 
 fear, and wondered, a little weakly, if she must 
 faint. That was an unknown process to her healthy 
 young body, but such weakness of nerve and 
 muscle must portend something. 
 
 Sam broke a pane from the kitchen window, to 
 admit his hand to the fastening. Thus another 
 window had been opened by the strange guest 
 within. A minute after his long legs had dis 
 appeared within the window, Sarah heard a bolt 
 withdrawn, and the door swung open to admit her. 
 She walked bravely in ; indeed, there was a good 
 deal of courage involved in the one effort of mov 
 ing. Sam softly opened the door of the bare bed 
 room. There lay the woman, staring straight in 
 front of her with unseeing eyes, and talking by 
 snatches. Sarah stopped by her side ; she had an 
 absolute terror of encountering the eyes, which 
 searched Sam's face with no speculation in them. 
 Sam turned, and noted her pallor.
 
 370 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 " Come, give it up ! " he whispered. 
 
 The words recalled her to sharne at her physical 
 weakness. "No," she answered, taking off her 
 hat and gloves. " Go for the doctor. I shall stay 
 while you are gone." 
 
 Sana, very dissatisfied with himself, did go, after 
 one or two lingering looks which held a prayer 
 that she might have changed her mind. Once out 
 side, having also made his decision perforce, he 
 lashed Dill over the road to Doctor Bright's at a 
 pace previously unknown to her. Half-way there, 
 Sam broke out with an exclamation the very sound 
 of which led him to a more excessive use of the 
 whip. " Good Lord ! maybe it's catchin' ! " 
 
 Meantime, Sarah, to quiet her own wildness of 
 heart, and to familiarize the dreaded eyes with the 
 sight of her, moved to a point within their gaze, 
 where she began spreading a wrap over the 
 woman's form. The eyes met hers, full of a fear 
 ful blankness. It flashed into her mind that Ste 
 phen had spoken of their wonderful blue. Now 
 they were black. No trace was left of the beauty 
 he had loved and hated ; wrinkles, the ravages 
 made by unhealthful living, had crossed out all del 
 icacy of hue and outline, as if a ruthless hand 
 should draw rough lines across some priceless 
 sketch. Sarah brought a chair near the bedside, 
 and sat down where the woman could regard her. 
 She had an unexplained feeling that, even in her
 
 UNDER THE RED CROSS. 371 
 
 delirium, the other must feel loneliness and be 
 somewhat comforted by a human being. 
 
 "It is strange," broke the hollow voice, "that 
 they should go without me ! Why couldn't they 
 wait?" 
 
 " They will wait," said Sarah, rising to place a 
 cold hand on the burning forehead. The bridge 
 had been crossed ; she had spoken to her and 
 touched her. 
 
 While she sat waiting for Doctor Bright, she 
 thought, with a deep relief, that the words of de 
 lirium were not as likely to be barbed with poison 
 as she had feared. Old records in the brain came 
 to light, childish occurrences, and those of girl 
 hood. The girl prepared her dress for her first 
 ball, smoothed her hair with weak hands, and 1 
 lived her triumphs over again. Stephen's name 
 was not mentioned. Was it because he had, after 
 all, made slight impression on her real life, or be 
 cause the busy brain, in its ransacking of odd cor 
 ners, did not chance to bring certain records to 
 light? 
 
 It was two hours before Dill came back at a 
 swinging trot, and behind her rang the precise 
 hoof-beats of Doctor Bright's roan. Sarah won 
 dered, in the idle speculation which fills up excited 
 moments, why physicians and roans as invariably go 
 together as bread and butter. Doctor Bright came 
 in first, and began at once feeling his patient's
 
 372 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 pulse. Sarah stood watching him, her mind hast 
 ily recounting whatever she had heard of him in 
 Coventry. Personally, he was an elongated skel 
 eton ; so thin a man that Coventry said to itself, 
 in mild speculation, that " whatever Dr. Bright's 
 victuals went to the making of, it wasn't fat ! " 
 The doctor was variously condemned and univer 
 sally loved in the county ; one party disapproved 
 of his prescription of mild doses, and another con 
 sidered him fatally slow in making up his mind, as 
 well as too reserved in speaking it. Neither, how 
 ever, would have been persuaded to admit another 
 practitioner to his house, under any circumstance 
 but that of Doctor Bright's departing this life. 
 
 " Wasson says you are to be with her," he said 
 at last, looking up from his case of vials. 
 
 "Yes, I can do it," began Sarah, fearing further 
 objection ; but the doctor nodded her speech short, 
 and went on in his gentle sing-song : 
 
 "I will give you directions later." He sat 
 down at a little side table, and began writing, 
 Sam by this time filling up the doorway and re 
 garding him with extreme impatience. Sam felt 
 that, after his own and Dill's exertions, he might 
 reasonably expect a verdict of life or death. The 
 doctor wrote slowly, and with microscopic fine 
 ness. At length the paper was concluded, and he 
 carefully dried it, causing Sam new qualms of im 
 patience.
 
 UNDER THE RED CROSS. 373 
 
 "Articles you will need to bring from home. 
 It will be impossible to move her. I will stay 
 with the young woman till you come." 
 
 Sam took a step, and hesitated. "Ma'am will 
 ask what the matter is," he faltered. . Even those 
 of full strength and stature were not exempt from 
 awe of Doctor Bright. 
 
 " Typhoid fever ; that's all I know. Don't ask 
 me if she'll live. Don't ask me how she got it. I 
 can't tell you." 
 
 Sam and Dill having once more set out, Doctor 
 Bright turned to Sarah with a slip of written direc 
 tions. " I have put down what you will need to 
 do, in case you shouldn't be able to trust your 
 memory. Are you going to stay with her right 
 through?" 
 
 " Yes." Sarah was prepared to defend her posi 
 tion, to passionately assert that though she might 
 be young she would not prove untrustworthy ; but 
 Doctor Bright believed in the desirability of allow 
 ing man and woman to settle their own affairs. 
 
 "Very well ; you will need help soon, however. 
 Don't be romantic about devotion ; don't despise 
 sleeping when you can, and going out for fresh 
 air." 
 
 The patient moaned and talked on, and Sarah 
 sat by the window, afraid of the doctor, and afraid 
 of her task when she should once be left alone. So 
 the hours passed until Sam returned, on a wagon
 
 374 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 piled with bedding and articles rapidly suggested by 
 Aunt Lomie's practical mind, which never moved 
 slowly in time of need. Then Doctor Bright began 
 to work, with telling strokes of his own, and plac 
 idly neutral directions to the two in awe of him. 
 He had left word for Aunt Jane Hincklcy to lend 
 her aid, and while they were busy about the sick 
 woman, Sam coaxed a flame into life in the kitchen 
 fireplace. 
 
 Doctor Bright looked at his patient with some 
 quiet satisfaction, when she was finally resting on 
 Aunt Lomie's sweet bedding. At least that was 
 dry and pure, whatever the air of the house might 
 be. "It's an even chance," said the doctor to 
 himself, in tranquil enjoyment of speculation, 
 " whether it would have been better to give her a 
 mild shaking up, and let her die in a comfortable 
 house, or try to make this air fit for her breathing. 
 However "dismissing his problem for future 
 solitary enjoyment, and turning to Sarah, " keep 
 up a fire for dry ness, and open the windows for 
 air. It isn't such a bad house as it might be, for 
 the family have only been out of it a month. I'll 
 be over in the morning." 
 
 His carriage drove away, and presently Aunt 
 Jane, finding nothing further to do, went also. 
 Then Sam and Sarah looked at each other, some 
 what fearful of the responsibility they had jointly 
 undertaken.
 
 UNDER TITE RED CROSS. 375 
 
 "Ma'am wanted to come, an' I wouldn't let her. 
 She was a good deal put out ; said you wouldn't 
 stan' it." 
 
 " "We may want very much to have her come 
 later. I was foolish to say I must do it all alone. 
 I meant that everything hard must be mine. But 
 somebody who knows more may be needed. Don't 
 wait, Sam, if you need to be home." 
 
 Sam arrested his steps in sheer surprise, and 
 finally said, with extreme nicety of emphasis, "I 
 sha'n't go out of this house till you do. Leave you 
 alone nights with a crazy woman, half a mile from 
 a neighbor? Good Lord ! that would be smart ! "
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 PROSPECTIVE REFORMATION. 
 
 OING home one morning from a business trip 
 that had occupied several days, Stephen 
 found a rather urgent note from Miss Phebe, ask 
 ing him to call on her the previous evening. 
 Excuse having been impossible, he ran round im 
 mediately to offer his regret in person. There 
 seemed to have been some unusual occurrence at the 
 house. The maid who admitted him was agitated, 
 and Miss Phebe herself, whom he found in the parlor 
 with Gale and Linora, wore a flush high upon her 
 cheek-bones, and upon her head a new bonnet of 
 subdued autumn tints. 
 
 " Too bad you couldn't come," she said. ' f Some 
 how you seemed to be the only one left of the old 
 family, and I wanted you to come in while things 
 were just as they were." 
 
 " Things being now as they were not," put in 
 Gale, with a much gratified coolness. "Let me 
 introduce my wife. We walked to church this 
 morning, and came away hopelessly changed." 
 
 Thereupon Stephen congratulated the happy 
 pair, wondering all the time why Linora was 
 stripped of her usual volubility, like a bird plucked 
 
 378
 
 PROSPECTIVE REFORM ATION. 377 
 
 of gorgeous plumage. She was not silent long, 
 however. 
 
 "Yes, I go with them," she exclaimed, nodding. 
 f 'I know that's what you want to ask. We go 
 this noon to form a model household on the Hud 
 son, and there we remain all winter, uncle study 
 ing, Aunt Phebe reforming, and I being reformed. 
 Somehow I like the passive voice better ; it im 
 plies more repose, less effort." 
 
 Gale's face relaxed in the slight indulgent smile 
 which her general worthlessness usually served to 
 call forth; but his wife looked at her gravely, 
 saying, "Yes, Linora, I do mean to reform you in 
 your ways, if that's possible." 
 
 Linora nodded again, and laughed gayly as she 
 rose to leave the room. Before going, however, 
 she stopped before Mrs. Phebe to deposit a little 
 kiss on her shoulder. " You don't know how nice 
 I think it is of you to let me go too ! " she said. 
 "In the midst of domesticity, who knows but I 
 also may be domestic 1 I fancy I might evolve 
 moral truths in the process of jelly-squeezing. 
 Mr. Mann, I shall see you again. I have a little 
 packing to finish, and an errand to do, and when 
 I hear your retreating steps, I shall run down to 
 accompany you to the corner, in pursuance of the 
 latter." 
 
 When she was out of the room, Gale regarded 
 his wife with a mixture of drollery and fondness,
 
 378 FOOLS OF NATUKE. 
 
 saying, " Phebe will have it that there is mission 
 ary work to be done for our young friend. I tell 
 her it should have been begun fifteen years ago." 
 
 "Don't I know it ! " returned that lady, with em 
 phasis. " Do you suppose I think her poor little 
 twisted soul can ever be put straight now ? But 
 she shall have a home, and healthy, common things 
 to think of. We'll keep hens and pigs, you 
 said there were horses ? and she shall help feed 
 them. And her poor little body shall be nursed 
 up, after its cigarettes and being awake at all hours, 
 and starving herself at the table to eat when folks 
 didn't know it. Oh, I know her ! And I am fond 
 of her, too, in spite of it all." 
 
 " If she is to be reformed, it is perhaps well for 
 all of you that she is such a good-natured girl," 
 suggested Stephen. 
 
 "Good-natured as the day is long," returned 
 Mrs. Phebe, in quick corroboration. "We can 
 call it quits ; she'll be a lesson to me as to temper." 
 
 " And so Number Forty is at an end, as far as 
 old associations go," said Stephen, looking about 
 him, and fixing again in his mind the stiff details 
 of the parlor, with a sad foreboding that he might 
 sometime need every remembrance of the past. 
 
 "Sold out, and the landlady coming in this 
 noon. The lodgers are put out, but that doesn't 
 signify ; they're not my old lodgers, and I've no 
 sort of aft'ection for them. Mr. Mann," as he
 
 PROSPECTIVE REFORMATION. 379 
 
 gave her his hand in good-by, hearing Linora's 
 step, "I should like to feel that your wife was 
 well." 
 
 " I can assure you of that. She will be glad to 
 know you are so happy." He made his leave- 
 taking short after that, anxious to escape the 
 harrying of kind questions, and presently went 
 out with Linora. 
 
 "And now that you have wished us happiness, 
 and promised to visit us, which you won't do, 
 and thought it an extremely good thing for me to 
 have married my uncle off my hands to somebody 
 who will take charge of me, well, after all this, 
 you're rid of us ! " said she. 
 
 "But, seriously," returned Stephen, looking at 
 her with challenging frankness, ^ isn't it a good 
 thing for you?" 
 
 " Seriously, it is ; and though you wouldn't think 
 it, I quite appreciate it. I am getting old enough 
 for the pastoral side of life to have some charms as 
 well as appropriateness for me. I may even marry 
 a rector, if such exist in our calm retreat." 
 
 "Not a priest?" suggested, Stephen, with a 
 mischief he felt to be not too chivalrous. 
 
 "Not a priest, I think," she said coolly, with 
 not even the suspicion of a blush. " There would 
 be a monotony of treatment in that subject. But 
 what I wanted really to see you for, was to ask 
 you to give my love my real love to your
 
 380 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 wife. There's not much of me, and I am afraid 
 she knows it ; but what there is, is loyal. I should 
 like to have a chance to show her that I'd do 
 anything in the world for her." 
 
 "I believe you would," said Stephen, as she 
 stopped at her destination. "You have proved it 
 by being so silent." 
 
 They hurriedly shook hands, and he left her, 
 anxious again to get away after the last subject 
 broached. 
 
 " So one person of the little knot of us who got 
 so tangled there, seems to see her solution," he 
 said to himself, as he went on. " Linora may not 
 be very much changed, she may not want to be, 
 but she is to have Mrs. Phebe's righteous arm to 
 lean on henceforth, and I believe she likes it. But 
 that solution involves somebody else in a new 
 coil, Mrs. Phebe. Still, she will be happy, for 
 Gale sees all domestic and womanly graces in her, 
 and she won't disappoint him." And the thought 
 set him again upon the worn track of his own 
 sorrow.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 
 
 T EONARD had become involved in the destiny 
 -*-^ which his own simplicity had marked out for 
 him, and it was too late to arrest his steps with 
 ease. Indeed, he saw no reason for pausing ; he 
 was only aware that his profession was productive 
 of great discomfort, and though that was possibly 
 the penalty of genius, he nevertheless chafed under 
 it. In that week of daily companionship with 
 Uncle Ben, he had become nervous- to a degree 
 incompatible, to casual eyes, with his placid fat 
 ness. This time, Uncle Ben was not to be balked 
 of his purpose ; he had come to receive a message 
 from Maria, and the message he must have. Great 
 issues were at stake ; communication between the 
 kingdoms of heaven and earth was to be indubita 
 bly proved by a word from a soul he trusted, 
 through means as clear as crystal. He did not 
 doubt Riker; without positive proof he would 
 doubt no one; but he had, as he had stated, the 
 certainty that Leonard's testimony must prove the 
 keystone to his life's structure of belief. Leonard 
 could see nothing, and reiterated that inability 
 until he feared to meet his old friend, and made 
 
 881
 
 382 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 engagements to escape from him. In his new 
 state of extreme nervous irritability, he saw every 
 thing else, it seemed, that the imagination could 
 compass ; so that Riker, overhearing his statements 
 to visitors, felt obliged to curb their wildness by a 
 gentle admonition. 
 
 " That's what the old lady said," Leonard would 
 invariably reply, with an obstinacy which Riker 
 did not dare combat too far. 
 
 Why should he not have seen what he had most 
 reason for seeing, when his mind, like a disordered 
 machine, seemed capable of fly ing in any direction, 
 in obedience to the greatest pressure ? Possibly 
 he was too anxious ; possibly the magnitude of the 
 requirement so awed him that he sifted whatever 
 his imagination offered, clown to its ultimatum of 
 chaff. Possibly, also, his first terror of Maria 
 had developed into a fear of misrepresenting her. 
 Riker had endless communications from her, 
 somewhat slipshod ones, which, gratuitously of 
 fered him, Uncle Ben swallowed with patient 
 courtesy. Riker felt so sure of making his control 
 absolute over the old man, that he scarcely took 
 the trouble to remain plausible. He interpreted 
 Uncle Ben's growing simplicity of manner as a 
 weakness of mind, corresponding to his increasing 
 feebleness of body, and fed it, half contemptuously , 
 with diluted milk fit for babes, who by dying 
 would best fulfil the decrees of a wise Providence,
 
 THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 383 
 
 In pursuance of this more careless line of action, 
 he volubly apologized, in Miss Maria's name, for 
 her previous lack of charity towards the medium. 
 Even Uncle Ben, with a somewhat pitiful smile, 
 said that Maria was changed ; but not to himself 
 did he own that the change was scarcely to his 
 liking. He was not conscious of finding fault with 
 Hiker and his own scheme, but of an uneasiness in 
 the atmosphere. 
 
 "Just let it all be awhile," said Leonard one 
 morning, when the two sat together in one of their 
 interviews. "Wait till summer, and I'll come 
 down and spend a month, and then we can talk 
 it over. You don't seem well ; you're not fit to 
 worry." 
 
 "No, I ain't well, Lenny ; but it's what I've got 
 to expect. I am over eighty ; my tune ain't long 
 here." 
 
 " Then have a good time, and don't fret ! We 
 know Aunt Maria's well off, and when the time 
 comes, perhaps you'll hear from her." 
 
 "Yes, yes, we know she's well on't. I should 
 like to have patience, boy, if I only could. It's 
 the decay beginning, the decay. It makes my 
 faculties weaker ; I can't seem to stan' things as I 
 could. An' you can't hear ? " 
 
 " I can't hear a thing. I wish I was dead ! " 
 cried Len. 
 
 "No, no!" said Uncle Ben, recalling himself,
 
 384 FOOLS or NATURE. 
 
 and straightening in his chair with the responsi 
 bility of supporting the younger mind. "That 
 ain't right. Live till the Lord calls you, an' be 
 glad to live. There's worse things than this to 
 bear, an' you've no call to take it hard." 
 
 He made no further embarrassing demands, and 
 went home that afternoon. Leonard breathed 
 more freely, after he was fairly away, and then felt 
 with shame his want of gratitude. 
 
 Not a week had passed before his new peace of 
 mind was overthrown by a telegram from Coven 
 try. Uncle Ben had had a shock. Would he 
 come ? Riker took the news with a strange sort 
 of excitement, which struck Len as the result of 
 grief, and awakened a new flow of tenderness 
 towards his benefactor. Len would have said, had 
 he been in the habit of expressing himself freely 
 on any subjects but those connected with celestial 
 spheres, that Biker's heart was large enough to 
 take in the whole sorrowing world; one little 
 circle of friends could not fill it, and its tendrils 
 crept far and wide to draw in the needy to its 
 folds. 
 
 Professor Riker hastened his pupil's departure, 
 and bade him good-by, with excited face and 
 voice. He had debated within himself the wisdom 
 of going also, with the final decision that it was 
 better otherwise. Len's presence would be the 
 natural and expected event ; no one of the simple
 
 THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 385 
 
 relatives would dream of wills or property. But 
 if he, Riker, should make a prominent figure in 
 the scene, his presence might suggest to Uncle 
 Ben some disclosure of his intentions. Then who 
 knew what persuasions and reconsiderations might 
 not follow ? There were situations in which Len's 
 vacuous simplicity would work far more good in 
 mere avoidance of disturbing crystallizing atoms, 
 than would the cleverest care. Once set a train 
 in motion, and Len would not interfere, save from 
 some innocent blunder. With Riker, the chances 
 were always against blunders. 
 
 When Len reached the old farm-house, he found 
 life flowing smoothly on there, under Aunt LoimVs 
 guidance. Uncle Ben lay motionless in bed, using 
 his eyes and sometimes his feeble lips ; but there 
 was none of that excitement of illness which Len's 
 childish imagination had depicted. He was ready 
 to sob aloud when he went, with blundering soft 
 ness, to the bedside. The smiling lines on the 
 old man's face had not forgotten their office. A 
 subtile change passed over his features, like the 
 flowing of faint sunlight. 
 
 " I never shall go back to leave you, pa," the 
 boy burst forth, as expression of the utmost con 
 solation in his power. The feeble lips moved. 
 
 "Put your head down," said Aunt Lomie, who 
 btood by the bedside, a cup and spoon in her 
 hands. " He wants to speak."
 
 386 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 What Len could distinguish of the broken 
 sentence started a new apprehension within him. 
 It was the old question ; had he heard from 
 Maria? 
 
 "No, not yet," said the boy. He longed, at the 
 moment , to utter a renunciation of the whole sys 
 tem, money, the good he might do, his great 
 fame, but the force of habit and fear of harming 
 the sick man closed his lips. In the following 
 days, he sat hour after hour by the bedside, always 
 in an agony of anticipation. Uncle Ben was 
 uneasy without him, and, when he was near, lay 
 with questioning blue eyes fixed on his face. Len 
 shuddered under that kindly, wistful gaze. He 
 alone knew what it meant, and that every silent 
 moment was a denial to his old friend's last re 
 quest. 
 
 The news of illness at the farm-house could not 
 greatly startle Sarah, still face to face with noisome 
 fever. It seemed the natural event that there 
 should be trouble and death ; she could not see 
 beyond them. Mrs. Hinckley had taken up her 
 residence with her, sharing the nursing, and bear 
 ing the burden of house duties ; and Sam was a 
 tower of strength. 
 
 Doctor Bright did not commit himself as to the 
 probable issue of the illness. . One might have 
 supposed that Aunt Jane, after manifold experi 
 ences of the cut direct, would have avoided asking
 
 THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 387 
 
 his opinion ; but she could not resist her inner 
 longings for news. 
 
 "Think she's goin' to get .over it?" she re 
 marked, confidentially, as he was closing his med 
 icine case, with the vigorous snap which was the 
 only sudden expression he allowed himself. The 
 doctor made no answer for some minutes, and one 
 might have thought he had not heard. 
 
 " If she is strong enough to recover, I have no 
 doubt she will," he returned with unblemished neu 
 trality. 
 
 Sarah, in her place by the bed, felt a sudden 
 throb and stand-still of her heart. In the strain 
 of intense living, the question, as a blank form of 
 Avords, had not occurred to her. She was con 
 scious now of that deep fear which seems to at 
 tend great issues with which our wishes are liable 
 to meddle. At such times, the higher powers 
 seem immeasurably awful, and we dare not over 
 rule their decisions, even by a breath of prayer. 
 
 She had thought before that some one should be 
 notified of the woman's illness. It must not be 
 Stephen. She had set her mind against drawing 
 him into connection with it, even such as lay in 
 answering a question. She wrote to Skeriton, 
 under cover to the post-master, and an answer 
 came. It contained money, and was signed by 
 the woman's brother. He could not come, but 
 must be kept advised of her state. In case of a
 
 388 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 fatal issue, she must be sent home. So Sarah had 
 despatched daily word, wondering if all affection 
 were dead there also. 
 
 What could all this rouse in her own heart but 
 an intense pity? Thrown on her hands, depend 
 ent on her for the maintenance of the feeble flicker 
 of life still in the poor body, she could not cherish 
 harshness towards the helpless creature. And 
 when, in the dead stillness of the night she sat by 
 the wreck of womanhood, the true, divine charity 
 awoke in her. That may be the far-reaching, 
 patient love of God, His daily thought of His 
 creatures, only to be attained by them at brief 
 moments.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE USUAL RESULT. 
 
 TT would be gratifying if there were something 
 -*- besides deadness of mind to chronicle of Ste 
 phen ; one would hope there might have taken 
 place some clarifying of the mist about him, some 
 tiny, special revelation which should enable him 
 to bear his lonely days with more high-minded for 
 titude. There was nothing of the sort ; he was 
 simply able to cling to resolution, and to do no 
 more. One can but feel great kindliness for that 
 sort of nature which loves so warmly as to follow 
 love's dictates with more eagerness than those of 
 reason. Such souls lie in daily danger of loss, 
 through devotion to what is not high, if it has 
 once been invested with ideality. Stephen felt 
 secure of the worth of his passion. His power 
 of loving was the strong force of his nature ; this 
 time he trusted it to bear him on to noble ends. 
 
 To him, sitting one morning in his office, came 
 an unexpected visitor, Bernard. 
 
 " And may I ask where you dropped from ? " 
 said Stephen, getting out of his chair, and letting 
 surprise do the work of cordiality. 
 
 " Almost from the other side of Styx," answered 
 
 in
 
 390 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 Bernard, with a laugh. "I have been ill all sum 
 mer. I nearly died of fever." 
 
 "I'm sorry, decidedly sorry, you've had an un 
 comfortable time. And you show it, though the 
 change is becoming to you." 
 
 The change was great, to be found not only in 
 thinness of flesh and the effects of a general bleach 
 ing process, but in Bernard's new expression. He 
 was though that is stating a fact but vaguely 
 more human of glance and response. He met Ste 
 phen's look frankly ; the expression, at least, of 
 the old moodiness and distrust was quite gone. 
 
 " And how about your trip West ? Are you in 
 clined to carry out the proposition one of us made, 
 as to stock-raising ? " 
 
 '' That was partly what I came for. Now that 
 I am well, I want something to do, and the idea 
 of that suits me exactly. We have talked it over 
 at home, and they have half promised me that if 
 I make a home out West, sometime Mary shall go 
 and live with me." 
 
 "Mary?" 
 
 " She is my sister, my half-sister, that is, 
 and like a woman. I think she has done me as 
 much good as my mother. They all took me in, 
 Mann, and made me one of them." 
 
 Stephen's mind flew rapidly back to the figure 
 Bernard had made in his own mental horizon, just 
 before that visit to Freeport, and he could but
 
 THE USUAL RESULT. 391 
 
 credit the Masons with an excess of charity. 
 However, he could and did say, in all cordiality, 
 "I am heartily glad of it." 
 
 "I found my mother so good, and sweet-natured, 
 and unselfish," continued Bernard, as if the flux 
 of adjectives was too pressing, and he could only 
 select what were, after all, inadequate. "And 
 Mary is a woman and a child in one. I think I 
 should be happy anywhere if I could have her 
 with me. But I want work." 
 
 " Very well ; as soon as I can settle up and get 
 you started ; I suppose there's no pressing neces 
 sity. You can wait a month ? " 
 
 "Yes, I could wait two, though I am impatient. 
 The fact is " laughing somewhat uneasily, and 
 carrying embarrassment in his tone, " I haven't 
 laid aside my idea of giving up the property that 
 came to me by inheritance. I don't feel about it 
 as I did, and precisely because my feeling has 
 changed, I think I ought to carry out what I had 
 resolved on." 
 
 "As a sort of exquisite penance? Can you 
 afford to amuse yourself in that expensive way ? " 
 
 " I must, to keep my self-respect," said Bernard, 
 with none of his old irritability. "You see, I 
 thought I shamed Mrs. Ellis' choice through bad 
 ness of blood. Now I know I don't ; I am sure I 
 have as much claim to generosity and delicacy 
 through inheritance as any man. So I feel as
 
 392 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 though I had a foot-hold once more, a birthright, 
 and I can't curse myself or anybody else. But 
 just because I have changed, 1 don't want to make 
 capital out of repentance, and say I will not keep 
 a promise which is not for my advantage." 
 
 " I see ; having once been a fool , you are deter 
 mined to pay the full penalty, though, being now 
 sane, you see no valid reason for doing so. That 
 is an extreme of honesty for which the powers 
 above won't give you credit. They are more 
 likely to make a man pay twice over." 
 
 Bernard could give gentle judgment to the 
 bitterness in his tone. He himself had suffered 
 far too much to be obtuse to a man's wretched 
 moods. 
 
 "Nevertheless, I think I am right," he said, 
 brightly, "and if paying back the money helps 
 me keep my self-respect, what does it matter 
 whether I am foolish or not?" 
 
 But Stephen did not discuss the subject, turning 
 to one where he was sure Bernard must agree 
 with him, and probably find some amusement 
 there, as one may in past foibles which have not 
 been too deep or ridiculous. "And now, after 
 the indisputable proof of brain-fever, I suppose 
 you will agree with me that the spectres you used 
 to see were also the coinage of your fancy?" 
 
 " Not at all ! I might, if my belief in spirit 
 ualism rested on them alone ; but what will you do
 
 THE USUAL RESULT. 393 
 
 with the materialized forms I have seen walking 
 out of Biker's cabinet ? " 
 
 Stephen leaned back in his chair, regarding 
 Bernard with more interest than he had ever be 
 fore felt in him. Once his vagaries had< appeared 
 to go well with his general un soundness of mind ; 
 now, when he seemed to look at the world like 
 other men, such aberrations were in the last 
 degree astonishing. He seemed a subject deserv 
 ing of the active charity of endeavor. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you see disembodied 
 spirits in that vulgar trickery ? " 
 
 " I do ; I can but trust the evidence of my 
 senses." . 
 
 "That phrase is the expression of a very old 
 fallacy. Science has determined that there is 
 nothing more unworthy of trust." 
 
 " But when I plainly am haunted by shapes," 
 urged Bernard, "as I know I was ! " 
 
 "Find me a physician who will tell you that 
 there are not constitutional causes for false see 
 ing," interrupted Stephen, with more heat than he 
 often showed, "and I should not be willing to 
 trust my constitution to his mercies. I suppose 
 total ignorance of the freaks the nerves and organs 
 may play isn't culpable in a wholly unlettered man ; 
 in you and me, who have access to scientific 
 books, it is culpable. How far did you ever try
 
 394 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 to test your vision by scientific methods, or paral 
 lel them in history ? " 
 
 Bernard hesitated. "Well, I believed in them 
 at once," he confessed. 
 
 "Yes, your imagination was on their side! I 
 can't conceive of being so gulled 1 It is an ana 
 chronism ; one might expect it in the Middle Ages, 
 or under the guidance of such a prince of magic as 
 Cagliostro ! " 
 
 Bernard had not come prepared for argument, 
 and, taken by surprise, did not retort to any pur 
 pose. But he did fall slightly out of temper ; it is 
 not in nature to hoar one's self reproved as unsci 
 entific or simple-minded, and still preserve pa 
 tience. 
 
 "When you prove positive falsity in what I 
 have seen, I will believe you -in the same whole 
 sale manner," he contented himself with saying. 
 "I suppose you wouldn't object to that." 
 
 " If you pin your faith to what any medium may 
 have told you of your past or future, you can ex 
 plain every hit of that kind by a practised clever 
 ness in making use of the victim's disclosures, or 
 by lucky guesses, or even by some mysterious 
 mental power, if you will. I am willing to con 
 cede any sort of unclassified force to the human 
 mind. But if you rely on shadowy figures from 
 dark cabinets, go yourself and seize one. No 
 honest spirit would grudge himself as subject of
 
 THE USUAL RESULT. 395 
 
 experiment, as no generous man would deprive 
 the dissecting table of his tissues." 
 
 "Go with me, if you think you can arrest a 
 materialized form," returned Bernard, with the 
 feeling that he must not resist this trial between 
 his own gods and Baal. " Professor Hiker's mate 
 rializing can stand the test." 
 
 Stephen considered a moment. He had been 
 through the experience in his college days, when 
 it assumed the proportions of gay adventure. It 
 held no sort of interest at present ; nevertheless 
 the deed seemed worth doing. 
 
 " Very well," he said. " To-night ? " 
 
 "Yes, unless his times have changed. I'll find 
 out about that." 
 
 Stephen could scarcely have told why he so 
 earnestly resisted the fact of Bernard's binding 
 himself over to a paltry form of belief. Probably 
 he would have said, if pinned down to statement, 
 that credulity in regard to spiritualism was not 
 "good form ; " still, his motives for bestirring him 
 self lay deeper. He appreciated the dignity of a 
 clean habit of thought ; he knew what it was to be 
 drawn far out of his way by the affections, but that 
 could only happen when beauty wrought upon his 
 senses. In matters which were merely affairs of 
 eye and judgment, he saw piercingly through from 
 premise to conclusion. That a man should be de 
 ceived by a showman and his puppets, when thero
 
 396 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 might be at the same hour, round the next cor 
 ner, an exhibition of natural magic by a conjurer 
 who advertised himself as nothing more, stood 
 with him as the result of a perverted manner 
 of thinking. It was like drinking ditch-water 
 when one might dip his cup in the spring, and 
 any man should be willing to take a few extra 
 steps in showing the unlearned and simple the 
 way. 
 
 Bernard came for him early that evening. He, 
 on his side, had a far greater burden than that of 
 defending his faith. He was wondering how he 
 could ask news of Sarah, if Stephen should not 
 broach her name of his own accord. 
 
 She must still be away ; he was sure of that, 
 for otherwise Stephen would have told him. And 
 if that were so, the mysterious trouble between 
 them must have continued. How could he bear 
 knowing nothing of it or her ? On the other hand, 
 how could he force himself where neither invited 
 him? 
 
 "One thing must be understood, "said Stephen, 
 when they were on their way to Riker's. "You 
 will not, under any temptation, say that I do not 
 believe. I saw enough, years ago, of the suppres 
 sion of people who honestly confessed that they 
 went to investigate. It is of no use to expect a 
 medium to meet you fairly." 
 
 Bernard acquiesced against his judgment ; he
 
 THE USUAL KE8ULT. 397 
 
 could have sworn to Riker's impartiality, so accu 
 rate are sometimes impressions of character. 
 
 The scene at Riker's bore its old aspect. The 
 regular patrons were there, with the usual scatter 
 ing of new-comers. Mrs. Riker, who had contin 
 ued to develop as a medium, was somewhat worn 
 and apprehensive of look, but more confident of 
 manner. Riker met Bernard with effusion, remem 
 bering him as a staunch believer. Stephen his 
 glance sharply questioned. The younger man's 
 carelessness of manner had redoubled, at which 
 Bernard wondered, contrasting it with his heat and 
 earnestness of the morning. The stranger had evi 
 dently come to be amused, to pass an hour, thought 
 Riker, after exchanging some sentences with him, 
 and finding him good-humored and indifferent. He 
 decided that it might not be worth while to con 
 sider him especially, nor to take any precautions 
 against his possible interference. This was not, 
 indeed, a night when Riker should have been put 
 to the test ; half his mind was busy with conjec 
 tures as to what might be happening in Coventry, 
 :md it is an established fact that mediumship be 
 tween two worlds demands the undivided atten 
 tion. 
 
 Various versions of what followed can be read 
 by overlooking files of the daily papers ; one ex 
 posure of materializing is very like another, the 
 means at the command of most mediums being
 
 398 FOOLS or NATURE. 
 
 identical. Several figures appeared in the door 
 way of the cabinet ; as many believers went for 
 ward to receive greetings of more or less cordial 
 ity, until, in some confusion of changing places, 
 Stephen, unobserved, took the end of the row of 
 seats. Gradually the spirits became bolder, and 
 one advanced along the line of chairs, when Ste 
 phen suddenly stepped forward and threw his arms 
 about her. Confusion reigned ; Stephen, throttled, 
 beset by blows, for Hiker had rushed upon him 
 with the desperation of a prophet who hears the 
 crashing of his fair reputation, Stephen held his 
 head down and clung to his captive. Bernard had 
 consented to do his part in turning up the light, 
 and, though he pressed his way to it with all pos 
 sible haste, chaos seemed to have had its way for 
 hours before he succeeded. At its first truth-telling 
 disclosure, believers and indifferent alike ranged 
 themselves on the side of Stephen ; the reality 
 was too patent. The most unworldly eyes could 
 scarcely resist the evidence presented by the tab 
 leau, Stephen, now with one arm free, defend 
 ing himself from Riker's assault, while the other 
 held Mrs. Hiker, clothed in a loose white tunic. 
 She had proved accomplice, too, Riker thought 
 with rage, by fainting at the wrong moment. If 
 she had kept her senses and muscles under her own 
 control, he was sure she might have cleared her 
 self. A murmur arose among the spectators ;
 
 THE USUAL RESULT. 399 
 
 some one laid a hand upon Hiker's collar and 
 jerked him aside. He had lost his disciples. 
 
 " I am sorry to have alarmed the spirit," said 
 Stephen, depositing her upon the sofa. "Will 
 some one bring a glass of water? You see?" he 
 added, in a quick aside to Bernard, "you recog 
 nize the ghost ? " 
 
 Bernard could scarcely articulate ; his open eyes 
 and mouth struck Stephen with a sense of amuse 
 ment, and were sufficient evidence of his acceptance 
 of the testimony. Some one was working over 
 Mrs. Riker, and her husband was haranguing the 
 knot about him, interrupted by indignant denials 
 and repetitions. 
 
 "Let us go," whispered Stephen. "Slip out, 
 and I'll follow." 
 
 Their escape was managed as quickly as con 
 ceived, and Hiker was left to face his patrons, who 
 felt a double grief in having lost the hero of the 
 hour. Still, it was unanimously decided that he 
 must be a newspaper reporter, and that his account 
 might be bought in the morning for the sum of 
 two cents. 
 
 "Bah!" said Stephen, shaking himself, when 
 they reached the clear night air. " Dirty sort of 
 business, isn't it? The worst thing about placing 
 yourself in a genuine row is that you feel, when 
 all is over, the entire responsibility of it. I could 
 swear it was I who played the ghost, instead of
 
 400 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 that poor woman. No, I can't ride down ; my 
 coat seems to be torn." 
 
 Bernard was absolutely silent on the walk home, 
 and Stephen, accurately interpreting his mood, 
 was only amused. Bernard was neither ashamed 
 of his false gods, nor doubtful that he had seen the 
 failure of their test ; he was simply bewildered. 
 Possibly his frame of mind bore some relation to 
 that of the child who discovers the inner mechan 
 ism of his kaleidoscope. He only said at parting, 
 "I shall be round to-morrow," leaving Stephen to 
 literally wash his hands of the affair. 
 
 Next morning Bernard appeared as he was set 
 ting out for the office. "I am greatly obliged," 
 was his greeting, half awkwardly given. No one 
 can resign even a pewter god with dignity. 
 
 " About the ghost ? Not at all. I only hope 
 she is in better spirits this morning." 
 
 "It throws the whole thing over for me. I 
 never shall even look into it again. I own I am 
 relieved ; it isn't comfortable to feel the invisible 
 at your elbow." 
 
 "No, especially as you've no guarantee that it 
 isn't the devil ! " Stephen was inwardly as much 
 amused at Bernard's complete denial as at his 
 former partisanship. Still, it was too desirable a 
 state of mind to be disturbed by insisting on a wide 
 embrace of evidence.
 
 THE USUAL RESULT. 401 
 
 ff But this morning I came chiefly to ask other 
 questions," said Bernard. 
 
 Stephen was prepared by intuition. " I know," 
 he said. " About my wife. I have been thinking 
 of that. It seems now only fair that you should 
 know why she is not here. I mean to tell you, 
 though not quite now." 
 
 Bernard was silent, his heart beating faster. 
 He longed to hear, yet he could not beg Stephen 
 to go on. 
 
 " I know she is well," Stephen continued, " be 
 cause, in any other case, I was to be informed. 
 She is still at Coventry. I will tell you all I 
 know about it later, not to-day. To-night I go 
 to New York. I shall be home next Saturday. 
 Come to dinner with me on Sunday, and we will 
 talk. You have not written to her this summer?" 
 
 "No, I wasn't able, you know," answered Ber 
 nard. " I wrote to nobody." He did not add that 
 one deterring impulse had been the feeling that 
 Stephen would not have wished him to write. If 
 a mysterious something separated the two, it 
 seemed to him a matter of delicate scruple that he 
 should not hold constant communication with her. 
 
 Where did she stand now, in his thoughts? 
 Sacredly preserved like a vision, but at an infinite 
 distance from himself. He had felt, since the sum 
 mer with his mother, that he had passed through a 
 purification of body and mind. The joy in living,
 
 402 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 and sense of the honor of life, which come with 
 returning health, animated him to the desire of 
 pure deeds and thoughts. In that rapture of feel 
 ing new blood feeding wasted tissues, nothing 
 seemed comparable to the delight of noble living. 
 The earth bore that dear and familiar aspect which 
 she wears to eyes which have been long closed to 
 her by pain, or exile on tossing water, and it 
 seemed impossible ever again to regard her through 
 such miasmatic vapors of passion. That homely 
 family life at Freeport had changed the aspect of 
 family ties. A man's wife seemed no longer the 
 legitimate object for even a concealed passion from 
 a second lover, and he set himself to remember 
 chiefly the dear companionship of his childhood 
 with her. 
 
 There was, for him, a new heaven and a new 
 earth. Through the changed atmosphere and 
 clearer sunlight, he must henceforward regard men 
 and women with a difference. Even Stephen, 
 viewed by the aid of an unbiased common sense, 
 had ceased bearing the proportions of a gigantic 
 insult to awkward and ugly mankind.
 
 CHAPTER XXXH. 
 
 LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE 
 
 TT7HEN the reporter besieged Biker's house, 
 the next morning after the crisis of events, 
 that gentleman had gone, and no one was admitted. 
 Hiker had fled to Coventry to make sure of his 
 harvest there, leaving his wife at home instructed 
 to communicate with no one. He had considered 
 that his best course lay in bravado. It was against 
 probability that the city papers should at once 
 reach and influence Coventry. Uncle Ben was 
 growing weaker, so Len's letters stated, arid 
 Hiker was sure that if he could stave off dis 
 closure until the final event should take place, 
 and Leonard had inherited the property, all 
 would go well. They might even go abroad, 
 and establish their business in England. With 
 the small fortune once within his grasp, he did 
 not greatly fear the effect of disclosing his own 
 true character to his pupil. Money held over 
 himself such godlike sway that, in the face of 
 Len's density to advantages not honestly attained, 
 he still trusted in them to influence him. 
 
 There came in Coventry a day when Sam urged 
 Dill at a good pace which she must privately 
 
 403
 
 404 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 have thought was becoming too habitual to his 
 own home, where he found his mother hastily 
 doing some necessary housework, that she might 
 return to Uncle Ben's. She and Henry were 
 there constantly now. 
 
 "Dr. Bright says she won't live the day out," 
 began Sam. "Ma'am, you must go down. Mrs. 
 Mann is white as a sheet. You go, an' I'll bring 
 up Jane Hinckley to see to things here." 
 
 Aunt Lomie considered a moment before an 
 swering, "I don't know but I'll go," which was 
 tantamount to consent. 
 
 There was no change apparent in Uncle Ben, 
 except such as lay in his " sinking ; " and it might 
 be that he would live some days. Leonard was 
 with him constantly, and could do everything 
 necessary, with Aunt Lomie's place taken in the 
 kitchen and at the table. He was conscious of a 
 start in his pulsations, when she drew him from 
 the room to leave with him the needful directions. 
 It was not purely of fear, though he had become 
 accustomed to a flavor of uneasiness in approach 
 ing his old friend. Every instant, he keenly felt, 
 proved a denial of the demands of gratitude and 
 affection. Compared with the bird of gay plum 
 age he had been as Professor Leonard, he was now 
 but sick and bedraggled. 
 
 Aunt Lomie had gone, and Henry was busy 
 at the burns. Len sat beside the sick man, feel-
 
 LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE. 405 
 
 ing his own heart every minute beating faster and 
 taster, as if it stole pulsations from the weakening- 
 one beside it. The drowsy sunshine lay upon 
 the floor, neutral and sickly ; the bare chestnut 
 limbs tapped on the window from time to time, 
 and, within, only the cat stirred in luxurious 
 stretching and recurling on the bright chintz 
 lounge. Len felt an increasing horror of every 
 thing, even of the sick man, whose bodily state 
 created an awe and mystery of its own. He had 
 played too long with the supernatural ; it had 
 done him service, and now, like many another 
 wary tamed monster, had turned about to begin 
 a horrible mastery. But the fearful ticking of the 
 clock, the fearful return of Uncle Ben's slow 
 breathing, suddenly ceased to his ears, as the 
 old man's eyes unclosed and fixed themselves 
 upon his. They held an anxious question. Len 
 bent forward to meet it, knowing well what it 
 must be. 
 
 " Maria ! " was formed by the feeble lips. Len 
 hesitated ; the time for final decision had come. 
 He was unused to symptoms of illness, but some 
 thing assured him that the change in the dear face 
 was made by approaching death. His haunting 
 question would never be asked again. 
 
 He began speaking clearly and deliberately. 
 "Pa, I've seen Aunt Maria." The stiffening face 
 brightened, the gaze grew more eager. " She is
 
 406 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 very happy, and she is waiting for you. She says 
 spiritualism is all true. She is here now." 
 
 These were the great tidings for which the 
 passing soul had longed. Socrates himself at the 
 last, assured by indubitable proof that his conclu 
 sions were true, could have been no happier. The 
 news had even the power of awakening the last 
 faint look of joy in the peaceful face, before it 
 ceased expressing the soul forever. He was dead. 
 Len stood looking at him with swelling dread, as 
 the fact stamped itself upon his mind . The remem 
 brance of his own last words returned upon him 
 like an echo, " She is here now ! " and with a cry 
 of fear he ran from the house to find Henry and 
 alarm the neighbors. 
 
 No one felt surprised at his frantic grief; it was 
 but additional sign of his "good-heartedness." In 
 the midst of a haste of preparation, Riker arrived. 
 Len hurried to him as to a deliverer, and with his 
 first breath began confessing his sin. Riker could 
 not understand, and dared not press him, in the 
 shrewd hearing of neighbors who had flocked in 
 to be of use. 
 
 "Tell me about it by and by," he said quickly. 
 " And so our dear old friend has passed away ! " 
 he added, in affectionate sadness, turning to Henry 
 Wasson, who happened to stand next him. 
 
 "Seems so," answered Henry, who had not 
 Sam's vigor of utterance and cheerful willingness
 
 LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE. 407 
 
 to speak his mind. Privately he remembered 
 Maria's estimate of the professor, and wished his 
 brother were there to suggest appropriate and 
 stinging retorts. Henry was conscious of not being 
 equal to all occasions, unsupported by Sam, but 
 he had the comfort of undeviatiug faith in his hero. 
 He was convinced that, in all cases, the unim 
 peachable thing would have been done had Saiu 
 been present. 
 
 Riker lounged about the rooms, gently sympa 
 thizing with Leii's loud and boyish grief, and wiping 
 his own eyes. But he seemed to be in bad odor, 
 as he was not slow in observing. The neigh 
 bors, though not sharing Henry's prejudice, were 
 neutrally interrogative as to his reason for coming 
 at all. Presently he drew Len out of the house to 
 finish the interrupted confidence. 
 
 " I've told him a lie ! " the boy began at once, 
 his pink and white face scalded and blurred by tears. 
 ''He looked at me, and I told him I saw Aunt 
 Maria. I wish I was dead, and I'm afraid to die I " 
 
 " Never mind," said Eiker, some rough insolence 
 appearing in his manner. He had not recovered 
 from the smart of the previous night's disclosures. 
 Surely it might be expected that a man with a 
 lost reputation and problematic future should visit 
 his wrath against circumstances in the abstract on 
 some concrete inferior. Men of a larger calibre 
 have been known to find relief from strenuous
 
 408 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 events in kicking a dog, before Riker's day. 
 "Never mind." You seem to be in moderately 
 good health. I'd save my fear of dying till there 
 was a question of needing it." 
 
 Len's tears ceased, and his blue eyes took on wide 
 astonishment. The words might have passed ; the 
 tone was a revelation. " But it's the last word I 
 ever said to him," he continued, presently, bent 
 on drawing Eiker into his. own channel of thought. 
 "I never lied before." 
 
 His density grated on Riker, in his present ill-hu 
 mor with the world ; it seemed insufferable idiocy. 
 
 "Never told a lie in your life ! " he laughed, all 
 unctuousness swept away from his tone. "You 
 half-idiot ! you fool ! you have lied every day of 
 every year since I've known you, and been paid 
 for your lies." 
 
 Len's world reeled. The fact that his percep 
 tions were not of the most delicate order rendered 
 it no easier for him to understand that his beloved 
 friend and tutor' was a myth. What can be more 
 bewildering ? You love and trust, and Fact turns 
 her clear mirror at a different angle, saying, " He 
 never existed." 
 
 "You have taken in hundreds of people," Riker 
 went on, pitilessly, impelled to pass along with 
 interest the flagellation he had received. " Almost 
 as many as I have. And then you come to me 
 and whine, f I never lied ' ! "
 
 LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE. 409 
 
 "Don't you believe in it? The spirits, they 
 were materialized, you did it yourself! " 
 
 " I did it myself! Yes, I did. I walked out of 
 my cabinet with a sheet on, and again with an 
 Indian's blanket and feathers. I taught my wife 
 to carry in with her enough for half a dozen dis 
 guises, and I made her work to earn her honest 
 living as I earned mine. I'll show you twenty 
 places in the cabinet where I can pack a spirit's 
 entire wardrobe, and the fools that investigate 
 may tap and pry over them a week, and then they 
 won't find them." 
 
 Len had grown white and rigid ; his eyes 
 searched Hiker's face in agonized wonder. He 
 turned suddenly away from him ; Riker turned 
 also and grasped his shoulder. 
 
 " Don't go in there to make a fool of yourself," 
 he said, harshly. "Do as I tell you. Take a walk, 
 cool yourself off, and come home and say nothing. 
 If you make a fuss, I swear I'll kill you," he added, 
 as a final preventive. 
 
 Len turned obediently, and walked away through 
 the cart-path over the hill. Riker wandered about 
 a few minutes to spend his irritation, before enter 
 ing the house. He was not alarmed as to the 
 consequences of disclosure ; his power seemed to 
 have narrowed to a very small circle about the boy, 
 and this sudden twist had but tightened the ring. 
 In the future, he could work to better advantage,
 
 410 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 unhampered by daily subterfuge ; possibly, also, 
 the loss of the boy's simplicity would not prove 
 disastrous to his powers after all. 
 
 As for Leonard, he walked steadily on, encom 
 passed by fear. He had been told that the whole 
 system of spiritual communication was but fraud, 
 and so crippled was his mind by the stroke from 
 Biker's lash that he could not separate his own share 
 in the deception from the general wrong. He could 
 not, at the moment, have sworn that he had ever 
 seen miraculous sights or heard the whispers on 
 which he based his messages. His little world 
 was destroyed. Possibly the loss of intrinsic 
 purity would not have driven him to despair ; no 
 one can predict with much safety that most ravages 
 in the soul may not be condoned by habit and false 
 methods of thought. It was fear only which over 
 threw his reason. The habit of believing in the 
 presence of spirits was too strong to be easily 
 broken. His inflamed fancy pictured Uncle Ben 
 and Maria as avengers of his deception; being 
 dead, they were unspeakably horrible. He was 
 afraid to go back and afraid to run away, shud 
 dering at the thought of Kiker, and yet, with a 
 child's terror, sure that no distance could remove 
 him so far that Riker would not finally reach him. 
 So thinking swiftly, his thoughts like a mad 
 progress, a dance of death, he reached Fenn's 
 Hole, the one deeply dangerous place in the little
 
 LEONARD SEEKS REFUGE. 411 
 
 river which cut Uncle Ben's land. At the moment 
 when the water struck his eye, a new thought 
 flashed upon his brain. Uncle Ben and Maria had 
 always been kind ; wronged, deceived, their mercies 
 would be tenderer than Biker's love. The eye 
 and the brain had proposed his solution, and he 
 took it ; Fenn's Hole received him and his perplex 
 ity, giving the one verdict from which there is no 
 present appeal.
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIH. 
 
 SAM TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 THE night came, and Len had not returned. 
 Eiker, looking to him for countenance in his 
 apparently needless stay there, awaited him with 
 an increasing irritation. Circumstances seemed 
 vilely against him. He was conscious of clenching 
 his hands with the determination that, when the 
 winning side should be again his, he would wreak 
 certain small vengeances on the nearest available 
 creatures. The house had settled into quiet, and 
 was doubly lonesome without Aunt Lomie. She 
 had gone in time to be present at that other death, 
 which could cause no sorrow. Sarah looked up 
 and smiled faintly as the dear old lady entered the 
 room. Then they sat together waiting, Sarah 
 with nerves as tensely strained as if the tragedy 
 were about to begin, instead of wavering to its close. 
 The flickering breath ceased. 
 
 She shuddered as Aunt Lomie's grave voice 
 broke the stillness telling Sam, at the door, to 
 summon a neighbor. 
 
 "You don't feel bad, I hope," said the old lady, 
 as she came back. " You've done all anybody coulcl 
 
 412
 
 SAM TO THE RESCUE. 413 
 
 do for her. She was a poor sufferin* creatur', but 
 now it don't signify." 
 
 What should be done with Sarah ? When that 
 house, also, assumed the order and stillness 
 brought by death, it was Sara who took the reins 
 of government. It is a pity that it should be so 
 chronicled, but it is nevertheless true that he told 
 a great many merciful lies in the following days. 
 
 " She can't go through one more thing," he said 
 to his mother. " Look at her eyes ! Hear her 
 talk ! She'll be crazy. Just get her away from 
 this house, an' fix her up." 
 
 But Mrs. Mann would not be taken away. She 
 quietly insisted on remaining till the next morning, 
 when the last prayer would be made for the depart 
 ed soul, and the body would be sent to its home in 
 the West. "I will lie down," she promised of her 
 own accord. "I won't be foolish, but I want it to 
 seem like other people." Nobody understood the 
 last reason. It was true that she did feel a desire 
 that this unloved dead should receive to the last all 
 the semblances of affection which might justly have 
 belonged to her had she not chosen to throw off 
 family bonds. 
 
 So Uncle Ben had died ! She looked at them 
 when they told her, with the tears welling up in 
 such loving eyes that Sam felt it would be easy for 
 him also to cry. Yet she was glad ; the dear old 
 man must be safer in another life among different
 
 414 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 conditions, than beset by the cajoleries of the pres 
 ent world. 
 
 When the three were left after the funeral ser 
 vice, for the cordial neighbors were not bidden 
 to the ceremony, Sam delegated all details of 
 closing the house to an acquaintance, and himself 
 took his mother and Sarah home. She had ex 
 pected to occupy her old room at Uncle Ben's, but 
 the staunch Sam had forbidden it. . 
 
 "There's everybody there," he said, vaguely, 
 "mediums an* such. It ain't as it was. You 
 couldn't even see him. (Lord forgive me !) " 
 which was his Protestant equivalent for crossing 
 his sinful self. 
 
 But the morning had also come without the 
 appearance of the missing Len. Riker had grown 
 apprehensive, and the neighbors, even more im 
 pressed with Len's queerness than he, prophesied 
 evil. The verdict was unanimous that he had 
 " made way with himself." The professor, viewed 
 askance and left severely to himself, longed to 
 scout the notion, but nobody asked his opinion, 
 and he was silent from policy. 
 
 "Who see him last?" queried Sam, the one of 
 many resources. Riker felt it best to confess 
 that he had seen him follow the cart-path over 
 the hill. Sam did not waste words in conjecture, 
 but merely saying, "He al'ays was a queer one," 
 signaled Henry to follow him, and left the house.
 
 SAM TO THE RESCUE. 415 
 
 " You don't think ? " suggested Henry, interrog 
 atively, as they took the hill path. 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder, n answered Sam. " Shouldn't 
 be surprised at anything." 
 
 Neither had thought where they were to go ; 
 it was only an undefined impulse that bade them 
 follow, and Fenn's Hole was near their path. 
 The sequence of events forms such an obstinate 
 chain that it is unusual for every link to be de 
 stroyed. The man had sunk ; his hat had floated 
 and caught in a net-work of fallen branches. 
 Henry was sure that if he had been alone he 
 must have turned coward and fled to tell the news ; 
 but Sam's own unconsciousness of any course but 
 the straightforward one could but inspire courage. 
 
 " Seem's a pretty sure thing what's become of 
 him," said he, peering forward into the still water. 
 " Wonder what he done it for. I didn't know he 
 set so much by Uncle Ben as that. Good Lord 
 above ! " A white gleam caught his eye ; that 
 dead sickness of a hand leering up through the 
 glassy surface. 
 
 With no more words he waded in ; that was not 
 sufficient, and he returned to take off his coat 
 and boots and dive, bringing up what ? A sorry 
 object enough, pitiful indeed for our regard who 
 believe our proud selves to be the incomparable 
 work of creation. They laid it on the bank, 
 and with one accord started running, Sam because
 
 416 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 the water had been like ice and he dared not 
 delay, and Henry from force of example. The 
 alarm given, there were men and women enough 
 to help ; and again death was brought into the old 
 house. Little Coventry was almost bursting with 
 its sense of dramatic climax. A mystery had 
 grown up in its very midst, nay, two. A stran 
 ger had died within its limits, and another stranger 
 had served her in her illness for no known reason. 
 And now suicide from grief had followed the death 
 of an old man who was " queer," as doubtless 
 some of the more moderate contemporaries of 
 Jesus may also have considered Him. 
 
 Riker, calm of demeanor and faultless in ap 
 parel, was coming from the house when the sad 
 procession reached it. He had concluded to bear 
 the shocks of fortune with more equanimity, and 
 had been able to find some comfort in the luxuri 
 ance of his beard and the whiteness of his hands, 
 which would doubtless again assist him to some 
 eminence of reputation. Nobody regarded him, 
 but the instant meaning 01 the burden they carried 
 struck him back with a shock. He grasped the 
 side of the door, falling against it, ashen. 
 
 Some one pushed him aside, and the little knot 
 passed in. What they carried seemed like a wel 
 come guest, one whose presence must bar the 
 portals of whatever abode it found against his 
 entrance. There were relics enough of the com-
 
 SAM TO THE RESCUE. 417 
 
 mon theology in his mind to prompt the flashing 
 of the question whether it would sometime in the 
 future close against him those heavenly regions on 
 whose possession every man in some measure 
 counts. Into what could the confused blending of 
 emotions have been separated, remorse, a pang 
 of affection for the boy, rage at the escape of a 
 victim? Whatever it was, passed quickly; the 
 habit of self-control proved his friend. He went 
 in, joining the group of excited talkers about the 
 kitchen stove. 
 
 " Nat'ral enough," said one voice. " He was fond 
 o' the old man, an' bein' sort o' half-witted, it upset 
 him." 
 
 "That ain't all," said another, with meaning. 
 " There's monkery at the bottom, depend on't." 
 And just then, Biker walking up to the group, an 
 uncomfortable silence settled down, made express 
 ive indeed by nods and half glances. 
 
 " I have noticed," began the professor, sadly, 
 "I could but be aware, seeing him so much, that 
 our poor young friend's mind was affected. Of 
 course I said nothing about it to Mr. Adams, but 
 he was often a care tome." Still silence, broken, 
 when it had become too prolonged for even that 
 stolid rural composure, by a woman's voice. 
 
 "Maybe it's well he's gone, if Uncle Ben didn't 
 think to provide for him by will. It's hard enough 
 to earn your livin' when you've got all your wits,
 
 418 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 an' if he wa'n't quite right I do' know what he 
 could ha' done, unless Lomie'd took him in." 
 
 Kiker turned towards the woman, and stared at 
 her with a look which arrested her open mouth and 
 eyes, fixing the latter upon himself. His was but 
 the look of an intense introspection ; she had 
 merely suggested the supreme fact for him in all this 
 drama of mistakes and sorrow. It was not merely 
 his pupil and Uncle Ben's friend who had died ; it 
 was the heir of Uncle Ben's property and Eiker's 
 prospective ward. Another shabby trick had 
 beeu played him ; again the victim had out 
 witted him. Why that fact had not suggested 
 itself first of all, it is difficult to say ; it must be 
 remembered, however, that Riker was unused to 
 the buffets of fortune, and it took a very plain, 
 bare statement of facts to convince him that there 
 was nothing further to gain. When he next spoke, 
 his suavity of manner was gone. 
 
 " Can you carry me to the depot? " he asked of 
 Henry. 
 
 "Can't," said that young man, evincing no great 
 regret. Riker turned to one and another in the 
 room and made the same request. Unwelcome as 
 he was, not one man among them would allow him 
 to ride behind his horse. 
 
 "An' I don't know," came Aunt Lomie's even 
 voice, as she paused on her way through the room 
 and caught the dialogue. " I don't know as it's
 
 SAM TO THE RESCUE. 419 
 
 fittin' for anybody to go away now. Tears to me 
 there's always some kind of a trial when anybody's 
 made way with himself." 
 
 " So there is ! " came in such hoarse and ready 
 response that Riker was again tempted to launch 
 a wholesale curse. Unfamiliar with country ways, 
 he was not sure that he might not be detained and 
 lynched for complicity in Leonard's disagreeable 
 act. But in some attracting of the general atten 
 tion to another object than himself, he slipped 
 away and walked to the railroad station, where he 
 took the train for Boston. 
 
 It seemed to Sam at this stage of the proceed 
 ings, not that the last miserable news should be 
 broken gently to Mrs. Mann, but that she should 
 flee from it altogether. He took his mother and 
 Henry into the plot, and though they did not 
 see her great need of consideration as he had done, 
 they were yet willing to be guided by the head of 
 the family. Unless she should insist ongoing out 
 and thus seeing other people, there was no need 
 of her knowing yet what had happened. And 
 while his mother was baking the biscuits for tea, 
 he dared broach what seemed to him a most auda 
 cious plan. 
 
 "Mrs. Mann," he began, stroking old Blue with 
 exceeding zeal, which Blue mistook for tribute 
 paid her charms, purring accordingly, "if I was 
 you, I'd go away from here for a visit."
 
 420 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 The silence that followed was so long that Sam 
 had time to wish himself at various corners of the 
 earth. It is true that she had not dared to think 
 of her husband and all that their release implied. 
 The weary course of events seemed to have been 
 dragging on so long that, having reached its end, 
 she possibly needed some electrifying shock to 
 bring her into fitness for great joy. This sugges 
 tion of her home proved the shock. " Why ? " was 
 all she said, however, and though her tone was 
 very soft, it told nothing, and her hand shielded 
 her face from the firelight. "Why?" 
 
 "Well," answered Sam, relieved, "you don't 
 look well. You've lost sleep for a good long spell, 
 an' you've took her sickness hard. Now seems 
 to me what you need to do is to get away from 
 here." 
 
 "Yes, I shall go soon, immediately after the 
 funeral. I shall go home." She had begun to say 
 " to my husband," but changed the phrase. She had 
 a foolish fancy that the word should first leave her 
 lips when Stephen was by to hear. 
 
 "Now why not before?" suggested Sam, per 
 suasively. "Why not right away? There's no 
 need o' tellin' you we'd keep you till Gabriel 
 blowed, if 'twas best for you. But go on a visit 
 an' then come back. Now there never was a fu 
 neral that needs us any less than uncle's. Can't 
 you hear how he used to talk about his poor old
 
 SAM TO THE RESCUE. 421 
 
 body, an' how he'd laugh at us for payin* much 
 attention to it ? " 
 
 Sarah smiled in loving recollection, but shook 
 her head. Uncle Ben might not care, but she did 
 care to do him reverence. And so Sam told her 
 the last pitiful act of the drama, in as simple a 
 way as his rare common sense suggested. Know 
 ing no more than he of the miserable under-plot 
 which had determined the deed, she saw in it not 
 only a token of the boy's dog-like devotion to his 
 friend, but proof that he was not a responsible 
 agent in his deception. But, to her after surprise, 
 and possibly self-reproach, it did not waken much 
 excitement in her. External tragedy, the con 
 vulsions of nations, would have been dwarfed 
 beside the wish that kept her heart beating like a 
 runner's, the wish to see her husband. Having 
 reached the end of her sentence, for the time 
 being she cast remembrance of its cause away 
 from her, and began to live from the moment that 
 had parted them. Aunt Lomie said she was 
 ff all nerved up " from her past experience ; but it 
 is probably true that the girl's fine organism could 
 have borne a greater strain than that without 
 yielding, had not that of anticipation been ready 
 to add its force. 
 
 "Could it be to-night, Sam?" she said, after 
 they had come home from laying Uncle Ben and 
 Leonard away to become earth. " Could I go to
 
 422 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 Boston to-night? My trunk is packed, and oh, 
 if I could go to-night ! " 
 
 Sam went, with the same zeal with which he 
 would have put a girdle round the earth had she 
 so commanded, to put on Dill's harness, who, 
 clever horse, thought of her late excursions in 
 search of Doctor Bright, and pricked up her ears. 
 She was driven at a smart trot to the station, for 
 Sam wished to say his farewells and be done with 
 them as soon as possible. It is no light matter, 
 when a goddess leaves your house where she has 
 chanced to sojourn, and goes back to her own 
 bright regions. But Sam's words of parting were 
 brief, and even gruff; he had no blank verse in 
 which to couch his feelings. When he reached 
 home that night, however, he felt that life would 
 not be quite desolate so long as mothers proved 
 so satisfactory. Aunt Lomie's eyes were very 
 bright and blue, and she said, 
 
 " I only hope she'll remember what I told her, 
 if so be that she ever wants a home, to come 
 here." 
 
 Sarah's heart outran the magic horse. What 
 would he be doing? She pictured him sitting, 
 the light falling on his bright hair, the face it 
 must surely have gained some lines of pain, in 
 waiting for her turned to the fire, reading there 
 no hint of her coming. The possibility of his
 
 SAM TO THE RESCUE. 423 
 
 absence did strike her, but she thrust it aside, 
 ready to cry passionately that she must die if she 
 did not find him. So very strangely are we 
 made ! Had there come no reprieve, she might 
 have endured a lifetime of exile ; now that the 
 days were ended, she became at once a child cry 
 ing that joy should not escape her.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 AT HOME. 
 
 AlTHEN Stephen came home from his stay in 
 New York, he found on the hall table a 
 note from Linora, couched in her own character 
 istic phraseology. She was well and happy, as 
 were the other members of the household. It was 
 surprising to her that a severely reformatory at 
 mosphere could prove so refreshing. She and 
 Mrs. Phebe were making shirts for a family of 
 eight motherless boys whom the latter had dis 
 covered, that is, Mrs. Phebe was making the 
 shirts while Linora unfolded to her, meantime, a 
 scheme of philanthropy to which she had some 
 thought of devoting herself. Philanthropy seemed 
 a very fascinating subject, more so, indeed, than 
 spiritualism. And, to conclude, she longed to 
 hear from Sarah, and was to them both a most 
 worthless but faithful friend. 
 
 Stephen read the note as he went slowly up 
 stairs, smiling as his mind carried him to the 
 writer, and supplied her words with dramatic ac 
 cents. "There's a great deal of good in her," he 
 was thinking. " I suppose it's just as truly good 
 as if it didn't exist in that latent way." 
 
 424
 
 AT HOME. 425 
 
 The little warm room, clothed in reds, was 
 lighted, and as he reached the threshold his 
 wife was there. She had heard his step, and was 
 standing almost on tiptoe, winged for flight to 
 him. Let the Creator of our flesh be thanked that 
 there is such joy and peace in human warmth and 
 contact; only the touch of hands and lips can 
 soothe the great joys of meeting. 
 
 Could it be that there was some vague, unrec 
 ognized disappointment for Stephen, when he 
 could put her far enough away to think of her, 
 that she had denied her ideals and come to him 
 through force of love ? Whether it was that she 
 felt the doubt at its birth in his mind or not, she 
 cried in quick reassurance : 
 
 " It is right, dear ; it is right. There is no one 
 between us I " 
 
 "There never was," he said, obstinately recur 
 ring to his old ground. 
 
 She told him the story briefly, with pitiful, ten 
 der words, and he sat listening in great wonder 
 that it could all happen while he had lived quietly 
 on, with no hint from love's clairvoyance. The 
 result of it all was, and always continues to be, 
 a conviction on his part that his wife is not only 
 an angel according to conjugal metaphor, but that 
 she is literally of even finer clay than that appropri 
 ated to the race of good and lovely women. That 
 she had loved her enemy, served to lift her into
 
 426 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 the region of those ministrants who are said to 
 devote themselves to mortal needs with impartial 
 care. For Sarah, that view of the subject has 
 some soreness ; she can but feel that he gives her 
 the credit which rightfully belongs to the influ 
 ences of softening circumstances. She had only 
 responded to the suggestions of external needs, 
 disregarding which she must have held herself 
 forever ignoble. 
 
 After all, how sweetly commonplace it was to 
 see her in her own chair again, to hear her step 
 and voice ! Except for the great hunger still in 
 his heart which uttered jealous complaint even 
 when she left him to go into another room, he 
 might have forgotten that she had ever been away. 
 It would seem that happiness must be the natural 
 condition of the soul ; how, otherwise, could it so 
 serenely sink into the ways of peace when that is 
 permitted? Stephen henceforth abandoned him 
 self to a strange serenity. It was, to be sure, an 
 audacious state of mind, but he was convinced that 
 they had once for all eaten their bitter bread. 
 Now the powers above must, if only from econo 
 my, give them some time to grow and heal the 
 hurts contracted in past struggling. 
 
 When Bernard came next day, very serious in 
 anticipation of Stephen's story, he found himself 
 rather at a loss, to be met by glorified faces and
 
 AT HOME. 427 
 
 voices containing that fulness of joy which is one 
 expression of music. 
 
 " I have come home, and I shall be happy for 
 ever," said Sarah, when Stephen left them alone. 
 "Is that enough?" 
 
 "Yes ; the world seems a very different place. 
 It was a good deal changed before, but I find now 
 that I needed to know you were happy." 
 
 So no questions were ever asked, and no ex 
 planations given. After certain great convulsions, 
 such as the nearness of moral or physical death 
 felt by these two, the small curiosities of life seem 
 of very slight importance. Ah, but it is a pity 
 that we should so often need avalanches to teach 
 our souls to build firmly ! 
 
 They talked over the western plan, the three 
 together, and Stephen finally bethought himself 
 of Linora's note, which he read aloud. Bernard, 
 in spite of his new composure, could not yet hear 
 her name without wincing, but he took it bravely 
 enough, and was able afterwards to laugh at him 
 self for retaining the wounds of vanity longer than 
 any more dignified hurts. 
 
 " I should like her, by and by, to visit us," said 
 Sarah. "And, Bernard, I meant to say it be 
 fore, let me have your little sister here for a day 
 before you go. Then when we are once acquainted, 
 Stephen and I can invite her here and feel as if we 
 got a little nearer you in your western wilds."
 
 428 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 So Peace was born, and was well pleased with 
 her home. Guarded by her and Love, the great 
 white goddess, could the home itself be anything 
 but pure and fair to whomsoever dwelt in it or 
 entered it? 
 
 The discomfiture of the wicked is sometimes not 
 as inviting a subject to us, the more indifferent of 
 modern times, as to the righteous psalmist. We 
 are conscious of some soft-hearted commiseration 
 in hearing that Biker found one resting-place after 
 another desolated at his approach. When he 
 reached Boston that night, it was to find that his 
 wife had fled, taking the goodly hoard of money 
 in the house, and leaving him but fifty dollars. 
 Like many timid and downtrodden people, when 
 she did revolt, Mrs. Biker accomplished it with a 
 wholesale thoroughness which was astonishing to 
 those acquainted with her feeble power of will. 
 Biker, in deep disgust, there made a vow that he 
 would never seek her. She had proved too unre 
 liable an investment to pay for the discipline neces 
 sarily expended on her. He gave up his house 
 forthwith, and went to another great city, where 
 he took more humble rooms, and began again the 
 exercise of his profession under a new name. It 
 is a sad fact that it can almost always be said of a 
 medium whose tricks are exposed, that he is able 
 to gull a new set of believers without delay. Nay,
 
 AT HOME. 429 
 
 such have been known to continue the deception 
 of their previous disciples, after trumping up 
 some story of having for that one time yielded to 
 fraud, because the influences proved inharmonious 
 and the spirits had been unable honestly to mate 
 rialize. The wholly unscrupulous are not often 
 obliged to confess that their lives have failed, as 
 they count failure and success. The punishment 
 for them must sometime come in the opening of 
 the soul's eye to the ravages wrought where it 
 might have worked only good. 
 
 Of course the story of any group of people goes 
 on indefinitely. One could tell how Bernard grew 
 at last into a strong manhood, how he married a 
 wife, and the place and time of finding her 
 would -make another novel, and how he sent 
 eastward a little book of verses that has been 
 greatly praised, as containing the sweetness and 
 strength of the western air, and a flavor of hope 
 and joy in living, that some greater modern poets 
 have lacked. One might also tell how Mary be 
 came a sturdy little school-teacher, a great favorite 
 with Mrs. Mann, with whom she spends her winter 
 vacations. And of all lengthy psychological 
 studies, what longer or more complicated one 
 could be made than of the various emotions of the 
 Coventry people in considering the stirring events 
 there? For some of them they never understood, 
 and have discussed them ever since, by winter fire-
 
 430 FOOLS OF NATURE. 
 
 sides and in long summer afternoons. It is quite as 
 well for them, however, that such past history 
 should be theirs, for it would seem that nothing 
 has ever happened since. 
 
 That must be amended, however. Last summer 
 Mr. and Mrs. Mann boarded some weeks with Sam 
 Wasson and his wife, who live in Uncle Ben's 
 house. It was Stephen who proposed the plan, 
 and insisted on carrying it out, in order, he said, 
 to take the taste of those sad months from his 
 wife's memory; to force her to remember the 
 place as one where he and she together lovers 
 still and always wandered and talked through 
 sweet summer hours. He is not willing that there 
 should be a phase of her life which he has not 
 shared. 
 
 And so they visited one after another of the 
 landmarks remaining from her exile there. They 
 had even pitiful thoughts and words for the strange 
 boy who sleeps near Uncle Ben. His was a life 
 they could not understand, but being stunted and 
 unfortunate, it carried its own appeal.
 
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